zero data by charles saphro _all the intricate, electronic witchery of the st century could not pin guilt on fabulous lonnie raichi, the irreproachable philanthropist. but jason, the cop, was sweating it out ... searching for that fourth and final and all-knowing rule that would knock lonnie's "triple ethic" for a gala loop._ lonnie raichi was small, heavily built, wet-eyed, dapper and successful. his success he attributed entirely to his philosophy. not knowing about lonnie's philosophy, the whole twenty-odd years of lonnie's success was the abiding crux of jason's disgust. and this, in spite of the more and more men jason came to control and the fitful stream of new techniques and equipment gov-pol and gov-mil labs put at his disposal. jason was a cop. in fact, by this friday the thirteenth in the fall of , squirming on what had come to be his pet gov-park bench right across from the tiara of wold in the fane, he was only one step short of being the head cop of government city. he was good. gathering in a lot of criminals was what had brought him up the steps. but he hadn't gathered in lonnie. it wasn't for lack for trying. way back, when lonnie was known simply as "lonnie," jason managed to get a little help from his associates and superiors. sometimes. but as lonnie came to be known as lon raichi, then mr. raichi, and finally as "the launcelot raichi" (to everyone who mattered), and as jason's promotions kept pace with his widening experience and painstakingly acquired knowledge; peculiarly, there seemed to be fewer and fewer persons around who could be made interested in "lonnie." inside government and gov-pol-anx as well as among the general two-worlds public. so jason got less and less help, or even passive cooperation, from his superiors. as a matter of fact, the more men he could command, the fewer he could use on anything that could be construed as concerning lonnie. equipment, though, was a little different matter. there was usually enough so that one unit of a kind could be unobtrusively trained on mr. raichi under the care of jason's own desk sergeant. in , for example, moglaut, that erratic and secretive genius in physlab nine, came out with a quantum analyzer and probability reproducer. the machine installed in pol-anx, reconstructed crimes and identified the probable criminals by their modus operandi and the physical traces they couldn't avoid leaving at the un-mercy of any of its portable data accumulators. on jason's first attempt it almost came close to lonnie. it did gather in the hidden, dead, still twitching, completely uncommunicative carcasses of the five men who actually relieved the vault of the citizen's bank of berlin of its clutch of millions. it even identified the body of the rocopilot found floating in the potomac a few days later as being one of the group, and the killer. it did _not_ locate the arsonized remnants of the plane, though, nor the currency; and only achieved the casting of a slight, or subsidiary, third-hand aspersion in the direction of the launcelot raichi. but lonnie came up with an irrefutable alibi, somehow, and the hassle that followed made jason's luck run out. and on jason's stubborn, secret, subsequent tries, all the analyzer could produce was a report of zero data whenever jason, reasonably or unreasonably, believed that lonnie was involved. every time. zero data when schicklehitler's marshal's baton disappeared from the british museum. [illustration: _lonnie on his dream throne ... jason at his instruments. was the struggle endless between these two?_] zero data when charlemagne's crown lapsed unobtrusively from its shrine in vienna during the year celebration. subsequently, jason realized that the berlin job in had marked lonnie's last essay after money. other things seemed to occupy lonnie's mind after he'd sprouted publicly into the status of full-fledged, hyper-respectable, inter-planetary business tycoon; complete with a many-tentacled industrial organization in moon colony and a far-flung prospecting unit headquartering at mars equatorial. tycoonship was a status with which everyone who mattered was always pleased. jason's next attempt on lonnie had to wait until and was the result of two unconnected circumstances. the first was physlab nine's secretive genius, moglaut, evolving another piece of equipment, a disarmer, which, subsequent to its first use, saved countless cops' lives. the second was the discovery in the valley of kings, of amenhotep iii's own personal official uraeus. positively identified beyond the shadow of doubt. jason, playing the hunch he'd built up about lonnie, rushed a man, armed with the brand new disarmer, instantly to the scene. the next morning, amenhotep's uraeus was gone and the corpse of jason's man was found--part of it. the right hand, arm, shoulder, and most of the head were missing; burned away. and of the disarmer, only a fused hunk of mixed metals and silver helix remained. and the analyzer reported zero data. lab nine's taciturn and exasperating moglaut failed to derive an explanation for either circumstance. "i won't shut up," jason said, standing on the carpet in front of his superior. "he did it. i don't know how, but he did." another spasm of frustration shook him and he slammed his fist down on the sacred desk. "i've known lonnie all my life. i know he doesn't know phfut about anything scientific, and yet he makes a horse's--" "captain jason, i insist that you stop referring to--" "makes a--" jason raised his voice, "horse's--" "captain jason!" jason subsided. "captain, annex has been most forbearing all these years. we've overlooked your incomprehensible phobia--this--this confoundedly unfounded impossible bias against such an irreproachable philanthropist as launcelot raichi--because of the sterling quality of your ... ah ... other work. however--" on the desk, the commissioner's fingers took up a measured tattoo. "--should this fixed idea begin to encroach on--uh--uh--" "all right ... sir." sullenly, jason submitted. "i understand." with a self-congratulatory smirk up at the ceiling that separated them from executive level, the bland face of the commissioner smoothed out. "all right, captain, as long as we understand each other ..." sourly, jason got himself back to his own office. drumming his own fingers on his own desk and glaring at his own desk sergeant, he purged his soul. "--damned equipment would only work, i'd gather him in! they couldn't stop me, then! but--" jason choked. when he could speak again, "he's never studied a lick in his life, i tell you! yet he makes a he-cow's behind out of the best man and the best scientific equipment annex can provide! how? how, i ask you! he doesn't know the first blasted thing about any blasted thing in any blasted science!" * * * * * that was true. conversely, jason didn't know about lonnie's philosophy. nowadays, lonnie called it a "philosophy." he told reporters it was "based on a triple ethic." (inside his skull, a small boy jumped up and down in glee over the magnificent language he was able to use.) but he always replied only with a superior smile when asked by reporters to put the philosophy and the triple ethic into words. if pressed, he paraphrased an ancient man: "you know my works. judge by them." he was referring, of course, to his having branched out into patronizing the arts. he'd even erected raichi museum just across the velvety green circle of gov-park from government's own fane of artifacts. the reporters would go away and write more articles about his modesty and the superlative treasures of earth, moon and mars that were gathered in the raichi galleries; protected, the papers always boasted, by the same ultra-safety mechanisms that guarded the mile-long, one-gallery-wide, glass-fronted fane itself. government affably made up two of every anti-break-and-entry device nowadays. one for the fane and the other for raichi museum. despite occasional grumbles in the letters-to-the-editor columns, the papers never seemed to inquire into why so many priceless trans-worlds artifacts got into lonnie's private ownership instead of government's public fane. and while some artists and architects (unendowed by lonnie) succeeded in publicly proclaiming raichi museum gaudy, such carpings were but to be expected, particularly from modernists. actually, everyone who mattered felt raichi museum's granite walls were much more dignified than the narrow, glass-faced arcade that was the fane, wide open to the most disrespectfully casual public inspection all the time. why, even late at night gawking loiterers pressed their noses against the glass; black, clumsy images pinned to the blazing whiteness hurled by radionic tubes against the back wall of snowy marble from mars' arctic quarries. besides, that glass, proof though it was against anything but an atomic explosion, still made every true art lover feel disquietingly insecure. no, on the whole, the papers and reporters and true art lovers who felt the public's treasures should be more secure than visible, never questioned lonnie's doing good to so much art. thus, nowadays, nobody did anything but accept lonnie. except jason. and he, perforce, took out his disgust not on hounding the sacrosanct lonnie, but on that crackpot, mumchance, captive genius of physlab nine. with the result that, late in , pol-anx had an electronic servo-tracer. pending construction of sufficient hundreds of thousands more for full anx use, jason swore lab nine to secrecy and installed the pilot model in his own office. he had enough authority for that. it was a hellishly unbuildable and deceptively simple gadget, that tracer. simply tune it in on the encephalo-aura, the brain wave pattern of any individual ... and monitor. it never let go until deliberately switched off by the operator. it tracked; pinpointed the subject accurately up to twenty thousand miles. it stopped humming and started panting in proportionately ascending decibels when the subject became tense, nervous, afraid. it also directed pocket-sized trackers of its own damoclean beam. it made it a cinch to gather in known criminals in the very midst of their first subsequent flagrante delicto. jason latched the servo-tracer on lonnie and settled down to wait. at p.m., local mean time, january , , the tracer hiccupped and, all by itself, _went to sleep_! jason blinked. jiggled the gadget. swore. either the gadget was haywire or lonnie was up to something, and, as usual, was making a-- jason bawled for four reliable squad men he'd mentally selected before. if he could find lonnie--catch lonnie in actual performance of an act--then commissioner or no commissioner, executive level or no executive level...! he roared from pol-anx with the men, past the flank of government fane, across the park and around the bulk of raichi museum to lonnie's mansion in its shadow. leaped from the gyro-van, sweeping his men out into a fan for the neighborhood. nothing. placid. tree-shadowed, lawn-swept streets, ebony and silver in the light the moon reflected from solar space. he'd missed. too late. lonnie was gone ... or was he? jason didn't give himself time to think; his men time to get even a momentary hesitation started. he shoved his thumb hard against the door chimes and his shield under the butler's nose. yes, mr. raichi was at home. then, after an interval nicely calculated to allow jason to feel how acutely precarious his position stood, "mr. raichi is accessible." lonnie was bland. blandly accepting jason's urgent story of a known ... er ... jewel thief traced to the neighborhood. blandly amenable to jason's suggestion that his men be permitted to go over the mansion (once he'd started this damfool caper, he had to go through with it). lonnie so bland that jason felt a skitter of perspiration down his backbone while his men hustled up the soaring circle of the stair. ii "since i've been disturbed anyway," lonnie offered, "i'll show you around." "thanks," jason shook his head stiffly. "i'll just wait." "i think you should come." shrugging, jason followed, eyes stubbornly downcast. "... my library ... my den ... bar. care for a drink? well, suit yourself." as the lights of the den dimmed and one wall swooshed smoothly into the ceiling. "my theatre ... the usual tri-di stereo, of course, but i've had a couple of the new tight beams installed to channel moon and mars on the cube. much better than the usual staged bilge. say, that reminds me, a couple hours ago mars projector had a scanner on one of the exploration parties caught out in a psychosonic storm. jove, did they wriggle! even in atomsuits they were better than messalina magdalen working on her last g-string. here, i'll switch it on. maybe the rescue team's--" building up inside the hundreds of thousands of layers of crystallized plastic came a reddish, three-dimensional landscape, as if viewed from a height. orange dust swirled across a gaunt, clawed plain under a transparent pink haze. a feeling as of sub-visual vibration, emanating from the cube, tugged at jason's eyelids. no life. "--nope; they've cleaned up the carcasses already. too bad. tell you what, though. next time i catch it happening, i'll phone you and--" "don't bother." "suit yourself." lonnie shifted and went on, lightly. "i'm not at all satisfied with the color, are you? it's off a little, don't you think?... well?... well!" unwillingly, jason moved his attention to the cube. eyes widening, he studied it. "no. you're wrong. that's good! the tech who poured that stereo did a damned good job. it's--" "not good enough for me! that's not exactly what i saw up at vulcan city. if those lazy--" "look, you can't expect exactly the same reflectivity from crystallized plastic that you get from molecules of atmosphere, no matter how scientifically the pouring and layering is controlled. it's--they're two different materials. leaving aside the ion-index differential and quality of incident light, you still can't--" "_i_ can ..." as the pause lengthened, jason's gaze was finally drawn to lonnie's face. "you still haven't changed a bit, have you, jasey? still all wrapped up in _how_ any collection of doodads work instead of just for what it'll do. you know, i wouldn't be surprised if that hasn't always been the difference between us. where's it got you?" jason strode for the door. "wait a minute." lonnie's voice came louder. "better wait, copper. i'm not through ... that's better." from behind jason came the sound of rubbing palms. "we've come a long way from gimlet street, haven't we, jasey? you particularly. captain. promotions. pay raises ..." then lonnie was in front of him, staring up. "you're quite a substantial citizen now. yes? well, look at that. go on, look at it." against the side wall stood a gigantic triptych. more than life size, the central panel canopied the statue of a mongol potentate; the two side wings, a pair of guards in bas-relief. all three wrought in chryselephantine gold and ivory; the gold with flowing pallid highlights. damascened armor, encrusted with jewels, girdled the chest of the asiatic prince; helmeted the sullen head carved from a single immensity of ivory. ruby eyes glared arrogantly under ebon brows. against the statue's folded shins, its pommel negligently gripped by one immovable, ivory hand, leaned a short turkish scimitar of watered steel. beneath the carved hassock upon which the statue sat, a dais of three steps fell away to the floor. "that's genghis khan," lonnie said. "i had him made. that isn't gold he's made of; that's aureum--and it cost plenty to have the silver mixed in. it makes it better. and i get the best! a hundred thousand, it cost me. and thirty-six thousand more to brace the wall and floor. it's good. it's the best that's made!" he came up on tiptoe, thrusting his chin as close as possible to jason's averted face. "why don't you buy one for your place, captain?" * * * * * jason stared into the malevolent eyes of the statue. "huh ... hu-hu ... hu-ha-ha-ha ..." at the dais, lonnie put his foot on the second step and patted genghis khan familiarly on one ivory knee. "i like this old boy. he had the right idea. i have it. you haven't. you never had. if you had, you'd'a listened to the proposition i made you way back then. remember when aggie told you about it? say, i wonder what's become of her, anyway. do you know? what? what'd you say?" jason cleared his throat. hard. "well?" jason swallowed. blood pounded in his temples. "jasey, you're stupid." jason made his eyes close. let them re-open slowly. "you were born stupid and you've stayed stupid." still jason held back an answer. "you're nothing but a stupid, go-where-you're-sent, do-what-you're-told cop! what do you say to that! if you want to keep on being one, answer me! answer me!" deliberately, jason jerked his chin at the statue. "that's another example of what i mean." "_what?!!_" screamed lonnie. "reflectivity. the silver in the gold. two different metals and where they're not well fused. that sword blade, too. just the misalignment of molecules in the surface of the steel makes it look wavy, and ripple when the light changes or you move. different even in two parts of the same material. that's why you can't get the stereo cube to reproduce color-feel exactly." breathing heavily, jason had to let his voice fade out. "gaaa ..." lonnie convulsed. "who cares!" laugh sounds rolled out of his throat. "you'll never change." he flicked his hand at jason, brushing him away. but, as jason, white-faced, herded his men out through the costly grandeurs of the vestibule, lonnie called from the inner hall: "copper ..." jason turned, waited. "you amused me, so it's all right this time. you can keep your penny-ante job. but don't try for me again. you cross my path again, i'll smear you. and what's more, i'll use whatever you're trying, to smear you with. get that! get it good! now get out!" back in jason's office, the desk sergeant reported as jason came in. "funny thing. that there tracer started to hum again soon after you was out for a while. quit again 'bout five minutes ago, though." jason gritted his teeth, banished the sergeant, and spent five minutes alone gripping the edge of his desk. then he yanked lab nine's silent genius down to his office. that didn't help for the tracer stayed asleep. not even a hiccup rewarded moglaut's most active efforts on lonnie's wave length. on others, fine. through the night and on into the next day, jason kept moglaut at work. late in the morning, authority at peiping televised publicly that the mace of alexander was gone from its satin pillow in the proof-glass case in the alarm-wired room off the machine-weapon-guarded main corridor of the security-policed temple of mankind. the mace, symbol of alexander's power, was a pretty little baton barely two feet long. its staff was mastodon ivory, the paleontologists had determined. one end sported a solid ball of gold hardly as big as a fist; studded with rubies, but none set quite so close as to actually touch. the other end, balancing the ball of gold, mounted the largest single polished emerald crystal in the discovered universe. neither the moon or mars had produced anything in the emerald line equivalent to what had come out of the mists of earthly history. * * * * * disregarding the bulletin, jason kept moglaut at the servo-tracer. in the night's smallest hours it began placidly to hum on lonnie's aura again. "what happened?" jason said. "what did you do?" moglaut shrugged. "you must have done something. what was it?" moglaut, not looking up from the purring machine, shook his head. "all right. you can go now." jason watched the genius disappear hurriedly through the door. from the door he watched the man scutter down the long, long corridor out of sight. the first thing in the morning, jason promised himself, he'd have a session about moglaut with lab nine's chief. the first thing in the morning brought word that lab nine's erratic genius had stumbled himself out of the seventeenth-floor window of his suburban apartment to his death. lab nine's chief clucked sorrowfully. jason shook his head and wondered. after exhaustive investigation (zero data) he still wondered. that's all he was able to do, wonder. the second time jason's servo-tracer on lonnie hiccupped and dozed off was at : a.m., august th, , just one day after the diamond throne arrived on earth. the single, glittering diamond crystal, misshapen like an armchair and larger than one, had been mined out of the core of tycho's crater. and it was also just two days before the moon throne would have been installed in the unbreakable safety of raichi museum! "jason, you're insane," his superior told him when jason, reinforced by an astounding public furore, brought the matter up. "he owned it. he had no reason to steal it from himself. besides, one man alone couldn't budge that enormous--" "it won't do any harm to look-see." "it can do a lot of harm!" the commissioner glanced quickly at the ceiling. "i'll have nothing to do with it. that's all." officially, jason's hands were tied. but secretly he maneuvered the transfer of a five-layers-down undercover man from madras to government city. and, coincidentally, in the ordinary routine of operation, raichi museum took on a new janitor; a little brown man who grinned constantly and was fanatical about dust. he was a good, reliable man and when he reported that neither the diamond throne nor any of the other missing glories were anywhere in the museum, jason had to believe him. as a matter of fact, it wouldn't have done jason any good to have installed the little brown man in lonnie's mansion, either. the lock--not the apparent one openly in the den door, but the real one--was as unobtrusive and foolproof as twenty-first-century engineering could make it. and lonnie always made sure he was alone and unobserved in the den before he locked it and sauntered across to bestow a peculiar, multiple tweak to the nose of genghis khan. he enjoyed the gesture. on christmas eve he grinned broadly while the triptych pivoted in the wall, let him off in the kruppmartite-walled, pulsing radiance of his very secret, very, very personal throne room, and swung back into place. his grin changed to an expression of imperial dignity as he encased himself in catherine the great's ermine robe of state and grasped the mace of alexander in his good left hand. but then the royal mien gave way to a sullen scowl as he hesitated between charlemagne's crown and amenhotep's uraeus. actually, neither one was worthy of him. both purely regional coronets belonged over in the farthest dusty corner behind the curtain, along with schicklehitler's shabby baton and that crummy peacock throne. what he really needed was a crown worthily symbolic of the position he'd make it possible to publicly assume in the not-too-distant future. it was a damned imposition that he had to put up with. well, he'd make them do since they were the best to be had. adjusting the crown of charlemagne upon his brow, he stood on tiptoe to wriggle his way back into the embrace of the titanic crystal that was the diamond throne. there, he relaxed and gave himself over to the contemplation of the glories of lonnie. who but he had developed such an efficient philosophy to such an unfailingly incisive point? certainly not old boswell who, back in the early days had thought to be teaching him. "rule one, my boy," he remembered the old patrician twittering, "there's always someone to pull your chestnuts out of the fire for you--for a price. pay it. then add a plus to the payment and the man's yours to use again and again." but even in those days as a callow, trusting youth, he'd been smarter than boswell. observing, from the safety of the sidelines, the way the old fool had finally tripped up, he'd added a codicil of his own to rule one: "make sure the payment's _final_!" (... witness the berlin chestnut pullers. and the unobtrusive and undiscovered spate of their predecessors whose usefulness had become outweighed ...) then boswell had said, "rule two: you don't have to know the how of anything. all you have to know is _the man who does_. he always has a price. the currency is usually odd, but find it, pay it, then proceed per rule one." even tonight, in his own throne room, lonnie flushed heavily at the way he'd accepted at face value what came next. "by the way," old boswell had added smoothly, "no connection of course, my boy, but the topic reminded me. here are the keys to that daffodil-hued tri-phibian you ogled at sporter's exhibit. i must admit you have an eye for dashing machinery even though i can't agree with your esthetics. no--no ... it's yours. i feel that you've earned it and more by--" he'd rushed to the garage to gloat over the mono-cyclic, gyro-stabilized, u-powered model with the seat that flattened into a convenient bed at the touch of a button. the tri-phib, he recalled, in which he'd coaxed agnes into taking her first ride. iii the details of that recollection brought up his spirits again and, he reminded himself, the lesson had sunk in; had developed into his most useful ethic. after his narrow scrape with jason's quantum analyzer in the berlin incident, it hadn't taken long for a good, one-man detective agency to locate physlab nine's frenetic genius, moglaut. it had taken longer to discover moglaut's currency but, after much shadowing, the 'tec had come through handsomely. lonnie, automatically applying his fully-developed ethic one, always considered it a nice sentimental touch that the one-man agency's final case was successful. moglaut's price was a prim, brunette soprano who wore her eyes disguised behind heavy tortoiseshell. the ill-cut garb she could afford added greatly to her staid appearance, obscuring a certain full-bodied litheness. she earned a throttled existence soloing at funerals and in the worship halls of obscure, rigidly fanatic offshoot sects. her consuming passion was to be an opera prima donna. lonnie never tried to understand why moglaut sat fascinated through endless sin-busting sermons and lachrymose requiems. to hurry afterwards, with the jerky motions, the glazed eyes of a zombie, to subsequent rendezvous with the soprano at his suburban apartment. it was entirely sufficient in lonnie's philosophy that moglaut did. the soprano's continuing suburban cooperation was insured by lonnie's judicious doling out of exactly the cash to keep a tenth-rate opera company barely functioning in a lesser quarter of government city. oddly, he found it pleased him and from that grew his wide patronizing of the arts. the immediate result of the situation he created and controlled so deftly was moglaut's production of a closed-plenum grid suit. none of gov-pol, gov-mil or gov-econ labs found out about it; much less pol-anx or government itself. moglaut did all the work in the tiny complete lab lonnie set up in the suburbs. lonnie didn't care what electronic witchery took place in the minute spatial interstices between the finely-woven mesh of flexible tantalum. sufficient for him, the silvery white suit once donned and triple-zipped through hood and glove-endings, he was immune to ordinary earthly phenomena; free to move about, do what he wished, untraceably. in it, his words were not vulnerable to the sono-beam's eavesdropping. photo-electric and magneto-photonic watchdogs ignored him. even the most delicately sensitive thermo-couples continued their dreams of freezing flame undisturbed. jason's quantum analyzer couldn't pick up the leavings of a glance--all that the suit permitted out into the physical world. the suit had its limitations, of course. lonnie could see out, but the suit could also be seen. that required sometimes intricate advance planning to offset. also, occasionally, manipulating the field of the grid to permit mechanical contact with the physical world was a trifle cumbersome but never annoyingly so. all it took was a modicum of step-by-step thought and some care not to leave a personal trace for the quantum analyzer to pick up. no actual trouble. and, finally, moglaut had warned that the compact power unit pocketed on the left breast had a half-life of only thirteen years. that left lonnie placid. he took the suit for granted and used it for what it let him do. when something more was needed, he was convinced his philosophy would provide it. he didn't waste time trying to determine whether possession of the suit or previous experiences leading to his insistence on its development brought into focus the third ethic of his philosophy: "rules one and two are valuable and have their use. but when the chips are really down, _do it yourself_!" instead, he toddled about personally acquiring the trappings of omnipotent royalty with little thought for the means. * * * * * but while he was about that business, the very limitations of the grid suit furnished an unending challenge to moglaut's genius. and out of a sideline experiment incited by that challenge came the disarmer which jason greeted with such fruitless glee. fruitless because, of course, before turning the disarmer over to lab nine and pol-anx, moglaut devised a new, infinitely stronger, more versatile power pack for lonnie's suit. a power pack controlled by a simple rheostat in the palm of the left-hand glove, but whose energy derived from the electron-kinetic properties of pent and shielded tritium. not simple. in fact, solving the problem of penning and shielding tritium in a portable package delayed the appearance of jason's disarmer two whole years. that power pack and the reciprocating properties of the fields of the grid suit itself made a dilly of a combination. before, the closed-plenum mesh kept lonnie from leaving traces. now, anything once embraced within the palpitating fields of the grid moved with and how the suit moved; not in accord with the natural laws of the surrounding continuum. that neat new attribute took care of the cubic yard or so of diamond throne. and the ravenous tritium was malignant. let any external power be applied against the plenum and it would be smashed, hurled back full force upon its source. jason had an undiagnosed example of that when he got only part of his man back from the valley of kings. it was the power-pack-grid-suit combo that made a sleeping buddha of the servo-tracer on the night of jason's call at lonnie's mansion; bollixed up the elaborate guards of the peiping temple of mankind; and, when jason so openly displayed suspicion of the genius, made child's play of what the newspapers headlined as "scientist's amazing suicide love pact." lonnie grinned, remembering the incident. then other memories--things he'd witnessed through a tight-beam scanner secreted in the suburban apartment--crowded his mind; stirring him restlessly on the diamond throne. divesting himself of imperial appurtenances, he started for a certain locked file in the den to check the specifications of available per-diem empresses. making sure the triptych was snugly in place behind him, he paused to flip the switch on the stereo cube. maybe messalina magdalen or one of the lesser ecdysiasts was presenting the perfection of her techniques over the private channel at the moment, an event he would appreciate. instead, the private channel presented, as the cube glowed and cleared, the same red, clawed landscape he'd shown to jason months before. the disembodied voice of the commentator on mars--not the lyrical public announcer, but the industrial economist who served the private channel--picked up in mid-word: "... early to have much data on the science and material resources this dead civilization possessed, but i recommend that every corporation in induscomm cabal should place a technical party at mars equatorial as soon as possible. we shall now key in with the public spacecast. note the texture and color range of the adornments and artifacts. i venture that these items will prove popular among you who can well afford such rare treasures. however, subtlety in acquiring them is suggested. while common clamor for public ownership is under control, overt provocation is not recommended. here is the cut-over ..." the scene in the cube flashed and coalesced, dazzling lonnie's eyes for a moment. he was conscious of the landscape rushing "up"; of gigantic walls and spires rising out of the obscurity of a quarried chasm to tower briefly against the pink haze of the martian sky, then expand to give the impression of engulfing him before the scanner lens settled under the center of a leaping, vaulted dome. to lonnie, the many-acred enclosure meant nothing with its shimmering, stone-lace pillars, its tapestries that flamed with color or traced ghostlike, barely discernible outlines on the walls. nor did any thought enter his mind of the exactness of the reflected color in the stereo cube. hands clenched into aching fists, he stood leaning forward; striving by sheer will-power to span the void of space and force the scanner lens closer to the truncated pyramid of steps atop which, on a block of plain black stone, a dessicated mummy sat erect, hands folded in its reedy lap and on its head a blazing, coruscating radiance. a _crown_! iv dazedly, lonnie was conscious of the public announcer's rhapsodizing: "... gov-anth's ethnologists and linguistics experts are making some progress toward deciphering the inscription carved on the plaque. wait! here's a note from gawley worin. you remember gawley worin, our famous leg-man, folks, don't you? well, here's a note. it ... listen to this, folks! listen! this is the beginning of the first rough translation of the inscription. listen ... "'we, wold, last of the imperial family of wold who exercise our power from wold, the imperial city, throughout wold, the planet. we, last of the line of wold, who alone may wear the tiara which is our power, and our symbol of power, and the symbol of our power throughout all the edos of raii's life-taking light, without fear, facing the fate--'" hissing, lonnie cut the stereo switch. he'd seen enough. darting across the den, he opened his communico. "get me sykes in our mars unit," he ordered the operator. "make sure what i say is scrambled. while you're waiting, get through to denisen at gov-forn, then raikes at gov-planet, then butchwaeu in gov-int. and keep this line closed--that means you, too--while i'm talking." lonnie--the launcelot raichi--was going after what he wanted. just under a mile away, jason turned from the public stereo in the rotunda of pol-anx. tapping the cold bit of his pipe against his teeth as he walked, he sought the ease of his chair. in the privacy of his office he began to ponder. the months' developments gave him no surprise. because it was the first contact humanity had had with a non-human race, the mars discoveries made an overwhelming impression on the man in the street. the result was that for the first time in post-synthesis history all artifacts were reserved for earth public!!! everyone who mattered screamed, except lonnie. he evinced a biding calmness while attending the ceremonies marking the installation of the tiara of wold in the exact center of government's own fane of artifacts; even smiling benignly on certain gov-ficials who seemed to perspire more than the coolness of the evening warranted. jason, loitering on the grass of gov-park, noted the smile and the perspiration. the perspirers reminded him of small boys expecting a whipping. once the dedication ceremonies were over, lonnie never returned to the fane to examine the tiara. it was jason the tiara seemed to fascinate. he spent more and more time, particularly evenings, crouching on the bench in gov-park across from the tiara, ignoring the constant stream of awed tourists silhouetted against the blaze of light. he kept in constant touch with his desk sergeant through his pocket communico, so annex business didn't suffer. and the summer was warm, to say the least, so that several gov-ficials were almost regretful that the dignity of their positions forbade following jason's example. but then, too, no mere cop had their responsibilities. none of them was conscious of how habitually jason frowned, scratched his head, moved uneasily on the pleasant bench. occasionally, he would snap his fingers and the frown would relax. he'd switch on the communico and speak briefly. immediately thereafter, one or the other of the hand-picked four in jason's personal squad would raise his eyebrows slightly--safely, since the pocket communico did not project video--and take up a new position or new duties. or, an equipment unit in op-room at anx would be indifferently retuned by heedless techs. then for a while jason would vent smoke pleasantly from his malodorous pipe until the frown would settle back between his eyebrows and he'd begin to squirm on the bench again, glancing warily at executive level, feeling helpless about the inadequacy of his resources. but lonnie had gotten over feeling sad about _his_ resources months earlier. the night he'd returned from the tiara ceremonies he'd locked himself in his den and let the on-view smile his face was wearing lapse. he tweaked genghis khan's nose viciously and slammed himself down in the diamond throne without donning a single imperial trapping, pounding his fist on the cool mineral facet and staring morosely at the grid suit hanging in its place on the wall. the grid suit wouldn't help him this time. the cover-alls that had everything except the necessary invisibility to-- _invisibility!_ slowly, lonnie began to grin. very little later he had an obscure biochemist hooked, and ended his instructions with: "... don't care if it needs concentrated essence of chameleon juice. invent it. and it better work for there's going to be a total shortage of neo-hyperacth at two-twenty-eight per cc for wifey!" the biochemist delivered. lonnie didn't stop to question if it really was essence of chameleon juice. he hurried with the beaker of viscous fluid to his throne room, drenched every square centimeter of the grid suit with it and watched breathlessly through the hours while it dried. in the glowing, shadowless illumination, the suit gradually disappeared. first, the wall against which it hung shone mistily through it. then there was wall, slightly outlined by a greyish cast. and at last, only an indescribable fuzziness that had to be sensed rather than seen. v he took the fuzziness off its hanger and threw it up in the air toward the center light. the light was undimmed. the fuzziness was air. it sprawled down across the throne and became diamond, except for the sleeve that dangled; part air, part intricately patterned persian carpet. it wasn't a fuzziness, exactly, it was more of a faint tone of difference in the color-texture feel. it was as though what was behind the suit was miraculously translated to its facing surface and then reflected to the eye within the nth of utter fidelity. grinning, slowly lonnie's lower lip crept out and up to squeeze its mate. then, because it was always better to be sure, he donned the suit to try it against a variety of experimental backgrounds, indoors and out. over at pol-anx, the servo-tracer went to sleep; the desk sergeant yanked the creaking joints of his bunioned feet down off jason's desk; on the bench in gov-park, jason's communico squeaked briefly and jason and his four men rose to emergency alert. two hours later, the wold tiara still coruscating in the fane's blaze of light, the servo-tracer picked up its placid humming. jason's communico squeaked again and jason's men relaxed while jason himself clutched his head with both hands and whispered bitter things. at the same time, lonnie, whistling cheerfully, drew his legs out of the suit, shook it straight and hung it back on the wall. he was sure now. as sure as he was that the little biochemist and his wife and quintet of daughters would not want for neo-hyperacth or anything else any longer. he giggled a little, thinking of jason crouched on the bench, glaring vacantly, utterly unconscious of lonnie passing across the grass so close beside him. at his own convenience, lonnie selected his night; a full-moon night because his now-invisible grid suit didn't require dark. he picked a fairly early hour, too, because what matter if a few yawps gawked as the tiara vanished? and that one of those yawps would be jason, stodgily on his bench, gave lonnie an extra fillip. perhaps it was just for this he'd let jason plug along on a cold trail all these years. so that night, wearily from his bench in gov-park, jason looked up at friday the th's full moon swimming amiably through its own reflected night-brightness. his brain, tired of its everlasting shuttle between worries, presented him with a disconnected memory-fact: "as cited by zollner," jason found himself quoting a forgotten textbook, "the moon's reflectivity is point one seven four ... nuts!" angrily, he broke off, thumbed the button of his communico, growled into the microphone on his lapel, "report." "adams," came promptly back. "west entry. nothing." "mcgillis. patrolling rear wall. all clear in both directions as far as i can see. an' i can see both ends of the fane in all this moonlight, chief." "holland. at raichi house. nothing." "johnson. east entry. more of the same." then, "say, jase, how about it? these double shifts are getting me." "what's the matter with you, now?" "my feet hurt, jase. neither one of us is as young as we used to be, remember. how about knocking off?" "hmphf ..." johnson, jason thought, was getting old. he'd been a good man in his day but-- hey, he was still a good man! it was jason's own stubbornness that was wearing johnson down. jason's useless stubbornness. after all, without the backing of anx or gov, without results from the equipment he had filched to use on lonnie, what was the use of everlastingly sticking around the tiara like a fly buzzing molasso-saccharine anyway? jason opened his mouth to send them all home, pressed the communico button and--shelved the relieving order temporarily. instead, he blasted into the microphone: "sergeant! sergeant!" from the communico, an intermittent drone became a gasping gulp; changed into a violent yawn and only then turned into startled speech. "yeah? huh?... yeah, chief!" "sergeant, if i ever catch you asleep again, you won't ever get your pension." "chief, i wasn't asleep! honest! i--" "all right. what's happening up there?" "nothin' ... nothin' ... i wasn't asleep, chief. i'd'a called you 'f anything--" * * * * * something bright, or was it dull, plucked at the edge of jason's vision. inside the fane, far down at one end. a thin, vertical bar of difference in the blaze of light. chin half turned, jason stared. what?... "_chief!_ that tracer's asleep--i mean--that there tracer's just gone t'sleep! i mean--chief! it's--" "shut up!" jason hissed. "holland! if you've let anyone slip past you out of that house--" "nobody did. you know me better than that, chief." "adams! mcgillis! johnson! what's happening?" "nothing ..." "not a thing ..." "_johnson!_" jason licked suddenly dry lips. "dammit, johnson, report!... _johnson!_" silence. grimly, jason watched the vertical bar of different brightness edge back to the fane's east wall and disappear into the even dazzle of the marble. he had a feeling it wasn't any use calling johnson again. ever. "chief, what's up? what do we do?" "huh? oh ... you, holland, get over to the east entry as fast as your legs'll stretch." "there in three minutes flat!" "you, too, mcgillis." "on my way!" "adams, you stick at that west entry. if anything gets past you, i'll--" "don't worry, chief. i've got johnson to even up for." not watching how he ran, jason hurled himself toward the east entry; his eyes following, in the opposite direction, a dullness moving in the blaze inside the fane. a smoothly moving, white on white, unfaced ghost of whiteness within, a part of, the blazing radionic light. just as he rounded the east end of the fane, he glimpsed the vertical bar of whiteness again--the edge of the marble slab that was the entry door, reflecting the blazing light at a different angle. behind it, mcgillis's tightly grinning face. under mcgillis's face, the stab of blue-white light reflected a glancing ray from the old-fashioned solid-missile service pistol that jason had insisted all four men arm themselves with for this assignment. over the sound of his own labored breathing as he plunged through the east entry, jason heard panting behind him. holland. holland bettering his promised three minutes--and with a forbidden disarmer in his hand. guiltily, jason felt the weight of the disarmer he had himself secreted under his armpit. then there wasn't time for thinking or feeling, only for running down the dazzling half-mile inside the fane to the tiara. up ahead, the different-white shape was motionless in front of it. oddly, a dark, vertical line appeared from the top to what would be the waist of the shape. and for the instant it took the tiara to vanish inside, jason saw clearly in the radiant light the profile of lonnie's unmistakable face. saw lonnie's eyes swivel in the direction of the thundering echoes of their footfalls in the silence of the fane. saw lonnie turn toward them, the dark line disappearing from waist to top as if it had never been. once more the different-whiteness moved. toward them. edging for the back wall to skirt around them; one limb-shape fumbling in the palm of the other. "no you don't!" mcgillis, ahead of jason, yelled, his howl drowned in the smacking crack of his pistol. there seemed to be a waver in the different-whiteness. a small black dot appeared against it; hung briefly, apparently unsupported, in the air; then the undistorted bullet dropped inertly to the floor. "you _still_ won't!" mcgillis hurled himself, shoulders low and legs driving, at the shape. two feet from it, he rebounded sharply, trod on the rolling bullet, went down, his head splatting dully against the marble floor. holland grunted. crouched to leap. thrust his disarmer high, ready to snap into line. "hold it!" jason commanded. silently, eyelids barely separated to endure the dazzle, he stared at the different-whiteness that confronted him. "i made it this time, lonnie," he called. "caught up with you-- no!" his arm flung out, startling him with the feel of his disarmer now oddly in his hand. "don't move!" the white-within-white's limb-shapes moved up, the hand-ends one over the other. through the minute spaces the overlapping fingers left, glimpses of a thin dark line appeared. the hood was open a trifle at mouth level, and from the opening lonnie's voice emerged, sifting through the protecting screen of gloves. "you can't see me! you _can't_!" "no? take one step sideways. just _one_! stop!" the different-whiteness had moved, and holland had moved with it; crouching now, alertly motionless, in his new position. jason changed the angle of his own facing. "now do you think we can't see you?" "but ... but how!" "your albedo is showing," jason chuckled harshly. "you never would take the trouble to learn the _how_ of anything, lonnie. sure, your damned disguise is the same color as the marble. maybe even exactly the same. but the material is different, and the surface texture; it doesn't have the same degree or quality of reflectivity to incident light that marble does! "eighty years ago, even the commercial photographers knew about albedo--one of 'em made a picture of a cat, white on white. i told you about the reflectivity in your stereo cube. but you wouldn't listen, lonnie, would you?" jason let out a bursting peal of laughter. "_so you tripped over your own albedo!_" through the dying echoes of his own laughter, jason caught lonnie's harsh whisper. "you haven't got me, copper!" * * * * * the black line marking the opening in the grid suit disappeared. the barely-discernible limb-shapes dropped, one hand-end again fumbling at the rheostat in the palm of the other. "i'll get him, chief!" holland was in action, his disarmer snapping down into aim. "no!" jason roared. "holland, don't!" too late. under the pressure of holland's finger, the disarmer's invisible ion-stream tightened to the thread-thin lethal intensity, leaped out against the suit's grid. then the disarmer was luminous even in the dazzle; even through the flesh of holland's fist. holland screamed and squirmed and dropped. part of him--the part that wasn't burned away--reached the floor. the stench of carbonized flesh scoured jason's nostrils. stupidly, he stared down at the headless, shoulderless, armless torso; black ... sooty ... against the snowy gleam of the floor; conscious of the sidelong, round-about approach of the different-white figure. he'd failed again. lonnie, in that damned suit, was impervious. slowly, he raised his eyes from the thing on the floor to the thing approaching. one consolation, he himself wouldn't go on living after this. with grim frustration, he raised his arm in a final, fruitless gesture and hurled the useless disarmer at the shape of lonnie. it halted, dead, in mid-air, a yard away from the shape-thing. dropped straight down, clanging against the floor. a quiver as of mirth appeared to shake the different-whiteness. it stooped. one hand-end fumbled at the palmed rheostat, then dropped to pick up the disarmer. fumbled again at the rheostat while the figure straightened up to point the glistening projector at jason's belly. the dark opening in the hood appeared again. lonnie's voice chortled, "told you i'd use whatever you tried to smear you with. goodbye, jasey ..." the dark line was gone. the disarmer, turned to lethal potential, settled in the shape's hand-end and began to spout. jason went stiff. every muscle of his body clenching to withstand obliteration. he waited for it. tight ... except his eyes that, in spite of themselves, opened. caught within the field, the full power of the disarmer poured itself into the suit. the suit's capacity absorbed it. almost. then turned the combined energies on itself. with the smell of frying organic matter, slowly the grid-coveralls appeared in dazzling radiance within the dazzle of the fane's lights; glowed in it; red--then white--hot. whiter than the light itself--far, far lighter than any reflected rays could make it. inside the all-encompassing, roasting grid of the melting suit, lonnie writhed. faintly, as the suit failed, his screams came through--momentarily. then they were gone as the fused, molten heap subsided lower ... lower ... began to trickle across the dazzling, ice-white marble of the floor. afterward, had jason known anything at all about lonnie's philosophy, he'd have immediately supplied another "rule"; making a foursome out of the "triple ethic": "if you do it yourself, make sure you know _what_ you're doing." transcriber's note: this etext was produced from _planet stories_ september . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. the riddle of the frozen flame by mary e. & thomas w. hanshew <sc>author of</sc> "cleek, the man of forty faces," "cleek of scotland yard," "cleek's government cases," "the riddle of the night," "the riddle of the purple emperor." a.l. burt company new york published by arrangement with doubleday, page & company contents chapter i. the law ii. the frozen flames iii. sunshine and shadow iv. an evil genius v. the spectre at the feast vi. a shot in the dark vii. the watcher in the shadow viii. the victim ix. the second victim x. --and the lady xi. the secret of the flames xii. "as a thief in the night--" xiii. a gruesome discovery xiv. the spin of the wheel xv. a startling disclosure xvi. trapped! xvii. in the cell xviii. possible excitement xix. what took place at "the pig and whistle" xx. at the inquest xxi. questions--and answers xxii. a new departure xxiii. prisoners xxiv. in the dark xxv. the web of circumstance xxvi. justice--and justification xxvii. the solving of the riddle xxviii. "toward morning ..." the riddle of the frozen flame chapter i the law mr. maverick narkom, superintendent of scotland yard, sat before the litter of papers upon his desk. his brow was puckered, his fat face red with anxiety, and there was about him the air of one who has reached the end of his tether. he faced the man opposite, and fairly ground his teeth upon his lower lip. "dash it, cleek!" he said for the thirty-third time, "i don't know what to make of it, i don't, indeed! the thing's at a deadlock. hammond reports to me this morning that another bank in hendon--a little one-horse affair--has been broken into. that makes the third this week, and as usual every piece of gold is gone. not a bank note touched, not a bond even fingered. and the thief--or thieves--made as clean a get-away as you ever laid your eyes on! i tell you, man, it's enough to send an average person daft! the whole of scotland yard's been on the thing, and we haven't traced 'em yet! what do you make of it, old chap?" "as pretty a kettle of fish as i ever came across," responded cleek, with an enigmatic smile. "and i can't help having a sneaking admiration for the person who's engineering the whole thing. how he must laugh at the state of the old yard, with never a clue to settle down upon, never a thread to pick up and unravel! all of which is unbusinesslike of me, i've no doubt. but, cheer up, man, i've a piece of news which ought to help matters on a bit. just came from the war office, you know." mr. narkom mopped his forehead eagerly. the action was one which cleek knew showed that every nerve was tense. "well, out with it, old chap! anything to cast some light on the inexplicable thing. what did you learn at the war office?" "a good many things--after i had unravelled several hundred yards of red tape to get at 'em," said cleek, still smiling. "chief among them was this: much english gold has been discovered in belgium, mr. narkom, in connection with several big electrical firms engaged upon work out there. the secret service wired over that fact, and i got it first hand. now it strikes me there must be some connection between the two things. these bank robberies point in one direction, and that is, that the gold is not for use in this country. now let's hear the full account of this latest outrage. i'm all ears, as the donkey said to the ostrich. fire away." mr. narkom "fired away" forthwith. he was a bland, round little man, rather too fat for one's conceptions of what a policeman ought to be, yet with that lightness of foot that so many stout people seem to possess. cleek presented a keen contrast to him. his broad-shouldered, well-groomed person would have adorned any company. his head was well-set upon his neck, and his features at this moment were small and inclined to be aquiline. he had closely set ears that lay well back against his head, and his hands were slim and exceedingly well-kept. of his age--well that, like himself, was an enigma. to-day he might have been anything between thirty-five and forty--to-morrow probably he would be looking nineteen. that was part of the peculiar birthright of the man, that and a mobility of feature which enabled him to alter his face completely in the passing of a second, a gift which at least one notorious criminal of history also possessed. he sat now, playing with the silver-topped cane between his knees, his head slightly to one side, his whole manner one of polite and tolerant interest. but mr. narkom knew that this same manner marked an intensity of concentration which was positively unique. without more ado he plunged into the details of his story. "it happened in this wise, cleek," he said, tapping his fountain-pen against his blotter until little spouts of ink fell out like jet beads. "this is at least the ninth case of the kind we've had reported to us within the space of the last fortnight. the first robbery was at a tiny branch bank in purley, and the bag amounted to a matter of a couple of hundred or so sovereigns; the second was at peckham--on the outskirts, you understand; the third at harrow; the fourth somewhere near forest hill, and the fifth in croydon. other places on the south east side of london have come in for their share, too, as for instance anerley and sutton. this last affair took place at hendon, during the evening of saturday last--the sixteenth, wasn't it? no one observed anything untoward in the least, that is except one witness who relates how he saw a motor car standing outside the bank's premises at half past nine at night. he gave no thought to this, as he probably imagined, if he thought of the coincidence at all, that the manager had called there for something he had forgotten in his office." "and where, then, does the manager live, if not over the bank itself?" put in cleek at this juncture. "with his wife and family, in a house some distance away. a couple of old bank people--a porter and his wife who are both thoroughly trustworthy in every way, so mr. barker tells me--act as caretakers. but they positively assert that they heard no one in the place that night, and no untoward happening occurred to their knowledge." "and yet the bank was broken into, and the gold taken," supplemented cleek quietly. "and what then, mr. narkom? how was the deed done?" "oh, the usual methods. the skeleton keys of a master crook obviously opened the door to the premises themselves, and soup was used to crack the safe. everything was left perfectly neat and tidy and only the bags of gold--amounting to seven hundred and fifty pounds--were gone. and not a trace of a clue to give one a notion of who did the confounded thing, or where they came from!" "hmm. any finger-prints?" mr. narkom shook his head. "none. the thief or thieves used rubber gloves to handle the thing. and that was the only leg given us to stand upon, so to speak. for rubber gloves, when they are new, particularly, possess a very strong smell, and this still clung to the door-knob of the safe, and to several objects near it. that was how we deduced the rubber-glove theory of no finger-prints at all, cleek." "and a very worthy deduction too, my friend," responded that gentleman, with something of tolerance in his smile. "and so you have absolutely nothing to go by. poor mr. narkom! the path of law and justice is by no means an easy one to tread, is it? of course you can count upon me to help you in every way. that goes without saying. but i can't help thinking that this news from the war office with regard to english gold in belgium has something to do with these bank robberies, my friend. the two things seem to hang together in my mind, and a dollar to a ducat that in the long run they identify themselves thus.... hello! who's that?" as a tap sounded at the door. "i'll be off if you're expecting visitors. i want to look into this thing a little closer. some time or other the thieves are bound to leave a clue behind. success breeds carelessness, you know, and if they think that scotland yard is giving the business up as a bad job, they won't be so deuced particular as to clearing up afterward. we'll unravel the thing between us, never fear." "i wish i could think so, old chap!" said mr. narkom, a trifle gloomily, as he called "come in!" the door opened to admit petrie, very straight and business-like. "but you're no end of a help. it does me good just to see you. what is it, petrie?" "a gentleman to see you, sir," responded the constable in crisp tones. "a gentleman by name of merriton, sir nigel merriton he said his name was. bit of a toff i should say by the look of 'im. and wants to see you partikler. he mentioned mr. cleek's name, sir, but i told 'im he wasn't in at the moment. shall i show him up?" "quite right, petrie," laughed cleek, in recognition of this act of one of the yard's subordinates; for everyone was to do everything in his power to shield cleek's identity. "i'll stay if you don't mind, mr. narkom. i happen to know something of this merriton. a fine upstanding young man, who, once upon a time was very great friends with miss lorne. that was in the old hawksley days. chap's lately come into his inheritance, i believe. uncle disappeared some five or six years ago and legal time being up, young merriton has come over to claim his own. the thing made a newspaper story for a week when it happened, but they never found any trace of the old man. and now the young one is over here, bearing the title, and i suppose living as master of the towers--spooklike spot that it is! needn't say who i am, old chap, until i hear a bit. i'll just shift over there by the window and read the news, if you don't mind." "right you are." mr. narkom struggled into his coat--which he generally disposed of during private office hours. then he gave the order for the gentleman to be shown in and petrie disappeared forthwith. but during the time which intervened before merriton's arrival, cleek did a little "altering" in face and general get-up, and when he _did_ appear certainly no one would have recognized the aristocratic looking individual of a moment or two before, in an ordinary-appearing, stoop-shouldered, rather racy-looking tout. "ready," said cleek at last, and mr. narkom touched the bell upon his table. immediately the door opened and petrie appeared followed closely by young sir nigel merriton, whose clean-cut face was grim and whose mouth was set forbiddingly. and in this fashion was cleek introduced to the chief character of a case which was to prove one of the strangest of his whole career. there was nothing about sir nigel, a well-dressed man about town, to indicate that he was to be the centre of an extraordinary drama, yet such was to be the case. he was obviously perturbed, but those who sought mr. narkom's counsel were frequently agitated; for no one can be even remotely connected with crime in one form or another without showing excitement to a greater or lesser degree. and so his manner by no means set sir nigel apart from many another visitor to the superintendent's sanctum. mr. narkom's cordial nod brought from the young man a demand to see "mr. cleek," of whom he had heard such wonderful tales. mr. narkom, with one eye on that very gentleman's back, announced gravely that cleek was absent on a government case, and asked what he could do. he waved a hand in cleek's direction and said that here was one of his men who would doubtless be able to help sir nigel in any difficulty he might happen to be in at the moment. now, as sir nigel's story was a long one, and as the young man was too agitated to tell it altogether coherently, we will go back for a certain space of time, and tell the very remarkable story, the details of which were told to mr. narkom and his nameless associate in the superintendent's office, and which was to involve cleek of scotland yard in a case which was later to receive the title of the riddle of the frozen flame. much that he told them of his family history was already known to cleek, whose uncanny knowledge of men and affairs was a by-word, but as that part of the story itself was not without romance, it must be told too, and to do so takes the reader back to a few months before his present visit to the precincts of the law, when sir nigel merriton returned to england after twelve years of army life in india. a few days he had spent in london, renewing acquaintances, revisiting places he knew--to find them wonderfully little changed--and then had journeyed to merriton towers, the place which was to be his, due to the extraordinary disappearance of his uncle--a disappearance which was yet to be explained. ill luck had often seemed to dog the footsteps of his house and even his journey home was not without a mishap; nothing serious, as things turned out, but still something that might have been vastly so. his train was in a wreck, rather a nasty one, but nigel himself had come out unscathed, and much to be congratulated, he thought, since through that wreck he has become acquainted with what he firmly believed to be the most beautiful girl in the world. better yet, he had learned that she was a neighbour of his at merriton towers. that fact helped him through what he felt was going to be somewhat of an ordeal--his entrance into the gloomy and ghost-ridden old house of his inheritance. chapter ii the frozen flames merriton towers had been called the loneliest spot in england by many of the tourists who chanced to visit the fen district, and it was no misnomer. nigel, having seen it some thirteen years before, found that his memory had dimmed the true vision of the place considerably; that where he had builded romance, romance was not. where he had softened harsh outlines, and peopled dark corridors with his own fancies, those same outlines had taken on a grimness that he could hardly believe possible, and the long, dark corridors of his mind's vision were longer and darker and lonelier than he had ever imagined any spot could be. it was a handsome place, no doubt, in its gaunt, gray, prisonlike way. and, too, it had a moat and a miniature portcullis that rather tickled his boyish fancy. the furnishings, however, had an appalling grimness that took the very heart out of one. chairs which seemed to have grown in their places for centuries crowded the corners of hallway and stairs like gigantic nightmares of their original prototypes. monstrous curtains of red brocade, grown purple with the years, seemed to hang from every window and door crowding out the light and air. the carpets were thick and dark and had lost all sign of pattern in the dull gloom of the centuries. it was, in fact, a house that would create ghosts. the atmosphere was alive with that strange sensation of disembodied spirits which some very old houses seem to possess. narrow, slit-like windows in perfect keeping with the architecture and the needs of the period in which it was built--if not with modern ideas of hygiene and health--kept the rooms dark and musty. when nigel first entered the place through the great front door thrown open by the solemn-faced butler, who he learned had been kept on from his uncle's time, he felt as though he were entering his own tomb. when the door shut he shuddered as the light and sunshine vanished. the first night he hardly slept a wink. his bed was a huge four-poster, girt about with plush hangings like over-ripe plums, that shut him in as though he were in some monstrous victorian trinket box. a post creaked at every turn he made in its downy softnesses, and being used to the light, camp-like furniture of an indian bungalow he got up, took an eiderdown with him, and spent the rest of the hours upon a sofa drawn up beside an open window. "that people could live in such places!" he told himself, over and over again. "no wonder my poor old uncle disappeared! any self-respecting christian would. there'll be some slight alterations made in merriton towers before i'm many days older, you can bet your life on that. old great-grandmother four-poster takes her _congé_ to-morrow morning. if i must live here i'll sleep anyhow." he settled himself back against the hard, horsehair sofa, and pulled up the blind. the room was instantly filled with gray and lavender shadows, while without the fens stretched out in unbroken lines as though all the rest of the world were made up of nothing else. lonely? merriton had known the loneliness of indian nights, far away from any signs of civilization: the loneliness of the jungle when the air was so still that the least sound was like the dropping of a bomb; the strange mystical loneliness which comes to the only white man in a town of natives. but all these were as nothing as compared to this. he could imagine a chap committing suicide living in such a house. sir joseph merriton had disappeared five years before--and no wonder! merriton lay with his eyes upon the window, smoking a cigarette, and surveyed the outlook before him with despairing eyes. what a future for a chap in his early thirties to face! not a sign of habitation anywhere, not a vestige of it, save at the far edge of the fens where a clump of trees and thick shrubs told him that behind lay withersby hall. this, intuition told him, was the home of antoinette brellier, the girl of the train, of the wreck, and now of his dreams. then his thoughts turned to her. gad! to bring a frail, delicate little butterfly to a place like this was like trying to imprison a ray of sunshine in a leaden box!... his eyes, rivetted upon where the clump of trees stood out against the semi-darkness of the approaching dawn, saw of a sudden a light prick out like a tiny flame, low down upon the very edge of the fens. one light, two, three, and then a very host of them flashed out, as though some unseen hand had torn the heavens down and strewn their jewels broadcast over the marshes. instinctively he got to his feet. what on earth--? but even as his lips formed the unspoken exclamation came yet another light to join the others dancing and twinkling and flickering out there across the gloomy marshlands. what the dickens was it, anyhow? a sort of unearthly fireworks display, or some new explosive experiment? the dancing flames got into his eyes like bits of lighted thistledown blown here, there, and everywhere. merriton got to his feet and threw open another window bottom with a good deal of effort, for the sashes were old and stiff. then, clad only in his silk pyjamas, and with the cigarette charring itself to a tiny column of gray ash in one hand, he leaned far out over the sill and watched those twinkling, dancing, maddening little star-flames, with the eyes of amazed astonishment. in a moment sleep had gone from his eyelids and he felt thoroughly awake. dashed if he wouldn't throw on a few clothes and investigate. the thing was so strange, so incredible! he knew, well enough, from borkins's (the venerable butler) description earlier in the evening, that that part of the marshes was uninhabited. too low for stars the things were, for they hung on the edges of the marsh grass like tiny lanterns swung there by fairy hands. in such a house, in such a room, with the shadow of that old four-poster winding its long fingers over him, merriton began to perspire. it was so devilish uncanny! he was a brave enough man in human matters, but somehow these flames out there in the uninhabited stretch of the marshes were surely caused by no human agency. go and investigate he would, this very minute! he drew in his head and brought the window down with a bang that went sounding through the gaunt, deserted old house. hastily he began to dress, and even as he struggled into a pair of tweed trousers came the sound of a soft knock upon his door, and he whipped round as though he had been shot, his nerves all a-jingle from the very atmosphere of the place. "and who the devil are you?" he snapped out in an angry voice, all the more angry since he was conscious of a slight trembling of the knees. the door swung open a trifle and the pale face of borkins appeared around it. his eyes were wide with fright, his mouth hung open. "sir nigel, sir. i 'eard a dreadful noise--like a pistol shot it was, comin' from this room! anythink the matter, sir?" "nothing, you ass!" broke out merriton, fretfully, as the butler began to show other parts of his anatomy round the corner of the door. "come in, or go out, which ever you please. but for the lord's sake, do one or the other! there's a beastly draught. the noise you heard was that window which possibly hasn't been opened for a century or two, groaning in pain at being forced into action again! can't sleep in this beastly room--haven't closed my eyes yet--and when i did get out of that victorian atrocity over there and take to the sofa by the window, why, the first thing i saw were those flames flickering out across the horizon like signal-fires, or _something_! i've been watching them for the past twenty minutes and they've got on my nerves. i'm goin' out to investigate." borkins gave a little exclamation of alarm and put one trembling hand over his face. merriton suddenly registered the fact as being a symptom of the state of nerves which merriton towers was likely to reduce one. then borkins shambled across the room and laid a timid hand upon merriton's arm. "for gawd's sake sir--_don't_!" he murmured in a shaken voice. "those lights, sir--if you knew the story! if you values your life at any price at all don't go out, sir, and investigate them. _don't!_ you're a dead man in the morning if you do." "what's that?" merriton swung round and looked into the weak, rather watery, blue eyes of his butler. "what the devil do you mean, borkins, talkin' a lot of rot? what _are_ those flames, anyway? and why in heaven's name shouldn't i go out and investigate 'em if i want to? who's to stop me?" "i, your lordship--if i ever 'as any influence with 'uman nature!" returned borkins, vehemently. "the story's common knowledge, sir nigel, sir. them there flames is supernatural. frozen flames the villagers calls 'em, because they don't seem to give out no 'eat. that part of the fens in unin'abited and there isn't a soul in the whole village as would venture anywhere near it after dark." "why?" "because they never comes back, that's why, sir!" said borkins. "'tisn't any old wives' tale neither. there's been cases by the score. only a matter of six months ago one of the boys from the mill, who was somewhat the worse for liquor, said he was a-goin' ter see who it was wot made them flames light up by theirselves, and--he never came back. and that same night another flame was added to the number!" "whew! bit of a tall story that, borkins!" nevertheless a cold chill crept over merriton's bones and he gave a forced, mirthless laugh. "as true as the gospel, sir nigel!" said borkins, solemnly. "that's what always 'appens. every time any one ventures that way--well, they're a-soundin' their own death-knell, so to speak, and you kin see the new light appear. but there's never no trace of the person that ventured out across the fens at evening time. he, or she--a girl tried it once, lord save 'er!--vanishes off the face of the earth as clean as though they'd never been born. gawd alone knows what it is that lives there, or what them flames may be, but i tells you it's sheer death to attempt to see for yourself, so long as night lasts. and in the morning--well, it's gone, and there isn't a thing to be seen for the lookin'!" "merciful powers! what a peculiar thing!" despite his mockery of the supernatural, merriton could not help but feel a sort of awe steal over him, at the tale as told by borkins in the eeriest hour of the whole twenty-four--that which hangs between darkness and dawn. should he go or shouldn't he? he was a fool to believe the thing, and yet--he certainly didn't want to die yet awhile, with antoinette brellier a mere handful of yards away from him, and all the days his own to cultivate her acquaintance in. "you've fairly made my flesh creep with your beastly story!" he said, in a rather high-pitched voice. "might have reserved it until morning--after my _début_ in this haunt of spirits, borkins. consider my nerves. india's made a hash of 'em. get back to bed, man, and don't worry over my investigations. i swear i won't venture out, to-night at any rate. perhaps to-morrow i may have summoned up enough courage, but i've no fancy for funerals yet awhile. so you can keep your pleasant little reminiscences for another time, and i'll give you my word of honour that i'll do nothing rash!" borkins gave a sigh of relief. he passed his hand over his forehead, and his eyes--rather shifty, rather narrow, pale blue eyes which merriton had instinctively disliked (he couldn't tell why)--lightened suddenly. "thank gawd for that, sir!" he said, solemnly. "you've relieved my mind on that score. i've always thought--your poor uncle, sir joseph merriton--and those flames there might 'ave been the reason for his disappearance, though of course--" "what's that?" merriton turned round and looked at him, his brow furrowed, the whole personality of the man suddenly awake. "my uncle, borkins? how long have these--er--lights been seen hereabouts? i don't remember them as a child." "oh, mostly always, i believe, sir; though they ain't been much noticed before the last four years," replied borkins. "i think--yes--come august next. four years--was the first time my attention was called to 'em." merriton's laugh held a note of relief. "then you needn't have worried. my uncle has been missing for a little more than _five_ years, and that, therefore, when he did disappear the flames obviously had nothing to do with it!" borkins's wrinkled, parchment-like cheeks went a dull, unhealthy red. he opened his mouth to speak and then drew back again. merriton gave him a keen glance. "of course, how foolish of me. as you say, sir, impossible!" he stammered out, bowing backward toward the door. "i'll be getting back to my bed again, and leave you to finish your rest undisturbed. i'm sorry to 'ave troubled you, i'm sure, sir, only i was afraid something 'ad 'appened." "that's all right. good-night," returned merriton curtly, and turned the key in the lock as the door closed. he stood for a moment thinking, his eyes upon the winking, flickering points of light that seemed dimmer in the fast growing light. "now why did he make that bloomer about dates, i wonder? uncle's been gone five years--and borkins knew it. he was here at the time, and yet why did he suggest that old wives' tale as a possible solution of the disappearance? borkins, my lad, there's more behind those watery blue eyes of yours than men may read. hmm! ... now i wonder why the deuce he lied to me?" chapter iii sunshine and shadow when merriton shaved himself next morning he laughed at the reflection that the mirror cast back at him. for he looked for all the world as though he had been up all night and his knee was painful and rather stiff, as though he had strained some ligament in it. "beastly place is beginning to make its mark on me already!" he said, as he lathered his chin. "my eyes look as though they had been stuck in with burnt cork, and--the devil take my shaky hand! and that railroad business yesterday helps it along. a nice state of affairs for a chap of my age, i must say! scared as a kid at an old wives' story. borkins is a fool, and i'm an idiot.... damn! there's a bit off my chin for a start. i hope to goodness no one takes it into their heads to pay me a visit to-day." his hopes, however, in this direction were not to be realized, for as the afternoon wore itself slowly away in a ramble round the old place, and through the stables--which in their day had been famous--the big, harsh-throated doorbell rang, and merriton, in the very act of telling borkins that he was officially "not in," happened to catch a glimpse of something light and fluffy through the stained-glass of the door, and suddenly kept his counsel. a few seconds later borkins ushered in two visitors. merriton, prepared by the convenient glass for the appearance of one was nevertheless not unpleased to see the other. for the names that borkins rolled off his tongue with much relish were those of "miss brellier and mr. brellier, sir." his lady of the thrice blessed wreck! his lady of the dainty accent and glorious eyes. his face glowed suddenly and he crossed the big room in a couple of strides and in the next second was holding antoinette's hand rather longer than was necessary, and was looking down into the rouguish greeny-gray eyes that had captivated him only yesterday, when for one terrible, glorious moment he had held her in his arms, while the railroad coach dissolved around them. "are you fit to be about?" he said, his voice ringing with the very evident pleasure that he felt at this meeting with her, and his eyes wandering to where a strip of pink court plaster upon her forehead showed faintly through the screen of hair that covered it. then he dropped her hand and turned toward the man who stood a pace or two behind her tiny figure, looking at him with the bluest, youngest eyes he had ever looked into. "mr. brellier, is it not? very good of you, sir, to come across in this neighbourly fashion. won't you sit down?" "yes," said antoinette, gaily, "my uncle. i brought him right over by telling him of our adventure." the man was tall and heavily built, with a wealth of black hair thickly streaked with gray, and a trim, well-kept "imperial" which gave him the foreign air that his name carried out so well. his morning suit was extremely well cut, and his whole bearing that of the well-to-do man about town. merriton registered all this in his mind's eye, and was secretly very glad of it. they were two thoroughbreds--that was easy to see. and as for antoinette! well, he could barely keep his eyes from her. she was lovelier than ever, and clad this afternoon in all the fluffy femininity that every man loves. anything more intoxicatingly delicious merriton had never seen outside of his own dreams. "it was certainly ripping of you both to come," he said nervously, feeling all hands and feet. "never saw such a lonely spot in all my life, by george, as this house! it fairly gives you the creeps!" "indeed?" brellier laughed in a deep, full-throated voice. "for my part the loneliness is what so much appeals to me. when one has spent a busy life travelling to and fro over the world, m'sieur, one can but appreciate the peaceful backwaters which are so often to be found in this very dear, very delightful england of yours. but that is not the mission upon which i come. i have to thank you, sir, for the great kindness and consideration you displayed to my niece yesterday." his english was excellent, and he spoke with the clipped, careful accent of the foreigner, which merriton found fascinating. he had already succumbed to something of the same thing in antoinette. he was beginning to enjoy himself very much indeed. "there was no need for thanks--none at all.... what is your opinion of the towers, miss brellier?" he asked suddenly, leaning forward toward her, anxious to change the conversation. she shrugged her shoulders. "that is hardly a fair question to ask!" she responded, "when i have been in it but a matter of five minutes or more. but everything to me is enchanting! the architecture, the furnishings, the very atmosphere--" "brrh! if you could have been here last night!" he gave a mock shudder and broke it with a laugh. "why, a truly haunted house wasn't a patch on it! if this place hasn't got a ghost, well then i'll eat my hat! i could fairly hear 'em, dozens and dozens of them, clinking and clanking all over the place. and if you could see my room! i sleep in a four-poster as big as a suburban villa, and every now and again the furniture gives a comfy little crack or two, like someone practising with a pistol, just to remind me that my great-great-great-grandmother's ghost is sitting in the wardrobe and watching over me with true great-etc.-grandmotherly conscientiousness.... i say, do you ride? there ought to be some rippin' rides round here, if my memory doesn't fail me." she nodded, and the conversation took a turn that sir nigel found more than pleasant, and the time passed most agreeably. merriton, only anxious to entertain his guests, suddenly exploded the bomb which shattered that afternoon's enjoyment for all three of them. "by the way," he remarked, "last night, while i was lying awake i saw a lot of funny flames dancing up and down upon the horizon. seemed as though they lay in the marshes between your place and mine, mr. brellier. borkins pulled a long story about 'em with all the usual trimmin's. said they were supernatural and all that. ever seen 'em yourself? i must say they gave me a bit of a turn. i'm not keen on spirits--except in bottle form (which by the way is a rotten bad pun, miss brellier,) but in india one gets chockful of that sort of thing, and there never seems to be any rational explanation. it leaves you feeling funny. what's your opinion of 'em? for seen 'em you must have done, as they seem to be the talk of the whole village from what borkins says." antoinette's spoon tinkled in the saucer of the tea-cup she was holding and her face went white. brellier shifted his eyes. a sort of tension had settled suddenly over the pleasant room. "i--well, to tell you the truth, i can't explain 'em myself!" brellier said at last, clearing his throat with signs of genuine nervousness. "they seem to be inexplicable. i have seen them--yes, many, many times. and so has 'toinette, but the stories afloat about them are rather--unpleasant, and like a wise man i have kept myself free of investigation. i do hope you'll do the same, sir nigel. one never knows, and although one cannot always believe the silly things which the villagers prattle about, it is as well to be on the safe side. as you say, these things sometimes lack a rational explanation. i should be sorry to think you were likely to run into any unnecessary danger." he bent his head and merriton could see that his fingers twitched. "borkins actually told me stories of people who had disappeared in a mysterious manner and were never found again," he remarked casually. brellier shrugged his shoulders. he spread out his hands. "among the uneducated--what would you? but it is so, even since i myself have been in residence at withersby hall--something like three and a half years--there have been several mysterious disappearances, sir nigel, and all directly traceable to a foolhardy desire to investigate these phenomena. for myself, i leave well enough alone. i trust you are going to do likewise?" his eyes searched merriton's face anxiously. there was a worried furrow between his brows. merriton laughed, and at the sound, 'toinette, who had sat perfectly still during the discussion of the mystery, gave a little cry of alarm and covered her ears with her hands. "i beg of you," she broke out excitedly, "please, please do not talk about it! the whole affair frightens me! uncle will laugh i know, but--i am terrified of those little flames, sir nigel, more terrified than i can say! if you speak of them any more, i must go--really! please, _please_ don't dream of trying to find out what they are, sir nigel! it--it would upset me very much indeed if you attempted so foolish a thing!" merriton's first sensation at hearing this was pleasure that he was capable of upsetting her over his own personal welfare. then the something sinister about the whole story, which seemed to affect every one with whom he came into touch, swept over him. a number of otherwise rational human beings scared out of their wits over some mysterious flames on the edge of the fens at night time, seemed, in the face of this glorious summer's afternoon, to be little short of ridiculous. he tried to throw the idea off but could not. 'toinette's pale face kept coming before him; the sudden dropping of her spoon struck an unpleasant chord in his memory. brellier's attitude merely added fuel to the fire and soon they rose to go, merriton following them to the door. "don't forget, then, miss brellier, that you are booked to me for a ride on thursday," he said, laughingly. she nodded to him and gave his hand a little squeeze at parting. "i shall not forget, sir nigel. but--you will promise me," her voice dropped a tone or two, "you will promise me that you will not try and find out what those--those flames are, won't you? i could not sleep if you did." and they were gone. merriton stood awhile in silence, his brows puckered and his mouth stern. first borkins, and then brellier, and now--_her_! all of them begging him almost upon their knees to forego a perfectly harmless little quest of discovery. there seemed to his mind something almost fishy about it all. what then were these "frozen flames"? what secret did they hide? and what malignant power dwelt behind the screen of their mystery? chapter iv an evil genius thus, despite the bad beginning at merriton towers the weeks that followed were filled with happiness for merriton. his acquaintance with 'toinette flourished and that charming young woman grew to mean more and more to the man who had led such a lonely life. and so one day wove itself into another with the joy of sunlight over both their lives. he took to going regularly to withersby hall, and became an expected guest, dropping in at all hours to wile away an hour or two in 'toinette's company, or else to have a quiet game of billiards with brellier, or a cigar in company with both of them, in the garden, while the sun was still up. he never mentioned the flames to them again. but he never investigated them either. he had promised 'toinette that, though he often watched them from his bedroom window, at night, watched them and wondered, and thought a good deal about borkins and how he had lied to him about his uncle's disappearance upon that first night. between borkins and himself there grew up a spirit of distrust which he regretted yet did nothing to counteract. in fact it is to be feared that he did his best at times to irritate the staid old man who had been in the family so long. borkins _did_ amuse him, and he couldn't help leading him on. borkins, noting this attitude, drew himself into himself and his face became mask-like in its impassivity. but if borkins became a stone image whenever merriton was about, his effusiveness was over-powering at such times as mr. brellier paid a visit to the towers. he followed both brellier and his niece wherever they went like a shadow. jokingly one day, merriton had made the remark: "borkins might be your factotum rather than mine, mr. brellier; indeed i've no doubt he would be, if the traditions of the house had not so long lain in his hands." he was rewarded for this remark by a sudden tightening of brellier's lips, and then by an equally sudden smile. they were very good friends these days--brellier and merriton, and got on very excellently together. and then, as the days wore themselves away and turned into months, merriton woke up to the fact that he could wait no longer before putting his luck to the test so far as 'toinette was concerned. he had already confided his secret to brellier, who laughed and patted him on the back and told him that he had known of it a long time and wished him luck. it wasn't long after this he was telling brellier the good news that 'toinette had accepted, and the two of them came to tell him of their happiness. "so?" mr. brellier said quietly. "well, i am very, very glad. you have taken your time, _mes enfants_, in settling this greatest of all questions, but perhaps you have been wise.... i am very happy for you, my 'toinette, for i feel that your future is in the keeping of a good and true man. there are all too few in the world, believe me!... "'toinette, a friend awaits you in the drawing-room. someone, i fear me, who will be none too pleased to hear this news, but that's as may be. dacre wynne is there, 'toinette." at the name a chill came over merriton. _dacre wynne!_ and here! impossible, and yet the name was too uncommon for it to be a different person from the man who always seemed somehow to turn up wherever he, merriton, might chance to be. sort of a fateful affinity. good friends and all that, but somehow the things he always wanted, dacre wynne had invariably come by just beforehand. there was much more than friendly rivalry in their acquaintanceship. and once, as mere youngsters of seventeen and eighteen, there had been a girl, _his_ girl, until dacre came and took her with that masterful way of his. there was something brutally over-powering about dacre, hard as granite, forceful, magnetic. to nigel's young, clean, wholesome mind, little given to morbid imaginings as it was, it had almost seemed as if their two spirits were in some stifling stranglehold together, wrapt about and intertwined by a hand operating by means of some unknown medium. and now to find him here in his hour of happiness. was this close, uncomfortable companionship of the spirit to be forced on him again? if wynne were present he felt he would be powerless to avoid it. "do you know dacre wynne?" he asked, his voice betraying an emotion that was almost fear. 'toinette brellier glanced at her uncle, hesitated, and then murmured: "yes--i--do. i didn't know you did, nigel. he never spoke of you. i--he--you see he wants me, too, nigel, and i am almost afraid to tell him--about us. but i--i have to see him. shall i tell him?" "of course. poor chap, i am sorry for him. yes, i know him, 'toinette. but i cannot say we are friends. you see, i--oh, well, it doesn't matter." but how much dacre wynne was to matter to him, and to 'toinette, and to the public, and to far away scotland yard, and to the man of mystery, hamilton cleek, not they--nor any one else--could possibly tell. they went into the long, cool drawing room together, and came upon dacre wynne, clad in riding things, and looking, just as nigel remembered he always looked, very bronzed and big and handsome in a heavy way. his back was toward them and his eyes were upon a photo of 'toinette that stood on a carved secrétaire. he wheeled at the sound of their footsteps and came forward, his face lighting with pleasure, his hand outstretched. then he saw merriton behind 'toinette's tiny figure, and for a moment some of the pleasure went out of his eyes. "hello," he said. "however did you get to this part of the world? you always turn up like a bad penny.... what a time you've been 'toinette!" merriton greeted him pleasantly, and 'toinette's radiant eyes smiled up into his bronzed face. "have i?" she said, with a little embarrassed laugh. "well, i have been out riding--with nigel." "oh, nigel lives round here, does he?" said wynne, with a sarcastic laugh. "like it, old man?" "oh, i like it well enough," retorted merriton. "at any rate i'll be obliged to get used to it. i've said good-bye to india for keeps, wynne. i'm settled here for good." wynne swung upon his heel at the tone of merriton's voice, and his eyes narrowed. he stood almost a head taller than nigel--who was by no means short--and was big and broad and heavy-chested. merriton always felt at a disadvantage. "so? you are going to settle down to it altogether, then?" said wynne, with an odd note in his deep, booming voice. 'toinette sent a quick, rather scared look into her lover's face. he smiled back as though to reassure her. "yes," he said, a trifle defiantly. "you see, wynne, i've come into a place near here. i'm--i'm hoping to get married soon. 'toinette and i, you know. she's done me the honour to promise to be my wife. congratulate me, won't you?" it was like a blow full in the face to the other man. for a moment all the colour drained out of his bronzed cheeks and he went as white as death. "i--i--certainly congratulate you, with all my heart," he said, speaking in a strange, husky voice. "believe me, you're a luckier chap, merriton, than you know. quite the luckiest chap in the world." he took out his handkerchief suddenly and blew his nose, and then wiped his forehead, which, merriton noted, was damp with perspiration. then he felt in his pockets and produced a cigarette. "i may smoke, 'toinette? thanks. i've had a long ride, and a hard one.... and so you two are going to get married, are you?" 'toinette's face, too, was rather pale. she smiled nervously, and instinctively her hand crept out and touched merriton's sleeve. she could feel him stiffen suddenly, and saw how proudly he threw back his head. "yes," said 'toinette. "we're going to be married, dacre. and i am--oh, so happy! i know you cannot help being pleased--with that. and uncle, too. he seems delighted." wynne measured her with his eyes for a moment. then he looked quickly away. "well, merriton, you've got your own back for little rosie deverill, haven't you? remember how heart-broken you were at sixteen, when she turned her rather wayward affections to me? now--the tables have turned. well, i wish you luck. think i'll be getting along. i've a good deal of work to do this evening, and i'll be shipping for cairo, i hope, next week. that's what i came to see you about 'toinette, but i'm afraid i am a little--late." "cairo, mr. wynne?" brellier had entered the room and his voice held a note of surprise. "we shall miss you--" "oh, you'll get on all right without me, my friend," returned wynne with a grim smile, and a look that included all three of them in its mock amusement. "i'm not quite so much wanted as i thought. well, nigel, i suppose you'll be giving a dinner, the proper 'stag' party, before you become a benedict. sorry i can't be here to join in the revels." he put out his hand, nigel took it, and wrung it with a heartiness and friendship that he had never before felt; but after all he had conquered! it was he antoinette was going to marry. his heart was brimming over with pity for the man. "look here," he said. "come and dine with me at the towers before you go, wynne, old man. we'll have a real bachelor party as you say. all the other chaps and you, just to give you a sort of send off. what about tuesday? i won't have you say no." for a moment a look of friendship came into wynne's eyes. he gazed into merriton's, and then returned the hand-grasp frankly. it was almost as though he understood this mute apology of nigel's, and took it at its proper value. "thanks, old boy. very decent of you, i'm sure. yes, i'd like to have a peep at the other chaps before i sail. just for old times' sake. i've nothing special doing tuesday that i can't put off. and so--i'll come. so long." "good-bye," said merriton, rather relieved at wynne's attitude--and yet, in spite of himself, distrusting it. "good-bye, 'toinette.... it's really good-bye _this_ time. and i wish you all the happiness you deserve." "thank you." he looked into her eyes a moment, and then with a sudden sigh turned quickly away and went out of the room. brellier strode after him and wrung his hand while the two that were left clung to each other in silence. it was as though an unseen, sinister presence had suddenly gone from the room. the tension was lifted, and they could breathe naturally again. standing together they heard the front door slam. chapter v the spectre at the feast merriton, clad in his evening clothes and looking exceedingly handsome, stood by the smoking room door, with tony west, short and thickset, wearing a suit that fitted badly and a collar which looked sizes too large for him (merriton had long given up hope of making him visit a decent tailor) and waited for the sound of motor wheels which would announce the arrival of further guests. it was the memorable tuesday dinner, given in the first place for dacre wynne, as a sort of send off before he left for cairo. in the second merriton intended to break it gently to the other chaps that he was shortly to become a benedict. lester stark and tony west, very loyal and proven friends of nigel merriton, had arrived the evening before. dacre wynne was coming down by the seven o'clock train, dicky fordyce, reginald lefroy--both fellow officers of merriton's regiment, and home on leave from india--and mild old dr. bartholomew, whom everyone respected and few did not love, and who was in attendance at most of the bachelor spreads in london and out of it, as being a dry old body with a wit as fine as a rapier-thrust, and a fund of delicate, subtle humour, made up the little party. the solemn front door bell of merriton towers clanged, and borkins, very pompous and elegant, flung wide the door. merriton saw wynne's big, broad-shouldered figure swathed in the black evening cloak which he affected upon such occasions, and which became him mightily, and with an opera hat set at the correct angle upon his closely-clipped dark hair, step into the lighted hallway, and begin taking off his gloves. tony west's raspy voice chimed out a welcome, as merriton went forward, his hand outstretched. "hello, old man!" said tony. "how goes it? lookin' a bit white about the gills, aren't you, eh?... whew! merriton, old chap, that's my ribs, if you don't mind. i've no penchant for your bayonet-like elbow to go prodding into 'em!" merriton raised an eyebrow, frowned heavily, and by every other method under the sun tried to make it plain to west that the topic was taboo. wherefore west raised _his_ eyebrows, began to make a hasty exclamation, thought better of it, and then clapping his hand over his mouth broke into whistling the latest jazz tune, as though he had completely extricated both feet from the unfortunate mire he had planted them in--but with very little success. wynne was a frowning hercules as he entered the pleasant smoke-filled room. merriton's arm lay upon his sleeve, and he endured because he had to--that was all. "hello!" he said, to lester stark's rather half-hearted greeting--lester stark never had liked dacre wynne and they both knew it. "you here as well? merriton's giving me a send-off and no mistake. gad! you chaps will be envying me this time next week, i'll swear! out on the briny for a decently long trip; plenty of pretty women--on which i'm bankin' of course"--he gave merriton a sudden, searching look, "and not a care in the world. and the white lights of cairo starin' at me across the water. some picture, isn't it?" "you may keep it!" said tony west with a shudder. "when you've smelled cairo, wynne, old boy, you'll come skulkin' home with your tail between your legs. a 'rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' but cairo--parts of it mind you--well, cairo's the stinkin'st rose i ever put my nose into, that's all!" "there are some things which offend the nostrils more than--odours!" threw back wynne with a black look in nigel's direction, and with a sort of slur in his voice that showed he had been drinking more than was good for him that night. "i think i can endure the smells of cairo after--other things. eh, nigel?" he forced a laugh which was mirthless and unpleasant, and merriton, with a quick glance into his friends' faces, saw that they too had seen. wynne was in one of his "devil" humours, and all the fun and joking and merriment in the world would never get him out of it. his pity for the man suddenly died a natural death. the very evident fact that wynne had been drinking rather heavily merely added a further distaste to it all. he wished heartily that he had never ventured upon this act of unwanted friendliness and given a dinner in his honour. wynne was going to be the spectre at the feast, and it looked like being a poor sort of show after all. "come, buck up, old chap!" broke out tony west, the irrepressible. "try to look a little less like a soured lemon, if you can! or we'll begin to think that you've been and gone and done something you're sorry for, and are trying to work it off on us instead." "hello, here's doctor johnson," as the venerable bartholomew entered the room. "how goes it to-night, sir? a fine night, what? behold the king of the feast, his serene and mighty--oh extremely mighty!--highness prince dacre wynne, world explorer and soon to be lord-high-sniffer of cairo's smells! don't envy him the task, do you?" he bowed with a flourish to the doctor who chuckled and his keen eyes, fringed with snow-white lashes, danced. he wore a rather long, extremely untidy beard, and his shirt-front as always was crumpled and worn. anything more unlike a doctor it would be hard to imagine. but he was a clever one, nevertheless. "well, my talkative young parrot," he greeted west affectionately, "and how are you?... and who's party is this, anyhow? yours or merriton's? you seem to be putting yourself rather more to the fore than usual." "well, i'll soon be goin' aft," retorted west with a wide grin. "when old nigel gets his innings. he's as chockful of news as an egg is of meat." west was one of the chosen few who had already heard of nigel's engagement, and he was rather like a gossipy old woman--but his friends forgave it in him. merriton gave him a shove, and he fell back upon wynne, emitting a portentous groan. "what the devil--?" began that gentleman, in a testy voice. tony grinned. "nigel was ever thus!" he murmured, with uplifted eyes. "shut up!" thundered stark, clapping a hand over west's mouth, and he subsided as the doorbell rang again, and borkins ushered in fordyce and lefroy, two slim-hipped, dapper young gentlemen with the stamp of the army all over them. the party thus complete, borkins gravely withdrew, and some fifteen minutes later the great gong in the hallway clanged out its summons. they streamed into the dining room, doctor bartholomew upon tony west's fat little arm; fordyce and lefroy, side by side, hands in pockets and closely cropped heads nodding vigorously; merriton and lester stark sauntering one slightly behind the other, and exchanging pleasantries as they went; and just in front of them, dacre wynne, solitary, huge, sinister, and overbearing. wynne sat in the seat of honour on merriton's right. the rest sorted themselves out as they wished, and made a good deal of noise and fun about it, too. down the length of the long, exquisitely decorated table merriton looked at his guests and thought it wasn't going to be so dismal after all. champagne ran like water and spirits ran high. they joyfully toasted wynne, and later on the news that merriton imparted to them. in vain dacre wynne's low spirits were apparent. he must get over his grouch, that was all. then once again the spirit of evil descended upon the gathering and it was stark who precipitated its flight. "by the way, nigel," he asked suddenly, "isn't there some ghost story or other pertaining to your district? give us a recital of it, old boy. walnuts and wine and ghost stories, you know, are just the right sort of thing after a dinner like this. tony, switch off the lights. this old house of yours is the very place for ghosts. now let us have it." "hold on," nigel remonstrated. "give me a chance to digest my dinner, and--dash it all, the thing's so deuced uncanny that it doesn't bear too much laughing at either!" "come along!" six voices echoed the cry. "we're waiting, nigel." so merriton had forthwith to oblige them. he, too, had had enough to drink--though drinking too heavily was not one of his vices--and his flushed face showed the excitement that burned within him. "come over here by the window and see the thing for yourselves, and then you shall hear the story," he began enigmatically. nigel pushed back the heavy curtain and there, in the darkness without--it was getting on toward ten o'clock--gleamed and danced and flickered the little flames that had so often puzzled him, and filled his soul with a strange sort of supernatural fear. against the blackness beyond they hung like a chain of diamonds irregularly strung, flickering incessantly. every man there, save one, and that one stood apart from the others like some giant bull who deigns not to run with the herd--gave an involuntary exclamation. "what a deuced pretty sight!" remarked fordyce, in his pleasant drawl. "what is it? some sort of fair or other? didn't know you had such things in these parts." "we don't." it was merriton who spoke, rather curtly, for the remark sounded inane to his ears. "it is no fair you ass, it's--god knows what! that's the point of the whole affair. what _are_ those flames, and where do they come from? that part of the fens is uninhabited, a boggy, marshy, ghostly spot which no one in the whole countryside will cross at night. the story goes that those who do--well they never come back." "oh, go easy, nigel!" struck in tony west with a whistle of pretended astonishment. "champagne no doubt, but--" "it's the truth according to the villagers, anyhow!" returned merriton, soberly. "that is how the story goes, my lad, and you chaps asked me for it. those frozen flames--it's the villagers' name, not mine--they say are supernatural phenomena, and any one, as i said before, crossing the place near them at night disappears clean off the face of the earth. then a new flame appears, the soul of the johnny who has 'gone out'." "any proof?" inquired doctor bartholomew suddenly, stroking his beard, and arching his bushy eyebrows, as if trying to sympathize with his host's obvious half belief in the story. nigel wheeled and faced him in the dim light. the pupils of his eyes were a trifle dilated. "yes, so i understand. short time back a chap went out--fellow called myers--will myers. he was a bit drunk, i think, and thought he'd have a shot at makin' the village busybodies sit up and give 'em something to talk about. anyhow, he went." "and he came back?" unconsciously a little note of anxiety had crept into tony west's voice. "no, on the contrary, he did _not_ come back. they searched for his body all over the marshes next day, but it had disappeared absolutely, and the chap who told me said he saw another light come out the next night, and join the rest of 'em.... there, there's your story, lester, make what you like of it. i've done my bit and told it anyway." for a moment there was silence. then stark shook himself. "gad, what an uncanny story! turn up the lights someone, and dispel this gloom that seems to have settled on everyone! what do you make of it?" suddenly wynne's great, bulky figure swung free from the shadows. there were red glints in his eyes and a sneer curled his heavy lips. he sucked his cigar and threw his head back. "what i make of it is a whole lot of old women's damn silly nonsense!" he announced in a loud voice. "and how a sensible, decent thinkin' man can give credence to the thing for one second beats me completely! nigel's head was always full of imaginations (of a sort) but how you other chaps can listen to the thing--well, all i can say is you're the rottenest lot of idiots i've ever come across!" merriton shut his lips tightly for a moment, and tried hard to remember that this man was a guest in his house. it was so obvious that wynne was trying for a row, doctor bartholomew turned round and lifted a protesting hand. "don't you think your language is a trifle--er--overstrong, wynne?" he said, in that quiet voice of his which made all men listen and wonder why they did it. wynne tossed his shoulders. his thick neck was rather red. "no, i'm damned if i do! you're men here--or supposed to be--not a pack of weak-kneed women!... afraid to go out and see what those lights are, are you? well, i'm not. look here. i'll have a bet with you boys. fifty pounds that i get back safely, and dispel the morbid fancies from your kindergarten brains by tellin' you that the things are glow-worms, or some fool out for a practical joke on the neighbourhood--which has fallen for it like this sort of one-horse hole-in-the-corner place would! fifty pounds? what say you?" he glowered round upon each of them in turn, his sneering lips showing the pointed dogs' teeth behind them, his whole arrogant personality brutally awake. "who'll take it on? you merriton? fifty pounds, man, that i don't get back safely and report to you chaps at twelve o'clock to-night." merriton's flushed face went a shade or two redder, and he took an involuntary step forward. it was only the doctor's fingers upon his coat-sleeve that restrained him. then, too, he felt some anxiety that this drunken fool should attempt to do the very thing which another drunken fool had attempted three months back. he couldn't bet on another man's chance of life, like he would on a race-horse! "you'll be a fool if you go, wynne," he said, as quietly as his excitement would permit. "as my guest i ask you not to. the thing may be all rubbish--possibly is--but i'd rather you took no chances. who it is that hides out there and kills his victims or smuggles them away i don't know, but i'd rather you didn't, old chap. and i'm not betting on a fellow's life. have another drink man, and forget all about it." wynne took this creditable effort at reconciliation with a harsh guffaw. he crossed to nigel and put his big, heavy hands upon the slim shoulders, bending his flushed face down so that the eyes of both were almost upon a level. "you little, white-livered sneak," he said in a deep rumbling voice that was like thunder in the still room. "pull yourself together and try to be a man. take on the bet or not, whichever you like. you're savin' up for the housekeepin' i suppose. well, take it or leave it--fifty pounds that i get back safe in this house to-night. are you on?" merriton's teeth bit into his lips until the blood came in the effort at repression. he shook wynne's hands off his shoulders and laughed straight into the other man's sneering face. "well then go--and be damned to you!" he said fiercely. "and blame your drunken wits if you come to grief. i've done my best to dissuade you. if you were less drunk i'd square the thing up and fight you. but i'm on, all right. fifty pounds that you don't get back here--though i'm decent enough to hope i'll have to pay it. that satisfy you?" "all right." wynne straightened himself, took an unsteady step forward toward the door, and it was then that they all realized how exceedingly drunk the man was. he had come to the dinner in a state of partial intoxication, which merely made him bad-tempered, but now the spirits that he had partaken of so plentifully was burning itself into his very brain. doctor bartholomew took a step toward him. "dash it all!" he said under his breath and addressing no one in particular, "he can't go like that. can't some of us stop him?" "try," put in lester stark sententiously, having had previous experiences of wynne's mood, so doctor bartholomew did try, and got cursed for his pains. wynne was struggling into his great, picturesque cloak, a sinister figure of unsteady gait and blood-shot eye. as he went to the hall and swung open the front door, merriton made one last effort to stop him. "don't be a fool, wynne," he said anxiously. "the game's not worth the candle. stay where you are and i'll put you up for the night, but in heaven's name don't venture out across the fens now." wynne turned and showed him a reddened, congested face from which the eyes gleamed evilly. merriton never forgot that picture of him, or the sudden tightening of the heart-strings that he experienced, the sudden sensation of foreboding that swept over him. "oh--go to hell!" wynne said thickly. and plunged out into the darkness. chapter vi a shot in the dark the church clock, some distance over herne's hill which lies at the back of merriton towers, broke the half silence that had fallen upon the little group of men in the warm smoking room with twelve sonorous, deep-throated notes. at sound of them merriton got to his feet and stretched his hands above his head. a damper had fallen over the spirits of his guests after wynne had gone out into the night on his foolish errand, and the fury against him that had stirred nigel's soul was gradually wearing off. "well, wynne said twelve, didn't he?" he remarked, with a sort of half-laugh as he surveyed the grave faces of the men who were seated in a semi-circle about him, "and twelve it is. we'll wait another half hour, and then if he doesn't come we'll make a move for bed. he'll be playing some beastly trick upon us, you may be sure of that. what a horrible temperament the man has! he was supposed to be putting up with the brelliers to-night--old man brellier was decent enough to ask him--and possibly he'll simply turn in there and laugh to himself at the picture of us chaps sitting here in the mornin' and waitin' for his return!" doctor bartholomew shook his white head with a good deal of obstinacy. "i think you're wrong there nigel. wynne is a man of his word, drunk or sober. he'll come back, no doubt. unless something has happened to him." "and this from our sceptical disbeliever, boys!" struck in tony west, raising his hands in mock horror. "nigel, m'lad, you've made an early conversion. the good doctor has a sneaking belief in the story. how now, son? what's your plan of action?" "half an hour's wait more, and then to bed," said merriton, tossing back his head and setting his jaw. "i offered wynne a bed in the first place, but he saw fit to refuse me. if he hasn't made use of this opportunity to turn in at the brelliers' place, i'll eat my hat. what about a round of cards, boys, till the time is up?" so the cards were produced, and the game began. but it was a half-hearted attempt at best, for everyone's ear was strained for the front-door bell, and everyone had an eye half-cocked toward the window. before the half hour was up the game had fizzled out. and still dacre wynne did not put in an appearance. borkins, having been summoned, brought in some whisky and merriton remarked casually: "mr. wynne has ventured out to try and discover the meaning of the frozen flames, borkins. he'll be back some time this evening--or rather morning, i should say, for it's after midnight--and the other gentlemen and myself are going to make a move for bed. keep your ears peeled in case you hear him. i sleep like the very old devil himself, when once i do get off." borkins, on hearing this, turned suddenly gray, and the perspiration broke out on his forehead. "gone, sir? mr. wynne--gone--out _there_?" he said in a stifled voice. "oh my gawd, sir. it's--it's suicide, that's what it is! and mr. wynne's--gone!... 'e'll never come back, i swear." merriton laughed easily. "well, keep your swearing to yourself, borkins," he returned, "and see that the gentlemen's rooms are ready for 'em. doctor bartholomew has the one next to mine, and mr. west's is on the other side. i gave mrs. dredge full instructions this morning.... good-night, borkins, and pleasant dreams." borkins left. but his face was a dull drab shade and he was trembling like a man who has received a terrible shock. "there's a case of genuine scare for you," remarked doctor bartholomew quietly, drawing on his pipe. "that man's nerves are like unstrung wires. hardly ever seen a chap so frightened in all the course of my medical career. he's either had experience of the thing, or he knows something about it. whichever way it is, he's the most terrified object i've ever laid eyes on!" merriton broke into a laugh. but there was not much merriment in it, rather a note of uneasiness which made tony west glance up at him sharply. "best place for _you_, old chap, is your bed," he said, getting to his feet and laying an arm across nigel's shoulders. "livin' down here does seem to play the old harry with one's nerves. i'm as jumpy as a kitten myself. take it from me, wynne will return, nigel, and when he does he'll see to it that we all hear him. he'll probably break every pane of glass in the place with a stone, and play a devil's dance upon the knocker. that's his usual way of expressin' his pleasure, i believe. here, here's health to you, old boy, and happiness, and the best of luck." that little ceremony being over, they turned in, doctor bartholomew, his arm linked in nigel's going with him to his bedroom, and, in the half-dusk of the spluttering candles, they stood together at the uncurtained window and looked out in silence upon the flames, the frozen flames that wynne had gone out to investigate. for quite ten minutes they stood still. then the doctor stirred himself and broke into a little laugh. "well, well," he said comfortably, "whatever our friend wynne is going to do, i don't really think we need put any credence in the story that he won't return, nigel. so you can go to bed in comfort on that, can't you?" merriton nodded. then he yawned and shut his eyes. "what's that? credence in the story? of course not, doctor. i'm not such a fool as i may look. wynne's playing a game on us, and at this moment he is probably seated in brellier's study having a laugh at the rest of us, waitin' up for him anxiously, like a lot of scared old women. heigho! i'm tired.... you're interested in firearms, doctor. here's my little pet, my sleepin' companion, you understand, that has been with me through many a hot campaign." he leaned over and took a little revolver out of the drawer of the little cabinet that stood by the bedside. the doctor, who had a remarkably fine collection of firearms, handled it with practised hands, remarked upon its good points, cocked the tiny thing, and then lifting his head looked nigel straight in the eyes. "i see you keep it loaded, my boy," he said quietly. merriton laughed. "yes. habit, i suppose. one needed a loaded revolver in the jungle where every black man's hand was against you. nice little toy, isn't it?" "yes. looks very business-like, too." "it is. twice now it has saved my life. i owe it a good turn.... well," laying the thing down upon the top of the cabinet and turning to the doctor with a smile. "i suppose you'll be turning in now. pleasant dreams, old chap, and plenty of 'em. if you hear anything of wynne--" "i'll let you know," broke in the doctor, returning the smile affectionately. "good-night." he turned and went out through the door to his own room, the next one along the hall. nigel, after hesitating a moment, strode over to the window. it was still as black as a pocket outside, for dawn was not due for some hours yet, and against the darkness the flames still danced their nightly revel. he shook his fist at them and then broke into a harsh laugh as the thought of dacre wynne came to him again. dash the fellow! he was always, in some way or another, intruding upon his privacy, whether it was mental or otherwise. then, as he looked, it seemed as though a fresh flame suddenly flashed out in the velvet darkness to the left of the others. to his excited fancy it looked bigger, brighter, _newer_! but that was impossible! the fens were uninhabited. he watched the light for a moment or two, and then suddenly, obsessed with a strange fear, strode across the room and picked up the tiny revolver. "damn it! i'm going silly!" he exclaimed angrily, and throwing the window open took aim, his brain on fire with the champagne and the excitement of the evening. "now let's see if you'll go, you infernal little devil!" his finger touched the trigger, the thing spoke softly--that was one of its chief attractions for nigel--and spat forth a little jet of flame. and as it did so, his brain cleared like magic. he laughed and shook himself as though out of a trance into which he had fallen. the light was still there. what a fool he was, potting at glow-worms like a madman! he shut the window with a bang and started to undress, and then went over to the door as he heard the doctor's voice outside. "thought i heard a shot, nigel, what--?" "you did. i'm a silly ass and have been potting at those beastly flames," returned merriton, shamefacedly. "for heaven's sake, don't tell the other fellows. they'll think i've gone loony. and for a moment i believe i had. but there's no harm done." "potting at those flames!" the doctor's voice was almost concerned. then he shrugged his shoulders. "oh, well, there's nothing in it! i must say i've taken a chance shot now and again at a bird myself from my bedroom before now. still, get to bed, nigel, like a good fellow, and have some sleep. here, give me the pistol. you'll be potting at me before i know where i am. i'll take it into my room, thank you!" "right you are!" merriton's laugh rang more normally and the doctor nodded with pleasure. "good-night, doctor." "good-night." then the door closed again, and the house dropped once more into stillness. in ten minutes merriton tumbled into bed. he slept like a log.... he hadn't seen the doctor drop that sleeping draught into that last whisky while tony west kept him talking. that was why he slept. later on, however, his shame at his own foolishness in firing his pistol at mere flames of the night was the cause of grave difficulty. for when he related the story of the whole affair to cleek's master mind he _left that out_! and very nearly was it his own undoing, for strange was to be the outcome of that shot in the night. chapter vii the watcher in the shadow but if merriton slept, the others of the little party did not. after his door had closed upon him they appeared from their rooms, and met by arrangement once more in the study. doctor bartholomew--a little late at having waited and listened for the outward result of his drug in nigel's comforting snore--joined the group with an anxious face. there was no laughter now in the pleasant, heated smoking room. every face there wore a look that bordered closely upon fear. "well, doctor," said tony west, as he entered the room, "what's the plan? i don't like wynne's absence, i swear i don't. it--it looks fishy, somehow. and he was in no mood to play boyish pranks on us by turnin' in at the brelliers' place. there's somethin' else afoot. what's your idea, now?" the doctor considered a moment. "better be getting out and form a search party," he said quietly. "if nothing turns up--well, nigel needn't know we've been out. but--there's more in this than meets the eye, boys. frankly, i don't like it. wynne's a brute, but he never liked practical joking. it's my private opinion that he would have returned by now--if something hadn't happened to him. we'll wait till dawn, and then we'll go. nigel is good for some hours yet. wynne always had a bad effect on him. ever noticed it, west? or you, stark?" the two men nodded. "yes," said tony, "i have. many times. nigel's never the same fellow when that man's about. he's--he's got some sort of devilish influence over him, i believe. and how he hates nigel! see his eyes to-night? he could have killed him, i believe--specially as nigel's taken his girl." "yes." the doctor's voice was rather grave. "wynne's a queer chap and a revengeful one. and he was as drunk as a beast to-night.... well, boys we'll sit down and wait awhile." pipes were got out and cigarettes lighted. for an hour in the hot smoking-room the men sat, talking in undertones and smoking, or dropping off into long silences. finally the doctor drew out his watch. he sighed as he looked at it. "three o'clock, and no sign of wynne yet. we'll be getting our things on, boys." instantly every man rose to his feet. the tension slackened with movement. in comparative silence they stole out into the hall, threw on their coats and hats, and then tony west nervously slid the bolts of the big front door. it creaked once or twice, but no sound from the still house answered it. west swung it open, and on the whitened step they quietly put on their shoes. the doctor switched on an electric torch and threw a blob of light upon the gravelled pathway for them to see the descent. then one by one they went quietly down the steps, and west shut the door behind them. "excellent! excellent!" exclaimed doctor bartholomew, as the gate was reached with no untoward happenings. "not a soul knows we're gone, boys. that's pretty certain. now, then, out of the gate and turn to the right up that lane. it'll take us to the very edge of the fens, i believe, and then our search will commence." he spoke with assurance, and they followed him instinctively. unconsciously they had made him captain of the expedition. but--no one had heard them, he had said? if he had looked back once when the big gate shut, he might have changed his mind upon that score. with white face pressed close against the glass of the smoking-room window, which looked directly out upon the front path, stood borkins, watching them as though he were watching a line of ghosts on their nightly prowl. "good gawd!" he ejaculated, as he discerned their dark figures and the light of the doctor's torch. "every one of 'em gone--_every one_!" and then, trembling, he went back to bed. but the doctor did not look back, and so the little party proceeded upon its way in comparative silence until the edge of the fens was reached. here, with one accord, they stopped for further instructions. three torches made the spot upon which they stood like daylight. the doctor bent his eyes downward. "now, boys," he said briskly. "keep your eyes sharp for footprints. wynne must have struck off here into the fens, it's the most direct course. he wouldn't have been such a duffer as to walk too far out of his way--if he was bent upon going there at all.... hello! here's the squelchy mark of a man's boot, and here's another!" they followed the track onward, with perfect ease, for the marshy ground was sodden and took every footprint deeply. that some man had crossed this way, and recently, too, was perfectly plain. the footprints wavered a little that was all, showing that the man who made them was uncertain upon his feet. and wynne had left the house by no means sober! "it looks as though he had come here after all!" broke out tony west, excitedly. "why the track's as plain as the nose on your face." they zig-zagged their tedious way out across the marshy grassland, their thin shoes squelching in the bogs, their trousers unmercifully spattered with the thick, treacley mud. they spoke little, their eyes bent upon the ground, their foreheads wrinkled. on and on and on they went, while the sky above them lightened and grew murky with the soft cloudiness of breaking dawn. the flames in the distance began to pale, and the vast stretch of fen district before them was shrouded in a light fog, misty, unutterably ghostlike and with the chill lonesomeness of death. "whew! eeriest task i've ever come across!" ejaculated stark with a grimace as he looked up for a moment into the dull mist ahead. "if we're not all down with pneumonia to-morrow, it won't be our own faults!... some distance, isn't it, doctor?" "it is," returned the doctor grimly. "what a fool the man was to attempt it!... here's a footprint, and another." yes, and many another after that. they staggered on, wet, cold, uncomfortable, anxious. the doctor was a little ahead of the rest of them, tony west came second, the others straggled a pace or two behind. suddenly the doctor stopped and gave a hasty exclamation: "good heavens above!" they ran up to him clustering around him in their eagerness, and their torches lent their rays to make the thing he gazed at more distinguishable, while another mile away at least, the flames twinkled dimly, and slowly went out one by one as though the finger of dawn had snuffed them like candle-ends. "what the devil is it?" demanded tony west, getting to his knees and peering at the spot with narrowed eyes. "charred grass. and the end of the footprints!" it was the doctor who spoke--in a queer voice sharp with excitement. "there has been a fire here or something. and--wynne went no farther, apparently. the ground about it is as marshy as ever, and my own footprint is perfectly clear.... what the dickens do you make of it, eh?" but there was no answer forthcoming. every man stood still staring down at this strange thing with wide eyes. for what the doctor said was absolute truth. the footsteps certainly _did_ end here, and in a patch of charred grass as big round as a small table. what did it mean? what could it mean, but one thing? somehow, somewhere, wynne had vanished. it was incredible, unbelievable, and yet--there was the evidence of their own eyes. from that spot onward the ground was wholly free of the footprints of any man, woman, or child. no mark disturbed the sodden mud of it. and yet--right here, where the grasses seemed to grow tallest, this patch was burnt off and withered as though with sudden heat. tony west straightened himself. "if i didn't think the whole business was a pack of lies spun into a bigger one by a lot of village gossips, i'd--i'd begin to imagine there was something in the story after all!" he said, getting to his feet and looking at the white faces about him. "it's--it's devilish uncanny, doctor!" "it is that." the doctor drew a long breath and stroked his beard agitatedly. "it's so devilish uncanny that one hardly knows what to believe. if this thing had happened in the east one might have looked at it with a more fatalistic eye. but _here_--in england, no man in his senses could believe such a fool's tale as that which nigel told us to-night. and yet--wynne has gone, vanished! never a trace of him, though we'll search still farther for a while, to make sure!" they separated at once, radiating out from that sinister spot and searched and searched and searched. not a footprint was to be found beyond the spot, not a trace of any living thing. there was nothing for it but to go back to merriton towers and tell their tale to nigel. "old wynne has gone, and no mistake," said tony west, as the men began slowly to retrace their steps across the marshlands, their faces in the pale light of the early morning looking white and drawn with the excitement and strain of the night. "what to make of it all, i don't know. apparently old wynne went out to see the frozen flames and--the frozen flames have swallowed him up, or burnt him up, one or the other." "and yet i can't hold any credence in the thing, no matter how hard i try!" said the doctor, shaking his head gravely, as they trudged on through the mud and mire. "and if wynne isn't found--well, there'll be the deuce to pay with the authorities. we'll have to report to the police first thing in the morning." "yes, the village constable will take the matter up, and knowing the story, will put entire faith in it, and that's all the help we'll get from _him_!" supplemented west with a harsh laugh. "i know the sort.... here's the towers at last, and if i don't make a mistake, there's the face of old borkins pressed against the window!" he ran ahead of the others and took the great stone steps two at a time. but borkins had opened the door before he reached it. his eyes stared, his mouth sagged open. "mr. wynne, sir? you found 'im?" he asked hoarsely. "no. no trace whatever, borkins. where's your master?" "sir nigel, sir? 'e's asleep, and snorin' like a grampus. this'll be a shock to 'im sir, for sure. mr. wynne--_gone_? 't ain't possible!" but tony had pushed by him and thrown open the smoking-room door. the warm, heated atmosphere came to them comfortingly. he crossed to the table, picked up a decanter and slopped out a peg of whisky. this he drank off neat. after that he felt better. the other men straggled in after him. he faced them with set lips. "now," said he, "to tell nigel." chapter viii the victim dacre wynne had vanished, leaving behind him no trace of mortal remains, and only a patch of charred grass in the middle of the uninhabited fens to mark the spot. and nigel merriton, whose guest the man was, must of necessity be told the fruitlessness of the searchers' self-appointed task. the doctor volunteered to do it. tony west accompanied him as far as nigel's, and then he suddenly recollected that merriton had locked it the night before. there was nothing for it but to hammer upon the panels, or--pick the lock. "and he'll be sleeping like a dead man, if i know anything of sleeping draughts," said the doctor, shaking his head. "got a penknife, west?" west nodded. he whipped the knife out of his pocket and began methodically to work at the worn lock with all the precision of an experienced burglar. but the action brought no smile to his lips, no little mocking jest to help on the job. there was something grim in the set of west's lips, and in the tension of the doctor's slight figure. tragedy had stalked unnoticed into the towers that evening and they had become enmeshed in the folds of its cloak. they felt it in the cold clamminess of the atmosphere, in the quiet peace of the long corridors. finally the thing was done. west turned the handle and the door swung inward. the doctor crossed to the bedside and took hold of the sleeping man's shoulder. he shook it vigorously. "nigel!" he called sharply once or twice. "wake up! wake up!" but merriton never moved. the performance was repeated and the call was louder. "nigel! i say, wake up--wake up! we've news for you!" the sleeping man stirred suddenly and wrenched his shoulder away. "let go of me, wynne, damn you!" he broke out petulantly, his eyes opening. "i've beaten you this time, anyhow, so part of our score is marked off! let go, i say--i--i--_doctor bartholomew_! what in heaven's name's the matter? i've been asleep, haven't i? what is it? you look as though you had seen a ghost!" he was thoroughly awake now, and struggled to a sitting position. the doctor's face twisted wryly. "i--wish i had, nigel," he said bitterly. "even ghosts would be better than--nothing at all. we've been out searching for wynne, and i--" "_been out?_" "yes, across the fens. we were anxious. wynne didn't come back, you know, and so after we'd got you to bed we thought we'd make up a search party among ourselves and look into the thing. but we haven't found him, nigel. he's vanished--completely!" "impossible!" merriton was out of bed now, still staring sleepily at them. something in the boyishness of him struck a chord of sympathy in the doctor's heart. he alone of all of them had guessed at the genuineness of nigel's fear for wynne, he alone had seen into the man's heart, and discovered the half-belief that lurked there. "i'm afraid it's perfectly true," he said quietly, as merriton came to him and caught him by the arm, his face white. "we followed his tracks across the fens--it had been raining and it was extremely easy to do--until they suddenly ended in a patch of half-charred grass. it was uncanny! we made a further search to make sure, but nothing rewarded our efforts. dacre wynne's gone somewhere, and those devilish flames of yours will be counting another victim to their lengthening list to-night." "good god!" merriton's lips trembled, and his fingers dropped from the doctor's arm. "but i tell you it's impossible, man!" he broke out suddenly. "the thing's beyond human credulity, doctor." "well, be that as it may, the fact remains--wynne's gone," returned the doctor gloomily. "of course we must communicate with the police. that's the next thing to do. we'll send over to make sure wynne isn't at the brellier's but i think there isn't a chance of it myself. where he did go beats me completely!" "and it fair beats me, too!" said merriton, in a shocked voice, beginning mechanically to struggle into his clothes. "one of you might 'phone the police--though what they'll be able to do for us i don't know. it's a one-horse show in the village, and the chap who's chief constable was the fellow who told me of the other man that disappeared, and seemed quite willing to accept a supernatural explanation. still, of course, it's the thing to be done.... and i actually saw, with my own eyes, that new flame flash out!" he said the last words in a sort of undertone, but the doctor heard them, and twitched up an enquiring eyebrow. "you saw the new flame? oh--of course. and you--never mind. our next move is to telephone the police." but what the police could do for them was so pitifully small as to be absurd. constable haggers was a man whose superstitious fear of the flames got the better of his constabulary training in every way. he said he would do what he could, but he would certainly attempt nothing until broad daylight. he believed the story in every particular and said that it was well-nigh impossible to trace the vanished man. "there had been others," was all he would say, "and never a trace of 'em 'ave we ever seen!" telephoning the brelliers was a mere matter of minutes, and by that means merriton made perfectly sure that wynne had not put in an appearance at withersby hall. brellier himself answered the phone, and said that he was just thinking that as wynne hadn't turned up yet, they must indeed have been making a night of it at the towers. "however," he continued, "if you say you all retired around about one o'clock, and wynne left you soon after ten--well, i can't think what has become of him...." "he went out to investigate those devilish flames!" remarked merriton, as a rather shamefaced explanation. then he fairly heard the wires jump with the force of brellier's exclamation. "eh--what? what's that you say? he went out to investigate the flames, merriton? what fool let him go? surely you know the story?" "we did. and we did our best to dissuade him, mr. brellier," replied merriton wearily. "but he went. you know dacre wynne as well as i do. he was set upon going. but he has not come back, and some of the chaps here set up a search-party to hunt for him. they discovered nothing. simply some charred grass in the middle of the fens and the end of his footprints.... so he didn't come round to your place then? thanks. i'm awfully sorry to have bothered you, but you can understand my anxiety i know. i'll keep you posted as to any news we get. yes--horrible, isn't it? so--so beastly uncanny...." he hung up the receiver with a drawn face. "well, wynne didn't go there, anyway," he said to the group of men who clustered round him. "so that's done with. now we'll just have to possess our souls in patience, and see what constable haggers can do for us. i vote we tumble in for forty winks before the sun gets too high in the heavens. it is the most reasonable thing to do in the circumstances." the days that followed brought them little light upon the matter. wynne, it proved, was a man apparently without relations, and devoid of friends. the local police could make nothing of it. they had had such cases before, and were perfectly willing to let the matter rest where it was. interest, once so high, began to flag. the thing dropped into the commonplace, and was soon forgotten, together with the man who had caused it. but nigel was far from satisfied. that he and dacre wynne were really enemies, who had posed as friends made not a particle of difference. dacre wynne had disappeared during the brief time that he was a guest in merriton's house. the subject did not die with the owner of merriton towers. he spent many long evenings with doctor bartholomew talking the thing over, trying to reconstruct it, probe into it, hunt for new clues, new anything which might lead to a solution. but such talks always came to nothing. every stone had already been turned, and the dry dust of the highway afforded little knowledge to merriton. across the clear sky of his happiness a cloud had gloomed, spoiling for a time the perfection of it. he could not think of marriage while the mystery of dacre wynne's death remained unsolved. it seemed unthinkable. tony west told him he was getting morbid about it, and to have a change. "come up to london and see some of your friends," was west's advice. but merriton never took it. 'toinette seemed the only person who understood how he felt, and the knowledge of this only served to draw them closer together. she, too, felt that marriage was for the time being unthinkable, and despite brellier's constant urging in that direction, she held her ground firmly, telling him that they preferred to wait awhile. "i'm going to solve the blessed thing, 'toinette," nigel told her over and over again during these long weeks and days that followed, "if i grow gray-headed in the attempt. dacre wynne was no true friend of mine, but he was my guest at the time of his disappearance, and i mean to find the reason of it." if he had only known what the future held in store for them both, would he still have clung to his purpose? who can tell? it was at night that the thing obsessed him worst. when darkness had fallen merriton would sit, evening after evening, looking out upon that same scene that he had shown his companions that eventful night. and always the flames danced on their maddening way, mocking him, holding behind the screen of their brilliancy the key to dacre wynne's inexplicable disappearance. merriton would sit and watch them for hours, and sometimes find himself talking to them. what was the matter with him? was he going insane? or was this dacre wynne's abominable idea of a revenge for having stolen 'toinette's heart away from him? to have died and sent his spirit back to haunt the man he hated seemed to merriton sometimes the answer to the questions which constantly puzzled him. chapter ix the second victim the alterations at merriton towers were certainly a success, from the builder's point of view at any rate. white paint had helped to dispel some of its gloominess, though there were those who said that the whole place was ruined thereby. however, it was certainly an improvement to be able to have windows that opened, and to look into rooms that beckoned you with promises of cozy inglenooks, and plenty of brilliant sunshine. borkins looked upon these improvements with a censorious eye. he was one of those who believed in "lettin' things be"; to whom innovation is a crime, and modernity nothing short of madness. to him the dignity of the house had gone. but when it came to nigel installing a new staff of servants, the good borkins literally threw up his hands and cried aloud in anguish. he did not hold with frilled aprons, any more than he held with women assuming places that were not meant for them. but if the maids annoyed borkins, his patience reached its breaking point when merriton--paying a flying visit to town--returned in company with a short, thickset person, who spoke with a harsh, cockney accent, and whom merriton introduced as his "batman", "whatever that might be," said borkins, holding forth to dimmock, one of the under-grooms. james collins soon became a necessary part of the household machinery, a little cog in fact upon which the great wheel of tragedy was soon to turn. within a week he was completely at home in his new surroundings. collins, in fact, was the perfect "gentleman's servant" and thus he liked always to think himself. many a word he and borkins had over their master's likes and dislikes. but invariably collins won out. while every other servant in the place liked him and trusted him, the sight of his honest, red face and his ginger eyebrows was enough to make borkins look like a thundercloud. the climax was reached one night in the autumn when the evening papers failed to appear at their appointed time. collins confronted borkins with the fact and got snubbed for his pains. "'ere you," he said--he hadn't much respect for borkins and made no attempt to hide the fact--"what the dooce 'as become of his lordship's pypers? 'ave _you_ bin 'avin' a squint at 'em, ole pieface? jist like your bloomin' cheek!" "not so much of your impidence, mr. collins," retorted borkins. "when you h'addresses a gentleman try to remember 'ow to speak to 'im. i've 'ad nothink whatever to do with sir nigel's evenin' papers, and you know it. if they're late, well, wouldn't it be worth your while to go down to the station and 'ave a gentle word or two with one of the officials there?" "oh well, then, old fiddlefyce," retorted collins, with a good-natured grin, "don't lose yer wool over it; you ain't got any ter spare. 'is lordship's been a-arskin' fer 'em, and like as not they ain't turned up. let's see what's the time? 'arf-past eight." he shook his bullet-shaped head. "well, i'll be doin' as you say. slap on me 'at and jacket and myke off ter the blinkin' stytion. what's the shortest w'y, borkins, me beauty?" borkins looked at him a moment, and his face went a dull brick colour. then he smirked sarcastically. "like as not you're so brave you wouldn't mind goin' across the fens," he said. "them there flames wouldn't be scarin' such a 'ero as mr. james collins. oh no! you'll find it a mile or so less than the three miles by road. it's the shortest cut, but i don't recommend it. 'owever, that lies with you. i'll tell sir nigel where you're gone if 'e asks me, you may be sure!" "orl right! across the fens is the shortest, you says. well, i'll try it ternight and see. you're right fer once. i ain't afraid. it tykes more'n twiddley little bits er lights ter scare james collins, i tells yer. so long." borkins, standing at the window in the dining room and peering through the dusk at collins' sturdy figure as it swung past him down the drive, bit his lip a moment, and made as if to go after him. "no, i'll be danged if i do!" he said suddenly. "if 'e knows such a lot, well, let 'im take the risk. i warned 'im anyhow, so i've done my bit. the flames'll do the rest." and he laughed. but james collins did not come back, when he ought to have done, and the evening papers arrived before him, brought by the station-master's son jacob. jacob had seen nothing of collins, and merriton, who did not know that the man had gone on this errand, made no remark when the hours went slowly by, and no sign of collins appeared. at eleven o'clock the household retired. merriton, still ignorant of his man's absence, went to bed and slept soundly. the first knowledge he received of collins' absence was when borkins appeared in his bedroom in the morning. "where the deuce is collins?" merriton said pettishly, for he did not like borkins, and they both knew it. "that's exactly what i 'ave been tryin' ter find out, sir," responded borkins, bravely. "'e 'asn't been back since last night, so far as i could make out." "_last night?_" merriton sat bolt upright in bed and ran his fingers through his hair. "what the dickens do you mean?" "collins went out last night, sir, to fetch your papers. leastways that was what he said he was goin' for," responded borkins patiently, "and so far as i knows he 'asn't returned yet. whether he dropped into a public 'ouse on the way or not, i don't know, or whether he took the short cut to the station across the fens isn't for me to say. but--'e 'asn't come back yet, sir!" merriton looked anxious. collins had a strong hold upon his master's heart. he certainly wouldn't like anything to happen to him. "you mean to say," he said sharply, "that collins went out last night to fetch my papers from the station and was fool enough to take the short cut across the fens?" "i warned him against doin' so," said borkins, "since 'e said 'e'd probably go that way. that no frozen flames was a-goin' ter frighten 'im, an'--an' 'is language was most offensive. but i've no doubt 'e went." "then why the devil didn't you tell me last night?" exclaimed merriton angrily, jumping out of bed. "you knew the--the truth about mr. wynne's disappearance, and yet you deliberately let that man go out to his death. if anything's happened to james collins, borkins, i'll--i'll wring your damned neck. understand?" borkins went a shade or two paler, and took a step backward. "sir nigel, sir--i--" "when did collins go?" "'arf past eight, sir!" borkins' voice trembled a little. "and believe me or not, sir, i did my best to persuade collins from doin' such an extremely dangerous thing. i begged 'im not to think o' doin' it, but collins is pig-'eaded, if you'll forgive the word, sir, and he was bent upon gettin' your papers. i swear, sir, i ain't 'ad anythin' ter do with it, and when 'e didn't come back last night before i went to bed i said to meself, i said, 'collins 'as dropped into a public 'ouse and made a--a ass of hisself', i said. and thought no more about it, expectin' he'd be in later. but 'is bed 'asn't been slept in, and there 's no sign of 'im anywhere." merriton twisted round upon his heel and looked at the man keenly for a moment. "i'm fond of collins, borkins," he said abruptly. "we've known each other a long time. i shouldn't like anything to happen to the chap while he's in my service, that's all. get out now and make enquiries in every direction. have dimmock go down to the village. and ransack every public house round about. if you can't find any trace of him--" his lips tightened for a moment, "then i'll fetch in the police. i'll get the finest detective in the land on this thing, i'll get cleek himself if it costs me every penny i possess, but i'll have him traced somehow. those devilish flames are taking too heavy a toll. i've reached the end of my tether!" he waved borkins out with an imperious hand, and went on with his dressing, his heart sick. what if collins had met with the same fate as dacre wynne? what were those fiendish flames, anyhow, that men disappeared completely, leaving neither sight nor sound? surely there was some brain clever enough to probe the mystery of them. "if collins doesn't turn up this morning," he told himself as he shaved with a very unsteady hand, "i'll go straight up to london by the twelve o'clock train and straight to scotland yard. but i'll find him--damn it, i'll find him." but no trace of james collins could be found. he was gone--completely. no one had seen him, no one but borkins had known of his probable journey across the fens at night-time, and borkins excused himself upon the plea that collins hadn't actually _said_ he was going that way. he had simply vanished as dacre wynne had vanished, as will myers and all that long list of others had vanished. eaten up by the flames--and in twentieth century england! but the fact remained. dacre wynne had disappeared, and now james collins had followed him. and a new flame shone among the others, a newer, brighter flame than any before. merriton saw it himself, that was the devilish part of it. his own eyes had seen the thing appear, just as he had seen it upon the night when dacre wynne had vanished. but he didn't shoot at it this time. instead, he packed a small bag, ran over and said good-bye to 'toinette and told her he was going to have a day in town, but told her nothing else. then he took the twelve o'clock train to town. a taxi whisked him to scotland yard. chapter x --and the lady and this was the extraordinary chain of events which brought young merriton into mr. narkom's office that day while cleek was sitting there, and on being introduced as "mr. headland" heard the story from sir nigel's lips. as he came to the last "and no trace of either body has ever been found," cleek suddenly switched round in his chair and exclaimed: "an extraordinary rigmarole altogether!" meeting merriton's astonished eyes with his own keen ones, he went on: "the flames, of course, are a plant of some sort. that goes without saying. but the thing to find out is what they're there for to hide. when you've discovered that, you'll have got half way to the truth, and the rest will follow as a matter of course.... what's that, mr. narkom? yes, i'll take the case, sir nigel. my name's cleek--hamilton cleek, at your service. now let's hear the thing all over again, please. i've one or two questions i'd like to ask." merriton left scotland yard an hour later, lighter in heart than he had been for some time--ever since, in fact, dacre wynne's tragic disappearance had cast such a gloom over his life's happiness. he had unburdened his soul to cleek--absolutely. and cleek had treated the confession with a decent sort of respect which was enough to win any chap over to him. merriton in fact had found in cleek a friend as well as a detective. he had been a little astonished at his general get-up and appearance, but merriton had heard of his peculiar birthright, and felt that the man himself was capable of almost anything. certainly he proved full of sympathetic understanding. cleek understood the ground upon which he stood with regard to his friendship with dacre wynne. he had, with a wonderful intuition, sensed the peculiar influence of the man upon nigel--this by look and gesture rather than by use of tongue and speech. and cleek had already drawn his own conclusions. he heard of nigel's engagement to antoinette brellier, and of how dacre wynne had taken it, heard indeed all the little personal things which merriton had never told to any man, and certainly hadn't intended telling to this one. but that was cleek's way. he secured a man's confidence and by that method got at the truth. a bond of friendship had sprung up between them, and cleek and mr. narkom had promised that before a couple of days were over, they would put in an appearance at fetchworth, and look into things more closely. it was agreed that they were to pose as friends of sir nigel, since cleek felt that in that way he could pursue his investigations unsuspected, and make more headway in the case. but there was but one thing nigel hadn't spoken of, and that was the very foolish and ridiculous action of his upon that fateful evening of the dinner party. only he and doctor bartholomew--who was as close-mouthed as the devil himself over some things--knew of the incident of the pistol-shooting, so far as merriton was aware. and the young man was too ashamed of the whole futile affair and what it very apparently proved to the listener--that he had certainly drunk more than was good for him--to wish any one else to share in the absurd little secret. it could have no bearing upon the affair, and if 'toinette got to hear of it, well, he'd look all sorts of a fool, and possibly be treated to a sermon--a prospect which he did not relish in the slightest. as he left the yard and turned into the keen autumn sunshine, he lifted his face to the skies and thanked the stars that he had come to london after all and placed things in proper hands. there was nothing now for him to do but to go back to merriton towers and as expeditiously as possible make up for the day lost from 'toinette. so, after a visit to a big confectioners in regent street, and another to a little jeweller in piccadilly, merriton got into the train at waterloo, carrying his parcels with a happy heart. he got out at fetchworth station three hours later, hailed the only hack that stood there--for he had forgotten to apprise any one at the towers of his quick return--and drove straightway to withersby hall. 'toinette was at the window as he swung open the great gate. when she saw him she darted away and came flying down the drive to meet him. the contents of the various packages made her happy as a child, and it was some time after they reached the house that nigel asked some question concerning her uncle. her face clouded ever so little, and for the first time nigel noticed that she was pale. "uncle has gone away for a few days," she replied. "he said it was business--what would you? but i told him i should be lonesome in this great house, and i--i am so frightened at those horrible little flames that twinkle twinkle all night long. i cannot sleep when i am alone, nigel. i am a baby i know, but i cannot help it. it makes me feel so afraid!" as was usual in moments of emotion with 'toinette, her accent became more pronounced. he stroked her hair with a gentle hand, as though she were in very truth the child she tried not to be. "poor little one! i wish i could come across and put up here for the night. hang conventions, anyway! and then too i have to make ready for some visitors who will be down to-morrow or the next day." "visitors, nigel?" "yes, dear. i've a couple of--friends coming to spend a short time with me. chaps i met in london to-day." "what did you go up for, nigel--really?" he coloured a little, and was thankful that she turned away at that moment to straighten the collar of her blouse. he didn't like lying to the woman he was going to marry. but he had given his word to cleek. "oh," he said off-handedly, "i--i went to my tailor's. and then stepped in to buy you that little trinket and your precious chocs, and came along home again. met these fellows on my way across town. rather nice chaps--one of 'em, anyhow. used to know some friends of friends of his, girl called ailsa lorne. and the other one happened to be there so i asked him, too. they won't worry you much, 'toinette. they're frightfully keen about the country, and will be sure to go out shootin' and snuffin' round like these town johnnies always do when they get in places like this.... well, as mr. brellier isn't here i suppose i'd better be making my way home again. wish we were married, 'toinette. there'd be no more of these everlasting separations then. no more nightmares for you, little one. only happiness and joy, and--and heaps of other rippin' things. never mind, we'll make it soon, won't we?" she raised her face suddenly and her eyes met his. there was a haunted look in them that made him draw closer, his own face anxious. "what is it, dear?" he said in a low, worried tone. "only--dacre wynne. always dacre wynne these days," she replied unsteadily. "do you know, nigel, i am a silly girl, i know, but somehow i dare not think of marriage with you until--everything is finally cleared up, and his death or disappearance, or whatever the dreadful affair was, discovered. i feel in some inexplicable way responsible. it is as if his spirit were standing between us and our happiness. tell me i am foolish, please." "you are more than foolish," said nigel obediently, and laughed carelessly to show her how he treated the thing. but in his heart he knew her feelings, knew them and fully understood. it was exactly as he had felt about it also. the bond that bound dacre wynne's life to his had not yet been snapped, the mystery of his disappearance seemed only to strengthen it. he wondered dully when he would ever feel free again, and then laughed inwardly at himself for making a farce of the whole thing, for building a mountain out of a stupid little molehill. and 'toinette was helping him. they were both unutterably foolish. anyhow, cleek was coming soon to clear matters up. he wished with all his heart that he might tell 'toinette, and thus relieve the tension of her mind, but he had given his word to cleek, and with a man of his type his word was sacred. so he kissed her good-bye and laughed, and went back to merriton towers to prepare for their coming. but the cloud had dropped across his horizon again, and the sun was once more obscured. there was no smile upon his lips as he clanged the great front door to behind him. chapter xi the secret of the flames fetchworth, as everybody knows, lies in that part of the fen district of lincolnshire that borders on the coast, and in the curve of its motherlike arm saltfleet bay, a tiny shipping centre with miniature harbour, drowses its days in pleasant idleness. and so it was that upon the morning of cleek's and mr. narkom's arrival at merriton towers. they came disguised as two idlers interested in the surrounding country, after having satiated themselves at the fountain of london's gaieties, and bore the pseudonyms of "george headland" and "mr. gregory lake" respectively. cleek himself was primed, so to speak, on every point of the landscape. he knew all about fetchworth that there was to know--saving the secret of the frozen flames, and that he was expected to know very soon--and the traffic of saltfleet bay and its tiny harbour was an open book to him. even withersby hall and its environs had had the same close intensive study, and everything that was to be learnt from guide-books, tourists' enquiry offices and the like, was hidden away in the innermost recesses of his remarkable brain. borkins, standing at the smoking-room window--a favourite haunt of his from which he was able to see without too ostensibly being seen--noted their coming up the broad driveway, with something of disfavour in his look. merriton had given him certain directions only the night before, and borkins was a keen-sighted man. also, the little fat johnny at any rate, didn't quite look the type of man that the merriton's were in the habit of entertaining at the towers. however, he opened the door with a flourish, and told the gentlemen that "sir nigel is in the drorin'-room," whither he led them with much pomp. cleek took in the place at a glance. noted the wide, deep hallway; the old-fashioned outlines of the house, smartened up freshly by the hands of modern workmen; the set of each door and window that he passed, and stowed away these impressions in the pigeon-holes of his mind. as he proceeded to the drawing-room he set out in his mind's eye the whole scene of that night's occurrence as had been related to him by sir nigel. there was the smoking-room door, open and showing the type of room behind it; there the hall-stand from which dacre wynne had fatefully wrenched his coat and hat, to go lurching out into oblivion, half-drunk and maddened with something more than intoxication--if merriton had told his story truly, and cleek believed he had. it was, in fact, in that very smoking-room that the legend which had led up to the tragedy had been told. hmm. there certainly was much to be cleared up here while he was waiting for that other business at the war office to adjust itself. he wouldn't find time hanging heavily upon his hands there was no doubt of that, and the thought that this man who had come to him for help was a one-time friend of ailsa lorne's, the one dear woman in the world, added fuel to the fire of his already awakened interest. he greeted merriton with all the bored ennui of the part he had adopted, during such time as he was under borkins' watchful eye. even mr. narkom played his part creditably, and won a glance of approval from his justly celebrated ally. "hello, old chap," said cleek, extending a hand, and screwing a monocle still farther into his left eye. "awfully pleased to see you, doncherknow. devilish long journey, what? beastly fine place you've got here, i must say. what you think, lake?" merriton gasped, bit his lip, and then suddenly realizing who the gentleman thus addressing him was, made an attempt at the right sort of reply. "er--yes, yes, of course," he responded, though somewhat at random, for this absolutely new creature that cleek had become rather took his breath away. "afraid you're very tired and all that. cold, mr.--er headland?" cleek frowned at the slight hesitation before the name. he didn't want to take chances of any one guessing his identity and borkins was still half-way within the room, and probably had sharp ears. his sort of man had! "not very," he responded, as the door closed behind the butler. "at least that is, sir nigel,"--speaking in his natural voice--"it really was pretty chilly coming down. winter's setting in fast, you know. that your man?" he jerked his head in the direction of the closed door, and twitched an enquiring eyebrow. merriton nodded. "yes," he said, "that's borkins. looks a trustworthy specimen, doesn't he? for my part i don't trust him farther than i can see him, mr.--er--headland (awfully sorry but i keep forgetting your name somehow). he's too shifty-eyed for me. what do you think?" "tell you better when i've had a good look at him," responded cleek, guardedly. "and lots of honest men are shifty-eyed, sir nigel, and vice versa. that doesn't count for anything, you know. well, my dear mr. lake, finding your part a bit too much for you?" he added, with a laugh, turning to mr. narkom, who was sitting on the extreme edge of his chair, mournfully fingering his collar, which was higher and tighter than the somewhat careless affair which he usually adopted. "never mind. as the poet sings, 'all the world's a stage, and all the men and women, etc.' you're simply one of 'em, now. try to remember that. and remember, also, that the eyes of the gallery are not always upon you. sir nigel, i ask you, isn't our friend's make-up the perfection of the--er--elderly man-about-town?" sir nigel laughingly had to admit that it was, whereupon mr. narkom blushed exceedingly, and--the ice was broken as cleek had intended it should be. they adjourned to the smoking-room, where a huge log-fire burnt in the grate, and easy chairs invited. they discussed the topics of the day with evident relish during such time as borkins was in the room, and smoked their cigars with the air of men to whom the hours were as naught, and life simply a chessboard to move their little pieces upon as they willed. but how soon they were to cry checkmate upon this case which they were all investigating, even cleek did not know. then of a sudden he looked up from his task of studying the fire with knitted brows. "by the way," he said off-handedly, "i hope you don't mind. my man will be coming down by the next train with our traps. i never travel without him, he's such a useful beggar. you can manage to put him up somewhere, i suppose? i was a fool not to have mentioned it before, but the lad entirely slipped my memory. he helps me, too, in other things, and there is always a good deal to be learned from the servants' hall, you know, sir nigel.... you can manage with dollops, can't you? otherwise he can put up at the village inn." merriton shook his head decisively. "of course not, mr. headland. wouldn't hear of such a thing. anybody who is going to be useful to you in this case is, as you know, absolutely welcome to merriton towers. he won't get much out of borkins though, i don't mind telling you." "hmm. well that remains to be seen, doesn't it, mr. narkom?" returned cleek, with a smile. "dollops has a way. and he knows it. i'll warrant there won't be much that borkins can keep from the sharp little devil! well, it seems to be getting dusk rapidly, sir nigel, what about those flames now, eh? i'd like to have a look at 'em if it's possible." merriton screwed his head round to the window, and noted the gathering gloom which the fire and the electric lights within had managed to neutralize. then he got to his feet. there was a trace of excitement in his manner. here was the moment he had been waiting for, and here the master-mind which, if anything ever could, must unravel this fiendish mystery that surrounded two men's disappearances and a group of silly, flickering little flames. he turned from the window with his eyes bright. "look here," he said, rapidly. "they're just beginnin' to appear. see 'em? mr. cleek, see 'em? now tell me what the dickens they are and how they are connected with dacre wynne's disappearance." cleek got to his feet slowly, and strode over to the window. in the gathering gloom of the early winter night, the flames were flashing out one by one, here and there and everywhere hanging low against the grass across the bar of horizon directly in front of them. cleek stared at them for a long time. mr. narkom coming up behind him peered out over his shoulder, rubbed his eyes, looked again and gave out a hasty "god bless my soul!" of genuine astonishment, then dropped into silence again, his eyes upon cleek's face. sir nigel, too, was watching that face, his own nervous, a trifle distraught. but cleek stood there at the window with his hands in his trousers' pockets, humming a little tune and watching this amazing phenomenon which a whole village had believed to be witchcraft, as though the thing surprised him not one whit; as though, in fact, he was a trifle amused at it. which indeed he was. finally he swung round upon his heels and looked at each of the faces in turn, his own broadening into a grin, his eyes expressing incredulity, wonderment, and lastly mirth. at length he spoke: "gad!" he ejaculated with a little whistle of astonishment. "you mean to tell me that a whole township has been hanging by the heels, so to speak, upon as ridiculously easy an affair as that?" he jerked his thumb outward toward the flames and threw back his head with a laugh. "where is your 'general knowledge' which you learnt at school, man? didn't they teach you any? what amazes me most is that there are others--forgive me--equally as ignorant. want to know what those flames are, eh?" "well, rather!" "well, well, just to think that you've actually been losing sleep on it! shows what asses we human beings are, doesn't it? no offence meant, of course. as for you, mr. narkom--or mr. gregory lake, as i must remember to call you for the good of the cause--i'm ashamed of you, i am indeed! you ought to know better, a man of your years!" "but the flames, cleek, the flames!" there was a tension in merriton's voice that spoke of nerves near to the breaking point. instantly cleek was serious. he reached out a hand and laid it upon the young man's shoulder. merriton was trembling, but he steadied under the grip, just as it was meant that he should. "see here," cleek said, bluntly, "you oughtn't to work yourself up into such a state. it's not good for you; you'll go all to pieces one of these days. those flames, eh? why i thought any one knew enough about natural phenomena to answer that question. but it seems i'm wrong. those flames are nothing more nor less than marsh gas, sir nigel, evolved from the decomposition of vegetation, and therefore only found in swampy regions such as this. whew! and to think that here is a community that has been bowing down to these things as symbols from another world!" "marsh gas, mr.--" "headland, please. it is wiser, and will help better to remember when the necessity arises," returned cleek, with a smile. "yes, that is all they are--the outcome of marsh gas." "but what _is_ marsh gas, mr.--headland?" merriton's voice was still strained. cleek motioned to a chair. "better sit down to it, my young friend," he said, gently. "because, to one who isn't interested, it is an extremely dull subject. however, it is better that you should know--as you don't seem to have learnt it at school. here goes: marsh gas, or methane as it is sometimes called, is the first of the group of hydrocarbons known as paraffins. whether that conveys anything to you i don't know. but you've asked for knowledge and i mean you to have it." he smiled again, and merriton gravely shook his head, while mr. narkom, dropping for the time being his air of pompous boredom, became the interested listener in every line of his ample proportions. "go on, old chap," he said eagerly. "methane," said cleek, serenely, "is a colourless, absolutely odourless gas, slightly soluble in water. it burns with a yellowish flame--which golden tinge you have no doubt noticed in these famous flames of yours--with the production of carbonic acid and water. in the neighbourhood of oil wells in america, and also in the caucasus, if my memory doesn't fail me, the gas escapes from the earth, and in some districts--particularly in baku--it has actually been burning for years as sacred fires. a question of atmosphere and education, you see, sir nigel." "good heavens! then you mean to say that those beastly things out there are not lit by any human or superhuman agency at all!" exploded merriton at this juncture. "and that they have nothing whatever to do with the vanishing of wynne and collins?" cleek shook his head emphatically. "pardon me," he said, "but i didn't say that. the first part of the sentence i agree with entirely. those so-called flames are lit only by the hand of the infinite. and the infinite is always mysterious, sir nigel. but as to whether they have any bearing upon the disappearances of those two men is a horse of another colour. we'll look into that later on. in coal-mines marsh gas is considered highly dangerous, and the miners call it fire-damp. but that is by the way. what enters into the immediate question is the fact that there is a patch of charred grass upon the fens where you say the vanished man, dacre wynne's footprints suddenly ended. hmm." he stopped speaking suddenly, and getting up again crossed over to the window. he stood for a moment looking out of it, his brows drawn down, his face set in the stern lines that betokened concentration of thought. mr. narkom and merriton watched him with something of wonder in their eyes. to merriton, at any rate, who really knew so little of cleek's unique and powerful mind, the fact of a policeman having such extensive information was surprising in the extreme. "you don't think, then," he said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them, "that this--er--marsh gas could have caused the death of wynne and collins? burnt 'em alive, so to speak?" cleek did not move at this question. they merely saw his shoulders twitch as though he didn't wish to be bothered at the moment. "don't know," he said laconically, "and if that were true, where are the bodies?... gad! just as i thought! come here, gentlemen, this may interest you. see that flame there! it's no more natural marsh gas than i am! there's human agency all right, sir nigel. there's natural marsh gas and there are--other things as well. those marsh lights are being augmented. but for what purpose? what reason? that's the thing we've got to find out." chapter xii "as a thief in the night--" the arrival of dollops lighted a spark of great interest in the servants' hall. the newly engaged maids accepted him for his youth and sharp manners, as an innovation which they rather fancied than otherwise. borkins alone stood aloof. it seemed to the man that here, in dollops' lithe, young form, in the very ginger of his carrotty hair, in the stridency of this cockney accent--which cleek had endeavoured to eradicate without a particle of success--was the reembodiment of the older, shorter, more mature james collins. to hear him speak in that sharp, young voice of his was to make the hair upon one's neck prick in supernatural discomfort. it was as though james collins had come back to life again in the form of this east side youngster, who was so extremely unlike his drawling, over-pampered master. but dollops had been primed for his task, and set to work at it with a will. "been in these 'ere parts long, mr. borkins?" he queried as they all sat at supper, and he himself munched bread and butter and fish paste with a vigour that was lacking in only one quality--manners. borkins sniffed, and passed up his cup to the housekeeper. "before you were born, i dessay," he responded tartly. "is that so, methuselah?" dollops gave a little boyish giggle at sight of the butler's face. "well, seein' as i'm gettin' along in life, you must be a good way parst the meridian, if yer don't mind my sayin' so.... funny thing, on the way down i run across a chap wot's visitin' pals in this 'ere village, and 'e pulls me the strangest yarn as ever a body 'eard. summink to do wiv flames it were--frozen flames or icicles or frost of some kind. but 'e was so full up of mystery that there weren't no gettin' nuffin out er 'im. any one 'ere tell me the story? 'e fair got me curiosity fired, 'e did!" a glance laden with sinister meaning flew around the table. borkins cleared his throat as every eye fastened itself upon him, and he swelled visibly beneath his brass-buttoned waistcoat. "if you're any wiser than you look, young man, you'll leave well alone, and not go stickin' your fingers in other peoples' pie!" he gave out sententiously. "yes, there is a story--and a very unpleasant one, too. if you use your eyes to-night and look out of the smoking-room window as dusk comes on, you'll see the frozen flame for yerself, and won't want to be arskin' me any fool questions about it. one of the servants 'ere--and a rude, unmannerly london creetur 'e was too!--disappeared a while ago, goin' out across the fens after night-time when 'e was warned not to. never seen a sight of 'im since--though i'm not mournin' any, as you kin see!" "_go on!_" dollops' voice expressed incredulity, amazement, and an awed interest that rather flattered the butler. "true as i'm sittin' 'ere!" he responded grimly. "and before that a friend of sir nigel's--a fine, big upstandin' man 'e were, name of wynne--went the same way. got a little the worse for drink and laughed at the story. said 'e'd go out and investigate for 'imself. 'e never come back from that day to this!" "gawd's truf! 'ow orful! you won't find yer 'umble a 'ankerin' after the fresh air come night-time!" broke in dollops with a little shiver of terror that was remarkably real. "i'll keep to me downy thank you, an' as you say, mr. borkins, leave well enough alone. you're a wise gentleman, you are!" borkins, flattered, still further expanded. "i won't say as all you cockney chaps are the same as collins," he returned magnanimously, "for it takes all kinds ter make a world. if you feels inclined some time, i'll walk you down to the pig and whistle and you shall 'ave a word or two with a chap i know. 'e'll tell yer somethink that'll make your 'air stand on end. you jist trot along ter me when you're free, and we'll take a little stroll together." dollops' countenance widened into a delighted grin. later, dollops, in the act of laying out cleek's clothes for dinner, while cleek himself unpacked leisurely and made the braces that held the mirror of the dressing-table gay with multi-coloured ties, gave out the news of his promised visit to the pig and whistle with the august borkins with something akin to triumph. "that's right, lad, that's right. get friendly with 'em!" returned cleek with a pleased smile. "i've an idea we're going to have a pretty lively time down here, if i'm not much mistaken. stick to that chap borkins as you would to glue. don't let him get away from you. follow him wherever he goes, but don't let the other servants in the place slip out from your watchful eye, either. those frozen flames want looking into. i have grave suspicions of borkins. his sort generally knows more than almost any other sort, and he appeared to be sizing me up pretty carefully. i shouldn't wonder at all, if he had an idea already that i am not the 'man about town' i appear to be. it will be rotten luck if he has.... time i got into my togs, boy.... here, just hand me that shirt, will you?" that night certainly proved an even more exciting one than cleek had prophesied. the household retired early, as country households are apt to do, but cleek, however, did not undress. he sat at his window, which faced upon the fens, watching the trail of the flames dancing across the horizon of night, and trying to solve the riddle that he had come to find the answer to. he heard the church clock in the distance chime out the hour of twelve; and still he sat on. the peace of the quiet night stole over him, filling his active brain with a restfulness that had been foreign to it for some time in the stress of his busy life in london. he felt glad he had taken up this case, if only for the view of the countryside at night, the stillness of the untrod marshes, and the absolute absence of every living thing at this hour. the clock chimed one, and he heeded it not. two--half-past--. of a sudden he sat bolt upright, then got noiselessly to his feet and glided across the floor to where his bed stood--a monstrous black object with heavy canopy and curtains, a relic of the victorianism in which this house was born. he moved like a cat, absolutely without sound, fleet, sure. his fingers found the coverlet and he tore it down, tumbling the clothes and pushing down the pillow so that it looked as if he himself lay there, peacefully sleeping beneath the sheltering blankets.... then, still noiseless, panther-like, he slid his lithe figure under the bed.... then the noise came again. just the whisper of footsteps in the wide hall, and then--his door opened soundlessly and for a moment the footsteps stopped. he could feel a presence in the room. if it were dollops the lad would give some sign. if not--he lay still, scarcely breathing in the enveloping darkness. the footsteps came again, softly, softly padding across the room toward him. he saw the black shadows of stockinged feet as they crossed the path of moonlight, and sucked in his breath. man's feet!... whose?... then something shook the bedstead with tremendous force, but without sound. it was as if some object had been hurled forcibly into its softness. the footsteps turned again, hurriedly this time, and there was a sound of a deep-drawn breath--a breath full of pent-up, passionate hatred. then the figure ran lightly across the room, and as it flashed for a moment through the bar of moonlight, cleek looked out from his safe hiding-place and--_saw_! the eyes were narrowed in the ivory-tinted face, the jaw heavy and undershot as a bull-dog's, while a dark coloured mustache straggled untidily across the upper lip. the moonlight, cruelly clear, picked out the point of something sharp that shone in one clenched hand, something that looked like a knife--that _was_ a knife. then the figure vanished and the door closed noiselessly behind him. hmm. so this question of the frozen flame was as urgent as all that, was it? to attempt to murder him, here--in the house of the squire of fetchworth. he wriggled out of his hiding place, a little stiff from the cramped position he had held, and guardedly lit his candle. then he surveyed the bed with set mouth and narrowed eyes. there was a sharp incision through the clothes, an incision quite three inches long, that had punctured the pillow which lay beneath them--the pillow that had saved him his life--and buried itself in the mattress beneath. gad! a powerful hand that! he stood a moment thinking, pinching up his chin the while. he had had his suspicions of borkins, but the face that he had seen in the moonlight was not the butler's face. _whose, then, was it?_ chapter xiii a gruesome discovery through the long watches of the night cleek sat there thinking, his chin sunk in one hand, his eyes narrowed down to pin-points, the whole alert personality of the man vitally dominant. no, he would not tell any one of the happening except dollops and mr. narkom. it would only invite suspicion, throw the house into a state of unrest which was the very thing that he was anxious to avoid. as dawn broke, and the danger for that night was past, he got to his feet, plunged his face into cold water, which cleared away the cobwebs, undressed, and then tackled the question of the injured bedding. the mattress could be turned--that was easy enough, and the slit would probably not be noticed. the bedclothes, too, might be turned the other way up, and with care the injured parts tucked in tightly at the bottom. it would leave them a little short at the top perhaps, but that couldn't be helped. suspicion must be allayed at all costs. time enough to bring the would-be murderer to justice when he had solved the riddle in its entirety. there were two pillows, so he took the damaged one, tore off its case, and tucked that away in his kit-bag, pushed the bag under the bed, and then set about the remaking, with some small success. at least for the time, the incisions in the blanket and sheets would not be noticed, and in the morning he would invent some excuse to have them changed. the early morning cup of tea, brought at eight by a dainty chambermaid in cap and starched blue dress, supplied the need quite nicely. he nodded to her as she left the room, and then, when the door closed, upset the cup on the coverlet, letting the liquid soak through. then he got up and dressed himself with something like a smile upon his lips. at breakfast, a housemaid waited upon them, and cleek ate lustily, with the appetite that is born of good health, and a mind at peace with the world. toward the end of the meal, however, borkins came in. he glanced casually over the group at the table, let his eyes rest for a moment upon cleek, and then--dropped an empty dish he was carrying. as he stooped to recover it, all chance of seeing how the appearance of the man who had so nearly met his death last night affected him, was gone. he came up again still the same, quiet, dignified borkins of yore. not a gleam of anything but the most obsequious interest in the task before him marred the tranquillity of his features. if the man knew anything, then he was a fine actor. but--did he? that was the question that interested cleek during the remainder of the meal. after it was over, mr. narkom and sir nigel went off to the smoking room for a quiet cigarette before setting to the real business of the day, and cleek was left to follow them at his leisure. borkins was pottering about the table as the two men left the breakfast room, and cleek stood in the doorway. "peaceful night, last night, eh, borkins?" he said with a slight laugh. "that's the best of this blessed country life of yours. chap rests so well. talk about the simple life--" he broke off and laughed again, watching borkins pick up a clean fork and carry it to the plate-basket upon the sideboard. the man retained his perfect dignity and ease of manner. "quite so, sir. quite so. i trust you slept well." "pretty well--_for a strange bed_," returned cleek with emphasis, and turned upon his heel. "if you see my man you might send him along to me. i want to arrange with him about suits that are coming down from my tailor's." "very good, sir." cleek joined the two men with something akin to admiration for the butler's impassiveness in his heart. if he knew anything, then he was a past master in the art of repression. on the other hand perhaps he didn't--and there was really no reason why he should. eavesdropping was a common enough fault with the best of servants, and curiosity a failing of most men. borkins might be--and possibly was--absolutely innocent of any knowledge of last night's affair. and yet, how did the knowledge, that he was not altogether what he seemed, leak out? it was a puzzle to which, as yet, cleek could find no answer. mr. narkom greeted cleek enthusiastically when he joined him. "i'm off on a tour of investigation in a few minutes," he announced. "petrie and hammond arrived last night, as you know, and are putting up at the village inn. i'm meeting them at the edge of the fens at ten o'clock. then we're going to have a good look to see if we can find the bodies of the two men who have vanished. you coming along?" cleek nodded, and the queer little one-sided smile travelled up his cheek. "certainly, my dear lake. i'd be delighted. sir nigel, of course, has other business to attend to. it's ten minutes to ten now. if you're going you'd better step lively. ah," as dollops's figure appeared in the doorway, "if you'll excuse me, sir nigel, i'll just have a word or two with my man." his voice dropped several tones as he addressed the boy and they moved away together. "mr. lake and i are going out for a walk across the fens. petrie and hammond will be there at ten. i'd like you to join 'em. better nip along now." "yessir." "and--dollops"--he beckoned him back and bent his head to the lad's ear, speaking in a voice that none heard but the one it was intended for--"keep a sharp look-out. i had a narrow escape last night. someone tried to stab me in bed but he got my pillow instead--" "_gawdamercy_, guv'nor!--" "ssh. and there's no need to worry. i'm still here, you see. but keep your eyes and your ears open, and if you see any strange men hanging around, report to me at once." dollops's usually pale, freckled countenance went a shade paler, and he caught at cleek's arm as though he were loath to let it go. "but, sir," he whispered in a hoarse undertone, "you won't go a-knocking about alone, will yer? if anythin' were to 'appen to you--i--i'd go along and commit that there 'harum-scarum' wot the japanese are so fond o' doin'--on the spot!" cleek could barely restrain a laugh. the whispered conversation had taken the merest fraction of a minute and, during it, he had had full view of the green baize door which led down to the servants' quarters. borkins had gone through it some time before. then he heard the butler's deep, measured tones in the garden, and caught sight of him talking to one of the grooms in the courtyard. he heaved something like a sigh of relief. dollops left, and cleek then rejoined the two men who stood talking together in low, earnest tones. "now," said he, briskly, "if you're ready, mr. lake, i am. let us be off. sir nigel, i hope by dinner time to have some sort of news to impart to you, whether good or ill remains to be seen. by the way, have you, in your employ, a dark, square-faced individual, with close-set eyes and a straggling moustache? rather undershot, too, i believe? it would be interesting to me to know." merriton considered for a moment. "tell you the truth, mr. headland, i can't fit the description in anywhere among the people here," he said after a pause. "dimmock's fairish--though he _has_ got a moustache, but it's a military one, and borkins is, of course, smooth shaven. the other men are clean-shaved, too, except for old doughty, the head gardener, and he wears a full, gray beard. why?" cleek shook his head. "nothing important. i was only just wondering. now then, lake, you'll be late if you loiter any longer, and our--er--friends will be waiting. good-bye, sir nigel, and good luck. lunch at one-fifteen, i take it?" he swung upon his heel and linked his arm with mr. narkom's, then, taking his cap from a peg on the hall stand, clapped it on his head and went down and out to the task that awaited him, and a discovery which was, to say the least of it, startling in the extreme. they walked for some time in comparative silence, puffing at their cigarettes. then of a sudden, cleek spoke. "i say, old man, you'll want to keep a close look-out upon your own personal safety," he said, abruptly, wheeling round and meeting his friend full in the eyes. "what d'you mean, c--headland?" "what i say. someone's got wind of our real purpose here. i have a grave suspicion that that borkins was listening at my door last evening when i was talking to dollops. later--well, somebody or other tried to get me in bed. but i was one too many for him--" "my dear cleek!" "mr. lake, i beg of you--not so loud!" ejaculated cleek. "there are ears everywhere, which you as a policeman ought to know. do remember my name and don't go losing any sleep over me. i can take care of myself, all right. but i had to do it pretty energetically last night. a thoughtful visitor stabbed the pillow i'd placed in bed instead of my humble self, and cut an incision three inches deep. hit the mattress, too!" "headland, my god--!" "now, don't take on so. i tell you i can take care of myself, but you do the same. no one in the house knows a word about it, and i don't intend that they shall. the less said the better, in a case like this. only those frozen flames are trying to eat up something that is either very serious or very money-making. one thing or the other.... hello, here we are! mornin' petrie; mornin' hammond. all ready for the search i see." the two constables, clad in plain clothes and accompanied by dollops, were holding in their hands long pitchforks which looked more as if they were ready for haymaking than for the gruesome task ahead of them all. petrie carried upon his arm a roll of rope. they swung into step behind the detectives, across the uneven, marshy ground. it was a chilly morning, and inclined to rain. across the flat horizon the mist hung in wraithlike forms of cloudy gray, and the deep grass into which they plunged their feet was beaded with dew. for a time they walked on quietly until they had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile. then cleek halted. "better separate here," he said, waving his arm out across the sweep of flat country. "dollops, you take the right with petrie. hammond, you'd better try the left. mr. narkom and i will go straight ahead together. any discovery made, just give the usual signal." they separated at once, their feet upon the thick marshy ground leaving numberless footprints in the moist rank grass, which crushed under them like wet hay. their heads were bent, their eyes fixed upon the ground, their faces bearing a look of utter concentration. cleek watched them moving slowly across the wide, flat reaches of the fens, stopping now and then to poke among the rank marsh-grass, and prod into the earth, and then turned to mr. narkom. "good fellows--those three," he said with a smile. "what more can you ask than that? straight ahead for us, mr. narkom. sir nigel tells me the patch of charred grass lies in a direct line with the edge of the fens where we started our search. i'm keen to have a look at it." mr. narkom nodded, and walked on, poking here and there with his stout walking stick. cleek did likewise. they rarely spoke, simply pushed and poked and trod the grass down; searching, searching, searching, as had those other men upon the night of dacre wynne's disappearance. but they had searched in vain for any clue which would lead to the elucidation of the mystery. suddenly cleek stopped. he pointed a little ahead of him with his walking stick. "there you are!" said he briskly. "the patch of charred grass." he strode up to it, stopped and bent his eyes upon it, then suddenly exclaimed: "look here! below at the roots the fresh grass is springing up in little tender green shoots. that patch'll disappear shortly. and"--he stopped and sucked in his breath, wheeling round upon mr. narkom--"when you come to think of it, why shouldn't it have grown up already? there's been time enough since the man wynne's disappearance to cover up all those singed ends in a new growth. can't be that it's done on _purpose_, and yet--why is it still here?" "perhaps some sign or something," suggested mr. narkom. "possibly, something of the sort. and if we have signs then there must be something human behind all this talk of supernatural agents," returned cleek. "let us take it that this patch of charred grass _hides_ something, or marks the way to something, something buried underneath it, or lying near by. eh--what's that?" "that" was a cat-call ringing out across the misty silences from the direction in which dollops and petrie had gone. "they've found something!" cried out mr. narkom, in a hoarse whisper of excitement. "obviously. well, this other thing will wait. we'll go after them." the two of them hastened off in the direction of the repeated cat-call, and soon came upon dollops bending over something, his eyes rather scared, just as hammond arrived from the other direction in answer to the summons. petrie, too, appeared rather nervous. as cleek came up to them, his eyes fell upon the ground, and he stopped stock still. "_gad!..._ where did you find it?" "here, sir; half buried, but with the 'ead a-stickin' out!" returned petrie. "dollops and i pulled it out and--and 'ere it is." cleek glanced down at the body of a heavily built man, clad in evening clothes, and already in an advanced state of decomposition. "looks like it was that chap wynne," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "answers the description all right. the other man was short and red-headed. and the evening clothes are well cut from what i can see. must have been a handsome chap--once.... well, we'll have to get this very gruesome find back to the towers as quickly as possible. got your oilskin with you, petrie?" "yessir!" petrie miraculously produced the roll from under his tunic and spread the sheet out. then they lifted up the body and wrapped it about so that the covering hid the awfulness of it from view. mr. narkom mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "cinnamon, cleek!" he ejaculated, breathlessly. "pretty awful, isn't it? was it much hidden, petrie? funny the other people didn't find it when they searched!" "no, sir--plain as a pikestaff!" returned petrie importantly, for he felt the burden of responsibility and hoped that this would mean promotion. dollops, who was by no means a regular member of the force, simply looked at cleek with considerable pride fighting through the natural horror that the find had given birth to. "funny thing!" broke in cleek at this juncture. "the only solution must be that the body was placed there some time _after_ death.... leave it a little longer, boys, and we'll have a further search in this direction. we may come upon poor collins in a similar fashion--though thank heaven his disappearance didn't happen quite so long ago." they took a few steps farther in the same direction and--stopped simultaneously. before their eyes lay the figure of collins, in his discreet black clothes, his red head against a tuffet of moss, and a bullet wound in his temple. "god!" said cleek, softly, and sucked in his breath. "two of 'em. and like this!... looks like a plant, doesn't it? poor chap!... and yet merriton declared that he, as well as others, had searched every inch of this ground over and over again. seems fishy. to find 'em both here--so close together.... let's have a look at the other poor chap.... hmm. bullet wound through the right temple, too. small-calibre revolver." he bent down and examined the head carefully through his magnifying glass, then got slowly to his feet. "well, mr. narkom," said he, steadily, "nothing to be done at present, but to get these bodies back to the towers. after that they can take 'em to the village mortuary if they like. but i've one or two things i'd like to ask you merriton, and one or two things i want to examine. gad! it's a beastly task, boys. that sheet's big enough, thank fortune! cross the pitchforks, petrie, and make a sort of stretcher out of them, that way. that's right. now then, forward.... gad! _what_ a morning!" but if he had known just exactly what the rest of that morning was to bring forth, indeed before lunch was served at one-fifteen, he might have hesitated to pass judgment upon it so soon. slowly the cavalcade wended its way across the rank grass.... chapter xiv the spin of the wheel merriton stood at the study window, looking out, and pulling at his cigar with an air of profound meditation. upon the hearth-rug doctor bartholomew, clad in baggy tweeds, stood tugging at his beard and watched the man's back with kindly, troubled eyes. "don't like it, nigel, my boy; don't like it at all!" he ejaculated, suddenly, in his close-clipped fashion. "these detectives are the very devil to pay. get 'em in one's house and they're like doctors--including, of course, my humble self--difficult to get out. part of the profession, my boy. but a beastly nuisance. seems to me i'd rather have the mystery than the men. simpler, anyway. and fees, you know, are heavy." merriton swung round upon his heel suddenly, his brows like a thunder cloud. "i don't care a damn about that," he broke out angrily. "let 'em take every penny i've got, so long as they solve the thing! but i can't get away from it--i just can't. hangs over me night and day like the sword of damocles! until the mystery of wynne's disappearance is cleared up, i tell you 'toinette and i can't marry. she feels the same. and--and--we've the house all ready, you know, everything fixed and in order, except _this_. when poor old collins disappeared, too, i found i'd reached my limit. so here these detectives are, and, on the whole, jolly decent chaps i find 'em." doctor bartholomew shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "have it your own way, my boy." but what he really _did_ say was: "what are their names?" "young chap's headland--george or john headland, i don't remember quite which. other one's lake--gregory lake." "h'm. good name that, nigel. ought to be some brains behind it. but i never did pin my faith on policemen, you know, boy. scotland yard's made so many mistakes that if it hadn't been for that chap cleek, they'd have ruined themselves altogether. now, he's a man, if you like! pity you couldn't get _him_ while you're about it." the impulse to tell who "george headland" really was to this firm friend who had been more than a father to him, even in the old days, and who had made a point of dropping down upon him, informally, ever since the trouble over dacre wynne's disappearance, took hold of nigel. but he shook it off. he had given his word. and if he could not tell 'toinette, then no other soul in the universe should know. so he simply tossed his shoulders, and, going back to the window, looked out of it, to hide the something of triumph which had stolen into his face. truth to tell, he was obsessed with a feeling that something _was_ going to happen, and happen soon. the premonition, to one who was not used to such things, carried all the more conviction. with cleek on the track--anything might happen. cleek was a man for whom things never stood still, and his amazing brain was concentrated upon this problem as it had been concentrated--successfully--upon others. merriton had a feeling that it was only a matter of time. then, just as he was standing there, humming something softly beneath his breath, the cavalcade, headed by cleek and mr. narkom, rather grim and silent, reached the gateway. behind them--merriton gave a sudden cry which brought the doctor to his side--behind them three men were carrying something--something bulky and large and wrapped in a black oilskin tarpaulin. and one of the men was headland's servant, dollops! he recognized that, even as his inner consciousness told him that his "something" was about to happen now. "gad! they've found the body," he exclaimed, in a hoarse, excited voice, fairly running to the front door and throwing it open with a crash that rang through the old house from floor to rafters, and brought borkins scuttling up the kitchen stairs at a pace that was ill-befitting his age and dignity. merriton gave him a curt order. "have the morning-room door thrown open and the sofa pulled out from against the wall. my friends have been for a walk across the fens, and have found something. you can see them coming up the drive. what d'you make of it?" "gawd! a haccident, sir nigel," said borkins, in a shaky voice. "'adn't i better tell mrs. mummery to put the blue bedroom in order and 'ave plenty of 'ot water?..." "no." merriton was running down the front steps and flung the answer back over his shoulder. "can't you use your eyes? it's a body, you fool--a body!" borkins gasped a moment, and then stood still, his thin lips sucked in, his face unpleasant to see. he was alone in the hallway, for doctor bartholomew's fat figure was waddling in merriton's wake. he put up his fist and shook it in their direction. "pity it ain't your body, young upstart that you are!" he muttered beneath his breath, and turned toward the morning room. meanwhile merriton had reached the solemn little party and was walking back beside cleek, his face chalky, the pupils of his eyes a trifle dilated with excitement. "found 'em? found 'em _both_, you say, mr. headland?" he kept on repeating over and over again, as they mounted the steps together. "good god! what a strange--what a peculiar thing! i'll swear there was no sight nor sign of them when i've tramped over the fens dozens of times. i don't know what to make of it, i don't indeed!" "oh, we'll make something of it all right," returned cleek, with a sharp look at him, for there was one thing he wanted to find out, and he meant to do that as soon as possible. "two and two, you know, put together properly, always make four. it's only the fools of the world that add wrong. if you'd had as much practice as i've had in dealing with humanity, you'd find it was an ever-increasing astonishment to see the way things dovetail in.... who's this, by the way?" he jerked his head in the direction of the doctor, who had stopped at the foot of the steps and waited for them to come up to him. "oh, a very old friend of mine, mr. headland. doctor bartholomew. has a very big practice in town, but a trifle eccentric, as you can see at first glance." cleek sent his keen eyes over the odd-looking figure in the worn tweeds. "i see. then can you tell me how he finds time to run down here at leisure and visit you? seems to me a man with a big practice never has enough time to work it in. at least, that has been my experience of doctors." merriton flushed angrily at the tone. he whipped his head round and met cleek's cool gaze hotly. "i know you're down here to investigate the case, but i don't think there's any reason for you to start suspecting my friends," he retorted, his eyes flashing. "doctor bartholomew has a partner, if you want to know. and also he's supposed to be retired. but he carries on for the love of the thing. best man ever breathed--remember that!" cleek smiled to himself at the sudden onslaught. the young pepper-pot! yet he liked him for the loyal defence of his friend, nevertheless. there were all too few creatures in the world who found it impossible to suspect those whom they cared for, and who cared for them. "sorry to have given any offence, i'm sure," he said, smoothly. "none was meant, right enough, sir nigel. but a policeman has an unpleasant duty, you know. he's got to keep his eyes and his ears open. so if you find mine open too far, any time, just tip me the wink and i'll shut 'em up again." "oh, that's all right," said merriton, mollified, and a trifle shamefaced at the outburst. then, with an effort to turn the conversation: "but think of findin' 'em both, mr.--er--headland! were they--very awful?" "pretty awful," returned cleek, quietly; "eh, mr. lake?" "god bless my soul--_yes_!" threw in that gentleman, with a shudder. "now then, boys, if you don't mind--" he took the attitude of a casual acquaintance with his two assistants who helped to bear the burden. "come along inside. this way--that's it. where did you say, merriton? into the morning room? all right. ah, borkins has been getting things ready, i see. that couch is a broad one. good thing, as there are two of 'em." "_two_ of 'em, sir?" exclaimed borkins, suddenly throwing up his hands, his eyes wide with horror. mr. narkom nodded with something of professional triumph in his look. "two of 'em, borkins. and the second one, if i don't make any mistake, answers to the description of james collins--eh, headland?" cleek gave him a sudden look that spoke volumes. it came over him in a flash that narkom had said too much; that it wasn't the casual visitor's place to know what a servant who was not there at the time of his visit looked like. "at least--that's as far as i can make out from what sir nigel told me of him the other day," he supplemented, in an effort to make amends. "now then, boys, put 'em there on the couch. poor things! i warn you, sir nigel, this isn't going to be a pleasant sight, but you've got to go through with it, i'm afraid. the police'll want identification made, of course. hadn't you better 'phone the local branch? someone ought to be here in charge, you know." merriton nodded. he was so stunned at the actuality of these two men's deaths, at the knowledge that their bodies--lifeless, extinct--were here in his morning room, that he had stood like an image, making no move, no sound. "yes--yes," he said, rapidly, waving a hand in borkins's direction. "see that it's done at once, please. tell constable roberts to come along with a couple of his men. very decent of these chaps to give you a hand, mr. lake. that's your man, dollops, isn't it, headland? well, hadn't he better take 'em downstairs and give 'em a stiff whisky-and-soda? i expect the poor beggars have need of it." cleek held up a silencing hand. "no," he said, firmly. "not just yet, i think. they may be needed for evidence when the constable comes. now...." he crossed over to where the bodies lay, and gently removed the covering. merriton went suddenly white, while the doctor, more used to such sights, bit his lips and laid a steadying hand upon the younger man's arm. "my god!" cried sir nigel, despairingly. "how did they meet their death?" cleek reached down a finger and gently touched a blackened spot upon wynne's temple. "shot through the head, and the bullet penetrated the brain," he said, quietly. "small-calibre revolver, too. there's your frozen flame for you, my friend!" but he was hardly prepared for the event that followed. for at this statement, merriton threw a hand out suddenly, as though warding off a blow, took a step forward and peered at that which had once been his friend--and enemy--and then gave out a strangled cry. "shot through the head!" he fairly shrieked, as borkins came quietly into the room, and stopped short at the sound of his master's voice. "i tell you it's impossible--_impossible_! it wasn't my shot, mr. headland--it couldn't have been!" chapter xv a startling disclosure cleek took a sudden step forward. "what's that? what's that?" he rapped out, sharply. "_your_ shot, sir nigel? this is something i haven't heard of before, and it's likely to cause trouble. explain, please!" but merriton was past explaining anything just then. for he had bowed his head in his hands and was sobbing in great, heart-wrung sobs with doctor bartholomew's arms about him, sobs that told of the nerve-strain which gave them birth, that told of the tenseness under which he had lived these last weeks. and now the thread had snapped, and all the broken, jangling nerves of the man had been loosed and torn his control to atoms. the doctor shook him gently, but with firm fingers. "don't be a fool, boy--don't be a fool!" he said over and over again, as he waved the other away, and, taking out a little phial from his waistcoat pocket, dropped a dose from it into a wine-glass and forced it between the man's lips. "don't make an ass of yourself, nigel. the shot you fired was nothing--the mere whim of a man, whose brain had been fired by champagne and who wasn't therefore altogether responsible for his actions." he whipped round suddenly upon cleek, his faded eyes, with their fringe of almost white lashes, flashing like points of light from the seamed and wrinkled frame of his face. "if you want to hear that foolish part of the story, i can give it to you," he said, sharply. "because i happened to be there." "_you!_" "yes--i, mr.--er--headland, isn't it? ah, thanks. but the boy's unstrung, nerve-racked. he's been through too much. the whole beastly thing has made a mess of him, and he was a fool to meddle with it. nigel merriton fired a shot that night when dacre wynne disappeared, mr. headland; fired it after he had gone up to his room, a little over-excited with too much champagne, a little over-wrought by the scene through which he had just passed with the man who had always exercised such a sinister influence over his life." "so sir nigel was no good friend of this man wynne's, then?" remarked cleek, quietly, as if he did not already know the fact. the doctor looked up as though he were ready to spring upon him and tear him limb from limb. "no!" he said, furiously, "and neither would you have been, if you'd known him. great hulking bully that he was! i tell you, i've seen the man use his influence upon this boy here, until--fine, upstanding chap that he is (and i've known him and his people ever since he was a baby) he succeeded in making him as weak as a hysterical girl--and gloated over it, too!" cleek drew in a quiet breath, and gave his shoulders the very slightest of twitches, to show that he was listening. "very interesting, doctor, as psychological studies of the kind go," he said, smoothly, stroking his chin and looking down at the bowed shoulders of the man in the arm chair, with something almost like sorrow in his eyes. "but we've got to get down to brass tacks, you know. this thing's serious. it's got to be proved. if it can't be--well, it's going to be mighty awkward for sir nigel. now, let's hear the thing straight out from the person most interested, please. i don't like to appear thoughtless in any way, but this is a serious admission you've just made. sir nigel, i beg of you, tell us the story before the constable comes. it might make things easier for you in the long run." merriton, thus addressed, threw up his head suddenly and showed a face marked with mental anguish, dry-eyed, deathly white. he got slowly to his feet and went over to the table, leaning his hand upon it as though for support. "oh, well," he said, listlessly, "you might as well hear it first as last. doctor bartholomew's right, mr. headland. i _did_ fire a shot upon the night of dacre wynne's disappearance, and i fired it from my bedroom window. it was like this: "wynne had gone, and after waiting for him to come back away past the given time, we all made up our minds to go to bed, and tony west--a pal of mine who was one of the guests--and the doctor here accompanied me to my room door. dr. bartholomew had a room next to mine. in that part of the house the walls are thin, and although my revolver (which i always carry with me, mr. headland, since i lived in india) is one of those almost soundless little things, still, the sound of it reached him." "is it of small calibre?" asked cleek, at this juncture. merriton nodded gravely. "as you say, of small calibre. you can see it for yourself. borkins"--he turned toward the man, who was standing by the doorway, his hands hanging at his sides, his manner a trifle obsequious; "will you bring it from the left-hand drawer of my dressing table. here is the key." he tossed over a bunch of keys and they fell with a jangling sound upon the floor at borkins's feet. "very good, sir nigel," said the man and withdrew, leaving the door open behind him, however, as though he were afraid to lose any of the story that was being told in the quiet morning room. when he had gone, merriton resumed: "i'm not a superstitious man, mr. headland, but that old wives' tale of the frozen flames, and the new one coming out every time they claimed another victim, seemed to have burnt its way into my brain. that and the champagne together, and then close upon it dacre wynne's foolish bet to find out what the things were. when i went up to my room, and after saying good-night to the doctor here, closed the door and locked it, i then crossed to the window and looked out at the flames. and as i looked--believe it or not, as you will--another flame suddenly sprang up at the left of the others, a flame that seemed brighter, bigger than any of the rest, a flame that bore with it the message: 'i am dacre wynne'." cleek smiled, crookedly, and went on stroking his chin. "rather a fanciful story that, sir nigel," he said, "but go on. what happened?" "why, i fired at the thing. i picked up my revolver and, in a sort of blind rage, fired at it through the open window; and i believe i said something like this: 'damn it, why won't you go? i'll make you go, you maddening little devil!' though i know those weren't the identical words i spoke. as soon as the shot was fired my brain cleared. i began to feel ashamed of myself, thought what a fool i'd look in front of the boys if they heard the story; and just at that moment doctor bartholomew knocked at the door." here the doctor nodded vigorously as though to corroborate these statements, and made as if to speak. cleek silenced him with a gesture. "and then--what next, sir nigel?" merriton cleared his throat before proceeding. there was a drawn look upon his face. "the doctor said he thought he had heard a shot, and asked me what it was, and i replied: 'nothing. only i was potting at the flames.' this seemed to amaze him, as it would any sane man, i should think, and as no doubt it is amazing you, mr. headland. amazing you and making you think, 'what a fool the fellow is, after all!' well, i showed the doctor the revolver in my hand, and he laughingly said that he'd take it to bed with him, in case i should start potting at _him_ by mistake. then i got into bed, after making him promise he wouldn't breathe a word to anybody of what had occurred, as the others would be sure to laugh at me; and--that's all." "h'm. and quite enough, too, i should say," broke in cleek, as the man finished. "it sounds true enough, believe me, from your lips, and i know you for an honourable man; but--what sort of a credence do you think an average jury is going to place upon it? d'you think they'd believe you?" he shook his head. "never. they'd simply laugh at the whole thing, and say you were either drunk or dreaming. people in the twentieth century don't indulge in superstition to that extent, sir nigel; or, at least, if they do, they let their reason govern their actions as far as possible. it's a tall story at best, if you'll forgive me for saying so." merriton's face went a dull, sultry red. his eyes flamed. "then you don't believe me?" he said, impatiently. cleek raised a hand. "i don't say that for one moment," he replied. "what i say is: 'would a judge and jury believe you?' that is the question. and my answer to it is, 'no.' you've had every provocation to take dacre wynne's life, so far as i can learn, every provocation, that is, that a man of unsound mentality who would stoop to murder could have to justify himself in his own eyes. things look exceedingly black against you, sir nigel. you can swear to this statement as far as your part in it is concerned, doctor bartholomew?" "absolutely," said the doctor, though plainly showing that he felt it was no business of the supposed mr. headland's. "well, that's good. but if only there had been another witness, someone who actually saw this thing done, or who had heard the pistol-shot--not that i'm doubting your word at all, doctor--it might help to elucidate matters. there is no one you know of who could have heard--and not spoken?" at this juncture borkins came quietly into the room, holding the little revolver in his right hand, and handed it to cleek. "if you please, sir," he said, impassively, and with a quick look into merriton's grave face, "_i_ heard. and i can speak, if the jury wants me to, i don't doubt but what my tale would be worth listenin' to, if only to add my hevidence to the rest. that man there"--he pointed one shaking forefinger at his master's face, and glowered into it for a moment "was the murderer of poor mr. wynne!" chapter xvi trapped! "you damned, skulking liar!" merriton leapt forward suddenly, and it was with difficulty that cleek could restrain him from seizing the butler round the throat. "gently, gently, my friend," interposed cleek, as he neatly caught merriton's upthrown arm. "it won't help you, you know, to attack a possible witness. we've got to hear what this man says, to know whether he's speaking the truth or not--and we've got to go into his evidence as clearly as we go into yours.... you're perfectly right, doctor, i _am_ a policeman, and i'm down here for the express purpose of investigating this appalling affair. the expression of your face so plainly said, 'what right has he to go meddling in another man's affairs like this?' that i was obliged to confess the fact, for the sake of my self-respect. my friend here, mr. lake, is working with me." at this he gave borkins a keen, searching look, and saw in the man's impassive countenance that this was no news to him. "now then, my man, speak out. you tell us you heard that revolver-shot when your master fired it from his bedroom. where are your quarters?" "on the other side of the 'ouse, sir," returned borkins, flushing a trifle. "but i was up in me dressing gown, as i'd some'ow thought that something was amiss. i'd 'eard the quarrel that 'ad taken place between sir nigel and poor mr. wynne, and i'd 'eard 'im go out and slam the door be'ind 'im. so i was keeping me ears peeled, as you might say." "i see. doing a bit of eavesdropping, eh?" asked cleek, and was rewarded by an angry look from under the man's dark brows and a sudden tightening of the lines about his mouth. "and what then?" "i kept about, first in the bathroom, and then in the 'all, keeping my ears open, for i'd an idea that one day things would come to a 'ead between 'em. sir nigel had taken mr. wynne's girl and--" "close your lying mouth, you vile beast!" spat out merriton, vehemently, "and don't you dare to mention her name, or i'll stop you for ever from speaking, whether i hang or not!" borkins looked at cleek, and his look quite plainly conveyed the meaning that he wished the detective to notice how violent sir nigel could be on occasions, but if cleek saw this he paid not the slightest heed. "speak as briefly as you can, please, and give as little offence," he cut in, in a sharp tone, and borkins resumed: "at last i saw sir nigel and the doctor and mr. west come up the corridor together. i 'eard 'em bid each other good-night, saw the doctor go into 'is room, and mr. west return to the smoking-room, and 'eard sir nigel's key turn in 'is lock. after that there was silence for a bit, and all i 'ears was 'is moving about and muttering to 'imself, as though 'e was angry about something. then, just as i was a-goin' back to me own room, i 'eard the pistol-shot, and nips back again. i 'eard 'im say, 'got you--you devil!' and then without waitin' for anything else, i runs down to the servants' 'all, which is directly below the smoking room where the other gentlemen were talking and smoking. i peers out of the window, upward--for it's a half-basement, as perhaps you've noticed, sir--and there, in the light of the moon, i see mr. wynne's figure, crouched down against the gravel of the front path, and makin' funny sorts of noises. and then, all of a sudden, 'e went still as a dead man--and 'e _was_ a dead man. with that i flies to me own room, frightened half out of me wits--for i'm a peace-lovin' person, and easily scared, i'm afraid--and then i locks meself in, sayin' over and over to meself the words, 'he's done it! he's done it at last! he's murdered mr. wynne, he has!' and that's all i 'ave to say, sir." "and a damned sight too much, too, you liar!" threw in merriton, furiously, his face convulsed with passion, the veins on his temple standing out like whipcords. "why, the whole story's a fake. and if it _were_ true, tell me how i could get wynne's body out of the way so quickly, and without any one hearing me, when every man in that smoking room, from their own words, and from those of the doctor here, was at that moment straining his ears for any possible sound? the smoking room flanks straight on the drive, mr.--er--headland--" he caught himself up just in time as he saw cleek's almost imperceptible signal, and then went on, his voice gaining in strength and fury with every word: "i'm not a giant, am i? i couldn't have lifted wynne _alive_ and with his own assistance, much less lift him dead when he'd be a good sight heavier. why, the thing's a tissue of lies, i tell you--a beastly, underhanded, backbiting tissue of lies, and if ever i get out of this thing alive, i'll show borkins exactly what i think of him. and why you should give credence to the story of a lying servant, rather than to mine, i cannot see at all. would i have brought you here, you, a man whose name--" and even in the excitement which had him in its grip nigel felt cleek's will, powerful, compelling, preventing his giving away the secret of his identity, preventing his telling that it was the master mind among the criminal investigators of europe which was working on this horrible affair. he went on, still in a fury of indignation, but with the knowledge of mr. headland's true name still locked in his breast. "did i bring you here as a friend and give you every opportunity to work on this strange business, to have you arraign me as a murderer? do not treat me as a suspect, mr. detective. i am not on trial. i want this thing cleared up, yes; but i am not here to be accused of the murder of a man who was a guest in my own house, by the very man i brought in to find the true murderer." "you haven't given me time to say whether i accuse you or not, sir nigel," replied cleek, patiently. "now, if you'll permit me to speak, we'll take up this man's evidence. there are gaps in it that rather badly want filling up, and there are thin places which i hardly think would hold water before a judge and jury. but he swears himself a witness, and there you are. and as for believing his word before yours--who fired the shot, sir nigel? did he, or did you? i am a representative of the law and as such i entered your house." merriton made no reply, simply held his head a little higher and clasped the edge of the table more firmly. "now," said cleek, turning to the butler and fixing him with his keen eyes. "you are ready to swear that this is true, upon your oath, and knowing that perjury is punishable by law?" "yes, sir." borkins's voice was very low and rather indistinct. "very well. then may i ask why you did not immediately report this matter to the rest of the party, or to the police?" something flashed across borkins's face, and was gone again. he cleared his throat nervously before replying: "i felt on me honour to--sir nigel, sir," he returned at length. "a man stands by his master, you know--if 'e's a good one; and though we'd 'ad words before, i didn't bear 'im no malice. and i didn't want the old 'ouse to come to disgrace." "so you waited until things looked a little blacker for him, and then decided to cast your creditable scruples to the wind?" said cleek, the queer little one-sided smile travelling up his cheek. "i take it that you had had what you term 'words' since that fatal date?" borkins nodded. he did not like this cross-examination, and his nervousness was apparent in voice and look and action. "yes, sir." "h'm. and if we put that to one side altogether can you give me any reason why i should believe this unlikely story in place of the equally unlikely one that your master has told me--knowing what i do?" borkins twitched up his head suddenly, his eyes fear-filled, his face turned suddenly gray. "i--i--what can you know about me, but that i 'ave been in the employment of this family nearly all my life?" he returned, taken off his guard by cleek's remark. "i'm only a poor, honest workin' man, sir, been in the same place nigh on to twenty years and--" "and hoping you can hang on another twenty, i dare say!" threw in cleek, sarcastically. "oh, i know more about you, my man, than i care to tell. but at the moment that doesn't enter into the matter. we'll take that up later. now then, there's the revolver. doctor, you should be useful here; if you will use your professional skill in the service of the law that seems trying to embroil your friend. i want you to examine the head wound, please--the head wound of the man called dacre wynne, and, if you can, remove the bullet that is lodged in the brain. then we shall have a chance to compare it with those remaining in sir nigel's revolver." "i--can't do it, mr. headland," returned doctor bartholomew, firmly. "i won't lend myself to a plot to inveigle this poor boy, to ruin his life--" "and i demand it--in the name of the law." he motioned to petrie and hammond, who through the whole length of the inquiry had stood with dollops, beside the doorway. they came forward swiftly. "arrest doctor bartholomew for treating the law with contempt--" "but, i say, mr. headland, this is a damned outrage!" cleek held up a hand. "yes," he said, "i agree with you. but a very necessary one. besides"--he smiled suddenly into the seamed, anxious face of the man--"who knows but that bullet may prove sir nigel's innocence? who knows but that it is not the same kind as lie now in this deadly little thing here in my hand? it lies with you, doctor. must i arrest him now, and take him off to the public jail to await trial, or will you give him a sporting chance?" the doctor looked up into the keen eyes bent upon him, his own equally keen. he did not know whether he liked this man of the law or not. something of the man's personality, unfortunate as had been its revelation during this past trying hour, had caught him in its thrall. he measured him, eye for eye, but cleek's never wavered. "i've no instruments," he said at last, hedging for time. "i have plenty--upstairs. i have dabbled a little in surgery myself, when occasion has arisen. i'll fetch them in a minute. you will?" the doctor stood up between the two tall policemen who had a hand upon either shoulder. his face was set like a mask. "it's a damned outrage, but i will," he said. dollops was gone like a flash. in the meantime cleek cleared the room. he sent merriton off to the smoking room in charge of petrie and hammond, and borkins with them--though borkins was to be kept in the hallway, away from his master's touch and voice. cleek, mr. narkom, and the doctor remained alone in the room of death, where the doctor set to his gruesome task. outside, constable roberts's burly voice could be heard holding forth in the hall upon the fact that he'd been after a poacher on mr. jimmeson's estate over to saltfleet, and wasn't in when they came for him. and the operation went quietly on.... ... in the smoking room, with hammond and petrie seated like deaf mutes upon either side of him, merriton reviewed the whole awful affair from start to finish, and felt his heart sink like lead in his breast. oh, what a fool he had been to have these men down here! what a fool! to see them wilfully trumping up a charge of murder against himself was--well, it was enough to make any sane man lose hold on his reason. and 'toinette! his little 'toinette! if he should be convicted and sent to prison, what would become of her? it would break her heart. and he might never see her again! a sudden moisture pricked at the corners of his eyes. god!--never to call her _wife_!... how long were those beasts going to brood in there over the dead? and was there not a chance that the bullet might be different? after all, wasn't it almost impossible that the bullet _should_ be the same? his was an unusual little revolver made by a firm in french africa, having a different sort of cartridge. every tom, dick, and harry didn't have one--couldn't afford it, in the first place.... there was a chance--yes, certainly there was a _chance_. ... his blood began to hammer in his veins again, and his heart beat rapidly. hope went through him like wine, drowning all the fears and terrors that had stalked before him like demons from another world. he heard, with throbbing pulses, approaching footsteps in the hall. his head was swimming, his feet seemed loaded with lead so that he could not rise. then, across the space from where cleek stood, the revolver in one hand and the tiny black object that had nested in a dead man's brain in the other, came the sound of his voice, speaking in clear, concise sentences. he could see the doctor's grave face over the curve of mr. narkom's fat shoulder. for a moment the world swam. then he caught the import of what cleek was saying. "the bullet is the same as those in your revolver, sir nigel," he said, concisely. "i am sorry, but i must do my duty. constable roberts, here is your prisoner. i arrest this man for the murder of dacre wynne!" chapter xvii in the cell what followed was like a sort of nightmare to merriton. that he should be arrested for the murder of dacre wynne reeled drunkenly in his brain. murderer! they were calling him a murderer! the liars! the fools! calling him a murderer, were they? and taking the word of a crawling worm like borkins, a man without honour and utterly devoid of decency, who could stand up before them and tell them a story that was a tissue of lies. it was appalling! what a fiend incarnate this man cleek was! coming here at nigel's own bidding, and then suddenly manipulating the evidence, until it caught him up in its writhing coils like a well-thrown lasso. oh, if he had only let well enough alone and not brought a detective to the house. yet how was he to know that the man would try to fix a murder on him, himself? useless for him to speak, to deny. the revolver-shot and the cruel little bullet (which showed there were others who possessed that sort of fire-arm besides himself) proved too easily, upon the circumstantial evidence theory at all events, that his word was naught. he went through the next hour or two like a man who has been tortured. silent, but bearing the mark of it upon his white face and in his haggard eyes. and indeed his situation was a terrible and strange one. he had set the wheels of the law in motion; he himself had brought the relentless hamilton cleek into the affair and now he was called a murderer! in the little cell where they placed him, away from the gaping, murmuring, gesticulating knot of villagers that had marked his progress to the police-station--for news flies fast in the country, especially when there is a viper-tongue like borkins's to wing it on its way--he was thankful for the momentary peace and quiet that the place afforded. at least he could _think_--think and pace up and down the narrow room with its tiny barred window too high for a man to reach, and its hard camp bedstead with the straw mattress, and go through the whole miserable fabrication that had landed him there. the second day of confinement brought him a visitor. it was 'toinette. his jailer--a rough-haired village-hand who had taken up with the "force" and wore the uniform as though it belonged to someone else (which indeed it had)--brought him news of her arrival. it cut him like a lash to see her thus, and yet the longing for her was so great that it superseded all else. so he faced the man with a grim smile. "i suppose, bennett, that i shall be allowed to see miss brellier? you have made enquiries?" "yes, sir." bennett was crestfallen and rather ashamed of his duty. "any restrictions?" bennett hedged. "well--if you please--sir nigel--that is--" "what the devil are they, then?" "constable roberts give orders that i was to stay 'ere with you--but i can turn me back," returned bennett, with flushing countenance. "shall i show the lady in?" "yes." she came. her frock was of some clinging gray material that made her look more fairy-like than ever. a drooping veil of gray gauze fell like a mist before her face, screening from him the anguished mirrors of her eyes. "nigel! my poor, poor nigel!" "little 'toinette!" "oh, nigel--it seems impossible--utterly! that you should be thought to have killed dacre. you of all people! poor, peace-loving nigel! something must be done, dearest; something _shall_ be done! you shall not suffer so, for someone else's sin--you shall not!" he smiled at her wanly, and told her how beautiful she was. it was useless to explain to her the utter futility of it all. there was the revolver and there the bullet. the weapon was his--of the bullet he could say nothing. he had only told the truth--and they had not believed him. "yes see, dear," he said, patiently, "they do not believe me. they say i killed him, and borkins--lying devil that he is--has told them a story of how the thing was done; sworn, in fact, that he saw it all from the kitchen window, saw wynne lying in the garden path, dying, after i fired at him. of course the thing's an outrageous lie, but--they're acting upon it." "_nigel!_ how dared he?" "who? borkins? that kind of a devil dares anything.... how's your uncle, dear? he has heard, of course?" her face brightened, her eyes were suddenly moist. she put her hands upon his shoulders and tilted her chin so that she could see his eyes. "uncle gustave told me to tell you that he does not believe a word of it, dearest!" she said, softly. "and he is going to make investigations himself. he is so unhappy, so terribly unhappy over it all. such a tangled web as it is, such a wicked, wicked plot they have woven about you! oh, nigel dearest--_why_ did you not tell me that they were detectives, these friends of yours who were coming to visit? if you had only said--" he held her a moment, and then, leaning forward, kissed her gently upon the forehead. "what then, _p'tite_?" "i would have made you send them away--i would! i would!" she cried, vehemently. "they should not have come--not if i had wired to them myself! something told me that day, after you were gone, that a dreadful thing would happen. i was frightened for you--frightened! and i could not tell why! i kept laughing at myself, trying to tease myself out of it, as though it were simply--what you call it?--the 'blues'. and now--this!" he nodded. "and now--this," he said, grimly, and laughed. bennett, hand upon watch, turned apologetically at this juncture. "sorry, sir nigel," he said, "but time's up. ten minutes is the time allowed a prisoner, and--and--i'm afeared the young leddy must go. it 'urts me to tell you, sir, but--you'll understand. dooty is dooty." "yes, doubtless, bennett, though some people's idea of it is different from others'," returned merriton, with a bleak smile. "have no fear, 'toinette. there is still plenty of time, and i shall engage the finest counsel in the land to stand for me. this knot shall be broken somehow, this tissue of lies must have a flaw somewhere. and nowadays circumstantial evidence, you know, doesn't hold too much water in a court of law. god bless you, little 'toinette." she clung to him a moment, her face suddenly lightening at the tenor of his words--so bravely spoken, with so little conviction behind them. but they had helped her, and for that he was glad. when she had gone, he sat down on the edge of his narrow bed and dropped his face in the cup of his hands. how hopeless it seemed. what chance had he of a future now--with cleek against him? cleek the unraveller of a thousand riddles that had puzzled the cleverest brains in the universe! cleek would never admit to having made a blunder this time--though there was a sort of grim satisfaction in the knowledge that he _had_ blundered, though he himself was the victim. ... he sat there for a long time, thinking, his brain wearied, his heart like lead. bennett's heavily-booted feet upon the stone floor brought him back again to realities. "there's another visitor, sir," said he. "a gentleman. seen 'im up at the towers, i 'ave. name of west, sir. constable roberts says as 'ow you may see him." how kind of the constable, thought nigel bitterly. his mouth twisted into a wry smile. then his eyes lightened suddenly. tony west, eh? so all the rats hadn't deserted the sinking ship, after all. there were still the old doctor, who came, cheering him up with kind words, bringing him books that he thought he could read--as though a man _could_ read books, under such circumstances--and now tony west--good old west! west strode in, his five-feet-three of manhood looking as though it were ready to throw the jailer's six-feet-one out of the window upon request, and seized nigel's hand, wringing it furiously. "good old nigel! gad! but it's fine to see you. and what fool put you in this idiotic predicament? wring his damned neck, i would. how are you, old sport?" under such light badinage did west try to conceal his real feeling but there was a tremour of the lips that spoke so banteringly. good old west! a friend in a thousand. "nice sort of place for the squire of the manor to be disporting himself, isn't it?" returned merriton, fighting his hardest to keep his composure and reply in the same light tone. "i--i--damn it, tony, you don't believe it, do you?" west went red to the rim of his collar. he choked with the vehemence of his response. "believe it, man? d'you think i'm crazy? what sort of a fool would i be to believe it? wasn't i there, that night, with you? wait until i give my evidence in court. bullet or no bullet, you're no--no murderer, nigel; i'd swear my life away on that. there were others on worse terms with wynne than you, old chap. there was stark, for one. stark used to borrow money from him in the old days, you know, until they had a devil of a shindy over an i.o.u. and the friendship bust. you'd no more reason to kill him than lester stark, i swear. or me, for that matter." "no, i'd no reason to kill him, tony. but they'll take that quarrel we had over the frozen flame that night, and bring it up against me in court. they'll bring everything against me; everything that can be twisted or turned or bullied into blackening my name. if ever i get scot-free, i'll kill that man borkins." west put up his hand suddenly. "don't," he said, quietly; "or they'll be putting that against you, too. believe me, nigel, old boy, the law's the greatest duffer on earth. by the way, here's a piece of news for you! heard it as i stopped in at the towers this morning. saw that man headland, the detective. he told me to tell you, and i clean forgot. but they found an i.o.u. on wynne's body, an i.o.u. for two thou'--in lester stark's name. dated two nights before the party. looks a bit funny, that, doesn't it?" funny? merriton felt his heart suddenly bound upward, and as suddenly drop back in his breast like lead. glad that there was a chance for another pal to come under the same brutal sway as he had? what sort of a friend was he, anyway? but an i.o.u.!... and in lester stark's name! he remembered the black looks that passed between the two of them that night, remembered them as though they had been but yesterday. he jerked his chin up. "what're they going to do about it?" "headland told me to tell you that he was going to investigate the matter further. that you were to keep up your heart.... seemed a decent sort of a chap, i must say." keep up his heart!... and there was a chance of someone else taking his share of the damnable thing, after all!... but lester stark wouldn't _kill_. perhaps not--and yet, some months ago he had told him to his face that he'd like to send wynne's body to burn in hell!... h'm. well, he would have to keep his mouth shut upon _that_ conversation, at all events, or they'd have poor stark by the heels the next minute.... but somehow his heart had lightened. cleek didn't seem such a bad chap, after all. and they couldn't hang him yet, anyhow. for the rest of the long, dreary day the memory of that i.o.u. with lester stark's name sprawled across the bottom of it, in the dashing caligraphy that he knew, danced before his mind's eye like a fleeting hope, making the day less long. chapter xviii possible excitement meanwhile, cleek, mr. narkom, and dollops stayed on at the towers for such time as it would take to have the coroner's inquest arranged, and merriton brought up before the local magistrate. mr. narkom was frankly uneasy over the whole affair. "there's something fishy in it, cleek," he kept saying. "i don't like the looks of it. taking that innocent boy up for a murder which i feel certain he never committed. of course, circumstantial evidence points strongly against him, but--" "he's better out of the way, at all events," interposed cleek. "mind you, i don't say the chap is innocent. men of wynne's calibre have the knack of raising the very devil in a person who is under their influence for long. and there's borkins's story." the queer little one-sided smile looped up his cheek for a moment and was gone again in a twinkling. he crossed to where mr. narkom stood, and put a hand on his arm. "tell me," he said, quietly, "did you ever hear of a chap squirming and moaning and doing the rest of the things that the man said wynne was doing in the garden pathway, when a bullet had got him clean through the brain? something 'fishy' there, if you like." "i should think so," replied mr. narkom. "why, the chap would have died instantly. then you think borkins himself is guilty?" "on the contrary, i do not," returned cleek, emphatically. "if my theory's correct, borkins is not the murderer of dacre wynne. much more likely to be nigel merriton, for that matter. then there's the question of this i.o.u. that i found on the body. signed 'lester stark', and the doctor--gad! what a loyal friend to have!--told me that lester stark, merriton, and a little man called west were bosom friends and club-mates." "then perhaps the man stark killed him, after all?" threw in mr. narkom at this juncture, and there was a tinge of eagerness in his excited tones, which made cleek whirl round upon him and say, accusingly, "old friend, merriton has won your heart as he has won others'. you're dead nuts on the youngster, and i must say he does seem such a clean, honest, upstanding young fellow. but you're ready to convict any one of the murder of dacre wynne but merriton himself. own up now; you've a sneaking regard for the fellow!" mr. narkom reddened. "well, if you want the truth of it--i have!" he said, finally, in an "i-don't-care-what-the-devil-you-think" sort of voice. "he's exactly the kind of chap i'd like for a son of my own, and--and--dash it! i don't like seeing him in the lock-up; and that's the long and short of it!" "so long as it's only the long and short, and not the end of it, it doesn't greatly matter," returned cleek. "hello! is that you, dollops?" "yessir." "any news for me? found that chap with the straggling black moustache that tried to do me in the other night? i've not a doubt that you've discovered the answer to the whole riddle, by the look upon your face." dollops cautiously approached, looking over his shoulder as though he expected any minute that the cadaverous face of borkins would peer in at him, or that perhaps dacre wynne himself would rise from the dead and shake an accusing finger in his face. he reached cleek and laid a timid hand upon the detective's arm. then he bent his face close to cleek's ear. "well, i've an inklin' that i'm well on to the untyin' of it, s'help me if i ain't!" he whispered in highly melodramatic tones. cleek laughed, but looked interested at once, while mr. narkom prepared to give his best attention to what the lad had to say. "traced the blighter wiv the straggling whiskers on 'is lip, anyway!" he said, triumphantly, casting still another glance over his shoulder in the direction of the door, and lowering his tones still further. "caught a glimpse of 'im 'long by the saltfleet road this afternoon, guv'nor, and thinks i to myself, 'you're the blinkin' blighter wot tried to do the guv'nor in, are you? well, you wait, my lad! there's a little taste of 'ell-sauce a-comin' your way wot'll make you sit up and bawl for yer muvver.' he'd got on sailorin' togs, mr. cleek, an' a black 'at pulled down low over one eye. mate wiv 'im looked like a real bad 'un. gold rings in 'is ears 'e'd got like a bloomin' lydy, an' a blue sweater, and sailor's breeches. chin whiskers, too, wot were somethin like rotten seaweed. oh, a 'eavenly specimen of a chap 'e were, i kin tell you!" "on the saltfleet road, eh?" interposed cleek, rapidly, as the boy paused a moment for breath. "so? my midnight friend is doubtless sailing for foreign parts, as the safest place when coroner's evidence begins to get too hot for him. and what then, dollops?" "couldn't find out much else, mr. cleek, 'cept to trace the place where the beggar 'angs out, and that's a bit of a shanty just off saltfleet bay, an' a stone's throw from what looks ter me very like a boat-factory of some kind. reckon the chap's employed there, as, from a casual chat wiv a sailorin' johnny in the bar parlour of the 'pig and whistle', where i wuz a-linin' of me empty stummick (detectin' is that 'ungry work, sir!) wiv a sossage an' a pint o' four-and-er-'arf, this feller tells me that pretty near everyone around here works there. i arsked 'im wot they did, an' 'e says, 'make boats an' fings, with now an' agin a little flurry in shippin' ter break the monotony.'... anyway, i traced the devil wot nearly got _you_, guv'nor, and _that's_ somefing. and if i don't give 'im a taste of the 'appy 'ereafter, well, my name's not dollops." cleek laughed and laid a hand upon the lad's shoulder. "you've done a lot toward unravelling the mystery, dollops, my lad," he said. "a regular right-hand man you are, eh, mr. narkom? this evening we'll hie us to the saltfleet road and see what further the 'pig and whistle' can reveal to us. it'll be like the old times of the 'twisted-arm' days, boy, where every second held its own unknown and certain danger. give us an appetite for our breakfast, eh?" he laughed again, a happy, schoolboyish laugh which brought a positively shocked expression to mr. narkom's round face. "my dear cleek!" he expostulated. "really, one might think that you actually enjoyed this sort of thing! one of these fine days, if you're not careful, you'll be caught napping, and it'll take all dollops's and my ingenuity to get you out of the clutches. i do beg of you to be careful--for ailsa's sake, if not for mine." at mention of the name, for a second the whole look upon cleek's face altered. something came into his eyes that softened their keenness, something settled down over his countenance, wiping away the mirth and the grim lines together. he sighed. "heigho!" he said, softly, spinning round upon his heel and surveying mr. narkom with a half-smile upon his lips. "i will be careful, dear friend. i promise. and i have given my word to--her--as well. and that the life of hamilton cleek should be so precious to any such angel as that--well, it 'fair beats me', as dollops would say.... i'll be careful, all right. you may depend upon it. but dollops and i are going to have a little outing on our own. we'll ransack the 'make-up' box after lunch and see what it can produce. and if we don't bring back something worth hearing to you on our return to-night, then i'll retire from scotland yard altogether and take a kindergarten class.... gad! i feel sorry for young merriton. but there's no other course open to us at present but to keep him where he is. coroner's inquest takes place to-morrow afternoon, and a lot may happen in the meantime." mr. narkom gravely shook his head. "don't like the thing at all, headland," he supplemented slowly, lighting a fresh cigarette from the stump of the other one, and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "there's something here that we haven't got at. something _big_. i feel it." "well, you'll have that feeling further augmented before many more days are over, my friend," returned cleek, meaningly. "what did the letter from headquarters say? i noticed you got one this morning, and recognized it by the way the stamp was set on the envelope--though i must say your secretary is more than discreet. it looked for all the world like a love-letter, which no doubt your curious friend borkins thought it was." but if cleek appeared in fine fettle at the prospect of a possible exciting evening with dollops, mr. narkom's barometer did not register the same comforting high altitude. he did not smile. "oh, it had to do with these continual bank robberies," he replied with a sigh. "they're enough to wear a man right out. seem so simple, and all that, and yet--never a trace left. fellowes reports that another one took place, at ealing. as usual, only gold stolen. not a bank-note touched. they'll be holding us up in the main road, like dick turpin, if the robbers are allowed to continue on their way like this. it's damnable, to say the least! the beggars seem to get off scot-free every time. if this case here wasn't so difficult and important, i'd be off up to london to have a look into things again. frankly, it worries me." cleek lifted a restraining hand. "don't let it do anything so foolish as that to you, old man," he interposed. "give 'em rope to hang themselves, lots of rope. this is just the opportunity they want. give orders for nothing to be done. let 'em have a good run for their money, and by-and-by you'll have 'em so they'll eat out of your hand. there's nothing like patience in this sort of a job. they're bound to get careless soon, and then will be your chance." "i wish i could feel as confident about it as you do," returned mr. narkom, with a shake of the head. "but you've solved so many unsolvable riddles in your time, man, so i suppose i'll just have to trust your judgment, and let your opinion cheer me up. still.... ah, borkins! lunch ready? i must say i don't like eating the food of a man i've just placed in prison, but i suppose one must eat. and there are a few very necessary enquiries to be gone into before the coroner's inquest to-morrow. the men have been up from the local morgue, haven't they?" borkins, who had tapped discreetly upon the door and then put in a sleek head to announce lunch, came a little farther into the room and replied in the affirmative. save for a slight light of triumph which seemed to flicker in his close-set eyes, and play occasionally about his narrow lips, there was nothing to show in his demeanour that such an extremely large pebble as his master's conviction for murder had caused the ripples to break on the smooth surface of his life's tenor. cleek blew a cloud of smoke into the air and swung one leg across the other with a sort of devil-may-care air that was part of his headland make-up in this piece. "well," said he, off-handedly, "all i can say is, i wouldn't like to be in your master's shoes, borkins. he's guilty--not a doubt of it; and he'll certainly be called to justice." "you think so?" an undercurrent of eagerness ran in borkins's tone. "most assuredly i do. not a chance for him--poor beggar. he'll possibly swing for it, too! pleasant conjecture before lunch, i must say. and we'll have it all cold if we don't look sharp about it, lake, old chap. come along." ... they spent the afternoon in discussing the case bit by bit, probing into it, tearing it to ribbons, analysing, comparing, rehearsing once more the scene of that fateful night when dacre wynne had crossed the fens, and, according to everyone's but borkins's evidence, had never returned. by evening mr. narkom, note-book in hand, was suffering with writer's cramp, and complained of a headache. as cleek rose from this private investigation and stretched his hands over his head, he gave a sudden little laugh. "well, you'll be able to rest yourself as much as you like this evening, mr. lake," he said, lightly, trying the muscles of his right arm with his left hand, and nodding as he felt them ride up, smooth and firm as ivory, under his coat-sleeve. "i'm not in such bad fettle for an amateur, if anything in the nature of a scrap comes along, after all. though i'm not anticipating any fighting, i can assure you. there's the morning's papers, and the local rag with various lurid--and inaccurate--accounts of the whole ghastly affair. merriton seems to have a good many friends in these parts, and the local press is strong in his favour. but that's as far as it goes. at any rate, they'll keep you interested until we come home again. by the way, you might drop a hint to borkins that i shall be writing some letters in my room to-night, and don't want to be disturbed, and that if he wants to go out, dollops will post them for me and see to my wants; will you? i don't want him to 'suspicion' anything." mr. narkom nodded. he snapped his note-book to, and bound the elastic round it, as cleek crossed to the door and threw it open. "i'll be going up to my room now, lake," he said, in clear, high tones that carried down the empty hallway to whatever listener might be there to hear them. "i've some letters to write. one to my fiancée, you know, and naturally i don't want to be disturbed." "all right," said mr. narkom, equally clearly. "so long." then the door closed sharply, and cleek mounted the stairs to his room, whistling softly to himself meanwhile, just as borkins rounded the corner of the dining-room door and acknowledged his friendly nod with one equally friendly. a smile played about the corners of the man's mouth, and his eyes narrowed, as he watched cleek disappear up the stairs. "faugh!" he said to the shadows. "so much for yer lunnon policeman, eh? writin' love-letters on a night like this! young sap'ead!" then he swung upon his heel, and retraced his steps to the kitchen. upstairs in the dark passageway, cleek stood and laughed noiselessly, his shoulders shaking with the mirth that swayed him. borkins's idea of a 'lunnon policeman' had pleased him mightily. chapter xix what took place at "the pig and whistle" it was a night without a moon. great gray cloud-banks swamped the sky, and there was a heavy mist that blurred the outline of tree and fence and made the broad, flat stretches of the marshes into one impenetrable blot of inky darkness. two men, in ill-fitting corduroys and soiled blue jerseys, their swarthy necks girt about by vivid handkerchiefs, and their big-peaked caps pulled well down over their eyes, made their way along the narrow lane that led from merriton towers to saltfleet bay. at the junction with saltfleet road, two other figures slipped by them in the half-mist, and after peering at then from under the screen of dark caps, sang out a husky "good-night, mates." they answered in unison, the bigger, broader one whistling as he swung along, his pace slackening a trifle so that the two newcomers might pass him and get on into the shadows ahead. once they had done so, he ceased his endless, ear-piercing whistle and turned to his companion, his hand reaching out suddenly and catching the sleeve nearest him. "that was borkins!" he said in a muttered undertone, as the two figures in front swung away into the shadows. "did you see his face, lad?" "i did," responded dollops, with asperity. "and a fine specimen of a face it were, too! if i were born wiv that tacked on to me anatomy, i'd drown meself in the nearest pond afore i'd 'ave courage to survive it.... yus, it was borkins all right, guv'nor, and the other chap wiv him, the one wiv the black whiskers and the lanting jor--" "hush, boy! not so loud!" cleek's voice cut into the whispered undertone, a mere thread of sound, but a sound to be obeyed. "i recognized him, too," interrupted cleek. "my friend of the midnight visit, and the plugged pillow. i'm not likely to forget that face in a day's march, i can promise you. and with borkins! well, that was to be expected, of course. the next thing to consider is--what the devil has a common sailor or factory-hand to do with a chap like dacre wynne? or merriton, for that matter. i never heard him say he'd any interest in factories of any kind, and i dare swear he hasn't. and yet, what's this dark stranger--as the fortune-tellers say--doing, poking his nose into the affair, and trying to murder me, just because i happen to be down here to investigate the question of the frozen flames?... bit of a problem, eh, dollops? frozen flames, country squires, dark strangers who are sailormen, and a butler who has been years in the family service; there you have the ingredients for quite a nice little mix-up. now, i wonder where those two are bound for?" "'pig and whistle'," conjectured dollops. "leastways, tha's where old black whiskers is a-makin' for. got friend borkins in tow as well ternight, so things ought ter be gittin' interestin'. gawd! sir, if you don't looka fair cut-throat i an't ever seen one. "makes me blood run cold jist ter squint at yer, it does! that there moustache 'ud git yer a fortin' on the stage, i swear. mr. narkom'd faint if 'e saw yer, an' i'm not so certing i wouldn't do a bunk meself, if i met yer in a dark lane, so to speak. 'ow yer does the expression fair beats me." cleek laughed good-humouredly. the something theatrical in his make-up was gratified by the admiration of his audience. he linked his arm through the boy's. "birthright, dollops, birthright!" he made answer, speaking in a leisurely tone. "every man has one, you know. there is the birthright of princes--" he sighed. "your birthright is a willing soul and an unwavering loyalty. mine? a mere play of feature that can transform me from one man into another. a poor thing at best, dollops, but.... hello! lights ahead! what is it, my pocket guide-book?" "'pig and whistle'," grunted dollops in a husky voice, glad of an excuse to hide his pleasure at cleek's appreciation of his character. "h'm. that's good. the fun commences. don't forget your part, boy. we're sailoring men back from a cruise to jamaica and pretty near penniless. lost our jobs, and looking for others. told there was a factory somewhere in this part of the world that had to do with shipping, and have walked down from london. took six days, mind; don't forget that. and a devilish long walk, too, i reckon! but that's by the way. your name's sam--sam robinson. mine--bill jones.... our friends are ahead of us. come along." whistling, they swung up to the brightly lit little public-house, set there upon the edge of the bay. here and there over the unruffled surface of the waters to the left of them, a light pricked out, glowing against the gloom. black against the mouth of the harbour, as though etched upon a smoky background, a steamer swayed uneasily with the swell of the water at her keel, her nose touching the pier-head, a chain of lights outlining her cumbersome hulk. men's voices made the night noisy, and numerous feet scuttled to and fro over the cobbles of the dockyard to where a handful of fishing boats were drawn up, only their masts showing above the landing, with here and there a ghostly wraith of sail. cleek paused a moment, drinking in the scene with his love of beauty, and then assumed his rôle of the evening. and how well he could play any rôle he chose! he cleared his throat, and addressed his companion in broad cockney. "gawd's truf, sammie!" he said. "if this fair don't look like a bit of 'ome. ain't spotted the briny for a dog's age. let's 'ave a drink." someone turned at his raucous voice and looked back over the curve of a huge shoulder. then he went to the doorway of the little pub, and raised a hand, with two fingers extended. obviously it was some sort of sign, for in an instant the noise of voices dropped, and cleek and dollops slouched in and up to the crowded bar. men made room for them on either side, as they pushed their way in, eyeing them at first with some suspicion, then, as they saw the familiar garments, calling out some hoarse jest or greeting in their own lingo, to which cleek cheerfully responded. a little to the right of them stood borkins, his cap still pulled low over his eyes, and a shabby overcoat buttoned to the neck. cleek glanced at him out of the tail of his eye, and then, at sight of his companion, his mouth tightened. he'd give something to measure _that_ cur muscle for muscle, strength for strength! the sort to steal into a man's room at night and try to murder him! the detective planted an arm--brown and brawny and with a tattooed serpent winding its way round the strong wrist to the elbow (oh, wonderful make-up box!)--on the edge of the marble bar, and called loudly for a drink. his very voice was raw and husky with a tang of the sea in it. dollops's nasal twang took up the story, while the barmaid--a red-headed, fat woman with a coarse, hard face, who was continually smiling--looked them up and down, and having taken stock of them set two pewter tankards of frothing ale before them, took the money from cleek, bit it, and then with a nod dropped it into the till and came back for a chat. "strangers, ain't you?" she said, pleasantly, leaning on the bar and grinning at them. "yus." cleek's voice was sharp, emphatic. "thought so. sea-faring, i take it?" "yus," said cleek again, and gulped down the rest of his ale, pushing the tankard toward her and nodding at it significantly. she sniffed, and then laughed. "want another, eh? ain't wastin' many words, are yer, matey? 'oo's the little 'un?" "meaning me?" said dollops, bridling. "none of yer blarney 'ere, miss! me an' my mate's been on a walkin' tooer--come up from lunnon, we 'ave." "you never did!" admiration mingled with disbelief in the barmaid's voice. a little stir of interest went round the crowded, smoky room and someone called out: "lunnon, 'ave yer? bin walkin' a bit, matey. wot brought yer dahn 'ere? an' what're sailor men doin' in lunnon, any'ow?" "wot most folks is doin' nowadays--lookin for a job!" replied cleek, as he gulped down the second tankard and pushed it forward again to be replenished. "come from southampton, we 'ave. got a parss up to lunnon, 'cause a pal told us there'd be work at the factories. but there weren't no work. gawd's truf! what're sailormen wantin' wi' clorth-makin' and 'ammering' tin-pots? them's the only jobs we wuz offered in lunnon. i don't give a curse for the plyce.... no, sammy an' me we says to each other"--he took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand--"we says this ain't no plyce for us. we'd just come over frum jamaica--" "go on! travellin' in furrin parts was you!" this in admiration from the barmaid. "--and we ain't seein' oursel's turning inter land-lubbers in no sich spot as that. pal told us there was a 'arbour down 'ere abahts, wiv a factory wot a sailorman might git work at an' still 'old 'is self-respec'. so we walked 'ere." "wot energy!" black whiskers--as dollops had called him--broke in at this juncture, his thin mouth opening in a grin that showed two rows of blackened teeth. cleek twitched round sharply in his direction. "yus--wasn't it? an', funny enough, we've plenty more energy ter come!... but what the 'ell is this factory work 'ere, any'ow? an' any chawnce of a couple of men gittin' a bit er work to keep the blinkin' wolf from the door? who'll tell us?" a slight silence followed this, a silence in which man looked at man, and then back again at the ginger-headed lady behind the bar. she raised her eyebrows and nodded, and then went off into little giggles that shook her plump figure. a big man at cleek's left gave him the answer. "factory makes electric fittin's an' such-like, an' ships 'em abroad," he said, tersely. "happen you don't unnerstan' the business? happen the marster won't want you. happen you'll 'ave ter move on, i'm a-thinkin'." "happen i won't!" retorted cleek, with a loud guffaw. "s'welp me, you chaps, ain't none uv you a-goin' ter lend a 'and to a mate wot's out uv a job? what's the blooming mystery? an' where's the bloomin' boss?" "better see 'im in the mawning," supplemented black whiskers, truculently. "he's busy now. works all night sometimes, 'e does. but there's a vacancy or two, i know, for factory 'ands. bin a bit of riotin' an' splittin' uv state secrets. but the fellers wot did it are gorn now"--he laughed a trifle grimly--"won't never come troublin' 'ere again. pretty strict, marster is. but good work and good pay." "and yer carnt arsk fer more, that's wot i ses!" threw in dollops in his shrill voice. now cleek, all this time, had been edging more and more in the direction of borkins and his sinister companion who were standing a little apart, but nevertheless were interested spectators of all that went on. having at last obtained his object, he cast about for a subject of conversation and picked the barmaid whose rallies met with the approval of the entire company, and who was at that moment carrying on a spirited give-and-take conversation with the redoubtable dollops. "bit of a sport, ain't she, guv'nor?" cleek remarked to borkins, with a jerk of his head in the woman's direction. the butler whirled round and fixed him with a stare of haughty indignation. "here, you keep your fingers off your betters!" he retorted angrily, for cleek had dug a friendly elbow into his ribs. "oh, orl right! no offence meant! thought perhaps _you_ wuz the boss, by the look of yer. but doubtless you ain't nuffink ter do wiv the factory at all. private gent, i take it." "then you take it wrong!" retorted borkins, sharply. "and i _have_ something ter do with the factory, if you wants ter know. like ter show your good manners, i might be able to get you a job--an' one for the little 'un as well, though i don't care for londoners as a rule. there's another of 'em up at the place where i lives. i'm 'ead butler to sir nigel merriton of merriton towers, if you're anxious to know who _i_ am." his chest swelled visibly. "in private i dabbles a little in--other things. and i've influence. you men can keep your mouths shut?" "dumb as a blinkin' dorg!" threw in dollops, who was close by cleek's side, and both men nodded vigorously. "well, then, i'll see what i can do. mind you, i don't promise nothink. i'll think it hover. better come to me to-morrow. make it in the evening for there's a h'inquest up at the towers. my master's been copped for murderin' his friend, and i'll 'ave to be about, then. ow'll to-morrow evening suit?" cleek drew a long breath and put out his hand. then, as if recalling the superior station of the man he addressed, withdrew it again and remarked: "you're a real gent, you are! any one'd know you was wot they calls well-connected. ter-morrow it is, then. we'll be 'ere and grateful for yer 'elp.... wot's this abaht a murder? fight was it? i'm 'appy at that sort of thing myself." he squared up a moment and made a mock of boxing dollops which seemed to please the audience. "that's the stuff, that's the stuff, matey!" called out a raw-boned man who up to the present had remained silent. "you're the man for us, i ses! an' the little 'un, too." "reckon i can give you a taste of fightin' that'll please you," remarked borkins in a low voice. "yes, mainer's right. you're the man for us.... good-night, all. time's up. i'm off." "good-night," chorused a score of voices, while the fat barmaid blew a kiss off the tips of her stubby fingers, and called out after him: "come again soon, dearie." cleek looked at dollops, and both realized the importance of getting back to the towers before the arrival of borkins, in case that worthy should think (as was far from unlikely) of spying on their movements, and checking up on cleek's progress in letter writing. it was going to require some quick work. "well, sammy, better be movin' back to our shelterin' roof an' all the comforts of 'ome," began cleek almost at once, and gulping down the last of his fourth tankard and slouching over to the doorway. a chorus of voices stopped him. "where you sleepin'?" "under the 'aystack about 'arf a mile from 'ere," replied cleek glibly and at a venture. the barmaid's brows knitted into a frown. "'aystack?" she repeated. "there ain't no 'aystack along this road from 'ere to fetchworth. bit orf the track, ain't yer?" cleek retrieved himself at once. "ain't there? well, wot if there ain't? the place wot i calls a 'aystack--an' wot lunnoners calls a 'aystack too--is the nearest bit of shelter wot comes your way. manner of speakin', that's all." "oh! then i reckon you means the barn about a quarter of a mile up the road toward the village?" the barmaid smiled again. "that's it. good-night." "good night," chorused the hoarse voices. the night outside was as black as a pocket. "better cut along by the fields, dollops," whispered cleek as they took to their heels up the rough road. "got to pass him. this mist will help us. that was a near shave about the haystack. i nearly tripped us up there. awful creature, that woman!" "looks like a jelly-fish come loose," threw in dollops with a snort. "there's ole borkins, sir, straight ahead. 'ere--in through this gap in this 'edge and then across the field by the side of 'im.... weren't such a rough night after all, was it, sir?" cleek sighed. one might almost have thought that he regretted the fact. "no, dollops," he said, softly, "it was the calmest night of its kind i've ever experienced. but we've gleaned something from it. but what the devil has borkins got to _do_ with this factory? what ever it is he's in it right up to the neck, and we'll have to dig around him pretty carefully. you'll help me, dollops, won't you? can't do without you, you know." "orlways, sir--orlways," breathed dollops, in a husky whisper. "where you goes, i'm a-hikin' along by yer side. you ain't ever going ter get rid of me." "good lad!" and they redoubled their pace. chapter xx at the inquest thursday dawned in a blaze of sunshine, and after the bleak promise of the day before the sky was a clear, sapphire-blue. "what a day! and what a mission to waste it on!" sighed cleek next morning, as he finished breakfast and took a turn to the front door, smoking his cigarette. "here's murder at the very door of this ill-fated place. and we've got to see the thing out!" he spun upon his heel and went back again into the gloomy hall, as though the sight of the sunshine sickened him. his thoughts were with merriton, shut away there in the village prison to await this day of reckoning, with, if the word should go against him, a still further day of reckoning ahead. a day when the cleverest brains of the law schools would be arrayed against him, and he would have to go through the awful tragedy of a trial in open court. what was a mere coroner's jury to that possibility? then too, perhaps in spite of evidence, they might let the boy off. there was a chance in that matter of the i.o.u., which he himself had found in the pocket of the dead man, and which was signed in the name of lester stark. stark was due at the inquest to-day, to give his side of the affair. there was a possible loophole of escape. would nigel be able to get through it? that was the question. the inquest was set for two o'clock. from eleven onward the great house began to fill with expectant and curious visitors. reporters from local papers, and one or two who represented the london press, turned up, their press-cards as tickets of admittance. petrie was stationed at the door to waylay casual strangers, but any who offered possible light upon the matter, eye-witnesses or otherwise, were allowed to enter. it was astonishing how many people there were who confessed to having "seen things" connected with the whole distressing affair. by one o'clock almost everyone was in place. at a quarter past, 'toinette brellier arrived, dressed in black and with a heavy veil shrouding her pallor. she was accompanied by her uncle. cleek met them in the hall. upon sight of him 'toinette ran up and caught him by the arm. "you are mr. headland, are you not?" she stated rather than asked, her voice full of agitation, her whole figure trembling. "my name is brellier, antoinette brellier. you have heard of me from nigel, mr. headland. i am--engaged to be married to him. this is my uncle, with whom i live. mr. headland--mr. brellier." she made the introduction in a distrait manner, and the two men bowed. "i am pleased to meet you, sir," said brellier, in his stilted english, "but i could wish it were under happier circumstances." "and i," murmured cleek, taking in the trim contour and the keen eyes of this man who was to have been merriton's father-in-law--if things had turned out differently. he found he rather liked his looks. "there is nothing--one can do?" brellier's voice was politely anxious, and he spread out his hands in true french fashion then tugged at his closely clipped iron-gray beard. "anything that you know, mr. brellier, that would perhaps be of help, you can say--in the witness box. we are looking for people who know anything of the whole distressing tragedy. you can help that way, and that way alone. for myself," he shrugged his shoulders, "i don't for an instant believe sir nigel to be guilty. i can't, somehow. and yet--if you knew the evidence against him--!" a sob came suddenly from 'toinette, and brellier gently led her away. it was a terrible ordeal for her, but she had insisted on coming--fearing, hoping that she might be of use to nigel in the witness box. by the time they reached the great, crowded room, with its table set at the far end, its empty chairs, and the platform upon which the two bodies lay shrouded in their black coverings, she was crying, though plainly struggling for self possession. brellier found her a chair at the farther side of the room, and stood beside her, while near by cleek saw the figure of borkins, clad in ordinary clothes. he tipped one respectful finger as brellier passed him, and greeted him with a half-smile, as one of whom he thoroughly approved. then there was a little murmur of expectancy, as the group about the doorway parted to admit the prisoner. he came between two policemen, very pale, very haggard, greatly aged by the few days of his ordeal. there were lines about his mouth and eyes that were not good to see. he was thinner, older. already the gray showed in the hair about his temples. he walked stiffly, looking neither to right nor left, his head up, his hands handcuffed before him; calm, dignified, a trifle grimly amused at the whole affair--though what this attitude cost him to keep up no one ever knew. 'toinette uttered a cry at sight of him, and then shut her handkerchief against her mouth. his face quivered as he recognized her voice, then, looking across the crowded room, he saw her--and smiled.... the jury filed in one after the other, twelve stout, hardy specimens of the country tradesman, with a local doctor and a farmer or two sprinkled among the lump to leaven it. the coroner followed, having driven up in the latest thing in motor cars (for he was going to do the thing properly, as it was at the country's expense). then the horrible proceedings began. after the preliminaries, which followed the usual custom (for the coroner seemed singularly devoid of originality) the bodies were uncovered, and a murmur of excited expectancy ran through the crowd. with morbid curiosity they pressed forward. the reporters started to scribble in their note-books, a little pale and perturbed, for all their experience of such affairs. one or two of the crowd gasped, and then shut their eyes. brellier exclaimed aloud in french, and for a moment covered his face with his hands; but 'toinette made no murmur. for she had not looked, _would_ not look upon the grim terrors that lay there. there was no need for _that_. the coroner spoke, attacking the matter in a business-like fashion, and leaning down from his slightly elevated position upon the platform, pointed a finger at the singed and blackened puncture upon the temple of the thing that was once dacre wynne. he pointed also to the wound in the head of collins. "it is apparent to all present," he began in his flat voice, "that death has been caused in each case by a shot in the head. that the two men were killed similarly is something in the nature of a coincidence. the revolver that killed them was not the same in both cases. in that of mr. wynne we have a bullet wound of an extremely small calibre. we have, indeed, the actual bullet. we also have, so we think, the revolver that fired the shot. in the case of james collins there has been no proof and no evidence of any one whom we know being concerned. therefore we will take the case of the man dacre wynne first. he was killed by a revolver-shot in the temple, and death was--or should have been--instantaneous. we will call the prisoner to speak first." he lifted a revolver from the table and held it in the hollow of his big palm. "this revolver is yours?" he said, peering up under his shaggy eyebrows into merriton's face. "it is." "very good. there has been, as you see, one shot fired from it. of the six chambers one is empty." he reached down and picked up a small something and held it in the hollow of the other hand, balancing one against the other as he talked. "sir nigel, i ask you. this we recognize as a bullet which belongs to this same revolver, the revolver which you have recognized and claimed as your own. it is identical with those that are used in the cartridges of your revolver, is it not?" merriton bent his head. his eyes had a dumb, hurt look, but over the crowded room his voice sounded firm and steady. "it is." "then i take it that, as this bullet was extracted from the head of the dead man, and as this revolver which you gave to the police yourself, and from which you say that you fired a shot that night, that you are guilty of his murder. is it not so?" "i am not guilty." "h'm." for a moment there was silence. over the room came the sound of scratching pencils and pens, the shuffle of someone's foot, a swift intake of the breath--no more. then the coroner spoke again. "tell us, then," he said, "your version of what took place that night." and merriton told it, told it with a ring in his voice, his head high, and with eyes that flashed and shone with the cause he was pleading. told it with fire and spirit; and even as the words fell from his lips, felt the sudden chill of disbelief that seemed to grip the room in its cold hand. not a sound broke the recital. he had been given a fair hearing, at all events, though in that community of hard-headed, unimaginative men there was not one that believed him--save those few who already knew the story to be true. the coroner stopped fitting his fingers together as the firm voice faltered and was finally silent, and shot a glance at merriton from under his shaggy brows. "and you expect us to believe that story, sir nigel; knowing what we do about the bad blood between you and the dead man, and having here the evidence of our own eyes in this revolver bullet?" "i have told the truth. i can do no more." "no man can," responded the coroner, gravely, "but it is that which i must admit i query. the story is so far-fetched, so utterly impossible for a rationally minded being--" "but you must admit that he was not a rationally minded being that night!" broke in a quick voice from across the room, and everyone turned to look into doctor bartholomew's seamed, anxious face. "under the influence of drink and that devil incarnate, dacre wynne, a man couldn't be answerable for--" "silence in the court!" rapped out the coroner, and the good doctor was forced to obey. then the inquiry went on. the prisoner was told to stand down, amid a chorus of protesting voices, for, though the story was disbelieved, everyone who had come in contact with merriton had formed an instant liking for him. no one wished to see him condemned as guilty--save those few who seemed determined to send him to the gallows. three or four possible witnesses were called, but nothing of any importance was gleaned from them; then borkins was summoned to the table. as he pushed past 'toinette's chair from the knot of villagers which surrounded him, his face was white, and his lips compressed. he took his stand in front of the jury and prepared to answer the questions which were put to him by the coroner. that man's method seemed to have changed since his questioning of sir nigel and he flung out his queries like a rapid-fire gun. borkins came through the ordeal fairly well, all things considered. he told his story of what he had said he had seen that night, in a comparatively steady voice, though he was of the type that is addicted to nervousness when appearing before people. cleek, at the back of the court, with mr. narkom on his right and dollops on his left, waited for that one weak spot in the evidence, and saw with a smile how the coroner lit upon it. his opinion of that worthy went up considerably. "you say you heard the man wynne groaning and moaning on the garden pathway after he was shot, and then practically saw him die?" "i did, sir." "and yet, a man killed in that fashion, hit in that particular portion of the temple, always dies instantaneously. isn't that rather strange?" borkins went red. "i have nothing to say, sir. simply what i heard." "h'm. well, certainly the evidence does dovetail in, and the doctors may have been wrong in this instance. we can look into that evidence later. stand down." borkins stood down with something like a sigh of relief, and pushed his way back into his place, his friends nodding to him and congratulating him upon the way he had given his evidence. then tony west was called, and told all that he had to tell of his knowledge of the night's happenings in a rather irritated manner, as though the whole thing bored him utterly, and he couldn't for the life of him make out why any one even dreamed that old nigel had murdered a man. he told the coroner something of this before he finished, and as he returned to his place a murmur of approval went up. his manner had taken the public fancy, and they would have liked to hear more of him. but there was another piece of evidence to be shown, and this took the form of a scrap of creased white paper. it was waved aloft in the coroner's hand, so that everyone could see it. "this," said the coroner, "is an i.o.u. found upon the dead man, for two thousand pounds, and signed with the name of lester stark. an important piece of evidence, this. will mr. stark kindly come forward?" there was a rustle at the back of the court, and stark pushed his way to the front, his face rather red, his eyes a trifle shamefaced. as he came, merriton was conscious of a quickening of his pulse, of a leap of his heart, though he loathed himself afterward for the sensation. his eyes went toward 'toinette, and he saw that she was looking at him, with all the love that was in her soul laid bare for him--and all--to see. it cheered him, as she meant it should. then stark took his place upon the witness stand. "this i.o.u. belongs to you, i take it?" said the coroner, briskly. "it does, sir." "and it was made out two days before the prisoner met his death. the signature is yours?" stark bowed. his eyes sought nigel's and rested upon the pale, lined face with every appearance of concern. then he looked back at the coroner. "dacre wynne lent me that money two days before he came down to visit merriton. no one knew of it, except he and i. we had never been good friends--in fact, i believe he hated me. my mother had been--well, kind to him in the old days, and i suppose he hadn't forgotten it. anyhow, there was family difficulty. my--my pater left some considerable debts which we found we were obliged to face. there was a woman--oh, i needn't go into these family things, in a place like this, need i?... well, if i must--i must. but it's a loathsome job at best.... there was a woman whom my father--kept. when he died he left her two thousand pounds in his will, and he hadn't two thousand pounds to leave when his debts were cleared up. we--we had to face things. paid everything off, and all that, and then, at the last gasp, that woman came and claimed the money. the lawyer said she was within her rights, we'd have to fork out. and i couldn't lay my hands upon the amount just then, because it had taken pretty nearly all we had to clear the debts off." "so you borrowed from mr. wynne?" "yes, i borrowed from dacre wynne. i'd sooner have cut my right hand off than have done it, but i knew merriton was going to be married, and i wouldn't saddle him with my bills. don't look at me like that, nigel, old chap, you know i _couldn't_! tony west has only enough for himself, and i didn't want to go to loan sharks. so the mater suggested dacre wynne. i went to him, in her name, and ate the dust. it was beastly--but he promised to stump up. and he did. i'm working now on a paper, to try and pay as much off as i can, and--a cousin is keeping the mater until i can look after her myself. we've taken a little place out chelsea way. that's all." "h'm. and you can show proof of this, if the jury requires it?" put in the coroner, at this juncture. "i can--here and now." he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out a sheaf of papers, tossing them in front of the coroner, who, after a glance at their contents, seemed to be satisfied that they gave the answer he sought. "thank you.... and you have no revolver, mr. stark, even if you had reason for killing mr. wynne?" stark gave a little start of surprise. "reason for _killing_ him? you're not trying to intimate that _i_ killed him, are you? of all the idiotic things! no, i have no revolver, mr. coroner. and i've nothing more to say." "then stand down," said the coroner, and lester stark threaded his way back to the chair he had occupied during the proceedings, rather red in the face, and with blazing eyes and tightly set lips. a stream of other witnesses came and gave their stories. brellier told of how he had been rung up by merriton to ask if there were any news of wynne's arrival at the house. told, in fact, all that he admitted to know of the night's affair, and ended up his evidence with the remark that "nothing on earth or in heaven would make him believe that sir nigel merriton was guilty of murder." things were narrowing down. there was a restlessness about the court; time was getting on and everything pointed one way. after some discussion with the jury, the foreman of it, a stout, pretentious fellow, rose to his feet and whispered a few hurried words to the coroner. that gentleman wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and looked about him. it had been a trying business altogether. he'd be glad of his supper. he got to his feet and turned to the crowded room. "gentlemen," he said, "in all this evidence that has been placed before us i find not one loophole of escape for the prisoner, not one opening by which there might be a chance of passing any other verdict than that which i am compelled to pass now; save only in the evidence of borkins, who tells that the dead man groaned and moaned for a minute or two after being shot. this, i must say, leaves me in some doubt as to the absolute accuracy of his story, but the main facts tally with what evidence we have and point in one direction. there is only one revolver in question, and that revolver of a peculiar make and bore. i have shown you the instrument here, also the bullet which was extracted from the dead man's brain. is there no other person who would wish to give evidence, before i am compelled to pronounce the prisoner 'guilty'--and leave him to the hands of higher courts of justice? if there is, i beg of you to speak, and speak at once. time is short, gentlemen." his voice ceased, and for a moment over the room there was silence. you could have heard a pin drop. then came the scraping of a chair, a swiftly-muttered, "i will! i will! i have something to say!" in a woman's voice shrill with emotion, and 'toinette brellier stood up, slim and tall in her black frock, and with the veil thrown back from her pale face. she held something in her hand, something which she waved aloft for all to see. "i ... i have something to say, mr. coroner," she said in a clear, high voice. "something to show you, also. see!" she pushed her way through the crowd that opened to admit her, gaping at her as she came rapidly to the coroner's table and held out the object. it was a small-sized revolver, identical in every detail to that which lay upon the coroner's table. "that," she said clearly, her voice rising higher and higher, as she looked into merriton's face for a single instant and smiled wanly, "that, mr. coroner, is a revolver identical with the one which you have there. it is the same make, the same bore--_everything_!" "so it is!" for a moment the coroner lost his calm. he lifted an excited face to meet her eyes, "where did you get it, miss brellier?" "from the top drawer of the secrétaire in the little boudoir at withersby hall," she said calmly, "where it has always lain. you will find a shot missing. everything the same, mr. coroner; _everything_ the same!" "it belongs to some member of your household, miss brellier?" she took a step backward and drew a sharp breath. then her eyes were fixed upon merriton's face. "it belongs to--_me_," she said. chapter xxi questions--and answers a murmur of amazement went round the room, like the sound of rising wind. the coroner held up his hand for silence. "you say it is yours, miss brellier? this--this is really most remarkable--most remarkable! the revolver is of french make, is it not? you bought it abroad?" "i did. just before i first came to england. i had been travelling through tunis before that, and--well, one doesn't like to be without these things. sir nigel's revolver came from india, i believe--through the agents of a french firm, the makers." "but--" the coroner's voice was low-pitched, incredulous, "are you trying to tell us you fired a shot that night, miss brellier?" she shook her head, smiling. "no--that would be impossible. but my revolver has always lain in that little secrétaire, and i have never had cause to use it since i have been on this side of the channel. i was in bed early that night, with a headache. my uncle will tell you that. he took me to my room and spent the rest of the evening in his study, as you have already heard from him. no, i cannot say i murdered dacre wynne. though i would say that or anything to save nigel. but i didn't discover that this little revolver of mine had ever been fired until yesterday, when i happened to go to my secrétaire for a letter which i had locked away in that particular drawer. then i took it up and chanced to examine it--i don't know why. perhaps because it was the same as nigel's, i--" she choked suddenly, and bit at her lips for control. "is there not a loophole _here_, sir, by which sir nigel might be saved? surely it must be traced who used this revolver, who fired the shot from it?" her voice had risen to a piteous note that brought the tears to many eyes in that crowded room. the coroner coughed. then he glanced enquiringly over at brellier, who had risen from his seat. "you have something to say about this, mr. brellier?" brellier made a clicking sound with his tongue. "i'm afraid my niece has been wasting your time, sir," he said quietly, "because i happen to have used that little instrument myself five months ago. we had a dog who was hurt--you remember franco, 'toinette? and if you carry your mind back you will also recollect that he had eventually to be shot, and that i was forced to perform that unpleasant operation myself. he was dear to me, that dog; he was--how do you call it?--a true 'pal'. it hurt me to do this thing, but i did it. and with that revolver also. it was light. 'toinette must have forgotten that i mentioned the matter to her. "i am afraid this can have no bearing upon the case--though the dear god knows that i would do all i could to bring this terrible thing to an end, if it lay in my power. that's is all, i think." he bowed, and sat down again, beckoning his niece back to her seat with a little frown. she cast a piteous look up into the coroner's face. "i'm sorry," she said brokenly; "i had forgotten about that. of course, it is true, as my uncle said. but i was so anxious--so anxious! and there seemed just a chance. you understand?" "i do, miss brellier. and i am sorry that the evidence in this case is of no use to us. constable, take the prisoner away to await higher justice. i must say that i think no other verdict upon the evidence brought forward could possibly be passed upon the prisoner than i have passed to-day. i'm sorry, sir nigel, but--one must do one's duty, you know.... we'll be getting back to the office, mr. murkford." he beckoned to his clerk, who rose instantly and followed him. "good afternoon, gentlemen." ... and so the whole wearisome proceedings were at an end--and cleek had spoken no word of that would-be assassin who had come upon him in the dark watches of the night and sought his life. he noted that borkins looked at him in some surprise, but held his counsel. borkins knew more than he had said upon his oath _this_ day; of that cleek was certain. well, he would bide his time. there were other ways to work besides the open-handed fashion of the coroner's court and the policeman's uniform. he was due to meet borkins that night and discuss the possibilities of being taken on to work at the electrical factory. something might come out of that--something _must_ come of that. it was impossible that the thing should be left as it was, and an innocent boy--he was certain of merriton's innocence, in spite of the evidence against him--should be hanged. as he stepped out into the growing twilight cleek touched mr. narkom on the arm and then ran over to the van into which the prisoner was stepping, his guardians of the law upon either side of him, his face white, his shoulders bowed. 'toinette stood a few steps distant, the tears chasing themselves down her face and the sobs drowning her broken words of comfort to him. he seemed barely to notice her, but at sight of cleek he flung himself round, and gave a harsh laugh. "and a damn lot of good _you've_ done me, for all your fine reputation!" he said sneeringly, his face reddening. "god! that there should be such fools allowed to hold the law in their hands! you've made a mistake this time, mr. cl--" "one moment!" cleek held up a silencing hand as the name almost escaped merriton's lips. "officer, i'm from scotland yard. i'd like a word with the prisoner alone, if you don't mind, before you take him away. i'll answer for his safety, i promise.... keep your heart up, boy; i've not done yet!" this in a low-pitched voice, as the two men dropped away from either side. "i've not done by a long shot. but evidence has been so confoundly against you. i'd hopes of that i.o.u., but the whole thing was so simply explained--and there were the proofs, you know. still, there was no telling how the story would come out. but it was so obviously true.... only, keep up your heart, lad; that's what i wanted to tell you. i'd swear on my oath you weren't guilty. and i'll prove it yet!" something like a sob broke in merriton's voice. he held out an impetuous hand. "i'm sorry, sir," he said jerkily, "but it's a devilish ordeal. what a life i've led this past week! if you only knew--could only realize! it tears a man's nerves to atoms. i've almost given up hope--" cleek took the hand and held it. "never do that, merriton, never do that," he said softly. "i've been through the mill myself once--years ago now, but the scar still stays--and it'll be a bit more red hell for the present. but if there's any saving you, any proving this thing right up to the hilt, i'll do it. that's all i wanted to say. good-bye, and--buck up. i'm going to speak to the little girl now, and cheer her up, too. you'll hear everything as it comes along." he squeezed the hand, manacled so grimly to the other, and smiled a smile brimming over with hope and promise. "god bless you, mr.--headland," merriton replied, and as cleek beckoned to the two policemen, took his stand between them and entered the closed vehicle. the door shut, the engine purred, and the car shot away up the road toward the local police-station, leaving the man and the girl staring after it, the same mute sorrow and sympathy shining in both pairs of eyes. as it disappeared round a corner, 'toinette turned to cleek, her whole agonized heart in her eyes. "mr. headland!" she broke out with a gush of tears. "oh, m'sieur, if you did but know--could but understand all that my poor heart suffers for that innocent boy! it is breaking every minute, every hour. is there nothing, nothing that can be done to save him? i'd stake my very life on his innocence!" cleek let his hand rest for a moment upon the fragile shoulder, and looked down into the pallid face. "i know you would," he said softly, "for even i know and understand what the love of a good woman may do to a man. but, tell me. that story of the revolver--_your_ revolver. you can vouch for it? your uncle _did_ kill the dog franco with it? you can remember? forgive me for asking, or questioning for a moment the evidence which mr. brellier has given, but i am anxious to save that boy from the hands of the law, and for that reason no stone must be left unturned, no secret kept silent. carry your mind back to that time, and tell me if that is true." she puckered her brows together as if in perplexity and tapped one slim, perfectly-manicured finger against her white teeth. "yes," she said at last; "yes, it was every bit of it true--every bit, mr. headland. for the moment, in that room of terror, i had forgotten poor franco's death. but now--yes, i can remember it all fully. my uncle spoke the truth, mr. headland--i can promise you that." cleek sighed. then: "but it was _your_ revolver he used, miss brellier? try to remember. he said that he told you of it at the time. can you recollect your uncle telling you that he used your revolver to shoot the dog with, or not? that is what i want to know." she shrugged her shoulders and spread out her hands. "it is so _difficile_. i am trying to remember, and the matter seemed then so trivial! but there is no reason to doubt my uncle, mr. headland, for he loves nigel dearly, and if there was any way in which he could help to unravel this so terrible plot against him--oh! i am _sure_ he must have told me so, _sure_! there would be no point in his telling an untruth over that." "and yet you can not recall the actual remark that your uncle made, miss brellier?" "no. but i am sure, sure that what he said was true." cleek shrugged his shoulders. "then, of course, you must know best. well, we must try and find some other loophole. i promised merriton i'd speak a few words to you, miss brellier, just to tell you to keep up heart--though it's a difficult task. but everything that can be done, _will_ be done. and--if you should happen to hear that i have thrown up the case, and gone back to london, don't be a bit surprised. there are other ways, other means of helping than the average person dreams of. don't mention anything i have said to you to _anybody_. keep you own counsel, please, and as a token of my regard for that i will give you my word that everything that _can_ be done for merriton will be. good-bye." he put out his hand and she laid her slim one in it. for a moment her eyes measured him, scanning his face as though to trace therein anything of treachery to the cause which she held so dear. then her face broke into a wintry smile. "i have a feeling, mr. headland," she said softly, "that you are going to be a good friend to us, nigel and me. it is a woman's intuition that tells me, and it helps me to bear the too dreadful suspense under which we are all now labouring. you have my word of honour never to speak of this talk together, and to keep a guard on my tongue for the future, if it is to help nigel. you will let me know how things go on, mr. headland?" "that i cannot for the present tell. it will depend entirely upon how events shape themselves, miss brellier. you may hear soon--you may not hear at all. but i believe in his innocence as deeply as you do. therefore you must be content that i shall do my best, _whatever_ happens. good-bye." he gave her fingers a soft squeeze, held them a moment and then, dropping them, bowed and swung upon his heel to join mr. narkom, who was standing near by, the last of the group of interested spectators of that afternoon's ghastly business. dollops stood a little back from them, awaiting his orders. "we'll have some supper at the village 'pub,' my dear lake," said cleek in a loud, clear voice that carried to every corner of the deserted garden, "and then come back to the towers long enough to pack up our traps and clear out of this haunted house altogether. the case is one too many for me, and i'm chucking it." mr. narkom opened his mouth to speak, but his colleague gave him no opportunity. "it's a bit too fishy for my liking," he went on, "when the only clues a man's got to go on are a dancing flame and a patch of charred grass--which, by the way, never struck me as particularly interesting at the best of times--and when evidence points so strongly toward young merriton's guilt. all i can say is, let's go. that's the ticket for me." "and for me also, old man!" agreed mr. narkom, emphatically, following cleek's lead though rather in the dark. "it's back to london for me, whenever you're ready." "and that'll be as soon as dollops can pack my things and get 'em off to the station." chapter xxii a new departure the question of packing was a very small matter altogether, and it was barely seven o'clock when, this finished, cleek and mr. narkom had collected their coats and hats from the hat-stand, given borkins the benefit of their very original ideas as to closing up the house and clearing out of it as soon as possible, each of them slipped a sovereign into his hand, and were standing talking a short while at the open front door. the chill of the evening crept into the house in cold breaths, turning the gloomy hall into a good representation of a family vault. "all i can say," said cleek, chewing a cigar, his hands in his trousers' pockets, and his feet rocking from toe to heel, "is--get out of it, borkins, as soon as you can. i don't mind tellin' you, i'm jolly glad to be clearin' out myself. it's been a devilish uncanny business from first to last, and not much to my taste. now, _i_ like a decent robbery or a nice, quick-fingered forger that wants a bit of huntin' up. you know, even detectives have their particular favourites in the matter of crime, borkins, and a beastly murder isn't exactly in _my_ line." borkins laughed respectfully, rubbing his hands together. "nor mine, sir," he made answer. "though i must say you gentlemen 'aven't been a bit what i imagined detectives to be. when you first come down, you know, i spotted something different about you, and--" "ought to be on the force yourself!" supplemented cleek. "and not such a bad callin' neither!" returned borkins with a grin. "but i knew you wasn't what you said you was, in a manner of speakin'. and if it 'adn't been for all this unpleasantness, it would 'ave bin a nice little change for yer, wouldn't it? sorry to see the last of you, sirs, i am that. and that young gentleman of your'n. but i must say i'm glad to be done of the business." cleek blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "oh, you'll have another dose of it before you're entirely finished!" he responded. "when the case comes on in london. _that's_ the ticklish part of the business. we'll meet there again, i expect, as mr. lake and i will be bound to give our evidence--which is a thankless task at the best of times.... hello! dollops, got the golf-clubs and walking-sticks? that's a good lad. now we'll be off to old london again--eh, lake? good-bye, borkins. best of luck." "good-bye, gentlemen." the two men got into the taxi dollops had procured for them, while that worthy hopped on to the seat beside the driver and gave him the order to "nip it for the eight o'clock train for lunnon, as farst as you kin slide it, cabby!" to which the chauffeur made some equally pointed remark, and they were off. but borkins either did not realize that the eight-o'clock train for london was a slow one, or thought that it was the most convenient for the two gentlemen most interested, because he did not give a thought to the matter that that particular train stopped at the next station, some three miles away from fetchworth. and even if he had and could have seen the two tough-looking sailormen who descended from the first-class compartment there and stepped on to the tiny platform among one or two others, he would never have dreamed of associating them with the mr. headland and his man dollops who had such a short time ago left the towers for london. which is just as well, as it happened, for it was with borkins that cleek and dollops were most concerned. upon the probability of their friendship with the butler hung the chance of their getting work. they had left mr. narkom to go up to london and keep his eyes open for any clues in the bank robberies case, and had promised to report to him as soon as possible, if there were anything to be gleaned at the factory. mr. narkom had expressed his doubts about it, had told cleek that he really did not see how any human agency could possibly get nigel merriton off, with such appalling evidence to damn him. and what an electrical factory could have to do with it...! "you forget the good borkins's connection with the affair," returned cleek, a trifle sharply, "and you forget another thing. and that is, that i have found the man who attempted my life, and mean eventually to come to grips with him. that is the only reason why i did not speak at the inquest this afternoon. i am going to bide my time, but i'll have the beggar in the end. if working for a time at an electrical factory is going to help on matters, then work there i'm going to, and dollops with me.... "if there should be need of me, don't forget that i am bill jones, sailorman, once of jamaica, now of the factory, saltfleet. and stick to the code. a wire will fetch me." he hopped out upon the platform just here, in his "cut-throat" make-up--a little hastily done, for the time between the stations had been short--but excellent, nevertheless; then as mr. narkom gripped his hand, he put his head into the carriage again. "my love to ailsa if you see her, and tell her all goes well with me, like a good friend!" whispered cleek, softly. mr. narkom nodded, waved his hand, and then the two navvies swung away from the train, gave up their tickets to the porter--having procured third-class as well as first for just this very arrangement--and after enquiring just how far it was to saltfleet bay, and learning that it was a matter of "two mile and a 'arf by road, and a couple o' mile by the fields," strode off through the little gate and on to the highroad. just how adventurous their quest was going to turn out to be even they did not fully realize. they reached the outskirts of the bay, just as a clock in the church tower half a mile away struck out nine, in deep-throated, sonorous tones. to the right of them the "pig and whistle" flaunted its lights and its noise, its hilarious laughter and its coarse-thrown jests. cleek sighed as he turned toward it. "now for it, boy," he said softly, and then started to whistle and to laugh alternately, making his way across the cobbles to the brightly-lit little pub. someone ran to the doorway and peered out at sound of his voice, trying to penetrate the darkness and discover who the stranger might be thus gaily employed. cleek sang out a greeting. "good evenin' to yer, matey! this 'ers's bill jones and 'is pal. 'ow, i'll tyke the 'ighroad, and you'll tyke the laow road! and i'll be in scotland afore yer'.... 'ere, sammie, me lad, come along o' me an' warm yer witals. i could drink the sea--strite i could!" he heard the man in the doorway laugh, and then he beckoned to him to come along. and so they entered the "pig and whistle," and were greeted enthusiastically by the red-headed barmaid, while many voices went up to greet them, showing that already they had got on the right side of the men who were to be their fellow-workers. "gen'leman 'ere yet?" queried cleek, jerking his thumb in the direction where borkins had stood the night before. "i've what you calls an appointment wiv 'im, yer know. and.... 'ere the blighter is! good evenin', sir. pleased ter see yer again, though lookin' a bit pale abaht the gills, if yer don't mind my sayin' so." "and so would you be, if you'd been through the ordeal i 'ave this afternoon," snapped out borkins in reply. "it's a beastly job a-tellin' people what yer seen and 'eard. it is indeed!" "'arder ter tell 'em wot you _'aven't_ seen an' 'eard, all the syme, matey," threw in cleek. "done that meself, i 'as--bit of sleight-o'-'and what they'd pulled me up for out whitechapel way when i was a kid. seein' the master ternight, ain't we, sir?" borkins slopped down his tankard of beer and wiped his mouth before replying. "seen him already," he answered with a touch of asperity, "and told 'im about you both, i 'ave. 'e says you're ter go up to the foreman termorrow, say i sent you. say the master 'as passed you, that'll be all right. couple o' quid a week, and the chance of a rise if you're circumspect and keeps yer mouth closed." "that's my gyme all right, guv'nor!" struck in dollops shrilly, clapping his tankard down upon the bar with a loud bang. "close as 'ouses we are, guv'nor. an' me mate's like a hoyster." "well, mind you remember it!" retorted borkins sharply. "or it'll go badly with the pair of you. that's fixed, then, ain't it? what's yer names again? i've forgotten." "bill jones, an' 'im's sammie robinson," replied cleek quickly. "i'm much obliged to yer, sir. any one know where we kin get a shake-down for the night? time enough ter look for lodgin's termorrer." it was the barmaid's turn to speak, and she rested her rather heavy person against the bar and touched cleek's shoulder. "mother, she 'as lodgers, dearie," she said in a coaxing voice. "you kin come along to us, and stay right along, if you're comfortable. nice beds we 'ave, and a good 'ot dinner in the middle uv the day. you kin take yer breakfast with us. better come along to 'er ternight." "thanks, i will," grunted cleek in reply, and dug dollops in the ribs, just to show him how pleased he was with the arrangement. and so the evening passed. the lodgings were taken, the charge being moderate for the kind of living that men in their walk of life were used to, and the next morning found them both ensconced at their new work. the overseer proved to be a big, burly man, who, having received the message from "the gentleman at the inn," immediately set them to work on the machinery. the task was simple; they had merely to feed the machine with so much raw material, and the other men and machines did the rest. but what pleased them more, they were put to work side by side. this gave cleek a good opportunity of passing remarks now and then to dollops and telling him to take note of things. the factory was a smallish place, with not too large a payroll, and cleek gleaned from that first morning's work that it was run solely for the purpose of making electrical fittings. "where do they ship 'em to, matey?" he asked his next-door neighbour, a pleasant-faced chap about twenty-three or four. "over ter belgium. big firm there what buys from the master." "oh?" so they were trading with belgium, were they? that was interesting. "well, then, 'ow the dickens do they send 'em out?" "boats, idiot!" the man's voice was full of contempt for the nincompoop who couldn't use his head. above the clang of the machinery cleek's voice rose a trifle higher. "well, any fellow would know _that_!" he said with a laugh. "but what i means is, what sort er boats? big uns, i should sy, fer stuff like this." the man looked about him and bent his head. his voice dropped a note or two. "_fishin'_ boats," he said softly, and could be made to say no more, in spite of the scornful laugh with which cleek greeted this news. fishing boats?... h'm. that was devilish peculiar. sending out electrical fittings to belgium in _fishing boats_! funny sort of a way to do trade, though no doubt it was quite permissible up to a point. well, he must glean something more out of this good fellow before the day was over. a glass of beer at the "pig and whistle" after dinner worked wonders with the man's tongue. he was not a favourite, so free drinks did not often come his way. after the second glass he seemed almost ready to sell his soul to this amicable newcomer, but cleek was wise, and bided his time. he didn't mean to fleece his man of the information in sight and sound of his fellows. so he simply talked of the topics of the day, discussed the labour question--from a new view-point--and then, as they strolled back together to the factory, just as the whistle began to blow that told the hands the dinner-hour was over, cleek fired his first shot. "see 'ere, matey," he began confidentially, "you're a decent sort of bloke, you are! tell us a bit more about them there fishin' boats wot you spoke uv. i'm that interested, i've been fair eaten up with curiosity. yer didn't mean the master of this plyce goes and ships electrical fittin's and such-like out to belgium in _fishin'_ boats--strite, eh?" "yus." jenkins nodded. "that's exactly what i do mean. seems sort er funny, don't it? and i reckon there's somethin' a bit fishy about the whole thing. but i keep me mouth shut. that overseer's the very devil 'imself. happen you'll larn ter do likewise. two chaps who were 'ere larst thought they'd be a bit smarty like, and told 'im they were goin' ter tell all they knew--though god knows what it was! i ain't been able to learn much, and haven't tried neither. but they went--zip! like that! never saw 'em no more, and nothin' come of it.... best to keep your mouth shut, mate. in this 'ere place, any'ow." "oh," said cleek off-handedly, "i'm not one to blab. you needn't be afraid o' that. by the way, who's the chap with the black mustache a-stragglin' all over 'is fyce? an' the narsty eye? saw 'im with borkins, the man wot engaged me night before last." "that wasn't borkins, me beauty," returned jenkins with a laugh. "that ain't his name. 'ow did you come ter think of it? that fellow's name's piggott. and the other man? we calls 'im dirty jim, because 'e does all the dirty work for the boss; but 'is real name's dobbs. and if you takes my word for anything, pal, you won't go rubbin' 'im up the wrong way. 'e's a fair devil!" h'm! "dirty jim," otherwise jim dobbs. and he was in the employment of this very extraordinary firm for the purpose of doing its "dirty work." well, there seemed a good deal of employment for him, if that was the case. and borkins was _not_ borkins in this part of the world. cleek stepped back to his work a little thoughtful, a little absent-minded, until the frown upon his forehead caused dollops to lean over and whisper anxiously, "nothin' the matter, is there, sir?" he shook his head rapidly. "no, boy, no. simply thinking, and smelling a rat somewhere." "been smellin' of it meself this parst two hours," returned dollops in a sibilant whisper. his eye shone for a moment with the light of battle. "got summink ter tell you," he whispered under cover of the noise. "summink wot ought ter interest yer, i don't fink. 'ave ter keep till evenin'. eh, bill?" "right you are, matey." cleek's voice rose loudly as the overseer passed, pausing a moment to watch them at work. "nice job this, i must sy. arfter me own 'eart, strite it is. soon catch on to it, don't yer?" "_ra-ther!_" returned dollops significantly. the overseer, with a shrug of the shoulders, moved on. chapter xxiii prisoners it was not until the evening was fairly far advanced that the opportunity of speaking to dollops alone was afforded cleek. he took it when the "pig and whistle" was filled to overflowing, and hardly a man who worked at the factory was not inside it or standing outside near the little quay, holding the usual evening's confab on the affairs of the day. cleek caught hold of dollops as he was making his way into the little bar. "come fer a turn up the road, matey," he said loudly. "it's a fine evenin' wot mykes yer 'omesick fer a sight uf yer own fireside. 'ave another drink later, mebbe. come on." dollops linked arms with him, and, smoking and talking, the two men went off up the dark lane which led from the quayside, and of a night-time was as black as a pocket. cleek's torch showed them the pathway, and as they walked they talked in rapid whispers. "now, lad, let's hear all you've got to say!" he rapped out at length, as the distance grew between themselves and the crowded little pub, and they were safely out of earshot. dollops gulped with pent-up excitement. "lor! sir, there's summink wrong, any'ow; i've discovered that much!" he broke out enthusiastically. "chummed up with ole black whiskers i did, and promised 'im a 'and ternight at twelve o'clock ter do some loadin' on ter the fishin' boats wot's on their way ter belgium. 'you're a nice-seemin' sort er lad,' he tole me after we'd bin chattin' fer ten minutes or so. 'want ter make a bit of extra money by 'oldin' of your tongue?' i was on it like a knife. 'ra-_ther!_' i ses. 'orl right,' ses 'e. 'come along ter the quayside ternight at twelve o'clock. there's a bit uf loadin' up ter be done, an' only a few uv the men are required. i don't choose none wot i don't cotton to.' 'you'll cotton ter me all right, matey,' i ses, with a sort uv a larf that seemed ter tickle 'im. 'i'm as close as the devil 'imself. anythink yer doesn't want me ter see, just tip me the wink.' 'i will that,' ses 'e, and then went off. an' so 'ere i am, sir, fixed up for a busy evenin' along uv ole black whiskers. an' if i don't learn summink this night, well, my name ain't dollops!" "good lad!" said cleek, giving the boy's arm a squeeze. "that's the way to do it! and is that all you've got to tell me? i've done a bit myself, and chummed up with a chap called jenkins, the tall, thin man who works on the left of me, and he's let me into the secret of the fishing boat business. but he's a close-mouthed devil. either doesn't know anything, or won't tell. i'm not quite sure which. but he wasted a good deal of valuable breath endeavouring to teach me to keep my mouth shut. gad! i'd give something to have a few moments alone with your friend black whiskers! there's a ripped pillow-case in my portmanteau which ought to interest him. and what else did you learn, dollops?" "only that what they ships is electric tubin's ter perfect flexible electric wirin's wot is used for installations, sir," returned dollops. "that's what most of the things were wot i set eyes on after workin'-hours, stacked up all ready ter be loaded on ter the boats. long, thin things they were, an' ought ter be easy work, judgin' from their contents. but why they make all this mystery about it fair beats _me_!" "and me into the bargain, dollops," interposed cleek, with a little sigh. "but there's an old saying, that there's no smoke without fire, and ordinary people don't make such a devilish fuss about others knowing their business if they're on the straight. what all this has got to do with the 'frozen flame' business i must confess somewhat puzzles me to discover. but that it _has_ something to do with it is proved by that fishy character borkins, and the amiable attempt of his friend to murder so humble a person as myself. now it's up to me to find the missing link in the chain.... hello! here's a gap in the hedge here. looks like it had been made on purpose. let's go and investigate." he whipped his little torch round and the circle of light flashing over the ground revealed to their searching eyes something vastly unexpected in such a place and yet which, after all, seemed to fit into a place where so much mystery and secretiveness was in the air. they themselves, disguised as such rough characters, fitted into the strange picture, which struck cleek, even in spite of his many peculiar cases, as very much out of the ordinary. a gap in the hedge there was, right enough. and through the gap--someone must have been working here a very short time before--a square of turf, cut carefully out and laid upon one side, revealed to their astonished eyes a wooden trap-door, exactly suggestive of the pirates' den of a child's imagination, and with a huge iron ring fastened to the centre of it. cleek whistled inaudibly, and turning round upon dollops a happy light in his eyes and a smile, almost of amusement on his lips. "gad!" he exclaimed softly. "game to try this, dollops. i am going to have a shot at it myself." "but you ain't got no firearms on yer, sir, in case o' h'accidents," returned the literal minded dollops, "and no man in 'is senses would attempt to go down that thing without 'em." "well, i've been called a lunatic before this, lad. and going down it i am, this minute. and if you've the least qualms at following me, you can just watch up here and warn me with the old signal if you hear any one coming. but i'm going down, to find out where this thing leads to, and a dollar to a ducat it'll lead to a good deal that means the unravelling of a riddle. the fellow who tangled the threads in the first place has a head any one might admire. but what i want to know is what he's taking all this trouble for. coming, dollops?" dollops sent a reproachful look into cleek's face and sniffed audibly. "of course i'm comin', guv'nor," he made answer. "d'yer think i'd be such a dirty blighter as ter let you go dahn there--p'raps ter your very death--alone? not me, sir. dollops is a-follerin' wherever you lead, and if you chooses 'ell itself, well, 'e's ready ter be roasted and fried in the devil's saucepan, so long as 'e keeps yer company." without waiting for the end of this gallant, if rather prolonged speech cleek knelt down, set his two hands upon the iron ring and pulled for all he was worth. but the ease with which the door lifted came as something of a surprise. it came up silently, almost sending cleek over backward, as indeed it would have done a man with less poise, but he easily recovered himself. he and dollops cautiously approached the edge, and in the half-light which the moon shed upon it (they did not use cleek's torch) saw that a flight of roughly-made clay steps led down into darkness below. they sat back upon their heels and listened. not a sound. "coming?" whispered cleek in a low, tense whisper. "yes sir." dollops was beside him in an instant. cleek took the first step carefully, and very slowly descended into the darkness, with dollops close behind him. down and down they went, and on reaching the bottom, found the place opened out into a sort of roughly-made tunnel, just as high as a man's head, which ran on straight into the darkness in front of them. "gawd! gives yer the fair creeps, don't it?" muttered dollops as they stood in the gloom and tried to take their bearings. "what yer goin' ter do, sir?" "find out where it leads to--if there's time," whispered cleek rapidly. "we've got to find out what these human moles are burrowing in the earth like this for. i'd give a good deal to know. hear anything?" "not a blinkin' sound, sir." "all right. we'll try the torch, and if any one turns up we'll have to run for it. now." he touched the electric button, and a blob of light danced out upon the rough clay floor, revealing as it swung in cleek's swift fingers the whole circumference of the place from ground to ceiling. "cleverly made," muttered that gentleman in an admiring whisper. "it reminds me of the old 'twisted arm' days, dollops, and the tunnels that ran to the sewers. remember?" "i should just jolly well think i do, guv'nor! them were days, if yer like it! never knew next minute if yer were goin' ter see daylight again." "and this little adventure of ours seems a fair imitation of them!" returned cleek, with a noiseless laugh. "let's move a bit farther on and get our bearings. hello! here's a little sort of cupboard without a door. and ... look at those sacks standing there against that other side in that little cut-out place, dollops. now i wonder what the devil _they_ contain. talk about the catacombs! they aren't in it with this affair." dollops crept up noiselessly and laid a hand upon one of the great sacks that stood one upon the other in three double rows, and tried to feel the contents with his fingers. it gave an absolutely unyielding surface, as though it might be stuffed with concrete. "'ard as a ship's biscuit, sir," he ejaculated. "now i wonder what the dickens?..." his voice trailed off suddenly, and he stood a moment absolutely still, every nerve in his slim young body taut as wire, every muscle rigid. for along the passage--not so very far in front of them, from where it seemed to terminate--came the thud of men's feet upon the soft clayey ground. the torch went out in an instant. in another, cleek had caught dollops's arm and drawn him into the narrow aperture, where, with faces to the wall, they stood tense and rigid, listening while the steps came nearer and nearer. they waited in the darkness, as men in the _bonnet rouge_ days must have waited for the stroke of madame guillotine. ... the footsteps came forward leisurely. the intruders could hear the sound of muffled voices. one, brief, concise, clipping its words short, and with a note of cool authority in the low tones; the other--dollops huddled his shoulders closer and contrived to whisper "black whiskers" before the two men came abreast of them. strange to be walking thus comfortably in the dark! either they were sure of their way that it didn't matter about having a light, or else they were afraid to use a torch. "you will see that it is done, dobbs, and done properly to-night?" sounded the brisk tones of "black whiskers'" companion. and then the reply: "yes, it'll be done all right. we're sending 'em off at one o'clock sharp. loadin' at twelve. no need to worry about that, sir." "and these two newcomers? you can vouch for their reliability to keep their mouths shut, dobbs? we wouldn't have chanced taking them on if we hadn't been so short-handed, but ... you're sure of them, eh?" they could hear "dirty jim's" ugly little chuckle. it seemed laden with sinister purpose. "they're sound enough, master, i promise yer!" he made reply. "ugliest-lookin' pair er cut-throats yer ever laid yer peepers on. seen dirtier business than this, i dare swear. and piggott's on to the right kind, all right. good man, piggott." the two came opposite them, and stopped a moment, as though they might be wishing to investigate the contents of the sacks that stood nearby, hidden by the enveloping darkness. the tension under which cleek and the youthful dollops laboured was tremendous. not daring to breathe they stood there hugging the wall, their every muscle aching with the strain, and then the two strangers walked on again, still talking in low, casual voices, until they had reached the end of the passage where the steps started abruptly upward. then a patch of light showed suddenly. "steps here; be careful. they're none too easy," came the cautious voice of black whiskers. "i'll go up first, so's you kin follow in my steps. what's this? the door been left open, eh? i'll 'ave a few words with that chap jenkins afore i'm many days older. i'll larn 'im to disobey 'is orders! any one might come along 'ere and drop in casual-like!... the unreliable swine!" the light grew less and less as the bearer of it climbed the rude stairs, and finally vanished altogether. and as it disappeared dollops clutched cleek's arm, his breath coming in little gasps. "the door, sir--" he gasped. "if they close that, we're--" and even as he spoke there came a sound of sliding bolts and a thump which told the truth only too well. "did you 'ear, sir?" he almost moaned. the trap door had been closed. chapter xxiv in the dark better men than they might have quailed in such a predicament. here they were, at ten o'clock at night, shut in an underground passage that led heaven only knew where, and with, to say the least of it, small chance of escape. they might stay there all night, but the morning would probably bring release and--discovery. it was a combination which brought to them very mixed emotions. black whiskers, should he be their rescuer might at once assume an entirely different rôle--would most likely do so, in fact. there was a grim element in this game of chance which they would just as soon had been absent. well, here they were, and the next thing would be to try their hands at escape on their own account. perhaps the trap-door hadn't been tightly fastened down. it was a chance, of course. "we'll try the trap-door end first, lad," said cleek. "if that doesn't work we'll have a go at the other, but somehow you must get to the docks by midnight. you may learn the whole secret there, and it would be the worst luck in the world if you missed the chance; you mustn't. come on." "i seconds that motion," threw in dollops, though in a somewhat forlorn voice. "i kin just imagine what it must be like to be a ghost tied up in a fambly vault, an' it fills me with a feelin' of sympathy for them creeturs wot i never felt before. like a blooming messlinoleum this is!" "mausoleum, you grammatical wonder!" responded cleek, and even in his anxiety he could not refrain from a laugh. "well, mausoleum or muskiloleum makes no difference to me, sir. what i wants ter know is--'ow do we get out of this charmin' little country seat? try the trap-door, you ses. right you are!" he was up the rough steps like a shot, forgetful of the fact that, though the door might be closed, there might also be others strolling along in that secluded spot. cleek came up now, behind him, and with a caution of silence steadied himself upon the step below, and pressed his shoulder up against the heavy door. he pushed and shoved with all his might, while dollops aided with every ounce of strength in his young body. the door responded not one whit. black whiskers had done his work well and thoroughly, possibly as an object-lesson to the absent jenkins. and jenkins, by the way, was the name of cleek's new-found friend of the factory. h'm. that was cause for thought. then jenkins was more "in the know" than he had given him credit for. possibly black whiskers knew already of their conversation at dinner-time. he'd have to close down on that source of information, at any rate--if they ever got out of this business alive. these thoughts passed through cleek's brain even while his shoulders and his strength were at work upon the unresponsive door. only failure marked their efforts. at last, breathless and exhausted from the strain, cleek descended the steps again. he listened, and, hearing nothing, signalled dollops to follow him. "they must have got in somewhere, and here's hoping it wasn't through this trap-door," he said evenly. "we'll see about it anyway. unless they were as careful with the door at the other end. it's a sporting chance, dollops my lad, and we've got to take it. i'll use my torch unless we hear anything. then we'll have to trust to luck. heaven alone knows how far this blessed affair runs on. we'll reach london soon, if we go on like this!" "yus, and find ourselves in mr. narkom's office, a-burrowin' under 'is 'ighness' desk!" finished dollops, with a little giggle of amusement. "and 'e wouldn't 'arf be astonished, would 'e, sir?... crumbs! but the chaps wot made this bloomin' tube did their job fair, didn't they? it goes on forever.... whew! i'm winded already." "then what you'll be by the end of this affair, goodness knows, my lad!" responded cleek, over his shoulder. he was pressing on, hugging the wall, his eyes peering into the gloom ahead. "it seems to be continuing for some time. hello! here's a turning, and the question is, shall we go straight on, or turn?" "seems as if them two blighters came round a turnin', judging from the nearness of their voices, sir," said dollops, with entire sense. cleek nodded. "you're right.... more sacks. if i wasn't so anxious to get out of this place so that you shouldn't be late for your 'appointment' with our friend black whiskers, i'd chance my luck and have a look what was in 'em. but there's no time now. we don't know how long this peculiar journey of ours is going to last." they pressed on steadily along the rough, rudely made floor, on and on and on, the little torch showing always the few feet in front of them, to safeguard them against any pitfalls that might be laid for the unwary traveller. it seemed hours that they walked thus, and their wonder at the elaborateness of this extraordinary tunnel system grew. there were turnings every now and again, passageways branching off from the main one into other patches of unbroken gloom. and it was a ticklish job at best. at any moment someone might round the next corner and come upon them, and then--the game would be up with a vengeance. at dollops's suggestion they followed always the turnings upon the right. "always keep to the right, sir, and you'll never go far wrong--that's what they teaches you in lunnon. an' that's what i always follows. it's no use gittin' lost. so best make a set rule and foller it." "well, at any rate there's no harm in doing so," responded cleek a little glumly. "we don't know the way out and we might as well try one plan as another. seems pretty well closed up for the night, doesn't it? it certainly is a passage and if the door at the other end is impassable after all this wandering, i'll, i'll--i don't know." "carn't do no good by worritin', sir. just 'ave to carry on--that's all we _kin_ do," responded dollops, with some effort at comfort. "there's summink in front of us now. looks like the end of the blinkin' cage, don't it? better investigate afore we 'it it too hard, sir." "you're right, dollops." cleek stepped cautiously forward into the gloom, lighting it up as he progressed, the rays of his tiny torch always some five feet ahead of him. and the end it proved to be, in every sense of the word. for here, leading upward as the other had done, was a similar little flight of clay-hewn steps, while at the top of them--cleek gave a long sigh of relief--showed a square of indigo, a couple of stars and--escape at last. "thank god!" murmured cleek, as they mounted the rough steps and came out into the open air, with the free sky above them and a fine wind blowing that soon dispelled the effects of their underground journey. "gad! it's good to smell the fresh air again--eh, dollops? where on earth are we? i say--look over there, will you?" dollops looked; then gasped in wonder, astonishment, and considerable awe. "the flames, guv'nor--the blinkin' frozen flames!" cleek laughed. "yes. the flames all right, dollops. and nearer than we've seen 'em, too! we must be right in the middle of the fens, from the appearance of those lights, so, all told, we've done a mile or more underground, which isn't so bad, my lad, when you come to look at the time." he brought out his watch and surveyed it in the moonlight. "h'm. ten past eleven. you'll have to look sharp, boy, if you're to get to the docks by twelve. we've a good four miles' walk ahead of us, and--what was that?" "that" was the sound of a man's feet coming swiftly toward them; they had one second to act, and flight over this marshy ground, filled with pit holes as it was, was impossible. no; the best plan was to stay where they were and chance it. "talk, boy--_talk_," whispered cleek, and began a hasty conversation in a high-pitched, cockney voice, to which dollops bravely made answer in the best tone he could muster under the circumstances. then a voice snapped out at them across the small distance that separated them from the unseen stranger, and they stiffened instinctively. "what the hell are you doing here?" it called. "don't you know that it's not safe to be in this district after nightfall? and if you don't--well, a pocketful of lead will perhaps convince you!" from the darkness ahead of them a figure followed the voice. cleek could dimly discern a tall, slouchy-shouldered man, clad in overalls, with a cap pulled down close over his eyes, and in the grasp of his right hand a very businesslike-looking revolver. cleek thought for a moment, then plunged bravely in. "come up from the passage, sir," he responded curtly. "loadin' up ternight, and some fool locked t'other end before me and my mate 'ere 'ad finished our work. 'ad to come along this w'y, or else spend the rest of the night dahn there, and we're due for loadin' the stuff at the docks at midnight. master'll be devilish mad if 'e finds us missin'." it was a chance shot, but somehow chance often favours the brave. it told. the man lowered his revolver, gave them a quick glance from head to toe, and then swung upon his heel. "well, better clear out while there's no danger," he returned sharply. "two other men are on the watch-out for strangers. take that short cut there"--he pointed to the left--"and skirt round to the road. quarter of a mile'll bring you. chaps at your end ought to see to it that none of the special hands stray up this way. it's not safe. good-night." "good-night," responded cleek cheerily. "thank you, sir;" and, taking dollops's arm, swung off in the direction indicated, just as quick as his feet could carry him. they walked in silence for a time, their feet making no sound in the marshy ground, when they were well out of earshot--cleek spoke in a low tone. "narrow shave, dollops!" "it was that, sir. i could fair feel the razor aclippin' a bit off me chin, so ter speak. 'avin' some nice adventures this night, ain't we, guv'nor?" "we certainly are." cleek's voice was absent-minded, for his thoughts were working, and already he was beginning to tie the broken threads of the skein that he had gathered into a rough cord, with here and there a gap that must--and should--be filled. it was strange enough, in all conscience. here were these underground tunnels leading, "if you kept to the right," from a field out saltfleet way, to the very heart of the fens themselves. and what went on here in these uninhabited reaches of the marshland? nothing that could be seen by daylight, for he had traversed every step of them, and gained no information for his pains. therefore there could be no machinery, or anything of that sort. h'm. it was a bit of a facer, true; but of one thing he was certain. somehow, in some way, the frozen flames played their part. that factory at saltfleet and the fishing boats and the fens were all linked up in one inexplicable chain, if one could only find the key that unlocked it. and what was a man doing out there at night, with a revolver? what business was he up to? and he had said there were two others on the look-out, as well. cleek pulled out a little blackened clay pipe, which was part of his make-up as bill jones, and, plugging it with tobacco, began to smoke steadily. dollops, casting a sideways glance at his master, knew what this sign meant, and spoke never a word, until they had left the fens far behind them and were well on their way toward the docks, and the "appointment" with black whiskers at twelve o'clock. then: "notice anything, dollops?" cleek asked, slewing round and looking at the boy quizzically. "how do you mean, sir?" "why, when you got to the top of those little steps and came out into the fens." "only the frozen flames, sir. why?" "oh, nothing. it'll keep. just a little thing i saw that led me a long way upon the road i'm trying to travel. you'll hear about it later. time's getting on, dollops, my lad. you're due with your friend black whiskers in another ten minutes--and we're about that from the dockyard. wonder if there'd be any chance of me lending a hand?" dollops thought a moment. "you might try, sir--'twould do no 'arm, anyway," he said after a pause. "pertickler as you're my mate, so ter speak. ought ter be able to work it, i should think.... look. who's a-comin' now? if it ain't ole black whiskers 'imself!" and black whiskers it was, to be sure. he lounged up to them, hands in pockets, hat pulled well down over his eyes, a sinister, ugly figure. he had an "air"--and it was by no means a pleasant one. "hullo, youngster!" he called out in a harsh voice. "been seein' the country--eh? better fer you and yer mate if yer keeps yer eyes well on the ground in this part uv the world. never meddle in someone else's business. it don't pay." his voice lowered suddenly, and he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. "mate on the square with you, i s'pose? comin' along now?" "bet yer life i am!" responded dollops heartily, giving him a significant wink. "'course i ain't said nuffin' ter ole bill abaht what you tole me, but i know 'e's a cute un. no flies on ole bill, guv'nor, give yer me oath on that. what abaht it, now? shall us bring him along too? just as you ses, guv'nor, seein' as you're the boss, but 'e's a strong fellow is my mate--and 'is mouth's like a trap." black whiskers switched round in his slouchy walk, where he had fallen in step beside dollops, leaving cleek on the boy's right hand, and gave the "mate" a searching look under black brows. in the darkness, with just a thread of moonlight to make patterns upon the black waters and etch out the outline of mast and funnel and hull against the indigo, cleek recognized that look, and set his mouth grimly. he'd seen it once before, upon that night when this man had stolen into his room and tried to knife him. "where're you off to, matey? with all your fine secrets? i'd like to know!" he said jokingly, digging dollops in the ribs, and giving a loud guffaw. "some girl, i suppose." "somethin' uv more account than women, i kin tell ye!" threw in black whiskers roughly. "'e's going ter help me with a little work--overtime is what 'e'll get fer it. if yer willin' ter lend a 'and, overtime you'll get, too. but you'll keep yer mouth shut, or clear. one or t'other. it's up ter you ter choose." cleek laughed. "call me a fool, matey--but not a damned fool!" he said pleasantly. "bill jones knows what side 'is bread's buttered on, i kin tell yer! soft job like this one wot we've nicked on ter ain't goin' ter slip through 'is fingers fer a little tongue-waggin'. i'm on, mate." "righto." "what's the job?" "loadin' up boats fer cargo." "oh!... contraband, eh, matey?" "that's none uv yer business, my man, and as long as you remembers that, you'll 'old yer job; no more, no less." "beg pardon, i'm sure. but i bin in the same sort uv thing meself--out in jamaica. used ter smuggle things through the customs. nifty business it were, too, and i almost got caught twice. but i slipped it somehow. just loadin' is our game, then?" "_jist loadin'_," responded black whiskers significantly. "'ere we are. now then, get ter work. see them tubings over there? well, they've got to be carried over to that fishin'-smack drawn up against the dock. there's six of 'em goin' ternight, and we've got ter be quick. ain't as easy as it looks, mate, but--that's not your business neither. get ter work!" they got to work forthwith, and turned to the pile of electrical tubings which was built up against the side of the dock wall, twice as high as a man's head. a pale lantern swung from the edge of the same wall, above them, hanging suspended from a nail; another hung on the opposite side from a post. by the light of these two lamps they could see a knot of men assembled in the centre of the dockyard, talking together in low whispers, while down below, at the water's edge, rocked a fleet of fishing boats awaiting their mysterious cargo. one could hear the men stirring restlessly and shifting sail as they waited for the task to begin. then the word was given in a low, vibrant voice, and they went to work. "easy job this, matey," whispered dollops as he and cleek advanced upon the stack of tubings and each started to lift one down. "i ... gawd's truf! _ain't_ it 'eavy! lorlumme! now, what in blazes--?" cleek put up a warning finger, and shouldered the thing. heavy it certainly was, though of such fine metal that its weight seemed incredible. and when one knew that these things carried electric wiring.... or _did they_?... never was made an electric wire that was as heavy as that. cleek carried one of these tubings to the dock's edge, with the aid of dollops handed it over into the hands that were outstretched to receive it, and went back for another one. back and forth and back and forth they went, lifting, carrying, delivering, until one boat was loaded, and another one hove into sight in its place. he watched the first one's slow progress out across the murky waters for a moment, making a pretence of mopping his forehead with his handkerchief meanwhile. it was loaded _below_ the water-mark! it hung so low in the water that it looked a mere smudge upon the face of it, a ribbon of sail flapping from its slender mast. electrical tubings, eh? faugh! a pretty story that.... two boats were filled, three, four.... a fifth came riding up under the very nose of the last, and settled itself with a rattle of chains and bumping of sides against the quay. that, too, was loaded to its very edge, and took its way slowly out beneath their eyes. the sixth took its place after its fellows. for a moment or two the sweating men ceased in their work, and stood wiping their faces or leaning against the dock wall, talking in low whispers. cleek and dollops stood at the quayside, listening to the water lapping against the iron girders, and straining their eyes to catch a last glimpse of the fleet of fishing boats. of a sudden from out the blackness others appeared. old black whiskers gave a muttered order, and like a well-drilled army the men were ready again, this time flocking to the side of the quay as the boats rode up, and waiting for them, empty-handed. cleek turned to the nearest one, and spoke in a low-toned voice. "what now, matey? i'm new at this gyme." "oh--unloadin'. usual thing. faulty gauge. don't never seem as though the factory kin get the proper gauge fer those tubin's. all the time i bin 'ere--nigh on to two years--it's bin the same. every lot goes out, some comes back again with a complaint. funny thing, ain't it?" "yus," responded cleek shortly. "damn funny." it certainly was. unless ... he sucked in his breath and his lips pursed themselves up to whistle. but no sound came. and the work of unloading began. chapter xxv the web of circumstance for a few days there was no more overtime to be earned by cleek or dollops, so that they were free to spend their evening as they wished, and though the "pig and whistle" got its fair share of their time--for the sake of appearances--there were long hours afterward, between the last tattered remnants of the night and the day's dawning, when they did a vast amount of exploration. that they made good use of this time was proved by the little note-book that rested in cleek's pocket, and in which a rough chart of the country and the docks was drawn--though there were still some blanks to be filled in--while opposite it was a rude outline of the secret passage into which they had blundered three nights before. "got to explore that hole from end to end, dollops," said cleek on the fourth evening, as they struck off together toward that gap in the hedge, soon after the clock in the village had chimed out ten, and the little bar of the "pig and whistle" was slowly emptying itself of its _habitués_. "i've the main route fairly correct, i think, and a rough idea of where those sacks stood, and where we took to cover when black whiskers was showing the master of this underworld domain through it. happen to have learnt the chap's name yet?" dollops nodded. "yessir. brent it is, jonathan brent, or so one of the men tells me. says he's never seed 'im, though; nobody 'ardly ever does, from all accounts 'e give me. ole black whiskers and our silent-footed friend borkins is the main ones wot does 'is work for 'im." "h'm. well, that's something gleaned, anyway. of course we may be able to find out who he really is, but the chances are small. men like this chap don't go giving away anything more than they can help. they lie low and let their paid underlings stand the racket if it happens to come along. i know the type. i've come cross it before. well, here we are. now for it--but this time i happen to have brought along a revolver." he crept through the hedge and crouching behind it ran to the spot where they had found the open trap-door upon that memorable occasion three nights before. there was nothing to be seen. the ground presented an absolutely unbroken appearance, so far as they could make out in the moon's rays. "clever devils!" snapped out cleek, in angry tribute. "we'll have to use artificial light after all; but keep your torch light on the ground. it won't do for any one to spot us just now." for perhaps a moment or two they explored the ground inch by inch, crawling round in the long grass upon their hands and knees, until a little tuft of brown earth sticking up through a piece of turf, like the upturned corner of a rug, showed them what they were looking for. with infinite care cleek lifted up the square of turf and set it upon one side. the sight of the flat dark surface of the trap-door rewarded them. he ran his fingers along the two sides of it, and discovered a bolt, shot this, and then catching the iron ring once more in his hands, swung the top upward and laid it back upon the grass. a minute more found them once more in the cavernous, breathless depths. cleek handed the torch to dollops. "you hold that while i do a bit of sketching," he said, fidgeting in his coat-pocket for his fountain-pen. he then snapped open the flap of the note-book and began to sketch rapidly as they moved forward. cleek was an adept in drawing to scale. the thing took shape as they continued their progress, keeping this time to the left instead of to the right. cleek paced off the distance and stopped every now and then to check up results. the place was as silent as the grave. obviously no one was about here upon these nights when there was no loading and unloading going on. in that, at least, chance had been a good friend to them. they were going to make the most of it. through little runways, narrower than the main route, and so low that they had to bend their necks to get along in safety, they went, measuring and examining. every few yards or so they would come upon another little niche, stacked high with sacks of a similar hardness to those others back there at the beginning of their journey. cleek prodded one with his finger, hesitated, then slipping out a penknife, slit a fragment of the coarse sacking and inserted his thumb.... he pulled it out with a look of astonishment upon his face. "hello, hello!" he exclaimed. "so that's it, is it? gad! this is the approved hiding-place! then those tubings--dollops, just a little more of this wearisome search, just a few telephone calls to be made, and i believe i shall have untied at least _one_ part of this strange riddle. and when that knot is unfastened, it will surely lead me to the rest.... go on, boy." they went on, stepping carefully, and hesitating now and again to listen for any sound of alien footsteps. but the place might have been the grave for any sign of human habitation that there was. they had it to themselves that night, and made the most of it. for some time they walked on, taking the road that most appealed to them, and in the maze must surely have retraced their own footsteps. of a sudden, however, they broke into a sort of rough stone passage, with concrete floor that ran on for a few yards and ended at a flight of well-made stone steps, above which was a square of polished oak, worm-eaten, heavily-carved, and surely not of this generation's make or structure. "now, what the dickens...?" began cleek, and stopped. dollops surveyed it with his head on one side. "seems ter me, sir," he began, after a pause, "that this yere's the genuyne article. one of them old passages what people like king charles and bloody mary an' a few other of them celebrities you sees at madame tussord's any day in the week, used to 'ide in when things were a-gettin' too 'ot fer 'em. that's what this is." "your history's a bit rocky, but your ideas are all right," returned cleek with a little smile, as he stood looking up at the square of black oak above them. "i believe you're right, dollops. it must have given the later arrivals a big start in that tunnelling business, or else they've been at it, or both. there must be years' work in this system of passageways. it is marvellous. but if it's a genuine old secret passage, those stairs will probably lead up into a house, and--let's try 'em. if the house they lead into is the one i think it is.... well, we'll be unravelling the rest of this riddle before the night is out!" so saying, he fairly leapt up the little flight of stone stairs, and then let his fingers glide over the smooth polished face of the oak door, pushing, probing, pressing it, a frown puckering his brows. "if this _is_ a genuine old secret hiding-place," he remarked, "then according to all the rules of the game there ought to be some sort of a spring _this_ side to open it, so that the hidden man might be able to get out again when he wanted to. but where? faugh! my fingers must be losing their cunning, and--ah, here it is! bit of wood gives way here, dollops. just a gentle pressure, and--here we are!" and here they were, indeed, for as he spoke, the door slid back into the flooring out of sight, and they found themselves looking up into a room which was lighted by a single gas-jet, which barely illumined it, but which, when cleek poked his head up above the flooring and took a casual survey of the place proved to be no less a place than the back kitchen of merriton towers! he brought his head down again with a jerk, touched the spring in the edge of oak-panelling at the left of him, and let the door swing back across the opening once more; and not till it had slipped into place with a little _click_ did he turn upon dollops. "_merriton towers_!" he ejaculated finally. "merriton towers! now, if young merriton really _is_ a party to this thing that is going on down here in the bowels of the earth, why--dash it, it's going to prove an even worse case against him than we knew! a chap who plays an underhanded game like this doesn't mind what he walks over to attain his ends. but ... merriton towers...!" he stopped speaking suddenly, sucked in his breath, his face turned very grim. dollops broke the silence that fell, a tremour of excitement in his low-pitched voice. "yus--but it's the _back-kitchen_, sir," he threw out eagerly, like all the rest of them anxious if possible to shield the man who seemed to have won so many hearts. "and the back-kitchen don't spell sir nigel, sir. it's borkins wot's at the bottom of _that_, and--" "maybe, maybe," interposed cleek, a trifle hastily, but the grim look did not leave his face. "but if anything as curious as all this affair turns up in the evidence it won't help the boy any, that is a certainty.... merriton towers!" he swung upon his heel and quickly retraced his steps, until the little stone passageway was left behind them, and a few feet ahead loomed up another of those queer turnings, which led--who knew where? "we'll take it on chance," said cleek as they paused, while he marked it in his chart, "and follow our noses. but i confess i've had a shock. i never thought--never even dreamt of merriton towers being connected with this smuggling or, whatever it is, dollops! and if i hadn't been down in that very kitchen upon a voyage of discovery the other day, i'd have had more reason to disbelieve the evidence of my own eyes. the light was on, too. lucky for us we didn't pop our heads up at the moment when someone was there. but then the servants are all gone. borkins is keeping the house open until after the trial. so it was borkins who was using that light, that's pretty obvious; and our necks have been spared by an inch or two less than i had imagined. we must hurry; time's short, and there's a good deal to be got through this night, i can tell you!" "yessir," said dollops, not knowing what else to say, for cleek was keeping up a sort of running monologue of his ideas of the case. "don't think much uv this 'ere passage, anyway, do you?" "no--narrower than the rest. but it may end just where we want to go. 'journeys end in lovers' meetings' the poet sings, but not this kind of a journey--no, not exactly. we'll find the hangman's rope at the end of this riddle, dollops, or i'm very much mistaken; and i've an uncomfortable idea as to who will swing in the noose." for some time after that they pressed on in silence. here and there along the passage the walls opened out suddenly into little cut-out places filled as ever with their built-up sacks. each time cleek passed them he chuckled aloud, and then--once more his face would become grim. for some moments they groped along in the gloom, their heads bent, to prevent them bumping the low mud ceiling, their lips silent, but in the hearts of each a sort of dull dread. merriton towers! borkins, perhaps. but what if borkins and merriton had been working hand-in-glove, and then, somehow or other, had had a split? that would account for a good deal, and in particular the man's attitude toward his master.... cleek's brain ran on ahead of his feet, his brows drew themselves into a knot, his mouth was like a thin line of crimson in the granite-like mask of his face. of a sudden he stopped and pointed ahead of him. still another flight of stairs met their eyes, but they were of newer, more recent make, and composed of common deal, unvarnished and mudstained with the marks of many feet up and down their surface. cleek drew a deep breath, and his face relaxed. "the end of the journey, dollops," he said softly. then, without more ado, he mounted the stairs, and laid his shoulder to the heavy door. chapter xxvi justice--and justification the court room was crowded on every side. there was barely space for another person to enter in comfort, and when the news went round in the street that sir nigel merriton, late of the army, was being tried for his life, and that things were going pretty black against him, all london seemed to turn out with a morbid curiosity to hear the sentence of death passed. petrie, stationed at the door, spent most of his time waving a white-gloved hand, and shaking his head until he felt that it would shortly tumble off his neck and roll away upon the pavement. mr. narkom had given him instructions that if any one of "any importance in the affair in question" should turn up, he was to admit him, but to be adamant in every other case. and so the queue of morbid-minded women and idle men grew long and longer, and the clamour louder and louder, until the tempers of the police on guard grew very short, and the crowd was handled more and more firmly. the effect of this began to tell. slowly it thinned out and the people turned once more into the strand, sauntering along with their heads half the time over their shoulders, while petrie stood and mopped his face and wondered what had become of mr. cleek, or if he had turned up in one of his many _aliases_, and he hadn't recognized him. "like as not that's what's happened," he told himself, stuffing his thumbs into his policeman's belt and setting his feet apart. "but what gets over me is, not a sight 'ave i seen of young dollops. and where mr. cleek is.... well, that there young feller is bound to be, too. case is drawin' to a close, i reckon, by this time. i wouldn't be in _that_ young lord's shoes!" he shook his head at the thought, and fell to considering the matter and in a most sympathetic frame of mind if the truth be told. half-an-hour passed, another sped by. the crowd now worried him very little, and judging from one or two folk that drifted out of the court room, with rather pale faces and set mouths, as though they had heard something that sickened them, and were going to be out of it before the end came, petrie began to think that that end was approaching very near. and he hadn't seen mr. cleek go into the place, or dollops either! funny thing that. in his phone message that morning, mr. cleek had said he would be at the court sharp at one, and it was half-past two now. well, he was sorry the guv'nor hadn't turned up in time. he'd be disappointed, no doubt, and after all the telephoning and hunting up of directories that he himself had done personally that very morning, mr. cleek would be feeling rather "off it" if he turned up too late. petrie took a few steps up and down, and his eyes roamed the strand leisurely. he came to a sudden halt, as a red limousine--_the_ red limousine he knew so well--whirled up to the pavement's edge, stopped in front of him with a grinding of brakes, a door flashed open, and he heard the sound of a sharp order given in that one unmistakable voice. mr. cleek was there, followed by dollops, close at his heels, and looking as though they had torn through hell itself to get there in time. petrie took a hurried step forward and swung back the big iron gate still farther. "in time, petrie?" cleek asked breathlessly. "just about, sir. near shave, though, from what i see of the people a-comin' out. 'eard the case 'ad gone against sir nigel, sir--poor chap. 'ere, you, dollops--" but dollops was gone in his master's wake, in his arms a huge, ungainly bundle that looked like a stove-pipe wrapped up in brown paper, gone through the court room door, without so much as passing the time of day with an old pal. petrie felt distinctly hurt about it, and sauntered back to his place with his smile gone, while cleek, hurrying through the crowded court room and passing, by the sheer power of his name, the various court officials who would have stopped him, stopped only as he reached the space before the judge's bench. already the jury were filing in, one by one, and taking their seats. the black cap lay beside mr. justice grainger's spectacles, a sinister emblem, having its response in the white-faced man who stood in the dock, awaiting the verdict upon his life. cleek saw it all in one glance, and then spoke. "your lordship," he said, addressing the judge, who looked at him with raised eyebrows, "may i address the court?" the barristers arose, scandalized at the interruption, knowing not whether advantage for prosecution or defence lay in what this man had to say. the clerk of the court stood aghast ready to order the court officers to eject the interloper who dared interrupt the course of the majestic law. all stood poised for a breathless moment, held in check by the power of the man cleek, or by uncertainty as to the action of the judge. a tense pause, and then the court broke the silence, "you may speak." "your lordship, may it please the court," said cleek, "i have evidence here which will save this man's life. i demand to show it to the court." the barristers, held in check by the stern practice of the english law, which, unlike american practice does not allow counsel to becloud the issue with objection and technical argument, remained motionless. they knew cleek, and knew that here was the crisis of the case they had presented so learnedly. "this is an unusual occurrence, sir," at last spoke the judge, "and you are distinctly late. the jury has returned and the foreman is about to pronounce the verdict. what is it you have to say, sir?" "your lordship, it is simply this." cleek threw back his head. "the prisoner at bar--" he pointed to merriton, who at the first sound of cleek's voice had spun round, a sudden hope finding birth in his dull eyes, "is _innocent_! i have absolute proof. also--" he switched round upon his heel and surveyed the court room, "i beg of your lordship that you will immediately give orders for no person to leave this court. the instigator of the crime is before my eyes. perhaps you do not know me, but i have been at work upon this case for some time, and am a colleague of mr. narkom of scotland yard. my name is--cleek--hamilton cleek. i have your permission to continue?" a murmur went up round the crowded court room. the judge nodded. he needed no introduction to cleek. "the gentlemen of the jury will be seated," declared the court, "the clerk will call hamilton cleek as a witness." this formality accomplished, the judge indicated that he, himself, would question this crucial eleventh-hour witness. "mr. cleek," he began, "you say this man is innocent. we will hear your story." cleek motioned to dollops, who stood at the back of the court, and instantly the lad pushed his way through the crowd to his master's side, carrying the long, ungainly burden in his arms. meanwhile, at the back of the room a commotion had occurred. the magic name of that most magical of men--hamilton cleek, detective--had wrought what cleek had known it would. someone was pushing for the door with all the strength that was in him, but already the key had turned, and hammond, as guardian, held up his hand. cleek knew--but for the time said nothing--and the crowd had hidden whoever it was from the common view. he simply motioned dollops to lay his burden upon the table, and then spoke once more. "m' lud," he said clearly, "may i ask a favour of the court? i should be obliged if you would call every witness in this matter here--simultaneously. set them out in a row, if you will, but call them _now_.... thanks." the judge motioned to the clerk, and through the hushed silence of the court the dull voice droned out: "anthony west, william borkins, lester stark, gustave brellier, miss antoinette brellier, doctor bartholomew...." and so on through the whole list. as each name was called the owner of it came forward and stood in front of the judge's high desk. "a most unusual proceeding, sir," said that worthy, again settling the spectacles upon his nose and frowning down at cleek; "but, knowing who you are--" "i appreciate your lordship's kindness. now then, all there?" cleek whirled suddenly, and surveyed the strange line. "that's good. and at least every one of them is _here_. no chance of slipping away now. now for it." he turned back to the table with something of suppressed eagerness in his movements, and a low murmur of excitement went up round the crowded court room. rapidly he tore off the wrappings from the long, snake-like bundle, and held one of the objects up to view. "allow me to draw your attention to this," he said, in a loud, clear voice, every note of which carried to the back of the long room. "this, as you possibly know, sir, is a piece of electric tubing made for the express purpose of conveying safely delicate electric wirings that are used for installations, so that they may not be damaged in transit from the factory to--the agent who sells them. you would like to see the wirings, i know--" for answer he whipped open the joints of one of the tubes, set it upon end, and--from inside the narrow casing came a perfect shower of golden sovereigns clattering to the floor and across the table in front of the astonished clerk's eyes. the judge sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. "god bless my soul!" he began, and then subsided into silence. the eyes of young sir nigel merriton nearly leapt from their sockets with astonishment; and every man in the crowd was gaping. cleek laughed. "rather of a surprise, i must admit; isn't it?" he said, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. "and no doubt you're wondering what all this has to do with the case in hand. well, that'll come along all in good time. golden sovereigns, you see, carefully stacked up to fill the little tubing to its capacity--and thousands of 'em done the same, too! there's a perfect fortune down there in that factory at saltfleet! mr. narkom," he turned round and surveyed the superintendent with mirthful eyes, "what about these bank robberies now, eh? i told you something would crop up. you see it has. we've discovered the hiding-place of the gold--and the prime leader in the whole distressing affair. the rest ought to be easy." he whipped round suddenly toward the line of witnesses, letting his eyes travel over each face in turn; past tony west's reddened countenance, past dr. bartholomew's pale intensity, past borkins, standing very straight and white and frightened-looking. then, of a sudden he leapt forward, his hand clamped down upon someone's shoulder, and his voice exclaimed triumphantly: "and here the beauty is!" then, before the astonished eyes of the crowd of spectators stood mr. gustave brellier, writhing and twisting in the clutch of the firm fingers and spitting forth fury in a flemish patois that would have struck cleek dead on the spot--if words could kill. a sudden din arose. people pressed forward, the better to see and hear, exclaiming loudly, condemning, criticising. the judge's frail old hand brought silence at last, and antoinette brellier came forward from her place and clutched cleek by the arm. "it cannot be, mr.--cleek!" she said piteously. "i tell you my uncle is the best of men, truly! he could never have done this thing that you accuse him of--and--" "and the worst of devils! that i can thoroughly endorse, my dear young lady," returned cleek with a grim laugh. "i am sorry for you--very. but at least you will have consolation in your future husband's release. that should compensate you. here, officer, take hold of this man. we'll get down to brass tacks now. take hold of him, and hold him fast, for a more slippery snake never was created. all right, sir nigel; it is all right, lad. sit down. this is going to be a long story, but it's got to be told. fetch chairs for the witnesses, constable. and don't let any of 'em go--yet. i want 'em to hear this thing through." in his quick, easy manner he seemed suddenly to have taken command of the court. and, knowing that he was hamilton cleek, and that cleek would use his own methods, or none, mr. justice grainger took the wisest course, and--let him alone. when all was in readiness, cleek settled down to the story. he was the only man left standing, a straight slim figure, full of that controlled power and energy that is so often possessed by a small but perfect machine. he bowed to the judge with something of the theatrical in his manner, and then rested one hand upon the clerk's table. "now, naturally, you are wanting to hear the story," he said briskly, "and i'll make it as brief as possible. but i warn you there's a good deal to be told, and afterward there'll be work for scotland yard, more work than perhaps they'll care about; but that is another story. to begin with, the jury, my lord, was undoubtedly, from all signs, about to convict the prisoner upon a charge of murder--a murder of which he was entirely innocent. you have heard merriton's story. believe me, every word of it is true--circumstantial evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. "in the first place, dacre wynne was shot through the temple at the instigation of that man there," he pointed to brellier, standing pale and still between two constables, "foully shot, as many others had been similarly done to death, because they had ventured forth across the fens at night, and were likely to investigate this man's charming little midnight movements, further than he cared about. to creatures of his like human life is nothing compared to what it can produce. men and women are a means to an end, and that end, the furtherance of his own wealth, his own future. the epitome of prehistoric selfishness, is it not? club the next man that comes along, and steal from his dead body all that he has worked for. oh, a pretty sort of a tale this is, i promise you! "what's that, my lord? what has the frozen flame to do with all this? why, the answer to that is as simple as a.b.c. the frozen flames, or that most natural of phenomena, marsh-gas--of which i won't weary you with an explanation--arose from that part of the fens where the rotting vegetation was at its worst. what more natural, then, than that this human fiend should endeavour to shape even this thing to his own ends? the villagers had always been superstitious of these lights, but their notice had never been particularly called to them before the story of the frozen flames had been carefully spread from mouth to mouth by brellier's tools. "then one man, braver than the rest, ventured forth--and never came back. the story gained credence, even with the more educated few. another, unwilling to conform to public opinion, did likewise. and he, too, went into the great unknown. the list of brellier's victims--supposed, of course, to be burnt up by the frozen flames--grew fairly lengthy in the four years that he has been using them as a screen for his underhanded work. a guard--and i've seen one of the men myself during a little midnight encounter that i had with him--went wandering over that part of the district armed with a revolver. the first sight of a stranger caused him to use his weapon. meanwhile, behind the screen of the lights the bank robbers were bringing in their gold by motor and hiding the sacks down in a network of underground passageways that i also discovered--and traversed. they ran, by devious ways, both to a field in saltfleet conveniently near the factory, and by another route up to the back kitchen of merriton towers. "you'll admit that, when i discovered this to be the case, i felt pretty uneasy about sir nigel's innocence. but a still further search brought to light another passage, which ran straight into the study of withersby hall, occupied by the brelliers, and was hidden under the square rug in front of the fireplace. a nice convenient little spot for our friend here to carry on his good work. just a few words to say that he didn't want to be disturbed in his study, a locked door, a rug moved, and--there you are! he was free from all prying eyes to investigate the way things were going, and to personally supervise the hiding of the gold. while outside upon the fens men were being killed like rats, because one or two of them chose to use their intelligence, and wanted to find out what the flames really were. they found out all right, poor devils, and their widows waited for them in vain. "and what does he do with all this gold, you ask? why, ship it, by using an electrical factory where he makes tubings and fittings--and a good deal of mischief, to boot. the sovereigns are hidden as you have seen, and are shipped out at night in fishing boats, loaded below the water mark--i've helped with the loading myself, so i know--_en route_ for belgium, where his equally creditable brother, adolph, receives the tubes and invariably ships them back as being of the wrong gauge. look here--" he stopped speaking for a moment and, stepping forward, lifted up another tubing from the table, and unfastened it at one of the joints. then he held it up for all to see. "see that stuff in there? that's tungsten. perhaps you don't all know what tungsten is. well, it's a valuable commodity that is mined from the earth, and which is used expressly in the making of electric lamps. our good friend adolph, like his brother, has the same twist of brain. instead of keeping the tubes, he returns them with the rather thin excuse that they are of the wrong gauge, and fills them with this tungsten, from the famous tungsten mines for which belgium holds first place in the world. and so the stuff is shipped in absolutely free of duty, while our friend here unloads it, supplies the raw material to one or two firms in town, trading under the name of jonathan brent (you see i've got the whole facts, brellier), and uses some himself for this factory, which is the 'blind' for his other trading ideas. very clever, isn't it?" the judge nodded. "i thought you would agree so, my lord. even crime can have its clever side, and more often than not the criminal brain is the cleverest which the world produces. "where was i? ah, yes! the shipping of the stuff to belgium. you see, brellier's clever there. he knows that the sudden appearance of all this gold at his own bank would arouse suspicions, especially as the robberies have been so frequent, so he determines that it is safer out of the country, and as the exchange of british gold is high, he makes money that way. turns his hand to everything, in fact." he laughed. "but now we're turning our hands to _him_, and the law will have its toll, penny for penny, life for life. you've come to the end of _your_ resources, brellier, when you engaged those two strange workmen. or, better still, your accomplice did it for you. you didn't know they were cleek and his man, did you? you didn't know that on that second night after we'd worked there at the factory for you, we investigated that secret passage in the field outside saltfleet road? you didn't know that while you walked down that passage in the darkness with your man jim dobbs--or 'dirty jim,' to give him the sobriquet by which he is known among your employees--that we were hidden against the wall opposite to that first little niche where the bags of sovereigns stood, and that--though i hadn't seen you--something in your voice struck a note of familiarity in my memory? you didn't know that, then? well, perhaps it's just as well, because i might not be here now to tell this story, and to hand you over to justice." chapter xxvii the solving of the riddle "for the sake of _le bon dieu_, man, cease your cruel mockery!" said brellier, suddenly, in a husky voice, as the clerk rose to quell the interrupted flow of oratory, and the court banged his mace for quiet. "you didn't think of the cruel mockery of god's good world, which you were helping so successfully to ruin!" continued the detective, speaking _to_ the court but _at_ brellier, each word pointed as a barb, each pause more pregnant with scorn than the spoken words had been. "you didn't think of that, did you? oh, no! you gave no thought to the ruined home and the weeping wife, the broken-hearted mother and the fatherless child. that was outside your reckoning altogether. and, if hearsay be true (and in this case i believe it is) you even went so far as to kill a defenceless woman who had been brave enough to wander out across that particular part of the fens just to see what those flames really were. and yet,--your lordship, this man howls for mercy." he paused a moment and passed a hand wearily over his forehead. the telling of the tale was not easy, and the expression of 'toinette brellier's tear-misted eyes added to the difficulty of it. but he knew he must spare no detail; in fairness to the man who stood in the dock, in fairness to the law he served, and in whose service he had unravelled this riddle which at first had seemed so inexplicable. then the judge spoke. "the court must congratulate you, mr. cleek," he said in his fine, metallic voice, "upon the very excellent and intricate work you have done on this case. believe me, the law appreciates it, and i, as one of its humble exponents, must add my admiration to the rest. permit me, however, to ask one or two questions. in the first place, before we proceed further with the case, i should like you to give me any explanation that you can relative to the matter of what the prisoner here has told us with regard to the story of the frozen flame. this gentleman has said that the story goes that whenever a new victim had been claimed by the flames, that he completely vanishes, and that another flame appears in amongst its fellows. the prisoner has declared this to be true; in fact, has actually sworn upon oath, that he has seen this thing with his own eyes the night that dacre wynne was killed. i confess that upon hearing this, i had my strong suspicions of his veracity. can you explain it any clearer?" cleek smiled a trifle whimsically, then he nodded. "i can. shortly after i made my discovery of the secret passage that led out upon the fens--the entrance to it, by the way, was marked by a patch of charred grass about the size of a small round table (you remember, dollops, i asked you if you noticed anything then?), that lifted up, if one had keen enough eyes to discover it, and revealed the trap-door beneath--dollops and i set out on another tour of investigation. we were determined to take a sporting chance on being winged by the watchful guards and have a look round behind those flames for ourselves. we did this. it happened that we slipped the guard unobserved, having knowledge, you see, of at least part of the whole diabolical scheme, and getting within range of the flames without discovery, or, for that matter, seeing any one about, we got down on our hands and knees and dug into the earth with our penknives." "what suggested this plan to you?" cleek smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "why, i had a theory, you see. and, like you, i wanted to find out if merriton were telling the truth about that other light he had seen or not. this was the only way. marsh-gas was there in plenty, though there is no heat from the tiny flames, as you know, from which fact, no doubt, our friend brellier derived the very theatrical name for them, but the light of which merriton spoke i took to be something bigger than that. and i had noticed, too, that here and there among the flames danced brilliant patches that seemed, well--_more_ than natural. so our penknives did the trick. dollops was digging, when something suddenly exploded, and shot up into our faces with a volume of gassy smoke. we sprang back, throwing our arms up to shield our eyes, and after the fumes had subsided returned to our task. the penknife had struck a bladder filled with gas, which, sunk into the ground, produced the larger lights, one of which sir nigel had seen upon the night that wynne disappeared. even more clever, isn't it? i wonder whose idea it originally was." he spun round slowly upon his heel and faced the line of seated witnesses. his eyes once more travelled over the group, face to face, eye to eye, until he paused suddenly and pointed at borkins's chalk-white countenance. "that's the man who probably did the job," he said casually. "brellier's right-hand man, that. with a brain that might have been used for other and better things." the judge leaned forward upon his folded elbows, pointing his pen in borkins's direction. "then you say this man is part and parcel of the scheme, mr. cleek?" he queried. "i do. and a very big part, too. but, let me qualify that statement by saying that if it hadn't been for borkins's desire for revenge upon the man he served, this whole ghastly affair would probably never have been revealed. wynne would have vanished in the ordinary way, as collins vanished afterward, and the superstitious horror would have gone on until there was not one person left in the village of fetchworth who would have dared to venture an investigation of the flames. then the work at the factory would have continued, with a possibly curtailed payroll. no need for high-handed pirates armed with revolvers _then_. that was the end the arch-fiend was working for. the end that never came." "h'm. and may i ask how you discovered all this, before going into the case of borkins?" put in the judge. cleek bowed. "certainly," he returned. "that is the legal right. but i can vouch for my evidence, my lord. i received it, you see, at first-hand. this man borkins engaged both the lad dollops and myself as new hands for the factory. we therefore had every opportunity of looking into the matter personally." "gawdamercy! i never did!" ejaculated borkins, at this juncture, his face the colour of newly-baked bread. "you're a liar--that's what you are! a drorin' an innocent man into the beastly affair. i never engaged the likes of _you_!" "didn't you?" cleek laughed soundlessly. "look here. remember the man bill jones, and his little pal sammie robinson, from jamaica?" he writhed his features for a moment, slipped his hand into his pocket, and producing the black moustache that had been dollops's envy and admiration, stuck it upon his upper lip, pulled out a check cap from the other pocket, drew that upon his head, and peered at borkins under the peak of it. "what-o, matey!" he remarked in a harsh cockney voice. "merciful 'eavens!" gasped out that worthy, covering his eyes with his hands, one more incredulous witness of cleek's greatest gift. "bill jones it is! _gawd!_ are you a devil?" "no, just an ordinary man, my dear friend. but you remember now, eh? well, that does away with the need of the moustache, then." the clerk of the court, only too familiar with cleek's disregard of legal formality, frowned at this violation of dignity and raised his mace to rap for order and possibly to reprimand cleek for his theatrical conduct but at that moment the detective pulled off the cap and moustache as though well pleased with his performance. cleek turned once more to the judge. "my lord," he said serenely, "you have seen the man bill jones, and the impersonator of sammie robinson is there," he pointed to dollops. "well, this man borkins--or piggott, as he calls himself when doing his 'private work'--engaged dollops and me, in place of two hands in the factory who had been given to too much tongue-wagging, and in consequence had met with prompt punishment, god alone knows what it was! we worked there for something just under a fortnight. dollops, with his usual knack for making friends in the right direction, chummed up to one of the men--whom i have already named--jim dobbs. he finally asked him to come and help with the loading up of the boats, and gave him the chance of making a little overtime by simply keeping his mouth shut as to what went on. i managed to get on the job too, and we did it three times in that fortnight--and a jolly difficult task we found it, i don't mind saying. but i felt that evidence was necessary, and while in the employ of 'the master' we carried on many investigations. and still in his service i made this rough map of the varied turnings of the secret passage, and the places to which they led. you can get a better idea of the ground if you glance at it." he handed it up to the high desk, and paused a moment as the judge surveyed it through his spectacles. "the passage at merriton towers, and also at withersby hall--so conveniently placed near that particular part of the fens, and therefore chosen by brellier for his work--are both of ancient origin, dating back, i should say, to the time of the civil war. "whose idea it was to connect the two passages up i could not say, or when borkins got into the pay of brellier and played false to a family that he had served for twenty years. but the fact remains. the two passages _are_ linked up, and then continued at great labour in another direction to that field which lies off the saltfleet road and just at the back of the factory. and thus was made a convenient little subway for the carrying on of nefarious transactions of the kind which we have discovered." "and how did you discover that brellier was the 'master' in question?" put in the judge at this juncture. "he happened to come to the factory one day while we were at work upon our machines. someone said, 'crickey! 'ere's the master! funny for _'im_ to be prowlin' round at this hour of the day--night's more to 'is likin'.' i could hardly contain myself when i saw who it was even though i had already discovered the passage to withersby hall. i had not yet realized that 'jonathan brent' and brellier were one and the same, though i discovered that the former had a perfectly legitimate office in london in leadenhall street. but when i saw him i knew. after that i wasted no time. since then we've been having a pretty scramble to get safely away without giving any clues to the other men, and to put scotland yard upon their track. they're down there now, and have got every man of 'em i dare swear (and i hope they are keeping my friend black whiskers for me to deal with). that is the cause of my lateness at the hearing of the case. you can fully understand how impossible it was to be here any earlier." the judge nodded. "your statement against this man borkins--?" "is as strong a one as ever was made," said cleek. "it was borkins who--in a fit of malicious rage, no doubt--conceived the idea of interfering with his master's work to the extent of inventing the means to have sir nigel merriton wrongly convicted of the murder of dacre wynne. you have seen the revolver, the peculiar make of which caused it to be the chief evidence in this gruesome tragedy. here is the genuine one." he drew the little thing from his pocket, and reaching up placed it in the judge's outstretched hand. that gentleman gave a gasp as he laid eyes upon it. "identical with this one, which belongs to the prisoner!" he said--almost excitedly. "exactly. the same colonial french make, you see. this particular one belongs, by the way, to miss brellier." "_miss brellier!_" something like a thrill ran through the crowded court room. in the silence that followed you could have heard a pin drop. "that is correct. she will tell you that she always kept it in an unused drawer in her secrétaire locked away with some papers. she had not looked at it for months, until the other day when she happened to examine one of those papers, and therefore went to the drawer and unlocked it. the revolver lying there drew her attention. knowing that it was the same as the one owned by her fiance, sir nigel merriton, and figuring so largely in this case, she took it out and idly examined it. one of the bullets was missing! this rather aroused her curiosity, and when i questioned her afterward about it, when the inquest was over, and she had brought it forward and shown it to the coroner, who--quite naturally--after the explanation given by mr. brellier, gave it back to her as having no dealings with the case, she told me that she could not _absolutely_ recollect her uncle telling her that he _had_ killed the dog with it. a small thing but rather important." "and you say that this man borkins arranged this revolver so as to point to the prisoner's guilt, mr. cleek?" asked the judge. "i say that the man dacre wynne was actually _killed_ with that identical revolver which you hold in your hand, my lord. and the construction i put upon it is this: borkins hated his master, but the long story of that does not concern us here, and upon the night of the quarrel he was listening at the door, and, hearing how things were shaping themselves, began, as he himself has told you in his evidence, to think that there would soon be trouble between sir nigel and mr. wynne, if things went on as they had been going. therefore, when he was told that mr. wynne had gone out across the fens in a drunken rage, to investigate the meaning of the frozen flames, the idea entered borkins's mind. he knew his master's revolver, had seen it slipped under his pillow more often than not of an evening when sir nigel went to bed. here borkins saw his life's opportunity of getting even. he knew, too, of miss brellier's revolver--_must_ have known, else why should this particular instrument be used upon this particular night, in place of the usual type of revolver which brellier's guards carried, and by which poor collins undoubtedly met his death? so we will take it that he knew of this little instrument here, and upon hearing of wynne's proposed investigations, he dashed to the back kitchen of the towers--which, was rarely used by the other servants, as being, so one of them told me, 'so dark and damp that it fair gave 'em the creeps.' therefore borkins had his way unmolested, and it did not take him long, knowing the turnings of the underground passage--as he did from constant use--to communicate with withersby hall. to which guard he told his tale i do not know, but, since we have taken the whole crowd--we'll find out later. anyway, he must have told someone else of his desire for private vengeance. and the thing worked. when poor wynne met his death, it was at the point of a pistol which had lain unused in the secrétaire at withersby hall for some little time. i have not been able to find the actual spot where the body of wynne and, later on, that of collins was first concealed, but i have no doubt that they were brought from that spot to be discovered by us. it was very necessary for the body of wynne to be discovered, since the bullet in his brain was fired from miss brellier's revolver. it was all part of the plot against sir nigel. how bitter was that plot is evidenced by the removal of the bodies to the place they were discovered on the fens--no very pleasant job for any man." cleek whirled suddenly upon borkins, who stood with bent head and pallid face, biting his lips and twisting his hands together, while cleek's voice broke the perfect silence of the court. but thus taken by surprise, he lifted his head, and his mouth opened. the judge raised his hand. "is this true, my man?" he demanded. borkins's face went an ugly purplish-red. for a moment it looked as though he were going to have an apoplectic fit. "yes--damn you all--yes!" he replied venomously. "that's how i did it--though gawd alone knows how he come to find it out! but the game's up now, and it's no more use a-lyin'." "never a truer word spoken," returned cleek, with a little triumphant smile. "i must admit, your lordship, that upon that one point i was a little shaky. borkins has irrefutably proved that my theory was correct. i must say i am indebted to him." again the little smile looped up one corner of his face. "and i have but just a little bit more of the tale to tell, and then--i must leave the rest of it in your infinitely more capable hands. "... the reason why i mistrusted the story of the revolver? why, upon examination, that instrument belonging to miss brellier was a little too clean and well-oiled to have been out of use for a matter of five months or so. the worthy user of it had cleaned and polished it up, so as to be sure of its action, and re-oiled it. so the 'dog story' was exploded almost at its birth. the rest was easy to follow up, and knowing the position of things between borkins and his master (from both sides, so to speak), i began to put two and two together. borkins has, this moment, most agreeably told me that my answer to the sum is correct. but things worked in well for him, i must say. that sir nigel should actually fire a shot upon that very night was a stroke of pure luck for the servant who hated him. and it made his chance of fabricating the whole plot against sir nigel a good deal easier. whether he would have stolen the revolver had that shot at the frozen flames--for which sir nigel has been so sorely tried--never been fired, i cannot say, but that doubtless would have been the course he would have taken. luck favoured him upon that dreadful night--but now that luck has changed. his own action has been his undoing. if he had not given vent to this feeling of hatred that he cherished in his heart for a master who was of such different stuff of which he himself was made, the whole infernal plot might never have been revealed. and yet--who can tell? "my lord and gentlemen of the jury, the tale is told. justice has been done an innocent man, and the rest of its doing lies in your capable hands. i ask your permission to be seated." his voice trailed off into silence, and across the court a murmur arose, like the hum of some giant airplane growing gradually nearer and nearer. a sort of strangled sob came from the back of cleek's chair, and he turned his head to smile into 'toinette's wet eyes. in their depths gratitude and sorrow were inexplicably mingled. his hand went out to her; she ran toward him from her place, and in spite of judge and jury, in spite of the order of the law, knelt down there at his side and pressed her warm lips against his hand. chapter xxviii "toward morning...." the flower in cleek's buttonhole was jauntily erect, his immaculately garbed figure fitted in perfectly with every detail of the whole scene of which he was a part. he looked--and was--the exquisitely turned-out man-about-town. only his eyes told of other things, and they, as the organs welled to the sounds of the wedding march lighted up with something that spoke of the man within rather than the man without. he turned from his position at the altar (where he was fulfilling his duties as best man to sir nigel merriton) and glanced back over the curve of his shoulder to where a girl sat, bending forward in the empty pew, her face alight, her eyes, beneath the curving hat-brim, swimming with tears.... she nodded as he saw her, and smiled, the promise of their future together curving the sweet lips into gracious, womanly lines. behind her, on guard as usual, and gay in a gorgeous garment of black-and-white checks, white waistcoat and flaming scarlet buttonhole, sat dollops, faithfully watching while cleek assisted at the ceremony that was uniting two souls in one, and casting aside forever the smirch of a name that must rankle in the heart of her who had owned it in common with the man who had so nearly wrought her soul's desolation. ... then it was all over. the organ swelled once more with its tidings of joy; upon her husband's arm 'toinette passed down the tiny aisle, tears running down her cheeks unchecked, and mingling with the smiles that chased each other like sunbeams across her happy face. cleek was at the porch waiting for them as they came out. he reached forth a hand to each. "good luck--and god bless you both," he said. "this is a fitting end, merriton, and a new and glorious beginning." "and every moment of it, every second of it we owe to you, mr. cleek," returned sir nigel, in a deep, happy voice. "time alone can show our gratitude--i can't." cleek bowed, and his hand went out suddenly to ailsa lorne, who had stolen up beside him, went out and caught her hand and held it in a grip that hurt. "i know, boy. and one day in the glad future i shall call upon you--who knows?--to attend a similar ceremony on my behalf, and in which mr. narkom here has promised to act as best man--with dollops to bolster him up if he should be attacked with nerves. now be off with you and--be happy. we'll see you later at the towers, merriton. good-bye to you both." the door closed, the engine started, dollops sprang back and they were off. the boy turned suddenly, looked at cleek and ailsa standing there in the sunshine of the little porch, at mr. narkom chuckling quietly behind them, and--remarked: "gawd! dunno which is the best--weddings or funerals! strite i don't. yer snivels at bofe like a blinkin' fool wiv a cold in 'is 'ead. and when it comes to _your_ time, guv'nor! well, if yer don't let me myke a third at the funnymoon, i'll commit hurry-skurry on yer wery doorstep!... an' jolly good riddance ter bad rubbish, too!" the end transcriber's note: this etext was produced from analog science fact & fiction may . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. nor iron bars a cage.... iron bars do not confine a man--only his body. there are more subtle, and more confining bindings, however.... jonathan blake mackenzie illustrated by schoenherr * * * * * her red-blond hair was stained and discolored when they found her in the sewer, and her lungs were choked with muck because her killer hadn't bothered to see whether she was really dead when he dumped her body into the manhole, so she had breathed the stuff in with her last gasping breaths. her face was bruised, covered with great blotches, and three of her ribs had been broken. her thighs and abdomen had been bruised and lacerated. [illustration] if she had lived for three more days, angela frances donahue would have reached her seventh birthday. i didn't see her until she was brought to the morgue. my phone chimed, and when i thumbed it on, the face of inspector kleek, of homicide south, came on the screen. his heavy eyelids always hang at half mast, giving him a sleepy, bored look and the rest of his fleshy face sags in the same general pattern. "roy," he said as soon as he could see my face on his own screen, "we just found the little donahue girl. the meat wagon's taking her down to the morgue now. you want to come down here and look over the scene, or you want to go to the morgue? it looks like it's one of your special cases, but we won't know for sure until doc prouty does the post on her." i took a firm grip on my temper. i should have been notified as soon as homicide had been; i should have been there with the homicide squad. but i knew that if i said anything, kleek would just say, "hell, roy, they don't notify me until there's suspicion of homicide, and you don't get a call until there's suspicion that it might be the work of a degenerate. that's the way the system works. you know that, roy." and rather than hear that song-and-dance again, i gave myself thirty seconds to think. "i'll meet you at the morgue," i said. "your men can get the whole story at the scene without my help." that mollified him, and it showed a little on his face. "o.k., roy, see you there." and he cut off. i punched savagely at the numbered buttons on the phone to get an intercommunication hookup with dr. barton brownlee's office, on the third floor of the same building as my own office. his face, when it came on, was a calming contrast to kleek's. [illustration] he's nearly ten years younger than i am, not yet thirty-five, and his handsome, thoughtful face and dark, slightly wavy hair always make me think of somebody like st. edward pusey or maybe albert einstein. not that he looks like either one of them, or even that he looks saintly, but he does look like a man who has the courage of his convictions and is calmly, quietly, but forcefully ready to shove what he knows to be the truth down everybody else's throat if that becomes necessary. or maybe i am just reading into his face what i know to be true about the man himself. "brownie," i said, "they've found the donahue girl. taking her down to the morgue now. want to come along?" "i don't think so," he said without hesitation. "i'll get all the information i need from the photos and the reports. the man i do want to see is the killer; i need more data, roy--always more data. the more my boys and i know about these zanies, the more effectively we can deal with them." "i know. o.k.; i've got to run." i cut off, grabbed my hat, and headed out to fulfill my part of the bargain brownlee and i had once made. "you find 'em," he'd once said, "and i'll fix 'em." so far, that bargain had paid off. * * * * * i got to the morgue a few minutes after the body was brought in. the man at the front desk looked up at me as i walked in and gave me a bored smile. "evening, inspector. the donahue kid's in the clean-up room." then he went back to his paper work. the lab technicians were standing around watching while the morgue attendant sluiced the muck off the corpse with a hose, watching to see if anything showed up in the gooey filth. inspector kleek stood to one side. all he said was, "hi, roy." the morgue attendant lifted up one small arm with a gloved hand and played the hose over the thin biceps. "good thing the rigor mortis has gone off," he said, "these stiffs are hell to handle when they're stiff." it was an old joke, but everybody grinned out of habit. the clear water from the hose flowed over the skin and turned a grayish brown as it ran down to the bottom of the shallow, waist-high stainless-steel trough in which the body was lying. one of the lab techs stepped over and began going through the long hair very carefully, and doc prouty, the medical examiner, began cleaning out the mouth and nose and eyes and ears with careful hands. i turned to kleek. "you sure it's the donahue girl?" he sighed and looked away from the small dead thing on the cleaning table. "who else could it be? she was found only three blocks from the donahue home. no other female child reported missing in that area. we haven't checked the prints yet, but you can bet they'll tally with her school record." i had to agree. "what about the time of death?" "doc prouty figures forty-eight to sixty hours ago." "i'll be able to give you a better figure after the post," the medical examiner said without looking up from his work. a tall, big-nosed man in plain-clothes suddenly turned away from the scene on the table, his mouth moving queerly, his eyes hard. after a moment, his lips relaxed. still staring at the wall, he said: "i guess the case is out of federal jurisdiction, then. we'll co-operate, as usual, of course." he looked at me. "could i talk to you outside, inspector royall?" i looked at kleek. "o.k., sam?" i didn't have to have his o.k.; it was just professional courtesy. he knew i'd tell him whatever it was that the fbi man had to say, and we both knew why the federal agent wanted to leave. sam kleek nodded. "sure. i'll keep an eye out here." * * * * * the fbi man followed me into the outer room. "do you figure this as a sex-degenerate case, inspector?" he asked. "looks like it. you saw the bruises. dr. prouty will be able to tell us for sure after the post mortem." he shook his head as if to clear it of a bad memory. "you new york police can sure be cold-blooded at times." the thing that was bothering him, as kleek and i both knew, was that the fbi agent hadn't been exposed to this sort of thing often enough. they deal with the kind of crimes that actually don't involve the callous murder of children very often. even the murder of adults doesn't normally come under the aegis of the fbi. "we're not cold blooded," i said. "not by inclination, i mean. but a man gets that way--he has to get that way--after he's seen enough of this sort of thing. you either get yourself an emotional callous or you get deathly sick from the repetition--and then you have to get out of the job." "yeah," he said. "sure." he quit rubbing his chin with a knuckle, looked at me, and said: "what i wanted to say is that there's no evidence that she was taken across a state line. whoever sent that ransom note to the donahue parents was trying to throw us off the track." "looks like it. look at the time-table. the note was sent _after_ the girl was murdered, but _before_ the information hit the papers or the newscasts. the killer wanted us to think it was a ransom kidnaping. it isn't likely that the note was sent by a crank. a crank wouldn't have known the girl was missing at all at the time the note was sent." "that's the way it seems to me," he agreed. the color was coming back into his face. "but why would he want to make it look like a kidnaping instead of ... of what it was? the penalty's the same for both." my grin had anger, pity, and disgust for the killer in it--plus a certain amount of satisfaction. some day, i'd like to see my face in a mirror when i feel like that. "he was hoping the body wouldn't be found until it was too late for us to know that it was a rape killing. and that means that he knew that he would be on our list if we did find out that it was rape. otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered. if i'm right, then he has outsmarted himself. he has told us that we know him, and he's told us that he's smart enough to figure out a dodge--that he's not one of the helplessly stupid ones." "that should help to narrow the field down," he said in a hard voice. he felt in his pocket for a cigarette, found his pack, took one out, and then held it, unlit, between the fingers of his right hand. "inspector royall, i've studied the new law of this state--the one you're working under here--and i think it'll be great if it works out. i wish you luck. now, if you'll excuse me, i have to call the office." as he went out to the desk phone, i gave him a silent thanks. words of encouragement were hard to come by at that time. i turned and went back towards the clean-up room. she didn't look as though she were asleep. they never do. she looked dead. she'd been head down in the sewer, and the blood had pooled and coagulated in her head and shoulders. now that the filth had been washed off, the dark purple of the dead blood cells showed through the translucent skin. she would look better after she was embalmed. doc prouty was holding up a small syringe, eying the little bit of fluid within it. "we've got him," he said in a flat voice. "i'll have the lab run an analysis. we're well within the time limit. all we have to do is separate the girl's blood type from that of the spermatic fluid. you boys find your man, and i can identify him for you." he put the syringe in its special case. "i'll let you know the exact cause of death in a couple of hours." "o.k., doc. thanks," said inspector kleek, closing his notebook. he turned to one of the other men. "thompson, you notify the parents. get 'em down here to make a positive identification, and send it along to my office with the print identification." then he looked at me. "anything extra you want, roy?" i shook my head. "nope. let's go check the files, huh?" "sure. can i ride with you? i rode in with thompson; he'll have to stay." "come along," i told him. * * * * * by ten fifteen that evening, we had narrowed the field down considerably. we fed all the data we had into the computer, including the general type number of the spermatic fluid, which dr. prouty had given us, and watched while the machine sorted through the characteristics of all the known criminals in its memory. kleek and i were sitting at a desk drinking hot, black coffee when the computer technician came over and handed kleek the results at ten fifteen. "quite a bunch of 'em, inspector," he said, "but the geographic compartmentalization will help." kleek glanced over the neatly-printed sheaf of papers that the computer had turned out, then handed them to me. "there we are, roy. one of those zanies is our boy." i looked at the list. every person on it was either a confirmed or suspected psychopath, and each one of them conformed to the set of specifications we had fed the computer. they were listed in four different groups, according to the distance they lived from the scene of the crime--half a mile, two miles, five miles, and "remainder," the rest of the city. "all we got to do," kleek said complacently, "is start rounding 'em up." "you make it sound easy," i said tightly. he put down his coffee cup. "hell, roy, it _is_ easy! we've got all these characters down on the books, don't we? we know what they are, don't we? look at 'em! once in a while a new one pops up, and we put him on the list. once in a while we catch one and send him up. practically cut and dried, isn't it?" "sure," i said. "look, roy," he went on, "we got it down to a fine art now--have for years." he waved in the general direction of the computer. "we got the advantage that it's easier to sort 'em out now, and faster--but the old tried-and-true technique is just the same. cops have been catching these goons in every civilized country on earth for a hundred years by this technique." "sam," i said wearily, "are you going to give me a lecture on police methods?" he picked up his cup, held it for a moment, then set it down again, his eyes hardening. "yes, roy, i am! i'm older than you are, i've got more years on the force, i've been working with homicide longer, and i outrank you in grade by two and a half years! yes, i figure it's about time i lectured you! you want to listen?" i looked at him. kleek is a good cop, i was thinking, and he deserves to be listened to, even if i don't agree with him. "o.k., sam," i said, "i'll listen." * * * * * "o.k., then." he took a breath. "now, we got a system here that works. the nuts always show themselves up, one way or another. most of 'em have been arrested by the time they're fourteen, fifteen years old. maybe we can't nail 'em down and pin anything on 'em, but we got 'em down on the books. we know they have to be watched. we got ninety per cent of the queers and hopheads and stew-bums and firebugs and the rest of the zanies down on our books"--he waved toward the computer again--"and down in the memory bank of the computer. we know we're gonna get 'em eventually, because we know they're gonna goof up eventually, and then we'll have 'em. we'll have 'em"--he made a clutching gesture with his right hand--"right where it hurts! "you take this donahue killer. we know where he is. we can be pretty sure we got him down on the books." he tapped the sheaf of papers from the computer with a firm forefinger. "we can be pretty sure that he's one of those guys right down there!" he waved his hand again, but, this time, he took in the whole city--the whole outside world. "like clock-work. the minute they goof, we nab 'em." "sam," i said, "just listen to me a minute. we know that ninety per cent of the men on that list right there are going to be convicted of a crime of violence inside the next five years, right?" "that's what i've been tellin' you. the minute--" "wait a minute; wait a minute. just listen. why don't we just go out and arrest them all right now? look at all the trouble that would save us." "hell, roy! you can't arrest a man unless he's done something! what would you charge 'em with? loitering with intent to commit a nuisance?" "no. but we _can_--" i was cut off by a uniformed cop who stuck his head in the door and said: "inspector royall, dr. brownlee called. says they picked up hammerlock smith. he's at the th precinct. wants you to come down right away if you can." i stood up and grabbed my hat. "sam, you can sit on this one for a while, huh? i've been waiting for hammerlock smith to fall for two months." sam kleek looked disgusted. "and you'll see that he gets psycho treatment and a suspended sentence. a few days in the looney ward, and then right back out on the street. hammerlock smith! _there's_ a case for you! built like a gorilla and has a passion for irish whisky and sixteen-year-old boys--and you think you can cure him in three days! nuts!" i didn't feel like arguing with him. "we might as well let him go now as lock him up for three or four months and then let him go, sam. why fool around with assault and battery charges when we can wait for him to murder somebody and then lock him up for good, eh, sam? what's another victim more or less, as long as we get the killer?" "that's what we're here for," he said stolidly. "to get killers." he scratched at his balding head. "i don't get you, roy. i'd think you'd _want_ these maniacs put away, after your--" he stopped himself, wet his lips, and said: "o.k. you go ahead and take care of smith. get some sleep. i'm going to. i'll leave orders to call us both if anything breaks in the donahue case." i just nodded and walked out. i didn't want to hear any more. but the door didn't close tightly, and i heard kleek's voice as he spoke to the computer tech. "i just don't figure roy. his wife died in a fire set by an arson bug, and he wants to--" i kept on walking as the door clicked shut. * * * * * i was in my office at nine the next morning, after seven and a half hours of sleep on one of the bunks in the ready room. the business with hammerlock smith had taken more time than i had thought it would. the big, stupid ape had been in a vicious mood, reeking of whisky and roaring insults at everyone. his cursing was neither inventive nor colorful, consisting of only four unlovely words used over and over again in various combinations with ordinary ones, a total vocabulary of maybe a dozen words. it had taken four cops, using night-sticks, to get him into the paddy wagon, and dr. brownlee had finally had to give him a blast of super-tranquilizer with a hypogun. "boy, inspector," one of the officers had said, "don't let anyone ever tell you some of these guys aren't tough!" i was looking over the written report. "what about this kid he accosted in the bar? hurt bad?" "cracked rib, sprained wrist, and a bloody nose, sir. the doc said he'd be o.k." "according to the report here, the kid was twenty-two years old. smith usually picks 'em younger." the cop grinned. "smith had to get his eventually, sir. this guy looks pretty young, but he was a boxer in college. he probably couldn't've whipped smith, but he had guts enough to try." "think he'll testify?" "said he would, sir. we already got his signature on the complaint while he was at the hospital. he's pretty mad." smith's record was long and ugly. of the eight complaints made by young boys who had managed to brush off or evade hammerlock's advances, six hadn't come to trial because there were no corroborating witnesses, and the charges had been dismissed. two of the cases had come before a jury--and had resulted in acquittals. cold sober, smith presented a fairly decent picture. it was hard to convince a jury of ordinary citizens that so masculine-looking a specimen was homosexual. the odd thing was that the psychopathic twist which got hammerlock smith into trouble had been able to get him out of it again. both times, smith's avowal that he had done no such disgusting thing had been corroborated by a lie detector test. smith--when he was sober--had no recollection of his acts when drunk, and apparently honestly believed that he was incapable of doing what we knew he _had_ done. this time, though, we had him dead to rights. he had never made his play in a bar before, and we had three witnesses, plus an assault and battery charge. as inspector kleek had said, we get 'em eventually.... ... _but at what cost? how many teenage boys had been frightened or whipped into doing as he told them and then been too ashamed and sick with themselves to say anything? how many young lives had been befouled by smith's abnormal lust?_ and if smith spent a year or two in sing sing, how many more would there be between the time he was released and the time he was caught again? and how long would it be before he obligingly hammered the life out of his young victim so that we could put him away permanently? that was the "system" that kleek--and a lot of other men on the force swore by. that was the "system" that the boys in homicide and in the vice squad thought i was trying to foul up by "babying" the zanies. it's a hell of a great system, isn't it? * * * * * i called the hospital and talked to the doctor who had taken care of smith's victim. then i called kleek to see if there had been any break in the donahue case. there hadn't. finally, i called my son, steve, at the apartment we shared, told him i wouldn't be home that night, and sacked out in the ready room. by nine o'clock, i was ready to go back to work. at nine thirty, kleek called. his saggy face looked sleepier and more bored than ever. "no rest for the weary, roy. i got a call on a killing on the upper east side. some rich gal with too much time on her hands was having an all-night party, and she got herself shot to death. it looks like her husband did it, but there's plenty of money involved, and the deputy commissioner wants me to handle it personally, all the way through. i'm putting lieutenant shultz in charge of the homicide end of the donahue case, but i told him you were the man to listen to. he'll report directly to you if there's any new leads. o.k.?" "o.k. with me, sam." as i said, kleek is a good cop in spite of his "system." "the boys are out making the rounds," he went on, "bringing in all the men with conviction records and questioning the others. and we're combing the neighborhood for the kid's clothes. they might still be around somewhere. shultz'll keep you posted." "fine, sam. happy hunting in high society." "thanks, roy. take it easy." at fifteen of eleven, the police commissioner called. he spent ten minutes telling me that i was going to be visited by a vip and giving me exact instructions on how to handle the man. "i'm depending on you to take care of him, roy," he said finally. "if we can get this program operating in other places, it will help us a lot. and if you need help from my office, grab the nearest phone." "i'll do my best," i promised him. "and thanks, sir." the commissioner was a lawyer, not a cop, so he wasn't as tied to the system as kleek and the others were. he was backing me all the way. i punched sergeant vanney's number on the intercom. "inspector royall here, sergeant. do me a favor." "yes, sir." "go down to the library and get me a copy of burke's 'peerage.'" "burke's which, sir?" i repeated it and spelled it for him. he didn't waste any time; he had it on my desk in less than twenty minutes. when the vip arrived, i had already read up on chief inspector, the duke of acrington. here's how he was listed: _acrington, seventh duke of (robert st. james acrington) baron bennevis of scotland, k. c. b.: born november , b.s., m.s., oxon.,_ cum laude. _married ( ) lady susan burley, nd dau. viscount burley. sons, richard st. james, philip william._ [illustration] _joined metropolitan police ( ); c. i. d. ( ); dep. insp. ( ); insp. ( ); ch. insp. ( ). awarded george medal for extraordinary heroism during the false war ( )._ _author_ criminal law and the united nations, the use of forensic psychology (_police textbook_), _and_ the night people (_fiction; under nom de plume r. a. james_). _clubs: royal astronomical, oxonian, baker street irregulars._ _motto: amicus curiae._ i had to admit that i was impressed, but i decided to withhold any judgment until i had met the man. * * * * * he was right on time for his appointment. the car pulled up to the parking lot with a sergeant at the wheel, and i got a bird's eye view of him from my window as he got out of the car and headed for the door. i had to grin a little; the commissioner had obviously wanted to take the visitor around personally--roll out the rug for royalty, so to speak--but he had had a conference scheduled with the mayor and some federal officials, and, after all, the duke was only here on police business, not as ambassador from the court of st. james. so he ended up being treated just as any visitor from scotland yard would be treated. he was shown directly to my office, and i gave him a quick once-over as he came in the door. tall, about six feet even; weight about , none of it surplus fat; light brown hair smoothed neatly back, almost no gray; eyes, blue-gray, with finely-etched lines around them that indicated they'd been formed by both smiles and frowns: face, rather long and bony, with thin, firm lips and a longish, thin, slightly curved nose. he wore good clothes, and he wore them well. his age, i knew; it was the same as mine. it was the first time i had ever seen a man who looked like a real aristocrat and a good cop rolled into one. he had an easy smile on his face, and his eyes were taking me in, too. i stand an inch under six feet, but i'm a little broader across the shoulders than he, so the ten more pounds i carry doesn't make me look fat. my face is definitely not aristocratic--wide and square, with a nose that shows a slight bend where it was broken when i was a rookie, heavy, dark eyebrows, and hair that is receding a little on top and graying perceptibly at the sides. the eyes are a dark gray, and i'm well aware that the men under me call me "old flint-eye" when i put the pressure on them. "i'm chief inspector acrington," he said pleasantly, giving me a firm handshake. "it's a pleasure to meet you, your grace," i said. "i'm inspector royall. sit down, won't you?" i gestured toward one of the upholstered guest chairs, and sat down in the other one myself, so we wouldn't have the desk between us. "have a good trip across?" i asked. "fine. except, of course, for the noise." "noise?" i knew he'd come over in one of the transatlantic airways' new inertia-drive ships, and they're supposed to be fairly quiet. his smile broadened a trifle. "exactly. there wasn't any. i'm rather used to the vibration of jets, and these new jobs float along at a hundred thousand feet in the deadest silence you ever heard--if you'll pardon the oxymoron. everybody chattered like a flight of starlings, just to keep the air full of sound." i chuckled. "maybe they'll put vibrators on them, just to make the people feel comfortable. i read that the men in the moon ships complain about the same thing." "so i've heard. but, actually, the silence is a minor thing when one realizes the time one saves. when one is looking forward to something interesting, traveling can be deadly dull." it was beautiful, the way he did it. he had told me plainly that he wanted to get down to business and cut the small talk, but he'd done it in such a way that the transition was frictionlessly smooth. "not much scenery up there," i said. "i hope you'll find what we're trying to do here has a few more points of interest." "i'm quite sure it will, from what i've heard of your pilot project here. that's why i want to, well, sort of be a hanger-on for a few days, if that's all right with you." * * * * * before i could answer, the phone blinked. i excused myself to the duke and cut in. the image that came on the screen was almost myself, except that he had his mother's mouth and was twenty-odd years younger. "hi, dad," he said, with that apologetic smile of his. "sorry to bother you during office hours, but could i borrow fifty? pay you back next week." i threw a phony scowl at him. "running short, eh? have you been betting on the stickball teams again?" he cast his eyes skyward, and raised the three fingers of his right hand. "scout's honor, dad, i spent it on a new turbine for my electroford." then he lowered his hand and looked down from the upper regions. "i really did. i forgot that i was supposed to take mary ellen out this evening. car-happy, i guess. can you advance the fifty?" i threw away my phony scowl and gave him a smile. "sure, stevie. how's mary ellen?" "swell. she's all excited about going to the art ball tonight--that's why i didn't want to disappoint her." "slow up, son," i told him, "you've already made your pitch and been accepted. you'll get your fifty, so don't push it. want to come down here and pick it up?" "can do. and have i told you that you'll be invited to the wedding?" "thanks, pal. can i give the groom away?" it was a family joke that we'd kicked back and forth ever since he had met mary ellen, two years before. "sure thing. see you in a couple of hours. bye, dad." he cut off, and i looked at the duke. "sorry. now, you were saying?" "perfectly all right." he smiled. "i have two of my own at home. "at any rate, i was saying that the criminal investigation department of new scotland yard has become interested in this experiment of yours, so i was sent over to get all the first-hand information i can. frankly, i volunteered for the job; i was eager to come. there are plenty of skeptics at the yard, i'll admit, but i'm not one of them. if the thing's workable, i want to see it used in england." here was another man who wasn't tied to the "system." "d'you mind if i ask some questions?" he said. "go ahead, your grace. if i can't answer 'em, i'll say so." "thanks. first off, i'll tell you what i _do_ know--get my own knowledge of the background straight, so to speak. now, as i understand it, the courts have agreed--temporarily, at least--that any person convicted of certain types of crimes must undergo a psychiatric examination before sentencing. right?" "that's right." "then, depending on the result of that examination, the magistrate of the court may sentence the offender to undertake psychiatric therapy instead of sending him to a penal institution, such time in therapy not to exceed the maximum time of imprisonment originally provided for the offense under the law. "his sentence is suspended, in other words, if he will agree to the therapy. if, after he is released by the psychiatrists, he behaves himself, he is not imprisoned. if he misbehaves, he must serve out the original sentence, plus any new sentence that may be imposed. have i got it straight so far?" "perfectly." "as i understand it, you've had astounding success." he looked, in spite of what he had said about skepticism, as though he thought the reports he'd heard were exaggerated. "so far," i said evenly, "not a single one of our 'patients' has failed us." he looked amazed, but he didn't doubt me. "and you've been in operation for how long?" "a little over a year since the first case. but i think the record will stand the same way five, ten, fifty years from now. "you see, your grace, we don't _dare_ lose a man. if one of our tame zanies goes haywire again, the courts will stop this pilot project _fast_. there's a lot of pressure against us. "in the first place, we only work with repeaters. you know the type. the world is full of them. the boys that are picked up over and over again for the same kind of crime." he nodded. "they're the ones we wait for. the ones we catch, convict, and send to prison--and then wait until they get out, and then wait some more until they commit their next crime, so that we can catch them and start the whole cycle over again." "that's them," i said. "when they're out, they're just between crimes, that's all. and that puts the police in a hell of a position, doesn't it? you _know_ they're going to fall again; you know that they're going to rob, or hurt, or kill someone. but there's nothing you can do about it. you're helpless. no police force has enough men to enable a cop to be assigned to every known repeater and follow him night and day. "in this state, if a man is convicted of a felony for a fourth time, a life sentence is mandatory. _but that means that at least four victims have to be sacrificed before the dangerous man is removed from society!_" the duke nodded thoughtfully. "'sacrifice' is the word. go on." "now, the type of crime we're working with--the kind we expect future laws to apply to--is strictly limited. it must be a crime of violence against a human being, or a crime of destruction in which there is a grave danger that human lives may be lost. the sex maniac, the firebug, or the goon who gets a thrill out of beating people. or the reckless driver who has proven that he can't be trusted behind the wheel of a car. "we can't touch the kleptomaniac or the common drunk or the drug addict. they're already provided for under other laws. and those habits are not, _by themselves_, dangerous to the lives of others. a good many of our kind of zany _do_ drink or take drugs--about fifty per cent of them. but what they're sentenced for is crimes of violence, not for guzzling hooch or mainlining heroin." * * * * * my phone chimed. it was lieutenant shultz, of homicide. his square, blocky face held a trace of excitement. "inspector royall, inspector kleek told me to report to you if there was any news in the donahue case." "what is it, lieutenant?" "we're pretty sure of our man. scrapings from the kid's fingernails gave us his blood type. the computer narrowed the list down quite a bit with that data. then, a few minutes ago, one of the boys found the kid's clothes stuffed in with some trash paper in the back stairwell of a condemned building just a couple of blocks from where we found her last night. "and--get this, inspector!--she was wearing a pair of those shiny patent-leather shoes, practically brand-new, and they have prints all over them! his are over hers, since he was the last one to handle them, and there's only the two sets of prints! we just now got positive identification." "grab him and bring him in," i said. "i'll be right down. i want to talk to him." his face fell a little. "well, it isn't going to be as easy as all that, sir. you see, we'd already checked at his last known address, earlier this morning, before we got the final check on the blood type. this guy left the rooming house he was staying in--checked out two days ago, just a short time after the girl was killed. i figured that looked queer at the time, so i had two of my men start tracing him in particular. but there's not a sign of him so far." i untensed myself. "o.k. what's his record?" "periodic drunk. goes for weeks without touching the stuff, then he goes out on a binge that lasts for a week sometimes. "name's lawrence nestor, alias larry nestor. twenty-eight years old, six feet one inch, slight build, but considered fairly strong. brown hair, brown eyes. speaks with a lisp due to a dental defect; the lisp becomes more noticeable when he's drinking." he turned the page of the report he was reading from. "arrested for drunkenness four times in the past five years, got off with a fine when he pleaded guilty. he molested a little girl two years ago and was picked up for questioning, but nothing came of it. the girl hadn't been physically hurt, and she couldn't make a positive identification, so he was released from custody. "officers on duty in the neighborhood report that he has frequently been seen talking to small children, usually girls, but he wasn't seen to molest them in any way, and there were no complaints from parents, so no action could be taken." lieutenant shultz looked up from the paper. "he's had all kinds of jobs, but he can't hold 'em very long. goes on a binge, doesn't show up for work, so they fire him. he's a pretty good short-order cook, and that's the kind of work he likes, if he can talk a lunch room into hiring him. he's also been a bus boy, a tavern porter, and a janitor. "one other thing: the superintendent at the place where he was staying reports that he had an unusual amount of money on him--four or five hundred dollars he thinks. doesn't know where nestor got the money, but he's been boozing it up for the past five days. bought new clothes--hat, suit, shoes, and so on. living high on the hog, i guess." * * * * * i thought for a minute. if he had money, he could be anywhere in the world by now. on the other hand-- "look, lieutenant, you haven't said anything to the newsmen yet, have you?" he looked surprised. "no. i called you first. but i figured they could help us. plaster his picture and name all over the area, and somebody will be bound to recognize him." "somebody might kill him, too, and i don't want that. look at it this way: if he had sense enough to get out of the local area two days ago and really get himself lost, then it won't hurt to wait twenty-four hours or so to release the story. on the other hand, if he's still in the city or over in jersey, he could still get out before the news was so widespread that he'd be spotted by very many people. "but if he's still drinking and thinks he's safe, we may be able to get a lead on him. i have a hunch he's still in the city. so hold off on that release to the newsmen as long as you can. don't let it leak. "meanwhile, check all the transportation terminals. find out if he's ever been issued a passport. if he has, check the foreign consuls here in the city to see if he got a visa. notify the fbi; they're back in it now, since there's a chance that he may have crossed a state line--unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. "and tell the boys that do the footwork that they're to say that the guy they're looking for is wanted by the missing persons bureau--that he left home and his wife is looking for him. don't connect him up with the donahue case at all. have every beat patrolman in the city on the lookout for a drunk with a lisp, but tell them the same story about the wife; i don't want any leaks at all. "i'll call the commissioner right away to get his o.k., because i don't want either one of us to get in hot water over this. if he's with us, we'll go ahead as planned; if he's not, we'll just have to call in the newsmen. o.k.?" "sure, inspector. whatever you say. i'll get right to work on it. you'll have the commissioner call me?" "right. so long. call me if anything happens." i had added the bit about calling the commissioner because i wasn't sure but what kleek would decide i was wrong in handling the case and let the story out "accidentally." but i had to be careful not to make shultz think i was trying to show my muscles. i called the commissioner, got his o.k., and turned my attention back to my guest. he had been listening with obvious interest. "another one of your zanies, eh?" "one that went too far, your grace. we didn't get to him in time." i spent five or six minutes giving him the details of the donahue case. "the same old story," he said when i had finished. "if your pilot project here works out, maybe that kind of slaughter can be eliminated." then he smiled. "do you know something? you're one of the few americans i've ever met, outside your diplomats, who can address a person as 'your grace' and make it sound natural. some people look at me as though they expected me to be all decked out in a ducal coronet and full ermines, ready for a coronation. your commissioner, for instance. he seems quite a nice chap, but he also seems a bit overawed at a title. you seem perfectly relaxed." i considered that for a moment. "i imagine it's because he tends to look at you as a duke who has taken up police work as a sort of gentlemanly hobby." "and you?" "i guess i tend to think of you as a good cop who had the good fortune to be born the eldest son of a duke." his smile suddenly became very warm. "thank you," he said sincerely. "thank you very much." there came the strained silence that sometimes follows when an honest compliment is passed between two men who have scarcely met. i broke it by pointing at the plaque on the front of my desk and giving him a broad grin. "or maybe it's just the kind of blood that flows in my veins." he looked at the little plaque that said _inspector royal c. royall_ and laughed pleasantly. "i like to think that it's a little bit of both." * * * * * the intercom on my desk flashed, and the sergeant's voice said: "inspector, a couple of the boys just brought in a man named manewiscz. a stolen car was run into a fire plug over on fifth avenue near th street. a witness has positively identified manewiscz as the driver who ran away before the squad car arrived." "sidney manewiscz?" i asked. "manny the moog?" "that's the one. he's got a record of stealing cars for joyrides. he insists on talking to you." "bring him in," i said. "i'll talk to him. and get hold of dr. brownlee." "excuse me," i said to the duke. "business." he started to get up, but i said, "that's all right, your grace; you might as well sit in on it." he relaxed back into the chair. two cops brought in manewiscz, a short, nervous man with a big nose and frightened brown eyes. "what's the trouble, manny?" i asked. "nothing, inspector; i'm telling you, i didn't do nothing. i'm walking along fifth avenoo when all of a sudden these cops pull up in a squad-car and some fat jerk in the back seat is hollering that i am the guy he seen get out of a smashup on th street, which is a good three blocks from where i am walking. besides which, i have not driven a car for over a year now, and i have been in all ways a law-abiding citizen and a credit to the family and the community." "do you know the fat guy?" i asked. "the guy who fingered you for the boys?" "i never had the pleasure of seeing him before," said manny the moog, "but, on the other hand, i do not expect to forget his fat face between now and the next time we meet." at that point, dr. brownlee came through the door. "hello, inspector," he said with a quick smile. he saw manewiscz then, and his eyebrows went up. "what are you doing here, manny?" "i am here, doc, because the two gentlemen in uniform whom you see standing on both sides of me extend a polite invitation to accompany them here, although i am not in the least guilty of the thing they say i do which causes them to issue this invitation." i explained what had happened and brownlee shook his head slowly without saying anything for a moment. then he said, "come on in my office, manny; i want to talk to you for a few minutes. o.k., inspector?" he glanced at me. "sure." i waved him and manny away. "you boys stay here," i told the patrolmen, "manny will be all right." as soon as the door closed behind dr. brownlee and manewiscz i said: "you two brought the witness in, too, didn't you?" "yes, sir," said one. the other nodded. "you'd better do a little more careful checking on him. he may be simply mistaken, or he may have been the actual driver. see if he's been in any trouble before." "the sergeant's already doing that, sir," said the one who had spoken before. "meanwhile, maybe we better go out and have a little talk with the guy." "take it easy, he may be a perfectly respectable citizen." "yes, sir," he said. "we'll just ask him a few questions." they left, and i noticed that the duke was looking rather puzzled, but he didn't ask any questions, so i couldn't answer any. the intercom lit up, and i flipped the switch. "yes?" "i just checked up on the witness," said the sergeant. "no record. his identification checks out o.k. thomas h. wilson, an executive at the city-chemical bank; lives on central park west. the lab says that the driver of the car wore gloves." "thank wilson for his information, let him go, and tell him we'll call him if we need him. lay it on thick about what a good citizen he is. make him happy." "right." i switched off and started to say something to my guest, but the intercom lit up again. "yeah?" "got a call-in from officer mccaffery, the beat man on broadway between th and th. he's got a lead on the guy you're looking for." "tell him we'll be right over. where is he?" the sergeant told me, and i cut off. i took out my gun and spun the cylinder, checking it from force of habit more than anything else, since i always check and clean it once a day, anyhow. i slid it back into its holster and turned to the duke, who was already on his feet. "did the commissioner give you a special badge?" i asked him. "yes, he did." he pulled it out of his inside pocket and showed it to me. "good. i'll have the sergeant fill out a temporary pistol permit, and--" "i don't have a pistol, inspector," he said. "i--" "that's all right; we'll issue you one. we can--" he shook his head. "thanks, i'd rather not. i've never used a pistol except when i've gone out after a criminal who is known to be armed and dangerous. i don't think lawrence nestor is very dangerous to adult males, and i doubt that he's armed." he hefted the walking stick he'd been carrying. "this will do nicely, thank you." the way he said it was totally inoffensive, but it made me feel as though i were about to go out rabbit hunting with an elephant gun. "force of habit," i said. "in new york, a cop would feel naked without a gun. but i assure you that i have no intention of shooting mr. nestor unless he takes a shot at me first." just as we were leaving, dr. brownlee met us in the outer room. [illustration] "all right if i let manny the moog go, roy?" [illustration] "sure, doc; if you say so." i didn't have any time for introductions just then; chief inspector the duke of acrington and i kept going. * * * * * eight minutes later, i pulled up to the post where officer mccaffery was waiting. since i'd already talked to him over the radio, all he did was stroll off as soon as we pulled up. i didn't want everyone in the neighborhood to know that there was something afoot. his grace and i climbed out of the car and walked up toward a place called flanagan's bar. it was a small place, the neighborhood type, with an old-fashioned air about it. two or three of the men looked up as we came in, and then went back to the more important business of drinking. we went back to the far end of the bar, and the bartender came over, a short, heavy man, with the build of a heavyweight boxer and hands half again as big as mine. he had dark hair, a square face, a dimpled chin, and calculating blue eyes. "what'll it be?" he said in a friendly voice. "couple of beers," i told him. i waited until he came back before i identified myself. officer mccaffery had told me that the bartender was trustworthy, but i wanted to make sure i had the right man. "you lee darcey?" i asked when he brought back the beers. "that's right." i flashed my badge. "is there anywhere we can talk?" "sure. the back room, right through there." he turned to the other bartender. "take over for a while, frankie." then he ducked under the bar and followed the duke and me into the back room. we sat down, and i showed him the picture of lawrence nestor. "i understand you've seen this guy." he picked up the picture and cocked an eyebrow at it. "well, i wouldn't swear to it in court, inspector, but it sure looks like the fellow who was in here this afternoon--this evening, rather, from six to about six-thirty. i don't come on duty until six, and he was here when i got here." it was just seven o'clock. if the man was nestor, we hadn't missed him by more than half an hour. "notice anything about his voice?" "i noticed the lisp, if that's what you mean." "did he talk much?" darcey shook his head. "not a lot. just sat there and drank, mostly. had about three after i came on." "what was he drinking?" "whisky. beer chaser." he grinned. "he tips pretty well." "has he ever been in here before?" "not that i know of. he might've come in in the daytime. you'd have to check with mickey, the day man." "was he drunk?" "not that i could tell. i wouldn't have served him if he was," he said righteously. i said, "darcey, if he comes back in here ... let's see--can you shut off that big sign out front from behind the bar?" "sure." "o.k. if he comes in, shut off the sign. we'll have men here in less than a minute. he isn't dangerous or anything, so just act natural and give him whatever he orders. i don't want him scared off. understand?" "i got you." his grace and i went outside, and i used my pocket communicator to instruct a patrol car to cover flanagan's bar from across the street, and i called for extra plainclothesmen to cover the area. "now what?" asked his grace. "now we go barhopping," i said. "he's probably still drinking, but it isn't likely that he'll find many little girls at this time of night. he's probably got a room nearby." at that point, a blue electroford pulled up in front of us. stevie stuck his head out and said: "your office said you'd be around here somewhere. remember me, dad?" i covered my eyes with one hand in mock horror. "my god, the fifty!" then i dropped the hand toward my billfold. "i'm sorry, son; i got wrapped up in this thing and completely forgot." that made two apologies in two minutes, and i began to have the uneasy feeling that i had suddenly become a vaguely repellant mass of thumbs and left feet. i handed him the fifty, and, at the same time, said: "son, i want you to meet his grace, chief inspector the duke of acrington. your grace, this is my son, steven royall." as they shook hands, steve said: "it's a pleasure to meet your grace. i read about the job you did in the camberwell poisoning case. that business of winding the watch was wonderful." "i'm flattered, mr. royall," said the duke, "but i must admit that i got a great deal more credit in that case than was actually due me. establishing the time element by winding the watch was suggested to me by another man, who wouldn't allow his name to be mentioned in the press." i reminded myself to read up on the duke's cases. evidently he was better known than i had realized. sometimes a man gets too wrapped up in his own work. "i'm sorry," stevie said, "but i've got to get going. i hope to see you again, your grace. so long, dad--and thanks." "so long, son," i said. "take it easy." his car moved off down the street, gathering speed. "fine boy you have there," the duke said. "thanks. shall we go on with our pub crawling?" "let's." * * * * * by two o'clock in the morning, we had heard nothing, found nothing. the duke looked tired, and i knew that i was. "a few hours sleep wouldn't hurt either one of us," i told his grace. "it's a cinch that nestor won't be able to find any little girls at this hour of the morning, and i have a feeling that he probably bought himself a bottle and took it up to his room with him." "you're probably right," the duke said wearily. "look," i said, "there's no point in your going all the way down to your hotel. my place is just across town, i have plenty of room, it will be no trouble to put you up, and we'll be ready to go in the morning. o.k.?" he grinned. "worded that way, the invitation is far too forceful to resist. i'm sold. i accept." by that time, we had left several dollars worth of untasted beers sitting around in various bars on the west side, so when i arrived at my apartment on the east side, i decided that it was time for two tired cops to have a decent drink. the duke relaxed on the couch while i mixed a couple of scotch-and-waters. he lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke with a sigh. "here, this will put sparks in your blood. just a second, and i'll get you an ash tray." i went into the kitchen and got one of the ash trays from the top shelf and brought it back into the living room. just as i put it down on the arm of the couch next to his grace, the buzzer announced that there was someone at the front door downstairs. i went over to the peeper screen and turned it on. the face was big-jawed and hard-mouthed, and there was scar tissue in the eyebrows and on the cheeks. he looked tough, but he also looked worried and frightened. i could see him, but he couldn't see me, so i said: "what's the trouble, joey?" a look of relief came over his face. "can i see ya, inspector? i saw your light was on. it's important." he glanced to his right, toward the doorway. "real important." "what's it all about, joey?" "take a look out your window, inspector. across the street. they're friends of freddy velasquez. they been following me ever since i got off work." "just a second," i said. i went over to the window that overlooks the street and looked down. there were two men there, all right, looking innocently into a delicatessen window. but i knew that joey partridge wasn't kidding, and that he knew who the men were. i went back to the peeper screen just as joey buzzed my signal again. "i buzzed again so they won't know you're home," he said before i could ask any questions. "freddy must've found out about my hands, inspector. according to the word i got, they ain't carrying guns--just blackjacks and knucks." "o.k., joey. come on up, and i'll call a squad car to take you home." he gave me a bitter grin. "and have 'em coming after me again and again until they catch me? no, thanks, inspector. in one minute, i'm going to walk across and ask 'em what they're following me for." "you can't do that, joey!" he looked hurt. "inspector, since when it is against the law to ask a couple of guys how come they're following you? i just thought i oughta tell ya, that's all. so long." i knew there was no point in arguing with joey partridge. i turned and said: "want some action, your grace?" but he was already on his feet, holding that walking stick of his. "anything you say." "come on, then. we'll take the fire escape; the elevator is too slow. the fire escape will let us out in the alley, and we won't by outlined by the light in the foyer." i already had the bedroom door open. i ran over to the window, opened it, and started down the steel stairway. the duke was right behind me. it was only three floors down. "that joey is too smart for his own good," i said, "but he's right. this is the only way to work it. otherwise, they'd have him in the hospital eventually--or maybe dead." "he looked like a man who could take care of himself," the duke said. "that's just it. he can't. come on." * * * * * the ladder to the street slid down smoothly and silently, and i thanked god for modern fire prevention laws. when we reached the street, i wondered where they could have gone to so quickly. then the duke said: "there! in that darkened area-way next to the little shop!" and he started running. his legs were longer than mine, and he reached the area-way a good five yards ahead of me. joey had managed to evade them for a short while, but they had cornered him, and one of them knocked him down just as the duke came on the scene. the other had swung at his ribs with a blackjack as he dropped, and the first aimed a kick at joey's midriff, but joey rolled away from it. then the two thugs heard our footsteps and turned to meet us. if we'd been in uniform, they might have run; as it was, they stood their ground. but not for long. the duke didn't use that stick as though it were a club, swinging it like a baseball bat. that would be as silly as using an overhand stab with a dagger. he used it the way a fencer would use a foil, and the hard, blunt end of it sank into the first thug's solar plexus with all the drive of the duke's right arm and shoulder behind it. the thug gave a hoarse scream as all the air was driven from his lungs, and he dropped to the pavement. the second man came in with his blackjack swinging. his hand stopped suddenly as his wrist met the deadly stick, but the blackjack kept on going, bouncing harmlessly off the nearby wall as it flew from nerveless fingers. that stick never stopped moving. on the backswing, it thwacked resoundingly against the thug's ribcage. he grunted in pain and tried to charge forward to grapple with the englishman. but his grace was grace itself as he leaped backwards and then thrust forward with that wooden snake-tongue. the thug practically impaled himself on it. he stopped and twisted and was suddenly sick all over the pavement. almost gently, the duke tapped him across the side of his head, and he fell into his own mess. it was all over before i'd even had a chance to mix in. i stood there, holding an eleven millimeter magnum revolver in my hand and feeling vaguely foolish. i reholstered the thing and walked over to where joey partridge was propping himself up to a sitting position. his right eye was bruised, and there was a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, but he was grinning all the way across his battered face. and he wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the duke. "you hurt, joey?" i asked. i knew he wasn't hurt badly; he'd taken worse punishment than that in his life. he looked at me still grinning. "hurt? you're right i'm hurt, inspector! them goons tried to kill me. let's see--assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill, assault with intent to maim, attempted murder, and--" he paused. "what else we got, inspector?" "we'll think on plenty," i said. "can you stand up?" "sure i can stand up. i want to shake the hand of your buddy, there. geez! i ain't seen anything like that since i used to watch bat masterson on tv, when i was a little kid!" "joey, this is chief inspector the duke acrington, of scotland yard. inspector, this is joey partridge, the greatest amateur boxer this country has ever produced." amazingly enough, joey extended his hand. "pleased t'meetcha, inspector! uh--watch the hand. sorta tender. that was great! duke, did you say?" he looked at me. "you mean he's a real english duke?" he looked back at acrington. "i never met a duke before!" but by that time he had taken his hand away from the duke's grasp. "it's a pleasure to meet you, joey," the duke said warmly. "i liked the way you cleaned up on that russian during the ' olympics." joey said to me, "he remembers me! how d'ya like that?" one of the downed thugs began to groan, and i said, "we'd better get the paddy wagon around to pick these boys up. you'll prefer charges, joey?" "damn right i will! i didn't let myself get slugged for nothing!" it was nearly forty-five minutes later that the duke and i found ourselves in my apartment again. the ice in our drinks had melted, so i dumped them and prepared fresh ones. the duke took his, drained half of it in three fast swallows, and said: "ahhhhhh! i needed that." we heard a key in the door, and his grace looked at me. "that's my son," i said. "back from his date." steve came in looking happy. "you still awake, dad? a cop ought to get his sleep. good morning, your grace. both of you look sleepy." stevie didn't. he'd danced with mary ellen until four, and he still looked as though he could walk five miles without tiring. me, i felt about as full of snap as a soda cracker in a turkish bath. the three of us talked for maybe ten minutes, and then we hit the hay. * * * * * three and a half hours of sleep isn't enough for anybody, but it was all we could afford to take. by eight-thirty, the duke and i were in my office, sloshing down black coffee, and, half an hour after that, we were cruising up amsterdam avenue on the second day of our hunt for mr. lawrence nestor. since we were now reasonably sure that our man was in the area, i ordered the next phase of the search into operation. there were squads of men making a house-to-house canvass of every hotel, apartment house, and rooming house in the area--and there are thousands of them. a flying squad took care of the hotels first; they were the most likely. since we knew exactly what day nestor had arrived, we narrowed our search down to the records for that day. nestor might not use his own name; of course, but the photograph and description ought to help. and, since nestor didn't have a job, his irregular schedule and his drinking habits might make him stand out, though there were plenty of places where those traits would simply make him one of the boys. it still looked like a long, hard search. and then we got our break. at : am, lieutenant holmquist's voice snapped over my car phone: "inspector royall; holmquist here. child missing in riverside park. officer ramirez just called in from th and riverside." "got it!" i cut left and gunned the car eastward. i hit a green light at broadway, so i didn't need to use the siren. within two minutes, we had pulled up beside the curb where an officer was standing with a woman in tears. the duke and i got out of the car. we walked over to her calmly, although neither one of us felt very calm. there's no point in disturbing an already excited mother--or aunt or whatever she was. the officer threw me a salute. i returned it and said to the sobbing woman, "now, just be calm, ma'am. tell us what happened." it all came out in a torrent. she'd been sitting on one of the benches, reading a newspaper, and she'd looked around and little shirley was gone. yes, shirley was her daughter. how old? seven and a half. how long ago was this? fifteen minutes, maybe. she hadn't been worried at first; she'd walked up and down, calling the girl's name, but hadn't gotten any answer. then she saw the policeman, and ... and-- and she broke down into tears again. it was the same thing that had happened a few days before. i had already ordered extra men put on the riverside and central park details, but a cop can't be everywhere at once. "i've got the rest of the boys beating the brush between here and the river," officer ramirez said. "she might have gone down one of the paths on the other side of the wall." "she wouldn't go too near the river," the woman sobbed. "i just know she wouldn't." she sounded as though she were trying to convince herself and failing miserably. nobody said anything about nestor; the poor woman was bad enough off without adding more horror to the pictures she was conjuring up in her mind. "we'll find her," i said soothingly, "don't you worry about that. you're pretty upset. we'll have the police doctor look you over and maybe give you a tranquilizer or something to make you feel better." no point in telling her that the doctor might be needed for a more serious case. "keep an eye on her till the doctor comes, ramirez. meanwhile, we'll look around for the little girl." * * * * * i walked over to the wall and looked down. i could see uniformed police walking around, covering the ground carefully. riverside park runs along the eastern edge of manhattan island, between riverside drive and the hudson river, from nd street on the south to th street on the north. in the area where we were, there is a flat, level, grassy area about a block wide, where there are walks and benches to sit on. the eastern boundary of this area is marked by a retaining wall that runs parallel with the river. beyond the wall, the ground slopes down sharply to the hudson river, going under the elevated east side highway which carries express traffic up and down the island. the retaining wall is cut through at intervals, and winding steps go down the steep slope. there are bushes and trees all over down there. i thought for a minute, then said, "suppose it was nestor. how did he get her away? it's a cinch he didn't just scoop her up in broad daylight and go trotting off with her under his arm." "precisely what i was thinking," the duke agreed. "there was no scream or disturbance of that kind. could he have lured her away, do you think?" "possible, but not likely. little girls in new york are warned about that sort of thing from the time they're in diapers. if she were five years old, it might be more probable, but little girls who are approaching eight are pretty wise little girls." "it follows, then, that she went somewhere of her own accord and he followed her. d'you agree?" "that sounds most reasonable," i said. "the next question is: where?" "yes. and why didn't she tell her mother where she was going?" i gave him a sour grin. "elementary, my dear duke. because her mother had forbidden her to go there. and, from the way she was talking, i gather the mother had expressly directed her to stay away from the river." i looked back over the retaining wall again. "but it just doesn't sound right, does it? surely someone would have seen any sort of attack like that. of course, it's possible that she _did_ fall in the river, and that this case doesn't have anything to do with nestor at all, but--" "it doesn't feel that way to me, either," said the duke. "let's go talk to the mother again," i said. "there are plenty of men down there now; they don't need us." the woman, mrs. ebbermann, had calmed down a little. the police surgeon had given her a tranquilizer with a hypogun, officer ramirez was getting everything down in his notebook, and his belt recorder was running. "no," she was saying, "i'm sure she didn't go home. that's the first place i looked after she didn't answer when i called. we live down the block there. i thought she might have gone home to go to the bathroom or something--but i'm sure she would have told me." she choked a little. "oh, shirley, baby! where are you? where _are_ you?" i started to ask her a question, but she suddenly said: "shirley, baby, next time, i promise, you can bring your water gun with you to the park, if you'll just come back to mommie now! please, shirley, baby! please!" i glanced at the duke. he gave me the same sort of look. "what was that about a water gun, mrs. ebbermann?" i asked casually. "oh, she wanted to bring her water gun with her, poor baby. but i made her leave it at home--i was afraid she might squirt people with it. but i shouldn't have done that! she's a good girl! she wouldn't squirt anybody!" "sure not, mrs. ebbermann. does shirley have a key to your apartment?" "yes. i gave her her own key, a pretty one, with her initials on it, for her seventh birthday, so she wouldn't have to push the buzzer when she came home from school." "where's your husband?" i asked taking a look at ramirez' notebook to get her address. "shirley's father? somewhere in boston. we've been separated for two years. but i wish he were here!" "would you give me the key to your apartment, mrs. ebbermann? we'd like to take a look around." she gave me a key. "but she's not there. i told you, that's the first place i looked." "i know," i said. "we just want to look around. we won't disturb anything." then his grace and i got out of there as fast as we could. * * * * * i keyed open the front door of the apartment building, and we went inside. neither of us said anything. there was no need to. we knew what must have happened, we could see it unfolding as plainly as if we'd watched it happen. nestor had seen shirley sneak off from her mother and had followed her. in order to get into the building, he must have come right in with her, right behind her when she unlocked the outer door. then what? the chances were a billion to one against his ever having been in the building before, so it stood to reason that all he would have been doing is watching for an opportunity and--the right place. the foyer itself? no. too much chance of being seen. the basement? unlikely. he must have followed her into the elevator, and she would have pushed the button for the seventh floor, where her apartment was, so there wouldn't be much likelihood of his getting a chance to see the basement. besides, there was a chance that he might run into the janitor. * * * * * the duke and i went into the old-fashioned self-service elevator, and i pushed number seven. the doors slid shut, and the car started up. the roof? no. too much danger of being seen from other buildings higher than this one. where, then? i looked at the control panel of the elevator. the button for the basement was controlled by a key; only the employees were allowed in the basement, so that place was ruled out absolutely. i began to get the feeling that we were on a wild goose chase, after all. "what do you think?" i asked his grace. "i can't imagine where he might have taken her. we may have to search the whole building." the car stopped at the seventh door, and we stepped out as the doors slid open. the hallways stretched to either side, but there were no apparent hiding places. i went over to the stairwell, which was right next to the elevator shaft and looked up and down. no place there, either. then it hit me. again, i could see nestor, like a scene unfolding on a tv drama, still following little shirley. had he spoken to her in the elevator? maybe. maybe not. he was still undecided, so he followed her to the door of her apartment. wait--very likely, he _had_ made friends with her on the elevator. he saw her push button seven-- _well, well! do you live on the seventh floor?_ _yes, i do._ _then we're neighbors. i live on the seventh, too. i just moved in. do you live with your mommie and daddy?_ _just my mommie. my daddy doesn't live with us anymore._ and, since he knew that mommie was in the park, he could guess that the apartment was empty. all that went through my mind like a bolt of lightning. i said: "the apartment! come on!" the duke, looking a little puzzled, followed me to the door of . i put my ear against the door and listened. nothing. then i eased the key in and flung the door open. no one in the living room. i raced for the bedroom. no one in there, either, but the clothes closet door was shut. when i opened it, we saw a small, dark-haired girl lying naked and unconscious on the floor. then there were noises from the front room. the sound of a door opening and closing, and the clatter of hurrying footsteps in the hall outside. we both turned and ran. in the hallway, we could hear the footsteps going down the stairwell. the slow elevator was out of the question. we took off down the stairs after him. he had a head start of about a floor and a half, and kept it all the way down. we saw the door swinging shut as we arrived in the foyer. outside, we saw our man running toward the corner. i started to reach for my gun, but there were too many people around. i couldn't risk a shot. and then that amazing walking stick came into action again. the duke took a few running steps forward and hurled it like a javelin, the heavy silver head forward. robin hood couldn't have done better with an arrow. when the silver knob hit the back of the running man's head, he fell forward to the sidewalk. he was still struggling to get up when we grabbed him. * * * * * [illustration] the duke and i were waiting for dr. brownlee when he came back from talking to lawrence nestor in his cell. "he's one of our zanies, all right," he said sadly. "a very sick man." "he's lucky he wasn't lynched," i said. "did he tell you what happened?" brownlee nodded. "just about the way you had it figured. he had the little girl's clothes off when her mother came back. he heard her putting her key in the door, so he grabbed shirley and dragged her into the closet with him. the mother didn't search the place at all; she just went through the main rooms, called her daughter's name a few times and then left." "that's what threw us off at first," i said. "we both accepted mrs. ebbermann's word that shirley wasn't in the apartment. then i realized that she wouldn't have taken time to look in all the closets. why should she? as far as she knew, there wasn't any reason for shirley to hide from her." "it's a good thing mrs. ebbermann did come back." dr. brownlee said. "that was the only thing that saved the girl from rape and death. nestor was so unnerved that he just left her in the closet, still unconscious from the blow he'd given her. "any normal man would have gotten out of there right then. not nestor. he went looking for a drink. fortunately, he found a bottle of whisky in the kitchen. he was just getting in the mood to go back in after the girl when you two came charging in. "he saw you run to the bedroom, so he knew the girl's mother must have called for help. he decided it was time to run. too late, of course." "too late for a lot of things." i said. "much too late far angela donahue, for instance. and, as a matter of fact, we were so close to being too late with shirley ebbermann that i don't even want to think about it. i should have let shultz go ahead and tell the newsmen. at least people would have been warned." "there's no way of knowing," said the duke, "but i think there's just as good a chance that he'd have gotten his hands on some other little girl, even if the warning had gone out. there will always be parents who don't pay enough attention to what their children are doing. they may blame themselves if something happens, but that may be too late. as it happens, we _weren't_ too late. let's be thankful for that. "by the way, am i wrong in assuming that nestor will not get your psychotherapy treatment?" "no, you're right," i said. "the warden at sing sing will be taking care of him from now on." i turned to brownlee and said: "which reminds me--what's going to be the disposition on the hammerlock smith case?" "i talked to judge whittaker and the d.a. your recommendation pulled a lot of weight with them. they agreed that if smith will plead guilty to felonious assault and agree to therapy, he'll get off with eighteen months, suspended. when i release him, he'll never bother young boys again." the duke looked puzzled. "hammerlock smith? odd name. what's he up for?" i told him about hammerlock smith. he thought it over for a while, then said: "just what is it you do to men like that? how can you be so sure he'll never hurt anyone again?" brownlee started to answer him, but a uniformed officer put his head in the door. "excuse me, dr. brownlee, the district attorney would like to talk to you." brownlee excused himself and followed the cop out, leaving me to explain things to his grace. "do you remember that, a couple of centuries ago, the laws of some countries provided the perfect punishment for pickpockets and purse-snatchers?" he gave me a wry grin. "certainly. the hands of the felon were amputated at the wrist. usually with a headsman's ax, i believe." "exactly. and they never picked another pocket again as long as they lived." i said. "society had denied them the means to pick pockets." "go on." * * * * * "do you remember manny the moog? the little fellow who was brought in yesterday?" "distinctly. i thought it was odd at the time that you should release a man who has a record of such activities as car-stealing and reckless driving, especially when the witness against him turned out to be a perfectly respectable person. i took it for granted that he was one of your ... ah ... 'tame zanies', i think you called them. but i did not and still don't understand how you can be so positive." "i let manny go because he's incapable of driving a car. the very thought of being in control of a machine so much more powerful than he is would give him chills. did you ever see what happens when you lock a claustrophobe up in a dark closet--the mad, unreasoning, uncontrollable panic of absolute terror? that's what would happen to manny if you put him behind the wheel of a running automobile. it's worse than fear; fear is controllable. blind terror isn't. "manny had one little twist, in his mind. he liked to get into a car--_any_ car, whether it was his or not--and drive. he became king of the road. he wasn't a little man any more. he was god, and lesser beings had better look out. "we got to him before he actually killed anyone, but there is a woman in queens today who will never walk again because of manny the moog. but there won't be any more like her. we took the instrument of destruction away from him; we 'cut off his hands'. now he's leading a reasonably useful life. we don't need to sacrifice another's life before we neutralize the danger." "what about joey partridge?" his grace asked. "he's one of your zanies, too, isn't he? "that's right. he couldn't keep from using his fists. he liked the feel of solid flesh and bone giving under the impact of those big fists of his. boxing wasn't enough; he had to be able to feel flesh-to-flesh contact, with no padded glove between. he almost killed a couple of men before we got to him." "what did you do to his hands?" "nothing. not a thing. there's nothing at all wrong with his hands. but he _thinks_ there is. he's firmly convinced that the bones are as brittle as chalk, that if he uses those fists, _he_ will be the one who will break and shatter. it even bothers him to shake hands, as you saw last night. it took a lot of guts to do what he did last night--walk over to those two thugs knowing he couldn't defend himself. he's no coward. but he's as terrified of having his hands hurt as manny is of driving a car." "i see" the duke said thoughtfully. * * * * * "there are other cases, plenty of them," i went on. "we have pyromaniacs who are perfectly harmless now because they have a deathly terror of flame. we have one fellow who used to be very nasty with a knife; he grows a beard now because the very thought of having a sharp edge that close to him is unnerving. the reality would send him screaming. we have a girl who had the weird idea that it was fun to drop things out of windows or off the tops of high buildings. aside from the chance of people below being hurt, there was another danger. two cops grabbed her just as she was about to drop her baby brother off the roof of her apartment house. "but we don't worry about her any more. people with acute acrophobia are in no condition to pull stunts like that." "what will you do to this hammerlock smith, then?" his grace asked. "actually, he's one of the simpler cases. a large percentage of our zanies lose control when they're under the influence of alcohol or drugs. alcohol is by far the more common. under the influence, they do things they would never do when sober. "as long as they remain sober, they have control. but, give them a few drinks and the control slips and then vanishes completely. one of our others was a little like manny the moog; he drove like a madman--which he was when he was drunk. sober, he was as careful and cautious a driver as you'd want--a perfectly reliable citizen. but, after losing his license and the right to own a car, he'd still get drunk and steal cars. "he has his license back now, but we know we can trust him with it. he will never be able to take another drink. "smith is of that type. so, apparently, is nestor. when we get through with smith, he'll be sober, and he'll stay that way to his grave." * * * * * "astounding." the duke looked at me again. "i can see the results, of course. i'm going to see that some sort of similar program is started in england, even if i have to stand up in the house of lords to do it. but, i still don't understand how it can be done so rapidly--a matter of hours. what is the technique used?" "it all depends on the therapist," i said. "brownlee is one of the best, but there are others who are almost as good. some of the officers have started calling them _hexperts_ because, in effect, that's exactly what they do--put a hex on the patient." "a _geas_, in other words." i'd never heard the word before. "a what?" "a _geas_. a magical spell that causes a person to do or to refrain from doing some act, whether he will or no. he has no choice, once the _geas_ has been put on him." "that's it exactly." "but, man, it isn't magic we're discussing, is it?" "i don't know," i admitted frankly. "you tell me. was it magic this morning when both you and i had a hunch that little shirley was _not_ in the park, in spite of the way it looked? was it magic when we eliminated, without even searching, every spot but the place where she actually was?" "well, no, i shouldn't say so. i think every good policeman gets hunches like that every so often. he gets a feel for his work and for the types he's dealing with." "well, then, call it hunch or telepathy or extra-sensory perception or thingummybob or whatever. brownlee has just what you say a good cop should have--a feel for his work and for the types he's dealing with. within a very short time, dr. brownlee can actually get the feel of being inside his patient's mind--deep enough, at least, so that he can spot just what has to be done to put a compensating twist in a twisted mind. "he says the genuine zanies are very simple to operate on. they have already got the raw materials in them for him to work with. a normally sane, normally well integrated person would require almost as much work to put a permanent quirk in as removing such a quirk would be in a zany. the brainwashing techniques and hypnotism can introduce such quirks temporarily, but as soon as a normally sane person regains his balance, the quirks tend to fade away. "but a system that is off balance and unstable doesn't require much work to push it slightly in another direction. when brownlee finds out what will do the job, he does it, and we have a tame zany on our hands." "it sounds as though men of brownlee's type are rather rare," his grace said. "they are. rarer than psychiatrists as a whole. on the other hand, they can take care of a great many more cases." "one thing, though," the duke said thoughtfully. "you mentioned the amputation of a pickpocket's hands. it seems to me that this technique is just as drastic, just as crippling to the person to whom it is done." "of course it is! no one has ever denied that. god help us if it's the final answer to the problem! a man who can't drive a car, or use a razor, or punch an enemy in the teeth when it's necessary is certainly handicapped. he's more crippled than he was before. the only compensation for society is that now he's less dangerous. "there are certain compensations for the individual, too. he stands less chance of going to prison, or to a death cell. but he's still hemmed in; he's not a free man. of course, in most instances, he's not aware of what has been done to him; his mind compensates and rationalizes and gives him a reason for what he's undergoing. joey partridge thinks his condition is due to the fractures he suffered the last time he beat up a man; manny the moog thinks that he's afraid to drive a car because of the last wreck he was in. and, partly, maybe they're both right. but they have still been deprived of a part of their free will, their right of choice. "oh, no; this isn't the final answer by a long shot! it's a stopgap--a _necessary_ stopgap. but, by using it, we can learn more about how the human mind works, and maybe one of these days we'll evolve a science of the mind that can take those twists _out_ instead of compensating for them. [illustration] "on the other hand, we can save lives by using the technique we have now. we don't dare _not_ use it. "when they chopped off those hands, centuries ago, the stumps were cauterized by putting them in boiling oil. it looked like another injury piled on top of the first, but the chirurgeons, not knowing _why_ it worked, still knew that a lot more ex-pickpockets lived through their ordeal if the boiling oil was used afterward. "and that's what we're doing with this technique right here and now. we're using it because it saves lives, lives that may potentially or actually be a great deal more valuable than the warped personality that might have taken such a life. "but the one thing that i am working for right now and will continue to work for is a _real_ cure, if that's possible. a real, genuine, usable kind of psychotherapy; one which is at least on a par with the science of cake-baking when it comes to the percentages of successes and failures." * * * * * his grace thought that over for a minute. then he leaned back and looked at me through narrowed eyes. there was a half smile on his lips "royall, old man, let's admit one thing, just between ourselves," his voice became very slow and very deliberate. "both you and i know that this process, whatever it is, is _not_ psychotherapy." "why do you say that?" i wasn't trying to deny anything; i just wanted to know the reasoning behind his conclusions. "because i know what psychotherapy can and can't do. and i know that psychotherapy can _not_ do the sort of thing we've been discussing. "it's as if you'd taken me out on a rifle range, to a target two thousand yards from the shooter and let me watch that marksman put fifty shots out of fifty into a six-inch bull's-eye. i might not know what the shooter is using, but i would know beyond any shadow of doubt that it was _not_ an ordinary revolver. more, i would know that it could not be any possible improvement upon the revolver. it simply would have to be an instrument of an entirely different order. "if, in , any intelligent military man had been told that the japanese city of hiroshima had been totally destroyed by a bomber dropping a single bomb, he would be certain that the bomb was a new and different kind from any ever known before. he would know that, mind you, without necessarily knowing a great deal about chemistry. "i don't need to know a devil of a lot about psychotherapy to know that the process you've been describing is as far beyond the limits of psychotherapy as the hiroshima bomb was beyond the limits of chemistry. ditto for hypnosis and/or pavlov's 'conditioned reflex', by the way. "now, just to clear the air, what _is_ it?" "it has no official name yet," i told him. "to keep within the law, we have been calling it psychotherapy. if we called it something else, and admitted that it _isn't_ psychotherapy, the courts couldn't turn the zanies over to us. but you're right--it is as impossible to produce the effect by psychotherapy as it is to produce an atomic explosion by a chemical reaction. "i've got a hunch that, just as chemistry and nucleonics are both really branches of physics, so psychotherapy and brownlee's process are branches of some higher, more inclusive science--but that doesn't have a name, either." "that's as may be," the duke said, "but i'm happy to know that you're not deluding yourself that it's any kind of psychotherapy." "you know," i said, "i kind of like your word _geas_. because that's exactly what it seems to be--a _geas_. a hex, an enchantment, if you wish. "did you know that brownlee was an anthropologist before he turned to psychology? he has some very interesting stories to tell about hexes and so on." "i'll have to hear them one day." his grace took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "cigarette?" "no, thanks. i gave up smoking a few years back." * * * * * he puffed his alight. "this _geas_," he said, "reminds me of the fact that, before the medical profession came up with antibiotics that would destroy the microorganisms that cause gas gangrene, amputation was the only method of preventing the death of the patient. it was crippling, but necessary." "_no!_" my voice must have been a little too sharp, because he raised one eyebrow. "the analogy," i went on in a quieter tone, "isn't good because it gives a distorted picture. look, your grace, you know what's done to keep a captive wild duck from flying away?" "one wing is clipped." "right. certain of the feathers are trimmed, which throws the duck off balance every time he tries to fly. he's crippled, right? but if you clip the _other_ wing, what happens? he's in balance again. he can't fly as _well_ as he could before his wings were clipped--but he _can_ fly! "that's what brownlee's _geas_ does--restore the balance by clipping the other wing." his grace smiled. there was an odd sort of twinkle in his eyes. "let me carry your analogy somewhat farther. if the one wing is too severely clipped, clipping the other won't help. our duck wouldn't have enough lift to get off the ground, even if he's balanced. "now, a zany who was that badly crippled--?" i grinned back at him. "right. it would be so obvious that he would have been put away very quickly. he would not be just psychopathic, but completely psychotic--and demonstrably so." "then," the duke said, still pursuing the same track, "the only way to 'cure' that kind would be to find a method to ... ah ... 'grow the feathers back', wouldn't it? and where does that put today's psychotherapy? providing, of course, that the analogy follows." "it does," i said. "the real cure that i want to find would do just that--'grow the feathers back'. and that's beyond the limits of psychotherapy, too. that's why dr. brownlee and his boys want to study every zany we bring in, whether he can be helped or not. they're looking for a _cure_, not a stopgap." "let me drag that analogy out just a tiny bit more," said his grace. "suppose there is a genetic defect in the duck which makes it impossible--absolutely impossible--to grow feathers on that wing. will your cure work?" i was very quiet for along time. at least, it seemed long. the question had occurred to me before, and i didn't even like to think about it. now, i had to face it again for a short while. "frankly," i said as evenly as i could, "i doubt that anything could be done. but that's only an opinion. we don't know enough yet to make any such predictions. it is my hope that some day we'll find a method of restoring every human being to his or her full potential--but i'm not at all certain of what the source of that potential is. "but when we do get our cure," i went on, "then our first move must be to abolish the _geas_. and i wish that day were coming tomorrow." * * * * * there seemed to be a sudden silence in the room. i hadn't realized that i'd been talking so loudly or so vehemently. the duke broke it by saying: "look here, royall; i'm going to stay on here until i've learned all about every phase of this thing. it may sound a bit conceited, but i'm going to try to learn in a few weeks everything you have learned in a year. so you'll have to teach me, if you will. and then i'd like to borrow one or two of your therapists, your hexperts, to teach the technique in england. "allowing people like that to kill and maim when it can be prevented is unthinkable in a civilized society. i've got to learn how to stop it in england. will you teach me?" "on one condition," i said. "what's that?" "that you teach me how to use a walking stick." he laughed. "you're on!" the officer stuck his head in the waiting room again. "pardon me. inspector acrington? the district attorney would like to see you." "surely." after he had left, i sat there for a minute or two, just thinking. then brownlee came back from his conference with the d.a. and sat down beside me. "i met your noble friend heading for the d.a.'s office," he said with a smile. "he said that any man who was as determined to find a better method in order to replace a merely workable method is a remarkable man and therefore worth studying under. i just told him i agreed with him." "thanks," i said. "thanks a lot." because brownlee knows why i'm looking for a cure to replace the stopgap. brownlee knows why i gave up smoking three years ago, why i don't have any matches or lighters in the house, why i keep the ashtrays for guests only, and why, for that reason, i don't have many guests. brownlee knows why there are only electric stoves in my apartment--never gas. brownlee knows why my son quivers and turns his head away from a match flame. brownlee knows why he had to put the _geas_ on stevie. and i even think brownlee suspects that i concealed some of the evidence in the fire that killed stevie's mother--my wife. yes, i'm looking for a cure. but until then, i'll be thankful for the stopgap. * * * * * scotland yard. _copyright in the united states of america, ._ scotland yard the methods and organisation of the metropolitan police. by george dilnot. [illustration: logo] london: percival marshall & co., , farringdon street, e.c. contents. page chapter i. the silent machine chapter ii. matters of organisation chapter iii. the real detective chapter iv. on the trail chapter v. making a detective chapter vi. more about investigation chapter vii. the "crooks'" clearing-house chapter viii. finger-prints chapter ix. the school of police chapter x. in a police station chapter xi. the riddle department chapter xii. the sailor police chapter xiii. the black museum chapter xiv. public carriages chapter xv. lost, stolen, or strayed preface. to robert. my dear robert, it is more than probable that since this book was written you have changed your uniform and your beat. you are in the north sea, in flanders, in gallipoli. nowhere can admiral or general wish a better man. i have known you long. i have for many years been thrown among you in all circumstances, and at all times. i have known you trudging your beat, have known you more especially as a detective, have known you in high administrative and executive positions. i have seen you arrest armed murderers, have seen you tactfully reproving a drunkard, have seen you solving tangled problems of crime, have seen you charging a mob, have seen you playing with a lost baby. i do not think there is any phase of your work which i have not seen. and i want the public to know you. you, whether you be commissioner or constable, occupy a position of delicate and peculiar responsibility. you are poised between the trust and suspicion of those you serve, and you are never quite sure whether you will be blessed or blamed. i, who realise something of your temptations and your qualities, know how seldom you fail in an emergency, how rarely you abuse your powers. you will forgive me when i say you are not perfect. you have your little failings, and at times the defect of one man recoils on , . there are matters i should like to see changed. but, on the whole, you are admittedly still the best policeman in the world. the war has claimed you and others of your profession. astute commanding officers have recognised you as "men who are handled and made," and many a constable of a year ago now wears an officer's stars. there are those of you who have gained other distinctions. there is no branch of the service here dealt with that has not sent of its best to the fighting line. none will recognise more willingly than you in the trenches that the luck has been yours. we know (you and i) that others have been, by no will of their own, left behind. it is to these, in no small degree, that the safety and equanimity of london have been due. and it is as well that here tribute should be paid to those who have endured without retort the sneers of the malicious and ill-informed as well as the multiplicity of extra duties the war has entailed upon them. one advantage, at least, the war has conferred on you. it has exploded the ignorance of your profession to those thousands of citizens who have elected to share something of your responsibilities. they at least know something of your work; they at least know that the special constable can never replace, though he may assist, the experienced police-officer. you always understood the londoner; now the londoner is coming to understand you. i have attempted no more than a sketch of the great machine of which you form part. but if it enlightens the public in some degree as to the way they are served by you it will have achieved its purpose. yours sincerely, george dilnot. london, october, . scotland yard. by george dilnot. "by all means let us abuse the police, but let us see what the poor wretches have to do."--kipling. chapter i. the silent machine. we who live in london are rather apt to take our police for granted. occasionally, in a mood of complacency, we boast of the finest police force in the world; at other times, we hint darkly at corruption and brutality among a gang of men too clever, too unscrupulous to be found out. we associate scotland yard with detectives--miraculous creations of imaginative writers--forgetting that the criminal investigation department is but one branch in a wondrously complex organisation. of that organisation itself, we know little. and in spite of--or perhaps because of--the mass of writing that has made its name familiar all over the world, there exists but the haziest notion as to how it performs its functions. perhaps one of the reasons for this ignorance is that scotland yard never defends itself, never explains, never extenuates. praise or blame it accepts in equal silence. it goes on its way, ignoring everything that does not concern it, acting swiftly, impartially, caring nothing save for duty to be done. there is romance in scotland yard--a romance that has never been written, that may never be written. it concerns the building up, in the face of incredible obstacles, of a vast, ingenious machine which has become one of the greatest instruments of civilisation the world has ever seen. imagine an army of , men encamped over seven hundred square miles, with its outposts in every quarter of the globe--an army engaged in never-ceasing warfare with the guerillas of crime and disorder. imagine something of the work it does. in a city of seven million souls, crammed with incalculable wealth, there are less than a thousand habitual thieves--the exact number is --and receivers of stolen goods. in spite of all its temptations, there are but seventeen thousand serious crimes in a year, while the number of more trivial offences is only one hundred and seventy thousand. few of the perpetrators escape justice. compare this record with that of any city in the world. ask paris, ask new york, ask petrograd, and you will begin to realise how well protected london is. in a large soft-carpeted room, its big double windows open to catch the breezes that blow from the river, sits the man upon whom the ultimate responsibility for all this devolves, a slim-built, erect man of sixty odd, with moustache once auburn but now grey, grey hair and shrewd hazel eyes--sir edward henry. imperturbable, quiet-voiced, quiet-mannered, he sits planning the peace of london. he is playing a perpetual game of chess on the great board of the metropolis with twenty thousand men as his pieces against a cosmopolitan fraternity of evil-doers who never rest. he is the one man in the service who must never make a mistake. the commissioner of the metropolitan police sleeps on no bed of roses. he must be as supple as willow, as rigid as steel, must possess the tact of a diplomatist, with the impartiality of a judge. since the days when sir richard mayne built up the police organisation in its infancy, there has been no commissioner who so nearly fulfils the ideal of a great police administrator as sir edward henry. unlike most of his predecessors, practically his whole life has been spent in the study of police science. it is something more than forty years ago since he entered the indian civil service as assistant magistrate collector. he became ultimately inspector-general of the bengal police, and then commissioner of a division. it was there that he first established the finger-print system of identification, as a police device for the registration of habitual criminals which he was to introduce later at scotland yard, and which has tightened the meshes round many a criminal who would otherwise have escaped justice. the man in the street knows little of the silent man who is undoubtedly the greatest police organiser in the world. even on this very matter of finger-prints there is a general confusion with bertillonage--a totally different thing. the henry system has practically ousted bertillonage in every civilised country. if sir edward had done nothing but that he would have ranked as one of the greatest reformers in criminal detection. but he has done more--much more. fourteen years ago he resigned his indian post to become assistant-commissioner in charge of the criminal investigation department. even then the intention was to "try" him for commissioner. he spent a period in south africa during the war reorganising the civil police of johannesburg and pretoria. in , when sir edward bradford retired, he was appointed commissioner. he found that the vast complex machinery of which he assumed control was running a little less freely than it should. the police force was like an old established business--still sound, but inclined to work in a groove. it needed a chief with courage, individuality, ideas, initiative, and the organising powers of a kitchener. these qualities were almost at once revealed in sir edward henry. in the force it was soon felt that a new power had arisen. the commissioner was not only a name but an actuality. nothing was so trivial as to escape his attention; nothing too wide for him to grasp. he knew his men--it is said that he knows every man in the force, an exaggeration with a great deal of truth in it--and they soon knew him. quick to observe, quick to commend or punish, whether it be high official or ordinary constable, he has come to be regarded with unswerving devotion by those under him. the police force as he took it over and as it is now may seem the same thing to the ordinary observer. to those who knew something of its working it is a vastly different thing. i have passed many years among police officers of all grades and all departments. many of these have been veterans of from twenty to thirty years' service. they have told me of things done for the well-being of the force, the convenience of the public, and the confusion of the criminal. telephone and telegraphic communication have been perfected between stations, head-quarters and provincial police, the system of identification has been revised, young constables are taught their trade with care and thoroughness, higher pay has been granted to all ranks, men are housed in greater comfort, red tape has been ruthlessly cut through, the relations between police and press have been improved; there is a wider, broader spirit in all. a clean esprit de corps, very different to that which at times long gone by has threatened the interests of the public, has sprung up. in all these things is to be seen the hand of sir edward henry. scotland yard is not yet perfect; there still linger relics of the old conservative spirit in certain directions; but the new method has made itself felt. initiative is encouraged in all ranks. suggestions and criticism from without are welcomed. the commissioner is a man of instant decision. let anyone make a suggestion, and he ponders it for a second or so. then he reaches for a pen. "yes, that's a good idea. we'll have an order on that." and in a little the suggestion has become an official fact. little escapes his eye, but he is a man who makes sure. every morning a bundle of newspapers and periodicals is delivered at scotland yard to be carefully scrutinised and to have every reference to the force marked with blue pencil. where there is an accusation against a particular man, or a criticism of methods in general, special attention is directed to it. but there is rarely any need for this. the commissioner has probably read it at breakfast. the point, whatever it is, is usually in a fair way to being dealt with before lunch. from the moment a constable has been sworn in he is watched and selected for the post that best suits him. a man may do well in a semi-rural district who would be a failure in commercial road, e. he may be selected for office work, regulation of traffic, for the criminal investigation department, for the thames division, or for routine duty in the street. wherever he is he is the best man who can be found for the work, and so from top to bottom of the ladder of promotion. many romances have been written of scotland yard, but imagination has supplied the place of facts, for the tongues of those who have taken part in dramatic episodes, more stirring than any in fiction, are locked. yet, in spite of all its cold, business-like atmosphere, the story of the metropolitan police is in itself a vivid romance which only a kipling could write as it should be written. imagine the commissioner, whose power is almost autocratic, weaving a net that is spread broadcast to catch within its meshes any person who breaks the king's peace or the king's laws. and, although now and again the personal factor is discernible in some piece of work, it is mainly cold, precise, business-like organisation which holds the net so close. telephones, telegraphs, and motor cars link the police stations of london closely--so closely that within less than half an hour , men can be informed of the particulars of a crime. as an instance of organisation, it may be interesting to recall that during the coronation procession, when close on detectives were on duty mingling with the crowds, it was possible for mr. frank froest, the then superintendent of the criminal investigation department, in his office, to get a message to or from any one of them within ten minutes. a large proportion of the whole body could have been concentrated on one spot within twenty minutes. it is organisation that makes scotland yard able to carry out its myriad duties, from testing motor omnibuses to plucking a murderer from his hiding place at the ends of the earth, from guarding the persons of emperors and kings to preventing a whitechapel bully from knocking his wife about. the work must go on smoothly, silently, every department harmonising, every man working in one common effort. the administrative and financial sides of the police are divided, the former being under the commissioner, the latter under the receiver, mr. g. h. tripp. the maintenance of the metropolitan police is naturally expensive, the average cost of each constable annually being £ . the gross expenditure during - was £ , , ; of this, £ , was received from the exchequer, £ , was from sums paid for the services of constables lent to other districts, £ , , from london ratepayers, and the remainder from various sources. chapter ii. matters of organisation. the great deterrent against crime is not vindictive punishment; the more certain you make detection, the less severe your punishment may be. the brilliant sleuth-hound work of which we read so often is a less important factor in police work than organisation. organisation it is which holds the peace of london. it is organisation that plucks the murderer from his fancied security at the ends of the earth, that prevents the drunkard from making himself a nuisance to the public, that prevents the defective motor-bus from becoming a danger or an annoyance to the community. inside the building of red brick and grey stone that faces the river, and a stone's throw from the houses of parliament, there are men who sit planning, planning, planning. the problems of the peace of london change from day to day, from hour to hour, almost from minute to minute. every emergency must be met, instantly, as it arises--often by diplomacy, sometimes by force. a hundred men must be thrown here, a thousand there, and trained detectives picked for special work. with swift, smooth precision, the well-oiled machinery works, and we, who only see the results, never guess at the disaster that might have befallen if a sudden strain had thrown things out of gear. in the tangle of departments and sub-departments, bewildering to the casual observer, there is an elastic order which welds the whole together. not a man but knows his work. the top-notch of efficiency is good enough for scotland yard. its men are engaged in business pure and simple, not in making shrewd detective deductions. the lime-light which occasionally bursts upon them distorts their ways and their duties. really, they have little love for the dramatic. newspaper notoriety is not sought, and men cannot "work the press," as in times gone by, to attain a fictitious reputation. it is through well-chosen lieutenants that sir edward henry works. there are four assistant-commissioners upon each of whom special work devolves. sir frederick wodehouse, for instance, is the "administrative assistant-commissioner." he deals with all matters relating to discipline, promotion, and routine so far as the uniformed force is concerned. the criminal investigation department is under mr. basil thompson, a comparatively young man who came from the prison commission to succeed sir melville macnaghten, and who has successfully experimented with some new ideas to make the path of the criminal more difficult. mr. frank elliott, who was formerly at the home office, holds sway over the public carriage office; and the hon. f. t. bigham, a barrister--and a son of lord mersey, who gained his experience as a chief constable of the criminal investigation department--deals with and investigates the innumerable complaints and enquiries that would occur even in a police force manned by archangels. mr. bigham is also the central authority under the terms of the international agreement for the suppression of the white slave traffic. there are six chief constables, mostly ex-military officers. one of these assists in the administration of the criminal investigation department, the remainder control districts of four or five adjoining divisions. to adopt a military simile, they may be compared to major-generals in command of brigades, with each division representing a battalion, and the superintendents, colonels. only once in the whole history of the metropolitan police has a man risen from the ranks to the post of chief constable, though many, like mr. gentle at brighton, and mr. williams at cardiff, have become the heads of important provincial forces. the post of superintendent in london is at least equivalent in its responsibilities to the average chief-constableship of the provinces. there are metropolitan section sergeants who have as many men under their control as some chief constables of small boroughs. the unit of the metropolitan police is a division which averages about a thousand men. each is under a superintendent, with a chief-inspector as second in command. thereafter the ranks run: uniform branch. detective branch. { divisional detective-inspectors. sub-divisional inspectors { central detective-inspectors. inspectors detective-inspectors station-sergeants first class detective sergeants. section-sergeants second class detective-sergeants constables (reserve) third class detective-sergeants constables (according to detective-patrols seniority) these are distributed among close on two hundred police stations in the metropolis, and in twenty-two divisions. some are detailed for the special work with which london as london has nothing to do. thus there are: the king's household police; divisions guarding the dockyards and military stations at woolwich, portsmouth, devonport, chatham, and pembroke; detachments on special duty at the admiralty and war office and the houses of parliament and government departments; and men specially employed, as at the royal academy, the army and navy stores, and so on. in all, there are , men so engaged.[ ] their services are charged for by the receiver, and the cost does not fall upon the ratepayers. scotland yard is run on the lines of a big business. to the intimate observer it is strangely similar in many of its aspects to a great newspaper office, with its diverse and highly specialised duties all tending to one common end. the headquarters staff is a big one. there are superintendents in charge of the departments, men whom no emergency can ruffle--calm, methodical and alert, ready to act in the time one can make a telephone call. there are mccarthy, of the central criminal investigation department; quinn, of the special branch which concerns itself with political offences and the care of royalty; bassom, of the public carriage department; gooding, of the peel house training school; west and white, of the executive and statistical departments. nothing but fine, careful organisation could weld together these multitudinous departments with their myriad duties. it is an organisation more difficult to handle than that of any army in the field. the public takes it all for granted until something goes wrong, some weak link in the chain fails. then there is trouble. the metropolitan police is the only force in england which is independent of local control. the commissioner--often wrongly described as the chief commissioner--is appointed by the crown on the recommendation of the home secretary, and has wide, almost autocratic powers. it is an imperial force which has duties apart from the care of london. it has divisions at the great dockyards; it is the adviser and helper of multifarious smaller zones in case of difficulty. it has charge of the river from dartford creek to teddington, and its confines extend far beyond the boundaries of the london county council. in one year its printing and stationery bill alone amounts to over £ , ; its postage, telegrams, and telephone charges to another £ , . its gross cost is nearly three millions a year. that is the insurance paid for the keeping of the peace. what do we get for it? we have taught the world that a body of police can be none the less efficient although their hands are clean; that honesty is not necessarily a synonym for stupidity; that law and order can be enforced without brutality. there are no _agents provocateur_ in the london police, and the grafter has little opportunity to exercise his talent. in one year , indictable offences were committed within the boundaries of the metropolitan police district. for these , people were proceeded against, and as some of them were probably responsible for two or more of the offences the margin of those who escaped is very low. there were , minor offenders, all of whom were dealt with. the machinery of scotland yard misses little. how many crimes have been prevented by the knowledge of swift and almost inevitable punishment it is impossible to say, but they have been many. footnote: [ ] this was before the war. chapter iii. the real detective. through a little back door, up a stone flight of stairs, into a broad corridor one passes to the offices where are quartered the heads of the most important branch of scotland yard--the criminal investigation department, with its wide-reaching organisation stretching beyond the confines of london over the whole world. it is its business to keep its fingers on the pulse of crime, to watch vigilantly the comings and goings of thousands of men and women, and to bring to justice all those whose acts have made them a menace to society. no department of scotland yard has been more written around; none has been more misunderstood. it does its duty effectually, unswervingly, in the same unemotional spirit that marks the other departments of the service, but with perhaps even a keener eye to its own reputation. the c.i.d. knows how high is the reputation it has won among international police forces, and is very properly jealous of its maintenance. there have been critics of the c.i.d. many have held that the system of recruiting from the uniformed police is wrong in essence--that educated men employed direct from civilian life would be more effective. there is no bar against anyone being appointed direct if the authorities chose--but it has been tried. once upon a time--this was a long while ago--an ardent reformer held the reins of the detective force. he made many valuable changes, and some less valuable--among the latter the experiment of "gentlemen" as detectives. there were six of them, and the full story of these kid-glove amateurs would be interesting reading. they were, in the euphemistic words of the reformer himself, "eminently unsatisfactory." "there is," he added, "little doubt that the gentlemen who have failed in one of the professions which they usually adopt are less trustworthy, less reliable, and more difficult to control than those who enter a calling such as the police in the ordinary course."[ ] so the only approach to sherlock holmes that scotland yard has ever seen was killed for good and all, though there is still no legal bar to anyone being appointed directly a detective. six hundred and fifty picked officers, all of whom have worn the blue uniform and patrolled the streets at the regulation pace, form a mobile army scattered over the metropolis. quiet and unobtrusive men for the most part, dogged, tactful, and resourceful, they must always be ready to act at a moment's notice as individuals or as part of a machine. for it is the machinery of scotland yard that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred calls check to the criminal's move. it is long odds on law and order every time. the administrative work of the department is carried out by the assistant-commissioner and the chief constable. it is on the shoulders of two superintendents--curiously enough, both irishmen--at the head of the two main branches of the department that the executive work chiefly devolves. superintendent john mccarthy--who for several years has held the reins of the central c.i.d., to which the main body of detectives are attached--is a blue-eyed, soft-voiced man who governs with no less tact and firmness than his predecessor, the famous frank froest. in a service extending for more than thirty years he has accumulated an unequalled experience of all classes of crime and criminals, and has travelled widely in many countries on dangerous and difficult missions. tall and neat, he gives an impression of absolute competence. and competence is needed in the organisation he has to handle. nothing can ruffle him. he sits at a flat-topped desk in a soft-carpeted room, working quietly, methodically. by the window stands a big steel safe containing hundreds of pounds in gold, at hand for any emergency. ranged on shelves are reference books--"who's who," "the law list," "medical directory," "a.b.c. guide," "continental bradshaw," and others. behind the office table are half a dozen speaking tubes and a telephone. it is for mr. mccarthy to enlist the aid of the press on occasion. it is sometimes necessary to give wide publicity to a description or a photograph. then skilful diplomacy is necessary to avoid giving facts which, instead of helping, might hamper an investigation. only of late years has this co-operation been sought--and credit is due to mr. froest for the manner in which he helped to initiate and apply the system. swift publicity has often helped to run down a criminal, notably in the case of the murderer crippen. immediately associated with mr. mccarthy at headquarters are four chief detective-inspectors--ward, fowler, hawkins, and gough--all men of long experience and proved qualities. most of their names are familiar to the public in connection with the unravelling of mysteries during the last decade. one chief detective-inspector--mr. wensley--has his headquarters in the east end. one or more of these is always available in an emergency. is there an epidemic of burglary at some district in london? a chief-inspector is sent to organise a search for the culprits, taking with him a detachment from scotland yard to reinforce the divisional detectives. problems of crime that affect london as a whole are dealt with by them. some have specialist knowledge of particular classes of crime or particular districts, though each must be competent to undertake any investigation, no matter what it may be. or a provincial police force may ask for expert aid in, for instance, a baffling murder mystery. one may be sent by the authority of the home secretary to assist in its solution. to each of the twenty-two divisions into which the metropolitan police is split up are assigned between twelve to thirty detectives, under a divisional inspector. in ten of the larger divisions there is a junior inspector to assist in the control of the staff. except in a few of the outlying districts there are one, two, three or more detectives to every police station. they deal with local crime, make it their business to know local thieves, and reinforce other divisions or are reinforced as occasion demands. they have special duties allotted to them, and have to keep a record in their diaries of the manner in which their time is spent. yet individuality and initiative are not sacrificed by too rigid a discipline. if a man learnt, for instance, while watching for pickpockets in the strand that a robbery was being planned at kennington, it would be his duty to make at once for the scene. he would stay for nothing, gathering assistance, if possible, as he went, but, if not, going alone. usually, it is found that the divisional men can deal with any matter needing attention in their districts, but occasionally london is startled by some great mystery. it is then that the c.i.d. moves swiftly, with every nerve strained to achieve its ends. there is no actual "murder commission," as there is in some foreign countries, but every person and device likely to be of assistance is quickly concentrated on the spot. not a second of time is lost from the moment the crime is discovered. first on the spot are the divisional detective-inspector and his staff. telephones and the chattering tape machines tell the details in ten score of police stations. mr. basil thompson, the assistant-commissioner, and mr. mccarthy will probably motor in haste to the spot. specialists are summoned from all quarters. not a thing is moved until a minute inspection has been made, plans drawn, photographs taken, notes made, and finger-prints sought for. it may be necessary to get certain points settled by experts, by dr. wilcox, the home office analyst, dr. spilsbury, the pathologist, by a gunsmith, an expert in handwriting, or any one of a dozen others. the very best professional assistance is always sought. the danger of amateur experts was exemplified some years ago, when a woman who committed suicide tried to destroy every mark of identity on her clothes. she missed one detail--a laundry mark worked in red thread on her dressing jacket. the mark was read as e.u.x.a.o.z., and these letters were advertised far and wide. then the president of the laundry association examined the garment, and conclusively showed that the marks really represented e. . it was, he declared, not a laundry mark at all, but a dyers and cleaners' mark. and this was what it proved to be. while the experts are busy the divisional inspector and his men are no less so. they are making a kind of gigantic snowball enquiry, working backwards from the persons immediately available. a. has little to say himself, but there are b. and c. who, he knows, were connected with the murdered person. and b. and c. having been questioned speak of d. e. f. and g.; and it may be that a score or more persons have been interviewed ere one is found who can supply some vital fact. i have known a murder investigation held up a couple of hours while search was being made for someone to supply the address of some other person who _might_ know something. all very tedious this, and very different from the methods of the detectives we read about. but then the detectives of fiction somehow avoid the chance of the flaws in their deductions being sought out by astute cross-examining counsel. if a description of the suspected murderer is available a telegraphist working at scotland yard will get it, with the letters "a.s." (all stations) attached. as he taps his instrument the message is automatically ticked out simultaneously at every station in the metropolis. the great railway termini are watched, and men are thrown to the outlying stations as a second safeguard. should the man slip through this net he will find england locked from port to port. the c.i.d. have their own men at many ports, and at others the co-operation of the provincial police is enlisted. he is lucky indeed if he gets away after the hue and cry has been raised. there are no chances taken. everything is put on record, whether it appears relevant or irrelevant to the enquiry. in the registry--a kind of clerical bureau of the criminal investigation department--every statement, every report is neatly typed, filed in a book with all relating to the case, and indexed. it remains available just so long as the crime is unsolved--ten days or ten years. the progress of the case is always shown to within an hour. no effort is spared to get on the track of the murderer while the scent is still warm. scores of men work on different aspects of the case. the finger-print department may be trying to identify a thumb-print from among their records; in another part of the building the photographers have made a lantern slide of certain charred pieces of paper, and are throwing a magnified reproduction on a screen for closer scrutiny; a score of men are seeking for a cabman who might have driven the murderer away. it may be that these steps will go on for days and weeks with dogged persistence. this stage of investigation has been aptly likened to a jig-saw puzzle which may fall from chaos into a composite whole at any moment. once the hounds have glimpsed their quarry it is almost hopeless for him to attempt to escape. his description, his photograph, specimens of his writing are spread broadcast for the aid of the public in identifying him wherever he may hide. men watch the big railway stations, out-going ships are kept under surveillance, for the c.i.d. has two or three staff men resident in many parts. they are also maintained at ports like boulogne and calais. the co-operation of the provincial and foreign police is obtained, and the wide publicity of newspapers. the whole-heartedness with which the public throws itself into a hunt of this kind has disadvantages as well as advantages. a score of times a day people will report someone "very like" the wanted man as seen almost simultaneously in a score of different places. all these reports have to be immediately investigated. and with the search for the culprit the ceaseless search for evidence goes on. it is no use to catch a murderer if you cannot adduce proof against him. the enthusiasm of the investigators is not called forth by a blood-hunt. it is all a part of the mechanism. the c.i.d. and its members are merely putting through a piece of business quite impersonally. "a murder has been committed," they say in effect. "we have caught the person we believe responsible, and this is the evidence. it does not matter to us what happens now. the jury are responsible." it once fell to the lot of the writer to see an arrest for a murder with which the world rang. the merest novice in stage management could have obtained a better dramatic effect; the arrest of a drunken man by an ordinary constable would have had more thrill. it was in a street thronged with people passing homewards from the city. a single detective waited on each pavement. presently one of them lifted his hat and the other crossed over. they fell into step each side of a very ordinary young man. "your name is so-and-so," said one. "we are police-officers, and we should like an explanation of one or two things. it may be necessary to detain you." a cab stopped, the three got into it, and as it drove away there were not two people among the thousands in the street who knew that anything out of the ordinary had happened. that is typical of the way arrests for great crimes are effected if possible. yet, sometimes circumstances force melodrama on the detectives. another arrest which was watched by the writer took place at dead of night in a dirty lodging-house in an east end street. a house-to-house search had been instituted by forty or fifty armed detectives. they expected desperate resistance when they found their quarry. and at last they came upon the man they sought sleeping peacefully on a truckle bed. a giant detective lifted him bodily. a great coat was bundled over his night shirt, and he was sent off as he was, under escort, into the night. footnote: [ ] sir howard vincent, first and only "director of criminal investigations," said, in : "it has been urged more than once that better and more reliable detectives might be found among the retired officers of the army and younger sons of gentlemen than in the ranks of the police. willing, as i hope i shall always be, to give every suggestion a fair trial, six such recruits have been enrolled in the criminal investigation department with a result, i am sorry to say, eminently unsatisfactory. there is, i fear, little doubt that the gentlemen who have failed in one of the professions which they usually adopt are less trustworthy, less reliable, and more difficult to control than those who enter a calling such as the police in the ordinary course." sir charles warren, in the course of a magazine article which had tremendous effect on his reign as commissioner, said, referring to the detective service: "some few candidates have been admitted direct to a great number examined and rejected. of those admitted, few, if any, have been found qualified to remain in the detective service. it seems, therefore, that although the criminal investigation branch is open to receive any qualified person direct, as a general rule no persons, for some years past, have presented themselves sufficiently qualified to remain. and there are indications of the advantages of a previous police training in the uniform branch in the fact that the most successful private detectives at present in the country are those who have formerly been in, and originally trained in, the uniform branch...." chapter iv. on the trail. primarily, the great function of the police is to prevent crime; secondly, when it has happened, to bring the offender to justice. how do they work? not by relying on spasmodic flashes of inspiration, like the detective of fiction, but by hard, painstaking work, and, of course, organisation. crime is divided into two classes--the habitual and the casual. every habitual criminal is known. numbers vary, but the latest available figures show that there are habitual criminals in london, of whom are thieves and receivers. now, each of these thieves has a distinctive method. a crime occurs. it is reported to the local police station, and a detective is sent to the scene. perhaps he is able to say off-hand: "this job was done by so-and-so." then, having fixed his man, he sets to work to accumulate evidence. scotland yard is reported to, and thence word is sent to every police station to keep a look-out for brown, or jones, or smith--that is, if he has left his usual haunts. every detective--strange as it may seem--makes it a point to keep on good terms with thieves. it is his business. sooner or later the man "wanted" is discovered, unless he is exceptionally astute. there are, of course, a hundred ways of finding the author of the crime. the good detective chooses the simplest. subtle analysis is all very well, but it is apt to lead to blind alleys. imagine a case such as occurs every day: a burglary has been committed and reported to the police. the first steps are automatic. the divisional detective-inspector in control of the district sets his staff to work. men get descriptions of the stolen property, and within an hour the private telegraph and telephone wires have carried them to every police station in london. the great printing machine of scotland yard reels off "informations" four times a day, and in the next edition the story of the crime is told, and each of the detectives in london, as well as the , uniformed police, have it impressed upon their minds. swift, unobtrusive little green motor cars carry "pawnbrokers' lists" to every police station to be distributed by hand. the _police gazette_ goes out twice a week to the whole police forces of the british empire. every honest market in which the booty can be disposed of is closed. if the thief has been unwary enough to leave a finger-print it is photographed, and should he be an old hand the records at scotland yard show his identity in less than half an hour. all this is a matter of routine. it is "up to" the detectives still to find their man. should there be nothing tangible to act upon the detectives--who know intimately the criminals in their district, and many out of it--will try a method of elimination. "this," they will say in effect, "is probably the work of one of half a dozen men. let us see who could have done it, and then we shall have something to go on. a. and b. are in prison; c. we know to be in newcastle, and d. was at southampton. either e. or f. is the man." the personal factor enters into the work here. a detective is expected to be on friendly terms with professional criminals, although he must not be too friendly. the principle can be illustrated by an anecdote of mr. froest, the famous detective. once or twice he had arrested a notorious american crook who was carrying on operations in this country, and whom i will call smith. in one of his occasional spells of liberty, smith, who was a reputed murderer in his own country, met froest. "say, chief," he drawled after a little conversation, "i'd just hate to hurt a man like you. i always carry a gun, and there are times when i'm a bit too handy with it. if ever you've got to take me _never do it after six in the evening_. i'm a bit lively then." it is the business of a detective to know thieves. without an acquaintance with their habits of thought and their social customs, he may be lost. the "informant" plays a great part in practical detective work, and the informant, it follows, is often a thief himself. of the manner in which he is used, i shall have more to say later. so it is among the friends (and enemies) of e. and f., that the detectives set to work. it is a task that calls for tact. e., we will suppose, is at home, and all his movements about the time of the crime are checked and counter-checked. f. has vanished from his usual haunts. this is a circumstance suspicious in itself, but rendered more so by the fact that his wife is uncommonly flush of money. often it is harder to connect together legal evidence of guilt than to catch a criminal. the most positive moral certainty is not sufficient to convict a man, and english detectives may not avail themselves of methods in use abroad to bring home a crime to the right person. perhaps a detective pays a visit to f.'s wife. with the remembrance of many kindly acts performed by the police during her husband's involuntary absences, she is torn between a stubborn loyalty to him and her wish to be civil to her visitor. he is sympathetic--cynics may not believe that the sympathy is often genuine--but he has his duty to do. he does not expect her consciously to betray her husband, but his eyes are busy while he puts artless questions. an incautious word, the evasion of a question may give him the hint he seeks, or, on the other hand, she may be too alert and his mission may be fruitless. meanwhile a description and photograph of f. have been circulated by what may be called the publicity department of scotland yard. it may be even given to the newspapers, for your modern detective realises the advantage of deft use of the press. remember, f. is a known criminal, and even in so vast a place as london no man who is known can hide himself indefinitely. a striking personal instance may be cited. the writer, in the course of an aimless walk through obscure streets, accompanied by a well-known detective, was greeted by no fewer than eight officers. i believe there is no instance on record of a definite person being "wanted" where the police have failed to find him. he may have escaped arrest for lack of evidence, but he has been found. the wide-flung net will, sooner or later, enmesh f. he may be seen and recognised or, what is more likely, he will be betrayed by one of his associates. it does not follow that he will at once be arrested and charged. he may be merely "detained," which means that the police have him in custody for not more than twenty-four hours, at the end of which time he must either be brought before a magistrate or set at liberty. he must not be questioned, but he is given to understand why he is held, and may, if he likes, volunteer a statement. if any of the stolen property is found on him the matter at once becomes straightforward, and if he is believed to have hidden or disposed of it to any particular person search warrants are procured to bring it to light. another instance of the methods employed by the c.i.d. to establish identity may be recalled. two americans in frankfort tried to rob a man of £ , . one was arrested, and the other got away. the c.i.d. was asked if it could make any suggestions to the frankfort police. very courteously, scotland yard said in effect: "yes. if the man left in a hurry, he probably left something behind. go to his hotel and see." frankfort did so, found some luggage in the cloakroom, and among them shirts with the name of a london maker. a scotland yard detective went to the address, and found the name of a certain american "crook" as having his shirts made to measure there. when the man, all unconscious that his connection with the robbery was known, stepped out of the train at charing cross station a few hours later he was arrested. individual initiative is encouraged in every officer. luck, too, often aids justice. some years ago it was learnt that an absconding bank cashier would probably try to leave england by a certain liner. a detective, whom we will call smith, went armed with a description of the man to effect an arrest. when he got on board he scrutinised the passengers closely. only one man resembled the description. smith drew him aside. "i have reason to believe your name is x.," he said. "i am a police officer, and i hold a warrant for your arrest." highly indignant, the man denied that he was the person described. his indignation was obviously not assumed, and there were minor discrepancies between his appearance and the description. smith shrugged his shoulders. "very well. if you are not x., and can prove it, you have nothing to fear. in that case i presume you will have no objection to my looking through your luggage." x. paled, stuttered, fumed, and protested that he would never consent to such an outrage. no conduct could have been more calculated to make the officer determined. he searched the luggage. in a small handbag he discovered, hidden away, a mass of notes and gold. triumphantly, he conducted his prisoner ashore and had him locked up in the nearest police station. then he telephoned to his superior officer, "i've got x." "no, you haven't," came the startling reply. "we've got him here. he was arrested at king's cross half an hour ago." utterly bewildered, smith told of his capture and the compromising gold and notes. there was five minutes' silence. then the voice at the other end of the telephone said quietly: "oh, that's all right. the man you've got is y., a rate collector, who made a run from glasgow a day or two ago." that was the luck of the service. two of the cases in which mr. froest was concerned may be recalled, as illustrating how appearances may sometimes lead to wrong conclusions. in one, an unknown man was found head down in a water-butt outside a country bungalow. there was an ugly bruise on his forehead, and the provincial police who were investigating the case made up their minds that there had been foul play. they asked for help from scotland yard, and mr. froest was sent down. he looked over the scene, and his eyes twinkled. "this is not a case of murder," he said. "that man was a tramp. he hurt his head in climbing through the fence--he was probably going to break into the house--and went to bathe it in the water-butt. as he put his head down he slipped and fell in." one of the listeners heard this explanation with a sceptical grin. "that couldn't be so," he protested, and, going near the water-butt, lowered his head to demonstrate the impossibility of such an accident. the next instant there was a smothered scream and a mighty splash. a pair of feet waved wildly in the air. as the sceptic was pulled out of the barrel he extended his hand to mr. froest with a sad smile. "i believe you are right," he said. in the second instance the crews of two cardiff tramps had joined in an effort to "paint the town red" at bilbao, the spanish port. they returned to the quayside with their pockets stuffed full of biscuits, which they ate as they rolled along. at the quay they were able to clamber down into the boats, except one fireman, who was almost completely "under the weather." so a mate of the other boat fastened a rope round his chest and lowered him to his companions. then the mate returned to his own ship. in the morning he was arrested for murder. the fireman had been dead when taken aboard, and his appearance showed that he died of strangulation. it was suggested that the mate had, instead of putting the rope under his arms, put it round his neck, and drawn him up and down, in and out of the water. a conviction followed the trial, but, luckily, friends of the convicted man asked scotland yard to make an independent investigation. mr. froest went to cardiff, where the crews of the two vessels concerned had then arrived. the more he went into the case the deeper became his conviction that a miscarriage of justice had occurred. he went back to scotland yard. "i don't believe the fireman was murdered," he said. "he was eating a biscuit, and a piece probably stuck in his throat and choked him. as to his being wet through, it was raining hard at the time." the spanish authorities were informed of this theory, and the body of the "murdered" man was exhumed. still in the throat was the biscuit which had choked him. there was, too, the case of an old woman murdered at slough. chief detective-inspector bower, now head of the port of london authority police, ultimately arrested a man against whom there was nothing but suspicion, as apart from legal proof. and on the suspect was found a slip of crumpled paper in which coins had apparently been wrapped. the marks of the milling were plainly discernible. mr. bower wrapped twenty-one sovereigns--the amount of the money stolen from the victim--in another piece of paper. the marks corresponded, and it was mainly on that evidence that the prisoner was convicted. chapter v. making a detective. the detective net drawn round london is close and complete. within the last two or three years the headquarters staff at scotland yard has completely changed, although there is no man with less than twenty years' service among the five chief detective-inspectors who act as mr. mccarthy's chief-lieutenants. these are the men who meet in special council when some great crime stirs london, and whose wits are bent to aid the active efforts of those deputed for the actual investigation. with them at scotland yard are some seventy or eighty subordinate detectives. crime that affects london as a whole is usually dealt with direct from headquarters. every division of police in london has its detective detachment of from twelve to thirty men under divisional inspectors. except in a very few of the outlying rural districts of london, there is no police station without one or more detectives. they are expected to hold local crime in check. but the machine is adaptable to contingencies. the "morning report of crime" sent to headquarters shows daily the ebb and flow of crime. a sudden wave of burglaries, for instance, might be met by reinforcements from another district or from the yard itself. twice a month the big council of crime meets--a gathering at new scotland yard at which thirty or forty of the senior detectives of the metropolis, heads of districts, and headquarters men meet in conference and compare notes. the movements of criminals are checked, particular mysteries discussed. a. is puzzled by certain peculiarities in a robbery at hampstead; b. remembers that similar peculiarities were present in an affair in which he arrested bill smith, at brixton, some years ago. resolved unanimously that bill's recent movements will bear looking into. opinions will be discussed of the identity of a swindler who has been duping furniture dealers by selling them furniture from houses or flats he has rented. many a fraud has been detected by these informal discussions in that bare green-painted room. one of the greatest difficulties that beset a detective of real life--it does not so much affect the detective of fiction--is the securing of evidence that is legally convincing. it is one thing to be morally certain of a person's guilt; it is quite another thing to prove it to the satisfaction of a jury. especially is this so in case of murder. there is probably no other great city in the world which can boast of no murder mystery in which for two years the perpetrator remained undiscovered. there were twenty-five cases of murder in --the last year for which figures are available--and twenty-four in . in each one, in , the guilty person was known. the cases were thus disposed of. eleven arrests were made--one of a man who committed two murders--and in nine the murderers committed suicide. three of the other cases were caused through illegal operations, which were not immediately reported to the police. the remaining case was that of an italian who fled abroad. the real detective is a common-place man--common-place in the sense that you would not pick him out of a crowd for what he is. he assiduously avoids mannerisms. you will find him genial rather than mysterious. he does not wear policeman's boots, and he is not always weaving a subtle network of deductions. he is a plain business man of shrewd common-sense who has been carefully trained to take the quickest and most accurate way to a desired end. you can almost fancy him drawing up an advertisement: "criminals (assorted) for disposal. large selection always available. special orders executed at the shortest notice. apply criminal investigation department, new scotland yard, s.w." and on occasion he takes, so to speak, your burglar, your pickpocket, or your forger off the shelf, carefully dusts his label, and dispatches him, carriage paid, with a neat parcels note, for conveyance to his ultimate destination by the old-established firm of transport agents in the old bailey. the london detective grows up in an atmosphere of business. romance, adventure are incidental--and rare. before he can bring off any big coup he has thoroughly to understand the handling of the big machine of which he forms part. and above all he must have courage--not merely physical courage, but a courage that will assume big responsibility in an instant of stress. melville, sometime of the special branch, for instance, once committed a flagrant illegality when he decoyed a dangerous anarchist into a wine cellar and locked him in while a great personage was passing through london. and mr. frank froest, when he snatched a noted embezzler from the argentine after all attempts to obtain his extradition had failed, gave an example of the same kind of courage. another detective, in a case where the body of a murdered man had been hidden, did not hesitate to arrest the murderer on the flimsy charge of "being in unlawful possession of a pickaxe" to prevent flight while he continued his search. in each case these men deliberately adopted risks to attain their ends which nothing but success could warrant. there are men attached to the criminal investigation department, and they have all learned their trade by tedious degrees. they all started, even the superintendents at their head, as constables on street duty. consider the precautions that are taken in recruiting the department. the candidate has passed the stringent tests of character and physique applied to all metropolitan police officers. he has been watched, with unostentatious vigilance, for defects of temperament or intelligence. a few months he has on street duty in uniform, and then he may apply for transfer to the c.i.d. he may be recommended then by his divisional superiors to mr. mccarthy--the blonde blue-eyed irishman who rules the central c.i.d.--who himself interviews and makes a rapid judgment of the aspirant before he is passed on to an examining board of two veteran chief detective-inspectors sitting with a chief constable. some of the questions he will be expected to answer run like this: "how may you utilise the photographs of persons suspected of crime, and what precautions would you take?" "what is meant by a 'special enquiry'?" "give examples of the use special enquiries can be put to in detecting offenders against the law." these examinations, it may be said, are compulsory at every step in promotion in the detective service, in addition to educational examinations carried out independently by the civil service commissioners. here is a question put at an examination for promotion to detective-sergeant which might form the skeleton of a detective story. "a night-watchman, in going his rounds, discovers two men attempting to break open a safe on the premises. both men make good their escape by a window, but one of them receives a blow on the head from the watchman which causes blood to flow, while the other leaves his jacket behind. "the watchman can give a fair description of the men. in the jacket left behind, which bears no maker's name, are found the following:--( ) a return-half ticket to birmingham from london; ( ) a snapshot of a lady having the appearance of a music hall performer, signed 'kitty,' but with no photographer's name; ( ) a letter (no envelope) as follows:-- "king street. 'dear tom.--i hope you are coming up on tuesday. things are bad here since bill got his three months. 'mary.' "state as fully as you can what steps you suggest should be taken to trace the offenders. how could the articles found be made use of in the enquiry?" the preliminary examination is only the first step. the young man who passes finds himself a "patrol on probation," with the knowledge that if he does not justify himself he will be returned to the blue-coated ranks. he is put to school again--the little-known detective school that is maintained at scotland yard, with detective-inspector belcher at its head. there are lectures on law, and even lantern lectures. he is taught the methods of criminals, from gambling sharps to forgers, from pickpockets to petty sneak-thieves. the black museum primarily exists for his instruction. he is shown jemmies, coining implements, shop-lifting devices, and the latest word in the march of scientific burglary--the oxy-acetylene apparatus. all that ingenuity and experience can suggest for the confusion of the criminal is taught him. he is shown where an expert must be called in, and where his own common-sense must aid him. he is taught something of locks, something of finger-prints, something of cipher-reading. he learns the significance of trivialities, and the high importance of method. i have said that the detective must know when to call in the expert. science plays no inconspicuous part in many investigations, and there is a little corps of consulting specialists whose aid is always available. it was the work of the analyst that proved the guilt of men like seddon and crippen. the microscopist has brought more than one forger to justice. a murder was proved because a tool-maker's aid was enlisted to decipher some scratches on a chisel. a blackmailer was captured because a paper manufacturer identified a peculiar make of paper on which a letter was written. and, of course, the help of the medical jurisprudent is a commonplace of criminal investigation. the finger-print experts are on the staff; so, too, are the photographers. there is a big magic lantern used in connection with the latter department which has made clear more than one mystery by the enlargement of some photograph. in one case an envelope with a blurred post-mark was picked up on the scene of a robbery. it was enlarged, and so the name of a town was picked out. in an hour or two the criminal was under arrest. chapter vi. more about investigation. outside fiction, the real detective does not disguise himself in any elaborate or melodramatic fashion. he will not wear a false moustache or a wig, for instance. but the beginner is taught how a difference in dressing the hair, the combing out or waxing of a moustache, the substitution of a muffler for a collar, a cap for a bowler will alter his appearance. they keep a "make-up" room at headquarters, its most conspicuous feature being a photograph of a group of dirty-looking ruffians--detectives in disguise. but it is a disguise the more impenetrable because there is nothing that can go wrong with it. yet not half a dozen times in a year is the make-up room used. the kind of case in which a disguise is useful may be illustrated. some thieves had broken into st. george's cathedral, at southwark, and then rifled the bishop's palace. the booty they secured was worth some three thousand pounds, and they left not the faintest trace behind. the officer charged with the investigation resolved on a long shot. he dressed himself--i quote a newspaper report--"in a long overcoat and slouched hat, sported a heavy chain, smoked a big cigar, and was well supplied with gold." in this attire he made himself conspicuous about vauxhall. among the "crooks" of that neighbourhood, it soon became known that a jew receiver--one cohen, of brick lane, whitechapel--was about, and in a very short while the "receiver" knew all that he needed to arrest the thieves and recover the stolen property. "shadowing," too, is a matter of experience. let anyone who doubts its difficulties try the experiment of keeping sight of a person in a frequented thoroughfare. when a suspect knows or guesses he is being followed--as he inevitably does, if it is continued for a day or two--it becomes ten times more difficult. unless incessant watchfulness is maintained, a shadowed person will be lost sight of in five minutes. shadowing is, when possible, always done by detectives in pairs, sometimes in threes. detective no. shadows the suspect, detective no. shadows his colleague. then if the suspect stops or turns suddenly no. walks innocently on and no. takes up the chase. it is a wearisome task when a person has to be watched incessantly, for it may not be possible to assign a spot with any certainty for reliefs to continue the trail. when the young detective begins his career he will carry a virgin drab-coloured diary in his breast pocket, wherein he will be expected to record every moment spent on duty, every penny he spends. if any illusion remains in his mind that he will be turned loose on the streets to catch thieves or murderers, it is quickly destroyed. hard labour is his portion. small enquiries at pawnbrokers', searching directories to verify addresses, running errands for his superiors, and doing all the small odd jobs are his immediate concern. only now and again is he called upon to play a minor part in an arrest. but all the while he will be learning and improving his acquaintance with the thieves in his district. all his painfully acquired knowledge goes for little unless he can cultivate a certain friendship with the rogues in the vicinity of his sphere of duty. the "informant" plays a big part in the workings of scotland yard. if the old phrase, "honour among thieves," had any truth in it, london would be a poor place for honest men to live in. but gossip of the underworld is easily attainable to ears that wish to catch it. one of the problems which beset the architect of new scotland yard was this same problem of the informant. an inconspicuous entrance had to be arranged by which access could be unobtrusively gained by a person too shy to be seen walking publicly up the main entrance of the headquarters of police. a great detective once told the writer how, in his early days, he set to work to learn the world, and gained valuable acquaintance with the deliberation that a young student might apply to the pursuit of an exact science. he took a room in jermyn street, and began his studies in every moment he could spare off duty. "i haunted night clubs; i went to gambling houses; i was a frequenter of any resort where one was likely to meet rogues or tricksters. i stored my memory with faces, and made myself friendly with all sorts of people--waiters, barmen, and hall-porters. so it was that i got hints that i should never have got by any other method, and scores of times, years afterwards, i received information from the channels i had formed when i began. to show the value of some of these acquaintances i may tell you that when some idea of my identity leaked out at one of these clubs an american crook--he was drunk--declared openly that he would shoot me at sight. the waiter contrived to draw the cartridges from his revolver, and to give me a hint as i entered. and sure enough my man stood up, took aim, and pulled the trigger of the empty weapon. i hit him on the jaw, and let it rest at that. but if i hadn't treated that waiter right, i might have been a dead man now." the personal factor is an important one in dealing with informants. there is not very often ill-feeling between criminals and detectives. a slight straining of red-tape will sometimes have wide-reaching results. a detective, conveying a prisoner from liverpool to london, offered the latter a cigar. "you're a good sort," exclaimed the man impulsively. "tell you what; i'm in for it, i know. but i can do you a bit of good. it was x. and z. who did that hatton garden business." and so was provided a clue to an apparently insoluble mystery. at the end of three months, the probationer, if he has qualified, finds himself a fully-fledged "detective-patrol." thereafter he has to pass an examination whenever he is promoted, and may pass upwards through the grades of third, second, and first class detective-sergeants to second, first, and divisional inspector, and even eventually to chief detective-inspector. the everyday duties of the c.i.d. are legion. there are "informations" passing between headquarters and the different stations daily, almost hourly. stolen property has to be traced, pawnbrokers visited, convicts on licence watched, reports made, inquiries conducted by request of provincial police forces. it means hard, painstaking work from morning to night. as i have said, so far as is consistent with his duty, a man keeps on good terms with those criminals he knows. it is a point of policy. they know that the average detective does not wish them harm. if he has to arrest them they know he will be scrupulously fair when it comes to giving evidence. often a detective will help a man out of his own pocket when he knows that a case is really a necessitous one. he has no animus against any person he arrests. his duty is merely to place in safe custody the person he believes to be responsible for a breach of the law. conviction or acquittal matters nothing to him after that. he has done his duty. a wide knowledge of human nature is necessary to his calling, and he never forgets that the power of a police officer has its limitations. a man who brings discredit or ridicule on the department has a short-lived official life. there is another part of the criminal investigation department which has duties entirely distinct from that of the main body of detectives. that is the special branch, under superintendent quinn, m.v.o.--a section which, with the war, has suddenly become of great importance, for it has now largely to do with the spy peril. of its methods and organisation little can be said, for obvious reasons. in ordinary times it concerns itself solely with the protection of high personages, from the king and queen and cabinet ministers to distinguished foreign visitors. the special branch in the days of suffragette outrages was the chief foe of the vote-seekers. it deals, too, with all political offences which need investigation. there is a special squad of officers who deal with the white slave traffic. these are assisted by a lady appointed by the home office. she makes enquiries from women and children where victims might be reluctant to confide in a man, and has other similar duties. the department is practically self-contained, working side by side with the uniform branch under its own officers. the point of contact is at superintendents of divisions, who exercise a supervising control. chapter vii. the crooks' clearing-house. many high authorities have argued that the best way to prevent crime is to keep all known criminals under lock and key, as we do lunatics. the theory may be right or wrong, but it is not yet possible to put it into practice. so scotland yard does the next best thing, and exercises a quiet, unwearying, persistent surveillance on those hundreds of persons who are likely to resume their depredations on society when they are released from prison. for over fifty years--since --there has been accumulating a library of biography on which prison governors and police officials have worked, which must by now include every living criminal by profession who has enjoyed the hospitality of the state. the files--immense, dirty brown covered albums--each containing , photographs--overflow through room after room and corridor after corridor. there are smaller volumes with duplicate photographs, in each, which give particulars of marks or physical peculiarities. hundreds of thousands of records are kept, mostly illustrated by the inevitable full and side face photographs, and each is kept up-to-date with scrupulous care. the convict supervision office, with its subsidiary habitual criminals registry, has within the last year or two been amalgamated with the finger-print section under the general title of the criminal record office. although the two departments work in unison and are, to a certain point, interdependent, their work has to be conducted in sub-departments. the habitual criminals registry--i retain the old title for convenience--is a sort of british museum of crime. it is a central bureau that is constantly being consulted from all parts of the kingdom, and not seldom from all parts of the world. it has to be ready at any moment to lay its hands on the record of any criminal that may be demanded, and in this it is immensely helped by the finger-print department, which can usually identify the person and supply the number by which he is known. it sometimes happens, however, that no finger-prints are available. then search has to be made under the old system. the records are grouped by the height of their subjects and the colour of their eyes and hair. thus, if a prisoner on remand is five feet nine, with blue eyes and brown hair, the margin of search is limited to those indexed under those characteristics. the records include photographs, descriptions, and particulars not only of licence-holders and supervisees, but of every person who has been convicted twice or more times of any crime, with a few exceptions, and of all persons sentenced to hard labour for a month or more. they are a veritable "who's who" of the criminal world, and go even further than that useful work of reference in supplying intimate details of the appearance and idiosyncrasies of their subjects. but the keeping of recidivist records is only one part of the business of the criminal record office. this is the department which is responsible for keeping a watchful eye on those people the public love to call "ticket-of-leave men," but who are officially known as licence-holders or supervisees. these are convicts who, through good conduct in prison, have been released before the expiration of the full term of their sentence, or persons ordered at the time of their conviction to undergo a period of police supervision after they leave prison. this class is composed very largely of an elusive gentry, and to keep track of their comings and goings is no simple matter when they have reason to vanish for a season. there are usually about a thousand of these in london; the exact number in was . strict regulations are laid down, which they must observe for the protection of the community; but, in practice, they are afforded every facility for earning an honest living. ever and anon the old myth recurs that "ticket-of-leave men" are hounded and harassed by the police so that ultimately they are thrown back to their old life in sheer despair. listen to what the "police code" says: "it is of great importance to avoid giving licence-holders and supervisees any ground for alleging that they are being interfered with by the police, or in any way prevented from leading an honest life. when it is necessary to make enquiries at their addresses or places of business it is desirable, if possible, that they should be made by officers in plain clothes who are not known in the district, and great care should be taken that the nature of the inquiry should not be disclosed to anyone other than the licence-holder or supervisee himself." that regulation is carried out with a rigid regard for both the spirit and the letter. the relations of the detective force with the men they watch are quite friendly. it is a matter of policy that they should be so. yet the situation has its humours at times. there is a fund maintained at the office from which many ex-convicts have been provided with a fresh start in a straightforward career. no inconvenient enquiries are made, and the bare word of the applicant is often accepted--within limits, of course. does he want to sell flowers? a stock is provided. is he a workman needing tools? he is supplied. another cannot get a berth because his clothes are in pawn; a detective is sent to redeem them. there is no bother or fuss. scotland yard knows the class too well. it knows that it is often cheated by liars; on the other hand, prompt help may really redeem a man. every chance is given a man to run straight, however often he has fallen. and most of those who are helped do not forget. there are, however--as there must be--many who take advantage of the system. one man had his clothes taken out of pawn. he thanked the office--and promptly went and hypothecated them at another place. there was another coolly impudent scoundrel, with a turn for carpentry, who made all sorts of odds and ends out of soap boxes. he always had some plausible story. he wanted tools or materials, or his rent was in arrears, or there was a doctor's bill to pay. surprise visits to his rooms in the east end always bore out his story. but, ultimately it was discovered that he was doing the same thing with many charitable societies--the church army, the salvation army, and others. he made quite a good thing out of it while it lasted. but usually scotland yard is not imposed on twice by the same person. police science has evolved the criminal record office very gradually. the problem of the incorrigible offender is one that many years' study has not yet completely solved. when the licence system was first initiated the police were instructed by the home office not to interfere with the ticket-of-leave men, and, not strangely, these men found opportunities of crime made easy for them. but prison reorganisation and police organisation went on hand in hand until, in , the convict supervision office was established. then, as now, its chief work lay in classifying the records and photographs of habitual criminals, compiling the "rogues' gallery," which is still of inestimable value in the prevention of crime. the finger-print system is, of course, of enormous aid in identification, and, as i have said, is a complete safeguard against the possibility of a wrongful conviction. the ordinary detective is most often engaged in tracing a criminal after a breach of the law has been committed. the criminal record office has the more delicate duty of trying to prevent crime. it is a distinct sociological force, incessantly watchful that none of those persons who are allowed out of prison on probation (which is really what the licence system amounts to) drift back into the evil ways or among evil associates. by this means it is endeavoured to cut at the very roots of crime in this country, for it is a proved fact that the larger proportion of serious offences which are brought before the courts are the work of the habitual criminals. thus, of , persons convicted of serious crime at assizes and quarter sessions throughout the kingdom during nearly per cent. were recognised as having been convicted before--a significant fact which emphasises the necessity of the eternal vigilance of the c.r.o. while i was gathering material on this subject i was prepared to find that the police acted with severity. i was agreeably disappointed. i found that they go as far as possible to the other extreme. in effect, the law says that a licence-holder or supervisee shall produce a license when called upon, shall not habitually associate with persons of bad character, shall not lead an idle or dissolute life, shall report themselves monthly to the nearest police station (this regulation does not apply to women), and report any change of address. but the law is carried out with a broad appreciation of the variations in human nature--even criminal human nature. there are dangerous men who must be watched closely; there are others it is unnecessary to keep under close surveillance. a licence-holder, as distinct from a supervisee, is not necessarily likely to become a criminal again. a trusted clerk in a city office who has forged his employer's name, a solicitor absconding with trust funds, a man who has committed manslaughter are not to be classed in this respect with burglars, jewel thieves, or coiners. it is true that either class may hold licences, but the former are not often sentenced to police supervision. they are not, in that sense, habitual criminals. so the circumstances of every case are taken into consideration. sometimes a man is allowed to report himself by letter instead of in person. nor is a detective attached to a district, who might be known as a police officer, allowed to make inquiries when the mere fact of his calling might make things unpleasant for a licence-holder. a stranger from scotland yard is sent. this applies especially when a man is in a workhouse, a hospital, a church army labour home, and such places. to a limited extent the work of the department has been lightened by the scheme which resulted in the establishment of the central association for the aid of discharged convicts--an amalgamation of various prisoners' aid societies--which may recommend that a discharged prisoner should be excused reporting to the police in certain cases. the result has been that one man in every ten has been freed from the obligation to report. there is a little row of figures in the last issue of "judicial statistics" which affords a striking illustration of the work of the department. it shows that during the year the number of persons under police supervision in the metropolitan police district was , . this is what happened to them: supervision expired supervision remitted by home secretary removed to other districts sent to prison missing left england died no less than were known or believed to be living honestly, and those who were suspected of continuing their old career of roguery, but were not convicted, numbered only . the management of the office is vested in chief detective-inspector thomas--a shrewd, able man, with a wide experience, in which he has gained a keen and extensive knowledge of criminals of all types--who deals with those who come under his jurisdiction with a firm and tactful hand. he has a staff of twenty-two assistants, which includes the only two women detectives--if they are strictly detectives--in the service. in point of fact these ladies are employed by the home office and attached to scotland yard, so that strictly they must not be considered "policewomen." these ladies are necessary in carrying out the policy of the department, and their duties are wide. no man is allowed to visit a female licence-holder or supervisee, mainly for the reason that his identity might be suspected. so the women detectives take this in hand, and with feminine tact manage to know all about their protégées, to give a warning here, sympathetic advice there, in a way that would be difficult for any man to do. their work takes them at times into some of the worst quarters of london, and all their pluck and firmness are sometimes needed, for habitual women criminals are usually worse subjects to handle than the habitual male criminal. for criminals, as for experts in other trades, all roads lead to london. your expert criminal, whatever his branch of rascality, sooner or later tries his hand in the metropolis, and so there is a continual inward and outward flow of persons the office must keep in touch with. this is done by the co-operation of the provincial police, and by the issue of the "habitual criminals register," which gives detailed particulars of persons entered in the files of a department. this is sent to every police force in the kingdom. there is another very useful publication which has brought about the downfall of many an ambitious rascal. it is called the "illustrated circular," and its subject is travelling criminals. these form a clever, mobile fraternity who operate swindles and robberies in one part after another, dodging in and out of various police districts. they are as slippery as eels, and, without some means of codifying information as to their movements and delinquencies, many of them would defy justice with impunity. the "illustrated circular" forms a link between the police jurisdictions in this respect. it gives descriptions and particulars of the latest known movements of itinerant criminals, and publishes photographs of them, to enable police officers to recognise them wherever they may go. every movement made by a travelling criminal is recorded in the "circular." men who have found themselves too closely watched by the bristol police may, for example, hope to find cardiff less vigilant. but the "illustrated circular" tells of their departure from bristol, and cardiff is on the alert. there is little hope of escape from that all-pervading vigilance. the _police gazette_, too, is issued by this department twice a week, not only to all the police forces of the kingdom, but to the colonies and the nearest european countries. this is the latest police move to checkmate the operations of the more widely travelling rogues. no less important are the "special release notices" or, as it is now called, the _weekly list of habitual criminals_. since prison officials have furnished to scotland yard, every week, a list of prisoners about to be released who are habitual criminals. this list, which gives a detailed description of each man, and his index number in the records, is sent to every police force in the country. it is so made easy to draw a conclusion should an outbreak of burglaries commence in a district wherein a burglar has lately been released. in a corner of one room in scotland yard is piled a miscellaneous heap of thieves' equipment--jemmies, chisels, scientific safe-breaking implements, and other oddments. the office periodically destroys these, though their fashioning has probably cost skilled workmen much time and trouble. only a new invention is spared, and that so that it may be placed in the black museum for instructive purposes. in other rooms is kept the personal property of the prisoners still undergoing sentence. it was, i think, david harum who remarked that there was as much human nature in some folks as there is in others--if not more. a glance round this mixed assortment proves the truth of the truism. a bag of golf clubs, a fishing rod, cameras, books, clothes, rings, watches, jewellery--all give an index to the temperament of the individual owning them. money, too, is often kept here by the wish of the convicts themselves. personal belongings are restored at the expiration of a sentence, but valuable articles--and many find their way to the store-room--are not restored except on absolute proof of ownership. when a claim is doubtful the matter is referred to a magistrate, and on his order the disposal of the property rests. the department plays no small part in tightening the meshes of the net that keeps evil-doers within bounds. it does its duty with kindliness, but without fear or favour; but the difficulties of the work are so enormous that they could hardly be exaggerated. chapter viii. finger-prints. once upon a time a wily burglar sat in his cell at brixton awaiting trial. he knew that conviction for his latest escapade was inevitable. that troubled him little. as he would probably have said, he could do the sentence he was likely to get for a first offence "on his head." but it was by no means a first offence. stored away at scotland yard was a long list of little affairs in which he had been concerned which would not incline the judge to leniency. john smith--that is not his real name, but it will serve--knew that presently warders would ask him to press inky fingers on a white sheet of paper, so that the resulting prints should be sent to scotland yard. inevitably then his previous ill-doings would be disclosed. they might make all the difference between a nominal sentence as a first offender and five years' penal servitude as an habitual criminal, to say nothing of police supervision afterwards. john smith thought hard, and at last got an idea. he broke a tag from his boot-lace and began to skin the tips of his fingers until, as he thought, every trace of a pattern by which he could be identified had been obliterated. notwithstanding his bleeding hands, he smiled cheerfully when he was reported for prison hospital treatment. the sequel affords a saddening reflection on misplaced ingenuity and endurance. he had only penetrated the outer skin, and it began to grow again. they nursed his bandaged hands with infinite care, for a conclusion as to his record had become obvious. and then officers took his prints after all--and discovered that he was none other than bill brown, with a criminal history to which an old bailey judge listened with unaffected interest. bill--or john--got his five years after all. i have told this little story because it affords an excellent illustration of the work of the finger-print department at scotland yard--a department which serves not only the metropolitan police, but every police force in the kingdom. there is a great deal of confusion in the public mind between bertillonage and the finger-print system. even responsible london newspapers fell into the error, when m. bertillon died, of ascribing to him the invention of the system--with which he had nothing to do. to many people has been ascribed the discovery that finger-prints are an infallible method of identification. the knowledge however was of little use till the inventive genius of one man worked out a simple method of classification for police purposes, so that prints could be compared almost instantly with those on record. that man was sir edward henry, long before he came to scotland yard, when he was in the indian police service. the henry system has almost entirely superseded the bertillon system throughout the world, and there is little doubt that it will ultimately become universal. thousands of criminals who would otherwise have escaped a full measure of punishment for their misdeeds curse its author. it is in this department that police science has been brought to its highest pitch of perfection--a perfection begot of organisation. every prisoner for a month or longer nowadays has his prints taken a little before he is discharged. these prints, if they are not already in the records of scotland yard, are added to them, and a number gives the key to the man's record in the habitual criminals registry. in this manner there has accumulated since , when the system was first put in force, a collection of more than two hundred thousand prints. it is all a matter of system, of scientific and literal exactness, and there is no margin of error. a mistake in identification by finger-prints is literally impossible. as everyone knows, the ridges at the tips of the fingers maintain their formation from birth to death, and even after. nothing can change them. it is a possibility, though i believe it has never been known to happen, that there are two people in the world who have the markings on one finger-tip exactly alike. but even that incredible chance is guarded against, by taking the markings of the whole ten fingers. it will be realised how great a miracle it would be for two persons to have exactly the same lines, broken in exactly the same way, in exactly the same order on their two hands. that fact is the root principle of the finger-print work. it is necessary to point out that the existence of the department is not so much for the purpose of detecting crime as of detecting criminals. in the administration of justice a judge takes the past career of a prisoner into consideration when passing sentence. the main work of the department is to furnish the clue to a past career by scrutinising the finger-prints of persons on remand to discover whether they are habitual criminals or not. a thousand aliases will not help a man, no change of appearance, no protestations of mistake, if his prints correspond with those in the files. but it is all so simply done. there is nothing spectacular, nothing imposing about the process. practically all that is needed is a piece of tin, some printer's ink, and a sheet of paper. within a few minutes afterwards his record can be known. compare this with the old bertillon system of anthropometric measurements. bertillon's system depends on the fact that after a person reaches maturity certain portions of the body are always the same in measurement. the theory is sound, but the difficulties in the way of applying it are immense. in his book sir edward henry has pointed out the defects of the system. the instruments are costly, measurers have to be specially trained, and even so may make a mistake--an error of two twenty-fifths of an inch will prevent identification--the search among the records may take an hour or more, and, moreover, through carelessness or inattention, the whole data may be wrong. for six years--from to --this system was in force at scotland yard. the maximum number of identifications in any one year was . in , by the aid of finger-prints, , persons were identified. roughly, it is all a matter of classification into "arches," "loops," "whorls," and "composites." it is intricate to describe, but simple to carry out. to the uninitiated it inevitably suggests the old problem "think of a number, double it--." what happens is this: every print for primary classification purposes is considered as a loop or a whorl. the fingers are taken in pairs and put down something like this: l. l. w. l. l. -------------------- l. w. w. w. w. now a whorl occurring in the first pair would count sixteen, in the second, eight, and so on. the loops are ignored. consequently, the number in the above formula is: . . . . . ---------------- . . . . . these are added together and become - . the figure is added above and below, and the searcher knows that he has to look for the record he wants in the sixteenth file of number horizontal row in a cabinet specially arranged. of course, sub-classification is carried much farther than this, but it is scarcely necessary to elaborate the point. day by day, the prison governors from all parts of the country are sending in records to be added to the files, and police authorities, also from all parts of the country, are asking for prisoners to be identified. an interesting story concerns two men whom we will call robinson and jones, who were tried for different offences the same day. robinson was rich; jones was not. robinson received a long sentence, jones a light one. probably they arranged it all in the prison van, but anyhow, when they reached the gaol they had changed identities--and sentences. all went well until a short time before the _soi-disant_ jones was due to be released. then his finger-prints were taken, compared with those of jones in the files, and found not to correspond. half an hour later wires were being exchanged between scotland yard and the prison, and, to the mutual consternation of the two men, the little scheme was revealed. finger-prints had outwitted them. save for a few filing cabinets stretching from floor to ceiling in a well-lighted room, there is little apparent difference between the finger-print department at scotland yard and the interior of an ordinary city office. men pore over foolscap sheets of paper with magnifying glasses, comparing, classifying, and checking, day in, day out. they are all detectives, but their work is specialist work, totally different to that of the bulk of the men of the c.i.d. it may be that sometimes they realise that a man's life or liberty depends on their scrutiny, but for the most part they do their work with cold deliberation and machine-like precision. is one set of finger-marks identical with another? that is all they have to answer. it is the pride of the department that since it has been established it has never made a mistake. at its head is chief detective inspector charles collins, an enthusiast in identification work, who has seen the system change from the old days when detectives paid periodical visits to holloway prison to see if they could recognise prisoners on remand, and when profile and full-face photographs were used for the records, to that now in use which he has had no small share in bringing to its high state of efficiency. he can read a finger-print as other men can read a letter, and has even, for the purposes of study, taken prints of the fingers of monkeys at the zoo. many times has he given evidence as an expert in cases where finger-prints have formed part of the evidence. his cold, scientific analysis has always convinced the most sceptical, and always a conviction has followed. he wrote the chapter dealing with the photographing and enlarging of finger-prints in sir edward henry's standard work on the subject, and is something of a magician in the way he can detect a mark when none is obvious to the naked eye. i have seen a man press his fingers on a clean sheet of paper, apparently without leaving the faintest trace. but mr. collins is not baffled so. a pinch of black powder--graphite is commonly used--scattered over the paper, and behold the prints standing out in high relief. a grey powder will act in the same way on a dark surface, and a candle which has been pressed by the fingers may have the print rendered clear by a judicious use of ordinary printer's ink. a corps of expert photographers, equipped with the latest appliances, is attached to the department, and their services are in constant requisition by the c.i.d. for many purposes other than those of finger-prints. one room is entirely devoted to a powerful lantern apparatus by which every photograph may be thrown up to a hundred times its normal size for the purpose of minute study. this has often proved useful in detecting forgeries as well as aiding the work of the finger-print department. i have said that the primary purpose of the department is not the detection of crime. nevertheless, it has played no small part in the solution of mysteries where other clues have failed. there was the case of the stratton brothers, for instance, where the print on a cash-box led to arrest, although other evidence aided the conviction. perhaps the most interesting case is that which first focussed the public attention on the value of the system. it occurred in , shortly after the present commissioner initiated the system in india. he himself tells the story. the manager of a tea-garden was found murdered, and a safe and despatch-box robbed of several hundred rupees. suspicion was at first divided among the coolies and cook, the relatives of a woman with whom the dead man had carried on an intrigue, a wandering gang of kabulis, and an ex-servant whom he had prosecuted for theft--a wide enough field, in all conscience. but the police were unexpectedly helped in their investigation by the discovery in the despatch-box of a small light-blue book, a calendar in bengali characters. on the cover were two indistinct smudges. under a magnifying-glass these proved to be the impressions of a blood-stained finger. search was made in the records of the bengal police, and it was found that the finger-print was that of the right thumb of the ex-servant. he was arrested some hundreds of miles away, and charged with murder and robbery. on the ground that it would be unsafe to convict him of murder, as no one saw him do it, he was acquitted on that charge, but was convicted of theft. it would be possible to write largely on cases where finger-prints have afforded culminating proof of a person's guilt. one that has a grim touch of humour may be recalled. a constable pacing his beat in clerkenwell noticed a human finger on one of the spikes of the gate of a warehouse. closer investigation showed that the place had been broken into, and that the marauder had been disturbed and taken to flight in panic. in scaling the gates he had caught the little finger of his right hand on the spikes, and it had been torn away. it was sent to the finger-print department and identified as that of a man well-known to the police, and the word was passed round the c.i.d. to keep a bright look-out for him. time went on. the finger, carefully kept in spirits, remained at scotland yard. then one day a detective arrested a man for picking pockets near the elephant and castle. one hand was bandaged, but the prisoner was unwilling to say what was the matter with it. soon the reason of his reluctance was disclosed. the finger-print department held his missing finger. but if the finger-print department makes it hard for the guilty, it often helps the innocent. such a case as that of adolph beck would now be impossible. there are two criminals alive to-day who are said to be so much alike that the difference can only be told by their finger-prints. one hears often that the police will bolster each other up when a mistake is made. that is, of course, preposterously false throughout the service. there have been cases where police officers have been prepared, quite honestly, to swear to a man as an old offender, and the department has stepped in in time to prevent the error. it should be understood that the fact of finger-prints being found at or near the scene of a crime does not mean that they are of any use in solving a mystery, unless facsimiles are in the records--that is to say, a criminal has been convicted before. this rarely happens in the case of murder, for the reason that a murderer is unlikely, in an official sense, to be an habitual criminal. of course, if a person is suspected and arrested it is easy to compare his finger-prints with those found where the crime was committed. in the system the human liability to err is almost completely eliminated. a prisoner's prints are registered automatically, and, to prevent any chance of mistake, are examined and checked by a series of officials, each of whom signs the record. nor do those engaged in this business have an idle time. between , and , sets of prints are dealt with every year. the following list shows the number of recognitions effected since the system came into being at scotland yard. it must, of course, be remembered that they have increased as the number of records has grown:-- , , , , , , , , , , , , that, in itself, is a record which justifies the faith now placed in the system. chapter ix. the school of police. in the long chain forged for the preservation of law and order in the metropolis the constable is the chief and, in some ways, the most important link. the heads of scotland yard have to make it certain that at moments of unexpected strain or heavy stress no link will fail. to that end every candidate for the metropolitan force is rigorously tested and prepared, physically, morally, and mentally, before he becomes an accredited member of the service. for, to vary the simile, the constable is the foundation on which all the rest is built. every man in grades right up to the superintendent has begun at the bottom of the ladder. you will have seen the constable, placid and unemotional, pacing the streets at the regulation beat of two and a half miles an hour--do you know how much he has to know before he is trusted alone on his duty? he has to be ready to act decisively and firmly at an instant's notice, to solve on the spur of the moment some intricate problem of public order, to know the law, so that he may arrest a person on one occasion, and let him go on another, to act as guide or consultant to the public, to aid at a fire, or capture a burglar. he must know everything out of the common that comes in his sphere of duty, enter the particulars fully in his note-book, and be prepared to swear to the accuracy of his notes at any time. it would be easy for a man less carefully selected and trained to make a slip of judgment, to succumb to a temptation. it would be futile to pretend that there are twenty thousand plaster saints in the metropolitan police--there are not. yet, man for man, in efficiency, in honesty, there is not their equal in the world in any profession. the metropolitan police is a business body, controlled by business men, and run on business methods. but it is a specialist business, and so it has to train its recruits, making sure, first of all, that they are of the right material. before sir edward henry's time a candidate had only to fulfil a medical qualification and a test of character, and then, after a few weeks' drill at wellington barracks and a few days' watching the procedure in a police court, he was turned out into the street to get on as best he could. a veteran detective officer told me how he was treated twenty years ago. "i was pretty raw," he said. "i came straight out of a bedfordshire village, and was boarded out at a sergeant's house. he put fourteen of us in a back room with a tiny window, and charged us s. d. a week out of our pay of s. the food! i should smile. in case we overdid our eating, meals were never placed on the table until just before we had to parade at wellington barracks for drill. "then we were sent to the old worship street court. we were glad enough at last to get out on the streets for a breath of air with all our troubles before us. the very first day, i was called on to arrest one of a gang of men in whitechapel. his friends had knives, and they threatened to 'lay me out' if i touched him. i didn't know whether i was justified, but i drew my truncheon and swore i'd brain the first man who came near me. but i was in a cold sweat all the time. they didn't coddle us in those days." that was the old system. the wonder is that the police did so well. but now all that is changed. a policeman is prepared for his responsibilities by a thorough course of training, as scientific in its way as that of a doctor, a lawyer, or a school teacher. instead of going on his beat redolent of the plough, with a thousand pitfalls before him, the young constable now has a thorough theoretical acquaintance with his duties before ever he dons a helmet. more than that, he has been shrewdly observed for weeks to see whether his temperament is fitted to his calling. if it is not, be he ever so able in other respects, he is of no use as a police officer. in a big building, hidden away in a back street at westminster, the embryo policeman learns the first principles of his trade. peel house, as this school of police is called, was established by the present commissioner a few years ago, and since then has trained thousands of men. always there will be found two or three hundred young men gathered together from the remote corners of the british isles, being gradually moulded into shape by a corps of instructors under superintendent gooding. they have two characteristics in common--a character without flaw, and a good physique. for the rest, there are all types, with the agricultural labourer predominating--a country-house footman, an irishman from some tiny village near kilkenny, a sailor, a clerk, a provincial constable hoping to better himself, and, more raw than the rawest, men from devonshire, yorkshire, wales and scotland. it is said that a _good_ irishman makes the best officer, while perhaps the least teachable is the londoner. a countryman is fresh clay to the potter's hands, the londoner has much to unlearn before he can be taught. while these men are undergoing their training, they are not uncomfortable. peel house has all the comforts and conveniences of a big hotel and club. each man has his own cubicle; there are a billiard-room, a library, gymnasium, shooting gallery, scrupulously kept dining-rooms and kitchens, and, for the primary purpose of the school, a number of class-rooms. mr. gooding holds no light responsibility. his duty is to see that no man leaves the school to be attached to a division who is in the faintest degree lacking in all that goes to make an officer of the metropolitan police. tactful and sympathetic, a shrewd judge of character, able to discriminate between nervousness and stupidity, a disciplinarian, with a gift of lucid exposition, an organiser, and a man with a fixed belief in the honourable nature of his calling. that is superintendent gooding, and his characteristics are reflected in his staff. as the _corps d'élite_ of the police services of the world, the metropolitan police is careful in the selection of its men. before a candidate is admitted to peel house he must prove that he is of unblemished good character, be over twenty and under twenty-seven years of age, stand at least ft. ins. in his bare feet, and be of a strong constitution, free from any bodily complaint. then he is passed on to the school, which will be his home for at least eight weeks--unless before that time he is shown to be obviously unfit for the service. there he will work from nine in the morning till half-past seven at night, learning the thousand and one laws, written and unwritten, that a policeman has to obey. in cold black and white the curriculum, of which even a summary would occupy many thousand words, looks formidable. but so minutely, so lucidly is everything taught that a man of average intelligence finds no difficulty in grasping it. every contingency that a constable may have to face, from dealing with insecure cellar flaps to the best method of stopping a runaway horse, to action in cases of riot, and the privileges of ambassadors is gone into. nothing is omitted. and day after day the instructors insist: "remember, the honour of the service is in your hands; you are to serve, not to harass, the public." that is dwelt upon and reiterated until it is indelibly impressed upon the memory of the most dull student. a candidate begins in the fifth class. he is supplied with an official pocket-book and a thin paper-covered book called "duty hints" wherein is set forth, carefully indexed, a mass of concise information as to laws, regulations, addresses of hospitals, and so on. should he ever, when a fully-fledged constable, be in a difficulty he has but to refer to his "duty hints" to have his course made clear. it is, in fact, a _precis_ of the "instruction book," which deals with everything a police officer should know and be. he is told the difference between a beat and a fixed point. he is shown how to make a report, and warned of the perils of making erasures or tearing leaves from his pocket-book. the unobtrusive marks to be placed on windows, doors, walls, shutters, and padlocks so that he shall know if they have been disturbed are made clear to him. he is told what to do should there be a sudden death in the street, should the roadway subside, should a street collision occur, should a gas explosion occur, should he be assaulted. he is initiated into the mysteries of the dogs act, the highways act, the vagrancy act, the aliens act, the lottery act, the licensing act, the larceny act, the motor-car acts, the locomotive acts, the children's act, and others. nor is he merely crammed with these things. he has to know them, to be able to make a plain report, to answer an unexpected question. as he passes upwards to the first class his instructor reports as to his progress and prospects of becoming an efficient police officer. it is a tedious process, this hammering raw countrymen--for most of the candidates are from the country--into serviceable policemen. yet it is worth it. very craftily a candidate is instilled with the self-reliance and confidence so necessary in a police officer. he is not bullied or badgered. the staff patiently discriminate between nervousness and stupidity. the ordeal of giving evidence for the first time, for instance, is feared by a raw countryman, and for that reason a practical object-lesson is given to the senior classes at peel house once a week. three of the instructors play the part of shopkeeper, thief, and constable. little strain is put on the imagination of the men. they see everything for themselves, from the actual robbery to the procedure at police station and police court. in quiet, level tones mr. gooding gives the reason for every action taken. then the men are called upon, one by one, to take charge of the case. mr. gooding explains: "now take hold of your prisoner. no, no, you must not use ju-jitsu except in self-defence. take hold of your man firmly, so that he is in custody. that's it. bring him to the station. you will let him stand by the dock and outside. in no circumstances must a person be put in the dock unless he is violent. now i am the inspector on duty. what is this?" candidate: "at . this afternoon, sir, i was on duty in the strand, when i heard loud cries of 'stop thief!' i saw this man running towards me, closely followed by prosecutor. i stopped him till prosecutor came up, who said (referring to official pocket-book): 'this man has stolen a gent's gold wristlet watch from my shop , strand. i wish to charge him.' the prisoner then said: 'this is monstrous. i really must protest.' i then took him into custody and brought him here, sir." mr. gooding (suddenly): "suppose he had been a well-dressed man and had said, 'you're a fool, constable, i am lord so-and-so, and i shall report you to the commissioner for this stupid insolence'?" candidate: "i should have still brought him to the station, sir." mr. gooding: "why did you refer to your pocket-book for what he said? couldn't you remember it?" candidate: "yes, sir, but it is necessary to give the exact words as far as possible. i am not to put my own construction on what is said." so the case goes on, with now and again a little lecture in the law of evidence or the police regulations. "remember, the only evidence you may give is as to the prisoner's actions, your own actions, things said by the prisoner or in the prisoner's presence--_not_ things heard. in a court you swear to speak the whole truth--all you know in favour of, as well as against, a prisoner. it matters not a jot to you whether a man is convicted or discharged. you are not to judge. every person whom you have to take into charge must be considered as innocent, and is innocent in the eyes of the law, until proved guilty. don't forget that." after which the prisoner is searched, makes some remarks, and the charge sheet is signed. then there comes another little hint--one of vast significance in view of the misapprehensions of many of the public of the police system. "you must never take your own prisoner to the cells unless directly ordered to. a constable in reserve will see to that. a man may bear you ill-will and may assault you in the corridor or he may say that you have assaulted him. if you only bring him to the station such a charge can be easily refuted." it is in this manner that the constable is shown not only the purpose of the regulations but how easily a little thing may trip him up. following the charge-room procedure, the case is brought before a magistrate. each man is warned to state exactly what took place. the evidence is the same as at the station, but, in addition, the result of the search has to be stated, and what the prisoner said on being charged. a great trap this last. many of the men omit it altogether, and again and again the importance it might have as bearing on the guilt or innocence of the accused is pointed out. but always the instructors are kindly, forbearing, tactful. a man blunders. "perhaps you feel a bit nervous," says mr. gooding. "go to the other end of the room. the rest of the class look this way. now." and so the candidate gets through, without the disturbing effect of twenty or thirty pairs of eyes fixed on him. i cannot refrain from emphasising the manner in which the relations between police and public are dealt with during the training--a matter of greater importance, to my mind, than anything else taught in peel house. a course of lectures is interspersed with lessons and drill on, among others, the following subjects: truthfulness, civility, command of temper, inquiries by public, complaints by public, constable to readily give his number on request, tact, discretion, forbearance, avoidance of slang terms, necessity of cultivating power of observation, liberty of the subject (unnecessary interference, etc.), offences against discipline (drunkenness, drinking on duty, etc.) to familiarise the men with the surroundings, they are taken sometimes to a real police court while a magistrate is not sitting, and lectured on the surroundings. everything is done with the idea of wearing away their rough edges, of smoothing the path for them when they should come to have only their own knowledge to rely on. all that takes place at peel house is aimed to that end. there are classes on such subjects as reading, writing, grammar, composition, the use of maps, drawing plans. there is foot drill, swedish drill, revolver practice, and ambulance classes--all these in addition to an acquaintance with police law and the routine work of the force. as they progress they are taken to the black museum at scotland yard, where they are given a practical demonstration of the kind of tools criminals use--from scientific and complicated oxygen and acetylene apparatus, used to break into safes, to the simple but efficacious walking-stick to which may be attached a bird-limed piece of wood for lifting coins off a shelf behind a shop or public-house counter. so for eight weeks the candidate is taught the manner of work he will have to perform. he is given every opportunity to prove himself capable, but at any time he may be courteously told that he is not fitted for the work; or per cent. of the candidates are rejected for one reason or another before their term is over. but, thorough as the training is, no constable is considered fully qualified when he is drafted from peel house to a division. tuition, both theoretical and practical, still goes on while he is a unit in the station. he goes out with an older man to see how things are done, to learn his "beat" or "patrol." there is a class-room at the big police stations where his education is carried on. for a period too, he must attend an l.c.c. evening school. and at last he becomes a unit ranked efficient in the critical and criticised blue-coated army of which he is a member.[ ] footnote: [ ] peel house during the war has been temporarily converted into a club for overseas soldiers. chapter x. in a police station. ten o'clock at night, and the west end. in a back street a lonely blue lamp twinkled, a symbol of law and order placed high above the door of the police station. the street itself was appallingly quiet and gloomy. yet a few hundred yards away the radiantly lighted main thoroughfares seethed with thousands of london's pleasure seekers, and an incessant stream of cabs and motor cars flowed to and from restaurants and theatres. here were men and women in search of pleasure and excitement, and other men and women on the alert for opportunities of roguery that might present themselves amid the stir of gaiety. there were the "sad, gay girls" sitting in the night cafés and strolling the streets. pickpockets, beggars, and blackmailers were mingled with the crowds. a little later and unwise diners would begin to come unsteadily into the streets. the west end, as the police know, is always pregnant with possibilities. and things usually happen after the time i have sketched. a fight, a robbery, even a murder is always a contingency. there is a class of men and women who frequent the neighbourhood among whom passions run high. from a police point of view, it is a difficult place to handle--a district even more difficult than the east end, for here the iron hand must be concealed in the velvet glove. every officer, from constable to inspector, must be possessed of infinite tact and firmness. every man on patrol, point, or beat has usually at least one delicate decision to make in a night. yet the lonely blue lamp shines serenely, and serenely the constable on reserve duty at the door stands at ease. within, under the shaded electric lights, men are at work as quietly and methodically as though they did not hold the responsibility for the safety of one of the richest quarters of the richest city in the world in their hands for eight hours at least. during that time, as a rule, it is the busiest police station in london. for all that it has special problems to deal with, this station is typical in procedure, discipline, and other essentials to nearly two hundred others scattered over london. there can be no uniformity in the classes with which the metropolitan police has to deal. for the convenience of visitors and inquirers, a couple of waiting rooms are provided, a first and second class, so that the respectable citizen does not find himself in the unpleasant company of a "tough," who may be a pickpocket come to enquire about a friend's welfare, or a not too cleanly ticket-of-leave man. near by is the inspector's room, a lofty, well-lighted chamber furnished with high desks, tables, and a variety of official books and papers. everyone is quietly busy here, for there are always reports and records to be made of everything that occurs, of callers, complaints, lost property, inquirers, charges, particulars of persons reported for summonses. clerks in police officers' uniform bustle to and fro. in an adjoining room there are telegraphists and telephone operators receiving and dispatching messages. there are two telephones--one attached to the ordinary public system, the other to the private system of the metropolitan police. the telegraphs are a couple of tape machines--one for receiving, the other for dispatching. every message is automatically recorded. a small, quiet room, one side occupied by a couch, and all sorts of medical and surgical appliances at hand--this is the divisional surgeon's room. he lives close by and can be on the spot in three minutes, if necessary, but on busy nights he is at the station. on the first and second floors are the offices of the superintendent (for this is the chief station of the division) and the c.i.d. the detective force is a strong one, composed of men, specially picked--men of good appearance and address, who have never-ending work in the district. below the ground floor there are open pillared halls with asphalted floors where the men assemble for parade, and, before they are marched off under the command of their section-sergeants, have orders and information read to them. there is a drying-room through which a current of hot air continually passes, where an officer may place his sodden clothes after a wet day or night in the street, and a room where the instruction of young constables is continued under the supervision of a sergeant after they have been drafted from peel house. the personnel of the station is interesting. apart from the superintendent and the chief-inspector, who are in control of the whole division, it is in charge of a sub-divisional inspector, with a dozen or more other inspectors under him and over three hundred sergeants and constables. the bulk of the men are single--it is an expensive district for married men to find quarters in--and live, not at the station itself, but at a couple of section-houses some little distance away. there they have cubicles, where they sleep, big reception rooms, sitting-rooms, dining-rooms, a canteen, and all the comforts of a club. with these men a complex game of chess has to be played, varying according to the ever-changing conditions of the west end, where one day may see a suffragette window-smashing campaign, and the next a royal procession, and the following a riot in a park. to deal with these occasions a number of depots are available--private houses, garages, and other places where bodies of police may remain out of sight, but instantly available. there have been many fantastic stories told, to which the public lend a sometimes too ready ear, of what occurs in police stations. always one can find some person to assert positively that the police as a body are bribed by bookmakers or prostitutes--that, in fact, there exists a practical blackmail. these things were investigated and disproved at a royal commission some years ago. they are pure silliness. take the case of the police station with which i am dealing, situated where it might be supposed there were ample chances of such a thing. such a suspicion involves a gigantic conspiracy among more than men. and by the metropolitan police system every man promoted is transferred to another division, so that the rank and file would have to induce a continually changing series of strangers to connive at their malpractices. it is on the face of it absurd. i recall a little story which shows how keen an eye the public has for the probity of the police. a famous detective had occasion to question a veteran constable, and took him into a tea-shop to do so. at the close of the conversation he handed the officer a half-crown. a day or two later a highly respectable country vicar wrote to scotland yard. he had been having a cup of tea at a certain tea-shop. there he had seen a constable, mr. so-and-so, in talk with a suspicious character, and had seen money pass. of course, there was an investigation, and it was a long time before the "suspicious character"--who is one of the best-dressed men at scotland yard--heard the last of it. let us see the method of "taking a charge." prisoners, as they are brought in, are placed in one of a couple of large rooms, with a low partition, near the corridor, over which it is impossible for anyone to see them. there they are kept for a while until the inspector is ready to take the charge. presently they are ushered into the charge-room, a big apartment with a tall desk in the centre, and a substantial steel structure a few paces away--the dock. but the dock is not used nowadays except when a person is violent. the first charge is that of begging, the accused being a boy who looks , but says he is . the policeman who arrested him stands by his side, and a reserve man stands at attention a little distance away. the boy is quite at ease. there is little of the terror of the law here. he admits that he was begging, his father is on strike, and he hadn't done well at selling papers. "don't be frightened, my lad," says the inspector kindly. "what's your name? where do you live?" the boy hesitates, but at last gives an address. "he gave me a different address, sir," says the constable, and the boy hurriedly protests that he has told the truth now. "h'm," comments the inspector calmly. "look here, sonny, you don't want to stay here all night. you'll have to, you know, if we can't find your father. tell us the truth." the facts elicited, the boy is searched, the main contents of his pocket are a handful of coppers and a cigarette end. the inspector picks up the latter. "do you know it's against the law for a boy of to have cigarettes? all right. put him in the detention-room until his father comes. you'll be charged with begging, my boy." in an hour the youth is free, his father having entered into recognisances for his due appearance at the police court. it should be explained that no person is detained at the police station, except on a serious charge, who can prove his identity. often no further inquiry is necessary than reference to a directory. the detention-room, too, which is attached to every police station is intended to spare a respectable person the ignominy of the cells. it is a comfortably furnished room, with tables and chairs, and sometimes with a few papers and magazines. the charges begin to multiply towards midnight. there are several beggars, one of whom is a dirty, round-shouldered old ragamuffin with a long, matted beard. he cringes in front of the inspector's desk, and suddenly his hand flickers upwards with a deft movement. the next instant he is looking as innocent as though butter would not melt in his mouth. there is a sharp "put that down" from the reserve man, and it is discovered that a cigarette end taken from the boy has found its way to his pocket. he curses the keen-eyed officer as he is led away to the cells. then there are the "drunks," some quiet, some riotous, some still in a torpor, others defiantly asserting that they are perfectly sober. some of these latter are seen by the police-divisional-surgeon, who by now is in the station. the inspector sifts each case thoroughly, making sure that there is a _prima facie_ case before allowing the charge to proceed. it is at his discretion to grant or refuse bail. it is after one o'clock. a girl is brought in by a constable, pale and sullen, and with dark eyes a little apprehensive, a little triumphant. the officer handles a man's jacket carefully. the whole of one sleeve and one side of the coat is wringing wet--but it is with blood, not with water. it is a more serious case this--one of attempted murder, which later developed into one of murder. there was an altercation with a man, a lover who had abandoned her, and she stabbed him with a pocket knife, and waited without attempting to escape. an unsavoury, sordid drama, but it is treated in the same cool, business-like way as the other trivial charges. "i only meant to hurt him," says the girl, and she is led away by the matron. i may as well finish the story here. the man she had stabbed died in hospital, and she was charged with murder. eventually she was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to six weeks' imprisonment. in the intervals of taking charges, there are other things to be done. there is a woman half hysterical because her daughter is missing. a couple of people walk in to hand over a gold match box and a purse found in the streets. these things have to be entered in official documents for prompt communication to headquarters. the tape machine rattles out a report of an outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease in surrey, and fresh orders relative to the passage of cattle through london. this will have to be made known to the reliefs when they go out. a constable hurries in with the report that a window in a certain big business firm's premises is open. a man has been left to guard it. the inspector is a little impatient. "they're always leaving windows open," he says, and gives a few instructions. half a dozen men are sent out to surround the place, while a search is made for possible burglars. of course, there are none. the window has been left open by a careless clerk, which was what the police knew all along, but they could take no risks. several of the cells are occupied now. there are about a dozen of them all told. you pass through a locked door from the charge-room into a wide, stone-flagged corridor, lined on each side with massive doors. swing back one of these doors, and you will enter a high pitched room with a barred window at the farther end, and a broad plank running down one side, the full length of the cell. this serves either as a seat or a bed. washable mattresses and pillows are served out at night-time, and i can imagine that, if lonely, the cells are not uncomfortable. the doors lock automatically as they are swung to. there is an electric bell in each cell which communicates directly with the inspector's room. thus the senior officers are made responsible for sending to answer a prisoner's ring. besides these cells there are a couple of large apartments--technically also cells--where a large number of prisoners may be kept together. they are often useful when suffrage demonstrators are on the warpath, or when, say, a gambling raid has taken place. these, like the other cells, have what their most frequent occupants call "judas holes"--a small trapdoor which can be let down from outside to see that all is well within. the matron's room also opens into the corridor--a pleasant little chamber where often women prisoners who cannot be allowed bail, but whom it is felt should not be placed in a cell, are allowed to sit. i have said that all the prisoners are searched. this is done thoroughly with a twofold object--to ensure that no prisoner has means of doing himself bodily harm, and to discover whether he carries on him anything bearing on the charge, as, for instance, in a case of picking pockets. everything discovered has to be entered with particularity; but although such things as matches or a knife might be taken from a man, he would usually be left with his own personal property, watch, keys, pocket-book, money, and similar things. every person having business at a police station is treated with courtesy, whether prisoner or prosecutor. that is one of the rigid rules of the service which is rarely neglected. even the man on duty at the door is not allowed to ask a caller his business without permission. that is for a senior officer. i was much struck by the fair and impartial manner in which the inspector elicited the facts of a case before accepting a charge. always polite, with no leaning to one side or the other, he endeavoured by careful questioning to elicit whether an arrest had been made on reasonable grounds. there was no bullying, no taking it for granted, except in an obvious case of drunkenness, that a charge was proved. i have, perhaps, not made clear the distinction between reserve men at a station and reserve men in a division. the latter do ordinary duties, and are the first called upon in the event of emergencies anywhere in london. they receive a small sum in addition to their ordinary pay. the former are men who, instead of doing eight hours' duty in the street, do it at the station itself, and are available for any sudden contingency that may present itself within the subdivision. the personnel of the london police is, as i have indicated, selected and tested under the most rigorous conditions. no less relentless in the search for efficiency are the promotion conditions. the commissioner is an absolute autocrat so far as promotion is concerned, though, in practice, he usually acts upon the recommendation of the superintendents. a constable, before he is promoted, must serve at least five years--in practice, the average is eight years--and must then pass two examinations. one of these is set by the civil service commissioners to test his education, the other is an examination in police duty before a board of high officials. should he be approved then for promotion he is immediately transferred to another division. these examinations are carried out at every step in promotion. in the words of a keen american observer: "that such a system is successful in bringing to the front the best men available, that it is carried through without favouritism or political considerations, that, in its fairness and justice, it has the confidence of the uniformed force is a splendid commentary not only on the integrity of the commissioner and his administrative assistants but on the stability and sound traditions of the entire department." chapter xi. the riddle department. the perpetual solving of riddles is one of the commonplace duties of scotland yard, not only in the c.i.d., but in every branch of the business. luck may, and sometimes does, help a detective to solve a mystery; but luck never helps to quell a riot or maintain order on the king's highway in times of stress. it is for such matters as these that they keep a riddle department at headquarters. they call it the executive department, but no matter--as mark twain would say. it is there to supply the answers to the conundrums that are always cropping up in police work. everyone in the metropolitan police who wants to know anything goes to the executive department. and it does a heavy work by the sheer light of common-sense and a meticulous organisation which is ready for anything, for many of its riddles are simply variations of the great one: "here are twenty thousand men who must eat and sleep and guard seven hundred square miles and seven millions of people; how can we concentrate a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand swiftly into a particular district to meet an emergency without leaving other places unguarded?" an unthankful task. i can imagine that at times subdued but bitter revilings are heaped upon the head of the department. you cannot take men from the comparatively pleasant surroundings of the west end and dump them into dockland, for instance, without evoking grumbles. naturally, every division which is drawn upon thinks it ought to have been some other division. but discipline and tact do great things. rarely is there any cause for complaint, although the known fact that the force is undermanned naturally entails hardships on individuals at times. now let me introduce you to the riddle department at work. in the telegraph-room of scotland yard one of a cluster of tape machines breaks into hysterical chatter, and a constable springs to read the message of the unreeling coil of paper. it is a message from the east end. a riot has occurred which the local superintendent fears may become greater than the force at his disposal will be able to cope with. the constable dashes into an adjacent room with the message, and the superintendent of the department takes in its import at a glance. he picks up a typewritten table, and his finger glides to a particular spot. that table tells him how many men a , , or per cent. draft from neighbouring divisions will give. in another minute he is in consultation with sir frederick wodehouse, the assistant commissioner who controls the department, and possibly with sir edward henry himself. all three are men used to unhesitating decisions, and with an intimate knowledge of the force. a few sharp words and the private wires again begin to get busy. almost immediately the reserves from the neighbouring divisions commence to mobilise, and are poured into the disturbed area as swiftly as means of communication allow. it is a riddle solved with quiet precision, and no district is bereft of adequate guardianship. one of the exigencies of the business has been met. if the public ever thought about such a feat at all, they would consider it as something of a miracle. but it is not as spectacular as the catching of a criminal, and the only persons who call indirect attention to it are those who would have us believe that great, hulking policemen have batoned helpless men and women who were, of course, doing nothing, although broken bottles and stones may litter the thoroughfare where an affray has taken place. it is curious this suspicion of the police which sometimes affects otherwise clear-headed people. you pick out men whose character is without flaw from their childhood upwards. you put them into a blue uniform, and lo! their whole personality alters. they are hypocrites and bullies, bribed by bookmakers and prostitutes, and capable of any sort of baseness. let us return to the riddle department. the secret of dealing with such a happening as i have painted above lies naturally in the organisation. every division has a certain number of reserve men--approximately per cent. they are picked veterans of not less than eight years' service, who receive an additional eighteenpence per week, and must always be ready to carry out special work when called upon. these, then, are first called out, and other men are taken as occasion demands. there are other branches of the metropolitan police where a mistake would make havoc in a department or division; here it would affect the service as a whole. the executive department is as much concerned in the work of every other part of that complex machine as the engineers of a great ship are in keeping the vessel moving. sir frederick wodehouse, who is at its head, in his quarter of a century's service as police administrator--twelve of which have been spent with the city police and the remainder at scotland yard--has always been keenly alive to the necessity of keeping pace with the science of organisation. he has as his right-hand men superintendents west and white, who split up the work between them--one in charge of the executive department itself, the other supervising the statistical department. it will be understood why i call it a riddle department when i explain some of its duties. it is concerned with the discipline and administration of the force as a whole; the organisation of men when they have to be used in mass; it controls the public and private telephone and telegraph service of the force; it compiles statistics on all sorts of police subjects: it edits and issues "informations," "the inebriates' list," "the cycle list," "the pawnbrokers' list," reward bills, and police notices; it makes traffic regulations; it works with the board of agriculture when cattle disease breaks out; it issues pedlars' and sweeps' certificates; it keeps a gruesome record--a sort of photographic morgue--of all dead bodies found in london; and it has to give its consent before any summons may be taken out by a police officer. that is the merest inadequate list of its duties. while other departments are clean-cut, knowing where their work begins and ends, the executive department has no limit. anything that does not properly belong anywhere else goes to the executive department. that is why it specialises in solving riddles. it is in such a department as this that alertness of mind and elasticity of resource are developed. when war broke out, it had to spend many sleepless days and nights in what was practically a redisposition of the force. hundreds of the force had enlisted, and innumerable new duties and problems arose. a system of co-ordination between the immense new bodies of special constables and the regular force had to be evolved. depleted divisions had to be readjusted, men selected for particular work, a system of co-ordination with the special constabulary made, and a hundred re-arrangements made. so, when a great procession takes place, as at the coronation festivities, the most meticulous organisation is necessary. it seems simple to order so many men to arrange themselves at so many paces apart over a certain number of miles. but the problem is much more complex. first it has to be decided where the men are to come from. then they have to be disposed strategically so that no man shall be wasted where he is not needed; there have to be reserves ready at hand for emergencies; it has to be decided what streets shall be closed and when, what streets shall remain open; how a vast number of men shall obtain food and rest, and so on. all this without offending an eager populace, thronging the streets night and day, and without exposing outer london to the risk of marauders when its guardians are enormously diminished in numbers. we all know that it has been done, and how cheerfully every man in the force, from constable to commissioner, give up leisure and comfort to carry out the demands made upon them. but of the long, long planning and scheming we know little. the working out of draft schemes; the hours spent in conference with superintendents of divisions; the poring over maps and sectional plans--of this unceasing labour we never heard, although we accepted its result almost without comment. such work as this goes on whenever there is likely to be a gathering anywhere in london, be it a boat-race or a suffragette procession. a point that is always borne in mind, and which is emphasised in the "police code," is that "traffic should never be closed until the last moment consistent with public safety, and be re-opened as soon as possible." something of the same process goes on when there is a likelihood of riot and disorder, but in some contingencies it is often necessary to act immediately, as i have already pointed out. nevertheless, in a district where it is known that disorder may break out the police are usually reinforced beforehand. the department is responsible for the communications of scotland yard. the telegraphs and telephones are continually at work night and day. with a few exceptions, every station is linked by wire to headquarters. tape machines record every outgoing and incoming message so that a message is clear and unmistakable. one operator at work at scotland yard can send a message simultaneously to every main station. there is a private telephone system by which stations can talk with stations and headquarters without delay, and without fear of secrets being "tapped," and the public system is also used. it is not so very long ago that the only wire communication was by an antiquated a.b.c. instrument which worked laboriously and slowly, and such a thing as a telephone was undreamed of. then it was a matter of much formality and sometimes intolerable slowness for a provincial force to get in touch on a matter of urgency. now it is merely a question of a trunk call. this naturally brings me to a consideration of scotland yard in a new and little-known light--as a newspaper office. for daily, weekly, and evening papers are issued from the big, red-brick building. some of them are issued by the criminal record office, some by the executive department. it will be convenient, however, to deal with them in a mass. they are papers sometimes much more interesting and informative than those to be procured on the bookstalls, but much gold could not buy one for a private person. best known of all, perhaps, is the _police gazette_, a four-page sheet published on tuesdays and fridays, and issued broadcast over the kingdom. its correspondents are police officials everywhere. it publishes photographs occasionally, usually official ones taken in profile and side-face. it deals with what the newspapers call "sensations" unsensationally, and its editor is free from that bugbear of most editors--the fear of a libel action. the tuesday edition deals almost entirely with deserters from the navy and army, while friday's issue is concerned with bigger fry--criminals and crime. it is an interesting paper with an extensive circulation, and is, perhaps, more carefully read by those into whose hands it falls than any other publication, however fascinating. the official title of what may be called the evening paper is _printed informations_. this is a sheet about foolscap size, and its publication is confined to the metropolitan police. it is printed four times a day, except on sundays when it is issued twice, and distributed by brisk little motor cars among the various stations. some idea of its contents may be gathered from the headings: "wanted for crime," "in custody for crime," "property stolen," "property lost or stolen," "persons or bodies found," "persons missing," "animals lost or stolen." apart from these papers, which are purely confidential, there are other papers issued. there is the "black list" issued to publicans, with portraits and descriptions of persons to whom it is an offence to supply liquor, and the "pawnbrokers' list and cycle list," which has to be sent to those persons to whom stolen property might be offered for pledge or sale. these latter are distributed from each station by hand. it is at the statistical department that many of the riddles are fired. it has the record of each man in its files, knows his official character, his medical history, and so on. now and again some one wants to know how many street accidents occurred in london during a particular week. the department produces a carefully prepared table showing the number and details in each case. figures may be unattractive things, yet at any moment the statistics collected in that quiet, methodical office may have a direct effect on any one of london's teeming millions. when the order went forth that all cyclists in london should carry rear lights it was probably a string of figures put together in that department which was responsible--figures which showed the number of accidents that had been caused in the absence of any such precaution. it keeps track of everything done by the police, individually and collectively. ask how many charges were preferred by the police in one year. you will learn at once that there were , , that , summonses were issued by police officers, and , were served on behalf of private persons. there are about three hundred mounted police in the force, and these, as a whole, come under the control of the department, although at ordinary times they are attached to divisions. they used to be attached to the outer divisions, but it was found that they were too far away when an emergency arose, for, after all, the mounted man is of most use in controlling unruly crowds. so now they are with the inner divisions, within easy reach of the most crowded thoroughfares when needed. all the men in this branch of the service have been thoroughly trained in horsemanship, and those who have seen them at work on their adroit horses, keeping back a mass of pushing, struggling people, or dexterously dispersing a threatening crowd, know their worth as maintainers of order. both the executive and statistical departments are concerned with reports which are the basis of all discipline and organisation in the metropolitan police. the first--"the morning report"--is compiled by the superintendents of divisions, and passed and commented upon by the chief constables in charge of districts. this is london's bill of criminal health. it shows what has happened beyond the ordinary over seven hundred square miles in the preceding twenty-four hours. a murder, a riot, a robbery, a fire, a street collision--all things are recorded. every police station, it should be said, keeps an "occurrence book" and it is from this that the reports are compiled. then there is the "morning report of crime." this is largely the work of the divisional detective-inspectors. every crime for which a person can be indicted is included here, and an elaborate report of the steps that have been taken. comments are made upon this by both the chief constable of the district and the assistant-commissioner of the c.i.d.--commendations, reprimands, suggestions. the third report is the "morning state," which deals with matters of internal administration of the force itself--numbers available, disciplinary matters, affairs of health. all these reports ultimately reach the departments for record and for the transmission of orders. chapter xii. the sailor police. fantastic reflections dappled the pool of london--reflections from the riding lights of ships at anchor, and the brighter glare of the lamps of the bridges. they danced eerily on the swift-running waters of the river, intensifying the gloom of the black waters. here and there the darker blur marked where a line of barges was moored. the police-boat, its motor chug-chugging noisily, slipped unostentatiously behind one of the tiers of lighters. to my untrained eyes it was incredible that in the labyrinth of craft, amid the darkness, we should be able to pick our way. yet deftly, unerringly, the inspector moved the tiller, while two constables kept keen eyes on the motley assembly of vessels. a barge was swinging across the stream with two men at the sweeps. the tide caught it, and it dropped heavily down on us while we were trying to steal a passage athwart another vessel. the launch was caught between the two, and it seemed inevitable that our boat should crack like an egg-shell. with my heart in my mouth, i prepared to jump. but with swift precision the constables acted. holding tight to the gunwale they forced our boat over sideways, and we sidled through at an angle of forty-five degrees into open water. i looked for an expression of relief, but the men had calmly resumed their seats. the escape had been a matter of course to them, and they laughed when i spoke of it as an escape. for the men of the thames police take things as philosophically as sailors. it was all in the day's work to them. since then i have seen much of the men and methods of the force which guards the great highway of london. they have heavy duties to perform, and, from the rank and file to the superintendent, are adequately fitted for their work. the histories of some of those who wear the blue jacket with the word "thames" on the collar, and the peaked cap with the anchor badge, would make enthralling reading. there is divisional detective-inspector helden, who probably knows more of the ways of the waterside thieves than any man living. he is a linguist, as are many of his staff--a qualification much necessary in dealing with the cosmopolitan crews of ships plying to and from the port of london. there is an inspector who has saved three lives--a fact none the less noteworthy in that he holds the quaint superstition that all the troubles of those people will accumulate on his own unfortunate head. there is a bronzed, brown-moustached station-sergeant who had been around the world before he was twelve, and who has had strange adventures in every quarter of the globe. there are men drawn from the navy--and now serving again--the mercantile marine, and river craft. all have an intimate knowledge of that thirty-five mile stretch of river which passes through london from teddington to dartford creek. they know every eddy, every trick and twist of the tide; they know on any given day what boats are on the river, be they barges or liners; and they know the men who work them. the force is under the control of superintendent mann, who has had a varied experience of many years, and has brought a ripe knowledge of men and organisation to his work. there are five stations--at wapping, waterloo pier, barnes, blackwall, and erith--with a complement of men, fourteen launches and motor boats, as well as row-boats. the division possesses its own engineers and carpenters, and does its own building and repairs. now-a-days, men are only drafted to the division after serving for a time in the ordinary land force, but the rule has only been in force of late years, and consequently most of the men have spent their whole police career on the river. a different thing this to land work. in the whole thirty-five miles there are only five "sections." these are patrolled by series of boats putting off at different hours. for eight hours they ply to and fro, keenly vigilant, courteous as their colleagues in the west end, as helpful and resourceful in an emergency as men of the navy. sometimes a barge gets adrift. it has to be boarded and towed to safe moorings. some of these barges have valuable cargoes--tobacco, silk, and what not--and the incredible carelessness of the owners in not always providing a watchman presses hardly on the police, who may, perhaps, have to spend a whole night in looking after some single craft. there was a case in which a barge broke adrift with £ , worth of goods aboard. "oh, that would have been all right," said the owner off-handedly, when told that it had been safely looked after. "it would have come to no harm." not a word of thanks. and that attitude is a typical one. the patrol-boats beat to and fro, each with two men and a sergeant, in all weathers, amid blinding sleet and snow in the winter, fog in november, and more pleasantly on summer nights. eyes are strained through the darkness at the long tiers of barges, ears are alert to catch the click of oars in rowlocks. they know who has lawful occasion to be abroad at such times. occasionally the sergeant hails some boat. he can usually identify the voice of the man who replies, but should he fail to do so, the police-boat slips nearer. a stranger or a suspicious character is invited to give an account of himself. should he not be able to do so satisfactorily, he is towed along to the nearest police station until inquiries have been made. sometimes, not often, when a man, who on the river corresponds to the sneak thief ashore, is caught red-handed stealing rope or metal or ships' oddments there is resistance. but always the police win. they know the game. a hand-to-hand struggle in a swaying boat, even a fall overboard with a desperate prisoner, does not concern them greatly. "you see," explained a veteran to me, "if you fall out while you've got hold of a man it's ten to one that he tries to get his breath as he goes under. that makes matters worse for him. all you do is to hold your breath, and let him wear himself out. he's usually quiet enough when you come up again." of course, every man in the division is an expert swimmer. there are other tricks of boatcraft in such a case which all river-police officers know. the flashing of a light is an equivalent of a police-whistle ashore, and will bring the assistance of any police-boat in sight. at the floating police-station at waterloo pier a dingey is always in readiness to put off to rescue would-be suicides who fling themselves from the "bridge of sighs." in the little station itself there is a bathroom with hot water always ready, and every man in the division is trained to the schafer method of resuscitation of the apparently drowned. a still more grim side of the work is the finding of dead bodies. the average number is somewhere around a hundred a year. most of these are suicides, a few accidents. the duties of the patrols are to keep vigil over the river and its banks. there are other patrols at work for the customs and the port of london authority, who see that the revenue is not defrauded, and that the traffic regulations are kept. but this does not free the police from all responsibility in these matters. here are a few of the things they have to do:-- secure drifting barges and inform owner, detect smuggling, illegal ship-building or illegal fitting out for service in a foreign state, report damaged cargoes or food, and offences against the port of london authority's bye-laws, arrest any drunken person navigating a boat, detect cases of navigation without sufficient free-board below battersea bridge, search all suspicious-looking craft, inform harbour-master of vessel sunk or dangerous wreckage adrift, report wrecks to lloyd's. there is more--much more. for instance, all manner of craft have to be watched to see that they do not carry more passengers than their licence permits, that obstruction is not caused by mooring across public stairs, that more than the fixed fare is not demanded by watermen, that no boat is navigated for hire without a licence, and so on. detective-inspector helden and his staff of the criminal investigation department of the division are the most dreaded enemies of the river thieves. time was, when the "light-horsemen" of the river were in their heyday, that £ , worth of property was stolen annually. that has been reduced to less than a couple of hundred pounds--a comparatively trivial, insignificant figure. it is to both branches of the river police that those who use the river owe this complete immunity from theft. every man of the c.i.d. in the division has a complete knowledge of thieves and receivers on whom it is necessary to maintain constant surveillance. marine store dealers and old metal dealers are kept in close touch, for it is to them that the odds and ends of ship equipment might be taken by a dishonest sailor or watchman. one of the most famous of river thieves was a man whom the public knew as "slippery jack." he made a rich harvest until he was laid by the heels. almost naked, and his skin greased lavishly, he would slip aboard likely-looking craft in search of plunder. if he were disturbed, he would dodge away, his greased skin aiding him if anyone attempted to seize him. he was tracked down one evening to blackfriars, where he backed his boat into midstream and turned at bay with a vicious sheath-knife. only after a fierce struggle, in which the police did not escape scot free, was he arrested. his exploits cost him ten years' penal servitude. it was the detective branch of the thames police that solved the complicated mystery of a supposed case of murder which attracted much public attention at the time. the full facts have never been made public, and may be interesting. in august, , the body of a naked man was found floating near the tower bridge. a line was woven tightly round the body, arms and neck, and a doctor stated that the body must have been in the water about three weeks, that death was due to strangulation, and that he thought it impossible for the man to have tied the rope round himself, though it must have been tied before death. a woman identified the body as that of her husband, von veltheim--he who shot woolf joel in johannesburg and was later sentenced at the old bailey for the blackmail of mr. solly joel--and a jury brought in a verdict that "death was caused by strangulation whether amounting to murder the evidence fails to show." here were all the elements of the mystery that might have puzzled sherlock holmes. the detectives began to puzzle it out. they were all watermen, and knew, what the doctor had apparently overlooked, that a body will often swell after prolonged immersion in water. although the rope was woven tightly about the body there was only one actual knot. they came to a directly opposite conclusion to the doctor--that the rope had somehow enwound itself round the man after he was in the water, and that the swelling of the body had tightened it. they began to make enquiries. soon they discovered that a seamen named john duncan had vanished from the ship _thames_, moored at carron wharf, near tower bridge. also a piece of "throw line" similar to that twisted round the body was missing. also that duncan, the last time he was seen alive, had declared his intention of taking a bathe. these facts made it easy for the sailor police to reconstruct the tragedy. duncan was unable to swim. he attached one end of the rope round his chest and fastened the other end to the ship. then he had slipped overboard among the piles of the wharf. by some means the end of the rope in the ship became detached. duncan struggled to save himself and the rope became entangled about him. that was the solution of what seemed a baffling problem. the men of the division receive the same pay as men ashore, but they are a class entirely apart. on land, men are transferred from division to division as they are promoted, or as occasion demands. on the river this system does not apply in practice. most of the men spend their whole police career on the water, for it takes so long to make the complete police officer of the thames division, and a man once trained is too valuable to be used for other work. chapter xiii. the black museum. outside scotland yard they call it the "black museum"; within, it is simply the "museum"--a private museum the like of which exists nowhere else in the world. money cannot purchase access to it, and curious visitors are only admitted on orders signed by senior executive officials who know them personally. for the museum contains too many of the secrets of crime to be a wholesome place for the general public, although the indiscriminate publicity that it has suffered in print has made it appear to be a kind of gratuitous show-place. if that were its only purpose, it would not exist at scotland yard. it was originally established, some forty years ago, in a cellar of old scotland yard, as a place where young police officers might get an elementary acquaintance of the ways and appliances of evil-doers. gradually relics of great crimes began to accumulate there until there are now over six hundred exhibits, ranging over the whole gamut of criminal activity. there is much, perhaps too much, to appeal to the morbid-minded--revolvers by the score, wicked-looking blood-stained knives, hangmen's ropes, plaster casts of murderers taken after death; but more interesting are the tools and equipment of the professional thief and swindler, by which demonstrations are made to raw policemen of the weapons with which his adversaries wage their war upon society. in one case it is an innocent-looking ring, now palpably tarnished brass. but examine it, and you will find that it bears a tolerable imitation of an eighteen-carat hall-mark. when it was fine and bright it was picked up in the street, very ostentatiously, by an astute gentleman who promptly sold it for as much as he could get from a passer-by, who had probably thought it a bargain when he noticed the forged hall-mark. that same trick flourishes to-day, as it flourished over a century ago when sir john fielding issued a warning to the public. close by are a little heap of white sapphires, calculated at one time, with their glitter and dazzle when set as "diamond" rings, to deceive all but the most sophisticated of pawnbrokers. similarly so, "field-glasses" stamped with the names of famous makers. these are little things, perhaps, but they give the most trusting of young constables some ideas of "ways that are dark and tricks that are vain." publicans and pawnbrokers seem to be the invariable victims of a certain type of swindler. there is a walking-stick, innocent enough to all appearance, but with a tong-like attachment which, at the touch of a spring, will jump out of the ferrule, enabling a wineglass full of coins to be lifted from a shelf across the counter. a glazed black bag with hinged bottom, which may be placed over any article and automatically swallow it is another ingenious invention. all these, however, are byways of crime. there is much more to be absorbed by the learner in police science. here he is shown the different types of jemmies, and bars of steel so fashioned that they may be used as chisels or levers. here are bunches of skeleton keys which, in the hands of experts, will open any ordinary lock in the world. a massive steel implement shaped like a gigantic tin-opener, and used to rip open the backs of safes, is another item in the collection. there are vice-like tweezers which, when properly screwed up, will cut quietly through the bolts of, say, a jeweller's shutters. still more scientific is a complicated apparatus with tubes in which oxygen and acetylene gas are used to melt through safes with a fierce heat--a quieter, less clumsy, and more effective method than the use of explosives. it would take more space than is at my command to detail all the practical instruction which is afforded by the object lessons the young constable has in the museum. not only is he initiated into wrinkles and tricks which he may meet any day, but he is shown into those more subtle branches of crime which few but specialists enter. coining is a case in point. there is a complete coiner's outfit--which, for obvious reasons, i shall not describe--and the process is explained from a to z. now-a-days the "smasher" is a difficult individual to circumvent. he works preferably with real silver, and with coins like sixpences and shillings which are not so closely scrutinised as those of higher denominations. of course, even in a genuine sixpence the silver is not worth its face value. a step higher in the criminal hierarchy is the forger. of his handicraft, specimens are not lacking. there are relics seized when a notorious forger went into forced seclusion for ten years some time ago. he manufactured bank of france thousand-franc notes and foreign bonds, and even used lithographic stones to imitate the water-mark. photography played an important part in his operations. i have shown, sketchily perhaps, how the primary function of the museum is carried out. but it has another and allied interest of great importance to all interested in police science. one may study the stages by which the professional criminal has adapted the work of invention to his ends, and mark at the same time how the swindler always strikes the same old chord of credulity in human nature. dropped in one of the corners is a heavy bar of brass, originally in the possession of an early gold-brick swindler. mr. albert blair hunter, of wilmington, delaware, u.s.a., communicated with two gentlemen in this country, stating that a wealthy relative had died possessed of considerable property, among which was a box of gold from klondike, value £ , . for various plausible reasons he was willing to dispose of it to them for £ , . the good, simple-minded souls went to new york, and handed solid english money to that amount over to mr. albert blair hunter, of wilmington, delaware, u.s.a. for what? a bar of brass worth perhaps twenty shillings sterling. gambling swindles are numerous, seized for the most part on race-courses. a little tee-to-tum, marked with dice faces, can be manipulated so as to fall high or low, according to the betting, irrespective of the person who holds it, so long as he does not know the secret. there is a board with a dial face and a pointer on a print. the luckless "punters" cannot tell that it is controlled by a magnetic ring. into these mysteries the police are initiated. the policy of education at the museum is a wise one, for many young constables, whatever their natural abilities, come fresh to london from the plough, and no more reliable method of destroying a too trustful faith in appearances could have been devised than this which shows them the actual equipment of criminals. i have deliberately avoided giving too close a description of these things. nor have i in any way given a complete description of the museum. the mere manuscript catalogue occupies two portly volumes. each of the relics contains a story in itself,--a story that has often ended in a shameful death. to recall them would be beyond the scope of this book. chapter xiv. public carriages. "keep very still, please. thank you." a constable replaced the cap on the lens of a big camera, and with a sigh of relief a man rose from the chair where he had been seated under a cardboard number. it was the photograph-room of scotland yard, through which every cab-, omnibus-, and tram-driver, and every conductor has to pass once in three years. "the yard" is as careful with a cabman on licence as with a convict on licence, although for different reasons. but the chief idea is the same--the safety and comfort of the public. there are thousands of dossiers stored in the vaults, which give a complete history of each man holding a licence in connection with a public vehicle--records of warnings, convictions, medical tests, and so on. officially stamped photographs are placed on every document which passes into a man's possession, so that there can never be cases of personation, such as i believe have happened many years ago. it is no mean work that is performed by the public carriage department, although it is done quietly, smoothly, and for the most part out of sight of the public. not a cab, omnibus, or tramway car that plies for hire in the metropolis--and they average about , a year--but has passed stringent tests by experts, and this applies equally to the men in charge. every human precaution that years of experience can suggest is taken to guard against the passing on the streets of any man or vehicle that might be a nuisance or a danger in congested traffic. rigid regulations, numbering forty in the case of taxicabs, and sixty-two in the case of motor omnibuses, insist upon details as far apart as adequate brakes and freedom from noise. we speak about the perils of the street; but they would be increased, perhaps tenfold, but for the unobtrusive care of the public carriage department. there are other detectives at scotland yard than those of the criminal investigation department--detectives, that is, in all but name--for the control and supervision of traffic does not end with the issue of an annual licence. there are fifty skilled men dotted about london, all holding certificates of proficiency in motor engineering, who exercise a constant surveillance. quick of eye and keen of hearing, they keep unceasing watch on all public vehicles. an unusual sound as a motor omnibus passes may tell them something is wrong with the engine. thereafter the proprietors are warned not to use the car until the defect has been remedied. or they may station themselves unexpectedly at the gate of a garage, and test the brakes and steering gear of every car that passes in or out. that this is no mere formality is shown by the fact that on one morning an officer stopped no fewer than forty taxicabs from going on the streets. indeed, during the last year for which figures are available officers of the department reported , vehicles as unfit for use. in some it was merely a question of noise or a trifling fault easily remedied. in others the trouble might easily have caused a bad accident. the principle acted upon throughout the department is that prevention is better than cure. whenever a car of a new type is devised, be it a cab, an omnibus, or a tramway car, scotland yard examines it, and, if necessary, calls in a consulting expert for advice. should the type be suitable, similar vehicles are afterwards examined by local staffs of the department--there are twelve of these in london--and a certificate presented by the maker that there has been no variation in the type. in the early days of motor omnibuses complaints in shoals were received by scotland yard from tradesmen, private individuals, borough councils, and others as to the frightful noises made by them when running. that resulted in the establishment of a committee of high executive officials for the testing of every motor omnibus in respect of noise before it is licensed. pass through great derby street into new scotland yard any day after ten o'clock, and you will find always a number of men clustered about a low building and in the little square. they are drawn from all types and classes, and all are candidates hopeful of obtaining their licences. a would-be taxi-driver--an "original" he is technically termed--has to be clean in dress and person and not under five feet in height. two householders who have known him personally for three years must give him a good character. a doctor is required to certify that he does not suffer from any ailment, that he is sufficiently active, that he does not smoke or drink excessively, and that he is fitted for his duties by temperament. after this he will be permitted to undergo examinations in fitness and knowledge of driving. it is a tight-meshed net through which an incompetent would find it hard to pass. but it is the topographical examination that undoes most of the "originals." i went through a couple of large waiting-rooms; hanging on the walls of one was a slip of paper with the name of one man. "there were twelve yesterday," said my guide; "he was the only one to get through." and then he told me something of the history of the man whose name was hanging solitary on the wall. it was not an altogether unusual one in that building. the candidate, a university man, had been in possession of an income of about £ , a year. he had been neither reckless nor extravagant, but suddenly, at the age of forty, with no trade or profession in his hands, he had seen his fortune lost. so he had taken his place among the "originals" and had started in the world anew as the driver of a taxicab. at the end of the waiting-room there are two little apartments, each containing one table and a chair; there the "originals" are examined in topography, _viva voce_, one at a time. now, it is sometimes asserted that trick questions are put to candidates. that is not so. there are twenty-five lists officially laid down, each of eighteen questions, and one of these lists the candidate has to answer. here are typical routes which a candidate has to describe:-- st. james's park railway station to baker street railway station, clapham junction to brixton theatre, hop exchange to royal exchange. the names are sometimes varied. for instance, the second might be "from the south-western police court to lambeth town hall," or the third "london bridge station to the mansion house." but in each case the route is practically the same. thus a complaint of unfairness can be checked by reference to the record kept by the examiner of the list he used. some of the men present themselves again and again. in , of "originals" only passed, yet there were , separate examinations. omnibus drivers and ex-horse-cab drivers do not have to pass this topographical test. but all alike have to undergo a driving test of the type of vehicle for which a licence is required. first of all, there is a preliminary examination in the yard, so that an examiner is not called upon to risk life and limb--to say nothing of those of the public--before he is sure that the candidate has at least a rudimentary knowledge of driving. afterwards, there is a more complete test under the difficult conditions of the west end. should a man fail at his first test, he is not allowed to appear again for fourteen days; if at his second, he is put back for a month; at his third, for two months. his failure at his fourth and final examination is inexorable. ex-horse-cab drivers are allowed two extra tests. a fee of a half-crown is payable for each of the last two tests. the necessity of these precautions is evident when it is considered what harm might be done by an ignorant, careless, dishonest, or short-sighted driver, yet i have come to the conclusion that when a cabman gets his licence he has earned it. but the public carriage department has first of all to consider the safety of the public. i have tried to make clear some of the work that devolves upon the staff. but that is by no means all. now and again a warning has to be issued to drivers and proprietors on some particular subject. here is a typical one: special notice. "in view of the number of accidents in the streets of the metropolis, and of the numerous complaints of the public as to the reckless driving of certain drivers of public vehicles, the commissioner of police gives notice that every case of conviction for dangerous and reckless driving will entail serious consequences, and the renewal of the drivers' licences may be imperilled. "repeated convictions for exceeding the speed limit by drivers of public vehicles will be considered to constitute evidence of reckless driving." such hints bring home to drivers a remembrance that their livelihood depends upon their good conduct. they never know when they may be under surveillance, and they know that every time they transgress it is entered in the records, which are scrutinised when an application comes for a renewal of licence. nearly licences were cancelled or recalled in . there is a committee of appeal at scotland yard, to which most cases of this kind are referred, so that no man is deprived of his licence without a fair hearing and reasonable cause. this committee heard no fewer than , cases during . some of us may recall painful memories of the early days of taxicabs, when taximeters were not altogether above suspicion, and deft manipulation with a hatpin or some other jugglery was possible, by which fares and cab-owners were defrauded. those days have passed. a taximeter when it has once been sealed by scotland yard is now a sternly conscientious instrument, with a regard for the truth that might shame george washington. there is a separate register of taximeters kept cross-indexed to cabs, so that the number of the latter is all that is necessary to reveal the record of a particular taximeter. eight different kinds of badges are issued, varying in colour. thus an officer can tell at a glance who holds a conductor's licence, who has a horse-cab licence and who a taxi-cab licence. in a few cases composite badges are allowed, by which a man may act either as driver or conductor, or as driver of a horse or motor vehicle. all men of the department are police officers, but they are something more. they are living directories of london and its suburbs from colney heath, herts, to todworth heath, surrey, from lark hall, essex, to staines moor, middlesex; they are skilful engineers; they have a keen eye for the defects and qualities of a horse; they can drive a horse or a motor car, they know the conditions of traffic in piccadilly circus or in the deserted roads about croydon. above all, and in this they are again police officers, they have a very sure appreciation of human nature. they do not harass those with whom they are concerned unnecessarily, but whether it is the london county council, a powerful omnibus corporation, or an unlucky hansom driver, they act impartially, without fear or favour. outside their own province they have nothing to do with crime, though it sometimes happens that their records are useful to other departments of scotland yard. in reality, the actual police functions of the public carriage department are few, and for this reason there are people who hold that it should be entirely separated from the force. the argument is a forcible one, yet it is not complete. time was when all licences were issued from somerset house. but even then the police were asked to carry out certain enquiry work. it has been suggested that the london county council should take it over. but the london county council is not an impartial body in regard to public carriages. it owns tramway cars which are run in opposition to motor omnibuses. a traffic board for london might solve the difficulty. but, however plausible such theoretical reasons for separating this work from the police may sound, one thing is certain. the duties could not be more efficiently performed than they are at present. a perfect system has been devised by which not only are the perils of the street minimised for pedestrians, but the comfort and convenience of all who travel by public vehicles are ensured, whether it be the millionaire in a taxi, or the factory hand in a workman's tramway car. the public carriage department has learnt its business. it has grown up with the growth of motor traction. it knows the tricks of the trade, and those who would throw dust in its eyes must needs be ingenious. to hand over its duties to an outside body would result, at any rate for a time, in something like chaos. chapter xv. lost, stolen, or strayed. this is the legend of the lost centipede that once held undisputed sway of the lost property office at scotland yard before it came to an untimely end. it arrived with a cab-driver, housed in a little tin box, comfortably lined and pierced with air-holes. casually an official opened the box, caught one glimpse of its contents, and jumped for safety while the centipede pleased at the opportunity of stretching its multitude of legs, cantered incontinently for the shelter of a pile of lost articles. but even a centipede cannot defy scotland yard with impunity. the forces of the law rallied, and, headed by an intrepid inspector with a fire shovel, eventually tracked down the insect--or should it be animal?--and placed him under arrest. trial and execution followed summarily, and the honest cab-driver went empty away. the lost property office is not, as is popularly supposed, a general depository for all articles found in london. it receives only things found in public carriages--tramway cars, omnibuses, and cabs. other articles are dealt with by the police in the divisions where they happen to be found. but, even as it is, it keeps a large staff busy month in, month out. in the basement of scotland yard there are many rooms filled with articles varying from a navvy's pickaxe to costly jewels. take an example of one year's working of the department. there were , articles deposited. here is a rough classification of things dealt with in one year: bags , men's clothing , women's clothing , jewellery , opera glasses purses , rugs sticks , umbrellas , watches miscellaneous articles , of each of these things a minute record is taken before it is stored in one of the large rooms, with barred windows, in the basement. umbrellas, sticks, and bags, for instance, are classified, each under half a dozen or more heads, and the card index with different coloured cards for various months, enables an article to be discovered instantly. articles to the value of £ , were restored to their owners. suppose you left an umbrella in a cab on june th, enquiry at scotland yard would enable it to be picked out at once, if it had reached them. you describe it as having a curved handle, mounted with imitation silver. at once an official turns to the blue cards in the index. under "umbrellas" he turns to the subdivision w.m.c., which, being interpreted, means "white metal crook handle," and your umbrella is handed back to you. but you do not get it for nothing. there is a reward to pay to the cabman. in the case of an umbrella, or such small article, your own suggestion will be probably adopted, but on most things the scale fixed for gold, jewellery, and bank notes applies. this is, up to £ , s. in the £, and over that sum an amount to be fixed by the commissioner. the rewards paid out annually form no inconsiderable sum. recently figures have not been published, but an idea can be obtained from those given a year or so ago. then , drivers and conductors shared between them nearly £ , . one lucky cabman got £ ; six received between £ and £ . these rewards are mostly for articles claimed, which numbered , of the declared value of £ , , out of , . the rest, with a few exceptions, were returned to the finders after an interval of three months. this return to cabmen and conductors is an act of grace--not a right. in some cases where a thing is of value, and remains unclaimed, it is sold, and a percentage of the proceeds given to the finder. while i was in the office a black cat strolled leisurely out from behind one of the crowded sacks, and rubbed itself against the knee of one of the officials. "left in a tram car," he explained. "we had a tortoise, some gold fish, and a canary a few days ago, but they have been claimed. it was suggested that we might save space by having the cat look after the fish and the canary, but we did not think it advisable." almost any kind of a shop might be stocked with the loot of the lost property office. there are false teeth, books, golf clubs, pickaxes, snuff-boxes, and ladies' stoles, stuffed fish, and wax flowers, petrol, and motor tyres, boots, and watch-chains, every conceivable kind of portable property that an absent-minded person might forget. each month's articles are kept separate, so that at the end of three months unclaimed things can be dealt with. a great safe swallows up all articles of jewellery or money of the value of £ or more. i have seen a cabman hand over the counter an exquisite pearl worth several hundred pounds. it was examined, and then carefully sealed and placed in the safe. constant handling of these things has made the officials quick and accurate judges of their value. the authorities are not content to merely look after articles until they are claimed. every effort is made to trace the losers, and a large clerical staff is constantly at work sending out letters where the property is marked or identifiable in any way, or where a cabman has remembered the address to which he has carried the supposed losers. more than , letters are sent out annually in such cases, and there are, in addition, something like , written enquiries to answer in a year. this alone will show something of the monstrous business with which the officials have to deal. there is, of course, a constant stream of enquirers at the two offices, one at each side of the great red-brick building. one of these offices receives lost articles, the other restores them. intermediately there are the vast store-rooms through which the accumulations progress every month, till in the third month all unclaimed things are ready to hand in the "outgoing" office. nothing but a well-organised system could avoid confusion, and confusion there is none. it is all part of a great business conducted on business principles. every article, every farthing of money is recorded, with the circumstances under which it found its way to the lost property office and its description, so that of the scores of thousands of things which pass through the hands of the officials, a ready history of each one can be quickly referred to. there are queer visitors sometimes--persons who make preposterous claims for something they may have heard has been lost. these are firmly but effectively dealt with. on the other hand, sometimes articles of value are never claimed solely for the reason that their owners have no wish to make known their movements or whereabouts on a particular day. now and again the authorities find it necessary to remind people of the existence of the lost property office. the following advertisement is typical of those inserted in daily newspapers periodically: "metropolitan police.--found in public carriages and deposited with police during june and july, numerous articles, including a bank note, a purse containing cash, a bracelet set stones, and a purse containing a bank note. application for property lost in public carriages should be made personally, or by letter, to the lost property office, new scotland yard, s.w. office hours, a.m. to p.m." once every three months articles that have been unclaimed are sold by auction. the average proceeds of these sales are about £ , which is handed over to the board of inland revenue. the metropolitan police receive no benefit from the vast machinery they keep in motion to guard the public from its own carelessness. i cannot do better than conclude this chapter with the advice proffered to all those who use public vehicles: "the very great majority of articles deposited have been left _inside_ cabs. hirers, therefore, might with advantage make it a rule not to pay and discharge the cab before they are satisfied that nothing is left in the cab." printed by hamptons ltd., , , and , cursitor street, london, e.c. transcriber's note: minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. the old man's bag t. w. h. crosland and j. r. monsell the dumpy books for children no. . the old man's bag. the dumpy books for children. _cloth, royal mo, / each._ i. the flamp, the ameliorator, and the schoolboy's apprentice. by e. v. lucas. ii. mrs. turner's cautionary stories. edited by e. v. lucas. iii. the bad family. by mrs. fenwick. edited by e. v. lucas. iv. the story of little black sambo. illustrated in colours. by helen bannerman. v. the bountiful lady. by thomas cobb. vi. a cat book. portraits by h. officer smith. text by e. v. lucas. vii. a flower book. illustrated in colours by nellie benson. text by eden coybee. viii. the pink knight. illustrated in colours by j. r. monsell. ix. the little clown. by thomas cobb. x. a horse book. illustrated in colours. by mary tourtel. xi. little people: an alphabet. illustrated in colours by henry mayer. verses by t. w. h. crosland. xii. a dog book. illustrated in colours by carton moore park. text by ethel bicknell. xiii. the adventures of samuel and selina. illustrated in colours by jean c. archer. xiv. the little girl lost. by eleanor raper. xv. dollies. illustrated in colours by ruth cobb. verses by richard hunter. xvi. the bad mrs. ginger. illustrated in colours by honor c. appleton. xvii. peter piper's practical principles. illustrated in colours. xviii. little white barbara. illustrated in colours by eleanor s. march. xix. the japanese dumpy book. illustrated in colours by yoshio markino. xx. towlocks and his wooden horse. illustrated in colours by honor c. appleton. text by alice m. appleton. xxi. the three little foxes. by mary tourtel. illustrated in colours. xxii. the old man's bag. by t. w. h. crosland. illustrated in colours by j. r. monsell. xxiii. the three goblins. by m. e. taggart. illustrated in colours. _a cloth case to contain twelve volumes can be had, price s. net; or the first twelve volumes in case, price £ net._ london: grant richards, leicester square. [illustration: the old man went for a walk and took the bag with him.] the old man's bag by t. w. h. crosland pictures by j. r. monsell london: grant richards illustrations. the old man went for a walk _frontispiece_ page the old man said "chuck, chuck!" the red policeman ran after him "whatever are you laughing at?" she took the bag down "butter is cheap to-day" "you are a very foolish old woman" who should step in but the red policeman "please measure me for a soldier's suit" he began to strut about the old woman was knocking apples off a tree burnt the pieces on the fire the old man's bag. chapter i. the old man lived in a wood. he had a wife and a bag. the bag was quite a large bag. one day the old man went out for a walk. he took the bag with him. by and by he saw a hen in a field. now when you see a hen in a field you say "chuck, chuck!" the old man said "chuck, chuck!" and the hen came to him. so that he caught her by the neck and put her in his bag. she made a great to-do, but he put her in. [illustration: the old man said "chuck, chuck!" and the hen came to him.] on his way home, just as he turned a corner, the old man saw a policeman. the policeman had a red suit. he was one of those policemen who wear red suits because they are tired of wearing blue. the red policeman looked very hard at the old man and very hard at his bag. in fact he looked so very very hard that the old man got frightened and turned round and ran away. of course the red policeman ran after him. when they had run about five miles the old man dropped his bag in order that he might run quicker. the red policeman had made up his mind to catch him; so that he did not stop to pick up the bag but kept on running after the old man. at length when they had run about ten miles he caught him. [illustration: the red policeman ran after him.] "now, sir," said the red policeman, "what have you got in that bag?" "nothing," said the old man. "oh, you wicked old person," said the red policeman. "you know perfectly well that you have a hen in it. but you must come back with me, and we will soon find out." so the red policeman took the old man back to the place where he had dropped the bag. the bag was there, and the red policeman picked it up and opened it with great care. but the hen had got away. there was a big hole in the corner of the bag, and through this the hen had squeezed herself and run home as fast as ever she could. when the policeman found that the bag was empty he looked much puzzled. the old man for his part smiled a great deal. "i told you there was nothing in it," he said. the red policeman said, "well, i expect i shall have to let you go this time. but mind you don't do it again." and the old man went home quite cheerfully with his bag under his arm. chapter ii. when the old man got home to his house in the wood he hung the bag up tidily on a nail. then he sat down in a chair and began to laugh. he laughed for nearly a quarter of an hour by the clock. at length his wife came in to him from the garden and said, "whatever are you laughing at?" [illustration: "whatever are you laughing at?"] "oh," replied the old man, holding his sides, "i am so amused!" then he went on laughing. he laughed so much indeed that the tears came into his eyes and he nearly choked. his wife had to pat his back and give him a drink of water to put him right. then he told her what had happened. how he had put a hen in his bag, how the red policeman had run after him, how he dropped the bag and let the policeman catch him, and how when the policeman took him back to the bag, the hen was gone. "did she open the bag and fly away?" said the old woman. "no," said the old man. "she got out through that hole in the corner." "ah," said the old woman, "i must sew up that hole." and she took the bag down from its nail and sewed up the hole. for she was a very neat woman and she did not like to see holes in bags. [illustration: she took the bag down and sewed up the hole.] chapter iii. the next day was market day. on market day people who have butter or cheese to sell take it into the market to sell it. and people who have money and happen to want butter or cheese go into the market to buy it. the old man's wife had nothing to sell. neither had she any money. but she wanted some butter very badly. so she took the old man's bag off the nail and carried it to market. she walked round the market with the bag under her arm and looked at all the stalls and enquired how much the strawberries were a pound; but she did not buy anything because she had no money. in a little while she came to a stall on which there were six rolls of fine fresh butter, and in front of them was a card on which the man who brought the butter to market had written-- butter is cheap to-day. [illustration: "butter is cheap to-day!"] "i am glad butter is cheap to-day," said the old woman to herself, and when the man who had brought the butter to market was not looking she picked up a roll and dropped it into her bag. then she ran away as fast as she could. when she got round the corner the red policeman saw her. he shouted out, "what have you got in that bag?" "nothing," said the old woman, still running. but the policeman kept running after her. when they had run about five miles the old woman dropped the bag, so that she might run quicker. the policeman, however, had made up his mind to catch her, and when they had run about ten miles he caught her. "now," he said, "you must come back with me to your bag, and we will see if there is anything in it." the old man's wife said that she was sure there was nothing in it. "all right," said the policeman, "but if you don't mind we will go back and see." so they went back to the bag, and the policeman opened it with great care. inside he found the roll of butter. the old man's wife began to cry. "oh dear, oh dear," she said, "what a pity it is that i sewed up that hole." "why?" asked the red policeman. "because if i had not sewn up the hole the butter might have got out, like my husband's hen." "you are a very foolish old woman," said the policeman. "do you not know that a roll of butter cannot walk like a hen?" [illustration: "you are a very foolish old woman."] "is that really so?" said the old woman. "well, well. but i have seen butter run when it was melted." "never mind that," said the red policeman, "you will have to come with me to prison." "i am too busy to go with you just now," said the old woman, "and my husband wants the butter for his tea. but if you like to call for me in the morning and the weather is fine i will come with you with pleasure." "you are very polite," said the red policeman. "if you had been rude i should have made you go with me now. as it is i will call for you in the morning providing it doesn't rain." "thank you so much," said the old woman. and she shook the red policeman warmly by the hand and went off to her husband. chapter iv. when she got home the old man was sat in his chair by the fire. she could see by his face that he was in a bad temper. but she went up to him and kissed him and said, "please don't be grumpy, for i have brought you something very nice for your tea." "what is it?" said the old man, "a hen?" "no," she said, "people don't have hens for tea, do they?" "perhaps not," said the old man. "but if you had brought a hen she might have laid an egg, and i could have had that. you know very well that i am fond of new laid eggs." "new laid eggs are all very fine," said the old woman, "but butter is cheap to-day. i have brought you a beautiful fresh roll." the old man smacked his lips. while they were having tea the old woman began to laugh very much. "what are you laughing at?" said the old man. "did you meet the red policeman?" "yes, i did," said the old woman. "and did he catch you?" "yes, he did," said the old woman. "and he let you go?" "yes, he did," said the old woman. "why?" "because i was polite to him," said the old woman. "well i never," said the old man. "but he is coming for me in the morning, providing the weather is fine," said the old woman. the old man sat still in his chair and thought a great deal. and by and by he said, "if you had asked the red policeman to tea like a sensible woman he might have let you off altogether." "i shall know better next time," said the old woman. chapter v. when the old man and his wife woke up next morning they looked out of the window and saw that the weather was quite fine. the old man began to whistle and sing. he always did this when the weather was fine because he said fine weather always made him feel in such good spirits. in a little while the old woman began to sing too. then the old man stopped. "what are you singing for?" he said to the old woman. "i feel in such good spirits," the old woman replied. "oh, you do, do you?" said the old man. "you appear to forget that the red policeman is coming for you." "oh dear, oh dear," said the old woman. "what a bad memory i have to be sure. whatever shall i do?" and she burst into tears. "there, there," said the old man, "don't cry. we will give him sixpence when he calls, and ask him to have a piece of bread and butter with jam on it. then perhaps he will go away." they went downstairs and had breakfast. they had just finished when there came an awfully loud knock at the door. the old woman went very pale. "it is the red policeman," she said. the old man went to open the door. but the old woman pulled him back. "you are forgetting the sixpence," she said, "and the piece of bread and butter with jam on it." "of course, of course," said the old man, and he felt in his pocket for sixpence while the old woman cut a nice large thick slice of bread and covered it with butter and jam. "perhaps after all," said the old man, "we had better not open the door, but hand the policeman the sixpence and the bread and butter with jam on it through the window." so he opened the window a little way and held out the sixpence and the bread and butter with jam on it to the person outside. "thanks very much," said the person outside. and he put the sixpence in his pocket and began to eat the bread and butter with jam on it. and when he had finished eating he knocked again very loudly at the door. "go away," said the old man. "my wife is not coming out with you to-day." "i don't want your wife to come out with me," said the person at the door; "i have called to look at the gas meter." "we haven't got a gas meter now," said the old man, "we burn nothing but electric light." "many, many thanks," said the person at the door, and he went away. "i feel all of a flutter," said the old woman, sinking into a chair. "so do i," said the old man. "and he has got my sixpence too." chapter vi. in a little while the old woman began to put the breakfast things away. afterwards she took up the table-cover and went out into the garden with it to shake off the bread crumbs. as she stepped out of the door who should step in but the red policeman. the old woman trembled very much when she saw him go in, and she shook the table-cover several times over in order that she might think what to say to the red policeman. just then it began to rain. the old woman ran into the house at once. [illustration: who should step in but the red policeman.] "good morning, madam," said the red policeman, and he made a nice bow. "good morning, sir," said the old woman. "what, might i ask, brings you here?" "i have called, madam," replied the red policeman, making another bow, "for the purpose of taking you with me to prison for stealing a roll of butter." "where is the roll of butter?" said the old woman. the policeman looked very hard at the butter dish, but there was no butter on it. the old man and his wife and the gas-man had eaten it all. "i beg your pardon, i am sure," said the policeman. "the idea!" said the old woman. "besides you said you would not call this morning unless the weather were fine, and you see for yourself that it is now raining cats and dogs." "i am truly sorry, madam," said the policeman, bowing once more. "when i come to think of it, i did say that i would not call if it rained. pray forgive me. we all make mistakes sometimes, you know." "i don't like such mistakes," said the old woman. "now kindly leave the house." "oh, please don't turn me out," said the red policeman, "it is raining very hard indeed, and i might get my feet wet." "we should always be kind," said the old woman, "even to policemen, and as it is raining and i left my umbrella in an omnibus the other day, i will lend you my sunshade. but please go." the old woman put the sunshade into the policeman's hand. he looked at it very hard. "it is a blue one," he said. "it is not fashionable to wear a blue sunshade with a red suit. thank you all the same, but i think i will go without it." he went. the old man, who had been quietly laughing to himself, danced about with joy when he saw the policeman leave. then he ran to the window and put his head out, and called out after the policeman, "i say. when your clothes are quite wet enough be sure you come back and have them dried." but the red policeman took no notice of him. chapter vii. the red policeman got so wet that by the time he reached his house all the dye had come out of his suit. he felt very angry indeed. "i must try not to make mistakes," he said, "sometimes they bring one into fearful trouble. as my suit is spoilt i think i will give up being a policeman. a policeman without a suit is no good at all." so he went to bed and had hot bricks to his feet and a mustard plaster on his chest, and sent for the tailor to measure him for a new suit of clothes. when the tailor came the policeman said to him, "i am quite tired of being a policeman, and i think i should now like to be a soldier. please measure me for a soldier's suit. the coat you will make of green cloth and the trousers must be yellow." [illustration: "please measure me for a soldier's suit."] "but," said the tailor, "soldiers wear scarlet coats and blue trousers." "that is just the point," said the policeman. "i don't want to be like all the others. if i did i should go in for khaki. just you do what i tell you, and make me a green coat and yellow trousers at once." the tailor said, "yes, sir," and went away. in a few days he called again, bringing with him a yellow coat and green trousers. the policeman could have cried with disappointment. "didn't i tell you quite plainly that i wanted a green coat and yellow trousers?" "i am truly sorry, sir," said the tailor, "but as you no doubt know, the best of us make mistakes sometimes." "there is something in that," said the policeman, "and if the suit fits me i will forgive you." then he went into his dressing-room and put on the yellow coat and the green trousers. they fitted him beautifully. so that he forgave the tailor, and sent round to him to say that he would try to pay his bill when he got some money. [illustration: he began to strut about in his new clothes.] after looking at himself a good deal in the mirror the policeman went out into the street and began to strut about in his new clothes. "this is much better than being a policeman," he said, "a policeman has little to do, but a soldier has nothing to do till he is sent for to fight. by the way i must go and buy a sword, and then i will go up to the old man's house and let him see me in my new clothes. perhaps he will give me two halfpennies to put in the pockets." he bought his sword at the toy shop and went straight to the old man's house. when he got there the old woman was in the garden knocking apples off a tree with a clothes prop. no sooner did she see the policeman in his yellow coat and green trousers than she ran screaming into the house, and hid herself under the bed. [illustration: the old woman was knocking apples off a tree.] but when the old man saw him he shouted, "hurrah, hurrah, the red policeman has turned soldier. now we needn't be afraid of him any more." and he called upstairs to his wife, "come down at once and get me my bag." the old woman came downstairs quickly. she took down the bag from its nail and handed it to her husband. "run," she said, "as hard as you can, and bring me a hen and anything else nice that takes your fancy. bags were made to put things in. and the red policeman--the soldier, that is to say--will stay to dinner." the soldier sat down in the chair and lit his pipe, and the old man went out with the bag. very soon he returned with two hens, a fat duck, several rolls of butter, a large piece of bacon, some cabbages, some ice cream, and two pots of marmalade. the old woman cooked everything but the ice cream and the marmalade, and they had a very good dinner indeed. "this is much better than being a policeman," said the soldier when they had finished. "i should just think it was," said the old man. "and so should i," said the old woman. "now i must wish you both good evening," said the soldier, "for i hear the bugle calling." chapter viii. when a soldier hears the bugle calling he is bound to go even if he would like to have stayed for supper. that is why the soldier went. "i am glad i am not a soldier," said the old man, "because i do not have to go when the bugle calls." "no," said the old woman, "but you have to go when i tell you, which is pretty much the same thing." "perhaps it is," said the old man. "and i think," said the old woman, "that it might be just as well for you to go out this evening with the bag and get a few nice little things for breakfast and dinner to-morrow. for when you come to think of it there is no reason why the soldier should not take it into his head to be a red policeman again, and if he did he would run after us when he saw us with the bag. so that we had better get what we want before he changes his mind." "a very good idea, my dear," said the old man, "give me the bag and i will go out at once." the old woman gave him the bag and off he went. he was away a very long time. indeed he did not get back till nearly midnight. when he set the bag down on the table the old woman could see that he had got a good many things, because the bag bulged so. "how good of you," she said. "now show me what you have got." then the old man opened the bag. first he pulled out a pretty little kitten with her mother, an old grey cat. "very nice," said the old woman, "but we can't cook them." "you cooked the hens," said the old man. then he pulled out a pillow case full of hay. "quite nice," said the old woman, "but we can't cook it." "you cooked the cabbages," said the old man. then he pulled out a box full of pieces of broken glass. "beautiful!" said the old woman, "but we can't eat it." "you ate the marmalade fast enough," said the old man. then the old woman said, "if you go on talking so foolishly i shall be very cross. turn that cat and her kitten out at once, burn the hay, and throw the broken glass out of the window." "and what shall i do with the bag?" said the old man. "you can do just as you please with the bag," said the old woman; "i am going to bed." and off she went. the old man opened the door and turned out the cat and her kitten. then he burnt the hay a little bit at a time on the fire, and threw the broken glass out of the window. after doing this he sat down in his chair to think. "what shall i do with the bag?" he said to himself. "my wife said i might do what i pleased with it. perhaps i had better burn it." so he cut it in pieces with a knife, and burnt the pieces on the fire. [illustration: burnt the pieces on the fire.] in the morning when the old woman came downstairs to breakfast she looked on the nail for the bag, but of course it was not there. "what have you done with the bag?" she called to the old man. "i have burnt it," said the old man. "why did you burn it?" said the old woman. "guess," said the old man. the old woman guessed and guessed and guessed and guessed and guessed. but she could not guess right, and the old man had to keep on saying, "guess again, guess again, guess again." now why did the old man burn his bag? you must get your mamma to tell you. none none zone policeman a close range study of the panama canal and its workers by harry a. franck author of "a vagabond journey around the world" and "four months afoot in spain" to a host of good fellows the zone police quito, december , chapter i strip by strip there opened out before me, as i climbed the "thousand stairs" to the red-roofed administration building, the broad panorama of panama and her bay; below, the city of closely packed roofs and three-topped plazas compressed in a scallop of the sun-gleaming pacific, with its peaked and wooded islands to far taboga tilting motionless away to the curve of the earth; behind, the low, irregular jungled hills stretching hazily off into south america. on the third-story landing i paused to wipe the light sweat from forehead and hatband, then pushed open the screen door of the passageway that leads to police headquarters. "emm--what military service have you had?" asked "the captain," looking up from the letter i had presented and swinging half round in his swivel-chair to fix his clear eyes upon me. "none." "no?" he said slowly, in a wondering voice; and so long grew the silence, and so plainly did there spread across "the captain's" face the unspoken question, "well, then what the devil are you applying here for?" that i felt all at once the stern necessity of putting in a word for myself or lose the day entirely. "but i speak spanish and--" "ah!" cried "the captain," with the rising inflection of awakened interest, "that puts another face on the matter." slowly his eyes wandered, with the far-away look of inner reflection, to the vacant chair of "the chief" on the opposite side of the broad flat desk, then out the wide-open window and across the shimmering roofs of ancon to the far green ridges of the youthful republic, ablaze with the unbroken tropical sunshine. the whirr of a telephone bell broke in upon his meditation. in sharp, clear-cut phrases he answered the questions that came to him over the wire, hung up the receiver, and pushed the apparatus away from him with a forceful gesture. "inspector:" he called suddenly; but a moment having passed without response, he went on in his sharp-cut tones, "how do you think you would like police work?" "i believe i should." "the captain" shuffled for a moment one of several stacks of unfolded letters on his desk. "well, it's the most thankless damned job in creation," he went on, almost dreamily, "but it certainly gives a man much touch with human nature from all angles, and--well, i suppose we do some good. somebody's got to do it, anyway." "of course i suppose it would depend on what class of police work i got," i put in, recalling the warning of the writer of my letter of introduction that, "you may get assigned to some dinky little station and never see anything of the zone,"--"i'm better at moving around than sitting still. i notice you have policemen on your trains, or perhaps in special duty languages would be--" "yes, i was thinking along that line, too," said "the captain." he rose suddenly from his chair and led the way into an adjoining room, busy with several young americans over desks and typewriters. "inspector," he said, as a tall and slender yet muscular man of indian erectness and noticeably careful grooming rose to his feet, "here's one of those rare people, an american who speaks some foreign languages. have a talk with him. perhaps we can arrange to fix him up both for his good and our own." "ever done police duty?" began the inspector, when "the captain" had returned to the corner office. "no." "military ser--" "nor that either." "well, we usually require it," mused the inspector slowly, flashing his diamond ring, "but with your special qualifications perhaps-- "you'd probably be of most use to us in plain clothes," he continued, after a dozen questions as to my former activities; "we could put you in uniform for the first month or six weeks until you know the isthmus, and then-- "our greatest trouble is burglary," he broke off abruptly, rising to reach a copy of the "canal zone laws"; "if you have nothing else on hand you might run these over; and the 'police rules and regulations,'" he added, handing me a small, flat volume bound in light brown imitation leather. i sat down in an arm-chair against the wall and fell to reading, amid the clickity-click of typewriters, telephone calls even from far-off colon on the atlantic, and the constant going and coming of a negro orderly in shiningly ironed khaki uniform. by and by the inspector drifted into the main office, where his voice blended for some time with that of "the captain," at length he came back bearing a copy of the day's star and herald, turned back to the "estrella de panama" pages so rarely opened in the zone. "just run us off a translation of that, if you don't mind," he said, pointing to a short paragraph in spanish. some two minutes later i handed him the english version of the account of a near-duel between two panamanians, and took once more to reading. it was more than an hour later that i was again interrupted. "you'll want to catch the : back to corozal?" inquired the inspector; "mr. ----, give him transportation to culebra and back, and an order for physical examination. "you might fill out this application blank," he added, handing me a long legal sheet, "then in case you are appointed that much will be done." the document began with the usual, "name----, birthplace----, and so on." there followed the information that the appointee "must be at least five feet eight; weigh one hundred and forty, chest at least thirty-four inches--" then suddenly near the bottom of the back of the sheet my eyes caught the startling words;--"unless you are sure you are a man of physical appearance far above the average do not fill out this application." i was suddenly aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach; the blank all but slipped from my nerveless fingers. then all at once there came back to me the words of some chance acquaintance of some far-off time and place, words which were the only memory that remained to me of the speaker, except that he had lived long and gathered much experience, "bluff, my boy, is what carries a man through the world. act as if you're sure you are and can and you'll generally make the other fellow think so." i sat down at a desk and filled out the application in my most self-confident flourish. "go to culebra to-morrow," said the inspector, as i bade the room good-day and stepped forth with my most military stride and bearing, "and report back here friday morning." i descended to the world below, not by the long perspective of stairs that leads down and across the gully to the heart of ancon, but by a short-cut that took me quickly into a foreign land. the graveled highway at the foot of the hill i might not have guessed was an international boundary had i not chanced to notice the instant change from the trim, screened zone buildings, each in its green lawn, to the featureless architecture of a city where grass is all but unknown; for the formalities of crossing this frontier are the same as those of crossing any village street. it was my first entrance into the land of the panamenos, technically known on the zone as "spigoties," and familiarly, with a tinge of despite, as "spigs"; because the first americans to arrive in the land found a few natives and cabmen who claimed to "speaga dee eng-leesh." to americans direct from the states panama city ranks still as rather a miserable dawdling village. but that is due chiefly to lack of perspective. against the background of central america it seemed almost a great, certainly a flourishing, city. even to-day there are many who complain of its unpleasant odors; to those who have lived in other tropical cities its scent is like the perfumes of araby; and none but those can in any degree realize what "tio sam" has done for the place. toward sunset i passed through a gateway with scores of fellow-countrymen, all as composedly at home as in the heart of their native land. across the platform stood a train distinctively american in every feature, a bilious-yellow train divided by the baggage car into two sections, of which the five second-class coaches behind the engine, with their wooden benches, were densely packed in every available space with workmen and laborer's wives, from spaniards to ebony negroes, with the average color decidedly dark. in the first-class cars at the panama end were americans, all but exclusively white americans, with only here and there a "spigoty" with his long greased hair, his finger rings, and his effeminate gestures, and even a negro or two. for though uncle sam may permit individual states to do so, he may not himself openly abjure before the world his assertion as to the equality of all men by enacting "jim crow" laws. we were soon off. settled back in the ample seat of the first real train i had boarded in months, with the roar of its length over the smooth and solid road-bed, the deep-voiced, masculine whistle instead of the painful, puerile screech that had recently assailed my ear, i all but forgot i was in a foreign land. the fact was recalled by the passing of the train-guard,--an erect and self-possessed young american in "texas" hat, khaki uniform, and leather leggings, striding along the aisle with a jerking, half-arrogant swing of the shoulders. so, perhaps, might i too soon be parading across the isthmus! it was not, to be sure, exactly the role i had planned to play on the zone. i had come rather with the hope of shouldering a shovel and descending into the canal with other workmen, that i might some day solemnly raise my right hand and boast, "i helped dig it." but that was in the callow days before i had arrived and learned the awful gulf that separates the sacred white american from the rest of the canal zone world. besides, had i not always wanted to be a policeman and twirl a club and stalk with heavy, law-compelling tread ever since i had first stared speechless upon one of those noble beings on my first trip out into the world twenty-one years before? it was not without effort that i rose in time next morning to continue on the : from corozal across another bit of the zone. exactly thus should one first see the great work, piece-meal, slowly; unless he will go home with it all in an undigested lump. the train rolled across a stretch of almost uninhabited country, with a vast plain of broken rock on the right, plunged unexpectedly through a short tunnel, and stopped at a station perched on the edge of a ridge above a small zone town backed by some vast structure, above which here and there a huge crane loomed against the sky of dawn. another mile and the collectors were announcing as brazenly as if they challenged the few "spigs" on board to correct them, "peter m'gill! peter m'gill!" we were already moving on again before i had guessed that by this noise they designated none other than the famous pedro miguel. the sun rose suddenly as we swung sharply to the left and rumbled across a girderless bridge. barely had i time to discover that we were crossing the great canal itself and to catch a brief glimpse of the jagged gulf in either direction, before the train had left it behind, as if the sight of the world-famous channel were not worth a pause, and was roaring on through a hilly country of perpetual summer. a peculiarly shaped reservoir sped past on the left, twice or thrice more the green horizon rose and fell, and at : we drew up at the base of culebra, the zone capital. on the screened veranda of a somewhat sooty and dismal building high up near the summit of the town, another and i were pacing anxiously back and forth when, well on in the morning, an abrupt and rather gloomy-faced american dashed into the building and one of the rooms thereof, snapping over his shoulder as he disappeared, "one of you!" the other had precedence. then soon from behind the wooden shutters came a growl of "next!" and two moments later i was standing in the reputed costume of adam on the scales within. at about ten-second intervals a monosyllable fell from the lips of the morose american as he delved into my personal make-up from crown to toe with all the instrumental circumspection known to his secret-discovering profession. then with a gruff "dress!" he sat down at a table to scratch a few fantastic marks on the blank i had brought, and hand it to me as i caught up my last garment and turned to the door. but, alas--tight sealed! and all the day, though carrying the information in my pocket, i must live in complete ignorance of whether i had been found lacking an eye or a lung. for sooner would one have asked his future of the scowling parques than venture to invoke a hint thereof from that furrow-browed being from the land of bruskness. meanwhile, as if it had been thus planned to give me such opportunity, i stood at the very vortex of canal interest and fame, with nearly an entire day before the evening train should carry me back to corozal. i descended to the "observation platform." here at last at my very feet was the famous "cut" known to the world by the name of culebra; a mighty channel a furlong wide plunging sheer through "snake mountain," that rocky range of scrub-wooded hills; severing the continental divide. at first view the scene was bewildering. only gradually did the eye gather details out of the mass. before and beyond were pounding rock drills, belching locomotives, there arose the rattle and bump of long trains of flat-cars on many tracks, the crash of falling boulders, the snort of the straining steam-shovels heaping the cars high with earth and rock, everywhere were groups of little men, some working leisurely, some scrambling down into the rocky bed of the canal or dodging the clanging trains, all far below and stretching endless in either direction, while over all the scene hovered a veritable pittsburg of smoke. all long-heralded sights--such is the nature of the world and man--are at first glimpse disappointing. to this rule the great culebra "cut" was no exception. after all this was merely a hill, a moderate ridge, this backbone of the isthmus the sundering of which had sent its echoes to all corners of the earth. the long-fed imagination had led one to picture a towering mountain, a very andes. but as i looked longer, noting how little by comparison were the trains i knew to be of regulation u. s. size, how literally tiny were the scores upon scores of men far down below who were doing this thing, its significance regained bit by bit its proper proportions. train after train-load of the spoil of the "cut" ground away towards the pacific; and here man had been digging steadily, if not always earnestly, since a year before i was born. the gigantic scene recalled to the mind the "industrial army" of which carlyle was prone to preach, with the same discipline and organization as an army in the field; and every now and then, to bear out the figure, there burst forth the mighty cannonade, not of war, but of peace and progress in the form of earth-upheaving and house-rocking blasts of dynamite, tearing away the solid rock below at the very feet of the town. i took to the railroad and struck on further into the unknown country. almost before i was well started i found myself in another town, yet larger than culebra and with the name "empire" in the station building; and nearly every rod of the way between had been lined with villages of negroes and all breeds and colors of canal workers. so on again along a broad macadamized highway that bent and rose through low bushy ridges, past an army encamped in wood and tin barracks on a hillside, with khaki uniformed soldiers ahorse and afoot enlivening all the roadway and the neighboring fields. never a mile without its town--how different will all this be when the canal is finished and all this community is gone to alaska or has scattered itself again over the face of the earth, and dense tropical solitude has settled down once more over the scene. panama, they had said, is insupportably hot. comparing it with other lands i knew i could not but smile at the notion. again it was the lack of perspective. sweat ran easily, yet so fresh the air and so refreshing the breeze sweeping incessantly across from the atlantic that even the sweating was almost enjoyable. hot! yes, like june on the canadian border--though not like july. it is hot in st. louis on an august sunday, with all the refreshment doors tight closed--to strangers; hot in the cotton-fields of texas, but with these plutonic corners the heat of the zone shows little rivalry. the way led round a cone-shaped hill crowned by another military camp with the stars and stripes flapping far above, until i came at last in sight of the renowned chagres, seven miles above culebra, to all appearances a meek and harmless little stream spanned by a huge new iron bridge and forbidden to come and play in the unfinished canal by a little dam of earth that a steam-shovel will some day eat up in a few hours. here, where it ends and the flat country begins, i descended into the "cut," dry and waterless, with a stone-quarry bottom. a sharp climb out on the opposite side and i plunged into rampant jungle, half expecting snake-bites on my exposed ankles--another pre-conceived notion--and at length falling into a narrow jungle trail that pitched down through a dense-grown gully, came upon a fenced compound with several zone buildings on the banks of the chagres, down to which sloped a broad green lawn. here dwells hale and ruddy "old fritz," for long years keeper of the fluviograph that measures and gives warning of the rampages of the chagres. fritz will talk to you in almost any tongue you may choose, as he can tell you of adventures in almost any land, all with a captivating accent and in the vocabulary of a man who has lived long among men and nature. nor are fritz' opinions those gleaned from other men or the printed page. so we fell to fanning ourselves this january afternoon on the screened and shaded veranda above the chagres, and "old fritz," lighting his pipe, raised his slippered feet to the screen railing and, tossing away the charred remnant of a match, began:-- "vidout var dere iss no brogress. ven all der vorld iss at peace, all der vorld goes to shleep." police headquarters looked all but deserted on friday morning. there had been "something doing" in zone criminal annals the night before, and not only "the captain" but both "the chief" and the inspector were "somewhere out along the line." i sat down in the arm-chair against the wall. a half-hour, perhaps, had i read when "eddie"--i am not entitled, perhaps, to such familiarity, but the solemn title of "chief clerk" is far too stiff and formal for that soul of good-heartedness striving in vain to hide behind a bluff exterior--"eddie," i say, blew a last cloud of smoke from his lungs to the ceiling, tossed aside the butt of his cigarette, and motioned to me to take the chair beside his desk. "it's all off!" said a voice within me. for the expression on "eddie's" face was that of a man with an unpleasant duty to perform, and his opening words were in exactly that tone of voice in which a man begins, "i am sorry, but--" had i not often used it myself? "the captain," is how he really did begin, "called me up from colon last night, and--" "here's where i get my case nol prossed," i found myself whispering. in all probability that sealed document i had sent in the day before announced me as a physical wreck. "--and told me," continued "eddie" in his sad, regretful tone, "to tell you we will take you on the force as a first-class policeman. it happens, however, that the department of civil administration is about to begin a census of the zone, and they are looking for any men that can speak spanish. if we take you on, therefore, the captain would assign you to the census department until that work is done--it will probably take something over a month--and then you would be returned to regular police duty. the chief says he'd rather have you learn the isthmus on census than on police pay. "or," went on "eddie," just as i was about to break in with, "all right, that suits me,"--"or, if you prefer, the census department will enroll you as a regular enumerator and we'll take you on the force as soon as that job is over. the--er--pay," added "eddie," reaching for a cigarette but changing his mind, "of enumerators will be five dollars a day, and--er--five a day beats eighty a month by more than a nose." we descended a story and i was soon in conference with a slender, sharp-faced young man of mobile features and penetrating eyes behind which a smile seemed always to be lurking. on the canal zone, as in british colonies, one is frequently struck by the youthfulness of men in positions of importance. "i'll probably assign you to empire district," the slender young man was saying, "there's everything up there and almost any language will sure be some help to us. this time we are taking a thorough, complete census of all the zone clear back to the zone line. here's a sample card and list of instructions." in other words kind uncle sam was about to give me authority to enter every dwelling in the most cosmopolitan and thickly populated district of his canal zone, and to put questions to every dweller therein, note-book and pencil in hand; authority to ramble around a month or more in sunshine and jungle--and pay me for the privilege. there are really two methods of seeing the canal zone; as an employee or as a guest at the tivoli, both of them at about five dollars a day--but at opposite ends of the thermometer. there remained a week-end between that friday morning and the last day of january, set for the beginning of the census. certainly i should not regret the arrival of the day when i should become an employee, with all the privileges and coupon-books thereunto appertained. for the zone is no easy dwelling-place for the non-employee. our worthy uncle of the chin whiskers makes it quite plain that, while he may tolerate the mere visitor, he does not care to have him hanging around; makes it so plain, in fact, that a few weeks purely of sight-seeing on the zone implies an adamantine financial backing. in his screened and full-provided towns, where the employee lives in such well-furnished comfort, the tourist might beat his knuckles bare and shake yellow gold in the other hand, and be coldly refused even a lodging for the night; and while he may eat a meal in the employees' hotels--at near twice the employee's price--the very attitude in which he is received says openly that he is admitted only on suffrance--permitted to eat only because if he starved to death our uncle would have the bother of burying him and his zone police the arduous toil of making out an accident report. meanwhile i must change my dwelling-place. for the quartermaster of corozal had need of all the rooms within his domain, need so imperative that seventeen bona fide and wrathy employees were even then bunking in the pool-room of corozal hotel. work on the zone was moving steadily pacificward and the accommodations refused to come with it--at least at the same degree of speed. nor was i especially averse to the transfer. the room-mate with whom fate had cast me in house was a pleasant enough fellow, a youth of unobjectionable personal manners even though his "eight-hour graft" was in the sooty seat of a steam-crane high above miraflores locks. but he had one slight idiosyncrasy that might in time have grown annoying. on the night of our first acquaintance, after we had lain exchanging random experiences till the evening heat had begun a retreat before the gentle night breeze, i was awakened from the first doze by my companion sitting suddenly up in his cot across the room. "say, i hope you're not nervous?" he remarked. "not immoderately." "one of my stunts is night-mare," he went on, rising to switch on the electric light, "and when i get 'em i generally imagine my room-mate is a burglar trying to go through my junk and--" he reached under his pillow and brought to light a "colt's" of caliber; then crossing the room he pointed to three large irregular splintered holes in the wall some three or four inches above me, and which i had not already seen simply because i had not chanced to look that way. "there's the last three. but i'm tryin' to break myself of 'em," he concluded, slipping the revolver back under his pillow and turning off the light again. which is among the various reasons why it was without protest that, with "the captain's" telephoned consent on the ground that i was now virtually on the force, i took up my residence in corozal police station. 't is a peaceful little building of the usual zone type on a breezy knoll across the railroad, with a spreading tree and a little well-tended flower plot before it, and the broad world stretching away in all directions behind. here lived policeman t---- and b----. "first-class policemen" perhaps i should take care to specify, for in zone parlance the unqualified noun implies african ancestry. but it seems easier to use an adjective of color when necessary. among their regular duties was that of weighing down the rocking-chairs on the airy front veranda, whence each nook and cranny of corozal was in sight, and of strolling across to greet the train-guard of the seven daily passengers; though the irregular ones that might burst upon them at any moment were not unlikely to resemble a moro expedition in the philippines. b---- and i shared the big main room; for t----, being the haughty station commander, occupied the parlor suite beside the office. that was all, except the black trinidadian boy who sat on the wooden shelf that was his bed behind a huge padlocked door and gazed dreamily out through the bars--when he was not carrying a bundle to the train for his wardens or engaged in the janitor duties that kept corozal station so spick and span. oh! to be sure there were also a couple of negro policemen in the smaller room behind the thin wooden partition of our own, but negro policemen scarcely count in zone police reckonings. "by heck! they must use a lot o' mules t' haul aout all thet dirt," observed an arkansas farmer to his nephew, home from the zone on vacation. he would have thought so indeed could he have spent a day at corozal and watched the unbroken deafening procession of dirt-trains scream by on their way to the pacific,--straining moguls dragging a furlong of "lidgerwood flats," swaying "oliver dumps" with their side chains clanking, a succession as incessant of "empties" grinding back again into the midst of the fray. on the tail of every train lounged an american conductor, dressed more like a miner, though his "front" and "hind" negro brakemen were as apt to be in silk ties and patent-leathers. to say nothing of the train-loads that go atlanticward and to jungle "dumps" and to many an unnoticed "fill." then when he had thus watched the day through it would have been of interest to go and chat with some of the "old timers" who live here beside the track and who have seen, or at least heard, this same endless stream of rock and earth race by six days a week, fifty-two weeks a year for six years, as constant and heavily-laden to-day as in the beginning. he might discover, as not all his fellow-countrymen have as yet, that the little surgical operation on mother earth we are engaged in is no mule job. the week-end gave me time to get back in touch with affairs in the states among the newspaper files at the y. m. c. a. building. uncle sam surely makes life comfortable for his children wherever he takes hold. it is not enough that he shall clean up and set in order these tropical pest-holes; he will have the employee fancy himself completely at home. here i sat in one of the dozen big airy recreation halls, well stocked with man's playthings, which the government has erected on the zone; i, who two weeks before had been thankful for lodging on the earth floor of a honduranean hut. the y. m. c. a. is the chief social center on the isthmus, the rendezvous and leisure-hour headquarters of the thousands that inhabit bachelor quarters--except the few of the purely barroom type. "everybody's association" it might perhaps more properly be called, for ladies find welcome and the laughter of children over the parlor games is rarely lacking. it is not the circumspect place that are many of its type in the states, but a real man's place where he can buy his cigarettes and smoke his pipe in peace, a place for men as men are, not as the fashion plates that mama's fond imagination pictures them. with all its excellences it would be unjust to complain that the zone "y. m." is a trifle "low-brow" in its tastes, that the books on its shelves are apt to be "popular" novels rather than reading matter, that its phonographs are most frequently screeching vaudeville noises while the slezak and homer disks lie tucked away far down near the bottom of the stack. with the new week i moved to empire, the "rules and regulations" in a pocket and the most indispensable of my possessions under an arm. once more we rumbled through miraflores tunnel through a mole-hill, past her concrete light-house among the astonished palms, and her giant hose of water wiping away the rock hills, across the trestleless bridge with its photographic glimpse of the canal before and behind for the limber-necked, and again i found myself in the metropolis of the canal zone. at the quartermaster's office my "application for quarters" was duly filed without a word and a slip assigning me to room , house , as silently returned. i climbed by a stone-faced u. s. road to my new home on the slope of a ridge overlooking the railway and its buildings below. it was the noon-hour. my two room-mates, therefore, were on hand for inspection, sprawlingly engrossed in a--quite innocent and legal--card game on a table littered with tobacco, pipes, matches, dog-eared wads of every species of literature from real estate pamphlets to locomotive journals, and a further mass of indiscriminate matter that none but a professional inventory man would attempt to classify. about the room was the usual clutter of all manner of things in the usual unarranged, "unwomaned" zone way, which the negro janitor feels it neither his duty nor privilege to bring to order; while on and about my cot and bureau were helter-skeltered the sundry possessions of an absent employee, who had left for his six-weeks' vacation without hanging up his shirt--after the fashion of "zoners." so when i had wiped away the dust that had been gathering thereon since the days of de lesseps and chucked my odds and ends into a bureau drawer, i was settled,--a full-fledged zone employee in the quarters to which every man on the "gold roll" is entitled free of charge. just here it may be well to explain that the i. c. c. has very dexterously dodged the necessity of lining the zone with the offensive signs "black" and "white." 't would not be exactly the distinction desired anyway. hence the line has been drawn between "gold" and "silver" employees. the first division, paid in gold coin, is made up, with a few exceptions, of white american citizens. to the second belong any of the darker shade, and all common laborers of whatever color, these receiving their wages in panamanian silver. 't is a deep and sharp-drawn line. the story runs that liza lawsome, not long arrived from jamaica, entering the office of a zone dentist, paused suddenly before the announcement: crownwork. gold and silver fillings. extractions wholly without pain. there was deep disappointment in face and voice as she sat down with a flounce of her starched and snow-white skirt, gasping: "oh, doctah, does i have to have silver fillings?" my room-mates, "mitch" and "tom," sat respectively at the throttle of a locomotive that jerked dirt-trains out of the "cut" and straddled a steam-shovel that ate its way into culebra range. whence, of course, they were covered with the grease and grime incident to those occupations. which did not make them any the less companionable--though it did promise a distinct increase in my laundry bill. when they had descended again to the labor-train and been snatched away to their appointed tasks, i sat a short hour in one of the black "mission" rocking-chairs on the screened veranda puzzling over a serious problem. the quarters of the "gold" employee is as completely furnished as any reasonable man could demand, his iron cot with springs and mattress unimpeachable--but just there the maternal generosity of the government ceases. he must furnish his own sheets and pillow--must because placards on the wall sternly warn him not to sleep on the bare mattress; and the new york sunday edition that had served me thus far i had carelessly left behind at corozal police station. to be sure there were sheets for sale in empire, at the commissary--where money has the purchasing-power of cobble-stones, and coupon-books come only to those who have worked a day or more on the zone. then the jamaican janitor, drifting in to potter about the room, evidently guessed the cause of my perplexity, for he turned to point to the bed of the absent "mitch" and gurgled: "jes' you make lub to dat man what got dat bed. him got plenty ob sheets." which proved a wise suggestion. empire hotel sat a bit down the hill. there the "gold" ranks were again subdivided. the coatless ate and sweltered inside the great dining-room; the formal sat in haughty state in what was virtually a second-story veranda overlooking the railroad yards and a part of the town, where were tables of four, electric fans, and "ben" to serve with butler formality. i found it worth while to climb the hill for my coat thrice a day. as yet i was jangling down a panamanian dollar at each appearance, but the day was not far distant when i should receive the "recruits" hotel-book and soon grow as accustomed as the rest to having a coupon snatched from it by the yellow negro at the door. uncle sam's boarding scale on the zone is widely varied. three meals cost the non-employee $ . , the "gold" employee $. , the white european laborer $. , and negroes in general $. . that afternoon, when the sun had begun to bow its head on the thither side of the canal, i climbed to the newly labeled census office on the knoll behind the police station, from the piazza of which all native empire lies within sweep of the eye. "the boss," a smiling youth only well started on his third decade, whose regular duties were in the sanitary department, had already moved bed, bag, and baggage into the room that had been assigned the census, that he might be "always on the job." not till eight that evening, however, did the force gather to look itself over. there was the commander-in-chief of the census bureau, sent down from washington specifically for the task in hand, under whom as chairmen we settled down into a sort of director's meeting, a wholly informal, coatless, cigarette-smoking meeting in which even the chief himself did not feel it necessary to let his dignity weigh upon him. he had been sent down alone. hence there had been great scrambling to gather together on the zone men enough who spoke spanish--and with no striking success. most noticeable of my fellow-enumerators, being in uniform, were three marines from bas obispo, fluent with the working spanish they had picked up from mindanao to puerto rico, and flush-cheeked with the prospect of a full month on "pass," to say nothing of the $ . a day that would be added to their daily military income of $. . then there were four of darker hue,--panamanians and west indians; and how rare are spanish-speaking, americans on the zone was proved by the admittance of such complexions to the "gold" roll. of native u. s. civilians there were but two of us. of whom barter, speaking only his nasal new jersey, must perforce be assigned to the "gold" quarters, leaving me the native town of empire. at which we were both satisfied, barter because he did not like to sully himself by contact with foreigners, i because one need not travel clear to the canal zone to study the ways of americans. as for the other seven, each was assigned his strip of land something over a mile wide and five long running back to the western boundary of the zone. that region of wilderness known as "beyond the canal" was to be left for special treatment later. the zone had been divided for census purposes into four sections, with headquarters and supervisor in ancon, empire, gorgona, and cristobal respectively. our district, stretching from the trestleless bridge over the canal to a great tree near bas obispo, was easily the fat of the land, the most populous, most cosmopolitan, and embracing within its limits the greatest task on the zone. meanwhile we had fallen to studying the "instructions to enumerators," the very first article of which was such as to give pause and reflection; "when you have once signed on as an enumerator you cannot cease to exercise your functions as such without justifiable cause under penalty of $ fine." which warning was quickly followed by the hair-raising announcement: "if you set down the name of a fictitious person"--what can have given the good census department the notion of such a possibility?--"you will be fined $ , or sentenced to five years' imprisonment, or both." from there on the injunctions grew less nerve-racking: "you must use a medium soft black pencil (which will be furnished)"--law-breaking under such conditions would be absurdity--"use no ditto marks and"--here i could not but shudder as there passed before my eyes memories of college lecture rooms and all the strange marks that have come to mean something to me alone--"take pains to write legibly!" then we arose and swarmed upstairs to an empty court-room, where judge g----, throwing away his cigarette and removing his iowa feet from the bar of justice, caused us each to raise a right hand and swear an oath as solemn as ever president on march fourth. an oath, i repeat, not merely to uphold and defend the constitution against all enemies, armed or armless, but furthermore "not to share with any one any of the information you gather as an enumerator, or show a census card, or keep a copy of same." yet, i trust i can spin this simple yarn of my canal zone days without offense to uncle sam against the day when mayhap i shall have occasion to apply to him again for occupation. for that reason i shall take abundant care to give no information whatsoever in the following pages. chapter ii "the boss" and i initiated the canal zone census that very night. legally it was to begin with the dawning of february, but there were many labor camps in our district and the hours bordering on midnight the only sure time to "catch 'em in." up in house i gathered together the legion paraphernalia of this new occupation,--some two hundred red cards a foot long and half as wide, a surveyor's field notebook for the preservation of miscellaneous information, tags for the tagging of canvassed buildings, tacks for the tacking of the same, the necessary tack-hammer, the medium soft black pencil, above all the awesome legal "commission," impressively signed and sealed, wherein none other than our weighty nation's chief himself did expressly authorize me to search out, enter, and question ad libitum. all this swung over a shoulder in a white canvas sack, that carried memory back through the long years to my newsboy days, i descended to the town. "the boss" was ready. it was nearly eleven when we crossed the silent p. r. r. tracks and, plunging away into the night past great heaps of abandoned locomotives huddled dim and uncertain in the thin moonlight like ghosts of the french fiasco, dashed into a camp of the laborer's village of cunette, pitched on the very edge of the now black and silent void of the canal. eighteen thick-necked negroes in undershirts and trousers gazed up white-eyed from a suspended card game at the long camp table. but we had no time for explanations. "name?" i shouted at the coal-hued hercules nearest at hand. "david providence," he bleated in trembling voice, and the great zone questionnaire was on. we had enrolled the group before a son of wisdom among them surmised that we were not, after all, plain-clothes men in quest of criminals; and his announcement brought visible relief. twice as many blacks were sprawled in the two rows of double-sided, three-story bunks,--mere strips of canvas on gas-pipes that could be hung up like swinging shelves when not in use. mere noise did not even disturb their dreams. we roused them by pencil-jabs in the ribs, and they started up with savage, animal-like grunts and murderous glares which instantly subsided to sheepish grins and voiceless astonishment at sight of a white face bending over them. now and again open-mouthed guffaws of laughter greeted the mumbled admission of some powerful buck that he could not read, or did not know his age. but there was nothing even faintly resembling insolence, for these were all british west indians without a corrupting "states nigger" among them. a half-hour after our arrival we had tagged the barracks and dived into the next camp, blacker and sleepier and more populous than the first. it was february morning before i climbed the steps of silent and stepped under the shower-bath that is always preliminary, on the zone, to a night's repose. a dream of earthquake, holocaust, and general destruction developed gradually into full consciousness at four-thirty. house was in riotous uproar. no, neither conflagration nor foreign invasion was pending; it was merely the houseful of engineers in their customary daily struggle to catch the labor-train and be away to work by daylight. when the hour's rampage had subsided i rose to switch off the light and turned in again. the rays of the impetuous panama sun were spattering from them when i passed again the jumbled rows of invalided locomotives and machinery, reddish with rust and bound, like gulliver, by green jungle strands and tropical creepers. by day the arch-roofed labor-camps were silent and empty, but for a lonely janitor languidly mopping a floor. before the buildings a black gang was dipping the canvas and gas-pipe bunks one by one into a great kettle of scalding water. but there are also "married quarters" at cunette. a row of six government houses tops the ridge, with six families in each house, and--no, i dare not risk nomination to an ever expanding though unpopular club by stating how many in a family. i will venture merely to assert that when noon-time came i was not well started on the second house, yet carried away more than sixty filled-out cards. more than two days that single row of houses endured, varied by nights spent with "the boss" in the labor-camps of lirio, culebra way. then one morning i tramped far out the highway to the old scotchman's farm-house that bounds empire on the north and began the long intricate journey through the private-owned town itself. it was like attending a congress of the nations, a museum exhibition of all the shapes and hues in which the human vegetable grows. tenements and wobbly-kneed shanties swarming with exhibits monopolized the landscape; strange the room that did not yield up at least a man and woman and three or four children. day after blazing day i sat on rickety chairs, wash-tubs, ironing-boards, veranda railings, climbing creaking stairways, now and again descending a treacherous one in unintentional haste and ungraceful posture, burrowing into blind but inhabited cubby-holes, hunting out squatters' nests of tin cans and dry-goods boxes hidden away behind the legitimate buildings, shouting questions into dilapidated ear-drums, delving into the past of every human being who fell in my way. west indian negroes easily kept the lead of all other nationalities combined; negroes blacker than the obsidian cutlery of the aztecs, blonde negroes with yellow hair and blue eyes whose race was betrayed only by eyelids and the dead whiteness of skin, and whom one could not set down as such after enrolling swarthy spaniards as "white" without a smile. they lived chiefly in windowless, six-by-eight rooms, always a cheap, dirty calico curtain dividing the three-foot parlor in front from the five-foot bedroom behind, the former cluttered with a van-load of useless junk, dirty blankets, decrepit furniture, glittering gewgaws, a black baby squirming naked in a basket of rags with an episcopal prayerbook under its pillow--relic of the old demon-scaring superstitions of voodoo worship. every inch of the walls was "decorated," after the artistic temperament of the race, with pages of illustrated magazines or newspapers, half-tones of all things conceivable with no small amount of text in sundry languages, many a page purely of advertising matter, the muscular, imbruted likeness of a certain black champion rarely missing, frequently with a bible laid reverently beneath it. outside, before each room, a tin fireplace for cooking precariously bestrided the veranda rail. often a tumble-down hovel where three would seem a crowd yielded up more than a dozen inmates, many of whom, being at work, must be looked for later--the "back-calls" that is the bete-noire of the census enumerator. west indians, however, are for the most part well acquainted with the affairs of friends and room-mates, and enrolment of the absent was often possible. occasionally i ran into a den of impertinence that must be frowned down, notably a notorious swarming tenement over a lumber-yard. but on the whole the courtesy of british west indians, even among themselves, was noteworthy. of the two great divisions among them, barbadians seemed more well-mannered than jamaicans--or was it merely more subtle hypocrisy? among them all the most unspoiled children of nature appeared to be those from the little island of nevis. "you ain't no american?" "yes, ah is." "why, you de bery furst american ah eber see dat was perlite." which spoke badly indeed for the others, that not being one of the virtues i strive particularly to cultivate. but "perlite" or not, there can be no question of the astounding stupidity of the west indian rank and file, a stupidity amusing if you are in an amusable mood, unendurable if you neglect to pack your patience among your bag of supplies in the morning. tropical patience, too, is at best a frail child. the dry-season sun rarely even veiled his face, and there were those among the enumerators who complained of the taxing labor of all-day marching up and down streets and stairs and zone hills beneath it; but to me, fresh from tramping over the mountains of central america with twenty pounds on my shoulders, this was mere pastime. heat had no terrors for the enumerated, however. often in the hottest hour of the day i came upon negroes sleeping in tightly closed rooms, the sweat running off them in streams, yet apparently vastly enjoying the situation. sunday came and i chose to continue, though virtually all the zone was on holiday and even "the boss," after what i found later to be his invariable custom, had broken away from his card-littered dwelling-place on saturday evening and hurried away to panama, drawn thither and held till monday morning--by some irresistible attraction. sunday turns holiday completely on the zone, even to hours of trains and hotels. the frequent passengers were packed from southern white end to northern black end with all nations in gladsome garb, bound panamaward to see the lottery drawing and buy a ticket for the following sunday, across the isthmus to breezy colon, or to one of a hundred varying spots and pastimes. others in khaki breeches fresh from the government laundry in cristobal and the ubiquitous leather leggings of the "zoner" were off to ride out the day in the jungles; still others set resolutely forth afoot into tropical paths; a dozen or so, gleaned one by one from all the towns along the line were even on their way to church. yet with all this scattering there still remained a respectable percentage lounging on the screened verandas in pajamas and kimonas, "old timers" of four or five or even six years' standing who were convinced they had seen and heard, and smelt and tasted all that the zone or tropical lands have to offer. well on in the morning there was a general gathering of all the ditch-digging clans of empire and vicinity in a broad field close under the eaves of the town, and soon there came drifting across to me at my labor, hoarse, frenzied screams; sounding strangely incongruous beneath the swaying palm-trees; "come on! get down with his arm! aaaaahrrr!" but my time was well chosen. in the spanish camps above the canal, still and silent with sunday, men at no other time to be run to earth were entrapped in their bunks, under their dwelling-places in the shade, shaving, exchanging hair-cuts, washing workaday clothes, reminiscing over far-off homes and pre-migratory days, or merely loafing. the same cheery, friendly, quick-witted fellows they were as in their native land, even the few italians and rare portuguese scattered among them inoculated with their cheerfulness. came sudden changes to camps of martiniques, a sort of wild, untamed creature, who spoke a distressing imitation of french which even he did not for a moment claim to be such, but frankly dubbed patois. restless-eyed black men who answered to their names only at the question "cummun t'appelle?" and give their age only to those who open wide their mouths and cry, "caje-vous?" then on again to the no less strange, sing-song "english" of jamaica, the whining tones of those whose island trees the conquesting spaniards found bearded--"barbados"--now and again a more or less dark costa rican, guatemalteco, venezuelan, stray islanders from st. vincent, trinidad, or guadalupe, individuals defying classification. but the chief reward for denying myself a holiday were the "back-calls" in the town itself which i was able to check out of my field-book. many a long-sought negro i roused from his holiday siesta, dashing past the tawdry calico curtains to pound him awake--mere auricular demonstration having only the effect of lulling him into deeper child-like slumber. the surest and often only effective means was to tickle the slumberer gently on the soles of the bare feet with some airy, delicate instrument such as my tack-hammer, or a convenient broom-handle or flat-iron. frequently i came upon young negro men of the age and type that in white skins would have been loafing on pool-room corners, reading to themselves in loud and solemn voices from the bible, with a far-away look in their eyes; always i was surrounded by a never-broken babble of voices, for the west indian negro can let his face run unceasingly all the day through, and the night, though he have never a word to say. thus my "enumerated" tags spread further and wider over the city of empire. i reached in due time the hodge-podge shops and stores of railroad avenue. chinamen began to drift into the rolls, there appeared such names as carmen wah chang, cooks and waitresses living in darksome back cupboards must be unearthed, negro shoemakers were caught at their stands on the sidewalks, shiny-haired bartenders gave up their biographies in nasal monosyllables amid the slop of "suds" and the scrape of celluloid froth-eradicators. rare was the land that had not sent representatives to this great dirt-shoveling congress. a syrian merchant gasped for breath and fell over his counter in delight to find that i, too, had been in his native zakleh, five punjabis all but died of pleasure when i mispronounced three words of their tongue. occasionally there came startling contrast as i burst unexpectedly into the ancestral home of some educated native family that had withstood all the tides of time and change and still lived in the beloved "emperador" of their forefathers. anger was usually near the surface at my intrusion, but they quickly changed to their ingrown politeness and chatty sociability when addressed in their own tongue and treated in their own extravagant gestures. it was almost sure to return again, however, at the question whether they were panamanians. distinctly not! they were colombians! there is no such country as panama. thus the enrolling of the faithful continued. chinese laundrymen divulged the secrets of their mysterious past between spurts of water at steaming shirt-bosoms; chinese merchants, of whom there are hordes on the zone, cueless, dressed and betailored till you must look at them twice to tell them from "gold" employees, the flag of the new republic flapping above their doors, the new president in their lapels, left off selling crucifixes and breastpin medallions of christ to negro women, to answer my questions. one evening i stumbled into a nest of eleven bengali peddlers with the bare floor of their single room as bed, table, and chairs; in one corner, surmounted by their little embroidered skull-caps, were stacked the bundles with which they pester zone housewives, and in another their god wrapped in a dirty rag against profaning eyes. many days had passed before i landed the first zone resident i could not enroll unassisted. he was a heathen chinee newly arrived, who spoke neither spanish nor english. it was "chinese charlie" who helped me out. "chinese charlie" was a resident of the zone before the days of de lesseps and at our first meeting had insisted on being enrolled under that pseudonym, alleging it his real name. upstairs above his store all was sepulchral silence when i mounted to investigate--and i came quickly and quietly down again; for the door had opened on the gaudy oriental splendor of a joss-house where dwelt only grinning wooden idols not counted as zone residents by the materialistic census officials. on the isthmus as elsewhere "john" is a law-abiding citizen--within limits; never obsequious, nearly always friendly, ready to answer questions quite cheerily so long as he considers the matter any of your business, but closing infinitely tighter than the maltreated bivalve when he fancies you are prying too far. in time i reached the commissary--the government department store--and enrolled it from cash-desk to cold-storage; empire hotel, from steward to scullions, filed by me whispering autobiography; the police station on its knoll fell like the rest. i went to jail--and set down a large score of black men and a pair of european whites, back from a day's sweaty labor of road building, who lived now in unaccustomed cleanliness in the heart of the lower story of a fresh wooden building with light iron bars, easy to break out of were it not that policemen, white and black, sleep on all sides of them. crowded old empire not only faces her streets but even her back yards are filled with shacks and inhabited boxes to be hunted out. on the hem of her tattered outskirts and the jungle edges i ran into heaps of old abandoned junk,--locomotives, cars, dredges, boilers (some with the letters "u. s." painted upon them, which sight gave some three-day investigator material to charge the i. c. c. with untold waste); all now soon to be removed by a chicago wrecking company. then all the town must be done again--"back calls." by this time so wide and varied was my acquaintance in empire that wenches withdrew a dripping hand from their tubs to wave at me with a sympathetic giggle, and piccaninnies ran out to meet me as i returned in quest of one missing inmate in a house of fifty. for the few laborers still uncaught i took to coming after dark. but west indians rarely own lamps, not even the brass tax-numbers above the doors were visible, and as for a negro in the dark-- absurd rumors had begun early to circulate among the darker brethren. in all negrodom the conviction became general that this individual detailed catechising and house-branding was really a government scheme to get lists of persons due for deportation, either for lack of work as the canal neared completion or for looseness of marital relations. hardly a tenement did i enter but laughing voices bandied back and forth and there echoed and reechoed through the building such remarks as: "well, dey gon' sen' us home, penelope," or "yo an' percival better hurry up an' git married, ambrosia." several dusky females regularly ran away whenever i approached; one at least i came a-seeking in vain nine times, and found her the tenth behind a garbage barrel. many fancied the secret marks on the "enumerated" tag--date, and initials of the enumerator--were intimately concerned with their fate. so strong is the fear of the law imbued by the zone police that they dared not tear down the dreaded placard, but would sometimes sit staring at it for hours striving to penetrate its secret or exorcise away its power of evil, and now and then some bolder spirit ventured out--at midnight--with a pencil and put tails and extra flourishes on the penciled letters in the hope of disguising them against the fatal day. except for the chaos of nationalities and types on the zone, enumerating would have become more than monotonous. but the enumerated took care to break the monotony. there was the wealth of nomenclature for instance. what more striking than a shining-black waiter strutting proudly about under the name of levi mccarthy? there was no necessity of asking beresford plantaganet if he were a british subject. naturally the mother of hazarmaneth cumberbath smith, baptized that very week, had to claw out the family bible from among the bed-clothes and look up the name on the fly-leaf. to the enumerator, who must set down concise and exact answers to each of his questions, fifty or sixty daily scenes and replies something like these were delightful; enumerator (sitting down on the edge of a barrel): "how many living in this room?" explosive laughter from the buxom, jet-black woman addressed. enumerator (on a venture): "what's the man's name?" "he name 'rasmus iggleston." "what's his metal-check number?" "lard, mahster, ah don' know he check number." "haven't you a commissary-book with it in?" "lard no, mah love, commissary-book him feeneesh already befo' las' week." "is he a jamaican?" "no, him a mont-rat, mahster." (monsterratian.) "what color is he?" "te! he! wha' fo' yo as' all dem questions, mahster?" "for instance." "oh, him jes' a pitch darker'n me." "how old is he?" (loud laughter) "law', ah don' know how ol' him are!" "well, about how old?" "oh, him a ripe man, mah love, him a prime man." "is he older than you?" "oh, yes, him older 'n me." "and how old are you?" "te! he! 'deed ah don' know how ol' ah is; ah gone los' mah age paper." "is he married?" (quickly and with very grave face) "oh, yes indeed, mahster, ah his sure 'nough wife." "can he read?" (hesitatingly) "er--a leetle, sir, not too much, sir." (which generally means he can spell out a few words of one syllable and make some sort of mark representing his name.) "what kind of work does he do?" (haughtily) "him employed by de i. c. c." "yes, naturally. but what kind of work does he do. is he a laborer?" (quickly and very impressively) "laborer! oh, no, mah sweet mahster, he jes' shovel away de dirt befo' de steam shovel." "all right. that 'll do for 'rasmus. now your name?" "mah name mistress jane iggleston." "how long have you lived on the canal zone?" "oh, not too long, mah love." "since when have you lived in this house?" "oh, we don' come to dis house too long, sah." "can you read and write?" "no, ah don' stay in jamaica. ah come to panama when ah small." "do you do any work besides your own housework?" (evasively) "work? if ah does any work? no, not any." enumerator looks hard from her to washtub. "ah--er--oh, ah washes a couple o' gentlemen's clot'es." "very good. now then, how many children?" "we don' git no children, sah." "what! how did that happen?" loud, house-shaking laughter. enumerator (looking at watch and finding it : ): "well, good afternoon." "good evenin', sah. thank you, sah. te! he!" variations on the above might fill many pages: "how old are you?" self-appointed interpreter of the same shade; "he as' how old is yo?" "how old _i_ are? ah don rightly know mah age, mahster, mah mother never tol' me." st. lucian woman, evidently about forty-five, after deep thought, plainly anxious to be as truthful as possible: "er--ah's twenty, sir." "oh, you're older than that. about sixty, say?" "'bout dat, sah." "are you married?" (pushing the children out of the way.) "n-not as yet, mah sweet mahster, bu-but--but we go 'n' be soon, sah." to a barbadian woman of forty: "just you and your daughter live here?" "dat's all, sir." "doesn't your husband live here?" "oh, ah don't never marry as yet, sah." anent the old saying about the partnership of life and hope. to a dominican woman of fifty-two, toothless and pitted with small-pox: "are you married?" (with simpering smile) "not as yet, mah sweet mahster." to a jamaican youth; "how many people live in this room?" "three persons live here, sir." "i stand grammatically corrected. when did you move here?" "we remove here in april." "again i apologize for my mere american grammar. now, henry, what is your room-mate's name?" "well, we calls him ethel, but i don't know his right title. peradventure he will not work this evening [afternoon] and you can ask him from himself." "do his parents live on the zone?" "oh, yes, sah, he has one father and one mother." an answer: "why himself [emphatic subject pronoun among barbadians] didn't know if he'd get a job." to a six-foot black giant working as night-hostler of steam-shovels: "well, josiah, i suppose you're a jamaican?" "oh, yes, boss, ah work in kingston ten years as a bar-maid." "married?" "no, boss, ah's not 'xactly married. ah's livin' with a person." a colored family: sarah green, very black, has a child named edward white, and is now living with henry brown, a light yellow negro. west indian wit: a shop-sign in empire: "don't ask for credit. he is gone on vacation since january , ." laughter and carefree countenances are legion in the west indian ranks, children seem never to be punished, and to all appearances man and wife live commonly in peace and harmony. dr. o---- tells the following story, however: in his rounds he came upon a negro beating his wife and had him placed under arrest. the negro: "why, boss, can't a man chastize his wife when she desarves and needs it?" dr. o----: "not on the canal zone. it's against the law." negro (in great astonishment): "is dat so, boss. den ah'll never do it again, boss--on de canal zone." one morning in the heart of empire a noise not unlike that of a rocky waterfall began to grow upon my ear. louder and louder it swelled as i worked slowly forward. at last i discovered its source. in a lower room of a tenement an old white-haired jamaican had fitted up a private school, to which the elite among the darker brethren sent their children, rather than patronize the common public schools uncle sam provides free to all zone residents. the old man sat before some twenty wide-eyed children, one of whom stood slouch-shouldered, book in hand, in the center of the room, and at regular intervals of not more than twenty seconds he shouted high above all other noises of the neighborhood: "yo calls dat eng-leesh! how eber yo gon' l'arn talk proper lika dat, yo tell me?" far back in the interior of an empire block i came upon an old, old negro woman, parchment-skinned and doddering, living alone in a stoop-shouldered shanty of boxes and tin cans. "ah don' know how ol' ah is, mahster," was one of her replies, "but ah born six years befo' de cholera diskivered." "when did you come to panama?" "ah don' know, but it a long time ago." "before the americans, perhaps?" "oh, long befo'! de french ain't only jes' begin to dig. ah's ashamed to say how long ah been here" (just why was not evident, unless she fancied she should long ago have made her fortune and left). "is you a american? well, de americans sure have done one thing. dey mak' dis country civilize. why, chil', befo' dey come we have all de time here revolutions. ah couldn't count to how many revolutions we had, an' ebery time dey steal all what we have. dey even steal mah clothes. ah sure glad fo' one de americans come." it was during my empire enumerating that i was startled one morning to burst suddenly from the tawdry, junk-jumbled rooms of negroes into a bare-floored, freshly scrubbed room containing some very clean cots, a small table and a hammock, and a general air of frankness and simplicity, with no attempt to disguise the commonplace. at the table sat a spaniard in worn but newly washed working-clothes, book in hand. i sat down and, falling unconsciously into the "th" pronunciation of the castilian, began blithely to reel off the questions that had grown so automatic. "name?"-;-federico malero. "check number?"--"can you read?" "a little." the barest suggestion of amusement in his voice caused me to look up quickly. "my library," he said, with the ghost of a weird smile, nodding his head slightly toward an unpainted shelf made of pieces of dynamite boxes, "mine and my room-mates." the shelf was filled with four--real barcelona paper editions of hegel, fichte, spencer, huxley, and a half-dozen others accustomed to sit in the same company, all dog-eared with much reading. "some ambitious foreman," i mused, and went on with my queries: "occupation?" "pico y pala," he answered. "pick and shovel!" i exclaimed--"and read those?" "no importa," he answered, again with that elusive shadow of a smile, "it doesn't matter," and as i rose to leave, "buenos dias, senor," and he turned again to his reading. i plunged into the jumble of negroes next door, putting my questions and setting down the answers without even hearing them, my thoughts still back in the clean, bare room behind, wondering whether i should not have been wiser after all to have ignored the sharp-drawn lines and the prejudices of my fellow-countrymen and joined the pick and shovel zone world. there might have been pay dirt there. a few months before, i remembered, a spanish laborer killed in a dynamite explosion in the "cut" had turned out to be one of spain's most celebrated lawyers. i recalled that el unico, the anarchist spanish weekly published in miraflores contains some crystal-clear thinking set forth in a sharp-cut manner that shows a real inside knowledge of the "job" and the canal workers, however little one may agree with its philosophy and methods. then it was due to the law of contrasts, i suppose, that the thought of "tom," my room-mate, suddenly flashed upon me; and i discovered myself chuckling at the picture, "tom, the rough-neck," to whom all such as federico malero with his pick and shovel were mere "silver men," on whom "tom" looked down from his high perch on his steam-shovel as far less worthy of notice than the rock he was clawing out of the hillside. how many a silent chuckle and how many a covert sneer must the maleros on the zone indulge in at the pompous airs of some american ostensibly far above them. chapter iii meanwhile my fellow enumerators were reporting troubles "in the bush." i heard particularly those of two of the marines, "mac" and renson, merry, good-natured, earnest-by-spurts, even modest fellows quite different from what i had hitherto pictured as an enlisted man. "mac" was a half and half of scotch and italian. naturally he was constantly effervescing, both verbally and temperamentally, his snapping black eyes were never still, life played across his excitable, sunny boyish face like cloud shadows on a mountain landscape, whoever would speak to him at any length must catch him in a vice-like grip and hold his attention by main force. he spoke with a funny little almost-foreign accent, was touching on forty, and was the youngest man at that age in the length and breadth of the canal zone. at first sight you would take "mac" for a mere roustabout, like most who go a'soldiering. but before long you'd begin to wonder where he got his rich and fluent vocabulary and his warehouse of information. then you'd run across the fact that he had once finished a course in a middle-western university--and forgotten it. the schools had left little of their blighting mark upon him, yet "pump" "mac" on any subject from rapid-fire guns to grand opera and you'd get at least a reasonable answer. though you wouldn't guess the knowledge was there unless you did pump for it, for "mac" was not of the type of those who overwork the first person pronoun, not because of foolish diffidence but merely because it rarely occurred to him as a subject of conversation. seventeen years in the marine corps--you were sure he was "jollying" when he first said it--had taken "mac" to most places where warships go, from pekin and "the islands" to cape town and buenos ayres, and given him not merely an acquaintance with the world but--what is far more of an acquisition--the gift of getting acquainted in almost any stratum of the world in the briefest possible space of time. "mac" spoke not only his english and italian but a fluent "islands" spanish; he knew enough french to talk even to martiniques, and he could moreover make two distinct sets of noises that were understood by chinese and japanese respectively. he was a man just reckless enough in all things to be generous and alive, yet never foolishly wasteful either of himself or his meager substance. "mac" first rose to fame in the census department by appearing one afternoon at empire police station dragging a "bush" native by the scruff of the neck with one hand, and carrying in the other the machete with which the bushman had tried to prove he was a colombian and not subject to questioning by the agents of other powers. renson--well, renson was in some ways "mac's" exact antithesis and in some his twin brother. he was one of those youths who believe in spending prodigally and in all possible haste what little nature has given them. wherefore, though he was younger than "mac" appeared to be, he already looked older than "mac" was. in zone parlance "he had already laid a good share of the road to hell behind him." yet such a cheery, likable chap was renson, so large-hearted and unassuming--that was just why you felt an itching to seize him by the collar of his olive-drab shirt and shake him till his teeth rattled for tossing himself so wantonly to the infernal bow-wows. renson's "bush" troubles were legion. not only were there the seducing brown "spigoty" women out in the wilderness to help him on his descending trail, but when and wherever fire-water of whatever nationality or degree of voltage showed its neck--and it is to be found even in "the bush"--there was renson sure to give battle--and fall. "it's no use bein' a man unless you're a hell of a man," was renson's "influenced" philosophy. how different this was from his native good sense when the influence was turned off was demonstrated when he returned from cautiously reconnoitering a cottage far back in the wilds one dark night and reported as his reason for postponing the enumerating: "if you'd butt in on one o' them martinique booze festivals they'd crown you with a bottle." already one or two enumerators had gone back to private life--by request. particularly sad was the case of our dainty, blue-blooded panamanian. as with many panamanians, and not a few of the self-exalted elsewhere, he was more burdened with blue corpuscles than with gray matter. at any rate-- on our cards, after the query "color?" was a small space, a very small space in which was to be written quite briefly and unceremoniously "w," "b," or "mx" as the case might be. uncle sam was in a hurry for his census. early one afternoon our panamanian helpmate burst upon one of his numerous aristocratic relatives in his royal thatched domains in the ancestral bush. when he had embraced him the customary fifteen times on the right side and the fifteen accustomed times on the left side, and had performed the eighty-five gestures of greeting required by the social manual of the bush, and asked the three hundred and sixty-five questions de rigueur regarding the honorable health of his honorable horde of offspring, and his eye had fallen again on the red cards in his hand, the fact struck him that the relative was of precisely the same shade of complexion as himself. could he set him down as he had many a mere red-blooded person and thereby perhaps establish a precedent that might result in his own mortification? yet could he stretch a shade--or several shades--and set him down as "white"? no, there was the oath of office, and the government that administered it had been found long-armed and argus-eyed. long he sat in deepest meditation. being a panamanian, he could not of course know that uncle sam was in a hurry for his census. till at length, as the sun was firing the western jungle tree-tops, a scintillating idea rewarded his unwonted cogitation. he caught up the medium soft pencil and wrote in aristocratic hand down across the sheet where other information is supposed to find place: "color;--a very light mixture," and taking his leave with the requisite seventy-five gestures and genuflexions, he drifted empireward with the dozen cards the day had yielded. which is why i was shocked next morning by the disrespectful report of renson that "my friend the boss had tied a can to the spig's tail," and our dainty and lamented comrade went back to the more fitting blue-blood occupation of swinging a cane in the lobbies of panama's famous hostelries. but what mattered such small losses? had not "scotty" been engaged to fill the breach--or all of them, one or two breaches more or less made small difference to "scotty." he was a cozy little barrel of a man, born in "doombahrton," and for some years past had been dispensing good old dumbarton english in panama's proudest educational institution. but panama's school vacation is during her "summer," her dry season from february to april. what more natural then than that "scotty" should have concluded to pass his vacation taking census, for obviously--"a mon must pick up a wee bit o' change wherever he can." i seemed to have been appointed to a purely sight-seeing job. one february noon i reported at the office to find that passes to gatun had been issued to five of us, "scotty," "mac," renson, and barter among the number. the task in the "town by the dam site" it seemed, was proving too heavy for the regular enumerators of that district. we left by the : train. cascadas and bas obispo rolled away behind us, across the canal i caught a glimpse of the wilderness surrounding the abode of "old fritz," then we entered a to me unknown land. i could easily have fancied myself a tourist, especially so at matachin when "mac" solemnly attempted to "spring" on me the old tourist hoax of suicided chinamen as the derivation of the town's name. through gorgona, the pittsburg of the zone with its acres of machine-shops, rumbled the train and plunged beyond into a deep, if not exactly rank, endless jungle. the stations grew small and unimportant. bailamonos and san pablo were withering and wasting away, "'orca l'garto," or the hanged alligator was barely more than a memory, tabernilla a mere heap of lumber being tumbled on flatcars bound for new service further pacificward. of frijoles there remained barely enough to shudder at, with the collector's nasal bawl of "free holys!" and everywhere the irrepressible tropical greenery was already rushing back to engulf the pigmy works of man. it seemed criminally wasteful to have built these entire towns with all the detail and machinery of a well governed and fully furnished city from police station to salt cellars only to tear them down again and utterly wipe them out four or five years after their founding. a forerunner of what, in a few brief years, will have happened to all the zone--nay, is not this the way of life itself? for soon the spillway at gatun is to close its gates and all this vast region will be flooded and come to be gatun lake. villages that were old when pizarro began his swine-herding will be wiped out, even this splendid double-tracked railroad goes the way of the rest, for on february fifteenth, a bare few days away, it was to be abandoned and where we were now racing northwestward through brilliant sunshine and atlantic breezes would soon be the bottom of a lake over which great ocean steamers will glide, while far below will be tall palm-trees and the spreading mangoes, the banana, king of weeds, gigantic ferns and--well, who shall say what will become of the brilliant parrots, the monkeys and the jaguars? for nearly an hour we had not a glimpse of the canal, lost in the jungle to the right. then suddenly we burst out upon the growing lake, now all but licking at the rails beneath us, the zone city of gatun climbing up a hillside on its edge and scattering over several more. to the left i caught my first sight of the world-famous locks and dam, and at : we descended at the stone station, first mile-post of permanency, for being out of reach of the coming flood it is built to stay and shows what canal zone stations will be in the years to come. there remained for me but seven miles of the isthmus still unseen. on the cement platform was a great foregathering of the census clans from all districts, whence we climbed to the broad porch of the administration building above. there before me, for the first time in--well, many months, spread the atlantic, the caribbean perhaps i should say, seeming very near, so near i almost fancied i could have thrown a stone to where it began and stretched away up to the bluish horizon, while the entrance to the canal where soon great ships will enter poked its way inland to the locks beside us. across the tree-tops of the flat jungle, also seeming close at hand though the railroad takes seven miles--and thirty-five cents if you are no employee--to reach it, was colon, the tops of whose low buildings were plainly visible above the vegetation. not many "zoners," i reflected, catch their first view of colon from the veranda of the administration building at gatun. we had arrived with time to spare. fully an hour we loafed and yarned and smoked before a whistle blew and long lines of little figures began to come up out of the depths and zigzag across the landscape until soon a line of laborers of every shade known to humanity began to form, pay-checks in hand; its double head at the pay-windows on the two sides of the veranda, its tail serpentining off down the hillside and away nearly to the edge of the mammoth locks. packs of the yellow cards of cristobal district in hand--a relief to eyes that had been staring for days at the pink ones of empire--we lined up like birds of prey just beyond the windows. as the first laborer passed this, one--nay, several of us pounced upon him, for all plans we had laid to line up and take turns were thus quickly overthrown and wild competition soon reigned. from then on each dived in to snatch his prey and, dragging him to the nearest free space, began in some language or other: "where d'ye live?" that was the overwhelming problem,--in what language to address each victim. barter, speaking only his nasal new jersey, took to picking out negroes, and even then often turned away in disgust when he landed a martinique or a haytian. west indian "english" alternated with a black patois that smelt at times faintly of french, muscular, bullet-headed negroes appeared slowly and laboriously counting their money in their hats, eagle-nosed spaniards under the boina of the pyrenees, spaniards from castile speaking like a gatling-gun in action, now and again even a snappy-eyed andalusian with his s-less slurred speech, slow, laborious gallegos, italians and portuguese in numbers, colombians of nondescript color, a slovak who spoke some german, a man from palestine with a mixture of french and arabic noises i could guess at, and scattered here and there among the others a turk who jabbered the lingua franca of mediterranean ports. i "got" all who fell into my hands. once i dragged forth a hindu, and shuddered with fear of a first failure. but he knew a bit of a strange english and i found i recalled six or seven words of my forgotten hindustanee. then suddenly a flood of greeks broke upon us, growing deeper with every moment. above the pandemonium my companions were howling hoarsely and imploringly for the interpreter, while clutching their trembling victim by the slack of his labor-stained shirt lest he escape un-enrolled. the interpreter, in accordance with a well-known law of physics and the limitations of human nature, could not be in sixteen places at once. i crowded close, caught his words, memorized the few questions, and there was i with my "poomaynes?" "poseeton?" and "padremaynos?" enrolling greeks unassisted, not only that but haughtily acting as interpreter for my fellows--not only without having studied the tongue of achilles but never even having graced a greek letter fraternity. quick tropical twilight descended, and still the labor-smeared line wound away out of sight into the darkness, still workmen of every shade and tongue jingled their brass-checks timidly on the edge of the pay-window, from behind which came roaring noises that the americans within fancied spaniards, or greeks, or roumanians must understand because they were not english noises; still we pounced upon the paid as upon a tackling-dummy in the early days of spring practice. the colossal wonder of it all was how these deep-chested, muscle-knotted fellows endured us, how they refrained from taking us up between a thumb and forefinger and dropping us over the veranda railing. for our attack lacked somewhat in gentle courtesy, notably so that of "the rowdy." he was a chestless youth of the type that has grown so painfully prevalent in our land since the soft-hearted abolishment of the beech-rod of revered memory; of that all too familiar type whose proofs of manhood are cigarettes and impudence and discordant noise, and whose national superiority is demonstrated by the maltreating of all other races. but the enrolled were all, black, white, or mixed, far more gentlemen than we. some, of brief zone experience, were sheepish with fear and the wonder as to what new mandate this incomprehensible u. s. was perpetrating to match its strange sanitary laws that forbade a man even to be uncleanly in his habits, after the good old sacred right of his ancestors to remotest ages. then, too, there was a zone policeman in dressy, new-starched khaki treading with dangling club and the icy-eye of public appearance, waiting all too eagerly for some one to "start something." but the great percentage of the maltreated multitude were "old timers," men of four or five years of digging who had learned to know this strange creature, the american, and the world, too; who smiled indulgently down upon our yelping and yanking like a st. bernard above the snapping puppy he well knows cannot seriously bite him. dense black night had fallen. here and there lanterns were hung, under one of which we dragged each captive. the last passenger back to empire roared away into the jungle night; still we scribbled on, "backed" a yellow card and dived again into the muscular whirlpool to emerge dragging forth by the collar a greek, a pole, or a west indian. it was like business competition, in which i had an unfair advantage, being able to understand any jargon in evidence. when at last the pay-windows came down with a bang and an american curse, and the serpentining tail squirmed for a time in distress and died away, as a snake's tail dies after sundown, i turned in more than a hundred cards. to-morrow the tail would revive to form the nucleus of a new serpent, and we should return by the afternoon train to the lock city, and so on for several days to come. it was after nine of a black pay-day night. we were hungry. "the rowdy," familiar with the lay of the land, volunteered to lead the foraging expedition. we stumbled down the hill and away along the railroad. a faint rumbling that grew to a confused roar fell on our ears. we climbed a bank into a wild conglomeration of wood and tin architecture, nationalities, colors, and noises, and across a dark, bottomless gully from the high street we had reached lights flashed amid a very ocean of uproar. "the rowdy," as if to make the campaign as real as possible, led us racing down into the black abyss, whence we charged up the further slope and came sweating and breathless into the rampant rough and tumble of pay-day night in new gatun, the time and place that is the vortex of trouble on the isthmus. merely a short street of one of the half-dozen zone towns in which liquor licenses are granted, lined with a few saloons and pool-rooms; but such a singing, howling, swarming multitude as is rivaled almost nowhere else, except it be on broadway at the passing of the old year. but this mob, moreover, was fully seventy percent black, and rather largely french--and when black and french and strong drink mix, trouble sprouts like jungle seeds. now and then policeman g---- drifted by through the uproar, holding his "sap" loosely as for ready use and often half consciously hitching the heavy no. "colt" under his khaki jacket a bit nearer the grasp of his right hand. i little knew how familiar every corner of this scene would one day be to me. a chinese grocer sold us bread and cheese. down on the further corner of the hubbub we entered a spanish saloon and spread ourselves over the "white" bar, adding beer to our humble collation. beyond the lattice-work that is the "color line" in zone dispensaries, west indians were dancing wild, crowded "hoe-downs" and "shuffles" amid much howling and more liquidation; on our side a few spanish laborers quietly sipped their liquor. the marines of course were "busted." the rest of us scraped up a few odd "spigoty" dimes. the spanish bar-tender--who is never the "tough" his american counterpart strives to show himself--but merely a cheery good-fellow--drifted into our conversation, and when we found i had slept in his native village he would have it that we accept a round of valdepenas. which must have been potent, for it moved "scotty" to unbutton an inner pocket and set up an entire bottle of amontillado. so midnight was no great space off when we turned out again into the howling night and, having helped renson to reach a sleeping-place, scattered to the bachelor quarters that had been found for us and lay down for the few hours that remained before the : should carry us back to empire. at last i had crossed all the isthmus and heard the wash of the caribbean at my feet. it was the sunday following our gatun days, and nearly a month since my landing on the zone. the morning train from empire left me at the lake-side city for a run over locks and dam which the working days had not allowed, and there being no other train for hours i set off along the railroad to walk the seven miles to colon. on either side lay hot, rampant jungle, low and almost swampy. it was noon when i reached the broad railroad yards and zone storehouses of mt. hope and turned aside to cristobal hotel. cristobal is built on the very fringe of the ocean with the roll of waves at the very edge of its windows, and a far-reaching view of the caribbean where the ceaseless zone breeze is born. there stands the famous statue of columbus protecting the indian maid, crude humor in bronze; for columbus brought indian maids anything but protection. near at hand in the joyous tropical sunshine lay a great steamer that in another week would be back in new york tying up in sleet and ice. a western bronco and a lariat might perhaps have dragged me on board, with a struggle. there is no more line of demarkation between cristobal and colon than between ancon and panama. a khaki-clad zone policeman patrols one sidewalk, a black one in the sweltering dark blue uniform and heavy wintry helmet of the republic of panama lounges on the other side of a certain street; on one side are the "enumerated" tags of the census, on the other none. cross the street and you feel at once a foreigner. it is distinctly unlawful to sell liquor on sunday or to gamble at any time on the canal zone; it is therefore with something approaching a shock that one finds everything "wide open" and raging just across the street. i wandered out past "highball's" merry-go-round, where huge negro bucks were laughing and playing and riding away their month's pay on the wooden horses like the children they are, and so on to the edge of the sea. unlike panama, colon is flat and square-blocked, as it is considerably darker in complexion with its large mixture of negroes from the caribbean shores and islands. uncle sam seems to have taken the city's fine beach away from her. but then, she probably never took any other advantage of it than to turn it into a garbage heap as bad as once was bottle alley. on one end is a cement swimming pool with the announcement, "only for gold employees of the i. c. c. or p. r. r. and guests of washington hotel." it is merely a softer way of saying, "only white americans with money can bathe here." then beyond are the great hospitals, second only to those of ancon, the "white" wards built out over the sea, and behind them the "black" where the negroes must be content with second-hand breezes. some of the costs of the canal are here,--sturdy black men in a sort of bed-tick pajamas sitting on the verandas or in wheel chairs, some with one leg gone, some with both. one could not but wonder how it feels to be hopelessly ruined in body early in life for helping to dig a ditch for a foreign power that, however well it may treat you materially, cares not a whistle-blast more for you than for its old worn-out locomotives rusting away in the jungle. under the beautiful royal palms beyond, all bent inland in the constant breeze are park benches where one can sit with the atlantic spreading away to infinity before, breaking with its ages-old, mysterious roll on the shore just as it did before the european's white sails first broke the gleaming skyline. out to sea runs the growing breakwater from toro point, the great wireless tower, yet just across the bay on a little jutting, dense-grown tongue of land is the jungle hut of a jungle family as utterly untouched by civilization as was the verdant valley of typee on the day melville and toby came stumbling down into it from the hills above. but meanwhile i was not getting the long hours of unbroken sleep the heavy mental toil of enumeration requires. free government bachelor quarters makes strange bed-fellows--or at least room-fellows. quartermasters, like justice, are hopelessly blind or i might have been assigned quarters upon the financial knoll where habits and hours were a bit more in keeping with my own. but a bachelor is a bachelor on the zone, and though he be clerk to his highness "the colonel" himself he may find himself carelessly tossed into a "rough-neck" brotherhood. house was distinctly an abode of "rough-necks." a "rough-neck," it may be essential to explain to those who never ate at the same table with one, is a bull-necked, whole-hearted, hard-headed, cast-iron fellow who can ride the beam of a snorting, rock-tearing steam-shovel all day, wrestle the night through with various starred hennessey and its rivals, and continue that round indefinitely without once failing to turn up to straddle his beam in the morning. he seems to have been created without the insertion of nerves, though he is never lacking in "nerve." he is a fine fellow in his way, but you sometimes wish his way branched off from yours for a few hours, when bed-time or a mood for quiet musing comes. he is a man you are glad to meet in a saloon--if you are in a mood to be there--or tearing away at the cliffs of culebra; but there are other places where he does not seem exactly to fit into the landscape. house , i say, was a house of "rough-necks." that fact became particularly evident soon after supper, when the seven phonographs were striking up their seven kinds of ragtime on seven sides of us; and it was the small hours before the poker games, carried on in much the same spirit as comanche warfare, broke up through all the house. then, too, many a "rough-neck" is far from silent even after he has fallen asleep; and about the time complete quiet seemed to be settling down it was four-thirty; and a jarring chorus of alarm-clocks wrought new upheaval. then there was each individual annoyance. let me barely mention two or three. of my room-mates, "mitch" had sat at a locomotive throttle fourteen years in the states and mexico, besides the four years he had been hauling dirt out of the "cut." youthful ambition "mitch" had left behind, for though he could still look forward to forty, railroad rules had so changed in the states during his absence that he would have had to learn his trade over again to be able to "run" there. moreover four years on the zone does not make a man look forward with pleasure to a states winter. so "mitch," like many another "zoner," was planning to buy with the savings of his $ a month "when the job is done" a chunk of land on some sunny slope of a southern state and settle down for an easy descent through old age. there was nothing objectionable about "mitch"--except perhaps his preference for late-hour poker. but he had a way of stopping with one leg out of his trousers when at last all the house had calmed down and cots were ceasing to creak, to make some such wholly irrelevant remark as; "by ----, that ---- dispatcher give me to-day and she wouldn't pull a greased string out of a knot-hole"--and thereby always hung a tale that was sure to range over half the track mileage of the states and wander off somewhere into the sandy cactus wilderness of chihuahua at least before "mitch" succeeded in getting out of the other trouser leg. the cot directly across from my own groaned--occasionally--under the coarse-grained bulk of tom. tom was a "rough-neck" par excellence, so much so that even in a houseful of them he was known as "tom the rough-neck," which to tom was high tribute. some preferred to call him "tom the noisy." he was built like a steam caisson, or an oil-barrel, though without fat, with a neck that reminded you of a miura bull with his head down just before the estoque; and when he neglected to button his undershirt--a not infrequent oversight--he displayed the hairy chest of a mammoth gorilla. tom's philosophy of getting through life was exactly the same as his philosophy of getting through a rocky hillside with his steam-shovel. when it came to argument tom was invariably right; not that he was over-supplied with logic, but because he possessed a voice and the bellows to work it that could rise to the roar of his own steam-shovel on those weeks when he chose to enter the shovel competition, and would have utterly overthrown, drowned out, and annihilated james stewart mill himself. tom always should have had money, for your "rough-neck" on the zone has decidedly the advantage over the white-collared college graduate when the pay-car comes around. but of course being a genuine "rough-neck" tom was always deep in debt, except on the three days after pay-day, when he was rolling in wealth. once i fancied the bulk of my troubles was over. tom disappeared, leaving not a trace behind--except his working-clothes tumbled on and about his cot. then it turned out that he was not dead, but in ancon hospital taking the keeley cure; and one summer evening he blew in again, his "cure" effected--with a bottle in his coat pocket and two inside his vest. so the next day there was tom celebrating his recovery all over house and when next morning he did finally go back to his shovel there were scattered about the room six empty quart bottles each labeled "whiskey." luckily tom ran a shovel instead of a passenger train and could claw away at his hillside as savagely as he chose without any danger whatever, beyond that of killing himself or an odd "nigger" or two. we had other treasures on exhibition in . there was "shorty," for instance. "shorty" was a jolly, ugly open-handed, four-eyed little snipe of a roughneck machinist who had lost "in the line of duty" two fingers highly useful in his trade. in consequence he was now, after the generous fashion of the i.c.c., on full pay for a year without work, providing he did not leave the zone. and while "shorty," like the great majority of us, was a very tolerable member of society under the ordinary circumstances of having to earn his "three squares a day," paid leisure hung most ponderously upon him. the amusements in empire are few--and not especially amusing. there is really only one unfailing one. that is slid in glass receptacles across a yellow varnished counter down on railroad avenue opposite empire machine shops. so it happened that "shorty" was gradually winning the title of a thirty-third degree "booze-fighter," and passengers on any afternoon train who took the trouble to glance in at a wide-open door just atlanticward of the station might have beheld him with his back to the track and one foot slightly raised and resting lightly and with the nonchalance of long practice on a gas-pipe that had missed its legitimate mission. in fact "shorty" had come to that point where he would rather be caught in church than found dead without a bottle on him, and arriving home overflowing with joy about midnight slept away most of the day in that he might spend as much of the night as the early closing laws of the zone permitted at the amusement headquarters of empire. with these few hints of the life that raged beneath the roof of it may perhaps be comprehensible, without going into detail, why i came to contemplate a change of quarters. i detest a kicker. i have small use for any but the man who will take his allotted share with the rest of the world without either whining or snarling. yet when an official government census enumerator falls asleep on the edge of a tenement washtub with a question dead on his lips, or solemnly sets down a crow-black jamaican as "white," it is uncle sam who is suffering and time for correction. but it is one thing for a canal zone employee to resolve to move, and quite another to carry out that resolution. nero was a meek, unassertive, submissive, tractable little chap, keenly sensible to the sufferings of his fellows, compared with a zone quartermaster. so the first time i ventured to push open the screen door next to the post office i was grateful to escape unmaimed. but at last, when i had done a whole month's penance in , i resorted to strategy. on march first i entered the dreaded precinct shielded behind "the boss" with his contagious smile, and the musical quartermaster of empire was overthrown and defeated, and i marched forth clutching in one hand a new "assignment to quarters." that night i moved. the new, or more properly the older, room was in house , a one-story building of the old french type, many of which the americans revamped upon taking possession of the isthmian junk-heap, across and a bit down the graveled street. it was a single room, with no roommate to question, which i might decorate and otherwise embellish according to my own personal idiosyncrasies. at the back, with a door between, dwelt the superintendent of the zone telephone system, with a convenient instrument on his table. in short, fortune seemed at last to be grinning broadly upon me. but--the sequel. i hate to mention it. i won't. it's absurdly commonplace. commonplace? not a bit of it. he was a champion, an artist in his specialty. how can i have used that word in connection with his incomparable performance? or attempt to give a hint of life on the canal zone without mentioning the most conspicuous factor in it? he lived in the next room south, a half-inch wooden partition reaching half-way to the ceiling between his pillow and mine. by day he lay on his back in the right hand seat of a locomotive cab with his hand on the throttle and the soles of his shoes on the boiler plate--he was just long enough to fit into that position without wrinkling. during the early evening he lay on his back in a stout mission rocking-chair on the front porch of house , empire, c.z. and about p. m. daily he retired within to lie on his back on a regulation i.c.c. metal cot--they are stoutly built--one pine half-inch from my own. obviously twenty-four hours a day of such onerous occupation had left some slight effects on his figure. his shape was strikingly similar to that of a push-ball. had he fallen down at the top of ancon or balboa hill it would have been an even bet whether he would have rolled down sidewise or endwise--if his general type of build and specifications will permit any such distinction. when i first came upon him, reposing serenely in the porch rocking-chair on the cushion that upholstered his spinal column, i was pleased. clearly he was no "rough-neck"--he couldn't have been and kept his figure. there was no question but that he was perfectly harmless; his stories ought to prove cheerful and laugh-provoking and kindly. his very presence seemed to promise to raise several degrees the merriment in that corner of house . it did. toward eight, as i have hinted, he transferred from rocking-chair to cot. he was not afflicted with troublesome nerves. at times he was an entire minute in falling asleep. usually, however, his time was something under the half; and he slept with the innocent, undisturbed sleep of a babe for at least twelve unbroken hours, unless the necessity of getting across the "cut" to his engine absolutely prohibited. just there was the trouble. his first gentle, slumberous breath sounded like a small boy sliding down the sheet-iron roof of . his second resembled a force of carpenters tearing out the half-grown partitions. his third--but mere words are an absurdity. at times the noises from his gorilla-like throat softened down till one merely fancied himself in the hog-corral of a chicago stockyards; at others we prayed that we might at once be transferred there. a thousand times during the night we were certain he was on the very point of choking to death, and sat up in bed praying he wouldn't, and offering our month's salary to charity if he would; and through all our fatiguing anguish he snorted undisturbedly on. in house he was known as "the sloth." it was a gentle and kindly title. there were a few inexperienced inmates who had not yet utterly given up hope. the long hours of the night were spent in solemn conference. pounding on the walls with hammers, chairs, and shoe-heels was like singing a lullaby. one genius invented a species of foghorn which proved very effective--in waking up all empire east of the tracks, except "the sloth." some took to dropping their heavier and more dispensable possessions over the partition. one memorable night a fellow-sufferer cast over a young dry-goods box which, bouncing from the snorer's figure to the floor, caused him to lose a beat--one; and the feat is still one of the proud memories of . on sundays when all the rest of the world was up and shaved and breakfasted and off on the : of a brilliant, sunny day to panama, "the sloth" would be still imperturbably snorting and choking in the depths of his cot. and in the evening, as the train roamed back through the fresh cool jungle dusk and deposited us at empire station, and we crossed the wooden bridge before the hotel and began to climb the graveled path behind, hoping against hope that we might find crape on that door, from the night ahead would break on our cars a sound as of a hippopotamus struggling wildly against going down for the third and last time. most annoying of all, "the sloth" was not even a bona fide bachelor. he proudly announced that, though he was a model of marital virtue, he had not lived with his wife in many years. i never heard a man who knew him by night ask why. it was close upon criminal negligence on the part of the i.c.c. to overlook its opportunity in this matter. there were so many, many uninhabited hilltops on the zone where a private sloth-dwelling might have been slapped together from the remains of falling towns at gatun end; near it a grandstand might even have been erected and admission charged. or at least the daily climb to it would have helped to reduce a push-ball figure, and thereby have improved the general appearance of the canal zone force. chapter iv one morning early in march "the boss" and i crossed the suspension bridge over the canal. a handcar and six husky negroes awaited us, and we were soon bumping away over temporary spurs through the jungle, to strike at length the "relocation" opposite the giant tree near bas obispo that marked the northern limit of our district. the p.r.r., you will recall, has been operating across the isthmus since . when the united states took over the zone in it built a new double-tracked line of five-foot gauge for nearly the whole forty-seven miles. much of this, however, runs through territory soon to be covered by gatun lake, nearly all the rest of it is on the wrong side of the canal. an almost entirely new line, therefore, is being built through the virgin jungle on the south american side of the canal, which is to be the permanent line and is known in zone parlance as the "relocation." this is forty-nine miles in length from panama to colon, and is single track only, as freight traffic especially is expected, very naturally, to be lighter after the canal is opened. already that portion from the chagres to the atlantic had been put in use--on february fifteenth, to be exact; and the time was not far off when the section within our district--from gamboa to pedro miguel--would also be in operation. that portion runs through the wilderness a mile or more back from the canal, through jungled hills so dense with vegetation one could only make one's way through it with the ubiquitous machete of the native jungle-dweller, except where tiny trails appear that lead to squatters' thatched huts thrown together of tin, dynamite and dry-goods boxes and jungle reeds in little scattered patches of clearing. some of these hills have been cut half away for the new line--great generous "cuts," for to the giant -ton steam-shovels a few hundred cubic yards of earth more or less is of slight importance. all else is virtually impenetrable jungle. travelers by rail across the isthmus, as no doubt many ships' passengers will be in the years to come while their steamer is being slowly raised and lowered to and from the eighty-five-foot lake, will see little of the canal,--a glimpse of the bas obispo "cut" at gamboa and little else from the time they leave gatun till they return to the present line at pedro miguel station. but in compensation they will see some wondrous jungle scenery,--a tangled tropical wilderness with great masses of bush flowers of brilliant hues, gigantic ferns, countless palm and banana trees, wonderfully slender arrow-straight trees rising smooth and branchless more than a hundred feet to end in an immense bouquet of brilliant purplish-hue blossoms. "the boss" barely noticed these things. one quickly grows accustomed to them. why, americans who have been down on the zone for a year don't know there's a palm-tree on the isthmus--or at least they do not remember there were no palm-trees in keokuk, iowa, when they left there. along this new-graveled line, still unused except by work-trains, we rode in our six negro-power car, dropping off in the gravel each time we caught sight of any species of human being. every little way was a gang, averaging some thirty men, distinct in nationality,--antiguans shoveling gravel, martiniques snarling and quarreling as they wallowed thigh-deep in swamps and pools, a company of greeks unloading train-loads of ties, spaniards leisurely but steadily grading and surfacing, track bands of "spigoties" chopping away the aggressive jungle with their machetes--the one task at which the native panamanian (or colombian, as many still call themselves) is worth his brass-check. every here and there we caught labor's odds and ends, diminutive "water-boys," likewise of varying nationality, a negro switch-boy dozing under the bit of shelter he had rigged up of jungle ferns, frightening many a black laborer speechless as we pounced upon him emerging from his "soldiering" in the jungle; occasionally even a native bushman on his way to market from his palm-thatched home generations old back in the bush, who has scarcely noticed yet that the canal is being dug, fell into our hands and was inexorably set down in spite of all protest unless he could prove beyond question that he had already been "taken" or lived beyond the zone line. thus we scribbled incessantly on, even through the noon hour, dragging gangs one by one away from their tasks, shaking laborers out of the brief after-lunch siesta in a patch of shade. "the boss" was hampered by having only two languages where ten were needed. in the early afternoon he went on to paraiso to feed himself and the traction power, while i held the fort. soon after rain fell, a sort of advance agent of the rainy season, a sudden tropical downpour that ran in rivulets down across the pink card-boards and my victims. yet strange to note, the writing of the medium soft pencil remained as clear and unsmudged as in the driest weather, and so clean a rain was it that it did not even soil my white cotton shirt. i continued unheeding, only to note with surprise a few minutes later that the sun was shining on the dense green jungle about me as brilliantly as ever and that i was dry again as when i had set out in the morning. "the boss" returned, and when i had eaten the crackers and the bottle of pink lemonade he brought, we pushed on toward the pacific. till at length in mid-afternoon we came to the top of the descent to pedro miguel and knew that the end of our district was at hand. so powerful was the breeze from the atlantic that our six man-power engine sweated profusely as they toiled against it, even on the downgrade of the return to empire. to "scotty" had been assigned my empire "recalls" and i had been given a new and virgin territory,--namely, the town of paraiso. it lies "somewhat back from the village street," that is, the p.r.r. indeed, trains do not deign to notice its existence except on sundays. but there is the temporary bridge over the canal which few engineers venture to "snake her across" at any great speed, and the enumerator housed in empire need not even be a graduate "hobo" to be able to drop off there a bit after seven in the morning and prance away up the chamois path into the town. wherever on the zone you espy a town of two-story skeleton screened buildings scattered over hills, with winding gravel roads and trees and flowers between there you may be sure live american "gold" employees. yet somehow the canal commission had dodged the monotony you expected, somehow they have broken up the grim lines that make so dismal the best-intentioned factory town. there are hints that the builders have heard somewhere of the science of landscape gardening. at times these same houses are deceiving, for all i. c. c. buildings bear a strong family resemblance, and it is only at the door that you know whether it is bachelors' quarters, a family residence, or the supreme court. from the outside world "p'reeso" scarcely draws a glance of attention; but once in it you find a whole zone town with all the accustomed paraphernalia of i. c. c. hotel and commissary, hospital and police station, all ruled over and held in check by the famous "colonel" in command of the latter. moreover paraiso will some day come again into her own, when the "relocation" opens and brings her back on the main line, while proud culebra and haughty empire, stranded on a railless shore of the canal, will wither and waste away and even their broad macadamed roads will sink beneath a second-growth jungle. renson had come to lend assistance. he set to work among the negro cabins, the upper gallery seats of paraiso's amphitheater of hills, for renson had been a free agent for more than a month now and was not exactly in a condition to interview american housewives. my own task began down at the row of inhabited box-cars, and so on through shacks and tenements with many spanish laborers' wives. then toward noon the labor-train screamed in, with two "gold" coaches and many open cattle-cars with long benches jammed with sweaty workmen, easily six hundred men in the six cars, who swept in upon the town like a flood through a suddenly opened sluiceway as the train barely paused and shrieked away again. renson and i dashed for the laborers' mess-halls, where hundreds of sun-bronzed foreigners, divided only as to color, packed pell-mell around a score of wooden tables heavily stocked with rough and tumble food--yet so different from the old french catch as catch can days when each man owned his black pot and toiled all through the noon-hour to cook himself an unsanitary lunch. we jotted them down at express speed, with changes of tongue so abrupt that our heads were soon reeling, and in the place where our minds should have been sounded only a confused chaotic uproar like a wrangling within the covers of a polyglot dictionary. then suddenly i landed a russian! it was the final straw. i like to speak spanish, i can endure the creaking of turks attempting to talk italian, i can bend an ear to the excruciating "french" of martinique negroes, i have boldly faced sputtering arabs, but i will not run the risk of talking russian. it was the second and last case during my census days when i was forced to call for interpretative assistance. at best we caught only a small percentage at each table before the crowd had wolfed and melted away. an odd half dozen more, perhaps, we found stretched out in the shade under the mess-hall and neighboring quarters before the imperative screech of the labor-train whistle ended a scene that must be several times repeated, and now left us silent and alone, to wander wet and weary to the nearest white bachelor quarters, there to lie on our backs an hour or more till the polyglot jumble of words in the back of our heads had each climbed again to its proper shelf. speaking of white bachelor quarters, therein lay the enumerator's greatest problem. the spaniard or the jamaican is in nine cases out of ten fluently familiar with his companion's antecedents and pedigree. he can generally furnish all the information the census department calls for. but it is quite otherwise with the american bachelor. he may know his room-mate's exact degree of skill at poker, he probably knows his private opinion of "the colonel," he is sure to know his degree of enmity to the prohibition movement; but he is not at all certain to know his name and rarely indeed has he the shadow of a notion when and in what particular corner of the states he began the game of existence. so loose are ties down on the zone that a man's room-mate might go off into the jungle and die and the former not dream of inquiring for him for a week. especially we world-wanderers, as are a large percentage of "zoners," with virtually no fixed roots in any soil, floating wherever the job suggests or the spirit moves, have the facts of our past in our own heads only. no wanderer of experience would dream of asking his fellow where he came from. the answer would be too apt to be, "from the last place." so difficult did this matter become that i gave up rushing for the bus to pedro miguel each evening and the even more distressing necessity of catching that premature : train each morning in empire and, packing a sheet and pillow and tooth-brush, moved down to paraiso that i might spend the first half of the night in quest of these elusive bits of bachelor information. meanwhile the enrolling by day continued unabated. i had my first experience enumerating "gold" married quarters--white american families; just enough for experience and not enough to suffer severely. the enrolling of west indians was pleasanter. the wives of locomotive engineers and steam-shovel cranemen were not infrequently supercilious ladies who resented being disturbed during their "social functions" and lacked the training in politeness of jamaican "mammies." living in paradise now under a paternal all-providing government, they seemed to have forgotten the rolling-pin days of the past. it was here in paraiso that i first encountered that strange, that wondrous strange custom of lying about one's age. negro women never did. what more absurd, uncalled-for piece of dishonesty! does mrs. smith fear that mrs. jones next door will succeed in pumping out of me that capital bit of information? little does she know the long prison sentence at "hard labor" that stares me in the face for any such slip; to say nothing of my naturally incommunicative disposition. or is she ashamed to let me know the truth?--unaware that all such information goes in at my ears and down my pencil to the pink card before me like a message over the wires, leaving no more trace behind. surely she must know that i care not a pencil-point whether she is eighteen or fifty-two, nor remember which one minute after her screen door has slammed behind me--unless she has caused me to glance up in wonder at her silvering temples of thirty-five when she simpers "twenty-two"--and to set her down as forty to be on the safe side. oh now, please, ladies, do not understand me as accusing the american wives of paraiso in general of this weakness. the large majority were quite pleasant, frank, and overflowing with cheery good sense. but the percentage who were not was far larger than i, who am also an american, was pleased to find it. but doubly astonishing were the few cases of lying by proxy. a "clean-cut," college-graduated civil engineer of thirty-two whom one would have cited as an example of the best type of american, gave all data concerning himself in an unimpeachable manner. his wife was absent. when the question of her age arose he gave it, with the slightest catch in his voice, as twenty. now that might be all very well. men of thirty-two are occasionally so fortunate as to marry girls of twenty. but a moment later the gentleman in question finds himself announcing that his wife has been living on the zone with him since ; and that she was born in new england! thus is he tripped over his own clothes-line. for new england girls do not marry at fifteen; mother would not let them even if they would. i, too, had gradually worked my way high up among the nondescript cabins on the upper rim of paraiso that seem on the very verge of pitching headlong into the noisy, smoky canal far below with the jar of the next explosion, when one sunny mid-afternoon i caught sight of renson dejectedly trudging down across what might be called the "maiden" of paraiso, back of the two-story lodge-hall. i took leave of my ebony hostess and descended. renson's troubles were indeed disheartening. back in the jungled fringe of the town he had fallen into a swarm of martiniques, and renson's french being nothing more than an unstudied mixture of english and spanish, he had not gathered much information. moreover negro women from the french isles are enough to frighten any virtuous young marine. "what's the sense o' me tryin' to chew the fat in french?" asked renson, with tears in his voice. "i ain't in no condition to work at this census business any longer anyway. i ain't got to bed before three in the morning this week"--in his air was open suggestion that it was some one else's fault--"some day i'll be gettin' in bad, too. this mornin' a fool nigger woman asked me if i didn't want her black pickaninny i was enumeratin', thinkin' it was a good joke. you know how these bush kids is runnin' around all over the country before a white man's brat could walk on its hind legs. 'yes,' i says, 'if i was goin' alligator huntin' an' needed bait!' i come near catchin' the brat up by the feet an' beatin' its can off. i'm out o' luck any way, an'--" the fact is renson was aching to be "fired." more than thirty days had he been subject only to his own will, and it was high time he returned to the nursery discipline of camp. moreover he was out of cigarettes. i slipped him one and smoothed him down as its fumes grew--for renson was as tractable as a child, rightly treated--and set him to taking jamaican tenements in the center of town, while i struck off into the jungled martinique hills myself. there were signs abroad that the census job was drawing to a close. my first pay-day had already come and gone and i had strolled up the gravel walk one noon-day to the disembursing office with my yellow pay certificate duly initialed by the examiner of accounts, and was handed my first four twenty-dollar gold pieces--for hotel and commissary books sadly reduce a good paycheck. already one evening i had entered the census office to find "the boss" just peeling off his sweat-dripping undershirt and dotted with skin-pricking jungle life after a day mule-back on the thither side of the canal; an utterly fruitless day, for not only had he failed during eight hours of plunging through the wilderness to find a single hut not already decorated with the "enumerated" tag, but not even a banana could he lay hands on when the noon-hour overhauled him far from the ministrations of "ben" and the breeze-swept veranda of empire hotel. it was, i believe, the afternoon following renson's linguistic troubles that "the boss" came jogging into paraiso on his sturdy mule. in his eagerness to "clean up" the territory we fell to corraling negroes everywhere, in the streets, at work, buying their supplies at the commissary, sleeping in the shade of wayside trees, anywhere and everywhere, until at last in his excitement "the boss" let his medium soft pencil slip by the column for color and dashed down the abbreviation for "mixed" after the question, "married or single?" which may have been near enough the truth of the case, but suggested it was time to quit. so we marked paraiso "finished except for recalls" and returned to empire. one by one our fellow-enumerators had dropped by the wayside, some by mutual agreement, some without any agreement whatever. renson was now relieved from census duty, to his great joy, there remained but four of us,--"the boss" and "mac" in the office, "scotty" and i outside. a deep conference ensued and, as if i had not had good luck enough already, it was decided that we two should go through the "cut" itself. it was like offering us a salary to view all the great work in detail, for virtually all the excavation of any importance on the zone lay within the confines of our district. so one day "scotty" and i descended at the girderless railroad bridge and, taking each one side of the canal, set out to canvass its every nook and cranny. the canal as it then stood was about the width of two city blocks, an immense chasm piled and tumbled with broken rock and earth, in the center a ditch already filled with grimy water, on either side several levels of rough rock ledges with sheer rugged stone faces; for the hills were being cut away in layers each far above the other. high above us rose the jagged walls of the "cut" with towns hanging by their fingernails all along its edge, and ahead in the abysmal, smoky distance the great channel gashed through culebra mountain. the different levels varied from ten to twenty feet one above the other, each with a railroad on it, back and forth along which incessantly rumbled and screeched dirt-trains full or empty, halting before the steam-shovels, that shivered and spouted thick black smoke as they ate away the rocky hills and cast them in great giant handsful on the train of one-sided flat-cars that moved forward bit by bit at the flourish of the conductor's yellow flag. steam-shovels that seemed human in all except their mammoth fearless strength tore up the solid rock with snorts of rage and the panting of industry, now and then flinging some troublesome, stubborn boulder angrily upon the cars. yet they could be dainty as human fingers too, could pick up a railroad spike or push a rock gently an inch further across the car. each was run by two white americans, or at least what would prove such when they reached the shower-bath in their quarters--the craneman far out on the shovel arm, the engineer within the machine itself with a labyrinth of levers demanding his unbroken attention. then there was of course a gang of negroes, firemen and the like, attached to each shovel. all the day through i climbed and scrambled back and forth between the different levels, dodging from one track to another and along the rocky floor of the canal, needing eyes and ears both in front and behind, not merely for trains but for a hundred hidden and unknown dangers to keep the nerves taut. now and then a palatial motorcar, like some rail-road breed of taxi, sped by with its musical insistent jingling bells, usually with one of the countless parties of government guests or tourists in spotless white which the dry season brings. dirt-trains kept the right of way, however, for the work always comes first at panama. or it might be the famous "yellow car" itself with members of the commission. once it came all but empty and there dropped off inconspicuously a man in baggy duck trousers, a black alpaca coat of many wrinkles; and an unassuming straw hat, a white-haired man with blue--almost babyish blue-eyes, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he strolled about with restless yet quiet energy. there has been no flash and glitter of military uniforms on the zone since the french sailed for home, but every one knew "the colonel" for all that, the soldier who has never "seen service," who has never heard the shrapnel scream by overhead, yet to whom the world owes more thanks than six conquering generals rolled into one. scores of "trypod" and "star" drills, whole battalions of deafening machines run by compressed air brought from miles away, are pounding and grinding and jamming holes in the living rock. after them will presently come nonchalantly strolling along gangs of the ubiquitous black "powder-men" and carelessly throw down boxes of dynamite and pound the drill-holes full thereof and tamp them down ready to "blow" at : and : when the workmen are out of range,--those mighty explosions that twelve times a week set the porch chairs of every i.c.c. house on the isthmus to rocking, and are heard far out at sea. anywhere near the drills is such a roaring and jangling that i must bellow at the top of my voice to be heard at all. the entire gamut of sound-waves surrounds and enfolds me, and with it all the powerful atlantic breeze sweeps deafeningly through the channel. down in the bottom of the canal if one step behind anything that shuts off the breeze it is tropically hot; yet up on the edge of the chasm above, the trees are always nodding and bowing before the ceaseless wind from off the caribbean. scores of "switcheros" drowse under their sheet-iron wigwams, erected not so much as protection from the sun, for the drowsers are mostly negroes and immune to that, as from young rocks that the dynamite blasts frequently toss a quarter-mile. then over it all hang heavy clouds of soft-coal dust from trains and shovels, shifting down upon the black, white and mixed, and the enumerator alike; a dirty, noisy, perilous, enjoyable job. everywhere are gangs of men, sometimes two or three gangs working together at the same task. shovel gangs, track gangs, surfacing gangs, dynamite gangs, gangs doing everything imaginable with shovel and pick and crowbar, gangs down on the floor of the canal, gangs far up the steep walls of cut rock, gangs stretching away in either direction till those far off look like upright bands of the leaf-cutting ants of panamanian jungles; gangs nearly all, whatever their nationality, in the blue shirts and khaki trousers of the zone commissary, giving a peculiar color scheme to all the scene. now and then the boss is a stony-eyed american with a black cigar clamped between his teeth. more often he is of the same nationality as the workers, quite likely from the same town, who jabbers a little imitation english. which is one of the reasons why a force of "time inspectors" is constantly dodging in and out over the job, time-book and pencil in hand, lest some fellow-townsman of the boss be earning his $ . a day under the shade of a tree back in the jungle. here are basques in their boinas, preferring their native "euscarra" to spanish; french "niggers" and english "niggers" whom it is to the interest of peace and order to keep as far apart as possible; occasionally a few sunburned blond men in a shovel gang, but they prove to be teutons or scandinavians; laborers of every color and degree--except american laborers, more than conspicuous by their absence. for the american negro is an untractable creature in large numbers, and the caste system that forbids white americans from engaging in common labor side by side with negroes is to be expected in an enterprise of which the leaders are not only military men but largely southerners, however many may be shivering in the streets of chicago or roaming hungrily through the byways of st. louis. it is well so, perhaps. none of us who feels an affection for the zone would wish to see its atmosphere lowered from what it is to the brutal depths of our railroad construction camps in the states. the attention of certain state legislatures might advantageously be called to the zone spaniard's drinking-cup. it is really a tin can on the end of a long stick, cover and all. the top is punched sieve-like that the water may enter as it is dipped in the bucket with which the water-boy strains along. in the bottom is a single small hole out of which spurts into the drinker's mouth a little stream of water as he holds it high above his head, as once he drank wine from his leather bota in far-off spain. many a spanish gang comes entirely from the same town, notably salamanca or avila. i set them to staring and chattering by some simple remark about their birthplace: "fine view from the paseo del rastro, eh?" "does the puente romano still cross the river?" but i had soon to cease such personalities, for picks and shovels lay idle as long as i remained in sight and uncle sam was the loser. so many were the gangs that i advanced barely a half-mile during this first day and, lost in my work, forgot the hour until it was suddenly recalled by the insistent, strident tooting of whistles that forewarns the setting-off of the dynamite charges from the little red electric boxes along the edge of the "cut." i turned back toward paraiso and, all but stumbling over little red-wound wires everywhere on the ground, dodging in and out, running forward, halting or suddenly retreating, i worked my way gradually forward, while all the world about me was upheaving and spouting and belching forth to the heavens, as if i had been caught in the crater of a volcano as it suddenly erupted without warning. the history of panama is strewn with "dynamite stories." even the french had theirs in their sixteen per cent, of the excavation of culebra; in american annals there is one for every week. three days before, one of my empire friends set off one afternoon for a stroll through the "cut" he had not seen for a year. in a retired spot he came upon two negroes pounding an irregular bundle. "what you doing, boys?" he inquired with idle curiosity. "jes' a brealdn' up dis yere dynamite, boss," languidly answered one of the blacks. my friend was one of those apprehensive, over-cautious fellows so rare on the zone. without so much as taking his leave he set off at a run. some two car-lengths beyond an explosion pitched him forward and all but lifted him off his feet. when he looked back the negroes had left. indeed neither of them has reported for work since. then there was "mac's" case. in his ambition for census efficiency "mac" was in the habit of stopping workmen wherever he met them. one day he encountered a jamaican carrying a box of dynamite on his head and, according to his custom, shouted: "hey, boy! had your census taken yet?" "what dat, boss?" cried the jamaican with wide-open eyes, as he threw the box at "mac's" feet and stood at respectful attention. somehow "mac" lacked a bit of his old zealousness thereafter. on the second day i pushed past cucaracha, scene of the greatest "slide" in the history of the canal when forty-seven acres went into the "cut," burying under untold tons of earth and rock steam-shovels and railroads, "star" and "trypod" drills, and all else in sight--except the "rough-necks," who are far too fast on their feet to be buried against their will. one by one i dragged shovel gangs away to a distance where my shouting could be heard, one by one i commanded drillmen to shut off their deafening machines, all day i dodged switching, snorting trains, clambered by steep rocky paths, or ladders from one level to another, howling above the roar of the "cut" the time-worn questions, straining my ear to catch the answer. many a negro did not know the meaning of the word "census," and must have it explained to him in words of one syllable. many a time i climbed to some lofty rock ledge lined with drills and, gesticulating like a semaphore in signal practice, caught at last the wandering attention of a negro, to shout sore-throated above the incessant pounding of machines and the roaring of the atlantic breeze: "hello, boy! census taken yet?" a long vacant stare, then at last, perhaps, the answer: "oh, yes sah, boss." "when and where?" "in spanish town, jamaica, three year ago, sah." which was not an attempt to be facetious but an answer in all seriousness. why should not one census, like one baptism, suffice for a life-time? it was fortunate that enumerators were not accustomed to carry deadly weapons. quick changes from negro to spanish gangs demonstrated beyond all future question how much more native intelligence has the white man. rarely did i need to ask a spaniard a question twice, still less ask him to repeat the answer. his replies came back sharp and swift as a pelota from a cesta. west indians not only must hear the question an average of three times but could seldom give the simplest information clearly enough to be intelligible, though ostensibly speaking english. a spanish card one might fill out and be gone in less time than the negro could be roused from his racial torpor. yet of the spaniards on the zone surely seventy per cent, were wholly illiterate, while the negroes from the british weat indies, thanks to their good fortune in being ruled over by the world's best colonist, could almost invariably read and write; many of those shoveling in the "cut" have been trained in trigonometry. few are the "zoners" now who do not consider the spaniard the best workman ever imported in all the sixty-five years from the railroad surveying to the completion of the canal. the stocky, muscle-bound little fellows come no longer to america as conquistadores, but to shovel dirt. and yet more cheery, willing workers, more law-abiding subjects are scarcely to be found. it is unfortunate we could not have imported spaniards for all the canal work; even they have naturally learned some "soldiering" from the example of lazy negroes who, where laborers must be had, are a bit better than no labor--though not much. the third day came, and high above me towered the rock cliffs of culebra's palm-crowned hill, steam-shovels approaching the summit in echelon, here and there an incipient earth and rock "slide" dribbling warningly down. he who still fancies the digging of the canal an ordinary task should have tramped with us through just our section, halting to speak to every man in it, climbing out of this man-made canon twice a day, a strenuous climb even near its ends, while at culebra one looks up at all but unscalable mountain walls on either side. from time to time we hear murmurs from abroad that americans are making light of catastrophies on the isthmus, that they cover up their great disasters by a strict censorship of news. the latter is mere absurdity. as to catastrophies, a great "slide" or a premature dynamite explosion are serious disaster to americans on the job just as they would be to europeans. but whereas the continental european would sit down before the misfortune and weep, the american swears a round oath, spits on his hands, and pitches in to shovel the "slide" out again. he isn't belittling the disasters; it is merely that he knows the canal has got to be dug and goes ahead and digs it. that is the greatest thing on the zone. amid all the childish snarling of "spigoties," the back-biting of europe, the congressional wrangles, the cabinet politics, the man on the job,--"the colonel," the average american, the "rough-neck"--goes right on digging the canal day by day as if he had never heard a rumor of all this outside noise. mighty is the job from one point of view; yet tiny from another. with all his enormous equipment, his peerless ingenuity, and his feverish activity all little man has succeeded in doing is to scratch a little surface wound in mother earth, cutting open a few superficial veins, of water, that trickle down the rocky face of the "cut." by march twelfth we had carried our task past and under empire suspension bridge, and the end of the "cut" was almost in sight. that day i clawed and scrambled a score of times up the face of rock walls. i zigzagged through long rows of negroes pounding holes in rock ledges. i stumbled and splashed my way through gangs of martinique "muckers." i slid down the face of government-made cliffs on the seat of my commissary breeches. i fought my way up again to stalk through long lines of men picking away at the dizzy edge of sheer precipices. i rolled down in the sand and rubble of what threatened to develop into "slides." i crawled under snorting steam-shovels to drag out besooted negroes--negroes so besooted i had to ask them their color--while dodging the gigantic swinging shovel itself, to say nothing of "dhobie" blasts and rocks of the size of drummers' trunks that spilled from it as it swung. i climbed up into the quivering monster itself to interrupt the engineer at his levers, to shout at the craneman on his beam. i sprang aboard every train that was not running at full speed, walking along the running-board into the cab; if not to "get" the engineer at least to gain new life from his private ice-water tank. i scrambled over tenders and quarter-miles of "lidgerwood flats" piled high with broken rock and earth, to scream at the american conductor and his black brakemen, often to find myself, by the time i had set down one of them, carried entirely out of my district, to pedro miguel or beyond the chagres, and have to "hit the grit" in "hobo" fashion and catch something back to the spot where i left off. in short i poked into every corner of the "cut" known to man, bawling in the november-first voice of a presidential candidate to everything in trousers: "eh! 'ad yer census taken yet?" and what was my reward? from the northern edge of empire to where the "cut" sinks away into the chagres and the low, flat country beyond, i enrolled--just thirteen persons. it was then and there, though it still lacked an hour of noon, that i ceased to be a census enumerator. with slow and deliberate step i climbed out of the canal and across a pathed field to bas obispo and, sitting down in the shade of her station, patiently awaited the train that would carry me back to empire. four thousand, six hundred and seventy-seven zone residents had i enrolled during those six weeks. something over half of these were jamaicans. of the states pennsylvania was best represented. martinique negroes, greeks, spaniards, and panamanians were some eighty per cent illiterate; of some three hundred of the first only a half dozen even claimed to read and write; and non-wedlock was virtually universal among them. rumor has it that there are seventy-two separate states and dependencies represented on the isthmus. my own cards showed a few less. most conspicuous absences, besides american negroes, were natives of honduras, of four countries of south america, of most of africa, and of entire australia. that this was largely due to chance was shown by the fact that my fellow-enumerators found persons from all these countries. i had enrolled persons born in the following places: all the united states except three or four states in the far northwest; canada, mexico, guatemala, salvador, nicaragua, costa rica, panama, canal zone, colombia, venezuela, british guiana (demarara), french and dutch guiana, ecuador, peru, bolivia and chile, cuba, hayti and santo domingo, jamaica, barbados, st. vincent, trinidad, saint lucia, montserrat, dominica, nevis, nassau, eleuthera and inagua, martinique, guadalupe, saint thomas (danish west indies), curacao and tobago, england, ireland, scotland, holland, finland, belgium, denmark, sweden, norway, russia, france, spain, andorra, portugal, switzerland, germany, italy, austria, hungary, greece, servia, turkey, canary islands, syria, palestine, arabia, india (from tuticorin to lahore), china, japan, egypt, sierra leone, south africa and--the high seas. "where you born, boy?" i had run across a wrinkled old negro who had worked more than thirty years for the p.r.r. "'deed ah don' know, boss," "oh, come! don't know where you were born?" "fo' gawd, boss, ah's tellin' yo de truff. ah don know, 'cause ah born to sea." "well, what country are you a subject of?" "truly ah cahn't say, boss." "well what nationality was your father?" "ah neveh see him, sah." "well then where the devil did you first land after you were born?" "'deed ah cahn't say, boss. t'ink it were one o' dem islands. reckon ah's a subjec' o' de' worl', boss." weeks afterward the population of uncle sam's ten by fifty-mile strip of tropics was found to have been on february first, , , . no, anxious reader, i am not giving away inside information; the source of my remarks is the public prints. of these about , were british subjects (west indian negroes with very few exceptions). of the entire population , were employed by the u. s. government. of white americans, of the brahmin caste of the "gold" roll, there were employed on the zone but , . chapter v police headquarters presented an unusual air of preoccupation next morning. in the corner office the telephone rang often and imperatively, several times erect figures in khaki and broad "texas" hats flashed by the doorway, the drone of earnest conference sounded a few minutes, and the figures flashed as suddenly out again into the world. in the inner office i glanced once more in review through the "rules and regulations." the zone, too, was now familiar ground, and as for the third requirement for a policeman--to know the zone residents by sight--a strange face brought me a start of surprise, unless it beamed above the garb that shouted "tourist." now all i needed was a few hours of conference and explanation on the duties, rights, and privileges of policemen; and that of course would come as soon as leisure again settled down over headquarters. musing which i was suddenly startled to my feet by "the captain" appearing in the doorway. "catch the next train to balboa;" he said. "you've got four minutes. you'll find lieutenant long on board. here are the people to look out for." he thrust into my hands a slip of paper, from another direction there was tossed at me a new brass-check and "first-class private" police badge no. , and i was racing down through ancon. in the meadow below the tivoli i risked time to glance at the slip of paper. on it were the names of an ex-president and two ministers of a frowsy little south american republic during whose rule a former president and his henchmen had been brutally murdered by a popular uprising in the very capital itself. in the first-class coach i found lieutenant long, towering so far above all his surroundings as to have been easily recognized even had he not been in uniform. beside him sat corporal castillo of the "plain-clothes" squad, a young man of forty, with a high forehead, a stubby black mustache, and a chin that was decisive without being aggressive. "now here's the captain's idea," explained the lieutenant, as the train swung away around ancon hill, "we'll have to take turns mounting guard over them, of course. i'll have to talk spanish, and nobody'd have to look at castillo more than once to know he was born up in some crack in the andes."--which was one of the lieutenant's jokes, for the corporal, though a colombian, was as white, sharp-witted, and energetic as any american on the zone.--"but no one to look at him would suspect that fr--french, is it?" "franck." "oh, yes, that franck could speak spanish. we 'll do our best to inflate that impression, and when it comes your turn at guard-mount you can probably let several little things of interest drift in at your ears." "i left headquarters before the captain had time to explain," i suggested. "oh!" said the lieutenant. "well, here it is in a spectacle-case, as our friend kipling would put it. we're on our way to culebra island. there are now in quarantine there three men who arrived yesterday from south america. they are members of the party of the murdered president. to-day there will arrive and also be put in hock the three gents whose names you have there. now we have a private inside hunch that the three already here have come up particularly and specifically to prepare for the funeral of the three who are arriving. which is no hair off our brows, except it's up to us to see they don't pull off any little stunts of that kind on zone territory." at least this police business was starting well; if this was a sample it would be a real job. the train had stopped and we were climbing the steps of balboa police station; for without the co-operation of the "admiral of the pacific fleet" we could not reach culebra island. "by the way, i suppose you're well armed?" asked the lieutenant in his high querulous voice, as we drank a last round of ice-water preparatory to setting out again. "em--i've got a fountain pen," i replied. "i haven't been a policeman twenty minutes yet, and i was appointed in a hurry." "fine!" cried "the admiral" sarcastically, snatching open the door of a closet beside the desk. "with a warm job like this on hand! you know what these south americans are--" with a wink at the lieutenant that was meant also for castillo, who stood with his felt hat on the back of his head and a far-away look in his eyes. "yah, mighty dangerous--around meal time," said the corporal; though at the same time he drew from a hip pocket a worn leather holster containing a revolver, and examined it intently. meanwhile "the admiral" had handed me a massive no. "colt" with holster, a box of cartridges, and a belt that might easily have served as a horse's saddle-girth. when i had buckled it on under my coat the armament felt like a small boy clinging about my waist. we trooped on down a sort of railroad junction with a score of abandoned wooden houses. it was here i had first landed on the zone one blazing sunday nearly two months before and tramped away for some miles on a rusty sandy track along a canal already filled with water till a short jungle path led me into my first zone town. already that seemed ancient history. the police launch, manned by negro prisoners, with "the admiral" in a cushioned arm-chair at the wheel, was soon scudding away across the sunlit harbor, the breakwater building of the spoil of culebra "cut" on our left, ahead the cluster of small islands being torn to pieces for uncle sam's fortifications. the steamer being not yet sighted, we put in at naos island, where the bulky policeman in charge led us to dinner at the i. c. c. hotel, during which the noonday blasting on the zone came dully across to us. soon after we were landing at the cement sidewalk of the island--where i had been a prisoner for a day in january as my welcome to u. s. territory--and were being greeted by the pocket edition doctor and the bay-windowed german who had been my wardens on that occasion. we found the conspirators at a table in a corridor of the first-class quarantine station. in the words of lieutenant long "they fully looked the part," being of distinctly merciless cut of jib. they were roughly dressed and without collars, convincing proof of some nefarious design, for when the latin-american entitled to wear them leaves off his white collar and his cane he must be desperate indeed. we "braced" them at once, marching down upon them as they were murmuring with heads together over a mass of typewritten sheets. the corporal was delegated to inform them in his most urbane and hidalguezco castilian that we were well acquainted with their errand and that we were come to frustrate by any legitimate means in our power the consummation of any such project on american territory. when the first paralyzed stare of astonishment that plans they had fancied locked in their own breasts were known to others had somewhat subsided, one of them assumed the spokesmanship. in just as courtly and superabundant language he replied that they were only too well aware of the inadvisability of carrying out any act against its sovereignty on u. s. soil; that so long as they were on american territory they would conduct themselves in a most circumspect and caballeroso manner--"but," he concluded, "in the most public street of panama city the first time we meet those three dogs--we shall spit in their faces--that's all, nada mas," and the blazing eyes announced all too plainly what he meant by that figure of speech. that was all very well, was our smiling and urbane reply, but to be on the safe side and merely as a matter of custom we were under the unfortunate necessity of requesting them to submit to the annoyance of having their baggage and persons examined with a view to discovering what weapons-- "como no senores? all the examination you desire." which was exceedingly kind of them. whereupon, when the lieutenant had interpreted to me their permission, we fell upon them and amid countless expressions of mutual esteem gave them and their baggage such a "frisking" as befalls a kaffir leaving a south african diamond mine, and found them armed with--a receipt from the quarantine doctor for "one pearl-handled smill and wilson no. ." either they really intended to postpone their little affair until they reached panama, or they had succeeded in concealing their weapons elsewhere. the doctor and his assistant were already being rowed out to the steamer that was to bring the victims. they were to be lodged in a room across the corridor from the conspirators, which corridor it would be our simple duty to patrol with a view to intercepting any exchange of stray lead. we fell to planning such division of the twenty-four hours as should give me the most talkative period. the lieutenant took the trouble further to convince the trio of my total ignorance of spanish by a distinct and elaborate explanation, in english, of the difference between the words "muchacho" and "muchacha." then we wandered down past the grimy steerage station to the shore end of the little wharf to await the doctor and our proteges. the ocean breeze swept unhampered across the island; on its rocky shore sounded the dull rumble of waves, for the sea was rolling a bit now. the swelling tide covered inch by inch a sandy ridge that connected us with another island, gradually drowning beneath its waters several rusty old hulls. a little rocky wooded isle to the left cut off the future entrance to the canal. some miles away across the bay on the lower slope of a long hill drowsed the city of panama in brilliant sunshine; and beyond, the hazy mountainous country stretched southwestward to be lost in the molten horizon. on a distant hill some indian was burning off a patch of jungle to plant his corn. meanwhile the lieutenant and the corporal had settled some lombroso proposition and fallen to reciting poetry. the former, who was evidently a lover of melancholy, mouth-filling verse, was declaiming "the raven" to the open sea. i listened in wonder. was this then police talk? i had expected rough, untaught fellows whose conversation at best would be pornographic rather than poetic. my astonishment swelled to the bursting point when the colombian not only caught up the poem where the lieutenant left off but topped it off with that peerless translation by bonalde the venezuelan, beginning: una fosca media noche, cuando en tristes reflexiones sobre mas de un raro infolio de olvidados cronicones-- and just then the quarantine launch swung around the neighboring island. i tightened my horse belt and dragged the "colt" around within easy reach; and a moment later the doctor and his bulking understudy stepped ashore--alone. "they didn't come," said the former; "they were not allowed to leave their own country." "hell and damnation," said the lieutenant at length in a calm, conversational tone of voice, with the air of a small boy who has been wantonly robbed of a long-promised holiday but who is determined not to make a scene over it. the corporal seemed indifferent, and stood with the far-away look in his eyes as if he were already busy with some other plans or worries. but then, the corporal was married. as for myself, i had somehow felt from the first that it was too good to be true. adventure has steadily dodged me all my days. a half-hour later we were pitching across the bay toward ancon hill, scaled bare on one end by the work of fortification like a hindu hair-cut. the water came spitting inboard now and then, and dejected silence reigned within the craft. but spirits gradually revived and before we could make out the details of the wharf the corporal's hearty genuine laughter and the lieutenant's rousing carcajada were again drifting across the water. at balboa i unburdened myself of my shooting hardware and, catching the labor-train, was soon mounting the graveled walk to ancon police station. in the second-story squad-room of the bungalow were eight beds. but there were more than enough policemen to go round, and the legal occupant of the bunk i fell asleep in returned from duty at midnight and i transferred to the still warm nest of a man on the "grave-yard" shift. "it's customary to put a man in uniform for a while first before assigning him to plain-clothes duty," the inspector was saying next morning when i finished the oath of office that had been omitted in the haste of my appointment, "but we have waived that in your case because of the knowledge of the zone the census must have given you." thus casually was i robbed of the opportunity to display my manly form in uniform to tourists of trains and the tivoli--tourists, i say, because the "zoners" would never have noticed it. but we must all accept the decrees of fate. that was the full extent of the inspector's remarks; no mention whatever of the sundry little points the recruit is anxious to be enlightened upon. in government jobs one learns those details by experience. for the time being there was nothing for me to do but to descend to the "gum-shoe" desk in ancon station and sit in the swivel-chair opposite lieutenant long "waiting for orders." toward noon a thought struck me. i swung the telephone around and "got" the inspector. "all my junk is up in empire yet," i remarked. "all right, tell the desk-man down there to make you out a pass. or--hold the wire! as long as you're going out, there's a prisoner over in panama that belongs up in empire. go over and tell the chief you want tal fulano." i wormed my way through the fawning, neck-craning, many-shaded mob of political henchmen and obsequious petitioners into the sacred hushed precincts of panama police headquarters. a paunched "spigoty" with a shifty eye behind large bowed glasses, vainly striving to exude dignity and wisdom, received me with the oily smirk of the panamanian office-holder who feels the painful necessity of keeping on outwardly good terms with all americans. i flashed my badge and mentioned a name. a few moments later there was presented to me a sturdy, if somewhat flabby, young spaniard carefully dressed and perfumed. we bowed like life-long acquaintances and, stepping down to the street, entered a cab. the prisoner, which he was now only in name, was a muscular fellow with whom i should have fared badly in personal combat. i was wholly unarmed, and in a foreign land. all those sundry little unexplained points of a policeman's duty were bubbling up within me. when the prisoner turned to remark it was a warm day should i warn him that anything he said would be used against him? when he ordered the driver to halt before the "panazone" that he might speak to some friends should i fiercely countermand the order? what was my duty when the friends handed him some money and a package of cigars? suppose he should start to follow his friends inside to have a drink--but he didn't. we drove languidly on down the avenue and up into ancon, where i heaved a genuine sigh of relief as we crossed the unmarked street that made my badge good again. the prisoner was soon behind padlocks and the money and cigars in the station safe. these and him and the transfer card i took again with me into the foreign republic in time for the evening train. but he seemed even more anxious than i to attract no attention, and once in empire requested that we take the shortest and most inconspicuous route to the police station; and my responsibility was soon over. many were the z.p. facts i picked up during the next few days in the swivel-chair. the zone police force of consisted of a chief of police, an assistant chief, two inspectors, four lieutenants, eight sergeants, twenty corporals, one hundred and seventeen "first-class policemen," and one hundred and sixteen "policemen" (west indian negroes without exception, though none but an american citizen could aspire to any white position); not to mention five clerks at headquarters, who are quite worth the mentioning. "policemen" wore the same uniform as "first-class" officers, with khaki-covered helmet instead of "texas" hat and canvas instead of leather leggings, drew one-half the pay of a white private, were not eligible for advancement, and with some few notable exceptions were noted for what they did know and the facility with which they could not learn. one inspector was in charge of detective work and the other an overseer of the uniformed force. each of the lieutenants was in charge of one-fourth of the zone with headquarters respectively at ancon, empire, gorgona, and cristobal, and the sub-stations within these districts in charge of sergeants, corporals, or experienced privates, according to importance. years ago when things were yet in primeval chaos and the memorable sixth of february of was still well above the western horizon there was gathered together for the protection of the newly-born canal strip a band of "bad men" from our ferocious southwest, warranted to feed on criminals each breakfast time, and in command of a man-eating rough-rider. but somehow the bad men seemed unable to transplant to this new and richer soil the banefulness that had thrived so successfully in the land of sage-brush and cactus. the gourmandizing promised to be chiefly at the criminal tables; and before long it was noted that the noxious gentlemen were gradually drifting back to their native sand dunes, and the rough-riding gave way to a more orderly style of horsemanship. then bit by bit some men--just men without any qualifying adjective whatever--began to get mixed up in the matter; one after another army lieutenants were detailed to help the thing along, until by and by they got the right army lieutenant and the right men and the z. p. grew to what it is to-day,--not the love, perhaps, but the pride of every "zoner" whose name cannot be found on some old "blotter." there are a number of ways of getting on the force. there is the broad and general high-way of being appointed in washington and shipped down like a nice fresh vegetable in the original package and delivered just as it left the garden without the pollution of alien hands. then there's the big, impressive, broad-shouldered fellow with some life and military service behind him, and the papers to prove it, who turns up on the zone and can't help getting on if he takes the trouble to climb to headquarters. or there are the special cases, like marley for instance. marley blew in one summer day from some uncharted point of the compass with nothing but his hat and a winning smile on his brassy features, and naturally soon drifted up the "thousand stairs." but marley wasn't exactly of that manly build that takes "the chief" and "the captain" by storm; and there were suggestions on his young-old face that he had seen perhaps a trifle too much of life. so he wiped the sweat from his brow several times at the third-story landing only to find as often that the expected vacancy was not yet. meanwhile the tropical days slipped idly by and marley's "standin" with the owners of i. c. c. hotel-books began to strain and threaten to break away, and everything sort of gave up the ghost and died. everything, that is, except the winning smile. 'til one afternoon with only that asset left marley met the department head on the grass-bordered path in front of the episcopal chapel, just where the long descent ends and a man begins to regain his tractable mood, and said marley: "say, looka here, chief. it's a question of eats with me. we can't put this thing off much longer or--" which is why that evening's train carried marley, with a police badge and the little flat volume bound in imitation leather in his pocket, out to some substation commander along the line for the corporal in charge to break in and hammer down into that finished product, a zone policeman. incidentally marley also illustrated some months later one of the special ways of getting off the force. it was still simpler. going "on pass" to colon to spend a little evening, marley neglected to leave his no. behind in the squad-room, according to z. p. rules. which was careless of him. for when his spirits reached that stage where he recognized what sport it would be to see the "spigoty" policemen of bottle alley dance a western cancan he bethought him of the no. . which accounts for the fact that the name of marley can no longer be found on the rolls of the z. p. but all this is sadly anticipating. obviously, you will say, a force recruited from such dissimilar sources must be a thing of wide and sundry experience. and obviously you are right. could a man catch up the z. p. by the slack of the khaki riding breeches and shake out their stories as a giant in need of carfare might shake out their loose change, then might he retire to some sunny hillside of his own and build him a sound-proof house with a swimming pool and a revolving bookcase and a stable of riding horses, and cause to be erected on the front lawn a kneeling-place where publishers might come and bow down and beat their foreheads on the pavement. there are men in the z. p. who in former years have played horse with the startled markets of great american cities; men whose voices will boom forth in the pulpit and whisper sage councils in the professional in years to come; men whom doting parents have sent to harvard--on whom it failed to take, except on their clothes--men who have gone down into the valley of the shadow of death and crawled on hands and knees through the brackish red brook that runs at the bottom and come out again smiling on the brink above. careers more varied than mexican sombreros one might hear in any z. p. squad-room--were not the z. p. so much more given to action than to autobiography. they bore little resemblance to what i had expected. my mental picture of an american policeman was that conglomerate average one unconsciously imbibes from a distant view of our city forces, and by comparison with foreign,--a heavy-footed, discourteous, half-fanatical, half-irreligious clubber whose wits are as slow as his judgment is honest. instead of which i found the z. p. composed almost without exception of good-hearted, well set up young americans almost all of military training. i had anticipated, from other experiences, a constant bickering and a general striving to make life unendurable for a new-comer. instead i was constantly surprised at the good fellowship that existed throughout the force. there were of course some healthy rivalries; there were no angels among them--or i should have fled the isthmus much earlier; but for the most part the z. p. resembled nothing so much as a big happy family. above all i had expected early to make the acquaintance of "graft," that shifty-eyed monster which we who have lived in large american cities think of as sitting down to dinner with the force in every mess-hall. graft? why a zone policeman could not ride on a p. r. r. train in full uniform when off duty without paying his fare, though he was expected to make arrests if necessary and stop behind with his prisoner. compared indeed with almost any other spot on the broad earth's surface "graft" eats slim meals on the canal zone. the average zone policeman would arrest his own brother--which is after all about the supreme test of good policehood. he is not a man who likes to keep "blotters," make out accident reports and such things, that can be of interest only to those with clerks' and bookkeepers' souls. he would far rather be battling with sun, man, and vegetation in the jungle. he is of those who genuinely and frankly have no desire to become rich, and "successful," a lack of ambition that formal society cannot understand and fancies a weakness. i had still another police surprise during these swivel-chair days. i discovered there was on the zone a yellow tailor who made beau brummel uniforms at $ . , compared with which the $ ready-made ones were mere clothes. all my life long i had been laboring under the delusion that a uniform is merely a uniform. but one lives and learns. there are few left, i suppose, who have not heard that gray-bearded story of the american in the philippines who called his native servant and commanded: "juan, va fetch the caballo from the prado and--and--oh, saddle and bridle him. damn such a language anyway! i'm sorry i ever learned it." this is capped on the zone by another that is not only true but strikingly typical. an american boss who had been much annoyed by unforeseen absences of his workmen pounced upon one of his spaniards one morning crying: "when you know por la noche that you're not going to trabaja por la manana why in--don't you habla?" "si, senor," replied the spaniard. by which it may be gathered that linguistic ability on the zone is on a par with that in other u. s. possessions. of the seven of us assigned to plain-clothes duty on this strip of seventy-two nationalities there was a colombian, a gentleman of swedish birth, a chinaman from martinique, and a greek, all of whom spoke english, spanish, and at least one other language. of the three native americans two spoke only their mother tongue. in the entire white uniformed force i met only lieutenant long and the corporal in charge of miraflores who could seriously be said to speak spanish, though i am informed there were one or two others. this was not for a moment any fault of the z. p. it comes back to our government and beyond that to the american people. with all our expanding over the surface of the earth in the past fourteen years there still hangs over us that old provincial back-woods bogie, "english is good enough for me." we have only to recall what england does for those of her colonial servants who want seriously to study the language of some portion of her subjects to have something very like the blush of shame creep up the back of our necks. child's task as is the learning of a foreign language, provincial old uncle sam just flat-foots along in the same old way, expecting to govern and judge and lead along the path of civilization his foreign colonies by bellowing at them in his own nasal drawl and treating their tongue as if it were some purely animal sound. he is well personified by corporal ----, late of the z. p. the corporal had served three years in the philippines and five on the zone, and could not ask for bread in the spanish tongue. "why don't you learn it?" some one asked one day. "awe," drawled the corporal, "what's the use o' goin' t' all that trouble? if you have t' have any interpretin' done all you got t' do is t' call in a nigger." uncle sam not merely lends his servants no assistance to learn the tongues of his colonies, but should one of his subjects appear bearing that extraordinary accomplishment he gives him no preference whatever, no better position, not a copper cent more salary; and if things get to a pass where a linguist must be hired he gives the job to the first citizen that comes along who can make a noise that is evidently not english, or more likely still to some foreigner who talks english like a mouthful of hungarian goulash. it is not the least of the reasons why foreign nations do not take us as seriously as they ought, why our colonials do not love us and, what is of far greater importance, do not advance under our rule as they should. meanwhile there had gradually been reaching me "through the proper channels," as everything does on the zone even to our ice-water, the various coupon-books and the like indispensable to zone life and the proper pursuit of plain-clothes duty. distressing as are statistics the full comprehension of what might follow requires the enumeration of the odds and ends i was soon carrying about with me. a brass-check; police badge; i. c. c. hotel coupon-book; commissary coupon-book; " -trip ticket" (a booklet containing blank passes between any stations on the p. r. r., to be filled out by holder) mileage book (purchased by employees at half rates of / cents a mile for use when traveling on personal business) " -trip ticket" (a free courtesy pass to all "gold" employees allowing one monthly round trip excursion over any portion of the line) freight-train pass for the p. r. r.; dirt-train and locomotive pass for the pacific division; ditto for the central division; likewise for the atlantic division; (in short about everything on wheels was free to the "gum-shoe" except the "yellow car") passes admitting to docks and steamers at either end of the zone; note-book; pencil or pen; report cards and envelopes (one of which the plain-clothes man must fill out and forward to headquarters "via train-guard" wherever night may overtake him--"the gum-shoe's day's work," as the idle uniformed man facetiously dubs it). furthermore the man out of uniform is popularly supposed never to venture forth among the populace without: belt, holster, cartridges, and the no. "colt" that reminds you of a drowning man trying to drag you down; handcuffs; police whistle; blackjack (officially he never carries this; theoretically there is not one on the isthmus. but the "gum-shoe" naturally cannot twirl a police club, and it is not always policy to shoot every refractory prisoner). then if he chances to be addicted to the weed there is the cigarette-case and matches; a watch is frequently convenient; and incidentally a few articles of clothing are more or less indispensable even in the dry season. now and again, too, a bit of money does not come amiss. for though the canal zone is a utopia where man lives by work-coupons alone, the detective can never know at what moment his all-embracing duties may carry him away into the foreign land of panama; and even were that possibility not always staring him in the face, in the words of "gorgona red," "you've got t' have money fer yer booze, ain't ye?" which seems also to be uncle sam's view of the matter. far and away more important than any of the plain-clothes equipment thus far mentioned is the "expense account." it is unlike the others in that it is not visible and tangible but a mere condition, a pleasant sensation like the consciousness of a good appetite or a youthful fullness of life. the only reality is a form signed by the czar of the zone himself tucked away among i. c. c. financial archives. that authorizes the man assigned to special duty in plain clothes to be reimbursed money expended in the pursuance of duty up to the sum of $ per month; though it is said that the interpretation of this privilege to the full limit is not unlikely to cause flames of light, thunderous rumblings, and other natural phenomena in the vicinity of empire and culebra. but please note further; these expenditures may be only "for cab or boat hire, meals away from home, and liquor and cigars!" plainly the "gum-shoe" should be a bachelor. fortunately, however, the proprietor of the expense account is not required personally to consume it each month. it is designed rather to win the esteem of bar-tenders, loosen the tongues of suspects, libate the thirsty stool-pigeon, and prime other accepted sources of information. but beware! exceeding care in filling out the account of such expenditures at the month's end. carelessness leads a hunted life on the canal zone. take, for instance, the slight error of my friend--who, having made such expenditure in colon, by a slip of the pen, or to be nice, of the typewriter, sent in among three score and ten items the following: feb. / bots beer; cristobal........ c and in the course of time found said voucher again on his desk with a marginal note of mild-eyed wonder and more than idle curiosity, in the handwriting of a man very high up indeed; where can you buy beer in cristobal? all this and more i learned in the swivel-chair waiting for orders, reading the latest novel that had found its way to ancon station, and receiving frequent assurances that i should be quite busy enough once i got started. opposite sat lieutenant long pouring choice bits of sub-station orders into the 'phone: "don't you believe it. that was no accident. he didn't lose everything he had in every pocket rolling around drunk in the street. he's been systematically frisked. sabe frisked? get on the job and look into it." for the lieutenant was one of those scarce and enviable beings who can live with his subordinates as man to man, yet never find an ounce of his authority missing when authority is needed. now and then a z. p. story whiled away the time. there was the sad case of corporal ---- in charge of ---- station. early one sunday afternoon the corporal saw a spaniard leading a goat along the railroad. naturally the day was hot. the corporal sent a policeman to arrest the inhuman wretch for cruelty to animals. when he had left the culprit weeping behind padlocks he went to inspect the goat, tied in the shade under the police station. "poor little beast," said the sympathetic corporal, as he set before it a generous pan of ice-water fresh from the police station tank. the goat took one long, eager, grateful draught, turned over on its back, curled up like the sensitive-plants of panama jungles when a finger touches them, and departed this vale of tears. but corporal ---- was an artist of the first rank. not only did he "get away with it" under the very frowning battlements of the judge, but sent the spaniard up for ten days on the charge against him. z. p.'s who tell the story assert that the spaniard did not so much mind the sentence as the fact that the corporal got his goat. then there was "the mystery of the knocked-out niggers." day after day there came reports from a spot out along the line that some negro laborer strolling along in a perfectly reasonable manner suddenly lay down, threw a fit, and went into a comatose state from which he recovered only after a day or two in ancon or colon hospitals. the doctors gave it up in despair. as a last resort the case was turned over to a z. p. sleuth. he chose him a hiding-place as near as possible to the locality of the strange manifestation. for half the morning he sweltered and swore without having seen or heard the slightest thing of interest to an old "zoner." a dirt-train rumbled by now and then. he strove to amuse himself by watching the innocent games of two little spanish switch-boys not far away. they were enjoying themselves, as guileless childhood will, between their duties of letting a train in and out of the switch. well on in the second half of the morning another diminutive iberian, a water-boy, brought his compatriots a pail of water and carried off the empty bucket. the boys hung over the edge of the pail a sort of wire hook, the handle of their home-made drinking-can, no doubt, and went on playing. by and by a burly black jamaican in shirt-sleeves loomed up in the distance. now and then as he advanced he sang a snatch of west indian ballad. as he espied the "switcheros" a smile broke out on his features and he hastened forward his eyes fixed on the water-pail. in a working species of spanish he made some request of the boys, the while wiping his ebony brow with his sleeve. the boys protested. evidently they had lived on the zone so long they had developed a color line. the negro pleaded. the boys, sitting in the shade of their wigwam, still shook their heads. one of them was idly tapping the ground with a broom-handle that had lain beside him. the negro glanced up and down the track, snatched up the boys' drinking vessel, of which the wire hooked over the pail was not after all the handle, and stooped to dip up a can of water. the little fellow with the broom-stick, ceasing a useless protest, reached a bit forward and tapped dreamily the rail in front of him. the jamaican suddenly sent the can of water some rods down the track, danced an artistic buck-and-wing shuffle on the thin air above his head, sat down on the back of his neck, and after trying a moment in vain to kick the railroad out by the roots, lay still. by this time the sleuth was examining the broom-handle. from its split end protruded an inch of telegraph wire, which chanced also to be the same wire that hung over the edge of the galvanized bucket. close in front of the innocent little fellows ran a "third rail!" then suddenly this life of anecdote and leisure ended. there was thrust into my hands a typewritten-sheet and i caught the next thing on wheels out to corozal for my first investigation. it was one of the most commonplace cases on the zone. two residents of my first dwelling-place on the isthmus had reported the loss of $ in u. s. gold. easier burglary than this the world does not offer. every bachelor quarters on the isthmus, completely screened in, is entered by two or three screen-doors, none of which is or can be locked. in the building are from twelve to twenty-four wide-open rooms of two or three occupants each, no three of whom know one another's full names or anything else, except that they are white americans and ipso facto (so runs zone philosophy) above dishonesty. the quarters are virtually abandoned during the day. two negro janitors dawdle about the building, but they, too, leave it for two hours at mid-day. moreover each of the forty-eight or more occupants probably has several friends or acquaintances or enemies who may drift in looking for him at any hour of the day or night. no negro janitor would venture to question a white american's errand in a house; panama is below the mason and dixon line. in practice any white american is welcome in any bachelor quarters and even to a bed, if there is one unoccupied, though he be a total stranger to all the community. add to this that the negro tailor's runner often has permission to come while the owner is away for suits in need of pressing, that john chinaman must come and claw the week's washing out from under the bed where the "rough-neck" kicked it on saturday night, that there are a dozen other legitimate errands that bring persons of varying shades into the building, and above all that the bachelors themselves, after the open-hearted old american fashion, have the all but universal habit of tossing gold and silver, railroad watches and real-estate bonds, or anything else of whatever value, indifferently on the first clear corner that presents itself. precaution is troublesome and un-american. it seems a fling at the character of your fellow bachelors--and in the vast majority of zone cases it would be. but it is in no sense surprising that among the many thousands that swarm upon the isthmus there should be some not averse to increasing their income by taking advantage of these guileless habits and bucolic conditions. there are suggestions that a few--not necessarily whites--make a profession of it. no wonder "our chief trouble is burglary" and has been ever since the z. p. can remember. summed up, the pay-day gold that has thus faded away is perhaps no small amount; compared with what it might have been under prevailing conditions it is little. as for detecting such felonies, police officers the world around know that theft of coin of the realm in not too great quantities is virtually as safe a profession as the ministry. the z. p. plain-clothes man, like his fellows elsewhere, must usually be content in such cases with impressing on the victim his sherlockian astuteness, gathering the available facts of the case, and return to typewrite his report thereof to be carefully filed away among headquarters archives. which is exactly what i had to do in the case in question, diving out the door, notebook in hand, to catch the evening train to panama. i was growing accustomed to ancon and even to ancon police-mess when i strolled into headquarters on saturday, the sixteenth, and the inspector flung a casual remark over his shoulder: "better get your stuff together. you're transferred to gatun." i was already stepping into a cab en route for the evening train when the inspector chanced down the hill. "new gatun is pretty bad on saturday nights," he remarked. (all too well i remembered it.) "the first time a nigger starts anything run him in, and take all the witnesses in sight along." "that reminds me; i haven't been issued a gun or handcuffs yet," i hinted. "hell's fire, no?" queried the inspector. "tell the station commander at gatun to fix you up." chapter vi i scribbled myself a ticket and was soon rolling northward, greeting acquaintances at every station. the zone is like egypt; whoever moves must travel by the same route. at pedro miguel and cascadas armies of locomotives--the "mules" of the man from arkansas--stood steaming and panting in the twilight after their day's labor and the wild race homeward under hungry engineers. as far as bas obispo this busy, teeming isthmus seemed a native land; beyond, was like entering into foreign exile. it is a common zone experience that only the locality one lives in during his first weeks ever feels like "home." the route, too, was a new one. from gorgona the train returned crab-wise through matachin and across the sand dyke that still holds the chagres out of the "cut," and halted at gamboa cabin. day was dying as we rumbled on across the iron bridge above the river and away into the fresh jungle night along the rock-ballasted "relocation." the stillness of this less inhabited half of the zone settled down inside the car and out, the evening air of summer caressing almost roughly through the open windows. the train continued its steady way almost uninterruptedly, for though new villages were springing up to take the place of the old sinking into desuetude and the flood along with the abandoned line, there were but two where once were eight. we paused at the new frijoles and the box-car town of monte lirio and, skirting on a higher level with a wide detour on the flanks of thick jungled and forested hills what is some day to be gatun lake, drew up at : at gatun. i wandered and inquired for some time in a black night--for the moon was on the graveyard shift that week--before i found gatun police station on the nose of a breezy knoll. but for "davie," the desk-man, who it turned out was also to be my room-mate, and a few wistful-eyed negroes in the steel-barred room in the center of the building, the station was deserted. "circus," said the desk-man briefly. when i mentioned the matter of weapons he merely repeated the word with the further information that only the station commander could issue them. there was nothing to do therefore but to ramble out armed with a lead pencil into a virtually unknown town riotous with liquor and negroes and the combination of saturday night, circus time, and the aftermath of pay-day, and to strut back and forth in a way to suggest that i was a perambulating arsenal. but though i wandered a long two hours into every hole and corner where trouble might have its breeding-place, nothing but noise took place in my sight and hearing. i turned disgustedly away toward the tents pitched in a grassy valley between the two gatuns. at least there was a faint hope that the equestrienne might assault the ring-master. i approached the tent flap with a slightly quickening pulse. world-wide and centuries old as is the experience, personally i was about to "spring my badge" for the first time. suppose the doortender should refuse to honor it and force me to impress upon him the importance of the z. p.--without a gun? outwardly nonchalant i strolled in between the two ropes. proprietor shipp looked up from counting his winnings and opened his mouth to shout "ticket!" i flung back my coat, and with a nod and a half-wink of wisdom he fell back again to computing his lawful gains. by the way, are not you who read curious to know, even as i for long years wondered, where a detective wears his badge? know then that long and profound investigation among the z. p. seems to prove conclusively that as a general and all but invariable rule he wears it pinned to the lining of his coat, or under his lapel, or on the band of his trousers, or on the breast of his shirt, or in his hip pocket, or up his sleeve, or at home on the piano, or riding around at the end of a string in the baby's nursery; though as in the case of all rules this one too has its exceptions. entertainments come rarely to gatun. the one-ringed circus was packed with every grade of society from gaping spanish laborers to haughty wives of dirt-train conductors, among whom it was not hard to distinguish in a far corner the uniformed sergeant in command of gatun and the long lean corporal tied in a bow-line knot at the alleged wit of the versatile but solitary clown who changed his tongue every other moment from english to spanish. but the end was already near; excitement was rising to the finale of the performance, a wrestling match between a circus man and "andy" of pedro miguel locks. by the time i had found a leaning-place it was on--and the circus man of course was conquered, amid the gleeful howling of "rough-necks," who collected considerable sums of money and went off shouting into the black night, in quest of a place where it might be spent quickly. it would be strange indeed if among all the thousands of men in the prime of life who are digging the canal at least one could not be found who could subjugate any champion a wandering circus could carry among its properties. i took up again the random tramping in the dark unknown night; till it was two o'clock of a sunday morning when at last i dropped my report-card in the train-guard box and climbed upstairs to the cot opposite "davie," sleeping the silent, untroubled sleep of a babe. i was barely settled in gatun when the train-guard handed me one of those frequent typewritten orders calling for the arrest of some straggler or deserter from the marine camp of the tenth infantry. that very morning i had seen "the boss" of census days off on his vacation to the states--from which he might not return--and here i was coldly and peremptorily called upon to go forth and arrest and deliver to camp elliott on its hill "mac," the pride of the census, with a promise of $ reward for the trouble. "mac" desert? it was to laugh. but naturally after six weeks of unceasing repetition of that pink set of questions "mac's" throat was a bit dry and he could scarcely be expected to return at once to the humdrum life of camp without spending a bit of that $ a day in slaking a tropical thirst. indeed i question whether any but the prudish will loudly blame "mac" even because he spent it a bit too freely and brought up in empire dispensary. word of his presence there soon drifted down to the wily plain-clothes man of empire district. but it was a hot noonday, the dispensary lies somewhat up hill, and the uniformless officer of the zone metropolis is rather thickly built. wherefore, stowing away this private bit of information under his hat, he told himself with a yawn, "oh, i'll drag him in later in the day," and drifted down to a wide-open door on railroad avenue to spend a bit of the $ reward in off-setting the heat. meanwhile "mac," feeling somewhat recovered from his financial extravagance, came sauntering out of the dispensary and, seeing his curly-headed friend strolling a beat not far away, naturally cried out, "hello, eck!" and what could eck say, being a reputable zone policeman, but: "why, hello, mac! how they framin' up? consider yourself pinched." which was lucky for "mac." for eck had once worn a marine hat over his own right eye and, he knew from melancholy experience that the $ was no government generosity, but "mac's" own involuntary contribution to his finding and delivery; so managed to slip most of it back into "mac's" hands. long, long after, more than six weeks after in fact, i chanced to be in bas obispo with a half-hour to spare, and climbed to the flowered and many-roaded camp on its far-viewing hilltop that falls sheer away on the east into the canal. in one of the airy barracks i found renson, cards in hand, clear-skinned and "fit" now, thanks to the regular life of this adult nursery, though his lost youth was gone for good. and "mac"? yes, i saw "mac" too--or at least the back of his head and shoulders through the screen of the guard-house where renson pointed him out to me as he was being locked up again after a day of shoveling sand. the first days in gatun called for little else than patrol duty, without fixed hours, interspersed with an occasional loaf on the second-story veranda of the police-station overlooking the giant locks; close at hand was the entrance to the canal, up which came slowly barges loaded with crushed stone from porto bello quarry twenty miles east along the coast or sand from nombre de dios, twice as distant, while further still, spread limon bay from which swept a never-ending breeze one could wipe dry on as on a towel. so long as he has in his pocket no typewritten report with the inspector's scrawl across it, "for investigation and report," the plain-clothes man is virtually his own commander, with few duties beside trying to be in as many parts of his district at once as possible and the ubiquitous duty of "keeping in touch with headquarters." so i wandered and mingled with all the life of the vicinity, exactly as i should have done had i not been paid a salary to do so. by day one could watch the growth of the great locks, the gradual drowning of little green, new-made islands beneath the muddy still waters of gatun lake, tramp out along jungle-flanked country roads, through the mindi hills, or down below the old railroad to where the cayucas that floated down the chagres laden with fruit came to land on the ever advancing edge of the waters. with night things grew more compact. from twilight till after midnight i prowled in and out through new gatun, spilled far and wide over its several hills, watching the antics of negroes, pausing to listen to their guitars and their boisterous merriment, with an eye and ear ever open for the unlawful. when i drifted into a saloon to see who might be spending the evening out, the bar-tender proved he had the advantage of me in acquaintance by crying: "hello, franck! what ye having?" and showing great solicitude that i get it. after which i took up the starlit tramp again, to run perhaps into some such perilous scene as on that third evening. a riot of contending voices rose from a building back in the center of a block, with now and then the sickening thump of a falling body. i approached noiselessly, likewise weaponless, peeped in and found--four negro bakers stripped to the waist industriously kneading to-morrow's bread and discussing in profoundest earnest the object of the lord in creating mosquitoes. beyond the native town, as an escape from all this, there was the back country road that wound for a mile through the fresh night and the droning jungle, yet instead of leading off into the wilderness of the interior swung around to american gatun on its close-cropped hills. i awoke one morning to find my name bulletined among those ordered to report for target test. a fine piece of luck was this for a man who had scarcely fired a shot since, aged ten, he brought down with an air-gun an occasional sparrow at three cents a head. we took the afternoon train to mt. hope on the edge of colon and trooped away to a little plain behind "monkey hill," the last resting-place of many a "zoner." the cristobal lieutenant, father of z. p., was in charge, and here again was that same z. p. absence of false dignity and the genuine good-fellowship that makes the success of your neighbor as pleasing as your own. "shall i borrow a gun, lieutenant?" i asked when i found myself "on deck." "well, you'll have to use your own judgment as to that," replied the lieutenant, busy pasting stickers over holes in the target. the test was really very simple. all you had to do was to cling to one end of a no. horse-pistol, point it at the bull's-eye of a target, hold it in that position until you had put five bullets into said bull's-eye, repeat that twice at growing distances, mortally wound ten times the image of a martinique negro running back and forth across the field, and you had a perfect score. only, simple as it was, none did it, not even old soldiers with two or three "hitches" in the army. so i had to be content with creeping in on the second page of a seven-page list of all the tested force from "the chief" to the latest negro recruit. the next evening i drifted into the police station to find a group of laborers from the adjoining camps awaiting me on the veranda bench, because the desk-man "didn't sabe their lingo." they proved upon examination to be two italians and a turk, and their story short, sad, but by no means unusual. upon returning from work one of the italians had found the lock hinges of his ponderously padlocked tin trunk hanging limp and screwless, and his pay-day roll of some $ missing from the crown of a hat stuffed with a shirt securely packed away in the deepest corner thereof. the turk was similarly unable to account for the absence of his $ savings safely locked the night before inside a pasteboard suitcase; unless the fact that, thanks to some sort of surgical operation, one entire side of the grip now swung open like a barn-door might prove to have something to do with the case. the $ had been, for further safety's sake, in panamanian silver, suggesting a burglar with a wheelbarrow. the mysterious detective work began at once. without so much as putting on a false beard i repaired to the scene of the nefarious crime. it was the usual zone type of laborers' barracks. a screened building of one huge room, it contained two double rows of three-tier "standee" canvas bunks on gas-pipes. around the entire room, close under the sheet-iron roof, ran a wooden platform or shelf reached by a ladder and stacked high with the tin trunks, misshapen bundles, and pressed-paper suitcases containing the worldly possessions of the fifty or more workmen around the rough table below. theoretically not even an inmate thereof may enter a zone labor-camp during working hours. practically the west indian janitors to whom is left the enforcement of this rule are nothing if not fallible. in the course of the second day i unearthed a second turk who, having chanced the morning before to climb to the baggage shelf for his razor and soap preparatory to welcoming a fellow countryman to the isthmus, had been mildly startled to step on the shoulder-blade of a negro of given length and proportions lying prone behind the stacked-up impedimenta. the latter explained both his presence in a white labor-camp and his unconventional posture by asserting that he was the "mosquito man," and shortly thereafter went away from there without leaving either card or address. by all my library training in detective work the next move obviously was to find what color of cigarette ashes the turk smoked. instead i blundered upon the absurdly simple notion of trying to locate the negro of given length and proportions. the real "mosquito man"--one of that dark band that spends its zone years with a wire hook and a screened bucket gathering evidence against the defenseless mosquito for the sanitary department to gloat over--was found not to fit the model even in hue. moreover, "mosquito men" are not accustomed to carry their devotion to duty to the point of crawling under trunks in their quest. for a few days following, the hunt led me through all gatun and vicinity. now i found myself racing across the narrow plank bridges above the yawning gulf of the locks, with far below tiny men and toy trains, now in and out among the cathedral-like flying buttresses, under the giant arches past staring signs of "danger!" on every hand--as if one could not plainly hear its presence without the posting. i descended to the very floor of the locks, far below the earth, and tramped the long half-mile of the three flights between soaring concrete walls. above me rose the great steel gates, standing ajar and giving one the impression of an opening in the great wall of china or of a sky-scraper about to be swung lightly aside. on them resounded the roar of the compressed-air riveters and all the way up the sheer faces, growing smaller and smaller as they neared the sky, were mcclintic-marshall men driving into place red-hot rivets, thrown at them viciously by negroes at the forges and glaring like comets' tails against the twilight void. the chase sent me more than once stumbling away across rock-tumbled gatun dam that squats its vast bulk where for long centuries, eighty-five feet below, was the village of old gatun with its proud church and its checkered history, where morgan and peruvian viceroys and "forty-niners" were wont to pause from their arduous journeyings. they call it a dam. it is rather a range of hills, a part and portion of the highlands that, east and west, enclose the valley of the chagres, its summit resembling the terminal yards of some great city. there was one day when i sought a negro brakeman attached to a given locomotive. i climbed to a yard-master's tower above the spillway and the yard-master, taking up his powerful field-glasses, swept the horizon, or rather the dam, and discovered the engine for me as a mariner discovers an island at sea. "er--would you be kind enough to tell us where we can find this gatun dam we've heard so much about?" asked a party of four tourists, half and half as to sex, who had been wandering about on it for an hour or so with puzzled expressions of countenance. they addressed themselves to a busy civil engineer in leather leggings and rolled up shirt sleeves. "i'm sorry i haven't time to use the instrument," replied the engineer over his shoulder, while he wig-wagged his orders to his negro helpers scattered over the landscape, "but as nearly as i can tell with the naked eye, you are now standing in the exact center of it." the result of all this sweating and sight-seeing was that some days later there was gathered in a young barbadian who had been living for months in and about gatun without any visible source of income whatever--not even a wife. the turk and the camp janitor identified him as the culprit. but the primer lesson the police recruit learns is that it is one thing to believe a man guilty and quite another to convince a judge--the most skeptical being known to zoology--of that perfectly apparent fact. with the suspect behind bars, therefore, i continued my underground activities, with the result that when at length i took the train at new gatun one morning for the court-room in cristobal i loaded into a second-class coach six witnesses aggregating five nationalities, ready to testify among other things to the interesting little point that the defendant had a long prison record in barbados. when the echo of the black policeman's "oye! oye!" had died away and the little white-haired judge had taken his "bench," i made the discovery that i was present not in one, but in four capacities,--as arresting officer, complainant, interpreter, and to a large extent prosecuting attorney. to swear a turk who spoke only turkish through another turk, who mangled a little spanish, for a judge who would not recognize a non-american word from the voice of a steam-shovel, with a solemn "so help me god!" to clinch and strengthen it when the witness was a follower of the prophet of medina--or nobody--was not without its possibilities of humor. the trial proceeded; the witnesses witnessed in their various tongues, the perspiring arresting officer reduced their statements to the common denominator of the judge's single tongue, and the smirking bullet-headed defendant was hopelessly buried under the evidence. wherefore, when the shining black face of his lawyer, retained during the two minutes between the "oye!" and the opening of the case, rose above the scene to purr: "your honor, the prosecution has shown no case. i move the charge against my client be quashed." i choked myself just in time to keep from gasping aloud, "well, of all the nerve!" never will i learn that the lawyer's profession admits lying on the same footing with truth in the defense of a culprit. "cause shown," mumbled the judge without looking up from his writing, "defendant bound over for trial in the circuit court." a week later, therefore, there was a similar scene a story higher in the same building. here on thursdays sits one of the three members of the zone supreme court. jury trial is rare on the isthmus--which makes possibly for surer justice. this time there was all the machinery of court and i appeared only in my legal capacity. the judge, a man still young, with an astonishingly mobile face that changed at least once a minute from a furrowy scowl with great pouting lips to a smile so broad it startled, sat in state in the middle of three judicial arm-chairs, and the case proceeded. within an hour the defendant was standing up, the cheery grin still on his black countenance, to be sentenced to two years and eight months in the zone penitentiary at culebra. a deaf man would have fancied he was being awarded some prize. one of the never-ending surprises on the zone is the apparent indifference of negro prisoners whether they get years or go free. even if they testify in their own behalf it is in a listless, detached way, as if the matter were of no importance anyway. but the glance they throw the innocent arresting officer as they pass out on their way to the barb-wire enclosure on the outskirts of the zone capital tells another story. there are members of the z. p. who sleep with a gun under their pillow because of that look or a muttered word. but even were i nervous i should have been little disturbed at the glare in this case, for it will probably be a long walk from culebra penitentiary to where i am thirty-two months from that morning. a holiday air brooded over all gatun and the country-side. workmen in freshly washed clothing lolled in the shade of labor-camps, black britishers were gathering in flat meadows fitted for the national game of cricket, far and wide sounded the care-free laughter and chattering of negroes, while even within gatun police station leisure and peace seemed almost in full possession. the morning "touch" with headquarters over, therefore, i scrambled away across the silent yawning locks and the trainless and workless dam to the spillway, over which already some overflow from the lake was escaping to the caribbean. my friends "dusty" and h---- had carried their canoe to the chagres below, and before nine we were off down the river. it was a day that all the world north of the tropic of cancer could not equal; just the weather for a perfect "day off." a plain-clothes man, it is true, is not supposed to have days off. some one might run away with the administration building on the edge of the pacific and the telephone wires be buzzing for me--with the sad result that a few days later there would be posted in zone police stations where all who turned the leaves might read: special order no. .... having been found guilty of charges of neglect of duty preferred against him by his commanding officer first-class policeman no. is hereby fined $ . chief of division. but shades of john aspinwall! should even a detective work on such a sunday? surely no criminal would--least of all a black one. moreover these forest-walled banks were also part of my beat. the sun was hot, yet the air of that ozone-rich quality for which panama is famous. for headgear we had caps; and did not wear those, though barely a few puffy, snow-white clouds ventured out into the vast chartless sky all the brilliant day through. then the river; who could describe this lower reach of the chagres as it curves its seven deep and placid miles from where uncle sam releases it from custody, to the ocean. its jungled banks were without a break, for the one or two clusters of thatch and reed huts along the way are but a part of the living vegetation. now and then we had glimpses across the tree-tops of brilliant green jungle hills further inland, everywhere were huge splendid trees, the stack-shaped mango, the soldier-erect palm heavy, yet unburdened, with cocoanuts. some fish resembling the porpoise rose here and there, back and forth above the shadows winged snow-white cranes so slender one wondered the sea breeze did not wreck them. above all the quiet and peace and contentment of a perfect tropical day enfolded the landscape in a silence only occasionally disturbed by the cry of a passing bird. once a gasoline launch deep-laden with sunday-starched americans, snorted by, bound likewise to fort lorenzo at the river's mouth; and we lay back in our soft, rumpled khaki and drowsily smiled our sympathy after them. when they had drawn on out of earshot life began to return to the banks and nature again took possession of the scene. alligators abounded once on this lower chagres, but they have grown scarce now, or shy, and though we sat with h----'s automatic rifle across our knees in turns we saw no more than a carcass or a skeleton on the bank at the foot of the sheer wall of impenetrable verdure. till at length the sea opened on our sight through the alley-way of jungle, and a broad inviting cocoanut grove nodded and beckoned on our left. instead we paddled out across the sandbar to play with the surf of the atlantic, but found it safer to return and glide across the little bay to the drowsy straw and tin village. here--for the mouth of the chagres like its source lies in a foreign land--a solitary panamanian policeman in the familiar arctic uniform enticed us toward the little thatched office, and house, and swinging hammock of the alcalde to register our names, and our business had we had any. so deep-rooted was the serenity of the place that even when "dusty," in all zone innocence, addressed the white-haired little mulatto as "hombre" he lost neither his dignity nor his temper. the policeman and a brown boy of merry breed went with us up the grassy rise to the old fort. in its musty vaulted dungeons were still the massive, rust-corroded irons for feet, waist and neck of prisoners of the old brutal days; blind owls stared upon us; once the boy brought down with his honda, or slung-shot, one of the bats that circled uncannily above our heads. in dank corners were mounds of worthless powder; the bakery that once fed the miserable dungeon dwellers had crumbled in upon itself. outside great trees straddled and split the massive stone walls that once commanded the entrance to the chagres, jungle waved in undisputed possession in its earth-filled moat, even the old cannon and heaped up cannon-balls lay rust-eaten and dejected, like decrepit old men who have long since given up the struggle. we came out on the nose of the fort bluff and had before and below us and underfoot all the old famous scene, for centuries the beginning of all trans-isthmian travel,--the scalloped surf-washed shore with its dwindling palm groves curving away into the west, the chagres pushing off into the jungled land. we descended to the beach of the outer bay and swam in the salt sea, and the policeman, scorning the launch party, squatted a long hour in the shade of a tree above in tropical patience. then with "sour" oranges for thirst and nothing for hunger--for lorenzo has no restaurant--we turned to paddle our way homeward up the chagres, that bears the salt taste of the sea clear to the spillway. whence one verse only of a stanza by the late bard of the isthmus struck a false note on our ears; then go away if you have to, then go away if you will! to again return you will always yearn while the lamp is burning still. you've drunk the chagres water and the mango eaten free, and, strange though it seems, it will haunt your dreams this land of the cocoanut tree. no catastrophe had befallen during my absence. the same peaceful sunny sunday reigned in gatun; new-laundered laborers were still lolling in the shade of the camps, west indians were still batting at interminable balls with their elongated paddles in the faint hope of deciding the national game before darkness settled down. then twilight fell and i set off through the rambling town already boisterous with church services. before the little sub-station a swarm of negroes was pounding tamborines and bawling lustily: oh, yo mus' be a lover of de lard or yo cahn't go t' heaven when yo di-ie. further on a lady who would have made ebony seem light-gray bowed over an organ, while a burly jamaican blacker than the night outside stood in the vestments of the church of england, telling his version of the case in a voice that echoed back from the town across the gully, as if he would drown out all rival sects and arguments by volume of sound. the meeting-house on the next corner was thronged with a singing multitude, tamborines scattered among them and all clapping hands to keep time, even to the pastor, who let the momentum carry on and on into verse after verse as if he had not the self-sacrifice to stop it, while outside in the warm night another crowd was gathered at the edge of the shadows gazing as at a vaudeville performance. how well-fitted are the various brands of christianity to the particular likings of their "flocks." the strongest outward manifestation of the religion of the west indian black is this boisterous singing. all over town were dusky throngs exercising their strong untrained voices "in de lard's sarvice"; though the west indian is not noted as being musical. here a preacher wanting suddenly to emphasize a point or clinch an argument swung an arm like a college cheer leader and the entire congregation roared forth with him some well-known hymn that settled the question for all time. i strolled on into darker high street. suddenly on a veranda above there broke out a wild unearthly screaming. two negroes were engaged in savage, sanguinary combat. around them in the dim light thrown by a cheap tenement lamp i could make out their murderous weapons--machetes or great bars of iron--slashing wildly, while above the din rose screams and curses: yo ---- badgyan, ah kill yo! i sped stealthily yet swiftly up the long steps, drawing my no. (for at last i had been issued one) as i ran and dashed into the heart of the turmoil swallowing my tendency to shout "unhand him, villain!" and crying instead: "here, what the devil is going on here?" whereupon two negroes let fall at once two pine sticks and turned upon me their broad childish grins with: "we only playin', sar. playin' single-sticks which we larn to de army in bahbaydos, sahgeant." thus i wandered on, in and out, till the night lost its youth and the last train from colon had dumped its merry crowd at the station, then wound away along the still and deserted back road through the night-chirping jungle between the two surviving gatuns. there was a spot behind the division engineer's hill that i rarely succeeded in passing without pausing to drink in the scene, a scallop in the hills where several trees stood out singly and alone against the myriad starlit sky, below and beyond the indistinct valleys and ravines from which came up out of the night the chorus of the jungle. further on, in american gatun there was a seat on the steps before a bungalow that offered more than a good view in both directions. a broad, u. s.-tamed ravine sank away in front, across which the atlantic breeze wafted the distance-softened thrum of guitar, the tones of fifes and happy negro voices, while overhead feathery gray clouds as concealing as a dancer's gossamer hurried leisurely by across the brilliant face of the moon; to the right in a free space the southern cross, tilted a bit awry, gleamed as it has these untold centuries while ephemeral humans come and pass their brief way. it was somewhere near here that gatun's dry-season mosquito had his hiding-place. rumor whispers of some such letter as the following received by the colonel--not the blue-eyed czar at culebra this time; for you must know there is another colonel on the zone every whit as indispensable in his sphere: gatun, ... , . dear colonel:-- i am writing to call your attention to a gross violation of sanitary ordinance no. , to an apparent loop-hole in your otherwise excellent department. the circumstances are as follows; on the evening of ... , as i was sitting at the roadside between gatun and new gatun (some paces beyond house no. ) there appeared a mosquito, which buzzed openly and for some time about my ears. it was probably merely a male of the species, as it showed no tendency to bite; but a mosquito nevertheless. i trust you will take fitting measures to punish so bold and insolent a violation of the rules of your department. i am, sir, very truly yours, (mrs.) henry peck. p. s. the mosquito may be easily recognized by a peculiarly triumphant, defiant note in his song, i cannot personally vouch for the above, but if it was received any "zoner" will assure you that prompt action was taken. it is well so. the french failed to dig the canal because they could not down the mosquito. of course there was the champagne and the other things that come with it--later in the night. but after all it was the little songful mosquito that drove them in disgrace back across the atlantic. still further on toward the hotel and a midnight lunch there was one house that was usually worth lingering before, though good music is rare on the zone. then there was the naughty poker game in bachelor quarters number--well, never mind that detail--to keep an ear on in case the pot grew large enough to make a worth-while violation of the law that would warrant the summoning of the mounted patrolman. meanwhile "cases" stacked up about me. now one took me out the hard u. s. highway that, once out of sight of the last negro shanty, rambles erratically off like the reminiscences of an old man through the half-cleared, mostly uninhabited wilderness, rampant green with rooted life and almost noisy with the songs of birds. eventually within a couple of hours it crossed fox river with its little settlement and descended to mt. hope police station, where there is a 'phone with which to "get in touch" again and then a mission rocker on the screened veranda where the breezes of the near-by atlantic will have you well cooled off before you can catch the shuttle-train back to gatun. or another led out across the lake by the old abandoned line that was the main line when first i saw gatun. it drops down beyond the station and charges across the lake by a causeway that steam-shovels were already devouring, toward forsaken bohio. picking its way across the rotting spiles of culverts, it pushed on through the unpeopled jungle, all the old railroad gone, rails, ties, the very spikes torn up and carried away, while already the parrots screamed again in derision as if it were they who had driven out the hated civilization and taken possession again of their own. a few short months and the devouring jungle will have swallowed up even the place where it has been. if it was only the little typewritten slip reporting the disappearance of a half-dozen jacks from the dam, every case called for full investigation. for days to come i might fight my way through the encircling wilderness by tunnels of vegetation to every native hut for miles around to see if by any chance the lost property could have rolled thither. more than once such a hunt brought me out on the water-tank knoll at the far end of the dam, overlooking miles of impenetrable jungle behind and above chanting with invisible life, to the right the filling lake stretching across to low blue ranges dimly outlined against the horizon and crowned by fantastic trees, and all gatun and its immense works and workers below and before me. times were when duty called me into the squalid red-lighted district of colon and kept me there till the last train was gone. then there was nothing left but to pick my way through the night out along the p.r.r. tracks to shout in at the yard-master's window, "how soon y' got anything goin' up the line?" and, according to the answer, return to read an hour or two in cristobal y.m.c.a. or push on at once into the forest of box-cars to hunt out the lighted caboose. night freights do not stop at gatun, nor anywhere merely to let off a "gum-shoe." but just beyond new gatun station is a grade that sets the negro fireman to sweating even at midnight and the big mogul to straining every nerve and sinew, and i did not meet the engineer that could drag his long load by so swiftly but that one could easily swing off on the road that leads to the police station. even on the rare days when "cases" gave out there was generally something to while away the monotony. as, one morning an american widely known in gatun was arrested on a warrant and, chatting merrily with his friend, policeman ----, strolled over to the station. there his friend corporal macey subdued his broad irish smile and ordered the deskman to "book him up." the latter was reaching for the keys to a cell when the american broke off his pleasant flow of conversation to remark; "all right, corporal, i'm going over to the house to get a few things and write a few letters. i'll be back inside of an hour." whereupon corporal macey, being a man of iron self-control, refrained from turning a double back sommersault and mildly called the prisoner's attention to a little point of zone police rules he had overlooked. if every other known form of amusement absolutely failed it was still the dry, or tourist season, and poured down from the states hordes of unconscious comedians, or investigators who rushed two whole days about the isthmus, taking care not to get into any dirty places, and rushed home again to tell an eager public all about it. sometimes the sight-seers came from the opposite end of the earth, a little band of south americans in tongueless awe at the undreamed monster of work about them, yet struggling to keep their fancied despite of the "yanqui," to which the "yanqui" is so serenely indifferent. priests from this southland were especially numerous. the week never passed that a group of them might not be seen peering over the dizzy precipice of gatun locks and crossing themselves ostentatiously as they turned away. one does not, at least in a few months, feel the "sameness" of climate at panama and "long again to see spring grow out of winter." yet there is something, perhaps, in the popular belief that even northern energy evaporates in this tropical land. it is not exactly that; but certainly many a "zoner" wakes up day by day with ambitious plans, and just drifts the day through with the fine weather. he fancies himself as strong and energetic as in the north, yet when the time comes for doing he is apt to say, "oh, i guess i'll loaf here in the shade half an hour longer," and before he knows it another whole day is charged up against his meager credit column with father time. there came the day early in april when the inspector must go north on his forty-two days' vacation. i bade him bon voyage on board the : between the two gatuns and soon afterward was throwing together my belongings and leaving "davie" to enjoy his room alone. for corporal castillo was to be head of the subterranean department ad interim, and how could the digging of the canal continue with no detective in all the wilderness of morals between the pacific and culebra? thus it was that the afternoon train bore me away to the southward. it was a tourist train. a new york steamer had docked that morning, and the first-class cars were packed with venturesome travelers in their stout campaign outfits in which to rough it--in the tivoli and the sight-seeing motors--in their roof-like cork helmets and green veils for the terrible panama heat--which is sometimes as bad as in northern new york. the p.r.r. is one of the few railroads whose passengers may drop off for a stroll, let the train go on without them, and still take it to their destination. they have only to descend, as i did, at gamboa cabin and wander down into the "cut," climb leisurely out to bas obispo, and chat with their acquaintances among the marines lolling about the station until the trains puffs in from its shuttle-back excursion to gorgona. the zone landscape had lost much of its charm. for days past jungle fires had been sweeping over it, doing the larger growths small harm but leaving little of the greenness and rank clinging life of other seasons. everywhere were fires along the way, even in the towns. for quartermasters--to the rage of zone house-wives were sending up in clouds of smoke the grass and bushes that quickly turn to breeding-places of mosquitoes and disease with the first rains. night closed down as we emerged from miraflores tunnel; soon we swung around toward the houses, row upon row and all alight, climbed the lower slope of ancon hill, and at seven i descended in familiar, cab-crowded, bawling panama. chapter vii it might be worth the ink to say a word about socialism on the canal zone. to begin with, there isn't any of course. no man would dream of looking for socialism in an undertaking set in motion by the republican party and kept on the move by the regular army. but there are a number of little points in the management of this private government strip of earth that savors more or less faintly of the socialist's program, and the zone offers perhaps as good a chance as we shall ever have to study some phases of those theories in practice. few of us now deny the socialist's main criticisms of existing society; most of us question his remedies. some of us go so far as to feel a sneaking curiosity to see railroads and similar purely public utilities government-owned, just to find how it would work. down on the canal zone they have a sort of modified socialism where one can watch much of this under a bell jar. there one quickly discovers that a locomotive with the brief and sufficient information "u.s." on her tender flanks--or more properly the flanks of her tender--gives one a swelling of the chest no other combination of letters could inspire. thus far, too, theory seems to work well. the service could hardly be better, and recalling that under the old private system the fare for the forty-seven miles across the isthmus was $ with a charge of ten cents for every pound of baggage, the $ . of today does not seem particularly exorbitant. the official machinery of this private government strip also seems to run like clockwork. to be sure the wheels even of a clock grind a bit with friction at times, but the clock goes on keeping time for all that. the canal zone is the best governed district in the united states. it is worth any american's time and sea-sickness to run down there, if only to assure himself that americans really can govern; until he does he will not have a very clear notion of just what good american government means. but before we go any further be it noted that the socialism of the canal zone is under a benevolent despot, an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent ruler; which is perhaps the one way socialism would work, at least in the present stage of human progress. the three omnis are combined in an inconspicuous, white-haired american popularly known on the zone as "the colonel"--so popularly in fact that an attempt to replace him would probably "start something" among all classes and races of "zoners." that he is omnipotent--on the zone--not many will deny; a few have questioned--and landed in the states a week later much less joyous but far wiser. omniscient--well they have even chinese secret-service men on the isthmus, and soldiers and marines not infrequently go out in civilian clothes under sealed orders; to say nothing of "the colonel's private gum-shoe" and probably a lot of other underground sources of information neither you nor i shall ever hear of. but you must get used to spies under socialism, you know, until we all wear one of saint peter's halos. look at the elaborate system of the incas, even with their docile and uninitiative subjects. in the matter of omnipresence; it would be pretty hard to find a hole on the canal zone where you could pull off a stunt of any length or importance without the i.c.c. having a weather-eye on you. when it comes to the no less indispensable ingredient of benevolence one glimpse of those mild blue eyes would probably reassure you in that point, even without the pleasure of watching the despot sit in judgment on his subjects in his castle office on sunday mornings like old saint louis under his oak--though with a tin of cigarettes beside him that old louis had to worry along without. this all-powerful government insists on and enforces many of the things which americans as a whole stand for,--sunday closing, suppression of resorts, forbidding of gambling. but the zone is no test whether these laws could be genuinely enforced in a whole nation. for down there panama and colon serve as a sort of safety-valve, where a man can run down in an hour or so on mileage or monthly pass and blow off steam; get rid of the bad internal vapors that might cause explosion in a ventless society. this we should not lose sight of when we boast that there are few crimes and no real resorts on the zone. "the colonel" himself will tell you there is no gambling. yet it is curious how many of the weekly prizes of the panama lottery find their way into the pockets of american canal builders, and in any zone gathering of whatever hour--or sex!--you are almost certain to hear flitting back and forth mysterious whispers of "--have a and a this week." the zone system is work-coupons for all; much as the socialist would have it. only the legitimate members of the community--the workers--can live in it--long. you should see the nonchalant way a clerk at the government's tivoli hotel charges a tourist a quarter for a cigar the government sells for six cents in its commissaries. mere money does not rank high in zone society. it's the labor-coupon that counts. they sell cigarettes at the y.m.c.a.; you are in that state where you would give your ticket home for a smoke. yet when you throw down good gold or silver, black sam behind the showcase looks up at you with that pitying cold eye kept in stock for new-comers, and says wearily: "cahn't take no money heah, boss." that surely is a sort of socialism where a slip of paper showing merely that you have done your appointed task gets you the same meal wherever you may drop in, a total stranger, yet without being identified, without a word from any one, but merely thrusting your coupon-book at the yellow west indian at the door as you enter that he may snatch out so many minutes of labor. drop in anywhere there is a vacant bed and you are perfectly at home. there is the shower-bath, the ice-water, the veranda rocker--you knew exactly what was coming to you, just what kind of bed, just what vegetables you would be served at dinner. it reminds one of the inca system of providing a home for every citizen, and tambos along the way if he must travel. but it is the same meal. that is just the point. there is where you begin to furrow your brow and look more closely at this splendid system, and fall to wondering if that public kitchen of socialism would not become in time an awful bore. there are some things in which we want variety and originality and above all personality. a meal is a meal, i suppose, as a cat is a cat; yet there are many subtle little things that make the same things distinctly different. when it comes to dinner you want a rosy fat german or a bulky french madame putting thought and pride and attention into it; which they will do only if they get good coin of the realm or similar material emolument out of it in proportion. no one will ever fancy he has a "mission" to serve good meals--to the public. in the i.c.c. hotels we have a government steward who draws a good salary and wears a nice white collar. but though he is sometimes a bit different, and succeeds in making his hotel so, it is only in degree. he is not a great frequenter of the dining-room; at times one wonders just what his activities are. certainly it is not the planning of meals, for the i.c.c. menu is as fixed and automatic as if it had been taken from a stone slab in the pyramids. a poor meal neither turns his hair white nor cuts down his income. frequently, especially if he is english and certainly if he has been a ship's steward, the negro waiters seem to run his establishment without interference. dinner hours, for example, are from to . but beware the glare of the waiter at whose table you sit down at : . he slams cold rubbish at you from the discard and snatches it away again before you have time to find you can't eat it. you have your choice of enduring this maltreatment or of unostentatiously slipping him a coin and a hint to go cook you the best he can himself. for you know that as the closing hour approaches the cooks will not have their private plans interfered with by accepting your order. here again is where the fat german or the french madame is needed--with an ox-goad. in other words the tip system invented by pharaoh and vitiated by quick-rich americans rages as fiercely in government hotels on the zone as in any "lobster palace" bordering broadway--worse, for here the non-tipper has no living being to advocate his cause. all food is government property. yet i have sat down opposite a man who gave the government at the door a work-coupon identical with mine, but who furthermore dropped into the waiter's hand " cents spig"--which is half as bad as to do it in u.s. currency--and while i was gazing tearfully at a misshapen lump of vacunal gristle there was set before him, steaming hot from the government kitchen, a porterhouse steak which a dollar bill would not have brought him within scenting distance of in new york. do not blame the waiter. if he does not slip an occasional coin to the cook he will invariably draw the gristle, and even occasional coins do not grow on his waist band. it would be as absurd to charge it to the cook. he probably has a large family to support, as he would have under socialism. there runs this story on the zone, vouched for by several: a "zoner" called an i.c.c. steward and complained that his waiter did not serve him reasonably: "well," sneered the steward, "i guess you didn't come across?" "come across! why, damn you, i suppose you're getting your rake-off too?" "i certainly am," replied the steward; "what do you think i'm down here for, me health?" surely we can't blame it all to the steward, or to any other individual. lay it rather to human nature, that stumbling-block of so many varnished and upholstered systems. i hope i am not giving the impression that i.c.c. hotels are unendurable. "stay home"--which on the zone means always eat at the same hotel table--subsidize your waiter and you do moderately well. but to move thither and yon, as any plain-clothes man must, is unfortunate. the only difference then is that the next is worse than the last. whatever their convictions upon arrival, almost all americans have come down to paying their waiter the regular blackmail of a dollar a month and setting it down as one of the unavoidable evils of life. one or two i knew who insisted on sticking to "principles," and they grew leaner and lanker day by day. because of these things many an american employee will be found eating in private restaurants of the ubiquitous chinaman or the occasional spaniard, though here he must often pay in cash instead of in futures on his labor--which are so much cheaper the world over. it is sad enough to dine on the same old identical round for months. but how if you were one of those who blew in on the heels of the last frenchman and have been eating it ever since? by this time even rat-tails would be a welcome change--and with genuine socialism there would not even be that escape. it is said to be this hotel problem as much as the perpetual spring-time of the zone that so frequently reduces--with the open connivance of the government--a building housing forty-eight quiet, harmless bachelors to a four-family residence housing eight and gradually upwards; that wreaks such matrimonious havoc among the white-frocked stenographers who come down to type and remain to cook. besides the hotel there is the p.r.r. commissary, the government department stores. it is likewise laundry, bakery, ice-factory; it makes ice-cream, roasts coffee, sends out refrigerator-cars and a morning supply train to bring your orders right to your door--oh, yes, it strongly resembles what bellamy dreamed years ago. only, as in the case of the hotel, there seems to be a fly or two in the amber. the laundry is tolerable--fancy turning your soiled linen over to a railroad company--all machine done of course, as everything would be under socialism, and no come-back for the garment that is not hardy enough of constitution to stand the system. in the stores is little or no shoddy material; in general the stock is the best available. if a biscuit or a bolt of khaki is better made in england than in the united states the commissary stocks with english goods, which is unexpected broad-mindedness for government management. but while prices are lower than in panama or colon they are every whit as high as in american stores; and most of us know something of the exorbitant profit our private merchants exact, particularly on manufactured goods. the government claims to run the commissary only to cover cost. either that is a crude government joke or there is a colored gentleman esconced in the coal-bin. moreover if the commissary hasn't the stuff you want you had better give up wanting, for it has no object in laying in a supply of it just to oblige customers. its clerks work in the most languid, unexcited manner. they have no object whatever in holding your trade, and you can wait until they are quite ready to serve you, or go home without. true, most of them are merely negroes, and the few americans at the head of departments are chiefly provincial little fellows from small towns whose notions of business are rather those of podunk, mass., than of new york. but lolling about the commissary a half-hour hoping to buy a box of matches, one cannot shake off the conviction that it is the system more than the clerks. poets and novelists and politicians may work for "glory," but no man is going to show calico and fit slippers for such remuneration. nor are all the old evils of the competitive method banished from the zone. in the canal record, the government organ, the government commissary advertised a sale of excellent $ rain-coats at $ each. the "record"! it is like reading it in the bible. witness the rush of bargain hunters, who, it proves, are by no means of one gender. yet those splendid rain-coats, as manager, clerks, and even negro sweepers well knew and could not refrain from snickering to themselves at thought of, were just as rain-proof as a poor grade of cheese-cloth. i do not speak from hear-say for i was numbered among the bargain hunters--"recruits" are the natural victims, and there arrive enough of them each year to get rid of worthless stock. ten minutes after making the purchase i set out to walk to corozal through the first mild shower of the rainy season--and arrived there i went and laid the bargain gently in the waste-basket of corozal police station. thus does the government sink to the petty rascalities of shop-keepers. even a government manager on a fixed salary--in work-coupons--will descend to these tricks of the trade to keep out of the clutches of the auditor, or to make a "good record." the socialist's answer perhaps would be that under their system government factories would make only perfect goods. but won't the factory superintendent also be anxious to make a "record"? and even government stock will deteriorate on the shelves. all small things, to be sure; but it is the sum of small things that make up that great complex thing--life. few of us would object to living in that ideal dream world. but could it ever be? i have anxiously asked this question and hinted at these little weaknesses suggested by zone experiences to several zone socialists--who are not hard to find. they merely answer that these things have nothing to do with the case. but not one of them ever went so far as to demonstrate; and though i was born a long way north of missouri i once passed through a corner of the state. as to the other side of the ledger,--equal pay for all, nowhere is man further from socialism than on the canal zone. caste lines are as sharply drawn as in india, which should not be unexpected in an enterprise largely in charge of graduates of our chief training-school for caste. the brahmins are the "gold" employees, white american citizens with all the advantages and privileges thereto appertaining. but--and herein we out-hindu the hindus--the brahmin caste itself is divided and subdivided into infinitesimal gradations. every rank and shade of man has a different salary, and exactly in accordance with that salary is he housed, furnished, and treated down to the least item,--number of electric lights, candle-power, style of bed, size of bookcase. his brahmin highness, "the colonel," has a palace, relatively, and all that goes with it. the high priests, the members of the isthmian canal commission, have less regal palaces. heads of the big departments have merely palatial residences. bosses live in well-furnished dwellings, conductors are assigned a furnished house--or quarter of a house. policemen, artisans, and the common garden variety of bachelors have a good place to sleep. it is doubtful, to be sure, whether one-fourth of the "zoners" of any class ever lived as well before or since. the shovelman's wife who gives five-o'clock teas and keeps two servants will find life different when the canal is opened and she moves back to the smoky little factory cottage and learns again to do her own washing. at work, "on the job" there is a genuine american freedom of wear-what-you-please and a general habit of going where you choose in working clothes. that is one of the incomprehensible zone things to the little veneered panamanian. he cannot rid himself of his racial conviction that a man in an old khaki jacket who is building a canal must be of inferior clay to a hotel loafer in a frock coat and a tall hat. the real "spig" could never do any real work for fear of soiling his clothes. he cannot get used to the plain, brusk american type without embroidery, who just does things in his blunt, efficient way without wasting time on little exterior courtesies. none of these childish countries is man enough to see through the rough surface. even with seven years of american example about him the panamanian has not yet grasped the divinity of labor. perhaps he will eons hence when he has grown nearer true civilization. but among americans off the job reminiscences of east india flock in again. d, who is a quartermaster at $ , may be on "how-are-you-old-man?" terms with g, who is a station agent and draws $ . but mrs. d never thinks of calling on mrs. g socially. h and j, who are engineer and cranemen respectively on the same steam-shovel, are probably "hank" and "jim" to each other, but mrs. h would be horrified to find herself at the same dance with mrs. j. mrs. x, whose husband is a foreman at $ , and whose dining table is a full six inches longer and whose ice-box will hold one more cold-storage chicken, would not think of sitting in at bridge with mrs. y, whose husband gets $ . as for being black, or any tint but pure "white"! even an englishman, though he may eat in the same hotel if his skin is not too tanned, is accepted on staring suffrance. as for the man whose skin is a bit dull, he might sit on the steps of an i. c. c. hotel with dollars dribbling out of his pockets until he starved to death--and he would be duly buried in the particular grave to which his color entitled him. a real american place is the zone, with outward democracy and inward caste, an unenthusiastic and afraid-to-break-the-conventions place in play, and the opposite at work. yet with it all it is a good place in which to live. there you have always summer, jungled hills to look on by day and moonlight, and to roam in on sunday--unless you are a policeman seven days a week. it is possible that perpetual summer would soon breed quite a different type of american. the isthmus is nearly always in boyish--or girlish--good temper. zone women and girls are noted for plump figures and care-free faces. and there is a contentment that is more than climatic. there are no hard times on the zone, no hurried, worried faces, no famished, wolfish eyes. the "zoner" has his little troubles of course,--the servant problem, for instance, for the jamaican housemaid is a thorn in any side. now and then we hear some one wailing, "oh, it gets so--tiresome! everybody's shoveling dirt or talking about the other fellow." but he knows it isn't strictly true when he says it and that he is kicking chiefly to keep in practice. every one is free from worries as to job, pay, house, provisions, and even hospital fees, and the smoothness of it all, perhaps, gets on his nerves at times. i question whether "the colonel" himself loses much sleep when a chunk of the hill that bears up his residence lets go and pitches into the canal. it sets one to musing at times whether the rock-bound system of the incas was not best after all,--a place for every man and every man in his place, each his allotted work, which he was fully able to do and getting hail columbia if he failed to do it. which brings up the question of results in labor under the pseudo-socialist zone system. most american employees work steadily and take their work seriously. it is as if each were individually proud of being one of the chosen people and builders of the greatest work of modern times. yet the far-famed "american rush" is not especially prevalent. the zone point of view seems to be that no shoveling is so important, even that of digging a ditch half the ships of the world are waiting to cross, that a man should bring upon himself a premature funeral. the common laborers, non-americans, almost dawdle. there are no contractor's irish straw-bosses to keep them on the move. the answer to the socialist's scheme of having the government run all big building enterprises is to go out and watch any city street gang for an hour. the bringing together into close contact of americans from every section of our broad land is tending to make a new amalgamated type. even new englanders grow almost human here among their broader-minded fellow-countrymen. any northerner can say "nigger" as glibly as a carolinian, and growl if one of them steps on his shadow. it is not easy to say just how much effect all this will have when the canal is done and this handful of amalgamated and humanized americans is sprinkled back over all the states as a leaven to the whole. they tell on the zone of a man from maine who sat four high-school years on the same bench with two negro boys, and returning home after three years on the isthmus was so horrified to find one of those boys an alderman that he packed his traps and moved to alabama, "where a nigger is a nigger"--and if there isn't the "makings" of a story in that i 'll leave it to the postmaster of miraflores. chapter viii "there is much in this police business," said "the captain," with his slow, deliberate enunciation, "that must lead to a blank wall. out of ten cases to investigate it is quite possible nine will result in nothing. this percentage could not of course be true of a thousand cases and a man's services still be considered satisfactory. but of ten it is quite possible. as for knowing how to do detective work, all i bring to the department myself is some ordinary common sense and a little knowledge of human nature, and with these i try to work things out as best i can. this peeping-through-the-key-hole police work i know nothing whatever about, and don't want to. nor do i expect a man to." i had been discussing with "the captain" my dissatisfaction at my failure to "get results" in an important case. a few weeks on the force had changed many a preconceived notion of police life. it had gradually become evident, for instance, that the profession of detective is adventurous, absorbing, heart-stopping chiefly between the covers of popular fiction; that real detective work, like almost any other vocation, is made up largely of the little unimportant every-day details, with only a rare assignment bulking above the mass. as "the captain" said, it was just plain every-day work carried on by the application of ordinary common sense. such best-seller artifices as disguise were absurd. not only would disguise in all but the rarest cases be impossible, but useless. the a-b-c of plain-clothes work is to learn to know a man by his face rather than by his clothing--and at the outset one will be astonished to find how much he has hitherto been depending on the latter. it must be the same with criminals, too, unless your criminal is an amateur or a fool, in which event you will "land" him without the trouble of disguising. a detective furthermore should not be a handsome man or a man of striking appearance in any way; the ideal plain-clothes man is the little insignificant snipe whom even the ladies will not notice. since april tenth i had been settled in notorious house , ancon, a sort of frontiersman resort or smugglers' retreat--had there been anything to smuggle--where to have fallen through the veranda screening would have been to fall into a foreign land. as pay-day approached there came the duty of standing a half-hour at the station gate before the departure of each train to watch and discuss with the ponderous, smiling, dark-skinned chief of panama's plain-clothes squad, or with a vigilante the suspicious characters and known crooks of all colors going out along the line. on the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth the i. c. c. pay-car, that bank on wheels guarded by a squad of z. p., sprinkled its half-million a day along the zone. then plain-clothes duty was not merely to scan the embarking passengers but to ride out with each train to one of the busy towns. there scores upon scores of soil-smeared workmen swarmed over all the landscape with long paper-wrapped rolls of panamanian silver in their hands, while flashily dressed touts and crooks of both sexes drifted out from panama with every train to worm their insidious way into wherever the scent of coin promised another month free from labor. to add to those crowded times the chief dissipation of the west indian during the few days following pay-day that his earnings last is to ride aimlessly and joyously back and forth on the trains. there is one advantage, though some policemen call it by quite the opposite name, in being stationed at ancon. when crime takes a holiday and do-nothing threatens tropical dementia, or a man tires of his native land and people a short stroll down the asphalt takes him into the city of panama. barely across the street where his badge becomes mere metal, and he must take care not to arrest absent-mindedly the first violator of zone laws--whom he is sure to come upon within the first block--he notes that the english tongue has suddenly almost disappeared. on every hand, lightly sprinkled with many other dialects, sounds spanish, the slovenly spanish of panama in which bueno is "hueno" and calle is "caye." as he swings languidly to the right into avenida central he grows gradually aware that there has settled down about him a cold indifference, an atmosphere quite different from that on his own side of the line. those he addresses in the tongue of the land reply to his questions with their customary gestures and fixed phrases of courtesy. but no more; and a cold dead silence falls sharply upon the last word, and at times, if the experience be comparatively new, there seems to hover in the air something that reminds him that way back fifty-six years ago there was a "massacre" of americans in panama city. for the panamanian has little love for the united states or its people; which is the customary thanks any man or nation gets for lifting a dirty half-breed gamin from the gutter. off in the vortex of the city lolls panama's public market, where chinamen are the chief sellers and flies the chief consumers. myriads of fruits in every stage of development and disintegration, haggled bits of meat, the hundred sights and sounds and smells one hurries past suggest that panama may even have outdone central america before uncle sam came with his garbage-cans and his switch. further on, down at the old harbor, lingers a hint of the picturesqueness of panama in pre-canal days. clumsy boats, empty, or deep-laden with fruit from, or freight to, the several islands that sprinkle the bay, splash and bump against the little cement wharf. aged wooden "windjammers" doze at their moorings, everywhere are jabbering natives with that shifty half-cast eye and frequent evidence of deep-rooted disease. almost every known race mingles in panama city, even to chinese coolies in their umbrella hats and rolled up cotton trousers, delving in rich market gardens on the edges of the town or dog-trotting through the streets under two baskets dancing on the ends of a bamboo pole, till one fancies oneself at times in singapore or shanghai. the black zone laborer, too, often prefers to live in panama for the greater freedom it affords--there he doesn't have to clean his sink so often, marry his "wife," or banish his chickens from the bedroom. policemen with their clubs swarm everywhere, for no particular reason than that the little republic is forbidden to play at army, and with the presidential election approaching political henchmen must be kept good-humored. not a few of these officers are west indians who speak not a word of spanish--nor any other tongue, strictly speaking. rubber-tired carriages roll constantly by along uncle sam's macadam, amid the jingling of their musical bells. every one takes a carriage in panama. any man can afford ten cents even if he has no expense account; besides he runs no risk of being overcharged, which is a greater advantage than the cost. all this may be different when panama's electric line, all the way from balboa docks to las sabanas, is opened--but that's another year. meanwhile the lolling in carriages comes to be quite second nature. but like any tropical spanish town panama seethes only by night, especially saturday and sunday nights when the paternal zone government allows its children to spend the evening in town. then frequent trains, unknown during the week, begin with the setting of the sun to disgorge americans of all grades and sizes through the clicking turnstiles into the arms of gesticulating hackmen, some to squirm away afoot between the carriages, all to be swallowed up within ten minutes in the great sea of "colored" people. so that, large as may be each train-load, white american faces are so rare on panama streets that one involuntarily glances at each that passes in the throng. it is the "gum-shoe's" duty to know and be unknown in as many places as possible. wherefore on such nights, whatever his choice, he drifts early down by the "normandie" and on into the "pana-zone" to see who is out, and why. in the latter emporium he adds a bottle of beer to his expense account, endures for a few moments the bawling above the scream of the piano of two americans of palestinian antecedents, admires some local hero, like "baldy" for instance, who is credited with doing what napoleon could not do, and floats on, perhaps to screw up his courage and venture into the thinly-clad teatro apolo. he who knows where to look, or was born under a lucky star, may even see on these merry evenings a big marine from bas obispo or a burly soldier of the tenth howling some joyful song with six or seven little "spig" policemen climbing about on his frame. at such times everything but real blood, flows in panama. her history runs that way. on the day she won her independence from spain it is said the general in chief cut his finger on a wine glass. the day she won it from colombia there was a chinaman killed--but every one agrees that was due to the celestial's criminal carelessness. down at the quieter end of the city are "las bovedas," that curving sea-wall phillip of spain tried to make out from his palace walls, as many another, regal and otherwise, has strained his eyes in vain to see where his good coin has gone. but the walls are there all right, though phillip never saw them; crumbling a bit, yet still a sturdy barrier to the sea. a broad cement and grass promenade runs atop, wide as an american street. thirty or forty feet below the low parapet sounds the deep, time-mellowed voice of the pacific, as there rolls higher and higher up the rock ledges that great tide so different from the scarcely noticeable one at colon. the summer breeze never dies down, never grows boisterous. on the landward side panama lies mumbling to itself, down in the hollow between squats chiriqui prison with its american warden, once a zone policeman; while in the round stone watch-towers on the curving parapets lean prison guards with fixed bayonets and incessantly blow the shrill tin whistles that is the universal latin-american artifice for keeping policemen awake. on the way back to the city the elite--or befriended--may drop in at the university club at the end of the wall for a cooling libation. on sunday night comes the band concert in the palm-ringed cathedral plaza. there is one on thursday, too, in plaza santa ana, but that is packed with all colors and considered "rather vulgah." in the square by the cathedral the aggregate color is far lighter. pure african blood hangs chiefly in the outskirts. then the haughty aristocrats of panama, proud of their own individual shade of color, may be seen in the same promenade with american ladies--even a garrison widow or two--from out along the line. panamanian girls gaudily dressed and suggesting to the nostrils perambulating drug-stores shuttle back and forth with their perfumed dandies. above the throng pass the heads and shoulders of unemotional, self-possessed americans, erect and soldierly. sergeant jack of ancon station was sure to be there in his faultless civilian garb, a figure neat but not gaudy; and even busy lieutenant long was known to break away from his stacked-up duties and his black stenographer and come to overtop all else in the square save the palm-trees whispering together in the evening breeze between the numbers. there is no favoritism in zone police work. every crime reported receives full investigation, be it only a greek laborer losing a pair of trousers or-- there was the case that fell to me early in may, for instance. a box billed from new york to peru had been broken open on balboa dock and--one bottle of cognac stolen. unfortunately the matter was turned over to me so long after the perpetration of the dastardly crime that the possible culprits among the dock hands had wholly recovered from the probable consumption of the evidence. but i succeeded in gathering material for a splendid typewritten report of all i had not been able to unearth, to file away among other priceless headquarters' archives. not that the z. p. has not its big jobs. the force to a man distinctly remembers that absorbing two months between the escape of wild black felix paul and the day they dragged him back into the penitentiary. no less fresh in memory are the expeditions against maurice pelote, or francois barduc, the murderer of miraflores. all martinique negroes, be it noted; and of all things on this earth, including greased pigs, the hardest to catch is a martinique criminal. after all, four or five murders on the zone in three years is no startling record in such a swarm of nationalities. cases large and small which it would be neither of interest nor politic to detail poured in during the following weeks. among them was the counterfeit case unearthed by some shylock holmes on the panamanian force, that called for a long perspiring hunt for the "plant" in odd corners of the zone. then there was--, an ex-z. p. who lost his three years' savings on the train, for which reason i shadowed a well-known american--for it is a z. p. rule that no one is above suspicion--about panama afoot and in carriages nearly all night, in true dime-novel fashion. there was the day that i was given a dangerous convict to deliver at culebra penitentiary. the criminal was about three feet long, jet black, his worldly possessions comprising two more or less garments, one reaching as far down as his knees and the other as far up as the base of his neck. he had long been a familiar sight to "zoners" among the swarm of bootblacks that infest the corner near the p. r. r. station. he claimed to be eleven, and looked it. but having already served time for burglary and horse-stealing, his conviction for stealing a gold necklace from a negro washerwoman of san miguel left the chief justice no choice but to send him to meditate a half-year at culebra. there is no reform school on the zone. the few american minors who have been found guilty of misdoing have been banished to their native land. when the deputy warden had sufficiently recovered from the shock brought upon him by the sight of his new charge to give me a receipt for him, i raced for the noon train back to the city. thereon i sat down beside pol--first-class policeman x----, surprised to find him off duty and in civilian clothes. there was a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, and not until the train was racing past rio grande reservoir did he turn to confide to me the following extraordinary occurrence: "last night i dreamed old judge ---- had my father and my mother up before him. on the stand he asked my mother her age--and the funny part of it is my mother has been dead over ten years. she turned around and wrote on the wall with a piece of chalk ' ,' the year she was born. then my father was called and he wrote ' .' that's all there was to the dream. but take it from me i know what it means. now just add 'em together, and multiply by five--because i could see five people in the court-room--divide by two--father and mother--and i get--," he drew out a crumpled "arrest" form covered with penciled figures, "-- . and there--" his voice dropped low, "--is your winning number for next sunday." so certain was this, that first-class x---- had bribed another policeman to take his eight-hour shift, dressed in his vacation best, bought a ticket to panama and return, with real money at tourist prices, and would spend the blazing afternoon seeking among the scores of vendors in the city for lottery ticket . and if he did not find it there he certainly paid his fare all the way to colon and back to continue his search. i believe he at length found and acquired the whole ticket, for the customary sum of $ . . but there must have been a slip in the arithmetic, or mother's chalk; for the winning number that sunday was . frequent as are these melancholy errors, scores of "zoners" cling faithfully to their arithmetical superstitions. many a man spends his recreation hours working out the winning numbers by some secret recipe of his own. there are men on the z. p. who, if you can get them started on the subject of lottery tickets, will keep it up until you run away, showing you the infallibility of their various systems, believing the drawing to be honest, yet oblivious to the fact that both the one and the other cannot be true. dreams are held in special favor. it is probably safe to assert that one-half the numbers over , and under , that appear in zone dreams are snapped up next day in lottery tickets. many have systems of figuring out the all-important number from the figures on engines and cars. more than one zone housewife has slipped into the kitchen to find the roast burning and her west indian cook hiding hastily behind her ample skirt a long list of the figures on every freight-car that has passed that morning, from which by some antillian miscalculation and the murmuring of certain invocations she was to find the magic number that would bring her cooking days to an end. yet there is sometimes method in their madness. did not "joe" who slept in the next room to me at gatun "hit duque for two pieces"--which is to say he had $ , to sprinkle along with his police salary? yet personally the only really appealing "system" was that of cristobal. upon his arrival on the isthmus four years ago he picked out a number at random, took out a yearly subscription to it, and thought no more about it than one does of a newspaper delivered at the door each morning--until one monday during this month of may, after he had squandered something over $ , on worthless bits of paper, he strolled into the lottery office and was handed an inconspicuous little bag containing $ , in yellow gold. like all z. p. "rookies" (recruits) i had been warned early to beware the "sympathy dodge." but experience is the only real teacher. one afternoon i bestraddled a crazy, stilt-legged jamaican horse to go out into the bush beyond the panama line to fetch and deliver a citizen of that sovereign republic who was wanted on the zone for horse-stealing. at the town of sabanas, where those panamanians who have bagged the most loot since american occupation have their "summer" homes,--giddy, brick-painted monstrosities among the great trees, deep green foliage and brilliant flower-beds (pause a moment and think of brilliant red houses in the tropics; it will make you better acquainted with the "spig") i dropped in at the police station for ice-water and information. i found it in charge of a negro policeman who knew nothing, and had forgotten that. when, therefore, it also chanced that an officer of the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals stopped before the gate with a coachman of panama, it fell upon me to assume command. the horse was the usual emaciated rat of an animal indigenous to panama city. when overhauled, the driver was beating the animal uphill on his way to old panama to bring back a party of tourists visiting the ruins. how he expected the decrepit beast to carry four more persons was a mystery. when the harness was lifted there was disclosed the expected half-dozen large raw sores. we tied the animal in the shade near hay and water and adjourned to the station. the coachman, a weary, unshaven spaniard whose red eyelids showed lack of sleep, was weeping copiously. he claimed to be a madrileno--which was evident; that he had been a coachman in spain and panama all his life without ever before having been arrested--which was possible. he was merely one of many drivers for a livery-stable owner in panama. ordered to go for the tourists, he had called his employer's attention to the danger of crossing zone territory with a horse in that condition; but the owner had ordered him to cover up the sores with pads and harness and drive along. it was a very sad case. here was a poor, honest coachman struggling to support a wife and i don't recall how many children, but any number sounds quite reasonable in panama, who was about to be punished for the fault of another. the paradox of honest and coachman did not strike me until later. he was certainly telling the truth--you come to recognize it readily in all ordinary cases after a few weeks in plain clothes. the real culprit was, of course, the employer. my righteous wrath demanded that he and not his poor serf be punished. i could not release the driver. but i would see that the truth was brought out in court next morning and a warrant sworn out against the owner. with showering tears and rib-shaking sobs the coachman promised to tell the judge the whole story. i went through him, and locking him up with assurances of my deepest sympathy and full assistance, stilted on toward the little village of shacks scattered out of sight among the hills, and valleys across the border. coachman, witnesses, and arresting officer, to say nothing of horse, carriage, and sores were on hand when court opened next morning. as i expected, the judge failed to ask the poor fellow a single question that would bring out the complicity of his employer; did not in fact discover there was an employer. i asked to be sworn, and gave the true version of the case. the judge listened earnestly. when i had ended, he recalled the coachman. the latter expressed his astonishment that i should have made any such statements. he denied them in toto. his employer had nothing whatever to do with the case. the fault was entirely his, and no one else was in the remotest degree connected with the matter. "five dollars!" snapped the judge. the coachman paid, hitched up the rat of a horse, and wabbled away into panama. police business, taking me down into "the grove" that night, i found the driver, clean-shaven and better dressed, waiting for fares before the principal house of that section. "what kind of a game--," i began. "senor," he cried, and tears again seemed on the point of falling, "every word i told you was true. but of course i couldn't testify against the patron. he'd discharge me and blackmail me, and you know i have a wife and innumerable children to support. come on over and have a drink." this justice business, one soon learns, is of the same infallible stuff as the rest of life. after all it is only the personal opinion of the judge between two persons swearing on oath to diametrically opposed statements; and for all the impressiveness of deep furrowed brows i did not find that the average judge had any more power of reading human nature than the average of the rest of us. i well remember the morning when a meek little panamanian was testifying in his own behalf, in spanish of course, when the judge broke in without even asking for a translation of the testimony: "that'll do! because of your gestures i believe you are trying to bunco this court. you are lying--tell him that," this to the negro interpreter; and he therewith sentenced the witness to jail. as if any panamanian could talk earnestly of anything without waving his arms about him. the telephone-bell rang one afternoon. it was always doing that, twenty-four hours a day; but this time it sounded especially sharp and insistent. in the adjoining room, over the "blotter," snapped the brusk stereotyped nasal reply: "ancon! bingham talking!" the instrument buzzed a moment and the deskman looked up to say: "'andy' and a nigger just fell over into pedro miguel locks. they're sending in his body. the nigger lit on his head and hurt his leg." his body! how uncanny it sounded! "andy," that bunch of muscles who had made such short work of the circus wrestler in gatun and whom i had seen not twenty-four hours before bubbling with life was now a "body." things happen quickly on the zone, and he whom the fates have picked to go generally shows no hesitation in his exit. but at least a man who dies for the i. c. c. has the affairs he left behind him attended to in a thorough manner. in ten minutes to a half-hour one of the z. p. is on the ground taking note of every detail of the accident. a special train or engine rushes the body to the morgue in ancon hospital grounds. a coroner's jury is soon meeting under the chairmanship of a policeman, long reports of everything concerning the victim or the accident are soon flowing administration-ward. the police accident report is detailed and in triplicate. there is sure to be in the "personal files" at culebra a history of the deceased and the names of his nearest relative or friend both on the isthmus and in the states; for every employee must make out his biography at the time of his engagement. there are men whose regular duty it is to list and take care of his possessions down to the last lead pencil, and to forward them to the legal heirs. a year's pay goes to his family--were as much required of every employer and his the burden of proving the accident the fault of the employee, how the safety appliances in factories would multiply. there is a man attached to ancon hospital whose unenviable duty it is to write a letter of condolence to the relatives in the states. and so the "kangaroos" or the "red men" or whatever his lodge was filed behind the i. c. c. casket to the church in ancon, and "andy" was laid away under another of the simple white iron crosses that thickly populate many a zone hillside, and he was charged up to the big debit column of the costs of the canal. on the cross is his new number; for officially a "zoner" is always a number; that of the brass-check he wears as a watch-charm alive, that at the head of his grave when his canal-digging is over. late one unoccupied afternoon i picked up the path behind the administration building and, skirting a zone residence, began to climb that famous oblong mound that dominates the pacific end of the landscape from every direction,--ancon hill. for a way a fairly steep and stony path lead through thick undergrowth. then this ceased, and a far steeper trail zigzagged up the face of the bare mountain, covered only with thin dead grass. the setting sun cast its shadow obliquely across the summit when i reached it,--a long ridge, with groves of trees, running off abruptly toward the sea. on the opposite side uncle sam was cutting away a whole side of the hill. but the five o'clock whistle had blown, and whole armies of little workmen swarmed across all the landscape far below, and silence soon settled down save for the dredges at balboa that chug on through the night. but for myself the hill was wholly unpeopled. a sturdy ocean breeze swept steadily across it. the sinking sun set the jungle afire in a spot that would have startled those who do not know that it rises in the pacific at panama, crude, glaring colors glowed, fading to gentler and more delicate tints, then the evening shadow that had climbed the hill with me spread like a great black veil over all the world. but the moon nearing its full followed almost on the heels of the setting sun and, casting its half-day over a scene rich in nature and history, invited the eye to swing clear round the hazy circle. below lay panama dully rumbling with night traffic. silent ancon, still better lighted, cuddled upon the lower skirts of the hill itself. then beyond, the curving bay, half seen, half guessed, with its long promontory dying away into the hazy moonlit distance, lighted up here and there by bush fires in the jungled hills. some way out winked the cluster of lights that marked las sabanas. in front, the placid pacific, the "south sea" of the spaniards, spread dimly away into the void of night, its several islands seen only by the darker darkness that marked where they lay. on the other side of the hill the rumble of cranes and night labor came up from balboa dock. there, began the canal, which the eye could follow away into the dim hilly inland distance--and come upon a great cluster of lights that was corozal, then another group that was miraflores, close followed by those of pedro miguel; and yet further, rising to such height as to be almost indistinguishable from the lower stars the lights of the negro cabins of upper paraiso twinkled dimly above a broad glow that was paraiso itself. there the vista ended. for at paraiso the canal turns to the left for its plunge through culebra hill, and all that follows,--empire, cascadas, and far gatun, was visible only in the imagination. if only the film of time might roll back and there pass again before our eyes all that has come to pass within sight of ancon hilltop. across the bay there, where now are only jungle-tangled ruins, pizarro set out with his handful of vagabonds to conquer south america; there old buccaneer morgan laid his bloody hand. back in the hills there men died by scores trying to carry a ship across the isthmus, the spanish viceroys passed with their rich trains, there on some unknown knoll balboa reached four hundred years ago the climax of a career that began with stowing away in a cask and ended under the headsman's ax--no end of it, down to the "forty-niners" going hopefully out and returning filled with gold or disease, or leaving their bones here in the jungle before they really were "forty-niners"; on down to the railroad days with men wading in swamps with survey kits, and frequently lying down to die. then if a bit of the future, too, could for a moment be unveiled, and one might watch the first ship glide majestically and silently into the canal and away into the jungle like some amphibious monster. it was along in those days that we were looking for a "murderous assaulter." at a saturday night dance in a native shack back in miraflores bush the usual riot had broken out about midnight and a revolver had come into play. as a result there was a peruvian mulatto up in ancon hospital who had been shot through the mouth, the bullet being somewhere in his neck. it became my frequent duty, among other z. p.'s, to take suspects up the hill for possible identification. one morning i strolled into the station and fell to laughing. the early train had brought in on suspicion a spanish laborer of twenty or twenty-two; a pretty, girlish chap with huge blue eyes over which hung long black lashes like those painted on nurnberg dolls. no one with a shadow of faith in human nature left would have believed him capable of any crime; any one at all acquainted with spaniards must have known he could not shoot a hare, would in fact be afraid to fire off a gun. the fear in his big blue eyes struggled with his ingenuous, girlish smile as i marched him through the long hall full of white beds and darker inmates. the peruvian sat bolstered up in his cot, a stoical, revengeful glare on his reddish-brown swollen face. he gazed a long minute at the boy's face, across which flitted the flush of fear and embarrassment, at the big doll's eyes, then shook a raised forefinger slowly back and forth before his nose--the negative of spanish-speaking peoples. then he groaned, spat in a tin-can beside him, and called for paper and pencil. in the note-book i handed him he wrote in atrociously spelled spanish: "the man that came to the dance with this man is the man that shot me with a bullet." the blue-eyed boy promised to point out his companion of that night. we took the : and reached pedro miguel during the noon hour. down in a box-car camp between the railroad and the canal the boy called for "jose" and there presented himself immediately a tall, studious, solemn-faced spaniard of spare frame, about forty, dressed in overalls and working shirt. here was even less a criminal type than the boy. "senor," i asked, "did you go to the dance in miraflores last saturday night with this youth?" "si, senor." "then i place you under arrest. we will take the one o'clock train." he opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without having uttered a sound. he opened it a second time, then sat suddenly down on the low edge of the box-car porch. a more genuinely astonished man i have never seen. no actor could have approached it. still, whatever my own conviction, it was my business to bring him before his accuser. after a time he recovered sufficiently to ask permission to change his clothes, and disappeared in one of the resident box-cars. the boy was already being fed in another. had my prisoners been of almost any one of the other seventy-one nationalities i should not have thought of letting them out of my sight. but the zone spaniard's respect for law is proverbial. "jose! pinched jose!" cried his american boss, when i explained that he would find himself a man short that afternoon. "you people are sure barking up the wrong tree this time. why, jose has been my engineer for over two years, and the steadiest man on the zone. he writes for some spanish paper and tells 'em the truth over there so straight that the rest of 'em down here, the anarchists and all that bunch, are aching to get him into trouble. but they'll never get anything on jose. have him tell you about it in spanish if you sabe the lingo." but jose was a gallego, whence instead of the voluble flood of protesting words one expects from a spaniard on such an occasion, he wrapped himself in a stoical silence. not until we were on our way to the railroad station did i get him to talk. then he explained in quiet, unflowery, gestureless language. he had come to the canal zone chiefly to gather literary material. not being a man of wealth, however, nor one satisfied with superficial observation, he had sought employment at his trade as stationary engineer. besides laying in a stock for more important writing he hoped to do in the future, he was zone correspondent of "el liberal" of madrid and other spanish cities. in the social life of his fellow-countrymen on the isthmus he had taken no part, whatever. he was too busy. he did not drink. he could not dance; he saw no sense in squandering time in such frivolities. but ever since his arrival he had been promising himself to attend one of these wild saturday-night debauches in the edge of the jungle that he might use a description of it in some later work. so he had coaxed his one personal friend, the boy, to go with him. it was virtually the one thing besides work that he had ever done on the zone. they had stayed two hours, and had left the moment the trouble began. yet here he was arrested. i bade him cheer up, to consider the trip to ancon merely an afternoon excursion on government pass. he remained downcast. "but think of the experience!" i cried. "now you can tell exactly how it feels to be arrested--first-hand literary material." but he was not philosopher enough to look at it from that point of view. to his spanish mind arrest, even in innocence, was a disgrace for which no amount of "material" could compensate. it is a common failing. how many of us set out into the world for experience, yet growl with rage or sit downcast and silent all the way from pedro miguel to panama if one such experience gives us a rough half-hour, or robs us of ten minutes sleep. at the hospital the peruvian gurgled and spat, beckoned for paper and wrote: "this is the man." "what man?" i asked. "the man who came with that man," he scribbled, nodding his heavy face toward the blue-eyed boy. "but is this the man that shot you?" i demanded. "the man who came with that man is the one," he scrawled. "well, then this is the man that shot you?" i cried. but he would not answer definitely to that, but sat a long time glaring out of his swollen, vindictive countenance propped up in his pillows at the tall, solemn correspondent. by and by he motioned again for paper. "i think so. i am not sure," he miswrote. i did not think so, and as the sum total of his descriptions of his assailant during the past several days amounted to "a tall man, rather short, with a face and two eyes"--he was very insistent about the eyes, which is the reason the doll-eyed boy had fallen into the drag-net--i permitted myself to accept my own opinion as evidence. the peruvian was in all likelihood in no condition to recognize a man from a loup-garou by the time the fracas started. much ardent water had flowed that night. i took the suspects down to ancon station and let them cool off in porch rocking-chairs. then i gave them passes back to pedro miguel for the evening train. the doll-eyed boy smiled girlishly upon me as he descended the steps, but the correspondent strode slowly away with the downcast, cheerless countenance of a man who has been hurt beyond recovery. there were strangely contrasted days in the "gum-shoe's" calendar. two examples taken almost at random will give the idea. on may twentieth i lolled all day in a porch rocker at ancon station, reading a novel. along in the afternoon corporal castillo drifted in. for a time he stood leaning against the desk-rail, his felt hat pushed far back on his head, his eyes fixed on some point in the interior of china. then suddenly he snatched up a sheet of i. c. c. stationery, dropped down at a typewriter, and wrote at express speed a letter in spanish. next he grasped a telephone and, in the words of the deskman, "spit spig into the 'phone" for several minutes. that over he caught up an envelope, sealed the letter and addressed it. an instant later the station was in an uproar looking for a stamp. one was found, the corporal stuck it on the letter, fell suddenly motionless and stared for a long time at vacancy. then a new thought struck him. he jerked open a drawer of the "gum-shoe" desk, flung the letter inside--where i found it accidentally one day some weeks afterward--and dropping into the swivel-chair laid his feet on the "gum-shoe" blotter and a moment later seemed to have fallen asleep. by all of which signs those of us who knew him began to suspect that the corporal had something on his mind. not a few considered him the best detective on the force; at least he was different enough from a printer's ink detective to be a real one. but naturally the strain of heading a detective bureau for weeks was beginning to wear upon him. "damn it!" said the corporal suddenly, opening his eyes, "i can't be in six places at once. you'll have to handle these cases," and he drew from a pocket and handed me three typewritten sheets, then drifted away into the dusk. i looked them over and returned to the porch rocker and the last chapters of the novel. a meek touch on the leg awoke me at four next morning. i looked up to see dimly a black face under a khaki helmet bent over me whispering, "it de time, sah," and fade noiselessly away. it was the frontier policeman carrying out his orders of the night before. for once there was not a carriage in sight. i stumbled sleepily down into panama and for some distance along avenida central before i was able to hail an all night hawk chasing a worn little wreck of a horse along the macadam. i spread my lanky form over the worn cushions and we spavined along the graveled boundary line, past the chinese cemetery where john can preserve and burn joss to his ancestors to the end of time, out through east balboa just awakening to life, and reached balboa docks as day was breaking. i was not long there, and the equine caricature ambled the three miles back to town in what seemed reasonable time, considering. as we turned again into avenida central my watch told me there was time and to spare to catch the morning passenger. i was not a little surprised therefore to hear just then two sharp rings on the station gong. i dived headlong into the station and brought up against a locked gate, caught a glimpse of two or three ladies weeping and the tail of the passenger disappearing under the bridge. americans have introduced the untropical idea of starting their trains on time, to the disgust of the "spig" in general and the occasional discomfiture of americans. i dashed wildly out through the station, across panama's main street, down a rugged lane to the first steps descending to the track, and tumbled joyously onto a slowly moving train--to discover that it was the balboa labor-train and that the colon passenger was already half-way to diablo hill. a panama policeman of dusky hue, leaning against a gate-post, eyed me drowsily as i slowly climbed the steps, mopping my brow and staring at my watch. "what time does that : train leave?" i demanded. "yo, senor," he said with ministerial dignity, shifting slowly to the other shoulder, "no tengo conocimiento de esas cosas" (i have no knowledge of those things). he probably did not know there is a railroad from panama to colon. it has only been in operation since . later i found the fault lay with my brass watch. with a perspiration up for all day i set out along the track. hounding diablo hill the realization that i was hungry came upon me simultaneously with the thought that unless i got through the door of corozal hotel by : i was likely to remain so. breakfast over, i caught the morning supply-train to miraflores, there to dash through the locks for a five-minute interview. i walked to pedro miguel and, descending from the embankment of the main line, "nailed" a dirt-train returning empty and stood up for a breezy ride down through the "cut." it was the same old smoky, toilsome place, a perceptible bit lower. as in the case of a small boy only those can see its growth who have been away for a time. the train stopped with a jerk at the foot of culebra. i walked a half-mile and caught a loaded dirt-train to cascadas. the matter there to be investigated required ten minutes. that over, i "got in touch" at the nearest telephone, and the corporal's voice called for my immediate presence at headquarters. there chanced to be passing through cascadas at that moment a panama-bound freight, the caboose of which caught me up on the fly; and forty minutes later i was racing up the long stairs. there i learned among other things that a man i was anxious to have a word with was coming in on the noon train, but would be unavailable after arrival. i sprang into a cab and was soon rolling away again, past the chinese cemetery. at the commissary crossing in east balboa we were held up by an empty dirt-train returning from the dump. i tossed a coin at the cabman and scrambled aboard. the train raced through corozal, down the grade and around the curve at unslacking speed. i dropped off in front of miraflores police station, keeping my feet, thanks to practice and good luck, and dashing up through the village, dragged myself breathlessly aboard the passenger train as its head and shoulders had already disappeared in the tunnel. the ticket-collector pointed out my man to me in the first passenger coach, the "ladies' car"--he is a school-teacher and tobacco smoke distresses him--and by the time we pulled into panama i had the desired information. dinner was not to be thought of; i had barely time to dash through the second-class gate and back along the track to balboa labor-train. from the docks a sand-train carried me to pedro miguel. there was a craneman in bas obispo "cut" whose testimony was wanted. i reached him by two short walks and a ride. his statements suggested the advisability of questioning his room-mate, a towerman in miraflores freight-yards. luck would have it that my chauffeur friend ---- was just then passing with an i. c. c. motor-car and only a photographer for a new york weekly aboard. i found room to squeeze in. the car raced away through the "cut," up the declivity, and dropped me at the foot of the tower. the room-mate referred me to a locomotive engineer and, being a towerman, gave me the exact location of his engine. i found it at the foot of cucaracha slide with a train nearly loaded. by the time the engineer had added his whit of information, we were swinging around toward the pacific dump. i dropped off and, climbing up the flank of ancon hill, descended through the hospital grounds. where the royal palms are finest and there opens out the broadest view of panama, ancon, and the bay, i gave myself five minutes' pause, after which a carriage bore me to a shop near cathedral plaza where second-hand goods are bought--and no questions asked. on the way back to ancon station i visited two similar establishments. i had been lolling in the swivel-chair a full ten minutes, perhaps, when the telephone rang. it was "the captain" calling for me. when i reached the third-story back he handed me extradition papers to the secretary of foreign affairs in panama. a half-hour later, wholly outstripping the manana idea, i had signed a receipt for the jap in question and transferred him from panama to ancon jail. whereupon i descended to the evening passenger and rode to pedro miguel for five minutes' conversation, and caught the labor-train panamaward. at corozal i stepped off for a word with the officer on the platform and the labor-train plunged on again, after the fashion of labor-trains, spilling the last half of its disembarking passengers along the way. ten minutes later the headlight of the last passenger swung around the curve and carried me away to panama. that might have done for the day, but i had gathered a momentum it was hard to check. not long after returning from the police mess to the swivel chair a slight omission in the day's program occurred to me. i called up corozal police station. "what?" said a mashed-potato voice at the other end of the wire. "who's talking?" "policeman green, sah." "station commander there?" "no, sah. station commander he gone just over to de y. m. to play billiards, sah. dey one big match on to-night." of course i could have "got" him there. but on second thoughts it would be better to see him in person and clear up at the same time a little matter in one of the labor camps, and not run the risk of causing the loss of the billiard championship. besides corozal is cooler to sleep in than ancon. in a black starry night i set out along the invisible railroad for the first station. an hour later, everything settled to my satisfaction, i had discovered a vacant bed in corozal bachelor quarters and was pulling off my coat preparatory to the shower-bath and a well-earned night's repose. suddenly i heard a peculiar noise in the adjoining room, much like that of a seal coming to the surface after being long under water. my curiosity awakened, i sauntered a few feet along the veranda. beside one of the cots stood a short, roly-poly little man, the lower third of whom showed rosy pink below his bell-shaped white nightie. as he turned his face toward the light to switch it off i swallowed the roof of my mouth and clawed at the clap-boarding for support. it was "the sloth!" he had been transferred. i slipped hastily into my coat and, turning up the collar, plunged out into the rain and the night and stumbled blindly away on weary legs towards panama. chapter ix there were four of us that sunday. "bish" and i always went for an afternoon swim unless police or mess duties forbade. then there was bridgley, who had also once displayed his svelte form in a z. p. uniform to admiring tourists, but was now a pursuer of "soldiering" hindus on naos island. i wish i could describe bridgley for you. but if you never knew him ten pages would give you no clearer idea, and if you ever did, the mere mention of the name bridgley will be full and ample description. still, if you must have some sort of a lay figure to hang your imaginings on, think of a man who always reminds you of a slender, delicate porcelain vase of great antiquity that you know a strong wind would smash to fragments,--yet when you accidentally swat it off the mantelpiece to the floor it bobs up without a crack. then you grow bolder and more curious and jump on it with both feet in your hob-nailed boots, and to your astonishment it not only does not break but-- well, bridgley was one of us that sunday afternoon; and then there was "the admiral," well-dressed as always, who turned up at the last moment; for which we were glad, as any one would be to have "the admiral" along. so we descended into panama by the train-guard short-cut and across the bridge that humps its back over the p. r. r. like a cat in unsocial mood, and on through caledonia out along the beach sands past the old iron hulls about which panamanian laborers are always tinkering under the impression that they are working. this time we walked. i don't recall now whether it was quarter-cracks, or the lieutenant hadn't slept well--no, it couldn't have been that, for the lieutenant never let his personal mishaps trample on his good nature--or whether "bish" had decided to try to reduce weight. at any rate we were afoot, and thereby hangs the tale--or as much of a tale as there is to tell. we tramped resolutely on along the hard curving beach past the disheveled bath-houses before which ladies from the zone gather in some force of a sunday afternoon. for this time we were really out for a swim rather than to display our figures. on past the light-brown bathers, and the chocolate-colored bathers, and the jet black bathers who seemed to consider that color covering enough, till we came to the big silent saw-mill at the edge of the cocoanut grove that we had been invited long since to make a z. p. dressing-room. before us spread the reposing, powerful, sun-shimmering pacific. across the bay, clear as an etching, lay panama backed by ancon hill. in regular cadence the ocean swept in with a hoarse, resistless roll on the sands. we dived in, keeping an eye out for the sharks we knew never come so far in and probably wouldn't bite if they did. the sun blazed down white hot from a cloudless sky. this time the lieutenant and sergeant jack had not been able to come, but we arranged the races and jumps on the sand for all that, and went into them with a will and-- a rain-drop fell. nor was it long lonesome. before we had finished the hundred-yard dash we were in the midst of ---- it was undeniably raining. half a moment later "bucketsful" would have been a weak simile. all the pent up four months of an extra long rainy season seemed to have been loosed without warning. the blanket of water blotted out panama and ancon hill across the bay, blotted out the distant american bathers, then the light-brown ones, then the chocolate-tinted, then even the jet black ones close at hand. we remained under water for a time to keep dry. but the rain whipped our faces as with thousands of stinging lashes. we crawled out and dashed blindly up the bank toward the saw-mill, the rain beating on our all but bare skins, feeling as it might to stand naked in miraflores locks and let the sand pour down upon us from sixty feet above. when at last we stumbled under cover and up the stairs to where our clothing hung, it was as if a weight of many tons had been lifted from our shoulders. the saw-mill was without side-walls; consisted only of a sheet-iron roof and floors, on the former of which the storm pounded with a roar that made only the sign language feasible. it was now as if we were surrounded on all sides by solid walls of water and forever shut off from the outer world--if indeed that had survived. sheets of water slashed in further and further across the floor. we took to huddling behind beams and under saw-benches--the militant storm hunted us out and wetted us bit by bit. "the admiral" and i tucked ourselves away on the -degree eye-beams up under the roaring roof. the angry water gathered together in columns and swept in and up to soak us. at the end of an hour the downpour had increased some hundred per cent. it was as if an express train going at full speed had gradually doubled its rapidity. that was the day when little harmless streams tore themselves apart into great gorges and left their pathetic little bridges alone and deserted out in the middle of the gulf. that was the famous may twelfth, , when ancon recorded the greatest rainfall in her history,-- . inches, virtually all within three hours. three of us were ready to surrender and swim home through it. but there was "the admiral" to consider. he was dressed clear to his scarf-pin--and panama tailors tear horrible holes in a police salary. so we waited and dodged and squirmed into closer holes for another hour; and grew steadily wetter. then at length dusk began to fall, and instead of slacking with the day the fury of the storm increased. it was then that "the admiral" capitulated, seeing fate plainly in league with his tailor; and wigwagging the decision to us beside him, he led the way down the stairs and dived into the world awash. wet? we had not taken the third step before we were streaming like fire hose. there was nearly an hour of it, splashing knee-deep through what had been when we came out little dry sandy hollows; steering by guess, for the eye could make out nothing fifty yards ahead, even before the cheese-thick darkness fell; bowed like nonogenarians under the burden of water; staggering back and forth as the storm caught us crosswise or the earth gave way under us. "the admiral's" patent-leather shoes--but why go into painful details? those who were in panama on that memorable afternoon can picture it all for themselves, and the others will never know. the wall of water was as thick as ever when we fought our bowed and weary way up over the railroad bridge and, summoning up the last strength, splurged tottering into "angelini's." when our streaming had so far subsided that they recognised us for solvent human beings, encouraging concoctions were set before us. bridgley, fearing the after effects, acquired a further quart bottle of protection, and when we had gathered force for the last dash we plunged out once more toward our several goals. as the door of slammed behind me, the downpour suddenly slackened. as i paused before my room to drain, it stopped raining. i supped on bread, beer, and cheese from over the frontier--we had arrived thirty seconds too late for ancon police mess. then when i had saved what was salvable from the wreckage and reclad in such wardrobe as had luckily remained at home, i strolled over toward the police station to put in a serene and quiet evening. but it has long since been established that troubles flock together. as i crunched up the gravel walk between the hedge-rows, wild riot broke on my ear. ancon police station was in eruption. from the lieutenant to the newest uniformless "rookie" every member of the force was swarming in and out of the building. the zone and panama telephones were ringing in their two opposing dialects, the deskman was shouting his own peculiar brand of spanish into one receiver and bawling english at the other, all hands were diving into old clothes, the most apathetic of the force were girding up their loins with the adventurous fire of the old moro-hunting days in their eyes, and all, some ahorse, more afoot, were dashing one by one out into the night and the jungle. it was several minutes before i could catch the news. at last it was shouted at me over a telephone. murder! a white greek--who ever heard of a colored greek?--with a white shirt on had shot a man at pedro miguel at : . every road and bypath of escape to panama was already blocked, armed men would meet the assassin whatever way he might take. i went down to meet the evening train, resolved after that to strike out into the night in the random hope of having my share in the chase. it had begun to rain again, but only moderately, as if it realized it could never again equal the afternoon record. then suddenly the excitement exploded. it was only a near-murder. two colombians had been shot, but would in all probability recover. the news reached me as i stood at the second-class gate scanning the faces of the great multicolored river of passengers that poured out into the city. for two hours, one by one with crestfallen mien, the manhunters leaked back into ancon station and, the case having dwindled to one of regular daily routine, by eleven we were all abed. in the morning the "greek chase" fell to me. more detailed description of the culprit had come in during the night, including the bit of information that he was a bad man from the isle of crete. the belt-straining no. oiled and loaded, i set off on an assignment that was at least a relief after pursuing stolen necklaces for negro women, or crowbars lost by the i. c. c. by nine i was climbing to pedro miguel police station on its knoll with the young greek who had exchanged hats with the assassin after the crime. that afternoon a volunteer joined me. he was a friend of the wounded men, a peruvian black as jade, but without a suggestion of the negro in anything but his outward appearance. he was of the size and build of a sampson in his prime, spoke a spanish so clear-cut it seemed to belie his african blood, and had the restless vigor acquired in a youth of tramping over the andine ranges. i piled him into a cab and we rolled away to east balboa, to climb upon an empty dirt-train and drop off as it raced through miraflores, the sturdy legs of the peruvian saving him where his practice would not have. up in the bush between pedro miguel and paraiso we found a hut where the greek had stopped for water and gone on up a gully. we set out to follow, mounting partly on hands and knees, partly dragging ourselves by grass and bushes up what had been and would soon be again a torrential mountain stream. for hours we tore through the jungle, up hills steeper than the path of righteousness, following now a few faint foot-prints or trampled bushes, now a hint from some native bush dweller. the rain outside vied with the sweat within as to which would first soak us through. to make things merrier i had not only to wear an arsenal but a coat atop to conceal it from the general public. to mention the holes i crawled into and the clues i followed during the next few days would be more tiresome than a puritan prayer. by day i was dashing back and forth through all ancon district, by night prowling about the grimier sections of panama city. almost daily i got near enough to sniff the prey. now it was a greek confectioner on avenida central who admitted that the fugitive had called on him during the night, now a panamanian pesquisa whose stool-pigeon had seen him out in the bush, then the information that he had stopped to shave and otherwise alter his appearance in some shack half-way across the zone and afterward struck off for panama by an unused route. the clues were pendulum-like. they took me a half-dozen times at least out the winding highway to corozal, on to miraflores and even further. the rainy season and the reign of umbrellas had come. it had been formally opened on that memorable sunday afternoon. there was still sunshine at times, but always a wet season heaviness to the atmosphere; and the rains were already giving the rolling jungle hills a tinge of new green. there was nothing to be gained by hurrying. the fugitive was as likely to crawl forth from one place as another along the rambling road. here i paused to kill a lizard or to watch the clumsy march of one of the huge purple and many-colored land-crabs, there to gaze away across a jungled valley soft and fuzzy in the humid air like some corot painting. i even sailed for san francisco in the quest. for of course each outgoing ship must be searched. one day i had word that a "windjammer" was about to sail; and racing out to balboa i was soon set aboard the fore and aft schooner meteor far out in the bay. when i plunged down into the cabin the peeled-headed german captain was seated at a table before a heap of "spig" dollars, paying off his black shore hands. he solemnly asserted he had no greek aboard, and still more solemnly swore that if he found one stowed away he would turn him over to the police in san francisco--which was kind of him but would not have helped matters. there are several men running gaily about san francisco streets who would be very welcome in certain quarters on the zone and sure of lodging and food for a long time to come. by this time the tug bolivar had us in tow, the captain went racing over his ship like any of his crew, tugging at the ropes, and we were gliding out across panama bay, past the little greening islands, the curving panorama of the city and ancon hill growing smaller and smaller behind--bound for 'frisco. what ho! the merry "windjammer" with her stowed sails and smell of tar awakened within me old memories, hungry and grimy for the most part. but this was no independent, self-respecting member of the wind-wafted sisterhood. far out in the offing lay a steamer of the same line that was to tow the meteor to the golden gate! how is the breed of sailors fallen! the few laborers aboard would take an occasional wheel, pick oakum, and yarn their unadventurous yarns. as we drew near, a boat was lowered to set me aboard the steamer, to the rail-crowding surprise of her passengers, who fancied they had hours since seen the last of zone and "zoners." the captain asserted he had nothing aboard grown nearer greece than three irishmen, any one of whom--facetiousness seemed to be one of the captain's characteristics--i might have and welcome. a few moments later i was back aboard the tug waving farewell to steamer and "windjammer" as they pushed away into the twilight sea, and the bolivar turned shoreward. i received a "straight tip" one evening that the fugitive greek was hiding in a hovel on the cruces trail. what part of the cruces trail, the informant did not hint; but he described the hut in some detail. so next morning as the thick gray dawn of this tropical land was melting into day, i descended at bas obispo, through the canal to gamboa and struck off into the dense dripping jungle. the rainy season had greened things up and gone--temporarily, of course, for in a day or two it would be on us again in all tropical fury. in the few days since the first rain the landscape had changed like a theater decoration, a green not even to be imagined in the temperate zone. it turned out that the ancient village of cruces was a mere two-mile stroll from the canal, a thatch-roofed native town of some thirty dwellings on the rocky shore of an inner curve of the chagres, where travelers from balboa to the last "forty-niner" disembarked from their thirty-six mile ride up the river and struck on along the ten-mile road through the jungle to panama--the famous cruces trail. except for its associations the village was without interest--except some personal greek interest. sour looks were chiefly my portion, for the villagers have never taken kindly to americans. i soon sought out the trail, here a mere path undulating through rank, wet-hot, locust singing jungle. here in the tangled somber mystery of the wilderness grew every tropical thing; countless giant ferns, draping tangles of vines, the mango tree with its rounded dome of leaves like the mosque of omar done in greenery, the humble pineapple with its unproportionate fruit, everywhere the banana, king of vegetables, clothed in its own immense leaves, the frondy zapote, now and then in a hollow a clump of yellowish-green bamboo, though not numerous or nearly so large as in many another tropical land, above all else the symmetrical gothic fronds of the palm nodding in a breeze the more humble vegetation could not know. the constant music of insect life sounded in my ears; everywhere were flowers of brilliant hue, masses of bush blossoms not unlike the lilac in appearance, but like all down on the isthmus, odorless--or rather with a pungent scent, like strong catsup. four months earlier i should have been chary of diving back into the panamanian "bush" alone, above all on a criminal hunt. but it needs only a little time on the zone to make one laugh at the absurd stories of danger from the bush native that are even yet appearing in many u. s. papers. they are not over friendly to whites, it is true. but they were all of that familiar languid central american type, blinking at me apathetically out of the shade of their huts, crowding to one edge of the trail as i passed, eying me silently, a bit morosely, somewhat frightened because their experience of americans is of a discourteous creature who shouts at them in a strange tongue and swears at them because they do not understand it. the moment they heard their own customary greetings they changed to children delighted to do anything to oblige--even to the extent of dragging their indolent forms erect to lead the way a quarter-mile through the bush to some isolated shack. far from contemplating any injury, all these wayward children of the jungle ask is to be let alone to drift through life in their own way. still more absurd is the notion of danger from wild beasts--other than the tiny wild beast that burrows its painful way under the skin. so i pushed on, halting at many huts to make covert inquiries. it was a joyous, brilliant day overhead. down in the dense, rampant, singing jungle i sweated profusely--and enjoyed it. choking for a drink in a hutless section, i took one of the crooked, tunnel-like trails to the left in the direction of the chagres. but it squirmed off through thick jungle, through banana groves and untended pineapple gardens to come out at last at an astonished hut on a knoll, from which was not to be seen a sign of the river. i crawled through another struggling side-trail further on and this time reached the stream, but at a bank too sheer and bush-matted to descend. the third attempt brought me to where the river made a graceful bend at my feet and i descended an abrupt jungle bank to drink and stroll a bit along the stony shore; then plunged in for a swim. it was just the right temperature, with dense jungle banks on either side like great green unscalable walls, the water clear and a bit over waist deep in the middle of the stream. now and then around the one or the other bend came a cayuca, the native dug-out made of the hollowed trunk of a tree, usually the cedro--though to a jungle native any tree is a "cedro" if he does not happen to think of its right name. twenty to thirty feet long, sometimes piled high with vegetables, sometimes with several natives seated indian file in the bottom, the gunwales a bare two or three inches above the water, they needed nice management, especially in the rapids below cruces. the locomotive power, generally naked to the waist, stood up in the craft and climbed his polanca, or long pike pole, hand over hand, every naked brown muscle in play, moving in perfect rhythm and apparent ease even up-stream against the powerful current. soon after chagres and trail parted company, the former to wind on up through the jungle hills to its birthplace in the land of darien and wild indians, the latter to strike for the pacific. over a mildly rough country it led, down into tangled ravines, up over dense forested hillocks where the jungle had been fought back by uncle sam and on the brows of which i halted to drink of the fresh breeze sweeping across from the atlantic. all this time not a suggestion of anything greek, though i managed by some simple strategy to cast a sweeping glance into every hovel along the way. then came the real cruces trail--the rest only follows the general direction. i fell upon it unexpectedly. it is still there as it was when the peruvian viceroys and their glittering trains clattered along it, surprisingly well preserved; a cobbled way some three feet wide of that rough and bumpy variety the spaniard even to-day fancies a real road, broken in places but still well marked, leading away southward through the wilderness. overhead were tall spreading trees laden with blossomless orchids. under some of them was broad grassy shade; but the surrounding wall of vegetation cut off all breeze. the way was intersected by many roads of leaf-cutting ants, as level, wide and well-built in their proportion as the old roman highways, with such an industrious throng going and coming upon them as one could find nowhere equaled, unless it be on the grand trunk road of india. then suddenly there appeared the hut that had been described to me. i surrounded it and, hand upon the butt of my no. , closed in upon the place, then rushed it with all forces. there was not a sign of human life in the vicinity. the door was tied shut with a single strand of old rope, but there was no question that the fugitive might be hiding inside, for the reed walls had holes in them large enough to drive a sheep through, and there was nothing within to hide behind. i thrust an arm through an opening and dragged the large and heavy earthenware water-jar to me for a drink, and pushed on. squatter's cabins were now appearing, as contrasted with the native bushman's peaked hut; sleeping-places thrown together of tin cans, boxes and jungle rubbish, many negro shanties built of i. c. c. scraps--all of which announced the vicinity of the canal. any hut might be a hiding-place. i made ostensibly casual inquiries, interlarded between stories, at several of them, and at length established that the greek had been there not long before, but was elsewhere now. then about four of the afternoon i burst out suddenly in sight of a broad modern highway, and leaving the ancient route as it headed away toward old panama, i turned aside to the modern city. then i was "called off the greek chase"; and a couple of evenings later, along with the evening train and the evening fog, the inspector "blew in" from his forty-two days' vacation in the states, like a breath from far-off broadway. buffalo bill had been duly opened and started on his season's way, the absent returned, and corporal castillo suddenly dwindled again to a mere corporal. as everything must have its flaws, perhaps the chief one that might be charged against the z. p. is "red tape." strictly speaking it is no z. p. fault at all, but a weakness of all government. one example will suffice. during the month of may i was assigned the investigation of certain alleged conditions in panama's restricted district. the then head of the plain-clothes division gave me carte blanche, but suggested that i need not spare my expense account in libating the various establishments until i "got acquainted" sufficiently with the inmates to pick up indirectly the information desired. which general line i followed and, the information having been gathered and the report made up, i proceed to make out my expenditures of $ for the month to forward to empire for reimbursement. now it needs no deep detective experience to know that in such cases you naturally begin with, "well, what you going to drink, girls?" and end by paying the bill in a lump sum--a large lump sum--and go your way in peace. what more then could i do than set down such items as: "may , liquor, investigation, panama--$ . ?" but here i began to feel the tangling strands. was it not stated that all applications for reimbursement required an exact itemized account of each separate expenditure, with the price of each? it did. but in the first place i did not know half the beverages consumed in that investigation by sight, smell, or name. in the second place i came ostensibly as a "rounder"; it would perhaps have been advisable at the close of each evening's entertainment to draw out note-book and pencil and starting the round of the table announce: "now, girls, i'm a dee-tective. no, keep yer places, i ain't going to pinch nobody. anyhow i'm only a zone detective. but i just want to ask you a few questions. now, mamie, what's that you're drinking? ah! a gin ricky. and just how much does that cost--here? and you, flossie? an absinthe frappe? ah! very good. and what is the retail price of that particular drink?"--and so on ad nauseum. "very true," replied authority, "that would of course be impossible. but to be reimbursed you must set down in detail every item of expenditure, and its price." reason and government red tape move in two parallel lines, with the usual meeting-place. nor was that all. while the black peruvian was on my staff i gave him money for food. it was not merely expected, it was definitely so ordered. yet when i set down: "may , to peruvian for food--$. ." authority threw up its hands in horror. did i not know that reimbursements were only for "liquor and cigars, cab or boat hire, and meals away from home?" i did. but i also knew that superiors had ordered me to feed the peruvian. "to be sure!" cried astounded authority. "but you set down such an expenditure as follows: "'may , two bottles of beer, pan., investigation--$. .' "and as you are allowed cab fare only for yourself, when you take the peruvian or any one else out to balboa in a cab you set down the item: "'may , cab, ancon to balboa and return, investigation--$ .'" the upshot of all which was, not feeling able with all my patriotism to "set up" $ worth of mixed drinks for uncle sam, i was forced to open another investigation and gather from all the z. p. authorities on the subject, from naos island to paraiso, the name and price of every known beverage. then when i had fitted together a picture puzzle of these that summed up to the amount i had actually spent, i was called upon to sign a statement thereunder that "this is a true and exact account of expenditures during the month of may. so help me god." but then, as i have said before, these things are not z. p. faults, they are the faults of government since government began. it had become evident soon after the inspector's return that unless crime began to pick up down at the pacific end of the zone, i should find myself again banished to the foreign land of gatun. for there had been a distinct rise in the criminal commodity at that end during the past weeks. the premonition soon fell true. "take the : to gatun," said the inspector one morning, without looking up from his filing case, "corporal macey will tell you about it when you get there." chapter x "why, the fact is," said corporal macey, lighting his meerschaum pipe until the match burned down to his fingers, "several little burglary stunts have been pulling themselves off since the sergeant went on vacation. but the most aggrayvaatin' is this new one of twinty-two quarts of good canadian club bein' maliciously extracted from st. martin's saloon last night." from which important beginning i fell quickly back into the old life again, derelicting about gatun and vicinity by day, wandering the nights away in black, noisy new gatun and along the winding back road under the cloud-scudding sky. yet it was a different life. gatun had changed. even her concrete light-house was winking all night now up among the i. c. c. dwellings. the breeze from off the caribbean was heavy and lifeless. the landscape looked wet and lush and rampant, of a deep-seated green, and instead of the china-blue skies the dull, leaden-gray heavens seemed to hang low and heavy overhead, like a portending fate. on the winding back road the jungle trees still stood out against the night sky, at times, too, there was a moon, but only a pale silver one that peered weakly here and there through the scudding gray clouds. the air grew more thick and sultry day by day, the heat was sticky, the weather dripping, with the sun only an irregular whitish blotch in the sky. through the open windows the heavy, damp night came miasmically floating in, the very cigarettes mildewed in my pockets. earth and air seemed heavy and toil-bowed by comparison with other days. the jungle still hummed busily, yet, it seemed, a bit mournfully as if preparing for production and unhilarious with the task before it, like a woman first learning of her pregnancy. life seemed to hang more heavily even on humanity; "zoners" looked less gay and carefree than in the sunny dry season, though still far more so than in the north. one could not shake off a premonition of impending disaster in i know not what form--like that of teufelsdroeck before he entered the "center of indifference." dr. o---- of the sanitary department had gone up into the interior along the trinidad river to hunt mosquitoes. why he went so far away for them in this season was hard to understand. there he was, however, and the order had come to bring him back to civilization. the execution thereof fell, of course, to my friend b----, who to the world at large is merely policeman no. ----, to the force "admiral of the inland fleet," and in the general scheme of things is a luckier man than vanderchild to have for his task in life the patrolling of gatun lake. b---- invited me to go along. there was nothing particular doing in the criminal line around gatun just then; moreover the doctor was known to be well armed and there was no telling just how much resistance he might offer a single policeman. i accepted. i was at the appointed rendezvous promptly at seven, a pocket filled with commissary cigars. strict truthfulness demands the admission that it was really eight, however, when b---- came wandering down the muddy steps behind the railroad station, followed by a black prisoner with a ten-gallon can of gasoline on his head. when that had been poured into the tank, we were off across the ever-rising waters of gatun lake. for gatun police launch is one of those peculiar motor-boats that starts the same day you had planned to. it was such a day as could not have been bettered had it been made to order, with a week to think out the details,--a dry-season day even to the atlantic breeze that goes with it, a sort of indian summer of the rainy season; though the heavy battalions of gray clouds that hung all around the horizon as if awaiting the order to charge warned the zone to make merry while it might, for to-morrow it would surely rain--in deluges. the lake, much higher now than in my former gatun days, was licking at the -foot level that morning. under the brilliant blue sky it looked like some vast unruffled mirror--which is no figure of speech, but plain fact. "through a forest in a motor-boat" we might have dubbed the trip. we had soon crossed the unbroken expanse of the lake and were moving through a submerged forest. splendid royal palms stood up to their necks in the water, corpulent, century-old giants of the jungle stood on tip-toe with their jagged noses just above the surface, gasping their last. great mango-trees laden with fruit were descending into the flood. the lake was so mirror-like we could see the heads of drowning palm-trees and the blue sky with its wisps of snow-white feathery clouds as plainly below as above, so mirror-like the protruding stump of a palm looked like a piece of just double that length and exactly equal ends floating upright like a water thermometer, so reflective that the broken end of a branch showing above the surface appeared to be an acute angle of wood floating exactly at the angle in impossible equilibrium. our prisoner and crew were from "bahbaydos"--only you can't pronounce it as he did, nor make the "a" broad enough, nor show the inside of your red throat clear back to the soft palate to contrast with the glistening black skin of your carefree, grinning face. theoretically he was being punished for assault and battery. but if this is punishment to be sentenced to cruise around on gatun lake i wonder crime on the zone is so rare and unusual. this much i am sure, if i were in that particular "badgyan's" shoes--no, he had none; but his tracks, say--the day my time ran out i should pick a quarrel with a jamaican and leave his countenance in such a condition that the judge could find no grounds for a reasonable doubt in the matter. we were mounting the river trinidad. river, yes, but we followed it only because it had kept back the jungle and left a way free of tree-tops, not because there was not water enough anywhere, in any direction, to float a boat of many times our draught. turns so sharp we rocked in our own wake; once we passed acres upon acres of big, cod-like fish floating dead upon the water among the branches and the forest rubbish. it seems the lake in rising spread over some poisonous mineral in the soil. but life there was none, except the rampant green dying plant life in every direction to the horizon. there were not even birds, other than now and then a stray snow-white slender one of the heron species that fled majestically away across the face of the nurtureless waters as we steamed--no, gasolined down upon it. soon after leaving gatun we had passed a couple of jungle families on their way to market in their cayucas laden with mounds of produce,--plump mangoes with a maidenly blush on either cheek, fat yellow bananas, grass-green plantains, a duck or a chicken standing tied by one leg on top of it all and gazing complacently around at the scene with the air of an experienced tourist. it was two hours later that we sighted the next human being. he was a solitary old native paddling about at the entrance to the "grass-bird region" in a huge dugout as time-scarred as himself. it was near here that weeks before i had turned with "admiral" b---- up a little stream now forever gone to a knoll on which sat the thatched shelter of a negro who had "taken to the bush" and refused to move even when notified that he was living on u. s. public domain. when we had knocked from the trees a box of mangoes and turkey-red maranones, b---- touched a match to the thatch roof and almost before we could regain the launch the shack was pouring skyward in a column of smoke. even the squatter's old table and chair and a barrel of tumbled odds and ends entirely outside the hut--it had no walls--caught fire, and when, we lost sight of the knoll only the blazing stumps of the four poles that had supported the roof remained. b---- had burned whole villages in this lake territory, after the owners with legal claims had been paid condemnation damages. long ago the natives had been warned to move, and the banks of the lake-to-be specified. but many of these skeptical children of nature had taken this as a vain "yanqui" boast and either refused to move until burned out or had rebuilt their hovels on land that in a few months more would also be flooded. the rescue expedition proceeded. once we got caught in the top-most branches of a tree, released from which we pushed on along the sinuous river that had no banks. it was not hot, even at noonday. we sweated a bit in poling a thirty-foot boat out of a tree-top, but cooled again directly we were off. my kodak was far away at the other end of the zone. but then, on second thought it was better for once to enjoy nature as it was without trying to carry it away. kodaking is a species of covetousness, anyway, an attempt to bear away home with us and hoard for our own the best we come upon in our travels. whereas here, of course, it was impossible. the greatest of artists could not have carried away a tenth of that scene, a scene so fascinating that though we had tossed into the bottom of the boat at the start a bundle of fresh new york papers--and fresh new york papers are not often scorned down on the zone--they still lay in the bottom of the boat when the trip ended. at length little thatched cottages began to appear on knolls along the way, and as we chugged our way around the tree-tops upon them the inhabitants slipped quickly into some clothes that were evidently kept for just such emergencies. then we began nearing higher land, so that the upper and then the lower branches of the forest stood out of water, then only the ends of the lower limbs dipped in the rising flood, downcast, as if they knew the sentence of death was upon them also. for though there was sunk already beneath the flood a forest greater than ten fontainebleaus, the lake was steadily rising a full two inches a day. where it touched that morning the -foot level, in a few months more, says "the colonel," it will reach the -foot level and spread over one hundred and sixty-four square miles of territory--and when "the colonel" makes an assertion wise men hesitate to put their money on the other horse. then will all this vast area with more green than in all the state of missouri disappear forever beneath the flood and man may dive down, down into the forest and see what the world was like in noah's time, and fancy the sunken cities of holland, for many a famous route, and villages older than the days of pizarro will be forever wiped out by the rising waters--a scene to be beheld today nowhere else, and in a few years not even here. at last we were really in a river, an overflowed river, to be sure, where it would have been hard to find a landing-place or a bank among those tree trunks knee-deep in water. we had long since crossed the zone line, but our badges were still valid. for it has pleased the republic of panama, at a whispered word from "tio sam," to cede to the z. p. command over all gatun lake and for three miles around it, as far as ever it may spread. then all at once we were startled by a hearty hail from among the trees and i looked up to see y----, of the smithsonian, fully dressed, standing waist-deep in the water at the edge of the forest, waving an insect trap in one hand. "what the devil are you doing there?" i gasped. "doing? i'm taking a walk along the old gatun-chorrera trail, and i fancy i 'll be about the last man to travel it. come on up to camp." on a mango-shaped knoll thirty miles from gatun that will also soon be lake bottom, we found a native shack transformed into the headquarters of a scientific expedition. we sat down to a frontier lunch which called for none of the excuses made for it by y---- when he appeared in his dripping full-dress and joined us without even bothering to change his water-spurting shoes. in his boxes he had carefully stuck away side by side an untold number of members of the mosquito family. queer vocation; but then, any vocation is good that gives an excuse to live out in this wild tropical world. by one we had dr. o---- aboard and were waving farewell to the camp. the return, of course, was not the equal of the outward trip; even nature cannot duplicate so perfect a thing. but two raging showers gave us views of the drowning jungle under another aspect, and between them we awakened vast rolling echoes across the silent flooded world by shooting at flocks of little birds with an army rifle that would have killed an elephant. it is not hard to realize why the bush native does not love the american. put yourself in his breechclout. suppose a throng of unsympathetic foreigners suddenly appeared resolved to turn all the world you knew into a lake, just because that absurd outside world wanted to float steamers you never knew the use of, from somewhere you never heard of, to somewhere you did not know. suppose a representative of that unsympathetic government came snorting down upon you one day in a wild fearful invention they called a motor-boat, as you were lolling under the thatch roof your grandfather built, and cried: "come on! get out of here! we're going to burn your house and turn this country into a lake." flood the land which was your great-grand-father's, the spot where you used to play leap-frog under the banana trees, the jungle lane where your mother's courtship days were passed and the ceiga tree under which she was wedded--if matters were ever carried to that ceremonious length. what though this foreign nation gave you a bag of peculiar pieces of metal for your trouble, when you had never seen a score of such coins in your life and barely knew the use of them, being acquainted with life only as it is picked from a mango-tree? the foreigners had cried, "take this money and go buy a farm somewhere else," and you looked around you and saw all the world you had ever really known the existence of sinking beneath the rising waters. where would you go, think you, to buy that new farm? even if you fled and found another unknown land high and dry, or a town, what could you do, having not the remotest idea how to live in a town with only pieces of metal to get food out of instead of the mango-tree that had stood behind the house your grandfather built ever since you were born and dropped mangoes whenever you were hungry? to say the least you would be some peeved. it was midafternoon when the white bulk of gatun locks rose on the horizon. then the lake opened out, the great dam, that is rather a connecting link between two ranges of hills, spread across all the landscape, and at four i raced up the muddy steps behind the station to a telephone. five minutes later i was hurrying away across locks and dam to the marshland beyond the spillway to inquire who, and wherefore, had attempted to burn up the i. c. c. launch attached to dredge no. ----. my canal zone days were drawing rapidly to a close. i could have remained longer without regret, but the world is wide and life is short. soon came the day, june seventeenth, when i must go back across the isthmus to clear up the last threads of my existence as a "zoner." chiefly for old times' sake i dropped off at empire. but it was not the same empire of the census. almost all the old crowd was gone; one by one they had "kissed the zone good-by." "the boss" of those days had never returned, "smiling johnny" had been transferred, even ben had "done quit an' gone back to bahbaydos." the zone is like a small section of life; as in other places where generations are short one catches there a hint of what old age will be. it was like wandering over the old campus when those who were freshmen in our day had hawked their gowns and mortarboards and gone their way; i felt like a man in his dotage with only the new, unknown, and indifferent generation about him. i went down to the old suspension bridge. far down below was the same struggling energy, the same gangs of upright human ants, the "cut" with its jangle and jar of steam-shovels and trains still stretching away endless in either direction. here as in the world at large generations of us may come and pass away, but the tearing of the shovels at the rocky earth, the racing of dirt-laden trains for the pacific goes unbrokenly on, as the world and its work will continue without a pause when we are gone indeed. soon the water will be turned in and nine-tenths of all this labor will be submerged and forever hidden from view. the swift growth of the tropics will quickly heal the scars of the steam-shovels, and palm-trees will wave the steamer on its way through what will seem almost a natural channel. then blase travelers lolling in their deck chairs will gaze about them and snort: "huh! is that all we got for nine years' work and half a billion dollars?" they will have forgotten the scrubbing of panama and colon, forgotten the vast hospitals with great surgeons and graduate nurses, the building of hundreds of houses and the furnishing of them down to the last center table, they will not recall the rebuilding of the entire p. r. r., nor scores of little items like $ , a year merely for oil and negroes to pump it on the pestilent mosquito, the thousand and one little things so essential to the success of the enterprise yet that leave not a trace behind. greater perhaps than the building of the canal is the accomplishment of the united states in showing the natives how life can be lived safely and healthily in tropical jungles. yet the lesson will not be learned, and on the heels of the last canal builder will return all the old slovenliness and disease, and the native will sink back into just what he would have been had we never come. i caught a dirt-train to balboa. there the very town at which i had landed on the zone five months before was being razed to give place to the permanent, reenforced-concrete city that is to be the canal headquarters. balboa police station was only a pile of lumber, with a band of negroes drilling away the very rock on which it had stood. i took a last view of the pacific and her islands to far taboga, where uncle sam sends his recuperating children to enjoy the sea baths, hill climbs, and unrivaled pine-apples. it was never my good fortune to get to taboga. with thirty days' sick leave a year and countless ailments of which i might have been cured free of charge and with the best of care, i could not catch a thing. i had not even the luck of my friend--who, by dint of cross-country runs in the jungle at noonday and similar industrious efforts, worked up at last a temperature of degrees and got his week at taboga. i stuck immovable at . degrees. soon after five i had bidden ancon farewell and set off on the last ride across the isthmus. there was a memory tucked away in every corner. corozal hotel was still rattling with dishes, paraiso peeped out from its lap of hills, culebra with its penitentiary where burglarizing negroes go, sunk away into the past. railroad avenue in empire was still lined with my "enumerated" tags; through an open door i caught a glimpse of a familiar short figure, one foot resting lightly and familiarly on a misapplied gas-pipe, the elbow crooked as if something were held between the fingers. at bas obispo i strained my eyes in vain to make out a familiar face in the familiar uniform, there was a glimpse of "old fritz" water-gauge as we rumbled across the chagres, and the train churned away into the heavy green uninhabited night. only once more was i aroused, as the lights of gatun flashed up; then we rolled past the noisy glaring corner of new gatun and on to colon. in cristobal police station i put badge and passes into a heavy envelope and dropped them into the train-guard's box; then turned in for my last night on the zone. for the steamer already had her fires up that would bear me, and him who was the studious corporal of miraflores, away in the morning to south america. my police days were ended. then a last hand to you all, oh, z. p. may you live long and continue to do your duty frankly and unafraid. i found you men when i expected only policemen. i reckon my days among you time well spent and i left you regretting that i could stay no longer with you--and when i leave any place with regret it must be possessed of some exceeding subtle charm. but though the world is large, it is also small. "so i'll meet you later on, in the place where you have gone, where--" well, say at san francisco in , anyway, hasta luego. the end cleek: the man of the forty faces by thomas w. hanshew author of "cleek of scotland yard," "the riddle of the night," etc. cleek: the man of the forty faces prologue the affair of the man who called himself hamilton cleek the thing wouldn't have happened if any other constable than collins had been put on point duty at blackfriars bridge that morning. for collins was young, good-looking, and--knew it. nature had gifted him with a susceptible heart and a fond eye for the beauties of femininity. so when he looked round and saw the woman threading her way through the maze of vehicles at "dead man's corner," with her skirt held up just enough to show two twinkling little feet in french shoes, and over them a graceful, willowy figure, and over that an enchanting, if rather too highly tinted face, with almond eyes and a fluff of shining hair under the screen of a big parisian hat--that did for him on the spot. he saw at a glance that she was french--exceedingly french--and he preferred english beauty, as a rule. but, french or english, beauty is beauty, and here undeniably was a perfect type, so he unhesitatingly sprang to her assistance and piloted her safely to the kerb, revelling in her voluble thanks, and tingling as she clung timidly but rather firmly to him. "sair, i have to give you much gratitude," she said in a pretty, wistful sort of way, as they stepped on to the pavement. then she dropped her hand from his sleeve, looked up at him, and shyly drooped her head, as if overcome with confusion and surprise at the youth and good looks of him. "ah, it is nowhere in the world but londres one finds these delicate attentions, these splendid sergeants de ville," she added, with a sort of sigh. "you are wonnerful--you are mos' wonnerful, you anglais poliss. sair, i am a stranger; i know not ze ways of this city of amazement, and if monsieur would so kindly direct me where to find the abbey of the ves'minster--" before p.c. collins could tell her that if that were her destination, she was a good deal out of her latitude; indeed, even before she concluded what she was saying, over the rumble of the traffic there rose a thin, shrill piping sound, which to ears trained to the call of it possessed a startling significance. it was the shrilling of a police whistle, far off down the embankment. "hullo! that's a call to the man on point!" exclaimed collins, all alert at once. "excuse me, mum. see you presently. something's up. one of my mates is a-signalling me." "mates, monsieur? mates? signalling? i shall not understand the vords. but yes, vat shall that mean--eh?" "good lord, don't bother me now! i--i mean, wait a bit. that's the call to 'head off' someone, and--by george! there he is now, coming head on, the hound, and running like the wind!" for of a sudden, through a break in the traffic, a scudding figure had sprung into sight--the figure of a man in a grey frock-coat and a shining "topper," a well-groomed, well-set-up man, with a small, turned-up moustache and hair of that peculiar purplish-red one sees only on the shell of a roasted chestnut. as he swung into sight, the distant whistle shrilled again; far off in the distance voices sent up cries of "head him off!" "stop that man!" _et cetera_; then those on the pavement near to the fugitive took up the cry, joined in pursuit, and in a twinkling, what with cabmen, tram-men, draymen, and pedestrians shouting, there was hubbub enough for hades. "a swell pickpocket, i'll lay my life," commented collins, as he squared himself for an encounter and made ready to leap on the man when he came within gripping distance. "here! get out of the way, madmazelly. business before pleasure. and, besides, you're like to get bowled over in the rush. here, chauffeur!"--this to the driver of a big, black motor-car which swept round the angle of the bridge at that moment, and made as though to scud down the embankment into the thick of the chase--"pull that thing up sharp! stop where you are! dead still. at once, at once, do you hear? we don't want you getting in the way. now, then"--nodding his head in the direction of the running man--"come on you bounder; i'm ready for you!" and, as if he really heard that invitation, and really was eager to accept it, the red-headed man did "come on" with a vengeance. and all the time, "madmazelly," unheeding collins's advice, stood calmly and silently waiting. onward came the runner, with the whole roaring pack in his wake, dodging in and out among the vehicles, "flooring" people who got in his way, scudding, dodging, leaping, like a fox hard pressed by the hounds--until, all of a moment he spied a break in the traffic, leapt through it, and--then there was mischief. for collins sprang at him like a cat, gripped two big, strong-as-iron hands on his shoulders, and had him tight and fast. "got you, you ass!" snapped he, with a short, crisp, self-satisfied laugh. "none of your blessed squirming now. keep still. you'll get out of your coffin, you bounder, as soon as out of my grip. got you--got you! do you understand?" the response to this fairly took the wind out of him. "of course i do," said the captive, gaily; "it's part of the programme that you should get me. only, for heaven's sake, don't spoil the film by remaining inactive, you goat! struggle with me--handle me roughly--throw me about. make it look real; make it look as though i actually did get away from you, not as though you let me. you chaps behind there, don't get in the way of the camera--it's in one of those cabs. now, then, bobby, don't be wooden! struggle--struggle, you goat, and save the film!" "save the what?" gasped collins. "here! good lord! do you mean to say--?" "struggle--struggle--struggle!" cut in the man impatiently. "can't you grasp the situation? it's a put-up thing: the taking of a kinematograph film--a living picture--for the alhambra to-night! heavens above, marguerite, didn't you tell him?" "non, non! there was not ze time. you come so quick, i could not. and he--ah, le bon dieu!--he gif me no chance. officair, i beg, i entreat of you, make it real! struggle, fight, keep on ze constant move. zere!"--something tinkled on the pavement with the unmistakable sound of gold--"zere, monsieur, zere is the half-sovereign to pay you for ze trouble, only, for ze lof of goodness, do not pick it up while the instrument--ze camera--he is going. it is ze kinematograph, and you would spoil everything!" the chop-fallen cry that collins gave was lost in a roar of laughter from the pursuing crowd. "struggle--struggle! don't you hear, you idiot?" broke in the red-headed man irritably. "you are being devilishly well paid for it, so for goodness' sake make it look real. that's it! bully boy! now, once more to the right, then loosen your grip so that i can push you away and make a feint of punching you off. all ready there, marguerite? keep a clear space about her, gentlemen. ready with the motor, chauffeur? all right. now, then, bobby, fall back, and mind your eye when i hit out, old chap. one, two, three--here goes!" with that he pushed the chop-fallen collins from him, made a feint of punching his head as he reeled back, then sprang toward the spot where the frenchwoman stood, and gave a finish to the adventure that was highly dramatic and decidedly theatrical. for "mademoiselle," seeing him approach her, struck a pose, threw out her arms, gathered him into them--to the exceeding enjoyment of the laughing throng--then both looked back and behaved as people do on the stage when "pursued," gesticulated extravagantly, and, rushing to the waiting motor, jumped into it. "many thanks, bobby; many thanks, everybody!" sang out the red-headed man. "let her go, chauffeur. the camera men will pick us up again at whitehall, in a few minutes' time." "right you are, sir," responded the chauffeur gaily. then "toot-toot" went the motor-horn as the gentleman in grey closed the door upon himself and his companion, and the vehicle, darting forward, sped down the embankment in the exact direction whence the man himself had originally come, and, passing directly through that belated portion of the hurrying crowd to whom the end of the adventure was not yet known, flew on and--vanished. and collins, stooping to pick up the half-sovereign that had been thrown him, felt that after all it was a poor price to receive for all the jeers and gibes of the assembled onlookers. "smart capture, bobby, wasn't it?" sang out a deriding voice that set the crowd jeering anew. "you'll git promoted, you will! see it in all the evenin' papers--oh, yus! ''orrible hand-to-hand struggle with a desperado. brave constable has 'arf a quid's worth out of an infuriated ruffin!' my hat! won't your missis be proud when you take her to see that bloomin' film?" "move on, now, move on!" said collins, recovering his dignity, and asserting it with a vim. "look here, cabby, i don't take it kind of you to laugh like that; they had you just as bad as they had me. blow that frenchy! she might have tipped me off before i made such an ass of myself. i don't say that i'd have done it so natural if i had known, but--hullo! what's that? blowed if it ain't that blessed whistle again, and another crowd a-pelting this way; and--no!--yes, by jupiter!--a couple of scotland yard chaps with 'em. my hat! what do you suppose that means?" he knew in the next moment. panting and puffing, a crowd at their heels, and people from all sides stringing out from the pavement and trooping after them, the two "plain-clothes" men came racing through the grinning gathering and bore down on p.c. collins. "hullo, smathers, you in this, too?" began he, his feelings softened by the knowledge that other arms of the law would figure on that film with him at the alhambra to-night. "now, what are you after, you goat? that french lady, or the red-headed party in the grey suit?" "yes, yes, of course i am. you heard me signal you to head him off, didn't you?" replied smathers, looking round and growing suddenly excited when he realized that collins was empty-handed, and that the red-headed man was not there. "heavens! you never let him get away, did you? you grabbed him, didn't you--eh?" "of course i grabbed him. come out of it. what are you giving me, you josser?" said collins with a wink and a grin. "ain't you found out even yet, you silly? why, it was only a faked-up thing--the taking of a kinematograph picture for the alhambra. you and petrie ought to have been here sooner and got your wages, you goats. i got half a quid for my share when i let him go." smathers and petrie lifted up their voices in one despairing howl. "when you what?" fairly yelled smathers. "you fool! you don't mean to tell me that you let them take you in like that--those two? you don't mean to tell me that you had him--had him in your hands--and then let him go? you did? oh! you seventy-seven kinds of a double-barrelled ass! had him--think of it!--had him, and let him go! did yourself out of a share in a reward of two hundred quid when you'd only to shut your hands and hold on to it!" "two hundred quid? two hun--w-what are you talking about? wasn't it true? wasn't it a kinematograph picture, after all?" "no, you fool, no!" howled smathers, fairly dancing with despair. "oh, you blithering idiot! you ninety-seven varieties of a fool! do you know who you had in your hands? do you know who you let go? it was that devil 'forty faces'--'the vanishing cracksman'--the man who calls himself 'hamilton cleek'; and the woman was his pal, his confederate, his blessed stool-pigeon--'margot, the queen of the apache'; and she came over from paris to help him in that clean scoop of lady dresmer's jewels last week!" "heavens!" gulped collins, too far gone to say anything else, too deeply dejected to think of anything but that he had had the man for whom scotland yard had been groping for a year--the man over whom all england, all france, all germany wondered--close shut in the grip of his hands and then had let him go. the biggest and boldest criminal the police had ever had to cope with, the almost supernatural genius of crime, who defied all systems, laughed at all laws, mocked at all the vidocqs, and dupins, and sherlock holmeses, whether amateur or professional, french or english, german or american, that ever had been or ever could be pitted against him, and who, for sheer devilry, for diabolical ingenuity and for colossal impudence, as well as for a nature-bestowed power that was simply amazing, had not his match in all the universe. who or what he really was, whence he came, whether he was english, irish, french, german, yankee, canadian, italian or dutchman, no man knew and no man might ever hope to know unless he himself chose to reveal it. in his many encounters with the police he had assumed the speech, the characteristics, and, indeed, the facial attributes of each in turn, and assumed them with an ease and a perfection that were simply marvellous, and had gained for him the sobriquet of "forty faces" among the police, and of "the vanishing cracksman" among the scribes and reporters of newspaperdom. that he came, in time, to possess another name than these was due to his own whim and caprice, his own bald, unblushing impudence; for, of a sudden, whilst london was in a fever of excitement and all the newspapers up in arms over one of the most daring and successful coups, he chose to write boldly to both editors and police complaining that the title given him by each was both vulgar and cheap. "you would not think of calling paganini a 'fiddler,'" he wrote; "why, then, should you degrade me with the coarse term of 'cracksman'? i claim to be as much an artist in my profession as paganini was in his, and i claim also a like courtesy from you. so, then, if in the future it becomes necessary to allude to me--and i fear it often will--i shall be obliged if you do so as 'the man who calls himself hamilton cleek.' in return for that courtesy, gentlemen, i promise to alter my mode of procedure, to turn over a new leaf, as it were, to give you at all times hereafter distinct information, in advance, of such places as i elect for the field of my operations, and of the time when i shall pay my respects to them, and, on the morning after each such visit, to bestow some small portion of the loot upon scotland yard as a souvenir of the event." and to that remarkable programme he rigidly adhered from that time forth--always giving the police twelve hours' notice, always evading their traps and snares, always carrying out his plans in spite of them, and always, on the morning after, sending some trinket or trifle to superintendent narkom at scotland yard, in a little pink cardboard box, tied up with rose-coloured ribbon, and marked "with the compliments of the man who calls himself hamilton cleek." the detectives of the united kingdom, the detectives of the continent, the detectives of america--each and all had measured swords with him, tried wits with him, spread snares and laid traps for him, and each and all had retired from the field vanquished. and this was the man that he--police constable samuel james collins--had actually had in his hands; nay, in his very arms, and then had given up for half a sovereign and let go! "oh, so help me! you make my head swim, smathers, that you do!" he managed to say at last. "i had him--i had the vanishing cracksman--in my blessed paws--and then went and let that french hussy--but look here; i say, now, how do you know it was him? nobody can go by his looks; so how do you know?" "know, you footler!" growled smathers, disgustedly. "why shouldn't i know when i've been after him ever since he left scotland yard half an hour ago?" "left what? my hat! you ain't a-going to tell me that he's been there? when? why? what for?" "to leave one of his blessed notices, the dare-devil. what a detective he'd a made, wouldn't he, if he'd only a-turned his attention that way, and been on the side of the law instead of against it? he walked in bold as brass, sat down, and talked with the superintendent over some cock-and-bull yarn about a 'black hand' letter that he said had been sent to him, and asked if he couldn't have police protection whilst he was in town. it wasn't until after he'd left that the super he sees a note on the chair where the blighter had been sitting, and when he opened it, there it was in black and white, something like this: "'the list of presents that have been sent for the wedding to-morrow of sir horace wyvern's eldest daughter make interesting reading, particularly that part which describes the jewels sent--no doubt as a tribute to her father's position as the greatest brain specialist in the world--from the austrian court and the continental principalities. the care of such gems is too great a responsibility for the bride. i propose, therefore, to relieve her of it to-night, and to send you the customary souvenir of the event to-morrow morning. yours faithfully, "'the man who calls himself hamilton cleek. "that's how i know, dash you! superintendent sent me out after him, hot foot; and after a bit i picked him up in the strand, toddling along with that french hussy as cool as you please. but, blow him! he must have eyes all round his head, for he saw me just as soon as i saw him, and he and frenchy separated like a shot. she hopped into a taxi and flew off in one direction; he dived into a crowd and bolted in another, and before you could say jack robinson he was doubling and twisting, jumping into cabs and jumping out again--all to gain time, of course, for the woman to do what he'd put her up to doing--and leading me the devil's own chase through the devil's own tangle till he was ready to bunk for the embankment. and you let him go, you blooming footler! had him and let him go, and chucked away a third of £ for the price of half a quid!" and long after smathers and petrie had left him, and the wondering crowd had dispersed, and point duty at "dead man's corner" was just point duty again and nothing more, p.c. collins stood there, chewing the cud of bitter reflection over those words, and trying to reckon up just how many pounds and how much glory had been lost to him. ii "but, damme, sir, the thing's an outrage! i don't mince my words, mr. narkom--i say plump and plain the thing's an outrage, a disgrace to the police, an indignity upon the community at large; and for scotland yard to permit itself to be defied, bamboozled, mocked at in this appalling fashion by a paltry burglar--" "uncle, dear, pray don't excite yourself in this manner. i am quite sure that if mr. narkom could prevent the things--" "hold your tongue, ailsa--i will not be interfered with! it's time that somebody spoke out plainly and let this establishment know what the public has a right to expect of it. what do i pay my rates and taxes for--and devilish high ones they are, too, b'gad--if it's not to maintain law and order and the proper protection of property? and to have the whole blessed country terrorised, the police defied, and people's houses invaded with impunity by a gutter-bred brute of a cracksman is nothing short of a scandal and a shame! call this sort of tomfoolery being protected by the police? god bless my soul! one might as well be in charge of a parcel of doddering old women and be done with it!" it was an hour and a half after that exciting affair at "dead man's corner." the scene was superintendent narkom's private room at headquarters, the dramatis personae, mr. maverick narkom himself, sir horace wyvern, and miss ailsa lorne, his niece, a slight, fair-haired, extremely attractive girl of twenty, the only and orphaned daughter of a much-loved sister, who, up till a year ago, had known nothing more exciting in the way of "life" than that which is to be found in a small village in suffolk, and falls to the lot of an underpaid vicar's only child. a railway accident had suddenly deprived her of both parents, throwing her wholly upon her own resources, without a penny in the world. sir horace had gracefully come to the rescue and given her a home and a refuge, being doubly repaid for it by the affection and care she gave him and the manner in which she assumed control of a household which hitherto had been left wholly to the attention of servants, lady wyvern having long been dead, and her two daughters of that type which devotes itself entirely to the pleasures of society and the demands of the world. a regular pepper-box of a man--testy, short-tempered, exacting--sir horace had flown headlong to superintendent narkom's office as soon as that gentleman's note, telling him of the vanishing cracksman's latest threat, had been delivered, and, on miss lorne's advice, had withheld all news of it from the members of his household and brought her with him. "i tell you that scotland yard must do something--must! must! must!" stormed he as narkom, resenting that stigma upon the institution, puckered up his lips and looked savage. "that fellow has always kept his word--always, in spite of your precious band of muffs--and if you let him keep it this time, when there's upwards of £ , worth of jewels in the house, it will be nothing less than a national disgrace, and you and your wretched collection of bunglers will be covered with deserved ridicule." narkom swung round, smarting under these continued taunts, these "flings" at the efficiency of his prided department, his nostrils dilated, his temper strained to the breaking-point. "well, he won't keep it this time--i promise you that!" he rapped out sharply. "sooner or later every criminal, no matter how clever, meets his waterloo--and this shall be his! i'll take this affair in hand myself, sir horace. i'll not only send the pick of my men to guard the jewels, but i'll go with them; and if that fellow crosses the threshold of wyvern house to-night, by the lord, i'll have him. he will have to be the devil himself to get away from me! miss lorne"--recollecting himself and bowing apologetically--"i ask your pardon for this strong language--my temper got the better of my manners." "it does not matter, mr. narkom, so that you preserve my cousin's wedding-gifts from that appalling man," she answered with a gentle inclination of the head and with a smile that made the superintendent think she must certainly be the most beautiful creature in all the world, it so irradiated her face and added to the magic of her glorious eyes. "it does not matter what you say, what you do, so long as you accomplish that." "and i will accomplish it--as i'm a living man, i will! you may go home feeling assured of that. look for my men some time before dusk, sir horace--i will arrive later. they will come in one at a time. see that they are admitted by the area door, and that, once in, not one of them leaves the house again before i put in an appearance. i'll look them over when i arrive to be sure that there's no wolf in sheep's clothing amongst them. with a fellow like that--a diabolical rascal with a diabolical gift for impersonation--one can't be too careful. meantime, it is just as well not to have confided this news to your daughters, who, naturally, would be nervous and upset; but i assume that you have taken some one of the servants into your confidence in order that nobody may pass them and enter the house under any pretext whatsoever?" "no, i have not. miss lorne advised against it, and, as i am always guided by her, i said nothing of the matter to anybody." "was that wrong, do you think, mr. narkom?" queried ailsa anxiously. "i feared that if they knew they might lose their heads, and that my cousins, who are intensely nervous and highly emotional, might hear of it, and add to our difficulties by becoming hysterical and demanding our attention at a time when we ought to be giving every moment to watching for the possible arrival of that man. and as he has always lived up to the strict letter of his dreadful promises heretofore, i knew that he was not to be expected before nightfall. besides, the jewels are locked up in the safe in sir horace's consulting-room, and his assistant, mr. merfroy, has promised not to leave it for one instant before we return." "oh, well, that's all right, then. i dare say there is very little likelihood of our man getting in whilst you and sir horace are here, and taking such a risk as stopping in the house until nightfall to begin his operations. still, it was hardly wise, and i should advise hurrying back as fast as possible and taking at least one servant--the one you feel least likely to lose his head--into your confidence, sir horace, and putting him on the watch for my men. otherwise, keep the matter as quiet as you have done, and look for me about nine o'clock. and rely upon this as a certainty: the vanishing cracksman will never get away with even one of those jewels if he enters that house to-night, and never get out of it unshackled!" with that, he suavely bowed his visitors out and rang up the pick of his men without an instant's delay. promptly at nine o'clock he arrived, as he had promised, at wyvern house, and was shown into sir horace's consulting-room, where sir horace himself and miss lorne were awaiting him, and keeping close watch before the locked door of a communicating apartment in which sat the six men who had preceded him. he went in and put them all and severally through a rigid examination--pulling their hair and beards, rubbing their faces with a clean handkerchief in quest of any trace of "make-up" or disguise of any sort, examining their badges and the marks on the handcuffs they carried with them to make sure that they bore the sign which he himself had scratched upon them in the privacy of his own room a couple of hours ago. "no mistake about this lot," he announced, with a smile. "has anybody else entered or attempted to enter the house?" "not a soul," replied miss lorne. "i didn't trust anybody to do the watching, mr. narkom--i watched myself." "good. where are the jewels? in that safe?" "no," replied sir horace. "they are to be exhibited in the picture-gallery for the benefit of the guests at the wedding breakfast to-morrow, and as miss wyvern wished to superintend the arrangement of them herself, and there would be no time for that in the morning, she and her sister are in there laying them out at this moment. as i could not prevent that without telling them what we have to dread, i did not protest against it; but if you think it will be safer to return them to the safe after my daughters have gone to bed, mr. narkom--" "not at all necessary. if our man gets in, their lying there in full view like that will prove a tempting bait, and--well, he'll find there's a hook behind it. i shall be there waiting for him. now go and join the ladies, you and miss lorne, and act as though nothing out of the common was in the wind. my men and i will stop here, and you had better put out the light and lock us in, so that there may be no danger of anybody finding out that we are here. no doubt miss wyvern and her sister will go to bed earlier than usual on this particular occasion. let them do so. send the servants to bed, too. you and miss lorne go to your beds at the same time as the others--or, at least, let them think that you have done so; then come down and let us out." to this sir horace assented, and, taking miss lorne with him, went at once to the picture-gallery and joined his daughters, with whom they remained until eleven o'clock. promptly at that hour, however, the house was locked up, the bride-elect and her sister went to bed--the servants having already gone to theirs--and stillness settled down over the darkened house. at the end of a dozen minutes, however, it was faintly disturbed by the sound of slippered feet coming along the passage outside the consulting-room, then a key slipped into the lock, the door was opened, the light switched on, and sir horace and miss lorne appeared before the eager watchers. "now, then, lively, my men--look sharp!" whispered narkom. "a man to each window and each staircase, so that nobody may go up or down or in or out without dropping into the arms of one of you. confine your attention to this particular floor, and if you hear anybody coming, lay low until he's within reach, and you can drop on him before he bolts. is this the door of the picture-gallery, sir horace?" "yes," answered sir horace, as he fitted a key to the lock. "but surely you will need more men than you have brought, mr. narkom, if it is your intention to guard every window individually, for there are four to this room--see!" with that he swung open the door, switched on the electric light, and narkom fairly blinked at the dazzling sight that confronted him. three long tables, laden with crystal and silver, cut glass and jewels, and running the full length of the room, flashed and scintillated under the glare of the electric bulbs which encircled the cornice of the gallery, and clustered in luminous splendour in the crystal and frosted silver of a huge central chandelier, and spread out on the middle one of these--a dazzle of splintered rainbows, a very plain of living light--lay caskets and cases, boxes and trays, containing those royal gifts of which the newspapers had made so much and the vanishing cracksman had sworn to make so few. mr. narkom went over and stood beside the glittering mass, resting his hand against the table and feasting his eyes upon all that opulent splendour. "god bless my soul! it's superb, it's amazing," he commented. "no wonder the fellow is willing to take risks for a prize like this. you are a splendid temptation; a gorgeous bait, you beauties; but the fish that snaps at you will find that there's a nasty hook underneath in the shape of maverick narkom. never mind the many windows, sir horace. let him come in by them, if that's his plan. i'll never leave these things for one instant between now and the morning. good night, miss lorne. go to bed and to sleep--you do the same, sir horace. my lay is here!" with that he stooped and, lifting the long drapery which covered the table and swept down in heavy folds to the floor, crept out of sight under it, and let it drop back into place again. "switch off the light and go," he called to them in a low-sunk voice. "don't worry yourselves, either of you. go to bed, and to sleep if you can." "as if we could," answered miss lorne agitatedly. "i shan't be able to close an eyelid. i'll try, of course, but i know i shall not succeed. come, uncle, come! oh, do be careful, mr. narkom; and if that horrible man does come--" "i'll have him, so help me god!" he vowed. "switch off the light, and shut the door as you go out. this is 'forty faces'' waterloo at last." and in another moment the light snicked out, the door closed, and he was alone in the silent room. for ten or a dozen minutes not even the bare suggestion of a noise disturbed the absolute stillness; then of a sudden, his trained ear caught a faint sound that made him suck in his breath and rise on his elbow, the better to listen--a sound which came, not without the house, but from within, from the dark hall where he had stationed his men, to be exact. as he listened he was conscious that some living creature had approached the door, touched the handle, and by the swift, low rustle and the sound of hard breathing, that it had been pounced upon and seized. he scrambled out from beneath the table, snicked on the light, whirled open the door, and was in time to hear the irritable voice of sir horace say, testily: "don't make an ass of yourself by your over-zealousness. i've only come down to have a word with mr. narkom," and to see him standing on the threshold, grotesque in a baggy suit of striped pyjamas, with one wrist enclosed as in a steel band by the gripped fingers of petrie. "why didn't you say it was you, sir?" exclaimed that crestfallen individual, as the flashing light made manifest his mistake. "when i heard you first, and see you come up out of that back passage, i made sure it was him; and if you'd a struggled, i'd have bashed your head as sure as eggs." "thank you for nothing," he responded testily. "you might have remembered, however, that the man's first got to get into the place before he can come downstairs. mr. narkom," turning to the superintendent, "i was just getting into bed when i thought of something i'd neglected to tell you; and as my niece is sitting in her room with the door open, and i wasn't anxious to parade myself before her in my night clothes, i came down by the back staircase. i don't know how in the world i came to overlook it, but i think you ought to know that there's a way of getting into the picture gallery without using either the windows or the stairs, and that way ought to be both searched and guarded." "where is it? what is it? why in the world didn't you tell me in the first place?" exclaimed narkom irritably, as he glanced round the place searchingly. "is it a panel? a secret door? or what? this is an old house, and old houses are sometimes a very nest of such things." "happily, this one isn't. it's a modern innovation, not an ancient relic, that offers the means of entrance in this case. a yankee occupied this house before i bought it from him--one of those blessed shivery individuals his country breeds, who can't stand a breath of cold air indoors after the passing of the autumn. the wretched man put one of those wretched american inflictions, a hot-air furnace, in the cellar, with huge pipes running to every room in the house--great tin monstrosities bigger round than a man's body, ending in openings in the wall, with what they call 'registers,' to let the heat in, or shut it out as they please. i didn't have the wretched contrivance removed or those blessed 'registers' plastered up. i simply had them papered over when the rooms were done up (there's one over there near that settee), and if a man got into this house, he could get into that furnace thing and hide in one of those flues until he got ready to crawl up it as easily as not. it struck me that perhaps it would be as well for you to examine that furnace and those flues before matters go any further." "of course it would. great scott! sir horace, why didn't you think to tell me of this thing before?" said narkom, excitedly. "the fellow may be in it at this minute. come, show me the wretched thing." "it's below--in the cellar. we shall have to go down the kitchen stairs, and i haven't a light." "here's one," said petrie, unhitching a bull's-eye from his belt and putting it into narkom's hand. "better go with sir horace at once, sir. leave the door of the gallery open and the light on. fish and me will stand guard over the stuff till you come back, so in case the man is in one of them flues and tries to bolt out at this end, we can nab him before he can get to the windows." "a good idea," commented narkom. "come on, sir horace. is this the way?" "yes, but you'll have to tread carefully, and mind you don't fall over anything. a good deal of my paraphernalia--bottles, retorts and the like--is stored in the little recess at the foot of the staircase, and my assistant is careless and leaves things lying about." evidently the caution was necessary, for a minute or so after they had passed on and disappeared behind the door leading to the kitchen stairway, petrie and his colleagues heard a sound as of something being overturned and smashed, and laughed softly to themselves. evidently, too, the danger of the furnace had been grossly exaggerated by sir horace, for when, a few minutes later, the door opened and closed, and narkom's men, glancing toward it, saw the figure of their chief reappear, it was plain that he was in no good temper, since his features were knotted up into a scowl, and he swore audibly as he snapped the shutter over the bull's-eye and handed it back to petrie. "nothing worth looking into, superintendent?" "no--not a thing!" he replied. "the silly old josser! pulling me down there amongst the coals and rubbish for an insane idea like that! why, the flues wouldn't admit the passage of a child; and even then, there's a bend--an abrupt 'elbow'--that nothing but a cat could crawl up. and that's a man who's an authority on the human brain! i sent the old silly back to bed by the way he came, and if--" there he stopped, stopped short, and sucked in his breath with a sharp, wheezing sound. for, of a sudden, a swift pattering footfall and a glimmer of moving light had sprung into being and drawn his eyes upward; and there, overhead, was miss lorne coming down the stairs from the upper floor in a state of nervous excitement, and with a bedroom candle in her shaking hand, a loose gown flung on over her nightdress, and her hair streaming over her shoulders in glorious disarray. he stood and looked at her, with ever-quickening breath, with ever-widening eyes, as though the beauty of her had wakened some dormant sense whose existence he had never suspected; as though, until now, he had never known how fair it was possible for a woman to be, how fair, how lovable, how much to be desired; and whilst he was so looking she reached the foot of the staircase and came pantingly toward him. "oh, mr. narkom, what was it--that noise i heard?" she said in a tone of deepest agitation. "it sounded like a struggle--like the noise of something breaking--and i dressed as hastily as i could and came down. did he come? has he been here? have you caught him? oh! why don't you answer me, instead of staring at me like this? can't you see how nervous, how frightened, i am? dear heaven! will no one tell me what has happened?" "nothing has happened, miss," answered petrie, catching her eye as she flashed round on him. "you'd better go back to bed. nobody's been here but sir horace. the noise you heard was me a-grabbing of him, and he and mr. narkom a-tumbling over something as they went down to look at the furnace." "furnace? what furnace? what are you talking about?" she cried agitatedly. "what do you mean by saying that sir horace came down?" "only what the superintendent himself will tell you, miss, if you ask him. sir horace came downstairs in his pyjamas a few minutes ago to say as he'd recollected about the flues of the furnace in the cellar being big enough to hold a man, and then him and mr. narkom went below to have a look at it." she gave a sharp and sudden cry, and her face went as pale as a dead face. "sir horace came down?" she repeated, moving back a step and leaning heavily against the bannister. "sir horace came down to look at the furnace? we have no furnace!" "what!" "we have no furnace, i tell you, and sir horace did not come down. he is up there still. i know--i know, i tell you--because i feared for his safety, and when he went to his room i locked him in!" "superintendent!" the word was voiced by every man present, and six pairs of eyes turned toward narkom with a look of despairing comprehension. "get to the cellar. head the man off! it's he--the cracksman!" he shouted out. "find him! get him! nab him, if you have to turn the house upside down!" they needed no second bidding, for each man grasped the situation instantly, and in a twinkling there was a veritable pandemonium. shouting and scrambling like a band of madmen, they lurched to the door, whirled it open, and went flying down the staircase to the kitchen and so to a discovery which none might have foreseen. for, almost as they entered they saw lying on the floor a suit of striped pyjamas, and close to it, gagged, bound, helpless, trussed up like a goose that was ready for the oven, gyves on his wrists, gyves on his ankles, their chief, their superintendent, mr. maverick narkom, in a state of collapse, and with all his outer clothing gone! "after him! after that devil, and a thousand pounds to the man that gets him!" he managed to gasp as they rushed to him and ripped loose the gag. "he was here when we came! he has been in the house for hours. get him! get him! get him!" they surged from the room and up the stairs like a pack of stampeded animals; they raced through the hall and bore down on the picture-gallery in a body, and, whirling open the now closed door, went tumbling headlong in. the light was still burning. at the far end of the room a window was wide open, and the curtains of it fluttered in the wind. a collection of empty cases and caskets lay on the middle table, but man and jewels were alike gone! once again the vanishing cracksman had lived up to his promise, up to his reputation, up to the very letter of his name, and for all mr. maverick narkom's care and shrewdness, "forty faces" had "turned the trick" and scotland yard was "done!" iii through all the night its best men sought him, its dragnets fished for him, its tentacles groped into every hole and corner of london in quest of him, but sought and fished and groped in vain. they might as well have hoped to find last summer's partridges or last winter's snow as any trace of him. he had vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared, and no royal jewels graced the display of miss wyvern's wedding gifts on the morrow. but it was fruitful of other "gifts," fruitful of an even greater surprise, that "morrow." for the first time since the day he had given his promise, no "souvenir" from "the man who called himself hamilton cleek," no part of last night's loot came to scotland yard; and it was while the evening papers were making screaming "copy" and glaring headlines out of this that the surprise in question came to pass. miss wyvern's wedding was over, the day and the bride had gone, and it was half-past ten at night, when sir horace, answering a hurry call from headquarters, drove post haste to superintendent narkom's private room, and passing in under a red and green lamp which burned over the doorway, entered and met that "surprise." maverick narkom was there alone, standing beside his desk, with the curtains of his window drawn and pinned together, and at his elbow an unlighted lamp of violet-coloured glass, standing and looking thoughtfully down at something which lay before him. he turned as his visitor entered and made an open-handed gesture toward it. "look here," he said laconically, "what do you think of this?" sir horace moved forward and looked; then stopped and gave a sort of wondering cry. the electric bulbs overhead struck a glare of light down on the surface of the desk, and there, spread out on the shining oak, lay a part of the royal jewels that had been stolen from wyvern house last night. "narkom! you got him, then--got him after all?" "no, i did not get him. i doubt if any man could, if he chose not to be found," said narkom bitterly. "i did not recover these jewels by any act of my own. he sent them to me; gave them up voluntarily." "gave them up? after he had risked so much to get them? god bless my soul, what a man! why, there must be quite half here of what he took." "there is half--an even half. he sent them to-night, and with them this letter. look at it, and you will understand why i sent for you and asked you to come alone." "there's some good in even the devil, i suppose, if one but knows how to reach it and stir it up," sir horace read. "i have lived a life of crime from my very boyhood because i couldn't help it, because it appealed to me, because i glory in risks and revel in dangers. i never knew where it would lead me--i never thought, never cared--but i looked into the gateway of heaven last night, and i can't go down the path to hell any longer. here is an even half of miss wyvern's jewels. if you and her father would have me hand over the other half to you, and would have 'the vanishing cracksman' disappear forever, and a useless life converted into a useful one, you have only to say so to make it an accomplished thing. all i ask in return is your word of honour (to be given to me by signal) that you will send for sir horace wyvern to be at your office at eleven o'clock to-night, and that you and he will grant me a private interview unknown to any other living being. a red and green lantern hung over the doorway leading to your office will be the signal that you agree, and a violet light in your window will be the pledge of sir horace wyvern. when these two signals, these two pledges, are given, i shall come in and hand over the remainder of the jewels, and you will have looked for the first time in your life upon the real face of 'the man who calls himself hamilton cleek.'" "god bless my soul! what an amazing creature--what an astounding request!" exclaimed sir horace, as he laid the letter down. "willing to give up £ , worth of jewels for the mere sake of a private interview! what on earth can be his object? and why should he include me?" "i don't know," said narkom in reply. "it's worth something, at all events, to be rid of 'the vanishing cracksman' for good and all; and he says that it rests with us to do that. it's close to eleven now. shall we give him the pledge he asks, sir horace? my signal is already hung out; shall we agree to the conditions and give him yours?" "yes, yes, by all means," sir horace made answer. and lighting the violet lamp, narkom flicked open the pinned curtains and set it in the window. for ten minutes nothing came of it, and the two men, talking in whispers while they waited, began to grow nervous. then somewhere in the distance a clock started striking eleven, and without so much as a warning sound, the door flashed open, flashed shut again, a voice that was undeniably the voice of breeding and refinement said quietly: "gentlemen, my compliments. here are the diamonds and here am i!" and the figure of a man, faultlessly dressed, faultlessly mannered, with the slim-loined form, the slim-walled nose, and the clear-cut features of the born aristocrat, stood in the room. his age might lie anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, his eyes were straight-looking and clear, his fresh, clean-shaven face was undeniably handsome, and, whatever his origin, whatever his history, there was something about him, in look, in speech, in bearing, that mutely stood sponsor for the thing called "birth." "god bless my soul!" exclaimed sir horace, amazed and appalled to find the reality so widely different from the image he had drawn. "what monstrous juggle is this? why, man alive, you're a gentleman! who are you? what's driven you to a dog's life like this?" "a natural bent, perhaps; a supernatural gift, certainly, sir horace," he made reply. "look here! could any man resist the temptation to use it when he was endowed by nature with the power to do this?" his features seemed to writhe and knot and assume in as many moments a dozen different aspects. "i've had the knack of doing that since the hour i could breathe. could any man 'go straight' with a fateful gift like that if the laws of nature said that he should not?" "and do they say that?" "that's what i want you to tell me--that's why i have requested this interview. i want you to examine me, sir horace, to put me through those tests you use to determine the state of mind of the mentally fit and mentally unfit; i want to know if it is my fault that i am what i am, and if it is myself i have to fight in future, or the devil that lives within me. i'm tired of wallowing in the mire. a woman's eyes have lit the way to heaven for me. i want to climb up to her, to win her, to be worthy of her, and to stand beside her in the light." "her? what 'her'?" "that's my business, mr. narkom, and i'll take no man into my confidence regarding that." "yes, my friend, but 'margot'--how about her?" "i'm done with her! we broke last night, when i returned and she learned--never mind what she learned! i'm done with her--done with the lot of them. my life is changed forever." "in the name of heaven, man, who and what are you?" "cleek--just cleek; let it go at that," he made reply. "whether it's my name or not is no man's business; who i am, what i am, whence i came, is no man's business either. cleek will do--cleek of the forty faces. never mind the past; my fight is with the future, and so--examine me, sir horace, and let me know if i or fate's to blame for what i am." sir horace did. "absolutely fate," he said, when, after a long examination, the man put the question to him again. "it is the criminal brain fully developed, horribly pronounced. god help you, my poor fellow; but a man simply could not be other than a thief and a criminal with an organ like that. there's no hope for you to escape your natural bent except by death. you can't be honest. you can't rise--you never will rise; it's useless to fight against it!" "i will fight against it! i will rise! i will! i will! i will!" he cried out vehemently. "there is a way to put such craft and cunning to account; a way to fight the devil with his own weapons and crush him under the weight of his own gifts, and that way i'll take!" "mr. narkom"--he whirled and walked toward the superintendent, his hand outstretched, his eager face aglow--"mr. narkom, help me! take me under your wing. give me a start--give me a chance--give me a lift on the way up!" "good heaven, man, you--you don't mean--?" "i do--i do! so help me heaven, i do. all my life i've fought against the law--now let me switch over and fight with it. i'm tired of being cleek, the thief; cleek, the burglar. make me cleek, the detective, and let us work together, hand in hand, for a common cause and for the public good. will you, mr. narkom? will you?" "will i? won't i!" said narkom, springing forward and gripping his hand. "jove! what a detective you will make. bully boy! bully boy!" "it's a compact, then?" "it's a compact--cleek." "thank you," he said in a choked voice. "you've given me my chance; now watch me live up to it. the vanishing cracksman has vanished forever, mr. narkom, and it's cleek, the detective--cleek of the forty faces from this time on. now, give me your riddles--i'll solve them one by one." chapter i the sound came again--so unmistakably, this time, the sound of a footstep in the soft, squashy ooze on the heath, there could be no question regarding the nature of it. miss lorne came to an instant standstill and clutched her belongings closer to her with a shake and a quiver; and a swift prickle of goose-flesh ran round her shoulders and up and down the backs of her hands. there was good, brave blood in her, it is true; but good, brave blood isn't much to fall back upon if you happen to be a girl without escort, carrying a hand-bag containing twenty-odd pounds in money, several bits of valuable jewellery--your whole earthly possessions, in fact--and have lost your way on hampstead heath at half-past eight o'clock at night, with a spring fog shutting you in like a wall and shutting out everything else but a "mackerel" collection of clouds that looked like grey smudges on the greasy-silver of a twilit sky. she looked round, but she could see nothing and nobody. the heath was a white waste that might have been part of the scenery in lapland for all there was to tell that it lay within reach of the heart and pulse of the sluggish leviathan london. over it the vapours of night crowded, an almost palpable wall of thick, wet mist, stirred now and again by some atmospheric movement which could scarcely be called a wind, although, at times, it drew long, lacey filaments above the level of the denser mass of fog and melted away with them into the calm, still upper air. miss lorne hesitated between two very natural impulses--to gather up her skirts and run, or to stand her ground and demand an explanation from the person who was undoubtedly following her. she chose the latter. "who is there? why are you following me? what do you want?" she flung out, keeping her voice as steady as the hard, sharp hammering of her heart would permit. the question was answered at once--rather startlingly, since the footsteps which caused her alarm, had all the while proceeded from behind, and slightly to the left of her. now there came a hurried rush and scramble on the right; there was the sound of a match being scratched, a blob of light in the grey of the mist, and she saw standing in front of her, a ragged, weedy, red-headed youth, with the blazing match in his scooped hands. he was thin to the point of ghastliness. hunger was in his pinched face, his high cheekbones, his gouged jaws; staring like a starved wolf, through the unnatural brightness of his pale eyes, from every gaunt feature of him. "'ullo!" he said with a strong cockney accent, as he came up out of the fog, and the flare of the match gave him a full view of her, standing there with her lips shut hard, and, the hand-bag clutched up close to her with both hands. "you wot called, was it? wot price me for arnswerin' of you, eh?" "yes, it was i that called," she replied, making a brave front of it. "but i do not think it was you that i called to. keep away, please. don't come any nearer. what do you want?" "well, i'll take that blessed 'and-bag to go on with; and if there aren't no money in it--tumble it out--let's see--lively now! i'll feed for the rest of this week--gawd, yuss!" she made no reply, no attempt to obey him, no movement of any sort. fear had absolutely stricken every atom of strength from her. she could do nothing but look at him with big, frightened eyes, and shake. "look 'ere, aren't you a-goin' to do it quiet, or are you a-goin' to mike me tike the blessed thing from you?" he asked. "i'll do it if you put me to it--my hat! yuss! it aren't my gime--i'm wot you might call a hammer-chewer at it, but when there's summink inside you, wot tears and tears and tears, any gime's worth tryin' that pulls out the claws of it." she did not move even yet. he flung the spent match from him, and made a sharp step toward her, and he had just reached out his hand to lay hold of her, when another hand--strong, sinewy, hard-shutting as an iron clamp--reached out from the mist, and laid hold of him; plucking him by the neckband and intruding a bunch of knuckles and shut fingers between that and his up-slanted chin. "now, then, drop that little game at once, you young monkey!" struck in the sharp staccato of a semi-excited voice. "interfering with young ladies, eh? let's have a look at you. don't be afraid, miss lorne--nobody's going to hurt you." then a pocket torch spat out a sudden ray of light; and by it both the half-throttled boy and the wholly frightened girl could see the man who had thus intruded himself upon their notice. "oh, it is you--it is you again, mr. cleek?" said ailsa with something between a laugh and a sigh of relief as she recognized him. "yes, it is i. i have been behind you ever since you left the house in bardon road. it was rash of you to cross the heath at this time and in this weather. i rather fancied that something of this kind would be likely to happen, and so took the liberty of following you." "then it was you i heard behind me?" "it was i--yes. i shouldn't have intruded myself upon your notice if you hadn't called out. a moment, please. let's have a look at this young highwayman, who so freely advertises himself as an amateur." the light spat full into the gaunt, starved face of the young man and made it stare forth doubly ghastly. he had made no effort to get away from the very first. perhaps he understood the uselessness of it, with that strong hand gripped on his ragged neckband. perhaps he was, in his way, something of a fatalist--london breeds so many among such as he: starved things that find every boat chained, every effort thrust back upon them unrewarded. at any rate, from the moment he had heard the girl give to this man a name which every soul in england had heard at one time or another during the past two years, he had gone into a sort of mild collapse, as though realising the utter uselessness of battling against fate, and had given himself up to what was to be. "hello," said cleek, as he looked the youth over. "yours is a face i don't remember running foul of before, my young beauty. where did you come from?" "where i seem like to be goin' now you've got your currant-pickers on me--hell," answered the boy, with something like a sigh of despair. "leastways, i been in hell ever since i can remember anyfink, so i reckon i must have come from there." "what's your name?" "dollops. s'pose i must a had another sometime, but i never heard of it. wot's that? yuss--most nineteen. _wot?_ oh, go throw summink at yourself! i aren't too young to be 'ungry, am i? and where's a cove goin' to _find_ this 'ere 'honest work' you're a-talkin' of? i'm fair sick of the gime of lookin' for it. besides, you don't see parties as goes in for the other thing walkin' round with ribs on 'em like bed-slats, and not even the price of a cup of corfy in their pockets, do you? no fear! i wouldn't've 'urt the young lydie; but i tell you strite, i'd a took every blessed farthin' she 'ad on her if you 'adn't've dropped on me like this." "got down to the last ditch--down to the point of desperation, eh?" "yuss. so would you if you 'ad a fing inside you tearin' and tearin' like i 'ave. aren't et a bloomin' crumb since the day before yusterday at four in the mawnin' when a gent in an 'ansom--drunk as a lord, he was--treated me and a parcel of others to a bun and a cup of corfy at a corfy stall over 'ighgate way. stood out agin bein' a crook as long as ever i could--as long as ever i'm goin' to, i reckon, now _you've_ got your maulers on me. i'll be on the list after this. the cops 'ull know me; and when you've got the nime--well, wot's the odds? you might as well 'ave the gime as well, and git over goin' empty. all right, run me in, sir. any'ow, i'll 'ave a bit to eat and a bed to sleep in to-night, and that's one comfort--" cleek had been watching the boy closely, narrowly, with an ever-deepening interest; now he loosened the grip of his fingers and let his hand drop to his side. "suppose i don't 'run you in,' as you put it? suppose i take a chance and lend you five shillings, will you do some work and pay it back to me in time?" he asked. the boy looked up at him and laughed in his face. "look 'ere, gov'nor, it's playin' it low down to lark wiv a chap jist before you're goin' to 'ang 'im," he said. "you come off your blessed perch." "right," said cleek. "and now you get up on yours and let us see what you're made of." then he put his hand into his trousers pocket; there was a chink of coins and two half-crowns lay on his outstretched palm. "there you are--off with you now, and if you are any good, turn up some time to-night at no. , clarges street, and ask for captain horatio burbage. he'll see that there's work for you. toddle along now and get a meal and a bed. and mind you keep a close mouth about this." the boy neither moved nor spoke nor made any sound. for a moment or two he stood looking from the man to the coins and from the coins back to the man; then, gradually, the truth of the thing seemed to trickle into his mind and, as a hungry fox might pounce upon a stray fowl, he grabbed the money and--bolted. "remember the name and remember the street," cleek called after him. "you take your bloomin' oath i will!" came back through the enfolding mist; "gawd, yuss!"--just that; and the youth was gone. "i wonder what you will think of me, miss lorne," said cleek, turning to her; "taking a chance like this; and, above all, with a fellow who would have stripped you of every jewel and every penny you have with you if things hadn't happened as they have?" "and i can very ill afford to lose anything _now_--as i suppose you know, mr. cleek. things have changed sadly for me since that day mr. narkom introduced us at ascot," she said, with just a shadow of seriousness in her eyes. "but as to what i think regarding your action toward that dreadful boy.... oh, of course, if there is a chance of saving him from a career of crime, i think one owes him that as a duty. in the circumstances, the temptation was very great. it must be a horrible thing to be so hungry that one is driven to robbery to satisfy the longing for food." "yes, very horrible--very, very indeed. i once knew a boy who stood as that boy stands--at the parting of the ways; when the good that was in him fought the last great fight with the devil of circumstances. if a hand had been stretched forth to help that boy at that time ... ah, well! it wasn't. the devil took the reins and the game went _his_ way. if five shillings will put the reins into that boy's hands to-night and steer him back to the right path, so much the better for him and--for me. i'll know if he's worth the chance i took to-morrow. now let us talk about something else. will you allow me to escort you across the heath and see you safely on your way home? or would you prefer that i should remain in the background as before?" "how ungrateful you must think me, to suggest such a thing as that," she said with a reproachful smile. "walk with me if you will be so kind. i hope you know that this is the third time you have rendered me a service since i had the pleasure of meeting you. it is very nice of you; and i am extremely grateful. i wonder you find the time or--well, take the trouble," rather archly; "a great man like you." "shall i take off my hat and say 'thank you, ma'am'; or just the hackneyed 'praise from sir hubert is praise indeed'?" he said with a laugh as he fell into step with her and they faced the mist and the distance together. "i suppose you are alluding to my success in the famous stanhope case--the newspapers made a great fuss over that, mr. narkom tells me. but--please. one big success doesn't make a 'great man' any more than one rosebush makes a garden." "are you fishing for a compliment? or is that really natural modesty? i had heard of your exploits and seen your name in the papers, oh, dozens of times before i first had the pleasure of meeting you; and since then ... no, i shan't flatter you by saying how many successes i have seen recorded to your credit in the past two years. do you know that i have a natural predilection for such things? it may be morbid of me--is it?--but i have the strongest kind of a leaning toward the tales of gaboriau; and i have always wanted to know a really great detective--like lecocq, or dupin. and that day at ascot when mr. narkom told me that he would introduce me to the famous 'man of the forty faces' ... mr. cleek, why do they call you 'the man of the forty faces'? you always look the same to me." "perhaps i shan't, when we come to the end of the heath and get into the public street, where there are lights and people," he said. "that i always look the same in your eyes, miss lorne, is because i have but one face for you, and that is my real one. not many people see it, even among the men of the yard whom i occasionally work with. you do, however; so does mr. narkom, occasionally. so did that boy, unfortunately. i had to show it when i came to your assistance, if only to assure you that you were in friendly hands and to prevent you taking fright and running off into the mist in a panic and losing yourself where even i might not be able to find you. that is why i told the boy to apply for work to 'captain burbage of clarges street.' _i_ am captain burbage, miss lorne. nobody knows that but my good friend mr. narkom and, now, you." "i shall respect it, of course," she said. "i hope i need not assure you of that, mr. cleek." "you need assure me of nothing, miss lorne," he made reply. "i owe so much more to you than you are aware, that--oh, well, it doesn't matter. you asked me a question a moment ago. if you want the answer to it--look here." he stopped short as he spoke; the pocket-torch clicked faintly and from the shelter of a curved hand, the glow of it struck upward to his face. it was not the same face for ten seconds at a time. what sir horace wyvern had seen in mr. narkom's private office at scotland yard on that night of nights more than two years ago, sir horace wyvern's niece saw now. "oh!" she said, with a sharp intaking of the breath as she saw the writhing features knot and twist and blend. "oh, don't! it is uncanny! it is amazing. it is awful!" and, after a moment, when the light had been shut off and the man beside her was only a shape in the mist: "i hope i may never see you do it again," she merely more than whispered. "it is the most appalling thing. i can't think how you do it--how you came by the power to do such a thing." "perhaps by inheritance," said cleek, as they walked on again. "once upon a time, miss lorne, there was a--er--lady of extremely high position who, at a time when she should have been giving her thoughts to--well, more serious things, used to play with one of those curious little rubber faces which you can pinch up into all sorts of distorted countenances--you have seen the things, no doubt. she would sit for hours screaming with laughter over the droll shapes into which she squeezed the thing. afterward, when her little son was born, he inherited the trick of that rubber face as a birthright. it may have been the same case with me. let us say it was, and drop the subject, since you have not found the sight a pleasing one. now tell me something, please, that i want to know about you." chapter ii "about me, mr. cleek?" "yes. you spoke about there being a change in your circumstances--spoke as though you thought i knew. i do not; but i should like to if i may. it will perhaps explain why you are out alone and in this neighbourhood at this time of night." "it will," she said, with just a shadow of deeper colour coming into her cheeks. "the house you saw me coming out of is the residence of a friend and former schoolmate. i went there to inquire if she could help me in any way to secure a position; and stopped later than i realised." "procure you a position, miss lorne? a position as what?" "companion, amanuensis, governess--anything that," with a laugh and a blush, "'respectable young females' may do to earn a living when they come down in the world. you may possibly have heard that my uncle, sir horace, has married again. i think you must have done so, for the papers were full of it at the time. but i forget"--quizzically--"you don't read newspapers, do you, even when they contain accounts of your own greatness." "i wonder if i deserve that? at any rate, i got it," said cleek with a laugh. "yes, i heard all about sir horace's wedding. some four or five months ago, wasn't it?" "no, three--three, last thursday, the fourteenth. a woman doesn't forget the date of her enforced abdication. the new lady wyvern soon let me know that i was a superfluous person in the household. to-day, i came to the conclusion to leave it; and have taken the first actual step toward doing so. a lucky step, too, i fancy; or, at least, it promises to be." "as how?" "my friend knows of two people who would be likely to need me: one, a titled lady here in england, who might be 'very glad to have me'--i am quoting that, please--as governess to her little boy. the other, a young french girl who is returning shortly to paris, who also might be 'glad to have me' as companion. of course, i would sooner remain in england, but--well, it is nicer to be a companion than a governess; and the young lady is very nearly my own age. indeed, we were actually at the same school together when we were very little girls." "i see," said cleek, a trifle gloomily. "so then it is possible that it will, eventually, be the young french lady and--paris, in future. when, do you fancy? soon?" "oh, i don't know about that. i haven't quite made up my mind as yet which of the two it will be. and then there's the application to be sent afterwards." "still, it will be one of the two certainly?" "oh, yes. i shall have to earn my living in future, you know; so, naturally, of course--" she gave her shoulder an eloquent upward movement, and let the rest go by default. cleek did not speak for a moment: merely walked on beside her--a ridge between his eyebrows and his lower lip sucked in; as if he were mentally debating upon something and was afraid he might speak incautiously. but of a sudden: "miss lorne," he said, in a curiously tense voice, "may i ask you something? let us say that you had set your heart upon obtaining one or the other of these two positions--set it so entirely that life wouldn't be worth a straw to you if you didn't get it. let us say, too, that there was something you had done, something in your past which, if known, might utterly preclude the possibility of your obtaining what you wanted--it is an absurd hypothesis, of course: but let us use it for the sake of argument. we will say you had done your best to live down that offensive 'something' done, and were still doing all that lay in your power to atone for it; that nobody but one person shared the knowledge of that 'something' with you, and upon his silence you could rely. now tell me: would you feel justified in accepting the position upon which you had set your heart _without_ confessing the thing; or would you feel in duty bound to speak, well knowing that it would in all human probability be the end of all your hopes? i should like to have your opinion upon that point, please." "i can't see that i or anybody else could have other than the one," she replied. "it is an age-old maxim, is it not, mr. cleek, that two wrongs cannot by any possibility constitute a right? i should feel in duty bound, in honour bound, to speak, of course. to do the other would be to obtain the position by fraud--to steal it, as a thief steals things that _he_ wants. no sort of atonement is possible, is even worth the name, if it is backed up by deceit, mr. cleek." "even though that deceit is the only thing that could give you your heart's desire? the only thing that could open the gates of heaven for you?" "the 'gates of heaven,' as you put it, can never be opened with a lie, mr. cleek. they might be opened by the very thing of which you speak--confession. i think i should take my chances upon that. at any rate, if i failed, i should at least have preserved my self-respect and done more to merit what i wanted than if i had secured it by treachery. think of the boy you helped a little while ago. how much respect will you have for him if he never lives up to his promise; never goes to clarges street at all? yet if he does live up to it, will he not be doubly worth the saving? but please!" with a sudden change from seriousness to gaiety, "if i am to be led into sermonizing, might i not know what it is all about? i shall be right, shall i not, in supposing that all this is merely the preface to something else?" "either the preface or--the finis," said cleek, with a deeply drawn breath. "still, as you say, no atonement is worth calling an atonement if it is based upon fraud; and so--miss lorne, i am going to ask you to indulge in yet another little flight of fancy. carry your mind back, will you, to the night when your cousin--to the night two years ago when sir horace wyvern's daughter had her wedding presents stolen and you, i believe, had rather a trying moment with that fellow who was known as 'the vanishing cracksman.' you can remember it, can you not?" "remember it? i shall never forget it. i thought, when the police ran down stairs and left me with him, that i was talking to mr. narkom. i think i nearly went daft with terror when i found out that it was he." "and you found it out only through his telling you, did you not? afterward, i am told, the police found you lying fainting at the foot of the stairs. the man had touched you, spoken to you, even caught up your hand and put it to his lips? can you remember what he said when he did that? can you?" "yes," she answered, with a little shudder of recollection. "for weeks afterward i used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking of it and going cold all over. he said, 'you have come down into hell and lifted me out. under god, you shall lift me into heaven as well!'" "and perhaps you shall," said cleek, stopping short and uncovering his head. "at any rate, i'll not attempt to win it by fraud. miss lorne, i am that man. i am the 'vanishing cracksman' of those other days. i've walked the 'straight path' since the moment i kissed your hand." she said nothing, made no faintest sound. she couldn't--all the strength, all the power to do anything but simply stand and look at him had gone out of her. but even so, she was conscious--dimly but yet conscious--of a feeling of relief that they had come at last close to the end of the heath, that there was the faint glow of lights dimly observable through the enfolding mist, and that there was the rumble of wheels, the pulse of life, the law-guarded paths of the city's streets beyond. chapter iii she could not herself have been more conscious of that feeling of relief than he was of its coming. it spoke to him in the swift glance she gave toward those distant, fog-blurred lights, in the white, drained face of her, in the shrinking backward movement of her body when he spoke again; and something within him voiced "the exceeding bitter cry." "i am not sure that i even hoped you would take the revelation in any other way than this," he said. "a hawk--even a tamed one--must be a thing of terror in the eyes of a dove. still, i am not sorry that i have made the confession, miss lorne. when the worst has been told, a burden rolls away." "yes," she acquiesced faintly, finding her voice; but finding it only to lose it again. "but that you--that _you_...." and was faint and very still again. "shall we go on? it isn't more than fifty paces to the road; and you may rely upon finding a taxicab there. would you like me to show you the way?" "yes, please. i--oh, don't think me unsympathetic, unkind, severe. it is such a shock; it is all so horrible--i mean--that is.... let me get used to it. i shall never tell, of course--no, never! now, please, may we not walk faster? i am very, very late as it is; and they will be worrying at home." they did walk faster, and in a minute more were at the common's end. cleek stopped and again lifted his hat. "we will part here, miss lorne," he said. "i won't force my company on you any further. from here, you are quite beyond all danger, and i am sure you would rather i left you to find a taxi for yourself. good night." he did not even offer to put out his hand. "may i say again, that i am not sorry i told you? nor did i ever expect you would, take it other than like this. it is only natural. try to forgive me; or, at the least, believe that i have not tried to keep your friendship by a lie, or to atone in seeming only. good night." he gave her no chance to reply, no time to say one single word. deep wounds require time in which to heal. he knew that he had wounded the white soul of her so that it was sick with uncertainty, faint with dread; and, putting on his hat, stepped sharply back and let the mist take him and hide him from her sight. but, though she did not see, he was near her even then. he knew when she walked out into the light-filled street; he knew when she found a taxicab; and he did not make an effort to go his way until he was sure that she was safely started upon hers. then he screwed round on his heel and went back into the mist and loneliness of the heath, and walked, and walked, and walked. afterward--long afterward: when the night was getting old and the town was going to sleep, he, too, fared forth in quest of a taxi, and finding one went _his_ way as she had gone hers. in the neighbourhood of bond street--now a place of darkness and slow-tramping policemen--he dismissed the taxi and continued the journey along piccadilly afoot. it was close to one o'clock when he came at length to clarges street and swung into it from the piccadilly end, and moved on in the direction of the house which sheltered him and his secrets together. but, though he walked with apparent indifference, his eye was ever on the lookout for some chance watcher in the windows of the other houses; for "captain horatio burbage" was supposed, in the neighbourhood, to be a superannuated seaman who maintained a bachelor establishment with the aid of an elderly housekeeper and a deaf-and-dumb maid of all work. but no one was on the watch to-night; and it was only when he came at last to the pillared portico of his own residence that he found any sign of life from one end of the street to the other. he did find it then, however; for the boy, dollops, was sitting huddled up on the top step with the thick shadow of the portico making a safe screen for him. he had made good use of the two half-crowns, for he had not only feasted--and was feasting still: on a bag of winkles and a saveloy--but was washed and brushed and had gone to the length of a shoe-shine and a collar. "been waitin' since eleven o'clock, sir," he said, getting up and pulling his forelock as cleek appeared. "didn't knock and arsk for no one, though--not me. twigged as it would be you, sir, on account of your sayin' to-night. i've read summink of the ways of 'tecs. wot ho!" "you seem a sharp little customer, at all events," said cleek with a curious one-sided smile--a smile that was peculiar to him. "i somehow fancy that i've made a good investment, dollops. filled up, eh?" "no, sir--never filled. born 'ungry, i reckon. but filled as much as you could fill me, bless your 'eart. i aren't never goin' to forget that, gov'nor--no fear. an eater and a scrapper i am, sir; and i'll scrap for _you_, sir, while there's a bloomin' breff left in my blessed body! gimme the tip wot kind of work i _can_ do for you, gov'nor, will you? i want to get them two 'arf-crowns off my conscience as quick as i can." cleek looked at him and smiled again. "yes, i'm _sure_ i made a good bargain, dollops," he said. "come in." and in this way the attachment which existed between them ever afterward had its beginning. he took the boy in and up to the little room on the second floor which he called his den; and, turning on the light, motioned him to a chair, laid aside his hat and gloves, and was just about to pull up a chair for himself when he caught sight of an unstamped letter lying upon his writing-table. "sit down there and wait a moment until i read this, my lad," he said; and forthwith tore the letter open. it was from superintendent narkom. he had known that from the first, however. no one but narkom ever wrote him letters. this one was exceedingly brief. it simply contained these two lines: "my dear cleek. the three jolly fishermen, richmond, at tea-time to-morrow. an astonishing affair. yours, m. n." "dollops, my lad, i think i'm going to make a man of you," he said as he tore the letter into a dozen pieces and tossed the fragments into a waste-basket. "at any rate, i'm going to have a try. know anything about richmond?" "yuss, sir." "good. well, we'll have a half-hour's talk and then i'll find a temporary bed for you for the night, and to-morrow we'll take a pull on the river at richmond and see what we shall see." the half-hour, however, developed into a full one; for it was after two o'clock when the talk was finished and a bed improvised for the boy; but cleek, saying good night to him at last and going to his own bedroom, felt that it was a long, long way from being time wasted. what dollops thought is, perhaps, best told by the fact that he burst out crying when cleek came in in the morning to ask how he had slept. "slept, gov'nor!" he said. "why, bless your 'eart, sir, i couldn't a slept better on a bed of roses, nor 'ad 'arf such comfort. feel like i needed someone to lend me a biff on the coco, sir, to make sure as i aren't a dreamin'--it's so wot a cove fancies 'eaven to be like, sir." and afterward, when the day was older, and they had gone to richmond, and cleek--in his boating flannels--was pulling him up the shining river and talking to him again as he had talked last night, he felt that it was even more like heaven than ever. it was after four--long after--when they finally separated and cleek, leaving the boy in charge of the boat, stepped ashore in the neighbourhood of the inn of the three jolly fishermen and went to keep his appointment with narkom. he found him enjoying tea at a little round table in the niche of a big bay window in the small private parlour which lay immediately behind the bar-room. "my dear chap, do forgive me for not waiting," said the superintendent contritely, as cleek came in, looking like a college-bred athlete in his boating-flannels and his brim-tilted panama. "but the fact is you are a little later than i anticipated; and i was simply famishing." "share the blame of my lateness with me, mr. narkom," said cleek as he tossed aside his hat and threw the fag-end of his cigarette through the open window. "you merely said 'tea-time,' not any particular hour; and i improved the opportunity to take another spin up the river and to talk like a dutch uncle to a certain young man whom i shall introduce to your notice in due time. it isn't often that duty calls me to a little eden like this. the air is like balm to-day; and the river--oh, the river is a sheer delight." narkom rang for a fresh pot of tea and a further supply of buttered toast, and, when these were served, cleek sat down and joined him. "i dare say," said the superintendent, opening fire at once, "that you wonder what in the world induced me to bring you out here to meet me, my dear fellow, instead of following the usual course and calling at clarges street? well, the fact is, cleek, that the gentleman with whom i am now about to put you in touch lives in this vicinity, and is so placed that he cannot get away without running the risk of having the step he is taking discovered." "humph! he is closely spied upon, then?" commented cleek. "the trouble arises from someone or something in his own household?" "no--in his father's. the 'trouble,' so far as i can gather, seems to emanate from his stepmother, a young and very beautiful woman, who was born on the island of java, where the father of our client met and married her some two years ago, whither he had gone to probe into the truth of the amazing statement that a runic stone had been unearthed in that part of the globe." "ah, then you need not tell me the gentleman's name, mr. narkom," interposed cleek. "i remember perfectly well the stir which that ridiculous and unfounded statement created at the time. despite the fact that scholars of all nations scoffed at the thing, and pointed out that the very term 'rune' is of teutonic origin, one enthusiastic old gentleman--mr. michael bawdrey, a retired brewer, thirsting for something more enduring than malt to carry his name down the ages--became fired with enthusiasm upon the subject, and set forth for java 'hot foot,' as one might say. i remember that the papers made great game of him; but i heard, i fancy, that, in spite of all, he was a dear, lovable old chap, and not at all like the creature the cartoonists portrayed him." "what a memory you have, my dear cleek. yes, that is the party; and he _is_ a dear, lovable old chap at bottom. collects old china, old weapons, old armour, curiosities of all sorts--lots of 'em bogus, no doubt; catch the charlatans among the dealers letting a chance like that slip them--and is never so happy as when showing his 'collection' to his friends and being mistaken by the ignorant for a man of deep learning." "a very human trait, mr. narkom. we all are anxious that the world should set the highest possible valuation upon us. it is only when we are underrated that we object. so this dear, deluded old gentleman, having failed to secure a 'rune' in java, brought back something equally cryptic--a woman? was the lady of his choice a native or merely an inhabitant of the island?" "merely an inhabitant, my dear fellow. as a matter of fact, she is english. her father, a doctor, long since deceased, took her out there in her childhood. she was none too well off, i believe; but that did not prevent her having many suitors, among whom was mr. bawdrey's own son, the gentleman who is anxious to have you take up this case." "oho!" said cleek, with a strong, rising inflection. "so the lady was of the careful and calculating kind? she didn't care for youth and all the rest of it when she could have papa and the money-chest without waiting. a common enough occurrence. still, this does not make up an 'affair,' and especially an 'affair' which requires the assistance of a detective, and you spoke of 'a case.' what is the case, mr. narkom?" "i will leave mr. philip bawdrey himself to tell you that," said narkom, as the door opened to admit a young man of about eight-and-twenty, clothed in tennis flannels, and looking very much perturbed, a handsome, fair-haired, fair-moustached young fellow, with frank, boyish eyes and that unmistakable something which stamps the products of the 'varsities. "come in, mr. bawdrey. you said we were not to wait tea, and you see that we haven't. let me have the pleasure of introducing mr.--" "headland," put in cleek adroitly, and with a look at narkom as much as to say, "don't give me away. i may not care to take the case when i hear it, so what's the use of letting everybody know who i am?" then he switched round in his chair, rose, and held out his hand. "mr. george headland, of the yard, mr. bawdrey. i don't trust mr. narkom's proverbially tricky memory for names. he introduced me as jones once, and i lost the opportunity of handling the case because the party in question couldn't believe that anybody named jones would be likely to ferret it out." "funny idea, that!" commented young bawdrey, smiling, and accepting the proffered hand. "rum lot of people you must run across in your line, mr. headland. shouldn't take you for a detective myself, shouldn't even in a room full of them. college man, aren't you? thought so. oxon or cantab?" "cantab--emmanuel." "oh, lord! never thought i'd ever live to appeal to an emmanuel man to do anything brilliant. i'm an oxon chap; brasenose is my alma mater. i say, mr. narkom, do give me a cup of tea, will you? i had to slip off while the others were at theirs, and i've run all the way. thanks very much. don't mind if i sit in that corner and draw the curtain a little, do you?" his frank, boyish face suddenly clouding. "i don't want to be seen by anybody passing. it's a horrible thing to feel that you are being spied upon, at every turn, mr. headland, and that want of caution may mean the death of the person you love best in all the world." "oh, it's that kind of case, is it?" queried cleek, making room for him to pass round the table and sit in the corner, with his back to the window and the loosened folds of the chintz curtain keeping him in the shadow. "yes," answered young bawdrey, with a half-repressed shudder and a deeper clouding of his rather pale face. "sometimes i try to make myself believe that it isn't, that it's all fancy, that she never could be so inhuman, and yet how else is it to be explained? you can't go behind the evidence; you can't make things different simply by saying that you will not believe." he stirred his tea nervously, gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of it, and then set the cup aside. "i can't enjoy anything; it takes the savour out of everything when i think of it," he added, with a note of pathos in his voice. "my dad, my dear, bully old dad, the best and dearest old boy in all the world! i suppose, mr. headland, that mr. narkom has told you something about the case?" "a little--a very little indeed. i know that your father went to java, and married a second wife there; and i know, too, that you yourself were rather taken with the lady at one time, and that she threw you over as soon as mr. bawdrey senior became a possibility." "that's a mistake," he replied. "she never threw me over, mr. headland; she never had the chance. i found her out long before my father became anything like what you might call a rival, found her out as a mercenary, designing woman, and broke from her voluntarily. i only wish that i had known that he had one serious thought regarding her. i could have warned him; i could have spoken then. but i never did find out until it was too late. trust her for that. she waited until i had gone up-country to look after some fine old porcelains and enamels that the governor had heard about; then she hurried him off and tricked him into a hasty marriage. of course, after that i couldn't speak--i wouldn't speak. she was my father's wife, and he was so proud of her, so happy, dear old boy, that i'd have been little better than a brute to say anything against her." "what could you have said if you had spoken?" "oh, lots of things--the things that made me break away from her in the beginning. she'd had more love affairs than one; her late father's masquerading as a doctor for another. they had only used that as a cloak. they had run a gambling-house on the sly--he as the card-sharper, she as the decoy. they had drained one poor fellow dry, and she had thrown him over after leading him on to think that she cared for him and was going to marry him. he blew out his brains in front of her, poor wretch. they say she never turned a hair. you wouldn't believe it possible, if you saw her; she is so sweet and caressing, and so young and beautiful, you'd almost believe her an angel. but there's travers in the background--always travers." "travers! who is he?" "oh, one of her old flames, the only one she ever really cared for, they say. she was supposed to have broken with him out there in java, because they were too poor to marry; and now he's come over to england, and he's there, in the house with the dear old dad and me, and they are as thick as thieves together. i've caught them whispering and prowling about together, in the grounds and along the lanes, after she has said 'good night,' and gone to her room and is supposed to be in bed. there's a houseful of her old friends three parts of the time. they come and they go, but travers never goes. i know why"--waxing suddenly excited, suddenly vehement--"yes! i know why. he's in the game with her!" "game! what game, mr. bawdrey? what is it that she is doing?" "she's killing my old dad!" he answered, with a sort of sob in his excited voice. "she's murdering him by inches, that's what she's doing, and i want you to help me bring it home to her. god knows what it is she's using or how she uses it; but you know what demons they are for secret poisons, those javanese, what means they have of killing people without a trace. and she was out there for years and years. so, too, was travers, the brute! they know all the secrets of those beastly barbarians, and between them they're doing something to my old dad." "how do you know that?" "i don't know it--that's the worst of it. but i couldn't be surer of it if they took me into their secrets. but there's the evidence of his condition; there's the fact that it didn't begin until after travers came. look here, mr. headland, you don't know my dad. he's got the queerest notions sometimes. one of his fads is that it's unlucky to make a will. well, if he dies without one, who will inherit his money, as i am an only child?" "undoubtedly you and his widow." "exactly. and if i die at pretty nearly the same time--and they'll see to that, never fear; it will be my turn the moment they are sure of him--she will inherit everything. now, let me tell you what's happening. from being a strong, healthy man, my father has, since travers's arrival, begun to be attacked by a mysterious malady. he has periodical fainting-fits, sometimes convulsions. he'll be feeling better for a day or so; then, without a word of warning, whilst you're talking to him, he'll drop like a shot bird and go into the most horrible convulsions. the doctors can't stop it; they don't even know what it is. they only know that he's fading away--turning from a strong, virile old man into a thin, nervous, shivering wreck. but i know! i know! they're dosing him somehow with some diabolical javanese thing, those two. and yesterday--god help me!--yesterday, i, too, dropped like a shot bird; i, too, had the convulsions and the weakness and the fainting-fit. my time has begun also!" "bless my soul! what a diabolical thing!" put in narkom agitatedly. "no wonder you appealed to me!" "no wonder!" bawdrey replied. "i felt that it had gone as far as i dared to let it; that it was time to call in the police and to have help before it was too late. that's the case, mr. headland. i want you to find some way of getting at the truth, of looking into travers's luggage, into my stepmother's effects, and unearthing the horrible stuff with which they are doing this thing; and perhaps, when that is known, some antidote may be found to save the dear old dad and restore him to what he was. can't you do this? for god's sake, say that you can." "at all events, i can try, mr. bawdrey," responded cleek. "oh, thank you, thank you!" said bawdrey gratefully. "i don't care a hang what it costs, what your fees are, mr. headland. so long as you run those two to earth, and get hold of the horrible stuff, whatever it is, that they are using, i'll pay any price in the world, and count it cheap as compared with the life of my dear old dad. when can you take hold of the case? now?" "i'm afraid not. mysterious things like this require a little thinking over. suppose we say to-morrow noon? will that do?" "i suppose it must, although i should have liked to take you back with me. every moment's precious at a time like this. but if it must be delayed until to-morrow--well, it must, i suppose. but i'll take jolly good care that nobody gets a chance to come within touching distance of the pater--bless him!--until you do come, if i have to sit on the mat before his door until morning. here's the address on this card, mr. headland. when and how shall i expect to see you again? you'll use an alias, of course?" "oh, certainly! had you any old friend in your college days whom your father only knew by name and who is now too far off for the imposture to be discovered?" "yes. jim rickaby. we were as inseparable as the siamese twins in our undergrad days. he's in borneo now. haven't heard from him in a dog's age." "couldn't be better," said cleek. "then 'jim rickaby' let it be. you'll get a letter from him first thing in the morning saying that he's back in england, and about to run down and spend the week-end with you. at noon he will arrive, accompanied by his borneo servant, named--er--dollops. you can put the 'blackie' up in some quarter of the house where he can move about at will without disturbing any of your own servants, and can get in and out at all hours; he will be useful, you know, in prowling about the grounds at night and ascertaining if the lady really does go to bed when she retires to her room. as for 'jim rickaby' himself--well, you can pave the way for his operations by informing your father, when you get the letter, that he has gone daft on the subject of old china and curios and things of that sort, don't you know." "what a ripping idea!" commented young bawdrey. "i twig. he'll get chummy with you, of course, and you can lead him on and adroitly 'pump' him regarding her, and where she keeps her keys and things like that. that's the idea, isn't it?" "something of that sort. i'll find out all about her, never fear," said cleek in reply. then they shook hands and parted, and it was not until after young bawdry had gone that either he or narkom recollected that cleek had overlooked telling the young man that headland was not his name. "oh, well, it doesn't matter. time enough to tell him that when it comes to making out the cheque," said cleek, as the superintendent remarked upon the circumstance. then he pushed back his chair and walked over to the window, and stood looking silently out upon the flowing river. narkom did not disturb his reflections. he knew from past experience, as well as from the manner in which he took his lower lip between his teeth and drummed with his finger-tips upon the window-ledge, that some idea relative to the working out of the case had taken shape within his mind, and so, with the utmost discretion, went on with his tea and refrained from speaking. suddenly cleek turned. "mr. narkom, do me a favour, will you? look me up a copy of holman's 'diseases of the kidneys' when you go back to town. i'll send dollops round to the yard to-night to get it." "right you are," said narkom, taking out his pocket-book and making a note of it. "but, i say, look here, my dear fellow, you can't possibly believe that it's anything of that sort--anything natural, i mean--in the face of what we've heard?" "no, i don't. i think it's something confoundedly unnatural, and that that poor old chap is being secretly and barbarously murdered. i think that--and--i think, too--" his voice trailed off. he stood silent and preoccupied for a moment, and then, putting his thoughts into words, without addressing them to anybody: "ayupee!" he said reflectively; "pohon-upas, antjar, galanga root, ginger and black pepper--that's the javanese method of procedure, i believe. ayupee!--yes, assuredly, ayupee!" "what the dickens are you talking about, cleek? and what does all that gibberish and that word 'ayupee' mean?" "nothing--nothing. at least, just yet. i say, put on your hat, and let's go for a pull on the river, mr. narkom. i've had enough of mysteries for to-day and am spoiling for another hour in a boat." then he screwed round on his heel and walked out into the brilliant summer sunshine. chapter iv promptly, at the hour appointed, "mr. jim rickaby" and his black servant arrived at laburnam villa; and certainly the former had no cause to complain of the welcome he received at the hands of his beautiful young hostess. he found her not only an extremely lovely woman to the eye, but one whose gentle, caressing ways, whose soft voice and simple girlish charm were altogether fascinating, and, judging from outward appearances, from the tender solicitude for her elderly husband's comfort and well-being, from the look in her eyes when she spoke to him, the gentleness of her hand when she touched him, one would have said that she really and truly loved him, and that it needed no lure of gold to draw this particular may to the arms of this one december. he found captain travers a laughing, rollicking, fun-loving type of man--at least, to all outward appearances--who seemed to delight in sports and games and to have an almost childish love of card tricks and that species of entertainment which is known as parlour magic. he found the three other members of the little house-party--to wit: mrs. somerby-miles, lieutenant forshay, and mr. robert murdock--respectively, a silly, flirtatious, little gadfly of a widow; a callow, love-struck, lap-dog, young army officer, with a budding moustache and a full-blown idea of his own importance; and a dour scotchman of middle age, with a passion for chess, a glowering scorn of frivolities, and a deep and abiding conviction that scotland was the only country in the world for a self-respecting human being to dwell in, and that everything outside of the established church was foredoomed to flames and sulphur and the perpetual prodding of red-hot pitchforks. and last, but not least by any means, he found mr. michael bawdrey just what he had been told he would find him, namely, a dear, lovable, sunny-tempered old man, who fairly idolised his young wife and absolutely adored his frank-faced, affectionate, big boy of a son, and who ought not, in the common course of things, to have an enemy or an evil wisher in all the world. the news, which, of course, had preceded cleek's arrival, that this whilom college chum of his son's was as great an enthusiast as he himself on the subject of old china, old porcelain, bric-à-brac and curios of every sort, filled him with the utmost delight, and he could scarcely refrain from rushing him off at once to view his famous collection. "michael, dear, you mustn't overdo yourself just because you happen to have been a little stronger these past two days," said his wife, laying a gentle hand upon his arm. "besides, we must give mr. rickaby time to breathe. he has had a long journey, and i am sure he will want to rest. you can take him in to see that wonderful collection after dinner, dear." "humph! full of fakes, as i supposed--and she knows it," was cleek's mental comment upon this. and he was not surprised when, finding herself alone with him a few minutes later, she said, in her pretty, pleading way: "mr. rickaby, if you are an expert, don't undeceive him. i could not let you go to see the collection without first telling you. it is full of bogus things, full of frauds and shams that unscrupulous dealers have palmed off on him. but don't let him know. he takes such pride in them, and--and he's breaking down--god pity me, his health is breaking down every day, mr. rickaby, and i want to spare him every pang, if i can, even so little a pang as the discovery that the things he prizes are not real." "set your mind at rest, mrs. bawdrey," promised cleek. "he will not find it out from me. he will not find anything out from me. he is just the kind of man to break his heart, to crumple up like a burnt glove, and come to the end of all things, even life, if he were to discover that any of his treasures, anything that he loved and trusted in, is a sham and a fraud." his eyes looked straight into hers as he spoke, his hand rested lightly on her sleeve. she sucked in her breath suddenly, a brief pallor chased the roses from her cheeks, a brief confusion sat momentarily upon her. she appeared to hesitate, then looked away and laughed uneasily. "i don't think i quite grasp what you mean, mr. rickaby," she said. "don't you?" he made answer. "then i will tell you--some time--to-morrow, perhaps. but if i were you, mrs. bawdrey--well, no matter. this i promise you: that dear old man shall have no ideal shattered by me." and, living up to that promise, he enthused over everything the old man had in his collection when, after dinner that night, they went, in company with philip, to view it. but bogus things were on every hand. spurious porcelains, fraudulent armour, faked china were everywhere. the loaded cabinets and the glazed cases were one long procession of faked dresden and bogus faience, of egyptian enamels that had been manufactured in birmingham, and of sixth-century "treasures" whose makers were still plying their trade and battening upon the ignorance of such collectors as he. "now, here's a thing i am particularly proud of," said the gulled old man, reaching into one of the cases and holding out for cleek's admiration an irregular disc of dull, hammered gold that had an iridescent beetle embedded in the flat face of it. "this scarab, mr. rickaby, has helped to make history, as one might say. it was once the property of cleopatra. i was obliged to make two trips to egypt before i could persuade the owner to part with it. i am always conscious of a certain sense of awe, mr. rickaby, when i touch this wonderful thing. to think, sir, to think! that this bauble once rested on the bosom of that marvellous woman; that mark antony must have seen it, may have touched it; that ptolemy auletes knew all about it, and that it is older, sir, than the christian religion itself!" he held it out upon the flat of his palm, the better for cleek to see and to admire it, and signed to his son to hand the visitor a magnifying glass. "wonderful, most wonderful!" observed cleek, bending over the spurious gem and focussing the glass upon it; not, however, for the purpose of studying the fraud, but to examine something just noticed--something round and red and angry-looking which marked the palm itself, at the base of the middle finger. "no wonder you are proud of such a prize. i think i should go off my head with rapture if i owned an antique like that. but, pardon me, have you met with an accident, mr. bawdrey? that's an ugly place you have on your palm." "that? oh, that's nothing," he answered, gaily. "it itches a great deal at times, but otherwise it isn't troublesome. i can't think how in the world i got it, to tell the truth. it came out as a sort of red blister in the beginning, and since it broke it has been spreading a great deal. but, really, it doesn't amount to anything at all." "oh, that's just like you, dad," put in philip, "always making light of the wretched thing. i notice one thing, however, rickaby, it seems to grow worse instead of better. and dad knows as well as i do when it began. it came out suddenly about a fortnight ago, after he had been holding some green worsted for my stepmother to wind into balls. just look at it, will you, old chap?" "nonsense, nonsense!" chimed in the old man, laughingly. "don't mind the silly boy, mr. rickaby. he will have it that that green worsted is to blame, just because he happened to spy the thing the morning after." "let's have a look at it," said cleek, moving nearer the light. then, after a close examination, "i don't think it amounts to anything, after all," he added, as he laid aside the glass. "i shouldn't worry myself about it if i were you, phil. it's just an ordinary blister, nothing more. let's go on with the collection, mr. bawdrey; i'm deeply interested in it, i assure you. never saw such a marvellous lot. got any more amazing things--gems, i mean--like that wonderful scarab? i say!"--halting suddenly before a long, narrow case, with a glass front, which stood on end in a far corner, and, being lined with black velvet, brought into ghastly prominence the suspended shape of a human skeleton contained within--"i say! what the dickens is this? looks like a doctor's specimen, b'gad. you haven't let anybody--i mean, you haven't been buying any prehistoric bones, have you, mr. bawdrey?" "oh, that?" laughed the old man, turning round and seeing to what he was alluding. "oh, that's a curiosity of quite a different sort, mr. rickaby. you are right in saying it looks like a doctor's specimen. it is--or, rather, it was. mrs. bawdrey's father was a doctor, and it once belonged to him. properly, it ought to have no place in a collection of this sort, but--well, it's such an amazing thing i couldn't quite refuse it a place, sir. it's a freak of nature. the skeleton of a nine-fingered man." "of a what?" "a nine-fingered man." "well, i can't say that i see anything remarkable in that. i've got nine fingers myself, nine and one over, when it comes to that." "no, you haven't, you duffer!" put in young bawdrey, with a laugh. "you've got eight fingers--eight fingers and two thumbs. this bony johnny has nine fingers and two thumbs. that's what makes him a freak. i say, dad, open the beggar's box, and let rickaby see." his father obeyed the request. lifting the tiny brass latch which alone secured it, he swung open the glazed door of the case, and, reaching in, drew forward the flexible left arm of the skeleton. "there you are," he said, supporting the bony hand upon his palm, so that all its fingers were spread out and cleek might get a clear view of the monstrosity. "what a trial he must have been to the glove trade, mustn't he?" laughing gaily. "fancy the confusion and dismay, mr. rickaby, if a fellow like this walked into a bond street shop in a hurry and asked for a pair of gloves." cleek bent over and examined the thing with interest. at first glance, the hand was no different from any other skeleton hand one might see any day in any place where they sold anatomical specimens for the use of members of the medical profession; but as mr. bawdrey, holding it on the palm of his right hand, flattened it out with the fingers of his left, the abnormality at once became apparent. springing from the base of the fourth finger, a perfectly developed fifth appeared, curling inward toward what had once been the palm of the hand, as though, in life, it had been the owner's habit of screening it from observation by holding it in that position. it was, however, perfectly flexible, and mr. bawdrey had no difficulty in making it lie out flat after the manner of its mates. the sight was not inspiring--the freaks of mother nature rarely are. no one but a doctor would have cared to accept the thing as a gift, and no one but a man as mad on the subject of curiosities and with as little sense of discrimination as mr. bawdrey would have dreamt for a moment of adding it to a collection. "it's rather uncanny," said cleek, who had no palate for the abnormal in nature. "for myself, i may frankly admit that i don't like things of that sort about me." "you are very much like my wife in that," responded the old man. "she was of the opinion that the skeleton ought to have been destroyed or else handed over to some anatomical museum. but--well, it is a curiosity, you know, mr. rickaby. besides, as i have said, it was once the property of her late father, a most learned man, sir, most learned, and as it was of sufficient interest for him to retain it--oh, well, we collectors are faddists, you know, so i easily persuaded mrs. bawdrey to allow me to bring it over to england with me when we took our leave of java. and now that you have seen it, suppose we have a look at more artistic things. i have some very fine specimens of neolithic implements and weapons which i am most anxious to show you. just step this way, please." he let the skeleton's hand slip from his own, swing back into the case, and forthwith closed the glass door upon it; then, leading the way to the cabinet containing the specimens referred to, he unlocked it, and invited cleek's opinion of the flint arrow-heads, stone hatchets, and granite utensils within. for a minute they lingered thus, the old man talking, laughing, exulting in his possessions, the detective examining and pretending to be deeply impressed. then, of a sudden, without hint or warning to lessen the shock of it, the uplifted lid of the cabinet fell with a crash from the hand that upheld it, shivering the glass into fifty pieces, and cleek, screwing round on his heel with a "jump" of all his nerves, was in time to see the figure of his host crumple up, collapse, drop like a thing shot dead, and lie foaming and writhing on the polished floor. "dad! oh, heavens! dad!" the cry was young bawdrey's. he seemed fairly to throw himself across the intervening space and to reach his father in the instant he fell. "now you know! now you know!" he went on wildly, as cleek dropped down beside him and began to loosen the old man's collar. "it's like this always; not a hint, not a sign, but just this utter collapse. my god, what are they doing it with? how are they managing it, those two? they're coming, headland. listen! don't you hear them?" the crash of the broken glass and the jar of the old man's fall had swept through all the house, and a moment later, headed by mrs. bawdrey herself, all the members of the little house-party came piling excitedly into the room. the fright and suffering of the young wife seemed very real as she threw herself down beside her husband and caught him to her with a little shuddering cry. then her voice, uplifting in a panic, shrilled out a wild appeal for doctor, servants--help of any kind. and, almost as she spoke, travers was beside her, travers and forshay and robert murdock--yes, and silly little mrs. somerby-miles, too, forgetting in the face of such a time as this to be anything but helpful and womanly--and all of these gave such assistance as was in their power. "help me get him up to his own room, somebody, and send a servant post-haste for the doctor," said captain travers, taking the lead after the fashion of a man who is used to command. "calm yourself as much as possible, mrs. bawdrey. here, murdock, lend a hand and help him." "eh, mon, there is nae help but heaven's in sic a case as this," dolefully responded murdock, as he came forward and solemnly stooped to obey. "the puir auld laddie! the laird giveth and the laird taketh awa', and the weel o' mon is as naething." "oh, stow your croaking, you blundering old fool!" snapped travers, as mrs. bawdrey gave a heart-wrung cry and hid her face in her hands. "you and your eternal doldrums! here, bawdrey, lend a hand, old chap. we can get him upstairs without the assistance of this human trombone, i know." but "this human trombone" was not minded that they should; and so it fell out that, when lieutenant forshay led mrs. somerby-miles from the room, and young bawdrey and captain travers carried the stricken man up the stairs to his own bed-chamber, his wife flying in advance to see that everything was prepared for him, cleek, standing all alone beside the shattered cabinet, could hear mr. robert murdock's dismal croakings rumbling steadily out as he mounted the staircase with the others. for a moment after the closing door of a room overhead had shut them from his ears, he stood there, with puckered brows and pursed-up lips, drumming with his finger-tips a faint tattoo upon the framework of the shattered lid; then he walked over to the skeleton case, and silently regarded the gruesome thing within. "nine fingers," he muttered sententiously, "and the ninth curves inward to the palm!" he stepped round and viewed the case from all points--both sides, the front, and even the narrow space made at the back by the angle of the corner where it stood. and after this he walked to the other end of the room, took the key from the lock, slipped it in his pocket, and went out, closing the door behind him, that none might remember it had not been locked when the master of the place was carried above. it was, perhaps, twenty minutes later that young bawdrey came down and found him all alone in the smoking-room, bending over the table whereon the butler had set the salver containing the whiskey decanter, the soda siphon, and the glasses that were always laid out there, that the gentlemen might help themselves to the regulation "night-cap" before going to bed. "i've slipped away to have a word in private with you, headland," he said, in an agitated voice, as he came in. "oh, what consummate actors they are, those two. you'd think her heart was breaking, wouldn't you? you'd think--hullo! i say! what on earth are you doing?" for, as he came nearer, he could see that cleek had removed the glass stopper of the decanter, and was tapping with his finger-tips a little funnel of white paper, the narrow end of which he had thrust into the neck of the bottle. "just adding a harmless little sleeping-draught to the nightly beverage," said cleek, in reply, as he screwed up the paper funnel and put it in his pocket. "a good sound sleep is an excellent thing, my dear fellow, and i mean to make sure that the gentlemen of this house-party have it--one gentleman in particular: captain travers." "yes; but--i say! what about me, old chap? i don't want to be drugged, and you know i have to show them the courtesy of taking a 'night-cap' with them." "precisely. that's where you can help me out. if any of them remark anything about the whiskey having a peculiar taste, you must stoutly assert that you don't notice; and, as they've seen you drinking from the same decanter--why, there you are. don't worry over it. it's a very, very harmless draught; you won't even have a headache from it. listen here, bawdrey. somebody is poisoning your father." "i know it. i told you so from the beginning, headland," he answered, with a sort of wail. "but what's that got to do with drugging the whiskey?" "everything. i'm going to find out to-night whether captain travers is that somebody or not. sh-h-h! don't get excited. yes, that's my game. i want to get into his rooms whilst he is sleeping, and be free to search his effects. i want to get into every man's room here, and wherever i find poison--well, you understand?" "yes," he replied, brightening as he grasped the import of the matter. "what a ripping idea! and so simple." "i think so. once let me find the poison, and i'll know my man. now one other thing: the housekeeper must have a master-key that opens all the bedrooms in the place. get it for me. it will be easier and swifter than picking the locks." "right you are, old chap. i'll slip up to mrs. jarret's room and fetch it to you at once." "no; tuck it under the mat just outside my door. as it won't do for me to be drugged as well as the rest of you. i shan't put in an appearance when the rest come down. say i've got a headache, and have gone to bed. as for my own 'night-cap'--well, i can send dollops down to get the butler to pour me one out of another decanter, so that will be all right. now, toddle off and get the key, there's a good chap. and, i say, bawdrey, as i shan't see you again until morning--good-night." "good-night, old chap!" he answered in his impulsive, boyish way. "you are a friend, headland. and--you'll save my dad, god bless you! a true, true friend--that's what you are. thank god i ran across you." cleek smiled and nodded to him as he passed out and hurried away; then, hearing the other gentlemen coming down the stairs, he, too, made haste to get out of the room and to creep up to his own after they had assembled, and the cigar cabinet and the whiskey were being passed round, and the doctor was busy above with the man who was somebody's victim. * * * * * the big old grandfather clock at the top of the stairs pointed ten minutes past two, and the house was hushed of every sound save that which is the evidence of deep sleep, when the door of cleek's room swung quietly open, and cleek himself, in dressing-gown and wadded bedroom slippers, stepped out into the dark hall, and, leaving dollops on guard, passed like a shadow over the thick, unsounding carpet. the rooms of all the male occupants of the house, including that of philip bawdrey himself, opened upon this. he went to each in turn, unlocked it, stepped in, closed it after him, and lit the bedroom candle. the sleeping-draught had accomplished all that was required of it; and in each and every room he entered--captain travers's, lieutenant forshay's, mr. robert murdock's--there lay the occupant thereof stretched out at full length in the grip of that deep and heavy sleep which comes of drugs. cleek made the round of the rooms as quietly as any shadow, even stopping as he passed young bawdrey's on his way back to his own to peep in there. yes; he, too, had got his share of the effective draught, for there he lay snarled up in the bed-clothes, with his arms over his head and his knees drawn up until they were on a level with his waist, and his handsome, boyish face a little paler than usual. cleek didn't go into the room, simply looked at him from the threshold, then shut the door, and went back to dollops. "all serene, gov'nor?" questioned that young man, in an eager whisper. "yes, quite," his master replied, as he turned to a writing-table whereon there lay a sealed note, and, pulling out the chair, sat down before it and took up a pen. "wait a bit, and then you can go to bed. i'll give you still another note to deliver. while i'm writing it you may lay out my clothes." "slipping off, sir?" "yes. you will stop here, however. now, then, hold your tongue; i'm busy." then he pulled a sheet of paper to him and wrote rapidly: "dear mr. bawdrey: "i've got my man, and am off to consult with mr. narkom and to have what i've found analysed. i don't know when i shall be back--probably not until the day after to-morrow. you are right. it is murder, and java is at the bottom of it. dollops will hand you this. say nothing--just wait till i get back." this he slipped, unsigned in his haste, into an envelope, handed it to dollops, and then fairly jumped into his clothes. ten minutes later, he was out of the house, and--the end of the riddle was in sight. chapter v on the morrow, mrs. bawdrey made known the rather surprising piece of news that mr. rickaby had written her a note to say that he had received a communication of such vital importance that he had been obliged to leave the house that morning before anybody was up, and might not be able to return to it for several days. "no very great hardship in that, my dear," commented mrs. somerby-miles, "for a more stupid and uninteresting person i never encountered. fancy! he never even offered to assist the gentlemen to get poor mr. bawdrey upstairs last night. how is the poor old dear this morning, darling? better?" "yes--much," said mrs. bawdrey, in reply. "doctor phillipson came to the house before four o'clock, and brought some wonderful new medicine that has simply worked wonders. of course, he will have to stop in bed and be perfectly quiet for three or four days; but, although the attack was by far the worst he has ever had, the doctor feels quite confident that he will pull him safely through." now although, in the light of her apparent affection for her aged husband, she ought, one would have thought, to be exceedingly happy over this, it was distinctly noticeable that she was nervous and ill at ease, that there was a hunted look in her eyes, and that, as the day wore on, these things seemed to be accentuated. more than that, there seemed added proof of the truth of young bawdrey's assertion that she and captain travers were in league with each other, for that day they were constantly together, constantly getting off into out-of-the-way places, and constantly talking in an undertone of something that seemed to worry them. even when dinner was over, and the whole party adjourned to the drawing-room for coffee, and the lady ought, in all conscience, to have given herself wholly up to the entertainment of her guests it was observable that she devoted most of her time to whispered confidences with captain travers, that they kept going to the window and looking up at the sky, as if worried and annoyed that the twilight should be so long in fading and the night in coming on. but worse than this, at ten o'clock captain travers made an excuse of having letters to write, and left the room, and it was scarcely six minutes later that she followed suit. but the captain had not gone to write letters, as it had happened. instead, he had gone straight to the morning-room, an apartment immediately behind that in which the elder mr. bawdrey's collection was housed, and from which a broad french window opened out upon the grounds, and it might have caused a scandal had it been known that mrs. bawdrey joined him there one minute after leaving the drawing-room. "it is the time, walter, it is the time!" she said, in a breathless sort of way, as she closed the door and moved across the room to where he stood, a dimly seen figure in the dim light. "god help and pity me! but i am so nervous, i hardly know how to contain myself. the note said at ten to-night in the morning-room, and it is ten now. the hour is here, walter, the hour is here!" "so is the man, mrs. bawdrey," answered a low voice from the outer darkness; then a figure lifted itself above the screening shrubs just beyond the ledge of the open window, and cleek stepped into the room. she gave a little hysterical cry and reached out her hands to him. "oh, i am so glad to see you, even though you hint at such awful things, i am so glad, so glad!" she said. "i almost died when i read your note. to think that it is murder--murder! and but for you he might be dead even now. you will like to know that the doctor brought the stuff you sent by him--brought it at once--and my darling is better--better." before cleek could venture any reply to this, captain travers stalked across the room and gripped his hand. "and so you are that great man cleek, are you?" he said. "bully boy! bully boy! and to think that all the time it wasn't some mysterious natural affliction; to think that it was crime--murder--poison. what poison, man, what poison--what?" "ayupee, or, as it is variously called in the several islands of the eastern archipelago, pohon-upas, antjar, and ipo," said cleek, in reply. "the deadly venom which the malays use in poisoning the heads of their arrows." "what! that awful stuff!" said mrs. bawdrey, with a little shuddering cry. "and someone in this house--" her voice broke. she plucked at cleek's sleeve and looked up at him in an agony of entreaty. "who?" she implored. "who in this house could? you said you would tell to-night--you said you would. oh, who could have the heart? ah! who? it is true, if you have not heard it, that once upon a time there was bad blood between mr. murdock and him--that mr. murdock is a family connection; but even he, oh, even he--tell me--tell me, mr. cleek!" "mrs. bawdrey, i can't just yet," he made reply. "in my heart i am as certain of it as though the criminal had confessed; but i am waiting for a sign, and, until that comes, absolute proof is not possible. that it will come, and may, indeed, come at any moment now that it is quite dark, i am very certain. when it does--" he stopped and threw up a warning hand. as he spoke a queer thudding sound struck one dull note through the stillness of the house. he stood, bent forward, listening, absolutely breathless; then, on the other side of the wall, there rippled and rolled a something that was like the sound of a struggle between two voiceless animals, and--the sign that he awaited had come! "follow me--quickly, as noiselessly as you can. let no one hear, let no one see!" he said in a breath of excitement. then he sprang cat-like to the door, whirled it open, scudded round the angle of the passage to the entrance of the room where the fraudulent collection was kept, and went in with the silent fleetness of a panther. and a moment later, when captain travers and mrs. bawdrey swung in through the door and joined him, they came upon a horrifying sight. for there, leaning against the open door of the case where the skeleton of the nine-fingered man hung, was dollops, bleeding and faint, and with a score of tooth-marks on his neck and throat, and on the floor at his feet cleek was kneeling on the writhing figure of a man, who bit and tore and snarled like a cornered wolf and fought with teeth and feet and hands alike in the wild effort to get free from the grip of destiny. a locked handcuff clamped one wrist, and from it swung, at the end of the connecting chain, its unlocked mate; the marks of dollops' fists were on his lips and cheeks, and at the foot of the case, where the hanging skeleton doddered and shook to the vibration of the floor, lay a shattered phial of deep-blue glass. "got you, you hound!" said cleek, through his teeth as he wrenched the man's two wrists together and snapped the other handcuff into place. "you beast of ingratitude--you judas! kissing and betraying like any other iscariot! and a dear old man like that! look here, mrs. bawdrey; look here captain travers; what do you think of a little rat like this?" they came forward at his word, and, looking down, saw that the figure he was bending over was the figure of philip bawdrey. "oh!" gulped mrs. bawdrey, and then shut her two hands over her eyes and fell away weak and shivering. "oh, mr. cleek, it can't be--it can't! to do a thing like that?" "oh, he'd have done worse, the little reptile, if he hadn't been pulled up short," said cleek in reply. "he'd have hanged you for it, if it had gone the way he planned. you look in your boxes; you, too, captain travers. i'll wager each of you finds a phial of ayupee hidden among them somewhere. came in to put more of the cursed stuff on the ninth finger of the skeleton, so that it would be ready for the next time, didn't he, dollops?" "yes, gov'nor. i waited for him behind the case just as you told me to, sir, and when he ups and slips the finger of the skilligan into the neck of the bottle, i nips out and whacks the bracelet on him. but he was too quick for me, sir, so i only got one on; and then, the hound, he turns on me like a blessed hyena, sir, and begins a-chawin' of me windpipe. i say, gov'nor, take off his silver wristlets, will you, sir, and lemme have jist ten minutes with him on my own? five for me, sir, and five for his poor old dad!" "not i," said cleek. "i wouldn't let you soil those honest hands of yours on his vile little body, dollops. thought you had a noodle to deal with, didn't you, mr. philip bawdrey? thought you could lead me by the nose, and push me into finding those phials just where you wanted them found, didn't you? well, you've got a few more thoughts coming. look here, captain travers: what do you think of this fellow's little game? tried to take me in about you and mrs. bawdrey being lovers, and trying to do away with him and his father to get the old man's money." "why, the contemptible little hound! bless my soul, man, i'm engaged to mrs. bawdrey's cousin. and as for his stepmother--why, she threw the little worm over as soon as he began making love to her, and tried to make her take up with him by telling her how much he'd be worth when his father died." "i guessed as much. i didn't fancy him from the first moment; and he was so blessed eager to have me begin by suspecting you two, that i smelt a rat at once. oh, but he's been crafty enough in other things. putting that devilish stuff on the ninth finger of the skeleton, and never losing an opportunity to get his poor old father to handle it and show it to people. it's a strong, irritant poison--sap of the upas-tree is the base of it--producing first an irritation of the skin, then a blister, and, when that broke, communicating the poison directly to the blood every time the skeleton hand touched it. a weak solution at first, so that the decline would be natural, the growth of the malady gradual. but if i'd found that phial in your room last night, as he hoped and believed i had done--well, look for yourself. the finger of the skeleton is thick with the beastly, gummy stuff to-night. double strength, of course. the next time his father touched it he'd have died before morning. and the old chap fairly worshipping him. i suspected him, and suspected what the stuff that was being used really was from the beginning. last night i drugged him, and then--i knew." "knew, mr. cleek? why, how could you?" "the most virulent poisons have their remedial uses, captain," he made reply. "you can kill a man with strychnine; you can put him in his grave with arsenic; you can also use both these powerful agents to cure and to save, in their proper proportions and in the proper way. the same rule applies to ayupee. properly diluted and properly used, it is one of the most powerful agents for the relief, and, in some cases, the cure, of bright's disease of the kidneys. but the government guards this unholy drug most carefully. you can't get a drop of it in java for love or money, unless on the order of a recognized physician; and you can't bring it into the ports of england unless backed by that physician's sworn statement and the official stamp of the javanese authorities. a man undeniably afflicted with bright's disease could get these things--no other could. well, i wanted to know who had succeeded in getting ayupee into this country and into this house. last night i drugged every man in it, and--i found out." "but how?" "by finding the one who could not sleep stretched out at full length. one of the strongest symptoms of bright's disease is a tendency to draw the knees up close to the body in sleep, captain, and to twist the arms above the head. of all the men under this roof, this man here was the only one who slept like that last night!" he paused and looked down at the scowling, sullen creature on the floor. "you wretched little cur!" he said, with a gesture of unspeakable contempt. "and all for the sake of an old man's money! if i did my duty, i'd gaol you. but if i did, it would be punishing the innocent for the crimes of the guilty. it would kill that dear old man to learn this; and so he's not going to learn it, and the law's not going to get its own." he twitched out his hand, and something tinkled on the floor. "get up!" he said sharply. "there's the key of the handcuffs; take it and set yourself free. do you know what's going to happen to you? to-morrow morning dr. phillipson is going to examine you, and to report that you'll be a dead man in a year's time if you stop another week in this country. you are going out of it, and you are going to stop out of it. do you understand? _stop_ out of it to the end of your days. for if ever you put foot in it again i'll handle you as a terrier handles a rat! dollops!" "yes, gov'nor?" "my things packed and ready?" "yes, sir. and all waitin' in the arbour, sir, as you told me to have 'em." "good lad! get them, and we'll catch the first train back. mrs. bawdrey, my best respects. captain, all good luck to you," said cleek--and swung out into the darkness and the moist, warm fragrance of the night; his mental poise a bit unsteady, his nerves raw. it was not in him to have stopped longer, to have remained under the same roof with a monster like young bawdrey and keep his temper in check. chapter vi the stillness, the balm, the soothing influences of the night worked their own spell; and, after a time, rubbed out the mental wrinkles and brought a sense of restfulness and peace. it could not well do otherwise with such a nature as his. the night was all a-musk with mignonette and roses, the sky all a-glitter with stars. a gunshot distant the river ran--a silver thing ribboning along between the dark of bending trees; somewhere in the darkness a nightingale shook out the scale of nature's anthem to the listening night, and, farther afield, others took up the chorus of it and sang and sang with the sheer joy of living. what a world--god, what a world for parricides to exist in, and for the sons of men to forget the fifth commandment! he walked on faster, and made his way to the arbour where dollops waited. the boy rose to meet him. "everythink all ready, sir--see!" he said, holding up a kit bag. "wot's it now, gov'nor?--the railway station? good enough. shall i nip off ahead or keep with you till we get there?" "suit yourself, my lad." "thanky, sir; then i'll walk at your heels, if you don't mind. i'd like to walk at your heels all the rest of my blessed life. did i carry it off all right, gov'nor? did i do it jist as you wanted of it done?" "to a t, my lad," said cleek, smiling and patting him on the shoulder. "you'll do, dollops--you'll do finely. i think i did a good job for the pair of us, my boy, when i gave you those two half-crowns." "advanced, gov'nor, advanced," corrected dollops, with a look of sheer affection. "let me work 'em off, sir, like you said i might. i don't want nothin' but wot i earns, gov'nor; nothin' but wot i've got a right to have; for when i sees wot wantin' money as don't belong to you leads to; when i thinks wot that young bawdrey chap was willin' to do for the love of havin' it--" "don't!" struck in cleek, a trifle roughly. "drop the man's name--i can't trust myself to think of it. that the one world, the one self-same world, could hold two such widely dissimilar creations of god as that monster and ... no matter. thank god, i've been able to do something to-night for a good woman--i owe so much to another of her kind. no; don't speak--just walk quietly and"--jerking his thumb in the direction of the fluting nightingales--"listen to that. god! the man who could think evil things when a nightingale sings, isn't fit to stand even in the devil's presence." dollops looked at him--half-puzzled, half-awed. he could not understand the character of the man: there were so many sides to it; and they came and went so oddly. one minute, a very brute-beast in his ferocity, the next, a woman in his tenderness and a poet in his thoughts. but if the boy was puzzled, he was, at least, discreet. he put nothing into words: merely walked on in silence, and left the man to his thoughts and the nightingales to their melody. and cleek was unusually thoughtful from that period onward; speaking hardly a word through all the journey home. for now that the events which had occupied his mind for the past two or three days were over and done with, his memory harked back to those things which had to do with his own affairs, and he caught himself wondering how matters had gone with ailsa lorne; which of the two positions--the english one or the french--she had finally elected to apply for; and if time had as yet softened the shock of that disclosure made in the mist and darkness at hampstead heath. he had, of course, heard nothing of her since that time; and the days he had spent at richmond had utterly precluded the possibility of giving himself that small pleasure--so often indulged in--of adopting a safe disguise, prowling about the neighbourhood where she lived until she should come forth upon one errand or another, and then following her, unsuspected. that she could have taken the knowledge of what he once had been in no other way than she had done; that to such a woman, such a man must at the first blush be an object of abhorrence--a thing to be put out of her life as completely and as expeditiously as possible--he fully realised; yet, at bottom, he was conscious of a hope that time--even so little as had passed--might lend a softening influence that should lead eventually to pity, and from that to a day when the word forgiveness might be spoken. he wanted that forgiveness--the soul of the man needed it, as parched plants need water. he had not climbed up out of himself without some struggle, some moments when he wavered between what he had become, and what nature had written that he was meant to be; for no soul is purged all in a moment, no man may conquer himself with just one solitary fight. he needed her forgiveness, the thought of her, the hope of her, to rivet his armour for the long, brave fight. he needed her friendship--if he might never have her love he needed _that_. and if she were to pass like this from his life.... if the light were to go out ... and all the long, dark way of the future still to be faced.... something within him seemed to writhe. he took his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it hard. that he had hoped for some token, some word--forwarded through mr. narkom--he did not quite realise until he got back to clarges street and found that there was none. followed a sense of despair, a moment of deep dejection, that passed in turn and gave place to a feeling of personal injury, of savage resentment, and of the ferocity which comes when the half-tamed wolf wakes to the realisation that here is nothing before it evermore, but the bars of the cage and the goad of the keeper; and that far and away in the world there are still the free woods, the naked body of nature, and the savage company of its kind. under the stress of that gust of passion, he sent dollops flying from the room. he wrenched open the drawer of his writing-table, and scooped up in his hands some trifles of faded ribbon and trinkets of gold--things that he treasured, none knew why or for what--and holding them thus, looked down on them and laughed, bitterly and savagely, as though a devil were within him. "me! she scorns me!" he said, and laughed again, and flung them all back and shut the drawer upon them. and presently he knew that he held her all the higher because she did scorn him; because her life was such that she _could_ scorn him; and the bitterness dropped out of him, his eyes softened, and though he still laughed, it was for an utterly different reason, and in a wholly different way. some pots of tulips and mignonette stood on the ledge of his window. he walked over to see that they were watered before he went to bed. and between the time when he got down on his knees to fish out his bath-slippers from beneath the bed-stead and the creak of the springs when he lay down for the night, he was so long and so still that one might have believed he was doing something else. he slept long, and rose in the morning soothed and subdued in spirit--better and brighter in every way; for now no affair, for the yard hampered his movements and claimed his time. he was free; he was back in the town--beautiful because it contained her--and he might hark back to the old trick of watching and following and being close to her without her knowledge. it was a vain hope that, however. for, although he dressed and went out and haunted the neighbourhood of sir horace wyvern's house for hours on end, he saw nothing of her that day. nor did he see her the next, nor the next, nor yet the next again. at first, he began to think that she must come out and return during the times when he was obliged to go off guard and get his meal--for he could not bring himself to play the part of the spy or the common policeman, and filch news from the servants--but when a week had gone by in this manner, he set all question upon that point at rest by remaining at his post from sunrise to ten o'clock at night. she did not appear. he wondered what that meant--whether it indicated that she had already accepted one of the two positions, or had gone to stop with her friend on the other side of hampstead heath. the result of that wondering was that, for the next five days, the gentleman who was known in clarges street as "captain horatio burbage," became a regular visitor to the neighbourhood of the house in bardon road. the issue was exactly the same. miss lorne did not appear. he could no longer doubt that she had accepted one or other of the two positions; but steadfastly refrained from making any personal inquiry. she would hear of it if anybody called to inquire her whereabouts; and she would guess who had done it. he would not have her feel that he was thrusting himself upon her, inquiring about her as one might inquire about a common servant. if it was her will that he should know, then that knowledge should come from her, not be picked up as one picks up clues to missing people of the criminal class. so then, it was good-bye to bardon road, just as it had been good-bye to mayfair. he turned his back upon it in the very moment he came to that conclusion, and had just set his face in the direction of the heath when he was brought to a standstill by the sound of someone calling out sharply: "burbage--i say, captain burbage: stop a moment, please." and, screwing round instantly, he saw a red limousine pelting toward him, and an excited chauffeur waving a gloved hand. he knew that red limousine, and he knew that chauffeur. both belonged to mr. maverick narkom. he stood waiting until the motor was abreast of him--had, in fact, come to a standstill--then spoke in a guarded tone: "what is it, lennard?" he asked. "the yard?" "yessir. young dollops told us where to look for you. hop in quickly, sir. superintendent inside." cleek opened the door of the vehicle at once, stepped in, shut it after him, and sat down beside mr. narkom with the utmost composure. "my dear fellow, i _have_ had a chase!" said the superintendent, with a long deep breath of relief, as the limousine swung out into the roadway, and pelted off westward at a pace that brushed the very fringes of the speed limit. "i made certain i should find you at home. fairly floored when i discovered that you weren't. if it hadn't been for that boy, dollops--bright young button, that dollops, cleek; exceedingly bright, b'gad." "yes," agreed cleek, quietly. "bright, faithful, and--inventive." "really? what has the young beggar invented, then?" "an original appliance which may possibly be of a good deal of service one of these days. but, never mind that at present. it is fair to suppose, from your rushing out here in quest of me, that you've got something on hand, isn't it?" "yes--rather! an amazing 'something,' old chap. it's a letter. arrived at headquarters about an hour and a half ago. not an affair for the yard this time, cleek, but a thing you must take up on your own, if you take it up at all; and i tell you frankly, i don't like it." "why?" "for one thing, it's from paris; and--well, you know what dangers paris would have for _you_. there's that she-devil you broke with--that woman margot. you know what she swore, what she wrote when you sent her that letter telling her that you were done with her and her lot, and warning her never to set foot on english soil again? if you were to run foul of her--if she were ever to get any hint of your real identity--" "she can't. she knows no more of my real history than you do; no more than i actually know of hers. our knowledge of each other began when we started to 'pal' together--it ended when we split, eighteen months ago. but about that letter? what is it? why do you say that you don't like it?" "well, to begin with, i'm afraid it is some trap of hers to decoy you over there--get you into some unknown place--" "there are no 'unknown places' in paris so far as i am concerned. i know every hole and corner of it, from the sewers on. i know it as well as i know london, as well as i know berlin--new york--vienna--edinburgh--rome. you couldn't lose me or trap me in any one of them. is that the letter in your hand? good--then read it, please." "to the superintendent of police, scotland yard," read narkom, obeying the request. "'distinguished monsieur: "'of your grace and pity, i implore you to listen to the prayer of an unhappy man whose honour, whose reason, whose very life are in deadly peril, not alone of "the red crawl," but of things he may not even name, dare not commit to writing, lest this letter should go astray. it shall happen, monsieur, that the whole world shall hear with amazement of that most marvellous "cleek"--that great reader of riddles and unmasker of evil-doers who, in the past year, has made the police department of england the envy of all nations; and it shall happen also that i who dare not appeal to the police of france appeal to the mercy, the humanity, of this great man, as it is my only hope. monsieur, you have his ear, you have his confidence, you have the means at your command. ah! ask him, pray him, implore him for the love of god, and the sake of a fellow-man, to come alone to the top floor of the house number of the rue toison d'or, paris, at nine hours of the night of friday, the th inst., to enter into the darkness and say but the one word "cleek" as a signal it is he, and i may come forward and throw myself upon his mercy. oh, save me, monsieur cleek--save me! save me!' "there, that's the lot, and there's no signature," said narkom, laying down the letter. "what do you make of it, cleek?" chapter vii "a very real, a very moving thing, mr. narkom," he replied. "the cry of a human heart in deep distress; the agonised appeal of a man so wrought up by the horrors of his position that he forgets to offer a temptation in the way of reward, and speaks of outlandish things as though they must be understood of all. as witness his allusion to something which he calls 'the red crawl,' without attempting to explain the meaningless phrase. whatever it is, it is so real to him that it seems as if everybody must understand." "you think, then, that the thing is genuine?" "so genuine that i shall answer its call, mr. narkom, and be alone in the dark on the top floor of no. , rue toison d'or, to-morrow night as surely as the clock strikes nine." and that was how the few persons who happened to be in the quiet upper reaches of the rue bienfaisance at half-past eight o'clock the next evening came to see a fat, fussing, red-faced englishman in a grey frock-coat, white spats, and a shining topper, followed by a liveried servant with a hat-box in one hand and a portmanteau in the other--so conspicuous, the pair of them, that they couldn't have any desire to conceal themselves--cross over the square before the church of st. augustine, fare forth into the darker side passages, and move in the direction of the street of the golden fleece. they were, of course, cleek and the boy dollops. "lumme, gov'nor," whispered he, as they turned at last into the utter darkness and desertion of the narrow rue toison d'or, "if this is wot yer calls gay paree--this precious black slit between two rows of houses--i'll take a slice of the old kent road with thanks. not even so much as a winkle-stall in sight, and me that empty my shirt-bosom's a-chafing my blessed shoulder-blades!" "you'll see plenty of life before the game's over, i warrant you, dollops. now then, my lad, here's a safe spot. sit down on the hat-box and wait. that's no. , that empty house with the open door, just across the way. keep your eye on it. i don't know how long i'll be, but if anybody comes out before i do, mind you don't let him get away." "no fear!" said dollops sententiously. "i'll be after him as if he was a ham sandwich, sir. look out for my patent 'tickle tootsies' when you come out, gov'nor. i'll sneak over and put 'em round the door as soon as you've gone in." for dollops, who was of an inventive turn of mind, had an especial "man-trap" of his own, which consisted of heavy brown paper, cut into squares, and thickly smeared over with a viscid varnish-like substance that would adhere to the feet of anybody incautiously stepping upon it, and so interfere with flight that it was an absolute necessity to stop and tear the papers away before running with any sort of ease and swiftness was possible. this was the "invention" to which cleek had alluded. dollops, who was rather proud of the achievement, carried with him a full supply of ready-cut papers and a big collapsible tube of the viscid, ropy, varnish-like glue. meantime, cleek, having left the boy sitting on the hat-box in the darkness, crossed the narrow street to the open doorway of no. , and, without hesitation, stepped in. the place was as black as a pocket, and had that peculiar smell which belongs to houses that have long stood vacant. the house, nevertheless, was a respectable one, and, like all the others, fronted on another street--this dark toison d'or being merely a back passage used principally by the tradespeople for the delivery of supplies. feeling his way to the first of the three flights of stairs which led upward into the stillness and gloom above, cleek mounted steadily until he found himself at length in a sort of attic--quite windowless, and lit only by a skylight through which shone the ineffectual light of the stars. it was the top at last. bracing his back against the wall, so that nobody could get behind him, and holding himself ready for any emergency, he called out in a clear, calm voice: "cleek!" almost simultaneously there was a sharp metallic "snick," an electric bulb hanging from the ceiling flamed out luminously, a cupboard door flashed open, a voice cried out in joyous, perfect english: "thank god for a man!" and, switching round with a cry of amazement, he found himself looking into the face and eyes of a woman. and of all women in the world--ailsa lorne! he sucked in his breath and his heart began to hammer. "miss lorne!" he exclaimed, so carried out of himself that he scarcely knew what he did. "it was the french position that you chose, then? it is you--_you_--that calls upon me?" "no, it is not," she made reply, a rush of colour reddening her cheeks, a feeling of embarrassment and of a natural restraint making her shake visibly. "i am merely the envoy of another. i should not know you, disguised as you are, but for that. yes, i chose the french position, as you see, mr. cleek. i am now the companion to mademoiselle athalie, daughter of the baron de carjorac." "baron de carjorac? do you mean the french minister of the interior, the president of the board of national defences, miss lorne--that enthusiastic old patriot, that rabid old spitfire, whose one dream is the wresting back of alsace-lorraine, the driving of the hated germans into the sea? do you mean that ripping old firebrand?" "yes. but you'd not call him that if you were to see him now; if you could see the wreck, the broken and despairing wreck, that six weeks of the château larouge, six weeks of that horrible 'red crawl' have made of him." "'the red crawl'! good heavens! then that letter, that appeal for help--" "came from him!" she finished excitedly. "it was he who was to have met you here to-night, mr. cleek. this house is one he owns; he thought he might with safety risk coming here, but--he can't! he can't! he knows now that there is danger for him everywhere; that his every step is tracked; that the snare which is about him has been about him, unsuspected, for almost a year; that he dare not, absolutely dare not, appeal to the french police, and that if it were known he had appealed to you, he would be a dead man inside of twenty-four hours, and not only dead, but--disgraced. oh, mr. cleek!"--she stretched out two shaking hands and laid them on his arm, lifted a white, imploring face to his--"save him! save that dear broken old man! ah, think! think! they are our friends, our dear country's friends, these french people. their welfare is our welfare, ours is theirs. oh, help him, save him, mr. cleek--for his own sake--for mine--for france. save him, and win my gratitude for ever!" "that is a temptation that would carry me to the ends of the earth, miss lorne. tell me what the work is, and i will carry it through. what is this incomprehensible thing of which both you and baron de carjorac have spoken--this thing you allude to as 'the red crawl'?" she gave a little shuddering cry and fell back a step, covering her face with both hands. "oh!" she said, with a shiver of repulsion. "it is loathly--it is horrible--it is necromancy--beyond belief! why, oh, why were we ever driven to that horrible château larouge! why could not fate have spared the villa de carjorac? it could not have happened then!" "villa de carjorac? that was the name of the baron's residence, i believe. i remember reading in the newspapers some five or six weeks ago that it was destroyed by fire, which originated--nobody knew how--in the apartments of the late baroness in the very dead of the night. i thought at the time it read suspiciously like the work of an incendiary, although nobody hinted at such a thing. the château larouge i also have a distinct memory of, as an old historic property in the neighbourhood of st. cloud. speaking from past experience, i know that, although it is in such a state of decay, and supposed to be uninhabitable, it has, in fact, often been occupied at a period when the police and the public believed it to be quite empty. gentlemen of the apache persuasion have frequently made it a place of retreat. there is also an underground passage--executed by those same individuals--which connects with the paris sewers. that, too, the police are unaware of. what can the ruined château larouge possibly have to do with the affairs of the baron de carjorac, miss lorne, that you connect them like this?" "they have everything to do with them--everything. the château is no longer a ruin, however. it was purchased, rebuilt, refitted by the comtesse susanne de la tour, mr. cleek, and she and her brother live there. so do we--athalie, baron de carjorac, and i. so, also, does the creature--the thing--the abominable horror known as 'the red crawl.'" "my dear miss lorne, what are you saying?" "the truth, nothing but the truth!" she answered hysterically. "oh, let me begin at the beginning--you'll never understand unless i do. i'll tell you in as few words as possible--as quickly as i can. it all began last winter, when athalie and her father were at monte carlo. there they met madame la comtesse de la tour and her brother, monsieur gaston merode. the baron has position but he has not wealth, mr. cleek. athalie is ambitious. she loves luxury, riches, a life of fashion--all the things that boundless money can give; and when monsieur merode--who is young, handsome, and said to be fabulously wealthy--showed a distinct preference for her over all the other marriageable girls he met, she was flattered out of her silly wits. before they left monte carlo for paris everybody could see that he had only to ask her hand, to have it bestowed upon him. for although the baron never has cared for the man, athalie rules him, and her every caprice is humoured. "but for all he was so ardent a lover, monsieur merode was slow in coming to the important point. perhaps his plans were not matured. at any rate, he did not propose to athalie at monte carlo; and, although he and his sister returned to paris at the same time as the baron and his daughter, he still deferred the proposal." "has he not made it yet?" "yes, mr. cleek. he made it six weeks ago--to be exact, two nights before the villa de carjorac was fired." "you think it was fired, then?" "i do now, although i had no suspicion of it at the time. athalie received her proposal on the saturday, the baron gave his consent on the sunday, and on monday night the villa was mysteriously burnt, leaving all three of us without an immediate refuge. in the meantime, madame la comtesse had purchased the ruin of the château larouge, and during the period of her brother's deferred proposal was engaged in fitting it up as an abode for herself and him. on the very day it was finished, monsieur merode asked for athalie's hand." "oho!" said cleek, with a strong rising inflection. "i think i begin to smell the toasting of the cheese. of course, when the villa was burnt out, madame la comtesse insisted that, as the _fiancée_ of her brother, mlle. de carjorac must make her home at the château until the necessary repairs could be completed; and, of course, the baron had to go with her?" "yes," admitted ailsa. "the baron accepted--athalie would not have allowed him to decline had he wished to--so we all three went there and have been residing there ever since. on the night after our arrival an alarming, a horrifying thing occurred. it was while we were at dinner that the conversation turned upon the supernatural--upon houses and places that were reputed to be haunted--and then madame la comtesse made a remarkable statement. she laughingly asserted that she had just learned that, in purchasing the château larouge, she had also become the possessor of a sort of family ghost. she said that she had only just heard--from an outside source--that there was a horrible legend connected with the place; in short, that for centuries it had been reputed to be under a sort of spell of evil and to be cursed by a dreadful visitant known as 'the red crawl'--a hideous and loathsome creature, neither spider nor octopus, but horribly resembling both--which was supposed to 'appear' at intervals in the middle of the night, and, like the fabled giants of fairy tales, carry off 'lovely maidens and devour them.'" "who is responsible for that ridiculous assertion, i wonder? i think i may say that i know as much about the château larouge and its history as anybody, miss lorne, but i never heard of this supposed 'legend' before in all my life." "so the baron, too, declared, laughing as derisively as any of us over the story, although it is well known that he has a natural antipathy to all crawling things--an abhorrence inherited from his mother--and has been known to run like a frightened child from the appearance of a mere garden spider." "oho!" said cleek again. "i see! i see! the toasted cheese smells stronger, and there's a distinct suggestion of the rhine about it this time. there's something decidedly german about that fabulous 'monster' and that haunted château, miss lorne. they are clever and careful schemers, those german johnnies. of course, this amazing 'red crawl' was proved to have an absolute foundation in fact, and equally, of course, it 'appeared' to the baron de carjorac?" "yes--that very night. after we had all gone to bed, the house was roused by his screams. everybody rushed to his chamber, only to find him lying on the floor in a state of collapse. the thing had been in his room, he said. he had seen it--it had even touched him--a horrible, hideous red reptile, with squirming tentacles, a huge, glowing body, and eyes like flame. it had crept upon him out of the darkness--he knew not from where. it had seized him, resisted all his wild efforts to tear loose from it, and when he finally sank, overcome and fainting, upon the floor, his last conscious recollection was of the loathsome thing settling down upon his breast and running its squirming 'feelers' up and down his body." "of course! of course! that was part of the game. it was after something. something of the utmost importance to german interests. that's why the château larouge was refitted, why the villa de carjorac was burnt down, and why this monsieur gaston merode became engaged to mademoiselle athalie." "oh, how could you know that, mr. cleek? nobody ever suspected. the baron never confessed to any living soul until he did so to me, to-day--and then only because he had to tell somebody, in order that the appointment with you might be kept. how, then, could you guess?" "by putting two and two together, miss lorne, and discovering that they do not make five. the inference is very clear: baron de carjorac is president of the board of national defences; germany, in spite of its public assurances to the contrary, is known by those who are 'on the inside' to harbour a very determined intention of making a secret attack, an unwarned invasion, upon england. france is the key to the situation. if, without the warning that must come through the delay of picking a quarrel and entering into an open war with the republic, the german army can swoop down in the night, cross the frontier, and gain immediate possession of the ports of france, in five hours' time it can be across the english channel, and its hordes pouring down upon a sleeping people. to carry out this programme, the first step would, of course, be to secure knowledge of the number, location, manner of the secret defences of france--the plans of fortification, the maps of the 'danger zone,' the documentary evidence of her strongest and weakest points--and who so likely to be the guardian of these as the baron de carjorac? that is how i know that 'the red crawl' was after something of vital importance to german interests, miss lorne. that he got it, i know from the fact that the baron, while hinting at disgrace and speaking of peril to his own life, dared not confide in the french authorities and ask the assistance of the french police. moreover, if 'the red crawl' had failed to secure anything, the baron, with his congenital loathing of all crawling things, would have left the château larouge immediately." "oh, to think that you guessed it so easily--and it was all such a puzzle to me. i could not think, mr. cleek, why he did remain--why he would not be persuaded to go, although every night was adding to the horror of the thing and it seemed clear to me that he was going mad. of course, madame la comtesse and her brother tried to reason him out of what he declared, tried to make him believe that it was all fancy--that he did not really see the fearful thing; it was equally in vain that i myself tried to persuade him to leave the place before his reason became unsettled. last night"--she paused, shuddered, put both hands over her face, and drew in a deep breath--"last night, i, too, saw 'the red crawl,' mr. cleek--i, too!" "you, miss lorne?" "yes. i made up my mind that i would--that, if it existed, i would have absolute proof of it. the countess and her brother had scoffed so frequently, had promised the baron so often that they would set a servant on guard in the corridor to watch, and then had said so often to poor, foolish, easily persuaded athalie that it was useless doing anything so silly, as it was absolutely certain that her father only imagined the thing, that i--i determined to take the step myself, unknown to any of them. after everybody had gone to bed, i threw on a loose, dark gown, crept into the corridor, and hid in a niche from which i could see the door of the baron's room. i waited until after midnight--long after--and then--and then--" "calm yourself, miss lorne. then the thing appeared, i suppose?" "yes; but not before something equally terrible had happened. i saw the door of the countess's room open; i saw the countess herself come out, accompanied by the man who up till then i had believed, like everybody else, was her brother." "and who is not her brother, after all?" "no, he is not. theirs is a closer tie. i saw her kiss him. i saw her go with him to an angle of the corridor, lift a rug, and raise a trap in the floor." "hullo! hullo!" ejaculated cleek. "then she, too; knows of the passage which leads to the sewers. clearly, then, this countess de la tour is not what she seems, when she knows secrets that are known only to the followers of--well, never mind. go on, miss lorne, go on. you saw her lift that trap; and--what then?" "then there came up out of it--oh, the most loathsome-looking creature i ever saw; a huge, crawling, red shape that was like a blood-red spider, with the eyes, the hooked beak, and the writhing tentacles of an octopus. it made no sound, but it seemed to know her, to understand her, for when she waved her hand toward the open door of her own room it crawled away and, obeying that gesture, dragged its huge bulk over the threshold, and passed from sight. then the man she called her brother kissed her again, and as he descended into the darkness below the trap i heard her say quite distinctly: 'tell marise that i will come as soon as i can; but not to delay the revel. if i am compelled to forego it to-night, there shall be a wilder one to-morrow, when clodoche arrives.'" "clodoche! by jupiter!" cleek almost jumped as he spoke. "now i know the 'lay'! no; don't ask me anything yet. go on with the story, please. what then, miss lorne, what then?" "then the man below said something which i could not hear--something to which she answered in these words: 'no, no; there is no danger. i will guard it safely, and it shall go into no hands but clodoche's. he and count von hetzler will be there about midnight to-morrow to complete the deal and pay over the money. clodoche will want the fragment, of course, to show to the count as a proof that it is the right one, as "an earnest" of what the remainder is worth. and you must bring me that "remainder" without fail, gaston--you hear me?--without fail! i shall be there, at the rendezvous, awaiting you, and the thing must be in our hands when von hetzler comes. the thing must be finished to-morrow night, even if you and serpice have to throw all caution to the winds and throttle the old fool.' then, as if answering a further question, she laughingly added: 'oh, get that fear out of your head. i'm not a bat, to be caught napping. i'll give it to no one but clodoche--and not even to him until he gives the secret sign.' and then, mr. cleek, as she closed the trap i heard the man call back to her 'good night' and give her a name i had not heard before. we had always supposed that she had been christened 'suzanne,' but as that man left he called her--" "i know before you tell me--'margot'!" interjected cleek. "i guessed the identity of this 'countess de la tour' from the moment you spoke of clodoche and that secret trap. her knowledge of those two betrayed her to me. clodoche is a renegade alsatian, a spy in the pay of the german government, and an old _habitué_ of 'the inn of the twisted arm,' where the queen of the apaches and her pals hold their frequent revels. i can guess the remainder of your story now. you carried this news to the baron de carjorac, and he, breaking down, confessed to you that he had lost something." "yes, yes--a dreadful 'something,' mr. cleek: the horrible thing that has been making life an agony to him ever since. on the night when that abominable 'red crawl' first overcame him, there was upon his person a most important document--a rough draft of the maps of fortification and the plan of the secret defences of france, the identical document from which was afterwards transcribed the parchment now deposited in the secret archives of the republic. when baron de carjorac recovered his senses after his horrifying experience--" "that document was gone?" "part of it, mr. cleek--thank god, only a part! if it had been the parchment itself, no such merciful thing could possibly have happened. but the paper was old, much folding and handling had worn the creases through, and when, in his haste, the secret robber grabbed it, whilst that loathsome creature held the old man down, it parted directly down the middle, and he got only a vertical section of each of its many pages." "victoria! 'and the fool hath said in his heart, there is no god,'" quoted cleek. "so, then, the hirelings of the enemy have only got half what they are after; and, as no single sentence can be complete upon a paper torn like that, nothing can be made of it until the other half is secured, and--our german friends are still 'up a gum-tree.' i know now why the baron stayed on at the château larouge, and why 'the red crawl' is preparing to pay him another visit to-night: he hoped, poor chap, to find a clue to the whereabouts of the fragment he had lost; and that thing is after the fragment he still retains. well, it will be a long, long day before either of those two fragments fall into german hands." "oh, mr. cleek, you think you can get the stolen paper back? you believe you can outwit those dreadful people and save the baron de carjorac's honour and his life?" "miss lorne"--he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips--"miss lorne, i thank you for giving me the chance! if you will do what i ask you, be where i ask you in two hours' time, so surely as we two stand here this minute, i will put back the german calendar by ten years at least. they drink 'to the day,' those german johnnies, but by to-morrow morning the english hand you are holding will have given them reason to groan over the night!" chapter viii it was half-past eleven o'clock. madame la comtesse, answering a reputed call to the bedside of a dying friend, had departed early, and was not to be expected back, she said, until to-morrow noon. the servants--given permission by the gentleman known in the house as monsieur gaston merode, and who had graciously provided a huge char-à-banc for the purpose--had gone in a body to a fair over in the neighbourhood of sèvres, and darkness and stillness filled the long, broad corridor of the château larouge. of a sudden, however, a mere thread of sound wavered through the silence, and from the direction of miss lorne's room a figure in black, with feet muffled in thick, woollen stockings, padded to an angle of the passage, lifted a trap carefully hidden beneath a huge tiger-skin rug, and almost immediately cleek's head rose up out of the gap. "thank god you managed to do it. i was horribly afraid you would not," said ailsa in a palpitating whisper. "you need not have been," he answered. "i know a dozen places beside 'the inn of the twisted arm' from which one can get into the sewers. i've screwed a bolt and socket on the inner side of this trap in case of an emergency, and i've carried a few things into the passage for 'afterwards.' i suppose that fellow merode, as he calls himself, is in his room, waiting?" "yes; and, although he pretends to be alone to-night, he--he has other men with him, hideous, ruffianly looking creatures, whom i saw him admit after the servants had gone. the countess has left the house and gone i don't know where." "i do, then. make certain she's at 'the twisted arm,' waiting, first, for the coming of clodoche, and, second, for the arrival of this precious 'merode' with the remaining half of the document. i've sent dollops there to carry out his part of the programme, and when once i get the password margot requires before she will hand over the paper, the game will be in my hands entirely. they are desperate to-night, miss lorne, and will stop at nothing--not even murder. there! the rug's replaced. quick! lead me to the baron's room--there's not a minute to waste." she took his hand and led him tiptoe through the darkness, and in another moment he was in the baron de carjorac's presence. "oh, monsieur, god for ever bless you!" exclaimed the broken old man, throwing himself on his knees before cleek. "out with the light--out with the light!" exclaimed he, ducking down suddenly. "were you mad to keep it burning till i came, with that"--pointing to a huge bay window opening upon a balcony--"uncurtained and the grounds, no doubt, alive with spies?" miss lorne sprang to the table where the baron's reading-lamp stood, jerked the cord of the extinguisher, and darkness enveloped the room, darkness tempered only by the faint gleams of the moon streaming over the balcony, and through the panes of the uncurtained window. cleek, on his knees beside the kneeling baron, whipped a tiny electric torch from his pocket, and, shielding its flare with his scooped hands, flashed it upon the old man's face. "simple as rolling off a log--exactly like your pictures," he commented. "i'll 'do' you as easily as i 'do' clodoche--and i could 'do' him in the dark from memory. quick"--snicking off the light of the electric torch and rising to his feet--"into your dressing-room, baron. i want that suit of clothes; i want that ribbon, that cross--and i want them at once. you're a bit thicker-set than me, but i've got my clodoche rig on underneath this, and it will fill out your coat admirably and make us as like as two peas. give me five minutes, miss lorne, and i promise you a surprise." he flashed out of sight with the baron as he ceased speaking; and ailsa, creeping to the window and peering cautiously out, was startled presently by a voice at her elbow saying, in a tone of extreme agitation: "oh, mademoiselle, i fear, even yet i fear, that this anglais monsieur attempts too much, and that the papier he is gone for ever." "oh, no, baron, no!" she soothed, as she laid a solicitous hand upon his arm. "do believe in him; do have faith in him. ah, if you only knew--" "thanks. i reckon i shall pass muster!" interposed cleek's voice; and it was only then she realised. "you'll find the baron in the other room, miss lorne, looking a little grotesque in that grey suit of mine. in with you, quickly; go with him through the other door, and get below before those fellows begin to stir. get out of the house as quietly and as expeditiously as you can. with god's help, i'll meet you at the hôtel du louvre in the morning, and put the missing fragment in the baron's hands." "and may god give you that help!" she answered fervently as she moved towards the dressing-room door. "ah, what a man! what a man!" then, in a twinkling she was gone, and cleek stood alone in the silent room. giving her and the baron time to get clear of the other one, he went in on tiptoe, locked the door through which they had passed, put the key in his pocket, and returned. going to the door which led from the main room into the corridor, he took the key from the lock of that, too, replacing it upon the outer side, and leaving the door itself slightly ajar. "now then for you, mr. 'the red crawl,'" he said, as he walked to the baron's table, and, sinking down into a deep chair beside it, leaned back with his eyes closed as if in sleep, and the faint light of the moon half-revealing his face. "i want that password, and i'll get it, if i have to choke it out of your devil's throat! and she said that she would be grateful to me all the rest of her life! only 'grateful,' i wonder? is nothing else possible? what a good, good thing a real woman is!" * * * * * how long was it that he had been reclining there waiting before his strained ears caught the sound of something like the rustling of silk shivering through the stillness, and he knew that at last it was coming? it might have been ten minutes, it might have been twenty--he had no means of determining--when he caught that first movement, and, peering through the slit of a partly opened eye, saw the appalling thing drag its huge bulk along the balcony, and, with squirming tentacles writhing, slide over the low sill of the window, and settle down in a glowing red heap upon the floor; and--fake though he knew it to be--he could not repress a swift rush and prickle of "goose-flesh" at sight of it. for a few seconds it lay dormant; then one red feeler shot out, then another, and another, and it began to edge its way across the carpet to the chair. cleek lay still and waited, his heavy breathing sounding regularly, his head thrown back, his limp hands lying loosely, palms upward, beside him; and nearer and nearer crept the loathsome, red, glowing thing. it crawled to his feet, and still he was quiet; it slid first one tentacle, and then another, over his knees and up toward his breast, and still he made no movement; then, as it rose higher--rose until its hideous beaked countenance was close to his own, his hands flashed upward and clamped together like a vice--clamped on a palpitating human throat--and in the twinkling of an eye the tentacles were wrapped about him, and he and "the red crawl" were rolling over and over on the floor and battling together. "serpice, you low-bred hound, i know you!" he whispered, as they struggled. "you can't utter a cry--you shan't utter a cry--to bring help. i'll throttle you, you beastly renegade, that's willing to sell his own country--throttle you, do you hear?--before you shall bring any of your mates to the rescue. oh, you've not got a weak old man to fight with this time! do you know me? it's the 'cracksman'--the 'cracksman' who went over to the police. if you doubt it, now that we're in the moonlight, look up and see my face. oho! you recognise me, i see. well, you will die looking at me, you dog, if you deny me what i'm after. i'll loosen my grip enough for you to whisper, and no more. now what's the password that clodoche must give to margot to-night at 'the twisted arm'? tell me what it is; if you want your life, tell me what it is." "i'll see you dead first!" came in a whisper from beneath the hideous mask. then, as cleek's fingers clamped tight again and the battle began anew, one long, thin arm shot out from amongst the writhing tentacles, one clutching hand gripped the leg of the table, and, with a wrench and a twist, brought it crashing to the ground with a sound that a deaf man might have heard. and in an instant there was pandemonium. a door flung open, and clashing heavily against the wall, sent an echo reeling along the corridor; then came a clatter of rushing feet, a voice cried out excitedly: "come on! come on! he's had to kill the old fool to get it!" and cleek had just time to tear loose from the shape with which he was battling, and dodge out of the way when the man merode lurched into the room, with half a dozen apaches tumbling in at his heels. "serpice!" he cried, rushing forward, as he saw the gasping red shape upon the floor; "serpice! mon dieu! what is it?" "the cracksman!" he gulped. "cleek!--the cracksman who went against us! catch him! stop him!" "the cracksman!" howled out merode, twisting round in the darkness and reaching blindly for the haft of his dirk. "nom de dieu! where?" and almost before the last word was uttered a fist like a sledge-hammer shot out, caught him full in the face, and he went down with a whole smithy of sparks flashing and hissing before his eyes. "there!" answered cleek, as he bowled him over. "gentlemen of the sewers, my compliments. you'll make no short cut to 'the twisted arm' to-night!" then, like something shot from a catapult, he sprang to the door, whisked through it, banged it behind him, turned the key, and went racing down the corridor like a hare. "it must be sheer luck now!" he panted, as he reached the angle and, kicking aside the rug, pulled up the trap. "they'll have that door down in a brace of shakes, and be after me like a pack of ravening wolves. the race is to the swift this time, gentlemen, and you'll have to take a long way round if you mean to head me off." then he passed down into the darkness, closed the trap-door after him, shot into its socket the bolt he had screwed there, flashed up the light of his electric torch, and, _without_ the password, turned toward the sewers, and ran, and ran, and ran! chapter ix it lacked but a minute of the stroke of twelve, and the revels at "the twisted arm"--wild at all times, but wilder to-night than ever--were at their noisiest and most exciting pitch. and why not? it was not often that margot could spend a whole night with her rapscallion crew, and she had been here since early evening--was to remain here until the dawn broke grey over the house-tops and the murmurs of the workaday world awoke anew in the streets of the populous city. it was not often that each man and each abandoned woman present knew to a certainty that he or she would go home through the mists of the grey morning with a fistful of gold that had been won without labour or the taking of any personal risk; and to-night the half of four hundred thousand francs was to be divided among them. no wonder they had made a carnival of it, and tricked themselves out in gala attire; no wonder they had brought a paste tiara and crowned margot--margot, who was in flaming red to-night, and looked a devil's daughter indeed, with her fire-like sequins and her red ankles twinkling as she threw herself into the thick of the dance and kicked, and whirled, and flung her bare arms about to the lilt of the music and the fluting of her own happy laughter. "per bacco! the devil's in her to-night!" grinned old marise, the innkeeper, from her place behind the bar, where the lid of the sewer-trap opened. "she has not been like it since the cracksman broke with her, toinette. but that was before your time, _ma fille_. mother of the heavens! but there was a man for you! there was a king that was worthy of such a queen. name of disaster! that she could not hold him, that the curse of virtue sapped such a splendid tree, and that she could take up with another after him!" "why not?" cried toinette, as she tossed down the last half of her absinthe and twitched her flower-crowned head. "a kingdom must have a king, _ma mère_; and dieu: but he is handsome, this monsieur gaston merode! and if he carries out his part of the work to-night he will be worthy of the homage of all." "'if' he carries it out--'if'!" exclaimed marise, with a lurch of the shoulders and a flirt of her pudgy hand. "soul of me! that's where the difference lies. had it been the cracksman, there would have been no 'if'--it were done as surely as he attempted it. name of misfortune! i had gone into a nunnery had i lost such a man. but she--" the voice of margot shrilled out and cut into her words. "absinthe, marise, absinthe for them all--and set the score down to me!" she cried. "drink up, my bonny boys; drink up, my loyal maids. drink--drink till your skins will hold no more. no one pays to-night but me!" they broke into a cheer, and bearing down in a body upon marise, threw her into a fever of haste to serve them. "to margot!" they shouted, catching up the glasses and lifting them high. "_vive la reine des apaches! vive la compagnie!_ to margot! to margot!" she swept them a merry bow, threw them a laughing salute, and drank the toast with them. "messieurs, my love--mesdames et mademoiselles, my admiration," she cried, with a ripple of joy-mad laughter. "to the success of the apaches, to the glory of four hundred thousand francs, and to the quick arrival of serpice and gaston!" then, her upward glance catching sight of the musicians sipping their absinthe in the little gallery above, she flung her empty glass against the wall behind them, and shook with laughter as they started in alarm and spilled the green poison when they dodged aside. "another dance, you dawdlers!" she cried. "does marise pay you to sit there like mourners? strike up, you mummies, or you pay yourselves for what you drink to-night. soul of desires!"--as the musicians grabbed up their instruments, and a leaping, lilting, quick-beating air went rollicking out over the hubbub--"a quadrille, you angels of inspiration! partners, gentlemen! partners, ladies! a quadrille! a quadrille!" they set up a many-throated cheer and flocked out with her upon the floor; and in one instant feet were flying, skirts were whirling, laughter and jest mingling with waving arms and kicking toes, and the whole place was in one mad riot of delirious joy. and in the midst of this there rolled up suddenly a voice crying, as from the bowels of the earth, "hola! hola! la la! loi!" the cry of the apache to his kind. "mother of delights! it is one of us, and it comes from the sewer passage--from the sewer!" shrilled out marise, as the dancers halted and margot ran, with fleet steps, towards the bar. "listen! listen! they come to you, margot--serpice and gaston. the work is done." "and before even clodoche or von hetzler have arrived!" she replied excitedly. "give them light, give them welcome. be quick!" marise ducked down, loosened the fastenings of the trap-door, flung it back, and, leaning over the gap with a light in her hand, called down into the darkness, "hola! hola! la! la! loi! come on, comrades, come on!" the caller obeyed instantly. a hand reached up and gripped the edge of the flooring, and out of the darkness into the light emerged the figure of a man in a leather cap and the blue blouse of a mechanic--a pale, fox-faced, fox-eyed fellow, with lank, fair hair, a brush of ragged, yellow beard, and with the look and air of the sneak and spy indelibly branded upon him. it was cleek. "clodoche!" exclaimed marise, falling back in surprise. "clodoche!" echoed margot. "clodoche--and from the sewers?" "yes--why not?" he answered, his tongue thick-burred with the accent of alsace, his shifting eyes flashing toward the huge window behind the bar, where, in the moonlight, the narrow passage leading down to the door of "the twisted arm" gaped evilly between double rows of scowling, thief-sheltering houses. "name of the fiend! is this the welcome you give the bringer of fortune, margot?" "but from the sewer?" she repeated. "it is incomprehensible, _cher ami_. you were to pilot von hetzler over from the café dupin to the square beyond there"--pointing to the window--"to leave him waiting a moment while you came on to see if it were safe for him to enter; and now you come from the sewer--from the opposite direction entirely!" "mother of misfortunes! you had done the same yourself--you, lantier; you, clopin; you, cadarousse; any of you--had you been in my boots," he made answer. "i stole a leaf from your own book, earlier in the evening. garotted a fellow with jewels on him--in the rue noir, near the market place--and nearly got into 'the stone bottle' for doing it. he was a decoy, set there by the police for some of you fellows, and there was a sergeant de ville after me like a whirlwind. i was not fool enough to turn the chase in this direction, so i doubled and twisted until it was safe to dive into the tavern of fouchard, and lay in hiding there. fouchard let his son carry a message to the count for me, and will guide him to the square. when it grew near the time to come, fouchard let me down into the sewer passage from there. get on with your dance--silence is always suspicious. an absinthe, marise! have gaston and serpice arrived yet with the rest of the document, margot la reine?" "not yet," she answered. "but one may expect them at any minute." "where is the fragment we already possess?" "here," tapping her bodice and laughing, "tenderly shielded, _mon ami_, and why not? who would not mother a thing that is to bring one four hundred thousand francs?" "let me see it. it must be shown to the count, remember. he will take no risks, come not one step beyond the square, until he is certain that it is the paper his government requires. let me have it--let me take it to him--quick!" she waved aside airily the hand he stretched toward her, and danced into the thick of the resumed quadrille. "ah, non! non! non!" she laughed, as he came after her. "the conditions were of your own making, _cher ami_; we break no rules even among ourselves." "soul of a fool! but if the count comes to the square--he is due there now, mignonne--and i am not there to show him the thing--margot, for the love of god, let me have the paper!" "let me have the sign, the password!" cleek snapped at a desperate chance because there was nothing else to do, because he knew that at any moment now the end might come. "'when the purse will not open, slit it!'" he hazarded, desperately--choosing, on the off-chance of its correctness, the password of the apache. "it is not the right one! it is by no means the right one!" she made reply, backing away from him suddenly, her absinthe-brightened eyes deriding him, her absinthe-sharpened laughter mocking him. "your thoughts are in the bois, _cher ami_. what is the password of the brotherhood to the cause of germany, stupid? it is not right, non! non! it is not right!" the cause of germany! at the words the truth rushed like a flash of inspiration across cleek's mind. the cause of germany! what a dolt he was not to have thought of that before! there was but one phrase ever used for that among the kaiser's people, and that phrase-- "'to the day!'" he said, with a burst of sudden laughter. "my wits are in the moon to-night, _la reine_. 'to the day,' of course--'to the day!'" and even before she replied to him, he knew that he had guessed aright. "bravo!" she said, with a little hiccough--for the absinthe, of which she had imbibed so freely to-night, was beginning to take hold of her. "a pretty conspirator to forget how to open the door he himself locked! it is well i know thee--it is well it was the word of les apaches in the beginning, or i had been suspicious, silly! wait but a moment!"--putting her hand to her breast and beginning to unfasten her bodice--"wait but a moment, monsieur twitching-fingers, and the thing shall be in your hand." the strain, the relief, were all too great for even such nerves as cleek's, and if he had not laughed aloud, he knew that he must have cheered. "oho! you grin because one's fingers blunder with eagerness," hiccoughed margot, thinking his laughter was for the trouble she had in getting the fastenings of her bodice undone. "peste, monsieur! may not a lady well be modestly careful, when--name of the devil! what's that?" it was the note of a whistle shrilling down the narrow passage without--the passage where dollops, in apache garb, had been set on watch; and, hearing it, cleek clamped his jaws together and breathed hard. a single whistle--short and sharp, such as this one was--was the signal agreed upon that the real clodoche was coming, and that he and count von hetzler had already appeared in the square beyond. "soul of a sloth! will not that hurry you, _la reine_?" he said excitedly, in reply to margot's startled question. "it is the signal fouchard's son was to give when he and von hetzler arrived at the place where i am to meet them. give me the paper--quick! quick! tear the fastenings, if they will not come undone else. one cannot keep a von hetzler waiting like a lackey for a scrap of ribbon and a bit of lace." "pardieu! they have kept better men than he waiting many an hour before this," she made reply. "but you shall have the thing in a twinkling now. there! but one more knot, and then it is in your hands." and, had the fates not decreed otherwise, so, indeed, it would have been. but then, just then, when another second would have brought the paper into view, another moment seen it shut tight in the grip of his itching fingers, disaster came and blotted out his hopes! without hint or warning, without sign or sound to lessen the shock of it, the trap-door behind the bar flew up and backward with a crash that sent marise and her assistants darting away from it in shrieking alarm; a babel of excited voices sounded, a scurry of rushing feet scuffled and flashed along the shaking floor, and merode and his followers tumbled helter-skelter into the room. cleek, counting on the bolt which kept them from entering the passage from the corridor of the château larouge--forcing them to take a long, roundabout journey to "the twisted arm"--had not counted on their shortening that journey by entering the passage from fouchard's tavern, doing, in fact, the very thing which he had declared to margot he himself had done. and lo! here they were, howling and crowding about him--dirks in their hands and devils in their eyes and hearts--and the paper not his yet! a clamour rose as they poured in; the dancers ceased to dance; the music ceased to play; and margot, shutting a tight clutch on the loosened part of her half-unfastened bodice, swung away from cleek's side, and flew in a panic to merode. "gaston!" she cried, knowing from his wild look and the string of oaths and curses his followers were blurting out that something had gone amiss. "gaston, _mon coeur_! name of disaster! what is wrong?" "everything is wrong!" he flung back excitedly. "that devil--that renegade--that fury, cleek, the cracksman, is here. he came to the rescue--came out of the very skies--and all but killed serpice!" "cleek!" fifty shrill voices joined margot's in that screaming cry; fifty more dirks flashed into view. "cleek in france? cleek? where is he? which way did he go? where's the narker--where--where?" "here, if anywhere!" "here?" "yes--unless you've been fooled, and let him get away. he knows about the paper, and is after it, margot; and if anyone has come up from the sewers within the past twenty minutes--" they knew--they grasped the situation instantly--and a roar of excited voices yelled out: "clodoche! clodoche! clodoche!" as, snarling and howling like a pack of wolves, they bore down with a rush on the blue-bloused figure that was creeping towards the door. but as they sprang it sprang also! it was neck or nothing now. cleek realised it, and, throwing himself headlong over the bar, clutched frantically at the lever which he knew controlled the flow of gas, jammed it down with all his strength, shut off the light, and, grabbing up a chair, sent it crashing through the window. the crowd surged on towards the wrecked bar with a yell, surged from all directions, and then abruptly stopped and huddled together in one. for the sudden flashing down of the darkness within, had made more prominent, the moon-lighted passage without; and there, scuttling away in alarm from this sudden uproar, and the outward flying of that hurled chair, a figure which but a moment before had come skulking to the window, could now be seen. "there he goes--there! there!" shrilled out a chorus of excited voices, as the yellow-bearded, blue-bloused figure came into view. "after him! catch him! knife him!" in an instant they were at the door, tumbling out into the darkness, pouring up the passage in hot pursuit. and it was at that moment the balance changed again. those who were in the front rank of the pursuers were in time to see a lithe, thin figure--dressed as one of their own kind--spring up in the path of that other figure, jump on it, grip it, clap a huge square of sticky brown paper over the howling mouth of it, and bear it, struggling and kicking, to the ground. in another second they, too, were upon it--swarming over it like rats, and digging and hacking at it with their dirks. and so they were still hacking at it--although it had long since ceased to move, or to make any sound--when merode came up and called them to a halt. "drag it inside; let margot have a thrust at it--it is her right. pull off the dog's disguise, and bring me the plucky one that captured him. he shall have absinthe enough to swim in, the little king! off with it all, lanchere. first, the plaster--that's right. now, the wig and beard, and after that--what's that you say? the beard is real? the hair is real? they will not come off? name of the devil! what are you saying?" "the truth, _mon roi_, the truth! mother of disasters! it is not the cracksman--it is the real clodoche we have killed!" for one moment a sort of panic held them, swayed them, befogged the brains of them; then, of a sudden, merode howled out, "get back! get back! the fellow's in there still!" and led a blind race down the passage to the bar, where they had seen cleek last. it was still in darkness; but an eager hand gripping the lever, turned on the gas again, and matches everywhere were lifted to the jets. and when the light flamed out and the room was again ablaze they knew that they might as well hope to call back yesterday as dream of finding cleek again. for there on the floor, her limp hands turned palms upward, a chloroformed cloth folded over her mouth and nose, lay, in a deep stupor, the figure of margot, her bodice torn wide open and the paper forever gone! * * * * * it was five minutes later when the count von hetzler, crouching back in the shadow of the square and waiting for the return of clodoche, heard a dull, whirring sound that was unmistakably the purr of a motor throb through the stillness; and, leaning forward, saw an automobile whirl up out of the darkness, cut across the square, and dash off westward like a flash. yet in the brief instant it took to go past the place where he waited there was time for him to catch the sharp click of a lowered window, see the clear outlines of a man's face looking out, and to hear a voice from within the vehicle speak. "herr count," it said in clear, incisive tones. "a positively infallible recipe for the invasion of england: wait until the channel freezes and then skate over. good night!" "one for his nob that, gov'nor--my hat, yuss!" said dollops, with a shrill laugh, as he stuck a red head and a face all shiny with cocoa butter and half-removed grease-paint out of the window, and, despite the fact that the swift pace of the automobile had already carried it far past the place where the count had been in hiding, made a fan of his five fingers and his snub nose. "oh, mother 'ubbard! did you see him, sir? bunked back in his 'ole like somebody had 'give him the hook,' and cleared the blessed stage before the eggs began to fly. i don't think them germans 'ull be sittin' on the steps of st. paul's this year, sir--not them!" cleek laughed; and, ordering the boy to shut down the window and get on with the work of changing his clothes, set about doing the same thing himself. "i suppose you know, you clever little monkey, that i should have been floating down the seine with a slit throat and enough lead in me to sink a barrel by this time, if it hadn't been for you," he said, as he pushed the outward semblance of clodoche into the kit-bag, and began to get into ordinary civilian's dress as expeditiously as possible. "if you had slipped up--if you had been one-half minute late--or if that fellow had had a chance to make one cry before you covered his mouth--" "please, sir--_don't_!" interposed dollops, with a sort of shiver. "if anythink had've happened to you, gov'nor ..." then stopped short and made a sound as if he were swallowing something, and then grew very, very still. cleek looked at him out of the corner of his eye--moved in spite of himself--hesitated a moment and then, obeying an impulse, leaned over and gently tapped him on the shoulder. "dollops, shake hands," he said. "sir!" "shake hands." "gawd, gov'nor! you don't never _mean_ that, sir?" "shake hands," said cleek for the third time. "do you know, you little monkey, that you're the only soul in all god's world that could ever muster up a tear for me? thank you, my lad--you're a brick!"--then gripped the grimy hand that was reached out with a sort of awe, wrung it heartily, patted the astonished boy on the shoulder; and fell to whistling merrily as he went on with his dressing. "sir, you do lick me, you fair do," said dollops, laughing unsteadily, and drawing his sleeve across his eyes. "arfter wot you've been and went through, a-sittin' there and whistlin' as merry as can be--like as if life was all beer and skittles, and you hadn't a care in the world." "i haven't--for the minute, my lad," said cleek with a laugh of utter happiness. "beer and skittles? lord, it's all roses my boy, roses! i've had the good luck to accomplish a thing that's going to give me--well, at least one moment in paradise--and when a man has a prospect like that in view ..." his voice trailed off; he laughed again; then fell to whistling once more--noisily, joyously, as if some schoolboy sort of madness was in his blood to-night--and was still whistling when the automobile pulled up sharply in front of the hôtel du louvre. chapter x by this time he had concluded the alteration in his toilet which was necessary to assure his entrance into the hotel without occasioning comment; and as dollops had followed suit they readily passed muster, when they alighted, for an ordinary english gentleman accompanied by an ordinary english manservant. "what was the charge at the garage?" inquired cleek of dollops just previously to alighting. "i dunno wot it runs to in this 'ere rum lingo of francs and sous, sir," said dollops, "but the garage gent he said it would amount to two pounds ten in english money, so i'll have to leave you to work it out for yourself. the shuvver, he said sommink about 'poor boars'--which i've heard is wot you has to give 'em as a tip to themselves, gov'nor--so i promised him 'arf a crown to stop at 'tother end of that passage leadin' up from the twisted arm till he was wanted, sir. made it a good tip because i wanted him to be there sure--it would have been a case of 'nab' for us if he hadn't. wasn't too much, was it, sir?" "no," said cleek--and let him see that it wasn't by giving the chauffeur a pourboire of ten francs and sending him back to the garage with the impression that he had had dealings with a millionaire. ten minutes later the hotel register bore the record of the arrival of "mr. philip barch and servant"; and one attendant was engaged in showing the servant into a neat little bedroom which was to be his resting-place until morning while another was ushering the master into the suite engaged by the baron de carjorac. three persons were there: the baron, his daughter, and his daughter's companion; but cleek saw but one--and that the only one who made no movement, uttered no sound, when he came into the room. curiously pale and curiously quiet, she stood with one arm resting on the mantelpiece and the other hanging by her side, looking at him--looking _for_ him, in fact--but not saying one word, not making one sound. that she left wholly to the baron and his daughter. they, too, maintained, although with an effort, an appearance of composure so long as the hotel servant was present; but in the moment the door closed and the man was gone an overpowering excitement seized and mastered them. "monsieur, for the love of god, don't tell me you have failed," implored the baron. "i have died a hundred deaths of torture and suspense since your card was carried up. but if i am to hear bad news ... oh, my country!" "don't cross bridges, baron, until you come to them," said cleek composedly. "i gave miss lorne my promise that i would not leave france until i had done what she asked me to do; and--i am returning to england to-morrow by the noon boat. i have had an exciting evening, but it has had its compensation. here is something for you. i had a bit of a fight for it, baron--look out that it doesn't get into the wrong hands again." he had taken a small packet of torn papers from his pocket while he was speaking; now he put it into the baron's hand--not wholly without a certain sense of gratification, however, in the excitement and delight which the act called forth; for no man is utterly devoid of personal vanity, personal pride in his achievements, and this man was no less human than his kind. he let the tumult of excitement and joy wear itself out; he suffered the baron's embraces--even the two rapturous kisses the man planted upon first one and then the other of his cheeks--he endured mlle. athalie's exuberant hand-clapping and hand-shaking and the cyclonic and wholly gallic manner in which she deported herself when comparison with the fragments which the baron had still retained proved beyond all question that these were indeed the missing portions of the all-important document; and not until these things were over did he so much as look at ailsa lorne again. she had taken no part in the general excitement, moved not one foot from where she had been standing from the first. even when athalie danced over and hugged her and showed the important fragments; even when she reproved her with a wondering, "ah, you strange anglais--you stone-cold anglais! is it possible that you can have blood in your veins and yet take wondrous things like this so calmly?"--even then, she merely smiled and remained standing just as she still was; her pallor not one whit lessened, her reserve but the merest shadow less apparent than it had been before. cleek chose that moment to walk over to her, to lift his eyes to hers, and to stand looking at her questioningly. for now that he was close to her he could see that she was trembling nervously; that her calmness was merely an outward thing, and that under it nerves writhed and a frightened heart was beating thick and fast. was even the fancied moment in paradise to be denied him then? that such a woman could not, all in a moment--could not by just one act of heroism on his part--be won over and lured into complete forgetfulness of such a past as his, he realized to the fullest extent. always he had been conscious of that; but even so ... ah, well, the meanest may hope, the lowest may at least look up; and even saints and angels were not above saying, "well done!" to a soul that had struggled, to a sinner that had done his best. "i managed it, you see, miss lorne," he said, in a slightly lowered voice, while the baron busied himself in looking for his cheque-book and athalie bustled about in quest of ink and a pen. "it wasn't an easy night's work, and i'm a bit fagged out. so, as i leave in the morning, it will be good-bye as well as good-night." she moved for the first time. the hand that lay upon the shelf of the mantelpiece shook and closed quickly. she lifted up her head and looked at him. her eyes were misty and faint clouds of color were coming and going over her face. "what is it?" he asked. "surely, miss lorne, you--are not afraid of me?" "no," she said, averting her face again. "not of you but of myself. that is--i--" trying to laugh, but making a parody of it--"i was always more or less of a coward, mr. cleek, but ..." she faced round again sharply and held out her hand to him. "will you let me thank you? will you let me say that i must be merely a little child in intellect since it is only now that i have begun to understand how natural it is that a pound of gold should inevitably outweigh an ounce of dirt? and will you please understand that i am trying to thank you, trying to let you know that i am very, very sorry if i ever hurt your feelings. i don't think i meant to. i couldn't see then so clearly as i do now. please forgive me." he took the hand she held out to him; and so had his moment in paradise after all. "hurt me as often as you like, if it will always end like this," he said with a queer little laugh that seemed to come from the very depths of his chest. "as for that other time ... how could i have expected that you would take it in any other way, being what you are and i what i had been? i am glad i told you. you could never have respected me for an instant if you had found it out in any other way; and i want your respect: i want it very, very earnestly, miss lorne. if you can ever give it to me i'll do my best to be worthy of it." she had withdrawn her hand from his and was drumming with her finger-tips upon the mantelshelf. a little pucker was between her eyebrows, she was biting her under lip perplexedly, and appeared to be hesitating. but of a sudden she twitched round her head sharply and a sweep of red went up over her face. "shall i show you how much i do respect you, then?" she said. "one may ask of a friend things one would not dream of asking of a mere acquaintance, and so--mr. cleek, this night of horror has been too much for me. i know now that i can no longer remain in this position in this dreadful city. i have already resigned my post, and will return to england, and--if i am not too late for it--make an effort to secure the post of governess to lady chepstow's little son. i shall start in the morning. will you play the part of friend and guide and see me safely across the channel?" "do you mean that?" he asked, his face alight, his eyes shining. "you will let me have the privilege, the honour? what a queen you are! you give largesse with both hands when a simple coin would have been enough. shall i secure your tickets? when will you have your luggage ready? is there anything you will need before you leave?" she smiled at his enthusiasm, coloured anew, and again held out her hand. "we will talk of all that in the morning," she said. "there will be plenty of time. mlle. de carjorac has promised to look after my effects and to see that they are shipped on to me in due course. but now it really must be good-night. i shall see you again at breakfast." "at breakfast?" repeated cleek, with a happy laugh. "i wonder if you understand that i shall be kicking my heels on my bedside until it is ready?--that i shan't sleep a wink all night?" and as events proved he came respectably close to living up to that exuberant assertion--merely napping now and again, to wake up suddenly and "moon" for an hour or so; and, between periodical inspections of his watch, to wonder if god ever made a night so long and slow-dragging as this one. it had its recompense, however; for all--or nearly all--the next day was passed in company with _her_; and more than that he would not have asked of heaven. long before she rose he had made all arrangements for the journey to calais; and she was not a little gratified--yes, and touched if the truth must be told--on arriving at the train, to find that he had made no effort to secure accommodations which would compel her to endure his companionship alone from the gare du nord to the steamer, but had considerately reserved seats in a compartment containing other travellers, and had done everything in his power to relieve her of any possible embarrassment and to insure her all possible comforts. even magazines and pictorial papers were not omitted, but were there for her in plenty lest she might prefer an excuse for not indulging much in conversation; and there was also a huge bunch of la france roses bought at the temporary flower market beside the madeleine at daybreak that morning. "they are beautiful, aren't they?" he said, as he laid them in her lap. "will it surprise you to learn that flowers are a passion with me, and that i am a living refutation of the fallacy that 'there can be nothing very wrong about a man who can cultivate a garden'?" she looked up at him and smiled. "i think nothing about you will surprise me--you are so many-sided and--if you will pardon me saying it--so different from what one imagines men of--of your calling to be," she said; and laughed a little, colouring divinely until her face was like the roses themselves. "you treat me as if i were a queen; and i am not used to court manners. where, if you please, did you acquire yours?" "in the vast kingdom of the world," he made answer, with just a momentary change of countenance--a mere suspicion of embarrassment: laughed off before she could be quite sure that it had had any real existence. "please remember that to appear to be what one is not, and to ape manners foreign to one's real self is part of what you have so nicely, so euphemistically, termed 'my calling.' i am an actor on the world's stage, miss lorne; i should be but a very poor one if i could not accommodate myself to many rôles." "if you play them all so well as you do that of the _preux chevalier_, it is no wonder you are a success," she replied gaily, slipping thus into easy conversation with him. and so it fell out that the magazines and the illustrated papers were not so much of a boon as both had fancied they might be when cleek brought them to her; for they had not even been opened when the train ran up to the quay side at calais and brought them almost abreast of the channel steamer. chapter xi it was not until they were aboard the boat and the shores of france were slipping off into the distance that miss lorne saw anything at all of dollops. as he had travelled down from paris to calais in a separate compartment there had been no opportunity to do so. he had, too, held himself respectfully aloof even after they had boarded the steamer; and, but that once, when a lurch of the vessel had unexpectedly disturbed cleek's equilibrium and knocked his hat off, she might not have seen him even then. but the manner in which he pounced upon that hat, the tender care with which he brushed it, and the affectionate interest in both voice and eyes when he handed it back and inquired eagerly, "didn't hurt yourself, gov'nor, did you, sir?" compelled her to take notice of him, and, in doing so, to understand the position in which they stood to each other. "you are travelling with a servant?" she enquired. "more than a servant--a devoted henchman, miss lorne. they say you can't purchase fidelity for all the money in the world, but i secured the finest brand of it in the universe by the simple outlay of two half crowns. it is the boy of that night on hampstead heath--the boy who stood at the turning point. the devil didn't get him, you see. he kept his promise and has been walking the straight road ever since." she turned round and looked at him; realizing more of the man's character in that moment than a hundred deeds of bravery, a thousand acts of gentle courtesy, could ever have made her understand. "and you took him in?" she said slowly. "you gave him a chance? you helped him to redeem himself? how good of you." "how good _for_ me, you mean," he laughed, "it was 'bread on the waters' with a vengeance, miss lorne. i should have lost my life last night but for that boy."--and told her briefly and airily how the thing had come to pass. "don't think it vindictive of me, but i am sorry, i am very, very sorry you were not able to hand that dreadful woman, margot, over to the authorities, mr. cleek," she said, with an expression of great seriousness. "she is not likely to forget or to forgive what you have done; and some day, perhaps ... oh, do be on your guard. it was really foolhardy to have attempted the thing alone. surely you might have appealed for assistance to the paris police and not only have minimised your personal risk but made sure of the woman's arrest." "not without allowing the authorities to learn exactly what the baron de carjorac was so anxious to keep them _from_ learning, miss lorne. they must have found out what i was after, what really had been lost, if i had applied to them for assistance. i had either to do the thing alone or drop the case entirely. and drop it i would not after _you_ had asked me to accept it, and--pardon? no, miss lorne, i do not know who the woman margot really is. even that name may be fictitious, as was the one of 'comtesse de la tour.' i only know of her that she is one of the great figures of the underworld; that money is her game--money alone; money first, last, and all the time; that her personal history is as much of a mystery to her closest associates as was--well, no matter; people of that ilk are not fit subjects to discuss with you. all that i know of the woman is that she has travelled pretty well over the world; that some six or eight months ago she was in ceylon with a--er--a certain member of her crew, and came within an ace of falling foul of the law. she had put up a plan to loot the depository of the pearl fisheries company at a period when there were thousands of pounds worth of gems awaiting transport. with her usual luck she slipped out of the net and left the country before she could be arrested. but she will have found something there that will repay her for the visit in one way or another. luck of that kind seems to follow her always." and a long time afterward he had reason to remember what he said. for the present, however, he had banished from his mind all things but the happiness which was his to-day; and gave himself up to that happiness with his whole heart. not once did he again intrude anything that had to do with himself, his exploits, or his future upon ailsa's attention until all the voyage across the channel and all the journey from dover up to london had come to an end; and even then, eager though he was to know how matters might shape themselves for _her_ future--he was tactful, considerate, careful not to force her into any embarrassing position or to claim from her more than the merest acquaintance might. "you are going to your friend at hampstead, i suppose," he said as he handed her into a taxicab at charing cross. "i shall like to know if you succeed in getting the position with lady chepstow; and if you send no word to mr. narkom, i shall take silence as an assent and know that you have." and afterward, when the days grew in number and late april merged into early may and no word came, he knew that she had succeeded; and was comforted, thinking of her safely housed and perhaps in a position more congenial than the last. at any rate, she was in england, she was again in the same land with him; and that of itself was comfort. but other comforts were not wanting. the full glory of tulip time was here; the yard had no immediate occasion for his services, and time was his to dawdle in the public parks among the children, the birds, and the flowers. "and, lord, how he do love 'em all, bless his heart!" commented dollops in confidence to himself as he bustled about, putting the den in order, watering the plants and touching lovingly the things that belonged to the master he adored--his daily task when cleek was in the park and had no need for his services. it was a pleasure to the boy, that service. his whole heart was in it. he resented anything that interfered with it even for an instant; and as at this particular time he was in the very midst of preparing a small surprise against his master's return, he was by no means pleased when a sharp whirring sound of a telephone bell shrilled out from the adjoining room and called him from his labour of love. "oh, blow that thing! a body don't have a minute to call his own since it's been put in," he blurted out disgustedly, and answered the call. "'ullo! yuss; this is cap'n burbage's. wot? no, he aren't in. dunno when he will be. dunno where he is. but if there's any messidge--i say, who wants him? wot? oh, s'elp me. you, is it, mr. narkom? yuss, it's me, sir--dollops. wot? no, sir. went out two hours ago. gone to kensington palace gardens. tulips is in full bloom and you couldn't hold him indoors with a chain at tulip-time, bless his heart. yuss, sir. top hat, white spats--same as the 'cap'n' always wears, sir." narkom, at the other end of the line, called back: "if i miss him, if he comes in without seeing me, tell him to wait; i'll be round before three. good-bye!" then hung up the receiver and turned to the gentleman who stood by the window on the other side of the private office, agitatedly twirling the end of his thick grey-threaded moustache with one hand, while with the other he drummed a nervous tattoo upon the broad oaken sill. "not at home, sir henry; but, fortunately, i know where to find him with but little loss of time," he said, and pressed twice upon an electric button beside his desk. "my motor will be at the door in a couple of minutes, and with ordinary luck we ought to be able to pick him up inside of the next half-hour." sir henry--sir henry wilding, bart., to give him his full name and title--a handsome, well-set-up man of about forty years of age, well groomed, and with the upright bearing which comes of military training, twisted round on his heel at this and gave the superintendent an almost grateful look. "i hope so--god knows i hope so, mr. narkom," he said agitatedly. "time is the one important thing at present. the suspense and uncertainty are getting on my nerves so horribly that the very minutes seem endless. remember, there are only three days before the race, and if those rascals, whoever they are, get at black riot before then, god help me--that's all! and if this man cleek can't probe the diabolical mystery, they _will_ get at her, too, and put logan where they put tolliver, the brutes!" "you may trust cleek to see that they don't, sir henry. it is just the kind of case he will glory in; and if black riot is all that you believe her, you'll carry off the derby in spite of these enterprising gentry who--hallo! here's the motor. clap on your hat, sir henry, and come along. mind the step! kensington palace gardens, lennard--and as fast as you can streak it." chapter xii the chauffeur proved that he could "streak it" as close to the margin of the speed limit as the law dared wink at, even in the case of the well-known red limousine, and in a little over ten minutes pulled up before the park gates. narkom jumped out, beckoned sir henry to follow him, and together they hurried into the grounds in quest of cleek. where the famous tulip beds made splotches of brilliant colour against the clear emerald of the closely clipped grass they came upon him--a solitary figure in the garb of the elderly seaman, "captain burbage, of clarges street"--seated on one of the garden benches, his hands folded over the knob of his thick walking-stick and his chin resting upon them, staring fixedly at the gorgeous flowers and apparently deaf and blind to all else. he was not, however; for as the superintendent approached he, without altering his gaze or his attitude in the slightest particle, said with the utmost calmness: "superb, are they not, my friend? what a pity they should be scentless. it is as though heaven had created a butterfly and deprived it of the secret of flight. walk on, please, without addressing me. i am quite friendly with that policeman yonder and i do not wish him to suspect that the elderly gentleman he is so kind to is in any way connected with the yard. examine the tulips. that's right. you came in your limousine, of course? where is it?" "just outside the gates, at the end of the path on the right," replied narkom, halting with sir henry and appearing to be wholly absorbed in pointing out the different varieties of tulips. "good," replied cleek, apparently taking not the slightest notice. "i'll toddle on presently, and when you return from inspecting the flowers you will find me inside the motor awaiting you." "do, old chap--and please hurry; time is everything in this case. let me introduce you to your client. (keep looking at the flowers, please, sir henry.) i have the honour to make you acquainted with sir henry wilding, cleek; he needs you, my dear fellow." "delighted--in both instances. my compliments, sir henry. by any chance that sir henry wilding whose mare, black riot, is the favourite for next wednesday's derby?" "yes--that very man, mr. cleek; and if--" "don't get excited and don't turn, please; our friend the policeman is looking this way. what's the case? one of 'nobbling'? somebody trying to get at the mare?" "yes. a desperate 'somebody,' who doesn't stop even at murder. a very devil incarnate who seems to possess the power of invisibility, and who strikes in the dark. save me, mr. cleek! all i've got in the world is at stake, and if anything happens to black riot, i'm a ruined man." "yar-r-r!" yawned the elderly sea captain, rising and stretching. "i do believe, constable, i've been asleep. warm weather, this, for may. a glorious week for epsom. shan't see you to-morrow, i'm afraid. perhaps shan't see you until thursday. here, take that, my lad, and have half-a-crown's worth on black riot for the derby; she'll win it, sure." "thanky, sir. good luck to you, sir." "same to you, my lad. good day." then the old gentleman in the top hat and white spats moved slowly away, passed down the tree-shaded walk, passed the romping children, passed the princess louise's statue of queen victoria, and, after a moment, vanished. ten minutes later, when narkom and sir henry returned to the waiting motor, they found him seated within it awaiting them, as he had promised. giving lennard orders to drive about slowly in the least frequented quarters, while they talked, the superintendent got in with sir henry, and opened fire on the "case" without further delay. "my dear cleek," he said, "as you appear to know all about sir henry and his famous mare, there's no need to go into that part of the subject, so i may as well begin by telling you at once that sir henry has come up to town for the express purpose of getting you to go down to his place in suffolk to-night in company with him, as his only hope of outwitting a diabolical agency which has set out to get at the horse and put it out of commission before derby day, and in the most mysterious, the most inscrutable manner ever heard of, my dear chap. already one groom who sat up to watch with her has been killed, another hopelessly paralysed, and to-night logan, the mare's trainer, is to sit up with her in the effort to baulk the almost superhuman rascal who is at the bottom of it all. conceive if you can, my dear fellow, a power so crafty, so diabolical, that it gets into a locked and guarded stable, gets in, my dear cleek, despite four men constantly pacing back and forth before each and every window and door that leads into the place and with a groom on guard inside, and then gets out again in the same mysterious manner without having been seen or heard by a living soul. in addition to all the windows being small and covered with a grille of iron, a fact which would make it impossible for anyone to get in or out once the doors were closed and guarded, sir henry himself will tell you that the stable has been ransacked from top to bottom, every hole and every corner probed into, and not a living creature of any sort discovered. yet only last night the groom, tolliver, was set upon inside the place and killed outright in his efforts to protect the horse; killed, cleek, with four men patrolling outside, and willing to swear--each and every one of them--that nothing and no one, either man, woman, child or beast, passed them going in or getting out from sunset until dawn." "hum-m-m!" said cleek, sucking in his lower lip. "mysterious, to say the least. was there no struggle? did the men on guard hear no cry?" "in the case of the first groom, murple, the one that was paralysed--no," said sir henry, as the question was addressed to him. "but in the case of tolliver--yes. the men heard him cry out, heard him call out 'help!' but by the time they could get the doors open it was all over. he was lying doubled up before the entrance to black riot's stall, with his face to the floor, as dead as julius caesar, poor fellow, and not a sign of anybody anywhere." "and the horse? did anybody get at that?" "no; for the best of reasons. as soon as these attacks began, mr. cleek, i sent up to london. a gang of twenty-four men came down, with steel plates, steel joists, steel posts, and in seven hours' time black riot's box was converted into a sort of safe, to which i alone hold the key the instant it is locked up for the night. a steel grille about half a foot deep, and so tightly meshed that nothing bigger than a mouse could pass through, runs all round the enclosure close to the top of the walls, and this supplies ventilation. when the door is closed at night, it automatically connects itself with an electric gong in my own bedroom, so that the slightest attempt to open it, or even to touch it, would hammer out an alarm close to my head." "has it ever done so?" "yes--last night, when tolliver was killed." "how killed, sir henry? stabbed or shot?" "neither. he appeared to have been strangled, poor fellow, and to have died in most awful agony." "strangled? but, my dear sir, that would hardly have been possible in so short a time. you say your men heard him call out for help. granted that it took them a full minute--and it probably did not take them half one--to open the doors and come to his assistance, he would not be stone dead in so short a time; and he was stone dead when they got in, i believe you said?" "yes. god knows what killed him--the coroner will find that out, no doubt--but there was no blood shed and no mark upon him that i could see." "hum-m-m! was there any mark on the door of the steel stall?" "yes. a long scratch, somewhat semi-circular, and sweeping downwards at the lower extremity. it began close to the lock and ended about a foot and a half lower." "undoubtedly, you see, cleek," put in narkom, "someone tried to force an entrance to the steel room and get at the mare, but the prompt arrival of the men on guard outside the stable prevented his doing so." cleek made no response. just at that moment the limousine was gliding past a building whose courtyard was one blaze of parrot tulips, and, his eye caught by the flaming colours, he was staring at them and reflectively rubbing his thumb and forefinger up and down his chin. after a moment, however: "tell me something, sir henry," he said abruptly. "is anybody interested in your not putting black riot into the field on derby day? anybody with whom you have a personal acquaintance, i mean, for of course i know there are other owners who would be glad enough to see him scratched. but is there anybody who would have a particular interest in your failure?" "yes--one. major lambson-bowles, owner of minnow. minnow's second favourite, as perhaps you know. it would delight lambson-bowles to see me 'go under'; and as i'm so certain of black riot that i've mortgaged every stick and stone i have in the world to back her, i should go under if anything happened to the mare. that would suit lambson-bowles down to the ground." "bad blood between you, then?" "yes--very. the fellow's a brute, and--i thrashed him once, as he deserved, the bounder. it may interest you to know that my only sister was his first wife. he led her a dog's life, poor girl, and death was a merciful release to her. twelve months ago he married a rich american woman--widow of a man who made millions in hides and leather. that's when lambson-bowles took up racing, and how he got the money to keep a stud. had the beastly bad taste, too, to come down to suffolk--within a gunshot of wilding hall--take elmslie manor, the biggest and grandest place in the neighbourhood, and cut a dash under my very nose, as it were." "oho!" said cleek; "then the major is a neighbour as well as a rival for the derby plate. i see! i see!" "no, you don't--altogether," said sir henry quickly. "lambson-bowles is a brute and a bounder in many ways, but--well, i don't believe he is low-down enough to do this sort of thing--and with murder attached to it, too--although he did try to bribe poor tolliver to leave me. offered my trainer double wages, too, to chuck me and take up his horses." "oh, he did that, did he? sure of it, sir henry?" "absolutely. saw the letter he wrote to logan." "hum-m-m! feel that you can rely on logan, do you?" "to the last gasp. he's as true to me as my own shadow. if you want proof of it, mr. cleek, he's going to sit in the stable and keep guard himself to-night--in the face of what happened to murple and tolliver." "murple is the groom who was paralysed, is he not?" said cleek, after a moment. "singular thing, that. what paralysed him, do you think?" "heaven knows. he might just as well have been killed as poor tolliver was, for he'll never be any use again, the doctors say. some injury to the spinal column, and with it a curious affection of the throat and tongue. he can neither swallow nor speak. nourishment has to be administered by tube, and the tongue is horribly swollen." "i'm of the opinion, cleek," put in narkom, "that strangulation is merely part of the procedure of the rascal who makes these diabolical nocturnal visits. in other words, that he is armed with some quick-acting infernal poison, which he forces into the mouths of his victims. that paralysis of the muscles of the throat is one of the symptoms of prussic acid poisoning, you must remember." "i do remember, mr. narkom," replied cleek enigmatically. "my memory is much stimulated by these details, i assure you. i gather from them that, whatever is administered, murple did not get quite so much of it as tolliver, or he, too, would be dead. sir henry"--he turned again to the baronet--"do you trust everybody else connected with your establishment as much as you trust logan?" "yes. there's not a servant connected with the hall that hasn't been in my service for years, and all are loyal to me." "may i ask who else is in the house besides the servants?" "my wife, lady wilding, for one; her cousin, mr. sharpless, who is on a visit to us, for another; and, for a third, my uncle, the rev. ambrose smeer, the famous revivalist." "mr. smeer does not approve of the race track, of course?" "no, he does not. he is absurdly 'narrow' on some subjects, and 'sport' of all sorts is one of them. but, beyond that, he is a dear, lovable old fellow, of whom i am amazingly fond." "hum-m-m! and lady wilding and mr. sharpless--do they, too, disapprove of racing?" "quite to the contrary. both are enthusiastic upon the subject, and both have the utmost faith in black riot's certainty of winning. lady wilding is something more than attached to the mare; and as for mr. sharpless, he is so upset over these rascally attempts that every morning when the steel room is opened and the animal taken out, although nothing ever happens in the daylight, he won't let her get out of his sight for a single instant until she is groomed and locked up for the night. he is so incensed, so worked up over this diabolical business, that i verily believe if he caught any stranger coming near the mare he'd shoot him in his tracks." "hum-m-m!" said cleek abstractedly, and then sat silent for a long time, staring at his spats and moving one thumb slowly round the breadth of the other, his fingers interlaced and his lower lip pushed upwards over the one above. "there, that's the case, cleek," said narkom, after a time. "do you make anything out of it?" "yes," he replied; "i make a good deal out of it, mr. narkom, but, like the language of the man who stepped on the banana skin, it isn't fit for publication. one question more, sir henry. heaven forbid it, of course, but if anything should happen to logan to-night, whom would you put on guard over the horse to-morrow?" "do you think i could persuade anybody if a third man perished?" said the baronet, answering one question with another. "i don't believe there's a groom in england who'd take the risk for love or money. there would be nothing for it but to do the watching myself. what's that? do it? certainly, i'd do it! everybody that knows me knows that." "ah, i see!" said cleek, and lapsed into silence again. "but you'll come, won't you?" exclaimed sir henry agitatedly. "it won't happen if you take up the case; mr. narkom tells me he is sure of that. come with me, mr. cleek. my motor is waiting at the garage. come back with me, for god's sake--for humanity's sake--and get to the bottom of the thing." "yes," said cleek in reply. "give lennard the address of the garage, please; and--mr. narkom!" "yes, old chap?" "pull up at the first grocer's shop you see, will you, and buy me a couple of pounds of the best white flour that's milled; and if you can't manage to get me either a sieve or a flour dredger, a tin pepper-pot will do!" chapter xiii it was two o'clock when sir henry wilding's motor turned its back upon the outskirts of london, and it was a quarter past seven when it whirled up to the stables of wilding hall, and the baronet and his grey-headed, bespectacled and white-spatted companion alighted, having taken five hours and a quarter to make a journey which the trains which run daily between liverpool street and darsham make in four. as a matter of fact, however, they really had outstripped the train, but it had been cleek's pleasure to make two calls on the way, one at saxmundham, where the paralysed murple lay in the infirmary of the local practitioner, the other at the mortuary where the body of tolliver was retained, awaiting the sitting of the coroner. both the dead and the still living man cleek had subjected to a critical personal examination, but whether either furnished him with any suggested clue he did not say; indeed, the only remark he made upon the subject was when sir henry, on hearing from murple's wife that the doctor had said he would probably not last the week out, had inquired if the woman knew where to "put her hand on the receipt for the payment of the last premium, so that her claim could be sent into the life assurance company without delay when the end came." "tell me something, sir henry," said cleek when he heard that, and noticed how gratefully the woman looked at the baronet when she replied, "yes, sir henry, god bless you, sir!" "tell me, if it is not an impertinent question, did you take out an insurance policy on murple's life and pay the premium on it yourself? i gathered the idea that you did from the manner in which the woman spoke to you." "yes, i did," replied sir henry. "as a matter of fact, i take out a similar policy--payable to the widow--for every married man i employ in connection with my racing stud." "may i ask why?" "well, for one thing, they usually are too poor and have too many children to support to be able to take it out for themselves, and exercising racers has a good many risks. then, for another thing, i'm a firm believer in the policy of life assurance. it's just so much money laid up in safety, and one never knows what may happen." "then it is fair," said cleek, "to suppose, in that case, that you have taken out one on your own life?" "yes--rather! and a whacking big one, too." "and lady wilding is, of course, the beneficiary?" "certainly. there are no children, you know. as a matter of fact, we have been married only seven months. before the date of my wedding the policy was in my uncle ambrose's--the rev. mr. smeer's--favour." "ah, i see!" said cleek reflectively. then fell to thinking deeply over the subject, and was still thinking of it when the motor whizzed into the stable yard at wilding hall and brought him into contact for the first time with the trainer, logan. he didn't much fancy logan at first blush--and logan didn't fancy him at all at any time. "hur!" he said disgustedly, in a stage aside to his master, as cleek stood on the threshold of the stable, with his head thrown back and his chin at an angle, sniffing the air somewhat after the manner of a bird-dog. "hur! if un's the best scotland yard could let out to ye, sir--a half-baked old softy like that!--the rest of 'em must be a blessed poor lot, ah'm thinkin'. what's un doin' now, the noodle?--snuffin' the air like he did not understand the smell of it! he'd not be expectin' a stable to be scented with eau de cologne, would he? what's un name, sir?" "cleek." "hur! sounds like a golf-stick--an' ah've no doubt he's got a head like one: main thick and with a twist in un. i dunna like 'tecs, sir henry, and i dunna like this one especial. who's to tell as he aren't in with they devils as is after black riot? naw! i dunna like him at all." meantime, serenely unconscious of the displeasure he had excited in logan's breast, cleek went on sniffing the air and "poking about," as he phrased it, in all corners of the stable; and when, a moment later, sir henry went in and joined him, he was standing before the door of the steel room examining the curving scratch of which the baronet had spoken. "what do you make of it, mr. cleek?" "not much in the way of a clue, sir henry--a clue to any possible intruder, i mean. if your artistic soul hadn't rebelled against bare steel--which would, of course, have soon rusted in this ammonia-impregnated atmosphere--and led you to put a coat of paint over the metal, there would have been no mark at all, the thing is so slight. i am of the opinion that tolliver himself caused it. in short, that it was made by either a pin or a cuff button in his wristband when he was attacked and fell. but, enlighten me upon a puzzling point, sir henry: what do you use coriander and oil of sassafras for in a stable?" "coriander? oil of sassafras? i don't know what the dickens they are. have you found such things here?" "no; simply smelt them. the combination is not usual--indeed, i know of but one race in the world who make any use of it, and they merely for a purpose which, of course, could not possibly exist here, unless--" he allowed the rest of the sentence to go by default, and turning, looked all round the place. for the first time he seemed to notice something unusual for the equipment of a stable, and regarded it with silent interest. it was nothing more nor less than a box, covered with sheets of virgin cork, and standing on the floor just under one of the windows, where the light and air could get to a weird-looking, rubbery-leaved, orchid-like plant, covered with ligulated scarlet blossoms which grew within it. "sir henry," he said, after a moment, "may i ask how long it is since you were in south america?" "i? never was there in my life, mr. cleek--never." "ah! then who connected with the hall has been?" "oh, i see what you are driving at," said sir henry, following the direction of his gaze. "that patagonian plant, eh? that belonged to poor tolliver. he had a strange fancy for ferns and rock plants and things of that description, and as that particular specimen happens to be one that does better in the atmosphere of a stable than elsewhere, he kept it in here." "who told him that it does better in the atmosphere of a stable?" "lady wilding's cousin, mr. sharpless. it was he who gave tolliver the plant." "oho! then mr. sharpless has been to south america, has he?" "why, yes. as a matter of fact, he comes from there; so also does lady wilding. i should have thought you would have remembered that, mr. cleek, when--but perhaps you have never heard? she--they--that is," stammering confusedly and colouring to the temples, "up to seven months ago, mr. cleek, lady wilding was on the--er--music-hall stage. she and mr. sharpless were known as 'signor morando and la belle creole'--they did a living statue turn together. it was highly artistic; people raved; i--er--fell in love with the lady and--that's all!" but it wasn't; for cleek, reading between the lines, saw that the mad infatuation which had brought the lady a title and an over-generous husband had simmered down--as such things always do sooner or later--and that the marriage was very far from being a happy one. as a matter of fact, he learned later that the county, to a woman, had refused to accept lady wilding; that her ladyship, chafing under this ostracism, was for having a number of her old professional friends come down to visit her and make a time of it, and that, on sir henry's objecting, a violent quarrel had ensued, and the rev. ambrose smeer had come down to the hall in the effort to make peace. and he learned something else that night which gave him food for deep reflection: the rev. ambrose smeer, too, had been to south america, and when he met that gentleman--well, in spite of the fact that sir henry thought so highly of him, and it was known that his revival meetings had done a world of good, cleek did not fancy the rev. ambrose smeer any more than he fancied the trainer, logan. but to return to the present. by this time the late falling twilight of may had begun to close in, and presently--as the day was now done and the night approaching--logan led in black riot from the paddock, followed by a slim, sallow-featured, small-moustached man, bearing a shotgun, and dressed in grey tweeds. sir henry, who, it was plain to see, had a liking for the man, introduced this newcomer to cleek as the south american, mr. andrew sharpless. "that's the english of it, mr. cleek," said the latter jovially, but with an undoubted spanish twist to the tongue. "i wouldn't have you risk breaking your jaw with the brazilian original. delighted to meet you, sir. i hope to heaven you will get at the bottom of this diabolical thing. what do you think, henry? lambson-bowles's jockey was over in this neighbourhood this afternoon. trying to see how black riot shapes, of course, the bounder! fortunately i saw him skulking along on the other side of the hedge, and gave him two minutes in which to make himself scarce. if he hadn't, if he had come a step nearer to the mare, i'd have shot him down like a dog. that's right, logan, put her up for the night, old chap, and i'll get out your bedding." "aye," said logan, through his clamped teeth, "and god help man or devil that comes a-nigh her this night--god help him, lunnon mister, that's all ah say!" then he passed into the steel room with the mare, attended her for the night, and coming out a minute or two later, locked her up and gave sir henry the key. "broke her and trained her, ah did; and willin' to die for her, ah am, if ah can't pull un through no other way," he said, pausing before cleek and giving him a black look, "a derby winner her's cut out for, lunnon mister, and a derby winner her's goin' to be, in spite of all the lambson-bowleses and the low-down horse-nobblers in christendom!" then he switched round and walked over to sharpless, who had taken a pillow and a bundle of blankets from a convenient cupboard, and was making a bed of them on the floor at the foot of the locked steel door. "thanky, sir, 'bliged to un, sir," said logan as sharpless hung up the shotgun and, with a word to the baronet, excused himself and went in to dress for dinner. then he faced round again on cleek, who was once more sniffing the air, and pointed to the rude bed: "there's where ted logan sleeps this night--there!" he went on suddenly; "and them as tries to get at black riot comes to grips with me first, me and the shotgun mr. sharpless has left ah. and if ah shoot, lunnon mister, ah shoot to kill!" "do me a favour, sir henry," said cleek. "for reasons of my own, i want to be in this stable alone for the next ten minutes, and after that let no one come into it until morning. i won't be accountable for this man's life if he stops in here to-night, and for his sake, as well as for your own, i want you to forbid him to do so." logan seemed to go nearly mad with rage at this. "ah won't listen to it! ah will stop here--ah will! ah will!" he cried out in a passion. "who comes ull find ah here waitin' to come to grips with un. ah won't stop out--ah won't! don't un listen to lunnon mister, sir henry--for god's sake, don't!" "i am afraid i must in this instance, logan. you are far too suspicious, my good fellow. mr. cleek doesn't want to 'get at' the mare; he wants to protect her; to keep anybody else from getting at her, so--join the guard outside if you are so eager. you must let him have his way." and, in spite of all logan's pleading, cleek did have his way. protesting, swearing, almost weeping, the trainer was turned out and the doors closed, leaving cleek alone in the stable; and the last logan and sir henry saw of him until he came out and rejoined them he was standing in the middle of the floor, with his hands on both hips, staring fixedly at the impromptu bed in front of the steel-room door. "put on the guard now and see that nobody goes into the place until morning, sir henry," he said when he came out and rejoined them some minutes later. "logan, you silly fellow, you'll do no good fighting against fate. make the best of it and stop where you are." chapter xiv that night cleek met lady wilding for the first time. he found her what he afterwards termed "a splendid animal," beautiful, statuesque, more of juno than of venus, and freely endowed with the languorous temperament and the splendid earthy loveliness which grows nowhere but under tropical skies and in the shadow of palm groves and the flame of cactus flowers. she showed him but scant courtesy, however, for she was but a poor hostess, and after dinner carried her cousin away to the billiard-room, and left her husband to entertain the rev. ambrose and the detective as best he could. cleek needed but little entertaining, however, for in spite of his serenity he was full of the case on hand, and kept wandering in and out of the house and upstairs and down until eleven o'clock came and bed claimed him with the rest. his last wakeful recollection was of the clock in the lower corridor striking the first quarter after eleven; then sleep claimed him, and he knew no more until all the stillness was suddenly shattered by a loud-voiced gong hammering out an alarm and the sound of people tumbling out of bed and scurrying about in a panic of fright. he jumped out of bed, pulled on his clothing, and rushed out into the hall, only to find it alive with people, and at their head sir henry, with a dressing-gown thrown on over his pyjamas and a bedroom candle in his shaking hand. "the stable!" he cried out excitedly. "come on, come on, for god's sake! someone has touched the door of the steel room; and yet the place was left empty--empty!" but it was no longer empty, as they found out when they reached it, for the doors had been flung open, the men who had been left on guard outside the stables were now inside it, the electric lights were in full blaze, the shotgun still hanging where sharpless had left it, the impromptu bed was tumbled and tossed in a man's death agony, and at the foot of the steel door logan lay, curled up in a heap and stone dead! "he would get in, sir henry, he'd have shot one or the other of us if we hadn't let him," said one of the outer guards as sir henry and cleek appeared. "he would lie before the door and watch, sir--he simply would; and god have mercy on him, poor chap; he was faithful to the last!" "and the last might not have come for years, the fool, if he had only obeyed," said cleek; then lapsed into silence and stood staring at a dust of white flour on the red-tiled floor and at a thin wavering line that broke the even surface of it. it was perhaps two minutes later when the entire household--mistress, guests, and servants alike--came trooping across the open space between the hall and the stables in a state of semi-deshabille, but in that brief space of time friendly hands had reverently lifted the body of the dead man from its place before the steel door, and sir henry was nervously fitting the key to the lock in a frantic effort to get in and see if black riot was safe. "dios! what is it? what has happened?" cried lady wilding as she came hurrying in, followed closely by sharpless and the rev. ambrose smeer. then, catching sight of logan's body, she gave a little scream and covered her eyes. "the trainer, andrew, the trainer now!" she went on half hysterically. "another death--another! surely they have got the wretch at last?" "the mare! the mare, henry! is she safe?" exclaimed sharpless excitedly as he whirled away from his cousin's side and bore down upon the baronet. "give me the key--you're too nervous." and, taking it from him, unlocked the steel room and passed swiftly into it. in another instant black riot was led out--uninjured, untouched, in the very pink of condition--and, in spite of the tragedy and the dead man's presence, one or two of the guards were so carried away that they essayed a cheer. "stop that! stop it instantly!" rapped out sir henry, facing round upon them. "what's a horse--even the best--beside the loss of an honest life like that?" and flung out a shaking hand in the direction of dead logan. "it will be the story of last night over again, of course? you heard his scream, heard his fall, but he was dead when you got to him--dead--and you found no one here?" "not a soul, sir henry. the doors were all locked; no grille is missing from any window; no one is in the loft; no one in any of the stalls; no one in any crook or corner of the place." "send for the constable--the justice of the peace--anybody!" chimed in the rev. ambrose smeer at this. "henry, will you never be warned, never take these awful lessons to heart? this sinful practice of racing horses for money--" "oh, hush, hush! don't preach me a sermon now, uncle," interposed sir henry. "my heart's torn, my mind crazed by this abominable thing. poor old logan! poor, faithful old chap! oh!" he whirled and looked over at cleek, who still stood inactive, staring at the flour-dusted floor. "and they said that no mystery was too great for you to get to the bottom of it, no riddle too complex for you to find the answer! can't you do something? can't you suggest something? can't you see any glimmer of light at all?" cleek looked up, and that curious smile which narkom knew so well--and would have known had he been there was the "danger signal"--looped up one corner of his mouth. "i fancy it is _all_ 'light,' sir henry," he said. "i may be wrong, but i fancy it is merely a question of comparative height. do i puzzle you by that? well, let me explain. lady wilding there is one height, mr. sharpless is another, and i am a third; and if they two were to place themselves side by side and, say, about four inches apart, and i were to stand immediately behind them, the difference would be most apparent. there you are. do you grasp it?" "not in the least." "bothered if i do either," supplemented sharpless. "it all sounds like tommy rot to me." "does it?" said cleek. "then let me explain it by illustration"--and he walked quietly towards them. "lady wilding, will you oblige me by standing here? thank you very much. now, if you please, mr. sharpless, will you stand beside her ladyship while i take up my place here immediately behind you both? that's it exactly. a little nearer, please--just a little, so that your left elbow touches her ladyship's right. now then"--his two hands moved briskly, there was a click-click, and after it: "there you are--that explains it, my good mr. and mrs. filippo bucarelli; that explains it completely!" and as he stepped aside on saying this, those who were watching, those who heard lady wilding's scream and mr. sharpless's snarling oath and saw them vainly try to spring apart and dart away, saw also that a steel handcuff was on the woman's right wrist, its mate on the man's left one, and that they were firmly chained together. "in the name of heaven, man," began sir henry, appalled by this, and growing red and white by rapid turns. "i fancy that heaven has very little to do with this precious pair, sir henry," interposed cleek. "you want the two people who are accountable for these diabolical crimes, and--there they stand." "what! do you mean to tell me that sharpless, that my wife--" "don't give the lady a title to which she has not and never had any legal right, sir henry. if it had ever occurred to you to emulate my example to-night and search the lady's effects, you would have found that she was christened enriqua dolores torjado, and that she was married to señor filippo bucarelli here, at valparaiso, in chili, three years ago, and that her marriage to you was merely a clever little scheme to get hold of a pot of money and share it with her rascally husband." "it's a lie!" snarled out the male prisoner. "it's an infernal policeman's lie! you never found any such thing!" "pardon me, but i did," replied cleek serenely. "and what's more, i found the little phial of coriander and oil of sassafras in your room, señor, and--i shall finish off the mynga worm in another ten minutes!" bucarelli and his wife gave a mingled cry, and, chained together though they were, made a wild bolt for the door; only, however, to be met on the threshold by the local constable, to whom cleek had dispatched a note some hours previously. "thank you, mr. philpotts; you are very prompt," he said. "there are your prisoners nicely trussed and waiting for you. take them away--we are quite done with them here. sir henry"--he turned to the baronet--"if black riot is fitted to win the derby she will win it, and you need have no more fear for her safety. no one has ever for one moment tried to get at her. you yourself were the one that precious pair were after, and the bait was your life assurance. by killing off the watchers over black riot one by one they knew that there would come a time when, being able to get no one else to take the risk of guarding the horse and sleeping on that bed before the steel-room door, you would do it yourself; and when that time came they would have had you." "but how? by what means?" "by one of the most diabolical imaginable. among the reptiles of patagonia, sir henry, there is one--a species of black adder, known in the country as the mynga worm--whose bite is more deadly than that of the rattler or the copperhead, and as rapid in its action as prussic acid itself. it has, too, a great velocity of movement and a peculiar power of springing and hurling itself upon its prey. the patagonians are a barbarous people in the main and, like all barbarous people, are vengeful, cunning, and subtle. a favourite revenge of theirs upon unsuspecting enemies is to get within touch of them and secretly to smear a mixture of coriander and oil of sassafras upon some part of their bodies, and then either to lure or drive them into the forest; for by a peculiar arrangement of mother nature this mixture has a fascination, a maddening effect upon the mynga worm--just as a red rag has on a bull--and, enraged by the scent, it finds the spot smeared with it and delivers its deadly bite." "good heaven! how horrible! and you mean to tell me--" "that they employed one of these deadly reptiles in this case? yes, sir henry. i suspected it the very moment i smelt the odour of the coriander and sassafras; but i suspected that an animal or a reptile of some kind was at the bottom of the mystery at a prior period. that is why i wanted the flour. look! do you see where i sifted it over this spot near the patagonian plant? and do you see those serpentine tracks through the middle of it? the mynga worm is there--in that box, at the roots of that plant. now see!" he caught up a horse blanket, spread it on the floor, lifted the box and plant, set them down in the middle of it, and with a quick gathering up of the ends of the blanket converted it into a bag and tied it round with a hitching strap. "get spades, forks, anything, and dig a hole outside in the paddock," he went on. "a deep hole--a yard deep at the least--then get some straw, some paraffin, turpentine--anything that will burn furiously and quickly--and we will soon finish the little beast." the servants flew to obey, and when the hole was dug he carried the bag out and lowered it carefully into it, covered it with straw, drenched this with a gallon or more of lamp oil, and rapidly applied a match to it and sprang back. a moment later those who were watching saw a small black snake make an ineffectual effort to leap out of the blazing mass, fall back into the flames and disappear for ever. "the method of procedure?" said cleek, answering the baronet's query as the latter was pouring out what he called "a nerve settler," prior to following the rev. ambrose's example and going to bed. "very cunning, and yet very, very simple, sir henry. bucarelli made a practice, as i saw this evening, of helping the chosen watcher to make his bed on the floor in front of the door to the steel room, but during the time he was removing the blankets from the cupboard his plan was to smear them with the coriander and sassafras and so arrange the top blanket that when the watcher lay down the stuff touched his neck or throat and made that the point of attack for the snake, whose fangs make a small round spot not bigger than a knitting needle, which is easily passed over by those not used to looking for such a thing. there was such a spot on tolliver's throat; such another at the base of murple's skull, and there is a third in poor logan's left temple. no, thank you--no more to-night, sir henry. alcohol and i are never more than speaking acquaintances at the best of times. but if you really wish to do me a kindness--" "i don't think there is room to doubt that, mr. cleek. if i am certain of anything in this world i am certain of black riot's success on wednesday; and that success i feel i shall owe to you. money can't offset some debts, you know; and if there is anything in the world i can do, you have only to let me know." "thank you," said cleek. "then invite me to spend to-morrow here, and give me the freedom of those superb gardens. my senses are drunk already with the scent of your hyacinths; and if i might have a day among them, i should be as near happy as makes no difference." he had his day--breaking it only to 'phone up to clarges street and quiet any possible fears upon dollops's part--and if ever man was satisfied, that man was he. chapter xv it was late on the afternoon of the day following when he turned up at clarges street and threw dollops into a very transport of delight at the bare sight of him. "crumbs, gov'nor, but i am glad to see you, sir!" said the boy, with a look of positive adoration. "a fish out o' water ain't a patch to wot i've felt like--lord, no! why, sir, it's the first time you've ever been away from me since you took me on; and the dreams i've had is enough to drive a body fair dotty. i've seen parties a-stickin' knives in your back and puttin' poison in your food and doin' the lord knows wot not to you, sir; and every blessed nerve in my body has been a doin' of a constant shake--like a jelly-fish on a cold day." cleek laughed, and catching him by the shoulder whirled him round, looked at him, and then clapped him on the back. "look here, don't you get to worrying and to developing nerves, young man," he said, "or i shall have to ship you off somewhere for a long rest; and i'm just beginning to feel as if i couldn't do without you. what you want is a change; and what i want is the river, so, if there is no message from the yard--" "there isn't, sir." "good. then 'phone through to mr. narkom and tell him that you and i are going for a few days up the river as far as henley, and that we are going to break it on wednesday to go to the derby." "gov'nor! gawd's truth, sir, you aren't never a-goin' to give me two sich treats as that? from now till thursday with jist you--jist _you_, sir? i'll go balmy on the crumpet--i'll get to stickin' straws in my bloomin' 'air!" "you 'get to' the telephone and send that message to the yard, if you know when you're well off," said cleek, laughing. "and, after that, out with the kit bag and in with such things as we shall need; and--hullo! what's this thing?" "a necktie and a rose bush wot i took the liberty of buyin' for you, sir, bein' as you give me ten shillin's for myself," said dollops sheepishly. "i been a-keepin' of my eye on that rose bush and that necktie for a week past, sir. i 'ope you'll take 'em, gov'nor, and not think me presumin', sir." cleek faced round and looked at him--a long look--without saying anything, then he screwed round on his heel and walked to the window. "it is very nice and very thoughtful of you, dollops," he said presently, his voice a little thick, his tones a little uneven. "but don't be silly and waste your money, my lad. lay it by. you may need it one day. now toddle on and get things ready for our outing." but afterwards--when the boy had gone and he was alone in the room--he walked back to the potted rose bush and touched its buds lovingly, and stood leaning over it and saying nothing for a long time. and though the necktie that hung on its branches was a harlequin thing of red and green and violent purple, when he came to dress for that promised outing he put it on and adjusted it as tenderly, wore it as proudly as ever knight of old wore the colours of his lady. "you look a fair treat in it, sir," said dollops, delightedly and admiringly, when he came in later and saw that he had it on. and if anything had been wanting to make him quite, quite happy, it was wanting no more. or, if it had been, the night that came down and found them housed in a little old-world inn, with a shining river at its door and the hush and the odorous darkness of the country lanes about it, must of itself have supplied the omission; for when all the house was still and all the lights were out, he crept from his bed and curled up like a dog on the mat before cleek's door, and would not have changed places with an emperor. they were up and on the river, master and man, almost as soon as the dawn itself; taking their morning plunge under a sky that was but just changing the tints of rose to those of saffron before they merged into the actual light of day; and to the boy the man seemed almost a god in that dim light, which showed but an ivory shoulder lifting now and again as he struck outwards and deft his way through a yielding, yellow-grey waste that leaped in little lilac-hued ripples to his chin, and thence wavered off behind him in dancing lines of light. and once, when he heard him lift up his voice and sing as he swam, he felt sure that he _must_ be a god--that that alone could explain why he had found him so different from other men, and cared for him as he had never cared for any human thing before. from dawn to dark that day was one of unalloyed delight to him. never before had the starved soul of him--fed, all his life, when it was fed at all, from the drippings of the flesh-pots and the "leavings" of the city--found any savour in the insipid offerings of the country; never before had he known what charms lie on a river's breast, what spells of magic a blossoming hedge and the white "candles" of a horse-chestnut tree may weave, and never before had a meadow been anything to him but a simple grass-grown field. to-day nature--through this man who was so essentially bred in the very womb of her--spoke to his understanding and found her words not lost on air. the dormant things within the boy had awakened. life spoke; hope sang; and between them all the world was changed. yesterday, he had looked upon this day of idling in the country as a pleasant interlude, as a happy prologue to those greater delights that would come when he at last went to epsom and really saw the famous race for the derby. to-day, he was sorry that anything--even so great a thing as that--must come to disturb such placid happiness as this. and yet, when the wondrous "wednesday" came and he was actually on his way to epsom downs at last ... ah, well, joy is elastic; youth is a time of many dreams, and who blames a boy for being delighted that one of them is coming true at last? cleek did not, at all events. indeed, cleek aided and abetted him in all his boisterous outbursts from first to last; and was quite as excited as he when the event of the meeting--the great race for the famous derby stakes--was put up at last. indeed, he was a bit wilder, if anything, than the boy himself when the flag fell and the whole field swept by in one thunderous rush, with minnow in the lead and black riot far and away behind. nor did his excitement abate when, as the whole cavalcade swung onwards over the green turf with the yelling thousands waving and shouting about it, sir henry wilding's mare began to lessen that lead, and foot by foot to creep up towards the head. he shouted then--as wildly as dollops himself, as wildly as any man present. he jumped up on his seat and waved his hat; he thumped dollops on the back and cried: "she's creeping up! she's creeping up! stick to it, old chap, stick to it! give her her head, you fool! she'll do it--by god, she'll do it! hurrah! hurrah!" and was shouted down, and even seized and pulled down by others whose view he obstructed, and whose interest and excitement were as great as his. onwards they flew, horses and riders, the whole pounding, mixing, ever-changing mass of them; jackets and caps of every hue flashing here and there--now in a huddled mass, now with this one in the lead, and again with that: a vast, ever-moving, ever-altering kaleidoscope that was, presently, hidden entirely from the main mass of the onlookers, by the surging crowd, the mass of drags and carriages of all sorts in the huge square of the central enclosure, and most of all by the people who stood up on seats and wheels and even the tops of the vehicles. then, for a little time, the roars came from a distance only--from those in the enclosure who alone could see--then neared and neared and grew in volume, as the unseen racers pounded onward and came pelting up the long stretch toward tattenham corner. and by and bye they swung into view again--still a huddled mass, still so closely packed together that the positions of the individual horses was a matter of uncertainty--but always the roaring sound went on and always it came nearer and nearer, until a thousand voices took it up at the foot of the grand stand, and other thousands bellowed it up and up from tier to tier to the very roof. for, of a sudden, that blaze of caps and jackets, that huddle of horses red and horses grey, horses black and horses roan, piebald, white--every colour that a horse may be--had come at last to tattenham corner and burst into the full view of everybody. yet, as they came, a black mare, hugging the railed enclosure on the inner side of the sweep, arrowed forward with a sudden spurt, came like a rocket to the fore, and all the earth and all the sky seemed to ring with the cry: "wilding! wilding! black riot leads! black riot leads!" she did--and kept it to the end! in half a minute her number was up, yelling thousands were tumbling out upon the field to cheer her, to cheer her rider, to cheer her proud owner when he came out to lead her to the paddock and the weighing room, and to feel in that moment the proudest and the happiest man in england; and of those, not the least excited and delighted was cleek. carried away by enthusiasm, he had risen again in his seat and, with his hat held aloft upon a walking stick, was waving and stamping and shouting enthusiastically: "black riot wins! black riot! black riot! bully boy! bully boy!" and so he was still shouting when he felt a hand touch him, and looking round saw mr. narkom. "ripping, wasn't it, old chap?" said the superintendent. "no wonder you are excited, considering what interest you have. been looking for you, my dear fellow. knew of course, from your telling me, that you would be here to-day, but shouldn't have been able to identify you but for the presence of young dollops here. i say: you're not going to stop now that the great race is over, are you? the rest won't amount to anything." "no, i shall not stop," said cleek. "why? do you want me?" "yes. lennard's outside with the limousine. hop into it, will you, and meet me at the fiddle and horseshoe, between shepherd's bush and acton? it's only half-past three and the limousine can cover the distance in less than no time. can't go with you. got to round up my men here, first. join you shortly, however. mctavish has a sixty-horse-power mercedes, and he'll rush me over almost on your heels. let dollops go home by train, and you meet me as i've asked, will you?" "yes," said cleek. and so the joyous holiday came to an unexpected end. parting from dollops, and leaving the boy to journey on to clarges street alone, he fared forth to find lennard and the red limousine, and was whirled away in record time to the inn of the fiddle and horseshoe. chapter xvi it had but just gone five when narkom walked into the little bar parlour and found him standing there, looking out on the quaint, old-fashioned bowling green that lay all steeped in sunshine and zoned with the froth of pear and apple blossoms thick piled above the time-stained bricks of an enclosing wall. "what a model of punctuality you are, old chap," the superintendent said, nodding approvingly. "wait a moment while i go and order tea, and then we will get down to business in real earnest. shan't be long." "pray, don't hurry yourself on my account, mr. narkom," returned cleek, "coming down to earth" out of a mental airship. "i could do with another hour of that"--nodding toward the view--"and still wonder where the time had gone. these quaint old inns, which the march of what we are pleased to call 'progress' is steadily crowding off the face of the land, are always deeply interesting to me; i love them. what a day! what a picture! what a sky! as blue as what dollops calls the 'merry geranium sea.' i'd give a jew's eye for a handful of those apple blossoms--they are divine!" narkom hastened from the room without replying. the strain of poetry underlying the character of this strange, inscrutable man, his amazing love of nature, his moments of almost womanish weakness and sentiment, astonished and mystified him. it was as if a hawk had acquired the utterly useless trick of fluting like a nightingale, and being himself wholly without imagination, he could not comprehend it in the smallest degree. when he returned a few minutes later, however, the idealist seemed to have simmered down into the materialist, the extraordinary to have become merged in the ordinary, for he found his famous ally no longer studying the beauties of nature, but giving his whole attention to the sordid commonplaces of man, for he was standing before a glaringly printed bill one of many that were tacked upon the walls, which set forth in amazing pictures and double-leaded type the wonders that were to be seen daily and nightly at olympia, where, for a month past, "van zant's royal belgian circus and world-famed menagerie" had been holding forth to "crowded and delighted audiences." much was made of two "star turns" upon this lurid bill: "mademoiselle marie de zanoni, the beautiful and peerless bare-back equestrienne, the most daring lady rider in the universe," for the one; and for the other, "chevalier adrian di roma, king of the animal world, with his great aggregation of savage and ferocious wild beasts, including the famous man-eating african lion, nero, the largest and most ferocious animal of its species in captivity." and under this latter announcement there was a picture of a young and handsome man, literally smothered with medals, lying at full length, with his arms crossed and his head in the wide-open jaws of a snarling, wild-eyed lion. "my dear chap, you really do make me believe that there actually is such a thing as instinct," said narkom, as he came in. "fancy your selecting that particular bill out of all the others in the room! what an abnormal individual you are!" "why? has it anything to do with the case you have in hand?" "anything to do with it? my dear fellow, it _is_ 'the case.' i can't imagine what drew your attention to it." "can't you?" said cleek, with a half-smile. then he stretched forth his hand and touched the word "nero" with the tip of his forefinger. "that did. things awaken a man's memory occasionally, mr. narkom, and--tell me, isn't that the beast there was such a stir about in the newspapers a fortnight or so ago--the lion that crushed the head of a man in full view of the audience?" "yes," replied narkom, with a slight shudder. "awful thing, wasn't it? gave me the creeps to read about it. the chap who was killed, poor beggar, was a mere boy, not twenty, son of the chevalier di roma himself. there was a great stir about it. talk of the authorities forbidding the performance, and all that sort of thing. they never did, however, for on investigation--ah, the tea at last, thank fortune. come, sit down, my dear fellow, and we'll talk whilst we refresh ourselves. landlady, see that we are not disturbed, will you, and that nobody is admitted but the parties i mentioned?" "clients?" queried cleek, as the door closed and they were alone together. "yes. one, mlle. zelie, the 'chevalier's' only daughter, a slack-wire artist; the other, signor scarmelli, a trapeze performer, who is the lady's fiancé." "ah, then our friend the chevalier is not so young as the picture on the bill would have us believe he is." "no, he is not. as a matter of fact, he is considerably past forty, and is--or, rather, was, up to six months ago, a widower with three children, two sons and a daughter." "i suppose," said cleek, helping himself to a buttered scone, "i am to infer from what you say that at the period you mentioned, six months ago, the intrepid gentleman showed his courage yet more forcibly by taking a second wife? young or old?" "young," said narkom in reply. "very young, not yet four-and-twenty, in fact, and very, very beautiful. that is she who is 'featured' on the bill as the star of the equestrian part of the programme: 'mlle. marie de zanoni.' so far as i have been able to gather, the affair was a love match. the lady, it appears, had no end of suitors, both in and out of the profession; it has even been hinted that she could, had she been so minded, have married an impressionable young austrian nobleman of independent means who was madly in love with her; but she appears to have considered it preferable to become 'an old man's darling,' so to speak, and to have selected the middle-aged chevalier rather than someone whose age is nearer her own." "nothing new in that, mr. narkom. young women before mlle. marie de zanoni's day have been known to love elderly men sincerely: young mrs. bawdrey, in the case of 'the nine-fingered skeleton,' is an example of that. still, such marriages are not common, i admit, so when they occur one naturally looks to see if there may not be 'other considerations' at the bottom of the attachment. is the chevalier well-to-do? has he expectations of any kind?" "to the contrary; he has nothing but the salary he earns--which is by no means so large as the public imagines; and as he comes of a long line of circus performers, all of whom died early and poor, 'expectations,' as you put it, do not enter into the affair at all. apparently the lady did marry him for love of him, as she professes and as he imagines; although, if what i hear is true, it would appear that she has lately outgrown that love; in short, that a romeo more suitable to her age has recently joined the show in the person of a rider called signor antonio martinelli; that he has fallen desperately in love with her, and that--" he bit off his words short and rose to his feet. the door had opened suddenly to admit a young man and a young woman, who entered in a state of nervous excitement. "ah, my dear mr. scarmelli, you and miss zelie are most welcome," continued the superintendent. "my friend and i were this moment talking about you." cleek glanced across the room, and, as was customary with him, made up his mind instantly. the girl, despite her association with the arena, was a modest, unaffected little thing of about eighteen; the man was a straight-looking, clear-eyed, boyish-faced young fellow of about eight-and-twenty; well, but by no means flashily, dressed, and carrying himself with the air of one who respects himself and demands the respect of others. he was evidently an englishman, despite his italian _nom de théâtre_, and cleek decided out of hand that he liked him. "we can shelve 'george headland' in this instance, mr. narkom," he said, as the superintendent led forward the pair for the purpose of introducing them, and suffered himself to be presented in the name of cleek. the effect of this was electrical; would, in fact, had he been a vain man, have been sufficient to gratify him to the fullest, for the girl, with a little "oh!" of amazement, drew back and stood looking at him with a sort of awe that rounded her eyes and parted her lips, while the man leaned heavily upon the back of a convenient chair and looked and acted as one utterly overcome. "cleek!" he repeated, after a moment's despairful silence. "you, sir, are that great man? this is a misfortune, indeed." "a misfortune, my friend? why a 'misfortune,' pray? do you think the riddle you have brought is beyond my powers?" "oh, no; not that--never that!" he made reply. "if there is any one man in the world who could get at the bottom of it, could solve the mystery of the lion's change, the lion's smile, you are that man, sir, you. that is the misfortune: that you could do it, and yet--i cannot expect it, cannot avail myself of this great opportunity. look! i am doing it all on my own initiative, sir--all for the sake of zelie and that dear, lovable old chap, her father. i have saved fifty-eight pounds, mr. cleek. i had hoped that that might tempt a clever detective to take up the case; but what is such a sum to such a man as you?" "if that is all that stands in the way, don't let it worry you, my good fellow," said cleek, with a smile. "put your fifty-eight pounds in your pocket against your wedding-day, and--good luck to you. i'll take the case for nothing. now then, what is it? what the dickens did you mean just now when you spoke about 'the lion's change' and 'the lion's smile'? what lion--nero? here, sit down and tell me all about it." "there is little enough to tell, heaven knows," said young scarmelli, with a sigh, accepting the invitation after he had gratefully wrung cleek's hand, and his fiancée, with a burst of happy tears, had caught it up as it slipped from his and had covered it with thankful kisses. "that, mr. cleek, is where the greatest difficulty lies--there is so little to explain that has any bearing upon the matter at all. it is only that the lion--nero, that is, the chevalier's special pride and special pet--seems to have undergone some great and inexplicable change, as though he is at times under some evil spell, which lasts but a moment and yet makes that moment a tragical one. it began, no one knows why nor how, two weeks ago, when, without hint or warning, he killed the person he loved best in all the world--the chevalier's eldest son. doubtless you have heard of that?" "yes," said cleek. "but what you are now telling me sheds a new light upon the matter. am i to understand, then, that all that talk, on the bills and in the newspapers, about the lion being a savage and a dangerous one is not true, and that he really is attached to his owner, and his owner's family?" "that is the truth," replied scarmelli; "nero is, in fact, the gentlest, most docile, most intelligent beast of his kind living. in short, sir, there's not a 'bite' in him; and, added to that, he is over thirty years old. zelie--miss di roma--will tell you that he was born in captivity; that from his earliest moment he has been the pet of her family; that he was, so to speak, raised with her and her brothers; that, as children, they often slept with him; that he will follow those he loves like any dog, fight for them, protect them, let them tweak his ears and pull his tail without showing the slightest resentment, even though they may actually hurt him. indeed, he is so general a favourite, mr. cleek, that there isn't an attendant connected with the show who would not, and, indeed, has not at some time, put his head in the beast's mouth, just as the chevalier does in public, certain that no harm could possibly come of the act. "you may judge, then, sir, what a shock, what a horrible surprise it was when the tragedy of two weeks ago occurred. often, to add zest to the performance, the chevalier varies it by allowing his children to put their heads into nero's mouth instead of doing so himself, merely making a fake of it that he has the lion under such control that he will respect any command given by him. that is what happened on that night. young henri was chosen to put his head into nero's mouth, and did so without fear or hesitation. he took the beast's jaws and pulled them apart, and laid his head within them, as he had done a hundred times before; but of a sudden an appalling, an uncanny, thing happened. it was as though some supernatural power laid hold of the beast and made a thing of horror of what a moment before had been a noble-looking animal; for suddenly a strange hissing noise issued from its jaws, its lips curled upward until it smiled--smiled, mr. cleek!--oh, the ghastliest, most awful, most blood-curdling smile imaginable--and then, with a sort of mingled snarl and bark, it clamped its jaws together and crushed the boy's head as though it were an egg-shell!" he put up his hands and covered his eyes as if to shut out some appalling vision, and for a moment or two nothing was heard but the low sobbing of the victim's sister. "as suddenly as that change had come over the beast, mr. cleek," scarmelli went on presently, "just so suddenly it passed, and it was the docile, affectionate animal it had been for years. it seemed to understand that some harm had befallen its favourite--for henri was its favourite--and, curling itself up beside his body, it licked his hands and moaned disconsolately in a manner almost human. that's all there is to tell, sir, save that at times the horrid change, the appalling smile, repeat themselves when either the chevalier or his son bend to put a head within its jaws, and but for their watchfulness and quickness the tragedy of that other awful night would surely be repeated. sir, it is not natural; i know now, as surely as if the lion itself had spoken, that someone is at the bottom of this ghastly thing, that some human agency is at work, some unknown enemy of the chevalier's is doing something, god alone knows what or why, to bring about his death as his son's was brought about." and here, for the first time, the chevalier's daughter spoke. "ah, tell him all, jim, tell him all," she said, in her pretty broken english. "monsieur, may the good god in heaven forgive me, if i wrong her; but--but--ah, monsieur cleek, sometimes i feel that she, my stepmother, and that man, that 'rider' who knows not how to ride as the artist should--monsieur, i cannot help it, but i feel that they are at the bottom of it." "yes, but why?" queried cleek. "i have heard of your father's second marriage, mademoiselle, and of this signor antonio martinelli, to whom you allude. mr. narkom has told me. but why should you connect these two persons with this inexplicable thing? does your father do so, too?" "oh, no! oh, no!" she answered excitedly. "he does not even know that we suspect, jim and i. he loves her, monsieur. it would kill him to doubt her." "then why should you?" "because i cannot help it, monsieur. god knows, i would if i could, for i care for her dearly--i am grateful to her for making my father happy. my brothers, too, cared for her. we believed she loved him; we believed it was because of that she married him. and yet--and yet--ah, monsieur, how can i fail to feel as i do when this change in the lion came with that man's coming? and she--ah, monsieur, she is always with him. why does she curry favour of him and his rich friend?" "he has a rich friend, then?" "yes, monsieur. the company was in difficulties; monsieur van zant, the proprietor, could not make it pay, and it was upon the point of disbanding. but, suddenly, this indifferent performer, this rider who is, after all, but a poor amateur and not fit to appear with a company of trained artists, suddenly this signor martinelli comes to monsieur van zant to say that, if he will engage him, he has a rich friend--one señor sperati, a brazilian coffee planter--who will 'back' the show with his money and buy a partnership in it. of course, m. van zant accepted; and since then this señor sperati has travelled everywhere with us, has had the entrée like one of us, and his friend, the bad rider, has fairly bewitched my stepmother, for she is ever with him, ever with them both, and--and--ah, mon dieu! the lion smiles, and my people die! why does it 'smile' for no others? why is it only they--my father, my brother--they alone?" "is that a fact?" said cleek, turning to young scarmelli. "you say that all connected with the circus have so little fear of the beast that even attendants sometimes do this foolhardy trick. does the lion never 'smile' for any of those?" "never, mr. cleek--never under any circumstances. nor does it always smile for the chevalier and his son. that is the mystery of it. one never knows when it is going to happen--one never knows why it does happen. but if you could see that uncanny smile--" "i should like to," interposed cleek. "that is, if it might happen without any tragical result. hum-m-m! nobody but the chevalier and the chevalier's son! and when does it happen in their case--during the course of the show, or when there is nobody about but those connected with it?" "oh, always during the course of the entertainment, sir. indeed, it has never happened at any other time--never at all." "oho!" said cleek. "then it is only when they are dressed and made up for the performance, eh? hum-m-m! i see." then he relapsed into silence for a moment, and sat tracing circles on the floor with the toe of his boot. but, of a sudden: "you came here directly after the matinee, i suppose?" he queried, glancing up at young scarmelli. "yes; in fact, before it was wholly over." "i see. then it is just possible that all the performers have not yet got into their civilian clothes. couldn't manage to take me round behind the scenes, so to speak, if mr. narkom will lend us his motor to hurry us there? could, eh? that's good. i think i'd like to have a look at that lion and, if you don't mind, an introduction to the parties concerned. no! don't fear; we won't startle anybody by revealing my identity or the cause of the visit. let us say that i'm a vet, to whom you have appealed for an opinion, regarding nero's queer conduct. all ready, mr. narkom? thanks--then let's be off." two minutes later the red limousine was at the door, and, stepping into it with his two companions, he was whizzed away to olympia and the first step towards the solution of the riddle. chapter xvii as it is the custom of those connected with the world of the circus to eat, sleep, have their whole being, as it were, within the environment of the show, to the total exclusion of hotels, boarding-houses, or outside lodgings of any sort, he found on his arrival at his destination the entire company assembled in what was known as the "living-tent," chatting, laughing, reading, playing games, and killing time generally whilst waiting for the call to the "dining-tent," and this gave him an opportunity to meet all the persons connected with the "case," from the "chevalier" himself to the brazilian coffee planter who was "backing" the show. he found this latter individual a somewhat sullen and taciturn man of middle age, who had more the appearance of an austrian than a brazilian, and with a swinging gait and an uprightness of bearing which were not to be misunderstood. "humph! known military training," was cleek's mental comment as soon as he saw the man walk. "got it in germany, too; i know that peculiar 'swing.' what's his little game, i wonder? and what's a brazilian doing in the army of the kaiser? and, having been in it, what's he doing dropping into this line--backing a circus, and travelling with it like a bohemian?" but although these thoughts interested him, he did not put them into words nor take anybody into his confidence regarding them. as for the other members of the company, he found "the indifferent rider," known as signor antonio martinelli, an undoubted irishman of about thirty years of age, extremely handsome, but with a certain "shiftiness" of the eye which was far from inspiring confidence, and with a trick of the tongue which suggested that his baptismal certificate probably bore the name of anthony martin. he found, too, that all he had heard regarding the youth and beauty of the chevalier's second wife was quite correct, and although she devoted herself a great deal to the brazilian coffee planter and the irish-italian "martinelli," she had a way of looking over at her middle-aged spouse, without his knowledge, that left no doubt in cleek's mind regarding the real state of her feelings towards the man. and last, but not least by any means, he found the chevalier himself a frank, open-minded, open-hearted, lovable man who ought not, in the natural order of things, to have an enemy in the world. despite his high-falutin' _nom de théâtre_, he was belgian--a big, soft-hearted, easy-going, unsuspicious fellow, who worshipped his wife, adored his children, and loved every creature of the animal world. how well that love was returned, cleek saw when he went with him to that part of the building where his animals were kept, and watched them "nose" his hand or lick his cheek whenever the opportunity offered. but nero, the lion, was perhaps the greatest surprise of all, for so tame, so docile, so little feared was the animal, that its cage-door was open, and they found one of the attendants squatting cross-legged inside and playing with it as though it were a kitten. "there he is, doctor," said the chevalier, waving his hand towards the beast. "ah, i will not believe that it was anything but an accident, sir. he loved my boy. he would hurt no one that is kind to him. fetch him out, tom, and let the doctor see him at close quarters." despite all these assurances of the animal's docility, cleek could not but remember what the creature had done, and, in consequence, did not feel quite at ease when it came lumbering out of the cage with the attendant and ranged up alongside of him, rubbing its huge head against the chevalier's arm after the manner of an affectionate cat. "don't be frightened, sir," said tom, noticing this. "nothing more'n a big dog, sir. had the care of him for eight years, i have--haven't i, chevalier?--and never a growl or scratch out of him. no 'smile' for your old tom, is there, nero, boy, eh? no fear! ain't a thing as anybody does with him, sir, that i wouldn't do off-hand and feel quite safe." "even to putting your head in his mouth?" queried cleek. "lord yes!" returned the man, with a laugh. "that's nothing. done it many a day. look here!" with that he pulled the massive jaws apart, and, bending down, laid his head within them. the lion stood perfectly passive, and did not offer to close his mouth until it was again empty. it was then that cleek remembered and glanced round at young scarmelli. "he never 'smiles' for any but the chevalier and his son, i believe you said," he remarked. "i wonder if the chevalier himself would be as safe if he were to make a feint of doing that?" for the chevalier, like most of the other performers, had not changed his dress after the matinee, since the evening performance was soon to begin; and if, as cleek had an idea, that the matter of costume and make-up had anything to do with the mystery of the thing, here, surely, was a chance to learn. "make a feint of it? certainly i will, doctor," the chevalier replied. "but why a feint? why not the actual thing?" "no, please--at least, not until i have seen how the beast is likely to take it. just put your head down close to his muzzle, chevalier. go slow, please, and keep your head at a safe distance." the chevalier obeyed. bringing his head down until it was on a level with the animal's own, he opened the ponderous jaws. the beast was as passive as before; and, finding no trace of the coming of the mysterious and dreaded "smile," he laid his face between the double row of gleaming teeth, held it there a moment, and then withdrew it uninjured. cleek took his chin between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it hard. what he had just witnessed would seem to refute the idea of either costume or make-up having any bearing upon the case. "did you do that to-day at the matinee performance, chevalier?" he hazarded, after a moment's thoughtfulness. "oh, yes," he replied. "it was not my plan to do so, however. i alter my performance constantly to give variety. to-day i had arranged for my little son to do the trick; but somehow--ah! i am a foolish man, monsieur; i have odd fancies, odd whims, sometimes odd fears, since--since that awful night. something came over me at the last moment, just as my boy came into the cage to perform the trick i changed my mind. i would not let him do it. i thrust him aside and did the trick myself." "oho!" said cleek. "will the boy do it to-night, then, chevalier?" "perhaps," he made reply. "he is still dressed for it. look, here he comes now, monsieur, and my wife, and some of our good friends with him. ah, they are so interested, they are anxious to hear what report you make upon nero's condition." cleek glanced round. several members of the company were advancing towards them from the "living-tent." in the lead was the boy, a little fellow of about twelve years of age, fancifully dressed in tights and tunic. by his side was his stepmother, looking pale and anxious. but although both signor martinelli and the brazilian coffee planter came to the edge of the tent and looked out, it was observable that they immediately withdrew, and allowed the rest of the party to proceed without them. "dearest, i have just heard from tom that you and the doctor are experimenting with nero," said the chevalier's wife, as she came up with the others and joined him. "oh, do be careful, do! much as i like the animal, doctor, i shall never feel safe until my husband parts with it or gives up that ghastly 'trick.'" "my dearest, my dearest, how absurdly you talk!" interrupted her husband. "you know well that without that my act would be commonplace, that no manager would want either it or me. and how, pray, should we live if that were to happen?" "there would always be my salary; we could make that do." "as if i would consent to live upon your earnings and add nothing myself! no, no! i shall never do that--never. it is not as though that foolish dream of long ago had come true, and i might hope one day to retire. i am of the circus, and of it i shall always remain." "i wish you might not; i wish the dream might come true, even yet," she made reply. "why shouldn't it? wilder ones have come true for other people; why should they not for you?" before her husband could make any response to this, the whole trend of the conversation was altered by the boy. "father," he said, "am i to do the trick to-night? señor sperati says it is silly of me to sit about all dressed and ready if i am to do nothing, like a little super, instead of a performer and an artist." "oh, but that is not kind of the señor to say that," his father replied, soothing his ruffled feelings. "you are an artist, of course; never super--no, never. but if you shall do the trick or not, i cannot say. it will depend, as it did at the matinee. if i feel it is right, you shall do it; but if i feel it is wrong, then it must be no. you see, doctor," catching cleek's eye, "what a little enthusiast he is, and with how little fear." "yes, i do see, chevalier; but i wonder if he would be willing to humour me in something? as he is not afraid, i've an odd fancy to see how he'd go about the thing. would you mind letting him make the feint you yourself made a few minutes ago? only, i must insist that in this instance it be nothing more than a feint, chevalier. don't let him go too near at the time of doing it. don't let him open the lion's jaws with his own hands. you do that. do you mind?" "of a certainty not, monsieur. gustave, show the good doctor how you go about it when papa lets you do the trick. but you are not really to do it just yet, only to bend the head near to nero's mouth. now then, come, see." as he spoke he divided the lion's jaws and signalled the child to bend. he obeyed. very slowly the little head drooped nearer to the gaping, full-fanged mouth, very slowly and very carefully, for cleek's hand was on the boy's shoulder, cleek's eyes were on the lion's face. the huge brute was as meek and as undisturbed as before, and there was actual kindness in its fixed eyes. but of a sudden, when the child's head was on a level with those gaping jaws, the lips curled backward in a ghastly parody of a smile, a weird, uncanny sound whizzed through the bared teeth, the passive body bulked as with a shock, and cleek had just time to snatch the boy back when the great jaws struck together with a snap that would have splintered a skull of iron had they closed upon it. the hideous and mysterious "smile" had come again, and, brief though it was, its passing found the boy's sister lying on the ground in a dead faint, the boy's stepmother cowering back, with covered eyes and shrill, affrighted screams, and the boy's father leaning, shaken and white, against the empty case and nursing a bleeding hand. in an instant the whole place was in an uproar. "it smiled again! it smiled again!" ran in broken gasps from lip to lip; but through it all cleek stood there, clutching the frightened child close to him, but not saying one word, not making one sound. across the dark arena came a rush of running footsteps, and presently señor sperati came panting up, breathless and pale with excitement. "what's the matter? what's wrong?" he cried. "is it the lion again? is the boy killed? speak up!" "no," said cleek very quietly, "nor will he be. the father will do the trick to-night, not the son. we've had a fright and a lesson, that's all." and, putting the sobbing child from him, he caught young scarmelli's arm and hurried him away. "take me somewhere that we can talk in safety," he said. "we are on the threshold of the end, scarmelli, and i want your help." "oh, mr. cleek, have you any idea--any clue?" "yes, more than a clue. i know how, but i have not yet discovered why. now, if you know, tell me what did the chevalier mean, what did his wife mean, when they spoke of a dream that might have come true, but didn't? do you know? have you any idea? or, if you have not, do you think your fiancée has?" "why, yes," he made reply. "zelie has told me about it often. it is of a fortune that was promised and never materialized. oh, such a long time ago, when he was quite a young man, the chevalier saved the life of a very great man, a prussian nobleman of great wealth. he was profuse in his thanks and his promises, that nobleman; swore that he would make him independent for life, and all that sort of thing." "and didn't?" "no, he didn't. after a dozen letters promising the chevalier things that almost turned his head, the man dropped him entirely. in the midst of his dreams of wealth a letter came from the old skinflint's steward enclosing him the sum of six hundred marks, and telling him that as his master had come to the conclusion that wealth would be more of a curse than a blessing to a man of his class and station, he had thought better of his rash promise. he begged to tender the enclosed as a proper and sufficient reward for the service rendered, and 'should not trouble the young man any further.' of course, the chevalier didn't reply. who would, after having been promised wealth, education, everything one had confessed that one most desired? being young, high-spirited, and bitterly, bitterly disappointed, the chevalier bundled the six hundred marks back without a single word, and that was the last he ever heard of the baron von steinheid from that day to this." "the baron von steinheid?" repeated cleek, pulling himself up as though he had trodden upon something. "do you mean to say that the man whose life he saved--scarmelli--tell me something: does it happen by any chance that the 'chevalier di roma's' real name is peter janssen pullaine?" "yes," said scarmelli, in reply. "that is his name. why?" "nothing, but that it solves the riddle, and--the lion has smiled for the last time! no, don't ask me any questions; there isn't time to explain. get me as quickly as you can to the place where we left mr. narkom's motor. will this way lead me out? thanks! get back to the others, and look for me again in two hours' time; and--scarmelli!" "yes, sir?" "one last word--don't let that boy get out of your sight for one instant, and don't, no matter at what cost, let the chevalier do his turn to-night before i get back. good-bye for a time. i'm off." then he moved like a fleetly-passing shadow round the angle of the building, and two minutes later he was with narkom in the red limousine. "to the german embassy as fast as we can fly," he said as he scrambled in. "i've something to tell you about that lion's smile, mr. narkom, and i'll tell it while we're on the wing." chapter xviii it was nine o'clock and after. the great show at olympia was at its height; the packed house was roaring with delight over the daring equestrianship of "mlle. marie de zanoni," and the sound of the cheers rolled in to the huge dressing-tent, where the artists awaited their several turns, and the chevalier, in spangled trunks and tights, all ready for his call, sat hugging his child and shivering like a man with the ague. "come, come, buck up, man, and don't funk it like this," said señor sperati, who had graciously consented to assist him with his dressing because of the injury to his hand. "the idea of you losing your nerve, you of all men, and because of a little affair like that. you know very well that nero is as safe as a kitten to-night, that he never has two smiling turns in the same week, much less the same day. your act's the next on the programme. buck up and go at it like a man." "i can't, señor, i can't!" almost wailed the chevalier. "my nerve is gone. never, if i live to be a thousand, shall i forget that awful moment, that appalling 'smile.' i tell you, there is wizardry in the thing; the beast is bewitched. my work in the arena is done--done for ever, señor. i shall never have courage to look into the beast's jaws again." "rot! you're not going to ruin the show, are you, and after all the money i've put into it? if you have no care for yourself, it's your duty to think about me. you can at least try. i tell you you must try! here, take a sip of brandy, and see if that won't put a bit of courage into you. hello!" as a burst of applause and the thud of a horse's hoofs down the passage to the stables came rolling in, "there's your wife's turn over at last; and there--listen! the ringmaster is announcing yours. get up, man; get up and go out." "i can't, señor--i can't! i can't!" "but i tell you you must." and just here an interruption came. "bad advice, my dear captain," said a voice--cleek's voice--from the other end of the tent; and with a twist and a snarl the "señor" screwed round on his heel in time to see that other intruders were putting in an appearance as well as this unwelcome one. "who the deuce asked you for your opinion?" rapped out the "señor" savagely. "and what are you doing in here, anyhow? if we want the service of a vet., we're quite capable of getting one for ourselves without having him shove his presence upon us unasked." "you are quite capable of doing a great many things, my dear captain, even making lions smile!" said cleek serenely. "it would appear that the gallant captain von gossler, nephew, and, in the absence of one who has a better claim, heir to the late baron von steinheid--that's it, nab the beggar. played, sir, played! hustle him out and into the cab, with his precious confederate, the irish-italian 'signor,' and make a clean sweep of the pair of them. you'll find it a neck-stretching game, captain, i'm afraid, when the jury comes to hear of that poor boy's death and your beastly part in it." by this time the tent was in an uproar, for the chevalier's wife had come hurrying in, the chevalier's daughter was on the verge of hysterics, and the chevalier's prospective son-in-law was alternately hugging the great beast-tamer and then shaking his hand and generally deporting himself like a respectable young man who had suddenly gone daft. "governor!" he cried, half laughing, half sobbing. "bully old governor. it's over--it's over. never any more danger, never any more hard times, never any more lion's smiles." "no, never," said cleek. "come here, madame pullaine, and hear the good news with the rest. you married for love, and you've proved a brick. the dream's come true, and the life of ease and of luxury is yours at last, mr. pullaine." "but, sir, i--i do not understand," stammered the chevalier. "what has happened? why have you arrested the señor sperati? what has he done? i cannot comprehend." "can't you? well, it so happens, chevalier, that the baron von steinheid died something like two months ago, leaving the sum of sixty thousand pounds sterling to one peter janssen pullaine and the heirs of his body, and that a certain captain von gossler, son of the baron's only sister, meant to make sure that there was no peter janssen pullaine and no heirs of his body to inherit one farthing of it." "sir! dear god, can this be true?" "perfectly true, chevalier. the late baron's solicitors have been advertising for some time for news regarding the whereabouts of peter janssen pullaine, and if you had not so successfully hidden your real name under that of your professional one, no doubt some of your colleagues would have put you in the way of finding it out long ago. the baron did not go back on his word and did not act ungratefully. his will, dated twenty-nine years ago, was never altered in a single particular. i rather suspect that that letter and that gift of money which came to you in the name of his steward, and was supposed to close the affair entirely, was the work of his nephew, the gentleman whose exit has just been made. a crafty individual that, chevalier, and he laid his plans cleverly and well. who would be likely to connect him with the death of a beast-tamer in a circus, who had perished in what would appear an accident of his calling? ah, yes, the lion's smile was a clever idea--he was a sharp rascal to think of it." "sir! you--you do not mean to tell me that he caused that? he never went near the beast--never--even once." "not necessary, chevalier. he kept near you and your children; that was all that he needed to do to carry out his plan. the lion was as much his victim as anybody else--you or your children. what it did it could not help doing. the very simplicity of the plan was its passport to success. all that was required was the unsuspected sifting of snuff on the hair of the person whose head was to be put in the beast's mouth. the lion's smile was not, properly speaking, a smile at all, chevalier; it was the torture which came of snuff getting into its nostrils, and when the beast made that uncanny noise and snapped its jaws together, it was simply the outcome of a sneeze. the thing would be farcical if it were not that tragedy hangs on the thread of it, and that a life, a useful human life, was destroyed by means of it. yes, it was clever, it was diabolically clever; but you know what bobby burns says about the best laid schemes of mice and men. there's always a power--higher up--that works the ruin of them." with that he walked by, and, going to young scarmelli, put out his hand. "you're a good chap and you've got a good girl, so i expect you will be happy," he said; and then lowered his voice so that the rest might not reach the chevalier's ears. "you were wrong to suspect the little stepmother," he added. "she's true blue, scarmelli. she was only playing up to those fellows because she was afraid the 'señor' would drop out and close the show if she didn't, and that she and her husband and the children would be thrown out of work. she loves her husband--that's certain--and she's a good little woman; and, scarmelli!" "yes, mr. cleek?" "there's nothing better than a good woman on this earth, my lad. always remember that. i think you, too, have found one. i hope you have. i hope you'll be happy. what's that? owe me? not a rap, my boy. or, if you feel that you must give me something, give me your prayers for equal luck, and--send me a slice of the wedding cake. good-night!" and twisted round on his heel and walked out; making his way out to the streets and facing the journey to clarges street afoot. for to be absolutely without envy of any sort is not given to anything born of woman; and the sight of this man's happiness, the knowledge of this man's reward, brought upon him a bitter recollection of how far he still was from his own. would he ever get that reward? he wondered. would he ever be nearer to it than he was to-night? it hurt--yes, it hurt horribly, sometimes, this stone-cold silence, this walking always in shadowed paths without a ray of light, without the certainty of arriving _anywhere_, though he plod onward for a lifetime--and the old feeling of savage resentment, the old sense of self-pity--the surest thing on god's earth to blaze a trail for the oncoming of the worst that is in a man--bit at the soul of him and touched him on the raw again. he knew what that boded; and he also knew the antidote. "dollops, they broke into our holiday--they did us out of a part of it, didn't they, old chap?" he said, when he reached home at last and found the boy anxiously awaiting him. "well, we'll have a day for every hour they deprived us of, a whole day, bonny boy. pack up again and we'll be off to the land as god made it, and where god's things still live; and we'll have a fortnight of it--a whole blessed fortnight, my boy, with the river and the fields and the flowers and the dreams that hide in trees." dollops made no reply. he simply bolted for the kit-bag and began to pack at once. and the morrow, when it came, found these two--the servant who was still a boy, and the master who had discovered the way back to boyhood's secrets--forging up the shining river and seeking the land of nightingales again. chapter xix the spring had blossomed itself out and the summer had bloomed itself in. the holiday up the river was a thing of the past; the dreams of the dreamer had given place to those sterner phases of life which must be coped with by the realist; and cleek was "back in harness" again. a half-dozen more or less important cases had occupied his time since his return; but, although he had carried these to a successful issue and had again been lauded to the skies by the daily papers, the one word of praise from the one quarter whence he so earnestly desired to hear was never forthcoming. of ailsa lorne he had heard not a solitary thing, either directly or indirectly, since that day when he had put her into the taxicab at charing cross station and saw her safely on her way to hampstead before he went his own. true, her silence was, as he had agreed, an admission that all was well with her and that she had secured the position in question; true it was also that it was not for her to take the initiative and break that silence; that he fully realised how impossible, for a girl born and bred as she had been, to voluntarily open up a correspondence with a man who was as yet little more than a mere acquaintance; but, all the same, he chafed under that silence and spent many a wakeful hour at night brooding on it. in his heart he knew that if any advance was to be made, that advance was the man's duty, not the woman's; but the fear that she would think he was thrusting himself upon her, the dread that even yet the white soul of her could not but shrink from a closer association with him, kept him from taking one step towards breaking the silence he deplored. the french have a proverb which says: "it is always the unexpected that happens." and it was the unexpected that happened in this case. in the midst of his dejection, in the very depths of returning despair, there came to him this note from mr. narkom: "my dear cleek, "kindly refrain from going out this evening. i shall call about nine o'clock, bringing with me miss ailsa lorne, whom you doubtless remember, and her present patron, angela, countess chepstow, the young widow of that ripping old warhorse, who, as you may recall, quelled that dangerous and fanatical rising of the cingalese at trincomalee. these ladies wish to see you with reference to a most extraordinary case, an inexplicable mystery, which both they and i believe no man but yourself can satisfactorily probe. "yours in haste, "maverick narkom." so, then, he was to see her again, to touch her hand, hear her voice, look into the eyes that had lighted him back from the path to destruction! cleek's heart began to hammer and his pulses to drum. needless to say, he took extraordinary care with his toilet that evening, with the result that when the ladies arrived there was nothing even vaguely suggestive of the detective about him. "oh, mr. cleek, do help us--please do," implored ailsa, after the first greetings were over. "lady chepstow is almost beside herself with dread and anxiety over the inexplicable thing, and i have persuaded her that if anybody on earth can solve the mystery of it, avert the new and appalling danger of it, it is you! oh, say that you will take the case, say that you will save little lord chepstow and put an end to this maddening mystery!" "little lord chepstow?" repeated cleek, glancing over at the countess, who stood, a very niobe in her grief and despair, holding out two imploring hands in silent supplication. "that is your ladyship's son, is it not?" "yes," she answered, with a sort of wail; "my only son--my only child. all that i have to love--all that i have to live for in this world." "and you think the little fellow is in peril?" "yes--in deadly peril." "from what source? from whose hand?" "i don't know--i don't know!" she answered, distractedly. "sometimes i am wild enough to suspect even captain hawksley, unjust and unkind as it seems." "captain hawksley? who is he?" "my late husband's cousin; heir, after my little son, to the title and estates. he is very poor, deeply in debt, and the inheritance would put an end to all his difficulties. but he is fond of my son; they seem almost to worship each other. i, too, am fond of him. but, for all that, i have to remember that he and he alone would benefit by cedric's death, and--and--wicked as it seems--oh, mr. cleek, help me! direct me! sometimes i doubt him. sometimes i doubt everybody. sometimes i think of those other days, that other mystery, that land which reeks of them; and then--and then--oh, that horrible ceylon! i wish i had never set foot in it in all my life!" her agitation and distress were so great as to make her utterances only half coherent; and ailsa, realising that this sort of thing must only perplex cleek, and leave him in the dark regarding the matter upon which they had come to consult him, gently interposed. "do try to calm yourself and to tell the story as briefly as possible, dear lady chepstow," she advised. then, taking the initiative, added quietly, "it begins, mr. cleek, at a period when his little lordship, whose governess i have the honour to be, was but two years old, and at trincomalee, where his late father was stationed with his regiment four years ago. somebody, for some absurd reason, had set afoot a ridiculous rumour that the english had received orders from the throne to stamp out every religion but their own--in short, if the british were not exterminated, dreadful desecrations would occur, as they were determined--" "to loot all the temples erected to buddha, destroy the images, and make a bonfire of all the sacred relics," finished cleek himself. "i rarely forget history, miss lorne, especially when it is such recent history as that memorable buddhist rising at trincomalee. it began upon an utterly unfounded, ridiculous rumour; it terminated, if my memory serves me correctly, in something akin to the very thing it was supposed to avert. that is to say, during the outburst of fanaticism, that most sacred of all relics--the holy tooth of buddha--disappeared mysteriously from the temple of dambool, and in spite of the fact that many lacs of rupees were offered for its recovery, it has never, i believe, been found, or even traced, to this day, although a huge fortune awaits the restorer, and, with it, overpowering honours from the native princes. those must have been trying times, lady chepstow, for the commandant's wife, the mother of the commandant's only child?" "horrible! horrible!" she answered, with a shudder, forgetting for an instant the dangers of the present in the recollection of the tragical past. "for a period, our lives were not safe; murder hid behind every bush, skulked in the shadow of every rock and tree, and we knew not at what minute the little garrison might be rushed under cover of the darkness and every soul slaughtered before the relief force could come to our assistance. i died a hundred deaths in a day in my anxiety for husband and child. and once the very zealousness of our comrades almost brought about the horror i feared. oh!"--with a shudder of horrified recollection and a covering of the eyes, as if to shut out the memory of it--"oh! that night--that horrible night! unknown to any of us, my baby, rising from the bed where i had left him sleeping, whilst i went outside to stand by lord chepstow, wandered beyond the line of defence, and, before anybody realised it, was out in the open, alone and unprotected. "ferralt, the cook, saw him first; saw, too, the crouching figure of a native, armed with a gun, in the shadow of the undergrowth. without hesitation the brave fellow rushed out, fell upon the native before he could dart away, wrenched the gun from him, and brained him with the butt. a cry of the utmost horror rang out upon the air, and, uttering it, another native bounded out from a hiding-place close to where the first had been killed, and flew zigzagging across the open, where cedric was. evidently he had no intention of molesting the little fellow, for he fled straight on past him, still shrieking after the accident occurred; but to ferralt it seemed as if his intention were to murder the boy, and, clapping the gun to his shoulder, in a panic of excitement, he fired. if it had been one of the soldiers, someone--anyone--who understood marksmanship and was not likely to be in a nervous quake over the circumstances, the thing could not have happened, although the fugitive was careering along in a direct line with my precious little one. but, with ferralt--oh, mr. cleek, can you imagine my horror when i saw the flash of that shot, heard a shrill cry of pain, and saw my child drop to the ground?" "good heaven!" exclaimed cleek, agitated in spite of himself. "then the blunderer shot the child instead of the native?" "yes; and was so horrified by the mishap that, without waiting to learn the result, he rushed blindly to the brink of a deep ravine, and threw himself headlong to death. but the injury to cedric was only a trifling one after all. the bullet seemed merely to have grazed him in passing, and, beyond a ragged gash in the fleshy part of the thigh, he was not harmed at all. that i myself dressed and bandaged, and in a couple of weeks it was quite healed. but it taught me a lesson, that night of horror, and i never let my baby out of my sight for one instant from that time until the rising was entirely quelled. "as suddenly as it had started, the trouble subsided. native priests came under a flag of truce to lord chepstow, and confessed their error, acknowledged that they had never any right to suspect the british of any design upon their gods, for the loot of the temple had actually taken place in the midst of the rising, and they knew that it could not have come from the hands of the soldiers, for they had had them under surveillance all the time, and not one person of the race had ventured within a mile of the temple. "yet the tooth of buddha had been taken, the sacred tooth which is more holy to buddhists than the statue of gautama buddha itself. their remorse was very real, and after that, to the day of his death from fever, eighteen months afterward, they could never show enough honour to lord chepstow. and even then their favour continued. they transferred to the little son the homage they had done the father, but in a far, far greater degree. if he had been a king's son they could have shown him no greater honour. native princes showered him with rich gifts; if he walked out, his path was strewn with flowers by bowing maidens; if he went into the market-place, the people prostrated themselves before him. "when i questioned buddhist women of this amazing homage to cedric, they gave me a full explanation. my son was sacred, they said. buddha had withdrawn his favour from his people because of the evil they had done in suspecting the father and of the innocent life--ferralt's--which had been sacrificed, and they had been commanded of the priests to do homage to the child and thereby appease the offended god, who, doubtless, had himself spirited away the holy tooth, and would not restore it until full recompense was made to the sacred son of the sacred dead. "when it became known that i had decided to return to england with my boy, native princes offered me fabulous sums to remain, and when they found that i could not be tempted to stay, the populace turned out in every town and village through which we passed on our way to the ship, and bowing multitudes followed us to the very last. nor did it cease with that, for in all the years that have followed, even here in london, the homage and worship have continued. my son can go nowhere but that he is followed by cingalese; can see no man or woman of the race, but he or she prostrates herself before him and murmurs, 'holy, most holy!' and daily, almost hourly, rich gifts are showered upon him from unknown hands, and he is watched over and guarded constantly. i tell you all this, mr. cleek, that you may the better understand how appalling is the horror which now assails us, how frightful is the knowledge that someone now seeks his life, and is using every means to take it." "in other words, my dear cleek," put in narkom, as her ladyship, overcome with emotion, broke down suddenly, "there appears to be a sudden and inexplicable change of front on the part of these fanatics, and they now seem as anxious to bring evil to his little lordship as they formerly were to protect and cherish him. at any rate, someone of their order has, upon three separate occasions within the last month, endeavoured to kidnap him, and, in one instance, even attempted to murder him." "is that a fact?" queried cleek sharply, glancing over at miss lorne. "you are certain it is not a fancy, but an absolute fact?" "yes; oh, yes!" she made answer, agitatedly. "twice when i have gone into the park with him, attempts have been made to separate us, to get him away from me; and once they did get him away--so swiftly, so adroitly, that he had vanished before i could turn round. but, although a bag had been thrown over his head to stifle his cries, he managed to make a very little one. i plunged screaming into the undergrowth from which that cry had come, and was just in time to save him. he was lying on the ground all bundled up in a bag, and his assailant, who must have heard me coming, had gone as if by magic. his little lordship, however, was able to tell me that the man was a cingalese, and that he had 'tried to cut him with a knife.'" "cut him with a knife?" repeated cleek in a reflective tone, and blew out a long, low whistle. "oh! but that is not the worst, mr. cleek," went on ailsa. "three days ago a woman--a very beautiful and distinguished-looking woman--called to see lady chepstow regarding the reference of a former servant, one jane catherboys, who used to be her ladyship's maid. after the caller left, a box of sugared violets was found lying temptingly open on a table in the main hall. little cedric is passionately fond of sugared violets, and, had he happened to pass that way before the box was discovered, he surely would have yielded to the temptation and eaten some. in removing the box the parlour-maid accidentally upset it, and before she could gather all the violets up her ladyship's little pomeranian dog snapped up one and ate it. it was dead in six minutes' time! the sweets were simply loaded with prussic acid. when we came to inquire into the matter in the hope of tracing the mysterious caller, we found that jane catherboys was no longer in need of a position; that she had been married for eight months; that she knew nothing whatever of the woman, and had sent no one to inquire into her references." "all of which shows, my dear cleek," put in narkom significantly, "that, whatever hand is directing these attempts, it belongs to one who knows more than a mere outsider possibly could: in short, to one who is aware of his little lordship's excessive fondness for sugared violets, and is aware that lady chepstow once did have a maid named jane catherboys." "if," said cleek, "you mean to suggest by that that this points suspiciously in captain hawksley's direction, mr. narkom, permit me to say that it does not necessarily follow. the clever people of the under-world do nothing by halves nor without careful inquiry beforehand; that is what makes the difference between the common pickpocket and the brilliant swindler." he turned to ailsa. "is that all, miss lorne, or am i right in supposing that there is even worse to come?" "oh, much worse--much, mr. cleek! the knowledge that these would-be murderers, whoever they are, whatever may be their mysterious motive, have grown desperate enough to invade the house itself has driven lady chepstow well-nigh frantic. of course, orders were immediately given to the servants that no stranger, no matter how well dressed, how well seeming, nor what the plea, was, from that moment, to be allowed past the threshold. we felt secure in that, knowing that no servant of the household would betray his or her trust, and that all would be on the constant watch for any further attempt. the unknown enemy must have found out about these precautions, for no stranger came again to the door. but last night a thing we had never counted upon happened. in the dead of the night the unknown broke into the house--into the very nursery itself--and but that lady chepstow, impelled she does not know by what, only that she was nervous and wakeful, and felt the need of some companionship, rose and carried the sleeping child into her own bed, he would assuredly have been murdered. the nurse, awakened by a horrible suffocating sensation, opened her eyes to find a man bending over her with a chloroform-soaked cloth, which he was about to lay over her face. she shrieked and fainted, but not before she saw the man spring to the little bed on the other side of her own, hack furiously at it with a long, murderous knife, then dart to the window and vanish. in the darkness he had not, of course, been able to see that that little bed was empty, for its position kept it in deep shadow, and hearing the household stir at the sound of the nurse's shriek, he struck out blindly and flew to save himself from detection. the nurse states that he was undoubtedly a foreigner--a dark-skinned asiatic--and her description of him tallies with that his little lordship gave of the man who attempted to kill him that day in the park. there, mr. cleek," she concluded, "that's the whole story. can't you do something to help us--something to lift this constant state of dread and to remove this terrible danger from little lord chepstow's life?" "i'll try, miss lorne; but it is a most extraordinary case. where is the boy, now?" "at home, closely guarded. we appealed to mr. narkom, and he generously appointed two detective officers to sit with his little lordship and keep constant watch over him whilst we are away." "and in the meantime," added mr. narkom, "i've issued orders for a general rounding-up of all the cingalese who can be traced or are known to be in town. petrie and hammond have that part of the job in hand, and if they hit upon any asiatic who answers to the description of this murderous rascal--" "i don't believe they will," interposed cleek; "or, if they do, i don't for a moment believe he will turn out to be the guilty party. in other words, i have an idea that the fellow will prove to be a european." "but, my dear fellow, both his little lordship and the nurse saw the man, and, as you have heard, they both agree that he was dark-skinned and quite oriental in appearance." "one of the easiest possible disguises, mr. narkom. a wig, a stick of grease-paint, a threepenny twist of crepe hair, and there you are! no, i do not believe that the man is a cingalese at all; and, far from his having any connection with what you were pleased to term just now a change of front on the part of the buddhists who have so long held the little chap as something sacred, i don't believe that they know anything about him. i base that upon the fact that the child is still treated with homage whenever he goes out, according to what miss lorne says, and that, with the single exception of that one woman who tried to poison him, nobody but just one man--this particular one man--has ever made any attempt to harm the boy. fanatics, like those cingalese, cleave to an idea to the end, mr. narkom; they don't cast it aside and go off at another tangent. you have heard what lady chepstow says the native women told her; the boy was sacred; their priests had commanded them to appease buddha by doing homage to him until the tooth was found, and the tooth has not been found up to the present day! that means that nothing on earth could change their attitude toward him, that not one of the buddhist sect would harm a solitary hair of his head for a king's ransom; so you may eliminate the cingalese from the case entirely so far as the attempts upon the child's life are concerned. whoever is making the attempts is doing so without their knowledge and for a purely personal reason." "then, in that case, this captain hawksley--" "i'll have a look at that gentleman before i tumble into bed to-night, and you shall have my views upon that point to-morrow morning, mr. narkom. frankly, things point rather suspiciously in the captain's direction, since he is apparently the only person likely to be benefited by the boy's death, and if a motive cannot be traced to some other person--" he stopped abruptly and held up his hand. outside in the dim halls of the house a sudden noise had sprung into being, the noise of someone running upstairs in great haste, and, stepping quickly to the door, cleek drew it sharply open. as he did so, dollops came puffing up out of the lower gloom, a sheep's trotter in one hand, and a letter in the other. "law, gov'nor!" groaned he, from midway on the staircase, "i don't believe as i'm ever goin' to be let get a square tuck-in this side of the buryin' ground! jist finished wot was left of that there steak and kidney puddin', sir, and started on my seckint trotter, when i sees a pair o' legs nip parst the area railin's to the front door, and then nip off again like greased lightnin', and when i ups and does a flyin' leap up the kitchen stairs, there was this here envellup in the letter-box, and them there blessed legs nowheres in sight. i say, sir," agitatedly, "look wot's wrote on the envellup, will yer? and us always keepin' of it so dark." cleek plucked the letter from his extended hand, glanced at it, and puckered up his lips; then, with a gesture, he sent dollops back below stairs, and, returning to the room, closed the door behind him. "the enemy evidently knows all lady chepstow's movements, mr. narkom," he said. "i expect she and miss lorne have been under surveillance all day and have been followed here. look at that!" he flung the letter down on a table as he spoke, and narkom, glancing at it, saw printed in rude, illiterate letters upon the envelope the one word "cleek." the identity of "captain burbage" was known to someone, and the secret of the house in clarges street was a secret no longer! "purposely disguised, you see. no one, not even a little child, would make such a botch of copying the alphabet as that," cleek said, as he took the letter up and opened it. the sheet it contained was lettered in the same uncouth manner, and bore these words: "cleek, take a fool's advice and don't accept the chepstow case. be warned. if you interfere, somebody you care about will pay the price. you'll find it more satisfactory to buy a wedding bouquet than a funeral wreath!" "oh!" shuddered the two ladies in one breath. "how horrible! how cowardly!" and then, feeling that her last hope had gone, lady chepstow broke into a fit of violent weeping and laid her head on ailsa's shoulder. "oh, my baby! my darling baby boy!" she sobbed. "and now they are threatening somebody that you, too, love. of course, mr. cleek, i can't expect you to risk the sacrifice of your own dear ones for the sake of me and mine, and so--and so--oh, take me away, miss lorne! let me go back to my baby and have him while i may." "good-night, mr. cleek!" said ailsa, stretching out a shaking hand to him. "thank you so much for--for what you would have done but for this. and you were our last hope, too!" "why give it up then, miss lorne?" he said, holding her hand and looking into her eyes. "why not go on letting me be your last hope--your only hope?" "yes, but they--they spoke of a funeral wreath." "and they also spoke of a wedding bouquet! i am going to take the case, miss lorne--take it, and solve it, as i'm a living man. thank you!" as her brimming eyes uplifted in deep thankfulness and her shaking hand returned the pressure of his. "now, just give me five minutes' time in the next room--it's my laboratory, lady chepstow--and i'll tell you whether i shall begin with captain hawksley or eliminate him from the case entirely. you might go in ahead, mr. narkom, and get the acid bath and the powder ready for me. we'll see what the finger-prints of our gentle correspondent have to tell, and, if they are not in the records of scotland yard or down in my own private little book, we'll get a sample of captain hawksley's in the morning." then, excusing himself to the ladies, he passed into the inner room in company with narkom, and carried the letter with him. when he returned it was still in his hand, but there were greyish smudges all over it. "there's not a finger-print in the lot that is worth anything as a means of identification, miss lorne," he said. "but you and lady chepstow may accept my assurance that captain hawksley is not the man. the writer of this letter belongs to the criminal classes; he is on his guard against the danger of finger-prints, and he wore rubber gloves when he penned this message. when i find him, rest assured i shall find a man who has had dealings with the police before and whose finger-prints are on their records. i don't know what his game is nor what he's after yet, but i will inside of a week. i've an idea; but it's so wild a thing i'm almost afraid to trust myself to believe it possible until i stumble over something that points the same way. now, go home with lady chepstow, and begin the work of helping me." "helping you? oh, mr. cleek, can we? is there anything we can do to help?" "yes. when you leave the house, act as though you are in the utmost state of dejection--and keep that up indefinitely. make it appear, for i am certain you will be followed and spied upon, as if i had declined the case. but don't have any fear about the boy. the two constables will sleep in the room with him to-night and every night until the thing is cleared up and the danger past. to-morrow about dusk, however, you, personally, take him for a walk near the park, and if, among the other cingalese you may meet, you should see one dressed as an englishman, and wearing a scarlet flower in his buttonhole, take no notice of how often you see him nor of what he may do." "it will be you, mr. cleek?" "yes. now go, please; and don't forget to act as if you and her ladyship were utterly broken-hearted. also"--his voice dropped lower, his hand met her hand, and in the darkness of the hall a little silver-plated revolver was slipped into her palm--"also, take this. keep it always with you, never be without it night or day, and if any living creature offers you violence, shoot him down as you would a mad dog. good-night, and--remember!" and long after she and lady chepstow had gone down and passed out into the night he stood there, looking the situation straight in the face and thinking his own troubled thoughts. "a wedding bouquet! a threat against her, and the mention of a wedding bouquet!" he said, as he went back into the room and sat down to figure the puzzle out. "only one creature in the world knows of my feelings in that direction, and only one creature in the world would be capable of that threat--margot! but what interest could she or any of her tribe have in the death of lady chepstow's little son? her game is always money. if she were after a ransom she would try to abduct the child, not to kill him, and if"--a sudden thought came and wrenched away his voice. he sat a moment twisting his fingers one through the other and frowning at the floor; then, of a sudden, he gave a cry and jumped to his feet. "five lacs of rupees--a fortune! by george, i've got it!" he fairly shouted. "the wild guess was a correct one, i'll stake my life. let's put it to the test." chapter xx the summer twilight was deepening into the summer dusk when ailsa, acting upon cleek's advice, set forth with his little lordship the following evening, and turned her steps in the direction of the park; but although, on her way there, she observed more than once that a swarthy-skinned man in european dress who wore a scarlet flower in his coat, and was so perfect a type of the asiatic that he would have passed muster for one even among a gathering of cingalese, kept appearing and disappearing at irregular intervals, it spoke well for the powers of imitation and self-effacement possessed by dollops, that she never once thought of associating that young man with the dawdling messenger boy who strolled leisurely along with a package under his arm and patronised every bun-shop, winkle-stall, and pork-pie purveyor on the line of march. for upward of an hour this sort of thing went on without any interruption or any solitary thing out of the ordinary, ailsa strolling along leisurely, with the boy's hands in hers and his innocent prattle running on ceaselessly; then, of a sudden, whilst they were moving along close to the park railings and in the shadow of the overhanging trees, the figure of an undersized man in semi-european costume, but wearing on his head the twisted turban of a cingalese, issued from one of the gates, and well-nigh collided with them. he drew back, murmuring an apology in pidgin-english, then, seeing the child, he salaamed profoundly and murmured in a voice of deep reverence, "holy, most holy!" and prostrated himself, with his forehead touching the ground, until ailsa and the child had passed on. but barely had they taken five steps before cleek appeared upon the scene, and did exactly the same thing as the cingalese. "all right. you may go home now. i've got my man," he whispered, as ailsa and the boy passed by. "look for me at chepstow house some time to-night." then rose, as she walked on, and went after the man who first had prostrated himself before the child. he had risen and gone on his way, but not before witnessing cleek's obeisance, and flashing upon him a sharp, searching look. cleek quickened his steps and shortened the distance between them. now or never was the time to put to the test that wild thought which last night had hammered on his brain, for it was certain that this man was in very truth a cingalese, and, as such, must know! he stretched forth his hand and touched the man, who drew back sharply, half indignantly, but changed his attitude entirely when cleek, who knew hindustani more than well, spoke to him in the native tongue. "unto thee, oh, brother!" cleek said. "thou, too, art of us, for thou, too, dost acknowledge the sacred shrine. these eyes have beheld thee." all his hopes rested on the slim pillar of that one word, "shrine," and his heart almost ceased to beat as he watched to see how it was received. it broke, however, into a very tumult of disturbance in the next instant, for the man positively beamed as he gave reply. "sacred be the shrine!" he answered in hindustani. "clearly thou art of us--not of those others." "others? what others? i am but newly come to this country." "walk with me, then, to my abode, sup with me, eat of my salt, and i will tell thee then, oh, brother. but i forget: thou hast no knowledge of me. listen, then. i am arjeeb noosrut, father of the high priest seydama, and it is among the people of my house that the gun is yet preserved. nor has the blood of seydama been ever washed from the wood of it. come." all in a moment a light seemed to break over cleek's brain. the missing link had been supplied--the one thing that could make possible the wild thought which had come to him last night had been given into his hands, and here at last was the key to the amazing mystery! he turned without a word and went with arjeeb noosrut. "what an ass!" he said to himself in the soundless words of thought "what an ass never to have suspected it when it is all so clear!" meantime ailsa and the boy, dismissed from any further need of service, walked on through the deepening dusk and turned their faces homeward. but they had not gone twenty yards from the spot where cleek had seen them last when his little lordship set up a joyful cry and pointed excitedly to a claret-coloured limousine which at that moment swung in from the middle of the roadway and slowed down as it neared the kerb. "oh, look, miss lorne; here's mummie's motor car; and i do believe that's bimbi peeping out of it!" exclaimed the child--"bimbi" being his pet name for captain hawksley--then broke, in wild excitement, from ailsa's detaining hand and fled to a tall, military-looking man with a fair beard and moustache who had just that moment alighted from the vehicle. "it is bimbi--it is!--it is!" he shouted as he ran. "oh, bimbi, i _am_ glad!" "ceddie, dear, you mustn't be so boisterous!" chided ailsa, coming up with him at the kerb. "how fond he is of you to be sure, captain hawksley. you've come for us, i suppose? ceddie recognised the car at once." "yes; jump in," he answered. "lady chepstow sent me after you. she's nervous, poor soul, every moment the boy's away from her. jump in, old chap!"--catching up his little lordship and swinging him inside. "better take the back seat, miss lorne; it's more comfortable. quite settled, both of you? that's good. all right, chauffeur--home!" then he jumped in after them, closed the door, dropped into a seat, and the motor, making a wide curve out into the road, pelted away into the fast-gathering darkness. "bimbi says maybe he's going to be my daddy one day--didn't you, bimbi?" said his little lordship, climbing up on to "bimbi's" knee and snuggling close to him. "i say, you know, you mustn't tell secrets, old chap!" was the laughing response. "miss lorne will hand you over to nursie with orders to put you to bed if you do, _i_ know--won't you, miss lorne?" "he ought to be in bed, anyhow," responded ailsa gaily; and then, this giving the conversation a merry turn, they talked and laughed and kept up such a chatter that three-quarters of an hour went like magic and nobody seemed aware of it. but suddenly ailsa thought, and then put her thoughts into words. "what a long time we are in getting home," she said, and bent forward so that the light from the window might fall upon the dial of her wrist watch, then gave a little startled cry and half rose from her seat. for the darkness was now tempered by moonlight, and she could see that they were no longer in the populous districts of the town, but were speeding along past woodlands and open fields in the very depths of the country. "good gracious! johnston must have lost his senses!" she exclaimed agitatedly. "look where we are, captain hawksley!--out in the country with only a farmhouse or two in sight. johnston! johnston!" she bent forward and rapped wildly on the glass panel. "johnston, stop!--turn round!--are you out of your head? captain hawksley, stop him--stop him for pity's sake!" "sit down, miss lorne." he made reply in a low, level voice, a voice in which there was something that made her pluck the child to her and hold him right to her breast. "you are not going home to-night. you are going for a ride with me; and if--oh, that's your little game, is it?" lurching forward as she made a frantic clutch at the handle of the door. "sit down, do you hear me?--or it will be worse for you! there!"--the cold bore of a revolver barrel touched her temple and wrung a quaking gasp of terror from her--"do you feel that? now you sit down and be quiet! if you make a single move, utter a single cry, i'll blow your brains out before you've half finished it. look here, do you know who you're dealing with now? see!" his hand reached up and twitched away the fair beard and moustache; he bent forward so that the moonlight through the glass could fall on his face. it had changed as his voice had now changed, and she saw that she was looking at the man who in those other days of stress and trial had posed as "gaston merode," brother to the fictitious "countess de la tour." "you!" she said in a bleak voice of desolation and fright. "dear heaven, that horrible margot's confederate, the king of the apaches!" "yes!" he rapped out. "you and that fellow cleek came between us in one promising game, but i'm hanged if you shall do it in this one! i want this boy, and--i've got him. now, you call off cleek and tell him to drop this case--to make no effort to follow us or to come between us and the kid--or i'll slit your throat after i've done with his little lordship here. lanisterre!"--to the chauffeur--"lanisterre, do you hear?" "_oui, monsieur_." "give her her head--full speed--and get to the mill as fast as you can. margot will be with us in another two hours' time." chapter xxi through the ever-deepening dusk cleek and arjeeb noosrut moved onward together; and onward behind them moved, too, the same dilatory messenger boy who had loitered about in the neighbourhood of the park, squandering his halfpence now as then, leaving a small trail of winkle shells and trotter bones to mark the record of his passage, and never seeming to lose one iota of his appetite, eat as much and as often as he would. the walk led down into the depths of soho, that refuge of the foreign element in london; but long before they halted at the narrow doorway of a narrow house in a narrow side street--a street that seemed to have gone to sleep in an atmosphere of gloom and smells--cleek had adroitly "pumped" arjeeb noosrut dry, and the riddle of the sacred son was a riddle to him no longer. he was now only anxious to part from the man and return with the news to lady chepstow, and was casting round in his mind for some excuse to avoid going indoors with him and wasting precious time in breaking bread and eating salt, when there lurched out of an adjoining doorway an ungainly figure in turban and sandals and the full flower of that grotesque regalia which passes muster at cheap theatres and masquerade balls for the costume of a cingalese. the fellow had bent forward out of the deeper darkness of the house-passage into the murk and gloom of the ill-lit street, and was straining his eyes as if in search for someone long expected. "dog of an infidel!" exclaimed arjeeb noosrut, speaking in hindustani, and spitting on the pavement as he caught sight of the man. "see, well-beloved, he is of those 'others' of which i spoke when i first met thee. there are many of them, but true believers none. they dwell in a room huddled up as unclean things in the house there; they drink and make merry far into the night, and a woman veiled and in european garb comes to them and drinks with them sometimes--and sometimes a man of her kind with her; and they speak a tongue that is not the tongue of our people; yet have i seen them go forth into the city and do homage as we to the sacred son." cleek sucked in his breath and, twitching round, stared at the dim figure leaning forward in the dim light. "by george!" he said to himself; "if i know anything, i ought to know the slouch and the low-sunk head of the apache! and the woman comes!--and a man comes!--and there are five lacs of rupees! i wonder! i wonder! but no--she wouldn't come here, to a place like this, if she had ventured back into england and had called some of the band over to help. she'd go to the old spot--to the old haunt where she and i used to lie low and laugh whilst the police were hunting for me. she'd go there, i'm sure, to the old burnt acre mill, where, if you were 'stalked,' you could open the sluice gates and let the thames and the mill stream rush in and meet, and make a hell of whirling waters that would drown a fish. she would go there if it were she. and yet--it is an apache: i swear it is an apache!" he turned and looked back at arjeeb noosrut, then raised his hand and brushed it down the back of his head, which was always the sign "wait!" to dollops--and then spoke as calmly as he could. "brother, i will go in and break bread and eat salt with thee," he said. "but i may do no more, for to-night i am in haste." "come then," the man answered; and taking him by the hand, led him in and up to a room at the back of the second storey, where, hot as the night was, the windows were closed and a woman squatted before a lighted brasier, was dripping the contents of an oil cruse over the roasting carcass of a young kid. "it is to shut out the sounds of the vile infidel orgies from the house adjoining," explained arjeeb noosrut, as cleek walked to the tightly closed window and leant his forehead against it. "yet, if the heat oppresses thee--" "it does," interposed cleek, and leant far out into the darkness as though sucking in the air when the sash was raised and the thing which had been only a dim babel of wordless sounds a moment before, became now the riotous laughter and the ribald comments of men upon the verses of a comic song which one of their number was joyously singing. "french!" said cleek under his breath, as he caught the notes of the singer and the words of his audience--"french--i knew it!" then he drew in his head, and having broken of the bread and eaten of the salt which, at a word from arjeeb noosrut, the woman brought on a wicker tray and laid before them, he moved hastily to the door. "brother and son of the faithful, peace be with thee--i must go," he said. "but i come again; and it is written that thou shalt be honoured above all men when i return to thee, and that the true believers--the true sons of holy buddha--shall have cause to set thy name at the head of the records of those who are most blest of him!" then he salaamed and passed out; and, closing the door behind him, ran like a hare down the narrow stairs. at the door dollops rose up like the imp in a pantomime and jumped toward him. "law, gov'nor, i'm nigh starved a-waitin' for yer!" he said in a whisper. "wot's the lay now? a double-quick change? i've got the stuff here, look!"--holding up the package he was carrying--"or a chance for me to do some fly catchin' with me bloomin' tickle tootsies?" the man in the cingalese costume had vanished from the doorway of the adjoining house, and, catching the boy by the arm, cleek hurried him to it and drew him into the dark passage. "i'm going to the back; i'm going to climb up to the windows of the second storey and see who's there and what's going on," he whispered. "lie low and watch. i think it's margot's gang." "oh, colour me blue! them beauties? and in london? i'd give a tanner for a strong cup o' tea!" "sh-h-h! be quiet--speak low. don't be seen, but keep a close watch; and if anybody comes downstairs--" "he's mine!" interjected dollops, stripping up his sleeves. "glue to the eyebrows and warranted to stick! nip away, gov'nor, and leave it to the tickle tootsies and me!" then, as cleek moved swiftly and silently down the passage and slipped out into a sort of yard at the back of the house, he pulled out his roll of brown paper squares and his tube of adhesive, and crawling upstairs on his hands and knees, began operations at the top step. but he had barely got the first "plaster" fairly made and ready to apply when there came a rush of footsteps behind him and he was obliged to duck down and flatten himself against the floor of the landing to escape being run down by a man who dashed in through the lower floor, flew at top speed up the stairs, and, with a sort of blended cheer and yell, whirled open a door on the landing above and vanished. in a twinkling other cheers rang out, there was the sound of hastily moving feet and the uproar of general excitement. "oh, well, if you won't stop to be waited on, gents, help yourselves!" said dollops with a chuckle. then he began backing hastily down the stairs, squirting the contents of the tube all over the steps, and concluded the operation by scattering all the loose sheets of paper on the floor at the foot of them before slipping out into the street and composedly waiting. meantime cleek, sneaking out through the rear door, found himself in a small, brick-paved yard hemmed in by a high wall thickly fringed on the top with a hedge of broken bottles. at one time in its history the house had been occupied by a catgut maker, and the rickety shed in which he had carried on his calling still clung, sagging and broken-roofed, to the building itself, its rotten slates all but vanished, and its interior piled high with mildewed bedding, mouldy old carpet, broken furniture, and refuse of every sort. a foot or two above the roof-level of this glowed--two luminous rectangles in the blackness of darkness--the windows of the back room on the second storey; and out of these came floating still the song, the laughter, and the jabbered french he had heard in the house next door. it did not take him long to make up his mind. gripping the swaying supports of the sagging shed, he went up it with the agility of a monkey, crawled to the nearer of the two windows, and, cautiously raising himself, peeped in. what he saw made him suck in his breath sharply and sent his heart hammering hard and fast. a dozen men were in the room--men whose faces, despite an inartistic attempt to appear oriental, he recognized at a glance and knew better than he knew his own. about them lay discarded portions of cingalese attire, thrown off because of the heat, and waiting to be resumed at any moment. the air was thick with tobacco smoke and rank with spirituous odours. sprawled figures were everywhere, and on a sort of couch against the opposite wall, a cigarette between her fingers, a glass of absinthe at her elbow, her laughter and badinage ringing out as loudly as any, lay the lissom figure of margot! but even as cleek looked in upon it the picture changed. swift, sharp, and sudden came the rattle of flying feet on the outer stairs. margot flung aside her cigarette and jumped up, the song and the laughter came to an abrupt end, the door flew open, and with a shout and a cheer a man bounced into the room. "serpice! ah, _le bon dieu!_ it is serpice at last!" cried out margot in joyous excitement, as she and the others crowded round him. "soul of a sluggard, don't waste time in laughing and capering like this! speak up, speak up, you hear? are we to fly at once to the mill and join him? has he succeeded? is it done?" "yes, yes, yes!" shouted back serpice, throwing up his cap and capering. "it is done! it is done! under the very nose of the cracksman, too! merode's got them--got them both! the little lordship and the mademoiselle lorne, too! they took the bait like gudgeons; they stepped into the automobile without a fear, and--whizz! it was off to the mill like that! la, la, la! we win, we win, we win!" the shock of the thing was too much for cleek. carried out of himself by the knowledge that the woman he loved was now in peril of her life, discretion forsook him, blind rage mastered him, and he did one of the few foolish things of his life. "you lie, you brute--you lie!" he shouted, jumping up into full view. "god help the man who lays a hand on her! let him keep his life from me if he can!" "the cracksman!" yelled out serpice. "the cracksman! the cracksman!" echoed margot and the rest. then a pistol barked and spat, the light was swept out, a bullet sang past cleek's ear, and he realised how foolish he had been. for part of the crowd came surging to the window, part went in one blind rush for the door to head him off and hem him in, and, through the din and hubbub rang viciously the voice of margot shrilling out: "kill him! kill him!" as though nothing but the sight of his blood would glut the malice of her. it was neck or nothing now, and the race was to the swift. he dropped through a gap in the ragged roof--sheer down, like a shot--into the rubble and refuse below; he lurched through the shed to the door, and through that to the black passage leading to the street--the clatter on the higher staircase giving warning of the crowd coming after him--and flew like a hare hard pressed toward the outer door, and then--just then, when every little moment counted--there was a scrambling sound, a chorus of oaths, a slipping, a sliding, a bang on one step and a bump on another; and, as he darted by, and sprang out into the street, the hall was filled with a writhing, scuffling, swearing mass of glue-covered men struggling in a whirling waste of loose brown paper. "this way! come quickly, for your life!" he shouted to dollops, as he came plunging out into the street. "they've got them--got his little lordship! got miss lorne--in spite of me. come on! come on! come on!"--and flew like an arrow from crossing to crossing and street to street with dollops, like a shadow, at his heels. a sudden swerve to the right brought them into a lighted and populous thoroughfare. italian restaurants, german delicatessen shops, eating places of a dozen other nationalities lined the pavements on both sides of the street, and, in front of these a high-power motor stood, protected by the watchful eye of an accommodating policeman while the chauffeur sampled chianti in a wine-shop close by. with a rush and a leap cleek was upon it, and with another rush and a leap the constable was upon him, only to be greeted with the swift flicking open of a coat and the gleam of a badge that every man in the force knew. "cleek?" "yes! in the name of the yard; in the name of the king! get out of the way! in with you, dollops! we'll get the brutes yet!" then he bent over, threw in the clutch, and discarding all speed laws, sent the car humming and tearing away. "hold tight!" he said, through his teeth. "whatever comes, we've got to get to burnt acre mill inside of an hour. if you know any prayers, dollops, say them." "the lord fetch us home in time for supper!" gulped the boy obediently. "s'help me, gov'nor, the wind's goin' through my teeth like i was a mouth organ--and i'm hollow enough for a flute!" chapter xxii it is strange how, in moments of stress and trial, even in times of tragedy, the most commonplace thoughts will intrude themselves and the mind separate itself from the immediate events. as merode put the cold muzzle of the revolver to ailsa's temple and she ought, one would have supposed, to have been deaf and blind to all things but the horror of her position, one of these strange mental lapses occurred, and her mind, travelling back over the years of her early schooldays, dwelt on a punishment task set her by her preceptress--the task of copying three hundred times the phrase "discretion is the better part of valour." as the recollection of that time rose before her mental vision, the value of the phrase itself forced its worth upon her and, huddling back in the corner of the limousine, she clutched the frightened child to her and gave implicit obedience to merode's command to make no effort to attract attention either by word or deed. and he, fancying that he had thoroughly cowed her, withdrew the touch of the weapon from her temple, but held it ready for possible use in the grip of his thin, strong hand. for a time the limousine kept straight on in its headlong course, then, of a sudden, it swerved to the left, the gleam of a river--all silver with moonlight--struck up through a line of trees on one side of the car, the blank unbroken dreariness of a stretch of waste land spread out upon the other; and presently, by the slowing down of the motor, ailsa guessed that they were nearing their destination. they reached it a few moments later, and a peep from the window, as the vehicle stopped, showed her the outlines of a ruined watermill--ghostly, crumbling, owl-haunted--looming black against the silver sky. a crumbled wheel hung, rotten and moss-grown, over a dry water-course, where straggling willows stretched out from the bank and trailed their long, feathery ends a yard or so above the level of the weeds and grasses that carpeted the sandy bed of it, and along its edge--once built as a protection for the heedless or unwary, but now a ruin and a wreck--a moss-grown wall with a narrow, gateless archway made an irregular shadow on the moon-drenched earth. she saw that archway and that dry water-course, and a new, strong hope arose within her. discretion had played its part; now it was time for valour to take the stage. "come, get out--this is the end," said merode, as he unlatched the door of the limousine and alighted. "you may yell here until your throat splits, for all the good it will do you. lanisterre, show us a light; the path to the door is uncertain, and the floor of the mill is unsafe. this way, if you please, miss lorne. let me have the boy--i'll look after him!" "no, no!--not yet! please, not yet!" said ailsa, with a little catch in her voice as she plucked his little lordship to her and smothered his frightened cries against her breast. "let me have him whilst i may--let me hold him to--the last, monsieur merode. his mother trusts me. she will want to know that i--i stood by him until i could stand no longer. please!--we are so helpless--i am so fond of him, and--he is such a very little boy. listen! you want me to write to mr. cleek; you want me to ask something of him. i won't do it for myself--no, not if you kill me for refusing. i'll never do it for myself; but--but i will do it if you won't separate us until he has had time to say his prayers." "oh, all right, then," he agreed. "if it's any consolation doing a fool's trick like that, why--do it! now come along, and let's get inside the mill without any more nonsense. lanisterre, bring that lantern here so that mademoiselle can see the path to the door. this way, if you please, miss lorne." "thank you," she said as she alighted and moved slowly in the direction of the door, soothing the child as they crept along almost within touch of the crumbling wall. "ceddie, darling, don't cry. you are a brave little hero, i know, and heroes are never afraid to die." from the tail of her eye she watched merode. he seemed to realise from these words to the child that she was reconciled to the inevitable, and with an air of satisfaction he put the pistol back into his pocket and walked beside her. she kept straight on with her soothing words; and, in the half-shadow, neither merode nor lanisterre could see that one hand was lost in the folds of her skirt. "ceddie, darling, let miss lorne be able to tell mummie that her little man was a hero; that he died, as heroes always die, without a fear or a weakening to the very last. i'll stand by you, precious; i'll hold your hand; and, when the time comes--" it came then! the gateless archway was reached at last; and the thing she had been planning all along now became possible. with one sudden push she sent the boy reeling down the incline into the dry water-course, flashed round sharply, and before merode really knew how the thing happened, she was standing with her back to the arch and a revolver in her levelled hand. "throw up your arms--throw them up at once, or, as god hears me, i'll shoot!" she cried. "run, ceddie--run, baby! he shan't follow you--i'll kill him if he tries!" "you idiot!" began merode, and made a lurch toward her. but the pistol barked, and something white-hot zigzagged along his arm and bit like a flame into his shoulder. "up with your hands--up with them!" she said in a voice that shook with excitement as he howled out and made a reeling backward step. "next time it will be the head i aim at, not the arm!" then, lifting up her voice in one loud shriek that made the echoes bound, she called with all her strength; "help, somebody--for god's sake help! scream, ceddie--scream! help! help!" and lo! as she called, as if a miracle had been wrought, out of the darkness an answering voice called back to her, and the wild, swift notes of a motor horn bleated along the lonely road. "i'm coming--i--cleek!" that voice rang out. "hold your own--hold it to the last, miss lorne, and god help the man who lays a finger on you!" "mr. cleek! mr. cleek, oh, thank god!" she flung back with all the rapture a human voice could contain. "come on, come on! i've got him--got that man merode, and the boy is safe, the boy is safe! come on! come on! come on!" "we're a-comin', miss, you gamble on that--and the lightnin's a fool to us!" shouted dollops in reply. "let her have it, gov'nor! bust the bloomin' tank. give her her head; give her her feet; give her her blessed merry-thought if she wants it! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" and then, just then, when she most needed her strength and her courage, ailsa's evaporated. the reaction came and with the despairing cries of merode and lanisterre ringing in her ears, she sank back, weak, white, almost fainting--and, leaning against the side of the archway, began to laugh and to sob hysterically. merode seized that one moment and sprang to the breach. realising that the game was all but up, that there was nothing for him now but to save his own skin if he could, he called out to lanisterre to follow him, then plunged into the mill, swung over the lever which controlled the sluice gates, and, darting out by the back way, fled across the waste. but behind him he left a scene of indescribable horror, and the shrill screaming of a little child told him when that horror began. for as the sluice gates opened a sullen roar sounded; on one side the diverted millstream, and on the other the river, rose as two solid walls of water, rushed forward and--met; and in the twinkling of an eye the old water-course was one wild, leaping, roaring, gyrating whirlpool of up-flung froth and twisting waves that bore in their eddying clutch the battling figure of a drowning child. even before he came in sight of it the roaring waters and the fearful splash of their impact told cleek what had been done. he could hear ailsa's screams; he could hear the boy's feeble cries, and a moment later, when the whizzing motor panted up through the moonlight and sped by the broken wall, there was ailsa, fairly palsied with fright, clinging weakly to the crumbling arch and uttering little sobbing, wordless, incoherent moans of fright as she stared down into the hell of waters; and below, in the foam, a little yellow head was spinning round and round and round, in dizzying circles of torn and leaping waves. "heavens, gov'nor!" began dollops in a voice of appalling despair; but before he could get beyond that, cleek's coat was off, cleek's body had described a sort of semi-circle, and--the child was no longer alone in the whirlpool! battling, struggling, fairly leaping, as a fish leaps in a torrent, one moment half out of the water, the next wholly submerged, cleek struck from eddy to eddy, from circle to circle; until that little yellow head was within reach, then put forth his hand and gripped it, pulled it to him, and in another moment he was whirling round and round the whirlpool's course with the child clutched to him and his wet, white face gleaming wax-like over the angle of his shoulder. they had not made the half of the first circle thus before dollops had leaped to the bending willows, had scrambled up the rough trunk of the nearest of them, and, pushing his weight out upon a strong and supple bough, bent it downward until the half of its strongest withes were deep in the whirling waters. "grab 'em, gov'nor--grab 'em when you come by!" he sang out over the roar of the waters. "they'll hold you, sir--hold a dozen like you; and if--well played! got 'em the first grab! hang on! get a tight grip! now then, sir, hand over hand till you're at the bank! good biz! good biz! blest if you won't be goin' in for the circus trade next! steady does it, sir--steady, steady! goal, by jupiter! now then, hand me up the nipper--i should say the young gent--and in two minutes' time--right! got him! 'ere you are, miss lorne--lay hold of his little lordship, will you? i've got me blessed hands full a keepin' to me perch whilst the guv'nor's a-wobbling of the branch like this. good biz! now then, sir, another 'arf a yard. that's the call! hands on this bough and foot on the bank there. one, two, three--knew you'd do it! safe as houses, gawd bless yer bully heart!" and then as cleek, wet, white, panting, dragged himself out of the clutch of the whirlpool and lay breathing heavily on the ground: "by gums, gov'nor," dollops added as he looked down on the whirling waters, "what an egg-beater it would make, wouldn't it, sir? ain't got such a thing as a biscuit about yer, have you? me spine's a rasping holes in me necktie, and i'm so flat you could slip me into a pillar box and they'd take me home for a penny stamp." but cleek made no reply. wet and spent after his fierce struggle with the whirling fury he had just escaped, he lay looking up into ailsa's eyes as she came to him with the sobbing child close pressed to her bosom and all heaven in her beaming face. "it is not the 'funeral wreath' after all, you see, miss lorne," he said. "it came near to being it; but--it is not, it is not. i wonder, oh, i wonder!" then he laughed the foolish, vacuous laugh of a man whose thoughts are too happy for the banality of words. chapter xxiii it was midnight and after. in the close-curtained library of chepstow house, cleek, with his little lordship sleeping in his arms, sat in solemn conclave with lady chepstow, captain hawksley, and maverick narkom; and while they talked, ailsa, like a restless spirit, wandered to and fro, now lifting the curtains to peep out into the darkness, now listening as if her whole life's hope lay in the coming of some expected sound. and in her veins there burned a fever of suspense. "so you failed to get the rascals, did you, mr. narkom?" cleek was saying. "i feared as much; but i couldn't get word to you sooner. we injured the machine in that mad race to the mill, and of course we had to come at a snail's pace afterwards. i'm sorry we didn't get margot--sorrier still that that hound merode got away. they are bound to make more trouble before the race is run. not for her ladyship, however, and not for this dear little chap. their troubles are at an end, and the sacred son will be a sacred son no longer." "oh, mr. cleek, do tell me what you mean," implored lady chepstow. "do tell me how--" "doctor fordyce, at last!" struck in ailsa excitedly, as the door-bell and knocker clashed and the butler's swift footsteps went along the hall. "now we shall know, mr. cleek--oh, now we shall know for certain!" "and so shall all the world," he replied as the door opened and the doctor was ushered into the room. "i don't think you were ever so welcome anywhere or at any time before, doctor," he added with a smile. "come and look at this little chap. bonny little specimen of a britisher, isn't he?" "yes; but my dear sir, i--i was under the impression that i was called to a scene of excitement; and you seem as peaceful as eden here. the constable who came for me said it was something to do with scotland yard." "so it is, doctor. i had mr. narkom send for you to perform a very trifling but most important operation upon his little lordship here." "upon cedric!" exclaimed lady chepstow, rising in a panic of alarm. "an operation to be performed upon my baby boy? oh, mr. cleek, in the name of heaven--" "no, your ladyship, in the name of buddha. don't be alarmed. it is only to be a trifling cut--a mere re-opening of that little wound in the thigh which you dressed and healed so successfully at trincomalee. you made a mistake, all of you, that night when the boy was shot. the native poor ferralt saw skulking along with the gun was not a mere tribesman and had not the very faintest thought of discharging that weapon at your little son, or, indeed, at anybody else in the world. he was the high priest seydama, guardian of the holy tooth--the one living being who dared by right to touch it or to lay hands upon the shrine that contained it. fearful, when the false rumour of that intended loot was circulated, that infidel eyes should look upon it, infidel hands profane the sacred relic, he determined to remove it from dambool to the rock-hewn temple of galwihara and to enshrine it there. for the purpose of giving no clue to his movements, he chose to abandon his priestly vestments, to disguise himself as a common tribesman, and, the better to defeat the designs of any who might penetrate that disguise and endeavour to take the sacred relic from him and hold it for ransom, he hid the holy tooth in the barrel of a gun. that gun was in his hands, your ladyship, when ferralt rushed out and brained him." "in his hands? oh, mr. cleek, then--then--" her voice all but failed her as a sudden realization came. "that relic, that fetish! if it was in that gun at that time, then it is now--" "embedded in the fleshy part of the boy's thigh," said cleek, finishing the sentence for her. "inclosed, doubtless, in a sac or cyst which mother nature has wrapped round it, the tooth is there--in your little son's body; and for five whole years he has been the living shrine that held it!" it was quite true--as events rapidly and completely proved. ten minutes later, the trifling operation was concluded; the boy lay whimpering in his mother's arms and the long-lost relic was on the surgeon's palm. "take it, captain hawksley," said cleek, lifting it between his thumb and forefinger and carrying it to him. "there is a man in soho--one arjeeb noosrut--who will know it when he sees it; and there is a vast reward. five lacs of rupees will pay off no end of debts, my friend; and a man with that balance at his banker's can't be thought a mere fortune-hunter when he asks for the hand of the woman he loves." the captain didn't ask for _his_, however--he simply jumped up and grabbed it. "by george, you're a brick!" he said, with something uneven in his voice--something that was like laughter and tears all jumbled up together; then he glanced over at lady chepstow, and flushed, and floundered, and stammered confusedly, but went on shaking cleek's hand all the time. "it's ripping of you--it's bully, dear chap, but--i say, you know, it isn't fair. it's jolly uneven. _you_ found out. you ought at least to have a share in the reward." "not i," said cleek, with an airy laugh. "like the fellow who was born with a third leg, 'i have no use for it,' captain. but if you really want to give any part of it away, bank a thousand to the credit of my boy dollops to be turned over to him when he's twenty-one. and you might make mr. narkom, and, if she will accept the post, miss lorne, his trustees." miss lorne faced round and looked at him; and even from that distance he could see that her mouth was moving tremulously and there was something shining in the corner of her eye. "i accept that position with pleasure, mr. cleek," she said. "it is the act of a man and--a gentleman. thank you! thank you." and came down the long length of the room with her hand outstretched to take his. chapter xxiv he took it with that grave courtesy, that gentle dignity of bearing which at times distinguished his deportment and was, indeed, as puzzling to her as it was to mr. maverick narkom. it came but rarely, that peculiar air, but it was very noticeable when it did come, although the man himself seemed totally oblivious of it. miss lorne noticed it now, just as she had noticed it that day in the train when she had said banteringly: "i am not used to court manners. where, if you please, did you acquire yours?" "i can't say how deeply indebted i feel--you must imagine that, miss lorne," he said, bending over the hand that lay in his, with an air that made lady chepstow lift her eyebrows and look at him narrowly. "it is one of the kindest things you could do for the boy and--for me. i thank you very, very much indeed. my thanks are due to you, too, captain; for i feel that you will gladly do the favour i have asked." "do it? yes, like a shot, old chap. what a ripping fellow you are!" "i'm a tired one at all events," replied cleek. "so, if you--and the ladies"--bowing to them--"will kindly excuse me, i'll be off home for a needed rest. lady chepstow, my very best respects. i feel sure that his little lordship will be quite all right in a day or two, although i shall, of course, be glad to learn how he progresses. may i? perhaps miss lorne might be persuaded to send me a word or two through--mr. narkom." lady chepstow was still looking at him as she had been from the moment he had taken ailsa's hand. now she put out her own to him. "why wait for written reports, mr. cleek? why not call in person and see?" she asked. "it will be more satisfactory than writing; and you will be welcome always." "i thank your ladyship," he said gravely--though all the soul of him rioted and laughed and longed to shout out for sheer joy. "it is a privilege i shall be happy to enjoy." but afterward, when he came to take his leave, a dearer one was granted him; for ailsa herself accompanied him to the door. "i couldn't let the butler show you out, mr. cleek," she said, as they stood together in the wide entrance hall. "i couldn't let you go until i had said something that is on my mind--something that has been pricking my conscience all evening. i want to tell you that from this night on i am going to forget those other nights: that one in the mist at hampstead, that other on the stairway at wyvern house--forget them utterly and entirely, mr. cleek. whatever you may have been _once_, i know that now you are indeed a man!" then gave him her hand again, smiled at him, and sent him home feeling that he was as near to the threshold of heaven as any mortal thing may hope to be. followed a time of such happiness as only they may know who having lived in darkness first know that there is such a thing as light; followed days and weeks that went like magic things, blest to the uttermost before they go. for now he was a welcome visitor at the house that sheltered her; now the armour of reserve had dropped from her, and they were finding out between them that they had many tastes in common. it was in august when the first interruption to this happy state of affairs occurred and they came to know that separation was to be endured again. lady chepstow, planning already for a wedding that was to take place in the early winter, decided to spend the last few months of her widowhood at her country house in devonshire, and retired to it taking her servants, her little son, and her son's governess with her. for a day or two, cleek "mooned" about--restless, lonely despite dollops's presence, finding no savour in anything; and it came as a positive relief when a call from the yard sent him to a modest little house in the neighbourhood of wandsworth common. the "call" in question took the shape of a letter from mr. narkom. "my dear cleek," it ran, "a most amazing case--probably _the_ most amazing you have yet tackled--has just cropped up. the client is one captain morrison, a retired army officer living solely on his half pay. his daughter is involved in the astonishing affair. indeed, it is at her earnest appeal that the matter has been brought to my notice. as the captain is in too weak a state of health to journey any distance, i am going to ask you to meet me at no. , sunnington crescent, wandsworth--a house kept by one mrs. culpin, widow of one of my yard men, at three o'clock this afternoon. knowing your reluctance to have your identity disclosed, i have taken the liberty of giving you the name you adopted in the bawdrey affair, to wit: 'george headland.' i have also taken the same precaution with regard to the morrisons, leaving you to disclose your identity or not, as you see fit." glad enough for anything to distract his thoughts from the brooding state of melancholy into which they had sunk, cleek looked up a time-table, caught the : train from victoria station; and narkom, walking into mrs. culpin's modest little drawing-room at two minutes past three, found him standing in the window and looking thoughtfully out at the groups of children romping on the near-by common. "well, here i am at last, you see, my dear fellow," he said, as he crossed the room and shook hands with him. "ripping day, isn't it? what are you doing? admiring the view or taking stock of mrs. culpin's roses?" "neither. i was speculating in futures," replied cleek, glancing back at the sunlit common, and then glancing away again with a faintly audible sigh. "how happy, how care-free they are, those merry little beggars, mr. narkom. what you said in your letter set my thoughts harking backward, and ... i was wondering what things the coming years might hold for them and for their parents. at one time, you know, philip bawdrey was as innocent and guileless as any of those little shavers; and yet, in after years he proved a monster of iniquity, a beast of ingratitude, and--oh, well, let it pass. he paid, as thankless children always do pay under god's good rule. i wonder what his thoughts were when his last hour came." "it did come, then?" "yes. got playing some of his games with those short-tempered chaps out in buenos ayres and got knifed a fortnight after his arrival. i had a letter from mrs. bawdrey yesterday. his father never knew of--well, the other thing; and never will now, thank god. the longer i live, mr. narkom, the surer i become that straight living always pays; and that the chap who turns into the other lane gets what he deserves before the game is played out." "ten years of scotland yard have enabled me to endorse that statement emphatically," replied narkom. "'the riddle of the ninth finger' was no different in that respect from nine hundred other riddles that have come my way since i took office. now sit down, old chap, and let us take up the present case. but i say, cleek; speaking of rewards reminds me of what i wrote you. there's very little chance of one in this affair. all the parties connected with it are in very moderate circumstances. the sculptor fellow, van nant, who figures in it, was quite well-to-do at one time, i believe, but he ran through the greater part of his money, and a dishonest solicitor did him out of the rest. miss morrison herself never did have any, and, as i have told you, the captain hasn't anything in the world but his pension; and it takes every shilling of that to keep them. in the circumstances, i'd have made it a simple 'yard' affair, chargeable to the government, and put one of the regular staff upon it. but--well, it's such an astounding, such an unheard-of-thing, i knew you'd fairly revel in it. and besides, after all the rewards you have won you must be quite a well-to-do man by this time, and able to indulge in a little philanthropy." cleek smiled. "i will indulge in it, of course," he said, "but not for that reason, mr. narkom. i wonder how much it will surprise you to learn that, at the present moment, i have just one hundred pounds in all the world?" "my dear fellow!" narkom exclaimed, with a sort of gasp, staring at him in round-eyed amazement. "you fairly take away my breath. why, you must have received a fortune since you took up these special cases. fifty or sixty thousand pounds at the smallest calculation." "more! to be precise, i have received exactly seventy-two thousand pounds, mr. narkom. but, as i tell you, i have to-day but one hundred pounds of that sum left. lost in speculation? oh, dear no! i've not invested one farthing in any scheme, company, or purchase since the night you gave me my chance and helped me to live an honest life." "then in the name of heaven, cleek, what has become of the money?" "it has gone in the cause of my redemption, mr. narkom," he answered in a hushed voice. "my good friend--for you really _have_ been a good friend to me, the best i ever had in all the world--my good friend, let us for only just this one minute speak of the times that lie behind. you know what redeemed me--a woman's eyes, a woman's rose-white soul! i said, did i not, that i wanted to win her, wanted to be worthy of her, wanted to climb up and stand with her in the light? you remember that, do you not, mr. narkom?" "yes, i remember. but, my dear fellow, why speak of your 'vanishing cracksman' days when you have so utterly put them behind you, and since lived a life beyond reproach? whatever you did in those times you have amply atoned for. and what can that have to do with your impoverished state?" "it has everything to do with it. i said i would be worthy of that one dear woman, and--i can never be, mr. narkom, until i have made restitution; until i can offer her a clean hand as well as a clean life. i can't restore the actual things that the 'vanishing cracksman' stole; for they are gone beyond recall, but--i can, at least, restore the value of them, and--that i have been secretly doing for a long time." "man alive! god bless my soul! cleek, my dear fellow, do you mean to tell me that all the rewards, all the money you have earned--" "has gone to the people from whom i stole things in the wretched old days that lie behind me," he finished very gently. "it goes back, in secret gifts, as fast as it is earned, mr. narkom. don't you see the answers, the acknowledgments, in the 'personal' columns of the papers now and again? wheresoever i robbed in those old days, i am repaying in these. when the score is wiped off, when the last robbery is paid for, my hand will be clean, and--i can offer it; never before." "cleek! my dear fellow! what a man! what a _man_! oh, more than ever am i certain _now_ that old sir horace wyvern was right that night when he said that you were a gentleman. tell me--i'll respect it--tell me, for god's sake, man, who are you? _what_ are you, dear friend?" "cleek," he made reply. "just cleek! the rest is my secret and--god's! we've never spoken of the past since _that_ night, mr. narkom, and, with your kind permission, we never will speak of it again. i'm cleek, the detective--at your service once more. now, then, let's have the new strange case on which you called me here. what's it all about?" "necromancy--wizardry--fairy-lore--all the stuff and nonsense that goes to the making of 'the arabian nights'!" said narkom, waxing excited as his thoughts were thus shoved back to the amazing affair he had in hand. "all your 'red crawls' and your 'sacred sons' and your 'nine-fingered skeletons' are fools to it for wonder and mystery. talk about witchcraft! talk about wizards and giants and enchanters and the things that witches did in the days of macbeth! god bless my soul, they're nothing to it. those were the days of magic, anyhow, so you can take it or leave it, as you like; but this--look here, cleek, you've heard of a good many queer things and run foul of a good many mysteries, i'll admit, but did you ever--in this twentieth century, when witchcraft and black magic are supposed to be as dead as queen anne--did you ever, my dear fellow, hear of such a marvel as a man putting on a blue leather belt that was said to have the power of rendering the wearer invisible and then forthwith melting into thin air and floating off like a cloud of pipe smoke?" "gammon!" "gammon nothing! facts!" "facts? you're off your head, man. the thing couldn't possibly happen. somebody's having you!" "well, somebody had _him_, at all events. young carboys, i mean--the chap that's engaged, or, rather was engaged, to captain morrison's daughter; and the poor girl's half out of her mind over it. he put the belt on in the presence of her and her father--in their own house, mind you--walked into a bedroom, and vanished like smoke. doors locked, windows closed, room empty, belt on the floor, and man gone. not a trace of him from that moment to this; and yesterday was to have been his wedding-day. there's a 'mystery,' if you like. what do you make of that?" cleek looked at him for an instant. then: "my dear mr. narkom, for the moment i thought you were fooling," he said in a tone of deep interest. "but i see now that you are quite in earnest, although the thing sounds so preposterous, a child might be expected to scoff at it. a man to get a magic belt, to put it on, and then to melt away? why, the 'seven-league boots' couldn't be a greater tax on one's credulity. sit down and tell me all about it." "the dickens of it is there doesn't seem to be much to tell," said narkom, accepting the invitation. "young carboys, who appears to have been a decent sort of chap, had neither money, position, nor enemies, so that's an end to any idea of somebody having a reason for wishing to get rid of him; and, as he was devotedly attached to miss morrison, and was counting the very hours to the time of their wedding, and, in addition, had no debts, no entanglements of any sort, and no possible reason for wishing to disappear, there isn't the slightest ground for suspecting that he did so voluntarily." "suppose you tell me the story from the beginning, and leave me to draw my own conclusions regarding that," said cleek. "who and what was the man? was he living in the same house with his fiancée, then? you say the disappearance occurred there, at night, and that he went into a bedroom. was the place his home, as well as captain morrison's, then?" "on the contrary. his home was a matter of three or four miles distant. he was merely stopping at the morrison's on that particular night; i'll tell you presently why and how he came to do that. for the present, let's take things in their proper order. once upon a time this george carboys occupied a fair position in the world, and his parents--long since dead--were well to do. the son, being an only child, was well looked after--sent to eton and then to brasenose, and all that sort of thing--and the future looked very bright for him. before he was twenty-one, however, his father lost everything through unlucky speculations, and that forced the son to make his own living. at the 'varsity he had fallen in with a rich young belgian--fellow named maurice van nant--who had a taste for sculpture and the fine arts generally, and they had become the warmest and closest of friends." "maurice van nant? that's the sculptor fellow you said in the beginning had gone through his money, isn't it?" "yes. well, when young carboys was thrown on the world, so to speak, this van nant came to the rescue, made a place for him as private secretary and companion, and for three or four years they knocked round the world together, going to egypt, persia, india, _et cetera_, as van nant was mad on the subject of oriental art, and wished to study it at the fountain-head. in the meantime both carboys' parents went over to the silent majority, and left him without a relative in the world, barring captain morrison, who is an uncle about seven times removed and would, of course, naturally be heir-at-law to anything he left if he had anything to leave, poor beggar, which he hadn't. but that's getting ahead of the story. "well, at the end of four years or so van nant came to the bottom of his purse--hadn't a stiver left; and from dabbling in art for pleasure, had to come down to it as a means of earning a livelihood. and he and carboys returned to england, and, for purposes of economy, pooled their interests, took a small box of a house over putney way, set up a regular 'bachelor establishment,' and started in the business of bread-winning together. carboys succeeded in getting a clerk's position in town; van nant set about modelling clay figures and painting mediocre pictures, and selling both whenever he could find purchasers. "naturally, these were slow in coming, few and far between; but with carboys' steady two pounds a week coming in, they managed to scrape along and to keep themselves going. they were very happy, too, despite the fact that carboys had got himself engaged to miss morrison, and was hoarding every penny he could possibly save in order to get enough to marry on; and this did not tend to make van nant overjoyed, as such a marriage would, of course, mean the end of their long association and the giving up of their bachelor quarters." "to say nothing of leaving van nant to rub along as best he could without any assistance from carboys," commented cleek. "i think i can guess a portion of what resulted, mr. narkom. van nant did not, of course, in these circumstances have any tender regard for miss morrison." "no, he did not. in point of fact, he disliked her very much indeed, and viewed the approaching wedding with extreme disfavour." "and yet you say that nobody had an interest in doing carboys some sort of mischief in order to prevent that wedding from being consummated, mr. narkom," said cleek with a shrug of the shoulders. "certainly, van nant would have been glad to see a spoke put in that particular wheel; though i freely confess i do not see what good could come of preventing it by doing away with carboys, as he would then be in as bad a position as if the marriage had been allowed to proceed as planned. either way he loses carboys' companionship and assistance; and his one wish would be to preserve both. well, go on. what next? i'm anxious to hear about the belt. where and how does that come in?" "well, it appears that miss morrison got hold of a humorous book called 'the brass bottle,' a fantastic, farcical thing, about a genie who had been sealed up in a bottle for a thousand years getting out and causing the poor devil of a hero no end of worry by heaping riches and honours upon him in the most embarrassing manner. it happened that on the night miss morrison got this book, and read it aloud for the amusement of her father and lover, carboys had persuaded van nant to spend the evening with them. apparently he enjoyed himself, too, for he laughed as boisterously as any of them over the farcical tale, and would not go home until he had heard the end of it. when it was finished miss morrison tells me, carboys, after laughing fit to split his sides over the predicament of the hero of the book, cried out: 'by george! i wish some old genie would take it into his head to hunt me up, and try the same sort of a dodge with me. he wouldn't find this chicken shying his gold and his gems back at his head, i can tell you. i'd accept all the arab slaves and all the palaces he wanted to thrust on me; and then i'd make 'em all over to you, mary dear, so you'd never have to do another day's worrying or pinching in all your life. but never you nor anybody else depend upon an arab's gratitude or an arab's generosity. he'll promise you the moon, and then wriggle out of giving you so much as a star--just as abdul ben meerza did with me.' and upon miss morrison asking what he meant by that, he replied, laughingly: 'ask van, he knew the old codger better than i--knew his whole blessed family, blow him!--and was able to talk to the old skinflint in his own outlandish tongue.' "upon miss morrison's acting on this suggestion, van nant told of an adventure carboys had had in persia some years previously. it appears that he saved the life of a miserly old arab called abdul ben meerza at the risk of his own; that the old man was profuse in his expressions of gratitude, and, on their parting, had said: 'by the prophet, thou shalt yet find the tree of this day's planting bear rich fruit for thee and thy feet walk upon golden stones.' but, in spite of this promise, he had walked away, and carboys had never heard another word from nor of him from that hour until three nights ago." "oho!" said cleek, with a strong, rising inflection. "and he did hear of him, then?" "yes," replied narkom. "quite unexpectedly, and while he was preparing to spend a dull evening at home with van nant--for the night was, as you must recollect, my dear fellow, a horribly wet and stormy one--a message came to him from miss morrison asking him to come over to wandsworth without delay, as a most amazing thing had happened. a box marked 'from abdul ben meerza' had been delivered there, of all astonishing places. the message concluded by saying that as it was such a horrible night, the captain, her father, would not hear of his returning, so begged him to bring his effects, and come prepared to remain until morning. "he went, of course, carrying with him a small bag containing his pyjamas, his shaving tackle, and such few accessories as would be necessary, since, if he stopped, he must start from there to business in the morning; and on his arrival was handed a small leather case addressed as he had been told. imagining all sorts of wonders, from jewels of fabulous value to documents entitling him to endless wealth, he unfastened the case, and found within it a broad belt of blue enamelled leather secured with a circular brass clasp, on which was rudely scratched in english the words, 'the wizards of the east grew rich by being unseen. whoso clasps this belt about his waist may become invisible for the wishing. so does ben meerza remember.' "of course, carboys treated it as the veriest rubbish--who wouldn't? indeed, suspected van nant of having played a joke upon him, and laughingly threw it aside; and, finding that he had taken an uncomfortable journey for nothing, got some good out of it by spending a pleasant evening with the captain and his daughter. a room had been made ready for him--in fact, although he did not know it, miss morrison had given him hers, and had herself gone to a less attractive one--and in due time he prepared to turn in for the night. as they parted miss morrison, in a bantering spirit, picked up the belt and handed it to him, remarking that he had better keep it, as, after marriage, he might some time be glad to creep into the house unseen; and, in the same bantering spirit, he had replied that he had better begin learning how the thing worked in case of necessity, and taking the belt, clasped it round his waist, said good-night, and stepped into the room prepared for him. miss morrison and her father heard him close the door and pull down the blind, and--that was the last that was seen or heard of him. "in the morning the bed was found undisturbed, his locked bag on a chair, and in the middle of the floor the blue leather belt; but of the man himself there was not one trace to be found. there, that's the story, cleek. now what do you make of it?" "i shall be able to tell you better after i have seen the parties concerned," said cleek, after a moment's pause. "you have brought your motor, of course? let us step into it, then, and whizz round to captain morrison's house. what's that? oh, undoubtedly a case of foul play, mr. narkom. but as to the motive and the matter of who is guilty, it is impossible to decide until i have looked further into the evidence. do me a favour, will you? after you have left me at the captain's house, 'phone up the yard, and let me have the secret cable code with the east; also, if you can, the name of the chief of the persian police." "my dear chap, you can't really place any credence in that absurd assertion regarding the blue belt? you can't possibly think that abdul ben meerza really sent the thing?" "no, i can't," said cleek in reply. "because, to the best of my belief, it is impossible for a dead man to send anything; and, if my memory doesn't betray me, i fancy i read in the newspaper accounts of that big tajik rising at khotour a couple of months ago, that the leader, one abdul ben meerza, a rich but exceedingly miserly merchant of the province of elburz, was, by the shah's command, bastinadoed within an inch of his life, and then publicly beheaded." "by jove! i believe you are right, my dear fellow," asserted narkom. "i thought the name had a familiar sound--as if i had, somewhere, heard it before. i suppose there is no likelihood, by any chance, that the old skinflint could have lived up to his promise and left poor carboys something, after all, cleek? because, you know, if he did--" "captain morrison would, as heir-at-law, inherit it," supplemented cleek, dryly. "get out the motor, mr. narkom, and let's spin round and see him. i fancy i should like a few minutes' conversation with the captain. and--mr. narkom!" "yes." "we'll stick to the name 'george headland,' if you please. when you are out for birds it doesn't do to frighten them off beforehand." chapter xxv it did not take more than five minutes to cover the distance between sunnington crescent and the modest little house where captain morrison and his daughter lived; so in a very brief time cleek had the satisfaction of interviewing both. narkom's assertion, that miss morrison was "half out of her mind over the distressing affair" had prepared him to encounter a weeping, red-eyed, heart-broken creature of the most excitable type. he found instead a pale, serious-faced, undemonstrative girl of somewhat uncertain age--sweet of voice, soft of step, quiet of demeanour--who was either one of those persons who repress all external evidence of internal fires, and bear their crosses in silence, or was as cold-blooded as a fish and as heartless as a statue. he found the father the exact antithesis of the daughter, a nervous, fretful, irritable individual (gout had him by the heels at the time), who was as full of "yaps" and snarls as any irish terrier, and as peevish and fussy as a fault-finding old woman. added to this, he had a way of glancing all round the room, and avoiding the eye of the person to whom he was talking. and if cleek had been like the generality of people, and hadn't known that some of the best and "straightest" men in the world have been afflicted in this manner, and some of the worst and "crookedest" could look you straight in the eyes without turning a hair, he might have taken this for a bad sign. then, too, he seemed to have a great many more wrappings and swaddlings about his gouty foot than appeared to be necessary--unless it was done to make his helpless state very apparent, and to carry out his assertion that he hadn't been able to walk a foot unassisted for the past week, and could not, therefore, be in any way connected with young carboys' mysterious vanishment. still, even that had its contra aspect. he might be one of those individuals who make a mountain out of a molehill of pain, and insist upon a dozen poultices where one would do. but cleek could not forget that, as narkom had said, there was not the shadow of doubt that in the event of carboys having died possessed of means, the captain would be the heir-at-law by virtue of his kinship; and it is a great deal more satisfactory to be rich oneself than to be dependent upon the generosity of a rich son-in-law. so, after adroitly exercising the "pump" upon other matters: "i suppose, miss morrison," said cleek in a casual off-hand sort of way, "you don't happen to know if mr. carboys ever made a will, do you? i am aware, from what mr. narkom has told me of his circumstances, that he really possessed nothing that would call for the execution of such a document; but young men have odd fancies sometimes--particularly when they become engaged--so it is just possible that he might have done such a thing; that there was a ring or something of that sort he wanted to make sure of your getting should anything happen to him. of course, it is an absurd suggestion, but--" "it is not so absurd as you think, mr. headland," she interrupted. "as it happens, mr. carboys did make a will. but that was a very long time ago--in fact, before he knew me, so my name did not figure in it at all. he once told me of the circumstances connected with it. it was executed when he was about three-and-twenty. it appears that there were some personal trinkets, relics of his more prosperous days: a set of jewelled waistcoat buttons, a scarf-pin, a few choice books and things like that, which he desired mr. van nant to have in the event of his death (they were then going to the orient, and times there were troublous); so he drew up a will, leaving everything that he might die possessed of to mr. van nant, and left the paper with the latter's solicitor when they bade good-bye to england. so far as i know, that will still exists, mr. headland; so"--here the faintest suggestion of a quiver got into her voice--"if anything of a tragical nature had happened to him, and--and the trinkets hadn't disappeared with him, mr. van nant could claim them all, and i should have not even one poor little token to cherish in memory of him. and i am sure--i am very sure--that if he had known--if he had thought--" "mary, for goodness' sake, don't begin to snivel!" chimed in her father querulously. "it gets on my nerves. and you know very well how i am suffering! of course, it was most inconsiderate of carboys not to destroy that will as soon as you and he were engaged; but he knew that marriage invalidates any will a man may have made previously, and--well, you can't suppose that he ever expected things to turn out as they have done. besides, van nant would have seen that you got something to treasure as a remembrance. he's a very decent chap, is van nant, mr. headland, although my daughter has never appeared to think so. but there's no arguing with a woman any way." cleek glanced at narkom. it was a significant glance, and said as plainly as so many words: "what do you think of it? you said there was no motive, and, provided carboys fell heir to something of which we know nothing as yet, here are _two_! if that will was destroyed, one man would, as heir-at-law, inherit; ditto the other man if it was not destroyed and not invalidated by marriage. and here's the 'one' man singing the praises of the 'other' one!" "collusion?" queried narkom's answering look. "perhaps," said cleek's in response, "one of these two men has made away with him. the question is, which? and, also, why? when? where?" then he turned to the captain's daughter, and asked quietly: "would you mind letting me see the room from which the young man disappeared? i confess i haven't the ghost of an idea regarding the case, captain; but if you don't mind letting your daughter show me the room--" "mind? good lord, no!" responded the captain. "all i want to know is, what became of the poor boy, and if there's any likelihood of his ever coming back alive. i'd go up with you myself, only you see how helpless i am. mary, take mr. headland to the room. and please don't stop any longer than is necessary. i'm suffering agonies and not fit to be left alone." miss morrison promised to return as expeditiously as possible, and then forthwith led the way to the room in question. "this is it, mr. headland," she said as she opened the door and ushered cleek in. "everything is just exactly as it was when george left it. i couldn't bring myself to touch a thing until after a detective had seen it. father said it was silly and sentimental of me to go on sleeping in a little box of a hall bedroom when i could be so much more comfortable if i returned to my own. but--i couldn't! i felt that i might possibly be unconsciously destroying something in the shape of a clue if i moved a solitary object, and so--look! there is the drawn blind just as he left it; there his portmanteau on that chair by the bedside, and there--" her voice sank to a sort of awed whisper, her shaking finger extended in the direction of a blue semi-circle in the middle of the floor. "there is the belt! he had it round his waist when he crossed this threshold that night. it was lying there just as you see it when the servant brought up his tea and his shaving-water the next morning, and found the room empty and the bed undisturbed." cleek walked forward and picked up the belt. "humph! unfastened!" he said as he took it up; and miss morrison, closing the door, went below and left them. "our wonderful wizard does not seem to have mastered the simple matter of making a man vanish out of the thing without first unfastening the buckle, it appears. i should have thought he could have managed that, shouldn't you, mr. narkom, if he could have managed the business of making him melt into thin air? hur-r-r!" reflectively, as he turned the belt over and examined it. "not seen much use, apparently; the leather's quite new, and the inside quite unsoiled. british manufactured brass, too, in the buckle. shouldn't have expected that in a persian-made article. inscription scratched on with the point of a knife, or some other implement not employed in metal engraving. may i trouble you for a pin? thank you. hum-m-m! thought so. some dirty, clayey stuff rubbed in to make the letters appear old and of long standing. look here, mr. narkom: metal quite bright underneath when you pick the stuff out. inscription very recently added; leather, american tanned; brass, birmingham; stitching, by the blake shoe and harness machine; wizard--probably born in tottenham court road, and his knowledge of persia confined to persian powder in four-penny tins." he laid the belt aside, and walked slowly round the room, inspecting its contents before turning his attention to the portmanteau. "evidently the vanishing qualities of the belt did not assert themselves very rapidly, mr. narkom," he said, "for mr. carboys not only prepared to go to bed, but had time to get himself ready to hurry off to business in the morning with as little delay as possible. look here; here are his pyjamas on the top of this chest of drawers, neatly folded, just as he lifted them out of his portmanteau; and as a razor has been wiped on this towel (see this slim line of dust-like particles of hair), he shaved before going to bed in order to save himself the trouble of doing so in the morning. but as there is no shaving-mug visible, and he couldn't get hot water at that hour of the night, we shall probably discover a spirit-lamp and its equipment when we look into the portmanteau. now, as he had time to put these shaving articles away after using, and as no man shaves with his collar and necktie on, if we do not find those, too, in the portmanteau, we may conclude that he put them on again; and, as he wouldn't put them on again if he were going to bed, the inference is obvious--something caused him to dress and prepare to leave the house voluntarily. that 'something' must have manifested itself very abruptly, and demanded great haste--either that, or he expected to return; for you will observe that, although he replaced his shaving tackle in the portmanteau, he did not put his sleeping-suit back with it. while i am poking about, do me the favour of looking in the bag, mr. narkom; and tell me if you find the collar and necktie there." "not a trace of them," announced the superintendent a moment or two later. "here are the shaving-mug, the brush, and the spirit-lamp, however, just as you suggested; and--hallo! what have you stumbled upon now?" for cleek, who had been "poking about," as he termed it, had suddenly stooped, picked up something, and was regarding it fixedly as it lay in the palm of his hand. "a somewhat remarkable thing to discover in a lady's bed-chamber, mr. narkom, unless--just step downstairs, and ask miss morrison to come up again for a moment, will you?" and then held out his hand so that narkom could see, in passing, that a hempseed, two grains of barley, and an oat lay upon his palm. "miss morrison," he inquired as mary returned in company with the superintendent, "miss morrison, do you keep pigeons?" she gave a little cry, and clasped her hands together, as if reproaching herself for some heartless act. "oh!" she said, moving hastily forward toward the window. "poor dears! how good of you to remind me. to think that i should forget to feed them for three whole days. they may be dead by now. but at such a time i could think of nothing but this hideous mystery. my pigeons--my poor, pretty pigeons!" "oh, then you do keep them?" "yes; oh, yes. in a wire-enclosed cote attached to the house just outside this window. homing pigeons, mr. headland. george bought them for me. we had an even half dozen each. we used to send messages to each other that way. he would bring his over to me, and take mine away with him at night when he went home, so we could correspond at any moment without waiting for the post. that's how i sent him the message about the arrival of the belt. oh, do unlock the window, and let me see if the pretty dears are still alive." "it doesn't need to be unlocked, miss morrison," he replied, as he pulled up the blind. "see, it can be opened easily--the catch is not secured." "not secured? why, how strange. i myself fastened it after i despatched the bird with the message about the belt. and nobody came into the room after that until george did so that night. oh, do look and see if the pretty creatures are dead. they generally coo so persistently; and now i don't hear a sound from them." cleek threw up the sash and looked out. a huge wistaria with tendrils as thick as a man's wrist covered the side of the house, and made a veritable ladder down to the little garden; and, firmly secured to this, on a level with the window-sill and within easy reach therefrom, was the dovecote in question. he put in his hand, and slowly drew out four stiff, cold, feathered little bodies, and laid them on the dressing-table before her; then, while she was grieving over them, he groped round in all corners of the cote and drew forth still another. "five?" she exclaimed in surprise. "five? oh, but there should be only four, mr. headland. it is true that george brought over all six the day before; but i 'flew' one to him in the early morning, and i 'flew' a second at night, with the message about the belt; so there should be but four." "oh, well, possibly one was 'flown' by him to you, and it 'homed' without your knowledge." "yes, but it couldn't get inside the wired enclosure unassisted, mr. headland. see! that spring-door has to be opened when it is returned to the cote after it has carried its message home. you see, i trained them, by feeding them in here, to come into this room when they were flown back to me. they always flew directly in if the window was opened, or gave warning of their presence by fluttering about and beating against the panes if the sash was closed. and for a fifth pigeon to be inside the enclosure--i can't understand the thing at all. oh, mr. headland, do you think it is anything in the nature of a clue?" "it may be," he replied evasively. "clues are funny things, miss morrison; you never know when you may pick one up, nor how. i shouldn't say anything to anybody about this fifth pigeon if i were you. let that be our secret for awhile; and if your father wants to know why i sent for you to come up here again--why, just say i have discovered that your pigeons are dead for want of food." and for a moment or two, after she had closed the door and gone below again, he stood looking at mr. narkom and slowly rubbing his thumb and forefinger up and down his chin. then, of a sudden: "i think, mr. narkom, we can fairly decide, on the evidence of that fifth pigeon, that george carboys left this room voluntarily," returned cleek; "that the bird brought him a message of such importance it was necessary to leave this house at once, and that, not wishing to leave it unlocked while he was absent, and not--because of the captain's inability to get back upstairs afterward--having anybody to whom he could appeal to get up and lock it after him, he chose to get out of this window, and to go down by means of that wistaria. i think, too, we may decide that, as he left no note to explain his absence, he expected to return before morning, and that, as he never did return, he has met with foul play. of course, it is no use looking for footprints in the garden in support of this hypothesis, for the storm that night was a very severe one and quite sufficient to blot out all trace of them; but--look here, mr. narkom, put two and two together. if a message was sent him by a carrier pigeon, where must that pigeon have come from, since it was one of miss morrison's?" "why, from van nant's place, of course. it couldn't possibly come from any other place." "exactly. and as van nant and carboys lived together--kept bachelor hall--and there was never anybody but their two selves in the house at any time, why, nobody but van nant himself could have despatched the bird. look at that fragment of burnt paper lying in the basin of that candlestick on the washstand. if that isn't all that's left of the paper that was tied under the pigeon's wing, and if carboys didn't use it for the purpose of lighting the spirit-lamp by which he heated his shaving-water, depend upon it that, in his haste and excitement, he tucked it into his pocket, and if ever we find his body we shall find that paper on it." "his body? my dear cleek, you don't believe that the man has been murdered?" "i don't know--yet. i shall, however, if this van nant puts anything in the way of my searching that house thoroughly or makes any pretence to follow me whilst i am doing so. i want to meet this maurice van nant just as soon as i can, mr. narkom, just as soon as i can." and it was barely two minutes after he had expressed this wish that miss morrison reappeared upon the scene, accompanied by a pale, nervous, bovine-eyed man of about thirty-five years of age, and said in a tone of agitation: "pardon me for interrupting, mr. headland, but this is mr. maurice van nant. he is most anxious to meet you, and father would have me bring him up at once." narkom screwed round on his heel, looked at the belgian, and lost faith in miss morrison's powers of discrimination instantly. on the dressing-table stood carboys' picture--heavy-jowled, sleepy-eyed, dull-looking--and on the threshold stood a man with the kindest eyes, the sweetest smile, and the handsomest and most sympathetic countenance he had seen in many a day. if the eyes are the mirror of the soul, if the face is the index of the character, then here was a man weak as water, as easily led as any lamb, and as guileless. "you are just the man i want to see, mr. van nant," said cleek, after the first formalities were over, and assuming, as he always did at such times, the heavy, befogged expression of incompetence. "i confess this bewildering affair altogether perplexes me; but you, i understand, were mr. carboys' close friend and associate, and as i can find nothing in the nature of a clue here, i should like, with your permission, to look over his home quarters and see if i can find anything there." if he had looked for any sign of reluctance or of embarrassment upon van nant's part when such a request should be made, he was wholly disappointed, for the man, almost on the point of tears, seized his hand, pressed it warmly, and said in a voice of eager entreaty: "oh, do, mr. headland, do. search anywhere, do anything that will serve to find my friend and to clear up this dreadful affair. i can't sleep for thinking of it; i can't get a moment's peace night or day. you didn't know him or you would understand how i am tortured--how i miss him. the best friend, the dearest and the lightest-hearted fellow that ever lived. if i had anything left in this world, i'd give it all--all, mr. headland, to clear up the mystery of this thing and to get him back. one man could do that, i believe, could and would if i had the money to offer him." "indeed? and who may he be, mr. van nant?" "the great, the amazing, the undeceivable man, cleek. he'd get at the truth of it. nothing could baffle and bewilder him. but--oh, well, it's the old, old tale of the power of money. he wouldn't take the case--a high-and-mighty 'top-notcher' like that--unless the reward was a tempting one, i'm sure." "no, i'm afraid he wouldn't," agreed cleek, with the utmost composure. "so you must leave him out of your calculations altogether, mr. van nant. and now, if you don't mind accompanying us and showing the chauffeur the way, perhaps mr. narkom will take us over to your house in his motor." "mind? no, certainly i don't mind. anything in the world to get at a clue to this thing, mr. headland, anything. do let us go at once." cleek led the way from the room. halfway down the stairs, however, he excused himself on the plea of having forgotten his magnifying glass, and ran back to get it. two minutes later he rejoined them in the little drawing-room, where the growling captain was still demanding the whole time and attention of his daughter, and, the motor being ready, the three men walked out, got into it, and were whisked away to the house which once had been the home of the vanished george carboys. it proved to be a small, isolated brick house in very bad condition, standing in an out-of-the-way road somewhere between putney and wimbledon. it stood somewhat back from the road, in the midst of a little patch of ground abounding in privet and laurel bushes, and it was evident that its cheapness had been its chief attraction to the two men who had rented it, although, on entering, it was found to possess at the back a sort of extension, with top and side lights, which must have appealed to van nant's need of something in the nature of a studio. at all events, he had converted it into a very respectable apology for one; and cleek was not a little surprised by what it contained. rich stuffs, bits of tapestry, persian draperies, arabian prayer-mats--relics of his other and better days and of his oriental wanderings--hung on the walls and ornamented the floor; his rejected pictures and his unsold statues, many of them life-sized and all of clay, coated with a lustreless paint to make them look like marble, were disposed about the place with an eye to artistic effect, and near to an angle, where stood (on a pedestal, half concealed, half revealed by artistically arranged draperies) the life-size figure of a roman senator, in toga and sandals, there was the one untidy spot, the one utterly inartistic thing the room contained. it was the crude, half-finished shape of a recumbent female figure, of large proportions and abominable modelling, stretched out at full length upon a long, low, trestle-supported "sculptor's staging," on which also lay van nant's modelling tools and his clay-stained working blouse. cleek looked at the huge unnatural thing--out of drawing, anatomically wrong in many particulars--and felt like quoting angelo's famous remark anent his master lorenzo's faun: "what a pity to have spoilt so much expensive material," and van nant, observing, waved his hand toward it. "a slumbering nymph," he explained. "only the head and shoulders finished as yet, you see. i began it the day before, yesterday, but my hand seems somehow to have lost its cunning. here are the keys of all the rooms, mr. headland. carboys' was the one directly at the head of the stairs, in the front. won't you and mr. narkom go up and search without me? i couldn't bear to look into the place and see the things that belonged to him and he not there. it would cut me to the heart if i did. or, maybe, you would sooner go alone, and leave mr. narkom to search round this room. we used to make a general sitting-room of it at nights when we were alone together, and some clue may have been dropped." "a good suggestion, mr. narkom," commented cleek, as he took the keys. "look round and see what you can find whilst i poke about upstairs." then he walked out of the studio and searching every nook and corner, whilst van nant, for the want of something to occupy his mind and his hands, worked on the nymph, and could hear him moving about overhead in quest of possible clues. for perhaps twenty minutes cleek was away; then he came down and walked into the room looking the very picture of hopeless bewilderment. "mr. narkom," he said, "this case stumps me. i believe there's magic in it, if you ask me; and as the only way to find magic is with magic, i am going to consult a clairvoyante, and if one of those parties can't give me a clue, i don't believe the mystery will ever be solved. i know of a ripping one, but she is over in ireland, and as it's a dickens of a way to go, i shan't be able to get back before the day after to-morrow at the earliest. but--look here, sir, i'll tell you what! this is tuesday evening, isn't it? now if you and mr. van nant will be at captain morrison's house on thursday evening at seven o'clock, and will wait there until i come, i'll tell you what that clairvoyante says, and whether there's any chance of this thing being solved or not. is that agreeable, mr. van nant?" "quite, mr. headland. i'll be there promptly." "and stop until you hear from me?" "and stop until i hear from you--yes." "right you are, sir. now then, mr. narkom, if you'll let the chauffeur whisk me over to the station, i'll get back to london and on to the earliest possible train for holyhead so as to be on hand for the first irish packet to-morrow. and while you're looking for your hat, sir--good evening, mr. van nant--i'll step outside and tell lennard to start up." with that, he passed out of the studio, walked down the hall, and went out of the house. and half a minute later, when the superintendent joined him, he found him sitting in the limousine and staring at his toes. "my dear cleek, did you find anything?" he queried, as he took a seat beside him, and the motor swung out into the road and whizzed away. "of course, i know you've no more idea of going to ireland than you have of taking a pot-shot at the moon: but there's something on your mind. i know the signs, cleek. what is it?" the response to this was rather startling. "mr. narkom," said cleek, answering one question with another, "what's the best thing to make powdered bismuth stick--lard, cold cream, or cocoa butter?" chapter xxvi if punctuality is a virtue, then mr. maurice van nant deserved to go on record as one of the most virtuous men in existence. for the little dutch clock in captain morrison's drawing-room had barely begun to strike seven on the following thursday evening when he put in an appearance there, and found the captain and his daughter anxiously awaiting him. but, as virtue is, on most excellent authority, its own reward, he had to be satisfied with the possession of it, since neither narkom nor cleek was there to meet him. but the reason for this defection was made manifest when miss morrison placed before him a telegram which had arrived some ten minutes earlier and read as follows: "unavoidably delayed. be with you at nine-thirty. ask mr. van nant to wait. great and welcome piece of news for him.--narkom." van nant smiled. "great and welcome news," he repeated. "then mr. headland must have found something in the nature of a clue in ireland, captain, though what he could find there i can't imagine. frankly, i thought him a stupid sort of fellow, but if he has managed to find a clue to poor george's whereabouts over in ireland, he must be sharper than i believed. well, we shall know about that at half-past nine, when mr. narkom comes. i hope nothing will happen to make him disappoint us again." nothing did. promptly at the hour appointed, the red limousine whizzed up to the door, and mr. narkom made his appearance. but, contrary to the expectations of the three occupants of the little drawing-room, he was quite alone. "so sorry i couldn't come earlier," he said, as he came in, looking and acting like the bearer of great good news; "but you will appreciate the delay when i tell you what caused it. what's that, mr. van nant? headland? no, he's not with me. as a matter of fact, i've dispensed with his services in this particular case. fancy, miss morrison, the muff came back from ireland this evening, said the clairvoyante he consulted went into a trance, and told him that the key to the mystery could only be discovered in germany, and he wanted me to sanction his going over there on no better evidence than that. of course, i wouldn't; so i took him off the case forthwith, and set out to get another and a better man to handle it. that's what delayed me. and now, mr. van nant"--fairly beaming, and rubbing his palms together delightedly--"here's where the great and welcome news i spoke of comes in. i remembered what you said the other day--i remembered how your heart is wrapped up in the solving of this great puzzle--what you said about it being a question of money alone; and so, what do you think i did? i went to that great man, cleek. i laid the matter before him, told him there was no reward, that it was just a matter of sheer humanity--the consciousness of doing his duty and helping another fellow in distress--and, throw up your hat and cheer, my dear fellow, for you've got your heart's desire: cleek's consented to take the case!" a little flurry of excitement greeted this announcement. miss morrison grabbed his hand and burst into tears of gratitude; the captain, forgetting in his delight the state of his injured foot, rose from his chair, only to remember suddenly and sit down again, his half-uttered cheer dying on his lips; and van nant, as if overcome by this unexpected boon, this granting of a wish he had never dared to hope would be fulfilled, could only clap both hands over his face and sob hysterically. "cleek!" he said, in a voice that shook with nervous catches and the emotion of a soul deeply stirred, "cleek to take the case? the great, the amazing, the undeceivable cleek! oh, mr. narkom, can this be true?" "as true as that you are standing here this minute, my dear sir. not so much of a money grabber as that muff headland wanted you to believe, is he--eh? waived every hope of a reward, and took the case on the spot. he'll get at the root of it--lord, yes! lay you a sovereign to a sixpence, mr. van nant, he gets to the bottom of it and finds out what became of george carboys in forty-eight hours after he begins on the case." "and when will he begin, mr. narkom? to-morrow? the next day? or not this week at all? when, sir--when?" "when? why, bless your heart, man, he's begun already--or, at least, will do so in another hour and a half. he's promised to meet us at your house at eleven o'clock to-night. chose that place because he lives at putney, and it's nearer. eleven was the hour he set, though, of course, he may arrive sooner; there's no counting on an erratic fellow like that chap. so we'll make it eleven, and possess our souls in patience until it's time to start." "but, my dear mr. narkom, wouldn't it be better, or, at least, more hospitable if i went over to meet him, in case he does come earlier? there's no one in the house, remember, and it's locked up." "lord bless you, that won't bother him! never travels without his tools, you know--skeleton keys, and all that--and he'll be in the house before you can wink an eye. still, of course, if you'd rather be there to admit him in the regulation way--" "it would at least be more courteous, mr. narkom," miss morrison interposed. "so great a man doing so great a favour--oh, yes, i really think that mr. van nant should." "oh, well, let him then, by all means," said narkom. "go, if you choose, mr. van nant. i'd let you have my motor, only i must get over to the station and 'phone up headquarters on another affair in five minutes." "it doesn't matter, thank you all the same. i can get a taxi at the top of the road," said van nant; and then, making his excuses to miss morrison and her father, he took up his hat and left the house. as a matter of fact, it was only courtesy that made him say that about the taxi, for there is rarely one to be found waiting about in the neighbourhood of wandsworth common after half-past nine o'clock at night, and nobody could have been more surprised than he when he actually did come across one, loitering about aimlessly and quite empty, before he had gone two dozen yards. he engaged it on the spot, jumped into it, gave the chauffeur his directions, and a minute later was whizzing away to the isolated house. it was eight minutes past ten when he reached it, standing as black and lightless as when he left it four hours ago, and, after paying off the chauffeur and dismissing the vehicle, he fumbled nervously for his latchkey, found it, unlocked the door, and went hurriedly in. "have you come yet, mr. cleek?" he called out, as he shut the door and stood in the pitch-black hall. "mr. cleek! mr. cleek, are you here? it is i--maurice van nant. mr. narkom has sent me on ahead." not a sound answered him, not even an echo. he sucked in his breath with a sort of wheezing sound, then groped round the hall table till he found his bedroom candle, and, striking a match, lit it. the staircase leading to the upper floors gaped at him out of the partial gloom, and he fairly sprang at it--indeed, was halfway up it when some other idea possessed him, brought him to a sudden standstill, and, facing round abruptly, he went back to the lower hall again, glimmering along it like a shadow, with the inadequate light held above him, and moving fleetly to the studio in the rear. the door stood partly open, just as he had left it. he pushed it inward and stepped over the threshold. "mr. cleek!" he called again. "mr. cleek! are you here?" and again the silence alone answered him. the studio was as he had seen it last, save for those fantastic shadows which the candle's wavering flame wreathed in the dim corners and along the pictured walls. there, on its half-draped pedestal, the roman senator stood--dead white against the purple background--and there, close to the foot of it, the great bulk of the disproportionate nymph still sprawled, finished and whitewashed now, and looking even more of a monstrosity than ever in that waving light. he gave one deep gulping sigh of relief, flashed across the room on tiptoe, and went down on his knees beside the monstrous thing, moving the candle this way and that along the length of it, as if searching for something, and laughing in little jerky gasps of relief when he found nothing that was not as it had been--as it should be--as he wanted it to be. and then, as he rose and patted the clay, and laughed aloud as he realised how hard it had set, then, at that instant, a white shape lurched forward and swooped downward, carrying him down with it. the candle slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor, a pair of steel handcuffs clicked as they closed round his wrists, a voice above him said sharply: "you wanted cleek i believe? well, cleek's got you, you sneaking murderer. gentlemen, come in! allow me to turn over to you the murderer of george carboys! you'll find the body inside that slumbering nymph!" and the last thing that mr. maurice van nant saw, as he shrieked and fainted, the last thing he realised, was that lights were flashing up and men tumbling in through the opening windows; that the roman senator's pedestal was empty, and the figure which once had stood upon it was bending over him--alive! and just at that moment the red limousine flashed up out of the darkness, the outer door whirled open and narkom came pelting up. "he took the bait, then, cleek?" he cried, as he saw the manacled figure on the floor, with the "roman senator" bending over and the policemen crowding in about it. "i guessed it when i saw the lights flash up. i've been on his heels ever since he snapped at that conveniently placed taxi after he left miss morrison and her father." "you haven't brought them with you, i hope, mr. narkom? i wouldn't have that poor girl face the ordeal of what's to be revealed here to-night for worlds." "no, i've not. i made a pretext of having to 'phone through to headquarters, and slipped out a moment after him. but, i say, my dear chap"--as cleek's hands made a rapid search of the pockets of the unconscious man, and finally brought to light a folded paper--"what's that thing? what are you doing?" "compounding a felony in the interest of humanity," he made reply as he put the end of the paper into the flame of the candle and held it there until it was consumed. "we all do foolish things sometimes when we are young, mr. narkom, and--well, george carboys was no exception when he wrote the little thing i have just burned. let us forget all about it--captain morrison is heir-at-law, and that poor girl will benefit." "there was an estate, then?" "yes. my cable yesterday to the head of the persian police set all doubt upon that point at rest. abdul ben meerza, parting with nothing while he lived, after the manner of misers in general, left a will bequeathing something like £ , to george carboys, and his executor communicated that fact to the supposed friend of both parties--mr. maurice van nant; and exactly ten days ago, so his former solicitor informed me, mr. maurice van nant visited him unexpectedly, and withdrew from his keeping a sealed packet which had been in the firm's custody for eight years. if you want to know why he withdrew it--dollops!" "right you are, gov'nor." "give me the sledge-hammer. thanks! now, mr. narkom, look!" and, swinging the hammer, he struck at the nymph with a force that shattered the monstrous thing to atoms; and narkom, coming forward to look when cleek bent over the ruin he had wrought, saw in the midst of the dust and rubbish the body of a dead man, fully clothed, and with the gap of a bullet-hole in the left temple. again cleek's hands began a rapid search, and again, as before, they brought to light a paper, a little crumpled ball of paper that had been thrust into the right-hand pocket of the dead man's waistcoat, as though jammed there under the stress of strong excitement and the pressure of great haste. he smoothed it out and read it carefully, then passed it over to mr. narkom. "there!" he said, "that's how he lured him over to his death. that's the message the pigeon brought. would any man have failed to fly to face the author of a foul lie like that?" "beloved mary," the message ran, "come to me again to-night. how sweet of you to think of such a thing as the belt to get him over and to make him stop until morning! steal out after he goes to bed, darling. i'll leave the studio window unlocked, as usual. with a thousand kisses. "your own devoted, "maurice." "the dog!" said narkom fiercely. "and against a pure creature like mary morrison! here, smathers, petrie, hammond, take him away. hanging's too good for a beastly cur like that!" * * * * * "how did i know that the body was inside the statue?" said cleek, answering narkom's query, as they drove back in the red limousine toward london and clarges street. "well, as a matter of fact, i never did know for certain until he began to examine the thing to-night. from the first i felt sure he was at the bottom of the affair, that he had lured carboys back to the house, and murdered him; but it puzzled me to think what could possibly have been done with the body. i felt pretty certain, however, when i saw that monstrous statue." "yes, but why?" "my dear mr. narkom, you ought not to ask that question. did it not strike you as odd that a man who was torn with grief over the disappearance of a loved friend should think of modelling any sort of a statue on that very first day, much less such an inartistic one as that? consider: the man has never been a first-class sculptor, it is true, but he knew the rudiments of his art, he had turned out some fairly presentable work; and that nymph was as abominably conceived and as abominably executed as if it had been the work of a raw beginner. then there was another suspicious circumstance. modelling clay is not exactly as cheap as dirt, mr. narkom. why, then, should this man, who was confessedly as poor as the proverbial church mouse, plunge into the wild extravagance of buying half a ton of it--and at such a time? those are the things that brought the suspicion into my mind; the certainty, however, had to be brought about beyond dispute before i could act. "i knew that george carboys had returned to that studio by the dry marks of muddy footprints, that were nothing like the shape of van nant's, which i found on the boards of the verandah and on the carpet under one of the windows; i knew, too, that it was van nant who had sent that pigeon. you remember when i excused myself and went back on the pretext of having forgotten my magnifying glass the other day? i did so for the purpose of looking at that fifth pigeon. i had observed something on its breast feathers which i thought, at first glance, was dry mud, as though it had fallen or brushed against something muddy in its flight. as we descended the stairs i observed that there was a similar mark on van nant's sleeve. i brushed against him and scraped off a fleck with my finger-nails. it was the dust of dried modelling clay. that on the pigeon's breast proved to be the same substance. i knew then that the hands of the person who liberated that pigeon were the hands of someone who was engaged in modelling something or handling the clay of the modeller, and--the inference was clear. "as for the rest; when van nant entered that studio to-night, frightened half out of his wits at the knowledge that he would have to deal with the one detective he feared, i knew that if he approached that statue and made any attempts to examine it i should have my man, and that the hiding-place of his victim's body would be proved beyond question. when he did go to it, and did examine it--clarges street at last, thank fortune; for i am tired and sleepy. stop here, lennard; i'm getting out. come along, dollops. good-night, mr. narkom! 'and so, to bed,' as good old pepys says." and passed on, up the street, with his hand on the boy's shoulder and the stillness and the darkness enfolding them. chapter xxvii for the next five or six weeks life ran on merrily enough for cleek; so merrily, in fact, that dollops came to be quite accustomed to hear him whistling about the house and to see him go up the stairs two steps at a time whenever he had occasion to mount them for any purpose whatsoever. it would not have needed any abnormally acute mind, any process of subtle reasoning, to get at the secret of all this exuberance, this perennial flow of high spirits; indeed, one had only to watch the letter box at number , clarges street, to get at the bottom of it instantly; for twice a week the postman dropped into it a letter addressed in an undoubtedly feminine "hand" to captain horatio burbage, and invariably postmarked "lynhaven, devon." dollops had made that discovery long ago and had put his conclusions regarding it into the mournfully-uttered sentence: "a skirt's got him!" but, after one violent pang of fierce and rending jealousy, was grateful to that "skirt" for bringing happiness to the man he loved above all other things upon earth and whose welfare was the dearest of his heart's desires. indeed, he grew, in time, to watch as eagerly for the coming of those letters as did his master himself; and he could have shouted with delight whenever he heard the postman's knock, and saw one of the regulation blue-grey envelopes drop through the slit into the wire cage on the door. cleek, too, was delighted when he saw them. it was nothing to him that the notes they contained were of the briefest--mere records of the state of the weather, the progress of his little lordship, the fact that lady chepstow wished to be remembered and that the writer was well "and hoped he, too, was." they were written by _her_--that was enough. he gave so much that very little sufficed him in return; and the knowledge that he had been in her mind for the five or ten minutes which it had taken to write the few lines she sent him, made him exceedingly happy. but she was not his only correspondent in these days--not even his most frequent one. for a warm, strong friendship--first sown in those ante-derby days--had sprung up between sir henry wilding and himself and had deepened steadily into a warm feeling of comradeship and mutual esteem. frequent letters passed between them; and the bond of fellowship had become so strong a thing that sir henry never came to town without their meeting and dining together. "gad! you know, i can't bring myself to think of you as a police-officer, old chap!" was the way sir henry put it on the day when he first invited him to lunch with him at his club. "i'd about as soon think of sitting down with one of my grooms as breaking bread with one of that lot; and i shall never get it out of my head that you're a gentleman going in for this sort of thing as a hobby--never b'gad! if i live to be a hundred." "i hope you will come nearer to doing that than you have to guessing the truth about me," replied cleek, with a smile. "take my word for it, won't you?--this thing is my profession. i don't do it as a mere hobby: i live by it--i have no other means of living _but_ by it. i am--what i am, and nothing more." "oh, gammon! why not tell me at once that you are a winkle stall-keeper and be done with it? you can't tell a fish that another fish is a turnip--at least you can't and expect him to believe it. own up, old chap. i know a man of birth when i meet him. tell me who you are, cleek--i'll respect it." "i don't doubt that--the addition is superfluous." "then who are you? what are you, cleek? eh?" "what you have called me--'cleek.' cleek the detective, cleek of the forty faces, if you prefer it; but just 'cleek' and nothing more. don't get to building romances about me merely because i have the _instincts_ of a gentleman, sir henry. just simply remember that nature _does_ make mistakes sometimes; that she has been known to put a horse's head on a sheep's shoulders and to make a navvy's son look more royal than a prince. i am cleek, the detective--simply cleek. let it go at that." and as there was no alternative, sir henry did. it made no difference in their friendship, however. police officer or not, he liked and he respected the man, and made no visit to town without meeting and entertaining him. so matters stood between them when on a certain thursday in mid september he came up unexpectedly from wilding hall and 'phoned through to clarges street, asking cleek to dine with him that night at the club of the two services. cleek accepted the invitation gladly and was not a little surprised on arriving to find that, in this instance, dinner was to be served in a little private room and that a third party was also to partake of it. "dear chap, pardon me for taking you unawares," said sir henry, as cleek entered the private room and found himself in the presence of a decidedly military-looking man long past middle life, "but the fact is that immediately after i had telephoned you, i encountered a friend and a--er--peculiar circumstance arose which impelled me to secure a private room and to--er--throw myself upon your good graces as it were. let me have the pleasure, dear chap, of introducing you to my friend, major burnham-seaforth. major, you are at last in the presence of the gentleman of whom i spoke--mr. cleek." "mr. cleek, i am delighted," said the major, offering his hand. "i have heard your praises sung so continuously the past two hours that i feel as if i already knew you." "ah, you mustn't mind all that sir henry says," replied cleek, as he shook hands with him. "he makes mountains out of millstones, and would panegyrize the most commonplace of men if he happened to take a fancy to him. you mustn't believe all that sir henry says and thinks, major." "i shall be happy, mr. cleek, if i can really hope to believe the half of it," replied the major, enigmatically--and was prevented from saying more by the arrival of the waiter and the serving of dinner. it was not until the meal was over and coffee and cigars had been served and the too attentive waiter had taken his departure that cleek understood that remark or realised what it portended. but even then, it was not the major who explained. "my dear cleek," said sir henry, lowering his voice and leaning over the table, "i hope you will not think i have taken a mean advantage of you, but i have brought the major here to-night for a purpose. he has, in fact, come to consult you professionally; and upon my recommendation. do you object to that, or may i go on?" "go on by all means," replied cleek. "i fancy you know very well that there is nothing you might ask of me that i would not at least attempt to do, dear chap." "thanks very much. well then, the major has come, my dear cleek, to ask you to help in unravelling a puzzle of singular and mystifying interest. now you may or may not have heard of a music hall artiste--a sort of conjurer and impersonator combined--called zyco the magician, who was once very popular and was assisted in his illusions by a veiled but reputedly beautiful turkish lady who was billed on the programmes and posters as 'zuilika, the caliph's daughter.'" "i remember the pair very well indeed," said cleek. "they toured the music halls for years, and i saw their performance frequently. they were among the first, i believe, to produce that afterwards universal illusion known as 'the vanishing lady.' as i have not heard anything of them nor seen their names billed for a couple of years past, i fancy they have either retired from the profession or gone to some other part of the world. the man was not only a very clever magician, but a master of mimicry. i always believed, however, that in spite of his name he was of english birth. the woman's face i never saw, of course, as she was always veiled to the eyes after the manner of turkish ladies. but although a good many persons suspected that her birthplace was no nearer bagdad than peckham, i somehow felt that she was, after all, a genuine, native-born turk." "you are quite right in both suspicions, mr. cleek," put in the major agitatedly. "the man _was_ an englishman; the lady _is_ a turk." "may i ask, major, why you speak of the lady in the present tense and of the man in the past? is he dead?" "i hope so," responded the major fervently. "god knows i do, mr. cleek. my every hope in life depends upon that." "may i ask why?" "i am desirous of marrying his widow!" "my dear major, you cannot possibly be serious! a woman of that class?" "pardon me, sir, but you have, for all your cleverness, fallen a victim to the prevailing error. the lady is in every way my social equal--in her own country my superior. she _is_ a caliph's daughter. the title which the playgoing public imagined was of the usual bombastic, just-on-the-programme sort, is hers by right. her late father, caliph al hamid sulaiman, was one of the richest and most powerful mohammedans in existence. he died five months ago, leaving an immense fortune to be conveyed to england to his exiled but forgiven child." "ah, i see. then, naturally, of course--" "the suggestion is unworthy of you, sir henry, and anything but complimentary to me. the inheritance of this money has had nothing whatever to do with my feelings for the lady. that began two years ago, when, by accident, i was permitted to look upon her face for the first, last, and only time. i should still wish to marry her if she were an absolute pauper. i know what you are saying to yourself, sir: 'there is no fool like an old fool.' well, perhaps there isn't. but--" he turned to cleek--"i may as well begin at the beginning and confess that even if i did not desire to marry the lady i should still have a deep interest in her husband's death, mr. cleek. he is--or was, if dead--the only son of my cousin, the earl of wynraven, who is now over ninety years of age. i am in the direct line, and if this lord norman ulchester, whom you and the public know only as 'zyco the magician,' were in his grave there would only be that one feeble old man between me and the title." "ah, i see!" said cleek, in reply; then, seating himself at the table, he arranged the shade of the lamp so that the light fell full upon the major's face while leaving his own in the shadow. "then your interest in the affair, major, may be said to be a double one." "more, sir--a triple one. i have a rival in the shape of my own son. he, too, wishes to marry zuilika--is madly enamoured of her, in fact; so wildly that i have always hesitated to confess my own desires to him for fear of the consequences. he is almost a madman in his outbursts of temper; and where zuilika is concerned--perhaps you will understand, mr. cleek, when i tell you that once when he thought her husband had ill-used her, he came within an ace of killing the man. there was bad blood between them always--even as boys--and, as men, it was bitterer than ever because of _her_." "suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me the whole story, major," suggested cleek, studying the man's face narrowly. "how did the earl of wynraven's son come to meet this singularly fascinating lady, and where?" "in turkey--or arabia--i forget which. he was doing his theatrical nonsense in the east with some barn-storming show or other, having been obliged to get out of england to escape arrest for some shady transaction a year before. he was always a bad egg--always a disgrace to his name and connections. that's why his father turned him off and never would have any more to do with him. as a boy he was rather clever at conjuring tricks and impersonations of all sorts--he could mimic anything or anybody he ever saw, from the german emperor down to a gaiety chorus girl, and do it to absolute perfection. when his father kicked him out he turned these natural gifts to account, and, having fallen in with some professional dancing-woman, joined her for a time and went on the stage with her. "it was after he had parted from this dancer and was knocking about london and leading a disgraceful life generally that he did the thing which caused him to hurry off to the east and throw in his lot with the travelling company i have alluded to. he was always a handsome fellow and had a way with him that was wonderfully taking with women, so i suppose that that accounts as much as anything for zuilika's infatuation and her doing the mad thing she did. i don't know when nor where nor how they first met; but the foolish girl simply went off her head over him, and he appears to have been as completely infatuated with her. of course, in that land, the idea of a woman of her sect, of her standing, having anything to do with a frank was looked upon as something appalling, something akin to sacrilege; and when they found that her father had got wind of it and that the fellow's life would not be safe if he remained within reach another day, they flew to the coast together, shipped for england, and were married immediately after their arrival." "a highly satisfactory termination for the lady," commented cleek. "one could hardly have expected that from a man so hopelessly unprincipled as you represent him to have always been. but there's a bit of good in even the devil, we are told." "oh, be sure that he didn't marry her from any principle of honour, my dear sir," replied the major. "if it were merely a question of that, he'd have cut loose from her as soon as the vessel touched port. consideration of self ruled him in that as in all other things. he knew that the girl's father fairly idolised her; knew that, in time, his wrath would give way to his love, and, sooner or later, the old man--who had been mad at the idea of any marriage--would be moved to settle a large sum upon her so that she might never be in want. but let me get on with my story. having nothing when he returned to england, and being obliged to cover up his identity by assuming another name, ulchester, after vainly appealing to his father for help on the plea that he was now honourably married and settled down, turned again to the stage, and, repugnant though such a thing was to the delicately-nurtured woman he had married, compelled zuilika to become his assistant and to go on the boards with him. that is how the afterwards well-known music-hall 'team' of 'zyco and the caliph's daughter' came into existence. "the novelty of their 'turn' caught on like wild fire, and they were a success from the first, not a little of that success being due to the mystery surrounding the identity and appearance of zuilika; for, true to the traditions of her native land, she never appeared, either in public or in private, without being closely veiled. only her 'lord' was ever permitted to look upon her uncovered face; all that the world at large might ever hope to behold of it was the low, broad forehead and the two brilliant eyes that appeared above the close-drawn line of her yashmak. of course she shrank from the life into which she was forced; but it had its reward, for it kept her in close contact with her husband, whom she almost worshipped. so, for a time, she was proportionately happy; although, as the years passed by and her father showed no inclination to bestow the coveted 'rich allowance' upon his daughter, ulchester's ardour began to cool. he no longer treated her with the same affectionate deference; he neglected her, in fact, and, in the end, even began to ill-use her. "about two years ago, matters assumed a worse aspect. he again met anita rosario, the spanish dancer, under whose guidance he had first turned to the halls for a livelihood, and once more took up with her. he seemed to have lost all thought or care for the feelings of his wife, for, after torturing her with jealousy over his attentions to the dancer, he took a house adjoining my own--on the borders of the most unfrequented part of the common at wimbledon--established himself and zuilika there, and brought the woman anita home to live with them. from that period matters went from bad to worse. evidently having tired of the stage, both ulchester and anita abandoned it, and turned the house into a sort of club where gambling was carried on to a disgraceful extent. broken-hearted over the treatment she was receiving, zuilika appealed to me and to my son to help her in her distress--to devise some plan to break the spell of ulchester's madness and to get that woman out of the house. it was then that i first beheld her face. in her excitement she managed, somehow, to snap or loosen the fastening which held her yashmak, and it fell--fell, and let my son realise, as i realised, how wondrously beautiful it is possible for the human face to be!" "steady, major, steady! i can quite understand your feelings--can realise better than most men!" said cleek with a sort of sigh. "you looked into heaven, and--well, what then? let's have the rest of the story." "i think my son must have put it into her head to give ulchester a taste of his own medicine--to attempt to excite his jealousy by pretending to find interests elsewhere. at any rate, she began to show him a great deal of attention--or, at least, so he says, although i never saw it. all i know is that she--she--well, sir, she deliberately led _me_ on until i was half insane over her, and--that's all!" "what do you mean by 'that's all'? the matter couldn't possibly have ended there, or else why this appeal to me?" "it ended for me, so far as her affectionate treatment of me was concerned; for in the midst of it the unexpected happened. her father died, forgiving her, as ulchester had hoped, but doing more than his wildest dreams could have given him cause to imagine possible. in a word, sir, the caliph not only bestowed his entire earthly possessions upon her, but had them conveyed to england by trusted allies and placed in her hands. there were coffers of gold pieces, jewels of fabulous value--sufficient, when converted into english money, as they were within the week, and deposited to her credit in the bank of england, to make her the sole possessor of nearly three million pounds." "phew!" whistled cleek. "when these orientals do it they certainly do it properly. that's what you might call 'giving with both hands,' major, eh?" "the gift did not end with that, sir," the major replied with a gesture of repulsion. "there was a gruesome, ghastly, appalling addition in the shape of two mummy cases--one empty, the other filled. a parchment accompanying these stated that the caliph could not sleep elsewhere but in the land of his fathers, nor sleep _there_ until his beloved child rested beside him. they had been parted in life, but they should not be parted in death. an egyptian had, therefore, been summoned to his bedside, had been given orders to embalm him after death, to send the mummy to zuilika, and with it a case in which, when her own death should occur, _her_ body should be deposited; and followers of the prophet had taken oath to see that both were carried to their native land and entombed side by side. until death came to relieve her of this ghastly duty, zuilika was charged to be the guardian of the mummy and daily to make the orisons of the faithful before it, keeping it always with its face towards the east." "by george! it sounds like a page from the 'arabian nights,'" exclaimed cleek. "well, what next? did ulchester take kindly to this housing of the mummy of his father-in-law and the eventual coffin of his wife? or was he willing to stand for anything so long as he got possession of the huge fortune the old man left?" "he never did get it, mr. cleek--he never touched so much as one farthing of it. zuilika took nobody into her confidence until everything had been converted into english gold and deposited in the bank to her credit. then she went straight to him and to anita, showed them proof of the deposit, reviled them for their treatment of her, and swore that not one farthing's benefit should accrue to ulchester until anita was turned out of the house in the presence of their guests and the husband took oath on his knees to join the wife in those daily prayers before the caliph's mummy. furthermore, ulchester was to embrace the faith of the mohammedans that he might return with her at once to the land and the gods she had offended by marriage with a frankish infidel." "which, of course, he declined to do?" "yes. he declined utterly. but it was a case of the crushed worm, with zuilika. now was _her_ turn; and she would not abate one jot or tittle. there was a stormy scene, of course. it ended by ulchester and the woman anita leaving the house together. from that hour zuilika never again heard his living voice, never again saw his living face! he seems to have gone wild with wrath over what he had lost and to have plunged headlong into the maddest sort of dissipation. it is known--positively known, and can be sworn to by reputable witnesses--that for the next three days he did not draw one sober breath. on the fourth, a note from him--a note which he was _seen_ to write in a public house--was carried to zuilika. in that note he cursed her with every conceivable term; told her that when she got it he would be at the bottom of the river, driven there by her conduct, and that if it was possible for the dead to come back and haunt people he'd do it. two hours after he wrote that note he was seen getting out of the train at tilbury and going towards the docks; but from that moment to this every trace of him is lost." "ah, i see!" said cleek reflectively. "and you want to find out if he really carried out that threat and did put an end to himself, i suppose? that's why you have come to me, eh? frankly, i don't believe that he did, major. that sort of a man never commits suicide upon so slim a pretext as that. if he commits it at all, it's because he is at the end of his tether--and our friend 'zyco' seems to have been a long way from the end of his. how does the lady take it? seriously?" "oh, very, sir, very. of course, to a woman of her temperament and with her oriental ideas regarding the supernatural, _et cetera_, that threat to haunt her was the worst he could have done to her. at first she was absolutely beside herself with grief and horror; swore that she had killed him by her cruelty; that there was nothing left her but to die, and all that sort of thing; and for three days she was little better than a mad woman. at the end of that time, after the fashion of her people, she retired to her own room, covered herself with sackcloth and ashes, and remained hidden from all eyes for the space of a fortnight, weeping and wailing constantly and touching nothing but bread and water." "poor wretch! she suffers like that, then, over a rascally fellow not worth a single tear. it's marvellous, major, what women do see in men that they can go on loving them. has she come out of her retirement yet?" "yes, mr. cleek. she came out of it five days ago, to all appearances a thoroughly heart-broken woman. of course as she was all alone in the world, my son and i considered it our duty, during the time of her wildness and despair, to see that a thoroughly respectable female was called in to take charge of the house and to show respect for the proprieties, and for us to take up our abode there in order to prevent her from doing herself an injury. we are still domiciled there, but it will surprise you to learn that a most undesirable person is there also. in short, sir, that the woman anita rosario, the cause of all the trouble, is again an inmate of the house; and what is more remarkable still, this time by zuilika's own request." "what's that? my dear major, you amaze me! what can possibly have caused the good lady to do a thing like that?" "she hopes, she says, to appease the dead and to avert the threatened 'haunting.' at all events, she sent for anita some days ago. indeed, i believe it is her intention to take the spaniard with her when she returns to the east." "she intends doing that, then? she is so satisfied of her husband's death that she deems no further question necessary. intends to take no further step toward proving it?" "it has been proved to her satisfaction. his body was recovered the day before yesterday." "oho! then he is dead, eh? why didn't you say so in the beginning? when did you learn of it?" "this very evening. that is what brings me here. i learned from zuilika that a body answering the description of his had been fished from the water at tilbury and carried to the mortuary. it was horribly disfigured--by contact with the piers and passing vessels--but she and anita--and--and my son--" "your son, major? your son?" "yes!" replied the major in a sort of half-whisper. "they--they took him with them when they went, unknown to me. he has become rather friendly with the spanish woman of late. all three saw the body; all three identified it as being ulchester's beyond a doubt." "and you? surely when you see it you will be able to satisfy any misgivings you may have?" "i shall never see it, mr. cleek. it was claimed when identified and buried within twelve hours," said the major, glancing up sharply as cleek, receiving this piece of information, blew out a soft, low whistle. "i was not told anything about it until this evening, and what i have done--in coming to you, i mean--i have done with nobody's knowledge. i--i am so horribly in the dark--i have such fearful thoughts and--and i want to be sure. i must be sure or i shall go out of my mind. that's the 'case,' mr. cleek--tell me what you think of it." "i can do that in a very few words, major," he replied. "it is either a gigantic swindle or it is a clear case of murder. if a swindle, then ulchester himself is at the bottom of it and it will end in murder just the same. frankly, the swindle theory strikes me as being the more probable; in other words, that the whole thing is a put-up game between ulchester and the woman anita; that they played upon zuilika's fear of the supernatural for a purpose; that a body was procured and sunk in that particular spot for the furtherance of that purpose; and if the widow attempts to put into execution this plan--no doubt instilled into her mind by anita--of returning with her wealth to her native land, she will simply be led into some safe place and then effectually put out of the way for ever. that is what i think of the case if it is to be regarded in the light of a swindle; but if ulchester is really dead, murder, not suicide, is at the back of his taking off, and--oh, well, we won't say anything more about it just yet awhile. i shall want to look over the ground before i jump to any conclusions. you are still stopping in the house, you and your son, i think you remarked? if you could contrive to put up an old army friend's son there for a night, major, give me the address. i'll drop in on you to-morrow and have a little look round." chapter xxviii when, next morning, major burnham-seaforth announced the dilemma in which, through his own house being temporarily closed, he found himself owing to the proposed visit of lieutenant rupert st. aubyn, son of an old army friend, zuilika was the first to suggest the very thing he was fishing for. "ah, let him come here, dear friend," she said in that sad, sweetly modulated voice which so often wrung this susceptible old heart. "there is plenty of room!--plenty, alas now--and any friend of yours can only be a friend of mine. he will not annoy. let him come here." "yes, let him," supplemented young burnham-seaforth, speaking with his eyes on señorita rosario, who seemed nervous and ill-pleased by the news of the expected arrival. "he won't have to be entertained by us if he only comes to see the pater; and we can easily crowd him aside if he tries to thrust himself upon us--a fellow with a name like 'rupert st. aubyn' is bound to be a silly ass." and when, in the late afternoon, "lieutenant rupert st. aubyn," in the person of cleek, arrived with his snubnosed manservant, a kit-bag, several rugs and a bundle of golf sticks, young burnham-seaforth saw no reason to alter that assertion. for, a "silly ass"--albeit an unusually handsome one with his fair, curling hair and his big blonde moustache--he certainly was; a lisping "ha-ha-ing" "don't-cher-knowing" silly ass, whom the presence of ladies seemed to cover with confusion and drive into a very panic of shy embarrassment. "_dios!_ but he is handsome, this big, fair lieutenant!" whispered the spaniard to young burnham-seaforth. "a great, handsome fool--all beauty and no brains, like a doll of wax!" then she bent over and murmured smilingly to zuilika: "i shall make a bigger nincompoop of this big, fair sap-head than heaven already has done before he leaves here, just for the sake of seeing him stammer and blush!" only the sad expression of zuilika's eyes told that she so much as heard, as she rose to greet the visitor. garbed from head to foot in the deep violet-coloured stuff which is the mourning of turkish women, her little pointed slippers showing beneath the hem of her frock, and only her dark, mournful eyes visible between the top of the shrouding yashmak and the edge of her sequined snood, she made a pathetic picture as she stood there waiting to greet the unknown visitor. "sir, you are welcome--you are most welcome," she said in a voice whose modulations were not lost upon cleek's ears as he put forth his hand and received the tips of her little, henna-stained fingers upon his palm. "peace be with you, who are of his people--he that i loved and mourn!" then, as if overcome with grief at the recollection of her widowhood, she plucked away her hand, covered her eyes, and moved staggeringly out of the room. and cleek saw no more of her that day; but he knew when she performed her orisons before the mummy case--as she did each morning and evening--by the strong, pungent odour of incense drifting through the house and filling it with a sickly scent. her absence seemed to make but little impression upon him, however; for, following up a well-defined plan of action, he devoted himself wholly to the spanish woman, and both amazed her and gratified her vanity by allowing her to learn that a man may be the silliest ass imaginable and yet quite understand how to flirt and to make love to a woman. and so it fell out that instead of "lieutenant rupert st. aubyn" being elbowed out by young burnham-seaforth, it was "lieutenant st. aubyn" who elbowed _him_ out; and without being in the least aware of it, the flattered anita, like an adroitly hooked trout, was being "played" in and out and round about the eddies and the deeps until the angler had her quite ready for the final dip of the net at the landing point. all this was to accomplish exactly what it _did_ accomplish, namely, the ill temper, the wrath, the angry resentment of young burnham-seaforth. and when the evening had passed and bedtime arrived, cleek took his candle and retired in the direction of the rooms set apart for him, with the certainty of knowing that he had done that which would this very night prove beyond all question the guilt or innocence of one person at least who was enmeshed in this mysterious tangle. he was not surprised, therefore, at what followed his next step. reaching the upper landing he blew out the light of his candle, slammed the door to his own room, noisily turned the key, and shot the bolt of another, then tiptoed his way back to the staircase and looked down the well-hole into the lower hall. zuilika had retired to her room, the major had retired to his, and now anita was taking up her candle to retire to hers. she had barely touched it, however, when there came a sound of swift footsteps and young burnham-seaforth lurched out of the drawing-room door and joined her. he was in a state of great excitement and was breathing hard. "anita--miss rosario!" he began, plucking her by the sleeve and uplifting a pale, boyish face--he was not yet twenty-two--to hers with a look of abject misery. "i want to speak to you--i simply must speak to you. i've been waiting for the chance, and now that it's come--look here! you're not going back on me, are you?" "going back on you?" repeated anita, showing her pretty white teeth in an amused smile. "what shall you mean by that 'going back on you'--eh? you are a stupid little donkey, to be sure. but then i do not care to get on the back of one--so why?" "oh, you know very well what i mean," he rapped out angrily. "it is not fair the way you have been treating me ever since that yellow-headed bounder came. i've had a night of misery--zuilika never showing herself; you doing nothing, absolutely nothing, although you promised--you _know_ you did!--and i heard you, i absolutely heard you persuade that st. aubyn fool to stop at least another night." "yes, of course you did. but what of it? he is good company--he talks well, he sings well, he is very handsome and--well, what difference can it make to you? you are not interested in _me, amigo_?" "no, no; of course i'm not. you are nothing to me at all--you--oh, i beg your pardon; i didn't quite mean that. i--i mean you are nothing to me in that way. but you--you're not keeping to your word. you promised, you know, that you'd use your influence with zuilika; that you'd get her to be more kind to me--to see me alone and--and all that sort of thing. and you've not made a single attempt--not one. you've just sat round and flirted with that tow-headed brute and done nothing at all to help me on; and--and it's jolly unkind of you, that's what!" cleek heard anita's soft rippling laughter; but he waited to hear no more. moving swiftly away from the well-hole of the staircase he passed on tiptoe down the hall to the major's rooms, and, opening the door, went in. the old soldier was standing, with arms folded, at the window looking silently out into the darkness of the night. he turned at the sound of the door's opening and moved toward cleek with a white, agonised face and a pair of shaking, outstretched hands. "well?" he said with a sort of gasp. "my dear major," said cleek quietly. "the wisest of men are sometimes mistaken--that is my excuse for my own short-sightedness. i said in the beginning that his was either a case of swindling or a case of murder, did i not? well, i now amend my verdict. it is a case of swindling _and_ murder; and your son has had nothing to do with either!" "oh, thank god! thank god!" the old man said; then sat down suddenly and dropped his face between his hands and was still for a long time. when he looked up again his eyes were red, but his lips were smiling. "if you only knew what a relief it is," he said. "if you only knew how much i have suffered, mr. cleek. his friendship with that spanish woman; his going with her to identify the body--even assisting in its hurried burial! these things all seemed so frightfully black--so utterly without any explanation other than personal guilt." "yet they are all easily explained, major. his friendship for the spanish woman is merely due to a promise to intercede for him with zuilika. she is his one aim and object, poor little donkey! as for his identification of the body--well, if the widow herself could find points of undisputed resemblance, why not he? a nervous, excitable, impetuous boy like that--and anxious, too, that the lady of his heart should be freed from the one thing, the one man, whose existence made her everlastingly unattainable--why, in the hands of a clever woman like anita rosario such a chap could be made to identify anything and to believe it as religiously as he believes. now, go to bed and rest easy, major. i'm going to call up dollops and do a little night prowling. if it turns out as i hope, this little riddle will be solved to-morrow." "but how, mr. cleek? it seems to me that it is as dark as ever. you put my poor old head in a whirl. you say there is swindling; you hint one moment that the body was not that of ulchester, and in the next that murder has been done. do, pray, tell me what it all means--what you make of this amazing case." "i'll do that to-morrow, major; not to-night. the answer to the riddle--the answer that's in my mind, i mean--is at once so simple and yet so appallingly awful that i'll hazard no guess until i'm sure. look here"--he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a gold piece--"do you know what that is, major?" "it looks like a spade guinea, mr. cleek." "right; it is a spade guinea--a pocket piece i've carried for years. you've heard, no doubt, of vital things turning upon the tossing of a coin. well, if you see me toss this coin to-morrow, something of that sort will occur. it will be tossed up in the midst of a riddle, major; when it comes down it will be a riddle no longer." then he opened the door, closed it after him, and, before the major could utter a word, was gone. chapter xxix the promise was so vague, so mystifying, indeed, so seemingly absurd, that the major did not allow himself to dwell upon it. as a matter of fact, it passed completely out of his mind; nor did it again find lodgment there until it was forced back upon his memory in a most unusual manner. whatsoever had been the result of what cleek had called his "night prowling," he took nobody into his confidence when he and the major and the major's son and señorita rosario met at breakfast the next day (zuilika, true to her training and the traditions of her people, never broke morning bread save in the seclusion of her own bed-chamber, and then on her knees with her face towards the east) nor did he allude to it at any period throughout the day. he seemed, indeed, purposely, to avoid the major, and to devote himself to the spanish woman with an ardour that was positively heartless, considering that as they two sang and flirted and played several sets of singles on the tennis court, zuilika, like a spirit of misery, kept walking, walking, walking through the halls and the rooms of the house, her woeful eyes fixed on the carpet, her henna-stained fingers constantly locking and unlocking, and moans of desolation coming now and again from behind her yashmak as her swaying body moved restlessly to and fro. for to-day was memorable. five weeks ago this coming nightfall ulchester had flung himself out of this house in a fury of wrath, and this time of bitter regret and ceaseless mourning had begun. "she will go out of her mind, poor creature, if something cannot be done to keep her from dwelling on her misery like this," commented the housekeeper, coming upon that restless figure pacing the darkened hall, moaning, moaning--seeing nothing, hearing nothing, doing nothing but walk and sorrow, sorrow and walk, hour in and hour out. "it's enough to tear a body's heart to hear her, poor dear. and that good-for-nothing spanish piece racing and shrieking round the tennis court like a she tom-cat, the heartless hussy. her and that simpering silly that's trotting round after her had ought to be put in a bag and shaken up, that they ought. it's downright scandalous to be carrying on like that at such a time." and so both the major and his son thought too, and tried their best to solace the lonely mourner and to persuade her to sit down and rest. "zuilika, you will wear yourself out, child, if you go on walking like this," said the major solicitously. "do rest and be at peace for a little time at least." "i can never have peace in this land--i can never forget the day!" she answered drearily. "oh, my beloved! oh, my lord, it was i who sent thee to it--it was i, it was i! give me my own country--give me the gods of my people; here there is only memory and pain, and no rest, no rest ever!" she could not be persuaded to sit down and rest until anita herself took the matter into her own hands and insisted that she should. that was at tea-time. anita, showing some little trace of feeling now that cleek had gone to wash his hands and was no longer there to occupy her thoughts, placed a deep, soft chair near the window, and would not yield until the violet-clad figure of the mourner sank down into the depths of it and leaned back with its shrouded face drooping in silent melancholy. and it was while she was so sitting that cleek came into the room and did a most unusual, a most ungentlemanly thing, in the eyes of the major and his son. without hesitating, he walked to within a yard or two of where she was sitting, and then, in the silliest of silly tones, blurted out suddenly: "i say, don't you know, i've had a jolly rum experience. you know that blessed room at the angle just opposite the library--the one with the locked door?" the drooping, violet figure straightened abruptly, and the major felt for the moment as if he could have kicked cleek with pleasure. of course they knew the room. it was there that the two mummy cases were kept, sacred from the profaning presence of any but this stricken woman. no wonder that she bent forward, full of eagerness, full of the dreadful fear that frankish feet had crossed the threshold, frankish eyes looked within the sacred shrine. "well, don't you know," went on cleek, without taking the slightest notice of anything, "just as i was going past that door i picked up a most remarkable thing. wonder if it's yours, madam?" glancing at zuilika. "just have a look at it, will you? here, catch!" and not until he saw a piece of gold spin through the air and fall into zuilika's lap did the major remember that promise of last night. "oh, come, i say, st. aubyn, that's rather thick!" sang out young burnham-seaforth indignantly, as zuilika caught the coin in her lap. "blest if i know what you call manners, but to throw things at a lady is a new way of passing them in this part of the world, i can assure you." "awfully sorry, old chap, no offence, i assure you," said cleek, more asinine than ever, as zuilika, having picked up the piece and looked at it, disclaimed all knowledge of it, and laid it on the edge of the table without any further interest in it or him. "just to show, you know, that i--er--couldn't have meant anything disrespectful, why--er--you all know, don't you know, how jolly much i respect señorita rosario, by jove! and so--here, señorita, you catch, too, and see if the blessed thing's yours." and, picking up the coin, tossed it into her lap just as he had done with zuilika. she, too, caught it and examined it, and laughingly shook her head. "no--not mine!" she said. "i have not seen him before. to the finder shall be the keep. come, sit here. will you have the tea?" "yes, thanks," said cleek; then dropped down on the sofa beside her, and took tea as serenely as though there were no such things in the world as murder and swindling and puzzling police-riddles to solve. and the major, staring at him, was as amazed as ever. he had said, last night, that when the coin fell the answer would be given--and yet it had fallen, and nothing had happened, and he was laughing and flirting with señorita rosario as composedly and as persistently as ever. more than that; after he had finished his second cup of tea, and immediately following the sound of someone just beyond the verandah rail whistling the lively, lilting measures of "there's a girl wanted there"--the "silly ass" seemed to become a thousand times sillier than ever; for he forthwith set down his cup, and, turning to anita, said with an inane sort of giggle, "i say, you know, here's a lark. let's have a game of 'slap hand,' you and i--what? know it, don't you? you try to slap my hands, and i try to slap yours, and whichever succeeds in doing it first gets a prize. awful fun, don't you know. come on--start her up." and, anita agreeing, they fell forthwith to slapping away at the backs of each other's hands with great gusto, until, all of a sudden, the whistler outside gave one loud, shrill note, and--there was a great and mighty change. those who were watching saw anita's two hands suddenly caught, heard a sharp, metallic "click," and saw them as suddenly dropped again to the accompaniment of a shrill little scream from her ashen lips, and the next moment cleek had risen and jumped away from her side--clear across to where zuilika was; and those who were watching saw anita jump up with a pair of steel handcuffs on her wrists, just as dollops vaulted up over the verandah rail and appeared at one window, whilst petrie appeared at another, hammond poked his body through a third, and the opening door gave entrance to superintendent narkom. "the police!" shrilled out anita in a panic of fright. "_madre de dios_, the police!" the major and his son were on their feet like a shot; zuilika, with a faint, startled cry, bounded bolt upright, like an imp shot through a trap-door; but before the little henna-stained hands could do more than simply move, cleek's arms went round her from behind, tight and fast as a steel clamp, there was another metallic "click," another shrill cry, and another pair of wrists were in gyves. "come in, mr. narkom; come in, constables," said cleek, with the utmost composure. "here are your promised prisoners--nicely trussed, you see, so that they can't get at the little popguns they carry--and a worse pair of rogues never went into the hands of jack ketch!" "and jack ketch will get them, cleek, if i know anything about it. your hazard was right. i've examined the caliph's mummy-case; the mummy itself has been removed--destroyed--done away with utterly--and the poor creature's body is there!" and here the poor, dumfounded, utterly bewildered major found voice to speak at last. "mummy-case! body! dear god in heaven, mr. cleek, what are you hinting at?" he gasped. "you--you don't mean that she--that zuilika--killed him?" "no, major, i don't," he made reply. "i simply mean that he killed her! the body in the mummy-case is the body of zuilika, the caliph's daughter! this is the creature you have been wasting your pity on--see!" with that he laid an intense grip on the concealing yashmak, tore it away, and so revealed the close-shaven, ghastly-hued countenance of the cornered criminal. "my god!--ulchester--ulchester himself!" said the major in a voice of fright and surprise. "yes, ulchester himself, major. in a few more days he'd have withdrawn the money, and got out of the country, body and all, if he hadn't been nabbed, the rascal. there'd have been no tracing the crime then; and he and the señorita here would have been in clover for the rest of their natural lives. but there's always that bright little bit of bobby burns to be reckoned with. you know: 'the best laid schemes of mice and men,' _et cetera_--that bit. but the yard's got them, and--they'll never leave the country now. take them, mr. narkom, they're yours!" * * * * * "how did i guess it?" said cleek, replying to the major's query, as they sat late that night discussing the affair. "well, i think the first faint inkling of it came when i arrived here yesterday, and smelt the overpowering odour of the incenses. there was so much of it, and it was used so frequently--twice a day--that it seemed to suggest an attempt to hide other odours of a less pleasant kind. when i left you last night, dollops and i went down to the mummy-chamber, and a skeleton key soon let us in. the unpleasant odour was rather pronounced in there. but even that didn't give me the cue, until i happened to find in the fireplace a considerable heap of fine ashes, and in the midst of them small lumps of gummy substance, which i knew to result from the burning of myrrh. i suspected from that and from the nature of the ashes that a mummy had been burnt, and as there was only one mummy in the affair, the inference was obvious. i laid hands on the two cases and tilted them. one was quite empty. the weight of the other told me that it contained something a little heavier than any mummy ought to be. i came to the conclusion that there was a body in it, injected full of arsenic, no doubt, to prevent as much as possible the processes of decay, the odour of which the incense was concealing. i didn't attempt to open the thing; i left that until the arrival of the men from the yard, for whom i sent dollops this afternoon. i had a vague notion that it would not turn out to be ulchester's, and i had also a distinct recollection of what you said about his being able to mimic a gaiety chorus-girl and all that sort of thing, and the more i thought over it, the more i realized what an excellent thing to cover a bearded face a yashmak is. still, it was all hazard. i wasn't sure--indeed, i never was sure--until tea-time, when i caught this supposed 'zuilika' sitting at last, and gave the spade guinea its chance to decide it." "but, mr. cleek, how could it have decided it? that's the thing which amazes me most of all. how could the tossing of that coin have decided the sex of the wearer of those garments?" "my dear major, it is an infallible test. did you ever notice that if you throw anything for a man to catch in his lap, he pulls his knees together to _make_ a lap in order to catch it; whereas a woman--used to wearing skirts and, thereby, having a lap already prepared--immediately broadens that lap by the exactly opposite movement, knowing that whatever is thrown has no chance of slipping through and falling to the floor. when i tossed the coin to ulchester, he instinctively jerked his knees together. that settled it, of course. and now, if you won't mind my saying it, i'm a bit sleepy and it is about time i took myself off to home and bed." "but not at this late hour, surely? you will never catch a train." "i shan't need one, major. they are holding a horse and trap ready for me at the stables of the 'coach and horses.' mr. narkom promised to look out for that, and--i beg pardon? no, i can't stop over night. thank you for the invitation, but dollops would raise half london if i didn't turn up after promising to do so." "i should have thought you might have simplified matters and obviated that by keeping the boy when you had him here," said the major. "we could easily have found a place to put him up for the night." "thanks very much, but i wouldn't interrupt the course of his studies for the world," replied cleek. "i've found an old chap--an ex-schoolmaster, down on his luck and glad for the chance to turn an honest penny--who takes him on every night from eight to ten; and the young monkey is so eager and is absorbing knowledge at such a rate that he positively amazes me. but now, really, it must be good-night. the boy will be waiting and i must hear his lessons before i go to bed." "not surely when you are so tired as you say?" "never too tired for that, major. it makes me sleep better and sounder to know that the lad's getting on and that i've cheated the devil in just one more instance. good-night and good luck to you. it's a bully old world after all, isn't it, major?" then laughed and shook hands with him and fared forth into the starlight, whistling. chapter xxx who feeds on hope alone makes but a sorry banquet; and for the next few weeks hope was all--or nearly all--that came cleek's way. for some unexplained reason, miss lorne's letters--never very frequent, and always very brief--had, of late been gradually growing briefer: as if written in haste and from a mere sense of duty and at odd moments snatched from the call of more absorbing things; and, finally, there came a dropping off altogether and a week that brought no message from her at all. the old restlessness, the almost outlived sense of personal injury and rebellion against circumstances, took hold of cleek again when that time came; and the soul of him drank deep of the waters of bitterness. so, then, it was all to be in vain, was it, this long struggle with the devil of circumstances, this long striving for a goal? and after all, "thou shalt not enter" was to be written over the gateway of his ambition? he had been lifted only to be dropped again, redeemed only to let him see how vain it was for the leopard, even though he achieved the impossible and changed his spots, to be other than a leopard always; how impossible it was for a man to override the decrees of nature or evade the edicts of providence? that was what it meant, eh? to a nature such as his, life was always a picture drawn out of perspective. there was never any middle distance; never any proper gradation. it was always either the highest heights or the lowest depths; the glare of fierce light or the black of deepest darkness. he could not plod; he must either fly or fall; either loll at the gates of paradise or groan in the depths of hell. and the failure of ailsa lorne's letters sent him to the darkest and most hopeless corner of it. not that he blamed her--wholly; but that he blamed that fate which had so persistently dogged him from childhood on. for now that the letters had ceased altogether, he recalled things which otherwise would have been forgotten; and, his sense of proportion being distorted, made mountains out of sand dunes. in one of those letters, he recollected, she had spoken of meeting unexpectedly an old friend whom she had not seen since the days of his boyhood; in another, she had casually remarked, "i met captain morford again to-day and we spent a very pleasant half hour together," and in a third had written, "the captain promised to call and take tea to-day but didn't. i rather fancy he divines the fact that lady chepstow does not care for him. indeed, she dislikes him immensely. why, i wonder? personally, i think him exceedingly pleasant, and there are things in his character for which i have the deepest respect and admiration." and out of these trifling circumstances--lo! the darkest corner that darkest hell contained. so that was how it was to end, was it? that was the card which fate had all along kept up her sleeve while she stood off laughing at his endeavours, his hopes, his struggles against the inevitable? in the end, another man was to appear, another man was to win her, and the dream was to turn out nothing more than a dream after all. once again the voices of the wild called out to the caged wolf; once again, the old things beckoned and the new things lost their savour and the devil said, as before, "what is the use? what _is_ the use?" and the savage cried out to be stripped and flung back into the wilderness as god made him, and called and called and called for an end to the things that stank in his nostrils and for the fierce companionship of his kind. and but that time had staled these things a little and blunted the keen edge of them so that they could not endure for long, and there was dollops and the lessons and dollops' future to recollect, the wolf and the savage and the devil might not have hungered in vain. followed a period of intense depression when all things seemed to lose their savour and when narkom, amazed, said to himself that the man had come to the end of his usefulness and had lost every attribute of the successful criminologist. for the next three cases he brought him cleek botched in a manner that would have disgraced the merest tyro. two, he failed utterly to solve, although the solutions were eventually worked out by the ordinary forces of the yard; and in the third he let his man get away under his very nose and convey government secrets to a foreign power. it was but natural that these three dismal failures should find their way to the newspapers and that, in the hysterical condition of modern journalism, they should be flung out to the world at large with all the ostentation of leaded type and panicky scare heads, and that learned editors should discourse knowingly of "the limitations of mentality" and "the well-authenticated cases of the sudden warping of abnormal intelligences resulting in the startling termination of amazing careers," or snivel dismally over "the complete collapse of that imaginative power which, hitherto, had been this detective's greatest asset, and which now, on the principle that however deep a well may be if a force-pump be put into it it must some time suck gravel, seemed to have come to its end." these things, when cleek heard of them, affected him not at all. he seemed not to care whether his career was ended or not, whether the world praised or censured. neither his pride nor his vanity was stirred even to the very smallest degree. but narkom, loyal still, took these gloomy prophecies and editorial vapourings much to heart and strove valiantly to confound the man's detractors and to put the spur to the man himself. he would not believe that the end had come, that his mental powers had run suddenly against a dead wall beyond which there was no possibility of proceeding. something was weighing upon his mind and damping his spirits that was all; and it must be the business of those who were his friends to take steps to discover what that something was and, if possible, to eliminate it. he therefore sought out dollops and held secret conclave with him; and dollops dolefully epitomized the difficulty thus: "a skirt--that's what's at the bottom of it, sir. no letter at all these ten days past. she's chucked him, i'm afraid." and with this brief preface told all that he was able to tell; which, after all, was not much. he could only explain about the letter that used to come off and on in the other days and which brought such a flow of high spirits to the man for whom it was intended; he could only say that it was addressed in a woman's hand and bore always the one postmark; and when narkom heard what that postmark was and recollected where lady chepstow's country seat lay, and who was with her, he puckered up his lips as if he were about to whistle and made two slim arches with his uplifted eyebrows. "sir, if only you could sneak off and run down there without his knowing of it--it wouldn't do to write a letter, mr. narkom: he'd be on to that before you could turn round, sir," the boy ventured hopefully; "but if only you could run down there and give her a tip what she's a doing of and what she's a chuckin' away, what a man she's a throwin' down, maybe, sir, maybe--" "yes, 'maybe,'" agreed the superintendent, after a moment's reflection. "at any rate it's worth a trial." and went, forthwith. not that it was a prudent thing to do; not that it is wise for any man at any time to interfere, even with the best intentions, with the course of another man's love affairs; and, finally, not that it was at all necessary or had any influence whatsoever upon the events which succeeded the step. indeed, he might have spared himself the trouble, for he had barely covered a fifth of the distance when the country post was delivered in london, and cleek, rocketing up in one sweep from the pit to the gateway, stood laughing huskily with a letter from ailsa in his hand. he ripped off the envelope and read it greedily. "dear friend," she wrote, "i cannot imagine what you must think of my silence; but whatsoever you do think cannot be half so terrible as the actual cause of it. i have been in close touch with misery and death, with things so appalling that heart and mind have had room to hold nothing else. indeed, i am still so horribly nervous and upset that i scarcely know how to think coherently much less write. i can only remember that you once said that if ever i needed your help i was to ask; and oh, mr. cleek, i need it very very much indeed now. not for myself--let me find time to add that--but for a dear, dear friend--the friend i have so often written about: captain morford--who is involved in an affair of the most distressing and mysterious character and whose only hope lies, i feel, in you. will you come to the rescue, for my sake? that is what i am asking. let me say, however, that there is no possibility of a reward, for the captain is in no position to offer one; but i seem to feel that that will not weigh with you. neither can i ask you to call at the house, for, as i have already told you, lady chepstow does not care for the captain and under those circumstances it would be embarrassing to ask him there to meet you. so then, if no other case intervenes, and you really _can_ grant me this great favour, will you be in the neighbourhood of the lich-gate of lyntonhurst old church at nine o'clock in the morning of thursday, you will win the everlasting gratitude of, your sincere friend--ailsa lorne." would he be there? he laughed aloud as he put the question to himself. a bradshaw was on his table. he caught it up, found that there was a train that could be caught in thirty-five minutes' time, and clapped on his hat and--caught it. that night he slept at the inn of the three desires--which, as you may possibly know, lies but a gunshot beyond the boundary wall of the glebe of lyntonhurst old church--slept with an alarm clock at his head and every servant at the inn from the boots to the barmaid tipped a shilling to see that he did not oversleep himself. he was up before any of them, however--up and out into the pearl-dusk of the morning before ever the alarm-clock shrilled its first note, or the sun's sheen slid lower than the spurs of the weather-cock on the spire of lyntonhurst old church--and twice he had walked past the big gates and looked up the still avenue to the windows of the huge house whose roof covered her before lyntonhurst old church spoke up through the dawn-hush and told the parish it was half-past four o'clock. by five, he had found a pool cupped in the beech woods with mallows and marsh marigolds and a screen of green things all round it and a tent of blue sky over the sun-touched tree tops; and had stripped and splashed into it and set all the birds to flight with the harsher song of human things; by seven he was back at the three desires; by eight he had shaved and changed and breakfasted and was out again in the fields and the leafy lanes, and by nine he was at the lich-gate of the church. chapter xxxi she was there already; sitting far back at the end of one of the narrow wooden side benches with the shadow of the gate's moss-grown roof and of the big cypress above it partly screening her, her shrinking position evincing a desire to escape general observation as clearly as her pale face and nervously drumming hand betrayed a state of extreme agitation. she rose as cleek lifted the latch and came in, and advanced to meet him with both hands outstretched in greeting and a rich colour staining all her face. "i knew that you would come--i was as certain of it as i am now this minute," she said with a little embarrassed laugh, then dropped her eyes and said no more, for he had taken those two hands in his and was holding them tightly and looking at her with an expression that was half a reproach and half a caress. "i am glad you did not doubt," he said, with an odd, wistful little smile. "it is good to know one's friends have faith in one, miss lorne. i had almost come to believe that you had forgotten me." "because i did not write? oh, but i could not--indeed i could not. i have been spending days and nights in a house of mourning--lady chepstow gave me leave of absence; and my heart was so full i did not write even to her. i have been trying to soothe and to comfort a distracted girl, a half-crazed old man, a bereft and horribly smitten family. i have been doing all in my power to put hope and courage into the heart of a despairing and most unhappy lover." "meaning captain morford?" "yes. he has been almost beside himself. and since this last blow fell.... oh, i had been so sure that it would not, that between us all we would manage to avert it; yet in spite of everything it did fall--it did!--and if i live to be a hundred i shall never forget it." "calm yourself, miss lorne. you are shaking like a leaf. try to tell me plainly what it is that has happened; what the danger is that threatens this--er--captain morford." "oh, nothing threatens _him_, personally," she replied. "he says he could stand it better if it were only that; and i believe him--i truly do. the thing that nearly drives him out of his mind is the thought that one day she--the girl he loves--the girl he is to marry--the girl for whose dear sake he stands ready to give up so much--the thought that one day _her_ turn will come, that one day she, too, will be stricken down as mother and brothers have been is almost driving him frantic." "mother and brothers?--_brothers_?" cleek looked up sharply, and there was a curious break in his voice, a yet more curious brightening of his eyes. "miss lorne, am i to understand that this captain morford is engaged to a girl who has _brothers_?" "yes. that is--no. she has 'brothers' no longer. there is only one left living now, mr. cleek, only one. ah, think of it! of that whole family of six persons, but three are left: miriam, flora, and ronald." "miriam, flora, and ... miss lorne, will you tell me please the name of the lady to whom captain morford is engaged?" "why miriam comstock, of course--did i forget to mention it?" "i think so," said cleek; and shook out a little jerky laugh, and stood looking at her foolishly; not quite knowing what to do with his feet and hands. but suddenly--"oh come, let's have the case--let's have it at once," he broke out impetuously. "tell me what it is, what i'm to do for this captain morford, and i'll do it if mortal man can." "and no mortal man can if you cannot--i've faith enough in you for that," she began, then stopped short and sucked in her breath, and crept back to the extreme end of the lich-gate and stood shaking and very pale. someone had come suddenly round the angle of the church and was moving up the road that ran past the gate. "please--no--let me get away as quickly as possible," she said in a swift whisper as cleek, startled by the change in her, made an eager step forward. "it is known that i have been with them--the comstocks--and it is all so mysterious and awful.... oh, who can tell whose hand it may be? who may be spying? or what? it is best that i should give no hint that assistance has been asked for; best that nobody should see me talking with _you_--mr. narkom says that it is." "mr. narkom?" "yes. he was in the neighbourhood accidentally. he called last night. i told him and he was glad that i had sent for you. he is over there, on the other side of the churchyard. oh, please will you go to him? captain morford is within easy call and has agreed to come when he is wanted. do go, do go quickly, mr. cleek. there's someone coming up the road and i am horribly frightened." "but why? it is merely a farm labourer," said cleek, glancing through the open side of the lich-gate and down the road. "you can see that for yourself." "yes, but--who knows? who can tell? there is no clue to the actual person and he is so cunning, so crafty--oh, please, will you go? afterward, if you like, we can meet here again. to-day i am too frightened to stay." he saw that she was in a state of extreme nervous terror; that it would be cruel to subject her to any further suffering, and without one more word, walked past her into the churchyard and made his way over the green ridge that rose immediately behind the building and down the slope beyond until he came to the extreme other side. and there in the shade of a thickly grown spinney, he found mr. marverick narkom sitting with his back against a beech-tree smoking a nerve-soothing cigar and expectantly awaiting him. "my dear fellow, i never was so glad," he said, tossing away his smoke and jumping up as cleek appeared. "happy coincidence my motoring down here--eh, what? wife in these parts visiting. rum, my turning up just after miss lorne had written you and at a time when we both are needed, wasn't it?" "very," said cleek, pulling out a cigarette and stretching himself full length upon the ground. "would as soon have expected to run foul of a specimen of the great auk endeavouring to rear a family in the neighbourhood of trafalgar square. well, what's it now, mr. narkom?--i'm told you know the details. a match please, if you have one. thanks very much. now then let's have the facts. what sort of a case is it?" "the knottiest in all my experience, the strangest that even you have ever handled," replied the superintendent, impressively. "it's a murder--three murders, in fact, with a possible fourth and a fifth in the near future if the diabolical rascal who is at the bottom of it isn't pulled up sharp and his amazing _modus operandi_ discovered. "the case will interest you, my dear chap; it is so startlingly original in its methods of procedure, so complex, so weird, and so appallingly mysterious. conceive if you can, my dear fellow, an individual so supernaturally cunning that he not only kills without a trace, but kills in the presence of watchers--kills whilst the victim is in the very arms of those watchers! and yet escapes, unseen, unknown, without a clue to tell when, where, or how he entered the room or left it; when, where, or how he struck the blow, or why; yet did strike it, despite the sleepless vigil of a man who not only sat up all night with the victim, but held him in his arms to be sure that nobody could get at him; nobody so much as approach him without his guardian's knowledge!" cleek twitched round sharply and sat up, leaning upon his elbow and looking at narkom as though he doubted his sanity. "let me have that again!" he said in sharp, crisp tones. "a man killed whilst another man held him--held him in his arms--and watched over him, and yet the other man saw nothing of the murderer? is that what you said?" "that's it, precisely. only i must tell you that, in the instance when the victim was held in the arms of the person watching him, it was not a man that was killed, but a boy. there had been a man killed, however, four weeks previously in the same house, in the same mysterious manner, and by the same unknown agency. a month earlier a woman, too, had been done to death there in the same way. the man was the brother of that boy, and the woman was the mother of both." cleek moved so quickly that he might fairly have been said to flash from a sitting to a standing position, and then began to feel round in his pockets for his cigarette case with a nervous sort of haste, which narkom knew and understood. "ah," he said, in a tone of satisfaction, "i thought the case would interest you. you've been down in the dumps lately and needed something to buck you up a bit. i told captain morford that this would be sure to do it. heard of him, haven't you? extremely nice chap. home on leave from bombay. only recently got his captaincy. grandson and heir to that fine old snob, sir gilbert morford, who's known everywhere as 'the titled teapot.' you know, 'morford & morford's unrivalled tea.' knighted for something or other--the lord knows what or why--and puts on more side over his tin-plate title than royalty itself. the captain is a decent sort, however. he'll give you the full particulars of this astounding case. wait a bit. i'll call him"--pausing a moment to put the first two fingers of each hand into his mouth and blow out a shrill, ear-splitting whistle. "that'll fetch him! he'll be here before you can say jack robinson!" he wasn't, of course; but you couldn't have said it half a hundred times before he was; or, at least, before cleek, startled by a rustling of the boughs, glanced round and saw a tall, fairish young man who had no more the appearance of a soldier than a currant has of a gooseberry. he looked more like a bank clerk than anything else that cleek could think of at the minute, and a none too prepossessing bank clerk at that, for nature had not been any too lavish of her gifts as regards personal attractiveness, seeming to prefer to make up for her miserliness in the bestowal of good looks by an absolute prodigality in the gifts of ears--ears as big as an oyster-shell and so prominent that they seemed even larger than they were, and that is saying a great deal. still, unprepossessing as the man was, there was a certain charm of manner about him and a certain attractiveness in his voice cleek discovered when he was introduced to him and found himself being "sized up," so to speak, by a pair of keen grey eyes. "now let us have the details of the case, if you please, captain," said cleek, coming to the point of the interview with as little beating about the bush as possible. "mr. narkom has given me a vague idea of the nature of it, but i want something more than that, of course. i am told that three persons in one family have been done to death in a most mysterious manner, and without any clue to the assassin or his motive; indeed that the hand which strikes strikes even in the presence of others, yet remains unknown and invisible. frankly, i never heard of but one instance which at all resembles this or--no, mr. narkom, it is nothing that ever came your way, no affair that has happened since you and i first met, sir. it was a long time ago--eight or ten years, to be exact--and a good many miles from england. the cases were somewhat similar, judging from the scanty outline you have given me, and--what's that? no, the criminal was never apprehended. he got away, and his methods were never generally known. even if they had been, they were not those which any desperado might have emulated, any tyro practised. they required a certain knowledge of anatomy, chemical action--even surgery. i don't believe that ten people in the world knew about the thing at that time. i stumbled upon what i believed was the solution of the mystery whilst i was taking a course of chemistry for--well, for the purpose of demonstrating the possibility of manufacturing precious stones of a size and weight to make them a profitable--er--speculation. the science in medicine was not so advanced in those days as it is now, and when i ventured to suggest to certain doctors what i believed to have been the cause of the mysterious deaths and the _modus operandi_ of the murderer, i simply got laughed at for my pains. i felt pretty certain of my facts, however, and pretty certain of the man who was guilty. pardon? no, not alive now; that fellow had his brains blown out in a bar-room brawl before i left new zealand." "new zealand?" struck in captain morford agitatedly. "i say, that's a rum go, isn't it, mr. narkom. new zealand is where the comstocks come from--or, rather, the father and mother did." "by jove! cleek, that looks suspicious, old chap," chimed in narkom. "don't think, do you, that there can possibly be any connection between the two cases? in other words, that that fellow you suspected in new zealand didn't really die after all?" "shortly, the chemist? not a doubt about his death, mr. narkom. i was in the bar-room when he was killed. three bullets went through his head, and he was as dead as napoleon bonaparte by the time he struck the floor. the methods may be the same, but not the man--there is not the ghost of possibility of there being any connection between the two. but let us give the captain a chance to explain the case. when, where, and how did these mysterious murders begin, captain, if you please?" "at lilac lodge, over windsor way," replied the captain, trying to answer all three questions at once. "they started about a week after the comstocks went to live there. and the thing was so appalling, the place seemed so certainly under a curse, that although he had paid a good round sum for it, and had spent a pot of money having the house decorated and the garden laid out just as miriam and her mother fancied it--miriam is miss comstock, my fiancée, mr. cleek--nothing would induce mr. harmstead to stop in it another hour after the second murder occurred." "mr. harmstead! who is mr. harmstead, captain?" "the late mrs. comstock's bachelor uncle--a very rich old chap, who was once a sheep-farmer in new zealand, and afterwards in australia. mrs. comstock hadn't seen him since she was a very little girl until he came to england some few months ago to settle down and to take care of her children and her." "how did it happen that she hadn't seen him in all that time? i take it there must have been some good reason, captain?" "yes, rather. you see it was like this: the harmsteads--mrs. comstock was a harmstead by birth, and uncle phil was her father's only brother--the harmsteads had never been well to-do as a family: indeed none of them but dear old uncle phil ever had a hundred pounds they could call their own, so when miss harmstead's father died, which was about eight months after his brother left new zealand and went to australia, she married a young joiner and cabinet-maker, george comstock, to whom she had long been engaged, and a few weeks later, fancying there would be a better chance for advancement in his trade in england than out there, mr. comstock sold out what few belongings he had in the world and brought his wife over here." "oh, i see. then of course she had no opportunity of seeing her uncle until he came here?" "no, not a ghost of one. she corresponded with him for a time, however--wrote him after the first child was born--and christened 'philip' in honour of him. in those days it used to take six months to get a letter to australia, and another six to get word back, so the baby was more than a year old when uncle phil wrote that if he didn't marry in the meantime and have a son of his own--which was very unlikely--he would make young phil his heir and come out after him, too, one of these fine days." "one moment. was the person you allude to as 'young phil' one of the sons that was murdered?" "yes. he was the first victim, poor, chap!" "oh, i see!" said cleek. "i see! so there is money in the background, eh? well go on. what next? hear any more from uncle phil after that?" "oh, yes--for a long time. miriam and flora were born, and word of their arrival in the world was sent out to him before the final letter for years and years reached them. in that letter he wrote that he was doing better and better every year, and getting so rich that he didn't have time to do anything but just stop where he was and 'gather in the shekels.' there'd be enough for all when he did come, however, and he was altering his will so that in case anything should happen to young phil--'which god forbid,' he wrote--the girls would come next, and so on to all the heirs of his niece. after that letter years went by, and never another one. they, thinking that he had married after all--for in his last letter he had spoken of a young widow who had lately been engaged to fill the post of housekeeper at his ranch--gave up all hope when after three times writing no reply came, and finally desisted entirely. he says, however, that it was just the other way about. that he did write--wrote six or seven times--but could get no reply; and as he afterwards found the housekeeper in question a designing and deceitful person, and shipped her off about her business, he makes no doubt that she received and destroyed mrs. comstock's letter to him and burnt his to her, hoping, no doubt, to inveigle him into marrying her." "quite likely, if she were a designing woman," commented cleek. "but go on, please. what next?" "oh, years of hardship, during which mr. comstock died and his widow had to earn their own living unaided. young phil got a post as bookkeeper, flora taught music and painting, mrs. comstock did needlework, and miriam became a governess in the family of a distant connection of my grandfather, sir gilbert morford. that's where and how i met her, mr. cleek, and--well, that's another story!" his cheeks reddening and a flash of fire coming into his eyes. "my grandfather says he will 'chuck me out neck and crop' if i marry her; but it does not matter--i will!" "yes, you will--if the cut of that chin stands for anything," commented cleek. "well, to get on: the comstocks were down in the deeps, and no hope of hearing any more from australia and uncle phil, eh? what next?" "why, all of a sudden he dropped in on them, bless his bully old heart!--and then good-bye to hard times and any more struggling for them. he'd been in england searching for them for seven months before he found them; but when he did find them there was a time! inside of ten hours, the whole world was changed for them. made the boys and the girls give up their positions and come home to live with him and their mother, poured money out by the handful, bought lilac lodge and fitted it up like a little palace, dressed his niece and her daughters like queens, and settled down with them to what seemed about to be a life of glorious and luxurious ease, and in the midst of all this peace and plenty, brightness and hope, the first blow fell. mrs. comstock, going to bed at night in perfect health, was found in the morning stone-dead! of course, as no doctor could give a death certificate when none had been in attendance upon her, the law stepped in, the coroner held an inquest, an autopsy was decided upon, and the result of it was a deeper and more amazing mystery than ever. she had died--but from what? every organ was found to be in a thoroughly healthy condition. the heart was sound, the lungs betrayed no sign of an anesthetic, the blood and kidneys not the faintest trace of poison--everything about her was perfectly normal. she had not died through drugs, she had not died through strangulation, suffocation, electrical shock, or failure of the heart. she had not been stabbed, she had not been shot, she had not succumbed to any mortal disease--yet there she was, stone-dead, slain by something which no one could trace and for which science could find no name." narkom opened his lips to speak, but cleek signalled him to silence, and stood studying the captain from under down-drawn brows, looking and listening and thoughtfully rubbing his thumb and forefinger up and down his chin. chapter xxxii "of course the family was horribly shocked and upset by this sudden and mysterious interruption to the dream of peace," went on the captain; "but nothing was left but to accept the verdict of 'death from unknown causes,' and to believe it the will of god. the body was buried a few days later, and, comforting each other as best they could, the sorrowing uncle and heart-broken nieces and nephews settled down to living their lives without the one who had been the sunshine of the home, and whose loss seemed the greatest blow that could have been dealt them. a month passed and they were just beginning to forget details of the tragedy when a second and equally mysterious and horrifying one occurred, and the eldest son of the dead woman--philip--was stricken down precisely as his mother had been, and, as his horrified brother, sisters, and uncle now recalled, like her, on the tenth day of the month!" "hum-m-m!" said cleek, reflectively. "rather significant, that. it was, i assume, that circumstance which first suggested the idea of something more than mere chance being at the back of these sudden and mysterious deaths?" "that and one other circumstance. the condition of the bedclothing, mr. cleek, showed that in philip's case there had been something in the nature of a struggle before he had succumbed to the power which had assailed him. in other words, he had not been, as doubtless the poor mother had, so infinitely inferior in point of strength to the murderer as to be absolutely powerless in the wretch's grip from the very first instant of the attack. he had fought for his life, poor fellow, but it must have been a brief fight and death itself almost instantaneous; for although the bedclothing was tangled round his feet in a manner which could only have occurred in a struggle, he did not live long enough to get off the bed itself or slide so much as one foot to the floor. he died as his mother had died, and the verdict of the doctors and of the coroner's jury was the same: 'death from unknown causes'!" "hm-m-m!" said cleek again. "and were all the symptoms--or, rather, the absence of symptoms--the same?" "precisely. all the organs were discovered to be in a normal condition, the blood was untainted by any suggestion of either mineral or animal poison, the heart was sound, the lungs healthy--there was neither an internal disturbance nor an external wound, unless one could call a 'wound' a slight, a very slight, swelling upon the left side of the neck; a small thing, not so big as a sixpence." "and appearing very much like the inflammation resulting from the bite of a gnat or a spider, captain?" "exactly like it, mr. cleek. in fact, the doctors fancied at first that it was the result of his having been bitten by some poisonous insect, and were for accounting for his death that way. but, of course, the entire absence of poison in the blood soon put an end to that idea, so it was certain that whatever he died from, it was not from a bite or a sting of any sort." "clever chaps, those doctors," commented cleek with a curious one-sided smile. "however, they were quite correct in that, i imagine, poison, either animal, vegetable, or mineral, was not the means of destruction. still, i should have thought that at this second post-mortem the likeness of the son's case to that of the mother's would have impelled them to extra vigilance, and resulted in a much more careful searching, and minute examination of the viscera. if my theory is correct, i do not suppose they would have found anything in the contents of the thorax or the abdomen, but it is just possible that analysis of the matter removed from the cranial cavity might have revealed a small blood-clot in the brain." the captain twitched up his eyebrows and stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. "of all the--by jove! you know, this beats me! to think of your guessing that!" he said. "as a matter of fact, that's precisely what they did do, mr. cleek. but as they couldn't arrive at any conclusion nor trace a probable cause of its origin they were more in the dark than ever. selwin, the local practitioner, was for putting it down as a case of apoplexy on the strength of that small blood-clot, but as there was an entire absence of every other symptom of apoplectic conditions the other doctors scouted the suggestion as preposterous--pointed out the generally healthy state of the brain and of the heart, lungs, arterial walls, _et cetera_, as utterly refuting such a theory--and in the end the verdict on the son was the verdict given on the mother: 'death from unknown causes'; and he was buried as she had been buried, with the secret of the murder undiscovered." "and then what, captain?" "what i have already told you, mr. cleek. nothing under god's heaven would or could persuade mr. harmstead to let his nieces and their two surviving brothers remain another hour in that house of disaster. he removed them from it instantly--fled the very neighbourhood, hired a house down here--at dalehampton; a dozen miles or so on the other side of the tor, yonder--and carried them there to live. the family now consisted of miriam and flora, the two girls, paul, a boy of thirteen--old mr. harmstead's special pride and pet--and ronald, a little chap of eleven. in this new home they hoped and prayed to be free from the horrible visitant who had made the memory of the old one a nightmare to them, but--they couldn't forget, mr. cleek, what the tenth of each month had taken from them, and grew sick with dread at the steady approach of the tenth of this one." "and as this is the twelfth," said cleek, "the day before yesterday _was_ the tenth. did anything happen?" "yes," replied the captain, his voice dropping until it was little more than a whisper. "i tried to cheer them; miss lorne tried to cheer them. we sat with them, tried to make them think that our presence there would act as a shield and a guard--and tried to think so ourselves. but old mr. harmstead took even stronger measures. 'nothing shall touch paul--nothing that lives and breathes,' he said, desperately. 'i'll take him into my room; i'll sit up with him in my arms all night!'" "and did so?" "yes. at twelve o'clock, miss lorne, miss comstock, and i went in to say good-night to him. he was sitting in a deep chair with the boy fast asleep in his arms--sitting and looking all about him with the dumb agony of a trapped mouse. i'll never forget how he clutched the boy to him nor the cry he gave when the door opened to admit us, the sob of relief when he saw it was only us. his cry and his movement awoke the boy, but he dropped off to sleep again before i left, and was breathing healthily and peacefully. the last look i had at the picture as i went out, mr. cleek, the dear old chap was holding his pet in his arms and smiling down into his boyish face. so he was still sitting, miss comstock tells me, when she came down this morning. 'look,' he said to her, 'i watched him--i held him--the tenth day is past and the death didn't get him, my bonnie!' then called her to his side and shook the little fellow to awaken him. it was then only that he discovered the truth. the boy was stone-dead!" chapter xxxiii "there, mr. cleek," resumed the captain, after he could master his emotion. "that is the case--that is the riddle i am praying to heaven that you may be able to solve. what the mysterious power is, when, where, or how it got into the room and got at the boy, god alone knows. mr. harmstead will swear that he never let the little fellow out of his arms for one solitary instant between the time of our leaving him just after midnight, and miss comstock's coming in in the morning. he admits, however, that twice during that period he fell asleep, but it was only for a few minutes each time; and long years of being constantly alert for possible marauders--out there in the wilds of australia--have tended to make his sleep so light that anything heavier than a cat's footfall wakes him on the instant. yet last night something--man or spirit--came and went, and he neither heard nor saw either sound or shape from midnight until morning. one thing i must tell you, however, which may throw some light upon the movements of the appalling thing. whereas mr. harmstead not only closed, but locked, both of the two windows in the room, and pinned the thick plushette curtains of them together--as miss comstock and i saw them pinned when we left the room last night--when those curtains came to be drawn this morning one of the windows was found to be partly open, and there was a smear of something that looked like grease across the sill and the stone coping beyond." "of course, of course!" commented cleek enigmatically. "provided my theory is correct, i should have expected that. a thing that comes and goes through windows must, at some period, leave some mark of its passage. of course that particular window opened upon a balcony or something of that sort, didn't it?" "no, it is a perfectly unbroken descent from the window sill to the ground. but there's a big tree close by, and the branches of that brush the pane of glass." "ah! i see! i see! all the soap dishes in the house left filled last night and found filled this morning, captain?" "good heavens! i don't know. what on earth can soap dishes have to do with it, man?" "possibly nothing, probably a great deal--particularly if there's found to be a cake of soap in each. but that we can discover later. now one word more. was that same minute swelling--the mark like a gnat's bite--on the neck of the boy's body, too? and had it been on that of the mother's as well?" "i can't answer either question, mr. cleek. i don't remember to have heard about it being remarked in the case of mrs. comstock's death; and the murder of little paul was such a horrible thing and so upset everybody that none of us thought to look." "an error of judgment that; however, it is one easily rectified, since the body is not yet interred," said cleek. "ever read harvey's 'exercitatio anatomica de motu sanguinis,' captain?--the volume in which william harvey first gave to the world at large his discovery regarding the circulation of the blood." "good heavens, no! what would i be doing reading matters of that kind? i'm not a medico, mr. cleek--i'm a soldier." "i know. but, still--well, i thought it just possible that you might have read the work, or, at least, heard something regarding the contents of the volume. men who have a hobby are rather given to riding it and boring other people with discussions and dissertations upon it; and i seem to think that i have heard it said that sir gilbert morford's greatest desire in the time of his youth was to become a medical man. in fact, that he put in two or three years as a student at st. bartholomew's, and would have qualified, but that the sudden death of his father compelled him to abandon the hope and to assume the responsibilities of the head of the house of morford & morford, tea importers, of mincing lane." "yes; that's quite correct. he bitterly resented the compulsion--the 'pitchforking of a man out of a profession into the abomination of trade,' as he always expresses it--but of course, he was obliged to yield, and the 'dream of his life' dropped off into nothing but a dream. but the old love and the old recollection still linger, and, although he no longer personally follows either trade or profession, he keeps up his laboratory work, subscribes to every medical journal in christendom, and if you want to tickle his vanity or to get on the right side of him all you have to do is to address him as 'doctor.' with all due respect to him, he's a bit of a prig, mr. cleek, and hates people of no position--'people of the lower order,' as he always terms them--as the gentleman down under is said to hate holy water." "so that he, naturally, would move heaven and earth to prevent his grandson and heir from marrying a young woman of that class? i see!" supplemented cleek. "the dear gentleman would like the name of morford to go down to posterity linked to duchesses or earls' daughters, and surrounded by a blaze of glory. ah, it's a queer world, captain. there is no bitterer hater of the 'common herd' than the snob who has climbed up from it! the snob and the sneak are closely allied, captain, and men of that stamp have been known to do some pretty ugly things to uphold their pinchbeck dignity, and to keep the tinsel of the present over the cheap gingerbread of the past." "good god, man! you don't surely mean to suggest--" "gently, gently, captain. your indignation does you credit; but it is never well to have a shot at a rabbit before he's fairly out of the hole, and you are sure that it isn't the ferret you sent in after him. anything in the way of a conveyance handy, mr. narkom?" "yes--the limousine. i came down in it yesterday. it's over at the rose and crown." "good! then perhaps captain morford will meet us there in a half hour's time. meanwhile, i've got a few things to throw into my kit-bag, and as that's over at the three desires, perhaps you won't mind coming along and giving me a hand. then we'll run over to that house at dalehampton and have a look at the body of that poor little shaver as expeditiously as possible. will you come?" "yes, certainly," said narkom; and having given a few necessary directions to the captain walked on and followed cleek. he knew very well the suggestion that he should do so was merely an excuse to have a few words with him in private--for no man would be likely to need another man's assistance in simply putting a few things into a bag--and he was rather puzzled to account for cleek's desire to say anything to him which the captain was not to hear. however, he kept his curiosity in check and his tongue behind his teeth until they were on the other side of the lich-gate and in the road leading to the three desires. "there's something you want to say to me, isn't there?" he inquired. "something you want attended to on the quiet?" "yes," admitted cleek, tersely. "there's a public telephone station a mile or two on the other side of this place--i saw it this morning when i was out tramping. slip off down there, ring up the head of the dalehampton constabulary, and tell him to have a man at the house ready to pop up when wanted. i'll be long enough over my supposed 'packing' to cover the time of your going and returning without the captain's knowledge." "without--good heaven! my dear cleek, you were serious, then? you meant it? you--you really believe that suspicion points to sir gilbert morford?" "not any more than it points to sir gilbert morford's grandson, mr. narkom." "good lord! to him? to that boy? why, man alive, what possible motive could he have for bringing grief and anguish to miss comstock when he's willing to give up a fortune to marry her?" "ah, but don't forget that another fortune descends to all the heirs, male and female alike, of the late mrs. comstock, mr. narkom, and that if the captain's fiancée becomes, in course of time, the only surviving child of that unfortunate lady, the captain's sacrifice will not be such an overpowering hardship for him, after all." "great scott! i never thought of that before, cleek--never." "didn't you? well, don't think too much of it now that you have. for circumstantial evidence is tricky and treacherous, and he mayn't be the man, after all!" "mayn't be? what a beggar you are for damping a man's ardour after you've fanned it up to the blazing point. any light in the darkness, old chap? any idea of what--and how?" "yes," said cleek, quietly. "if there's a mark on that poor little shaver's neck, mr. narkom, i shall know the means. and if there's soap on the window sill i shall know the man!" and then, having reached the doorway of the inn, he dived into it and went up the staircase two steps at a time. chapter xxxiv the little house of dalehampton was something more than a mere house of grief, they found, when the long drive came to an end and cleek and his two companions entered it, for the very spirit of desolation and despair seemed to have taken up its abode there; and, like an incarnate woe, miss comstock paced through the hush and darkness, hour in and hour out, as she had been doing since daybreak. "my darling, you mustn't--you really mustn't, dear. you'll lose your mind if you brood over the thing like this," said the captain, flying to her the very instant they arrived; and, disregarding the presence of his two companions, caught her in his arms and kissed her. "miriam, dearest, don't! it breaks my heart. i know it's awful; but do try to have strength and hope. i am sure we shall get at the bottom of the thing now--sure that there will be no more--that this is truly the end. these gentlemen are from scotland yard, dearest, and they say it surely will be." "heaven knows i hope so," replied miss comstock, acknowledging the introduction to cleek and narkom by a gentle inclination of the head. "but indeed, i can't hope, jim--indeed, i cannot, gentlemen. the tenth of next month will take its toll as the tenth of this one has done. i feel persuaded that it will. for who can fight a thing unseen and unknown?" her grief was so great, her despair so hopeless, that cleek forbore attempting to assuage either by any words of sympathy or promise. he seemed to feel that hers was an anguish upon which even the kindliest words must fall only as an intrusion, and the heart of the man--that curiously created heart, which at times could be savage even to the point of brutality, and again tender and sympathetic as any woman's--went out to her in one great surge of human feeling. and two minutes later--when all the law's grim business of inquiry and inquest had been carried out by narkom, and she, in obedience to his expressed desire, led them to the room where the dead boy lay--that wave of sympathetic feeling broke over his soul again. for the gentle opening of the door had shown him a small, dimly lit room, a kneeling figure, bent of back and bowed of head, that leant over a little white bed in a very agony of tearless woe. "he can hardly tear himself away for an instant--he loved him so!" she said in a quavering whisper to cleek. "must we disturb him? it seems almost cruel." "i know it," he whispered back; "but the place must be searched in quest of possible clues, miss comstock. the--the little boy, too, must be examined, and it would be crueller still if he were to stay and see things like that. lead him out if you can. it will be for a few minutes only. tell him so--tell him he can come back then." and turned his face away from that woeful picture as she went over and spoke to the sorrowing old man. "uncle!" she said softly. "uncle phil! you must come away for a little time, dear. it is necessary." "oh, i can't, mirry--i can't, lovie, dear!" he answered without lifting his head or loosening his folded hands. "my bonnie, my bonnie, that i loved so well! ah, let me have him while i may, mirry--they'll take him from me soon enough--soon enough, my bonnie boy!" "but, dearest, you must. the--the law has stepped in. gentlemen from scotland yard are here. jim has brought them. they must have the room for a little time. there--there's the window to be examined, you know; and if they can find out anything--" "i'll give them the half of all i have in the world!" broke in the old man with a little burst of tears. "tell them that. the half of everything--everything--if they can get at the creature. if they can find out. but"--collapsing suddenly, with his elbows on his knees and his face between his hands--"they can't, they can't; nobody can! it kills and kills and kills; and god help us! we all shall go the same way! it will be my turn, too, some time soon. i wish it were mine now. i wish it had been mine long ago--before i lost my bonnie own!" "takes it hard, poor old chap, doesn't he?" whispered narkom, glancing round and getting something of a shock when he saw that cleek, who a moment before had appeared to be almost on the verge of tears, was now fumbling in his coat pockets, and, with indrawn lips and knotted brows, was scowling--absolutely scowling--in the direction where captain morford stood, biting his lips and drumming with his finger nails upon the edge of the washstand. but cleek made no reply. instead, he walked quickly across to the captain's side, stretched forth his hand, took up a tablet of soap, turned it over, laid it down again, stepped to the window, stepped back, and laid a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. "captain," he said suddenly, in sharp, crisp tones, that sounded painfully harsh after the old man's broken cries, "captain, there's a little game of cards called 'bluff,' and it's an excellent amusement if you don't get caught at it. we shan't have to go any further with the search for clues in this case; but i think i shall have to ask you, my friend, a few little questions in private, and in the interests of a gentleman called jack ketch!" this unexpected outburst produced something like a panic. miss comstock, hearing the words, cried out, put both hands to her temples, as though her head were reeling; old mr. harmstead straightened suddenly and flung a look of blank amazement across the room; and the captain, twitching away from the man who gripped him, went first deathly white and then red as any beet. "good god!" he gulped. "you--i--look here, i say now, what does this mean? what the dickens are you talking about?" "bluff, captain! simply 'bluff'!" responded cleek serenely. "and as i said before, it's a clever little game. stand where you are--keep an eye on him, mr. narkom. what i've got to say to you, my friend, we'll talk about in private, and after i have assisted miss comstock to lead her uncle out of the room." with that he swung away from the captain's side and went over to that of the old man. "come, mr. harmstead, let me help you to rise," he began; then stopped as the old man put up a knotted and twisted hand in supplication and protested agitatedly: "but--but, sir, i do not want to go. good heaven! what can you be hinting against that poor, dear boy? surely you do not mean--you cannot mean--" "that the little game of 'bluff' has worked, dr. finch, and you'll never draw a revolver on me," rapped in cleek, giving him a backward push that carried him to the floor, and in the twinkling of an eye he had pounced upon him like a cat and was saying, as he snapped the handcuffs upon his wrists: "got you, you brute-beast; got you tight and fast! do you remember hamilton, the medical student, in new zealand, eight years ago? do you? well, that's the man you're dealing with now!" the man, struggling and kicking, biting and clawing like any other cornered wild cat, flung out a cry of utter despair at this, and collapsed suddenly; and in the winking of an eye cleek's hands had flashed into the two pockets of the dressing-gown the fellow was wearing, and flashed out again with a revolver in one and a shining nickel thing in the other. "got your 'bark,' doctor, and got your 'bite' as well!" he said, as he rose to his feet. "you'd have put a bullet through me at the first word, wouldn't you, but for that little 'bluff' of suspecting and arresting another man? captain, look to miss comstock--i think she has fainted. you wanted the murderer of mrs. comstock and her children, didn't you? well, here he is, the rascal!" "good god! then it--it's not a mistake? you mean it--mean it? and uncle phil! you accuse uncle phil?" "uncle nothing!" flung back cleek with a sort of laugh--and, hazarding a guess which afterwards was proved to be the truth--"i'll lay my life, captain, that when you apply to the australian authorities you will find that old mr. philip harmstead is in his grave; that he was attended in his last illness by one dr. frederick finch, to whom his fortune would revert in the event of mrs. comstock and her children dying. finch is the fellow's name--isn't it, doctor, eh?" "finch?" repeated the captain. "good heaven! why that was the name of the woman who was old mr. harmstead's housekeeper--you know, the widow i told you about to-night." "oho!" said cleek. "that's possibly where the threads join and this little game begins. or perhaps it may really be said to begin again where shorty, the chemist, died, and the celebrated spofford mystery ended--eh, doctor? look here, captain, look here, mr. narkom, you remember what i told you this morning about that case in new zealand which so strongly resembled this one? that was the spofford mystery. do you remember what i said about hitting upon a theory and offering it to the medical fraternity, only to get laughed at for my pains? well, it was to this man, dr. frederick finch, i advanced that theory, and it was dr. frederick finch who jeered at it, but has now made deadly use of it, the hound. do you want to know how he killed his victims, and what he used? look at this thing that you saw me take from the pocket of his dressing-gown. it is a hypodermic syringe, but there is nothing in it--there never has been anything in it. air was his poison--air his shaft of death; and he killed by injecting it into the veins of his victims. the result of air coming into contact with the circulating blood of a human being is the formation of a blood-clot, and death is instantaneous the instant the clot reaches either the brain or the heart! that was his method. but thank god it's done with for ever now, and the next tenth day of the month will pass over this stricken family and leave it unscathed!" * * * * * "how did i know the man?" said cleek, answering narkom's query, as they came down the tor-side afoot and forged on in the direction of lyntonhurst old church--whither captain morford and the limousine had long ago preceded them--with the low-dropped sun behind them and lengthening shadows streaming on before. "well, as a matter of fact, i never did know him until i actually touched him. i was certain of the method, of course; but the man--no. i got my first suspicion of 'uncle phil' when i heard him speak. i knew i had heard that voice somewhere, and i realised that it was much too young a voice for a man who appeared--and must be, if he were the real 'uncle phil'--extremely old; but it was only when i saw his hand, and the peculiar knotted and twisted little finger that i really knew who he was. what's that? the soap? well, of course i knew that if, as i suspected, someone in the house was the real culprit, an attempt would be made to make it look as though the criminal entered from without, so naturally the window would be opened, and something of some sort would be smeared on the sill--something that wouldn't blow away and wouldn't wash off in the event of a sudden rainstorm coming up. soap would do--and soap is always handy in a bedroom. i knew whose hand had made the smear as soon as i looked at the cake of soap in 'uncle phil's' room--it was badly rubbed on one side where it had been scraped over the stone coping and along the outer edge of the sill where--pardon me: this is the turning--i leave you here. pick me up at the inn of the three desires in an hour's time, please, and we'll motor back to town together. so long!" and swung round into the branching lane and down the green slope, and round under the shadow of lyntonhurst old church to the quiet country road and the lich-gate where ailsa lorne was waiting. chapter xxxv she was sitting in the very same place she had occupied when first he saw her this morning, with the cypress tree and the roof making shadows above and about her; and now, as then, she rose when she heard the latch click and came toward him with hands outstretched and eyes aglow and little gusts of colour sweeping in rose waves over throat and cheeks. "oh, to think that you have solved it! to think that it is the end! and to think that it was he--that dear, kind 'uncle' of whom they all were so fond!" she said. "i could scarcely believe it when captain morford brought the news. it made me quite faint for the moment--it was so unexpected, so horrible!" "and after all, there was nothing to fear from that farm labourer who frightened you so this morning, you see," he smiled, holding her two hands in his and looking down at her from his greater height. "yet i find your crouching back in the shadow as if you were still frightened to be seen. are you?" "a little," she admitted. "you see, the road is a public one. people are always passing, and--how good it was of you to come all this long distance out of your way. indeed, i am very, very grateful, mr. cleek." "thank you," he said gravely. "but you need not be. indeed, the gratitude should be all on my side. i said i would come if ever you wanted me, and you gave me an opportunity to keep my word. as for it being out of my way to come here, it is but a little distance to the three desires and a long one to lady chepstow's place, so it is you, not i, that have 'gone out of the way!' it was good of you to give me this grace--i should have been sorry to go back to town without saying good-bye." "but need you go so soon?" she asked. "lady chepstow will feel slighted, i know, if she hears that you have been in the neighbourhood and have not called. she is a friend, you know, a warm, true friend--always grateful for what you did, always glad to see you. why not stop on a day or two and call and see her?" a robin flicked down out of the cypress tree and perched on the gate top, looked up at cleek with bright, sharp eyes, flung out a wee little trill, and was off again. "i'm afraid it is out of the question--i'm afraid i'm not so deeply interested in lady chepstow as, perhaps, i ought to be," said cleek, noticing in a dim subconscious way that the robin had flown on to the church door and perched there, and was in full song now. "besides, she does not know of me what you do. perhaps, if she did.... oh, well, it doesn't matter. thank you for coming to say good-bye, miss lorne. it was kind of you. now i must emulate poor jo, and 'move on' again." "and without any reward!" said ailsa with a smile and a sigh. "without expecting any; without asking any; without wanting any!" he stood a moment, twisting his heel round and round in the gravel of the pathway, and breathing hard, his eyes on the ground, and his lips indrawn. then, of a sudden--"perhaps i did want one. perhaps i've always wanted one. and hoped to get it some day perhaps from--you!" he said. and looked up at her as a man looks but once at one woman ever. she had come a step nearer; she was standing there with the shadows behind her and the light on her face, warm colour in her cheeks, and a smile on her lips and in her eyes. she spoke no word, made no sound; merely stood there and smiled and, somehow, he seemed to know what the smile of her meant and what the bird's note said. "miss lorne--ailsa," he said, very, very gently, "if some day ... when all the wrongs i did in those other days are righted, and all that a man can do on this earth to atone for such a past as mine has been done ... if then, in that time, i come to you and ask for that reward, do you think, oh, do you think that you can find it in your heart to give it?" "when that day dawns, come and see," she said, "if you wish to wait so long!" epilogue the affair of the man who had been called hamilton cleek "note for you, sir--messenger just fetched it. addressed to 'captain burbage,' so it'll be from the yard," said dollops, coming into the room with a doughnut in one hand and a square envelope in the other. cleek, who had been sitting at his writing-table, with a litter of folded documents, bits of antique jewellery, and what looked like odds and ends of faded ribbon lying before him, swept the whole collection into the table drawer as dollops spoke and stretched forth his hand for the letter. it was one of narkom's characteristic communications, albeit somewhat shorter than those communications usually were--a fact which told cleek at once that the matter was one of immense importance. "my dear cleek," it ran. "for the love of goodness don't let anything tempt you into going out to-night. i shall call about ten. foreign government affair--reward simply enormous. look out for me. yours, in hot haste--maverick narkom." "be on the lookout for the red limousine," said cleek, glancing over at dollops, who stood waiting for orders. "it will be along about ten. that's all. you may go." "right you are, gov'nor. i'll keep my eyes peeled, sir. lor'! i do hope it's summink to do with a restaurant or a cookshop this time. i could do with a job of that sort--my word, yes! i'm fair famishin'. and, beggin' pardon, but you don't look none too healthy yourself this evening, gov'nor. ain't et summink wot's disagreed with you, have you, sir?" "i? what nonsense! i'm as fit as a fiddle. what could make you think otherwise?" "oh, i dunno, sir--only--well, if you don't mind my sayin' of it, sir, whenever you gets to unlocking of that draw and lookin' at them things you keep in there--wotever they is--you always gets a sort of solemncholy look in the eyes; and you gets white about the gills, and your lips has a pucker to 'em that i don't like to see." "tommy rot! imagination's a splendid thing for a detective to possess, dollops, but don't let yours run away with you in this fashion, my lad, or you'll never rise above what you are. toddle along now, and look out for mr. narkom's arrival. it's after nine already, so he'll soon be here." "anybody a-comin' with him, sir?" "i don't know--he didn't say. cut along, now; i'm busy!" said cleek. nevertheless, when dollops had gone and the door was shut and he had the room to himself again, and, if he really did have any business on hand, there was no reason in the world why he should not have set about it, he remained sitting at the table and idly drumming upon it with his finger tips, a deep ridge between his brows and a far-away expression in his fixed, unwinking eyes. and so he was still sitting when, something like twenty minutes later, the sharp "toot-toot!" of a motor horn sounded. narkom's note lay on the table close to his elbow. he took it up, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into his waste basket. "a foreign government affair," he said with a curious one-sided smile. "a strange coincidence, to be sure!" then, as if obeying an impulse, he opened the drawer, looked at the litter of things he had swept into it, shut it up again and locked it securely, putting the key into his pocket and rising to his feet. two minutes later, when narkom pushed open the door and entered the room, he found cleek leaning against the edge of the mantelpiece and smoking a cigarette with the air of one whose feet trod always upon rose petals, and who hadn't a thought beyond the affairs of the moment, nor a care for anything but the flavour of egyptian tobacco. "ah, my dear fellow, you can't think what a relief it was to catch you. i had but a moment in which to dash off the note, and i was on thorns with fear that it would miss you; that on a glorious night like this you'd be off for a pull up the river or something of that sort," said the superintendent, as he bustled in and shook hands with him. "you are such a beggar for getting off by yourself and mooning." "well, to tell you the truth, mr. narkom, i came within an ace of doing the very thing you speak of," replied cleek. "it's full moon, for one thing, and it's primrose time for another. happily for your desire to catch me, however, i--er--got interested in the evening paper, and that delayed me." "very glad, dear chap; very glad, indeed," began narkom. then, as his eye fell upon the particular evening paper in question lying on the writing-table, a little crumpled from use, but with a certain "displayed-headed" article of three columns length in full view, he turned round and stared at cleek with an air of awe and mystification. "my dear fellow, you must be under the guardianship of some uncanny familiar. you surely must, cleek!" he went on. "do you mean to tell me that is what kept you at home? that you have been reading about the preparations for the forthcoming coronation of king ulric of mauravania?" "yes; why not? i am sure it makes interesting reading, mr. narkom. the kingdom of mauravania has had sufficient ups and downs to inspire a novelist, so its records should certainly interest a mere reader. to be frank, i found the account of the amazing preparations for the coronation of his new majesty distinctly entertaining. they are an excitable and spectacular people, those mauravanians, and this time they seem bent upon outdoing themselves." "but, my dear cleek, that you should have chosen to stop at home and read about that particular affair! bless my soul man, it's--it's amazing, abnormal, uncanny! positively uncanny, cleek!" "my dear narkom, i don't see where the uncanny element comes in, i must confess," replied cleek with an indulgent smile. "surely an englishman must always feel a certain amount of interest in mauravian affairs. have the goodness to remember that there should be an englishman upon that particular throne. aye, and there would be, too, but for one of those moments of weak-backed policy, of a desire upon the part of the 'old-woman' element which sometimes prevails in english politics to keep friendly relations with other powers at any cost. brush up your history, mr. narkom, and give your memory a fillip. eight-and-thirty years ago queen karma of mauravania had an english consort and bore him two daughters, and one son. you will perhaps recall the mad rebellion, the idiotic rising which disgraced that reign. that was the time for england to have spoken. but the peace party had it by the throat; they, with their mawkish cry for peace--peace at any price!--drowned the voices of men and heroes, and the end was what it was! queen karma was deposed--she and her children fled, god knows how, god knows where--fled and left a dead husband and father, slain like a hero and an englishman, fighting for his own, and with his face to the foe. avenge his death? nonsense, declared the old women. he had no right to defy the will of heaven, no right to stir up strife with a friendly people and expect his countrymen to embroil themselves because of his lust for power. it would be a lasting disgrace to the nation if england allowed a lot of howling, bloodthirsty meddlers to persuade it to interfere. "the old women had their way. queen karma and her children vanished; her uncle duke sforza came to the throne as alburtus iii., and eight months ago his son, the present king ulric, succeeded him. the father had been a bad king, the son a bad crown-prince. mauravania has paid the price. let her put up with it! i don't think in the light of these things, mr. narkom, there is any wonder that an englishman finds interest in reading of the affairs of a country over which an englishman's son might, and ought to, have ruled. as for me, i have no sympathy, my friend, with mauravania or her justly punished people." "still, my dear fellow, that should not count when the reward for taking up this case is so enormous--and i dare say it will not." "reward? case?" repeated cleek. "what do you mean by that?" "that i am here to enlist your services in the cause of king ulric of mauravania," replied narkom, impressively. "something has happened, cleek, which, if not cleared up before the coronation day--now only one month hence, as you must have read--will certainly result in his majesty's public disgrace, and may result in his overthrow and death! his friend and chief adviser, count irma, has come all the way from mauravania, and is at this moment downstairs in this house, to put the case in your hands and to implore you to help and to save his royal master!" "his royal master? the son of the man who drove an englishman's wife and an englishman's children into exile--poverty--misery--despair?" said cleek, pulling himself up. "i won't take it, mr. narkom! if he offers me millions, i'll lift no hand to help or to save mauravania's king!" the response to this came from an unexpected quarter. "but to save mauravania's queen, monsieur? will you do nothing for her?" said an excited and imploring voice. and as cleek, startled by the interruption, switched round and glanced in the direction of the sound, the half-dosed door swung inward and a figure, muffled to the very eyes, moved over the threshold into the room. "have pardon, monsieur--i could not but overhear," went on the newcomer, turning to narkom. "i should scarcely be worthy of his majesty's confidence and favour had i remained inactive. i simply had to come up unbidden. _had_ to, monsieur"--turning to cleek--"and so--" his words dropped off suddenly. a puzzled look first expanded and then contracted his eyes, and his lips tightened curiously under the screen of his white, military moustache. "monsieur," he said, presently putting into words the sense of baffling familiarity which perplexed him. "monsieur, you then are the great, the astonishing cleek? you, monsieur? pardon, but surely i have had the pleasure of meeting monsieur before? no, not here, for i have never been in england until to-day; but in my own country--in mauravania. surely, monsieur, i have seen you there?" "on the contrary," said cleek, speaking the simple truth. "i have never set foot in mauravania in all my life, sir. and as you have overheard my words you may see that i do not intend to even now. the difficulties of mauravania's king do not in the least appeal to me." "ah, but mauravania's queen, monsieur--mauravania's queen." "the lady interests me no more than does her royal spouse." "but, monsieur, she must--she really must--if you are honest in what you say, and your sympathies are all with the deposed and exiled ones--the ex-queen karma and her children. surely, monsieur, you who seem to know so well the history of that sad time cannot be ignorant of what has happened since to her ex-majesty and her children?" "i know only that queen karma died in france, in extreme poverty, befriended to the last by people of the very humblest birth and of not too much respectability. what became of her son i do not know; but her daughters, the two princesses, mere infants at the time, were sent, one to england, where she subsequently died, and the other to persia, where, i believe, she remained up to her ninth year, and then went no one seems to know where." "then, monsieur, let me tell you what became of her. the late king alburtus discovered her whereabouts, and, to prevent any possible trouble in the future, imprisoned her in the fort of sulberga up to the year before his death. eleven months ago she became the crown prince ulric's wife. she is now his consort. and by saving her, monsieur, you who feel so warmly upon the subject of the rights of her family's succession, will be saving her, helping mauravania's queen, and defeating those who are her enemies." cleek sucked in his breath and regarded the man silently, steadily, for a long time. then: "is that true, count?" he asked. "on your word of honour as a soldier and a gentleman, is that true?" "as true as holy writ, monsieur. on my word of honour. on my hopes of heaven!" "very well, then," said cleek quietly. "tell me the case, count. i'll take it." "monsieur, my eternal gratitude. also the reward is--" "we will talk about that afterward. sit down, please, and tell me what you want me to do." "oh, monsieur, almost the impossible," said the count despairfully. "the outwitting of a woman who must in very truth be the devil's own daughter, so subtle, so appalling are the craft and cunning of her. that, for one thing. for another, the finding of a paper, which, if published--as the woman swears it shall be if her terms are not acceded to--will be the signal for his majesty's overthrow. and, for the third"--emotion mastered him; his voice choked up and failed; he deported himself for a moment like one afraid to let even his own ears hear the thing spoken of aloud, then governed his cowardice and went on--"for the third thing, monsieur," he said, lowering his tone until it was almost a whisper, "the recovery--the restoration to its place of honour before the coronation day arrives--of that fateful gem, mauravania's pride and glory--'the rainbow pearl!'" cleek clamped his jaws together like a bloodhound snapping and over his hardening face there came a slow-creeping, unnatural pallor. "has that been lost?" he said in a low, bleak voice. "has he, this precious royal master of yours, this usurper--has he parted with that thing--the wondrous rainbow pearl?" "monsieur knows of the gem, then?" "know of it? who does not? its fame is world-wide. wars have been fought for it, lives sacrificed for it. it is more valuable than england's koh-i-noor, and more important to the country and the crown that possess it. the legend runs, does it not, that mauravania falls when the rainbow pearl passes into alien hands. an absurd belief, to be sure, but who can argue with a superstitious people or hammer wisdom into the minds of babies? and _that_ has been lost--that gem so dear to mauravania's people, so important to mauravania's crown?" "yes, monsieur--ah, the good god help my country!--yes!" said the count brokenly. "it has passed from his majesty's hands; it is no longer among the crown jewels of mauravania--a russian has it." "a russian?" cleek's cry was like to nothing so much as the snarl of a wild animal. "a russian to hold it--a russian?--the sworn enemy of mauravania--the race most hated of her people! god help your wretched king, count irma, if this were known to his subjects." "ah, monsieur, it is that we dread--it is that against which we struggle," replied the count. "if that jewel were missing on the coronation day, if it were known that a russian holds it--dear god! the populace would rise--rise, monsieur, and tear his majesty to pieces." "he deserves no better!" said cleek, through his close-shut teeth. "to a russian--a russian! as heaven hears me, but for his queen--well, let it pass. tell me, how did this russian get the jewel, and when?" "oh, long ago, monsieur--long ago; many months before king alburtus died." "was it his hand that gave it up?" "no, monsieur. he died without knowing of its loss, without suspecting that the stone in the royal parure is but a sham and an imitation," replied the count. "it all came of the youth, the recklessness, the folly of the crown prince. monsieur may have heard of his--his many wild escapades--his thoughtless acts, his--his--" "call them dissipations, count, and give them their real name. his acts as crown prince were a scandal and a disgrace. to whom did he part with this gem--a woman?" "monsieur, yes! it was during the time he was stopping in paris--incognito to all but a trusted few. he--he met the woman there, became fascinated with her--bound to her--an abject slave to her." "a slave to a russian? mauravania's heir and--a russian?" "monsieur, he did not know that until afterward. in a mad freak--there was to be a masked ball--he yielded to the lady's persuasions to let her wear the famous rainbow pearl for that one night. he journeyed back to mauravania and abstracted it from among the royal jewels--putting a mere imitation in its place so that it should not be missed until he could return the original. monsieur, he was never able to return it at any time, for, once she had got it, the russian made away with it in some secret manner and refused to give it up. her price for returning it was his royal father's consent to ennoble her, to receive her at the mauravanian court, and so to alter the constitution that it would be possible for her to become the crown prince's wife." "the proposition of an idiot. the thing could not possibly be done." "no, monsieur, it could not. so the crown prince broke from her and bent all his energies upon the recovery of the pearl and the keeping of its loss a secret from the king and his people. bravos, footpads, burglars--all manner of men--were employed before he left paris. the woman's house was broken into, the woman herself waylaid and searched, but nothing came of it--no clue to the lost jewel could be found." "why then did he not appeal to the police?" "monsieur, he--he dared not. in one of his moments of madness he--she--that is--oh, monsieur, remember his youth! it appears that the woman had got him to put into writing something which, if made public, would cause the people of mauravania to rise as one man and to do with him as wolves do with things that are thrown to them in their fury." "the dog! some treaty with a russian, of course!" said cleek indignantly. "oh, fickle mauravania, how well you are punished for your treasonable choice! well, go on, count. what next?" "of a sudden, monsieur, the woman disappeared. nothing was heard of her, no clue to her whereabouts discovered for two whole years. she was as one dead and gone until last week." "oho! she returned, then?" "yes, monsieur. without hint or warning she turned up in mauravania, accompanied by a disreputable one-eyed man who has the manner and appearance of one bred in the gutters of paris, albeit he is well clothed, well-looked after, and she treats him and his wretched collection of parakeets with the utmost consideration." "parakeets?" put in narkom excitedly. "my dear cleek, couldn't a parakeet be made to swallow a pearl?" "perhaps; but not this one, mr. narkom," he made reply. "it is quite the size of a pigeon's egg, i believe; is it not, count?" "yes, monsieur, quite. to see it is to remember it always. it has the changing lights of the rainbow, and--" "never mind that; go on with the story, please. this woman and this one-eyed man appeared last week in mauravania, you say?" "yes, monsieur; and with them a bodyguard of at least ten servants. her demand now is that his majesty make her his morganatic wife; that he establish her at the palace under the same roof with his queen; and that she be allowed to ride with them in the state carriage on the coronation day. failing that, she swears that she will not only publish the contents of that dreadful letter, but send the original to the chief of the mauravanian police and appear in public with the rainbow pearl upon her person." "the jezebel! what steps have you taken, count, to prevent this?" "all that i can imagine, monsieur. to prevent her from getting into close touch with the public, i have thrown open my own house to her, and received her and her retinue under my own roof rather than allow them to be quartered at an hotel. also, this has given me the opportunity to have her effects and those of her followers secretly searched; but no clue to the letter, no clue to the pearl has anywhere been discovered." "still she must have both with her, otherwise she could not carry out her threat. no doubt she suspects what motive you had in taking her into your own house, count--a woman like that is no fool. but tell me, does she show no anxiety, no fear of a search?" "none, monsieur. she knows that my people search her effects; indeed, she has told me so. but it alarms her not a whit. as she told me two days ago, i shall find nothing; but if i did it would be useless, for, on the moment anything of hers was touched, her servants would see that the finder never carried it from the house." "oho!" said cleek, with a strong rising inflection. "a little searching party of her own, eh? the lady is clever, at all events. the moment either pearl or letter should be removed from its hiding-place her servants would allow nobody to leave the house without being searched to the very skin?" "yes, monsieur. so if by any chance you were to discover either--" "my friend, set your mind at rest," interposed cleek. "if i find either, or both, they will leave the house with me, i promise you. mr. narkom--" he turned to the superintendent--"keep an eye on dollops for me, will you? there are reasons why i can't take him--can't take anybody--with me in the working out of this case. i may be a couple of days or i may be a week--i can't say as yet; but i start with count irma for mauravania in the morning. and, mr. narkom!" "yes, old chap?" "do me a favour, please. be at charing cross station when the first boat-train leaves to-morrow morning, will you, and bring me a small pot of extract of beef--a very small pot, the smallest they make--not bigger than a shilling nor thicker than one if they make them that size. what's that? hide the pearl in it? what nonsense! i don't want one half big enough for that. besides, they'd be sure to find it when they searched me if i tried any such fool's trick as that. dollops isn't the only creature in the world that gets hungry, my friend, and beef extract is very sustaining, very, i assure you, sir." ii "a beautiful city, count--an exceedingly beautiful city," said cleek, as the carriage which had been sent to meet them at the station rolled into the broad avenue des arcs, which is at once the widest and most ornate thoroughfare the capital city of mauravania boasts. "ah, what a heritage! no wonder king ulric is so anxious to retain his sovereignty; no wonder this--er--madame tcharnovetski, i think you said the name is--" "yes, monsieur. it is oddly spelled, but it is pronounced a little broader than you give it--quite as though it were written shar-no-vet-skee, in fact, with the accent on the third syllable." "ah, yes. thanks very much. no wonder she is anxious to become a power here. mauravania is a fairyland in very truth; and this beautiful avenue with its arches, its splendid trees, its sculpture, its--ah! _cocher_, pull up at once. stop, if you please, stop!" "oui, monsieur," replied the driver, reining in his horses and glancing round. "_dix mille pardons, m'sieur_, there is something amiss?" "yes; very much amiss--from the dog's point of view," replied cleek, indicating by a wave of the hand a mongrel puppy which crouched, forlorn and hungry, in the shadow of an imposing building. "he should be a socialist among dogs, that little fellow, count. the mere accident of birth has made him what he is, and that poodled monstrosity the lady yonder is leading the pet and pride of a thoughtless mistress. i want that little canine outcast, count, and with your permission i will appropriate him, and give him his first carriage ride." with that, he stepped down from the vehicle, whistled the cur to him, and taking it up in his arms, returned with it to his seat. "monsieur, you are to me the most astonishing of men," said the count, noticing how he patted the puppy and settled it in his lap as the carriage resumed its even rolling down the broad, beautiful avenue. "one moment upholding the rights of birth, the next rebelling against the injustice of it. are your sympathies with the unfortunate so keen, monsieur, that even this stray cur may claim them?" "perhaps," replied cleek enigmatically. "you must wait and see, count. just now i pity him for his forlornity; to-morrow--next day--a week hence--i may hold it a better course to put an end to his hopeless lot by chloroforming him into a painless and peaceful death." "monsieur, i cannot follow you--you speak in riddles." "i deal in riddles, count; you must wait for the solution of them, i'm afraid." "i wish i could grasp the solution of one which puzzles me a great deal, monsieur. what is it that has happened to your countenance? you have done nothing to put on a disguise; yet, since we left the train and entered the landau, some subtle change has occurred. what is it? how has it come about? the night before last, when i saw you for the first time, your face was one that impressed me with a sense of familiarity--now, monsieur, you are like a different man." "i am a different man, count. like puppy, here, i am a waif and a stray; yet, at the same time, i have my purpose and am part of a carefully-laid scheme." the count made no reply. he could not comprehend the man at all, and at times--but for the world-wide reputation of him--he would have believed him insane. not a question as to the great and important case he was on, but merely incomprehensible remarks, trifling fancies, apparently aimless whims! two nights ago a pot of beef extract; to-day a mongrel puppy; and all the time the hopes of a kingdom, the future of a monarch resting in his hands! for twenty minutes longer the landau rolled on; then it came to a halt under the broad _porte cochère_ of the villa irma, and two minutes after that cleek and the count stood in the presence of madame tcharnovetski, her purblind associate, and her retinue of servant-guards. a handsome woman, this madame, a woman of about two-and-thirty, with the tar-black eyes and the twilight coloured tresses of northern russia; bold as brass, flippant as a french cocotte, steel-nerved and calm-blooded as a professional gambler. it had been her whim that all the women of the count's family should be banished from the house during her stay; that the great salon of the villa--a wondrous apartment, hung in blue and silver, and lit by a huge crystal chandelier--should be put at her disposal night and day; that the electric lights should be replaced with dozens of wax candles (after the manner of the ballrooms of her native russia), and that her one-eyed companion, with his wicker cage of screeching parakeets, should come and go when and where and how he listed, and that an electric alarm bell be connected with her sleeping apartment and his. "your hirelings will tamper with his birds and his effects in the night--i know that, monsieur le comte," she had said when she demanded this. "he is a nervous fellow, this poor clopin; i wish him to be able to ring for help if you and your men go too far." clopin was sitting by the window chattering to his birds when cleek entered, and a glance at him was sufficient to decide two points: first, he was not disguised, nor was his partial blindness in any way a sham, for an idiot could have seen that the droop of the left eyelid over the staring, palpably artificial eye which glazed over the empty socket beneath was due to perfectly natural causes; and, second, that the man was indeed what the count had said he resembled, namely, a gutter-bred outcast. "french!" was cleek's silent comment upon him. "one of those charlatans who infest the streets of paris with their so-called 'fortune-telling birds,' who, for ten centimes, pick out an envelope with their beaks as a means of telling you what the future is supposed to hold. what has made a woman like this pick up a fellow of his stamp? hum-m-m! puppy, i think you are a good move," stroking the ears of the mongrel dog; "a very much better move than a cage of useless parakeets that are meant to throw suspicion in the wrong direction and have a seed-cup so large and so obviously overfilled that it is safe to say there is nothing hidden in it and never has been! and madame has a fancy for waxlights," his gaze travelling upward to the glittering chandelier. "hum-m-m! how well they know, these women whose beauty is going off, that waxlights show less of time's ravages than gas or electricity. candles in the chandelier; candles in the sconces, candles on the mantelpieces. this room should be very charming when it is lighted at night." it was--as he learned later. just now things not quite so charming filled the bill, for madame was jeering at him in a manner not to be understood. "a police spy--that is what you are, monsieur!" she said, coming up to him and impudently snapping her fingers under his nose. "such a fool, this white-headed old dotard of a count, to think that he can take me in with a silly yarn about going to visit a nephew and bringing him back here to stay. monsieur, you are a police spy. well, good luck to you. get what the mauravanian king wants, if--you--can!" "madame," replied cleek, with a deeply deferential bow and with an accent that seemed born of paris, "madame, that is what i mean to do, i assure you." "ah, do you?" she answered, with a scream of laughter. "you hear that, clopin? you hear that, my good servitors? this silly french noodle is going to get the things in spite of us. oho, but you have a fine opinion of yourself, monsieur. you need work fast, too, pretty boaster, i can tell you. for the royal jewellers will require the rainbow pearl very soon to fix it in its place in the crown for the coronation ceremony, and if that thing his majesty holds is offered to them, how long, think you, will it be before all mauravania knows that it is an imitation? look you," waxing suddenly vicious, "i'll make it shorter still, the time you have to strive. monsieur le comte, take this message to his majesty from me: if in three days he does not promise to accede to my demands and give me a public proof of it over his royal seal, i leave mauravania--the pearl and letter leave with me, and they shall not come back until i return with them for the coronation." "for the love of god, madame," said the count, "don't make it harder still. oh, wait, wait, i beseech you!" "not an hour longer than i have now said!" she flung back at him. "i have waited until i am tired of it, and my patience is worn out. three days, count; three days, monsieur with the puppy dog; three days, and not an instant longer, do you hear?" "quite enough, madame," replied cleek, with a courtly bow, "i promise to have them in two!" she threw back her head and fairly shook with laughter. "of a truth, monsieur, you are a candid boaster!" she cried. "look you, my good fellows, and you too, my poor dumb clopin, pretty monsieur here will have the letter and the pearl in two days' time. look to it that he never leaves this house at any minute from this time forth that you do not search him from top to toe. if he resists--ah, well, a pistol may go off accidentally, and things that mauravania's king would give his life to keep hidden will come to light if any charge of murder is preferred. monsieur the police spy, i wish you joy of your task." "madame, i shall take joy in it," cleek replied. "but why should we talk of unpleasant things when the future looks so bright? come, may we not give ourselves a pleasant evening? look, there is a piano, and--count, hold my puppy for me, and please see that no one feeds him at any time. i am starving him so that he may devour some of clopin's parakeets, because i hate the sight of the little beasts. thank you. madame, do you like music? listen, then: i'll sing you mauravania's national anthem: 'god guard the throne; god shield the right!'" and, dropping down upon the seat before the open instrument, he did so. * * * * * that night was ever memorable at the villa irma, for the detective seemed somehow to have given place to the courtier, and so merry was his mood, so infectious his good nature, that even madame came under the spell of it. she sang with him, she even danced a russian polka with him; she sat with him at dinner, and flirted with him in the salon afterward; and when the time came for her to retire, it was he who took her bedroom candle from the shelf and put it into her hand. "of a truth, you are a charming fellow, monsieur," she said, when he bent and kissed her hand. "what a pity you should be a police spy and upon so hopeless a case." "hopeless cases are my delight, madame. believe me, i shall not fail." "only three days, remember, _cher ami_--only three days!" "madame is too kind. i have said it: two will do. on the morning of the third madame's passport will be ready and the rainbow pearl be in the royal jeweller's hands. a thousand pleasant dreams--_bon soir_!" and bowed her out and kissed his hand to her as she went up the stairs to bed. iii thrice during the next twenty-four hours cleek, who seemed to have become so attached to the mongrel dog that he kept it under his arm continually, had reason to leave the house, and thrice was he seized by madame's henchmen, bundled unceremoniously into a convenient room, and searched to the very skin before he was suffered to pass beyond the threshold. and if so much as a pin had been hidden upon his person, it must have been discovered. "you see, monsieur, how hopeless it is!" said the count despairfully. "one dare not rebel: one dare not lift a finger, or the woman speaks and his majesty's ruin falls. oh, the madness of that boast of yours! only another twenty-four hours--only another day--and then god help his majesty!" "god has helped him a great deal better than he deserves, count," replied cleek. "by to-morrow night at ten o'clock be in the square of the aquisola, please. bring with you the passports of madame and her companions, also a detachment of the royal guard, and his majesty's cheque for the reward i am to receive." "monsieur! you really hope to get the things? you really do?" "oh, i do more than 'hope,' count--i have succeeded. i knew last night where both pearl and letter were. to-morrow night--ah, well, let to-morrow tell its own tale. only be in the square at the hour i mention, and when i lift a lighted candle and pass it across the salon window, send the guard here with the passports. let them remain outside--within sight, but not within range of hearing what is said and done. you are alone to enter--remember that." "to receive the jewel and the letter?" eagerly. "or, at least, to have you point out the hiding-place of them?" "no; we should be shot down like dogs if i undertook a mad thing like that." "then, monsieur, how are we to seize them? how get them into our possession, his majesty and i?" "from my hand, count; this hand which held them both before i went to bed last night." "monsieur!" the count fell back from him as if from some supernatural presence. "you found them? you held them? you took possession of them last night? how did you get them out of the house?" "i have not done so yet." "but can you? oh, monsieur, wizard though you are, can you get them past her guards? can you, monsieur--can you?" "watch for the light at the window, count. it will not be waved unless it is safe for you to come and the pearl is already out of the house." "and the letter, monsieur--the damning letter?" cleek smiled one of his strange, inscrutable smiles. "ask me that to-morrow, count," he said. "you shall hear something, you and madame, that will surprise you both," then twisted round on his heel and walked hurriedly away. and all that day and all that night he danced attendance upon madame, and sang to her, and handed her bedroom candle to her as he had done the night before, and gave back jest for jest and returned her merry badinage in kind. nor did he change in that when the fateful to-morrow came. from morning to night he was at her side, at her beck and call, doing nothing that was different from the doings of yesterday, save that at evening he locked the mongrel dog up in his room instead of carrying him about. and the dog, feeling its loneliness, or, possibly, famishing--for he had given it not a morsel of food since he found it--howled and howled until the din became unbearable. "monsieur, i wish you would silence that beast or else feed it," said madame pettishly. "the howling of the wretched thing gets on my nerves. give it some food for pity's sake." "not i," said cleek. "do you remember what i said, madame? i am getting it hungry enough to eat one--or perhaps all--of clopin's wretched little parakeets." "you think they have to do with the hiding of the paper or the pearl, cher ami? eh?" "i am sure of it. he would not carry the beastly little things about for nothing." "ah, you are clever--you are very, very clever, monsieur," she made answer, with a laugh. "but he must begin his bird-eating quickly, that nuisance-dog, or it will be too late. see, it is already half-past nine; i retire to my bed in another hour and a half, as always, and then your last hope he is gone--z-zic! like that; for it will be the end of the second day, monsieur, and your promise not yet kept. pestilence, monsieur," with a little outburst of temper, "do stop the little beast his howl. it is unbearable! i would you to sing to me like last night, but the noise of the dog is maddening." "oh, if it annoys you like that, madame," said cleek, "i'll take him round to the stable and tie him up there, so we may have the song undisturbed. your men will not want to search me of course, when i am merely popping out and popping in again like that, i am sure?" nevertheless they did, for although they had heard and did not stir when he left the room and ran up for the dog, when he came down with it under his arm and made to leave the house, he was pounced upon, dragged into an adjoining apartment by half a dozen burly fellows, stripped to the buff, and searched, as the workers in a diamond mine are searched, before they suffered him to leave the house. there was neither a sign of a pearl nor a scrap of a letter to be found upon him--they made sure of that before they let him go. "an enterprising lot, those lackeys of yours, madame," he said, when he returned from tying the dog up in the stable and rejoined her in the salon. "it will be an added pleasure to get the better of them, i can assure you." "oui! if you can!" she answered, with a mocking laugh. "clopin, cher ami, your poor little parakeets are safe for the night--unless monsieur grows desperate and eats them for himself." "even that, if it were necessary to get the pearl, madame," said cleek, with the utmost sang-froid. "faugh!" looking at his watch, "a good twenty minutes wasted by the zealousness of those idiotic searchers of yours. ten minutes to ten! just time for one brief song. let us make hay while the sun lasts, madame, for it goes down suddenly in mauravania; and for some of us--it never comes up again!" then, throwing himself upon the piano-seat, he ran his fingers across the keys and broke into the stately measures of the national anthem. and, of a sudden, while the song was yet in progress, the clock in the corridor jingled its musical chimes and struck the first note of the hour. he jumped to his feet and lifted both hands above his head. "mauravania!" he cried. "oh, mauravania! for you! for you!" then jumped to the mantelpiece, and catching up a lighted candle, flashed it twice across the window's width, and broke again into the national hymn. "monsieur," cried out madame, "monsieur, what is the meaning of that? have you lost your wits? you give a signal! for what? to whom?" "to the guards of mauravania's king, madame, in honour of his safe escape from you!" he made reply; then twitched back the window curtains until the whole expanse of glass was bared. "look! do you see them--do you, madame? his majesty of mauravania sends madame tcharnovetski a command to leave his kingdom, since he no longer has cause to fear a wasp whose sting has been plucked out." her swift glance flashed to the fireplace, then to the corner where clopin still sat with his jabbering parakeets, then flashed back to cleek, and--she laughed in his face. "i think not, monsieur," she said, with a swaggering air. "truly, i think not, my excellent friend." "what a pity you only think so, madame! as for me--ah, welcome, count, welcome a thousand times. the paper, my friend; you have brought it? good! give it to me. madame, your passport--yours and your associates'. you leave mauravania by the midnight train, and you have but little time to pack your effects. your passport, madame, and--your bedroom candle. oh, yes, the paper is still round it--see!" slipping off a sheet of note paper that was wrapped round the full length of the candle from top to bottom, "but if you will examine it, madame, you will find it is blank. i burned the real letter the night before last when i put this in its place." "you what?" she snapped; then caught the tube-shaped covering he had stripped from the candle, uncurled it, and--screamed. "blank, madame, quite blank, you see," said cleek serenely. "for one so clever in other things, you should have been more careful. a little pinch of powder in the punch at dinner-time--just that--and on the first night, too! it was so easy afterward to get into your room, remove the real paper, and wrap the candle in a blank piece while you slept." "you--you dog!" she snapped out viciously. "you drugged me?" "yes, madame; you and the one-eyed man as well! oh, don't excite yourself--don't pull at the poor wretch like that. the glass eye will come out quite easily, but--i assure you there is only a small lump of beeswax in the socket now. i removed the rainbow pearl from poor monsieur clopin's blind eye ten minutes after i burnt the letter, madame, and--it passed out of this house to-night! a clever idea to pick up a one-eyed pauper, madame, and hide the pearl in the empty socket of the lost eye, but--it was too bad, you had to supply a glass eye to keep it in, after the lid and the socket had withered and shrunk from so many years of emptiness. it worried the poor man, madame; he was always feeling it, always afraid that the lump behind would force it out; and, what is an added misfortune for your plans, the glass shell did not allow you to see the change when the pearl vanished and the bit of beeswax took its place. madame tcharnovetski, your passport. i know enough of the king of mauravania to be sure that your life will not be safe if you are not past the frontier before daybreak!" * * * * * "monsieur le comte--no! i thank you, but i cannot wait to be presented to his majesty, for i, too, leave mauravania to-night, and, like madame yonder, return to other and more promising fields," said cleek, an hour later, as he stood on the terrace of the villa irma and watched the slow progress down the moonlit avenue of the carriage which was bearing madame tcharnovetski and her effects to the railway station. "give me the cheque, please; i have earned that, and--there is good use for it. i thank you, count. now do an act of charity, my friend: give the little dog in the stable a good meal, and then have a surgeon chloroform him into a peaceful and merciful death. they will find the rainbow pearl in his intestines when they come to dissect the body. i starved him, count--starved him purposely, poor little wretch, so that he could be hungry enough to snap at anything in the way of food and bolt it instantly. to-night, when i went up to take him out to the stable, a thick smearing of beef extract over the surface of the pearl was sufficient; he swallowed it in a gulp! for a double reason, count, there should be a cur quartered on the royal arms of this country after to-night." his voice dropped off into silence. the carriage containing madame had swung out through the gateway, and its shadow no longer blotted the broad, unbroken space of moonlit avenue. he turned and looked far out, over the square of the aquisola, along the light-lined esplanade, to the palace gates and the fluttering flag that streamed against the sky above and beyond them. "oh, mauravania!" he said. "an englishman's heritage! dear country, how beautiful! my love to your queen--my prayers for you." "monsieur!" exclaimed the count, "monsieur, what juggle is this? your face is again the face of that other night--the face that stirs memory yet does not rivet it. monsieur, speak, i beg of you. what are you? who are you?" "cleek," he made answer. "just cleek! it will do. oh, mauravania, dear land of desolated hopes, dear grave of murdered joys!" "monsieur!" "hush! let me alone. there are things too sacred; and this--" his hands reached outward as if in benediction; his face, upturned, was as a face transfigured, and something that shone as silver gleamed in the corner of his eye. "mauravania!" he said. "oh, mauravania! my country--my people--good-bye!" "monsieur! dear heaven--_majesty!_" then came a rustling sound, and when cleek had mastered himself and looked down, a figure with head uncovered knelt on one knee at his feet. "get up, count," he said, with a little shaky laugh. "i appreciate the honour, but--your fancy is playing you a trick. i tell you i never set foot in mauravania before, my friend." "i know--i know. how should you. majesty, when it was as a child at queen karma's breast mauravania last saw--don't leave like this! majesty! majesty! 'god guard the right'--the pearl and the kingdom are here." "wrong, my good friend. the kingdom is there--where you found me--in england; and so, too, is the pearl. for there is no kingdom like the kingdom of love, no pearl like a good woman. good night, count, and many thanks for your hospitality. you are a little upset to-night, but no doubt you will be all right again in the morning. i will walk to the station and--alone, if it is all the same to you." "majesty!" "dreams, count, dreams. the riddle is solved, my friend. good luck to your country and--good-bye!" and, setting his back to the palace and the lights and the fluttering flag, and his face to the land that held her, turned and went his way--to the west--to england--and to those things which are higher than crowns and better than sceptres and more precious than thrones and ermine. the end the intrusion of jimmy by p.g. wodehouse contents chapter i. jimmy makes a bet ii. pyramus and thisbe iii. mr. mceachern iv. molly v. a thief in the night vi. an exhibition performance vii. getting acquainted viii. at dreever ix. friends, new and old x. jimmy adopts a lame dog xi. at the turn of the road xii. making a start xiii. spike's views xiv. check and a counter move xv. mr. mceachern intervenes xvi. a marriage arranged xvii. jimmy remembers something xviii. the lochinvar method xix. on the lake xx. a lesson in picquet xxi. loathsome gifts xxii. two of a trade disagree xxiii. family jars xxiv. the treasure-seeker xxv. explanations xxvi. stirring times for sir thomas xxvii. a declaration of independence xxviii. spennie's hour of clear vision xxix. the last round xxx. conclusion chapter i jimmy makes a bet the main smoking-room of the strollers' club had been filling for the last half-hour, and was now nearly full. in many ways, the strollers', though not the most magnificent, is the pleasantest club in new york. its ideals are comfort without pomp; and it is given over after eleven o'clock at night mainly to the stage. everybody is young, clean-shaven, and full of conversation: and the conversation strikes a purely professional note. everybody in the room on this july night had come from the theater. most of those present had been acting, but a certain number had been to the opening performance of the latest better-than-raffles play. there had been something of a boom that season in dramas whose heroes appealed to the public more pleasantly across the footlights than they might have done in real life. in the play that had opened to-night, arthur mifflin, an exemplary young man off the stage, had been warmly applauded for a series of actions which, performed anywhere except in the theater, would certainly have debarred him from remaining a member of the strollers' or any other club. in faultless evening dress, with a debonair smile on his face, he had broken open a safe, stolen bonds and jewelry to a large amount, and escaped without a blush of shame via the window. he had foiled a detective through four acts, and held up a band of pursuers with a revolver. a large audience had intimated complete approval throughout. "it's a hit all right," said somebody through the smoke. "these near-'raffles' plays always are," grumbled willett, who played bluff fathers in musical comedy. "a few years ago, they would have been scared to death of putting on a show with a crook as hero. now, it seems to me the public doesn't want anything else. not that they know what they do want," he concluded, mournfully. "the belle of boulogne," in which willett sustained the role of cyrus k. higgs, a chicago millionaire, was slowly fading away on a diet of paper, and this possibly prejudiced him. raikes, the character actor, changed the subject. if willett once got started on the wrongs of the ill-fated "belle," general conversation would become impossible. willett, denouncing the stupidity of the public, as purely a monologue artiste. "i saw jimmy pitt at the show," said raikes. everybody displayed interest. "jimmy pitt? when did he come back? i thought he was in italy." "he came on the lusitania, i suppose. she docked this morning." "jimmy pitt?" said sutton, of the majestic theater. "how long has he been away? last i saw of him was at the opening of 'the outsider' at the astor. that's a couple of months ago." "he's been traveling in europe, i believe," said raikes. "lucky beggar to be able to. i wish i could." sutton knocked the ash off his cigar. "i envy jimmy," he said. "i don't know anyone i'd rather be. he's got much more money than any man except a professional 'plute' has any right to. he's as strong as an ox. i shouldn't say he'd ever had anything worse than measles in his life. he's got no relations. and he isn't married." sutton, who had been married three times, spoke with some feeling. "he's a good chap, jimmy," said raikes. "yes," said arthur mifflin, "yes, jimmy is a good chap. i've known him for years. i was at college with him. he hasn't got my brilliance of intellect; but he has some wonderfully fine qualities. for one thing, i should say he had put more deadbeats on their legs again than half the men in new york put together." "well," growled willett, whom the misfortunes of the belle had soured, "what's there in that? it's mighty easy to do the philanthropist act when you're next door to a millionaire." "yes," said mifflin warmly, "but it's not so easy when you're getting thirty dollars a week on a newspaper. when jimmy was a reporter on the news, there used to be a whole crowd of fellows just living on him. not borrowing an occasional dollar, mind you, but living on him--sleeping on his sofa, and staying to breakfast. it made me mad. i used to ask him why he stood for it. he said there was nowhere else for them to go, and he thought he could see them through all right--which he did, though i don't see how he managed it on thirty a week." "if a man's fool enough to be an easy mark--" began willett. "oh, cut it out!" said raikes. "we don't want anybody knocking jimmy here." "all the same," said sutton, "it seems to me that it was mighty lucky that he came into that money. you can't keep open house for ever on thirty a week. by the way, arthur, how was that? i heard it was his uncle." "it wasn't his uncle," said mifflin. "it was by way of being a romance of sorts, i believe. fellow who had been in love with jimmy's mother years ago went west, made a pile, and left it to mrs. pitt or her children. she had been dead some time when that happened. jimmy, of course, hadn't a notion of what was coming to him, when suddenly he got a solicitor's letter asking him to call. he rolled round, and found that there was about five hundred thousand dollars just waiting for him to spend it." jimmy pitt had now definitely ousted "love, the cracksman" as a topic of conversation. everybody present knew him. most of them had known him in his newspaper days; and, though every man there would have perished rather than admit it, they were grateful to jimmy for being exactly the same to them now that he could sign a check for half a million as he had been on the old thirty-a-week basis. inherited wealth, of course, does not make a young man nobler or more admirable; but the young man does not always know this. "jimmy's had a queer life," said mifflin. "he's been pretty much everything in his time. did you know he was on the stage before he took up newspaper-work? only on the road, i believe. he got tired of it, and cut it out. that's always been his trouble. he wouldn't settle down to anything. he studied law at yale, but he never kept it up. after he left the stage, he moved all over the states, without a cent, picking up any odd job he could get. he was a waiter once for a couple of days, but they fired him for breaking plates. then, he got a job in a jeweler's shop. i believe he's a bit of an expert on jewels. and, another time, he made a hundred dollars by staying three rounds against kid brady when the kid was touring the country after he got the championship away from jimmy garwin. the kid was offering a hundred to anyone who could last three rounds with him. jimmy did it on his head. he was the best amateur of his weight i ever saw. the kid wanted him to take up scrapping seriously. but jimmy wouldn't have stuck to anything long enough in those days. he's one of the gypsies of the world. he was never really happy unless he was on the move, and he doesn't seem to have altered since he came into his money." "well, he can afford to keep on the move now," said raikes. "i wish i--" "did you ever hear about jimmy and--" mifflin was beginning, when the odyssey of jimmy pitt was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of ulysses in person. jimmy pitt was a young man of medium height, whose great breadth and depth of chest made him look shorter than he really was. his jaw was square, and protruded slightly; and this, combined with a certain athletic jauntiness of carriage and a pair of piercing brown eyes very much like those of a bull-terrier, gave him an air of aggressiveness, which belied his character. he was not aggressive. he had the good-nature as well as the eyes of a bull-terrier. also, he possessed, when stirred, all the bull-terrier's dogged determination. there were shouts of welcome. "hullo, jimmy!" "when did you get back?" "come and sit down. plenty of room over here." "where is my wandering boy tonight?" "waiter! what's yours, jimmy?" jimmy dropped into a seat, and yawned. "well," he said, "how goes it? hullo, raikes! weren't you at 'love, the cracksman'? i thought i saw you. hullo, arthur! congratulate you. you spoke your piece nicely." "thanks," said mifflin. "we were just talking about you, jimmy. you came on the lusitania, i suppose?" "she didn't break the record this time," said sutton. a somewhat pensive look came into jimmy's eyes. "she came much too quick for me," he said. "i don't see why they want to rip along at that pace," he went on, hurriedly. "i like to have a chance of enjoying the sea-air." "i know that sea-air," murmured mifflin. jimmy looked up quickly. "what are you babbling about, arthur?" "i said nothing," replied mifflin, suavely. "what did you think of the show tonight, jimmy?" asked raikes. "i liked it. arthur was fine. i can't make out, though, why all this incense is being burned at the feet of the cracksman. to judge by some of the plays they produce now, you'd think that a man had only to be a successful burglar to become a national hero. one of these days, we shall have arthur playing charles peace to a cheering house." "it is the tribute," said mifflin, "that bone-headedness pays to brains. it takes brains to be a successful cracksman. unless the gray matter is surging about in your cerebrum, as in mine, you can't hope--" jimmy leaned back in his chair, and spoke calmly but with decision. "any man of ordinary intelligence," he said, "could break into a house." mifflin jumped up and began to gesticulate. this was heresy. "my good man, what absolute--" "_i_ could," said jimmy, lighting a cigarette. there was a roar of laughter and approval. for the past few weeks, during the rehearsals of "love, the cracksman," arthur mifflin had disturbed the peace at the strollers' with his theories on the art of burglary. this was his first really big part, and he had soaked himself in it. he had read up the literature of burglary. he had talked with men from pinkerton's. he had expounded his views nightly to his brother strollers, preaching the delicacy and difficulty of cracking a crib till his audience had rebelled. it charmed the strollers to find jimmy, obviously of his own initiative and not to be suspected of having been suborned to the task by themselves, treading with a firm foot on the expert's favorite corn within five minutes of their meeting. "you!" said arthur mifflin, with scorn. "i!" "you! why, you couldn't break into an egg unless it was a poached one." "what'll you bet?" said jimmy. the strollers began to sit up and take notice. the magic word "bet," when uttered in that room, had rarely failed to add a zest to life. they looked expectantly at arthur mifflin. "go to bed, jimmy," said the portrayer of cracksmen. "i'll come with you and tuck you in. a nice, strong cup of tea in the morning, and you won't know there has ever been anything the matter with you." a howl of disapproval rose from the company. indignant voices accused arthur mifflin of having a yellow streak. encouraging voices urged him not to be a quitter. "see! they scorn you," said jimmy. "and rightly. be a man, arthur. what'll you bet?" mr. mifflin regarded him with pity. "you don't know what you're up against, jimmy," he said. "you're half a century behind the times. you have an idea that all a burglar needs is a mask, a blue chin, and a dark lantern. i tell you he requires a highly specialized education. i've been talking to these detective fellows, and i know. now, take your case, you worm. have you a thorough knowledge of chemistry, physics, toxicology--" "sure." "--electricity and microscopy?" "you have discovered my secret." "can you use an oxy-acetylene blow-pipe?" "i never travel without one." "what do you know about the administration of anaesthetics?" "practically everything. it is one of my favorite hobbies." "can you make 'soup'?" "soup?" "soup," said mr. mifflin, firmly. jimmy raised his eyebrows. "does an architect make bricks?" he said. "i leave the rough preliminary work to my corps of assistants. they make my soup." "you mustn't think jimmy's one of your common yeggs," said sutton. "he's at the top of his profession. that's how he made his money. i never did believe that legacy story." "jimmy," said mr. mifflin, "couldn't crack a child's money-box. jimmy couldn't open a sardine-tin." jimmy shrugged his shoulders. "what'll you bet?" he said again. "come on, arthur; you're earning a very good salary. what'll you bet?" "make it a dinner for all present," suggested raikes, a canny person who believed in turning the wayside happenings of life, when possible, to his personal profit. the suggestion was well received. "all right," said mifflin. "how many of us are there? one, two, three, four--loser buys a dinner for twelve." "a good dinner," interpolated raikes, softly. "a good dinner," said jimmy. "very well. how long do you give me, arthur?" "how long do you want?" "there ought to be a time-limit," said raikes. "it seems to me that a flyer like jimmy ought to be able to manage it at short notice. why not tonight? nice, fine night. if jimmy doesn't crack a crib tonight, it's up to him. that suit you, jimmy?" "perfectly." willett interposed. willett had been endeavoring to drown his sorrows all the evening, and the fact was a little noticeable in his speech. "see here," he said, "how's j-jimmy going to prove he's done it?" "personally, i can take his word," said mifflin. "that be h-hanged for a tale. wha-what's to prevent him saying he's done it, whether he has or not?" the strollers looked uncomfortable. nevertheless, it was jimmy's affair. "why, you'd get your dinner in any case," said jimmy. "a dinner from any host would smell as sweet." willett persisted with muddled obstinacy. "thash--thash not point. it's principle of thing. have thish thing square and 'bove board, _i_ say. thash what _i_ say." "and very creditable to you being able to say it," said jimmy, cordially. "see if you can manage 'truly rural'." "what _i_ say is--this! jimmy's a fakir. and what i say is what's prevent him saying he's done it when hasn't done it?" "that'll be all right," said jimmy. "i'm going to bury a brass tube with the stars and stripes in it under the carpet." willett waved his hand. "thash quite sh'factory," he said, with dignity. "nothing more to say." "or a better idea," said jimmy. "i'll carve a big j on the inside of the front door. then, anybody who likes can make inquiries next day. well, i'm off home. glad it's all settled. anybody coming my way?" "yes," said arthur mifflin. "we'll walk. first nights always make me as jumpy as a cat. if i don't walk my legs off, i shan't get to sleep tonight at all." "if you think i'm going to help you walk your legs off, my lad, you're mistaken. i propose to stroll gently home, and go to bed." "every little helps," said mifflin. "come along." "you want to keep an eye on jimmy, arthur," said sutton. "he'll sand-bag you, and lift your watch as soon as look at you. i believe he's arsene lupin in disguise." chapter ii pyramus and thisbe the two men turned up the street. they walked in silence. arthur mifflin was going over in his mind such outstanding events of the evening as he remembered--the nervousness, the relief of finding that he was gripping his audience, the growing conviction that he had made good; while jimmy seemed to be thinking his own private thoughts. they had gone some distance before either spoke. "who is she, jimmy?" asked mifflin. jimmy came out of his thoughts with a start. "what's that?" "who is she?" "i don't know what you mean." "yes, you do! the sea air. who is she?" "i don't know," said jimmy, simply. "you don't know? well, what's her name?" "i don't know." "doesn't the lusitania still print a passenger-list?" "she does." "and you couldn't find out her name in five days?" "no." "and that's the man who thinks he can burgle a house!" said mifflin, despairingly. they had arrived now at the building on the second floor of which was jimmy's flat. "coming in?" said jimmy. "well, i was rather thinking of pushing on as far as the park. i tell you, i feel all on wires." "come in, and smoke a cigar. you've got all night before you if you want to do marathons. i haven't seen you for a couple of months. i want you to tell me all the news." "there isn't any. nothing happens in new york. the papers say things do, but they don't. however, i'll come in. it seems to me that you're the man with the news." jimmy fumbled with his latch-key. "you're a bright sort of burglar," said mifflin, disparagingly. "why don't you use your oxy-acetylene blow-pipe? do you realize, my boy, that you've let yourself in for buying a dinner for twelve hungry men next week? in the cold light of the morning, when reason returns to her throne, that'll come home to you." "i haven't done anything of the sort," said jimmy, unlocking the door. "don't tell me you really mean to try it." "what else did you think i was going to do?" "but you can't. you would get caught for a certainty. and what are you going to do then? say it was all a joke? suppose they fill you full of bullet-holes! nice sort of fool you'll look, appealing to some outraged householder's sense of humor, while he pumps you full of lead with a colt." "these are the risks of the profession. you ought to know that, arthur. think what you went through tonight." arthur mifflin looked at his friend with some uneasiness. he knew how very reckless jimmy could be when he had set his mind on accomplishing anything, since, under the stimulus of a challenge, he ceased to be a reasoning being, amenable to argument. and, in the present case, he knew that willett's words had driven the challenge home. jimmy was not the man to sit still under the charge of being a fakir, no matter whether his accuser had been sober or drunk. jimmy, meanwhile, had produced whiskey and cigars. now, he was lying on his back on the lounge, blowing smoke-rings at the ceiling. "well?" said arthur mifflin, at length. "well, what?" "what i meant was, is this silence to be permanent, or are you going to begin shortly to amuse, elevate, and instruct? something's happened to you, jimmy. there was a time when you were a bright little chap, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. where be your gibes now; your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table in a roar when you were paying for the dinner? you remind me more of a deaf-mute celebrating the fourth of july with noiseless powder than anything else on earth. wake up, or i shall go. jimmy, we were practically boys together. tell me about this girl--the girl you loved, and were idiot enough to lose." jimmy drew a deep breath. "very well," said mifflin complacently, "sigh if you like; it's better than nothing." jimmy sat up. "yes, dozens of times," said mifflin. "what do you mean?" "you were just going to ask me if i had ever been in love, weren't you?" "i wasn't, because i know you haven't. you have no soul. you don't know what love is." "have it your own way," said mifflin, resignedly. jimmy bumped back on the sofa. "i don't either," he said. "that's the trouble." mifflin looked interested. "i know," he said. "you've got that strange premonitory fluttering, when the heart seems to thrill within you like some baby bird singing its first song, when--" "oh, cut it out!" "--when you ask yourself timidly, 'is it? can it really be?' and answer shyly, 'no. yes. i believe it is!' i've been through it dozens of times; it is a recognized early symptom. unless prompt measures are taken, it will develop into something acute. in these matters, stand on your uncle arthur. he knows." "you make me sick," jimmy retorted. "you have our ear," said mifflin, kindly. "tell me all." "there's nothing to tell." "don't lie, james." "well, practically nothing." "that's better." "it was like this." "good." jimmy wriggled himself into a more comfortable position, and took a sip from his glass. "i didn't see her until the second day out." "i know that second day out. well?" "we didn't really meet at all." "just happened to be going to the same spot, eh?" "as a matter of fact, it was like this. like a fool, i'd bought a second-class ticket." "what? our young rockerbilt astergould, the boy millionaire, traveling second-class! why?" "i had an idea it would be better fun. everybody's so much more cheery in the second cabin. you get to know people so much quicker. nine trips out of ten, i'd much rather go second." "and this was the tenth?" "she was in the first-cabin," said jimmy. mifflin clutched his forehead. "wait!" he cried. "this reminds me of something--something in shakespeare. romeo and juliet? no. i've got it--pyramus and thisbe." "i don't see the slightest resemblance." "read your 'midsummer night's dream.' 'pyramus and thisbe,' says the story, 'did talk through the chink of a wall,'" quoted mifflin. "we didn't." "don't be so literal. you talked across a railing." "we didn't." "do you mean to say you didn't talk at all?" "we didn't say a single word." mifflin shook his head sadly. "i give you up," he said. "i thought you were a man of enterprise. what did you do?" jimmy sighed softly. "i used to stand and smoke against the railing opposite the barber's shop, and she used to walk round the deck." "and you used to stare at her?" "i would look in her direction sometimes," corrected jimmy, with dignity. "don't quibble! you stared at her. you behaved like a common rubber-neck, and you know it. i am no prude, james, but i feel compelled to say that i consider your conduct that of a libertine. used she to walk alone?" "generally." "and, now, you love her, eh? you went on board that ship happy, careless, heart-free. you came off it grave and saddened. thenceforth, for you, the world could contain but one woman, and her you had lost." mifflin groaned in a hollow and bereaved manner, and took a sip from his glass to buoy him up. jimmy moved restlessly on the sofa. "do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked, fatuously. he was in the mood when a man says things, the memory of which makes him wake up hot all over for nights to come. "i don't see what first sight's got to do with it," said mifflin. "according to your own statement, you stood and glared at the girl for five days without letting up for a moment. i can quite imagine that you might glare yourself into love with anyone by the end of that time." "i can't see myself settling down," said jimmy, thoughtfully. "and, until you feel that you want to settle down, i suppose you can't be really in love." "i was saying practically that about you at the club just before you came in. my somewhat neat expression was that you were one of the gypsies of the world." "by george, you're quite right!" "i always am." "i suppose it's having nothing to do. when i was on the news, i was never like this." "you weren't on the news long enough to get tired of it." "i feel now i can't stay in a place more than a week. it's having this money that does it, i suppose." "new york," said mifflin, "is full of obliging persons who will be delighted to relieve you of the incubus. well, james, i shall leave you. i feel more like bed now. by the way, i suppose you lost sight of this girl when you landed?" "yes." "well, there aren't so many girls in the united states--only twenty million. or is it forty million? something small. all you've got to do is to search around a bit. good-night." "good-night." mr. mifflin clattered down the stairs. a minute later, the sound of his name being called loudly from the street brought jimmy to the window. mifflin was standing on the pavement below, looking up. "jimmy." "what's the matter now?" "i forgot to ask. was she a blonde?" "what?" "was she a blonde?" yelled mifflin. "no," snapped jimmy. "dark, eh?" bawled mifflin, making night hideous. "yes," said jimmy, shutting the window. "jimmy!" the window went up again. "well?" "me for blondes!" "go to bed!" "very well. good-night." "good-night." jimmy withdrew his head, and sat down in the chair mifflin had vacated. a moment later, he rose, and switched off the light. it was pleasanter to sit and think in the dark. his thoughts wandered off in many channels, but always came back to the girl on the lusitania. it was absurd, of course. he didn't wonder that arthur mifflin had treated the thing as a joke. good old arthur! glad he had made a success! but was it a joke? who was it that said, the point of a joke is like the point of a needle, so small that it is apt to disappear entirely when directed straight at oneself? if anybody else had told him such a limping romance, he would have laughed himself. only, when you are the center of a romance, however limping, you see it from a different angle. of course, told badly, it was absurd. he could see that. but something away at the back of his mind told him that it was not altogether absurd. and yet--love didn't come like that, in a flash. you might just as well expect a house to spring into being in a moment, or a ship, or an automobile, or a table, or a--he sat up with a jerk. in another instant, he would have been asleep. he thought of bed, but bed seemed a long way off--the deuce of a way. acres of carpet to be crawled over, and then the dickens of a climb at the end of it. besides, undressing! nuisance--undressing. that was a nice dress the girl had worn on the fourth day out. tailor-made. he liked tailor-mades. he liked all her dresses. he liked her. had she liked him? so hard to tell if you don't get a chance of speaking! she was dark. arthur liked blondes, arthur was a fool! good old arthur! glad he had made a success! now, he could marry if he liked! if he wasn't so restless, if he didn't feel that he couldn't stop more than a day in any place! but would the girl have him? if they had never spoken, it made it so hard to-- at this point, jimmy went to sleep. chapter iii mr. mceachern at about the time when jimmy's meditations finally merged themselves in dreams, a certain mr. john mceachern, captain of police, was seated in the parlor of his up-town villa, reading. he was a man built on a large scale. everything about him was large--his hands, his feet, his shoulders, his chest, and particularly his jaw, which even in his moments of calm was aggressive, and which stood out, when anything happened to ruffle him, like the ram of a battle-ship. in his patrolman days, which had been passed mainly on the east side, this jaw of his had acquired a reputation from park row to fourteenth street. no gang-fight, however absorbing, could retain the undivided attention of the young blood of the bowery when mr. mceachern's jaw hove in sight with the rest of his massive person in close attendance. he was a man who knew no fear, and he had gone through disorderly mobs like an east wind. but there was another side to his character. in fact, that other side was so large that the rest of him, his readiness in combat and his zeal in breaking up public disturbances, might be said to have been only an off-shoot. for his ambition was as large as his fist and as aggressive as his jaw. he had entered the force with the single idea of becoming rich, and had set about achieving his object with a strenuous vigor that was as irresistible as his mighty locust-stick. some policemen are born grafters, some achieve graft, and some have graft thrust upon them. mr. mceachern had begun by being the first, had risen to the second, and for some years now had been a prominent member of the small and hugely prosperous third class, the class that does not go out seeking graft, but sits at home and lets graft come to it. in his search for wealth, he had been content to abide his time. he did not want the trifling sum that every new york policeman acquires. his object was something bigger, and he was prepared to wait for it. he knew that small beginnings were an annoying but unavoidable preliminary to all great fortunes. probably, captain kidd had started in a small way. certainly, mr. rockefeller had. he was content to follow in the footsteps of the masters. a patrolman's opportunities of amassing wealth are not great. mr. mceachern had made the best of a bad job. he had not disdained the dollars that came as single spies rather than in battalions. until the time should arrive when he might angle for whales, he was prepared to catch sprats. much may be done, even on a small scale, by perseverance. in those early days, mr. mceachern's observant eye had not failed to notice certain peddlers who obstructed the traffic, divers tradesmen who did the same by the side-walk, and of restaurant keepers not a few with a distaste for closing at one o'clock in the morning. his researches in this field were not unprofitable. in a reasonably short space of time, he had put by the three thousand dollars that were the price of his promotion to detective-sergeant. he did not like paying three thousand dollars for promotion, but there must be sinking of capital if an investment is to prosper. mr. mceachern "came across," and climbed one more step up the ladder. as detective-sergeant, he found his horizon enlarged. there was more scope for a man of parts. things moved more rapidly. the world seemed full of philanthropists, anxious to "dress his front" and do him other little kindnesses. mr. mceachern was no churl. he let them dress his front. he accepted the little kindnesses. presently, he found that he had fifteen thousand dollars to spare for any small flutter that might take his fancy. singularly enough, this was the precise sum necessary to make him a captain. he became a captain. and it was then that he discovered that el dorado was no mere poet's dream, and that tom tiddler's ground, where one might stand picking up gold and silver, was as definite a locality as brooklyn or the bronx. at last, after years of patient waiting, he stood like moses on the mountain, looking down into the promised land. he had come to where the big money was. the captain was now reading the little note-book wherein he kept a record of his investments, which were numerous and varied. that the contents were satisfactory was obvious at a glance. the smile on his face and the reposeful position of his jaw were proof enough of that. there were notes relating to house-property, railroad shares, and a dozen other profitable things. he was a rich man. this was a fact that was entirely unsuspected by his neighbors, with whom he maintained somewhat distant relations, accepting no invitations and giving none. for mr. mceachern was playing a big game. other eminent buccaneers in his walk of life had been content to be rich men in a community where moderate means were the rule. but about mr. mceachern there was a touch of the napoleonic. he meant to get into society--and the society he had selected was that of england. other people have noted the fact--which had impressed itself very firmly on the policeman's mind--that between england and the united states there are three thousand miles of deep water. in the united states, he would be a retired police-captain; in england, an american gentleman of large and independent means with a beautiful daughter. that was the ruling impulse in his life--his daughter molly. though, if he had been a bachelor, he certainly would not have been satisfied to pursue a humble career aloof from graft, on the other hand, if it had not been for molly, he would not have felt, as he gathered in his dishonest wealth, that he was conducting a sort of holy war. ever since his wife had died, in his detective-sergeant days, leaving him with a year-old daughter, his ambitions had been inseparably connected with molly. all his thoughts were on the future. this new york life was only a preparation for the splendors to come. he spent not a dollar unnecessarily. when molly was home from school, they lived together simply and quietly in the small house which molly's taste made so comfortable. the neighbors, knowing his profession and seeing the modest scale on which he lived, told one another that here at any rate was a policeman whose hands were clean of graft. they did not know of the stream that poured week by week and year by year into his bank, to be diverted at intervals into the most profitable channels. until the time should come for the great change, economy was his motto. the expenses of his home were kept within the bounds of his official salary. all extras went to swell his savings. he closed his book with a contented sigh, and lighted another cigar. cigars were his only personal luxury. he drank nothing, ate the simplest food, and made a suit of clothes last for quite an unusual length of time; but no passion for economy could make him deny himself smoke. he sat on, thinking. it was very late, but he did not feel ready for bed. a great moment had arrived in his affairs. for days, wall street had been undergoing one of its periodical fits of jumpiness. there had been rumors and counter-rumors, until finally from the confusion there had soared up like a rocket the one particular stock in which he was most largely interested. he had unloaded that morning, and the result had left him slightly dizzy. the main point to which his mind clung was that the time had come at last. he could make the great change now at any moment that suited him. he was blowing clouds of smoke and gloating over this fact when the door opened, admitting a bull-terrier, a bull-dog, and in the wake of the procession a girl in a kimono and red slippers. chapter iv molly "why, molly," said the policeman, "what are you doing out of bed? i thought you were asleep." he placed a huge arm around her, and drew her to his lap. as she sat there, his great bulk made her seem smaller than she really was. with her hair down and her little red slippers dangling half a yard from the floor, she seemed a child. mceachern, looking at her, found it hard to realize that nineteen years had passed since the moment when the doctor's raised eyebrows had reproved him for his monosyllabic reception of the news that the baby was a girl. "do you know what the time is?" he said. "two o'clock." "much too late for you to be sitting here smoking," said molly, severely. "how many cigars do you smoke a day? suppose you had married someone who wouldn't let you smoke!" "never stop your husband smoking, my dear. that's a bit of advice for you when you're married." "i'm never going to marry. i'm going to stop at home, and darn your socks." "i wish you could," he said, drawing her closer to him. "but one of these days you're going to marry a prince. and now run back to bed. it's much too late--" "it's no good, father dear. i couldn't get to sleep. i've been trying hard for hours. i've counted sheep till i nearly screamed. it's rastus' fault. he snores so!" mr. mceachern regarded the erring bull-dog sternly. "why do you have the brutes in your room?" "why, to keep the boogaboos from getting me, of course. aren't you afraid of the boogaboos getting you? but you're so big, you wouldn't mind. you'd just hit them. and they're not brutes--are you, darlings? you're angels, and you nearly burst yourselves with joy because auntie had come back from england, didn't you? father, did they miss me when i was gone? did they pine away?" "they got like skeletons. we all did." "you?" "i should say so." "then, why did you send me away to england?" "i wanted you to see the country. did you like it?" "i hated being away from you." "but you liked the country?" "i loved it." mceachern drew a breath of relief. the only possible obstacle to the great change did not exist. "how would you like to go back to england, molly?" "to england! when i've just come home?" "if i went, too?" molly twisted around so that she could see his face better. "there's something the matter with you, father. you're trying to say something, and i want to know what it is. tell me quick, or i'll make rastus bite you!" "it won't take long, dear. i've been lucky in some investments while you were away, and i'm going to leave the force, and take you over to england, and find a prince for you to marry--if you think you would like it." "father! it'll be perfectly splendid!" "we'll start fair in england, molly. i'll just be john mceachern, from america, and, if anybody wants to know anything about me, i'm a man who has made money on wall street--and that's no lie--and has come over to england to spend it." molly gave his arm a squeeze. her eyes were wet. "father, dear," she whispered, "i believe you've been doing it all for me. you've been slaving away for me ever since i was born, stinting yourself and saving money just so that i could have a good time later on." "no, no!" "it's true," she said. she turned on him with a tremulous laugh. "i don't believe you've had enough to eat for years. i believe you're all skin and bone. never mind. to-morrow, i'll take you out and buy you the best dinner you've ever had, out of my own money. we'll go to sherry's, and you shall start at the top of the menu, and go straight down it till you've had enough." "that will make up for everything. and, now, don't you think you ought to be going to bed? you'll be losing all that color you got on the ship." "soon--not just yet. i haven't seen you for such ages!" she pointed at the bull-terrier. "look at tommy, standing there and staring. he can't believe i've really come back. father, there was a man on the lusitania with eyes exactly like tommy's--all brown and bright--and he used to stand and stare just like tommy's doing." "if i had been there," said her father wrathfully, "i'd have knocked his head off." "no, you wouldn't, because i'm sure he was really a very nice young man. he had a chin rather like yours, father. besides, you couldn't have got at him to knock his head off, because he was traveling second-class." "second-class? then, you didn't talk with him?" "we couldn't. you wouldn't expect him to shout at me across the railing! only, whenever i walked round the deck, he seemed to be there." "staring!" "he may not have been staring at me. probably, he was just looking the way the ship was going, and thinking of some girl in new york. i don't think you can make much of a romance out of it, father." "i don't want to, my dear. princes don't travel in the second-cabin." "he may have been a prince in disguise." "more likely a drummer," grunted mr. mceachern. "drummers are often quite nice, aren't they?" "princes are nicer." "well, i'll go to bed and dream of the nicest one i can think of. come along, dogs. stop biting my slipper, tommy. why can't you behave, like rastus? still, you don't snore, do you? aren't you going to bed soon, father? i believe you've been sitting up late and getting into all sorts of bad habits while i've been away. i'm sure you have been smoking too much. when you've finished that cigar, you're not even to think of another till to-morrow. promise!" "not one?" "not one. i'm not going to have my father getting like the people you read about in the magazine advertisements. you don't want to feel sudden shooting pains, do you?" "no, my dear." "and have to take some awful medicine?" "no." "then, promise." "very well, my dear. i promise." as the door closed, the captain threw away the stump he was smoking, and remained for a moment in thought. then, he drew another cigar from his case, lighted it, and resumed the study of the little note-book. it was past three o'clock when he went to his bedroom. chapter v a thief in the night how long the light had been darting about the room like a very much enlarged firefly, jimmy did not know. it seemed to him like hours, for it had woven itself into an incoherent waking dream of his; and for a moment, as the mists of sleep passed away from his brain, he fancied that he was dreaming still. then, sleep left him, and he realized that the light, which was now moving slowly across the bookcase, was a real light. that the man behind it could not have been there long was plain, or he would have seen the chair and its occupant. he seemed to be taking the room step by step. as jimmy sat up noiselessly and gripped the arms of the chair in readiness for a spring, the light passed from the bookcase to the table. another foot or so to the left, and it would have fallen on jimmy. from the position of the ray, jimmy could see that the burglar was approaching on his side of the table. though until that day he had not been in the room for two months, its geography was clearly stamped on his mind's eye. he knew almost to a foot where his visitor was standing. consequently, when, rising swiftly from the chair, he made a football dive into the darkness, it was no speculative dive. it had a conscious aim, and it was not restrained by any uncertainty as to whether the road to the burglar's knees was clear or not. his shoulder bumped into a human leg. his arms closed instantaneously on it, and pulled. there was a yelp of dismay, and a crash. the lantern bounced away across the room, and wrecked itself on the reef of the steam-heater. its owner collapsed in a heap on top of jimmy. jimmy, underneath at the fall, speedily put himself uppermost with a twist of his body. he had every advantage. the burglar was a small man, and had been taken very much by surprise, and any fight there might have been in him in normal circumstances had been shaken out of him by the fall. he lay still, not attempting to struggle. jimmy half-rose, and, pulling his prisoner by inches to the door, felt up the wall till he found the electric-light button. the yellow glow that flooded the room disclosed a short, stocky youth of obviously bowery extraction. a shock of vivid red hair was the first thing about him that caught the eye. a poet would have described it as titian. its proprietor's friends and acquaintances probably called it "carrots." looking up at jimmy from under this wealth of crimson was a not unpleasing face. it was not handsome, certainly; but there were suggestions of a latent good-humor. the nose had been broken at one period of its career, and one of the ears was undeniably of the cauliflower type; but these are little accidents which may happen to any high-spirited young gentleman. in costume, the visitor had evidently been guided rather by individual taste than by the dictates of fashion. his coat was of rusty black, his trousers of gray, picked out with stains of various colors. beneath the coat was a faded red-and-white sweater. a hat of soft felt lay on the floor by the table. the cut of the coat was poor, and the fit of it spoiled by a bulge in one of the pockets. diagnosing this bulge correctly, jimmy inserted his hand, and drew out a dingy revolver. "well?" he said, rising. like most people, he had often wondered what he should do if he were to meet a burglar; and he had always come to the conclusion that curiosity would be his chief emotion. his anticipations were proved perfectly correct. now that he had abstracted his visitor's gun, he had no wish to do anything but engage him in conversation. a burglar's life was something so entirely outside his experience! he wanted to learn the burglar's point of view. incidentally, he reflected with amusement, as he recalled his wager, he might pick up a few useful hints. the man on the floor sat up, and rubbed the back of his head ruefully. "gee!" he muttered. "i t'ought some guy had t'rown de buildin' at me." "it was only little me," said jimmy. "sorry if i hurt you at all. you really want a mat for that sort of thing." the man's hand went furtively to his pocket. then, his eye caught sight of the revolver, which jimmy had placed on the table. with a sudden dash, he seized it. "now, den, boss!" he said, between his teeth. jimmy extended his hand, and unclasped it. six shells lay in the palm. "why worry?" he said. "sit down and let us talk of life." "it's a fair cop, boss," said the man, resignedly. "away with melancholy," said jimmy. "i'm not going to call the police. you can beat it whenever you like." the man stared. "i mean it," said jimmy. "what's the trouble? i've no grievance. i wish, though, if you haven't any important engagement, you would stop and talk awhile first." a broad grin spread itself across the other's face. there was something singularly engaging about him when he grinned. "gee! if youse ain't goin' to call de cops, i'll talk till de chickens roost ag'in." "talking, however," said jimmy, "is dry work. are you by any chance on the wagon?" "what's dat? me? on your way, boss!" "then, you'll find a pretty decent whiskey in that decanter. help yourself. i think you'll like it." a musical gurgling, followed by a contented sigh, showed that the statement had been tested and proved correct. "cigar?" asked jimmy. "me fer dat," assented his visitor. "take a handful." "i eats dem alive," said the marauder jovially, gathering in the spoils. jimmy crossed his legs. "by the way," he said, "let there be no secrets between us. what's your name? mine is pitt. james willoughby pitt." "mullins is my monaker, boss. spike, dey calls me." "and you make a living at this sort of thing?" "not so woise." "how did you get in here?" spike mullins grinned. "gee! ain't de window open?" "if it hadn't been?" "i'd a' busted it." jimmy eyed the fellow fixedly. "can you use an oxy-acetylene blow-pipe?" he demanded. spike was on the point of drinking. he lowered his glass, and gaped. "what's dat?" he said. "an oxy-acetylene blow-pipe." "search me," said spike, blankly. "dat gets past me." jimmy's manner grew more severe. "can you make soup?" "soup, boss?" "he doesn't know what soup is," said jimmy, despairingly. "my good man, i'm afraid you have missed your vocation. you have no business to be trying to burgle. you don't know the first thing about the game." spike was regarding the speaker with disquiet over his glass. till now, the red-haired one had been very well satisfied with his methods, but criticism was beginning to sap his nerve. he had heard tales of masters of his craft who made use of fearsome implements such as jimmy had mentioned; burglars who had an airy acquaintanceship, bordering on insolent familiarity, with the marvels of science; men to whom the latest inventions were as familiar as his own jemmy was to himself. could this be one of that select band? his host began to take on a new aspect in his eyes. "spike," said jimmy. "huh?" "have you a thorough knowledge of chemistry, physics--" "on your way, boss!" "--toxicology--" "search me!" "--electricity and microscopy?" "... nine, ten. dat's de finish. i'm down an' out." jimmy shook his head, sadly. "give up burglary," he said. "it's not in your line. better try poultry-farming." spike twiddled his glass, abashed. "now, i," said jimmy airily, "am thinking of breaking into a house to-night." "gee!" exclaimed spike, his suspicions confirmed at last. "i t'ought youse was in de game, boss. sure, you're de guy dat's onto all de curves. i t'ought so all along." "i should like to hear," said jimmy amusedly, as one who draws out an intelligent child, "how you would set about burgling one of those up-town villas. my own work has been on a somewhat larger scale and on the other side of the atlantic." "de odder side?" "i have done as much in london, as anywhere else," said jimmy. "a great town, london, full of opportunities for the fine worker. did you hear of the cracking of the new asiatic bank in lombard street?" "no, boss," whispered spike. "was dat you?" jimmy laughed. "the police would like an answer to the same question," he said, self-consciously. "perhaps, you heard nothing of the disappearance of the duchess of havant's diamonds?" "wasdat--?" "the thief," said jimmy, flicking a speck of dust from his coat sleeve, "was discovered to have used an oxy-acetylene blow-pipe." the rapturous intake of spike's breath was the only sound that broke the silence. through the smoke, his eyes could be seen slowly widening. "but about this villa," said jimmy. "i am always interested even in the humblest sides of the profession. now, tell me, supposing you were going to break into a villa, what time of night would you do it?" "i always t'inks it's best either late like dis or when de folks is in at supper," said spike, respectfully. jimmy smiled a faint, patronizing smile, and nodded. "well, and what would you do?" "i'd rubber around some to see isn't dere a window open somewheres," said spike, diffidently. "and if there wasn't?" "i'd climb up de porch an' into one of de bedrooms," said spike, almost blushing. he felt like a boy reading his first attempts at original poetry to an established critic. what would this master cracksman, this polished wielder of the oxy-acetylene blow-pipe, this expert in toxicology, microscopy and physics think of his callow outpourings! "how would you get into the bedroom?" spike hung his head. "bust de catch wit' me jemmy," he whispered, shamefacedly. "burst the catch with your jemmy?" "it's de only way i ever learned," pleaded spike. the expert was silent. he seemed to be thinking. the other watched his face, humbly. "how would youse do it, boss?" he ventured timidly, at last. "eh?" "how would youse do it?" "why, i'm not sure," said the master, graciously, "whether your way might not do in a case like that. it's crude, of course, but with a few changes it would do." "gee, boss! is dat right?" queried the astonished disciple. "it would do," said the master, frowning thoughtfully; "it would do quite well--quite well!" spike drew a deep breath of joy and astonishment. that his methods should meet with approval from such a mind...! "gee!" he whispered--as who would say, "i and napoleon." chapter vi an exhibition performance cold reason may disapprove of wagers, but without a doubt there is something joyous and lovable in the type of mind that rushes at the least provocation into the making of them, something smacking of the spacious days of the regency. nowadays, the spirit seems to have deserted england. when mr. asquith became premier of great britain, no earnest forms were to be observed rolling peanuts along the strand with a toothpick. when mr. asquith is dethroned, it is improbable that any briton will allow his beard to remain unshaved until the liberal party returns to office. it is in the united states that the wager has found a home. it is characteristic of some minds to dash into a wager with the fearlessness of a soldier in a forlorn hope, and, once in, to regard it almost as a sacred trust. some men never grow up out of the schoolboy spirit of "daring." to this class jimmy pitt belonged. he was of the same type as the man in the comic opera who proposed to the lady because somebody bet him he wouldn't. there had never been a time when a challenge, a "dare," had not acted as a spur to him. in his newspaper days, life had been one long series of challenges. they had been the essence of the business. a story had not been worth getting unless the getting were difficult. with the conclusion of his newspaper life came a certain flatness into the scheme of things. there were times, many times, when jimmy was bored. he hungered for excitement, and life appeared to have so little to offer! the path of the rich man was so smooth, and it seemed to lead nowhere! this task of burgling a house was like an unexpected treat to a child. with an intensity of purpose that should have touched his sense of humor, but, as a matter of fact, did not appeal to him as ludicrous in any way, he addressed himself to the work. the truth was that jimmy was one of those men who are charged to the brim with force. somehow, the force had to find an outlet. if he had undertaken to collect birds' eggs, he would have set about it with the same tense energy. spike was sitting on the edge of his chair, dazed but happy, his head still buzzing from the unhoped-for praise. jimmy looked at his watch. it was nearly three o'clock. a sudden idea struck him. the gods had provided gifts: why not take them? "spike!" "huh?" "would you care to come and crack a crib with me, now?" reverential awe was written on the red-haired one's face. "gee, boss!" "would you?" "surest t'ing you know, boss." "or, rather," proceeded jimmy, "would you care to crack a crib while i came along with you? strictly speaking, i am here on a vacation, but a trifle like this isn't real work. it's this way," he explained. "i've taken a fancy to you, spike, and i don't like to see you wasting your time on coarse work. you have the root of the matter in you, and with a little coaching i could put a polish on you. i wouldn't do this for everyone, but i hate to see a man bungling who might do better! i want to see you at work. come right along, and we'll go up-town, and you shall start in. don't get nervous. just work as you would if i were not there. i shall not expect too much. rome was not built in a day. when we are through, i will criticize a few of your mistakes. how does that suit you?" "gee, boss! great! an' i know where dere's a peach of a place, boss. regular soft proposition. a friend of mine told me. it's--" "very well, then. one moment, though." he went to the telephone. before he had left new york on his travels, arthur mifflin had been living at a hotel near washington square. it was probable that he was still there. he called up the number. the night-clerk was an old acquaintance of his. "hello, dixon," said jimmy, "is that you? i'm pitt--pitt! yes, i'm back. how did you guess? yes, very pleasant. has mr. mifflin come in yet? gone to bed? never mind, call him up, will you? good." presently, the sleepy and outraged voice of mr. mifflin spoke at the other end of the line. "what's wrong? who the devil's that?" "my dear arthur! where you pick up such expressions i can't think--not from me." "is that you, jimmy? what in the name of--!" "heavens! what are you kicking about? the night's yet young. arthur, touching that little arrangement we made--cracking that crib, you know. are you listening? have you any objection to my taking an assistant along with me? i don't want to do anything contrary to our agreement, but there's a young fellow here who's anxious that i should let him come along and pick up a few hints. he's a professional all right. not in our class, of course, but quite a fair rough workman. he--arthur! arthur! these are harsh words! then, am i to understand you have no objection? very well. only, don't say later on that i didn't play fair. good-night." he hung up the receiver, and turned to spike. "ready?" "ain't youse goin' to put on your gum-shoes, boss?" jimmy frowned reflectively, as if there was something in what this novice suggested. he went into the bedroom, and returned wearing a pair of thin patent-leather shoes. spike coughed tentatively. "won't youse need your gun?" he hazarded. jimmy gave a short laugh. "i work with brains, not guns," he said. "let us be going." there was a taxi-cab near by, as there always is in new york. jimmy pushed spike in, and they drove off. to jimmy, new york stopped somewhere about seventy-second street. anything beyond that was getting on for the middle west, and seemed admirably suited as a field for the cracksman. he had a vague idea of up-town as a remote, desolate district, badly lighted--if lighted at all--and sparsely dotted with sleepy policemen. the luxury of riding in a taxi-cab kept spike dumb for several miles. having arrived at what seemed a sufficiently remote part of america, jimmy paid the driver, who took the money with that magnificently aloof air which characterizes the taxi-chauffeur. a lesser man might have displayed some curiosity about the ill-matched pair. the chauffeur, having lighted a cigarette, drove off without any display of interest whatsoever. it might have been part of his ordinary duties to drive gentlemen in evening clothes and shock-headed youths in parti-colored sweaters about the city at three o'clock in the morning. "we will now," said jimmy, "stroll on and prospect. it is up to you, spike. didn't you say something about knowing a suitable house somewhere? are we anywhere near it?" spike looked at the number of the street. "we got some way to go, boss," he said. "i wisht youse hadn't sent away de cab." "did you think we were going to drive up to the door? pull yourself together, my dear man." they walked on, striking eastward out of broadway. it caused jimmy some surprise to find that the much-enduring thoroughfare extended as far as this. it had never occurred to him before to ascertain what broadway did with itself beyond times square. it was darker now that they had moved from the center of things, but it was still far too light for jimmy's tastes. he was content, however, to leave matters entirely to his companion. spike probably had his methods for evading publicity on these occasions. spike plodded on. block after block he passed, until finally the houses began to be more scattered. at last, he halted before a fair-sized detached house. "dis is de place," he said. "a friend of mine tells me of it. i didn't know he was me friend, dough, before he puts me wise about dis joint. i t'ought he'd got it in fer me 'cos of last week when i scrapped wit' him about somet'in'. i t'ought after that he was layin' fer me, but de next time he seen me he put me wise to dis place." "coals of fire," said jimmy. "he was of a forgiving disposition." a single rain-drop descended on the nape of his neck. in another moment, a smart shower had begun. "this matter has passed out of our hands," said jimmy. "we must break in, if only to get shelter. get busy, my lad." there was a handy window only a few feet from the ground. spike pulled from his pocket a small bottle. "what's that?" inquired jimmy. "molasses, boss," said spike, deferentially. he poured the contents of the bottle on a piece of paper, which he pressed firmly against the window-pane. then, drawing out a short steel instrument, he gave the paper a sharp tap. the glass broke almost inaudibly. the paper came away, leaving a gap in the pane. spike inserted his hand, shot back the catch, and softly pushed up the window. "elementary," said jimmy; "elementary, but quite neat." there was now a shutter to be negotiated. this took longer, but in the end spike's persuasive methods prevailed. jimmy became quite cordial. "you have been well-grounded, spike," he said. "and, after all, that is half the battle. the advice i give to every novice is, 'learn to walk before you try to run.' master the a, b, c, of the craft first. with a little careful coaching, you will do. just so. pop in." spike climbed cautiously over the sill, followed by jimmy. the latter struck a match, and found the electric light switch. they were in a parlor, furnished and decorated with surprising taste. jimmy had expected the usual hideousness, but here everything from the wall-paper to the smallest ornaments was wonderfully well selected. business, however, was business. this was no time to stand admiring artistic effects in room-furnishing. there was that big j to be carved on the front door. if 'twere done, then 'twere well 'twere done quickly. he was just moving to the door, when from some distant part of the house came the bark of a dog. another joined in. the solo became a duet. the air was filled with their clamor. "gee!" cried spike. the remark seemed more or less to sum up the situation. "'tis sweet," says byron, "to hear the watch-dog's honest bark." jimmy and spike found two watch-dogs' honest barks cloying. spike intimated this by making a feverish dash for the open window. unfortunately for the success of this maneuver, the floor of the room was covered not with a carpet but with tastefully scattered rugs, and underneath these rugs it was very highly polished. spike, treading on one of these islands, was instantly undone. no power of will or muscle can save a man in such a case. spike skidded. his feet flew from under him. there was a momentary flash of red head, as of a passing meteor. the next moment, he had fallen on his back with a thud that shook the house. even in the crisis, the thought flashed across jimmy's mind that this was not spike's lucky night. upstairs, the efforts of the canine choir had begun to resemble the "a che la morte" duet in "il trovatore." particularly good work was being done by the baritone dog. spike sat up, groaning. equipped though he was by nature with a skull of the purest and most solid ivory, the fall had disconcerted him. his eyes, like those of shakespeare's poet, rolling in a fine frenzy, did glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. he passed his fingers tenderly through his vermilion hair. heavy footsteps were descending the stairs. in the distance, the soprano dog had reached a in alt., and was holding it, while his fellow artiste executed runs in the lower register. "get up!" hissed jimmy. "there's somebody coming! get up, you idiot, can't you!" it was characteristic of jimmy that it never even occurred to him to desert the fallen one, and depart alone. spike was his brother-in-arms. he would as soon have thought of deserting him as a sea-captain would of abandoning the ship. consequently, as spike, despite all exhortations, continued to remain on the floor, rubbing his head and uttering "gee!" at intervals in a melancholy voice, jimmy resigned himself to fate, and stood where he was, waiting for the door to open. it opened the next moment as if a cyclone had been behind it. chapter vii getting acquainted a cyclone, entering a room, is apt to alter the position of things. this cyclone shifted a footstool, a small chair, a rug, and spike. the chair, struck by a massive boot, whirled against the wall. the foot-stool rolled away. the rug crumpled up and slid. spike, with a yell, leaped to his feet, slipped again, fell, and finally compromised on an all-fours position, in which attitude he remained, blinking. while these stirring acts were in progress, there was the sound of a door opening upstairs, followed by a scuttering of feet and an appalling increase in the canine contribution to the current noises. the duet had now taken on quite a wagnerian effect. there raced into the room first a white bull-terrier, he of the soprano voice, and--a bad second--his fellow artiste, the baritone, a massive bull-dog, bearing a striking resemblance to the big man with the big lower jaw whose entrance had started the cyclone. and, then, in theatrical parlance, the entire company "held the picture." up-stage, with his hand still on the door, stood the man with the jaw; downstage, jimmy; center, spike and the bull-dog, their noses a couple of inches apart, inspected each other with mutual disfavor. on the extreme o. p. side, the bull-terrier, who had fallen foul of a wicker-work table, was crouching with extended tongue and rolling eyes, waiting for the next move. the householder looked at jimmy. jimmy looked at the householder. spike and the bull-dog looked at each other. the bull-terrier distributed his gaze impartially around the company. "a typical scene of quiet american home-life," murmured jimmy. the householder glowered. "hands up, you devils!" he roared, pointing a mammoth revolver. the two marauders humored his whim. "let me explain," said jimmy pacifically, shuffling warily around in order to face the bull-terrier, who was now strolling in his direction with an ill-assumed carelessness. "keep still, you blackguard!" jimmy kept still. the bull-terrier, with the same abstracted air, was beginning a casual inspection of his right trouser-leg. relations between spike and the bull-dog, meanwhile, had become more strained. the sudden flinging up of the former's arms had had the worst effects on the animal's nerves. spike, the croucher on all-fours, he might have tolerated; but spike, the semaphore, inspired him with thoughts of battle. he was growling in a moody, reflective manner. his eye was full of purpose. it was probably this that caused spike to look at the householder. till then, he had been too busy to shift his gaze, but now the bull-dog's eye had become so unpleasing that he cast a pathetic glance up at the man by the door. "gee!" he cried. "it's de boss. say, boss, call off de dawg. it's sure goin' to nip de hull head off'n me." the other lowered the revolver in surprise. "so, it's you, you limb of satan!" he remarked. "i thought i had seen that damned red head of yours before. what are you doing in my house?" spike uttered a howl in which indignation and self-pity were nicely blended. "i'll lay for that swede!" he cried. "i'll soak it to him good! boss, i've had a raw deal. on de level, i has. dey's a feller i know, a fat swede--ole larsen his monaker is--an' dis feller an' me started in scrapping last week, an' i puts it all over him, so he had it in for me. but he comes up to me, like as if he's meanin' to be good, an' he says he's got a soft proposition fer me if i'll give him half. so, i says all right, where is it? an' he gives me de number of dis house, an' says dis is where a widder-lady lives all alone, an' has got silver mugs and t'ings to boin, an' dat she's away down sout', so dere ain't nobody in de house. gee! i'll soak it to dat swede! it was a raw deal, boss. he was just hopin' to put me in bad wit' you. dat's how it was, boss. honest!" the big man listened to this sad story of grecian gifts in silence. not so the bull-dog, which growled from start to finish. spike eyed it uneasily. "won't you call off de dawg, boss?" he said. the other stooped, and grasped the animal's collar, jerking him away. "the same treatment," suggested jimmy with approval, "would also do a world of good to this playful and affectionate animal--unless he is a vegetarian. in which case, don't bother." the big man glowered at him. "who are you?" he demanded. "my name," began jimmy, "is--" "say," said spike, "he's a champion burglar, boss--" the householder shut the door. "eh?" he said. "he's a champion burglar from de odder side. he sure is. from lunnon. gee, he's de guy! tell him about de bank you opened, an' de jools you swiped from de duchess, an' de what-d'ye-call-it blow-pipe." it seemed to jimmy that spike was showing a certain want of tact. when you are discovered by a householder--with revolver--in his parlor at half-past three in the morning, it is surely an injudicious move to lay stress on your proficiency as a burglar. the householder may be supposed to take that for granted. the side of your character that should be advertised in such a crisis is the non-burglarious. allusion should be made to the fact that, as a child, you attended sunday school regularly, and to what the minister said when you took the divinity prize. the idea should be conveyed to the householder's mind that, if let off with a caution, your innate goodness of heart will lead you to reform and to avoid such scenes in future. with some astonishment, therefore, jimmy found that these revelations, so far from prejudicing the man with the revolver against him, had apparently told in his favor. the man behind the gun was regarding him rather with interest than disapproval. "so, you're a crook from london, are you?" jimmy did not hesitate. if being a crook from london was a passport into citizens' parlors in the small hours, and, more particularly, if it carried with it also a safe-conduct out of them, jimmy was not the man to refuse the role. he bowed. "well, you'll have to come across, now you're in new york. understand that! and come across good." "sure, he will," said spike, charmed that the tension had been relieved, and matters placed upon a pleasant and business-like footing. "he'll be good. he's next to de game, sure." "sure," echoed jimmy, courteously. he did not understand; but things seemed to be taking a turn for the better, so why disturb the harmony? "dis gent," said spike respectfully, "is boss of de cops. a police-captain," he corrected himself. a light broke upon jimmy's darkness. he wondered he had not understood before. he had not been a newspaper-man in new york for a year without finding out something of the inner workings of the police force. he saw now why the other's manner had changed. "pleased to meet you," he said. "we must have a talk together one of these days." "we must," said the police-captain, significantly. he was rich, richer than he had ever hoped to be; but he was still on tom tiddler's ground, and meant to make the most of it. "of course, i don't know your methods on this side, but anything that's usual--" "i'll see you at my office. spike mullins will show you where it is." "very well. you must forgive this preliminary informal call. we came in more to shelter from the rain than anything." "you did, did you?" jimmy felt that it behooved him to stand on his dignity. the situation demanded it. "why," he said with some hauteur, "in the ordinary course of business i should hardly waste time over a small crib like--" "it's banks fer his," murmured spike, rapturously. "he eats dem alive. an' jools from duchesses." "i admit a partiality for jewels and duchesses," said jimmy. "and, now, as it's a little late, perhaps we had better--ready, spike? good-night, then. pleased to have met you." "i'll see you at my office." "i may possibly look in. i shall be doing very little work in new york, i fancy. i am here merely on a vacation." "if you do any work at all," said the policeman coldly, "you'll look in at my office, or you'll wish you had when it's too late." "of course, of course. i shouldn't dream of omitting any formality that may be usual. but i don't fancy i shall break my vacation. by the way, one little thing. have you any objections to my carving a j on your front-door?" the policeman stared. "on the inside. it won't show. it's just a whim of mine. if you have no objection?" "i don't want any of your--" began the policeman. "you misunderstand me. it's only that it means paying for a dinner. i wouldn't for the world--" the policeman pointed to the window. "out you get," he said, abruptly. "i've had enough of you. and don't you forget to come to my office." spike, still deeply mistrustful of the bull-dog rastus, jumped at the invitation. he was through the window and out of sight in the friendly darkness almost before the policeman had finished speaking. jimmy remained. "i shall be delighted--" he had begun. then, he stopped. in the doorway was standing a girl--a girl whom he recognized. her startled look told him that she, too, had recognized him. not for the first time since he had set out from his flat that night in spike's company, jimmy was conscious of a sense of the unreality of things. it was all so exactly as it would have happened in a dream! he had gone to sleep thinking of this girl, and here she was. but a glance at the man with the revolver brought him back to earth. there was nothing of the dream-world about the police-captain. that gentleman, whose back was toward the door, had not observed the addition to the company. molly had turned the handle quietly, and her slippered feet made no sound. it was the amazed expression on jimmy's face that caused the captain to look toward the door. "molly!" the girl smiled, though her face was white. jimmy's evening clothes had reassured her. she did not understand how he came to be there, but evidently there was nothing wrong. she had interrupted a conversation, not a conflict. "i heard the noise and you going downstairs, and i sent the dogs down to help you, father," she said. "and, then, after a little, i came down to see if you were all right." mr. mceachern was perplexed. molly's arrival had put him in an awkward position. to denounce the visitor as a cracksman was now impossible, for he knew too much. the only real fear of the policeman's life was lest some word of his money-making methods might come to his daughter's ears. quite a brilliant idea came to him. "a man broke in, my dear," he said. "this gentleman was passing, and saw him." "distinctly," said jimmy. "an ugly-looking customer!" "but he slipped out of the window, and got away," concluded the policeman. "he was very quick," said jimmy. "i think he may have been a professional acrobat." "he didn't hurt you, father?" "no, no, my dear." "perhaps i frightened him," said jimmy, airily. mr. mceachern scowled furtively at him. "we mustn't detain you, mr.-" "pitt," said jimmy. "my name is pitt." he turned to molly. "i hope you enjoyed the voyage." the policeman started. "you know my daughter?" "by sight only, i'm afraid. we were fellow-passengers on the lusitania. unfortunately, i was in the second-cabin. i used to see your daughter walking the deck sometimes." molly smiled. "i remember seeing you--sometimes." mceachern burst out. "then, you--!" he stopped, and looked at molly. the girl was bending over rastus, tickling him under the ear. "let me show you the way out, mr. pitt," said the policeman, shortly. his manner was abrupt, but when one is speaking to a man whom one would dearly love to throw out of the window, abruptness is almost unavoidable. "perhaps i should be going," said jimmy. "good-night, mr. pitt," said molly. "i hope we shall meet again," said jimmy. "this way, mr. pitt," growled mceachern, holding the door. "please don't trouble," said jimmy. he went to the window, and, flinging his leg over the sill, dropped noiselessly to the ground. he turned and put his head in at the window again. "i did that rather well," he said, pleasantly. "i think i must take up this--sort of thing as a profession. good-night." chapter viii at dreever in the days before he began to expend his surplus energy in playing rugby football, the welshman was accustomed, whenever the monotony of his everyday life began to oppress him, to collect a few friends and make raids across the border into england, to the huge discomfort of the dwellers on the other side. it was to cope with this habit that dreever castle, in the county of shropshire, came into existence. it met a long-felt want. in time of trouble, it became a haven of refuge. from all sides, people poured into it, emerging cautiously when the marauders had disappeared. in the whole history of the castle, there is but one instance recorded of a bandit attempting to take the place by storm, and the attack was an emphatic failure. on receipt of a ladleful of molten lead, aimed to a nicety by one john, the chaplain (evidently one of those sporting parsons), this warrior retired, done to a turn, to his mountain fastnesses, and was never heard of again. he would seem, however, to have passed the word around among his friends, for subsequent raiding parties studiously avoided the castle, and a peasant who had succeeded in crossing its threshold was for the future considered to be "home" and out of the game. such was the dreever of old. in later days, the welshman having calmed down considerably, it had lost its militant character. the old walls still stood, gray, menacing and unchanged, but they were the only link with the past. the castle was now a very comfortable country-house, nominally ruled over by hildebrand spencer poynt de burgh john hannasyde coombe-crombie, twelfth earl of dreever ("spennie" to his relatives and intimates), a light-haired young gentleman of twenty-four, but in reality the possession of his uncle and aunt, sir thomas and lady julia blunt. lord dreever's position was one of some embarrassment. at no point in their history had the dreevers been what one might call a parsimonious family. if a chance presented itself of losing money in a particularly wild and futile manner, the dreever of the period had invariably sprung at it with the vim of an energetic blood-hound. the south sea bubble absorbed two hundred thousand pounds of good dreever money, and the remainder of the family fortune was squandered to the ultimate penny by the sportive gentleman who held the title in the days of the regency, when watier's and the cocoa tree were in their prime, and fortunes had a habit of disappearing in a single evening. when spennie became earl of dreever, there was about one dollar and thirty cents in the family coffers. this is the point at which sir thomas blunt breaks into dreever history. sir thomas was a small, pink, fussy, obstinate man with a genius for trade and the ambition of an alexander the great; probably one of the finest and most complete specimens of the came-over-waterloo-bridge-with-half-a crown-in-my-pocket-and-now-look-at-me class of millionaires in existence. he had started almost literally with nothing. by carefully excluding from his mind every thought except that of making money, he had risen in the world with a gruesome persistence which nothing could check. at the age of fifty-one, he was chairman of blunt's stores, l't'd, a member of parliament (silent as a wax figure, but a great comfort to the party by virtue of liberal contributions to its funds), and a knight. this was good, but he aimed still higher; and, meeting spennie's aunt, lady julia coombe-crombie, just at the moment when, financially, the dreevers were at their lowest ebb, he had effected a very satisfactory deal by marrying her, thereby becoming, as one might say, chairman of dreever, l't'd. until spennie should marry money, an act on which his chairman vehemently insisted, sir thomas held the purse, and except in minor matters ordered by his wife, of whom he stood in uneasy awe, had things entirely his own way. one afternoon, a little over a year after the events recorded in the preceding chapter, sir thomas was in his private room, looking out of the window, from which the view was very beautiful. the castle stood on a hill, the lower portion of which, between the house and the lake, had been cut into broad terraces. the lake itself and its island with the little boat-house in the center gave a glimpse of fairyland. but it was not altogether the beauty of the view that had drawn sir thomas to the window. he was looking at it chiefly because the position enabled him to avoid his wife's eye; and just at the moment he was rather anxious to avoid his wife's eye. a somewhat stormy board-meeting was in progress, and lady julia, who constituted the board of directors, had been heckling the chairman. the point under discussion was one of etiquette, and in matters of etiquette sir thomas felt himself at a disadvantage. "i tell you, my dear," he said to the window, "i am not easy in my mind." "nonsense," snapped lady julia; "absurd--ridiculous!" lady julia blunt, when conversing, resembled a maxim gun more than anything else. "but your diamonds, my dear." "we can take care of them." "but why should we have the trouble? now, if we--" "it's no trouble." "when we were married, there was a detective--" "don't be childish, thomas. detectives at weddings are quite customary." "but--" "bah!" "i paid twenty thousand pounds for that rope of diamonds," said sir thomas, obstinately. switch things upon a cash basis, and he was more at ease. "may i ask if you suspect any of our guests of being criminals?" inquired lady julia, with a glance of chill disdain. sir thomas looked out of the window. at the moment, the sternest censor could have found nothing to cavil at in the movements of such of the house-party as were in sight. some were playing tennis, some clock-golf, and others were smoking. "why, no," he admitted. "of course. absurd--quite absurd!" "but the servants. we have engaged a number of new servants lately." "with excellent recommendations." sir thomas was on the point of suggesting that the recommendations might be forged, but his courage failed him. julia was sometimes so abrupt in these little discussions! she did not enter into his point of view. he was always a trifle inclined to treat the castle as a branch of blunt's stores. as proprietor of the stores, he had made a point of suspecting everybody, and the results had been excellent. in blunt's stores, you could hardly move in any direction without bumping into a gentlemanly detective, efficiently disguised. for the life of him, sir thomas could not see why the same principle should not obtain at dreever. guests at a country house do not as a rule steal their host's possessions, but then it is only an occasional customer at a store who goes in for shop-lifting. it was the principle of the thing, he thought: be prepared against every emergency. with sir thomas blunt, suspiciousness was almost a mania. he was forced to admit that the chances were against any of his guests exhibiting larcenous tendencies, but, as for the servants, he thoroughly mistrusted them all, except saunders, the butler. it had seemed to him the merest prudence that a detective from a private inquiry agency should be installed at the castle while the house was full. somewhat rashly, he had mentioned this to his wife, and lady julia's critique of the scheme had been terse and unflattering. "i suppose," said lady julia sarcastically, "you will jump to the conclusion that this man whom spennie is bringing down with him to-day is a criminal of some sort?" "eh? is spennie bringing a friend?" there was not a great deal of enthusiasm in sir thomas's voice. his nephew was not a young man whom he respected very highly. spennie regarded his uncle with nervous apprehension, as one who would deal with his short-comings with vigor and severity. sir thomas, for his part, looked on spennie as a youth who would get into mischief unless under his uncle's eye. "i had a telegram from him just now," lady julia explained. "who is his friend?" "he doesn't say. he just says he's a man he met in london." "h'm!" "and what does, 'h'm!' mean?" demanded lady julia. "a man can pick up strange people in london," said sir thomas, judicially. "nonsense!" "just as you say, my dear." lady julia rose. "as for what you suggest about the detective, it is of course absolutely absurd." "quite so, my dear." "you mustn't think of it." "just as you say, my dear." lady julia left the room. what followed may afford some slight clue to the secret of sir thomas blunt's rise in the world. it certainly suggests singleness of purpose, which is one of the essentials of success. no sooner had the door closed behind lady julia than he went to his writing-table, took pen and paper, and wrote the following letter: to the manager, wragge's detective agency. holborn bars, london e. c. sir: with reference to my last of the th, ult., i should be glad if you would send down immediately one of your best men. am making arrangements to receive him. kindly instruct him to present himself at dreever castle as applicant for position of valet to myself. i will see and engage him on his arrival, and further instruct him in his duties. yours faithfully, thos. blunt. p. s. i shall expect him to-morrow evening. there is a good train leaving paddington at : . sir thomas read this over, put in a comma, then placed it in an envelope, and lighted a cigar with the air of one who can be checked, yes, but vanquished, never. chapter ix friends, new and old on the night of the day on which sir thomas blunt wrote and dispatched his letter to wragge's detective agency, jimmy pitt chanced to stop at the savoy. if you have the money and the clothes, and do not object to being turned out into the night just as you are beginning to enjoy yourself, there are few things pleasanter than supper at the savoy hotel, london. but, as jimmy sat there, eying the multitude through the smoke of his cigarette, he felt, despite all the brightness and glitter, that this was a flat world, and that he was very much alone in it. a little over a year had passed since the merry evening at police-captain mceachern's. during that time, he had covered a good deal of new ground. his restlessness had reasserted itself. somebody had mentioned morocco in his hearing, and a fortnight later he was in fez. of the principals in that night's drama, he had seen nothing more. it was only when, after walking home on air, rejoicing over the strange chance that had led to his finding and having speech with the lady of the lusitania, he had reached fifty-ninth street, that he realized how he had also lost her. it suddenly came home to him that not only did he not know her address, but he was ignorant of her name. spike had called the man with the revolver "boss" throughout--only that and nothing more. except that he was a police-captain, jimmy knew as little about the man as he had before their meeting. and spike, who held the key to the mystery, had vanished. his acquaintances of that night had passed out of his life like figures in a waking dream. as far as the big man with the pistol was concerned, this did not distress him. he had known that massive person only for about a quarter of an hour, but to his thinking that was ample. spike he would have liked to meet again, but he bore the separation with much fortitude. there remained the girl of the ship; and she had haunted him with unfailing persistence during every one of the three hundred and eighty-four days that had passed since their meeting. it was the thought of her that had made new york seem cramped. for weeks, jimmy had patrolled the likely streets, the park, and riverside drive, in the hope of meeting her. he had gone to the theaters and restaurants, but with no success. sometimes, he had wandered through the bowery, on the chance of meeting spike. he had seen red heads in profusion, but never again that of his young disciple in the art of burglary. in the end, he had wearied of the other friends of the strollers, had gone out again on his wanderings. he was greatly missed, especially by that large section of his circle which was in a perpetual state of wanting a little to see it through till saturday. for years, jimmy had been to these unfortunates a human bank on which they could draw at will. it offended them that one of those rare natures which are always good for two dollars at any hour of the day should be allowed to waste itself on places like morocco and spain--especially morocco, where, by all accounts, there were brigands with almost a new york sense of touch. they argued earnestly with jimmy. they spoke of raisuli and kaid maclean. but jimmy was not to be stopped. the gad-fly was vexing him, and he had to move. for a year, he had wandered, realizing every day the truth of horace's philosophy for those who travel, that a man cannot change his feelings with his climate, until finally he had found himself, as every wanderer does, at charing cross. at this point, he had tried to rally. such running away, he told himself, was futile. he would stand still and fight the fever in him. he had been fighting it now for a matter of two weeks, and already he was contemplating retreat. a man at luncheon had been talking about japan-- watching the crowd, jimmy had found his attention attracted chiefly by a party of three, a few tables away. the party consisted of a girl, rather pretty, a lady of middle age and stately demeanor, plainly her mother, and a light-haired, weedy young man in the twenties. it had been the almost incessant prattle of this youth and the peculiarly high-pitched, gurgling laugh which shot from him at short intervals that had drawn jimmy's notice upon them. and it was the curious cessation of both prattle and laugh that now made him look again in their direction. the young man faced jimmy; and jimmy, looking at him, could see that all was not well with him. he was pale. he talked at random. a slight perspiration was noticeable on his forehead. jimmy caught his eye. there was a hunted look in it. given the time and the place, there were only two things that could have caused this look. either the light-haired young man had seen a ghost, or he had suddenly realized that he had not enough money to pay the check. jimmy's heart went out to the sufferer. he took a card from his case, scribbled the words, "can i help?" on it, and gave it to a waiter to take to the young man, who was now in a state bordering on collapse. the next moment, the light-haired one was at his table, talking in a feverish whisper. "i say," he said, "it's frightfully good of you, old chap! it's frightfully awkward. i've come out with too little money. i hardly like to--you've never seen me before--" "don't rub in my misfortunes," pleaded jimmy. "it wasn't my fault." he placed a five-pound note on the table. "say when," he said, producing another. "i say, thanks fearfully," the young man said. "i don't know what i'd have done." he grabbed at the note. "i'll let you have it back to-morrow. here's my card. is your address on your card? i can't remember. oh, by jove, i've got it in my hand all the time." the gurgling laugh came into action again, freshened and strengthened by its rest. "savoy mansions, eh? i'll come round to-morrow. thanks frightfully again, old chap. i don't know what i should have done." "it's been a treat," said jimmy, deprecatingly. the young man flitted back to his table, bearing the spoil. jimmy looked at the card he had left. "lord dreever," it read, and in the corner the name of a well-known club. the name dreever was familiar to jimmy. everyone knew of dreever castle, partly because it was one of the oldest houses in england, but principally because for centuries it had been advertised by a particularly gruesome ghost-story. everyone had heard of the secret of dreever, which was known only to the earl and the family lawyer, and confided to the heir at midnight on his twenty-first birthday. jimmy had come across the story in corners of the papers all over the states, from new york to onehorseville, iowa. he looked with interest at the light-haired young man, the latest depository of the awful secret. it was popularly supposed that the heir, after hearing it, never smiled again; but it did not seem to have affected the present lord dreever to any great extent. his gurgling laugh was drowning the orchestra. probably, jimmy thought, when the family lawyer had told the light-haired young man the secret, the latter's comment had been, "no, really? by jove, i say, you know!" jimmy paid his bill, and got up to go. it was a perfect summer night--too perfect for bed. jimmy strolled on to the embankment, and stood leaning over the balustrade, looking across the river at the vague, mysterious mass of buildings on the surrey side. he must have been standing there for some time, his thoughts far away, when a voice spoke at his elbow. "i say. excuse me, have you--hullo!" it was his light-haired lordship of dreever. "i say, by jove, why we're always meeting!" a tramp on a bench close by stirred uneasily in his sleep as the gurgling laugh rippled the air. "been looking at the water?" inquired lord dreever. "i have. i often do. don't you think it sort of makes a chap feel--oh, you know. sort of--i don't know how to put it." "mushy?" said jimmy. "i was going to say poetical. suppose there's a girl--" he paused, and looked down at the water. jimmy was sympathetic with this mood of contemplation, for in his case, too, there was a girl. "i saw my party off in a taxi," continued lord dreever, "and came down here for a smoke; only, i hadn't a match. have you--?" jimmy handed over his match-box. lord dreever lighted a cigar, and fixed his gaze once more on the river. "ripping it looks," he said. jimmy nodded. "funny thing," said lord dreever. "in the daytime, the water here looks all muddy and beastly. damn' depressing, i call it. but at night--" he paused. "i say," he went on after a moment, "did you see the girl i was with at the savoy?" "yes," said jimmy. "she's a ripper," said lord dreever, devoutly. on the thames embankment, in the small hours of a summer morning, there is no such thing as a stranger. the man you talk with is a friend, and, if he will listen--as, by the etiquette of the place, he must--you may pour out your heart to him without restraint. it is expected of you! "i'm fearfully in love with her," said his lordship. "she looked a charming girl," said jimmy. they examined the water in silence. from somewhere out in the night came the sound of oars, as the police-boat moved on its patrol. "does she make you want to go to japan?" asked jimmy, suddenly. "eh?" said lord dreever, startled. "japan?" jimmy adroitly abandoned the position of confidant, and seized that of confider. "i met a girl a year ago--only really met her once, and even then--oh, well! anyway, it's made me so restless that i haven't been able to stay in one place for more than a month on end. i tried morocco, and had to quit. i tried spain, and that wasn't any good, either. the other day, i heard a fellow say that japan was a pretty interesting sort of country. i was wondering whether i wouldn't give it a trial." lord dreever regarded this traveled man with interest. "it beats me," he said, wonderingly. "what do you want to leg it about the world like that for? what's the trouble? why don't you stay where the girl is?" "i don't know where she is." "don't know?" "she disappeared." "where did you see her last?" asked his lordship, as if molly were a mislaid penknife. "new york." "but how do you mean, disappeared? don't you know her address?" "i don't even know her name." "but dash it all, i say, i mean! have you ever spoken to her?" "only once. it's rather a complicated story. at any rate, she's gone." lord dreever said that it was a rum business. jimmy conceded the point. "seems to me," said his lordship, "we're both in the cart." "what's your trouble?" lord dreever hesitated. "oh, well, it's only that i want to marry one girl, and my uncle's dead set on my marrying another." "are you afraid of hurting your uncle's feelings?" "it's not so much hurting his feelings. it's--oh, well, it's too long to tell now. i think i'll be getting home. i'm staying at our place in eaton square." "how are you going? if you'll walk, i'll come some of the way with you." "right you are. let's be pushing along, shall we?" they turned up into the strand, and through trafalgar square into piccadilly. piccadilly has a restful aspect in the small hours. some men were cleaning the road with water from a long hose. the swishing of the torrent on the parched wood was musical. just beyond the gate of hyde park, to the right of the road, stands a cabmen's shelter. conversation and emotion had made lord dreever thirsty. he suggested coffee as a suitable conclusion to the night's revels. "i often go in here when i'm up in town," he said. "the cabbies don't mind. they're sportsmen." the shelter was nearly full when they opened the door. it was very warm inside. a cabman gets so much fresh air in the exercise of his professional duties that he is apt to avoid it in private life. the air was heavy with conflicting scents. fried onions seemed to be having the best of the struggle for the moment, though plug tobacco competed gallantly. a keenly analytical nose might also have detected the presence of steak and coffee. a dispute seemed to be in progress as they entered. "you don't wish you was in russher," said a voice. "yus, i do wish i wos in russher," retorted a shriveled mummy of a cabman, who was blowing patiently at a saucerful of coffee. "why do you wish you was in russher?" asked the interlocutor, introducing a massa bones and massa johnsing touch into the dialogue. "because yer can wade over yer knees in bla-a-a-ad there," said the mummy. "in wot?" "in bla-a-ad--ruddy bla-a-ad! that's why i wish i wos in russher." "cheery cove that," said lord dreever. "i say, can you give us some coffee?" "i might try russia instead of japan," said jimmy, meditatively. the lethal liquid was brought. conversation began again. other experts gave their views on the internal affairs of russia. jimmy would have enjoyed it more if he had been less sleepy. his back was wedged comfortably against the wall of the shelter, and the heat of the room stole into his brain. the voices of the disputants grew fainter and fainter. he had almost dozed off when a new voice cut through the murmur and woke him. it was a voice he knew, and the accent was a familiar accent. "gents! excuse me." he looked up. the mists of sleep shredded away. a ragged youth with a crop of fiery red hair was standing in the doorway, regarding the occupants of the shelter with a grin, half-whimsical, half-defiant. jimmy recognized him. it was spike mullins. "excuse me," said spike mullins. "is dere any gent in dis bunch of professional beauts wants to give a poor orphan dat suffers from a painful toist something to drink? gents is courteously requested not to speak all in a crowd." "shet that blanky door," said the mummy cabman, sourly. "and 'op it," added his late opponent. "we don't want none of your sort 'ere." "den you ain't my long-lost brudders after all," said the newcomer, regretfully. "i t'ought youse didn't look handsome enough for dat. good-night to youse, gents." "shet that door, can't yer, when i'm telling yer!" said the mummy, with increased asperity. spike was reluctantly withdrawing, when jimmy rose. "one moment," he said. never in his life had jimmy failed to stand by a friend in need. spike was not, perhaps, exactly a friend, but even an acquaintance could rely on jimmy when down in the world. and spike was manifestly in that condition. a look of surprise came into the bowery boy's face, followed by one of stolid woodenness. he took the sovereign that jimmy held out to him with a muttered word of thanks, and shuffled out of the room. "can't see what you wanted to give him anything for," said lord dreever. "chap'll only spend it getting soused." "oh, he reminded me of a man i used to know." "did he? barnum's what-is-it, i should think," said his lordship. "shall we be moving?" chapter x jimmy adopts a lame dog a black figure detached itself from the blacker shadows, and shuffled stealthily to where jimmy stood on the doorstep. "that you, spike?" asked jimmy. "dat's right, boss." "come on in." he led the way up to his rooms, switched on the electric light, and shut the door. spike stood blinking at the sudden glare. he twirled his battered hat in his hands. his red hair shone fiercely. jimmy inspected him out of the corner of his eye, and came to the conclusion that the mullins finances must be at a low ebb. spike's costume differed in several important details from that of the ordinary well-groomed man about town. there was nothing of the flaneur about the bowery boy. his hat was of the soft black felt fashionable on the east side of new york. it was in poor condition, and looked as if it had been up too late the night before. a black tail-coat, burst at the elbows and stained with mud, was tightly buttoned across his chest, this evidently with the idea of concealing the fact that he wore no shirt--an attempt which was not wholly successful. a pair of gray flannel trousers and boots out of which two toes peeped coyly completed the picture. even spike himself seemed to be aware that there were points in his appearance which would have distressed the editor of a men's fashion-paper. "'scuse these duds," he said. "me man's bin an' mislaid de trunk wit' me best suit in. dis is me number two." "don't mention it, spike," said jimmy. "you look a perfect matinee idol. have a drink?" spike's eyes gleamed as he reached for the decanter. he took a seat. "cigar, spike?" "sure. t'anks, boss." jimmy lighted his pipe. spike, after a few genteel sips, threw off his restraint, and finished the rest of his glass at a gulp. "try another," suggested jimmy. spike's grin showed that the idea had been well received. jimmy sat and smoked in silence for a while. he was thinking the thing over. he felt like a detective who has found a clue. at last, he would be able to discover the name of the lusitania girl. the discovery would not take him very far certainly, but it would be something. possibly, spike might even be able to fix the position of the house they had broken into that night. spike was looking at jimmy over his glass in silent admiration. this flat which jimmy had rented for a year, in the hope that the possession of a fixed abode might help to tie him down to one spot, was handsomely, even luxuriously, furnished. to spike, every chair and table in the room had a romance of its own, as having been purchased out of the proceeds of that new asiatic bank robbery, or from the revenue accruing from the duchess of havant's jewels. he was dumb with reverence for one who could make burglary pay to this extent. in his own case, the profession had rarely provided anything more than bread and butter, and an occasional trip to coney island. jimmy caught his eye, and spoke. "well, spike," he said. "curious that we should meet like this?" "de limit," agreed spike. "i can't imagine you three thousand miles from new york. how do you know the cars still run both ways on broadway?" a wistful look came into spike's eyes. "i've been dis side t'ree months. i t'ought it was time i give old lunnon a call. t'ings was gettin' too fierce in noo york. de cops was layin' fer me. dey didn't seem like as if they had any use fer me. so, i beat it." "bad luck," said jimmy. "fierce," agreed spike. "say, spike," said jimmy, "do you know, i spent a whole heap of time before i left new york looking for you?" "gee! i wish you'd found me! did youse want me to help on some lay, boss? is it a bank, or--jools?" "well, no, not that. do you remember that night we broke into that house uptown--the police-captain's house?" "sure." "what was his name?" "what, de cop's? why, mceachern, boss." "mcwhat? how do you spell it?" "search me," said spike, simply. "say it again. fill your lungs, and enunciate slowly and clearly. be bell-like. now." "mceachern." "ah! and where was the house? can you remember that?" spike's forehead wrinkled. "it's gone," he said, at last. "it was somewheres up some street up de town." "that's a lot of help," said jimmy. "try again." "it'll come back some time, boss, sure." "then, i'm going to keep an eye on you till it does. just for the moment, you're the most important man in the world to me. where are you living?" "me! why, in de park. dat's right. one of dem swell detached benches wit' a southern exposure." "well, unless you prefer it, you needn't sleep in the park any more. you can pitch your moving tent with me." "what, here, boss?" "unless we move." "me fer dis," said spike, rolling luxuriously in his chair. "you'll want some clothes," said jimmy. "we'll get those to-morrow. you're the sort of figure they can fit off the peg. you're not too tall, which is a good thing." "bad t'ing fer me, boss. if i'd been taller, i'd have stood fer being a cop, an' bin buyin' a brownstone house on fifth avenue by dis. it's de cops makes de big money in little old manhattan, dat's who it is." "the man who knows!" said jimmy. "tell me more, spike. i suppose a good many of the new york force do get rich by graft?" "sure. look at old man mceachern." "i wish i could. tell me about him, spike. you seemed to know him pretty well." "me? sure. dere wasn't a woise old grafter dan him in de bunch. he was out fer de dough all de time. but, say, did youse ever see his girl?" "what's that?" said jimmy, sharply. "i seen her once." spike became almost lyrical in his enthusiasm. "gee! she was a boid--a peach fer fair. i'd have left me happy home fer her. molly was her monaker. she--" jimmy was glaring at him. "cut it out!" he cried. "what's dat, boss?" said spike. "cut it out!" said jimmy, savagely. spike looked at him, amazed. "sure," he said, puzzled, but realizing that his words had not pleased the great man. jimmy chewed the stem of his pipe irritably, while spike, full of excellent intentions, sat on the edge of his chair, drawing sorrowfully at his cigar and wondering what he had done to give offense. "boss?" said spike. "well?" "boss, what's doin' here? put me next to de game. is it de old lay? banks an' jools from duchesses? you'll be able to let me sit in at de game, won't you?" jimmy laughed. "i'd quite forgotten i hadn't told you about myself, spike. i've retired." the horrid truth sank slowly into the other's mind. "say! what's dat, boss? you're cuttin' it out?" "that's it. absolutely." "ain't youse swiping no more jools?" "not me." "nor usin' de what's-its-name blow-pipe?" "i have sold my oxy-acetylene blow-pipe, given away my anaesthetics, and am going to turn over a new leaf, and settle down as a respectable citizen." spike gasped. his world had fallen about his ears. his excursion with. jimmy, the master cracksman, in new york had been the highest and proudest memory of his life; and, now that they had met again in london, he had looked forward to a long and prosperous partnership in crime. he was content that his own share in the partnership should be humble. it was enough for him to be connected, however humbly, with such a master. he had looked upon the richness of london, and he had said with blucher, "what a city to loot!" and here was his idol shattering the visions with a word. "have another drink, spike," said the lost leader sympathetically. "it's a shock to you, i guess." "i t'ought, boss--" "i know, i know. these are life's tragedies. i'm very sorry for you. but it can't be helped. i've made my pile, so why continue?" spike sat silent, with a long face. jimmy slapped him on the shoulder. "cheer up," he said. "how do you know that living honestly may not be splendid fun? numbers of people do it, you know, and enjoy themselves tremendously. you must give it a trial, spike." "me, boss! what, me, too?" "sure. you're my link with--i don't want to have you remembering that address in the second month of a ten-year stretch at dartmoor prison. i'm going to look after you, spike, my son, like a lynx. we'll go out together, and see life. brace up, spike. be cheerful. grin!" after a moment's reflection, the other grinned, albeit faintly. "that's right," said jimmy. "we'll go into society, spike, hand in hand. you'll be a terrific success in society. all you have to do is to look cheerful, brush your hair, and keep your hands off the spoons. for in the best circles they invariably count them after the departure of the last guest." "sure," said spike, as one who thoroughly understood this sensible precaution. "and, now," said jimmy, "we'll be turning in. can you manage sleeping on the sofa one night? some fellows would give their bed up to you. not me, however. i'll have a bed made up for you tomorrow." "me!" said spike. "gee! i've been sleepin' in de park all de last week. dis is to de good, boss." chapter xi at the turn of the road next morning, when jimmy, having sent spike off to the tailor's, with instructions to get a haircut en route, was dealing with a combination of breakfast and luncheon at his flat, lord dreever called. "thought i should find you in," observed his lordship. "well, laddie, how goes it? having breakfast? eggs and bacon! great scott! i couldn't touch a thing." the statement was borne out by his looks. the son of a hundred earls was pale, and his eyes were markedly fish-like. "a fellow i've got stopping with me--taking him down to dreever with me to-day--man i met at the club--fellow named hargate. don't know if you know him? no? well, he was still up when i got back last night, and we stayed up playing billiards--he's rotten at billiards; something frightful: i give him twenty--till five this morning. i feel fearfully cheap. wouldn't have got up at all, only i'm due to catch the two-fifteen down to dreever. it's the only good train." he dropped into a chair. "sorry you don't feel up to breakfast," said jimmy, helping himself to marmalade. "i am generally to be found among those lining up when the gong goes. i've breakfasted on a glass of water and a bag of bird-seed in my time. that sort of thing makes you ready to take whatever you can get. seen the paper?" "thanks." jimmy finished his breakfast, and lighted a pipe. lord dreever laid down the paper. "i say," he said, "what i came round about was this. what have you got on just now?" jimmy had imagined that his friend had dropped in to return the five-pound note he had borrowed, but his lordship maintained a complete reserve on the subject. jimmy was to discover later that this weakness of memory where financial obligations were concerned was a leading trait in lord dreever's character. "to-day, do you mean?" said jimmy. "well, in the near future. what i mean is, why not put off that japan trip you spoke about, and come down to dreever with me?" jimmy reflected. after all, japan or dreever, it made very little difference. and it would be interesting to see a place about which he had read so much. "that's very good of you," he said. "you're sure it will be all right? it won't be upsetting your arrangements?" "not a bit. the more the merrier. can you catch the two-fifteen? it's fearfully short notice." "heavens, yes. i can pack in ten minutes. thanks very much." "good business. there'll be shooting and all that sort of rot. oh, and by the way, are you any good at acting? i mean, there are going to be private theatricals of sorts. a man called charteris insisted on getting them up--always getting up theatricals. rot, i call it; but you can't stop him. do you do anything in that line?" "put me down for what you like, from emperor of morocco to confused noise without. i was on the stage once. i'm particularly good at shifting scenery." "good for you. well, so long. two-fifteen from paddington, remember. i'll meet you there. i've got to go and see a fellow now." "i'll look out for you." a sudden thought occurred to jimmy. spike! he had forgotten spike for the moment. it was vital that the bowery boy should not be lost sight of again. he was the one link with the little house somewhere beyond one hundred and fiftieth street. he could not leave the bowery boy at the flat. a vision rose in his mind of spike alone in london, with savoy mansions as a base for his operations. no, spike must be transplanted to the country. but jimmy could not seem to see spike in the country. his boredom would probably be pathetic. but it was the only way. lord dreever facilitated matters. "by the way, pitt," he said, "you've got a man of sorts, of course? one of those frightful fellows who forgot to pack your collars? bring him along, of course." "thanks," said jimmy. "i will." the matter had scarcely been settled when the door opened, and revealed the subject of discussion. wearing a broad grin of mingled pride and bashfulness, and looking very stiff and awkward in one of the brightest tweed suits ever seen off the stage, spike stood for a moment in the doorway to let his appearance sink into the spectator, then advanced into the room. "how do dese strike you, boss?" he inquired genially, as lord dreever gaped in astonishment at this bright being. "pretty nearly blind, spike," said jimmy. "what made you get those? we use electric light here." spike was full of news. "say, boss, dat clothin'-store's a willy wonder, sure. de old mug what showed me round give me de frozen face when i come in foist. 'what's doin'?' he says. 'to de woods wit' you. git de hook!' but i hauls out de plunks you give me, an' tells him how i'm here to get a dude suit, an', gee! if he don't haul out suits by de mile. give me a toist, it did, watching him. 'it's up to youse,' says de mug. 'choose somet'in'. you pays de money, an' we does de rest.' so, i says dis is de one, an' i put down de plunks, an' here i am, boss." "i noticed that, spike," said jimmy. "i could see you in the dark." "don't you like de duds, boss?" inquired spike, anxiously. "they're great," said jimmy. "you'd make solomon in all his glory look like a tramp 'cyclist." "dat's right," agreed spike. "dey'se de limit." and, apparently oblivious to the presence of lord dreever, who had been watching him in blank silence since his entrance, the bowery boy proceeded to execute a mysterious shuffling dance on the carpet. this was too much for the overwrought brain of his lordship. "good-bye, pitt," he said, "i'm off. got to see a man." jimmy saw his guest to the door. outside, lord dreever placed the palm of his right hand on his forehead. "i say, pitt," he said. "hullo?" "who the devil's that?" "who? spike? oh, that's my man." "your man! is he always like that? i mean, going on like a frightful music-hall comedian? dancing, you know! and, i say, what on earth language was that he was talking? i couldn't understand one word in ten." "oh, that's american, the bowery variety." "oh, well, i suppose it's all right if you understand it. i can't. by gad," he broke off, with a chuckle, "i'd give something to see him talking to old saunders, our butler at home. he's got the manners of a duke." "spike should revise those," said jimmy. "what do you call him?" "spike." "rummy name, isn't it?" "oh, i don't know. short for algernon." "he seemed pretty chummy." "that's his independent bringing-up. we're all like that in america." "well, so long." "so long." on the bottom step, lord dreever halted. "i say. i've got it!" "good for you. got what?" "why, i knew i'd seen that chap's face somewhere before, only i couldn't place him. i've got him now. he's the johnny who came into the shelter last night. chap you gave a quid to." spike's was one of those faces that, without being essentially beautiful, stamp themselves on the memory. "you're quite right," said jimmy. "i was wondering if you would recognize him. the fact is, he's a man i once employed over in new york, and, when i came across him over here, he was so evidently wanting a bit of help that i took him on again. as a matter of fact, i needed somebody to look after my things, and spike can do it as well as anybody else." "i see. not bad my spotting him, was it? well, i must be off. good-bye. two-fifteen at paddington. meet you there. take a ticket for dreever if you're there before me." "eight. good-bye." jimmy returned to the dining-room. spike, who was examining as much as he could of himself in the glass, turned round with his wonted grin. "say, who's de gazebo, boss? ain't he de mug youse was wit' last night?" "that's the man. we're going down with him to the country to-day, spike, so be ready." "on your way, boss. what's dat?" "he has invited us to his country house, and we're going." "what? bot'of us?" "yes. i told him you were my servant. i hope you aren't offended." "nit. what's dere to be raw about, boss?" "that's all right. well, we'd better be packing. we have to be at the station at two." "sure." "and, spike!" "yes, boss?" "did you get any other clothes besides what you've got on?" "nit. what do i want wit more dan one dude suit?" "i approve of your rugged simplicity," said jimmy, "but what you're wearing is a town suit. excellent for the park or the marchioness's thursday crush, but essentially metropolitan. you must get something else for the country, something dark and quiet. i'll come and help you choose it, now." "why, won't dis go in de country?" "not on your life, spike. it would unsettle the rustic mind. they're fearfully particular about that sort of thing in england." "dey's to de bad," said the baffled disciple of beau brummel, with deep discontent. "and there's just one more thing, spike. i know you'll excuse my mentioning it. when we're at dreever castle, you will find yourself within reach of a good deal of silver and other things. would it be too much to ask you to forget your professional instincts? i mentioned this before in a general sort of way, but this is a particular case." "ain't i to get busy at all, den?" queried spike. "not so much as a salt-spoon," said jimmy, firmly. "now, we'll whistle a cab, and go and choose you some more clothes." accompanied by spike, who came within an ace of looking almost respectable in new blue serge ("small gent's"--off the peg), jimmy arrived at paddington station with a quarter of an hour to spare. lord dreever appeared ten minutes later, accompanied by a man of about jimmy's age. he was tall and thin, with cold eyes and tight, thin lips. his clothes fitted him in the way clothes do fit one man in a thousand. they were the best part of him. his general appearance gave one the idea that his meals did him little good, and his meditations rather less. he had practically no conversation. this was lord dreever's friend, hargate. lord dreever made the introductions; but, even as they shook hands, jimmy had an impression that he had seen the man before. yet, where or in what circumstances he could not remember. hargate appeared to have no recollection of him, so he did not mention the matter. a man who has led a wandering life often sees faces that come back to him later on, absolutely detached from their context. he might merely have passed lord dreever's friend on the street. but jimmy had an idea that the other had figured in some episode which at the moment had had an importance. what that episode was had escaped him. he dismissed the thing from his mind. it was not worth harrying his memory about. judicious tipping secured the three a compartment to themselves. hargate, having read the evening paper, went to sleep in the far corner. jimmy and lord dreever, who sat opposite each other, fell into a desultory conversation. after awhile, lord dreever's remarks took a somewhat intimate turn. jimmy was one of those men whose manner invites confidences. his lordship began to unburden his soul of certain facts relating to the family. "have you ever met my uncle thomas?" he inquired. "you know blunt's stores? well, he's blunt. it's a company now, but he still runs it. he married my aunt. you'll meet him at dreever." jimmy said he would be delighted. "i bet you won't," said the last of the dreevers, with candor. "he's a frightful man--the limit. always fussing round like a hen. gives me a fearful time, i can tell you. look here, i don't mind telling you--we're pals--he's dead set on my marrying a rich girl." "well, that sounds all right. there are worse hobbies. any particular rich girl?" "there's always one. he sicks me on to one after another. quite nice girls, you know, some of them; only, i want to marry somebody else, that girl you saw me with at the savoy." "why don't you tell your uncle?" "he'd have a fit. she hasn't a penny; nor have i, except what i get from him. of course, this is strictly between ourselves." "of course." "i know everybody thinks there's money attached to the title; but there isn't, not a penny. when my aunt julia married sir thomas, the whole frightful show was pretty well in pawn. so, you see how it is." "ever think of work?" asked jimmy. "work?" said lord dreever, reflectively. "well, you know, i shouldn't mind work, only i'm dashed if i can see what i could do. i shouldn't know how. nowadays, you want a fearful specialized education, and so on. tell you what, though, i shouldn't mind the diplomatic service. one of these days, i shall have a dash at asking my uncle to put up the money. i believe i shouldn't be half-bad at that. i'm rather a quick sort of chap at times, you know. lots of fellows have said so." he cleared his throat modestly, and proceeded. "it isn't only my uncle thomas," he said. "there's aunt julia, too. she's about as much the limit as he is. i remember, when i was a kid, she was always sitting on me. she does still. wait till you see her. sort of woman who makes you feel that your hands are the color of tomatoes and the size of legs of mutton, if you know what i mean. and talks as if she were biting at you. frightful!" having unburdened himself of these criticisms, lord dreever yawned, leaned back, and was presently asleep. it was about an hour later that the train, which had been taking itself less seriously for some time, stopping at stations of quite minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle, halted again. a board with the legend, "dreever," in large letters showed that they had reached their destination. the station-master informed lord dreever that her ladyship had come to meet the train in the motorcar, and was now waiting in the road outside. lord dreever's jaw fell. "oh, lord!" he said. "she's probably motored in to get the afternoon letters. that means, she's come in the runabout, and there's only room for two of us in that. i forgot to telegraph that you were coming, pitt. i only wired about hargate. dash it, i shall have to walk." his fears proved correct. the car at the station door was small. it was obviously designed to seat four only. lord dreever introduced hargate and jimmy to the statuesque lady in the tonneau; and then there was an awkward silence. at this point, spike came up, chuckling amiably, with a magazine in his hand. "gee!" said spike. "say, boss, de mug what wrote dis piece must have bin livin' out in de woods. say, dere's a gazebo what wants to swipe de heroine's jools what's locked in a drawer. so, dis mug, what 'do you t'ink he does?" spike laughed shortly, in professional scorn. "why--" "is this gentleman a friend of yours, spennie?" inquired lady julia politely, eying the red-haired speaker coldly. "it's--" spennie looked appealingly at jimmy. "it's my man," said jimmy. "spike," he added in an undertone, "to the woods. chase yourself. fade away." "sure," said the abashed spike. "dat's right. it ain't up to me to come buttin' in. sorry, boss. sorry, gents. sorry loidy. me for de tall grass." "there's a luggage-cart of sorts," said lord dreever, pointing. "sure," said spike, affably. he trotted away. "jump in, pitt," said lord dreever. "i'm going to walk." "no, i'll walk," said jimmy. "i'd rather. i want a bit of exercise. which way do i go?" "frightfully good of you, old chap," said lord dreever. "sure you don't mind? i do bar walking. right-ho! you keep straight on." he sat down in the tonneau by his aunt's side. the last jimmy saw was a hasty vision of him engaged in earnest conversation with lady julia. he did not seem to be enjoying himself. nobody is at his best in conversation with a lady whom he knows to be possessed of a firm belief in the weakness of his intellect. a prolonged conversation with lady julia always made lord dreever feel as if he were being tied into knots. jimmy watched them out of sight, and started to follow at a leisurely pace. it certainly was an ideal afternoon for a country walk. the sun was just hesitating whether to treat the time as afternoon or evening. eventually, it decided that it was evening, and moderated its beams. after london, the country was deliciously fresh and cool. jimmy felt an unwonted content. it seemed to him just then that the only thing worth doing in the world was to settle down somewhere with three acres and a cow, and become pastoral. there was a marked lack of traffic on the road. once he met a cart, and once a flock of sheep with a friendly dog. sometimes, a rabbit would dash out into the road, stop to listen, and dart into the opposite hedge, all hind-legs and white scut. but, except for these, he was alone in the world. and, gradually, there began to be borne in upon him the conviction that he had lost his way. it is difficult to judge distance when one is walking, but it certainly seemed to jimmy that he must have covered five miles by this time. he must have mistaken the way. he had doubtless come straight. he could not have come straighter. on the other hand, it would be quite in keeping with the cheap substitute which served the earl of dreever in place of a mind that he should have forgotten to mention some important turning. jimmy sat down by the roadside. as he sat, there came to him from down the road the sound of a horse's feet, trotting. he got up. here was somebody at last who would direct him. the sound came nearer. the horse turned the corner; and jimmy saw with surprise that it bore no rider. "hullo?" he said. "accident? and, by jove, a side-saddle!" the curious part of it was that the horse appeared in no way a wild horse. it gave the impression of being out for a little trot on its own account, a sort of equine constitutional. jimmy stopped the horse, and led it back the way it had come. as he turned the bend in the road, he saw a girl in a riding-habit running toward him. she stopped running when she caught sight of him, and slowed down to a walk. "thank you ever so much," she said, taking the reins from him. "dandy, you naughty old thing! i got off to pick up my crop, and he ran away." jimmy looked at her flushed, smiling face, and stood staring. it was molly mceachern. chapter xii making a start self-possession was one of jimmy's leading characteristics, but for the moment he found himself speechless. this girl had been occupying his thoughts for so long that--in his mind--he had grown very intimate with her. it was something of a shock to come suddenly out of his dreams, and face the fact that she was in reality practically a stranger. he felt as one might with a friend whose memory has been wiped out. it went against the grain to have to begin again from the beginning after all the time they had been together. a curious constraint fell upon him. "why, how do you do, mr. pitt?" she said, holding out her hand. jimmy began to feel better. it was something that she remembered his name. "it's like meeting somebody out of a dream," said molly. "i have sometimes wondered if you were real. everything that happened that night was so like a dream." jimmy found his tongue. "you haven't altered," he said, "you look just the same." "well," she laughed, "after all, it's not so long ago, is it?" he was conscious of a dull hurt. to him, it had seemed years. but he was nothing to her--just an acquaintance, one of a hundred. but what more, he asked himself, could he have expected? and with the thought came consolation. the painful sense of having lost ground left him. he saw that he had been allowing things to get out of proportion. he had not lost ground. he had gained it. he had met her again, and she remembered him. what more had he any right to ask? "i've crammed a good deal into the time," he explained. "i've been traveling about a bit since we met." "do you live in shropshire?" asked molly. "no. i'm on a visit. at least, i'm supposed to be. but i've lost the way to the place, and i am beginning to doubt if i shall ever get there. i was told to go straight on. i've gone straight on, and here i am, lost in the snow. do you happen to know whereabouts dreever castle is?" she laughed. "why," she said, "i am staying at dreever castle, myself." "what?" "so, the first person you meet turns out to be an experienced guide. you're lucky, mr. pitt." "you're right," said jimmy slowly, "i am." "did you come down with lord dreever? he passed me in the car just as i was starting out. he was with another man and lady julia blunt. surely, he didn't make you walk?" "i offered to walk. somebody had to. apparently, he had forgotten to let them know he was bringing me." "and then he misdirected you! he's very casual, i'm afraid." "inclined that way, perhaps." "have you known lord dreever long?" "since a quarter past twelve last night." "last night!" "we met at the savoy, and, later, on the embankment. we looked at the river together, and told each other the painful stories of our lives, and this morning he called, and invited me down here." molly looked at him with frank amusement. "you must be a very restless sort of person," she said. "you seem to do a great deal of moving about." "i do," said jimmy. "i can't keep still. i've got the go-fever, like that man in kipling's book." "but he was in love." "yes," said jimmy. "he was. that's the bacillus, you know." she shot a quick glance at him. he became suddenly interesting to her. she was at the age of dreams and speculations. from being merely an ordinary young man with rather more ease of manner than the majority of the young men she had met, he developed in an instant into something worthy of closer attention. he took on a certain mystery and romance. she wondered what sort of girl it was that he loved. examining him in the light of this new discovery, she found him attractive. something seemed to have happened to put her in sympathy with him. she noticed for the first time a latent forcefulness behind the pleasantness of his manner. his self-possession was the self-possession of the man who has been tried and has found himself. at the bottom of her consciousness, too, there was a faint stirring of some emotion, which she could not analyze, not unlike pain. it was vaguely reminiscent of the agony of loneliness which she had experienced as a small child on the rare occasions when her father had been busy and distrait, and had shown her by his manner that she was outside his thoughts. this was but a pale suggestion of that misery; nevertheless, there was a resemblance. it was a rather desolate, shut-out sensation, half-resentful. it was gone in a moment. but it had been there. it had passed over her heart as the shadow of a cloud moves across a meadow in the summer-time. for some moments, she stood without speaking. jimmy did not break the silence. he was looking at her with an appeal in his eyes. why could she not understand? she must understand. but the eyes that met his were those of a child. as they stood there, the horse, which had been cropping in a perfunctory manner at the short grass by the roadside, raised its head, and neighed impatiently. there was something so human about the performance that jimmy and the girl laughed simultaneously. the utter materialism of the neigh broke the spell. it was a noisy demand for food. "poor dandy!" said molly. "he knows he's near home, and he knows it's his dinner-time." "are we near the castle, then?" "it's a long way round by the road, but we can cut across the fields. aren't these english fields and hedges just perfect! i love them. of course, i loved america, but--" "have you left new york long?" asked jimmy. "we came over here about a month after you were at our house." "you didn't spend much time there, then." "father had just made a good deal of money in wall street. he must have been making it when i was on the lusitania. he wanted to leave new york, so we didn't wait. we were in london all the winter. then, we went over to paris. it was there we met sir thomas blunt and lady julia. have you met them? they are lord dreever's uncle and aunt." "i've met lady julia." "do you like her?" jimmy hesitated. "well, you see--" "i know. she's your hostess, but you haven't started your visit yet. so, you've just got time to say what you really think of her, before you have to pretend she's perfect." "well--" "i detest her," said molly, crisply. "i think she's hard and hateful." "well, i can't say she struck me as a sort of female cheeryble brother. lord dreever introduced me to her at the station. she seemed to bear it pluckily, but with some difficulty." "she's hateful," repeated molly. "so is he, sir thomas, i mean. he's one of those fussy, bullying little men. they both bully poor lord dreever till i wonder he doesn't rebel. they treat him like a school-boy. it makes me wild. it's such a shame--he's so nice and good-natured! i am so sorry for him!" jimmy listened to this outburst with mixed feelings. it was sweet of her to be so sympathetic, but was it merely sympathy? there had been a ring in her voice and a flush on her cheek that had suggested to jimmy's sensitive mind a personal interest in the down-trodden peer. reason told him that it was foolish to be jealous of lord dreever, a good fellow, of course, but not to be taken seriously. the primitive man in him, on the other hand, made him hate all molly's male friends with an unreasoning hatred. not that he hated lord dreever: he liked him. but he doubted if he could go on liking him for long if molly were to continue in this sympathetic strain. his affection for the absent one was not put to the test. molly's next remark had to do with sir thomas. "the worst of it is," she said, "father and sir thomas are such friends. in paris, they were always together. father did him a very good turn." "how was that?" "it was one afternoon, just after we arrived. a man got into lady julia's room while we were all out except father. father saw him go into the room, and suspected something was wrong, and went in after him. the man was trying to steal lady julia's jewels. he had opened the box where they were kept, and was actually holding her rope of diamonds in his hand when father found him. it's the most magnificent thing i ever saw. sir thomas told father he gave a hundred thousand dollars for it." "but, surely," said jimmy, "hadn't the management of the hotel a safe for valuables?" "of course, they had; but you don't know sir thomas. he wasn't going to trust any hotel safe. he's the sort of a man who insists on doing everything in his own way, and who always imagines he can do things better himself than anyone else can do them for him. he had had this special box made, and would never keep the diamonds anywhere else. naturally, the thief opened it in a minute. a clever thief would have no difficulty with a thing like that." "what happened?" "oh, the man saw father, and dropped the jewels, and ran off down the corridor. father chased him a little way, but of course it was no good; so he went back and shouted, and rang every bell he could see, and gave the alarm; but the man was never found. still, he left the diamonds. that was the great thing, after all. you must look at them to-night at dinner. they really are wonderful. are you a judge of precious stones at all?" "i am rather," said jimmy. "in fact, a jeweler i once knew told me i had a natural gift in that direction. and so, of course, sir thomas was pretty grateful to your father?" "he simply gushed. he couldn't do enough for him. you see, if the diamonds had been stolen, i'm sure lady julia would have made sir thomas buy her another rope just as good. he's terrified of her, i'm certain. he tries not to show it, but he is. and, besides having to pay another hundred thousand dollars, he would never have heard the last of it. it would have ruined his reputation for being infallible and doing everything better than anybody else." "but didn't the mere fact that the thief got the jewels, and was only stopped by a fluke from getting away with them, do that?" molly bubbled with laughter. "she never knew. sir thomas got back to the hotel an hour before she did. i've never seen such a busy hour. he had the manager up, harangued him, and swore him to secrecy--which the poor manager was only too glad to agree to, because it wouldn't have done the hotel any good to have it known. and the manager harangued the servants, and the servants harangued one another, and everybody talked at the same time; and father and i promised not to tell a soul; so lady julia doesn't know a word about it to this day. and i don't see why she ever should--though, one of these days, i've a good mind to tell lord dreever. think what a hold he would have over them! they'd never be able to bully him again." "i shouldn't," said jimmy, trying to keep a touch of coldness out of his voice. this championship of lord dreever, however sweet and admirable, was a little distressing. she looked up quickly. "you don't think i really meant to, do you?" "no, no," said jimmy, hastily. "of course not." "well, i should think so!" said molly, indignantly. "after i promised not to tell a soul about it!" jimmy chuckled. "it's nothing," he said, in answer to her look of inquiry. "you laughed at something." "well," said jimmy apologetically, "it's only--it's nothing really--only, what i mean is, you have just told one soul a good deal about it, haven't you?" molly turned pink. then, she smiled. "i don't know how i came to do it," she declared. "it just rushed out of its own accord. i suppose it is because i know i can trust you." jimmy flushed with pleasure. he turned to her, and half-halted, but she continued to walk on. "you can," he said, "but how do you know you can?" she seemed surprised. "why--" she said. she stopped for a moment, and then went on hurriedly, with a touch of embarrassment. "why, how absurd! of course, i know. can't you read faces? i can. look," she said, pointing, "now you can see the castle. how do you like it?" they had reached a point where the fields sloped sharply downward. a few hundred yards away, backed by woods, stood the gray mass of stone which had proved such a kill-joy of old to the welsh sportsmen during the pheasant season. even now, it had a certain air of defiance. the setting sun lighted the waters of the lake. no figures were to be seen moving in the grounds. the place resembled a palace of sleep. "well?" said molly. "it's wonderful!" "isn't it! i'm so glad it strikes you like that. i always feel as if i had invented everything round here. it hurts me if people don't appreciate it." they went down the hill. "by the way," said jimmy, "are you acting in these theatricals they are getting up?" "yes. are you the other man they were going to get? that's why lord dreever went up to london, to see if he couldn't find somebody. the man who was going to play one of the parts had to go back to london on business." "poor brute!" said jimmy. it seemed to him at this moment that there was only one place in the world where a man might be even reasonably happy. "what sort of part is it? lord dreever said i should be wanted to act. what do i do?" "if you're lord herbert, which is the part they wanted a man for, you talk to me most of the time." jimmy decided that the piece had been well cast. the dressing-gong sounded just as they entered the hall. from a door on the left, there emerged two men, a big man and a little one, in friendly conversation. the big man's back struck jimmy as familiar. "oh, father," molly called. and jimmy knew where he had seen the back before. the two men stopped. "sir thomas," said molly, "this is mr. pitt." the little man gave jimmy a rapid glance, possibly with the object of detecting his more immediately obvious criminal points; then, as if satisfied as to his honesty, became genial. "i am very glad to meet you, mr. pitt, very glad," he said. "we have been expecting you for some time." jimmy explained that he had lost his way. "exactly. it was ridiculous that you should be compelled to walk, perfectly ridiculous. it was grossly careless of my nephew not to let us know that you were coming. my wife told him so in the car." "i bet she did," said jimmy to himself. "really," he said aloud, by way of lending a helping hand to a friend in trouble, "i preferred to walk. i have not been on a country road since i landed in england." he turned to the big man, and held out his hand. "i don't suppose you remember me, mr. mceachern? we met in new york." "you remember the night mr. pitt scared away our burglar, father," said molly. mr. mceachern was momentarily silent. on his native asphalt, there are few situations capable of throwing the new york policeman off his balance. in that favored clime, savoir faire is represented by a shrewd blow of the fist, and a masterful stroke with the truncheon amounts to a satisfactory repartee. thus shall you never take the policeman of manhattan without his answer. in other surroundings, mr. mceachern would have known how to deal with the young man whom with such good reason he believed to be an expert criminal. but another plan of action was needed here. first and foremost, of all the hints on etiquette that he had imbibed since he entered this more reposeful life, came the maxim: "never make a scene." scenes, he had gathered, were of all things what polite society most resolutely abhorred. the natural man in him must be bound in chains. the sturdy blow must give way to the honeyed word. a cold, "really!" was the most vigorous retort that the best circles would countenance. it had cost mr. mceachern some pains to learn this lesson, but he had done it. he shook hands, and gruffly acknowledged the acquaintanceship. "really, really!" chirped sir thomas, amiably. "so, you find yourself among old friends, mr. pitt." "old friends," echoed jimmy, painfully conscious of the ex-policeman's eyes, which were boring holes in him. "excellent, excellent! let me take you to your room. it is just opposite my own. this way." in his younger days, sir thomas had been a floor-walker of no mean caliber. a touch of the professional still lingered in his brisk movements. he preceded jimmy upstairs with the restrained suavity that can be learned in no other school. they parted from mr. mceachern on the first landing, but jimmy could still feel those eyes. the policeman's stare had been of the sort that turns corners, goes upstairs, and pierces walls. chapter xiii spike's views nevertheless, it was in an exalted frame of mind that jimmy dressed for dinner. it seemed to him that he had awakened from a sort of stupor. life, so gray yesterday, now appeared full of color and possibilities. most men who either from choice or necessity have knocked about the world for any length of time are more or less fatalists. jimmy was an optimistic fatalist. he had always looked on fate, not as a blind dispenser at random of gifts good and bad, but rather as a benevolent being with a pleasing bias in his own favor. he had almost a napoleonic faith in his star. at various periods of his life (notably at the time when, as he had told lord dreever, he had breakfasted on bird-seed), he had been in uncommonly tight corners, but his luck had always extricated him. it struck him that it would be an unthinkable piece of bad sportsmanship on fate's part to see him through so much, and then to abandon him just as he had arrived in sight of what was by far the biggest thing of his life. of course, his view of what constituted the biggest thing in life had changed with the years. every ridge of the hill of supreme moments in turn had been mistaken by him for the summit; but this last, he felt instinctively, was genuine. for good or bad, molly was woven into the texture of his life. in the stormy period of the early twenties, he had thought the same of other girls, who were now mere memories as dim as those of figures in a half-forgotten play. in their case, his convalescence had been temporarily painful, but brief. force of will and an active life had worked the cure. he had merely braced himself, and firmly ejected them from his mind. a week or two of aching emptiness, and his heart had been once more in readiness, all nicely swept and garnished, for the next lodger. but, in the case of molly, it was different. he had passed the age of instantaneous susceptibility. like a landlord who has been cheated by previous tenants, he had become wary. he mistrusted his powers of recuperation in case of disaster. the will in these matters, just like the mundane "bouncer," gets past its work. for some years now, jimmy had had a feeling that the next arrival would come to stay; and he had adopted in consequence a gently defensive attitude toward the other sex. molly had broken through this, and he saw that his estimate of his will-power had been just. methods that had proved excellent in the past were useless now. there was no trace here of the dimly consoling feeling of earlier years, that there were other girls in the world. he did not try to deceive himself. he knew that he had passed the age when a man can fall in love with any one of a number of types. this was the finish, one way or the other. there would be no second throw. she had him. however it might end, he belonged to her. there are few moments in a man's day when his brain is more contemplative than during that brief space when he is lathering his face, preparatory to shaving. plying the brush, jimmy reviewed the situation. he was, perhaps, a little too optimistic. not unnaturally, he was inclined to look upon his luck as a sort of special train which would convey him without effort to paradise. fate had behaved so exceedingly handsomely up till now! by a series of the most workmanlike miracles, it had brought him to the point of being molly's fellow-guest at a country-house. this, as reason coldly pointed out a few moments later, was merely the beginning, but to jimmy, thoughtfully lathering, it seemed the end. it was only when he had finished shaving, and was tying his cravat, that he began to perceive obstacles in his way, and sufficiently big obstacles, at that. in the first place, molly did not love him. and, he was bound to admit, there was no earthly reason why she ever should. a man in love is seldom vain about his personal attractions. also, her father firmly believed him to be a master-burglar. "otherwise," said jimmy, scowling at his reflection in the glass, "everything's splendid." he brushed his hair sadly. there was a furtive rap at the door. "hullo?" said jimmy. "yes?" the door opened slowly. a grin, surmounted by a mop of red hair, appeared round the edge of it. "hullo, spike. come in. what's the matter?" the rest of mr. mullins entered the room. "gee, boss! i wasn't sure was dis your room. say, who do you t'ink i nearly bumped me coco ag'inst out in de corridor downstairs? why, old man mceachern, de cop. dat's right!" "yes?" "sure. say, what's he doin' on dis beat? i pretty near went down an' out when i seen him. dat's right. me breath ain't got back home yet." "did he recognize you?" "did he! he starts like an actor on top de stoige when he sees he's up ag'inst de plot to ruin him, an' he gives me de fierce eye." "well?" "i was wonderin' was i on thoid avenoo, or was i standin' on me coco, or what was i doin' anyhow. den i slips off, an' chases meself up here. say, boss, what's de game? what's old man mceachern doin' stunts dis side fer?" "it's all right, spike. keep calm. i can explain. he has retired--like me! he's one of the handsome guests here." "on your way, boss! what's dat?" "he left the force just after that merry meeting of ours when you frolicked with the bull-dog. he came over here, and butted into society. so, here we are again, all gathered together under the same roof, like a jolly little family party." spike's open mouth bore witness to his amazement. "den--" he stammered. "yes?" "den, what's he goin' to do?" "i couldn't say. i'm expecting to hear shortly. but we needn't worry ourselves. the next move's with him. if he wants to comment on the situation, he won't be backward. he'll come and do it." "sure. it's up to him," agreed spike. "i'm quite comfortable. speaking for myself, i'm having a good time. how are you getting along downstairs?" "de limit, boss. honest, it's to de velvet. dey's an old gazebo, de butler, saunders his name is, dat's de best ever at handin' out long woids. i sits an' listens. dey calls me mr. mullins down dere," said spike, with pride. "good. i'm glad you're all right. there's no reason why we shouldn't have an excellent time here. i don't think that mr. mceachern will try to have us turned out, after he's heard one or two little things i have to say to him--just a few reminiscences of the past which may interest him. i have the greatest affection for mr. mceachern--i wish it were mutual--but nothing he can say is going to make me stir from here." "not on your life," agreed spike. "say, boss, he must have got a lot of plunks to be able to butt in here. an' i know how he got dem, too. dat's right. i comes from little old new york, meself." "hush, spike, this is scandal!" "sure," said the bowery boy doggedly, safely started now on his favorite subject. "i knows, an' youse knows, boss. gee! i wish i'd bin a cop. but i wasn't tall enough. dey's de fellers wit' de big bank-rolls. look at dis old mceachern. money to boin a wet dog wit' he's got, an' never a bit of woik fer it from de start to de finish. an' look at me, boss." "i do, spike, i do." "look at me. gittin' busy all de year round, woikin' to beat de band--" "in prisons oft," said jimmy. "sure t'ing. an' chased all roun' de town. an' den what? why, to de bad at de end of it all. say, it's enough to make a feller--" "turn honest," said jimmy. "that's it, spike. reform. you'll be glad some day." spike seemed to be doubtful. he was silent for a moment, then, as if following up a train of thought, he said: "boss, dis is a fine big house." "i've seen worse." "say, couldn't we--?" "spike!" said jimmy, warningly. "well, couldn't we?" said spike, doggedly. "it ain't often youse butts into a dead-easy proposition like dis one. we shouldn't have to do a t'ing excep' git busy. de stuff's just lyin' about, boss." "i shouldn't wonder." "aw, it's a waste to leave it." "spike," said jimmy, "i warned you of this. i begged you to be on your guard, to fight against your professional instincts. be a man! crush them. try and occupy your mind. collect butterflies." spike shuffled in gloomy silence. "'member dose jools youse swiped from de duchess?" he said, musingly. "the dear duchess!" murmured jimmy. "ah, me!" "an' de bank youse busted?" "those were happy days, spike." "gee!" said the bowery boy. and then, after a pause: "dat was to de good," he said, wistfully. jimmy arranged his tie at the mirror. "dere's a loidy here," continued spike, addressing the chest of drawers, "dat's got a necklace of jools what's wort' a hundred t'ousand plunks. honest, boss. a hundred t'ousand plunks. saunders told me dat--de old gazebo dat hands out de long woids. i says to him, 'gee!' an' he says, 'surest t'ing youse know.' a hundred t'ousand plunks!" "so i understand," said jimmy. "shall i rubber around, an' find out where is dey kept, boss?" "spike," said jimmy, "ask me no more. all this is in direct contravention of our treaty respecting keeping your fingers off the spoons. you pain me. desist." "sorry, boss. but dey'll be willy-wonders, dem jools. a hundred t'ousand plunks. dat's goin' some, ain't it? what's dat dis side?" "twenty thousand pounds." "gee!...can i help youse wit' de duds, boss?" "no, thanks, spike, i'm through now. you might just give me a brush down, though. no, not that. that's a hair-brush. try the big black one." "dis is a boid of a dude suit," observed spike, pausing in his labors. "glad you like it, spike. rather chic, i think." "it's de limit. excuse me. how much did it set youse back, boss?" "something like seven guineas, i believe. i could look up the bill, and let you know." "what's dat--guineas? is dat more dan a pound?" "a shilling more. why these higher mathematics?" spike resumed his brushing. "what a lot of dude suits youse could git," he observed meditatively, "if youse had dem jools!" he became suddenly animated. he waved the clothes-brush. "oh, you boss!" he cried. "what's eatin' youse? aw, it's a shame not to. come along, you boss! say, what's doin'? why ain't youse sittin' in at de game? oh, you boss!" whatever reply jimmy might have made to this impassioned appeal was checked by a sudden bang on the door. almost simultaneously, the handle turned. "gee!" cried spike. "it's de cop!" jimmy smiled pleasantly. "come in, mr. mceachern," he said, "come in. journeys end in lovers meeting. you know my friend mr. mullins, i think? shut the door, and sit down, and let's talk of many things." chapter xiv check and a counter move mr. mceachern stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. as the result of a long connection with evil-doers, the ex-policeman was somewhat prone to harbor suspicions of those round about him, and at the present moment his mind was aflame. indeed, a more trusting man might have been excused for feeling a little doubtful as to the intentions of jimmy and spike. when mceachern had heard that lord dreever had brought home a casual london acquaintance, he had suspected as a possible drawback to the visit the existence of hidden motives on the part of the unknown. lord dreever, he had felt, was precisely the sort of youth to whom the professional bunco-steerer would attach himself with shouts of joy. never, he had assured himself, had there been a softer proposition than his lordship since bunco-steering became a profession. when he found that the strange visitor was jimmy pitt, his suspicions had increased a thousand-fold. and when, going to his room to get ready for dinner, he had nearly run into spike mullins in the corridor, his frame of mind had been that of a man to whom a sudden ray of light reveals the fact that he is on the brink of a black precipice. jimmy and spike had burgled his house together in new york. and here they were, together again, at dreever castle. to say that the thing struck mceachern as sinister is to put the matter baldly. there was once a gentleman who remarked that he smelt a rat, and saw it floating in the air. ex-constable mceachern smelt a regiment of rats, and the air seemed to him positively congested with them. his first impulse had been to rush to jimmy's room there and then; but he had learned society's lessons well. though the heavens might fall, he must not be late for dinner. so, he went and dressed, and an obstinate tie put the finishing touches to his wrath. jimmy regarded him coolly, without moving from, the chair in which he had seated himself. spike, on the other hand, seemed embarrassed. he stood first on one leg, and then on the other, as if he were testing the respective merits of each, and would make a definite choice later on. "you scoundrels!" growled mceachern. spike, who had been standing for a few moments on his right leg, and seemed at last to have come to, a decision, hastily changed to the left, and grinned feebly. "say, youse won't want me any more, boss?" he whispered. "no, you can go, spike." "you stay where you are, you red-headed devil!" said mceachern, tartly. "run along, spike," said jimmy. the bowery boy looked doubtfully at the huge form of the ex-policeman, which blocked access to the door. "would you mind letting my man pass?" said jimmy. "you stay--" began mceachern. jimmy got up and walked round to the door, which he opened. spike shot out. he was not lacking in courage, but he disliked embarrassing interviews, and it struck him that jimmy was the man to handle a situation of this kind. he felt that he himself would only be in the way. "now, we can talk comfortably," said jimmy, going back to his chair. mceachern's deep-set eyes gleamed, and his forehead grew red, but he mastered his feelings. "and now--" said he, then paused. "yes?" asked jimmy. "what are you doing here?" "nothing, at the moment." "you know what i mean. why are you here, you and that red-headed devil, spike mullins?" he jerked his head in the direction of the door. "i am here because i was very kindly invited to come by lord dreever." "i know you." "you have that privilege. seeing that we only met once, it's very good of you to remember me." "what's your game? what do you mean to do?" "to do? well, i shall potter about the garden, you know, and shoot a bit, perhaps, and look at the horses, and think of life, and feed the chickens--i suppose there are chickens somewhere about--and possibly go for an occasional row on the lake. nothing more. oh, yes, i believe they want me to act in some theatricals." "you'll miss those theatricals. you'll leave here to-morrow." "to-morrow? but i've only just arrived, dear heart." "i don't care about that. out you go to-morrow. i'll give you till to-morrow." "i congratulate you," said jimmy. "one of the oldest houses in england." "what do you mean?" "i gathered from what you said that you had bought the castle. isn't that so? if it still belongs to lord dreever, don't you think you ought to consult him before revising his list of guests?" mceachern looked steadily at him. his manner became quieter. "oh, you take that tone, do you?" "i don't know what you mean by 'that tone.' what tone would you take if a comparative stranger ordered you to leave another man's house?" mceachern's massive jaw protruded truculently in the manner that had scared good behavior into brawling east siders. "i know your sort," he said. "i'll call your bluff. and you won't get till to-morrow, either. it'll be now." "'why should we wait for the morrow? you are queen of my heart to-night," murmured jimmy, encouragingly. "i'll expose you before them all. i'll tell them everything." jimmy shook his head. "too melodramatic," he said. "'i call on heaven to judge between this man and me!' kind of thing. i shouldn't. what do you propose to tell, anyway?" "will you deny that you were a crook in new york?" "i will. i was nothing of the kind." "what?" "if you'll listen, i can explain--" "explain!" the other's voice rose again. "you talk about explaining, you scum, when i caught you in my own parlor at three in the morning--you--" the smile faded from jimmy's face. "half a minute," he said. it might be that the ideal course would be to let the storm expend itself, and then to explain quietly the whole matter of arthur mifflin and the bet that had led to his one excursion into burglary; but he doubted it. things--including his temper--had got beyond the stage of quiet explanations. mceachern would most certainly disbelieve his story. what would happen after that he did not know. a scene, probably: a melodramatic denunciation, at the worst, before the other guests; at the best, before sir thomas alone. he saw nothing but chaos beyond that. his story was thin to a degree, unless backed by witnesses, and his witnesses were three thousand miles away. worse, he had not been alone in the policeman's parlor. a man who is burgling a house for a bet does not usually do it in the company of a professional burglar, well known to the police. no, quiet explanations must be postponed. they could do no good, and would probably lead to his spending the night and the next few nights at the local police-station. and, even if he were spared that fate, it was certain that he would have to leave the castle--leave the castle and molly! he jumped up. the thought had stung him. "one moment," he said. mceachern stopped. "well?" "you're going to tell them that?" asked jimmy. "i am." jimmy walked up to him. "are you also going to tell them why you didn't have me arrested that night?" he said. mceachern started. jimmy planted himself in front of him, and glared up into his face. it would have been hard to say which of the two was the angrier. the policeman was flushed, and the veins stood out on his forehead. jimmy was in a white heat of rage. he had turned very pale, and his muscles were quivering. jimmy in this mood had once cleared a los angeles bar-room with the leg of a chair in the space of two and a quarter minutes by the clock. "are you?" he demanded. "are you?" mceachern's hand, hanging at his side, lifted itself hesitatingly. the fingers brushed against jimmy's shoulder. jimmy's lip twitched. "yes," he said, "do it! do it, and see what happens. by god, if you put a hand on me, i'll finish you. do you think you can bully me? do you think i care for your size?" mceachern dropped his hand. for the first time in his life, he had met a man who, instinct told him, was his match and more. he stepped back a pace. jimmy put his hands in his pockets, and turned away. he walked to the mantelpiece, and leaned his back against it. "you haven't answered my question," he said. "perhaps, you can't?" mceachern was wiping his forehead, and breathing quickly. "if you like," said jimmy, "we'll go down to the drawing-room now, and you shall tell your story, and i'll tell mine. i wonder which they will think the more interesting. damn you," he went on, his anger rising once more, "what do you mean by it? you come into my room, and bluster, and talk big about exposing crooks. what do you call yourself, i wonder? do you realize what you are? why, poor spike's an angel compared with you. he did take chances. he wasn't in a position of trust. you--" he stopped. "hadn't you better get out of here, don't you think?" he said, curtly. without a word, mceachern walked to the door, and went out. jimmy dropped into a chair with a deep breath. he took up his cigarette-case, but before he could light a match the gong sounded from the distance. he rose, and laughed rather shakily. he felt limp. "as an effort at conciliating papa," he said, "i'm afraid that wasn't much of a success." it was not often that mceachern was visited by ideas. he ran rather to muscle than to brain. but he had one that evening during dinner. his interview with jimmy had left him furious, but baffled. he knew that his hands were tied. frontal attack was useless. to drive jimmy from the castle would be out of the question. all that could be done was to watch him while he was there. for he had never been more convinced of anything in his life than that jimmy had wormed his way into the house-party with felonious intent. the appearance of lady julia at dinner, wearing the famous rope of diamonds, supplied an obvious motive. the necklace had an international reputation. probably, there was not a prominent thief in england or on the continent who had not marked it down as a possible prey. it had already been tried for, once. it was big game, just the sort of lure that would draw the type of criminal mceachern imagined jimmy to be. from his seat at the far end of the table, jimmy looked at the jewels as they gleamed on their wearer's neck. they were almost too ostentatious for what was, after all, an informal dinner. it was not a rope of diamonds. it was a collar. there was something oriental and barbaric in the overwhelming display of jewelry. it was a prize for which a thief would risk much. the conversation, becoming general with the fish, was not of a kind to remove from his mind the impression made by the sight of the gems. it turned on burglary. lord dreever began it. "oh, i say," he said, "i forgot to tell you, aunt julia, number six was burgled the other night." number a, eaton square, was the family's london house. "burgled!" cried sir thomas. "well, broken into," said his lordship, gratified to find that he had got the ear of his entire audience. even lady julia was silent and attentive. "chap got in through the scullery window about one o'clock in the morning." "and what did you do?" inquired sir thomas. "oh, i--er--i was out at the time," said lord dreever. "but something frightened the feller," he went on hurriedly, "and he made a bolt for it without taking anything." "burglary," said a young man, whom jimmy subsequently discovered to be the drama-loving charteris, leaning back and taking advantage of a pause, "is the hobby of the sportsman and the life work of the avaricious." he took a little pencil from his waistcoat pocket, and made a rapid note on his cuff. everybody seemed to have something to say on the subject. one young lady gave it as her opinion that she would not like to find a burglar under her bed. somebody else had heard of a fellow whose father had fired at the butler, under the impression that he was a house-breaker, and had broken a valuable bust of socrates. lord dreever had known a man at college whose brother wrote lyrics for musical comedy, and had done one about a burglar's best friend being his mother. "life," said charteris, who had had time for reflection, "is a house which we all burgle. we enter it uninvited, take all that we can lay hands on, and go out again." he scribbled, "life--house--burgle," on his cuff, and replaced the pencil. "this man's brother i was telling you about," said lord dreever, "says there's only one rhyme in the english language to 'burglar,' and that's 'gurgler--' unless you count 'pergola'! he says--" "personally," said jimmy, with a glance at mceachern, "i have rather a sympathy for burglars. after all, they are one of the hardest-working classes in existence. they toil while everybody else is asleep. besides, a burglar is only a practical socialist. people talk a lot about the redistribution of wealth. the burglar goes out and does it. i have found burglars some of the decentest criminals i have ever met." "i despise burglars!" ejaculated lady julia, with a suddenness that stopped jimmy's eloquence as if a tap had been turned off. "if i found one coming after my jewels, and i had a pistol, i'd shoot him." jimmy met mceachern's eye, and smiled kindly at him. the ex-policeman was looking at him with the gaze of a baffled, but malignant basilisk. "i take very good care no one gets a chance at your diamonds, my dear," said sir thomas, without a blush. "i have had a steel box made for me," he added to the company in general, "with a special lock. a very ingenious arrangement. quite unbreakable, i imagine." jimmy, with molly's story fresh in his mind, could not check a rapid smile. mr. mceachern, watching intently, saw it. to him, it was fresh evidence, if any had been wanted, of jimmy's intentions and of his confidence of success. mceachern's brow darkened. during the rest of the meal, tense thought rendered him even more silent than was his wont at the dinner-table. the difficulty of his position was, he saw, great. jimmy, to be foiled, must be watched, and how could he watch him? it was not until the coffee arrived that he found an answer to the question. with his first cigarette came the idea. that night, in his room, before going to bed, he wrote a letter. it was an unusual letter, but, singularly enough, almost identical with one sir thomas blunt had written that very morning. it was addressed to the manager of dodson's private inquiry agency, of bishopsgate street, e. c., and ran as follows: sir,-- on receipt of this, kindly send down one of your smartest men. instruct him to stay at the village inn in character of american seeing sights of england, and anxious to inspect dreever castle. i will meet him in the village and recognize him as old new york friend, and will then give him further instructions. yours faithfully, j. mceachern. p. s. kindly not send a rube, but a real smart man. this brief, but pregnant letter cost some pains in its composition. mceachern was not a ready writer. but he completed it at last to his satisfaction. there was a crisp purity in the style that pleased him. he sealed up the envelope, and slipped it into his pocket. he felt more at ease now. such was the friendship that had sprung up between sir thomas blunt and himself as the result of the jewel episode in paris that he could count with certainty on the successful working of his scheme. the grateful knight would not be likely to allow any old new york friend of his preserver to languish at the village inn. the sleuth-hound would at once be installed at the castle, where, unsuspected by jimmy, he could keep an eye on the course of events. any looking after that mr. james pitt might require could safely be left in the hands of this expert. with considerable fervor, mr. mceachern congratulated himself on his astuteness. with jimmy above stairs and spike below, the sleuth-hound would have his hands full. chapter xv mr. mceachern intervenes life at the castle during the first few days of his visit filled jimmy with a curious blend of emotions, mainly unpleasant. fate, in its pro-jimmy capacity, seemed to be taking a rest. in the first place, the part allotted to him was not that of lord herbert, the character who talked to molly most of the time. the instant charteris learned from lord dreever that jimmy had at one time actually been on the stage professionally, he decided that lord herbert offered too little scope for the new man's talents. "absolutely no good to you, my dear chap," he said. "it's just a small dude part. he's simply got to be a silly ass." jimmy pleaded that he could be a sillier ass than anybody living; but charteris was firm. "no," he said. "you must be captain browne. fine acting part. the biggest in the piece. full of fat lines. spennie was to have played it, and we were in for the worst frost in the history of the stage. now you've come, it's all right. spennie's the ideal lord herbert. he's simply got to be him-self. we've got a success now, my boy. rehearsal after lunch. don't be late." and he was off to beat up the rest of the company. from that moment, jimmy's troubles began. charteris was a young man in whom a passion for the stage was ineradicably implanted. it mattered nothing to him during these days that the sun shone, that it was pleasant on the lake, and that jimmy would have given five pounds a minute to be allowed to get molly to himself for half-an-hour every afternoon. all he knew or cared about was that the local nobility and gentry were due to arrive at the castle within a week, and that, as yet, very few of the company even knew their lines. having hustled jimmy into the part of captain browne, he gave his energy free play. he conducted rehearsals with a vigor that occasionally almost welded the rabble he was coaching into something approaching coherency. he painted scenery, and left it about--wet, and people sat on it. he nailed up horseshoes for luck, and they fell on people. but nothing daunted him. he never rested. "mr. charteris," said lady julia, rather frigidly, after one energetic rehearsal, "is indefatigable. he whirled me about!" it was perhaps his greatest triumph, properly considered, that he had induced lady julia to take a part in his piece; but to the born organizer of amateur theatricals no miracle of this kind is impossible, and charteris was one of the most inveterate organizers in the country. there had been some talk--late at night, in the billiard room--of his being about to write in a comic footman role for sir thomas; but it had fallen through, not, it was felt, because charteris could not have hypnotized his host into undertaking the part, but rather because sir thomas was histrionically unfit. mainly as a result of the producer's energy, jimmy found himself one of a crowd, and disliked the sensation. he had not experienced much difficulty in mastering the scenes in which he appeared; but unfortunately those who appeared with him had. it occurred to jimmy daily, after he had finished "running through the lines" with a series of agitated amateurs, male and female, that for all practical purposes he might just as well have gone to japan. in this confused welter of rehearsers, his opportunities of talking with molly were infinitesimal. and, worse, she did not appear to mind. she was cheerful and apparently quite content to be engulfed in a crowd. probably, he thought with some melancholy, if she met his eye and noted in it a distracted gleam, she put it down to the cause that made other eyes in the company gleam distractedly during this week. jimmy began to take a thoroughly jaundiced view of amateur theatricals, and of these amateur theatricals in particular. he felt that in the electric flame department of the infernal regions there should be a special gridiron, reserved exclusively for the man who invented these performances, so diametrically opposed to the true spirit of civilization. at the close of each day, he cursed charteris with unfailing regularity. there was another thing that disturbed him. that he should be unable to talk with molly was an evil, but a negative evil. it was supplemented by one that was positive. even in the midst of the chaos of rehearsals, he could not help noticing that molly and lord dreever were very much together. also--and this was even more sinister--he observed that both sir thomas blunt and mr. mceachern were making determined efforts to foster the state of affairs. of this, he had sufficient proof one evening when, after scheming and plotting in a way that had made the great efforts of machiavelli and richelieu seem like the work of raw novices, he had cut molly out from the throng, and carried her off for the alleged purpose of helping him feed the chickens. there were, as he had suspected, chickens attached to the castle. they lived in a little world of noise and smells at the back of the stables. bearing an iron pot full of a poisonous-looking mash, and accompanied by molly, he had felt for perhaps a minute and a half like a successful general. it is difficult to be romantic when you are laden with chicken-feed in an unwieldy iron pot, but he had resolved that this portion of the proceedings should be brief. the birds should dine that evening on the quick-lunch principle. then--to the more fitting surroundings of the rose-garden! there was plenty of time before the hour of the sounding of the dressing-gong. perhaps, even a row on the lake-- "what ho!" said a voice. behind them, with a propitiatory smile on his face, stood his lordship of dreever. "my uncle told me i should find you out here. what have you got in there, pitt? is this what you feed them on? i say, you know, queer coves, hens! i wouldn't touch that stuff for a fortune, what? looks to me poisonous." he met jimmy's eye, and stopped. there was that in jimmy's eye that would have stopped an avalanche. his lordship twiddled his fingers in pink embarrassment. "oh, look!" said molly. "there's a poor little chicken out there in the cold. it hasn't had a morsel. give me the spoon, mr. pitt. here, chick, chick! don't be silly, i'm not going to hurt you. i've brought you your dinner." she moved off in pursuit of the solitary fowl, which had edged nervously away. lord dreever bent toward jimmy. "frightfully sorry, pitt, old man," he whispered, feverishly. "didn't want to come. couldn't help it. he sent me out." he half-looked over his shoulder. "and," he added rapidly, as molly came back, "the old boy's up at his bedroom window now, watching us through his opera-glasses!" the return journey to the house was performed in silence--on jimmy's part, in thoughtful silence. he thought hard, and he had been thinking ever since. he had material for thought. that lord dreever was as clay in his uncle's hands he was aware. he had not known his lordship long, but he had known him long enough to realize that a backbone had been carelessly omitted from his composition. what his uncle directed, that would he do. the situation looked bad to jimmy. the order, he knew, had gone out that lord dreever was to marry money. and molly was an heiress. he did not know how much mr. mceachern had amassed in his dealings with new york crime, but it must be something considerable. things looked black. then, jimmy had a reaction. he was taking much for granted. lord dreever might be hounded into proposing to molly, but what earthly reason was there for supposing that molly would accept him? he declined even for an instant to look upon spennie's title in the light of a lure. molly was not the girl to marry for a title. he endeavored to examine impartially his lordship's other claims. he was a pleasant fellow, with--to judge on short acquaintanceship--an undeniably amiable disposition. that much must be conceded. but against this must be placed the equally undeniable fact that he was also, as he would have put it himself, a most frightful ass. he was weak. he had no character. altogether, the examination made jimmy more cheerful. he could not see the light-haired one, even with sir thomas blunt shoving behind, as it were, accomplishing the knight's ends. shove he never so wisely, sir thomas could never make a romeo out of spennie dreever. it was while sitting in the billiard-room one night after dinner, watching his rival play a hundred up with the silent hargate, that jimmy came definitely to this conclusion. he had stopped there to watch, more because he wished to study his man at close range than because the game was anything out of the common as an exposition of billiards. as a matter of fact, it would have been hard to imagine a worse game. lord dreever, who was conceding twenty, was poor, and his opponent an obvious beginner. again, as he looked on, jimmy was possessed of an idea that he had met hargate before. but, once more, he searched his memory, and drew blank. he did not give the thing much thought, being intent on his diagnosis of lord dreever, who by a fluky series of cannons had wobbled into the forties, and was now a few points ahead of his opponent. presently, having summed his lordship up to his satisfaction and grown bored with the game, jimmy strolled out of the room. he paused outside the door for a moment, wondering what to do. there was bridge in the smoking-room, but he did not feel inclined for bridge. from the drawing-room came sounds of music. he turned in that direction, then stopped again. he came to the conclusion that he did not feel sociable. he wanted to think. a cigar on the terrace would meet his needs. he went up to his room for his cigar-case. the window was open. he leaned out. there was almost a full moon, and it was very light out of doors. his eye was caught by a movement at the further end of the terrace, where the shadow was. a girl came out of the shadow, walking slowly. not since early boyhood had jimmy descended stairs with such a rare burst of speed. he negotiated the nasty turn at the end of the first flight at quite a suicidal pace. fate, however, had apparently wakened again and resumed business, for he did not break his neck. a few moments later, he was out on the terrace, bearing a cloak which, he had snatched up en route in the hall. "i thought you might be cold," he said, breathing quickly. "oh, thank you," said molly. "how kind of you!" he put it round her shoulders. "have you been running?" "i came downstairs rather fast." "were you afraid the boogaboos would get you?" she laughed. "i was thinking of when i was a small child. i was always afraid of them. i used to race downstairs when i had to go to my room in the dark, unless i could persuade someone to hold my hand all the way there and back." her spirits had risen with jimmy's arrival. things had been happening that worried her. she had gone out on to the terrace to be alone. when she heard his footsteps, she had dreaded the advent of some garrulous fellow-guest, full of small talk. jimmy, somehow, was a comfort. he did not disturb the atmosphere. little as they had seen of each other, something in him--she could not say what--had drawn her to him. he was a man whom she could trust instinctively. they walked on in silence. words were pouring into jimmy's mind, but he could not frame them. he seemed to have lost the power of coherent thought. molly said nothing. it was not a night for conversation. the moon had turned terrace and garden into a fairyland of black and silver. it was a night to look and listen and think. they walked slowly up and down. as they turned for the second time, molly's thoughts formed themselves into a question. twice she was on the point of asking it, but each time she checked herself. it was an impossible question. she had no right to put it, and he had no right to answer. yet, something was driving her on to ask it. it came out suddenly, without warning. "mr. pitt, what do you think of lord dreever?" jimmy started. no question could have chimed in more aptly with his thoughts. even as she spoke, he was struggling to keep himself from asking her the same thing. "oh, i know i ought not to ask," she went on. "he's your host, and you're his friend. i know. but--" her voice trailed off. the muscles of jimmy's back tightened and quivered. but he could find no words. "i wouldn't ask anyone else. but you're--different, somehow. i don't know what i mean. we hardly know each other. but--" she stopped again; and still he was dumb. "i feel so alone," she said very quietly, almost to herself. something seemed to break in jimmy's head. his brain suddenly cleared. he took a step forward. a huge shadow blackened the white grass. jimmy wheeled round. it was mceachern. "i have been looking for you, molly, my dear," he said, heavily. "i thought you must have gone to bed." he turned to jimmy, and addressed him for the first time since their meeting in the bedroom. "will you excuse us, mr. pitt?" jimmy bowed, and walked rapidly toward the house. at the door, he stopped and looked back. the two were standing where he had left them. chapter xvi a marriage arranged neither molly nor her father had moved or spoken while jimmy was covering the short strip of turf that ended at the stone steps of the house. mceachern stood looking down at her in grim silence. his great body against the dark mass of the castle wall seemed larger than ever in the uncertain light. to molly, there was something sinister and menacing in his attitude. she found herself longing that jimmy would come back. she was frightened. why, she could not have said. it was as if some instinct told her that a crisis in her affairs had been reached, and that she needed him. for the first time in her life, she felt nervous in her father's company. ever since she was a child, she had been accustomed to look upon him as her protector; but, now, she was afraid. "father!" she cried. "what are you doing out here?" his voice was tense and strained. "i came out because i wanted to think, father, dear." she thought she knew his moods, but this was one that she had never seen. it frightened her. "why did he come out here?" "mr. pitt? he brought me a wrap." "what was he saying to you?" the rain of questions gave molly a sensation of being battered. she felt dazed, and a little mutinous. what had she done that she should be assailed like this? "he was saying nothing," she said, rather shortly. "nothing? what do you mean? what was he saying? tell me!" molly's voice shook as she replied. "he was saying nothing," she repeated. "do you think i'm not telling the truth, father? he had not spoken a word for ever so long. we just walked up and down. i was thinking, and i suppose he was, too. at any rate, he said nothing. i--i think you might believe me." she began to cry quietly. her father had never been like this before. it hurt her. mceachern's manner changed in a flash. in the shock of finding jimmy and molly together on the terrace, he had forgotten himself. he had had reason, to be suspicious. sir thomas blunt, from whom he had just parted, had told him a certain piece of news which had disturbed him. the discovery of jimmy with molly had lent an added significance to that piece of news. he saw that he had been rough. in a moment, he was by her side, his great arm round her shoulder, petting and comforting her as he had done when she was a child. he believed her word without question; and his relief made him very tender. gradually, the sobs ceased. she leaned against his arm. "i'm tired, father," she whispered. "poor little girl. we'll sit down." there was a seat at the end of the terrace. mceachern picked molly up as if she had been a baby, and carried her to it. she gave a little cry. "i didn't mean i was too tired to walk," she said, laughing tremulously. "how strong you are, father! if i was naughty, you could take me up and shake me till i was good, couldn't you?" "of course. and send you to bed, too. so, you, be careful, young woman." he lowered her to the seat. molly drew the cloak closer round her, and shivered. "cold, dear?" "no." "you shivered." "it was nothing. yes, it was," she went on quickly; "it was. father, will you promise me something?" "of course. what?" "don't ever be angry with me like that again, will you? i couldn't bear it. really, i couldn't. i know it's stupid of me, but it hurt. you don't know how it hurt." "but, my dear--" "oh, i know it's stupid. but--" "but, my darling, it wasn't so. i was angry, but it wasn't with you." "with--? were you angry with mr. pitt?" mceachern saw that he had traveled too far. he had intended that jimmy's existence should be forgotten for the time being. he had other things to discuss. but it was too late now. he must go forward. "i didn't like to see you out here alone with mr. pitt, dear," he said. "i was afraid--" he saw that he must go still further forward. it was more than, awkward. he wished to hint at the undesirability of an entanglement with jimmy without admitting the possibility of it. not being a man, of nimble brain, he found this somewhat beyond his powers. "i don't like him," he said, briefly. "he's crooked." molly's eyes opened wide. the color had gone from her face. "crooked, father?" mceachern perceived that he had traveled very much too far, almost to disaster. he longed to denounce jimmy, but he was gagged. if molly were to ask the question, that jimmy had asked in the bedroom--that fatal, unanswerable question! the price was too great to pay. he spoke cautiously, vaguely, feeling his way. "i couldn't explain to you, my dear. you wouldn't understand. you must remember, my dear, that out in new york i was in a position to know a great many queer characters--crooks, molly. i was working among them." "but, father, that night at our house you didn't know mr. pitt. he had to tell you his name." "i didn't know him--then," said her father slowly, "but--but--" he paused--"but i made inquiries," he concluded with a rush, "and found out things." he permitted himself a long, silent breath of relief. he saw his way now. "inquiries?" said molly. "why?" "why?" "why did you suspect him?" a moment earlier, the question might have confused mceachern, but not now. he was equal to it. he took it in his stride. "it's hard to say, my dear. a man who has had as much to do with crooks as i have recognizes them when he sees them." "did you think mr. pitt looked--looked like that?" her voice was very small. there was a drawn, pinched expression on her face. she was paler than ever. he could not divine her thoughts. he could not know what his words had done; how they had shown her in a flash what jimmy was to her, and lighted her mind like a flame, revealing the secret hidden there. she knew now. the feeling of comradeship, the instinctive trust, the sense of dependence--they no longer perplexed her; they were signs which she could read. and he was crooked! mceachern proceeded. belief made him buoyant. "i did, my dear. i can read them like a book. i've met scores of his sort. broadway is full of them. good clothes and a pleasant manner don't make a man honest. i've run up against a mighty high-toned bunch of crooks in my day. it's a long time since i gave up thinking that it was only the ones with the low foreheads and the thick ears that needed watching. it's the innocent willies who look as if all they could do was to lead the cotillon. this man pitt's one of them. i'm not guessing, mind you. i know. i know his line, and all about him. i'm watching him. he's here on some game. how did he get here? why, he scraped acquaintance with lord dreever in a london restaurant. it's the commonest trick on the list. if i hadn't happened to be here when he came, i suppose he'd have made his haul by now. why, he came all prepared for it! have you seen an ugly, grinning, red-headed scoundrel hanging about the place? his valet. so he says. valet! do you know who that is? that's one of the most notorious yegg-men on the other side. there isn't a policeman in new york who doesn't know spike mullins. even if i knew nothing of this pitt, that would be enough. what's an innocent man going round the country with spike mullins for, unless they are standing in together at some game? that's who mr. pitt is, my dear, and that's why maybe i seemed a little put out when i came upon you and him out here alone together. see as little of him as you can. in a large party like this, it won't be difficult to avoid him." molly sat staring out across the garden. at first, every word had been a stab. several times, she had been on the point of crying out that she could bear it no longer. but, gradually, a numbness succeeded the pain. she found herself listening apathetically. mceachern talked on. he left the subject of jimmy, comfortably conscious that, even if there had ever existed in molly's heart any budding feeling of the kind he had suspected, it must now be dead. he steered the conversation away until it ran easily among commonplaces. he talked of new york, of the preparations for the theatricals. molly answered composedly. she was still pale, and a certain listlessness in her manner might have been noticed by a more observant man than mr. mceachern. beyond this, there was nothing to show that her heart had been born and killed but a few minutes before. women have the red indian instinct; and molly had grown to womanhood in those few minutes. presently, lord dreever's name came up. it caused a momentary pause, and mceachern took advantage of it. it was the cue for which he had been waiting. he hesitated for a moment, for the conversation was about to enter upon a difficult phase, and he was not quite sure of himself. then, he took the plunge. "i have just been talking to sir thomas, my dear," he said. he tried to speak casually, and, as a natural result, infused so much meaning into his voice that molly looked at him in surprise. mceachern coughed confusedly. diplomacy, he concluded, was not his forte. he abandoned it in favor of directness. "he was telling me that you had refused lord dreever this evening." "yes. i did," said molly. "how did sir thomas know?" "lord dreever told him." molly raised her eyebrows. "i shouldn't have thought it was the sort of thing he would talk about," she said. "sir thomas is his uncle." "of course, so he is," said molly, dryly. "i forgot. that would account for it, wouldn't it?" mr. mceachern looked at her with some concern. there was a hard ring in her voice which he did not altogether like. his greatest admirer had never called him an intuitive man, and he was quite at a loss to see what was wrong. as a schemer, he was perhaps a little naive. he had taken it for granted that molly was ignorant of the maneuvers which had been going on, and which had culminated that afternoon in a stammering proposal of marriage from lord dreever in the rose-garden. this, however, was not the case. the woman incapable of seeing through the machinations of two men of the mental caliber of sir thomas blunt and mr. mceachern has yet to be born. for some considerable time, molly had been alive to the well-meant plottings of that worthy pair, and had derived little pleasure from the fact. it may be that woman loves to be pursued; but she does not love to be pursued by a crowd. mr. mceachern cleared his throat, and began again. "you shouldn't decide a question like that too hastily, my dear." "i didn't--not too hastily for lord dreever, at any rate, poor dear." "it was in your power," said mr. mceachern portentously, "to make a man happy--" "i did," said molly, bitterly. "you should have seen his face light up. he could hardly believe it was true for a moment, and then it came home to him, and i thought he would have fallen on my neck. he did his very best to look heart-broken--out of politeness--but it was no good. he whistled most of the way back to the house--all flat, but very cheerfully." "my dear! what do you mean?" molly had made the discovery earlier in their conversation that her father had moods whose existence she had not expected. it was his turn now to make a similar discovery regarding herself. "i mean nothing, father," she said. "i'm just telling you what happened. he came to me looking like a dog that's going to be washed--" "why, of course, he was nervous, my dear." "of course. he couldn't know that i was going to refuse him." she was breathing quickly. he started to speak, but she went on, looking straight before her. her face was very white in the moon-light. "he took me into the rose-garden. was that sir thomas's idea? there couldn't have been a better setting, i'm sure. the roses looked lovely. presently, i heard him gulp, and i was so sorry for him! i would have refused him then, and put him out of his misery, only i couldn't very well till he had proposed, could i? so, i turned my back, and sniffed at a rose. and, then, he shut his eyes--i couldn't see him, but i know he shut his eyes--and began to say his lesson." "molly!" she laughed, hysterically. "he did. he said his lesson. he gabbled it. when he had got as far as, 'well, don't you know, what i mean is, that's what i wanted to say, you know,' i turned round and soothed him. i said i didn't love him. he said, 'no, no, of course not.' i said he had paid me a great compliment. he said, 'not at all,' looking very anxious, poor darling, as if even then he was afraid of what might come next. but i reassured him, and he cheered up, and we walked back to the house together, as happy as could be." mceachern put his hand round her shoulders. she winced, but let it stay. he attempted gruff conciliation. "my dear, you've been imagining things. of course, he isn't happy. why, i saw the young fellow--" recollecting that the last time he had seen the young fellow--shortly after dinner--the young fellow had been occupied in juggling, with every appearance of mental peace, two billiard-balls and a box of matches, he broke off abruptly. molly looked at him. "father." "my dear?" "why do you want me to marry lord dreever?" he met the attack stoutly. "i think he's a fine young fellow," he said, avoiding her eyes. "he's quite nice," said molly, quietly. mceachern had been trying not to say it. he did not wish to say it. if it could have been hinted at, he would have done it. but he was not good at hinting. a lifetime passed in surroundings where the subtlest hint is a drive in the ribs with a truncheon does not leave a man an adept at the art. he had to be blunt or silent. "he's the earl of dreever, my dear." he rushed on, desperately anxious to cover the nakedness of the statement in a comfortable garment of words. "why, you see, you're young, molly. it's only natural you shouldn't look on these things sensibly. you expect too much of a man. you expect this young fellow to be like the heroes of the novels you read. when you've lived a little longer, my dear, you'll see that there's nothing in it. it isn't the hero of the novel you want to marry. it's the man who'll make you a good husband." this remark struck mr. mceachern as so pithy and profound that he repeated it. he went on. molly was sitting quite still, looking into the shrubbery. he assumed she was listening; but whether she was or not, he must go on talking. the situation was difficult. silence would make it more difficult. "now, look at lord dreever," he said. "there's a young man with one of the oldest titles in england. he could go anywhere and do what he liked, and be excused for whatever he did because of his name. but he doesn't. he's got the right stuff in him. he doesn't go racketing around--" "his uncle doesn't allow him enough pocket-money," said molly, with a jarring little laugh. "perhaps, that's why." there was a pause. mceachern required a few moments in which to marshal his arguments once more. he had been thrown out of his stride. molly turned to him. the hardness had gone from her face. she looked up at him wistfully. "father, dear, listen," she said. "we always used to understand each other so well!" he patted her shoulder affectionately. "you can't mean what you say? you know i don't love lord dreever. you know he's only a boy. don't you want me to marry a man? i love this old place, but surely you can't think that it can really matter in a thing like this? you don't really mean, that about the hero of the novel? i'm not stupid, like that. i only want--oh, i can't put it into words, but don't you see?" her eyes were fixed appealingly on him. it only needed a word from him--perhaps not even a word--to close the gulf that had opened between them. he missed the chance. he had had time to think, and his arguments were ready again. with stolid good-humor, he marched along the line he had mapped out. he was kindly and shrewd and practical; and the gulf gaped wider with every word. "you mustn't be rash, my dear. you mustn't act without thinking in these things. lord dreever is only a boy, as you say, but he will grow. you say you don't love him. nonsense! you like him. you would go on liking him more and more. and why? because you could make what you pleased of him. you've got character, my dear. with a girl like you to look after him, he would go a long way, a very long way. it's all there. it only wants bringing out. and think of it, molly! countess of dreever! there's hardly a better title in england. it would make me very happy, my dear. it's been my one hope all these years to see you in the place where you ought to be. and now the chance has come. molly, dear, don't throw it away." she had leaned back with closed eyes. a wave of exhaustion had swept over her. she listened in a dull dream. she felt beaten. they were too strong for her. there were too many of them. what did it matter? why not give in, and end it all and win peace? that was all she wanted--peace now. what did it all matter? "very well, father," she said, listlessly. mceachern stopped short. "you'll do it, dear?" he cried. "you will?" "very well, father." he stooped and kissed her. "my own dear little girl," he said. she got up. "i'm rather tired, father," she said. "i think i'll go in." two minutes later, mr. mceachern was in sir thomas blunt's study. five minutes later, sir thomas pressed the bell. saunders appeared. "tell his lordship," said sir thomas, "that i wish to see him a moment. he is in the billiard-room, i think." chapter xvii jimmy remembers something the game between hargate and lord dreever was still in progress when jimmy returned to the billiard-room. a glance at the board showed that the score was seventy--sixty-nine, in favor of spot. "good game," said jimmy. "who's spot?" "i am," said his lordship, missing an easy cannon. for some reason, he appeared in high spirits. "hargate's been going great guns. i was eleven ahead a moment ago, but he made a break of twelve." lord dreever belonged to the class of billiard-players to whom a double-figure break is a thing to be noted and greeted with respect. "fluky," muttered the silent hargate, deprecatingly. this was a long speech for him. since their meeting at paddington station, jimmy had seldom heard him utter anything beyond a monosyllable. "not a bit of it, dear old son," said lord dreever, handsomely. "you're coming on like a two-year-old. i sha'n't be able to give you twenty in a hundred much longer." he went to a side-table, and mixed himself a whiskey-and-soda, singing a brief extract from musical comedy as he did so. there could be no shadow of doubt that he was finding life good. for the past few days, and particularly that afternoon, he had been rather noticeably ill at ease. jimmy had seen him hanging about the terrace at half-past five, and had thought that he looked like a mute at a funeral. but now, only a few hours later, he was beaming on the world, and chirping like a bird. the game moved jerkily along. jimmy took a seat, and watched. the score mounted slowly. lord dreever was bad, but hargate was worse. at length, in the eighties, his lordship struck a brilliant vein. when he had finished his break, his score was ninety-five. hargate, who had profited by a series of misses on his opponent's part, had reached ninety-six. "this is shortening my life," said jimmy, leaning forward. the balls had been left in an ideal position. even hargate could not fail to make a cannon. he made it. a close finish to even the worst game is exciting. jimmy leaned still further forward to watch the next stroke. it looked as if hargate would have to wait for his victory. a good player could have made a cannon as the balls lay, but not hargate. they were almost in a straight line, with, white in the center. hargate swore under his breath. there was nothing to be done. he struck carelessly at white. white rolled against red, seemed to hang for a moment, and shot straight back against spot. the game was over. "great scott! what a fluke!" cried the silent one, becoming quite garrulous at the miracle. a quiet grin spread itself slowly across jimmy's face. he had remembered what he had been trying to remember for over a week. at this moment, the door opened, and saunders appeared. "sir thomas would like to see your lordship in his study," he said. "eh? what does he want?" "sir thomas did not confide in me, your lordship." "eh? what? oh, no! well, see you later, you men." he rested his cue against the table, and put on his coat. jimmy followed him out of the door, which he shut behind him. "one second, dreever," he said. "eh? hullo! what's up?" "any money on that game?" asked jimmy. "why, yes, by jove, now you mention it, there was. an even fiver. and--er--by the way, old man--the fact is, just for the moment, i'm frightfully--you haven't such a thing as a fiver anywhere about, have you? the fact is--" "my dear fellow, of course. i'll square up with him now, shall i?" "fearfully obliged, if you would. thanks, old man. pay it to-morrow." "no hurry," said jimmy; "plenty more in the old oak chest." he went back to the room. hargate was practising cannons. he was on the point of making a stroke when jimmy opened the door. "care for a game?" said hargate. "not just at present," said jimmy. hargate attempted his cannon, and failed badly. jimmy smiled. "not such a good shot as the last," he said. "no." "fine shot, that other." "fluke." "i wonder." jimmy lighted a cigarette. "do you know new york at all?" he asked. "been there." "ever been in the strollers' club?" hargate turned his back, but jimmy had seen his face, and was satisfied. "don't know it," said hargate. "great place," said jimmy. "mostly actors and writers, and so on. the only drawback is that some of them pick up queer friends." hargate did not reply. he did not seem interested. "yes," went on jimmy. "for instance, a pal of mine, an actor named mifflin, introduced a man a year ago as a member's guest for a fortnight, and this man rooked the fellows of i don't know how much at billiards. the old game, you know. nursing his man right up to the end, and then finishing with a burst. of course, when that happens once or twice, it may be an accident, but, when a man who poses as a novice always manages by a really brilliant shot--" hargate turned round. "they fired this fellow out," said jimmy. "look here!" "yes?" "what do you mean?" "it's a dull yarn," said jimmy, apologetically. "i've been boring you. by the way, dreever asked me to square up with you for that game, in case he shouldn't be back. here you are." he held out an empty hand. "got it?" "what are you going to do?" demanded hargate. "what am i going to do?" queried jimmy. "you know what i mean. if you'll keep your mouth shut, and stand in, it's halves. is that what you're after?" jimmy was delighted. he knew that by rights the proposal should have brought him from his seat, with stern, set face, to wreak vengeance for the insult, but on such occasions he was apt to ignore the conventions. his impulse, when he met a man whose code of behavior was not the ordinary code, was to chat with him and extract his point of view. he felt as little animus against hargate as he had felt against spike on the occasion of their first meeting. "do you make much at this sort of game?" he asked. hargate was relieved. this was business-like. "pots," he said, with some enthusiasm. "pots. i tell you, if you'll stand in--" "bit risky, isn't it?" "not a bit of it. an occasional accident--" "i suppose you'd call me one?" hargate grinned. "it must be pretty tough work," said jimmy. "you must have to use a tremendous lot of self-restraint." hargate sighed. "that's the worst of it," he admitted, "the having to seem a mug at the game. i've been patronized sometimes by young fools, who thought they were teaching me, till i nearly forgot myself and showed them what real billiards was." "there's always some drawback to the learned professions," said jimmy. "but there's a heap to make up for it in this one," said hargate. "well, look here, is it a deal? you'll stand in--" jimmy shook his head. "i guess not," he said. "it's good of you, but commercial speculation never was in my line. i'm afraid you must count me out of this." "what! you're going to tell--?" "no," said jimmy, "i'm not. i'm not a vigilance committee. i won't tell a soul." '"why, then--" began hargate, relieved. "unless, of course," jimmy went on, "you play billiards again while you're here." hargate stared. "but, damn it, man, if i don't, what's the good--? look here. what am i to do if they ask me to play?" "give your wrist as an excuse." "my wrist?" "yes. you sprained it to-morrow after breakfast. it was bad luck. i wonder how you came to do it. you didn't sprain it much, but just enough to stop you playing billiards." hargate reflected. "understand?" said jimmy. "oh, very well," said hargate, sullenly. "but," he burst out, "if i ever get a chance to get even with you--" "you won't," said jimmy. "dismiss the rosy dream. get even! you don't know me. there's not a flaw in my armor. i'm a sort of modern edition of the stainless knight. tennyson drew galahad from me. i move through life with almost a sickening absence of sin. but hush! we are observed. at least, we shall be in another minute. somebody is coming down the passage. you do understand, don't you? sprained wrist is the watchword." the handle turned. it was lord dreever, back again, from his interview. "hullo, dreever," said jimmy. "we've missed you. hargate has been doing his best to amuse me with acrobatic tricks. but you're too reckless, hargate, old man. mark my words, one of these days you'll be spraining your wrist. you should be more careful. what, going? good-night. pleasant fellow, hargate," he added, as the footsteps retreated down, the passage. "well, my lad, what's the matter with you? you look depressed." lord dreever flung himself on to the lounge, and groaned hollowly. "damn! damn!! damn!!!" he observed. his glassy eye met jimmy's, and wandered away again. "what on earth's the matter?" demanded jimmy. "you go out of here caroling like a song-bird, and you come back moaning like a lost soul. what's happened?" "give me a brandy-and-soda, pitt, old man. there's a good chap. i'm in a fearful hole." "why? what's the matter?" "i'm engaged," groaned his lordship. "engaged! i wish you'd explain. what on earth's wrong with you? don't you want to be engaged? what's your--?" he broke off, as a sudden, awful suspicion dawned upon him. "who is she?" he cried. he gripped the stricken peer's shoulder, and shook it savagely. unfortunately, he selected the precise moment when the latter was in the act of calming his quivering nerve-centers with a gulp of brandy-and-soda, and for the space of some two minutes it seemed as if the engagement would be broken off by the premature extinction of the dreever line. a long and painful fit of coughing, however, ended with his lordship still alive and on the road to recovery. he eyed jimmy reproachfully, but jimmy was in no mood for apologies. "who is she?" he kept demanding. "what's her name?" "might have killed me!" grumbled the convalescent. "who is she?" "what? why, miss mceachern." jimmy had known what the answer would be, but it was scarcely less of a shock for that reason. "miss mceachern?" he echoed. lord dreever nodded a somber nod. "you're engaged to her?" another somber nod. "i don't believe it," said jimmy. "i wish i didn't," said his lordship wistfully, ignoring the slight rudeness of the remark. "but, worse luck, it's true." for the first time since the disclosure of the name, jimmy's attention was directed to the remarkable demeanor of his successful rival. "you don't seem over-pleased," he said. "pleased! have a fiver each way on 'pleased'! no, i'm not exactly leaping with joy." "then, what the devil is it all about? what do you mean? what's the idea? if you don't want to marry miss mceachern, why did you propose to her?" lord dreever closed his eyes. "dear old boy, don't! it's my uncle." "your uncle?" "didn't i explain it all to you--about him wanting me to marry? you know! i told you the whole thing." jimmy stared in silence. "do you mean to say--?" he said, slowly. he stopped. it was a profanation to put the thing into words. "what, old man?" jimmy gulped. "do you mean to say you want to marry miss mceachern simply because she has money?" he said. it was not the first time that he had heard of a case of a british peer marrying for such a reason, but it was the first time that the thing had filled him with horror. in some circumstances, things come home more forcibly to us. "it's not me, old man," murmured his lordship; "it's my uncle." "your uncle! good god!" jimmy clenched his hands, despairingly. "do you mean to say that you let your uncle order you about in a thing like this? do you mean to say you're such a--such a--such a gelatine--backboneless worm--" "old man! i say!" protested his lordship, wounded. "i'd call you a wretched knock-kneed skunk, only i don't want to be fulsome. i hate flattering a man to his face." lord dreever, deeply pained, half-rose from his seat. "don't get up," urged jimmy, smoothly. "i couldn't trust myself." his lordship subsided hastily. he was feeling alarmed. he had never seen this side of jimmy's character. at first, he had been merely aggrieved and disappointed. he had expected sympathy. how, the matter had become more serious. jimmy was pacing the room like a young and hungry tiger. at present, it was true, there was a billiard-table between them; but his lordship felt that he could have done with good, stout bars. he nestled in his seat with the earnest concentration of a limpet on a rock. it would be deuced bad form, of course, for jimmy to assault his host, but could jimmy be trusted to remember the niceties of etiquette? "why the devil she accepted you, i can't think," said jimmy half to himself, stopping suddenly, and glaring across the table. lord dreever felt relieved. this was not polite, perhaps, but at least it was not violent. "that's what beats me, too, old man," he said. "between you and me, it's a jolly rum business. this afternoon--" "what about this afternoon?" "why, she wouldn't have me at any price." "you asked her this afternoon?" "yes, and it was all right then. she refused me like a bird. wouldn't hear of it. came damn near laughing in my face. and then, to-night," he went on, his voice squeaky at the thought of his wrongs, "my uncle sends for me, and says she's changed her mind and is waiting for me in the morning-room. i go there, and she tells me in about three words that she's been thinking it over and that the whole fearful thing is on again. i call it jolly rough on a chap. i felt such a frightful ass, you know. i didn't know what to do, whether to kiss her, i mean--" jimmy snorted violently. "eh?" said his lordship, blankly. "go on," said jimmy, between his teeth. "i felt a fearful fool, you know. i just said 'right ho!' or something--dashed if i know now what i did say--and legged it. it's a jolly rum business, the whole thing. it isn't as if she wanted me. i could see that with half an eye. she doesn't care a hang for me. it's my belief, old man," he said solemnly, "that she's been badgered into it, i believe my uncle's been at her." jimmy laughed shortly. "my dear man, you seem to think your uncle's persuasive influence is universal. i guess it's confined to you." "well, anyhow, i believe that's what's happened. what do you say?" "why say anything? there doesn't seem to be much need." he poured some brandy into a glass, and added a little soda. "you take it pretty stiff," observed his lordship, with a touch of envy. "on occasion," said jimmy, emptying the glass. chapter xviii the lochinvar method as jimmy sat smoking a last cigarette in his bedroom before going to bed that night, spike mullins came in. jimmy had been thinking things over. he was one of those men who are at their best in a losing game. imminent disaster always had the effect of keying him up and putting an edge on his mind. the news he had heard that night had left him with undiminished determination, but conscious that a change of method would be needed. he must stake all on a single throw now. young lochinvar rather than romeo must be his model. he declined to believe himself incapable of getting anything that he wanted as badly as he wanted molly. he also declined to believe that she was really attached to lord dreever. he suspected the hand of mceachern in the affair, though the suspicion did not clear up the mystery by any means. molly was a girl of character, not a feminine counterpart of his lordship, content meekly to do what she was told in a matter of this kind. the whole thing puzzled him. "well, spike?" he said. he was not too pleased at the interruption. he was thinking, and he wanted to be alone. something appeared to have disturbed spike. his bearing was excited. "say, boss! guess what. you know dat guy dat come dis afternoon--de guy from de village, dat came wit' old man mceachern?" "galer?" said jimmy. "what about him?" there had been an addition to the guests at the castle that afternoon. mr. mceachern, walking in the village, had happened upon an old new york acquaintance of his, who, touring england, had reached dreever and was anxious to see the historic castle. mr. mceachern had brought him thither, introduced him to sir thomas, and now mr. samuel galer was occupying a room on the same floor as jimmy's. he had appeared at dinner that night, a short, wooden-faced man, with no more conversation than hargate. jimmy had paid little attention to the newcomer. "what about him?" he said. "he's a sleut', boss." "a what?" "a sleut'." "a detective?" "dat's right. a fly cop." "what makes you think that?" "t'ink! why, i can tell dem by deir eyes an' deir feet, an' de whole of dem. i could pick out a fly cop from a bunch of a t'ousand. he's a sure 'nough sleut' all right, all right. i seen him rubber in' at youse, boss." "at me! why at me? why, of course. i see now. our friend mceachern has got him in to spy on us." "dat's right, boss." "of course, you may be mistaken." "not me, boss. an', say, he ain't de only one." "what, more detectives? they'll have to put up 'house full' boards, at this rate. who's the other?" "a mug what's down in de soivants' hall. i wasn't so sure of him at foist, but now i'm onto his curves. he's a sleut' all right. he's vally to sir tummas, dis second mug is. but he ain't no vally. he's come to see no one don't get busy wit' de jools. say, what do youse t'ink of dem jools, boss?" "finest i ever saw." "yes, dat's right. a hundred t'ousand plunks dey set him back. dey're de limit, ain't dey? say, won't youse really--?" "spike! i'm surprised at you! do you know, you're getting a regular mephistopheles, spike? suppose i hadn't an iron will, what would happen? you really must select your subjects of conversation more carefully. you're bad company for the likes of me." spike shuffled despondently. "but, boss--!" jimmy shook his head. "it can't be done, my lad." "but it can, boss," protested spike. "it's dead easy. i've been up to de room, an' i seen de box what de jools is kept in. why, it's de softest ever! we could get dem as easy as pullin' de plug out of a bottle. why, say, dere's never been such a peach of a place for gittin' hold of de stuff as dis house. dat's right, boss. why, look what i got dis afternoon, just snoopin' around an' not really tryin' to git busy at all. it was just lyin' about." he plunged his hand into his pocket, and drew it out again. as he unclosed his fingers, jimmy caught the gleam of precious stones. "what the--!" he gasped. spike was looking at his treasure-trove with an air of affectionate proprietorship. "where on earth did you get those?" asked jimmy. "out of one of de rooms. dey belonged to one of de loidies. it was de easiest old t'ing ever, boss. i just went in when dere was nobody around, an' dere dey was on de toible. i never butted into anyt'in' so soft." "spike!" "yes, boss?" "do you remember the room you took them from?" "sure. it was de foist on de--" "then, just listen to me for a moment, my bright boy. when we're at breakfast to-morrow, you want to go to that room and put those things back--all of them, mind you--just where you found them. do you understand?" spike's jaw had fallen. "put dem back, boss!" he faltered. "every single one of them." "boss!" said spike, plaintively. "remember. every single one of them, just where it belongs. see?" "very well, boss." the dejection in his voice would have moved the sternest to pity. gloom had enveloped spike's spirit. the sunlight had gone out of his life. it had also gone out of the lives of a good many other people at the castle. this was mainly due to the growing shadow of the day of the theatricals. for pure discomfort, there are few things in the world that can compete with the final rehearsals of an amateur theatrical performance at a country-house. every day, the atmosphere becomes more heavily charged with restlessness and depression. the producer of the piece, especially if he be also the author of it, develops a sort of intermittent insanity. he plucks at his mustache, if he has one: at his hair, if he has not. he mutters to himself. he gives vent to occasional despairing cries. the soothing suavity that marked his demeanor in the earlier rehearsals disappears. he no longer says with a winning smile, "splendid, old man, splendid. couldn't be better. but i think we'll take that over just once more, if you don't mind." instead, he rolls his eyes, and snaps out, "once more, please. this'll never do. at this rate, we might just as well cut out the show altogether. what's that? no, it won't be all right on the night! now, then, once more; and do pull yourselves together this time." after this, the scene is sulkily resumed; and conversation, when the parties concerned meet subsequently, is cold and strained. matters had reached this stage at the castle. everybody was thoroughly tired of the piece, and, but for the thought of the disappointment which (presumably) would rack the neighboring nobility and gentry if it were not to be produced, would have resigned their places without a twinge of regret. people who had schemed to get the best and longest parts were wishing now that they had been content with "first footman," or "giles, a villager." "i'll never run an amateur show again as long as i live," confided charteris to jimmy almost tearfully. "it's not good enough. most of them aren't word-perfect yet." "it'll be all right--" "oh, don't say it'll be all right on the night." "i wasn't going to," said jimmy. "i was going to say it'll be all right after the night. people will soon forget how badly the thing went." "you're a nice, comforting sort of man, aren't you?" said charteris. "why worry?" said jimmy. "if you go on like this, it'll be westminster abbey for you in your prime. you'll be getting brain-fever." jimmy himself was one of the few who were feeling reasonably cheerful. he was deriving a keen amusement at present from the maneuvers of mr. samuel galer, of new york. this lynx-eyed man; having been instructed by mr. mceachern to watch jimmy, was doing so with a thoroughness that would have roused the suspicions of a babe. if jimmy went to the billiard-room after dinner, mr. galer was there to keep him company. if, during the course of the day, he had occasion to fetch a handkerchief or a cigarette-case from his bedroom, he was sure, on emerging, to stumble upon mr. galer in the corridor. the employees of dodson's private inquiry agency believed in earning their salaries. occasionally, after these encounters, jimmy would come upon sir thomas blunt's valet, the other man in whom spike's trained eye had discerned the distinguishing marks of the sleuth. he was usually somewhere round the corner at these moments, and, when collided with, apologized with great politeness. jimmy decided that he must have come under suspicion in this case vicariously, through spike. spike in the servants' hall would, of course, stand out conspicuously enough to catch the eye of a detective on the look out for sin among the servants; and he himself, as spike's employer, had been marked down as a possible confederate. it tickled him to think that both these giant brains should be so greatly exercised on his account. he had been watching molly closely during these days. so far, no announcement of the engagement had been made. it struck him that possibly it was being reserved for public mention on the night of the theatricals. the whole county would be at the castle then. there could be no more fitting moment. he sounded lord dreever, and the latter said moodily that he was probably right. "there's going to be a dance of sorts after the show," he said, "and it'll be done then, i suppose. no getting out of it after that. it'll be all over the county. trust my uncle for that. he'll get on a table, and shout it, shouldn't wonder. and it'll be in the morning post next day, and katie'll see it! only two days more, oh, lord!" jimmy deduced that katie was the savoy girl, concerning whom his lordship had vouchsafed no particulars save that she was a ripper and hadn't a penny. only two days! like the battle of waterloo, it was going to be a close-run affair. more than ever now, he realized how much molly meant to him; and there were moments when it seemed to him that she, too, had begun to understand. that night on the terrace seemed somehow to have changed their relationship. he thought he had got closer to her. they were in touch. before, she had been frank, cheerful, unembarrassed. now, he noticed a constraint in her manner, a curious shyness. there was a barrier between them, but it was not the old barrier. he had ceased to be one of a crowd. but it was a race against time. the first day slipped by, a blank, and the second; till, now, it was but a matter of hours. the last afternoon had come. not even mr. samuel galer, of dodson's private inquiry agency, could have kept a more unflagging watch than did jimmy during those hours. there was no rehearsal that afternoon, and the members of the company, in various stages of nervous collapse, strayed distractedly about the grounds. first one, then another, would seize upon molly, while jimmy, watching from afar, cursed their pertinacity. at last, she wondered off alone, and jimmy, quitting his ambush, followed. she walked in the direction of the lake. it had been a terribly hot, oppressive afternoon. there was thunder in the air. through the trees, the lake glittered invitingly. she was standing at the water's edge when jimmy came up. her back was turned. she was rocking with her foot a canadian canoe that lay alongside the bank. she started as he spoke. his feet on the soft turf had made no sound. "can i take you out on the lake?" he said. she did not answer for a moment. she was plainly confused. "i'm sorry," she said. "i--i'm waiting for lord dreever." jimmy saw that she was nervous. there was tension in the air. she was looking away from him, out across the lake, and her face was flushed. "won't you?" he said. "i'm sorry," she said again. jimmy looked over his shoulder. down the lower terrace was approaching the long form of his lordship. he walked with pensive jerkiness, not as one hurrying to a welcome tryst. as jimmy looked, he vanished behind the great clump of laurels that stood on the lowest terrace. in another minute, he would reappear round them. gently, but with extreme dispatch, jimmy placed a hand on either side of molly's waist. the next moment, he had swung her off her feet, and lowered her carefully to the cushions in the bow of the canoe. then, jumping in himself with a force that made the boat rock, he loosened the mooring-rope, seized the paddle, and pushed off. chapter xix on the lake in making love, as in every other branch of life, consistency is the quality most to be aimed at. to hedge is fatal. a man must choose the line of action that he judges to be best suited to his temperament, and hold to it without deviation. if lochinvar snatches the maiden up on his saddle-bow, he must continue in that vein. he must not fancy that, having accomplished the feat, he can resume the episode on lines of devotional humility. prehistoric man, who conducted his courtship with a club, never fell into the error of apologizing when his bride complained of headache. jimmy did not apologize. the idea did not enter his mind. he was feeling prehistoric. his heart was beating fast, and his mind was in a whirl, but the one definite thought that came to him during the first few seconds of the journey was that he ought to have done this earlier. this was the right way. pick her up and carry her off, and leave uncles and fathers and butter-haired peers of the realm to look after themselves. this was the way. alone together in their own little world of water, with nobody to interrupt and nobody to overhear! he should have done it before. he had wasted precious, golden time, hanging about while futile men chattered to her of things that could not possibly be of interest. but he had done the right thing at last. he had got her. she must listen to him now. she could not help listening. they were the only inhabitants of this new world. he looked back over his shoulder at the world they had left. the last of the dreevers had rounded the clump of laurels, and was standing at the edge of the water, gazing perplexedly after the retreating canoe. "these poets put a thing very neatly sometimes," said jimmy reflectively, as he dug the paddle into the water. "the man who said, 'distance lends enchantment to the view,' for instance. dreever looks quite nice when you see him as far away as this, with a good strip of water in between." molly, gazing over the side of the boat into the lake, abstained from feasting her eyes on the picturesque spectacle. "why did you do it?" she said, in a low voice. jimmy shipped the paddle, and allowed the canoe to drift. the ripple of the water against the prow sounded clear and thin in the stillness. the world seemed asleep. the sun blazed down, turning the water to flame. the air was hot, with the damp electrical heat that heralds a thunderstorm. molly's face looked small and cool in the shade of her big hat. jimmy, as he watched her, felt that he had done well. this was, indeed, the way. "why did you do it?" she said again. "i had to." "take me back." "no." he took up the paddle, and placed a broader strip of water between the two worlds; then paused once more. "i have something to say to you first," he said. she did not answer. he looked over his shoulder again. his lordship had disappeared. "do you mind if i smoke?" she nodded. he filled his pipe carefully, and lighted it. the smoke moved sluggishly up through the still air. there was a long silence. a fish jumped close by, falling back in a shower of silver drops. molly started at the sound, and half-turned. "that was a fish," she said, as a child might have done. jimmy knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "what made you do it?" he asked abruptly, echoing her own question. she drew her fingers slowly through the water without speaking. "you know what i mean. dreever told me." she looked up with a flash of spirit, which died away as she spoke. "what right?" she stopped, and looked away again. "none," said jimmy. "but i wish you would tell me." she hung her head. jimmy bent forward, and touched her hand. "don't" he said; "for god's sake, don't! you mustn't." "i must," she said, miserably. "you sha'n't. it's wicked." "i must. it's no good talking about it. it's too late." "it's not. you must break it off to-day." she shook her head. her fingers still dabbled mechanically in the water. the sun was hidden now behind a gray veil, which deepened into a sullen black over the hill behind the castle. the heat had grown more oppressive, with a threat of coming storm. "what made you do it?" he asked again. "don't let's talk about it ... please!" he had a momentary glimpse of her face. there were tears in her eyes. at the sight, his self-control snapped. "you sha'n't," he cried. "it's ghastly. i won't let you. you must understand now. you must know what you are to me. do you think i shall let you--?" a low growl of thunder rumbled through the stillness, like the muttering of a sleepy giant. the black cloud that had hung over the hill had crept closer. the heat was stifling. in the middle of the lake, some fifty yards distant, lay the island, cool and mysterious in the gathering darkness. jimmy broke off, and seized the paddle. on this side of the island was a boathouse, a little creek covered over with boards and capable of sheltering an ordinary rowboat. he ran the canoe in just as the storm began, and turned her broadside on, so that they could watch the rain, which was sweeping over the lake in sheets. he began to speak again, more slowly now. "i think i loved you from the first day i saw you on the ship. and, then, i lost you. i found you again by a miracle, and lost you again. i found you here by another miracle, but this time i am not going to lose you. do you think i'm going to stand by and see you taken from me by--by--" he took her hand. "molly, you can't love him. it isn't possible. if i thought you did, i wouldn't try to spoil your happiness. i'd go away. but you don't. you can't. he's nothing. molly!" the canoe rocked as he leaned toward her. "molly!" she said nothing; but, for the first time, her eyes met his, clear and unwavering. he could read fear in them, fear--not of himself, of something vague, something he could not guess at. but they shone with a light that conquered the fear as the sun conquers fire; and he drew her to him, and kissed her again and again, murmuring incoherently. suddenly, she wrenched herself away, struggling like some wild thing. the boat plunged. "i can't," she cried in a choking voice. "i mustn't. oh, i can't!" he stretched out a hand, and clutched at the rail than ran along the wall. the plunging ceased. he turned. she had hidden her face, and was sobbing, quietly, with the forlorn hopelessness of a lost child. he made a movement toward her, but drew back. he felt dazed. the rain thudded and splashed on the wooden roof. a few drops trickled through a crack in the boards. he took off his coat, and placed it gently over her shoulders. "molly!" she looked up with wet eyes. "molly, dear, what is it?" "i mustn't. it isn't right." "i don't understand." "i mustn't, jimmy." he moved cautiously forward, holding the rail, till he was at her side, and took her in his arms. "what is it, dear? tell me." she clung to him without speaking. "you aren't worrying about him, are you--about dreever? there's nothing to worry about. it'll be quite easy and simple. i'll tell him, if you like. he knows you don't care for him; and, besides, there's a girl in london that he--" "no, no. it's not that." "what is it, dear? what's troubling you?" "jimmy--" she stopped. he waited. "yes?" "jimmy, my father wouldn't--father--father--doesn't--" "doesn't like me?" she nodded miserably. a great wave of relief swept over jimmy. he had imagined--he hardly knew what he had imagined: some vast, insuperable obstacle; some tremendous catastrophe, whirling them asunder. he could have laughed aloud in his happiness. so, this was it, this was the cloud that brooded over them--that mr. mceachern did not like him! the angel, guarding eden with a fiery sword, had changed into a policeman with a truncheon. "he must learn to love me," he said, lightly. she looked at him hopelessly. he could not see; he could not understand. and how could she tell him? her father's words rang in her brain. he was "crooked." he was "here on some game." he was being watched. but she loved him, she loved him! oh, how could she make him understand? she clung tighter to him, trembling. he became serious again. "dear, you mustn't worry," he said. "it can't be helped. he'll come round. once we're married--" "no, no. oh, can't you understand? i couldn't, i couldn't!" jimmy's face whitened. he looked at her anxiously. "but, dear!" he said. "you can't--do you mean to say--will that--" he searched for a word-"stop you?" he concluded. "it must," she whispered. a cold hand clutched at his heart. his world was falling to pieces, crumbling under his eyes. "but--but you love me," he said, slowly. it was as if he were trying to find the key to a puzzle. "i--don't see." "you couldn't. you can't. you're a man. you don't know. it's so different for a man! he's brought up all his life with the idea of leaving home. he goes away naturally." "but, dear, you couldn't live at home all your life. whoever you married--" "but this would be different. father would never speak to me again. i should never see him again. he would go right out of my life. jimmy, i couldn't. a girl can't cut away twenty years of her life, and start fresh like that. i should be haunted. i should make you miserable. every day, a hundred little things would remind me of him, and i shouldn't be strong enough to resist them. you don't know how fond he is of me, how good he has always been. ever since i can remember, we've been such friends. you've only seen the outside of him, and i know how different that is from what he really is. all his life he has thought only of me. he has told me things about himself which nobody else dreams of, and i know that all these years he has been working just for me. jimmy, you don't hate me for saying this, do you?" "go on," he said, drawing her closer to him. "i can't remember my mother. she died when i was quite little. so, he and i have been the only ones--till you came." memories of those early days crowded her mind as she spoke, making her voice tremble; half-forgotten trifles, many of them, fraught with the glamour and fragrance of past happiness. "we have always been together. he trusted me, and i trusted him, and we saw things through together. when i was ill, he used to sit up all night with me, night after night. once--i'd only got a little fever, really, but i thought i was terribly bad--i heard him come in late, and called out to him, and he came straight in, and sat and held my hand all through the night; and it was only by accident i found out later that it had been raining and that he was soaked through. it might have killed him. we were partners, jimmy, dear. i couldn't do anything to hurt him now, could i? it wouldn't be square." jimmy had turned away his head, for fear his face might betray what he was feeling. he was in a hell of unreasoning jealousy. he wanted her, body and soul, and every word she said bit like a raw wound. a moment before, and he had felt that she belonged to him. now, in the first shock of reaction, he saw himself a stranger, an intruder, a trespasser on holy ground. she saw the movement, and her intuition put her in touch with his thoughts. "no, no," she cried; "no, jimmy, not that!" their eyes met, and he was satisfied. they sat there, silent. the rain had lessened its force, and was falling now in a gentle shower. a strip of blue sky, pale and watery, showed through the gray over the hills. on the island close behind them, a thrush had begun to sing. "what are we to do?" she said, at last. "what can we do?" "we must wait," he said. "it will all come right. it must. nothing can stop us now." the rain had ceased. the blue had routed the gray, and driven it from the sky. the sun, low down in the west, shone out bravely over the lake. the air was cool and fresh. jimmy's spirits rose with a bound. he accepted the omen. this was the world as it really was, smiling and friendly, not gray, as he had fancied it. he had won. nothing could alter that. what remained to be done was trivial. he wondered how he could ever have allowed it to weigh upon him. after awhile, he pushed the boat out of its shelter on to the glittering water, and seized the paddle. "we must be getting back," he said. "i wonder what the time is. i wish we could stay out forever. but it must be late. molly!" "yes?" "whatever happens, you'll break off this engagement with dreever? shall i tell him? i will if you like." "no, i will. i'll write him a note, if i don't see him before dinner." jimmy paddled on a few strokes. "it's no good," he said suddenly, "i can't keep it in. molly, do you mind if i sing a bar or two? i've got a beastly voice, but i'm feeling rather happy. i'll stop as soon as i can." he raised his voice discordantly. covertly, from beneath the shade of her big hat, molly watched him with troubled eyes. the sun had gone down behind the hills, and the water had ceased to glitter. there was a suggestion of chill in the air. the great mass of the castle frowned down upon them, dark and forbidding in the dim light. she shivered. chapter xx a lesson in picquet lord dreever, meanwhile, having left the waterside, lighted a cigarette, and proceeded to make a reflective tour of the grounds. he felt aggrieved with the world. molly's desertion in the canoe with jimmy did not trouble him: he had other sorrows. one is never at one's best and sunniest when one has been forced by a ruthless uncle into abandoning the girl one loves and becoming engaged to another, to whom one is indifferent. something of a jaundiced tinge stains one's outlook on life in such circumstances. moreover, lord dreever was not by nature an introspective young man, but, examining his position as he walked along, he found himself wondering whether it was not a little unheroic. he came to the conclusion that perhaps it was. of course, uncle thomas could make it deucedly unpleasant for him if he kicked. that was the trouble. if only he had even--say, a couple of thousands a year of his own--he might make a fight for it. but, dash it, uncle tom could cut off supplies to such a frightful extent, if there was trouble, that he would have to go on living at dreever indefinitely, without so much as a fearful quid to call his own. imagination boggled at the prospect. in the summer and autumn, when there was shooting, his lordship was not indisposed to a stay at the home of his fathers. but all the year round! better a broken heart inside the radius than a sound one in the country in the winter. "but, by gad!" mused his lordship; "if i had as much as a couple--yes, dash it, even a couple of thousand a year, i'd chance it, and ask katie to marry me, dashed if i wouldn't!" he walked on, drawing thoughtfully at his cigarette. the more he reviewed the situation, the less he liked it. there was only one bright spot in it, and this was the feeling that now money must surely get a shade less tight. extracting the precious ore from sir thomas hitherto had been like pulling back-teeth out of a bull-dog. but, now, on the strength of this infernal engagement, surely the uncle might reasonably be expected to scatter largesse to some extent. his lordship was just wondering whether, if approached in a softened mood, the other might not disgorge something quite big, when a large, warm rain-drop fell on his hand. from the bushes round about came an ever increasing patter. the sky was leaden. he looked round him for shelter. he had reached the rose-garden in the course of his perambulations. at the far end was a summerhouse. he turned up his coat-collar, and ran. as he drew near, he heard a slow and dirge-like whistling proceeding from the interior. plunging in out of breath, just as the deluge began, he found hargate seated at the little wooden table with an earnest expression on his face. the table was covered with cards. hargate had not yet been compelled to sprain his wrist, having adopted the alternative of merely refusing invitations to play billiards. "hello, hargate," said his lordship. "isn't it coming down, by jove!" hargate glanced up, nodded without speaking, and turned his attention to the cards once more. he took one from the pack in his left hand, looked at it, hesitated for a moment, as if doubtful whereabouts on the table it would produce the most artistic effect; and finally put it face upward. then, he moved another card from the table, and put it on top of the other one. throughout the performance, he whistled painfully. his lordship regarded his guest with annoyance. "that looks frightfully exciting," he said, disparagingly. "what are you playing at? patience?" hargate nodded again, this time without looking up. "oh, don't sit there looking like a frog," said lord dreever, irritably. "talk, man." hargate gathered up the cards, and proceeded to shuffle them in a meditative manner, whistling the while. "oh, stop it!" said his lordship. hargate nodded, and obediently put down the deck. "look here." said lord dreever, "this is boring me stiff. let's have a game of something. anything to pass away the time. curse this rain! we shall be cooped up here till dinner at this rate. ever played picquet? i could teach it you in five minutes." a look almost of awe came into hargate's face, the look of one who sees a miracle performed before his eyes. for years, he had been using all the large stock of diplomacy at his command to induce callow youths to play picquet with him, and here was this--admirable young man, this pearl among young men, positively offering to teach him the game. it was too much happiness. what had he done to deserve this? he felt as a toil-worn lion might feel if some antelope, instead of making its customary bee-line for the horizon, were to trot up and insert its head between his jaws. "i--i shouldn't mind being shown the idea," he said. he listened attentively while lord dreever explained at some length the principles that govern the game of picquet. every now and then, he asked a question. it was evident that he was beginning to grasp the idea of the game. "what exactly is re-piquing?" he asked, as his, lordship paused. "it's like this," said his lordship, returning to his lecture. "yes, i see now," said the neophyte. they began playing. lord dreever, as was only to be expected in a contest between teacher and student, won the first two hands. hargate won the next. "i've got the hang of it all right now," he said, complacently. "it's a simple sort of game. make it more exciting, don't you think, if we played for something?" "all right," said lord dreever slowly, "if you like." he would not have suggested it himself, but, after all, dash it, if the man really asked for it--it was not his fault if the winning of a hand should have given the fellow the impression that he knew all there was to be known about picquet. of course, picquet was a game where skill was practically bound to win. but--after all, hargate probably had plenty of money. he could afford it. "all right," said his lordship again. "how much?" "something fairly moderate? ten bob a hundred?" there is no doubt that his lordship ought at this suggestion to have corrected the novice's notion that ten shillings a hundred was fairly moderate. he knew that it was possible for a poor player to lose four hundred points in a twenty minutes' game, and usual for him to lose two hundred. but he let the thing go. "very well," he said. twenty minutes later, hargate was looking some-what ruefully at the score-sheet. "i owe you eighteen shillings," he said. "shall i pay you now, or shall we settle up in a lump after we've finished?" "what about stopping now?" said lord dreever. "it's quite fine out." "no, let's go on. i've nothing to do till dinner, and i don't suppose you have." his lordship's conscience made one last effort. "you'd much better stop, you know, hargate, really," he said. "you can lose a frightful lot at this game." "my dear dreever," said hargate stiffly, "i can look after myself, thanks. of course, if you think you are risking too much, by all means--" "oh, if you don't mind," said his lordship, outraged, "i'm only too frightfully pleased. only, remember i warned you." "i'll bear it in mind. by the way, before we start, care to make it a sovereign a hundred?" lord dreever could not afford to play picquet for a sovereign a hundred, or, indeed, to play picquet for money at all; but, after his adversary's innuendo, it was impossible for a young gentleman of spirit to admit the humiliating fact. he nodded. "about time, i fancy," said hargate, looking at his watch an hour later, "that we were going in to dress for dinner." his lordship, made no reply. he was wrapped in thought. "let's see, that's twenty pounds you owe me, isn't it?" continued hargate. "shocking bad luck you had!" they went out into the rose-garden. "jolly everything smells after the rain," said hargate, who seemed to have struck a conversational patch. "freshened everything up." his lordship did not appear to have noticed it. he seemed to be thinking of something else. his air was pensive and abstracted. "there's just time," said hargate, looking at his watch again, "for a short stroll. i want to have a talk with you." "oh!" said lord dreever. his air did not belie his feelings. he looked pensive, and was pensive. it was deuced awkward, this twenty pounds business. hargate was watching him covertly. it was his business to know other people's business, and he knew that lord dreever was impecunious, and depended for supplies entirely on a prehensile uncle. for the success of the proposal he was about to make, he depended on this fact. "who's this man pitt?" asked hargate. "oh, pal of mine," said his lordship. "why?" "i can't stand the fellow." "i think he's a good chap," said his lordship. "in fact," remembering jimmy's good samaritanism, "i know he is. why don't you like him?" "i don't know. i don't." "oh?" said his lordship, indifferently. he was in no mood to listen to the likes and dislikes of other men. "look here, dreever," said hargate, "i want you to do something for me. i want you to get pitt out of the place." lord dreever eyed his guest curiously. "eh?" he said. hargate repeated his remark. "you seem to have mapped out quite a program for me," said lord dreever. "get him out of it," continued hargate vehemently. jimmy's prohibition against billiards had hit him hard. he was suffering the torments of tantalus. the castle was full of young men of the kind to whom he most resorted, easy marks every one; and here he was, simply through jimmy, careened like a disabled battleship. it was maddening. "make him go. you invited him here. he doesn't expect to stop indefinitely, i suppose? if you left, he'd have to, too. what you must do is to go back to london to-morrow. you can easily make some excuse. he'll have to go with you. then, you can drop him in london, and come back. that's what you must do." a delicate pink flush might have been seen to spread itself over lord dreever's face. he began to look like an angry rabbit. he had not a great deal of pride in his composition, but the thought of the ignominious role that hargate was sketching out for him stirred what he had to its shallow bottom. talking on, hargate managed to add the last straw. "of course," he said, "that money you lost to me at picquet--what was it? twenty? twenty pounds, wasn't it? well, we would look on that as canceled, of course. that will be all right." his lordship exploded. "will it?" he cried, pink to the ears. "will it, by george? i'll pay you every frightful penny of it to-morrow, and then you can clear out, instead of pitt. what do you take me for, i should like to know?" "a fool, if you refuse my offer." "i've a jolly good mind to give you a most frightful kicking." "i shouldn't try, if i were you. it's not the sort of game you'd shine at. better stick to picquet." "if you think i can't pay your rotten money--" "i do. but, if you can, so much the better. money is always useful." "i may be a fool in some ways--" "you understate it, my dear man." "--but i'm not a cad." "you're getting quite rosy, dreever. wrath is good for the complexion." "and, if you think you can bribe me, you never made a bigger mistake in your life." "yes, i did," said hargate, "when i thought you had some glimmerings of intelligence. but, if it gives you any pleasure to behave like the juvenile lead in a melodrama, by all means do. personally, i shouldn't have thought the game would be worth the candle. but, if your keen sense of honor compels you to pay the twenty pounds, all right. you mentioned to-morrow? that will suit me. so, we'll let it go it at that." he walked off, leaving lord dreever filled with the comfortable glow that comes to the weak man who for once has displayed determination. he felt that he must not go back from his dignified standpoint. that money would have to be paid, and on the morrow. hargate was the sort of man who could, and would, make it exceedingly unpleasant for him if he failed. a debt of honor was not a thing to be trifled with. but he felt quite safe. he knew he could get the money when he pleased. it showed, he reflected philosophically, how out of evil cometh good. his greater misfortune, the engagement, would, as it were, neutralize the less, for it was ridiculous to suppose that sir thomas, having seen his ends accomplished, and being presumably in a spacious mood in consequence, would not be amenable to a request for a mere twenty pounds. he went on into the hall. he felt strong and capable. he had shown hargate the stuff there was in him. he was spennie dreever, the man of blood and iron, the man with whom it were best not to trifle. but it was really, come to think of it, uncommonly lucky that he was engaged to molly. he recoiled from the idea of attempting, unfortified by that fact, to extract twenty pounds from sir thomas for a card-debt. in the hall, he met saunders. "i have been looking for your lordship," said the butler. "eh? well, here i am." "just so, your lordship. miss mceachern entrusted me with this note to deliver to you in the event of her not being h'able to see you before dinner personally, your lordship." "right ho. thanks." he started to go upstairs, opening the envelope as he went. what could the girl be writing to him about? surely, she wasn't going to start sending him love-letters, or any of that frightful rot? deuced difficult it would be to play up to that sort of thing! he stopped on the first landing to read the note, and at the opening line his jaw fell. the envelope fluttered to the ground. "oh, my sainted aunt!" he moaned, clutching at the banisters. "now, i am in the soup!" chapter xxi loathsome gifts there are doubtless men so constructed that they can find themselves accepted suitors without any particular whirl of emotion. king solomon probably belonged to this class, and even henry the eighth must have become a trifle blase in time. but, to the average man, the sensations are complex and overwhelming. a certain stunned feeling is perhaps predominant. blended with this is relief, the relief of a general who has brought a difficult campaign to a successful end, or of a member of a forlorn hope who finds that the danger is over and that he is still alive. to this must be added a newly born sense of magnificence. our suspicion that we were something rather out of the ordinary run of men is suddenly confirmed. our bosom heaves with complacency, and the world has nothing more to offer. with some, there is an alloy of apprehension in the metal of their happiness, and the strain of an engagement sometimes brings with it even a faint shadow of regret. "she makes me buy things," one swain, in the third quarter of his engagement, was overheard to moan to a friend. "two new ties only yesterday." he seemed to be debating with himself whether human nature could stand the strain. but, whatever tragedies may cloud the end of the period, its beginning at least is bathed in sunshine. jimmy, regarding his lathered face in the glass as he dressed for dinner that night, marveled at the excellence of this best of all possible worlds. no doubts disturbed him. that the relations between mr. mceachern and himself offered a permanent bar to his prospects, he did not believe. for the moment, he declined to consider the existence of the ex-constable at all. in a world that contained molly, there was no room for other people. they were not in the picture. they did not exist. to him, musing contentedly over the goodness of life, there entered, in the furtive manner habitual to that unreclaimed buccaneer, spike mullins. it may have been that jimmy read his own satisfaction and happiness into the faces of others, but it certainly seemed to him that there was a sort of restrained joyousness about spike's demeanor. the bowery boy's shuffles on the carpet were almost a dance. his face seemed to glow beneath his crimson hair. "well," said jimmy, "and how goes the world with young lord fitz-mullins? spike, have you ever been best man? "what's dat, boss?" "best man at a wedding. chap who stands by the bridegroom with a hand on the scruff of his neck to see that he goes through with it. fellow who looks after everything, crowds the money on to the minister at the end of the ceremony, and then goes off and mayries the first bridesmaid, and lives happily ever." spike shook his head. "i ain't got no use for gittin' married, boss." "spike, the misogynist! you wait, spike. some day, love will awake in your heart, and you'll start writing poetry." "i'se not dat kind of mug, boss," protested the bowery boy. "i ain't got no use fer goils. it's a mutt's game." this was rank heresy. jimmy laid down the razor from motives of prudence, and proceeded to lighten spike's reprehensible darkness. "spike, you're an ass," he said. "you don't know anything about it. if you had any sense at all, you'd understand that the only thing worth doing in life is to get married. you bone-headed bachelors make me sick. think what it would mean to you, having a wife. think of going out on a cold winter's night to crack a crib, knowing that there would be a cup of hot soup waiting for you when you got back, and your slippers all warmed and comfortable. and then she'd sit on your knee, and you'd tell her how you shot the policeman, and you'd examine the swag together--! why, i can't imagine anything cozier. perhaps there would be little spikes running about the house. can't you see them jumping with joy as you slid in through the window, and told the great news? 'fahzer's killed a pleeceman!' cry the tiny, eager voices. candy is served out all round in honor of the event. golden-haired little jimmy mullins, my god-son, gets a dime for having thrown a stone at a plain-clothes detective that afternoon. all is joy and wholesome revelry. take my word for it, spike, there's nothing like domesticity." "dere was a goil once," said spike, meditatively. "only, i was never her steady. she married a cop." "she wasn't worthy of you, spike," said jimmy, sympathetically. "a girl capable of going to the bad like that would never have done for you. you must pick some nice, sympathetic girl with a romantic admiration for your line of business. meanwhile, let me finish shaving, or i shall be late for dinner. great doings on to-night, spike." spike became animated. "sure, boss i dat's just what--" "if you could collect all the blue blood that will be under this roof to-night, spike, into one vat, you'd be able to start a dyeing-works. don't try, though. they mightn't like it. by the way, have you seen anything more--of course, you have. what i mean is, have you talked at all with that valet man, the one you think is a detective?" "why, boss, dat's just--" "i hope for his own sake he's a better performer than my old friend, galer. that man is getting on my nerves, spike. he pursues me like a smell-dog. i expect he's lurking out in the passage now. did you see him?" "did i! boss! why--" jimmy inspected spike gravely. "spike," he said, "there's something on your mind. you're trying to say something. what is it? out with it." spike's excitement vented itself in a rush of words. "gee, boss! there's bin doin's to-night fer fair. me coco's still buzzin'. sure t'ing! why, say, when i was to sir tummas' dressin'-room dis afternoon--" "what!" "surest t'ing you know. just before de storm come on, when it was all as dark as could be. well, i was--" jimmy interrupted. "in sir thomas's dressing-room! what the--" spike looked somewhat embarrassed. he grinned apologetically, and shuffled his feet. "i've got dem, boss!" he said, with a smirk. "got them? got what?" "dese." spike plunged a hand in a pocket, and drew forth in a glittering mass lady julia blunt's rope of diamonds. chapter xxii two of a trade disagree "one hundred t'ousand plunks," murmured spike, gazing lovingly at them. "i says to myself, de boss ain't got no time to be gittin' after dem himself. he's too busy dese days wit' jollyin' along de swells. so, it's up to me, i says, 'cos de boss'll be tickled to deat', all right, all right, if we can git away wit' dem. so, i--" jimmy gave tongue with an energy that amazed his faithful follower. the nightmare horror of the situation had affected him much as a sudden blow in the parts about the waistcoat might have done. but, now, as spike would have said, he caught up with his breath. the smirk faded slowly from the other's face as he listened. not even in the bowery, full as it was of candid friends, had he listened to such a trenchant summing-up of his mental and moral deficiencies. "boss!" he protested. "that's just a sketchy outline," said jimmy, pausing for breath. "i can't do you justice impromptu like this--you're too vast and overwhelming." "but, boss, what's eatin' you? ain't youse tickled?" "tickled!" jimmy sawed the air. "tickled! you lunatic! can't you see what you've done?" "i've got dem," said spike, whose mind was not readily receptive of new ideas. it seemed to him that jimmy missed the main point. "didn't i tell you there was nothing doing when you wanted to take those things the other day?" spike's face cleared. as he had suspected, jimmy had missed the point. "why, say, boss, yes. sure! but dose was little, dinky t'ings. of course, youse wouldn't stand fer swipin' chicken-feed like dem. but dese is different. dese di'monds is boids. it's one hundred t'ousand plunks fer dese." "spike," said jimmy with painful calm. "huh?" "will you listen for a moment?" "sure." "i know it's practically hopeless. to get an idea into your head, one wants a proper outfit--drills, blasting-powder, and so on. but there's just a chance, perhaps, if i talk slowly. has it occurred to you, spike, my bonny, blue-eyed spike, that every other man, more or less, in this stately home of england, is a detective who has probably received instructions to watch you like a lynx? do you imagine that your blameless past is a sufficient safeguard? i suppose you think that these detectives will say to themselves, 'now, whom shall we suspect? we must leave out spike mullins, of course, because he naturally wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. it can't be dear old spike who's got the stuff.'" "but, boss," interposed spike brightly, "i ain't! dat's right. i ain't got it. youse has!" jimmy looked at the speaker with admiration. after all, there was a breezy delirium about spike's methods of thought that was rather stimulating when you got used to it. the worst of it was that it did not fit in with practical, everyday life. under different conditions--say, during convivial evenings at bloomingdale--he could imagine the bowery boy being a charming companion. how pleasantly, for instance, such remarks as that last would while away the monotony of a padded cell! "but, laddie," he said with steely affection, "listen once more. reflect! ponder! does it not seep into your consciousness that we are, as it were, subtly connected in this house in the minds of certain bad persons? are we not imagined by mr. mceachern, for instance, to be working hand-in-hand like brothers? do you fancy that mr. mceachern, chatting with his tame sleuth-hound over their cigars, will have been reticent on this point? i think not. how do you propose to baffle that gentlemanly sleuth, spike, who, i may mention once again, has rarely moved more than two yards away from me since his arrival?" an involuntary chuckle escaped spike. "sure, boss, dat's all right." "all right, is it? well, well! what makes you think it is all right?" "why, say, boss, dose sleut's is out of business." a merry grin split spike's face. "it's funny, boss. gee! it's got a circus skinned! listen. dey's bin an' arrest each other." jimmy moodily revised his former view. even in bloomingdale, this sort of thing would be coldly received. genius must ever walk alone. spike would have to get along without hope of meeting a kindred spirit, another fellow-being in tune with his brain-processes. "dat's right," chuckled spike. "leastways, it ain't." "no, no," said jimmy, soothingly. "i quite understand." "it's dis way, boss. one of dem has bin an' arrest de odder mug. dey had a scrap, each t'inkin' de odder guy was after de jools, an' not knowin' dey was bot' sleut's, an' now one of dem's bin an' taken de odder off, an'"--there were tears of innocent joy in spike's eyes--"an' locked him into de coal-cellar." "what on earth do you mean?" spike giggled helplessly. "listen, boss. it's dis way. gee! it beat de band! when it's all dark 'cos of de storm comin' on, i'm in de dressin'-room, chasin' around fer de jool-box, an' just as i gits a line on it, gee! i hears a footstep comin' down de passage, very soft, straight fer de door. was i to de bad? dat's right. i says to meself, here's one of de sleut' guys what's bin and got wise to me, an' he's comin' in to put de grip on me. so, i gits up quick, an' i hides behind a coitain. dere's a coitain at de side of de room. dere's dude suits an' t'ings hangin' behind it. i chases meself in dere, and stands waitin' fer de sleut' to come in. 'cos den, you see, i'm goin' to try an' get busy before he can see who i am--it's pretty dark 'cos of de storm--an' jolt him one on de point of de jaw, an' den, while he's down an' out, chase meself fer de soivants' hall." "yes?" said jimmy. "well, dis guy, he gits to de door, an' opens it, an' i'm just gittin' ready fer one sudden boist of speed, when dere jumps out from de room on de odder side de passage--you know de room--anodder guy, an' gits de rapid strangleholt on de foist mug. say, wouldn't dat make youse glad you hadn't gone to de circus? honest, it was better dan coney island." "go on. what happened then?" "dey falls to scrappin' good an' hard. dey couldn't see me, an' i couldn't see dem, but i could hear dem bumpin' about and sluggin' each other to beat de band. an', by and by, one of de mugs puts do odder mug to de bad, so dat he goes down and takes de count; an' den i hears a click. an' i know what dat is. it's one of de gazebos has put de irons on de odder gazebo." "call them a, and b," suggested jimmy. "den i hears him--de foist mug--strike a light, 'cos it's dark dere 'cos of de storm, an' den he says, 'got youse, have i?' he says. 'i've had my eye on youse, t'inkin' youse was up to somet'in' of dis kind. i've bin watching youse!' i knew de voice. it's dat mug what calls himself sir tummas' vally. an' de odder--" jimmy burst into a roar of laughter. "don't, spike! this is more than man was meant to stand. do you mean to tell me it is my bright, brainy, persevering friend galer who has been handcuffed and locked in the coal-cellar?" spike grinned broadly. "sure, dat's right," he said. "it's a judgment," said jimmy, delightedly. "that's what it is! no man has a right to be such a consummate ass as galer. it isn't decent." there had been moments when mceachern's faithful employee had filled jimmy with an odd sort of fury, a kind of hurt pride, almost to the extent of making him wish that he really could have been the desperado mceachern fancied him. never in his life before had he sat still under a challenge, and this espionage had been one. behind the clumsy watcher, he had seen always the self-satisfied figure of mceachern. if there had been anything subtle about the man from dodson's, he could have forgiven him; but there was not. years of practise had left spike with a sort of sixth sense as regarded representatives of the law. he could pierce the most cunning disguise. but, in the case of galer, even jimmy could detect the detective. "go on," he said. spike proceeded. "well, de odder mug, de one down an' out on de floor wit' de irons on--" "galer, in fact," said jimmy. "handsome, dashing galer!" "sure. well, he's too busy catchin' up wit' his breat' to shoot it back swift, but, after he's bin doin' de deep-breathin' strut for a while, he says, 'you mutt,' he says, 'youse is to de bad. you've made a break, you have. dat's right. surest t'ing you know.' he puts it different, but dat's what he means. 'i'm a sleut', he says. 'take dese t'ings off!'--meanin' de irons. does de odder mug, de vally gazebo, give him de glad eye? not so's you could notice it. he gives him de merry ha-ha. he says dat dat's de woist tale dat's ever bin handed to him. 'tell it to sweeney!' he says. 'i knows youse. youse woims yourself into de house as a guest, when youse is really after de loidy's jools.' at dese crool woids, de odder mug, galer, gits hot under de collar. 'i'm a sure-'nough sleut',' he says. 'i blows into dis house at de special request of mr. mceachern, de american gent.' de odder mug hands de lemon again. 'tell it to de king of denmark,' he says. 'dis cop's de limit. youse has enough gall fer ten strong men,' he says. 'show me to mr. mceachern,' says galer. 'he'll--' crouch, is dat it?" "vouch?" suggested jimmy. "meaning give the glad hand to." "dat's right. vouch. i wondered what he meant at de time. 'he'll vouch for me,' he says. dat puts him all right, he t'inks; but no, he's still in dutch, 'cos de vally mug says, 'nix on dat! i ain't goin' to chase around de house wit' youse, lookin' fer mr. mceachern. it's youse fer de coal-cellar, me man, an' we'll see what youse has to say when i makes me report to sir tummas.' 'well, dat's to de good,' says galer. 'tell sir tummas. i'll explain to him.' 'not me!' says de vally. 'sir tummas has a hard evenin's woik before him, jollyin' along de swells what's comin' to see dis stoige-piece dey're actin'. i ain't goin' to worry him till he's good and ready. to de coal-cellar fer yours! g'wan!' an' off dey goes! an' i gits busy ag'in, swipes de jools, an' chases meself here." jimmy wiped his eyes. "have you ever heard of poetic justice, spike?" he asked. "this is it. but, in this hour of mirth and good-will, we must not forget--" spike interrupted. pleased by the enthusiastic reception of his narrative, he proceeded to point out the morals that were to be deduced there-from. "so, youse see, boss," he said, "it's all to de merry. when dey rubbers for de jools, an' finds dem gone, dey'll t'ink dis galer guy swiped dem. dey won't t'ink of us." jimmy looked at the speaker gravely. "of course," said he. "what a reasoner you are, spike! galer was just opening the door from the outside, by your account, when the valet man sprang at him. naturally, they'll think that he took the jewels. especially, as they won't find them on him. a man who can open a locked safe through a closed door is just the sort of fellow who would be able to get rid of the swag neatly while rolling about the floor with the valet. his not having the jewels will make the case all the blacker against him. and what will make them still more certain that he is the thief is that he really is a detective. spike, you ought to be in some sort of a home, you know." the bowery boy looked disturbed. "i didn't t'ink of dat, boss," he admitted. "of course not. one can't think of everything. now, if you will just hand me those diamonds, i will put them back where they belong." "put dem back, boss!" "what else would you propose? i'd get you to do it, only i don't think putting things back is quite in your line." spike handed over the jewels. the boss was the boss, and what he said went. but his demeanor was tragic, telling eloquently of hopes blighted. jimmy took the necklace with something of a thrill. he was a connoisseur of jewels, and a fine gem affected him much as a fine picture affects the artistic. he ran the diamonds through his fingers, then scrutinized them again, more closely this time. spike watched him with a slight return of hope. it seemed to him that the boss was wavering. perhaps, now that he had actually handled the jewels, he would find it impossible to give them up. to spike, a diamond necklace of cunning workmanship was merely the equivalent of so many "plunks"; but he knew that there were men, otherwise sane, who valued a jewel for its own sake. "it's a boid of a necklace, boss," he murmured, encouragingly. "it is," said jimmy; "in its way, i've never seen anything much better. sir thomas will be glad to have it back." "den, you're goin' to put it back, boss?" "i am," said jimmy. "i'll do it just before the theatricals. there should be a chance, then. there's one good thing. this afternoon's affair will have cleared the air of sleuth-hounds a little." chapter xxiii family jars hildebrand spencer poynt de burgh john hannasyde coombe-crombie, twelfth earl of dreever, was feeling like a toad under the harrow. he read the letter again, but a second perusal made it no better. very briefly and clearly, molly had broken off the engagement. she "thought it best." she was "afraid it could make neither of us happy." all very true, thought his lordship miserably. his sentiments to a t. at the proper time, he would have liked nothing better. but why seize for this declaration the precise moment when he was intending, on the strength of the engagement, to separate his uncle from twenty pounds? that was what rankled. that molly could have no knowledge of his sad condition did not occur to him. he had a sort of feeling that she ought to have known by instinct. nature, as has been pointed out, had equipped hildebrand spencer poynt de burgh with one of those cheap-substitute minds. what passed for brain in him was to genuine gray matter as just-as-good imitation coffee is to real mocha. in moments of emotion and mental stress, consequently, his reasoning, like spike's, was apt to be in a class of its own. he read the letter for the third time, and a gentle perspiration began to form on his forehead. this was awful. the presumable jubilation of katie, the penniless ripper of the savoy, when he should present himself to her a free man, did not enter into the mental picture that was unfolding before him. she was too remote. between him and her lay the fearsome figure of sir thomas, rampant, filling the entire horizon. nor is this to be wondered at. there was probably a brief space during which perseus, concentrating his gaze upon the monster, did not see andromeda; and a knight of the middle ages, jousting in the gentlemen's singles for a smile from his lady, rarely allowed the thought of that smile to occupy his whole mind at the moment when his boiler-plated antagonist was descending upon him in the wake of a sharp spear. so with spennie dreever. bright eyes might shine for him when all was over, but in the meantime what seemed to him more important was that bulging eyes would glare. if only this had happened later--even a day later! the reckless impulsiveness of the modern girl had undone him. how was he to pay hargate the money? hargate must be paid. that was certain. no other course was possible. lord dreever's was not one of those natures that fret restlessly under debt. during his early career at college, he had endeared himself to the local tradesmen by the magnitude of the liabilities he had contracted with them. it was not the being in debt that he minded. it was the consequences. hargate, he felt instinctively, was of a revengeful nature. he had given hargate twenty pounds' worth of snubbing, and the latter had presented the bills. if it were not paid, things would happen. hargate and he were members of the same club, and a member of a club who loses money at cards to a fellow member, and fails to settle up, does not make himself popular with the committee. he must get the money. there was no avoiding that conclusion. but how? financially, his lordship was like a fallen country with a glorious history. there had been a time, during his first two years at college, when he had reveled in the luxury of a handsome allowance. this was the golden age, when sir thomas blunt, being, so to speak, new to the job, and feeling that, having reached the best circles, he must live up to them, had scattered largesse lavishly. for two years after his marriage with lady julia, he had maintained this admirable standard, crushing his natural parsimony. he had regarded the money so spent as capital sunk in an investment. by the end of the second year, he had found his feet, and began to look about him for ways of retrenchment. his lordship's allowance was an obvious way. he had not to wait long for an excuse for annihilating it. there is a game called poker, at which a man without much control over his features may exceed the limits of the handsomest allowance. his lordship's face during a game of poker was like the surface of some quiet pond, ruffled by every breeze. the blank despair of his expression when he held bad cards made bluffing expensive. the honest joy that bubbled over in his eyes when his hand was good acted as an efficient danger-signal to his grateful opponents. two weeks of poker had led to his writing to his uncle a distressed, but confident, request for more funds; and the avuncular foot had come down with a joyous bang. taking his stand on the evils of gambling, sir thomas had changed the conditions of the money-market for his nephew with a thoroughness that effectually prevented the possibility of the youth's being again caught by the fascinations of poker. the allowance vanished absolutely; and in its place there came into being an arrangement. by this, his lordship was to have whatever money he wished, but he must ask for it, and state why it was needed. if the request were reasonable, the cash would be forthcoming; if preposterous, it would not. the flaw in the scheme, from his lordship's point of view, was the difference of opinion that can exist in the minds of two men as to what the words reasonable and preposterous may be taken to mean. twenty pounds, for instance, would, in the lexicon of sir thomas blunt, be perfectly reasonable for the current expenses of a man engaged to molly mceachern, but preposterous for one to whom she had declined to remain engaged. it is these subtle shades of meaning that make the english language so full of pitfalls for the foreigner. so engrossed was his lordship in his meditations that a voice spoke at his elbow ere he became aware of sir thomas himself, standing by his side. "well, spennie, my boy," said the knight. "time to dress for dinner, i think. eh? eh?" he was plainly in high good humor. the thought of the distinguished company he was to entertain that night had changed him temporarily, as with some wave of a fairy wand, into a thing of joviality and benevolence. one could almost hear the milk of human kindness gurgling and splashing within him. the irony of fate! tonight, such was his mood, a dutiful nephew could have come and felt in his pockets and helped himself--if circumstances had been different. oh, woman, woman, how you bar us from paradise! his lordship gurgled a wordless reply, thrusting the fateful letter hastily into his pocket. he would break the news anon. soon--not yet--later on--in fact, anon! "up in your part, my boy?" continued sir thomas. "you mustn't spoil the play by forgetting your lines. that wouldn't do!" his eye was caught by the envelope that spennie had dropped. a momentary lapse from the jovial and benevolent was the result. his fussy little soul abhorred small untidinesses. "dear me," he said, stooping, "i wish people would not drop paper about the house. i cannot endure a litter." he spoke as if somebody had been playing hare-and-hounds, and scattering the scent on the stairs. this sort of thing sometimes made him regret the old days. in blunt's stores, rule sixty-seven imposed a fine of half-a-crown on employees convicted of paper-dropping. "i--" began his lordship. "why"--sir thomas straightened himself--"it's addressed to you." "i was just going to pick it up. it's--er--there was a note in it." sir thomas gazed at the envelope again. joviality and benevolence resumed their thrones. "and in a feminine handwriting," he chuckled. he eyed the limp peer almost roguishly. "i see, i see," he said. "very charming, quite delightful! girls must have their little romance! i suppose you two young people are exchanging love-letters all day. delightful, quite delightful! don't look as if you were ashamed of it, my boy! i like it. i think it's charming." undoubtedly, this was the opening. beyond a question, his lordship should have said at this point: "uncle, i cannot tell a lie. i cannot even allow myself to see you laboring under a delusion which a word from me can remove. the contents of this note are not what you suppose. they run as follows--" what he did say was: "uncle, can you let me have twenty pounds?" those were his amazing words. they slipped out. he could not stop them. sir thomas was taken aback for an instant, but not seriously. he started, as might a man who, stroking a cat, receives a sudden, but trifling scratch. "twenty pounds, eh?" he said, reflectively. then, the milk of human kindness swept over displeasure like a tidal wave. this was a night for rich gifts to the deserving. "why, certainly, my boy, certainly. do you want it at once?" his lordship replied that he did, please; and he had seldom said anything more fervently. "well, well. we'll see what we can do. come with me." he led the way to his dressing-room. like nearly all the rooms at the castle, it was large. one wall was completely hidden by the curtain behind which spike had taken refuge that afternoon. sir thomas went to the dressing-table, and unlocked a small drawer. "twenty, you said? five, ten, fifteen--here you are, my boy." lord dreever muttered his thanks. sir thomas accepted the guttural acknowledgment with a friendly pat on the shoulder. "i like a little touch like that," he said. his lordship looked startled. "i wouldn't have touched you," he began, "if it hadn't been--" "a little touch like that letter-writing," sir thomas went on. "it shows a warm heart. she is a warm-hearted girl, spennie. a charming, warm-hearted girl! you're uncommonly lucky, my boy." his lordship, crackling the four bank-notes, silently agreed with him. "but, come, i must be dressing. dear me, it is very late. we shall have to hurry. by the way, my boy, i shall take the opportunity of making a public announcement of the engagement tonight. it will be a capital occasion for it. i think, perhaps, at the conclusion of the theatricals, a little speech--something quite impromptu and informal, just asking them to wish you happiness, and so on. i like the idea. there is an old-world air about it that appeals to me. yes." he turned to the dressing-table, and removed his collar. "well, run along, my boy," he said. "you must not be late." his lordship tottered from the room. he did quite an unprecedented amount of thinking as he hurried into his evening clothes; but the thought occurring most frequently was that, whatever happened, all was well in one way, at any rate. he had the twenty pounds. there would be something colossal in the shape of disturbances when his uncle learned the truth. it would be the biggest thing since the san francisco earthquake. but what of it? he had the money. he slipped it into his waistcoat-pocket. he would take it down with him, and pay hargate directly after dinner. he left the room. the flutter of a skirt caught his eye as he reached the landing. a girl was coming down the corridor on the other side. he waited at the head of the stairs to let her go down before him. as she came on to the landing, he saw that it was molly. for a moment, there was an awkward pause. "er--i got your note," said his lordship. she looked at him, and then burst out laughing. "you know, you don't mind the least little bit," she said; "not a scrap. now, do you?" "well, you see--" "don't make excuses! do you?" "well, it's like this, you see, i--" he caught her eye. next moment, they were laughing together. "no, but look here, you know," said his lordship. "what i mean is, it isn't that i don't--i mean, look here, there's no reason why we shouldn't be the best of pals." "why, of course, there isn't." "no, really, i say? that's ripping. shake hands on it." they clasped hands; and it was in this affecting attitude that sir thomas blunt, bustling downstairs, discovered them. "aha!" he cried, archly. "well, well, well! but don't mind me, don't mind me!" molly flushed uncomfortably; partly, because she disliked sir thomas even when he was not arch, and hated him when he was; partly, because she felt foolish; and, principally, because she was bewildered. she had not looked forward to meeting sir thomas that night. it was always unpleasant to meet him, but it would be more unpleasant than usual after she had upset the scheme for which he had worked so earnestly. she had wondered whether he would be cold and distant, or voluble and heated. in her pessimistic moments, she had anticipated a long and painful scene. that he should be behaving like this was not very much short of a miracle. she could not understand it. a glance at lord dreever enlightened her. that miserable creature was wearing the air of a timid child about to pull a large cracker. he seemed to be bracing himself up for an explosion. she pitied him sincerely. so, he had not told his uncle the news, yet! of course, he had scarcely had time. saunders must have given him the note as he was going up to dress. there was, however, no use in prolonging the agony. sir thomas must be told, sooner or later. she was glad of the chance to tell him herself. she would be able to explain that it was all her doing. "i'm afraid there's a mistake," she said. "eh?" said sir thomas. "i've been thinking it over, and i came to the conclusion that we weren't--well, i broke off the engagement!" sir thomas' always prominent eyes protruded still further. the color of his florid face deepened. suddenly, he chuckled. molly looked at him, amazed. sir thomas was indeed behaving unexpectedly to-night. "i see it," he wheezed. "you're having a joke with me! so this is what you were hatching as i came downstairs! don't tell me! if you had really thrown him over, you wouldn't have been laughing together like that. it's no good, my dear. i might have been taken in, if i had not seen you, but i did." "no, no," cried molly. "you're wrong. you're quite wrong. when you saw us, we were just agreeing that we should be very good friends. that was all. i broke off the engagement before that. i--" she was aware that his lordship had emitted a hollow croak, but she took it as his method of endorsing her statement, not as a warning. "i wrote lord dreever a note this evening," she went on, "telling him that i couldn't possibly--" she broke off in alarm. with the beginning of her last speech, sir thomas had begun to swell, until now he looked as if he were in imminent danger of bursting. his face was purple. to molly's lively imagination, his eyes appeared to move slowly out of his head, like a snail's. from the back of his throat came strange noises. "s-s-so--" he stammered. he gulped, and tried again. "so this," he said, "so this--! so that was what was in that letter, eh?" lord dreever, a limp bundle against the banisters, smiled weakly. "eh?" yelled sir thomas. his lordship started convulsively. "er, yes," he said, "yes, yes! that was it, don't you know!" sir thomas eyed his nephew with a baleful stare. molly looked from one to the other in bewilderment. there was a pause, during which sir thomas seemed partially to recover command of himself. doubts as to the propriety of a family row in mid-stairs appeared to occur to him. he moved forward. "come with me," he said, with awful curtness. his lordship followed, bonelessly. molly watched them go, and wondered more than ever. there was something behind this. it was not merely the breaking-off of the engagement that had roused sir thomas. he was not a just man, but he was just enough to be able to see that the blame was not lord dreever's. there had been something more. she was puzzled. in the hall, saunders was standing, weapon in hand, about to beat the gong. "not yet," snapped sir thomas. "wait!" dinner had been ordered especially early that night because of the theatricals. the necessity for strict punctuality had been straitly enjoined upon saunders. at some inconvenience, he had ensured strict punctuality. and now--but we all have our cross to bear in this world. saunders bowed with dignified resignation. sir thomas led the way into his study. "be so good as to close the door," he said. his lordship was so good. sir thomas backed to the mantelpiece, and stood there in the attitude which for generations has been sacred to the elderly briton, feet well apart, hands clasped beneath his coat-tails. his stare raked lord dreever like a searchlight. "now, sir!" he said. his lordship wilted before the gaze. "the fact is, uncle--" "never mind the facts. i know them! what i require is an explanation." he spread his feet further apart. the years had rolled back, and he was plain thomas blunt again, of blunt's stores, dealing with an erring employee. "you know what i mean," he went on. "i am not referring to the breaking-off of the engagement. what i insist upon learning is your reason for failing to inform me earlier of the contents of that letter." his lordship said that somehow, don't you know, there didn't seem to be a chance, you know. he had several times been on the point--but--well, some-how--well, that's how it was. "no chance?" cried sir thomas. "indeed! why did you require that money i gave you?" "oh, er--i wanted it for something." "very possibly. for what?" "i--the fact is, i owed it to a fellow." "ha! how did you come to owe it?" his lordship shuffled. "you have been gambling," boomed sit thomas "am i right?" "no, no. i say, no, no. it wasn't gambling. it was a game of skill. we were playing picquet." "kindly refrain from quibbling. you lost this money at cards, then, as i supposed. just so." he widened the space between his feet. he intensified his glare. he might have been posing to an illustrator of "pilgrim's progress" for a picture of "apollyon straddling right across the way." "so," he said, "you deliberately concealed from me the contents of that letter in order that you might extract money from me under false pretenses? don't speak!" his lordship had gurgled, "you did! your behavior was that of a--of a--" there was a very fair selection of evil-doers in all branches of business from which to choose. he gave the preference to the race-track. "--of a common welsher," he concluded. "but i won't put up with it. no, not for an instant! i insist upon your returning that money to me here and now. if you have not got it with you, go and fetch it." his lordship's face betrayed the deepest consternation. he had been prepared for much, but not for this. that he would have to undergo what in his school-days he would have called "a jaw" was inevitable, and he had been ready to go through with it. it might hurt his feelings, possibly, but it would leave his purse intact. a ghastly development of this kind he had not foreseen. "but, i say, uncle!" he bleated. sir thomas silenced him with a grand gesture. ruefully, his lordship produced his little all. sir thomas took it with a snort, and went to the door. saunders was still brooding statuesquely over the gong. "sound it!" said sir thomas. saunders obeyed him, with the air of an unleashed hound. "and now," said sir thomas, "go to my dressing-room, and place these notes in the small drawer of the table." the butler's calm, expressionless, yet withal observant eye took in at a glance the signs of trouble. neither the inflated air of sir thomas nor the punctured-balloon bearing of lord dreever escaped him. "something h'up," he said to his immortal soul, as he moved upstairs. "been a fair old, rare old row, seems to me!" he reserved his more polished periods for use in public. in conversation with his immortal soul, he was wont to unbend somewhat. chapter xxiv the treasure seeker gloom wrapped his lordship about, during dinner, as with a garment. he owed twenty pounds. his assets amounted to seven shillings and four-pence. he thought, and thought again. quite an intellectual pallor began to appear on his normally pink cheeks. saunders, silently sympathetic--he hated sir thomas as an interloper, and entertained for his lordship, under whose father also he had served, a sort of paternal fondness--was ever at his elbow with the magic bottle; and to spennie, emptying and re-emptying his glass almost mechanically, wine, the healer, brought an idea. to obtain twenty pounds from any one person of his acquaintance was impossible. to divide the twenty by four, and persuade a generous quartette to contribute five pounds apiece was more feasible. hope began to stir within him again. immediately after dinner, he began to flit about the castle like a family specter of active habits. the first person he met was charteris. "hullo, spennie," said charteris, "i wanted to see you. it is currently reported that you are in love. at dinner, you looked as if you had influenza. what's your trouble? for goodness' sake, bear up till the show's over. don't go swooning on the stage, or anything. do you know your lines?" "the fact is," said his lordship eagerly, "it's this way. i happen to want--can you lend me a fiver?" "all i have in the world at this moment," said charteris, "is eleven shillings and a postage-stamp. if the stamp would be of any use to you as a start--? no? you know, it's from small beginnings like that that great fortunes are amassed. however--" two minutes later, lord dreever had resumed his hunt. the path of the borrower is a thorny one, especially if, like spennie, his reputation as a payer-back is not of the best. spennie, in his time, had extracted small loans from most of his male acquaintances, rarely repaying the same. he had a tendency to forget that he had borrowed half-a-crown here to pay a cab and ten shillings there to settle up for a dinner; and his memory was not much more retentive of larger sums. this made his friends somewhat wary. the consequence was that the great treasure-hunt was a failure from start to finish. he got friendly smiles. he got honeyed apologies. he got earnest assurances of good-will. but he got no money, except from jimmy pitt. he had approached jimmy in the early stages of the hunt; and jimmy, being in the mood when he would have loaned anything to anybody, yielded the required five pounds without a murmur. but what was five pounds? the garment of gloom and the intellectual pallor were once more prominent when his lordship repaired to his room to don the loud tweeds which, as lord herbert, he was to wear in the first act. there is a good deal to be said against stealing, as a habit; but it cannot be denied that, in certain circumstances, it offers an admirable solution of a financial difficulty, and, if the penalties were not so exceedingly unpleasant, it is probable that it would become far more fashionable than it is. his lordship's mind did not turn immediately to this outlet from his embarrassment. he had never stolen before, and it did not occur to him directly to do so now. there is a conservative strain in all of us. but, gradually, as it was borne in upon him that it was the only course possible, unless he were to grovel before hargate on the morrow and ask for time to pay--an unthinkable alternative--he found himself contemplating the possibility of having to secure the money by unlawful means. by the time he had finished his theatrical toilet, he had definitely decided that this was the only thing to be done. his plan was simple. he knew where the money was, in the dressing-table in sir thomas's room. he had heard saunders instructed to put it there. what could be easier than to go and get it? everything was in his favor. sir thomas would be downstairs, receiving his guests. the coast would be clear. why, it was like finding the money. besides, he reflected, as he worked his way through the bottle of mumm's which he had had the forethought to abstract from the supper-table as a nerve-steadier, it wasn't really stealing. dash it all, the man had given him the money! it was his own! he had half a mind--he poured himself out another glass of the elixir--to give sir thomas a jolly good talking-to into the bargain. yes, dash it all! he shot his cuffs fiercely. the british lion was roused. a man's first crime is, as a rule, a shockingly amateurish affair. now and then, it is true, we find beginners forging with the accuracy of old hands, or breaking into houses with the finish of experts. but these are isolated cases. the average tyro lacks generalship altogether. spennie dreever may be cited as a typical novice. it did not strike him that inquiries might be instituted by sir thomas, when he found the money gone, and that suspicion might conceivably fall upon himself. courage may be born of champagne, but rarely prudence. the theatricals began at half-past eight with a duologue. the audience had been hustled into their seats, happier than is usual in such circumstances, owing to the rumor which had been circulated that the proceedings were to terminate with an informal dance. the castle was singularly well constructed for such a purpose. there was plenty of room, and a sufficiency of retreat for those who sat out, in addition to a conservatory large enough to have married off half the couples in the county. spennie's idea had been to establish an alibi by mingling with the throng for a few minutes, and then to get through his burglarious specialty during the duologue, when his absence would not be noticed. it might be that, if he disappeared later in the evening, people would wonder what had become of him. he lurked about until the last of the audience had taken their seats. as he was moving off through the hall, a hand fell upon his shoulder. conscience makes cowards of us all. spennie bit his tongue and leaped three inches into the air. "hello, charteris!" he said, gaspingly. charteris appeared to be in a somewhat overwrought condition. rehearsals had turned him into a pessimist, and, now that the actual moment of production had arrived, his nerves were in a thoroughly jumpy condition, especially as the duologue was to begin in two minutes and the obliging person who had undertaken to prompt had disappeared. "spennie," said charteris, "where are you off to?" "what--what do you mean? i was just going upstairs." "no, you don't. you've got to come and prompt. that devil blake has vanished. i'll wring his neck! come along." spennie went, reluctantly. half-way through the duologue, the official prompter returned with the remark that he had been having a bit of a smoke on the terrace, and that his watch had gone wrong. leaving him to discuss the point with charteris, spennie slipped quietly away. the delay, however, had had the effect of counteracting the uplifting effects of the mumm's. the british lion required a fresh fillip. he went to his room to administer it. by the time he emerged, he was feeling just right for the task in hand. a momentary doubt occurred to him as to whether it would not be a good thing to go down and pull sir thomas' nose as a preliminary to the proceedings; but he put the temptation aside. business before pleasure. with a jaunty, if somewhat unsteady, step, he climbed the stairs to the floor above, and made his way down the corridor to sir thomas's room. he switched on the light, and went to the dressing-table. the drawer was locked, but in his present mood spennie, like love, laughed at locksmiths. he grasped the handle, and threw his weight into a sudden tug. the drawer came out with a report like a pistol-shot. "there!" said his lordship, wagging his head severely. in the drawer lay the four bank-notes. the sight of them brought back his grievance with a rush. he would teach sir thomas to treat him like a kid! he would show him! he was removing the notes, frowning fiercely the while, when he heard a cry of surprise from behind him. he turned, to see molly. she was still dressed in the evening gown she had worn at dinner; and her eyes were round with wonder. a few moments earlier, as she was seeking her room in order to change her costume for the theatricals, she had almost reached the end of the corridor that led to the landing, when she observed his lordship, flushed of face and moving like some restive charger, come curvetting out of his bedroom in a dazzling suit of tweeds, and make his way upstairs. ever since their mutual encounter with sir thomas before dinner, she had been hoping for a chance of seeing spennie alone. she had not failed to notice his depression during the meal, and her good little heart had been troubled by the thought that she must have been responsible for it. she knew that, for some reason, what she had said about the letter had brought his lordship into his uncle's bad books, and she wanted to find him and say she was sorry. accordingly, she had followed him. his lordship, still in the war-horse vein, had made the pace upstairs too hot, and had disappeared while she was still halfway up. she had arrived at the top just in time to see him turn down the passage into sir thomas's dressing-room. she could not think what his object might be. she knew that sir thomas was downstairs, so it could not be from the idea of a chat with him that spennie was seeking the dressing-room. faint, yet pursuing, she followed on his trail, and arrived in the doorway just as the pistol-report of the burst lock rang out. she stood looking at him blankly. he was holding a drawer in one hand. why, she could not imagine. "lord dreever!" she exclaimed. the somber determination of his lordship's face melted into a twisted, but kindly smile. "good!" he said, perhaps a trifle thickly. "good! glad you've come. we're pals. you said so--on stairs--b'fore dinner. very glad you've come. won't you sit down?" he waved the drawer benevolently, by way of making her free of the room. the movement disturbed one of the bank-notes, which fluttered in molly's direction, and fell at her feet. she stooped and picked it up. when she saw what it was, her bewilderment increased. "but--but--" she said. his lordship beamed--upon her with a pebble-beached smile of indescribable good-will. "sit down," he urged. "we're pals.--no quol with you. you're good friend. quol--uncle thomas." "but, lord dreever, what are you doing? what was that noise i heard?" "opening drawer," said his lordship, affably. "but--" she looked again at what she had in her hand--"but this is a five-pound note." "five-pound note," said his lordship. "quite right. three more of them in here." still, she could not understand. "but--were you--stealing them?" his lordship drew himself up. "no," he said, "no, not stealing, no!" "then--?" "like this. before dinner. old boy friendly as you please--couldn't do enough for me. touched him for twenty of the best, and got away with it. so far, all well. then, met you on stairs. you let cat out of bag." "but why--? surely--!" his lordship gave the drawer a dignified wave. "not blaming you," he said, magnanimously. "not your fault; misfortune. you didn't know. about letter." "about the letter?" said molly. "yes, what was the trouble about the letter? i knew something was wrong directly i had said that i wrote it." "trouble was," said his lordship, "that old boy thought it was love-letter. didn't undeceive him." "you didn't tell him? why?" his lordship raised his eyebrows. "wanted touch him twenty of the best," he explained, simply. for the life of her, molly could not help laughing. "don't laugh," protested his lordship, wounded. "no joke. serious. honor at stake." he removed the three notes, and replaced the drawer. "honor of the dreevers!" he added, pocketing the money. molly was horrified. "but, lord dreever!" she cried. "you can't! you mustn't! you can't be going, really, to take that money! it's stealing! it isn't yours! you must put it back." his lordship wagged a forefinger very solemnly at her. "that," he said, "is where you make error! mine! old boy gave them to me." "gave them to you? then, why did you break open the drawer?" "old boy took them back again--when he found out about letter." "then, they don't belong to you." "yes. error! they do. moral right." molly wrinkled her forehead in her agitation. men of lord dreever's type appeal to the motherly instinct of women. as a man, his lordship was a negligible quantity. he did not count. but as a willful child, to be kept out of trouble, he had a claim on molly. she spoke soothingly. "but, lord dreever,--" she began. "call me spennie," he urged. "we're pals. you said so--on stairs. everybody calls me spennie--even uncle thomas. i'm going to pull his nose," he broke off suddenly, as one recollecting a forgotten appointment. "spennie, then," said molly. "you mustn't, spennie. you mustn't, really. you--" "you look rippin' in that dress," said his lordship, irrelevantly. "thank you, spennie, dear. but listen." molly spoke as if she were humoring a rebellious infant. "you really mustn't take that money. you must put it back. see, i'm putting this note back. give me the others, and i'll put them in the drawer, too. then, we'll shut the drawer, and nobody will know." she took the notes from him, and replaced them in the drawer. he watched her thoughtfully, as if he were pondering the merits of her arguments. "no," he said, suddenly, "no! must have them! moral right. old boy--" she pushed him gently away. "yes, yes, i know," she said. "i know. it's a shame that you can't have them. but you mustn't take them. don't you see that he would suspect you the moment he found they were gone, and then you'd get into trouble?" "something in that," admitted his lordship. "of course there is, spennie, dear. i'm so glad you see! there they all are, safe again in the drawer. now, we can go downstairs again, and--" she stopped. she had closed the door earlier in the proceedings, but her quick ear caught the sound of a footstep in the passage outside. "quick!" she whispered, taking his hand and darting to the electric-light switch. "somebody's coming. we mustn't be caught here. they'd see the broken, drawer, and you'd get into awful trouble. quick!" she pushed him behind the curtain where the clothes hung, and switched off the light. from behind the curtain came the muffled voice of his lordship. "it's uncle thomas. i'm coming out. pull his nose." "be quiet!" she sprang to the curtain, and slipped noiselessly behind it. "but, i say--!" began his lordship. "hush!" she gripped his arm. he subsided. the footsteps had halted outside the door. then, the handle turned softly. the door opened, and closed again with hardly a sound. the footsteps passed on into the room. chapter xxv explanations jimmy, like his lordship, had been trapped at the beginning of the duologue, and had not been able to get away till it was nearly over. he had been introduced by lady julia to an elderly and adhesive baronet, who had recently spent ten days in new york, and escape had not been won without a struggle. the baronet on his return to england had published a book, entitled, "modern america and its people," and it was with regard to the opinions expressed in this volume that he invited jimmy's views. he had no wish to see the duologue, and it was only after the loss of much precious time that jimmy was enabled to tear himself away on the plea of having to dress. he cursed the authority on "modern america and its people" freely, as he ran upstairs. while the duologue was in progress, there had been no chance of sir thomas taking it into his head to visit his dressing-room. he had been, as his valet-detective had observed to mr. galer, too busy jollying along the swells. it would be the work of a few moments only to restore the necklace to its place. but for the tenacity of the elderly baronet, the thing would have been done by this time. now, however, there was no knowing what might not happen. anybody might come along the passage, and see him. he had one point in his favor. there was no likelihood of the jewels being required by their owner till the conclusion of the theatricals. the part that lady julia had been persuaded by charteris to play mercifully contained no scope for the display of gems. before going down to dinner, jimmy had locked the necklace in a drawer. it was still there, spike having been able apparently to resist the temptation of recapturing it. jimmy took it, and went into the corridor. he looked up and down. there was nobody about. he shut his door, and walked quickly in the direction of the dressing-room. he had provided himself with an electric pocket-torch, equipped with a reflector, which he was in the habit of carrying when on his travels. once inside, having closed the door, he set this aglow, and looked about him. spike had given him minute directions as to the position of the jewel-box. he found it without difficulty. to his untrained eye, it seemed tolerably massive and impregnable, but spike had evidently known how to open it without much difficulty. the lid was shut, but it came up without an effort when he tried to raise it, and he saw that the lock had been broken. "spike's coming on!" he said. he was dangling the necklace over the box, preparatory to dropping it in, when there was a quick rustle at the other side of the room. the curtain was plucked aside, and molly came out. "jimmy!" she cried. jimmy's nerves were always in pretty good order, but at the sight of this apparition he visibly jumped. "great scott!" he said. the curtain again became agitated by some unseen force, violently this time, and from its depths a plaintive voice made itself heard. "dash it all," said the voice, "i've stuck!" there was another upheaval, and his lordship emerged, his yellow locks ruffled and upstanding, his face crimson. "caught my head in a coat or something," he explained at large. "hullo, pitt!" pressed rigidly against the wall, molly had listened with growing astonishment to the movements on the other side of the curtain. her mystification deepened every moment. it seemed to her that the room was still in darkness. she could hear the sound of breathing; and then the light of the torch caught her eye. who could this be, and why had he not switched on the regular room lights? she strained her ears to catch a sound. for a while, she heard nothing except the soft breathing. then came a voice that she knew well; and, abandoning her hiding-place, she came out into the room, and found jimmy standing, with the torch in his hand, over some dark object in the corner of the room. it was a full minute after jimmy's first exclamation of surprise before either of them spoke again. the light of the torch hurt molly's eyes. she put up a hand, to shade them. it seemed to her that they had been standing like this for years. jimmy had not moved. there was something in his attitude that filled molly with a vague fear. in the shadow behind the torch, he looked shapeless and inhuman. "you're hurting my eyes," she said, at last. "i'm sorry," said jimmy. "i didn't think. is that better?" he turned the light from her face. something in his voice and the apologetic haste with which he moved the torch seemed to relax the strain of the situation. the feeling of stunned surprise began to leave her. she found herself thinking coherently again. the relief was but momentary. why was jimmy in the room at that time? why had he a torch? what had he been doing? the questions shot from her brain like sparks from an anvil. the darkness began to tear at her nerves. she felt along the wall for the switch, and flooded the whole room with light. jimmy laid down the torch, and stood for a moment, undecided. he had concealed the necklace behind him. now, he brought it forward, and dangled it silently before the eyes of molly and his lordship. excellent as were his motives for being in that room with the necklace in his hand, he could not help feeling, as he met molly's startled gaze, quite as guilty as if his intentions had been altogether different. his lordship, having by this time pulled himself together to some extent, was the first to speak. "i say, you know, what ho!" he observed, not without emotion. "what?" molly drew back. "jimmy! you were--oh, you can't have been!" "looks jolly like it!" said his lordship, judicially. "i wasn't," said jimmy. "i was putting them back." "putting them back?" "pitt, old man," said his lordship solemnly, "that sounds a bit thin." "dreever, old man," said jimmy. "i know it does. but it's the truth." his lordship's manner became kindly. "now, look here, pitt, old son," he said, "there's nothing to worry about. we're all pals here. you can pitch it straight to us. we won't give you away. we--" "be quiet!" cried molly. "jimmy!" her voice was strained. she spoke with an effort. she was suffering torments. the words her father had said to her on the terrace were pouring back into her mind. she seemed to hear his voice now, cool and confident, warning her against jimmy, saying that he was crooked. there was a curious whirring in her head. everything in the room was growing large and misty. she heard lord dreever begin to say something that sounded as if someone were speaking at the end of a telephone; and, then, she was aware that jimmy was holding her in his arms, and calling to lord dreever to bring water. "when a girl goes like that," said his lordship with an insufferable air of omniscience, "you want to cut her--" "come along!" said jimmy. "are you going to be a week getting that water?" his lordship proceeded to soak a sponge without further parley; but, as he carried his dripping burden across the room, molly recovered. she tried weakly to free herself. jimmy helped her to a chair. he had dropped the necklace on the floor, and lord dreever nearly trod on it. "what ho!" observed his lordship, picking it up. "go easy with the jewelry!" jimmy was bending over molly. neither of them seemed to be aware of his lordship's presence. spennie was the sort of person whose existence is apt to be forgotten. jimmy had had a flash of intuition. for the first time, it had occurred to him that mr. mceachern might have hinted to molly something of his own suspicions. "molly, dear," he said, "it isn't what you think. i can explain everything. do you feel better now? can you listen? i can explain everything." "pitt, old boy," protested his lordship, "you don't understand. we aren't going to give you away. we're all--" jimmy ignored him. "molly, listen," he said. she sat up. "go on, jimmy," she said. "i wasn't stealing the necklace. i was putting it back. the man who came to the castle with me, spike mullins, took it this afternoon, and brought it to me." spike mullins! molly remembered the name. "he thinks i am a crook, a sort of raffles. it was my fault. i was a fool. it all began that night in new york, when we met at your house. i had been to the opening performance of a play called, 'love, the cracksman,' one of those burglar plays." "jolly good show," interpolated his lordship, chattily. "it was at the circle over here. i went twice." "a friend of mine, a man named mifflin, had been playing the hero in it, and after the show, at the club, he started in talking about the art of burglary--he'd been studying it--and i said that anybody could burgle a house. and, in another minute, it somehow happened that i had made a bet that i would do it that night. heaven knows whether i ever really meant to; but, that same night, this man mullins broke into my flat, and i caught him. we got into conversation, and i worked off on him a lot of technical stuff i'd heard from this actor friend of mine, and he jumped to the conclusion that i was an expert. and, then, it suddenly occurred to me that it would be a good joke on mifflin if i went out with mullins, and did break into a house. i wasn't in the mood to think what a fool i was at the time. well, anyway, we went out, and--well, that's how it all happened. and, then, i met spike in london, down and out, and brought him here." he looked at her anxiously. it did not need his lordship's owlish expression of doubt to tell him how weak his story must sound. he had felt it even as he was telling it. he was bound to admit that, if ever a story rang false in every sentence, it was this one. "pitt, old man," said his lordship, shaking his head, more in sorrow than in anger, "it won't do, old top. what's the point of putting up any old yarn like that? don't you see, what i mean is, it's not as if we minded. don't i keep telling you we're all pals here? i've often thought what a jolly good feller old raffles was. regular sportsman! i don't blame a chappie for doing the gentleman burglar touch. seems to me it's a dashed sporting--" molly turned on him suddenly, cutting short his views on the ethics of gentlemanly theft in a blaze of indignation. "what do you mean?" she cried. "do you think i don't believe every word jimmy has said?" his lordship jumped. "well, don't you know, it seemed to me a bit thin. what i mean is--" he met molly's eye. "oh, well!" he concluded, lamely. molly turned to jimmy. "jimmy, of course, i believe you. i believe every word." "molly!" his lordship looked on, marveling. the thought crossed his mind that he had lost the ideal wife. a girl who would believe any old yarn a feller cared to--if it hadn't been for katie! for a moment, he felt almost sad. jimmy and molly were looking at each other in silence. from the expression on their faces, his lordship gathered that his existence had once more been forgotten. he saw her hold out her hands to jimmy, and it seemed to him that the time had come to look away. it was embarrassing for a chap! he looked away. the next moment, the door opened and closed again, and she had gone. he looked at jimmy. jimmy was still apparently unconscious of his presence. his lordship coughed. "pitt, old man--" "hullo!" said jimmy, coming out of his thoughts with a start. "you still here? by the way--" he eyed lord dreever curiously--"i never thought of asking before--what on earth are you doing here? why were you behind the curtain? were you playing hide-and-seek?" his lordship was not one of those who invent circumstantial stories easily on the spur of the moment. he searched rapidly for something that would pass muster, then abandoned the hopeless struggle. after all, why not be frank? he still believed jimmy to be of the class of the hero of "love, the cracksman." there would be no harm in confiding in him. he was a good fellow, a kindred soul, and would sympathize. "it's like this," he said. and, having prefaced his narrative with the sound remark that he had been a bit of an ass, he gave jimmy a summary of recent events. "what!" said jimmy. "you taught hargate picquet? why, my dear man, he was playing picquet like a professor when you were in short frocks. he's a wonder at it." his lordship started. "how's that?" he said. "you don't know him, do you?" "i met him in new york, at the strollers' club. a pal of mine, an actor, this fellow mifflin i mentioned just now, put him up as a guest. he coined money at picquet. and there were some pretty useful players in the place, too. i don't wonder you found him a promising pupil." "then--then--why, dash it, then he's a bally sharper!" "you're a genius at crisp description," said jimmy. "you've got him summed up to rights first shot." "i sha'n't pay him a bally penny!" "of course not. if he makes any objection, refer him to me." his lordship's relief was extreme. the more overpowering effects of the elixir had passed away, and he saw now, what he had not seen in his more exuberant frame of mind, the cloud of suspicion that must have hung over him when the loss of the banknotes was discovered. he wiped his forehead. "by jove!" he said. "that's something off my mind! by george, i feel like a two-year-old. i say, you're a dashed good sort, pitt." "you flatter me," said jimmy. "i strive to please." "i say, pitt, that yarn you told us just now--the bet, and all that. honestly, you don't mean to say that was true, was it? i mean--by jove! i've got an idea." "we live in stirring times!" "did you say your actor pal's name was mifflin?" he broke off suddenly before jimmy could answer. "great scott!" he whispered. "what's that! good lord! somebody's coming!" he dived behind the curtain, like a rabbit. the drapery had only just ceased to shake when the door opened, and sir thomas blunt walked in. chapter xxvi stirring times for sir thomas for a man whose intentions toward the jewels and their owner were so innocent, and even benevolent, jimmy was in a singularly compromising position. it would have been difficult even under more favorable conditions to have explained to sir thomas's satisfaction his presence in the dressing-room. as things stood, it was even harder, for his lordship's last action before seeking cover had been to fling the necklace from him like a burning coal. for the second time in ten minutes, it had fallen to the carpet, and it was just as jimmy straightened himself after picking it up that sir thomas got a full view of him. the knight stood in the doorway, his face expressing the most lively astonishment. his bulging eyes were fixed upon the necklace in jimmy's hand. jimmy could see him struggling to find words to cope with so special a situation, and felt rather sorry for him. excitement of this kind was bad for a short-necked man of sir thomas's type. with kindly tact, he endeavored to help his host out. "good-evening," he said, pleasantly. sir thomas stammered. he was gradually nearing speech. "what--what--what--" he said. "out with it," said jimmy. "--what--" "i knew a man once in south dakota who stammered," said jimmy. "he used to chew dog-biscuit while he was speaking. it cured him--besides being nutritious. another good way is to count ten while you're thinking what to say, and then get it out quick." "you--you blackguard!" jimmy placed the necklace carefully on the dressing-table. then, he turned to sir thomas, with his hands thrust into his pockets. over the knight's head, he could see the folds of the curtain quivering gently, as if stirred by some zephyr. evidently, the drama of the situation was not lost on hildebrand spencer, twelfth earl of dreever. nor was it lost on jimmy. this was precisely the sort of situation that appealed to him. he had his plan of action clearly mapped out. he knew that it would be useless to tell the knight the true facts of the case. sir thomas was as deficient in simple faith as in norman blood. though a londoner by birth, he had one, at least, of the characteristic traits of the natives of missouri. to all appearances, this was a tight corner, but jimmy fancied that he saw his way out of it. meanwhile, the situation appealed to him. curiously enough, it was almost identical with the big scene in act three of "love, the cracksman," in which arthur mifflin had made such a hit as the debonair burglar. jimmy proceeded to give his own idea of what the rendering of a debonair burglar should be. arthur mifflin had lighted a cigarette, and had shot out smoke-rings and repartee alternately. a cigarette would have been a great help here, but jimmy prepared to do his best without properties. "so--so, it's you, is it?" said sir thomas. "who told you?" "thief! low thief!" "come, now," protested jimmy. "why low? just because you don't know me over here, why scorn me? how do you know i haven't got a big american reputation? for all you can tell, i may be boston billie or sacramento sam, or someone. let us preserve the decencies of debate." "i had my suspicions of you. i had my suspicions from the first, when i heard that my idiot of a nephew had made a casual friend in london. so, this was what you were! a thief, who--" "i don't mind, personally," interrupted jimmy, "but i hope, if ever you mix with cracksmen, you won't go calling them thieves. they are frightfully sensitive. you see! there's a world of difference between the two branches of the profession and a good deal of snobbish caste-prejudice. let us suppose that you were an actor-manager. how would you enjoy being called a super? you see the idea, don't you? you'd hurt their feelings. now, an ordinary thief would probably use violence in a case like this. but violence, except in extreme cases--i hope this won't be one of them--is contrary, i understand, to cracksman's etiquette. on the other hand, sir thomas, candor compels me to add that i have you covered." there was a pipe in the pocket of his coat. he thrust the stem earnestly against the lining. sir thomas eyed the protuberance apprehensively, and turned a little pale. jimmy was scowling ferociously. arthur mifflin's scowl in act three had been much admired. "my gun," said jimmy, "is, as you see, in my pocket. i always shoot from the pocket, in spite of the tailor's bills. the little fellow is loaded and cocked. he's pointing straight at your diamond solitaire. that fatal spot! no one has ever been hit in the diamond solitaire, and survived. my finger is on the trigger. so, i should recommend you not to touch that bell you are looking at. there are other reasons why you shouldn't, but those i will go into presently." sir thomas's hand wavered. "do if you like, of course," said jimmy, agreeably. "it's your own house. but i shouldn't. i am a dead shot at a yard and a half. you wouldn't believe the number of sitting haystacks i've picked off at that distance. i just can't miss. on second thoughts, i sha'n't fire to kill you. let us be humane on this joyful occasion. i shall just smash your knees. painful, but not fatal." he waggled the pipe suggestively. sir thomas blenched. his hand fell to his side. "great!" said jimmy. "after all, why should you be in a hurry to break up this very pleasant little meeting. i'm sure i'm not. let us chat. how are the theatricals going? was the duologue a success? wait till you see our show. three of us knew our lines at the dress-rehearsal." sir thomas had backed away from the bell, but the retreat was merely for the convenience of the moment. he understood that it might be injudicious to press the button just then; but he had recovered his composure by this time, and he saw that ultimately the game must be his. his face resumed its normal hue. automatically, his hands began to move toward his coat-tails, his feet to spread themselves. jimmy noted with a smile these signs of restored complacency. he hoped ere long to upset that complacency somewhat. sir thomas addressed himself to making jimmy's position clear to him. "how, may i ask," he said, "do you propose to leave the castle?" "won't you let me have the automobile?" said jimmy. "but i guess i sha'n't be leaving just yet." sir thomas laughed shortly. "no," he said--"no! i fancy not. i am with you there!" "great minds," said jimmy. "i shouldn't be surprised if we thought alike on all sorts of subjects. just think how you came round to my views on ringing bells. but what made you fancy that i intended to leave the castle?" "i should hardly have supposed that you would be anxious to stay." "on the contrary! it's the one place i have been in, in the last two years, that i have felt really satisfied with. usually, i want to move on after a week. but i could stop here forever." "i am afraid, mr. pitt--by the way, an alias, of course?" jimmy shook his head. "i fear not," he said. "if i had chosen an alias, it would have been tressilyan, or trevelyan, or something. i call pitt a poor thing in names. i once knew a man called ronald cheylesmore. lucky devil!" sir thomas returned to the point on which he had been about to touch. "i am afraid, mr. pitt," he said, "that you hardly realize your position." "no?" said jimmy, interested. "i find you in the act of stealing my wife's necklace--" "would there be any use in telling you that i was not stealing it, but putting it back?" sir thomas raised his eyebrows in silence. "no?" said jimmy. "i was afraid not. you were saying--?" "i find you in the act of stealing my wife's necklace," proceeded sir thomas, "and, because for the moment you succeed in postponing arrest by threatening me with a revolver--" an agitated look came into jimmy's face. "great scott!" he cried. he felt hastily in his pocket. "yes," he said; "as i had begun to fear. i owe you an apology, sir thomas," he went on with manly dignity, producing the briar, "i am entirely to blame. how the mistake arose i cannot imagine, but i find it isn't a revolver after all." sir thomas' cheeks took on a richer tint of purple. he glared dumbly at the pipe. "in the excitement of the moment, i guess--" began jimmy. sir thomas interrupted. the recollection of his needless panic rankled within him. "you--you--you--" "count ten!" "you--what you propose to gain by this buffoonery, i am at a loss--" "how can you say such savage things!" protested jimmy. "not buffoonery! wit! esprit! flow of soul such as circulates daily in the best society." sir thomas almost leaped toward the bell. with his finger on it, he turned to deliver a final speech. "i believe you're insane," he cried, "but i'll have no more of it. i have endured this foolery long enough. i'll-" "just one moment," said jimmy. "i said just now that there were reasons besides the revol--well, pipe--why you should not ring that bell. one of them is that all the servants will be in their places in the audience, so that there won't be anyone to answer it. but that's not the most convincing reason. will you listen to one more before getting busy?" "i see your game. don't imagine for a moment that you can trick me." "nothing could be further--" "you fancy you can gain time by talking, and find some way to escape--" "but i don't want to escape. don't you realize that in about ten minutes i am due to play an important part in a great drama on the stage?" "i'll keep you here, i tell you. you'll leave this room," said sir thomas, grandly, "over my body." "steeple-chasing in the home," murmured jimmy. "no more dull evenings. but listen. do listen! i won't keep you a minute, and, if you want to--push that bell after i'm through, you may push it six inches into the wall if you like." "well," said sir thomas, shortly. "would you like me to lead gently up to what i want to say, gradually preparing you for the reception of the news, or shall i--?" the knight took out his watch. "i shall give you one minute," he said. "heavens, i must hustle! how many seconds have i got now?" "if you have anything to say, say it." "very well, then," said jimmy. "it's only this: that necklace is a fraud. the diamonds aren't diamonds at all. they're paste!" chapter xxvii a declaration of independence if jimmy had entertained any doubts concerning the effectiveness of this disclosure, they would have vanished at the sight of the other's face. just as the rich hues of a sunset pale slowly into an almost imperceptible green, so did the purple of sir thomas's cheeks become, in stages, first a dull red, then pink, and finally take on a uniform pallor. his mouth hung open. his attitude of righteous defiance had crumpled. unsuspected creases appeared in his clothes. he had the appearance of one who has been caught in the machinery. jimmy was a little puzzled. he had expected to check the enemy, to bring him to reason, but not to demolish him in this way. there was something in this which he did not understand. when spike had handed him the stones, and his trained eye, after a moment's searching examination, had made him suspicious, and when, finally, a simple test had proved his suspicions correct, he was comfortably aware that, though found with the necklace on his person, he had knowledge, which, communicated to sir thomas, would serve him well. he knew that lady julia was not the sort of lady who would bear calmly the announcement that her treasured rope of diamonds was a fraud. he knew enough of her to know that she would demand another necklace, and see that she got it; and that sir thomas was not one of those generous and expansive natures which think nothing of an expenditure of twenty thousand pounds. this was the line of thought that had kept him cheerful during what might otherwise have been a trying interview. he was aware from the first that sir thomas would not believe in the purity of his motives; but he was convinced that the knight would be satisfied to secure his silence on the subject of the paste necklace at any price. he had looked forward to baffled rage, furious denunciation, and a dozen other expressions of emotion, but certainly not to collapse of this kind. the other had begun to make strange, gurgling noises. "mind you," said jimmy, "it's a very good imitation. i'll say that for it. i didn't suspect it till i had the thing in my hands. looking at it--even quite close--i was taken in for a moment." sir thomas swallowed nervously. "how did you know?" he muttered. again, jimmy was surprised. he had expected indignant denials and demands for proof, excited reiteration of the statement that the stones had cost twenty thousand pounds. "how did i know?" he repeated. "if you mean what first made me suspect, i couldn't tell you. it might have been one of a score of things. a jeweler can't say exactly how he gets on the track of fake stones. he can feel them. he can almost smell them. i worked with a jeweler once. that's how i got my knowledge of jewels. but, if you mean, can i prove what i say about this necklace, that's easy. there's no deception. it's simple. see here. these stones are supposed to be diamonds. well, the diamond is the hardest stone in existence. nothing will scratch it. now, i've got a little ruby, out of a college pin, which i know is genuine. by rights, then, that ruby ought not to have scratched these stones. you follow that? but it did. it scratched two of them, the only two i tried. if you like, i can continue the experiment. but there's no need. i can tell you right now what these stones are, i said they were paste, but that wasn't quite accurate. they're a stuff called white jargoon. it's a stuff that's very easily faked. you work it with the flame of a blow-pipe. you don't want a full description, i suppose? anyway, what happens is that the blow-pipe sets it up like a tonic. gives it increased specific gravity and a healthy complexion and all sorts of great things of that kind. two minutes in the flame of a blow-pipe is like a week at the seashore to a bit of white jargoon. are you satisfied? if it comes to that, i guess you can hardly be expected to be. convinced is a better word. are you convinced, or do you hanker after tests like polarized light and refracting liquids?" sir thomas had staggered to a chair. "so, that was how you knew!" he said. "that was--" began jimmy, when a sudden suspicion flashed across his mind. he scrutinized sir thomas' pallid face keenly. "did you know?" he asked. he wondered that the possibility had not occurred to him earlier. this would account for much that had puzzled him in the other's reception of the news. he had supposed, vaguely, without troubling to go far into the probabilities of such a thing, that the necklace which spike had brought to him had been substituted for the genuine diamonds by a thief. such things happened frequently, he knew. but, remembering what molly had told him of the care which sir thomas took of this particular necklace, and the frequency with which lady julia wore it, he did not see how such a substitution could have been effected. there had been no chance of anybody's obtaining access to these stones for the necessary length of time. "by george, i believe you did!" he cried. "you must have! so, that's how it happened, is it? i don't wonder it was a shock when i said i knew about the necklace." "mr. pitt!" "well?" "i have something to say to you." "i'm listening." sir thomas tried to rally. there was a touch of the old pomposity in his manner when he spoke. "mr. pitt, i find you in an unpleasant position--" jimmy interrupted. "don't you worry about my unpleasant position," he said. "fix your attention exclusively upon your own. let us be frank with one another. you're in the cart. what do you propose to do about it?" sir thomas rallied again, with the desperation of one fighting a lost cause. "i do not understand you--" he began. "no?" said jimmy. "i'll try and make my meaning clear. correct me from time to time, if i am wrong. the way i size the thing up is as follows: when you married lady julia, i gather that it was, so to speak, up to you to some extent. people knew you were a millionaire, and they expected something special in the way of gifts from the bridegroom to the bride. now, you, being of a prudent and economical nature, began to wonder if there wasn't some way of getting a reputation for lavishness without actually unbelting to any great extent. am i right?" sir thomas did not answer. "i am," said jimmy. "well, it occurred to you, naturally enough, that a properly-selected gift of jewelry might work the trick. it only needed a little nerve. when you give a present of diamonds to a lady, she is not likely to call for polarized light and refracting liquids and the rest of the circus. in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, she will take the things on trust. very well. you trotted off to a jeweler, and put the thing to him confidentially. i guess you suggested paste. but, being a wily person, he pointed out that paste has a habit of not wearing well. it is pretty enough when it's new, but quite a small amount of ordinary wear and tear destroys the polish of the surface and the sharpness of the cutting. it gets scratched easily. having heard this, and reflecting that lady julia was not likely to keep the necklace under a glass case, you rejected paste as too risky. the genial jeweler then suggested white jargoon, mentioning, as i have done, that, after an application or so of the blow-pipe, it's own mother wouldn't know it. if he was a bit of an antiquary, he probably added that, in the eighteenth century, jargoon stones were supposed to be actually an inferior sort of diamond. what could be more suitable? 'make it jargoon, dear heart,' you cried joyfully, and all was well. am i right? i notice that you have not corrected me so far." whether or not sir thomas would have replied in the affirmative is uncertain. he was opening his mouth to speak, when the curtain at the end of the room heaved, and lord dreever burst out like a cannon-ball in tweeds. the apparition effectually checked any speech that sir thomas might have been intending to make. lying back in his chair, he goggled silently at the new arrival. even jimmy, though knowing that his lordship had been in hiding, was taken aback. his attention had become so concentrated on his duel with the knight that he had almost forgotten they had an audience. his lordship broke the silence. "great scott!" he cried. neither jimmy nor sir thomas seemed to consider the observation unsound or inadequate. they permitted it to pass without comment. "you old scoundrel!" added his lordship, addressing sir thomas. "and you're the man who called me a welsher!" there were signs of a flicker of spirit in the knight's prominent eyes, but they died away. he made no reply. "great scott!" moaned his lordship, in a fervor of self-pity. "here have i been all these years letting you give me hades in every shape and form, when all the while--my goodness, if i'd only known earlier!" he turned to jimmy. "pitt, old man," he said warmly, "i--dash it! i don't know what to say. if it hadn't been for you--i always did like americans. i always thought it bally rot that that fuss happened in--in--whenever it was. if it hadn't been for fellows like you," he continued, addressing sir thomas once more, "there wouldn't have been any of that frightful declaration of independence business. would there, pitt, old man?" these were deep problems, too spacious for casual examination. jimmy shrugged his shoulders. "well, i guess sir thomas might not have got along with george washington, anyway," he said. "of course not. well"--spennie moved toward the door--"i'm off downstairs to see what aunt julia has to say about it all." a shudder, as if from some electric shock, shook sir thomas. he leaped to his feet. "spencer," he cried, "i forbid you to say a word to your aunt." "oh!" said his lordship. "you do, do you?" sir thomas shivered. "she would never let me hear the last of it." "i bet she wouldn't. i'll go and see." "stop!" "well?" sir thomas dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. he dared not face the vision of lady julia in possession of the truth. at one time, the fear lest she might discover the harmless little deception he had practised had kept him awake at night, but gradually, as the days went by and the excellence of the imitation stones had continued to impose upon her and upon everyone else who saw them, the fear had diminished. but it had always been at the back of his mind. even in her calmer moments, his wife was a source of mild terror to him. his imagination reeled at the thought of what depths of aristocratic scorn and indignation she would plumb in a case like this. "spencer," he said, "i insist that you shall not inform your aunt of this!" "what? you want me to keep my mouth shut? you want me to become an accomplice in this beastly, low-down deception? i like that!" "the point," said jimmy, "is well taken. noblesse oblige, and all that sort of thing. the blood of the dreevers boils furiously at the idea. listen! you can hear it sizzling." lord dreever moved a step nearer the door. "stop!" cried sir thomas again. "spencer!" "well?" "spencer, my boy, it occurs to me that perhaps i have not always treated you very well--" "'perhaps!' 'not always!' great scott, i'll have a fiver each way on both those. considering you've treated me like a frightful kid practically ever since you've known me, i call that pretty rich! why, what about this very night, when i asked you for a few pounds?" "it was only the thought that you had been gambling--" "gambling! how about palming off faked diamonds on aunt julia for a gamble?" "a game of skill, surely?" murmured jimmy. "i have been thinking the matter over," said sir thomas, "and, if you really need the--was it not fifty pounds?" "it was twenty," said his lordship. "and i don't need it. keep it. you'll want all you can save for a new necklace." his fingers closed on the door-handle. "spencer, stop!" "well?" "we must talk this over. we must not be hasty." sir thomas passed the handkerchief over his forehead. "in the past, perhaps," he resumed, "our relations have not been quite--the fault was mine. i have always endeavored to do my duty. it is a difficult task to look after a young man of your age--" his lordship's sense of his grievance made him eloquent. "dash it all!" he cried. "that's just what i jolly well complain of. who the dickens wanted you to look after me? hang it, you've kept your eye on me all these years like a frightful policeman! you cut off my allowance right in the middle of my time at college, just when i needed it most, and i had to come and beg for money whenever i wanted to buy a cigarette. i looked a fearful ass, i can tell you! men who knew me used to be dashed funny about it. i'm sick of the whole bally business. you've given me a jolly thin time all this while, and now i'm going to get a bit of my own back. wouldn't you, pitt, old man?" jimmy, thus suddenly appealed to, admitted that, in his lordship's place, he might have experienced a momentary temptation to do something of the kind. "of course," said his lordship; "any fellow would." "but, spencer, let me--" "you've soured my life," said his lordship, frowning a tense, byronic frown. "that's what you've done--soured my whole bally life. i've had a rotten time. i've had to go about touching my friends for money to keep me going. why, i owe you a fiver, don't i, pitt, old man?" it was a tenner, to be finnickingly accurate about details, but jimmy did not say so. he concluded, rightly, that the memory of the original five pounds which he had lent lord dreever at the savoy hotel had faded from the other's mind. "don't mention it," he said. "but i do mention it," protested his lordship, shrilly. "it just proves what i say. if i had had a decent allowance, it wouldn't have happened. and you wouldn't give me enough to set me going in the diplomatic service. that's another thing. why wouldn't you do that?" sir thomas pulled himself together. "i hardly thought you qualified, my dear boy--" his lordship did not actually foam at the mouth, but he looked as if he might do so at any moment. excitement and the memory of his wrongs, lubricated, as it were, by the champagne he had consumed both at and after dinner, had produced in him a frame of mind far removed from the normal. his manners no longer had that repose which stamps the caste of vere de vere. he waved his hands: "i know, i know!" he shouted. "i know you didn't. you thought me a fearful fool. i tell you, i'm sick of it. and always trying to make me marry money! dashed humiliating! if she hadn't been a jolly sensible girl, you'd have spoiled miss mceachern's life as well as mine. you came very near it. i tell you, i've had enough of it. i'm in love. i'm in love with the rippingest girl in england. you've seen her, pitt, old top. isn't she a ripper?" jimmy stamped the absent lady with the seal of his approval. "i tell you, if she'll have me, i'm going to marry her." the dismay written on every inch of sir thomas's countenance became intensified at these terrific words. great as had been his contempt for the actual holder of the title, considered simply as a young man, he had always been filled with a supreme respect for the dreever name. "but, spencer," he almost howled, "consider your position! you cannot--" "can't i, by jove! if she'll have me! and damn my position! what's my position got to do with it? katie's the daughter of a general, if it comes to that. her brother was at college with me. if i'd had a penny to call my own, i'd have asked her to marry me ages ago. don't you worry about my position!" sir thomas croaked feebly. "now, look here," said his lordship, with determination. "here's the whole thing in a jolly old nutshell. if you want me to forget about this little flutter in fake diamonds of yours, you've got to pull up your socks, and start in to do things. you've got to get me attached to some embassy for a beginning. it won't be difficult. there's dozens of old boys in london, who knew the governor when he was alive, who will jump at the chance of doing me a good turn. i know i'm a bit of an ass in some ways, but that's expected of you in the diplomatic service. they only want you to wear evening clothes as if you were used to them, and be a bit of a flyer at dancing, and i can fill the bill all right as far as that goes. and you've got to give your jolly old blessing to katie and me--if she'll have me. that's about all i can think of for the moment. how do we go? are you on?" "it's preposterous," began sir thomas. lord dreever gave the door-handle a rattle. "it's a hold-up all right," said jimmy, soothingly. "i don't want to butt in on a family conclave, but my advice, if asked, would be to unbelt before the shooting begins. you've got something worse than a pipe pointing at you, now. as regards my position in the business, don't worry. my silence is presented gratis. give me a loving smile, and my lips are sealed." sir thomas turned on the speaker. "as for you--" he cried. "never mind about pitt," said his lordship. "he's a dashed good fellow, pitt. i wish there were more like him. and he wasn't pinching the stuff, either. if you had only listened when he tried to tell you, you mightn't be in such a frightful hole. he was putting the things back, as he said. i know all about it. well, what's the answer?" for a moment, sir thomas seemed on the point of refusal. but, just as he was about to speak, his lordship opened the door, and at the movement he collapsed again. "i will," he cried. "i will!" "good," said his lordship with satisfaction. "that's a bargain. coming downstairs, pitt, old man? we shall be wanted on the stage in about half a minute." "as an antidote to stage fright," said jimmy, as they went along the corridor, "little discussions of that kind may be highly recommended. i shouldn't mind betting that you feel fit for anything?" "i feel like a two-year-old," assented his lordship, enthusiastically. "i've forgotten all my part, but i don't care. i'll just go on and talk to them." "that," said jimmy, "is the right spirit. charteris will get heart-disease, but it's the right spirit. a little more of that sort of thing, and amateur theatricals would be worth listening to. step lively, roscius; the stage waits." chapter xxviii spennie's hour of clear vision mr. mceachern sat in the billiard-room, smoking. he was alone. from where he sat, he could hear distant strains of music. the more rigorous portion of the evening's entertainment, the theatricals, was over, and the nobility and gentry, having done their duty by sitting through the performance, were now enjoying themselves in the ballroom. everybody was happy. the play had been quite as successful as the usual amateur performance. the prompter had made himself a great favorite from the start, his series of duets with spennie having been especially admired; and jimmy, as became an old professional, had played his part with great finish and certainty of touch, though, like the bloodhounds in "uncle tom's cabin" on the road, he had had poor support. but the audience bore no malice. no collection of individuals is less vindictive than an audience at amateur theatricals. it was all over now. charteris had literally gibbered in the presence of eye-witnesses at one point in the second act, when spennie, by giving a wrong cue, had jerked the play abruptly into act three, where his colleagues, dimly suspecting something wrong, but not knowing what it was, had kept it for two minutes, to the mystification of the audience. but, now charteris had begun to forget. as he two-stepped down the room, the lines of agony on his face were softened. he even smiled. as for spennie, the brilliance of his happy grin dazzled all beholders. he was still wearing it when he invaded the solitude of mr. mceachern. in every dance, however greatly he may be enjoying it, there comes a time when a man needs a meditative cigarette apart from the throng. it came to spennie after the seventh item on the program. the billiard-room struck him as admirably suitable in every way. it was not likely to be used as a sitting-out place, and it was near enough to the ball-room to enable him to hear when the music of item number nine should begin. mr. mceachern welcomed his visitor. in the turmoil following the theatricals, he had been unable to get a word with any of the persons with whom he most wished to speak. he had been surprised that no announcement of the engagement had been made at the end of the performance. spennie would be able to supply him with information as to when the announcement might be expected. spennie hesitated for an instant when he saw who was in the room. he was not over-anxious for a tete-a-tete with molly's father just then. but, re-fleeting that, after all, he was not to blame for any disappointment that might be troubling the other, he switched on his grin again, and walked in. "came in for a smoke," he explained, by way of opening the conversation. "not dancing the next." "come in, my boy, come in," said mr. mceachern. "i was waiting to see you." spennie regretted his entrance. he had supposed that the other had heard the news of the breaking-off of the engagement. evidently, however, mceachern had not. this was a nuisance. the idea of flight came to spennie, but he dismissed it. as nominal host that night, he had to dance many duty-dances. this would be his only chance of a smoke for hours, and the billiard-room was the best place for it. he sat down, and lighted a cigarette, casting about the while for an innocuous topic of conversation. "like the show?" he inquired. "fine," said mr. mceachern. "by the way--" spennie groaned inwardly. he had forgotten that a determined man can change the conversation to any subject he pleases by means of those three words. "by the way," said mr. mceachern, "i thought sir thomas--wasn't your uncle intending to announce--?" "well, yes, he was," said spennie. "going to do it during the dancing, maybe?" "well--er--no. the fact is, he's not going to do it at all, don't you know." spennie inspected the red end of his cigarette closely. "as a matter of fact, it's kind of broken off." the other's exclamation jarred on him. rotten, having to talk about this sort of thing! "broken off?" spennie nodded. "miss mceachern thought it over, don't you know," he said, "and came to the conclusion that it wasn't good enough." now that it was said, he felt easier. it had merely been the awkwardness of having to touch on the thing that had troubled him. that his news might be a blow to mceachern did not cross his mind. he was a singularly modest youth, and, though he realized vaguely that his title had a certain value in some persons' eyes, he could not understand anyone mourning over the loss of him as a son-in-law. katie's father, the old general, thought him a fool, and once, during an attack of gout, had said so. spennie was wont to accept this as the view which a prospective father-in-law might be expected to entertain regarding himself. oblivious, therefore, to the storm raging a yard away from him, he smoked on with great contentment, till suddenly it struck him that, for a presumably devout lover, jilted that very night, he was displaying too little emotion. he debated swiftly within himself whether or not he should have a dash at manly grief, but came to the conclusion that it could not be done. melancholy on this maddest, merriest day of all the glad new year, the day on which he had utterly routed the powers of evil, as represented by sir thomas, was impossible. he decided, rather, on a let-us-be-reasonable attitude. "it wouldn't have done, don't you know," he said. "we weren't suited. what i mean to say is, i'm a bit of a dashed sort of silly ass in some ways, if you know what i mean. a girl like miss mceachern couldn't have been happy with me. she wants one of these capable, energetic fellers." this struck him as a good beginning--modest, but not groveling. he continued, tapping quite a respectably deep vein of philosophy as he spoke. "you see, dear old top--i mean, sir, you see, it's like this. as far as women are concerned, fellers are divided into two classes. there's the masterful, capable johnnies, and the--er--the other sort. now, i'm the other sort. my idea of the happy married life is to be--well, not exactly downtrodden, but--you know what i mean--kind of second fiddle. i want a wife--" his voice grew soft and dreamy--"who'll pet me a good deal, don't you know, stroke my hair a lot, and all that. i haven't it in me to do the master-in-my-own-house business. for me, the silent-devotion touch. sleeping on the mat outside her door, don't you know, when she wasn't feeling well, and being found there in the morning and being rather cosseted for my thoughtfulness. that's the sort of idea. hard to put it quite o. k., but you know the sort of thing i mean. a feller's got to realize his jolly old limitations if he wants to be happy though married, what? now, suppose miss mceachern was to marry me! great scott, she'd be bored to death in a week. honest! she couldn't help herself. she wants a chap with the same amount of go in him that she's got." he lighted another cigarette. he was feeling pleased with himself. never before had ideas marshaled themselves in his mind in such long and well-ordered ranks. he felt that he could go on talking like this all night. he was getting brainier every minute. he remembered reading in some book somewhere of a girl (or chappie) who had had her (or his) "hour of clear vision." this was precisely what had happened now. whether it was owing to the excitement of what had taken place that night, or because he had been keying up his thinking powers with excellent dry champagne, he did not know. all he knew was that he felt on top of his subject. he wished he had had a larger audience. "a girl like miss mceachern doesn't want any of that hair-stroking business. she'd simply laugh at a feller if he asked for it. she needs a chappie of the get-on-or-get-out type, somebody in the six cylinder class. and, as a matter of fact, between ourselves, i rather think she's found him." "what!" mr. mceachern half rose from his chair. all his old fears had come surging back. "what do you mean?" "fact," said his lordship, nodding. "mind you, i don't know for certain. as the girl says in the song, i don't know, but i guess. what i mean to say is, they seemed jolly friendly, and all that; calling each other by their first names, and so on." "who--?" "pitt," said his lordship. he was leaning back, blowing a smoke-ring at the moment, so he did not see the look on the other's face and the sudden grip of the fingers on the arms of the chair. he went on with some enthusiasm. "jimmy pitt!" he said. "now, there's a feller! full of oats to the brim, and fairly bursting with go and energy. a girl wouldn't have a dull moment with a chap like that. you know," he proceeded confidently, "there's a lot in this idea of affinities. take my word for it, dear old--sir. there's a girl up in london, for instance. now, she and i hit it off most amazingly. there's hardly a thing we don't think alike about. for instance, 'the merry widow' didn't make a bit of a hit with her. nor did it with me. yet, look at the millions of people who raved about it. and neither of us likes oysters. we're affinities--that's why. you see the same sort of thing all over the place. it's a jolly queer business. sometimes, makes me believe in re-in-what's-it's-name. you know what i mean. all that in the poem, you know. how does it go? 'when you were a tiddley-om-pom, and i was a thingummajig.' dashed brainy bit of work. i was reading it only the other day. well, what i mean to say is, it's my belief that jimmy pitt and miss mceachern are by way of being something in that line. doesn't it strike you that they are just the sort to get on together? you can see it with half an eye. you can't help liking a feller like jimmy pitt. he's a sport! i wish i could tell you some of the things he's done, but i can't, for reasons. but you can take it from me, he's a sport. you ought to cultivate him. you'd like him ... oh, dash it, there's the music. i must be off. got to dance this one." he rose from his chair, and dropped his cigarette into the ash-tray. "so long," he said, with a friendly nod. "wish i could stop, but it's no go. that's the last let-up i shall have to-night." he went out, leaving mr. mceachern a prey to many and varied emotions. chapter xxix the last round he had only been gone a few minutes when mr. mceachern's meditations were again interrupted. this time, the visitor was a stranger to him, a dark-faced, clean-shaven man. he did not wear evening clothes, so could not be one of the guests; and mr. mceachern could not place him immediately. then, he remembered. he had seen him in sir thomas blunt's dressing-room. this was sir thomas's valet. "might i have a word with you, sir?" "what is it?" asked mceachern, staring heavily. his mind had not recovered from the effect of lord dreever's philosophical remarks. there was something of a cloud on his brain. to judge from his lordship's words, things had been happening behind his back; and the idea of molly's deceiving him was too strange to be assimilated in an instant. he looked at the valet dully. "what is it?" he asked again. "i must apologize for intruding, but i thought it best to approach you before making my report to sir thomas." "your report?" "i am employed by a private inquiry agency." "what!" "yes, sir. wragge's. you may have heard of us. in holborn bars. very old established. divorce a specialty. you will have seen the advertisements. sir thomas wrote asking for a man, and the governor sent me down. i have been with the house some years. my job, i gathered, was to keep my eyes open generally. sir thomas, it seemed, had no suspicions of any definite person. i was to be on the spot just in case, in a manner of speaking. and it's precious lucky i was, or her ladyship's jewels would have been gone. i've done a fair cop this very night." he paused, and eyed the ex-policeman keenly. mceachern was obviously excited. could jimmy have made an attempt on the jewels during the dance? or spike? "say," he said, "was it a red-headed--?" the detective was watching him with a curious smile. "no, he wasn't red-headed. you seem interested, sir. i thought you would be. i will tell you all about it. i had had my suspicions of this party ever since he arrived. and i may say that it struck me at the time that there was something mighty fishy about the way he got into the castle." mceachern started. so, he had not been the only one to suspect jimmy's motives in attaching himself to lord dreever. "go on," he said. "i suspected that there was some game on, and it struck me that this would be the day for the attempt, the house being upside down, in a manner of speaking, on account of the theatricals. and i was right. i kept near those jewels on and off all day, and, presently, just as i had thought, along comes this fellow. he'd hardly got to the door when i was on him." "good boy! you're no rube." "we fought for a while, but, being a bit to the good in strength, and knowing something about the game, i had the irons on him pretty quick, and took him off, and locked him in the cellar. that's how it was, sir." mr. mceachern's relief was overwhelming. if lord dreever's statement was correct and jimmy had really succeeded in winning molly's affection, this would indeed be a rescue at the eleventh hour. it was with a nunc-dimittis air that he felt for his cigar-case, and extended it toward the detective. a cigar from his own private case was with him a mark of supreme favor and good-will, a sort of accolade which he bestowed only upon the really meritorious few. usually, it was received with becoming deference; but on this occasion there was a somewhat startling deviation from routine; for, just as he was opening the case, something cold and hard pressed against each of his wrists, there was a snap and a click, and, looking up, dazed, he saw that the detective had sprung back, and was contemplating him with a grim smile over the barrel of an ugly-looking little revolver. guilty or innocent, the first thing a man does when, he finds handcuffs on his wrists is to try to get them off. the action is automatic. mr. mceachern strained at the steel chain till the veins stood out on his forehead. his great body shook with rage. the detective eyed these efforts with some satisfaction. the picture presented by the other as he heaved and tugged was that of a guilty man trapped. "it's no good, my friend," he said. the voice brought mceachern back to his senses. in the first shock of the thing, the primitive man in him had led him beyond the confines of self-restraint. he had simply struggled unthinkingly. now, he came to himself again. he shook his manacled hands furiously. "what does this mean?" he shouted. "what the--?" "less noise," said the detective, sharply. "get back!" he snapped, as the other took a step forward. "do you know who i am?" thundered mceachern. "no," said the detective. "and that's just why you're wearing those bracelets. come, now, don't be a fool. the game's up. can't you see that?" mceachern leaned helplessly against the billiard-table. he felt weak. everything was unreal. had he gone mad? he wondered. "that's right," said the detective. "stay there. you can't do any harm there. it was a pretty little game, i'll admit. you worked it well. meeting your old friend from new york and all, and having him invited to the castle. very pretty. new york, indeed! seen about as much of new york as i have of timbuctoo. i saw through him." some inkling of the truth began to penetrate mceachern's consciousness. he had become obsessed with the idea that, as the captive was not spike, it must be jimmy. the possibility of mr. galer's being the subject of discussion only dawned upon him now. "what do you mean?" he cried. "who is it that you have arrested?" "blest if i know. you can tell me that, i should think, seeing he's an old timbuctoo friend of yours. galer's the name he goes by here." "galer!" "that's the man. and do you know what he had the impudence, the gall, to tell me? that he was in my own line of business. a detective! he said you had sent for him to come here!" the detective laughed amusedly at the recollection. "and so he is, you fool. so i did." "oh, you did, did you? and what business had you bringing detectives into other people's houses?" mr. mceachern started to answer, but checked himself. never before had he appreciated to the full the depth and truth of the proverb relating to the frying-pan and the fire. to clear himself, he must mention his suspicions of jimmy, and also his reasons for those suspicions. and to do that would mean revealing his past. it was scylla and charybdis. a drop of perspiration trickled down his temple. "what's the good?" said the detective. "mighty ingenious idea, that, only you hadn't allowed for there being a real detective in the house. it was that chap pitching me that yarn that made me suspicious of you. i put two and two together. 'partners,' i said to myself. i'd heard all about you, scraping acquaintance with sir thomas and all. mighty ingenious. you become the old family friend, and then you let in your pal. he gets the stuff, and hands it over to you. nobody dreams of suspecting you, and there you are. honestly, now, wasn't that the game?" "it's all a mistake--" mceachern was beginning, when the door-handle turned. the detective looked over his shoulder. mceachern glared dumbly. this was the crowning blow, that there should be spectators of his predicament. jimmy strolled into the room. "dreever told me you were in here," he said to mceachern. "can you spare me a--hullo!" the detective had pocketed his revolver at the first sound of the handle. to be discreet was one of the chief articles in the creed of the young men from wragge's detective agency. but handcuffs are not easily concealed. jimmy stood staring in amazement at mceachern's wrists. "some sort of a round game?" he enquired with interest. the detective became confidential. "it's this way, mr. pitt. there's been some pretty deep work going on here. there's a regular gang of burglars in the place. this chap here's one of them." "what, mr. mceachern!" "that's what he calls himself." it was all jimmy could do to keep himself from asking mr. mceachern whether he attributed his downfall to drink. he contented himself with a sorrowful shake of the head at the fermenting captive. then, he took up the part of the prisoner's attorney. "i don't believe it," he said. "what makes you think so?" "why, this afternoon, i caught this man's pal, the fellow that calls himself galer--" "i know the man," said jimmy. "he's a detective, really. mr. mceachern brought him down here." the sleuth's jaw dropped limply, as if he had received a blow. "what?" he said, in a feeble voice. "didn't i tell you--?" began mr. mceachern; but the sleuth was occupied with jimmy. that sickening premonition of disaster was beginning to steal over him. dimly, he began to perceive that he had blundered. "yes," said jimmy. "why, i can't say; but mr. mceachern was afraid someone might try to steal lady julia blunt's rope of diamonds. so, he wrote to london for this man, galer. it was officious, perhaps, but not criminal. i doubt if, legally, you could handcuff a man for a thing like that. what have you done with good mr. galer?" "i've locked him in the coal-cellar," said the detective, dismally. the thought of the interview in prospect with the human bloodhound he had so mishandled was not exhilarating. "locked him in the cellar, did you?" said jimmy. "well, well, i daresay he's very happy there. he's probably busy detecting black-beetles. still, perhaps you had better go and let him out. possibly, if you were to apologize to him--? eh? just as you think. i only suggest. if you want somebody to vouch for mr. mceachern's non-burglariousness, i can do it. he is a gentleman of private means, and we knew each other out in new york--we are old acquaintances." "i never thought--" "that," said jimmy, with sympathetic friendliness, "if you will allow me to say so, is the cardinal mistake you detectives make. you never do think." "it never occurred to me--" the detective looked uneasily at mr. mceachern. there were indications in the policeman's demeanor that the moment following release would be devoted exclusively to a carnival of violence, with a certain sleuth-hound playing a prominent role. he took the key of the handcuffs from his pocket, and toyed with it. mr. mceachern emitted a low growl. it was enough. "if you wouldn't mind, mr. pitt," said the sleuth, obsequiously. he thrust the key into jimmy's hands, and fled. jimmy unlocked the handcuffs. mr. mceachern rubbed his wrists. "ingenious little things," said jimmy. "i'm much obliged to you," growled mr. mceachern, without looking up. "not at all. a pleasure. this circumstantial evidence thing is the devil, isn't it? i knew a man who broke into a house in new york to win a bet, and to this day the owner of that house thinks him a professional burglar." "what's that?" said mr. mceachern, sharply. "why do i say 'a man '? why am i so elusive and mysterious? you're quite right. it sounds more dramatic, but after all what you want is facts. very well. i broke into your house that night to win a bet. that's the limpid truth." mceachern was staring at him. jimmy proceeded. "you are just about to ask--what was spike mullins doing with me? well, spike had broken into my flat an hour before, and i took him along with me as a sort of guide, philosopher, and friend." "spike mullins said you were a burglar from england." "i'm afraid i rather led him to think so. i had been to see the opening performance of a burglar-play called, 'love, the cracksman,' that night, and i worked off on spike some severely technical information i had received from a pal of mine who played lead in the show. i told you when i came in that i had been talking to lord dreever. well, what he was saying to me was that he had met this very actor man, a fellow called mifflin--arthur mifflin--in london just before he met me. he's in london now, rehearsing for a show that's come over from america. you see the importance of this item? it means that, if you doubt my story, all you need do is to find mifflin--i forgot what theater his play is coming on at, but you could find out in a second--and ask him to corroborate. are you satisfied?" mceachern did not answer. an hour before, he would have fought to the last ditch for his belief in jimmy's crookedness; but the events of the last ten minutes had shaken him. he could not forget that it was jimmy who had extricated him from a very uncomfortable position. he saw now that that position was not so bad as it had seemed at the time, for the establishing of the innocence of mr. galer could have been effected on the morrow by an exchange of telegrams between the castle and dodson's private inquiry agency; yet it had certainly been bad enough. but for jimmy, there would have been several hours of acute embarrassment, if nothing worse. he felt something of a reaction in jimmy's favor. still, it is hard to overcome a deep-rooted prejudice in an instant. he stared doubtfully. "see here, mr. mceachern," said jimmy, "i wish you would listen quietly to me for a minute or two. there's really no reason on earth why we should be at one another's throats in this way. we might just as well be friends. let's shake, and call the fight off. i guess you know why i came in here to see you?" mceachern did not speak. "you know that your daughter has broken off her engagement to lord dreever?" "then, he was right!" said mceachern, half to himself. "it is you?" jimmy nodded. mceachern drummed his fingers on the table, and gazed thoughtfully at him. "is molly--?" he said at length. "does molly--?" "yes," said jimmy. mceachern continued his drumming. "don't think there's been anything underhand about this," said jimmy. "she absolutely refused to do anything unless you gave your consent. she said you had been partners all her life, and she was going to do the square thing by you." "she did?" said mceachern, eagerly. "i think you ought to do the square thing by her. i'm not much, but she wants me. do the square thing by her." he stretched out his hand, but he saw that the other did not notice the movement. mceachern was staring straight in front of him. there was a look in his eyes that jimmy had never seen there before, a frightened, hunted look. the rugged aggressiveness of his mouth and chin showed up in strange contrast. the knuckles of his clenched fists were white. "it's too late," he burst out. "i'll be square with her now, but it's too late. i won't stand in her way when i can make her happy. but i'll lose her! oh, my god, i'll lose her!" he gripped the edge of the table. "did you think i had never said to myself," he went on, "the things you said to me that day when we met here? did you think i didn't know what i was? who should know it better than myself? but she didn't. i'd kept it from her. i'd sweat for fear she would find out some day. when i came over here, i thought i was safe. and, then, you came, and i saw you together. i thought you were a crook. you were with mullins in new york. i told her you were a crook." "you told her that!" "i said i knew it. i couldn't tell her the truth--why i thought so. i said i had made inquiries in new york, and found out about you." jimmy saw now. the mystery was solved. so, that was why molly had allowed them to force her into the engagement with dreever. for a moment, a rush of anger filled him; but he looked at mceachern, and it died away. he could not be vindictive now. it would be like hitting a beaten man. he saw things suddenly from the other's view-point, and he pitied him. "i see," he said, slowly. mceachern gripped the table in silence. "i see," said jimmy again. "you mean, she'll want an explanation." he thought for a moment. "you must tell her," he said, quickly. "for your own sake, you must tell her. go and do it now. wake up, man!" he shook him by the shoulder. "go and do it now. she'll forgive you. don't be afraid of that. go and look for her, and tell her now." mceachern roused himself. "i will," he said. "it's the only way," said jimmy. mceachern opened the door, then fell back a pace. jimmy could hear voices in the passage outside. he recognized lord dreever's. mceachern continued to back away from the door. lord dreever entered, with molly on his arm. "hullo," said his lordship, looking round. "hullo, pitt! here we all are, what?" "lord dreever wanted to smoke," said molly. she smiled, but there was anxiety in her eyes. she looked quickly at her father and at jimmy. "molly, my dear," said mceachern huskily, "i to speak to you for a moment." jimmy took his lordship by the arm. "come along, dreever," he said. "you can come and sit out with me. we'll go and smoke on the terrace." they left the room together. "what does the old boy want?" inquired his lordship. "are you and miss mceachern--?" "we are," said jimmy. "by jove, i say, old chap! million congratulations, and all that sort of rot, you know!" "thanks," said jimmy. "have a cigarette?" his lordship had to resume his duties in the ballroom after awhile; but jimmy sat on, smoking and thinking. the night was very still. now and then, a sparrow would rustle in the ivy on the castle wall, and somewhere in the distance a dog was barking. the music had begun again in the ball-room. it sounded faint and thin where he sat. in the general stillness, the opening of the door at the top of the steps came sharply to his ears. he looked up. two figures were silhouetted for a moment against the light, and then the door closed again. they began to move slowly down the steps. jimmy had recognized them. he got up. he was in the shadow. they could not see him. they began to walk down the terrace. they were quite close now. neither was speaking; but, presently when they were but a few feet away, they stopped. there was the splutter of a match, and mceachern lighted a cigar. in the yellow light, his face was clearly visible. jimmy looked, and was content. he edged softly toward the shrubbery at the end of the terrace, and, entering it without a sound, began to make his way back to the house. chapter xxx conclusion the american liner, st. louis, lay in the empress dock at southampton, taking aboard her passengers. all sorts and conditions of men flowed in an unceasing stream up the gangway. leaning over the second-class railing, jimmy pitt and spike mullins watched them thoughtfully. jimmy looked up at the blue peter that fluttered from the fore-mast, and then at spike. the bowery boy's face was stolid and expressionless. he was smoking a short wooden pipe with an air of detachment. "well, spike," said jimmy. "your schooner's on the tide now, isn't it? your vessel's at the quay. you've got some queer-looking fellow-travelers. don't miss the two cingalese sports, and the man in the turban and the baggy breeches. i wonder if they're air-tight. useful if he fell overboard." "sure," said spike, directing a contemplative eye toward the garment in question. "he knows his business." "i wonder what those men on the deck are writing. they've been scribbling away ever since we came here. probably, society journalists. we shall see in next week's papers: 'among the second-class passengers, we noticed mr. "spike" mullins, looking as cheery as ever.' it's a pity you're so set on going, spike. why not change your mind, and stop?" for a moment, spike looked wistful. then, his countenance resumed its woodenness. "dere ain't no use for me dis side, boss," he said. "new york's de spot. youse don't want none of me, now you're married. how's miss molly, boss?" "splendid, spike, thanks. we're going over to france by to-night's boat." "it's been a queer business," jimmy continued, after a pause, "a deuced-queer business! still, i've come very well out of it, at any rate. it seems to me that you're the only one of us who doesn't end happily, spike. i'm married. mceachern's butted into society so deep that it would take an excavating party with dynamite to get him out of it. molly--well, molly's made a bad bargain, but i hope she won't regret it. we're all going some, except you. you're going out on the old trail again--which begins in third avenue, and ends in sing sing. why tear yourself away, spike?" spike concentrated his gaze on a weedy young emigrant in a blue jersey, who was having his eye examined by the overworked doctor and seemed to be resenting it. "dere's nuttin' doin' dis side, boss," he said, at length. "i want to git busy." "ulysses mullins!" said jimmy, looking at him curiously. "i know the feeling. there's only one cure. i sketched it out for you once, but i guess you'll never take it. you don't think a lot of women, do you? you're the rugged bachelor." "goils--!" began spike comprehensively, and abandoned the topic without dilating on it further. jimmy lighted his pipe, and threw the match overboard. the sun came out from behind a cloud, and the water sparkled. "dose were great jools, boss," said spike, thoughtfully. "i believe you're still brooding over them, spike." "we could have got away wit' dem, if youse would have stood fer it. dead easy." "you are brooding over them. spike, i'll tell you something which will console you a little, before you start out on your wanderings. it's in confidence, so keep it dark. that necklace was paste." "what's dat?" "nothing but paste. i got next directly you handed them to me. they weren't worth a hundred dollars." a light of understanding came into spike's eyes. his face beamed with the smile of one to whom dark matters are made clear. "so, dat's why you wouldn't stan' fer gittin' away wit' dem!" he exclaimed. bessie bradford's prize the third of a series of sequels to "the bessie books" by joanna h. mathews illustrated by w. st. john harper dedicated to my dear little friend and fellow author elizabeth leiper martin ("elsie") with the wish that the path of authorship may have for her as many flowers and as few thorns as it has had for her friend and well wisher j. h. m. contents. i. at the policeman's, ii. letters, iii. lena's secret, iv. percy, v. robbing the mail, vi. a confidence, vii. a box of bonbons, viii. "innocents abroad," ix. an unexpected meeting, x. frankie to the front again, xl a trust, xii. discovery, xiii. accusation, xiv. who wins? chapter i. at the policeman's. "here comes mrs. fleming," said jennie richards, in a tone indicative of anything but pleasure in the coming of mrs. fleming. mrs. granby responded with an exclamation which savored of a like sentiment, and rising, she tossed aside the little frock she was working on, as she added: "i don't see what she's comin' for! i didn't want her a comin' here, bringin' her mournin' an' frettin' an' lookin' out for troubles to pester you, mary richards, an' i told her i would be over to her place this evenin'. i did tell her, you know, i'd fit that dress for her mrs. bradford give her to christmas, but she just needn't a come here when i told her i'd go there; an' a kill-joy she is an' no comfort to nobody. you go into the kitchen, mary, an' stay there till she's gone, which i won't be long fittin' her, an' i'll get rid of her soon's i can," mrs. richards was about to comply with the suggestion, when jennie, who was still gazing out of the window, exclaimed with a total change of tone: "and here come the little miss bradfords, with jane, and miss belle powers and miss lily norris along with them." the little sister whom she was diverting by holding her up to the window, began to clap her hands, and mrs. richards settled herself back into her chair again, saying: "i ain't going into the kitchen to miss _them_, and i'll set the sunshine they'll bring against the clouds mrs. fleming drags." mrs. granby beamed upon her. "well, i declare, mary richards, you ain't no great hand to talk, but when you do, you just do it beautiful; now don't she, jennie? that's the po'tryest talkin' i've heard this long while, real live po'try, if there ain't no jingle about it. i allers did think you might a writ a book if you'd set about it, an' if you'd put such readin' as that kind of talk into it, i'll be boun' it would bring a lot of money, an' i'm right glad the little young ladies is comin', on'y i wish amandy flemin' hadn't hit the same time." it was plain to be seen that the visit of the young party who were on the way to the door was a source of gratification to the policeman's family, whatever that of mrs. fleming might be. their quicker footsteps brought them in before mrs. fleming, and they received a warm welcome. it is to be feared that the younger girl had an eye to the loaves and fishes with which they usually came laden on their visits to the richards' household, as she ran to them on their entrance, saying, "what did oo b'ing me?" "augh! shame!" said the scandalized mrs. granby, snatching her up; and, "you'll excuse her, young ladies," said mrs. richards, mortified also; "but she's only a little thing, and you spoil her, always bringing her something when you come." that they were not offended or hurt was soon evidenced by the fact that lily presently had the little one on her lap, while belle was showing her a linen scrap-book which had been brought for her. mrs. granby was a seamstress, and jane had brought some work which her mistress, mrs. bradford, had sent; and maggie and bessie, with belle and lily, who were spending the day with them, had chosen to accompany her, the first three because they were generally ready for a visit to the family of the policeman, who had befriended bessie when she was lost, the latter because she thought mrs. granby "such fun." to have mrs. fleming come in, as she presently did, was bliss indeed to lily, who delighted in pitting the cheery, lively little mrs. granby against the melancholy, depressing mrs. fleming. nor was the entertainment long in beginning. jane was to carry home some work which mrs. granby had finished, and as the latter was putting it up mrs. fleming came in and was bidden by her to take a seat till she was ready to attend to her. "and how's little miss neville, miss maggie?" asked mrs. richards. "i think that's the name of the young lady who was so brave in saving her little sister, and was so burned." "yes, that's her name," answered maggie. "she is a great deal better, mrs. richards. the doctor has said she is out of danger, and her mother has been able to leave her and to go back to the son who is ill." "i'm very glad to hear it," said mrs. richards, cordially. "my husband was telling me how wonderful and brave she was, and how she never thought of herself trying to save the other children; and how the gentleman miss staunton is to marry was burned very bad saving her." "yes; it was a terrible time," said maggie; "but mr. howard is much better now, too; so we are all very happy." all this time mrs. fleming had sat nodding her head mournfully, as if she would say, "don't be encouraged; there is no ground for hope." "look! look at her!" lily whispered to bessie. "she's like an insane chinese mandarin, rolling round her old head that way." "hush!" whispered bessie, "she'll hear you." "don't care if she does," answered lily. and now mrs. fleming broke forth in just such a lackadaisical, tearful tone as one would have expected to issue from her lips. "oh, miss maggie," she whined, "if the dear lady, your ma, 'ad but listened to me. i told her no good wouldn't come of 'avin' that number of children to her christmas tree--twice thirteen; an' i said if thirteen was hunlucky, twice thirteen was twice worse; an' your ma just laughed at me; an' the next day came the burnin'." bessie looked gravely at her. "my mother says that is wrong and foolish, too," she said, in an admonitory tone, "and that thirteen is no worse than any other number." "you nor your ma can't gainsay that there come the burnin', miss," persisted the woman. "i know that colonel rush's house was on fire, and that miss lena was burned, and mr. howard, too," answered bessie, equally determined to maintain her side of the case. "but they are both a great deal better, and it ought to show you that such things don't make any difference to god, and that he can take just as good care of one number as another." the other children were rather surprised to hear bessie speak so decidedly to one older than herself; but this was a subject on which she felt strongly; her own faith and trust and reliance on the goodness and power of god were very strong; and more than one occurrence in her little life had tended to foster these, and she always rather resented the want of them in others. and now mrs. fleming, in her turn, resented being chidden by this mite who appeared even younger than she really was. but it pleased her, as usual, to assume the injured role. "well, miss," she said, "'tain't for me to contradick you nor your ma. i can't help havin' my hown feelin's an' hopinions; but the lord made me to be down-trod, an' i'm willin' to habide 'is will an' stay down-trod." this was beyond bessie; she had no answer, no argument for folly such as this, if, indeed, she grasped the woman's meaning; but she did understand that she was still making her moan over matters and things in general, and that in some way she seemed to be blaming her own dear mother. she looked displeased and turned away; but here mrs. granby, who had her head in a wardrobe, looking for a large sheet of paper, withdrew it and came to the front. "well," she said, raising her voice so that it might be heard above the rattle of the stiff paper which she unfolded and wrapped about the completed work jane was to carry back, "well, if so be as you enjoy bein' 'down-trod,' as you do enjoy most things as other folks don't find pleasin', there ain't nobody goin' to hinder you; but you look here, mrs. flemin', you nor nobody else ain't goin' to cast no slurs onter mrs. bradford which there never was a better lady, nor one that was so far from down-treadin' folks but more like to be upliftin' 'em if only they'll let themselves be uplift, an' all her family the same an' the little ladies brought up accordin'; so, if you please, no slurs on any of 'em afore me an' mary richards which we would have feelin's on account of it an' wouldn't stan' it in _this_ house. i don't see why you can't live agreeable like other folks; an' it does fret me outer patience to hear a body mortifyin' the lord's mercies an' you such a heapin' lot sent to you this very winter, an' it's for your own good i speak, which the lord he does get out of patience with us sometimes i do believe when we're faithless an' mistrustin', an' takes back his blessin's when he finds we don't hold 'em in no appreciation." by this time mrs. fleming had dissolved into tears and buried her face in an already much bewept pocket-handkerchief. seeing this mrs. granby resumed in a soothing tone and with some self-reproach. "but just hear me now rattlin' on about my neighbors' short-comin's an' me plenty of my own, me that ain't a woman of many words neither. there, mrs. flemin', don't mind, an' if you've a min' to compose your feelin's in the kitchen just step in an' i'll fit your dress soon's jane's business is over." but mrs. fleming had no idea of retiring to privacy to compose her "feelin's;" she preferred to indulge them in public, and she sat still, sobbing only the louder. the situation was becoming embarrassing to the young party, and maggie, with her usual ready tact, seized upon an opening to change the subject. "why, mrs. granby," she said, "i did not know you made dresses. i thought you only did plain sewing such as you have done for our family." "i do a bit at it, miss maggie," answered the seamstress; "though, to be sure, i wouldn't undertake to dress-make for ladies like your ma and aunts an' the like, but for them as hasn't much ambition as to their figgers, i can make out, an' i did tell mrs. flemin' i'd fit hers, so she could make it herself an' she shouldn't have to do no expenses about it, for it's on'y right we should all lend a helpin' hand, an' where would me an' the richardses be if your folks hadn't thought the same an' acted accordin', which there's never a night on my bended knees i don't ask the almighty's blessin' on you, an' there's none more deserves it, an' i do b'lieve the dear lord's of the same way of thinkin', for there's none as i see happier nor more prosperin' an' does one's heart good to see it, an' never will i forget the night we was in such a peck of troubles an' seein' no way out of 'em me an' the richardses, an' your pa comin' in an' turnin' the tide, an' since then, yes, ever since, all goin' so comfortable an' pleasant with us. i did think when i saw mr. bradford's face that night i first opened the door to him that he was the agreeablest-lookin' gentleman i ever did see, but me no idea what a blessin' he was a bringin' us all an' help outer our troubles, which the richardses' troubles is always mine too. but i declare, just hear me runnin' on, as i always do if i get on them times; you'd think i was the greatest hand to talk ever was." lily was having her "fun," and she was quite loth to take leave when mrs. granby had the parcel ready and maggie made the move to go. "i'm sure, miss maggie," said mrs. richards, "that i am truly glad to hear that miss neville is likely to get well. i suppose she'll be leaving her uncle's now and going away with her mother. it isn't likely mrs. neville will want to be leaving her child again after such an escape as she's had. i'm sure i couldn't abide one of mine out of my sight after such a thing. and the bravery of her, too, the dear young thing. my husband says it was a risk a strong man, and one of the police themselves, might have shrunk from." this was an unusually long speech for mrs. richards, who was that which mrs. granby so mistakenly called herself, "a woman of few words," for she, as well as the rest of the family, had been greatly interested in the adventure of the heroic little girl who had braved and endured so much to rescue her young brother and sister. maggie hesitated one moment, then said: "no, mrs. richards. mrs. neville has gone back to her son, but miss lena has not gone with her. she is to stay with colonel and mrs. rush for a long time, perhaps a year, and we are all so glad about it." "and could the mother go and leave her, and she might any time take a turn for the worse, and be took off sudden?" interposed mrs. fleming, whose tears did not prevent her from hearing all that passed. "you never know when there's been burnin' if there ain't smothered fire, an' it shows up when you least hexpect it." no one took any notice of this cheerful prophecy, but mrs. granby asked: "and the young lady is like to be quite well again and about soon, miss maggie?" "oh, yes," answered maggie, confidently; "and we hope to have her back at school before long. she is quite well enough now to enjoy everything except walking; but her feet are still tender and she cannot yet walk about. but come, girls, it is time to go;" and the young party took their leave. when not far from their respective homes, which were all in the same neighborhood, they met gracie howard, and maggie stopped to speak to her, although gracie had shown no sign of wishing to do so; indeed, she seemed as if she would rather pass on. of course, the others lingered too. "gracie," said maggie, "i hope you will come to the meeting of our club the day after to-morrow. it is so long since you have been." gracie colored violently, looked down upon the ground, and in a nervous way dug the toe of her overshoe into the snow which had fallen that morning and still lay in some places on the street. "i don't know; no, i think not--i think--perhaps i may go out with mamma," she stammered, anxious for some excuse, and yet too honest to invent one that was altogether without foundation. perhaps she would go out with her mother; she would ask her to take her. "oh, come, gracie; do come," persisted maggie, determined to carry her point if possible. "it is so long since you have been, and you know there is a paper owing from you. your turn is long since passed; and we'll all be so glad to have you." grade's color deepened still more, and she cast a sidelong glance at lily, who stood at maggie's elbow; and lily saw that she was doubtful if that "all" included herself. lily was very outspoken, particularly so where she saw cause for disapproval, and above all if she thought others were assuming too much; and she had on certain occasions so plainly made known her opinion of some of grade's assumption, that a sort of chronic feud had become established between the two, not breaking out into open hostility, but showing itself in a half-slighting, half-teasing way with lily, and with gracie in a manner partly scornful, partly an affectation of indifference. some six weeks since, at a meeting of the club of the "cheeryble sisters," to which all three little girls belonged, gracie's overweening self-conceit and irrepressible desire to be first had led her into conflict with another of her classmates, lena neville, in which she had proved herself so arrogant, so jealous and ill-tempered that she had excited the indignation of all who were present. but if they had known what followed after gracie had been left alone in the room where she had so disgraced herself, how would they have felt then? how she had stood by and seen the source of contention, a composition, which she believed had been written by lena, torn to atoms by a mischievous little dog, withholding her hand from rescuing it, her voice from warning the dog off from it simply for the indulgence of that same blind, overpowering jealousy. the destruction was hardly wrought, when repentance and remorse too late had followed--repentance and remorse, intensified a thousandfold by after events on the very same day. but that guilty secret was still locked within her own heart, weighing heavily upon her conscience, but still unconfessed, still unsuspected by others. ever since that miserable afternoon she had shrunk from meeting her classmates, and although she had been obliged to do so at school, she had avoided all other opportunities of seeing them, and on one excuse and another had refused to attend the meetings of the club which came together every friday afternoon, the place of rendezvous being at mrs. bradford's, maggie being the president as she had been the originator of the club. it was true that gracie had later discovered that the ruined paper was one of her own, a composition on the very same subject as lena's, and which had, by the merest accident, and without her knowledge, been exchanged for that of the young classmate whom she chose to consider as her rival; and this had in some measure relieved the weight of sorrow and remorse she had felt when lena was severely burned and lay for days hovering between life and death. but she could not shut her eyes or blind her conscience to the fact that she had been guilty in intention, if not in actual deed, and she could not shake off the haunting sense of shame or the feeling that others must know of the contemptible action of which she had been guilty. knowing nothing of this, maggie and the other members of the club believed that her avoidance of them and her low spirits were caused by shame and distress for the bad temper and unkindness she had shown to lena on that memorable day; and now maggie, feeling sorry for her and also very loath to have any unpleasantness in the club, would fain have persuaded her to join them once more and to put things on their old footing. gracie was not doubtful of maggie, nor of bessie, nor yet of belle powers and fanny leroy; in fact, she knew she would be received kindly by the majority of the members, but about lily and two or three others she had her misgivings, and hence that doubtful, half-deprecating glance at the former, who stood at maggie's elbow. lily caught it, and, although she had intended to be very offish and high and mighty with gracie for the rest of her days, her heart smote her, and flinging her former resolution to the winds, she followed maggie's example, and laying her hand persuasively on gracie's muff, said, with her usual directness: "oh, come on, gracie! don't let's have any more madness and being offended among us. it's horrid; so let by-gones be by-gones, and come to the club meetings again." "if they only knew," thought gracie, "they would not ask me, would not say 'let by-gones be by-gones;'" but she said that she would come to the meeting, and then they parted and went their separate ways. when maggie and bessie reached home, they found colonel rush there awaiting them, and heard that he had come to take them to his own house. lena, his niece, was coming down to dinner for the first time since she had been so badly burned; that is, she was to be carried down, for her poor little feet were still too tender to suffer her to put them to the ground, or to take any steps upon them. but she had been so long a prisoner upstairs that it was quite an event for her to be allowed to join the family at dinner once more; and the colonel had seen fit to make it a little more of a celebration by coming for maggie and bessie to make merry with them on the occasion. indeed, he was apt to think that such occasions were not complete without the company of his two pets, and they had both been perfectly devoted to lena during the period of her confinement, so that he was more than ready to make this a little jubilee for all concerned. mamma's permission being readily obtained--indeed the colonel had secured it before the two little maidens had appeared upon the scene--the three friends set forth again, well pleased with one another and with the prospect before them. "lena has had quite an eventful day," said the colonel, as they were on their way to his house. "first and greatest, i suppose, was a letter from her brother russell--only a few lines, it is true, but the first she has had since he was taken ill, and it was full of loving praises for her presence of mind and her bravery, and for the patience with which she has borne her suffering; so it was very precious to her, for she adores him, you know; and there was another from her father, containing news which she would like to give you herself, i am sure; so i leave it for her to do so. and now comes her first dinner with the family, with you to dine with her. but she is such a cool, composed little woman, and takes things so quietly, that we are less afraid of over-excitement for her than we would be for some i could name." "now, uncle horace," said maggie, as he looked down at her with a twinkle in his kind eyes, "you know i would keep quiet if you told me to." "you would try, i am sure, midget," answered her friend, "but there are girls and girls, you know, and it is easier for one species to keep quiet under exciting causes than it is for another." "but you can't tell how _this_ species would be in such circumstances," said maggie, "because i have never been very ill or had any terrible injury, such as lena's burns." "i can tell that you are a very 'happy circumstance' yourself, and that i am quite satisfied with you as you are," answered the colonel, bending another loving look upon the rosy, glowing face upturned to his, and which broke into dimples at the allusion to an old-time joke. long ago, when maggie was a very little girl, she had been very fond of using long words--indeed, she had not yet outgrown this fancy; but in former days, whenever she heard what she called "a new word," she would presently contrive some occasion for using it, not always with the fullest understanding of its exact meaning; and the results, as may be supposed, were sometimes rather droll. one summer, when mr. bradford's family were at the sea-shore, and colonel and mrs. rush were their near neighbors, maggie had taken a violent dislike to the mistress of the house where she boarded. the woman was somewhat rough and unprepossessing, it is true, and hence maggie had conceived the prejudice against her; but she was kind-hearted and good, as the little girl learned later. having heard some one use the expression, "happy circumstance," maggie took a fancy to it; and, as she informed bessie, immediately resolved to adopt it as one of "my words." an opportunity soon presented itself. mrs. jones offended both children, maggie especially, and soon after, she asked mr. jones in confidence, if he thought mrs. jones "a very happy circumstance." fortunately, the man, a jolly, rollicking farmer with a very soft spot in his heart for all children, took it good-naturedly and thought it a tremendous joke, and his uproarious merriment called mrs. jones upon the scene to reprove him and inquire the cause, greatly to the confusion and distress of poor embarrassed, frightened maggie. and this was increased by the fact that she took occasion to praise maggie and bessie and to say what good, mannerly children they were. mr. jones, however, did not betray confidence, and later on, maggie changed her opinion; but the "happy circumstance" had remained a family joke ever since, and the expression was frequently brought into use in the sense in which maggie had employed it, and the children laughed now as the colonel used the old familiar phrase. chapter ii. letters. they found lena in the library, ensconced in state in her uncle's comfortable rolling chair, in which, in by-gone days when he was lame and helpless, he had spent many hours, and in which she could easily be conveyed from room to room by the colonel's man, starr, without putting her still tender little feet to the ground. it was natural that she should be glad to be down-stairs again after all the past weeks of confinement and suffering; but maggie and bessie found her in a state of happiness and excitement unusual with the calm, reserved lena, and which seemed hardly to be accounted for by the mere fact that she had once more been allowed to join the family circle. but this was soon explained. "maggie and bessie," she said, with more animation than her little friends had ever seen her show before, "what do you think has happened? such a wonderful, such a delightful thing! i cannot see how it did happen!" such a thing as had "happened" was indeed an unwonted occurrence in lena's young life; but she had been through so many new experiences lately, that she might almost have ceased to be surprised at anything. if she could have looked in upon her father and mother and invalid brother russell, in their far away southern sojourn a few days since, she would have seen what led to the present unexpected occurrence. mrs. neville had just read to the two gentlemen a letter from her brother, colonel rush, speaking of lena's continued imprisonment; and they had continued to talk of their little heroine and her achievement. "was lena delirious at any time while she was so very ill?" asked russell. "not exactly delirious," answered his mother, "but somewhat flighty at times; and at those times, and indeed when she was herself, her chief thought and her chief distress seemed to be that she would not be able to enter into competition with her schoolmates for some prize to be gained for composition. your aunt marion told me that this prize was an art education provided by some one for a girl with talent, whose circumstances would not permit her to obtain one for herself; and she said that lena had become very much interested in an english girl, the daughter of the rector of a poor struggling church in the suburbs of the city, a girl with a very remarkable artistic talent; and that she and those little bradfords, on whose education and training horace and marion seem to base all their ideas respecting children--if, indeed, they have any ideas except those of the most unlimited indulgence and license--had set their hearts on winning this prize for that child. had it been brought about in any other way and without physical injury to herself, i should be glad that lena was removed from such competition. i highly disapprove of all such arrangements. children should be taught to seek improvement and to do their duty because it _is_ their duty, and not with the object of gaining some outside advantage either for themselves or others." "in this case, it certainly seems to have been for a praiseworthy, unselfish object. poor, dear little lena!" said russell, who was the only member of his family who ever ventured to set up his opinion in opposition to his mother's. "it is the principle of the thing i object to," she said, a little severely. "as i say, i wish my children to do right because it is right, and not with any ulterior object." "the inducement seemed to have one good effect, at least," persisted russell, with a slight shrug of his shoulders which was not, perhaps, altogether respectful, "and that was the wonderful improvement lena made in letter-writing; in the matter and manner, the style and the handwriting, she has certainly made rapid progress during the time she has been with miss ashton. do you not agree with me, father?" "ahem-m-m! yes, i do indeed," answered mr. neville, thinking of a little letter which lay snugly ensconced in his left-hand waistcoat pocket, a letter which had come by the same mail as that which his wife held in her hand, but which he had not thought fit to submit to her perusal. it was a letter thanking him for giving her the liberty of asking for anything she wished for--her choice had been that she might be allowed to remain at her uncle's house during the stay of the family in the country--a letter sweet, tender, and confiding, and giving him glimpses into the child's heart which were a revelation to him; a letter which had touched him deeply, but which he believed mrs. neville would call "gush" and "nonsense." and just now he did not care to have it so criticised, so he would not show it to his wife, at least at present. but before the subject of the conversation had changed, mrs. neville was called from the room, and mr. neville said to his son: "russell, i am feeling that i owe--ahem!--i owe some recognition--ahem!--to the almighty for the very signal mercies granted to us during the past few weeks, some thank-offering--and, ahem!--perhaps i owe some to lena, too. you, in a fair way of recovery; and, through lena's wonderful heroism, a frightful casualty averted; and now she herself doing far better than we had dared to hope. if the child is set upon giving an artist's education to this young countrywoman of our own, and your uncle horace thinks well of it,--perhaps it might give her pleasure to have the means of doing so. being now disabled it will be impossible for her to enter into farther competition with her schoolmates, and i wish her to have the pleasure of making the gift herself. what say you?" the idea met with unqualified approbation from his son; and not only this, but russell expressed a wish to join his father in his thank-offering. he was liberal and open-handed, this young man, and, having lately come of age and into possession of quite a fortune in his own right, he was ready to seize upon any opportunity of benefiting others out of his own means. he was a young man after maggie's and bessie's own hearts, and they would instantly have stamped him with the seal of their approval had they known of this most desirable characteristic. some little further conference on the matter ensued between the father and son, with the result that lena's eyes and heart had to-day been gladdened by the receipt of two checks of no inconsiderable amount--a fortune they seemed to her--the one from her father representing one thousand dollars, the other from russell for five hundred. they were enclosed in a letter from mr. neville to his little daughter, saying that they were to be appropriated to any charitable purpose which she might designate, subject to her uncle's approval--either for the use of the young artist, or, if she were likely to gain the instruction she required through the means of any of lena's schoolmates, for any good object which would gratify her. "it's worth all the burns," said the delighted lena to her uncle, when she had shown her prize to him and consulted him as to the best disposition of it. "the true martyr spirit," the colonel said later to his wife. "and she shows herself a wise and prudent little woman; for when we were discussing the matter she said she would wait to decide what should be done with the money until she knows if maggie or bessie or any one of those interested in gladys seabrooke wins the prize. she knows that mr. ashton's gift will go to gladys in that case; and then she wishes to devote the money to repairing the old church. if she were thirty instead of thirteen she could not show better judgment or more common sense." "i am glad that her father is learning to appreciate her at last," said mrs. rush, who, being very fond of children herself, deeply resented the keep-your-distance system and constant repression under which her husband's sister and brother-in-law brought up their family. so this was the prize which lena had to show to her young friends, this the story she had to tell. they, maggie and bessie, were enchanted in their turn, and as lena displayed to them the two magic slips of paper which held for them such wonderful possibilities, and which appeared as untold wealth to their eyes, they could not contain their delight and enthusiasm. "why, that will build a whole new church; will it not, uncle horace?" asked bessie, whose faith that her own maggie would win the prize was absolute, especially now that gracie howard seemed to have withdrawn from the contest, and that lena had been disabled, and who therefore never doubted that the rector's little daughter was sure of the gift tendered by mr. ashton. "well, hardly," said the colonel, smiling, as he laid aside the evening paper; "hardly, although it will go far towards making some of the repairs which are so much needed, and also towards beautifying the inside of the church a little. and i think that you must let me also have a hand in this, for i, too, have occasion for a thank-offering. so altogether, i hope we shall be able to put the little church into a fairly presentable condition; that is, in case you decide, lena, to use your funds for that purpose," he added, with the private resolve that the needy church should not be the loser even if the checks were applied to gladys seabrooke's benefit. she was the first object with all three children, that was plainly to be seen; but if it should fall out that the means of improvement she so much desired and so much needed were gained for her by mr. ashton's trust, then this small fortune was to be devoted to the church of which her father was rector. then, too, these young home missionaries intended to devote the proceeds of the fair they were to hold at easter to the help of the same church; so that altogether the prospect for its relief seemed to be promising. [illustration: "that will build a whole new church"] "i had a letter from russell, too, written by his own hand, the very first since he has been ill," said the happy lena. "oh! and i forgot; i had a letter from percy, too. i did not read it, i was so excited by papa's and russell's and the two checks. let me see; where is it? oh, here it is!" and she opened it; but seeing at a glance that it was unusually long, she decided that she would not try to decipher percy's irregular, illegible handwriting at that time, but would wait till maggie and bessie should have left her and would make the most of their society. poor little lena! her day was not to be all sunshine, for a cloud came over the heaven of her happiness before she laid her head upon her pillow that night. but this cast no shadow as yet, and the evening passed merrily to all three children. "i do wish that you could come to the club-meeting on friday, lena," said bessie, shortly before it was time for them to separate for the night. "so do i," said maggie. "i am sure that i wish it," said lena, "but i suppose it will be some weeks yet before i can go." mrs. rush, who was sitting near, overheard the little colloquy, and at once made a charming suggestion. "suppose," she said, "that you meet here till lena is well enough to go to your house, maggie. my morning room shall be at your service, as your mother's is at present." "oh, how good in you!" cried maggie and bessie, both in one breath, while lena's pale face flushed with gratitude and pleasure; and so the matter was arranged, maggie undertaking to tell all the members of the club of the change in the place of meeting. but, glancing at bessie, maggie saw that she looked somewhat perturbed, and she suddenly remembered what had passed with gracie howard that very afternoon, and that she had been urged to resume her accustomed place among the "cheeryble sisters," and had consented to do so. how would that do now? would lena feel like having gracie come here? gracie who had treated her so badly, who had shown such jealousy and unkindness towards her. this was rather a complication, and considering it, maggie became uneasy and embarrassed, and lena, who was very quick-sighted, saw it. "what is the matter, maggie?" she asked. "do you think you would rather not come here?" "oh, no!" answered maggie, "you know i always love to come here. but, lena, this afternoon we met gracie howard, and i begged her to come to the meeting to-morrow. she has not been since--since--the day--of the fire." the flush which pleasure at her aunt's offer had brought to lena's face deepened to crimson, which mounted to the very roots of her hair as she heard maggie. then after a moment's hesitation, she said, "will you ask her to come, maggie?" "yes," answered maggie, doubtfully, "i'll ask her." "but you think that she will not come?" said lena. "i am afraid she will not," answered maggie; then added, "i am sure i should not if i were in her place; i should be too ashamed. i think she is ashamed, lena, and sorry, too; i really do." lena seemed to be considering for a moment; then she said, evidently with a great effort,-- "do you think she would come if i wrote and asked her? i--i would do it if you thought she would be friends again. and, perhaps," she added, with a little pathetic wistfulness which nearly made the tears come to the eyes of the sympathetic maggie and bessie, "perhaps she would, now, after such a thing happened to me. do you know," sinking her voice to a whisper, and speaking with an unreserve which she never showed towards any one save these little friends, and seldom to them, "do you know that when they thought i was going to die--oh, i know that every one thought i was going to die--i used to feel so sorry for gracie, because we had that quarrel that very afternoon; and i knew how i should have felt if i had been in her place, and i used to wish that i could make up with her; and now i would really like to if she will. shall i write?" bessie, whose eyes were now brimming over, stooped and kissed her cheek; and maggie followed her example, as she answered, with a break in her own voice, "i don't see how she could help it, lena; you dear lena." maggie and bessie were not a little astonished, not only at this burst of confidence from the shy, reserved lena, but also at the feeling she expressed and her readiness to go more than half way in making advances for the healing of a breach in which she certainly had not been to blame. but in the border-land through which lena's little feet had lately trod, many and serious thoughts had come to her; thoughts of which those about her were all unconscious, as she lay seemingly inert and passive from exhaustion, except when pain forced complaint from her; and chief among these had been the recollection of the unpleasant relation which for some time had existed between herself and gracie howard, and which had culminated in the attack of jealousy and ill-temper which the latter had shown towards her on the very afternoon of the day in which lena had been so badly, almost fatally, injured in the fire. and lena herself, as has been said, had been altogether blameless in the affair, had no cause whatever for self-reproach; nevertheless, she had wished that she could have made friends with gracie before she died. but she had spoken to no one of this until now, when she thus opened her heart, at least in a measure, to maggie and bessie. knowing all that they did--and still neither they nor lena knew one-half of gracie's misconduct--what wonder was it that they were touched, and filled with admiration for this little friend who, a stranger only a few months since, had come to fill so large a place in their affection and interest. but maggie, feeling confident, as she said, that gracie was both ashamed and repentant, was also overjoyed at this opening towards a reconciliation; for her peace-loving soul could not abide dissension in any shape, and this breach between two members of the once harmonious club of the "cheeryble sisters" had been a sore trial to her. nor was bessie much less pleased; and thinking that there was no time like the present, and that it would be well that lena should act before she had opportunity to change her mind,--this showed that she did not know lena well, for having once made up her mind that a thing was right, lena was not more apt to change than she would have been herself,--she offered to bring writing materials, that the note might be written at once; and running into the library, where colonel rush was smoking his cigar, she begged for and received them. but even with those before her and her resolve firmly taken, lena found not a little embarrassment and difficulty in wording her note; for, owing to the state of affairs between her and gracie, it was not the easiest thing in the world for her to do. however, by maggie's advice, she resolved to write as though nothing unpleasant had passed between herself and gracie, and she finally produced the following simply-worded note, ignoring all that was disagreeable. "dear gracie, "aunt marion has said that i may have the 'cheeryble sisters,' club here to-morrow, and she says she will make it a little celebration for us because it is so long since i have been with you girls. please come, for i want to have all of you here. "your schoolmate, "lena h. neville." she hesitated over the manner of closing it, for she could not put "affectionately yours," as, although she was striving to put from her all hard thoughts of gracie, she certainly did not regard her with any affection, nor would she pretend to do so; for lena was a most determinately honest child and would never express, even in a conventional way, that which she did not feel. she even shocked maggie and bessie now and then, truthful and sincere as they were, by her extreme and uncompromising plain-speaking; and perhaps it was as well that she was a child of so few words, or she would often have given offence. maggie had suggested "truly yours," as being a common form even between strangers; but lena rejected that also as expressing a sentiment she did not feel, and bessie finally proposed "your schoolmate," which satisfied the requirements of both truth and civility. maggie and bessie posted the note on the way home, so that it might be sure to reach gracie early in the morning, and that, as bessie said, she might have "time to get over the shock of lena's forgiveness before she came to school." lena had been carried upstairs and safely deposited in her own room by starr; and hannah, the nurse of the young nevilles, had gone down-stairs to seek the food which it was still considered necessary for the little invalid to take before going to rest, when lena bethought herself of her brother percy's letter, still unopened in the excitement which had attended the receipt of the two from her father and russell. with a half-remorseful feeling that she had so long left it unnoticed, she broke the seal of percy's letter. but the first words on which her eyes lighted sent a pang to her heart, and as she heard hannah's heavy step returning, she thrust the letter hurriedly out of sight. "dear, dear, child!" said the old nurse, as she saw that lena's hand shook so that she could hardly hold the bowl of broth, or carry the spoon to her lips, and with some triumph in, as she believed, the fulfilment of her own prophecies, "dear, dear, you're hall hupset, miss lena. i told the mistress and i told the doctor you wasn't in no state to go downstairs yet, or worse still, to be 'avin' company, not if it was miss maggie and miss bessie, leastways not hout of your hown room. 'ere, let me 'old the basin; you're not fit to do it. there now, here, child,--why, bless your 'eart, miss lena, what is it?" poor little girl! she was still so weak, so nervous from the effects of the frightful experience through which she had lately passed, and of all the consequent suffering, that she was in no state to bear even the slightest shock or excitement. had hannah not noticed her agitation she would probably have controlled herself; but the questions and pressing of the old servant were too much for her, and she burst into a flood of hysterical tears. she retained sufficient presence of mind, however, when hannah ran to the door to call her assistant, who was in the next room, to open the drawer of the table by which she sat, and shut the letter within. no one must see that letter until she had had time to read it, and find what those first few sentences meant. letitia was sent by hannah for mrs. rush, who speedily came; and, knowing no other cause, she believed, as the servants did, that this came from all the excitement of the day, and that they would have to be more guarded with their little convalescent. she soothed and petted her, mingling therewith a little judicious firmness, till lena's sobs ceased and she was comfortably settled in bed, where she soon forgot both joys and troubles in the sleep of exhaustion. "well!" said mrs. rush, when she had left her patient in hannah's care and rejoined her husband, "this puts an end to the project of having the children's club here to-morrow. we have gone too fast, and now prove that lena is not so strong and cannot bear so much as we thought. i must at once send word to maggie and bessie." chapter iii. lena's secret. when mrs. rush came up a couple of hours later to inquire about her little niece, she found her still in that heavy sleep; and with directions to hannah to call her if needful, left her, with the hope that she would rest undisturbed till morning. when lena woke from that dull sleep some time after midnight, all the house was still; the only sound she heard was the regular breathing of hannah, who slept on a cot on the other side of the room, that she might be near in case lena needed anything in the night. she roused to a bewildered half-consciousness of something unusual; what was it, good or ill? what had happened before she went to sleep? then came the recollection of those delightful letters from papa and russell, confiding to her disposal those precious slips of paper which represented so much; oh! what a pleasure it was to have the power of doing so much good; then with a shock came the remembrance of that other letter, and those two or three first lines, which seemed to have burned themselves upon her eyes as she read. "dear lena, "i am in the most awful scrape any one was ever in, and you are the only one who can help me out of it. if you can't, there is nothing for me but to be arrested and awfully disgraced, with all the rest of the family too, and the--" this was as far as lena had read when hannah's returning footsteps had impelled her to put the letter out of sight; but it had been enough in her weak state to startle her out of her self-control, and it has been seen what a shock it gave her. "arrested" had a terrible significance to lena. not very long before mrs. neville's family had left home, lena had seen a boy, about her brother percy's age, arrested in the streets of london. he had been taken up for some grave misdemeanor, and having violently resisted his captors, they had found it necessary to handcuff him, and when lena saw him he was being forced along between two policemen, still fiercely struggling, and with his face and hands covered with blood. the sight had made a dreadful impression upon the little girl, and when she heard the word "arrested" it always came back to her with painful force. had it been maggie or bessie, or any other child whose relations with her mother were as tender and confiding as are usually those between mothers and daughters, the impression might have been lessened by learning that such a sight was not a usual one, and that people when arrested were not apt to resist as desperately as the unhappy youth whom she had seen; but not being accustomed to go to mrs. neville with her joys or troubles, lena had kept her disagreeable experience to herself and supposed it all to be the necessary consequence of an arrest, and percy's words had conjured up at once all manner of dreadful possibilities. in imagination she saw him dragged along the streets in the horrible condition of the criminal she had seen, and the whole family covered with shame and disgrace. percy was four years older than lena, but had not half his young sister's strength of character, judgment or good sense, and he was, unfortunately, afflicted with that fatal incapacity for saying no, which brings so much trouble upon its victims. he was selfish, too; not with a deliberate selfishness, but with a heedless disregard for the welfare and comfort of others, which was often as trying as if he purposely sought first his own good. he would not have told a falsehood, would not have denied any wrong-doing of which he had been guilty, if taxed with it; but he would not scruple to conceal that wrong, or to evade the consequences thereof, by any means short of a deliberate untruth. his faults were those with which his father and mother had the least patience and sympathy, and those which needed a large share of both; had he ever received these, the faults would probably never have attained to such a growth, for he was in mortal dread of both parents, especially of his mother, and this, of course, had tended to foster the weakness of his character. poor lena lay wakeful but quiet for hours, wondering and wondering what could be the matter, and what those terrifying words with which percy's letter commenced could portend. and she, he wrote, was "the only one who could help him." she wished vainly for the letter, that she might know the worst at once; but she had no means of reaching it at present. her feet could not yet bear to be touched to the ground, and she dared not wake hannah and ask for it. such an unusual request at this time of night would arouse wonder and surmise, even if hannah could be induced to bring her the letter and give her sufficient light to read it. the old nurse would think her crazy or delirious, perhaps run and call her aunt and uncle. no, no; that was not to be thought of, the poor child said to herself as she lay and reasoned this all out; she must wait till the day came, and then she must contrive to read the letter when she was alone. then she could decide whether or no it would do to take colonel and mrs. rush into her confidence. she could not bear to think of keeping anything from this kind uncle and aunt, who had shown themselves so ready to enter into all her joys and sorrows, who took such an interest--so novel to her--in all her duties, her occupations, and amusements; who, with a genuine love for young people, were at no little pains to provide her with every pleasure suitable for her. but--percy--she must think of him first. oh, if she only knew all that was in that dreadful letter! but at last she fell asleep again, sleeping late and heavily, far beyond the usual hour. when she awoke, she insisted upon being taken up and dressed, although her aunt and nurse would fain have persuaded her to lie still and rest; and that done, her object was to obtain possession of percy's letter without attracting attention to it. being totally unaccustomed to anything like manoeuvring or planning, she could think of no excuse by which she might have the table brought near her chair, or the chair rolled near the table. the maids thought her remarkably fractious and whimsical and hard to please, but laid it all to the reaction from last night's hysterical attack. do what she would, she could not contrive, poor helpless child, to come at the drawer of the table unless she spoke out plainly, which she could not do, and she had been wheeled into the nursery before the opportunity offered. but here she found the way opened to her. hannah, who would let no one else attend to her young lady's meals when they were taken upstairs, departed for lena's breakfast; and after she had gone, lena speedily bethought herself of a way of procuring letitia's absence for a while by sending her down-stairs with directions for some change in her bill of fare. then calling her little sister elsie, who was playing about the nursery, she sent her into her own room, bidding her open the table drawer and bring her the letter she would find there. elsie, a demure, sedate little damsel, who always did as she was told and was a pattern child after mrs. neville's own heart, discharged her commission and came back with the letter, which she handed to her sister without asking any inconvenient questions, and returned to her dolls in the corner. lena ventured to open the letter, knowing that hannah, at least, was sure to be absent for some moments yet, and sure that letitia, who was a dull, unobserving girl, would take no notice. she felt that she could wait no longer. there was a few moments' silence in the room; elsie, absorbed in her quiet play, took no heed to her sister; letitia did not return, having stopped on her way back to the nursery to gossip with one of mrs. rush's maids; and lena read on undisturbed, read to the very end of the letter. then she spoke to elsie again, spoke in a voice so changed from its natural tone that the little one looked up in surprise. "what's the matter, lena?" she asked, coming to her sister's side; "is your throat sore? oh!" scanning her curiously, "did something frighten you?" lena did not heed either question. "elsie," she said, still in that strained voice, as if it were an effort to speak, "put this in the fire, away far back in the fire." "why, lena!" answered the child, "i'm forbidden to go near the fire. did you forget that?" lena thought a moment, then said, with a strong effort for self-control, and still in that same measured tone: "then go in my room and open the small right-hand compartment of my writing-desk and put this letter in it and shut the door tight, tight again, and lock it and bring me the key. quick, elsie." but again, influenced by conscientious scruples, elsie objected. "i 'spect hannah wouldn't like me to go in your room so much, lena; the windows are all open. she didn't say don't go in there, but i 'spect she thinked it, 'cause she always says don't go where the windows are open." for the first time in her life lena condescended to something like cajolery. "and you will not do that for your poor sister who cannot walk?" she asked, reproachfully. "oh, yes, yes; and burned herself for me to save me out the fire," exclaimed elsie, throwing her arms about lena, "i don't care if hannah does scold me; i'd just as lief be scolded for you. but your voice is so queer, lena; you must be thirsty for your breakfast." taking the letter from her sister's hand, the child turned to obey her request, but was again assailed by doubts as to the course of duty. "if hannah or letitia come, shall i tell them to put it away?" she asked. "no, no!" answered lena, sharply; then feeling that she must take the child, at least in a measure, into her confidence, she added, hurriedly, "hannah is not to see it. no one is to see it, no one; and you are not to speak of it, elsie. go now, quickly, and put it in the secretary." rather startled by her voice and manner, the little one obeyed and returned to lena's room with the letter. but now she fell into difficulties. the door of the compartment into which lena had told her to put the letter was hard to open; it stuck, and elsie vainly struggled with it, for it would not yield. meanwhile letitia, hearing hannah come up from the kitchen, had hurriedly returned to her post of duty. she exclaimed on finding the door between the rooms open and a draught of cold air sweeping through, and hastening to shut it, discovered elsie still struggling with the door of the little closet. "well, did i ever!" exclaimed the nursery-maid. "you here in this cold draught, miss elsie; an' what'll hannah say, i wonder?" "i want to put this in here, and i can't open this door," said the loyal little soul, refraining from shifting the blame from her own shoulders, by saying that she had come on lena's errand. letitia went to her assistance, but the door was still obstinate, and before the letter was hidden it was made plain "what hannah would say;" for the old nurse came bustling in in a transport of indignation at finding elsie exposed to the risk of taking cold, for she was a very delicate child. she rated both her little charge and her assistant in no measured terms, especially the latter, who, as she said, "had not even had the sense to put down the windows on the child." she snatched the letter from elsie's hand, the little girl repeating what she wanted to do with it, and bidding her at once to go back to the other room, gave a violent pull to the small door, which proved more successful than the efforts of her predecessors. "what's all this fuss about putting the letter away, anyway?" she said, glancing at the unlucky document. "bless me, if t'aint from master percy, an' to miss lena! well, an' she never saying a word of it. what's she so secret habout it for?" now hannah's chief stumbling-block was a most inordinate curiosity, and once aroused on the subject of that letter, was not likely to be laid to rest until it had received some satisfaction. she turned the letter over and over, scrutinizing it narrowly; but there was nothing to be learned from the address or the post-mark farther than that it was certainly from percy, whose handwriting she well knew. had she dared she would have opened it; but that was a thing upon which even she scarcely ventured, autocrat though she was within the nursery dominions. also, lena was rather beyond her rule since the neville family had come to colonel rush's house. elsie had lost no time in escaping from the storm which her seeming imprudence had evoked, and the nursery maid had followed; the little girl reporting to her sister that hannah had taken the letter from her and was putting it away. poor lena found her precautions of no avail, and she knew hannah well enough to feel sure that she would be subjected to the closest questioning. she must brave it out now, and she forced herself to face it. "_i_ sent elsie in there; it was my fault, not hers," she said, throwing down the gauntlet with an air of defiance which rather astonished hannah. "you know she oughtn't to go in that cold hair," said hannah, sharply. "and why for couldn't you wait till me or letitia came to put by your letter if you _was_ in 'aste habout it? there," mollified by the look in the beautiful dark eyes, now so unnaturally large and pathetic through illness and suffering, which lena turned piteously upon her without answering, "there, there, child; never mind now. heat your breakfast, my dear, for you look quite spent and worn out. ye've got a setback by yesterday's doin's that'll last a week. come, now, miss lena, take this nice chicken an' put a bit of strength into you." and the old woman bustled about, displaying to the best advantage the dainty breakfast she had brought to tempt the appetite of her young charge. but lena could not eat; she was still too sick at heart, and seeing this, hannah connected it with the letter. "you 'av'n't 'ad hany bad news, miss lena?" she suddenly asked, as she bade letitia remove the tray with its contents almost untouched. "master percy--none of 'em isn't hill?" "no, no," answered lena, replying to the latter question and ignoring the former. "i have not heard that any one was ill. letitia," in a tone of imperious command, very unusual with her when speaking to a servant, "hand me that book--and--hannah--let me alone." hannah was now indeed dumb with amazement, and her suspicions were more than ever aroused. there was something wrong with percy; he might not be ill--he was sure not to be if the absolutely truthful lena denied it, but he was in some trouble, and she would not rest until she found it out. percy was, of all her nurslings, hannah's favorite, perhaps for the very reason that the instability of his character had so often led him into scrapes in which she had shielded and helped him. he had, in his childhood, frequently escaped punishment by her connivance, and it was her theory that "the poor boy was put upon" more than any of the others. now he had been sent away to school, while the rest were enjoying the unwonted liberty and pleasures of their uncle's house; and her affectionate old heart was often sore within her as she pondered over the wrongs she fancied he endured. she was not over-scrupulous as to the means she took to avert the consequences of misdoing from percy, or any other one of the flock whom she had nursed from earliest babyhood; but so guarded was she that mrs. neville had never suspected her of anything like double-dealing, or assuredly her reign in the nursery would soon have come to an end. that she was right in her surmises she became more and more convinced as she watched lena and saw that though she kept her eyes fixed upon the open book in her lap, she never turned a leaf. it was evidently to avoid observation and to have a pretext for keeping quiet that she had taken the book. then, by dint of adroit questioning of the other servants, she managed to ascertain, without letting them know that anything was wrong, that no letters had been carried to lena that morning, but that starr had handed her three on the previous afternoon. lena had spoken of two of these, her papa's and russell's, had told the old nurse what treasures they contained, but she had said nothing of the other, percy's. hannah guessed the truth when she surmised that in the excitement over the first two, lena had forgotten percy's and opened it later. "when she'd come up to bed last night! i see, i see," the nurse said to herself. percy was surely in some difficulty again, and both he and lena were trying to hide it; but she would leave no means untried to discover what it was. mrs. rush was quite shocked at lena's looks when she came up to see her, and so was the colonel in his turn, and lena found it very difficult to parry their questions, and to appear even comparatively unembarrassed and at her ease in their presence. they both positively vetoed any attempt at coming down-stairs to-day, or the reception of any visitors; and, indeed, lena had no inclination for either, but was quite content to accept their verdict that she must keep absolutely quiet and try to recover from the over-excitement of yesterday. she did not wish to see any one; even maggie and bessie would not have been welcome visitors now when that dreadful secret was weighing upon her, and as for going down-stairs she had no desire to do so; she wanted to remain as near as might be to the fatal letter, would have insisted upon being carried back to her own room had she not feared it would occasion wonder. she was half frantic, too, about the key of the compartment of the secretary. hannah had not brought it to her, and she dared not ask for it. oh, how miserable it was to be so helpless with so much at stake! not to be able even to touch one's feet to the ground to go to find out if the key were still in the lock, the letter safe in the secretary. her apprehensions were of the vaguest, for there was no reason that any one should go to her secretary without permission, and she had no cause to suspect that any one would do so, and thus she reasoned with herself; but had she known it, they were not without cause, for hannah had resolved that she would find out what that letter contained. it must be said for her that although her curiosity was greatly aroused, she was actuated chiefly by her affection for percy, and the desire to rescue him from any trouble into which he might have fallen. an opportunity was not long in presenting itself, for when the doctor, who had been sent for, arrived, hannah made a plausible errand into lena's room and secured the letter. having gained her object the dishonorable old woman found the agitation of her invalid charge amply accounted for. she carried the letter to a place where she could read it undisturbed and free from observation, and make herself mistress of its contents; then returned to lena's room and put the letter in the place whence she had taken it. but hannah's face was very pale, and she was most unusually quiet all that day, falling into fits of abstraction as if her thoughts were far away. she was more tender than ever with lena, knowing now too well the trouble which was weighing upon the heart and spirits of the sensitive young sister, and secretly sharing it with her. hour after hour she pondered upon ways and means for relieving her favorite from the trouble into which his own folly and weakness had led him, and how she might do so without betraying either this or her own shameless conduct in possessing herself of the secret. chapter iv. percy. percy neville had been placed by his parents at a small private school where only twelve pupils were taken, and where they intended he should be, as mrs. neville said, "under the strictest personal supervision." the school had been chosen not only on this account, but also because the principal was an englishman, and had formerly been tutor in a school which mr. neville had attended when a boy. only two of the masters and tutors resided in the school, one of them being a young man of the name of seabrooke, who was half tutor, half scholar, giving his services for such lessons as he took. he was a youth of uncommon talent, studious and steady, and much thought of by dr. leacraft and the other masters. six of the twelve pupils were in one dormitory under charge of this young man; the other six in another, in the care of mr. merton. had dr. leacraft but known it, just the opposite arrangement would have been advisable, as the half-dozen boys in mr. merton's room were a much more steady set than those in young seabrooke's. seabrooke himself had little idea of the lawlessness which reigned in the quarters under his charge; he was an unusually heavy sleeper, and all manner of pranks were carried on at night without rousing him. the leader of these escapades was a boy of the name of flagg, utterly without principle or sense of honor; but plausible, and, being quick at his studies, making a fair show with his masters. over percy neville this boy had acquired a most undesirable influence, and led him into many pranks and violations of rules which were little suspected by the authorities. poor percy, weak, vacillating, and utterly without resolution or firmness of character, was easily led astray, although his conscience, his judgment, and his sense of truth were often offended by the wrong-doing into which he suffered himself to be persuaded. about a mile from the school lived a man of the name of rice, who kept boats, fishing-tackle and one or two horses which he let out; while back of his place was a small lake which afforded good fishing in the summer and excellent skating in the winter. his house was not a gambling or drinking place, at least not avowedly so; but some rather questionable doings had taken place there, and the spot was one absolutely forbidden to the scholars of dr. leacraft's school. nevertheless, some of the wilder spirits were in the habit of going there when they could do so without risk of discovery; and they also employed rice to procure for them such articles as were tabooed and which they could not purchase for themselves. lewis flagg was one of his most constant customers, and he had gradually drawn every one of the boys in his dormitory into various infringements of regulations. he had found percy an easy victim, and by degrees had drawn him on from bad to worse, until he had brought him to a pass where he was afraid to rebel lest lewis should reveal his former misdoings, as he threatened to do. within the last few weeks it had been the practice of the six boys in seabrooke's dormitory to slip out of the window at night upon the roof of the porch, thence by the pillars to the ground, and then off and away to rice's house, where a hot supper, previously ordered, awaited them. this flagrant violation of rules and order had taken place several times, and, so far, thanks to seabrooke's heavy slumbers, had not yet been discovered. about this time a hard frost of several days duration had made the skating unusually good; and there was no place within miles of the school so pleasant or so favorable for that pastime as rice's pond. tempted by this, all the boys under dr. leacraft's care had signed a petition, asking that they might be allowed to go upon this pond if they would promise not to go into the house. an hour or two after this petition had been sent in, but before it had received an answer, a telegram came to the doctor calling him to harvard, to his only son, who had been dangerously hurt. the boys were all assembled at the time for recitation to the doctor, and rising in his place he made known the subject of the despatch, and then said: "in answer to the request which i have just received from you, young gentlemen, i must return a positive negative. my reasons for forbidding you to go near rice's place have lately been given additional force, and, although i cannot take time to mention them now, i must request, i must absolutely _forbid_ each and every one of you from going in the neighborhood of rice's house or rice's pond. i cannot tell how long i may be away; meanwhile the school will be left under the charge of mr. merton and mr. seabrooke, and i trust that you will all prove yourselves amenable to their authority, and that i shall receive a good report. i leave by the next train. good-bye." the doctor's face was pale and his voice was husky, as he bade them farewell, dreading what might have come to him before he should see them again. he was gone in another moment, and in half an hour had left the house. dr. leacraft was a kind, a just, and a lenient master, granting to his pupils all the indulgence and privileges consistent with good discipline, and the more reasonable among the boys felt that he must have just cause for this renewed and emphatic prohibition against rice's place. but lewis flagg and his followers were not reasonable, and many and deep, though not loud, were the murmurs at his orders. lewis' boon companions saw from the expression of his eye that he meditated rebellion and disobedience even while the doctor was speaking; and percy neville and one or two others resolved that they would refuse to share in them. nor were they mistaken. no sooner were the six choice spirits alone together than lewis unfolded a plan for "a spree" for the following night. the moon was about at the full, and his proposal was that they should leave the house in the manner they had done more than once before, by means of the window and the root of the porch, go to rice's and have a supper, which was to be previously ordered, and afterwards a moonlight skate on the lake. "rip van winkle will never wake," said flagg, "not if you fire a cannon-ball under his bed, and we'll be back and in our places and have a good morning nap before he suspects a thing." but some of the better disposed among the boys demurred, fresh as they were from the doctor's late appeal to them, and their knowledge of the sad errand upon which he had gone; and foremost among them was percy neville. "i don't know," he said, doubtfully, when lewis flagg unfolded his plan. "i don't know. isn't it rather shabby after what the doctor said to us? and--you know--dick leacraft might be dying--might be dead--they say he's awfully hurt--and we wouldn't like to think about it afterwards if we were breaking rules when the doctor--" but the expression upon flagg's face stopped him. "hear the sentiment of him!" sneered the bad, reckless boy; "just hear the sentiment of him! who'd have thought neville was such a miss nancy, such a coward? but you're going if the rest go, for we're all in the same box and have got to stand by one another--none are going to be left behind to make a good thing for themselves if anything does leak out." "i shouldn't, you know i shouldn't say a word!" ejaculated percy, indignantly. "no, i don't believe you would," said flagg; "but we can't have any left behind. one in for it, all in for it. pluck up your courage and come along, percy. if you don't,"--meaningly--"you and i'll have some old scores to settle." this threat, which meant that former misdeeds and infringements of rules would be betrayed by lewis if percy did not yield, took effect, as it had done more than once before; and percy agreed to join in the prohibited sport. he had not the strength, the moral courage, to tell lewis that cowardice and weakness lay in that very yielding, in the fear which led him into new sin sooner than to face the consequences of former misdeeds,--misdeeds more venial than that now proposed. it was not the doctor of whom percy stood in such awe half so much as his parents, especially his mother. it is more than possible that he would have gone to the former and made confession of past offences rather than continue in such bondage as flagg now maintained over him; but he could not or would not face the displeasure of his father and mother, or the consequences which were likely to follow. leniency, or a tender compassion for their faults, were not looked for by any of the neville children; when these were discovered they must be prepared to bide the fullest penalty. "i don't know about seabrooke." said raymond stewart. "he has not slept as soundly as usual these last few nights. i've been awake myself so much with the toothache, and i know that he has been restless and wakeful; and he might chance to rouse up at the wrong time and find us going or gone." "he's seemed to have something on his mind and to be uneasy in the daytime, too," said another boy, "and he's been so eager for the mail, as if he were expecting something more than usual. he's everlastingly writing, too, every chance he finds." "oh, he fancies he has literary talent," said flagg, "and he's forever sending off the results of his labors. i suppose he expects to turn out an author and to become famous and a shining mark." "the doctor says he will be," said raymond, "and i know that one or two of his pieces have been accepted by the magazines and paid for, too. i saw them myself in a magazine at home. it must be a great thing for a fellow who has his own way to make in the world, as seabrooke has. i know his family are as poor as rats. his father is rector of a little shabby church just out of the city, and i know they have hard work to get along. you know seabrooke teaches for his own schooling." "i'll see that he sleeps sound enough not to interfere with us to-morrow night," said lewis flagg. "leave that to me." he spoke confidently; but to all the questions of the other boys as to how he was to bring about this result, he turned a deaf ear. but he succeeded in bringing every one of his five schoolmates to his own way of thinking, or, at least, to agreeing to join in the proposed expedition; and his arrangements were carried on without any further demur openly expressed from them. seabrooke was in the habit of taking a generous drink of water every night the last thing before he retired. on the evening of the following day, and that for which the aforesaid frolic had been planned, lewis flagg might have been found in the dormitory at a very unusual hour; and had there been any one there to see, he might have been observed to shake the contents of a little paper, a fine white powder, into the water carafe which stood filled upon the wash-stand in seabrooke's alcove. then, with the self-satisfied air of one who has accomplished a great feat, he stole from the room and back to his schoolmates. "seems to me seabrooke has been uncommonly chirk and chipper this evening," said charlie denham, when the boys had gone to their rooms, as their masters supposed-for the night. "yes, he had a letter by the evening mail which seemed to set him up wonderfully," said raymond. "i hope it has eased his mind of whatever was on it so that he won't be wakeful to-night." "oh, he'll sleep sound enough, i'll warrant you," said lewis flagg, with a meaning laugh. ensconced in bed, every boy fully dressed, but with other clothes so arranged as to deceive an unsuspecting observer into the belief that all was as usual, they waited the time when seabrooke should be asleep. the young tutor's alcove was not within the range of lewis' vision, but percy from his bed could see all that went on there, and he lay watching seabrooke. as usual, at the last moment the latter poured out a glass of water and proceeded to drink it down; but he had not taken half of it when he paused, and percy saw him hold it up to the light, smell it, taste of it again and then set the glass down, still more than two-thirds full. harley seabrooke had no mental cause for restlessness that night; the evening mail had, as raymond said, brought him that which had lifted a load of suspense and anxiety from his mind, and he was unusually light-hearted and at ease. his head was scarcely upon his pillow when he was asleep, but not so very sound asleep, for flagg had over-shot his mark, and the sleeping potion which he had so wickedly put into the carafe of water had given it a slightly bitter taste, so that seabrooke had found it disagreeable and had not drank the usual quantity, and the close he had taken was not sufficient to stupefy him, but rather to render him wakeful as soon as it began to act. believing themselves safe as soon as they heard his regular breathing, the six conspirators slipped from their beds out of the window upon the roof of the piazza, and thence down the pillars to the ground, and then off and away to rice's. hardly had they gone when seabrooke, on whom the intended anodyne began to have an exciting effect, awoke, and lay tossing for more than an hour. weary of this, he rose at last, intending to read awhile to see if it would render him sleepy; but as he drew the curtain before his alcove, in order to shield the light from the eyes of the companions whom he supposed to be safe in their beds fast asleep, he was struck with the unusual silence of the room. not a rustle, not a breath was to be heard, although he listened for some moments. he could hardly have told why, but he was impressed with the idea that he was entirely alone, and striking a light, he stepped out into the main room and went to the nearest bed. empty! and so with each one in succession. not a boy was there! remembering the petition to dr. leacraft and the resentment which his refusal to accede to it had provoked, it did not take him long to surmise whither they had gone; and hastily dressing himself he made his exit from the house in the same way that they had done and hastened in the same direction, filled with indignation at such flagrant disobedience and treachery at a time when the doctor was in such trouble. the runaways had had what they called a "jolly supper" and were in the hall of rice's house donning great-coats and mufflers before going out upon the lake, when the outer door was opened, and percy, who stood nearest, saw seabrooke. his exclamation of dismay drew the attention of all, and the delinquents, one and all, felt themselves, as percy afterwards said, "regularly caught." "you will go home at once, if you please," was all the young tutor said; but, taken in the very act of rebellion to the head master's orders, not one ventured to dispute the command. he marshalled them all before him, and the party walked solemnly home, five, at least, thoroughly shamefaced. "don't you feel sneaky?" whispered raymond to lewis flagg. "no" answered the other; "i'm not the one to feel sneaky. i haven't been spying and prying and trapping other fellows." but this bravado did not make the others easy. seabrooke made his captives enter by the way in which they had left, so that the rest of the household might not be disturbed, and ordered them at once to bed. "what are you going to do about this?" lewis asked. "report to mr. merton in the morning; and then write to the doctor, i presume, as mr. merton's hand is too lame for him to write. it will be as he thinks best," answered seabrooke, dryly. "i do not wish to talk about the matter now." contrary to his usual custom, lewis flagg did not attempt to treat lightly and as a matter of no consequence the displeasure of his masters, but seemed depressed and restless the next morning, and percy remarked upon it. "you'd be cut up too if you were in my place," said lewis, roughly; "you're only afraid of your father and mother and the doctor; and you see i've been in a lot of scrapes this term and been awfully unlucky about being found out, and my uncle threatened to stop my allowance if he caught me in another, and he'll do it, too; and i've lots of debts out--a big one to rice--and you know what the doctor is about debt, and my uncle is still worse; there'll be no end of a row if he knows it. if this fuss could only be kept quiet till after i have my next quarter-and that's due the first of next week--i could pay off rice, at least. but if word goes to the doctor, he'll let my uncle know--he promised to, by special request," he added, bitterly. "uncle will make ten times more row over my debts than he will over one lark, and i promised rice he should have his money next week. i'm in awfully deep with him, percy, and i don't dare let it be found out. we'll see what old merton says this morning. but--the doctor sha'n't hear of it just yet if i can help it." percy wondered how he _could_ help it; but before he could ask the question the school-bell rang and the boys took their places. after school was opened, mr. merton rose, and, with what lewis called "threatening looks" at the delinquents, said, quietly: "young gentlemen of mr. seabrooke's dormitory, it is hardly necessary to say that this evening's mail will carry to dr. leacraft an account of last night's flagrant misconduct. till i hear from him, i shall take no further steps, save to request that you will not go outside the house without either myself or mr. seabrooke in attendance." lewis flagg was a bright scholar, and so far as recitations went, maintained his standing in the class with the best; but to-day he was far below his usual mark, and his attention constantly wandered; and most of his fellow culprits were in like case. in view of the escapade of the previous night and its impending consequences, that was hardly to be wondered at; but lewis was wont to make light of such matters, and he was evidently taking this more seriously than usual. but the truth was that this did not rise from shame or regret--at least not from a saving repentance--but because he was absorbed in trying to find a way out of his difficulties. mr. merton was suffering from acute rheumatism in his right hand, and being disabled from writing, he had, after consultation with his junior, delegated him to make the necessary disclosures to the absent doctor. seabrooke was observed to be doing a great deal of writing that afternoon, and was supposed to be giving a full account of the affair. the letters to be taken out were always put into a basket upon the hall table, whence they were taken and carried to the post-office at the proper hour by the chore-boy of the school. here, lewis thought, lay his opportunity. drawing percy aside again, he said that seabrooke's letter to the doctor must be taken from the basket before tony carried all away, and be kept back for a day or two; then it could be posted and nothing more would be suspected than that it had been belated. meanwhile his allowance would arrive, and then dr. leacraft was welcome to know all the particulars of the escapade. percy was startled and shocked, and at first refused to have any part in the matter; but the old threat brought him to terms, and he at last agreed to lewis' plans that they should contrive to abstract seabrooke's letter to dr. leacraft from among the others laid ready for the post, and keep it back until lewis' allowance had been received. but although the two boys made various errands to the hall, they found no opportunity of carrying out their dishonorable purpose before tony had started on his round of afternoon duties, taking with him the letters for the post. scarcely had he disappeared when mr. merton said to the six culprits: "young gentlemen, you will go for afternoon exercise to walk with mr. seabrooke. the cold will prevent me from venturing out," touching the crippled right-arm, which lay in a sling, "or i should not trust you from beneath my own eyes; but if i hear of any farther misconduct, or you give him any trouble, there will be greater restrictions placed upon you, and there will be another chapter to add to the sad account which has already gone to the doctor." "dr. leacraft will be tired before he comes to a second volume of the thing seabrooke has written to him," flagg whispered to percy, as they started together for the walk under seabrooke's care. "did you see him writing and writing page after page? he must have given him every detail, and made the most of it. and he fairly gloated over it; looked as pleased as punch while he was doing it; never saw him look so happy." "i'm likely to lose my easter vacation, and dear knows what else for this," said percy, who was exceedingly low in his mind over the consequences of his lawlessness. "i'll have worse than that," answered lewis. "i wouldn't mind that; but if my quarter's allowance is stopped i don't know what i _shall_ do. oh, if i only could get hold of that letter!" percy made no response; for, much as he dreaded to have this affair come to the knowledge of his parents, he shrank from the thought of abstracting and destroying that letter. seabrooke had not much reason to enjoy his walk that afternoon if he had depended upon his company; his charge were all sulky and depressed; but, somewhat to their exasperation, their young leader did not pay much heed to their humors; his own thoughts seemed sufficient for him; and, to judge by the light in his eye and his altogether satisfied expression, these were pleasant society. "seabrooke's been awfully cock-a-hoop all clay," said raymond stewart; "wonder what's up with him." "he's glad we're in a scrape," said lewis, bitterly. "don't believe it," said raymond; "that's not like him." seabrooke led the way to the village store, a sort of _omnium-gatherum_ place, as village stores are apt to be, and which contained also the post-office. entering, the party found tony there before them, the letters he had carried from the school lying on the counter; for there were several small parcels and newspapers which would not go into the receiving box, and the post-mistress was sorting the afternoon up mail, and the delivery window of the office was closed; so tony was waiting his chance for attention. he stood with his back to the counter, examining some coal shovels, having received orders to buy one. seabrooke was at the other side of the store, making some purchases; the rest of the boys scattered here and there. "he hasn't put the letters in the box yet; now's our chance," whispered lewis to percy, and he sauntered up to the counter where the letters lay, drawing the reluctant percy with him. with a hasty glance at the letters, he snatched up the bulky one which he believed to be that to dr. leacraft, gave another quick look at the address and thrust it within his pocket; then, humming a tune, he walked leisurely away with an air of innocent unconcern, still with his arm through that of percy. "that was good luck, wasn't it?" he said. "now we'll keep it till my allowance comes and then post it." seabrooke and the six boys had just reached the door of the school, when tony rushed up to the young tutor, and said, hurriedly: "mr. seabrooke, sir, did you take that letter you told me to be particular of?" "no," said seabrooke, turning hastily. "you haven't lost it?" "i couldn't find it, sir," faltered the boy; "but i know i had it when i passed the bridge, for i was lookin' at it and rememberin' what you told me about it." seabrooke waited for no more, but darted off upon the road back to the village, followed by tony. "we're in a fix, now," whispered lewis to percy, "if there's going to be a row about that letter. isn't he the meanest fellow in the world to be so set upon having the doctor knowing about last night? percy, i'll tell you what! we've got to put the letter out of the way now. and there's old merton coming, and he's asking for me. quick, quick; take it!" drawing the stolen letter from his pocket and thrusting it into percy's unwilling hands. "put it in the stove, quick, quick! there's no one to see; no one will suspect! quick now, while i go to mr. merton and keep him back. you're not fit to meet him: why, man, you're as pale as a ghost." and lewis was gone, meeting mr. merton in the hall without. with not a moment for thought, save one of terror lest he should be found with the missing letter in his hand, percy opened the door of the stove, thrust the letter within upon the glowing coals, and closed the door again, leaving it to its fate, a speedy and entire destruction, accomplished in an instant. an hour passed; the supper gong had sounded and the boys had taken their places at the table, when seabrooke returned, pale as death, and with compressed lips and stern eyes. mr. merton, who was extremely near-sighted, did not observe his appearance as he took his seat, but the boys all noticed it. "i have not seen it," or, "i have not found it," was all the response he had to make to the inquiries of, "have you heard anything of your letter?" and so forth. "have you lost a letter, harley?" asked mr. merton, at length, his attention being attracted. "yes, sir," answered seabrooke. "how was that? was it a letter of importance?" asked the gentleman, "yes, sir, a letter of importance, a letter to my father," answered his junior, but in a tone which told the older man that he did not care to be questioned further on that subject. to his father! percy's fork dropped from his hand with a clatter upon his plate, and lewis' face took an expression of blank dismay which, fortunately for him, no one observed. his father! had they then run all this risk, been guilty of this meanness, only to delay, to destroy a letter to seabrooke's father, while that to the doctor, exposing their delinquencies, had gone on its way unmolested. chapter v. robbing the mail. "neville and flagg, i want to speak to you. will you come into the junior recitation-room?" said seabrooke, as soon after supper as he could find opportunity of speaking apart to the two terrified culprits. fain would the guilty boys have refused, but they dared not; and they followed seabrooke to the place indicated, where he closed the door and, turning, confronted them. "lewis flagg and percy neville," he said, sternly, and his voice seemed to carry as much weight and authority as that of dr. leacraft himself when he had occasion to administer some severe reproof, "i suppose that you are striving to annoy me in this manner in revenge for my detection of your deliberate infringement of rules last night, but your tricks have recoiled upon your own heads, although even now i will spare you any farther disgrace and punishment if you will make restitution at once, for you do not know the extent of the crime of which you have been guilty. robbing the mail is an offence which is punished by heavy penalties. you, lewis, were seen to take a letter from among those which tony carried to the post-office; you, percy, standing by and not interfering, even if you were not aiding and abetting. no matter who told me; you were seen; but it is looked upon as a school-boy trick, and, by my request, will not be spoken of if you return the letter without delay. nor shall i betray you. lewis, where is that letter? for your own sake, give it to me at once. you do not know what you have done." lewis would have braved it out, would perhaps even have denied taking the letter, for he was not at all above telling a lie; but he could not tell how far evidence would be given against him, and, at least, immunity from farther punishment was held forth to him and his fellow-culprit. but--restitution! percy, as he knew, had followed out his instructions and put the letter in the fire. "i'm sorry," he said, with a forced laugh, but with his voice faltering; "but we had no idea the letter was of special importance. we thought it was to the doctor about last night, and we only meant to keep it back for a day or two and--and--well, when you made such a row about it--percy--percy burned it up. but to call it 'robbing the mail--'" he was stopped by the change in seabrooke's face. "_you burned it!_" he almost shouted, forgetting the caution he had hitherto observed in lowering his voice so that it might not be heard by any one who might be outside the door. for one instant he stared at the two startled boys, looking from one to the other as if he could not believe the evidence of his ears. "you burned it!" he repeated, in a lower tone; then, covering his face with his hands, he bent his head upon the table before him with something very like a groan. when he raised his head and uncovered his face again he was deadly pale. "there were two hundred dollars in that letter," he said; "you have not only stolen and destroyed my letter, but also all that sum of money." stolen! all that money! they were sufficiently appalled now, these two reckless, thoughtless boys; percy to an even great degree than his more unprincipled comrade. lewis was the first to find his voice. "there was not! you're joking! you're only trying to frighten us," he said, although in his inmost soul he was convinced that this was no joking matter, no mere attempt to punish them by arousing their fears. seabrooke's agitation was not assumed, that was easy to be seen. then followed a long and terrible pause, while the three boys, the injured and the injuring, stood gazing at one another. then, despite his wrongs, the unutterable terror in the faces of the latter touched seabrooke, especially in the case of percy, for whom he had a strong liking; for the boy had many lovable traits, notwithstanding the weakness of his character. "what can we do?" faltered percy, at last. "what will you do?" asked lewis, almost in the same breath. trembling and anxious, the two culprits stood before the young man, scarcely older than themselves, who had become their victim and was now their accuser and their judge, in whose hands lay their sentence. "wait, i must think a minute," he said, willing, out of the kindness of his noble heart, to spare them ruin and disgrace, and yet scarcely seeing his way clear to it. "listen," he said, after some moments' pondering. "you thought that letter was to dr. leacraft, you say, giving an account of last night. mr. merton, who is disabled, as you know, asked me to write to the doctor; but i begged him to let me off and to ask one of the professors to do it. that letter you destroyed was to my father, and, as i told you, contained two hundred dollars in money--money earned by myself--money which i must have and which you must restore. give it back to me--i will wait till after the easter holidays for it--and this matter shall go no farther. no one but myself knows that the letter contained money; only one saw you take it out, and that one will be silent if i ask it. i will write out a confession and acknowledgment for you both to sign. bring me, after the holidays or before, each your own share of the money and i will destroy that paper; but if you fail, i will carry it to the doctor and he must require it of your friends. i will not--i cannot be the loser through your wickedness and dishonesty. if you refuse to sign i shall go to mr. merton now and to the doctor as soon as he returns. i do not know if i am quite right in offering to let you off, even upon such conditions; but if i can help it i will not ruin you and cause your expulsion from the school, which, i know, would follow the discovery of your guilt." percy, overwhelmed, was speechless; but lewis answered after a moment's pause, during which seabrooke waited for his answer: "how are we to raise the money?" "i do not know," answered seabrooke, "that is your affair. i worked hard for mine and earned it; you have taken it from me and must restore it--how, is for you to determine. if your friends must know of this, and i suppose that it is only through them that you can repay me, it seems to me that it would be better for you to make a private confession to them than to risk that which will probably follow if dr. leacraft knows of it. are you ready to abide by my terms?" "you will give us till--" stammered lewis, seeing no loophole of escape, but, as he afterwards told percy, hoping that something "would turn up" if they could gain time. "till easter--after the holidays--no longer," answered seabrooke. "i know very well that you could hardly raise so much at a moment's notice; so, although it is a bitter disappointment not to have it now, i will wait till then if you agree to sign the paper which i will have ready this evening after study hour. quick now; the bell will ring in two minutes." what could they do? seabrooke was evidently inexorable, and they knew well that he could not be expected to bear this loss. "yes, i will sign it," said the thoroughly cowed percy. but lewis suddenly flashed up and answered impudently: "how are we to know that the money was in that letter?" "i can prove it," answered seabrooke, quietly; "and, lewis flagg, i can prove something more. i tested the water that was in my carafe last night, and found that it had been tampered with. i know the object now, and have discovered who bought the drug at the apothecary's. do you comprehend me? if the doctor hears of one thing he will hear of all." utterly subdued now, lewis stammered his promise to comply with the young tutor's request. "one question," said seabrooke, as the two younger boys turned to leave the room. "how did you come to take a letter directed to my father for one addressed to dr. leacraft?" "i don't know," replied percy, at whom he was looking. "i didn't look at it particularly, but just put it in the stove when lewis handed it to me and told me to do it. we saw you writing for ever so long, and thought that thick letter was to the doctor. we are--were in such a hurry, you see." "and i am sure leacraft and seabrooke are not so very different when one is in a hurry," said lewis. "i see," said seabrooke; "you made up your minds that the letter was to the doctor, and were so afraid of being caught at your mean trick that you did not take time to make sure. there's the study bell." the confession and acknowledgment of their indebtedness was signed that night by both of the guilty boys. and this was the story which the sensitive, honorable lena, the faithful old hannah had read--percy's letter, which had commenced: "dear lena, "i am in the most awful scrape any boy ever was in, and you are the only one who can help me out of it. if you can't there is nothing for me but to be expelled from the school and arrested and awfully disgraced, with all the rest of the family; and the worst is that russell will be so cut up about it--you know his royal highness always holds his head so high, especially about anything he thinks is shabby--and i am afraid it will make him worse again. as for the mother! words could not paint her if she hears about it. and if the doctor gets hold of it!! i've told you how strict he is and what the rules are. if it hadn't been an iron-clad place, i shouldn't have been sent here. i hate these private schools where one can't do a thing without being found out. well, here goes; you must hear about it, and it is a bad business." then followed, in school-boy language, an account of the whole disgraceful transaction. a "bad business," indeed; even worse it appeared to the young sister and the old nurse than it did apparently to percy. "and now, dear lena," he continued, "there's no one but you who can help me. lewis flagg is going to have his share. he has a watch that was his father's, a very valuable one, and his older brother wants it awfully, and told him long ago he would give him a hundred dollars for it; he has money of his own, the brother has, and lewis says it isn't half what the watch is worth; but he'll have to let it go. so he's all right. "but what am i to do? i have no such watch. i have nothing i could sell without mamma and papa finding it out, and think of the row there would be if they did. you are my only hope, lena, and you might do something for me. at any rate, think of russell. havn't you something you could sell? or--i do not like very much to ask you, but what can a fellow in such a scrape do?--couldn't you ask uncle horace to let you have it? i am sure he owes you something for saving his house from being burnt up, and things would have been a great deal worse if you hadn't found it out and been so brave; and besides, he thinks so much of you since he will do anything for you, and you can just tell him you want it for a private purpose. he'll give it to you; it's only twenty pounds, lena, and what is twenty pounds to him? what is it to any of our people, only one wouldn't dare to ask papa or mamma for it. we wouldn't get it if we did, and everything would have to come out then; they never trust any one and _would_ know. only get it for me, dear lena, and save me and save russell, too. you have from now till after the easter holidays; and think what you'll save me from! oh, dear! i wish i'd never seen lewis flagg. he don't care a bit, so that he sees the way out of his own scrape. as for that solemn prig, seabrooke, who you'd think was one of the grown masters with his uppish airs, well, never mind, i suppose he has let us off easy on the whole, if i only raise my share of the money; and he is honor bright about it and don't even act as if we two had done anything worse than the others. oh! do think of some way, and try uncle horace. i know he'll prove all right, and you see we never meant to do this. "your affectionate brother, "percy h. neville. "oh, i forgot, how are the feet? "save russell!" the shock of the whole thing; the disobedience and rebellion against rules; the disgraceful theft of the letter; its destruction; the peril in which percy himself stood--all faded into comparative insignificance with the risk for her adored elder brother. absolute quiet, freedom from all worry and anxiety during his protracted convalescence had been peremptorily insisted upon by his physicians, and it had proved before this that any excitement not only retarded his recovery, but threw him back. that the knowledge of percy's guilt could be kept from russell if it came to the ears of her father and mother never occurred to her, and beyond words did she dread its effect upon him. she knew that the news of her own serious injuries a few weeks since had been very hurtful to him, and now her chief thought was for him. she lost sight altogether of the contemptible meanness of percy's appeal to her--a helpless girl--to rescue him from the consequences of his own worse than folly, but she was bitterly stung by his suggestion--nay, almost demand--that she should ask from their kind and indulgent uncle the means of satisfying the justly outraged seabrooke; the uncle who had opened his heart and home to them, whom she credited with every known virtue, and for whose good opinion and approbation she looked more eagerly than she did for those of any other human being, even the beloved brother russell. no, no; she would never ask him for such a thing, that honorable, high-minded, hero-uncle, with his scorn for everything that was contemptible or mean; "fussy," percy had called him, about such matters. nor did it occur to her that in his selfish desire to secure her aid, percy had perhaps exaggerated the risk to himself--the risk of his arrest and public disgrace, which would reflect upon the family. poor little girl! in her inexperience and alarm she did not reflect that it was not at all probable that percy would be arrested, even though he should not be able to comply with seabrooke's just demands; and all manner of direful possibilities presented themselves to her mind. little wonder was it that she was perfectly overwhelmed, or that mental excitement had prostrated her again and brought on a return of her fever. nor was hannah less credulous. she magnified the danger for percy as much as the young sister did, although her fears were chiefly for the culprit himself. she had the means of relieving the boy's embarrassment if they were but in her own hands, but she had put the greater part of these in her master's care for investment, and she could not obtain any large sum of money without application to him. and, like lena, she was afraid of exciting some inquiry or suspicion if she did so. the poor old soul stood almost alone in the world, having neither chick nor child, kith nor kin left to her, save one bad and dissipated nephew whom she had long since, by the advice of her master, cast off. if she asked mr. neville for the sum necessary to help percy out of his difficulty, he would, she felt confident, suspect that she was about to give it to this reprobate nephew, and would remonstrate. besides the accumulated wages in her master's hands she had one other resource, quite a sum, which she carried about with her; a number of bright, golden guineas tied in a small bag which she wore fastened about her waist, and which was really a burden to her, since she lived in constant fear of losing it. but this was for a purpose dear to old hannah's heart, namely, her own funeral expenses and the erection of what she considered a suitable head-stone for herself after she should have done with life. she would not trust this precious gold to any bank or company, lest it should fail and leave her without the means for what she considered a fitting monument for herself. within the bag was also an epitaph, composed by herself, which was to be put upon the proposed gravestone. for hannah had no mean opinion of her own merits, and this set her forth as an epitome of many christian graces, reading thus: "here lies the mortal body of hannah achsah stillwell which she was hed nurse in the family of howard neville eskire for years and brung up mostly by hand his children and never felt she done enuf for them not sparin herself with infantile elements walkin nites and the like, pashunt and gentle not cross-grained like some which the poor little things they can't help theirselves teethin and the like, respeckful to her betters knoin her place, kind to them beneth her--which she was much thort of by all above and below her--and respected by her ekals. which to her gabriel shall say in fittin time: "well done good and faithful servant come to the skys stranger read this pious lesson go and do likewise." this gem she had read in turn to each of her nurslings as they came to what she considered a fitting age to appreciate it; and they had regarded it with great awe and admiration, till they outgrew it and began to consider it as a joke. not to hannah, however, did any one of them confide the change in his or her views, although they made merry over it among themselves; and harold and elsie still looked upon it as a most touching and fitting tribute to the merits of their faithful old nurse, albeit it had been composed and arranged by herself. hannah had also frequently found the bag and its contents an incentive to well-doing, or an effective and gentle means of coercion, as upon any rare symptoms of rebellion or mischief which would occasionally arise within the nursery precincts, in spite of iron rules and severe penalties, she was wont to detach the bag from its hiding-place and, retiring to a corner, would count the gold and read over the future epitaph, murmuring in sepulchral tones, befitting such a lugubrious subject, that she should soon have need of both. this course had generally sufficed to bring the small rebel to terms at once, and it would promise to be good if she would only consent to live and continue her care of the nursery. and now, how could she make up her mind to sacrifice this cherished sum even for the reckless, selfish boy whom she loved? it had been dedicated to that one purpose, and it had never before entered her thoughts to divert it to any other. she was devoted to each one and all of her charges, past and present; but for no other one than percy would she ever have thought of resigning this gold. not to relieve the sickening terror and anxiety of the poor little invalid; not to save the whole family from the disgrace which she apprehended, would she have entertained the slightest thought of doing so; but for the sake of her beloved scrapegrace! could she resolve to do it, was the question which was now agitating her mind. if hannah was worried she was apt to be cross, and for the next day or two she was captious and exacting beyond anything within the past experience of the nursery, driving letitia to the verge of rebellion, and exciting the open-eyed wonder of the pattern elsie. over lena she crooned and hovered, petting and coddling her, and longing to speak some words of hope and comfort, but not daring to do so lest she should betray herself and the dishonorable way in which she had become possessed of the child's secret. colonel rush was seated in his library one afternoon when there came a knock at the door; and being bidden to enter, the portiere was drawn aside and old hannah appeared, her face wearing an unusually solemn and portentous expression. "beggin' your pardon, colonel," she said, dropping her curtsey, "but i'm not much hacquainted with these hamerican monies, and would you be so good as to tell me the worth of twenty-one gold guineas in the dollars they uses in this country. more shame to 'em, say i, that they didn't 'old by what was their hown when they was hunder the rule of hour gracious lady, queen victoria, but 'ad to go changin' an' pesterin' them what 'asn't no partickler hacquaintance with harithmetic." hannah was a privileged character, and sometimes expressed her opinions with some freedom in the presence of her superiors. the colonel did not think it worth while to enlighten her on the subject of american history, or to explain that the united states, and even the early colonies, had never been beneath the rule of queen victoria; but he gave her the information she desired. "twenty-one golden guineas would be somewhere from a hundred and five to a hundred and ten or fifteen dollars, hannah," he said; "it might be even a little more; that would depend upon what is called the price of gold. a guinea would be worth something over five dollars in american money at any time, sometimes more, sometimes less, but always beyond the five. why?"--knowing of the secret fund for future expenses, the story having been told to him by his nephews,--"have you gold of which you wish to dispose? if so, i will do my best to sell it for you at advantage." "no, thank'ee, sir," she answered. "i'm only fain to know what it would fetch," and with another curtsey she was gone, not daring either to wait for farther questioning or to ask the gentleman to exchange her gold for her. indeed, upon the latter point she had not, hitherto, at all made up her mind. but now it seemed to her that it was clearly intended that she should make the sacrifice. "seems as if it was a callin' of providence," she murmured to herself, as she slowly and thoughtfully mounted the stairs and returned to the nursery; and had any one known the circumstances he might have seen that the old nurse's resolution respecting that gold was wavering; "seems as if it was a callin' of providence. 'twould just be a little more than the poor boy needs--oh, will he never learn to say no when it's befittin 'he should!--just a little more, and it do seem as if it were put hinto my 'ands to do it. an' i s'pose i might believe the lord will take care of them banks and railroads an' things where the master 'as put what he's hinvested for me. i don't know as i put so much faith in this hinvestin', you never know what'll come of it with the ups and downs of them things. dear, dear! if i 'ad it now there needn't be no trouble about master percy. but"--feeling for the precious bag--"i think i couldn't rest heasy in my grave if i 'ad the statoo of the queen 'erself hover me if i'd let the child i brought up come to this disgrace an' 'im the puny, weakly baby he was, too, when i took 'im, the fine, sturdy lad he is now if he is maybe a bit too soon led hastray. but what can you hexpect of a lad when he's kept hunder the way hour boys is. an' he's not a bad 'eart, 'asn't master percy, an' maybe he might put up a monyment and a hepithet 'imself for me if he did but know i'd done that for 'im. it's a risk, too; percy's no 'ead on his shoulders, an' i might be left with no tombstone an' no hepithet." to one who knew hannah it might have been easy to see which way the balance was likely to turn; that cherished gold was sure to be taken for percy's rescue from the difficulty he was in; but she persuaded herself that she had not yet made up her mind about the matter. chapter vi. a confidence. meanwhile lena was fretting herself ill over the terrible secret which she imagined she shared with no one in the house; turning over and over in her mind all manner of impossible devices for the relief of her scapegrace brother. not for one instant would she entertain the thought of applying to her uncle in accordance with his indelicate suggestion; and her father and mother were, to her mind, as well as to percy's, utterly out of the question. no idea of applying to them entered her head. the change in her, her troubled, worried expression, the almost hunted look in her beautiful eyes made her uncle and aunt extremely anxious, especially as they could find no clew to the cause, for they knew nothing of the letter from percy. the child wrote to her brother and told him that she could see no way of procuring the money for him, for she _would not_ apply to their uncle; but she would try and contrive some means of helping him. with the heedless _insouciance_ which distinguished him, or rather with the selfish facility with which he threw a share, and a large share, of his burdens upon others, he had comforted himself with the thought that lena would surely contrive some way of helping him; would, in spite of her declarations to the contrary, apply to colonel rush, guarding his secret, and taking upon herself all the weight and embarrassment of asking such an unheard of favor. but although he did strive to be hopeful, he had times of the deepest despondency and dread, when he looked his predicament fully in the face; and he felt it hard that lewis, who, after all, had been the chief offender, should be, as he in his careless way phrased it, "all right" at what seemed to be so little cost to him, while he, percy, was under this cloud of apprehension and uncertainty. harley seabrooke was not hard-hearted, although he was determined that the two boys should make full restitution, and justly so, and he could not but feel sorry for percy when these fits of despair overtook him. "neville," he said to him one day, "have you written to your parents about this matter?" "to my father and mother! oh, no!" answered percy, looking dismayed at the bare idea of such a thing; "oh, no, of course not. how could i?" "it seems to me," said harley, eying the boy curiously, "that such a thing is the most natural course when one is in such a difficulty. certainly it must involve confession, but they would be the most lenient and tender judges one could have. why not make a clean breast of it, percy, and have it over? you hardly, i suppose, can obtain such a sum of money except by application to them; or have you some other friend who will help you?" "i have--i did--i mean i will," stammered percy. "i have asked and--and--i know i must have it somehow." he looked so utterly depressed and forlorn that harley's heart was moved for him. "if i were rich, percy," he said, "if i could in any way afford it, i would not insist upon such early payment of my loss; but it is only just that you should make it good. you did not know what you were doing, it is true, the extent of the injury to me; but you had suffered yourself to be tempted into wrong by a boy much worse than yourself, and you meant to play me a sorry trick, which has recoiled upon yourself. that money, the check you destroyed, i had received from a publisher for a piece of work over which i had spent much time and which i had devoted to a special purpose. i have a young sister who has a wonderful talent for drawing and painting, is, in fact, a genius; and her gift ought to be cultivated, for we hope it will, in time, be a source of profit to herself and others; but my father is a poor clergyman, and all of us try to do what we can to help ourselves and one another. you know on what terms i am here; and it is only through the kindness of dr. leacraft that i enjoy the advantages i do; and of late i have been able to earn a little by articles i have written for papers and magazines. this two hundred dollars i had received for a little book, and i intended it should be the means of giving my little sister at least a beginning of the drawing lessons which would be of so much use to her. you may judge then if i do not feel that i must have it back, and that without farther delay. i am sorry for you, but i cannot sacrifice my sister." seabrooke was regarded by the boys as unsympathetic, cold, and stiff in his manner--perhaps he was somewhat so--and as he seldom spoke of himself they knew little of his affairs or of his family relations; and he was also considered to have a rather elderly style of talking, unbefitting his comparatively few years. percy's manner, which had been rather sullen and listless when the other began to speak, had brightened as seabrooke went on; and when he mentioned his sister, his face lighted with a look of interest which somewhat surprised his senior. "what is your sister's name? gladys?" he asked. "yes," answered harley, surprised at the question. "do you know her?" "yes--no--my sister and some other girls i know, know her," said percy; and then followed the story of the meeting in the church and of the interest taken in the young artist by lena, maggie and bessie. "so it was your friends and relatives, then, who sent the check for the church to my father, and the christmas box to my sister?" said seabrooke, feeling much more inclined to forgive percy than he had felt since the destruction of his letter. "i don't know anything about a check," answered percy, for colonel rush had not mentioned that little circumstance to the junior portion of his family, "but i do know that the girls sent your sister a christmas box, for i helped to pack it myself, and they are all agog about some prize they hope to win among them, a prize which will give them somehow, an artist education, which they can give to some girl who needs it. i don't know exactly how it is, only i do know they are all just agog about it, and they want it for your sister gladys, at least for a girl of that name. but i believe i ought not to have spoken of that; it is only a chance, you know; there are ever so many girls to try for the prize, and our girls may not gain it." "and my sister don't want the chance," said harley, the stubborn pride which was one of his characteristics, up in arms at once. "we may be and are poor, but we will not ask for charity." "well, you needn't be so highty-tighty about it," said percy, taking a more sensible view of the matter than his older companion did. "_i_ don't call it charity, and if it is, it comes from somebody who is dead, so one needn't feel any special obligation to the girls. it is only that they earn the right to say to whom the gift shall go; they don't _give_ it. and," he added, with his usual happy faculty for saying the wrong thing, "i don't see why you should be so stiff about it when you yourself"--he paused, seeing by the dark look which came over seabrooke's face that he had touched upon a sore point. "you would say," said harley, stiffly, "when i accept favors from dr. leacraft for myself; but you will please remember that i, at least, give some equivalent for my tuition, so i am not altogether a charity scholar. and it is my object to provide for my sister myself, and i still insist that you shall pay me what you owe me, neville. if your friends earned forty scholarships for gladys, that would make no difference in my just demands." "nobody asked that it should!" exclaimed percy, flying into one of the rare passions to which his amiable, easy-going nature would occasionally lapse under great provocation, "nobody asked that it should; and you are"--and here he launched into some most uncomplimentary remarks, and then dashed from the room, leaving harley to feel that he had made a great mistake, and missed, by the insinuation that percy fancied he would abate his demands for restitution, an opportunity of influencing the boy, who was easily led for either good or evil. the result of this was, on percy's part, another frantic appeal to lena to find some means of helping him before easter, that seabrooke was very hard on him and determined not to spare him. this letter would never have reached lena had it not been delivered into the hands of colonel rush, who met the postman at the foot of his own steps, and took this with others from him. for hannah, following out her policy that the end justified the means, and undeterred by the scrape into which percy had brought himself by means somewhat similar, kept on the watch for letters for lena, determined to hide and destroy any which should come from percy. she fancied that she had not yet made up her mind to the course she would pursue; but she really had done so, though the faithful old nurse clung till the last moment to the cherished gold, with a faint hope that something might yet chance to save it. the colonel went up to pay a little visit to lena, and came down looking rather perturbed and anxious. "that child continues to look badly," he said to mrs. rush, "and she appears to me to have something on her mind. do you think it is possible, now that russell is better?" "i am sure of it," answered his wife, "sure that something is troubling her very much, and i was about to speak of it to you. she is such a reticent, reserved child, that i did not like to try and force her confidence, although i have opened the way for her to give it to me if she chose to do so." "i brought her a letter from percy yesterday," said the colonel, "and when i handed it to her, she flushed painfully and seemed very nervous, and i noticed that she did not open it while i was in the room. i wonder if he is in any trouble." mrs. rush shook her head. she had not even noticed this, and had no clew whereby she might guess at the cause of lena's depression; but she said: "i am going to send for maggie and bessie to come and spend the day with her. she is able, i think, to have them with her, and they may brighten her a little." no sooner said than done; the colonel, always glad of any excuse for bringing these prime favorites of his to his own house, went for them himself, and finding them disengaged, this being saturday and a holiday, brought them back with him. he had the pleasure of seeing lena's pale face light up when she saw them, and soon left the young patient with her two little friends to work what healing influences they might. now, although lena was very fond of both these girls, bessie was her special favorite, perhaps because she, being less shy than maggie, had been the first to offer her sympathy and comfort at the time when lena had been left at her uncle's with her heart wrung with anxiety and distress for her brother russell who was then very dangerously ill. and bessie was now quick to see that something was wrong with lena. maggie saw it too, but shy maggie, unless it was with some one as frank as herself, could not seek to draw forth confidences. but, with her usual considerate thoughtfulness, she did that which was perhaps better; she presently withdrew herself to the next room with elsie and little may and amused them there, so that lena might have the opportunity of speaking to bessie if she so chose. but not even to bessie would or could lena confide the story of percy's misdoing and its direful results, longing though she might be for her sympathy and advice. lena knew bessie's strict conscientiousness, which was almost equalled by her own, and she knew also bessie's complete trust in her parents, and how in any trouble her first thought would be to confide in them in full faith that they would be only too ready to lift the burden from her shoulders. no, bessie was not like herself; she had no dread of her father and mother, nor had any of the children in that large and happy family; and it would have seemed unnatural to them to have any such fears. but there was a question which had been agitating her own mind which she meant to ask bessie and hear her clear, straightforward views on the matter; for lena feared, and justly, that her own wishes might have too much weight with her own opinion, and she dared not yield to these for fear of doing wrong. "lena, dear," said bessie, "is your brother russell worse?" "no," answered lena, "he is improving every day now, mamma says." "you seem rather troubled and as if something were the matter," said bessie, simply, but in half-questioning tones, thus opening the door for confidence if lena wished to give it. "i would like to ask you something," said lena, wistfully. "you remember the checks papa and russell sent me?" "oh, yes, of course," answered bessie. "how could i forget them?" "do you think," said lena, slowly and doubtfully, "that if a person who was not a poor person was in great trouble, it would be quite right to use some of that money to help them out of their trouble? you know papa and russell say i may use it for any charity i choose. do you think it would be called charity to do that when the person was in trouble only because he had been--had done very wrong?" "i don't know. i don't quite understand," said bessie, quite at sea, as she might well be, at such a vague representation of the case. "i suppose," thoughtfully, "that it might be right if you felt quite sure that your father or brother would be willing." "but they would not be--at least--oh, i do not know what to think or what to do," exclaimed poor lena, breaking down under the weight of all her troubles and perplexities. "i can't tell what to say unless i know more about it," said bessie, taking lena's hand; "but, lena dear,"--approaching the subject of lena's relations with her own family with some reluctance, "but, lena dear, if you do not want to ask your father and mother, why do you not ask uncle horace? he is so very nice and good, and he knows about almost everything." but before she had finished speaking she saw that the suggestion did not meet the case at all. "uncle horace! oh, no!" ejaculated lena, "that would be worse than all! oh, if i could only tell russell!" "why do you not?" asked bessie. "it would make him ill again; it might kill him," answered lena, more excitedly than ever. "tell me what it is right to do by myself, bessie." "how can i, dear, when i do not know what it is?" said the troubled and sympathizing bessie. lena looked into the clear, tender eyes before her own, and her resolution was taken; although, knowing, as she did, bessie's almost morbid conscientiousness and her horror of anything small, mean or tricky, she knew that she would be terribly shocked when she heard the source of the trouble; but she _must_ tell some one, must have a little advice. "i want to tell you, bessie," she said, falteringly, "but you will not tell any one, will you? not even maggie?" "no. maggie is very good about that, and not at all curious," said bessie. "i couldn't keep a secret of my own from her; but some one else's she would not mind. but mamma--could i not tell mamma?" "oh, no," said lena, "no! _must_ you tell your mother everything--things that are not secrets of your own?" bessie stood thoughtful for a moment. "no," she at last answered, a little reluctantly. "if mamma knew it would be a help to some one to have me keep a secret, i do not think she would mind; for mamma has a good deal"--of confidence in her children, she would have added, but checked herself with the thought that lena enjoyed no such blessing, and that she was presenting too forcible a contrast between her own lot and that of her little friend, and she hastily substituted, "a great deal of good sense for her children. but, lena dear, you do not know how well my mamma keeps a secret, and how she can help people out of trouble." "no, no!" said lena again, "i couldn't let her know. he wouldn't like it; he would never forgive me," she added, forgetting herself. light flashed upon bessie. "lena, is it percy?" she asked. "yes," faltered lena; and then followed the whole story; at least, the whole as she knew it, so much as percy had revealed to her. bessie was indeed shocked, perhaps even more at the contemptible selfishness and weakness which had led percy to throw the burden of this secret upon his young sister, and to appeal to her for help, than she was by his original fault. her own brother harry was noted for his chivalrous gallantry to girls; so much so, that it was a subject of joke among his schoolmates and companions; and fred, although known as a tease, was quite above anything small or petty, and would have scorned to ask such a thing as this from any girl, especially from one who was weak and ill, and but just coming back from the borders of the grave. bessie felt no sympathy whatever for percy, but more than she could express for the innocent lena; and her indignation at the reckless brother found vent in terms unusually emphatic for her. but, alas for lena! bessie could see no way out of the difficulty more than lena could herself. in spite of her ardent wish to do this, her upright little soul could by no means advise or justify for this purpose the use of any part of the sums put by mr. neville and russell into lena's hands. "for you know, dear lena," she said, "your father and brother said for charity, didn't they? and percy is not a 'charity.'" "no," answered lena, with a pitiful, pleading tremor in her voice, "but papa said i could use it for any good object i chose. see, bessie, here is his letter, and that is just what he says." "yes," said bessie, glancing at the lines in mr. neville's letter to which lena pointed, "yes; but percy is not an 'object.' at least not what your father means by 'any object.'" "and he certainly is not good" she added to herself; then said slowly again: "but, lena, why don't you tell your brother russell, when you say he is so good and nice?" but to this also lena returned the most decided negative. no, russell must not be worried or made anxious and unhappy, no matter what might happen to percy or to the rest of the family. russell must be spared, at all hazards, and it was plainly to be seen that, distressed as she was for percy, his welfare was by no means to be weighed in the balance against that of his elder brother. bessie, helpless as lena herself, had no farther suggestion to offer, and save that she now shared the burden of her secret with some one who could sympathize, lena had gained nothing by imparting it to her little friend; and when maggie returned, she found her looking as depressed and anxious as before, while bessie's sweet face also now wore a troubled expression. maggie asked no questions; but when they were at home that evening, bessie said to her: "maggie, dear, i have to have a secret from you. it is not mine, but lena's, and she will not let me tell even you; and she will not tell uncle horace or aunt marion or any of her people. and then again it is not her very own secret, but some one else's, and it is a great weight on her mind because she does not know what to do about it. and so it is on mine," she added, with a deep sigh. "i wish you could tell me," said maggie; "not that i am so very curious about it, although, of course, i should like very much to know; but cannot you tell mamma, bessie?" "no," answered bessie; "it seemed to me mamma would not mind if i promised i would not tell even her, when lena seemed to have such a trouble and wanted to tell me. i can't bear not to tell her or not to tell you; but i thought i would promise, because lena is such a very good girl and so very true, and she has such a perfectly horrible mother. maggie, every night when you say your prayers, do you thank god that mrs. neville is not your mother? i do." "yes, and about a thousand times a day besides," answered maggie. "but, bessie, could you help lena in her trouble?" "no," said bessie, her face shadowed again, "and i do not see how any one can help her, so long as she will not tell any grown-up person. not one of us children could help her." bessie was depressed and very thoughtful that evening, and so silent as to attract the attention of her family; but to all inquiries she returned only a faint smile without words, while to her mother she confessed that she had "a weight on her mind," but that this was caused by another person's secret which she could not tell. accustomed to invite and receive the unlimited confidence of her children, mrs. bradford still treated them as if they were reasonable beings, and on the rare occasions, such as the present, when they withheld it, she was satisfied to believe that they had good and sufficient reasons for so doing. chapter vii. a box of bonbons. if there was one of the two sisters who lay awake after the proper time in the pretty room which maggie and bessie bradford called their own--a thing not of frequent occurrence, it was usually maggie, when she was revolving in her mind some grand idea, either as the subject of a composition, or some of the schemes for business or pleasure which her fertile brain was always devising. but on this night it was bessie who could not sleep for worry and anxiety over lena's perplexities. as a usual thing she was off to the land of nod the moment her head was on the pillow; but to-night she lay tossing and uneasy until she thought the night must be almost gone. then suddenly, as a bright thought came to her--an idea which she thought almost worthy of maggie herself--she heard her mother in her own room. "mamma," she called, "is it almost time to rise?" "why, no, my darling," said mrs. bradford, coming in, "it is only half-past ten o'clock. what woke you?" "oh, i have not been asleep at all, mamma," answered her little daughter. "i thought i had been awake all the night." "oh, no," said mrs. bradford; "but it is certainly time that you were asleep. have you been troubling yourself, dear, over that secret?" "i suppose that i have, mamma," answered bessie; "but i have had a very nice thought which i believe will help that secret, and i will try not to be troubled about it any more." and five minutes later, when her mother looked in again to see if she were quiet, she found her sleeping. "papa," said bessie, walking into the library the next morning, all ready for school, and not seeing for the moment that any one was with her father, "papa, are you going early to your office?" mr. bradford was fond of a long walk on a pleasant morning, and would occasionally start from home with his little girls on their way to school, leave them at miss ashton's, and then proceed on his way down town. they always considered this a treat, and he knew now that bessie hoped for his company in lieu of that of jane, the nursery-maid. "i think that i shall do so that i may have the pleasure of escorting two little damsels to school," he answered. "then perhaps i shall be fifth wheel to a coach that only needs three," said a deep, jolly voice from the other side of the room; and bessie, turning, saw the tall form of her uncle ruthven standing before one of the book-cases, in which he was searching for a book he had come to borrow. her face brightened with a look which told that this "fifth wheel" could never be _de trop_; and she sprung toward him with a welcoming kiss and good morning. uncle ruthven was mamma's dear and only brother, and a great favorite with his young nieces and nephews, who thought this much travelled, "much adventured uncle," as bessie had once called him, a wonderful hero, and the most entertaining of mortals. so maggie was as well pleased as bessie when she heard by whom they were to be escorted to school, papa and uncle ruthven forming as desirable a pair of cavaliers as could well be imagined by any two little maidens. but uncle ruthven was somewhat amused to see how bessie contrived that he should walk with maggie, while she took mr. bradford's hand and tried to keep him a little behind. observing this, and rightly conjecturing that she had something to say to her father, mr. stanton obligingly drew maggie on a little faster till they were sufficiently in advance of the others to permit bessie to make her confidences. "papa," said the little girl, as soon as she thought that her sister and uncle were out of hearing, "papa, you know that you told me i might begin to take music lessons after easter?" "i remember my promise quite well, dear, and you shall certainly do so," answered her father. "you have been a dear, patient child about those lessons, and you may depend now upon your reward." bessie had for a long time been anxious to take lessons upon the piano; but her father and mother had thought it best to defer it, as she was not very strong, and they had considered that her daily lessons at school were sufficient for her without the extra labor which music lessons and practising would involve. this decision had been a disappointment to her, but she had borne it well, never fretting and teasing about it, only looking forward eagerly to the time when she might begin; and her parents now thought her old enough for this. "well, i want to ask you something, papa," she said, coloring a little, but throwing back her head to look up into his face with her clear, fearless eyes. "how much would it cost for me to take music lessons?" "forty dollars a quarter is miss ashton's price, i think," answered mr. bradford, wondering what this earnest little woman was thinking of now. "and two quarters would be eighty dollars--and twenty more would be a hundred," slowly and thoughtfully said bessie, who was not remarkably quick at figures. "that would take two quarters and a half a quarter to make up a hundred dollars, would it not, papa?" "yes," answered her father. "then," said bessie, eagerly, "if i wait for my music lessons for two quarters and a half longer, will you let me have the hundred dollars they would cost, papa? i would rather have it; oh, much rather, papa." "my child," said her father, "what can you possibly want of a hundred dollars? have you some new charity at heart?" "no, papa," answered the child with growing earnestness; "it is not a _charity_, but it is for a secret--not my secret, papa,--you know i would tell you if it was--but another person's secret. and that person is so very deserving, anybody ought to be very glad to do a kindness for that person, and she cannot tell anybody about it--only she told me, and mamma knows i have a secret--and i do want so very much to help her, and i think i would say i would never take music lessons all my life to do it." and more she poured forth in like incoherent style, pleading too, with eyes and voice and close pressure of her father's hand. mr. bradford was a lawyer of large practice and not a little note, accustomed to deal with knotty problems, and to solve without difficulty much more intricate sums than the putting of this two and two together, and he could guess pretty well in whose behalf bessie was pleading now. he had heard during the past week of lena neville's unaccountable depression and nervousness, and of her refusal to disclose its cause; knew that his little daughters had spent the previous afternoon with her, and that bessie had returned from colonel rush's house with "a weight on her mind," as she always phrased it when she was troubled or anxious, and that even to her mother and maggie she had not confided the source of that "weight." to mr. bradford, accustomed to the open natures and sweet, affectionate ways of his own daughters, lena neville was by no means an attractive child; but so far as he could judge, she was upright and perfectly straightforward, and with no little strength of will and purpose; and petted as she was by her indulgent aunt and uncle, he could not believe that she had brought herself into any difficulty which she could not confess, on her own account. no; there must be something behind this; there must be some other person whom she was shielding, and whom she and bessie were striving to rescue from the consequences of his or her own folly and wrong-doing, and mr. bradford believed that he had not far to look for this person. he had, even in the short period of the christmas holidays, when percy had been much with his own boys, marked the weakness of his character and the ease with which he was swayed for either good or evil, according to the temptations or influences presented to him; and he now felt assured that he had fallen into some trouble and had appealed to his sister for pecuniary aid; and that this must be very serious, mr. bradford rightly judged, since lena dared not apply to the uncle who was so ready to do everything to make her happy and contented in his house. and what to do now, mr. bradford did not know. it might not be best that percy--if it were indeed he for whom these two little girls were acting--should be shielded from the consequences of his wrong-doing; and in his own want of knowledge of the circumstances he could not, of course, judge how this might be; but his pity and sympathy were strongly moved for lena; and she was, indeed, unselfish, little heroine that she was, deserving of any kindness or relief that could be extended to her. but to act thus in the dark was repugnant to him; and his judgment and his feelings were strongly at variance as he listened to bessie's pleadings that she might be allowed to make this sacrifice. "i must think this over for a little, my darling," he said; but when he saw the disappointment in her face and the gathering tears in her eyes, he felt that he could not altogether resist her, and he added, "i think we shall find some way out of this difficulty; but are you sure that this person has no grown friend to whom she could apply?" "she thinks not, papa," answered bessie,"_i_ think she could and ought to, but she thinks not; and i feel quite sure you would let me do this if you knew all the reasons." "mamma and i will talk the matter over, dear," said mr. bradford; "and you are a dear, generous little girl, to be willing to do this; for i know how much your heart has been set upon your music lessons." "but my heart is more set upon this, papa; oh, quite, quite more set," said bessie, quaintly. "we must hurry on now a little," said mr. bradford, giving an encouraging pressure to the small hand within his own, "and you must try not to worry yourself over this matter." "what is in that little woman's mind? may i know?" asked mr. stanton, when he and his brother-in-law had left their two young charges at miss ashton's door and had turned their faces business-ward. "or is it of a private nature?" he added. "well, i suppose i may tell you what she asked; for if i yield every one will know it, as she has talked so much of her music lessons," said mr. bradford; "and i will tell you my suspicions. i fear that i am perhaps too much inclined to yield to her plea, while i am not satisfied that it is wise to do so. but i am not sure that you will be a very unprejudiced adviser," he added, knowing well that uncle ruthven was generally of the opinion that it was well to yield to the wishes of his favorite nieces, maggie and bessie. then he told of bessie's proposal, and of whither his own suspicions tended. "the dear little soul!" said mr. stanton, "and these music lessons have been the desire of her heart for the last two years." "yes for a longer time than that," said mr. bradford; "she is making a real sacrifice in offering to give them up. of course, there is no necessity for her to do that; she shall have her music lessons. but the question with me is whether it is well to work blindly in this way, even for the purpose of relieving these two innocent children." "i ask nothing better for my girls than that they may grow up like yours," said mr. stanton, extending his hand to his brother-in-law. but he offered no advice, expressed no opinion. many a time during his busy day did his little daughter's pleading face rise before mr. bradford, and he found himself unable to resist it, and resolved that he would cast scruples to the winds and tell bessie she should have the sum she had asked for. but although he would not tell her this yet, she should not lose her much desired lessons; she should begin them at the promised time, and they should be his easter gift to her. mr. stanton found a little private business of his own--quite unexpected when he left home--to attend to after he parted from his brother-in-law at the door of his office, a little business which was attended with the following results. mr. bradford reached home that afternoon, and entering the door with his latch-key was just closing it behind him when bessie came flying down the stairs and precipitated herself upon him like a small whirlwind, followed by maggie in a state of equal excitement and making like demonstrations. "spare me, ladies," he said, when he could speak; "with your kind permission i should wish to take farewell of the remainder of my family before i am altogether suffocated. might i ask the cause of this more than usually effusive greeting?" the answer to this was continued embraces and caresses from both his captors, a series of the little ecstatic squeals maggie was wont to give when she was especially delighted with anything, and from bessie the exclamation of: "oh, you dear, darling papa! you needn't try to be anonymous, for we know you did it! there was nobody else, for nobody else knew. we know it was you; we know it!" "if i might be allowed to take off my overcoat and to sit down," gasped mr. bradford. then he was released, and proceeded to take off his overcoat, while the two little girls seized upon one another and went dancing about the hall to the music of maggie's continued squeals. "have i made a mistake as to my own house and found my way into a private insane asylum?" said mr. bradford, pretending to soliloquize. "it must be so, else why this wild excitement? these must be two of the wildest and most excitable of the inmates. i must escape." [illustration: "have i found my way into a private insane asylum?"] and he made a feint of trying to do so, running into his library and sinking into an easy chair where he was speedily held captive again by two pair of arms piled one above the other about his neck, while all manner of endearing epithets were lavished upon him. "thank you very much," he said at last, "for all these compliments, but really i am ignorant why i am particularly deserving of them at the present moment." "oh, you needn't pretend you don't know now, you sweet, lovely darling," said maggie, with a fresh squeeze and a kiss, planted directly upon his right eye. "you have lifted the most dreadful weight off of bessie's mind. i don't know what it was, but i know that she had one, and now it is all gone." "and you did it in such a delightful way, too, papa," said bessie; "sending it in that lovely box of bonbons." "sending what--the weight?" said mr. bradford. "now, papa!" expostulated both at once. "you know what we mean, and you needn't pretend that you don't," said bessie. "no, you took away the weight, and you're just too good for anything." "if you would throw a little light, perhaps i could understand," answered her father; "but really, as it is, i cannot take credit to myself for having lifted any one's burdens to-day, at least, not knowingly." "oh, papa," said bessie again, "you know you sent me what i asked you for this morning in a box of huyler's, all beautifully done up, and--oh! i know you, papa--my name written on the parcel by some one else, so i wouldn't know. but just as if i wouldn't know; it _could not_ be any one but you, because no one else knew that i wanted it." "upon my word, this is very embarrassing," said mr. bradford. "i should be very glad to be able to say that i had been so generous and given so much pleasure; but i must disclaim the deed. upon my honor, as a gentleman, i know nothing of your box of bonbons or its contents." to tell the truth, he was really somewhat embarrassed, for he could give a very good guess as to the donor of the gift, who, since he had chosen to be "anonymous," must not be betrayed, and these very interested inquirers were likely to put some searching questions which it might be difficult to evade. to avoid these--truth compels me to state--mr. bradford took an ignominious flight, for, saying that he must hasten upstairs to dress for dinner, he put aside the detaining arms which would have kept him till conjecture was satisfied, and once more assuring his little girls that he had absolutely nothing to do with the box of bonbons and its valuable contents, and congratulating bessie that her heart's desire was attained, he hurried away to his own room. here he found mrs. bradford, who had thought, as did the little girls, that he had been the one to relieve bessie's mind by this means. discreet bessie, and equally discreet maggie, had neither one betrayed the little circumstance of the gift to the former to the general household, mamma alone sharing the secret, and even she did not know for what purpose it was destined. the two girls had been with their mother in mrs. bradford's morning-room after they returned from school, when patrick came to the door and delivered "a parcel for miss bessie." the nature of this parcel disclosed itself even before it was opened. there is a peculiar distinctive air about such parcels which stamps them at once as mines of delight, and maggie had little hesitation in pronouncing it to be "a monstrous box of huyler's! must be three pounds at least!" uncle ruthven--that which proved a mystery to maggie and bessie need prove no mystery to us--was a generous giver, and when he did a kind action it was carried out munificently; and the wrappings being taken off and the cover of the box removed, a most tempting sight was disclosed. "there is a note to tell you who it is from," said maggie, seeing an envelope lying on the top of the bonbons. but maggie was mistaken, for the envelope contained no writing, nothing to give, by words, a clue to the giver; but the candies were forgotten when bessie drew therefrom a new crisp one hundred dollar bill. for a moment both she and maggie stood speechless with surprise; then the color surged all over bessie's face, and clasping her hands together she said, softly, but not so softly but that mamma and maggie did not catch the words: "papa, oh, papa! i know what that is for." then turning to her mother, she said: "it is my secret, mamma; that is, that other person's secret." but mamma and maggie, although in the dark and much puzzled about all this mystery, rejoiced with her in the relief which was evidently afforded by this gift, the removal of the "weight;" and maggie was quite as ecstatic over papa's goodness as was bessie herself. and nowhere was papa disclaiming all knowledge of the gift, at least disclaiming all responsibility therefor. the mystery thickened for all concerned. who could have known, thought bessie, how very much she wished for this sum of money? but how to convey this money to lena was now the question with bessie. in her innocent simplicity she believed that she had not disclosed the identity of the person whose secret she was bearing, that this was still unsuspected by her parents and maggie, to whom she had confided that the secret existed. mystery and management and all concealment were hateful to her; and as has been seen, she was no adept at them, and she now felt herself much nonplussed. if she asked to go to lena, or to send the money to her, suspicion would be at once aroused, and loyalty to lena forbade this. moreover, judging not only by herself, but also by what she knew of lena, she feared that the pride and independence of the latter would rebel, even in such a strait, against receiving pecuniary aid from one who, until a few short months ago, had been a stranger to her, and she would spare her if possible. then suddenly an idea occurred to her which removed, at least, the latter difficulty. why not make use of the very way in which this well timed gift had come to her and send it to lena anonymously? no thought of keeping it or converting it to her own use had for one instant entered bessie's mind; to her it seemed heaven-sent, and as if destined for the very purpose for which she had been longing for it. to the bonbons she felt that she could lay claim for herself and her brothers and sisters, but for her own part she could not really enjoy them until the more valuable portion of the contents of the box was on its way to its destination. after some thought and planning about the method of accomplishing this, she carried an envelope to jane, the nursery maid, believing rightly that lena would not recognize her handwriting, made her put lena's address upon it, and then privately enclosed therein the precious hundred dollar note; and the next morning on the way to school with her own hand she posted it in the letter-box on the nearest corner. lena was not to know whence or from whom it came. she never thought of any risk in sending it in this unprotected manner; but happily it fell into honest hands throughout the course of its journeyings and safely reached those for which it was intended. the relief that it was to bessie to have this accomplished can scarcely be told. "oh!" she said to herself, "i'll never, never, never again let any one tell me a secret which i may not tell to mamma and maggie, especially mamma." the concealment and the management to obtain her object without revealing it had been more of a cross to her than can well be imagined, unaccustomed as she was to anything of the kind. chapter viii. "innocents abroad." hannah had asked for "a morning out;" a request which greatly amazed her temporary mistress, mrs. rush, inasmuch as the old woman had no friends or acquaintances in the city, and was possessed of a wholesome dread of the snares and pitfalls with which she believed it abounded, and even when out with her charge would never go without an escort beyond the park on which colonel rush's house fronted and whence she could keep it in view. but permission, of course, was granted, and hannah, after ascertaining that a banker's office was the proper place to exchange her precious gold, sallied forth with it, having finally resolved to sacrifice it for percy's relief without further delay, as easter was drawing near and the time of reprieve was coming to a close. it would take too long to tell of the trials and tribulations she encountered on her way to her destination. she consulted every single policeman she met, and then had so little confidence in their directions and advice that she still felt herself hopelessly bewildered and at sea in the business streets of the great city; while whenever she was obliged to cross among the trucks, express-wagons and other vehicles, she felt as if there would be an immediate necessity for the epitaph. as may be supposed, she afforded no little sport to the guardians of the peace, but they were, on the whole, kind and considerate to her and often passed her on from one to another. but at length, unshielded for the time by any such friendly protection, she stood at the corner of the greatest and most thronged thoroughfare and one almost equally crowded which intersected it, and vainly strove to cross. the policeman on duty there was for the moment engaged with a lost child and had no eyes for her. she made several frantic dives forward; but the confusion of wheels, horses' heads and shouting drivers speedily drove her back to the sidewalk after each fresh essay; and she was beginning to be in despair when she felt herself spasmodically seized by the arm, and a terrified voice said in her ear--no, not in her ear, for hannah's ear was far above the diminutive person who had clutched her, and whom she turned to face,-- "don't! don't! you'll be run over--yes, over--over indeed! wait for the policeman--yes, policeman--'liceman, indeed!" hannah's eyes fell upon a very small old lady, attired in a quaint, old-fashioned costume, with little corkscrew curls surrounding her face, and carrying a good-sized leather satchel, while her every movement and word betrayed a timid, nervous, excitable temperament. "don't, don't!" she reiterated, "you'll be crushed--yes, crushed, indeed, crushed; that horse's head touched you, head--indeed--yes, head. what a place this city is--city, indeed, yes, city. why did i come back to it, back, yes, back?" there are some who may recognize this old lady, but to hannah she was an utter stranger, and she gazed upon her in surprise. she was generally very offish and reserved with strangers, but now a common misery made her have a fellow-feeling for the little oddity, and she responded graciously. seizing the hand of the woman, whom she could almost have put into her pocket, she drew it through her arm, and said: "ye may well say it; what a place hindeed! but hover i must go some ow, so come on, ma'am. if so be we're sent to heternity, we'll go together, an' i'll see you safe through it." but, apparently, the prospect of going to eternity at such short notice and under such doubtful protection was not pleasing to miss trevor, and she shrank back from the thronging dangers before her. but now came the policeman and escorted the two women, both large and small, through the terrors which had beset them, landing them safely on the other side of the street. hannah's eye had recognized the lady even beneath miss trevor's shabby black dress and strange manner, and she now turned to her with a respectful: "which way are you bound, ma'am? if so be your way's mine, we might 'old on together. there seems to be pretty much men around 'ere, an' i never did take much stock in men. leastway honly in one or two," with an appreciative remembrance of colonel rush and her young master, russell neville. "i'm going to the banker's--yes--banker's--banker's--yes, going," answered miss trevor, still flustered and nervous, and forgetting, in the distractions of the crowd, her usually besetting terror that every one who addressed her or looked at her in the street was actuated by purposes of robbery, and speaking as if there were but one banker in the great city. but hannah was wiser. "there be a lot of 'em i 'ear," she said, "an' i don't know which is the best of 'em. what do you say, ma'am? who be you goin' to, by your leave?" "to mr. powers," answered miss trevor. "powers, yes, powers. a good man and a kind--yes, man, indeed, man." "is he the kind of a one--a banker, i mean," said hannah, "that would give you a note for gold--golden guineas?" miss trevor looked at her suspiciously for one moment. was this a trap? was this friendly person, who was seemingly as much at sea as she was herself in this wilderness of business streets and crowd of business men, some swindler in petticoats, some decoy who would lead her where she might be robbed of all she had about her that was valuable, of the really precious contents of that shabby, worn satchel? the bare idea of such a thing was enough to lend wings of terror to miss trevor's feet; and she was about to dart away from hannah's side when the hand of the latter in its turn arrested her, giving, if possible, new force to the fears of the old lady. "what did i come for?" she ejaculated, "yes, come. i wish i was back in sylvandale--yes, sylvandale, indeed, 'dale." "sylvandale!" the name had a familiar--since the events of the last few days, an unpleasantly familiar sound to hannah, and she gave a little start. "sylvandale," she repeated; "do you know sylvandale?" but again her inquiry only provoked increased alarm in the breast of miss trevor. she had heard of swindlers pretending to know of places and people belonging to those whom they would victimize; and had not hannah's hold upon her been firm she would have wrenched herself free and fled. hannah repeated her question in a rather different form and with an addition. "do you come from sylvandale? and you maybe know dr. leacraft's school? an' you maybe 'ave seen my boy, master percy neville, my boy that i nursed?" now it so happened that miss trevor had seen and marked percy neville, and moreover that she had a very exalted opinion of the young scapegrace. for she did live in sylvandale, with a nephew who had some years since persuaded her to give up teaching in the city in miss ashton's and other schools, and to come to him and let him care for her in her old age. the home she had gladly accepted; but she possessed a spirit of independence, and insisted on giving such lessons as she could procure. she had been fairly successful in this, and had laid by quite a little sum, which she intended to leave to this kind nephew. but while this money was in her own keeping, it was a burden and a care to her, for she lived in constant dread of robbers and of losing her little savings; therefore she had come to the city to place it in safe keeping. belle powers had been her favorite pupil while she taught at miss ashton's, the child having a remarkable talent for drawing and making the most of the instruction she received. belle thought so much of her queer little teacher that she had interested her doting father in the old lady, and he had performed two or three small acts of kindness for her which her grateful heart had never forgotten. consequently she credited mr. powers and belle with every known virtue, and believed that she could not possibly place her savings in any safer place than the hands of that gentleman; and perhaps she was not far wrong. but on her way to the city and to mr. powers' office she had been warily on her guard for snares and pitfalls tending swindlerwise, until she had fallen into the hands of hannah. but her unworthy suspicions of that good person were speedily put to flight by the mention of percy neville's name. coming up the village street of sylvandale one day, she had been chased by a flock of geese, and as she was hurrying along as fast as her age and infirmities permitted--anything in the shape of dignity she had cast to the winds before such foes--she encountered some of dr. leacraft's scholars returning from an afternoon ramble. most of them had laughed at the predicament of the terrified old lady, who certainly presented a ridiculous sight; but percy, pitying her plight, and with a strongly chivalrous streak in his nature, had made a furious onslaught on the geese, and presently turned the pursuers into the pursued. then he had picked up the ubiquitous satchel which miss trevor had dropped in her flight, attempted to straighten her bonnet which was all awry--she thought none the less of him because his awkward efforts left it rather worse than before--and escorted her quite beyond the reach of the hissing, long-necked enemy, who seemed inclined to renew the attack were his protection removed and the coast clear. from this time percy neville was a hero and a young knight _sans peur et sans reproche_ with miss trevor. she had inquired his name, and maintained that it just suited him, and her wits had been constantly at work all winter to devise such small gifts and treats for him as she was able to procure. many a basket of nuts and apples, many a loaf of gingerbread, or other nice home-made dainty, had found its way into percy's hands, and had met with ready acceptance and been heartily enjoyed by the schoolboy appetites of himself and his companions. percy always exchanged a cheery nod and smile with her when he met her, or a pleasant word or two if he encountered her in the village store or elsewhere. and now she heard his name in terms of proprietorship and tenderness from this woman who claimed to be his nurse; and she was at once arrested in her attempt to shake her off. "master percy neville--neville, indeed, percy!" she exclaimed; "yes, yes--oh, yes--the dear boy! those other geese were after me--yes, geese, indeed, chasing me down the sidewalk--yes, sidewalk, geese they were--geese--and he came, the dear boy--came and shoo-ed them away--shoo-ed them, yes, shoo-ed, indeed, shoo-ed." and now she was quite ready to answer any and every question which hannah might put to her, and, so far as she was able, to put her in the way of that which she was seeking. she confided her own purpose to the old nurse, and hannah was fain to tell her hers, at least so much as that she was anxious to convert her gold into a bank-note which she might send to percy without exciting his suspicions as to whence it came. of course she gave no hint of his wrong-doing, saying only that she wished him to have the money and that he should not know the donor. but, jostled and pushed about by the passers-by hurrying on during the most busy time of the day, they could not talk at their ease there on the sidewalk; and presently hannah proposed retiring within the shelter of the broad hallway of an imposing building, where the two old innocents sat themselves down on a flight of stone stairs and exchanged confidences. they exchanged more; for before the close of the conference hannah's gold, or the greater part of it, was in miss trevor's satchel and a hundred-dollar note in hannah's hands. hannah's arithmetic was much at fault, notwithstanding the information she had gained from colonel rush on the subject of her finances; and her unheard-of confidence in this utter stranger of an hour since was further strengthened when miss trevor, with her superior knowledge, made it clear to her that she was about to give her too much gold in exchange for the bank-note. moreover, the odd little drawing-teacher, whom hannah afterwards, when some qualms as to her own prudence assailed her, characterized as "hevery hinch a lady if she was that queer you'd think she'd just hescaped the lunatic hasylum," removed another stumbling-block from the path of the latter. she offered, if hannah desired it, to carry the money for percy back to sylvandale, and to see that it was safely given into his hands; thus delivering the faithful old nurse from her dilemma as to the means of conveying it to him. having once lost some money through the mail, she had also lost all faith in that, and knowing nothing of the ways now afforded for sending it in safety, she had been in some perplexity over this. and, will it be believed? she committed it to miss trevor's keeping without other guarantee than her word that percy should receive it without knowing whence it came. hannah would readily have let the boy know that she had sent it, for she was not disposed to hide her light under a bushel; but she dared not, lest she should betray the dishonorable part she had played in reading his letter to lena and so discovering the disgraceful secret. she was further satisfied, however, as to miss trevor's good faith, after she had, at her request, accompanied her to mr. powers' office. the name of powers had not conveyed any especial meaning to hannah, although she did know that one of lena's classmates was named belle powers, and she had seen the little girl once or twice; but when she entered the gentleman's office and remembered that she had seen him at the christmas party at mr. bradford's and afterwards at colonel rush's, she at once set the seal of her approval upon him as being "the friend of such gentry;" and when mr. powers received miss trevor with great respect and attention, and promised with many expressions of good will to carry out her wishes, she plumed herself upon her sagacity in so intuitively discovering the quality of the little old lady's "hinches." it is true that these were few in quantity, but hannah believed that they were of the right material; nor was she far wrong. but to make assurance doubly sure she stepped up to mr. powers at a moment when miss trevor, intent upon securing the lock of her satchel, had turned her back, and whispered to him: "she's all right, isn't she, sir?" "oh, yes, yes; only a little odd, but quite herself; as sane as you are," answered the gentleman, supposing that miss trevor's manner had led hannah to infer that she was insane. "if she wasn't hall right i'd lose my buryin' and my moniment for nothing," said hannah, almost in the same breath; and mr. powers stared at her, believing that she herself must be a candidate for the lunatic asylum. hitherto he had not paid much attention to her, merely glancing at her as she came in, and supposing her to be miss trevor's attendant; but at this extraordinary speech he scrutinized her narrowly, wondering if she were quite in her right mind and if it were safe to let miss trevor go about under her guidance. having transacted her business, miss trevor asked mr. powers concerning belle and some of her young friends whom she also taught. and then, to hannah's dismay, she asked him if he could tell her anything of mrs. rush and her sister, mrs. stanton, names very familiar to hannah, and which she was not pleased to hear at the present juncture. she would never have taken miss trevor into partial confidence, would never have entrusted her with the mission to percy, had she known that the old lady was acquainted with members of the very family in whose service she was, with the uncle and aunt of the boy whom she was secretly striving to save from disgrace. what should she do now? and here was mr. powers actually advising the old lady to go up and see mrs. rush and her late pupils if she had time to do so. poor hannah! she may almost be forgiven for the dishonorable way in which she had contrived to possess herself of lena's letter, for the sake of her loyalty to and self-sacrifice for her nurslings. her chief thought now was less for her money than for the risk of the discovery of percy's secret by his relatives. she must be very careful to keep out of the way of any one coming to colonel rush's house, at least, for a day or two. she was in a very bad humor now, this old hannah, and as dissatisfied with the turn matters had taken as but a short time since she had been well pleased. she quite resented miss trevor's acquaintance with mrs. rush and other friends of the neville family, and her looks toward that lady were now so glum and ill-natured that mr. powers could not fail to notice them, and was more than ever beset by doubts as to her perfect sanity. they were a queer couple, he thought, to go wandering together through the distracting business streets. when hannah was worried she was cross, as has been seen; and now, being thus assailed with doubts as to the wisdom of the course she had pursued, she proved herself no agreeable companion, and laid aside the respectful tone and manner with which she had hitherto treated miss trevor, till the old lady began to feel uneasy in her turn, and her manner and speech became more queer, jerky, and confused than ever. at last, when they reached the corner of the street, she grabbed the arm of a policeman and in her broken, incoherent way, begged to be put into a street car; and as one happened to be passing at the moment, the request was complied with and miss trevor borne away before hannah had fairly realized that she had left her. poor hannah! if she had been uneasy before, it may be imagined what a state of mind she was in now. she stood watching the retreating conveyance in a bewildered sort of way till it was almost lost to sight among the crowd of vehicles; and then, with some vague notion of pursuing miss trevor and demanding back her money, hailed another car and entered it. but after she was seated, sober second thought came to her aid, and all the reasons she had before formed for trusting miss trevor, returned to her, till she once more rested satisfied that the means for percy's rescue from the toils he had woven for himself were in safe hands. chapter ix. an unexpected meeting. "who do you think is going to win that prize of mr. ashton's?" asked fred bradford of his sisters that day at the dinner table. "it is coming near easter, you know, and you must have some idea by this time." "why, maggie, of course," answered bessie, positively, for the question was not one which admitted of dispute to bessie's mind. she gave no time for her sister to answer, and maggie did not reply. "you seem to be very sure of your position, little woman," said her father. "well, papa," said bessie, still confidently, "lena has not been able to try for it, you know, since she was burned; and gracie _will not_ try. she says she don't want it, and she acts very queerly and seems to have no interest about it at all." "perhaps she's ashamed of the way she behaved that day she had the row with lena," said fred, who had heard the account of gracie's ill-behavior, not from maggie and bessie, but from some of "the other fellows" whose sisters were members of the "cheeryble sisters." bessie shook her sunny head. "no, i don't think so," she answered. "at least she has never said so, and if she felt sorry enough to keep her from trying for the prize, i should think she would tell lena so." "_you_ would, but not she," said fred. "catch gracie howard eating humble pie. but you don't seem to have much idea of gaining it yourself." "i!" said bessie, opening wide her eyes in undisguised astonishment, "why, no; i am not even trying for it." "well, it is too late now, as it is so near easter," said harry; "but since the prize is for general improvement and not for any one particular composition, i do not see why you should not have tried and generally improved as well as the others." "well, i did try to do the best i could and to improve myself," answered bessie; "but i did not think about gaining the prize. i know i couldn't." "catch bess not doing her level best for conscience' sake, prizes, or no prizes," said fred. "oh, i say, bess, you are going to begin your music lessons at easter, are you not?" the color flushed all over bessie's face and neck as she answered, after a moment's hesitation, "no, i am not, fred; and no questions asked." "'no questions asked,'" repeated fred, laughing, "but that is rather hard on our curiosity, when you have been so wild for music lessons for the last year or more. what have you been doing that they are forfeited, for i know papa promised them to you after easter?" "i told you no questions asked," repeated bessie, in a slightly irritated tone, and looking very much disturbed. "hallo!" said the astonished fred, taking these for the signs of guilt. "hallo! our pattern bess has never been doing anything wrong, has she? and so very wrong that--ouch! hal, what was that for? i'll thank you not to be kicking me that way under the table!" for harry had given him a by no means gentle reminder of that nature; and now his father, too, came to the rescue. "let your sister alone, fred," he said. "i can tell you that she has done nothing wrong. she and i have a little understanding on this matter; but she has forgotten that there is no necessity for doing without the music lessons, and she is, i assure you, to have them. but, as bessie says, 'no questions asked.' we will drop the subject." bessie's soft eyes opened wide, as she gazed at her father in pleased surprise. although the money which had been devoted by her to lena's relief had not come through him, it actually had not occurred to her until this moment that she would not be called upon to give up the music lessons. she had made the sacrifice freely for lena's sake, and had had no thought of evading its fulfilment, even after circumstances had turned out so differently from anything that she had expected. she flashed a grateful, appreciative glance at her father from out of the depths of those loving eyes, but said nothing; and, as mr. bradford had decreed, the subject was changed. the father and his little daughter understood one another. mr. bradford did not, however, tell bessie that he had never intended that she should be obliged to carry out her sacrifice; she had offered it unselfishly, and in good faith, and he would let her have the satisfaction of feeling that she had been willing to do this for her little friend. bessie was not sure whether or no she was in haste to see lena and hear from her of the providential gift she had received. she was so little accustomed to conceal her feelings, to evasion, or to affectation of an ignorance which did not exist, that she did not know how she was to maintain an appearance of innocence when lena should tell her that which she would doubtless believe to be surprising news; and more and more confirmed became her resolution "never, never, never to have another secret" which she could not share with her mother and maggie. but when she did see lena--which was not until the latter had sent for her to come to her--all difficulty on that score was removed, for the news which her friend had to communicate to her was really so extraordinary and unlocked for that she did not need to affect surprise, or to feel embarrassed over her own share in the events lena had to relate. and the possibility of bessie being the donor of that sum of money never occurred to lena. perhaps she would have been glad to know it, for lena was a proud child, with a very independent spirit, and in spite of the immense relief it was to her to be able to free percy from the difficulties in which he had involved himself, there had been an uncomfortable feeling back of that from the sense of obligation to some unknown person. who could have sent her that money? who could have been aware of her extreme need of it? there is small occasion to say that it had scarcely come into her hands when it was sent again on its travels; this time to percy. the hilarious acknowledgment which immediately came back to her was a relief in more ways than one, although she was half provoked at the _insouciant_, devil-may-care-now spirit which it evinced. percy wrote: "dear lena, "you're the dearest of little sisters, the brickiest of bricks! but there is no need for me to rob you of your hundred dollars. you say somebody sent it to you anonymously; well, the same somebody, i suppose, has done the same good office for me, sent me a hundred dollars. you say you don't know who it could be; why, it was russell, of course. you know he's just as generous as generous can be, and since he came into his own money he can't rid himself of it fast enough, but must always be finding out ways of spending it for other people. and i don't see anything so strange in this way of doing it. he knew the powers that be would make an awful row if they knew we had all that money to spend at our own sweet wills, so he took this way of sending it to us, so that we could keep our own counsel; and if they do find out we have it, we can say we don't know where it came from. it is a blessed thing they will never know that i had mine, at any rate, or ask where it went. you may be sure it did not stay in my hands long, but went into those of seabrooke in five minutes. how i did want to keep it too. but there, seabrooke is paid, and i'm free and no one the wiser; at least, no one that i'm afraid of, so no harm is done. but to think i've had to lose that money for such a thing as that. i suppose it was a shabby trick to play, and i tell you i think i never heard anything quite so scurvy as flagg putting that stuff into seabrooke's carafe to make him sleep, and i'm sure seabrooke feels more put out about that than he does about the letter, because that was malice prepense, and the other was--well--an accident; at least, we did not know the mischief we were doing, and we have made it all right. but he can't get over the drugging, and i'm glad i had no hand in it, for i do not know what the doctor will say to it. he is not back yet; but his son is better, and he will be here when we come after the easter holidays. i'm rather sick of flagg anyway; he has mean ways, and our dear old russell wouldn't tolerate him for a moment, so i'll shake him off all i can when i come back to school. i'll keep your hundred dollars till i come home, and hand it to you then. you're a trump, lena, and i never would have taken it if i could have helped it. but i would have had to do it if this other hundred had not come. and, do you know, there is one thing that puzzles me. it came by post from new york in a hair-pin box, and done up in about a thousand papers-at least there were six--so i suppose russell sent to some one in the city to do it for him; but the whole thing was awfully womanish. the address was in the most correct, copy-book-y handwriting, every point turned just so, every loop according to rule. but it came just in the nick of time, and saved me and your money. bless your heart, how are the feet? "your own all the same everlastingly obliged brother, "percy neville." thankful as lena had been to receive this letter, so annoyed was she by percy's indifferent, careless way of looking upon his own misdeeds that she did not show it to bessie; she was ashamed to do so, knowing, as she did, bessie's conscientiousness and strict sense of honor and honesty. "all right now." was this indeed all the impression made upon percy by his late peril, all the shame and regret he could feel? child though she was, and several years younger than her erring brother, the ways of right and wrong were so much clearer to her than they were to him, she had so much more steadfastness of character and purpose. "now," she said, when she had told bessie all, "now if i could only find out who sent me that money and return it when percy sends it back to me. but you see, bessie, i am not so sure that it was russell. it is not at all like the way he does things; he is never mysterious or anonymous; and he is not at all afraid of papa or mamma, and can do what he likes with his own money. he is very, very generous, and always takes such nice ways of being kind to people and giving them pleasure; and i do not think that this would be at all a nice way of sending presents to percy and me. do you, bessie?" "no," answered bessie, doubtfully, remembering her own way of conveying to lena the means of rescuing percy,--"no--i--do not like anonymousity very much; but i suppose there are times when one has to do it." "um-m-m; no, i do not think so," said lena, all unconscious of bessie's secret, and looking at her with surprise; for she knew bessie's ideas about underhand dealings to be as uncompromising as her own. but bessie stuck to her point; she had known of a case where "to be anonymous" was the best and only course to take, so it had seemed to her, and she was not to be convinced that there were not times when it was justifiable. however, she was not anxious to dwell upon the subject, and soon changed it. she knew that lena's unknown friend was not her brother russell, and she was herself mystified about the other sum sent to percy; but, fearful of betraying her own part, she began to talk of something else. "do you remember, lena," she said, "that next sunday is easter sunday, and that saturday is the day for miss ashton to name the one who deserves mr. ashton's prize?" "yes," answered lena, rather despondently, "but that cannot make much difference to me, except that i shall be so glad if you or maggie win it." "oh, maggie will, certainly," said bessie, secure in her belief that no one could compete with her sister, now that lena was supposed to be out of the question and gracie howard had decidedly withdrawn from the contest. "maggie is sure to have it, and you know that she is anxious for it so she can give it to gladys seabrooke, as you would have done." "i was thinking," said lena, with a little hesitation, very different from her usual straightforward, somewhat blunt way of speaking, "i was thinking that you and maggie praise me too much for wishing to earn the prize for gladys seabrooke. i would like to be the one to win it for her; but i think--i know--it is more for my own sake than for hers. you know i told you i wished so much that papa and mamma would think me so much improved by miss ashton's teaching that they would wish me to stay with her; and they would think it a sign of that if i did win the prize." "yes, i know," answered bessie; "but i thought your father had promised that you should stay with uncle horace and aunt may, and go to miss ashton's while you were in our country." "yes," said lena, "but i want to stay here till i am quite grown up and educated. i want papa and mamma to think that i am doing better here, improving more than i have ever done before--as i am--so that they will leave me till i am grown up and quite old. uncle horace and aunt may would keep me; uncle horace said he would like to have me for his girl always." not even her opinion of mrs. neville as a mother, not even her appreciation of the happiness of a home with her beloved colonel and mrs. rush could quite reconcile bessie to the fact that lena was not only willing but anxious to leave her own home and family and to remain in a country where she would be separated from them for years to come; but nevertheless she felt a great sympathy for her and a strong desire that this wish should be fulfilled. still she could not but have a little feeling of gladness that, according to her belief, there was no one who could now compete with her own maggie for the prize; and she rather evaded the subject and took up that of school-news until maggie, who had come with jane, the nursery-maid, to take bessie home, ran in. she brought with her the papers read at the last meeting of the "cheeryble sisters' club," such papers being, at lena's special request, always turned over to her for perusal. "whose are these?" asked the young convalescent, when maggie delivered them to her. "one is bessie's, and it is poetry. did you know that bessie had begun to write poetry?" said maggie. "two poetesses in one family!" said lena. "no, i did not hear that bessie wrote poetry too." "and this is so sweet," said maggie; "such a pretty idea. and this paper is lily's. lily has given up the resolution that she would never let her compositions be read in the club, and this is the second one she has given us. it is good, too," she added. "and this is another one from frankie. he seems to think himself quite a 'cheeryble sister,'" she added, laughing. "can you not read them to me before you go?" asked lena, and maggie assented. "i'll read the best first," with a smile full of appreciative pride at bessie, "for fear jane comes and asks me to hurry because she has a million things to do." and accordingly she unfolded one of the papers she had laid upon lena's table when she came in; but before she had time even to commence it, jane put her head in at the door with the usual formula. "miss maggie and miss bessie, will you please come. i have a million things to do, and ought to be at home." "in a few moments," answered maggie; but jane added to her persuasions by saying: "and it's snowing, too; a snow kind of soft-like that'll be turning into rain before long, and miss bessie'll get wet." this moved maggie, as the politic jane knew that it would do, for it was not expedient for bessie to be out in the damp or wet; and when she glanced out of the window and saw that the maid's words were true, she lingered no longer, but laid the papers down again and told lena they must go; and jane, congratulating herself that she had gained her point so easily, was bearing away her young charge when an interruption occurred. the children were in mrs. rush's sitting-room, and just at this moment she came in, accompanied by a little old lady, who will, doubtless be immediately recognized by those who have met her before. "maggie and bessie, you are not just going, are you?" said mrs. rush. "here is an old friend who would like to see you, at least for a few moments." "i think we must go, aunt may," said maggie, "for it is snowing, and mamma would not like bessie to be out." then, turning to the little old lady, "how do you do, miss trevor? it is a long time since we have seen you." "time, indeed; time, yes, time," said miss trevor, shaking hands warmly with both maggie and bessie. "and you've grown, yes, grown, actually grown--why, grown!" she added, in a tone which would indicate that it was a matter of surprise two girls of the ages of maggie and bessie should grow. then she put her head on one side and critically scanned her quondam pupils, giving them little nods of approval as she did so. maggie and bessie were used to miss trevor's odd ways and manner of speaking; but to lena they were a novelty, as she had never seen her before, although she had heard of her from her aunt and from her schoolmates, who often made merry over the recollection of her peculiarities when she had been their teacher in writing and drawing. presently she turned to lena and surveyed her as if she were a kind of natural curiosity; yet there was nothing rude or obtrusive in the gaze. "my niece, lena neville, miss trevor," said mrs. rush. "lena, dear, this is miss trevor, of whom you have often heard me speak." "so this is the little heroine," murmured miss trevor, "heroine, yes, heroine, indeed. fire, oh yes, indeed, fire; such courage, such presence of mind, yes, mind, indeed, mind." lena was annoyed. she did not like allusions to the fire, to her own bravery and her rescue of her little sister, even from those who were near and dear to her; and from strangers they were unendurable to her. she shrank back in her chair and half turned her face from miss trevor, while the dark look which mrs. rush knew so well, but which she seldom wore now, came over it. she hastened to effect a diversion. "miss maggie, if you please, it's snowing fast," said jane, "and i've a mil--" "the young ladies cannot walk home in this wet snow," interposed mrs. rush. "the carriage has gone for the colonel; when it returns it shall take them home. and, miss trevor, it shall take you also. you can go to the nursery if you choose, jane." so jane, forgetting the "million things" in the prospect of a comfortable gossip with old margaret, departed to the nursery till the carriage should return and her young ladies be ready to go. miss trevor, who was at her ease with mrs. rush and her former pupils of miss ashton's class if she was with any one, asked many questions about the studies of the latter and of the progress they were making in the two branches in which she had been their instructress, and gave some information respecting herself; lena listening and looking on in wonder at her peculiarities of speech and manner, but taking no part in the conversation. but at last miss trevor turned to her again. "neville, you said, my dear mrs. rush,--your niece--yes, neville, indeed, neville. such a favorite with me--me, indeed, yes, favorite. i know a boy, yes, boy--indeed, youth--such a fine youth--such a hero--ro, indeed, ro--does not fear geese--hissing creatures, my dears--yes, creatures, indeed creatures, my dears, yes, creatures, indeed. neville he is, yes, neville--chevalier _sans peur et sans reproche, 'proche_, indeed, _'proche_." now, as may be supposed, lena was far from regarding her brother percy as a "chevalier _sans peur et sans reproche_." she had little reason, in view of late occurrences, to do so, and she never connected him with the heroic youth on whose praises this odd little old lady was dwelling. she felt no interest in her, only a sort of impatient surprise, and wished that her aunt would take her away. miss trevor dwelt farther upon the episode of the geese and percy's coming to the rescue; and while lena maintained a sober face, seeing nothing especially funny in the story, maggie and bessie, and even mrs. rush, had some difficulty in restraining themselves from laughing outright at the tragic tale she contrived to make out of it, and the thought of the droll spectacle the old lady must have presented as she flew down the street, pursued by the hissing, long-necked foe. but presently lena's attention was aroused. "but are flocks of geese allowed to wander loose in the streets of utica, miss trevor?" asked mrs. rush. "i thought it was too much of a place for that." "oh, no, my dear not utica, no indeed, not utica--did you not know? we moved, yes, moved, a year ago, yes, 'go, to sylvandale, yes, sylvandale--yes, 'dale," said miss trevor. "sylvandale! neville!" said mrs. rush. "lena has a brother at school at sylvandale. percy neville! can it be that our percy is your young cavalier, miss trevor?" "percy neville," repeated miss trevor, "yes, indeed, that is his name, name, yes, name. is it possible he is your brother?" turning to lena with a face now radiant with pleasure at this discovery. "ah! such a boy, boy, indeed, boy!" lena was interested now, and, perhaps a trifle uneasy, lest by any possibility some knowledge of percy's escapades should have come to miss trevor and might by her be incautiously betrayed to colonel and mrs. rush. she turned rather an anxious eye upon the old lady, wishing that she would not pursue the theme of percy and his valorous deeds, but not seeing very well how she could change the subject. words did not come easily to lena. and her fears were not without foundation, although miss trevor knew nothing of percy's troubles. further and more startling revelations were to come. for just at the moment, to this assembled group, entered hannah, bearing in her hands a tray, on which was a cup of beef-tea for lena. she was close to her little lady before she perceived the stranger, whom she would have shunned as she would a pestilence. the recognition was mutual, and to hannah most unpleasant, and in the start it gave her she nearly dropped the tray and its contents. "merciful lord!" she ejaculated, taken completely off her guard; but the exclamation was far more of a prayer than an irreverent mention of her maker's name. for was not her beloved nursling in danger? her master percy, for whom she had sacrificed so much, was he not in danger of betrayal and disgrace in case this old lady should touch upon the subject of the money confided to her care to be conveyed to him? she was not gifted with presence of mind, and she stood perfectly still, staring in undisguised perturbation at miss trevor. perceiving this, miss trevor believed that it was caused not only by surprise at seeing her there when she had told hannah that she expected to return at once to sylvandale, but also by the fear that the money had not reached its destination in good time, and she hastened to relieve her, thus bringing on the disclosures which hannah was dreading. "good morning," she said, kindly. "your money has gone, yes gone, my good woman, gone. i stayed in the city, yes, stayed, but the money has gone. he has it, the dear boy, yes, boy, he has it." it was not her money but her boy that hannah was fearing for now, and for whom she stood dismayed at the sight of miss trevor. moreover, although she knew her place, and generally treated her superiors with all due respect, if there was one thing more than another which exasperated her, it was to have any one call her "my good woman;" and, hastily setting her tray upon the table, she looked daggers at miss trevor, as she answered, snappishly: "i wasn't askin' ye nothin', ma'am." then she turned and fled, desirous to avoid all questions, although it was not hannah's way to flee before danger, either real or apprehended. [illustration: "i wasn't askin' ye nothin', ma'am."] chapter x. frankie to the front again. it was the worst thing she could have done for her cause. it was her custom to stand over lena "till hevery drop of that beef-tea is taken," knowing, as she did, that her young charge was averse to the process; and, had she stood her ground she might have evaded or parried questions, and perhaps have conveyed to miss trevor her desire for secrecy; but her dark looks and sudden exit, evidently caused by the presence of the latter, put the timid old lady into one of her flutters. "what is it, my dear?" she asked, turning to mrs. rush, and speaking in a kind of panic. "what did i do? does she think--yes--think that the money has not gone? oh, yes, indeed, yes, i sent it so carefully, carefully indeed, fully, and the dear boy has it, yes, has it, indeed, long before this, long!" then to lena, "your brother, my dear, yes, brother. oh, i would have gone home myself to take it to him, yes, take, if i could not have sent it quite safely, yes, safe; but they persuaded me to stay, and so i sent it by post, sent it, yes, post." lena gave a little gasp. here then was a partial solution of the mystery of that second hundred dollars. she and bessie both saw it; hannah had sent it to percy, and by some strange means, through miss trevor. and hannah was now evidently very angry and disturbed. what could it all mean? bessie wondered: but the matter was not of as much moment to her as it was to lena, who was more bewildered, if possible, than ever. and she knew what must follow--questions, explanations, and disclosure to her aunt and uncle of percy's wrong-doing. now, however, that he was released from the other dangers that had threatened him, the child felt this to be almost a relief: she had so suffered under the knowledge that she was keeping his secret from them, had felt such a sense of positive guiltiness in their presence. "what is all this, miss trevor?" asked mrs. rush. "where have you met lena's old nurse before? and what is this about percy; for i take it for granted he is the brother of lena of whom you are speaking." her manner was so grave that miss trevor was alarmed, and imagining that she had brought herself and her young cavalier into some difficulty, she became more incoherent, nervous and rambling than usual. repeating herself over and over again, she related, in such a confused manner, the story of her encounter with hannah, and of how the latter had entrusted her with the money for percy; of how she had intended to return to sylvandale at once when she had accepted the trust, but had been persuaded by her friends to remain in the city until after easter, and how she, mindful of the task she had undertaken, and not knowing where she could find hannah to inform her of the change in her plans, had sent the money by post; but, as she assured mrs. rush, with the greatest precautions. only those who were accustomed to her ways of speech could have thoroughly understood her, and even mrs. rush, who had known the old lady from her own childhood, had some difficulty in patching together a connected tale; and all she arrived at in the end only increased her desire to know more of the matter and to understand for what purpose hannah had sent such a sum of money to percy, and in such a mysterious manner. as for lena, a new thorn was planted in her poor little heart, a new shame bowed her head. this much she understood, that hannah had been sending money to percy. was it possible that her reckless brother had been so lost to all sense of what was fitting that he had actually applied to his faithful old nurse, this servant in his father's family, for aid? oh, percy, percy; shame, shame! as we know, she wronged percy in this; but as she had no means of ascertaining how hannah had become possessed of his secret and of his extremity, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should think he had so far forgotten himself. she could guess at more than mrs. rush or bessie bradford could, and had no doubt to what purpose the money entrusted to miss trevor had been destined. and an added pang of shame and regret was given to the proud, high-spirited child when, at the conclusion of miss trevor's rambling tale, her aunt turned to her, and said: "why, lena, that gold must have been those cherished sovereigns which hannah destined for her monument and '_epithet_.' why should she have sent them to percy? it is not possible that she would trust them to the keeping of a careless schoolboy." as yet, it was plain, mrs. rush had suspected nothing wrong, so far as percy was concerned about the disposal of hannah's money, but now when she observed the painful flush and startled, shamed look upon the little girl's face, she could not but see that lena was distressed, and instantly coupled this with the low spirits and nervous restlessness which had, for some time past, so evidently retarded her recovery. lena could make her no answer in words, but her expression and manner were enough, and mrs. rush asked no more, intending to leave the matter to the judgment of her husband. she gave no hint of her suspicions to lena, moreover, passing over the child's agitation in silence; and when the carriage had returned with the colonel, and the visitors departed, she set herself to divert lena, offering, if she chose, to read the "club papers" maggie had brought with her. lena assented, more to divert attention from herself and to turn her aunt's thoughts from the subject of the mysterious doings of hannah, than from any real interest in the compositions; but as mrs. rush read her attention was presently attracted. "this is one of maggie's, i see," said mrs. rush, perceiving one in maggie's handwriting. "oh, no," glancing at the commencement and seeing that it was by no means in maggie's style, "it is another effusion of frankie's; she has only written it out from his dictation. i wonder if it will be as droll as 'babylon babylon.'" "the man that broke good friday." "once there was a boy, and he never told a lie, and his name wasn't george washington either. and i don't think it was anything so great to tell about that everlasting cherry-tree that everybody's tired hearing about; and when i come to be the father of my country and i do something bad, i'll just go and tell my papa about it without waiting for him to go poking round and having to ask me if i did it. i think it is awfully mean to do a fault and wait till somebody comes and asks you about it; it is skimpy of telling the truth. and if you do bad things your fathers don't always claps you in their arms and say they'd rather you'd do a hundred bad things than tell a lie; sometimes they punish you, all the same, and you don't always get out of it that way. "well, this boy didn't think so much of himself because he didn't tell lies; he was used to not telling them, and he didn't get himself put into the history books about it and make himself chestnuts. he was very polite to girls, too, and always got up and gave them a chair and gave them the best of everything, just like our hal. hal's awfully generous, and fred is, too; only fred teases, and the boys call hal 'troubadour.' "well, there was a man lived by this boy's house, and he was a real bad man, and it came good friday, and this man didn't go to church or anything; but he bought a flag--a great big, new one, and he put it right up on his flag-staff with his own hands. he just must have been glad that god was dead. the good boy saw it, and he knew it wasn't any use to tell that man he was breaking good friday, 'cause he would just say 'mind your own business,' so the boy ran to the president and told him about it, and the president came down out of his capitol and ran with the truth-telling boy and came to the man and said, 'hi, there, you! pull down that flag this minute on good friday! and the man was awfully frightened 'cause he knew the president has such lots of soldiers and policemen, and he was afraid he'd set them on him; so he pulled down the flag mighty quick. but he was so mad he made faces at the president; but the president didn't care a bit. presidents grow used to disagreeable things, and it is worse having people not vote for you than it is to be made faces at. he had a lot of laws to make that day and he thought he'd make a new one about putting up flags on good friday; so he hurried home to his capitol; but when he came there, he said to his wife: "'my dear, i'm afraid that man might do something horrid to that truth-telling boy--i know just by the look of him he don't like people who tell the truth; so you run and peep round the corner and watch!' "and the president's wife said, 'yes, your presidency, i will'; and she put on her best frock and her crown, so as to make the man think she was very grand, so he'd be respectful to her, and she kissed the president for good-by and went and peeped around the corner. "well, you see after the president went away that man had grown madder and madder, but he didn't dare to put the flag up again, only he didn't like it 'cause somebody meddled with his business; generally people don't like it if you meddle with their business; and he stamped his feet and clenched his hands, and just screamed, he was so mad. it sometimes makes you feel a little better to scream if you're mad, only your fathers and mothers don't like it, but this man was so old and grown up his father and mother had had to die long ago; but they saw him out of heaven and were mad at him. well, all of a sudden he said, 'i guess it was that boy who never tells lies; he looked real mad when he saw that flag, and i'll pay him off, oh, won't i though!' then he cut off a great big piece of his flag-staff; he forgot the flag wouldn't go so high if he did it, and he was going to run at that boy who didn't tell lies; but the boy wasn't going to wait for him to ask, and he went up to him and said: "'hi, there, you! i told the president about you; i don't want you to ask me any kestions, 'cause always i speak the truth without waiting for people to ask me, and i did it, so, there now!' "then the bad man struck at the boy with the piece of the flag-staff in his hand; but the boy was too quick for him, and he couldn't reach him, and the president's wife screamed right out and ran for her husband's soldiers. she would have gone to help the boy herself; but she had to be very proud and stiff of herself because she was the president's wife. "when the president heard her scream he knew it was because that man was trying to do something to the boy; so he looked in his laws dictionary to find what to do to him; but the man that made the dictionary never thought that any one would be so bad as to break good friday, so there was nothing about it. so he made a new law himself very quick and told the soldiers what to do, and they came; and the president's wife was hollering like anything and nervous; but the boy was just laughing and jumping around the man, saying, 'catch me; why don't you catch me, old good friday breaker.' "well, this boy had a fairy of his own--this is partly a fairy tale and partly a bible story, 'cause it is about good friday; and i don't know if it's very pious to mix up the two, but i have to end up the story--and this fairy came to help him, and she opened a hole in the ground and let the man fall right through to africa, where the cannibals got him and eat him up; but he was so bad he disagreed with them, so even after he was killed he was a nuisance. then the president gave the boy a beautiful present, and told him he'd vote for him to be president when he grew up, and he'd give him a whole regiment of soldiers for his own. "so this is what you get for always telling the truth, and for not being afraid to tell when you've done a bad thing. anybody is an awful old meaner to hide it when he's done it, and you ought to tell right out and not be sneaky. a boy who hides what he's done _is_ a sneak, i don't care. the end." there were some parts of this fanciful tale which made lena wince, as she saw how much clearer an idea of right and wrong, truth and justice, had this little boy of seven than had her own brother of more than twice his age. if percy could but think that it was "mean and sneaky" to endeavor to hide a fault, could but see how much nobler and more manly it was to make confession, and, so far as possible, reparation. true, the money had been repaid to seabrooke; but through what a source had it come to him; and there were so many other things to confess, things which had led to this very trouble with seabrooke. the rambling, half-incoherent nonsense written, or rather, dictated by the little brother of her young friends made her feel more than ever the shame and meanness of percy's conduct, and she could not laugh at frankie's contribution to the "cheeryble sisters," as her aunt did. and frankie practised that which he preached, as lena very well knew. mischievous and heedless, almost to recklessness, he was not only always ready to confess his wrong-doing when questioned, but when conscious of his fault, did not wait for his parents to "go poking about to find him out," but would go straightway and accuse himself. like all the bradford children, strictly truthful and upright, he scorned concealment or evasion, and accepted the consequences of his naughtiness without attempt at either. but well could lena remember how in the nursery days from which she and percy had but so recently escaped, he would hide, by every possible device, his own misdoings, even to the very verge of suffering others to be blamed for them. hannah would even then strive to shield him from detection and punishment at his parents' hands, thus fostering his weakness and moral cowardice. with over-severity on the one hand, and over-indulgence on the other, what wonder was it that percy's faults had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength? it cannot be said that lena put all this into words, even to herself: but such thoughts were there, or those very much like them. she was given to reasoning and pondering over things in the recesses of her own mind, and she was uncommonly clear-sighted for a girl of her age. probably the child was not the happier for that. to maggie and bessie, in their joyous lives, full of the tenderness and confidence and sympathy which existed between them and their parents, such ideas would never have come, even while they wondered at and pitied the utter lack in lena's existence of all that made the happiness of theirs. and another trouble, perhaps now the greatest which weighed upon lena's mind, was the knowledge that their faithful old nurse had sacrificed her long-cherished gold, with its particular purpose, to the rescue of percy from his dilemma. for, after hearing miss trevor's story, lena could not--did not doubt that this was so. and aunt may, having also heard the tale, would tell uncle horace; there was no doubt of that. lena was not at all relieved by the fact that her aunt asked no questions, never once alluded to the subject. she suspected something wrong, and was only waiting for an opportunity to submit it to the colonel. lena did not imagine, of course, that her aunt blamed her in any way in the matter; there was no reason that she should do so, and in one respect it would be almost a relief to have her aunt and uncle know all. but for percy's sake she still shrank from that. but hannah, and hannah's cherished money! dear, faithful old hannah! oh, the shame, the shame of it! mrs. rush, with her suspicions already tending percy-wise in connection with lena's late low spirits, and noting how devoid of interest she seemed to be in the papers she was reading for her benefit, had those suspicions more than ever confirmed since she observed the effect miss trevor's revelation had had upon her; she felt assured now that percy had fallen into some trouble from which his sister and his old nurse had endeavored to extricate him. and it must be indeed a serious trouble which made needful such secrecy, such mysterious, underhand doings. suddenly mrs. rush saw lena's countenance change; a look of relief passed over it, and her head was lifted and her eye brightened again. for it had flashed upon the child that there was a way out of a part of the difficulty, at least. that second hundred dollars could be taken to return to hannah that which she had sacrificed. percy had written that he would bring it to her when she came home for the easter holidays; she would somehow contrive to have it turned into gold and give it back to the old woman, telling her at the same time that she and percy had discovered her generosity, and loved her all the more for her faithful tenderness. ah! she said to herself, how stupid she had been not to see this at once, and how strange that percy had not thought of doing it when he must at least have suspected the truth after applying to hannah. mrs. rush took up the second paper and glanced over it, then laughed. "this is lily's," she said. "spelling does not seem to be her strong point." "no," answered lena, "she says she never can spell, and i do not think she tries very hard. miss ashton takes a great deal of trouble with her, too; but lily just laughs at her own spelling and does not seem to think that it matters very much. but she is so nice," she added, apologetically, "and we all like her so much." "yes," answered mrs. rush, "lily is a dear child, and so truly noble and upright and conscientious, in spite of her sometimes careless way of speaking of right and wrong. shall i read this, lena; do you care to hear it?" for she had noticed that lena appeared _distraite_ during the reading of frankie's composition. "oh, yes, if you please, aunt marian," answered lena, more cheerfully than she had spoken before. "lily's compositions are always rather droll, even if they are not very correct." "but does miss ashton leave it to lily's own choice to say whether she will write compositions or no?" asked mrs. rush. "oh, no," answered lena, "she has to write them regularly, as the rest of us do; but she has never before been willing to have one read in the club, and even this she will not allow to go in our book." "'good resolutions' is the title of the piece," said mrs. rush, beginning to read from the paper in her hand. "good resolutions are capitle things if you keep them, but generally they are made to be broken; at least i am afraid mine are. i think i've made about a thousand in my life, and about nine hundred and ninety-seven have been broken. but there is one good resolution i made i have never broken and never shall, and that is, forever and ever and ever to hate oliver cromwell. i shall always kepe that. i know of lots of bad men, but i think he was the worst i ever knew. he made believe he was very pious, but he was not at all, he was a hipokrit and deceiver; and he made believe he had the king killed for writeousness' sake, and i know he only did it so as to take the head place himself. i think i can't bear cromwell more than any one i ever knew. i just hate him, and it is no use for any one to say he was doing what he thought was best for his country and he meant well. i don't believe it, and i hate people who mean well; they are always tiresome. the poor dear king! i would like to have been there when they tryed him, and i would have been like lady fairfax and would have called out, 'oliver cromwell is a rogue and a traitor,' and not been afrade of anybody when i wanted to stand up for my king. i love lady fairfax." "what a stanch little royalist lily is and would have been had she lived in those days," said mrs. rush, smiling as she came to a pause. "yes," said lena, "she always stands up for kings and the rights of kings." "but i am amazed," said mrs. rush, "that lily does not write a better composition than this. it is really not as good as some which i have seen written by the younger children of the class, bessie, belle and amy." "no," answered lena, "and we all think it is because lily does not choose to take pains with her compositions. she is so bright and clever about all her other lessons, history, geography, french, and everything but composition and spelling; but she only laughs about her bad report for those two, and does not seem to care at all or to take any trouble to improve in them. miss ashton is sometimes quite vexed with her, and says it is only carelessness." "and even the wish to earn the prize did not spur her on?" asked mrs. rush. "oh, no," answered lena, "she only said she knew she could never gain it, and wasn't going to try. i think maggie persuaded her to write a paper to be read in the club in the hope that it would make her take a little pains and try to improve." "but it hardly seems to have answered the purpose," said mrs. rush. "but" she added, as she took up again lily's paper, which she had laid upon the table, "she is a dear child, and as you say, very bright. do you wish to hear more of this, dear; or are you tired?" "oh, yes, please," answered lena, who was now so relieved by the remembrance that the debt to hannah could be paid as soon as her brother returned, that she felt as if some heavy weight had been lifted from her, and looked, spoke, and acted like a different child from the one of a few moments since; "if you please, aunt marian. lily goes on for some time in such a nonsensical way and then comes out with something so clever and droll that we cannot help laughing. i would like to hear the rest of it; and there is bessie's piece, too." but before mrs. rush had time to commence once more the reading of lily's composition, the colonel sent up a message to ask his wife to come to him. chapter xi. a trust. the puzzled colonel, even more puzzled than were his wife and lena, since he had not all the clews to guide him which they had received, and, moreover, rather astonished that the former had not come to greet him, according to her usual custom, when he entered the house after an absence of some hours, had his tale to tell and his riddle to solve. "where have you been? why did you not come before? is lena worse?" were questions he propounded in a breath, not waiting for an answer to the first till he had asked all three. no, lena was not worse, mrs. rush said, but she had been startled and worried, and she had stayed with her and tried to divert her until she should be more comfortable. and then she told the story of miss trevor's visit, of her encounter with hannah, and the latter's evident dismay and displeasure at seeing her there; of how the old lady had betrayed that which the old nurse had plainly intended should be kept a profound secret; of how there could be no doubt that lena had had the key to these revelations, and of how she had been much distressed and agitated by them, but had tried to conceal this and had told her nothing. the colonel had his say also, and told how he had met miss trevor at the door with maggie and bessie when they came down to take the carriage; of how she had, in her own queer, incoherent way, told him some story of which he could make nothing clear save that hannah had, through her, sent a large sum of money to percy; and how he, coupling one thing with another, had arrived at the conclusion that percy had fallen into trouble through his own fault, and so had not dared to apply for help to those upon whom he had a legitimate right to call, but had confided in hannah, and begged and received aid from her. there could be no doubt of this, both the colonel and his wife agreed; nor that the depression and anxiety shown by lena some time since was to be referred to the same cause, whatever that might be. but as percy would be home for the easter vacation in a couple of days, the colonel said he would not question lena or disturb her further at present. if percy were in fault and had been guilty of any wrong-doing, he must be made to confess; if not, it would still be expedient that it should be known why a sum of money, so large for such a boy, should have been conveyed to him by a servant in such a surreptitious manner. if no information on the matter could be obtained from either lena, percy or hannah, he should feel it only right to write to percy's father and place it in his hands; and in any case hannah must be repaid. the story of the exchange of the gold for miss trevor's bank-notes left little doubt in the mind of either colonel or mrs. rush that the sum consecrated to the monument and epitaph which were to commemorate the virtues of the faithful old woman, had been sacrificed to percy's needs; and now the colonel remembered how she had asked him the value of british gold in american paper. so nothing more was said till percy should come, and lena, seeing that her uncle and aunt were just as usual, and that they plied her with no questions, took heart of grace, and consoled herself with the reflection that she had alarmed herself unnecessarily, and that they were not going to "make a fuss" over miss trevor's revelations. meanwhile percy had kept his promise to his sister, namely, that he would henceforth avoid lewis flagg; at least, he had done so as far as he was able, for it is easier to take up with bad company than it is to shake it off; that is, if the desire to do so is not mutual, and the bad company has no mind to be discarded. and this was the case with lewis. he had reasons of his own for wishing to keep his influence over percy, and he did not intend that he should escape it if it were possible to maintain it. so, in spite of percy's avoidance of him, which became so marked that the other boys noticed it, he persisted in seeking his company at all times and in all places. he was not by any means blind to percy's endeavors to avoid him, but chose to ignore them and to be constantly hail-fellow-well-met with him as he had been before. but, fortunately for percy, seabrooke had his eye on both. while seeing all the weakness and instability of the younger boy's character, he saw also much that was lovable and good; and moreover, a kindly feeling towards him had been aroused through gratitude to his friends and relations. he had heard through his sister gladys and his father, not only of the kindness shown to the little girl, but also of the generous donation made by colonel rush to the struggling church of which his father was rector; and he knew through percy of the efforts of lena and her young friends to gain the scholarship for gladys. in spite of his rather stubborn pride which had led him so haughtily to answer percy that his sister was not an object of charity, he could not but feel grateful to the sweet little strangers who were striving to earn such a benefit for his own sister; and for the sake of percy's relatives as well as for that of the boy himself, he had resolved to keep an eye upon him during the few remaining days of the term and to endeavor to keep him from going astray again. and percy, who had been pretty thoroughly frightened, and also truly ashamed of the disgraceful scrape into which he had fallen, was far more amenable than usual to rules and regulations, and was not without gratitude to seabrooke for having dealt so leniently with him. but even now, as harley seabrooke could plainly see, percy had no proper sense of the gravity of his late offence; the dread of dr. leacraft's displeasure and of the exposure to his relatives being what chiefly concerned him. percy had told seabrooke whence he had received the money with which he had been enabled to repay him, and had been rather troubled by his reluctance to accept it through the means of a girl who was totally innocent of any share of blame. careless as he was, percy could not but feel that it cast a reflection upon him. hence he had been glad when that second remittance arrived in such a mysterious manner to let harley know of it, and to declare that he should repay his sister at once on his return to his uncle's house at the approaching easter holidays. but seabrooke had little faith in percy's strength of purpose in case any new temptation presented itself in the meantime; that is, any temptation to spend the money in any other way. "don't you think it is what i ought to do?" asked percy, when he had told seabrooke of his intentions, and observed, as he could not help doing, that the other seemed a little doubtful. "certainly, i think it is what you ought to do; it is the only thing you _can_ do if you have any sense of right and honor," answered seabrooke, looking at him steadily. "but you think i won't," said percy, awakening to a sense that seabrooke had no confidence in his good resolutions. "i think you are open to temptation, neville, more than any one i know," answered his uncompromising mentor; and percy could not deny that there was too much truth in the assertion. he took it in good part, however, although he made no answer beyond what was conveyed by a rather sheepish look; and presently seabrooke said: "does any one know that you have received this money, neville?" he would not ask the direct question which was in his mind, namely, whether lewis flagg knew of it. "oh, yes, all the fellows know of it," answered percy; "they were all there when i opened that odd-looking parcel. i thought it was a hoax--wrapped up in paper after paper that way--and i was not going to open the hair-pin box when it came out at last; but raymond stewart cut the string and there was the hundred-dollar note. a nice thing it would have been if i had tossed it in the fire, as i had a mind to do half-a-dozen times while i was unrolling those papers. oh, yes; they all saw it. flagg says i am the luckiest fellow he knows." "yes," thought seabrooke, "and he'll persuade you to make way with it before it goes into your sister's hands, if i know him aright. i say, percy," aloud, "why don't you put that money into mr. merton's hands till you are going home?" "why?" asked percy, rather indignantly. "you don't suppose any one is going to steal it, do you?" "of course not," answered seabrooke, who really had no such thought, and only feared that percy himself might be tempted to do something foolish--in his situation something almost dishonorable seabrooke thought it would be. it was due to percy's sister that this sum should be employed to repay her; it would be an absolute wrong to employ it for anything else. "only," he added, with a little hesitation, "i thought you might find it a sort of a safeguard to have it in the hands of some one else." "a safeguard against myself, eh?" said percy, laughing good-naturedly, and not at all offended, as seabrooke feared he might be. "all right, if you are unhappy about it take care of it yourself." and drawing his purse from his pocket he opened it, took from it the hundred dollar note, and thrust the latter into seabrooke's hand. "i suppose it's wisest," he said; "but i _know_ i shouldn't spend it. however, if it gives you any satisfaction it is as well in your pocket as mine." "it will not lodge in my pocket," said seabrooke; "how can you carry such a sum of money in such an insecure place, neville? playing rough-and-tumble games, too, when any minute it is likely to fall out of your pocket. i shall lock it up, i can tell you; and what if you tell me not to return it to you till we are breaking up?" "all right," said percy again. "i request you not to give it back to me until the day we leave." "i promise," said seabrooke. "remember now; i shall keep my word and take you at yours, and _will_ not return this money to you until thursday morning of next week." "no, don't," said percy, laughing. "i give you full leave to refuse to return it to me till then." "self-confident, careless fellow!" said seabrooke to himself as the other turned away in a series of somersaults down the slope on the edge of which they had been standing. "he is so sure of himself; and yet, i know, at the very first temptation he would forget all about his debt to his sister and make way with that money. but i can't help having a liking for him, and for the sake of that sister who has been so nice to gladys i shall do what i can to keep him straight." "i say, neville," said raymond stewart, meeting percy not half an hour afterward, "aren't you going to stand treat out of that fortune of yours?" "no," answered percy, "not this time. i have something else to do with that fortune of mine." "turned stingy all of a sudden, eh?" said raymond, with the disagreeable sneer which was almost habitual with him; and percy, in spite of his boasting self-confidence, felt glad that his money was in other keeping than his own. he knew perfectly well that he would not have stood proof against the persuasions and sneers, perhaps even threats, which might be brought into use to induce him to part with at least a portion of it. seabrooke had foreseen just some such state of affairs when he heard that the other boys all knew of percy's fortune, and hence the precautions he had taken. he would have felt that they were fully justified had he overheard the present conversation. further pressure, not only from raymond stewart, but from several of the other boys was brought to bear upon percy: but, as he laughingly declared, he had not the money in his hands, and so could not spend it. "where is it, then?" "what have you done with it?" "have you sent it home?" asked one and another; but percy still refused to tell. only lewis flagg did not beset him, did not ask any questions or seem to take any interest in the matter; but that would easily be accounted for by the coolness which had arisen between percy and himself during the last few days. but this state of affairs had really nothing to do with it, for lewis did not choose to be snubbed so long as he had any object to gain, and the coolness was all on percy's side. but lewis could give a very good guess as to the whereabouts of percy's money at present, or at least, as to the person in whose custody it was. he had been standing at one of the school-room windows while seabrooke and percy had been talking at the top of the slope, and had seen the latter take out his pocket-book, take something from it and hand it to seabrooke, and he rightly conjectured how matters were, that seabrooke had persuaded percy to give him the money for safe-keeping. and then arose a thought which had made itself felt before, that it was hard that percy had been furnished not only with the means to defray the claim of seabrooke, and that through no sacrifice or exertion of his own, but also with a like sum which he was at liberty to spend as he pleased, while he himself had been obliged to dispose of his watch in order to obtain the sum which would save him. he felt quite wronged, and as if some injustice had been done to him, forgetting or losing sight of all the meanness, underhand dealing and disobedience of rules which had brought him to his present predicament. and the doctor would be here tomorrow,--for his son was out of danger and he was coming back to close the school,--would hear the account of his misconduct and would report at home, if nothing worse. a feeling of intense irritation against both seabrooke and percy neville took possession of him, a feeling as unreasonable as it was spiteful; and he said to himself that he would find means to be revenged on both, especially on seabrooke, whom he chose to look upon as the offender instead of the offended, the injurer instead of the injured. then another idea took possession of him, and one worthy of his own mean spirit, namely, that seabrooke had been demanding and percy giving a further prize for the silence of the former in the matter of the burnt money; and he immediately formed in his own mind a plan by which he might be revenged upon seabrooke. he called it to himself, "playing a jolly good trick;" but lewis flagg's "jolly good tricks" were apt to prove more jolly to himself than to his victims, and they did occasionally, as we have seen, recoil upon his own head. "i say, percy," said raymond stewart, "you hav'n't made over that hundred dollars to flagg, have you? we know that he can get out of you anything that he chooses. has he, flagg? own up now if he has. i shouldn't wonder." "no, i hav'n't," said percy, exasperated by the assertion that flagg could do as he pleased with him. "no, i haven't given it to him, and he can't make me do as he pleases. no one can." at this assumption of his own independence from the facile, easily-led percy a shout of derision was raised; and then began a running fire of schoolboy jeers and jests. the good humor with which percy generally took such attacks was apt to disarm his tormentors; but now, probably because he was conscious that their taunts were so well-deserved, he resented them and showed some irritability in the matter. had he not felt assured that seabrooke would abide by his word and insist upon keeping possession of the money until the day of the breaking up of school, there is little doubt that he would have allowed himself to be urged into demanding it back and spending at least some portion of it for the entertainment of his school-fellows. "see here," said one of the boys, apropos of nothing it seemed, "see here, do you know seabrooke is going to dine with the dons up at mr. fanshawe's to-night?" "then who's going to be sentinel at evening study?" asked raymond stewart. "mr. merton," answered the other. "isn't he invited?" asked raymond. "yes, but he wants seabrooke to go because he says he has but little pleasure; so he told him he would decline and take the evening study, so that he might go to the dinner. here he comes now. hallo! seabrooke, what a big-bug you're getting to be! going out to dine with the dons and so forth." seabrooke passed on with a cold, indifferent smile just moving the corners of his mouth. he had little of the spirit of good comradeship and was not accustomed to meet any joke or nonsense from his companions in a responsive manner; so it was little wonder that he was not very popular with the other boys. but as he passed percy, who stood leaning with his back against a tree, rather discontentedly kicking the toe of his shoe into the ground, he saw that the boy was vexed about something, and paused to speak to him. "hallo, neville," he said; "what is the matter? you look as if the world were not wagging your way just now." "nothing," answered percy, half-sulkily, "only i wish i hadn't given you that money. the fellows think i'm awfully mean." "so soon!" said seabrooke to himself; then replied aloud, "why, because you wish to pay a just debt?" "no, they don't know about that," said percy, "only they think i ought to stand treat." "i shall keep my word to you," said seabrooke, significantly, and walked on. "you wouldn't like it yourself," answered percy; but seabrooke only shrugged his shoulders and gave no symptom of yielding to his unspoken desire. "weak, unstable fellow!" he said to himself. "he would have asked me for that money if he had thought there was the slightest chance i would give it to him, and would have spent a part of it rather than have those fellows chaff and run him. after his sister's sacrifice, too. pah!" he had never been a boy who was subject to temptations of this nature, or who cared one iota for the opinion of others, especially if he believed himself to be in the right; and he had no patience with or pity for weakness of character or purpose. to him there was something utterly contemptible in percy's indulging in the least thought of withdrawing from his resolution of using the sum he had confided to his keeping to repay his debt to his sister, and he wasted no sympathy upon him or his fancied difficulties. seabrooke went to dine with "the dons," caring not so much for the social pleasure as for the honor conferred upon him by the invitation; mr. merton taking, as had been arranged, his place in the schoolroom during evening study. the tutor cast his eye around the line of heads and missed one. "where is lewis flagg?" he asked. "i don't know, sir," answered one of the boys. "i saw him about ten minutes ago." scarcely had he spoken when the delinquent entered the room and hastened to his seat. "late, lewis," said mr. merton, placing a tardy mark against his name. "i did not hear the bell, sir," answered lewis, telling his falsehood with coolness, although his manner was somewhat flurried and nervous. percy was running across the play-ground the next morning when he came full against seabrooke, who was just rounding the corner of an evergreen hedge. he would have been thrown off his balance by the shock had not seabrooke caught him; but the next instant he shook him off, while he regarded him with a look of the most scornful contempt. "hallo!" said percy, not observing this at first, "that was a concussion between opposing forces. i beg your pardon. i should have been down, too, but for you" "you're pretty well _down_, i should say," replied seabrooke, sneeringly. "you're a nice fellow to call yourself a gentleman, are'n't you?" percy opened his eyes in unfeigned astonishment. the grave, studious, young pupil-teacher was no favorite with the other boys, who thought him priggish and rather arbitrary; but at least he was always courteous in his dealings with them, and, indeed, rather prided himself upon his manners. "well, that's one way to take it," said the younger boy, resentfully, his regrets taking flight at once as they met with this apparently ungracious reception. "accidents will happen, and, after all, it was just as much your fault as mine." "i would not try to appear innocent. it will hardly serve your turn under the circumstances," said seabrooke, still with the same disagreeable tone and manner. "but let me tell you, mr. neville, that i have a great mind to report you for trespassing in my quarters. you may think you have the right to demand your own if you choose to break a compact made for your own good, but you have no right to be guilty of the liberty and meanness of ransacking another man's belongings in search of it." "i don't know what you are talking about. what do you mean?" exclaimed the astonished percy, really for the moment forgetting that seabrooke had anything belonging to him in his keeping. but seabrooke only answered, as he turned away, "such an assumption of innocence is quite thrown away, i repeat, sir and the next time you meddle with my things or places, you shall suffer for it, i assure you." but percy seized him by the arm. "you shall not leave me this way," he said. "what do you mean? explain yourself. who touched your things?" "it shows what you are," answered seabrooke, continuing his reproaches, instead of giving the straightforward answer which he considered unnecessary, "that you have not the decent manliness to demand that which rightfully belonged to you because you were ashamed of your own folly and weakness, but must go and ransack in my quarters to find your money. let me go; i wish nothing more to do with you." light broke upon the bewildered percy. seabrooke was accusing him of searching for and taking the money he had confided to his care, but which he, percy, certainly had no right to recover by such means. "you say i took back my money without asking you for it, and hunted it out from your places?" he asked, incredulously, but fiercely. "i do," answered seabrooke, "and i've nothing more to say to you now or hereafter." percy contradicted him flatly, and in language which left no doubt as to his opinion of his veracity, and very hard words were interchanged. both lost their temper, and seabrooke his dignity--poor percy had not much of the latter quality to lose--and the quarrel presently attracted the attention, not only of the other boys, but of one or two of the masters who happened to be within hearing. naturally this called forth inquiry, and it soon became known that percy had entrusted to seabrooke's keeping a large sum of money, lest he should himself be tempted to spend any portion of it, as it was to be reserved for a special purpose; that seabrooke before going to the dinner on the previous evening had put it, as he supposed, in a secure place, and that this morning the money was gone, while he had discovered slight but unmistakable evidence that his quarters had been ransacked in search of it. he had, perhaps, not unnaturally, at once arrived at the conclusion that percy himself had searched for and taken it, being determined to have it, and yet ashamed to demand its return. it was a grave accusation, and one which percy denied in the most emphatic and indignant manner which convinced nearly every one who heard him of his innocence. seabrooke was not among these. he maintained that no one but percy knew that he had taken the money in charge; no one but percy had any object in finding it, and he appeared and professed himself perfectly outraged that any one "should have dared" to open his trunk, bureau and so forth. there could be no question of actual theft, since the money was percy's own, to dispose of as he pleased, but the liberty was a great one, and it was a very mean way of regaining possession even of his own property, had he been guilty of it. but percy was popular, seabrooke was not; and even the masters were inclined to believe that the latter must have been careless and forgetful and mislaid the money, while believing he had put it in the place he indicated, and presently--no one knew exactly how it started or could trace the rumor to its source--presently it began to be bruited about among the boys that seabrooke was keeping it for his own use and had never intended to return it to percy, and was now making him his scape-goat. but percy, even in the midst of his own wrath and indignation, generously combated this; he inclined to the first supposition that seabrooke had mislaid or lost the note, and he even maintained that it would shortly be found. but this did not make seabrooke any more lenient in his judgment. he said little, but that little expressed the most dogged and obstinate belief in percy's weakness of purpose, and in his search for and abstraction of his own property. the situation was one hard to deal with, and mr. merton and the other tutors resolved to let the matter rest until the return of dr. leacraft, who was expected that very evening. school closed the next day, and the various actors in this little drama were to scatter to their respective homes for the easter holidays. "what a miserable report we have to make to the doctor on his return!" said mr. merton. "when he has been through so much, too, and is just feeling a little relief from his anxiety. he will find that his boys--the majority at least--have not had much consideration for him in his trouble." what would he have said had he known how much worse the record might have been--had all been revealed, had seabrooke disclosed the drugging, the theft of his letter to his father, and the destruction, unintentional though it was, of the money? seabrooke went about the business of the day with all his accustomed regularity and precision, but with a sort of defiant and i-am-going-to-stick-to-it air about him which in itself incited the other boys to covert thrusts and innuendoes tending to throw distrust upon his version of the story and to make known their thorough sympathy with percy, not only for his loss, but also for the aspersions cast upon him by the young pupil-teacher. seabrooke professed, and perhaps with truth, not to care particularly for popularity or for what others said about him; but he found this hard to bear, more especially as he fully believed percy to be guilty of the meanness he had ascribed to him. but for some unknown reason lewis flagg, who was usually the ringleader in all such little amenities, held his peace and had nothing to say. chapter xii. discovery. if dr. leacraft expected to be received with much enthusiasm on his return that evening he was destined to disappointment. the boys cheered him on his arrival, it is true, and came about him with inquiries for his injured son and congratulations on his partial recovery; but there was a certain restraint in the manner of the majority which to his experienced eye and ear told that all things had not gone quite well. and that it was something more than the by-gone offence of the expedition to rice's was evident. only one-half of the boys were implicated in that affair; they had already been punished by the restrictions which had been placed upon them, and were to be further disgraced by the public reprimand which he intended to give them on the dismissal of the school; and these culprits were probably dreading this or some other severe punishment which would be meted out to them by the report of their misconduct which would be sent home. but there was something here beyond all this; the boys were looking askance at one another, and as if there were some new revelation to be made. mr. merton would have spared the doctor the recital of any further disturbance until the morning; but the principal, having observed all this, would not be put off; the time was short, and if the matter were a serious one which required investigation, he must have knowledge of it at once. serious, indeed, the doctor thought it when he heard the tale: the disappearance of a hundred-dollar note confided by one boy to another, and the question as to who was responsible for it. but was it certain that this responsibility lay solely between these two boys? this was an idea which now presented itself to the minds of the two gentlemen, as it had before this to the minds of the pupils. it had been started by raymond stewart, who had said: "how do we know that some one else has not been meddling with that money? i do not see that it follows no one could touch it but seabrooke or percy." "that would say that there was a thief among us," said another boy, indignantly. "that's about it," answered raymond. the boys had looked from one to another almost in dismay. whatever their faults and shortcomings--and some of these had been grave enough--such an idea, such an implication as this had never before presented itself to them--that there was a thief in their midst, that one of their number had been guilty of flagrant dishonesty, of an absolute theft, and that of a large sum. "that's a nice thing for you to say," broke forth malcolm ainslie. "whom do you accuse?" "i accuse no one," answered raymond. "i only said such a thing might be." but percy and seabrooke had both scouted the idea; no one, they both said, knew that the former had intrusted his money to seabrooke; no one had been present at the time, and both declared that they had spoken of it to no one. but the suspicion aroused by raymond was not set at rest by this, and an uncomfortable atmosphere had reigned ever since, and, as has been seen, was remarked by dr. leacraft as soon as he returned home. thursday morning, and the closing day arrived, and there was a general feeling of shame and annoyance that such a cloud should be resting upon the school as its members separated even for a few days. it seemed now as if nothing could "come out," as the boys said, there was so little time for any investigation, for the pupils, none of whom lived at more than a few hours distance from sylvandale, were to leave by the afternoon trains. the morning lessons were to continue as usual, but those for the after part of the day were to be dispensed with. the matron did the boys' packing, so that there were no especial calls upon their time before leaving. "henderson, are you ill?" asked dr. leacraft, coming into the junior class-room about eleven o'clock, and noticing that charlie henderson, the youngest boy in the school and a pattern scholar, was deathly pale, and supporting his head upon his hand. the boy was subject to frightful headaches, which for the time unfitted him for all study or recitation; and seabrooke, who was hearing the lesson in progress, had excused him from taking any part in it. these headaches were of few hours duration; but the boy needed absolute rest and quiet to enable him to conquer them. as he lifted his heavy, suffering eyes to the doctor's face, seabrooke answered for him. "yes, sir, he has one of his headaches, and is afraid he will not be able to go this afternoon. i have excused him from recitation, and was going to ask if he may go to his room. he is not fit to be here." "certainly. go at once, my child," said the doctor, laying his hand kindly on the boy's throbbing head. "you must have a sleep, and ease this poor head before afternoon. you will feel better by train time." charlie rose with a murmured word of thanks, every step and movement adding a fresh pang to his pain, and went slowly from the room and up to the dormitory devoted to the younger boys. but there seemed small prospect of quiet here. the matron and three housemaids were in the room, half a dozen trunks were standing here and there, bureau drawers and closets were standing open, and a general appearance of disorder attendant upon the packing for half-a-dozen boys reigned throughout the apartment. charlie gave a little groan of despair as he stood at the open door and looked in. "oh, master henderson, my dear!" ejaculated the matron, as she caught sight of the pale, suffering young face, "you've never gone and got one of your headaches to-day of all days. such a hubbub as there is here. you can't come in, my dear; you'll never get rest for your poor head. come to the other dormitory; we're all done there, and it's as quiet as a nunnery, and one can get to sleep, and sleep you must have if you are going home this afternoon. come now; you have five hours to get rid of that good-for-nothing headache." and the voluble but kind-hearted woman led the way to the dormitory of the older boys, where all was quiet and in order, and installed her patient on percy neville's bed, covered him, gave him the medicine prescribed for his relief, and having made him as comfortable as circumstances would permit, left him to the coveted rest and quiet in the half-darkened room. the healing sleep was not long in coming, and for three hours or more charlie lay motionless and lost to all around him, mrs. moffat coming once or twice to look in upon him, and depart with a satisfied nod of her head, confident that he would wake sufficiently restored to undertake the journey home at the appointed hour. it was with a grave face that the doctor rose at the close of the morning lessons to dismiss his charge for the easter holidays. his customary leave-taking was one simply of good-will and kind wishes for the enjoyment of his pupils, and for their return at the commencement of another term; but this time there was much to be said that was not so agreeable. to the younger boys he addressed only a few commendatory words, praising them for their fair progress and general good conduct, and wishing them a very pleasant holiday. to those of the senior department he then turned with stern looks and tones, saying he had thought it but right to inform their parents and guardians of their misconduct during his absence. he did not intend to leave punishment entirely to them, however, but on the return of the boys to school, further restrictions would be placed upon their liberty, and many of their past privileges would be taken from them for the remainder of the school year. he spoke severely, not only of the want of principle shown by the culprits, but alluded also to the lack of feeling they had shown in so defying his express wishes and orders at a time of such distress and anxiety to himself, although he did not dwell much upon this. but to those among them who had any sense of honor left, there was an added shame when this was presented anew to them, and as percy afterwards said, he did "feel uncommonly mean and sneaky." he must speak of another and still more painful matter, the doctor continued. a matter so serious that he felt he must allude to it before they separated. a large sum of money was missing under very mysterious circumstances; he believed that there was no need to enter into particulars. he wished and was inclined to think that some forgetfulness and carelessness lay at the bottom of this. here seabrooke's hand, which lay upon his desk, clenched itself, and a dark scowl passed over his face, while percy glanced over at him with suspicion and resentment written on every feature, and a battery of eyes turned in his direction, not one among them with friendly look for himself. but the doctor said there might be even a worse interpretation put upon the disappearance of the money, an interpretation he was both to entertain, but which must occur to all, namely, that some one had succumbed to temptation, and had appropriated the missing sum, which one of their number had been so positive he left in a safe place. was it possible that there was one among the circle who would do such a thing? if so, let him make confession and restitution before he left to-day, and although he could not be suffered to return to the school, he might at least be spared the shame of confronting his schoolmates after discovery. for he would leave no stone unturned, he said, emphatically, to unravel the mystery; and if nothing came to light before to-night, he should at once place the matter in competent hands for its solution. a dead silence fell upon the boys as he concluded, and if they had been uneasy and inclined to look askance upon one another before, how was it with them now? so the higher powers shared the suspicions which, they scarcely knew how, had made themselves felt among them since yesterday morning. what an uncomfortable puzzle it all was! and who was to read the answer to the riddle? had seabrooke lost the money? had percy been guilty of possessing himself of his own property by such unjustifiable means? or was one of their number an actual thief? in a few more words dr. leacraft then dismissed the school, and the boys were free for discussion of the matter among themselves. it was easy for seabrooke to see, as it had been from the first, in which direction the current of opinion tended, and not caring to talk further upon the subject, he withdrew to the shelter of his own alcove. charlie henderson, in the solitary dormitory, lay quiet and undisturbed, until, having nearly slept off his headache, he woke with the delightful sense of relief and peace which comes after the cessation of severe pain. he lay still, however, feeling languid, and waiting till some one should come whom he could ask for the cup of strong coffee which was always needed to perfect his cure, and thinking happily of home and the pleasure he anticipated in the holidays just at hand. at last mrs. moffat put her head into the room. "ah, master henderson, my dear," she said, at once appreciating the change in the situation, "so you're better. that's a dear boy"--as though it were highly meritorious in charlie to have allowed himself to feel better. "well, now, you must have your cup of coffee to tone you up for your trip. you lie still, while i see about it. there's lots of time yet, and i'm not going to send you home faint and miserable to your mother, and have her say there's nobody at sylvandale academy to look after her head-ache-y boy." and she was gone, while charlie, nothing loth, obeyed orders and lay almost motionless. suddenly quick footsteps came along the hall, and the door of the room, which mrs. moffat had left ajar, was pushed open and a boy entered--one of the older boys--and charlie knew that his presence here would be questioned, and that he must hasten to explain. who was it? there were boys and boys belonging to that dormitory, and charlie felt that he would rather be found there by some than by others. it was for this reason that he had chosen the bed of the good-natured, easy-going percy to rest upon; he would "raise no fuss," or make him feel himself an intruder. it was lewis flagg. certainly he was not the one by whom charlie would choose to be faced, and seeing that he was not perceived, he hesitated whether he should speak and reveal his presence, or pretend to be still asleep and trust to silence and good fortune to remain undiscovered. but before he had quite made up his mind which course to pursue the matter was decided for him, and he found that he had no need to betray himself. lewis was upon business which necessitated haste and secrecy; and knowing that all the other legitimate occupants of the dormitory were below stairs, he never gave a thought to the possibility that there might be some one else there, and believed himself quite alone. his hurried movements were very mysterious to the young spectator. lewis went to the alcove occupied by seabrooke, where his trunk, like that of the other boys, stood packed and closed, but not locked or strapped lest there should be "some last things to put in." he stooped over the trunk, lifted the lid, and taking something from his pocket, thrust it down beneath the contents, hastily closed it again, and darted from the room. the whole performance took but a moment, but there was an unmistakable air of guilt and terror about lewis which did not fail to make itself apparent even to the inexperienced eye of charlie. [illustration: an unsuspecting witness] "i wonder what he was doing. he hates seabrooke; so he wasn't giving him a pleasant surprise," said the little boy to himself. "he's a sneak, and i suspect he was doing something sneaky. i've a great mind to tell seabrooke to look in his trunk before he locks it. perhaps he has put in something to explode or do some harm to the things in seabrook's trunk or to himself." charlie was a nervous child and rather imaginative, and was always conjuring up possibilities of disaster in his own mind. he did not make these public; he knew better than to do such a thing in a house full of schoolboys, but they existed all the same. he did not wish to "tell tales;" but he had not too much confidence in lewis flagg--it would be hard to find the boy in the school who had, especially among the younger ones--and he could not bear to think that he might have planned some scurvy trick on seabrooke. charlie was a pattern scholar, a boy after seabrooke's own heart, because of his sincere efforts to do right; and hence he had found favor in his eyes, and he had shown many little tokens of partiality toward the child which had won for him the younger boy's gratitude and affection. he lay waiting for mrs. moffat and trying to make up his mind what he had better do, when seabrooke himself entered the room and went directly to his alcove, in his turn unconscious of charlie's presence. he looked troubled and harassed, as he well might do, and sat down for a moment, leaning his head upon his hand, and seemingly in deep thought. should he tell him? charlie asked himself. presently with a sigh and a despondent shake of the head, to which he would never have given vent had he known that any one was observing him, seabrooke rose, and going to his trunk proceeded to lock it. it was too much for charlie. "seabrooke!" he said, in a low tone, and raising himself from his pillows. seabrooke looked up, startled at finding that he was not the sole occupant of the room. "charlie," he exclaimed, "what are you doing here?" then with a flash of recollection, "oh! i suppose they put you here to sleep off your headache." "yes," answered charlie, "and--seabrooke--" "well, what is it?" asked the other, as the boy hesitated. "won't you look in your trunk--carefully--before you lock it?" said charlie. "why?" asked seabrooke, much surprised, and thinking for a moment that charlie's headache must have produced something like delirium. "oh, because," said charlie, thinking how he could best warn seabrooke and yet not betray flagg, "because--there's something in your trunk." "of course there is," said seabrooke, "lots of things, i should say--pretty much all i possess is there." and he wondered as he spoke if he should ever bring any of his possessions back there again, whether, with this cloud, this suspicion of a possible betrayal of his trust resting upon him, he should ever return to sylvandale school. "but--" stammered charlie, "i mean--seabrooke--somebody put something there. i--i saw him--but he did not see me here. he's playing you a trick, i know. do look." seeing that the boy was quite himself and thoroughly in earnest, seabrooke turned to his trunk and began taking the clothes out, charlie sitting up and watching him anxiously, and wondering what would be discovered. "it's in the left-hand corner in front," he said; and then there was silence for a moment. seabrooke laid aside half-a-dozen articles, then suddenly started to his feet with an exclamation, holding in his hand a creased and crumpled envelope, which he hastily opened, and took from it--percy's hundred-dollar note! he turned deathly pale and for a moment stood gazing at it as if stupefied. "what is it? percy neville's money?" asked charlie, who, in common with every other boy in the school, knew the story of percy's lost banknote. "yes," answered seabrooke in a stern, cold tone, "did you say you saw some one put it there?" "yes," said charlie, "but you must not ask me who it was, for i cannot tell." "you _must_ tell me," said seabrooke, striding up to the bed, "you _must_ tell me. who was it?" "i won't, i won't; i will not," said charlie, firmly. "i told you because i thought you ought to know some one went to your trunk; but i _won't_ tell who it was." "ah, i know," answered seabrooke; "no need to look very far. it was neville himself. who would have believed it of him, weak, miserable coward that he is? he would have set some one to search my trunk, i suppose, that it might be found there and prove me a thief." "percy neville! it was not percy! oh, no!" exclaimed charlie; "you ought not to say it." "who then? tell me at once," persisted seabrooke, just as mrs. moffat returned with the coffee, to find her young patient flushed and distressed, with seabrooke standing over him in rather a threatening manner. "i won't," repeated charlie, "but it wasn't percy." "hi! what's the matter? what is this?" demanded mrs. moffat. "if master henderson's been breaking any rules, you'll please not nag him about it now, mr. seabrooke. you'll have him all worried into another headache, and he is not fairly over this one yet, and he'll not be fit for his journey home." seabrooke paid no more attention to her than if she had not spoken. "do you hear me, henderson?" he asked. "i _will_ know." "i won't--" began charlie again; but mrs. moffat interposed once more. "mr. seabrooke," she said, actually pushing herself between the two boys, the tray with the coffee in her hand, "mr. seabrooke, master henderson is under my care so long as he is in here, and i will not have him worried in this way. let him alone if you please." seabrooke was blind and deaf to all her interference. "i will know," he repeated. "i will bring the doctor here if you do not tell. who was it?" charlie's eyes turned involuntarily towards the corner of the room occupied by lewis flagg's bed and other belongings, and seabrooke caught the look. quick-sighted and quick-witted, he drew his own inferences and attacked the boy from another quarter. "it was flagg, then," he persisted. the color flashed up over charlie's pale face, but he only answered sharply: "i tell you to let me alone. you're real mean, seabrooke." "so he is," said mrs. moffat, "and i wish the doctor would come. we'd see if he'd have this sick boy put about this way, mr. seabrooke. i tell you i have the care of him now, and i'll not have him plagued this way." but seabrooke was gone before she was half through with this speech, and poor charlie was left to take his coffee in such peace as he might with the dread hanging over him of being reported as a tell-tale. mrs. moffat's sympathy and her almost abuse of seabrooke did him little good; he was very sensitive to praise or blame, and could not bear the thought of incurring the ill-will of any one of the boys. chapter xiii. accusation. quiet and self-contained and little given to impulse as he was, seabrooke, when roused to anger or resentment, was a very lion in his wrath, and there was one thing which he could never tolerate or overlook, and that was any attempt to take an unfair advantage of him. he had been exasperated to a great degree by flagg's endeavor to drug him on the night of the expedition to rice's, and that with good reason; and now his suspicions, nay, more than suspicions aroused that he was trying to make it appear that he, seabrooke, had wrongfully kept percy's money and then pretended that the latter had taken it from him by stealth, enraged him beyond bounds. striding in among the group of boys who were still discussing the very question of the disappearance of the money which had been the main topic of interest ever since the loss was discovered, the bank-note in his hand, he advanced directly to flagg, who was taking an active part in the conversation--that is, he had been doing so within the last few moments, since he had returned after a short absence from the school-room, looking, as more than one of the boys observed, "flushed and rather flurried." indeed one boy had remarked: "you seem to be short of breath, flaggy; you're purring like a steam-engine. what ails you?" "can't a fellow take a run around the house without anything being the matter with him?" asked lewis, sharply, but with a little nervous trepidation in his tone and manner; but the subject was now dropped, and he had more than recovered his composure and was taking an apparently interested part in the renewed discussion over percy's loss, when the enraged seabrooke entered the room. "you scoundrel!" he ejaculated between his set teeth, and with his eyes actually blazing, "you stole this, did you?"--flourishing the note before the now terrified lewis, who, taken thus by surprise, had no time to collect his wits and assume an appearance of unconcern and innocence. "you stole this, and to make it appear that i was the thief--the thief!--you put it in my trunk. don't deny it," as lewis endeavored to speak, "don't dare to deny it.--you were _seen_ to do it!" no other thought entered the head of the terrified lewis than that seabrooke himself had seen him at his shameful work, and that he had chosen to confront and convict him with it here in the presence of the rest of the school. he would have denied it could he have found words in which to do it, had he had time to frame a denial, but he was so entirely off his guard, so confounded by seabrooke's sudden accusation and this evidence of the dastardly deed he had performed that he was utterly overwhelmed, and stood speechless, and the picture of detected guilt. the doctor happened to be in one of the adjoining recitation rooms in conference with some of the other teachers over this very matter, and the raised tones--so very unusual--of seabrooke's angry voice arrested his attention and called him into the main schoolroom. to him seabrooke, without waiting to be questioned, made known his complaint, and again displayed the note in proof thereof, accusing lewis flagg of stealing it and then placing it in his trunk for the purpose of criminating him, hoping that it might be found there before school broke up. in this he did flagg some partial injustice. lewis had searched for and taken the money with the object of playing an annoying trick upon seabrooke and percy, but proposing, after giving both "a good fright," to put it back where he had found it, or in some other place in seabrooke's alcove where he might be supposed to have mislaid it. but once in his possession, the note excited his cupidity and a strong desire to keep it. if it were but his, he could easily clear off sundry debts which he had contracted, especially the remainder of that to rice, which he had only partially satisfied. on his return to school after the easter holidays it might well appear that he had an unusual amount of funds; a boy's relations were apt to be generous at such times, and no one need ever know the extent of his riches. so reasoned this unprincipled boy, and he had actually made up his mind to make no attempt to restore the money to a place where it might be found, but to retain it for himself, when the doctor's address and a dread that his crime might after all be detected, decided him to return to his first intentions. there was little time to be lost now. seizing the first opportunity of slipping away from his schoolmates, he rushed upstairs to the dormitory with the design of throwing the note under seabrooke's bed or bureau, where it might be supposed to have fallen; but seeing the trunk standing there ready packed, the impulse had taken him to put it in that, and without reflecting--perhaps hardly caring--that this would place seabrooke in a still more embarrassing position, he thrust the note within, as charlie henderson saw, and fled from the room. he was rid of it in any event, and he cared little what the consequences might be to any one else, especially seabrooke. and now he was confronted with the evidence of his misdeeds, and even when he began to recover himself a little, knew not what to say, what excuse to make. and here was dr. leacraft awaiting his answer to seabrooke's accusations, and regarding him with stern and questioning eyes. the doctor was a just man, however, and would condemn no culprit unheard, and he had no proof that lewis flagg was the culprit in the present case, other than seabrooke's asseverations and the boy's own guilty appearance. as the latter stood hesitating for words which would not plunge him deeper, dr. leacraft turned to seabrooke. "_who_ saw flagg do this thing?" he questioned. "did you, seabrooke?" "no, sir," answered seabrooke, who was becoming more calm; "i did not see him myself, but he was seen to do it." "by whom?" persisted the doctor. seabrooke hesitated. he was beginning to realize that he was placing charlie henderson in rather an unpleasant position: that young involuntary detective might be scouted at by the boys for the part he had taken in bringing flagg to justice, for "telling." he knew that there were those among the older scholars who would make the child's school-life a misery to him if they heard that he had informed, and he would not betray him to them. "could i see you a moment alone, sir?" he asked the doctor. dr. leacraft assented, and retired with seabrooke to one of the adjoining class-rooms, bidding every boy remain where he was till their return. alone with the doctor, seabrooke told his story and besought him not to let it be known that charlie had been the unsuspected observer of flagg's actions. "the boy is as honest as the day, doctor," said seabrooke. "i know it; above suspicion. a most honest and loyal little fellow," said the doctor. "his secret shall be kept, if possible." then he went up to see charlie, and received from him the fullest confirmation of all that seabrooke had told; and he assured the boy that his knowledge of the transaction should not be betrayed to the others. charlie himself had taken such precautions against "being found out" as he was able to do; he would not even drink his coffee until he had persuaded mrs. moffat to let him go to his own dormitory, lest any of the "big fellows" should find him in their quarters. he told mrs. moffat enough to let her understand that he had unwittingly seen something he was not intended to see, and she, knowing enough of boys in general and of that senior class in particular, to be sure that charlie would not go scot free, if the truth were known, hastened to comply with his request. charlie had faith enough in seabrooke to believe that he would not betray him if it were possible not to do so, and as no boy save he and flagg had been into the dormitory, he hoped that it would not be discovered that he had been there. and it was so; when the boys came up to make the final preparations for leaving, charlie was in his own room, all tokens of his presence in that of the senior class removed by mrs. moffat's willing hands, and no one suspected that the boy had slept off his headache in any other than his usual place. during the doctor's absence, and when he had time to collect his thoughts a little, lewis had made up his mind as to the course he would pursue. he was in a bad position, there was no doubt of that; but he resolved to brave it out and to treat the whole affair as a huge joke. he might be punished; there was little doubt but that he would be, and probably his misconduct would be reported at home, but he would make the best he could out of a bad business. as he did not know who it was that had seen him in the dormitory, he did not dare to deny having been there; his suspicions turned toward mrs. moffat, and as she was an old and trusted member of the household, he knew very well that her word would be taken at any time against his own, which had not too much credit with either teacher or scholars. he broke forth into a hoarse, forced laugh, looking around him with defiance and an assured contempt upon the circle of his schoolmates, who were, one and all, regarding him with suspicion and unconcealed scorn. the most careless and reckless among them were shocked at the enormity of the offence with which he stood charged, a theft of such magnitude, and then the scoundrelly attempt to make it appear that another had been guilty of it. "what a row about a small matter!" he exclaimed. "the whole thing was a joke; but i never thought it would be so successful as this, putting the whole school in a fever. see here; i did take that bank-note, of course. i wanted to see seabrooke and neville in a war over it, and then i was going to put it in some place here it would be found. i was going to throw it under seabrooke's bed or somewhere; but i saw his trunk standing there, and the chance was too good to be lost. i knew he would find it there, and send it to percy as soon as he reached home. if it hadn't been for old moffat it would all have worked right." utter silence met this tissue of impudence, defiance, truth and falsehood, and he saw plainly enough that he was believed to have committed the theft of percy's money for theft itself, pure and simple, and that fear of detection only had induced him to make the effort at restoration. "i say, neville," he continued, "you know i did not mean to keep the money, don't you?" but percy only turned contemptuously away without any reply in words. none were needed. lewis was answered. "i'm going to do my best not to be sent back here," said lewis, striving to continue his bravado, although his heart was sinking as he began to realize more and more in what a predicament he had placed himself. "such a set of muffs, teachers and scholars, i never met. no one can take a joke, or even see it." "i think it likely your efforts will be crowned with success," said raymond stewart, himself a boy of not too much principle, but who, in common with the rest of the school, had been inexpressibly shocked and revolted by lewis' conduct. "you are dismissed," said mr. merton, appearing at the door. "lewis flagg, you are to go to the doctor in his study." what sentence was meted out to lewis in that interview with the doctor the boys did not know until their return to school after the holidays, when he did not appear among them, and they were told on inquiry that he would not do so. he endeavored to brazen it out with dr. leacraft as he had with the boys, insisting that the whole affair, the abstraction of the money and the placing it in seabrooke's trunk, was "only a joke;" but the doctor altogether refused to look upon it in any other light than that of an unmitigated theft and an atrocious attempt to fasten it upon another when he feared detection for himself. no protestations to the contrary served lewis' turn, and from this day forth his evil influence was happily lost to the school. and this was the story which percy had to pour into the ears of his innocent young sister on his return home. on the first opportunity which presented itself the morning after his arrival at his uncle's he told her all, extenuating nothing of his own misconduct and weakness in the beginning, and acknowledging that he had almost wilfully suffered himself to be led into disobedience and wrong, and richly deserved all the shame and trouble which had fallen upon him. lena was inexpressibly shocked by the account of this last wickedness of flagg's, for she, in common with dr. leacraft and every one else who heard the tale, gave him credit only for the deliberate theft of percy's money and then of the effort to throw it upon seabrooke, either as an act of revenge or else because he feared that it would be found in his possession. he returned to her the hundred-dollar note which had such a story attached to it, and in his turn had to hear from lena her belief that the second sum sent for his relief had come from hannah, and that the old nurse had sacrificed the gold which she had destined for her own glorification to his rescue from his predicament. she reproached him for having appealed to hannah, a servant in his father's house, for aid; and in her turn had to hear his reproaches for believing that he would condescend to such a thing, and received an emphatic and solemn denial that he had been guilty of this, or that he had ever let hannah know of the straits he was in. he had never, he asseverated, spoken or written to any one concerning this, save herself; if he had done so it would have been to his indulgent uncle, colonel rush, to whom he would have applied. how then had hannah become possessed of his secret, was the question which the brother and sister now asked of each other and of themselves. here was a mystery, indeed; for that it had been hannah who sent that second hundred dollars could not be doubted after miss trevor's revelations. and why should she have sent the money unless she had known that percy was in sore need? "did you tell hannah anything about it?" he asked. "no!" answered lena, indignantly. "how could i tell her such a thing? and you know how you told me i must never, never tell." "and you did not show her my letter?" asked the puzzled percy, who was by no means pleased, as may be imagined, by the knowledge that one other, at least, must share the secret. "no," repeated lena, still more vexed that he should suppose her to be capable of such an evasion, which to her sense of uprightness would have been as bad as speaking a falsehood by word of mouth; "no, of course i did not, that would have been telling her, would it not? one can _do_ a falsehood as well as tell it," and although she had intended no reflection upon her brother, no thrust at him, percy was ashamed as he remembered how often, during the last few months, he had done this very thing; how he had shuffled and evaded, and thought it no great harm as long as he did not put his falsehood into actual words. "well, no one knows how thankful i am to you, lena, dear," he said. "what can i ever do for you?" "tell uncle horace. i wish, oh, i do _wish_ you would tell him," said his sister. "tell uncle horace; no, never!" exclaimed percy. "i couldn't. think of that look in his eyes when he hears of anything he thinks shabby or--well--dishonorable. he'd be ready to put me out of his house if he heard about that letter, even though we didn't know what was in it. i couldn't, lena; i couldn't." "i think it would be better for you," said his sister, "for aunt may knew about hannah and miss trevor, and she is sure to have told him. they have said nothing about it to me; but i know uncle horace will ask you, and then you must confess. it will be best to tell him without waiting till you must; he will not think so badly of you." but percy could not be persuaded to do this; he lacked the moral courage to follow his sister's advice and to confess all to his uncle before he should be obliged to do so, hoping that after all she might be mistaken and that he should still escape that humiliation. since colonel rush had not spoken at once upon the subject, percy believed that he would not do so at all, either because he had no knowledge of these money transactions or because he thought the matter of no importance. "why should uncle horace worry himself about hannah's money?" he said to his sister. "she is nothing to him, and what she chooses to do with it is no business of his. she is not his servant." "no," said the sensible and more far-sighted lena; "but she is in his house. and you are his nephew and under his care, and he must think it strange that a servant would send you so much money and in such a secret way, and he must know that something is wrong; he must suspect that you are in some very bad scrape." but percy was still immovable. easily swayed as he was in general, he was not to be influenced in the only right direction now, and all lena's arguments were thrown away. "but i say, lena," he said, with a sudden change of subject and with his usual, easy-going facility for putting aside for the time being anything which troubled him, "i say, isn't it queer that the girl you are all trying to win this prize for should be the sister of seabrooke? how things do come around, to be sure. i can tell you he's as uppish as the grand panjandrum himself about it, too; says his sister is not an object of charity, and her father and brother are able to look after her." "oh, did you tell him? how could you, percy?" exclaimed lena. "and now he'll tell her, and we meant it to be a surprise to her if any one gained it for her. what will the girls say, maggie and bessie, and the others who are trying for her!" "i let it out without intending to," said percy. "i was so taken by surprise myself when seabrooke told me what he intended to do with that money, that i just let it out without thinking. but afterwards i told him it was a secret, and he said he wouldn't say anything about it. but he was awfully high and mighty, i can tell you. you won't make the thing go down with him. but who is likely to win it,--you won't, of course, whatever your chances may have been in the beginning--any one of your chums? maggie bradford or bessie, or those?" "i don't know," answered lena. "maggie would, of course, if it were for the best composition written by the class; but it is not for that, you know, but for the greatest general improvement in composition. but so many of the girls are interested about gladys seabrooke that i think almost any of our class would give it to her. but it somehow seems as if maggie or bessie _ought_ to have the pleasure because we are the ones who found her out. the girls are all going to miss ashton's on saturday morning, when they will be told; and if any one gains the prize who will give it to gladys seabrooke, it will be sent to her as an easter present." chapter xiv. who wins. a damper had been thrown upon lena's satisfaction in the belief that gladys seabrooke would probably be the recipient of the gift of mr. ashton's trust, by the assurance of her brother percy that seabrooke would be high and mighty and oppose the acceptance of it. she did not reflect that, having a father and mother, it was not at all likely that her brother's fiat would decide the matter for gladys either one way or the other. her first thought and wish was to confide this doubt to maggie and bessie when she should next see them; but she presently felt that she could not well do this without in some measure, at least, betraying the heedless percy. she did not dare to speak of his connection with seabrooke, lest she should draw suspicion upon him after her confidences to bessie. so she must needs keep this little fretting worry to herself, too. there was the question about hannah, also: how the money was to be returned to her, in the uncertainty as to how much she knew, and how she had acquired any knowledge of percy's predicament; for that she knew something of it lena was convinced; and yet the child was equally sure that that letter had never been out of her own keeping. percy had at once put into her hand the hundred-dollar note, telling her that she must find means of conveying it to the old nurse. oh, what a puzzle and a tangle it all was! poor little lena! truly she was having a hard time with all the perplexities and anxieties which percy's worse than folly had brought upon her. but one source of worry, in fact two, were to be lifted before long. colonel rush, having waited for what he considered a sufficient length of time for percy to make a confession had he been disposed to do so, resolved to bring him to it whether he would or no. that percy had been in some serious difficulty, that he was in some way heavily involved, was very evident; likewise that hannah knew of this and had sacrificed her much prized savings to rescue him. at present he--the colonel--stood in the relation of parent to percy and master to hannah; he therefore felt that it was both his right and his duty to make inquiries and put matters straight, so far as he could. on saturday morning, therefore, he called the boy into his library and asked him if there were anything which he would like to tell him, and receive his counsel and perhaps help. he made no accusation; did not tell percy that he knew he had been involved in some trouble which had brought about the necessity--real or fancied--for him to free himself by the payment of this--for a boy--large sum. he put his question and offer kindly and freely, but in a way which showed his nephew he was not to be trifled with. and, indeed, his uncle was the last man in the world with whom percy would have chosen to trifle. not his father, not dr. leacraft, had half the influence over him that this hero-uncle had, the brave, distinguished soldier whose very name was a synonym for all that was honorable and daring. there was no one in the world whose good opinion could have influenced him so much; no one whose scorn and disapprobation he so dreaded, or from whose reproof he would have shrunk. he had shown this when he had pleaded with lena not to betray him to their uncle, of all people. he would really rather have borne some severe punishment at the hands of his parents or teacher than he would one contemptuous word or look from him who was regarded by all his young relations and friends as a chevalier _sans peur et sans reproche_. no prevarication, no shuffling would do here; if he said anything, if he answered at all, it must be the truth and nothing but the truth. he hesitated for a moment, not from any intention of refusing to give his uncle his confidence, or denying that he had been in trouble, but from a desire to frame his confession in the best manner possible; but nothing came to his aid other than the plain, unvarnished truth; nothing else, he felt, would serve his turn here with that steady, searching eye upon him; and in a moment he had taken his resolve, and the whole shameful tale was poured into colonel rush's ears. bad as it was, it was not as bad as colonel rush had feared. rebellion against lawful authority, rank disobedience and deception were to be laid at percy's door, not to speak of the pitiable weakness which had suffered him to be led into this wrong, and the enormity of his at least passive acquiescence when flagg had stolen seabrooke's letter; still worse his own destruction of it, almost involuntary though it was. what he had apprehended the colonel would hardly have confessed even to himself; but the truth was that he had suspected percy of nothing less than the appropriation of some sum which he was compelled to replace or to face open disgrace. and yet colonel rush was not a suspicious man or one ready to believe evil of others, but circumstances had looked very dark for percy, and there had seemed but one interpretation to place upon them. and now, by percy's confession, one part of the mystery was solved; but there still remained that of hannah's presumed knowledge that he was in trouble and had been in sore need of money. assuredly, hannah, devoted as she was to the interests of her nurslings, especially percy, would never have thought of making this sacrifice had she not felt that there was some pressing necessity; but how in the world had the old nurse acquired this knowledge. the nephew was as much puzzled as the uncle, and denied, with an indignation which seemed rather out of place in the light of past occurrences, any imputation that he had asked her to assist him. but now, percy inquired, could the colonel have the hundred-dollar note exchanged for gold so that it might be restored to faithful hannah in the form in which she had always kept it. it was easy enough to do this, the colonel said; but the trouble would be to make hannah confess that she had sent it, still more so why she had sent it. colonel rush would not say so to the children, seeing that no such idea had occurred to them, but it was his own opinion that hannah had in some way obtained unlawful possession of percy's letter to lena, had mastered its contents, and then taken steps for his relief which she believed could not be discovered. of the kindly advice and admonition given to percy by his uncle there is no need to speak further; but it resulted in making percy feel that he would do anything rather than again run the risk of forfeiting the good opinion which he now valued more than ever. meanwhile, during the time that percy was closeted with his uncle in the library, that portion of the members of the "cheeryble sisters' club" which constituted the choice band of "inseparables," namely maggie and bessie bradford, belle powers, lily norris, and fanny leroy, having joined forces on their way to miss ashton's, had called in to see lena. this had been done at the suggestion of the ever considerate maggie, who, although naturally heedless about the little everyday business of life, never forgot to do "nice things" for others. when she was much younger, extreme carelessness had been her besetting fault, and, as is the manner of this "little fox," had created much trouble for herself and for others; but having become convinced that it was her duty to cure herself of this, she had set to work to do it in such earnest that that which had been a burden and a care to her was fast becoming a settled habit, and it was but seldom now that any act or word of heedlessness could be laid to her charge, while her ever obliging disposition and loving heart prompted many a deed of kindness which she never failed to carry out if it were in her power to do so. "but we have to stop as we come back, to tell her that you have the prize," said bessie. "we will stop again and tell her who has gained it as we come back," answered maggie. "but i think she will like it if we stop now, so that she will know we are thinking about her and are so sorry that she cannot be with us. but, bessie, i think you are quite mistaken in believing so surely that i will have the prize. i know quite well that there are two or three who have improved in composition more than i have." bessie made no reply in words, but shook her head as if unconvinced. with lena neville and gracie howard out of the lists, she found it quite impossible to believe that any one but her own maggie could be the successful competitor. but all agreed that it would be well to call in and see lena for a moment and let her be sure that she was not forgotten. "and," said maggie, "there is the doctor's carriage at the door. we will wait till he comes downstairs and ask him how soon lena will be able to go about and have a little excitement, so that we can arrange about the fair. it is just a good chance for us. then we will tell lena what he says if he is encouraging." maggie and bessie were almost as much at home in colonel rush's house as they were in their own, and had they chosen to go in and out twenty times a day, they would always have been welcome; and the young friends who accompanied them were about as much at their ease, although not one among the quintette would ever have been obtrusive or troublesome. the doctor, who knew each one of them, being, as it happened, family physician to their respective households, was just about taking leave and was standing in the hall talking to mrs. rush. "hallo!" he said, his kindly face beaming upon the smiling flock who trooped in when starr opened the door for them. "hallo! what a bevy of birdlings! but how comes it that you are not at miss ashton's? i have just left my laura there, and she is in a state of frantic expectation over this composition prize the finest authoress among you is to gain this morning. are none of you interested?" "oh, yes, sir, all of us," answered lily norris, always ready to be spokeswoman; "we are going to miss ashton's in a few moments. but we are not to be there until twelve o'clock, and it is not that yet. and if the finest authoress is to have the prize, it will be maggie's." "so laura seems to think," said dr. middleton, and shy maggie, not caring to put forth in his presence any further disclaimer to the still undecided honors which her sister and friends seemed determined to put upon her head, smiled doubtfully. "doctor," she said, "would you mind telling me how soon you think lena will be able to bear a little excitement?" the doctor looked grave. "my child," he said, "i fear lena is under more excitement now than is good for her." then turning to mrs. rush, he added, "there is little use in expecting her to make rapid progress while she is fretting herself, as she is evidently doing, over some real or imaginary evil. do you think it possible," an idea occurring to him, "that she is troubled about losing the chance to win this prize?" "i scarcely think so," said mrs. rush. "she was even more than anxious for it at one time; but the principal object for which she wanted it is gained now, and she is not the child to fret herself over a disappointed ambition." "well," said the doctor, "find out the trouble if you can. you cure the mental ill and i will answer for the physical. but what is this excitement you are speaking of, maggie?" "we are going to have a fair, doctor," answered maggie. "we wanted to have it at easter, but put it off because lena is so lame and not strong enough, and we would like to know how soon she will be well enough." the doctor thought a moment. "perhaps," he said, presently, "if she were interested in this fair it might do her good and take her mind from whatever is troubling her. try it, maggie; set the time for your fair at no distant date, and see what it will do for her. good-morning, mrs. rush. good-by, my cheerybles." and the busy physician departed on his rounds. "i believe it is the prize," said lily, as the whole flock, bidden to do so by mrs. rush, mounted the stairs to lena's room. "i know that lena was perfectly crazy to have that prize so she could spite her father and mother--and i would be, too, if i were she--and i am sure she feels very badly about it." "why, lily!" said maggie. "well," said lily, "i'm sure it's perfectly natural if she does--_such_ a father and mother--specially mother. she's the kind that always think they're right, and she turned up her nose at miss ashton, and then she had to find out what a splendid teacher she is, and lena improved so much in composition and everything else before she was burned that i expect she could have taken the prize even before maggie. she just wanted her mother to _know_ that she couldn't do a better thing than to leave her with miss ashton to the end of her days. and if you mean, maggie, that i am not respectful in my speaking of mrs. neville, i know i am not, and i don't mean to be. such an unmothery mother don't deserve any respect, and i'm not going to give it to her." "hush!" said maggie, as they reached the door of lena's room. lily's strong impression that lena was unhappy because of her inability to compete for the prize was strengthened when she saw her, and the other children were inclined to agree with her, for lena seemed so little disposed to talk upon the subject that they were all convinced that it was a disagreeable one to her. the only voluntary allusion she made to it was when maggie bade her good-by with the promise of a return after the matter had been decided; then she drew her down to her and whispered, "i hope you will have it, maggie, i hope you will." maggie smoothed her cheek, smiled, and said: "thank you, dear; but i would rather have you well so that we may have our fair. the doctor says he thinks you will soon be well enough to come to it, and we are only waiting for that now." then the little party left with a renewed promise to return and let her know how the day had turned, and took their way to miss ashton's. all the "cheeryble sisters," save lena neville and gracie howard, were present, each one full of eager expectancy, although there was scarcely a doubt in any mind who would be the winner. it had been impossible to induce gracie to take any part or to show any interest in the competition, and she had resolutely refused to come with the rest of her classmates this morning, and there was no obligation upon her to do so, as it was now holiday time and this was something outside of the regular school duties. mr. ashton, fond as he was of giving prizes and of stimulating the emulation of his niece's pupils, was content to bring matters to a speedy conclusion when the time arrived, and never detained the little girls long or kept them in suspense by tiresome speeches. so now in a few words he praised them for their earnest and faithful efforts; said that he had been treated to a perusal of many of the compositions written during the last term in order that he might himself have an opportunity of judging whether miss ashton's verdict were just, and that he had been both surprised and gratified to observe the improvement made by almost every member of the class. "but," he said in conclusion, "in comparing the compositions written at the commencement of the term of trial and those last submitted to miss ashton, i had, from my own unbiassed judgment, and before i had learned the choice of your teacher, decided that the one best entitled to the prize and the bestowal of this art education is miss bessie bradford." "excuse me, sir; you mean _maggie_ bradford," said bessie, in her own quiet, demure little way, still unable to shake off her conviction that maggie and no one but maggie must be the winner, and believing that mr. ashton had merely mistaken the name of the sisters. "no," said mr. ashton, smiling at her, "while giving all due credit to your sister maggie's compositions, which i have read with much pleasure, i still repeat that no little girl in the class has made such manifest improvement as yourself, and to you both your teacher and myself award the prize." "thank you, sir," said bessie, simply, but with a sparkle in her eye and a flush of pleased surprise rising to her cheek, "thank you very much. but, miss ashton"--turning to her teacher, "do you not think that if lena had been able to try with the rest of us all the time, she would have been the one to gain this prize?" miss ashton smiled kindly at her. "well, yes, bessie," she said, with some seeming reluctance; "since you ask me so plainly, i must say that had lena been able to continue in competition with the rest, i think she would have distanced every one. i never saw such rapid improvement as she was making; her whole heart seemed to be in it. my uncle was astonished at her progress in that short time." "then," said bessie, rising, "i think she ought to have the prize. please excuse me, sir,"--quaintly--"for saying _ought_ to you and miss ashton, but it was not lena's fault that she could not go on trying with the rest of us, but only because she was so very brave and unselfish in the fire. and if she improved so much in that time, she would have improved a great deal more; and i think the prize ought to be given to her. i am very glad you liked my compositions, sir, but it would be a great deal more prize for me if lena had it. please let her, mr. ashton. she has a very good and excellent reason, too, for wanting it so much; it is so that her father and mother will think miss ashton the best teacher that ever was, and let her stay with her a very long time." in her earnestness to carry her point she had forgotten that she was saying so much; and she now stood looking from mr. ashton to his niece, quite unembarrassed, but evidently set in this purpose. mr. ashton looked at her, then turned to his niece; there was a moment's whispered conversation between them, and then the gentleman addressed himself to the class. "what do you all say?" he asked. "do you all agree that since lena neville has been providentially prevented from continuing her efforts, and since she made so much improvement while she was able to enter the lists, that bessie shall be permitted to resign this reward to her, and that she shall be the one to name the candidate for my trust?" "yes, sir; yes, sir," came without one dissenting voice from the young group. "then you shall have the pleasure of telling this to lena, bessie," said mr. ashton. "you have certainly fairly earned that right." "and," said bessie, looking round upon her classmates, "if everybody will be so kind as not to tell lena that she was not chosen first. it would be quite true, would it not, to say that she had done so well at the first that we all thought it fair for her to have it?" "it shall be as you say," said mr. ashton; then continued, "we all bind ourselves, do we not, to do as bessie wishes and to keep this little transaction a secret among ourselves, making no mention to lena neville that the prize was not awarded to her in the first instance?" "unless she asks any questions; but i do not think she will," said conscientious bessie. miss ashton came over to her with her eyes very suspiciously shining, and stooping down kissed bessie, saying, "you blessed child!" while maggie, always readily moved to tears or smiles, as befitted the occasion, put her arms about bessie's neck, and grasping her teacher's skirts with the other hand and laying her head against her, began to cry softly. but sentiment and lily norris could not long exist in the same atmosphere, and she now exclaimed: "how i wish we were all boys just for ten minutes, so we could give three cheers and a tiger for bessie and three more for lena. i suppose it wouldn't do, would it, miss ashton?" "hardly for little girls," said miss ashton, although she herself looked very much as if she were ready to lead a round of applause. "well, we can clap, anyway," said lily, "that's girly enough," and she forthwith set the example, which was speedily followed by the rest, mr. ashton himself joining in from his post at his niece's desk. "i'd like to give thirty-three groans for mrs. neville," said lily, in an undertone, "but i suppose we couldn't." there was little doubt that the whole class were even better pleased to have the decision given in favor of lena than they had been for bessie, favorite though she was, so strongly had their sympathies been aroused for the former. imagine the surprise and delight of lena when the news was brought to her by her jubilant little friends. she could hardly believe it, hardly believe that in spite of her enforced absence from school, in spite of her inability to hand in her compositions for so many weeks, she had been the one to receive this much coveted opportunity, and that she was not only free to bestow it upon her own little country-woman, but that her own credit would redound to that of miss ashton. of how gladys received the gift--for her parents set aside all harley's objections to her doing so--of how she became warm friends with nearly all of our "cheeryble sisters," and of what came of that may be read later on in "maggie bradford's fair." scanned images of public domain material from the google print archive. [illustration: josiah flynt.] notes of an itinerant policeman by josiah flynt author of "tramping with tramps" [illustration] boston l. c. page & company _mdcccc_ _copyright, _ by l. c. page & company inscribed to willard ropes trask note. a number of the chapters in this book have appeared as separate papers in the _independent_, _harper's weekly_, the _critic_, _munsey's magazine_, and in publications connected with mcclure's syndicate; but much of the material is new, and all of the articles have been revised before being republished. introductory. for a number of years it had been a wish of mine to have an experience as a police officer, to come in contact with tramps and criminals, as a representative of the law. not that i bore these people any personal grudge, or desired to carry out any pet policy in dealing with them; but i had learned to know them pretty intimately as companions in lodging-houses and at camp-fires, and had observed them rather carefully as prisoners in jails, and i was anxious to supplement this knowledge of them with an inquiry in regard to the impression they make on the man whose business it is to keep an official watch over them while they are in the open. i desired also to learn more concerning the professional offender than it had been possible for me to find about him in tramp life. if one has the courage to go and live with professional criminals as one of them, he can become even more intimate with them than in a police force, but it is very difficult to associate with their class long and not be compelled to take an active part in their criminal enterprises, and my interest in them was not so great that i was prepared to do this. i merely wanted to know how strong they are as a class, in which sections of the country they are the most numerous, whether they have peculiar characteristics differentiating them in public thoroughfares from other types of outlaws, how they live, and what is the general attitude toward them of our police and prison authorities. partial answers to these questions i had been able to get in hoboland, but i was anxious to fill them out and get any new facts that would throw light on the general situation. during the spring and summer of last year ( ) it was possible for me to have a police officer's experience. the chief of a large railroad police force gave me a position as a patrolman, and, in company of two other officers, i was put on a "beat" extending over two thousand miles of railroad property. the work we were given to do was somewhat of an innovation, but it afforded me an excellent opportunity to secure the information i desired. for two months and a half, which was the extent of my connection with the undertaking and with the force, we had to travel over the property, protecting picnic trains, big excursions, passengers travelling to and from towns where circuses were exhibiting, and the ordinary scheduled traffic, whenever there was reason to believe that pickpockets and other thieves were likely to put in an appearance. early in the spring wandering bands of thieves start out on tours of the railroads. they follow up circuses and picnics, and make it a point to attend all big gatherings, such as county fairs, races, conclaves, and congresses. their main "graft," or business, is pocket-picking, but in a well-equipped "mob" there are also burglars, sneak-thieves, and professional gamblers. the pickpockets and gamblers operate, when they can, on passenger trains, and they have become so numerous and troublesome in a number of states that railroad companies are compelled to furnish their own protection for their patrons. this protection, on the road for which i worked, has generally been provided for by the stationary members of the force, and more or less satisfactorily, but last year the chief wanted to experiment with "a flying squadron" of officers, so to speak, who were to go all over the property and assist the stationary men as emergency required, and we three were chosen for this work. in this way it was possible for me to come in contact with a large variety of offenders, to make comparisons, and to see how extensively criminals travel. it was also easy for me to get an insight into the workings of different police organisations along the line, and to inspect carefully lock-ups, jails, workhouses and penitentiaries. in the following chapters i have tried to give an account of my finding in the police business, to bring out the facts about the man who makes his living and keeps up a bank account by professional thieving, to tell the truth in regard to "the unknown thief" in official life who makes it possible for the known thief to prey upon the public, and to describe some of the tramps and out-of-works who wander up and down the country on the railroads. there is much more to be said concerning these matters than will be found in this little book, but there are a great many persons who have no means of finding out anything about any one of them, and it is to such that my remarks are addressed. until the general public takes an interest in making police life cleaner and in eliminating the professional offender and the dishonest public servant from the problems which crime in this country brings up for solution, very little can be accomplished by the police reformer or the penologist. chapter i. who constitute our criminal classes? the first duty of a policeman, no matter what kind of a police force he belongs to, is to inform himself in regard to the people in his bailiwick who are likely to give him trouble. in a municipal force an officer can only be required to know thoroughly the situation on his particular beat; if he can inform himself about other districts as well, he is so much more valuable to the department, but he is not expected to do much more than get acquainted with the people under his immediate surveillance. in a railroad police force it is different, and it is required of the officer that he study carefully the criminal situation in all the towns and villages on the division on which he is stationed. some divisions are longer than others, but the average railroad policeman's beat is not less than sixty miles, and in some cases nearly two hundred. mine, as i have stated, was over two thousand miles long, and it took in five different states and nearly all the large cities in the middle west. i was, consequently, in a position to acquaint myself pretty thoroughly with the criminal classes in one of the most populous and representative parts of the country. offenders differ, of course, in different localities, and one is not justified in drawing sweeping conclusions concerning all of them from the study of a single type, but my work was of such a nature that, in the course of my investigations, i encountered, indoors and out, the most frequent offenders with whom the policeman and penologist have to deal. it would take a large book merely to classify and describe the different types, but there is a general analysis that can be made without any great sacrifice of fact, and it is this i desire to attempt in this chapter. there are six distinct categories of offenders in the united states to which may be assigned, as they are apprehended and classified, the great majority of our lawbreakers. they are: the occasional or petty offender, the tramp, the "backwoods" criminal, the professional criminal, the "unknown" thief, and what, for want of a better name, i call the diseased or irresponsible criminal. all of these different types are to be found on the railroads, and the railroad police officer must know them when he sees them. the largest class is that of the petty offenders, and it is in this category that are found the majority of the criminally inclined foreigners who have emigrated to our shores. it is a popular notion that europe has sent us a great many very desperate evil-doers, and we are inclined to excuse the increase of crime in the country on the ground that we have neglected to regulate immigration; but the facts are that we have ourselves evolved as cruel and cunning criminals as any that europe may have foisted upon us, and that the foreigners' offences are generally of a minor character, and, in a number of instances, the result of a misunderstanding of the requirements of law in this country, rather than of wilful evil-doing. i hold no brief for the strangers in our midst in this connection; it would be very consoling, indeed, to know that we ourselves are so upright and honest that we are incapable of committing crimes, and, this being proved, a comparatively easy task to lessen the amount of crime; but there is no evidence to show that this is the case. the majority of the men, women, and children that i found in jails, workhouses, and penitentiaries, on my recent travels, were born and brought up in this country, and they admitted the fact on being arrested. if the reader desires more particular information concerning this question, the annual police reports of our large cities will be found useful; i have examined a number of them, and they substantiate my own personal finding. in some communities the proportion of foreign offenders to the general foreign population is greater than that of native offenders to the general native population, but i doubt whether this will be found to be the case throughout the country; and even where it is, i think there is an explanation to be given which does not necessarily excuse the crimes committed, but, in my opinion, does tone down a little the reproach of wilfulness. the average foreigner who comes to the united states looks upon the journey as an escape; he is henceforth released, he thinks,--and we ourselves have often helped to make him think so,--from the stiff rule of law and order in vogue in his own land. he comes to us ignorant of our laws, and with but little more appreciation of our institutions than that he fancies he is for evermore "a free man." in a great many cases he interprets "free" to mean an independence which would be impossible in any civilised country, and then begins a series of petty offences against our laws which land him, from time to time, in the lock-up, and, on occasions, in jail. theft is a crime in this country as well as elsewhere, and we can make no distinction in our courts between the foreigner and native, but i have known foreigners to pilfer things which they thought they were justified in taking in this "liberal land;" they considered them common property. some never get over the false notions they have of our customs and institutions, and develop into what may be termed occasional petty thieves; they steal whenever the opportunity seems favourable. it is this class of offenders, consisting of both natives and foreigners, that is found most frequently in our police courts and corrective institutions. i have put the tramp next to the occasional offender in numerical importance, and i believe this to be his place in a general census of the criminal population, but it is thought by some that his class is the most numerous of all. doubtless one of the reasons why he is considered so strong is that he is to be found in every town and village in the country. it must be remembered, however, that he is continually in transit, thanks to the railroads, and is now in one town and to-morrow in another. in both, however, he is considered by the public to represent two distinct individuals, and is included in the tramp census of each community. in this way the same man may figure a dozen times, in the course of a winter, in the enumeration of a town's vagabonds, but as a member of the tramp population he can rightfully be counted but once. it is furthermore to be remarked concerning this class that a great many wanderers are included in it who are not actual vagabonds. the word tramp in the united states is made to cover practically every traveller of the road, and yet there are thousands who have no membership in the real tramp fraternity. some are genuine seekers of work, others are adventuresome youths who pay their way as far as food and lodging are concerned, and still others are simple gipsy folk. the genuine tramp is a being by himself, known in this country as the "hobo." the experienced railroad police officer can pick him out of a general gathering of roadsters nearly every time, and the man himself is equally expert in discovering amateur roadsters. i will describe one of the first men i learned to know in hoboland; he is typical of the majority of the successful tramps that i met during my experience as a police officer. his name was "whitey,"--st. louis whitey,--and i fell in with him on the railroad, as is the case in almost all hobo acquaintances. he was sitting on a pile of ties when i first saw him. "on the road, jack?" he said, in a hoarse, rasping voice, sizing me up with sharp gray eyes in that all-embracing glance which hoboes so soon acquire. they judge a man in this one glimpse as well as most people can in a week's companionship. i smiled and nodded my head. "bound west?" "yes." "the through freight comes through here pretty soon. i'm goin' west, too. this is a good place to catch freights." i sat down beside him on the ties, and we exchanged comments on the weather, the friendliness of the railroad we were on, the towns we expected to pass through, some of the tramps we had met, and other "road" matters, taking mental notes of each other as we talked. i noticed his voice, how he was dressed, where he seemed to have been, the kind of tramps he spoke most about, how he judged whether a town was "good" or not, whether he bragged, and other little things necessary to know in forming an opinion of all such men; he observed me from the same view-point. this is the hobo's way of getting acquainted, of finding out if he can "pal" with a man. there are no letters of introduction explaining these things; each person must discover them for himself, and a man is accepted entirely on the impression that he makes. a few men have great names that serve as recommendations at "hang-outs," but they must make their friends entirely on their merits. merely as a hobo there was nothing very peculiar about "whitey." he looked to be about forty years old, and knew american tramp life in all its phases. his face was weather-beaten and scarred, and his hands were tattooed. he dressed fairly well, had read considerably, mainly in jails, wrote a good hand, knew the rudiments of grammar, and almost always had money in his pockets. he made no pretensions to be anything but a hobo, but the average person would hardly have taken him for this. he might have passed in the street as a sailor, and on railroads he was often taken for a brakeman. i did not learn his history before becoming a tramp,--it is not considered good form to ask questions about this part of a man's life,--but from remarks that he dropped from time to time i inferred that he had once been a mechanic. he was well informed about the construction of engines, and could talk with machinists like one of their own kind. he had been a tramp about eight years when i first met him, and had learned how to make it pay. he begged for a thing, if it was possible to be begged, until he got it, and he ate his three meals a day, "set downs" he called them, as regularly as the time for them came around. i was with him for two weeks, and he lived during this time as well as a man does with $ , a year. his philosophy declared that what other people eat and wear he could also eat and wear if he presented himself at the right moment and in the right way, and he made it his business to study human nature. while i travelled with him he begged for everything, from a needle to a suit of clothes, and did not hesitate to ask a theatre manager for free tickets to a play for both of us, which he got. what made him a tramp, an inhabitant of hoboland, was that he had given up the last shred of hope of ever amounting to anything in decent society. every plan that he made to "get on" pertained exclusively to his narrow tramp world, and i cannot recall hearing him even envy any one in a respected position. i tried several times to sound him concerning a possible return to respectable living, and tentatively suggested work which i thought he could do, but i might as well have proposed a flying trip. "it's over with me," was his invariable reply. his fits of drunkenness--they came, he told me, every six weeks or so--had incapacitated him for steady employment, and he did not intend to give any more employers the privilege of discharging him. he had no particular grudge against society, he admitted that he was his own worst enemy; but, as it was impossible for him to live in society respectably, he deemed it not unwise to get all he could out of it as a tramp. "i'm goin' to hell anyhow," he said, "and i might as well go in style as in rags." being considerably younger than he, he once barely suggested that perhaps i would better try to "brace up," but it was in no sense of the word an earnest appeal. indeed, he seemed later to regret the remark, for it is out of order to make such suggestions to tramps. if they want to reform, the idea is that they can do it by themselves without any hints from friends. as a man, separate from his business, "whitey" was what most persons would call a good fellow. he was modest, always willing to do a favour, and everybody seemed to like him. during our companionship we never had a quarrel, and he helped me through many a strait. i have seen him once again since the first meeting. he was not quite so well dressed as formerly, and his health seemed to be breaking up, but he was the same good fellow. in late years i have not been able to get news of him beyond the rumour that he was dying of consumption in mexico. the menace of the tramp class to the country seems to me to consist mainly in the example they set to the casual working man,--the man who is looking around for an excuse to quit work,--and in the fact that they frequently recruit their ranks with young boys. it is also to be said of them that they are often in evidence at strikes, and take part in the most violent demonstrations. as trespassers on railroads they are notorious; they are a constant source of trouble to the railroad police officer. strictly speaking, the majority of them cannot be called criminals, although a great many of them are discouraged criminals, but in the chapter dealing with "the lake shore push" it will be seen how ferocious some of them become. the next largest class is composed of what i call backwoods criminals. scattered over the country, in nearly every state of the union, are to be found districts where people live practically without the pale of the law. these places are not so frequent in the east as in the west, in the north as in the south, but they exist in new england as well as in western states. they are generally situated far away from any railroad, and the inhabitants seldom come in touch with the outside world. the offenders are mainly americans, but of a degenerated type. they resemble americans in looks, and have certain american mental characteristics, but otherwise they are a deteriorated collection of people who commit the most heinous offences in the criminal calendar without realising that they are doing anything reprehensible. i have encountered these miniature "whitechapels" mainly on my excursions in tramp life, but i had to be on the lookout for them during the police experience. in one of the states which my "beat" traversed, i was told by my chief that there was a number of such communities, and that they turned out more criminals to the population in a year than the average large city. one day, while travelling in a "caboose" with a native of the state in question, i asked him how it came that it tolerated such nests of crime, but he was too loyal to admit their existence. "we used to have a lot of them," he explained, "but we've cleaned them up. you see, when we discovered natural gas, it boomed everything, and we've been building railroads and schools all over. no; you won't find those eyesores any more; we're as moral a state to-day as any in the union." it was a pardonable pride that the man took in his state, but he was mistaken about the matter in question. there are communities not over a hundred and fifty miles from his own town where serious crimes are committed every day, and no court ever hears of them because they are not considered crimes by the people who take part in them. not that these people are fundamentally deficient in moral attributes, or unequal to instruction as to the law of mine and thine, but they are so out of touch with the world that they have forgotten, if indeed they ever knew, that the things they do are criminal. it is impossible at present to get trustworthy statistics in regard to this class, because no one knows all of its haunts, but if it were possible, and the entire story about it were told, there would be less hue and cry about the evil that the foreigners among us do. i refer to the class without advancing any statistics, because it came within my province as a police officer to keep track of it, and because it had attracted my attention as an observer of tramp life; but it is well worth the serious consideration of the criminologist. the professional criminal, or the habitual offender, as he is called by some, comes next in numerical strength, but first of all, in my opinion, in importance. i consider him the most important because he frankly admits that he makes a business of crime, and is prepared to suffer any consequences that his offences may bring upon him. it is he who makes crime a constant temptation to the occasional offender, and it is also he with whom we have the most trouble in our criminal courts; he is almost as hard to convict as the man with "political influence." on my "beat" he was more in evidence, in the open at least, than any of the other offenders mentioned, except the tramp, but, as i stated, the warm months are the time when he comes out of his hiding-places, and it was natural that i should see a good deal of him. my fifth category is made up of what a friend calls "the unknown thief," whom he considers the most dangerous and despicable of all. he means, by the unknown thief, the man in official life, or in any position which permits of it, who protects, for the sake of compensation, the known thief. "if you will catch the unknown thief," he has frequently said to me, "i will contract to apprehend and convict the known," and he believes that until we make a crusade against the former, the latter is bound to flourish in spite of all our efforts. he sees no use, for instance, in spending weeks and sometimes months in trying to capture some well-known criminal, as long as it is possible for the man to buy his freedom back again, and it is his firm belief that this kind of bargaining is going on every day. although there was no doubt that the unknown thief was to be located on any "beat," if looked for, my instructions were not to disturb him unless he seriously disturbed me, and as he made no effort to interfere with my work i merely made a note of his case when we met, and doubtless he also "sized me up" from his point of view. how strong his class is, compared with the others, must remain a matter of conjecture, but i have put his class fourth in my description because it is the quality of his offences, rather than their quantity, which makes his presence in the criminal world so significant. there are those who believe that he is to be found in every town and village in the united states, if enough money is offered him as bait, but i have not sufficient data to prove, or to make me believe, such a statement. the league between him and the known thief--the man whose photograph is in the "rogue's gallery"--is so close, however, that i have devoted special chapters to both offenders. of the last category, the man whom i have called the irresponsible criminal, there is not much of interest or value that i have to report. while acting as police officer i practically never encountered him in the open, and the few members of his class that i saw in prisons seemed to me to have become irresponsible largely during their imprisonment. perhaps i take a wrong view of the matter, but i cannot get over the belief that the majority of offenders, particularly those who are ranked as "professionals," are _compos mentis_ as far as the law need require. in every department of the prisons that i visited, men were to be seen who gave the impression of being at least queer, but they formed but a very small part of the prison population, and may very possibly have been shamming the eccentricities which seemed to indicate that they were on the border line of insanity. for this reason, and, as i say, because i met none in the open, it has seemed fair to put this class last. the foregoing classification is naturally not meant as a scientific description in the sense that the professional criminologist would take up the matter. i have merely tried to explain how the criminal situation in the united states seems to the man whose business it is to keep an official watch over it. i may have overlooked, in my classification, offenders that some of my brother officers would have included, but it stands for the general impression i got of the criminal world while in their company. to attempt to estimate the numerical strength of these classes as a whole would land one in a bewildering bog of guesses. it is only recently that we have made any serious effort to keep a record of offenders shut up in penal institutions, of crimes which have been detected and of offenders who have been punished, and it is a fact well known in police circles that there is a great deal of crime which is never ferreted out. there is consequently very little use in trying to calculate the number of the entire criminal population. the most that i can say in regard to the question is that never before has this population seemed to me to be so large, but i ought to admit that not until my recent experience have i had such an advantageous point of view from which to make observations. chapter ii. the professional criminal. in appearance and manner the professional criminal has not changed much in the last decade. i knew him first over ten years ago, when making my earliest studies of tramp life. i saw him again five years ago, while on a short trip in hoboland, and we have met recently on the railroads; and he looks just about as he did when we first got acquainted. ordinarily he would not be noticed in mixed company by others than those accustomed to his ways. he is not like the tramp, whom practically any one can pick out in a crowd. he dresses well, can often carry himself like a gentleman, and generally has a snug sum of money in his pockets. it is his face, voice, and habits of companionship that mark him for what he is. not that there is necessarily that in his countenance which lombroso would have us believe signifies that he is a degenerate, congenitally deformed or insane, but rather that the life he leads gives him a look which the trained observer knows as "the mug of a crook." he can no more change this look after reaching manhood than can a genuinely honest man, who has never been in prison, acquire it. i had learned to know it, and had become practised in discovering it, long before i became a policeman. it took me years to reach the stage when in merely looking hurriedly at a criminal something instinctively pronounced him a thief, but such a time certainly comes to him who sojourns much in criminal environment. there are, of course, certain special features and wrinkles that one looks for, and that help in the general summing up, but after awhile these are not thought of in judging a man, at least not consciously, and the observer bases his opinion on instinctive feeling. given the stylish clothes to which i have referred, a hard face, suspicious eyes which seem to take in everything, a loitering walk, a peculiar guttural cough, given by way of signal, and called the thief's cough, and a habit of lingering about places where a "sporty" constituency is usually to be found, and there is pretty conclusive evidence that a professional thief is in view. all of this evidence is not always at hand; sometimes there is only the cough to go by, but, the circumstances being suspicious, any one of them is sufficient to make an expert observer look quickly and prick up his ears. in new york city, for instance, there are streets in which professional thieves can be met by the dozen, if one understands how to identify them, and it is only necessary to pass a few words and they can be drawn into conversation. some are dressed better than others,--there are a great many ups and downs in the profession,--and some look less typical than the more experienced men,--it takes time for the life to leave its traces,--but there they stand, the young and old, the clever and the stupid, for any one who knows how to scrape acquaintance with them. they are the most difficult people in the world to learn to know well until one has mastered their freemasonry, and then they are but little more fearful of approach than is the tramp. i devote a special chapter to their class, because i believe that they are the least understood of all offenders, and also, as i stated in the last chapter, because i consider them the real crux of the problem of crime in this country. the petty offender is comparatively easy to discourage, the backwoods criminal will disappear as our country develops, the born criminal, the man who says that he cannot help committing crimes, can be shut up indefinitely, but the professional criminal, thanks to his own cleverness and the league he and the unknown thief have entered into, baffles both the criminologist and the penologist, and he probably does more financial harm to the country than all the other offenders put together. he is the man that we must apprehend and punish before crime in the united states will fail to be attractive, and at the present moment it is its attractiveness which helps to make our criminal statistics so alarming. i have placed him fourth in numerical strength in my general classification, and i believe this to be a correct estimate of the number of those who really make their living by professional thieving. if those are to be included who would like to succeed as professional thieves and fail, and drop down sooner or later into the occasional criminal's class, or into the tramp's class, the position i have given the so-called successful "professional" would have to be changed; but it has seemed best to confine the class to those who are rated successful, and on this basis i doubt whether an actual census taking, if it were possible, would prove them to be more numerous than i have indicated. seeing and hearing so much of them on my travels, i made every effort to secure trustworthy statistics in regard to their number, and as the majority of them are known to the police, it seemed reasonable to suppose that, if i passed around enough among different police organisations, i ought to get satisfactory figures, but the fact of the matter is that the police themselves can only make guesses concerning the general situation, and i am unable to do any better. when putting queries concerning the number of the offenders in question, my informants wanted me to differentiate and ask them about particular kinds of professionals before they would reply. one very well informed detective, for instance, said: "do you mean the whole push, or just the a number one guns? if you mean the push, why you're safe in saying that there are , in the whole country, but the most of 'em are a pretty poor lot. if you mean the really good people, , will take 'em all in." the cities which were reported to have turned out the greatest number were new york, chicago, boston, philadelphia, pittsburg, buffalo, detroit, cleveland, cincinnati, st. louis, and san francisco. chicago was given the palm for being, at the present moment, the main stronghold of habitual criminals. nearly every photograph i saw of a young offender was said to represent one of chicago's hopefuls, and the pictures of the old men were generally described as the likenesses of new york city "talent." chicago's lead in the number of "professionals" was explained by one man on the ground that it is a mecca and medina "for young fellows who have got into some scrape in the east. they go to chicago, get in with the push, and then start out on the road. the older men train them." a question that i was continually putting to myself when meeting the "professional" was: what made him choose such a career? he is intelligent, agreeable to talk to, pleasant as a travelling companion, and among his kind a fairly good fellow, and why did he not put these abilities and talents to a better use? to understand him well i believe that one must make his acquaintance while he is still living at home, as a boy, in some city "slum." he does not always come from a slum, but, as a rule, this is where he begins his criminal career. in every quarter of this character there is a criminal atmosphere. the criminologists have not given this fact sufficient prominence in their writings. they make some mention of it, but it is seldom given its true significance in their books. the best-born lad in the world can go wrong if forced to live in this corrupt environment. not that he is necessarily taught to commit crimes, or urged to, although this sometimes happens; they become spontaneous actions on his part. the very air he breathes frequently incites him to criminal deeds, and practice makes him skilful and expert. in another environment, in nine cases out of ten, he could be trained to take an interest in upright living; in this one he follows the lines of least resistance, and becomes a thief. let me describe the childhood of a criminal boy who will serve as a type for thousands. he was born in one of the slums of new york, not far from the bowery, and within a stone's throw of the clock of cooper institute, and the white spire of grace church. from the very start he was what is called an unwelcome child. not that there was any particular dislike toward him personally, but his parents had all they could do, and more too, to care for the half dozen other children who had come to them, and, when he appeared, there was hardly any room in the house left. he grew up with the sense of want always present, and when he got into the street with the other children of the neighbourhood, it became even more oppressive. pretty soon he learned from the example of his playmates that begging sometimes helps to quiet a boy's hunger, and that pilfering from the grocer's sidewalk display makes the dinner at home more substantial. these are bits of slum philosophy that every child living in slums learns to appreciate sooner or later. the lad in question was no exception. he was soon initiated into the clique, and played his own part in these miniature bread riots. he did not appreciate their criminal significance. all he knew was that his stomach was empty and that he wanted the things he saw in the shops and streets. he was like a baby who sees a pretty colour gleaming on the carpet, and, without counting the cost or pains, creeps after it. he knew nothing of the law of mine and thine, except as the thing desired was held fast in the fist of its owner. not that he was deformed in his moral nature, or naturally lacking in moral power, but this nature and power had never been trained. like his body, they had been neglected and forgotten, and it is no surprise that they failed to develop. had somebody taken him out of his "slum" environment, and taught him how to be respectable and honest, his talents might have been put to good uses, but luck, as he calls circumstances, was against him, and he had to stay in low life. in this life there is, as a rule, but one ideal for a boy, and that is successful thieving. he sees men, to be sure, who find gambling more profitable, as well as safer, and still others humble enough to content themselves with simple begging, but as a lad truly ambitious and anxious to get on rapidly, he must join the "crook's" fraternity. there is also a fascination about crime which appeals to him. men describe it differently, but they all agree that it has a great deal to do in making criminals. my own idea is that it lies in the excitement of trying to elude justice. i know from experience as an amateur tramp that there is a great deal of satisfaction in slipping away from a policeman just as he is on the point of catching you, and i can easily understand how much greater the pleasure must be to a man, who, in thus dodging the officer, escapes not simply a few days in a county jail, but long years in a penitentiary. it is the most exciting business in the world, and for men equal to its vicissitudes it must have great attractions. in time it interested the boy i am describing. at first he thieved because it was the only way he knew to still his hunger, but as he grew older the idea of gain developed, and he threw himself body and soul into the thief's career. he had been brought up in crime, taught to regard it as a profitable field of labour, full of exciting chase and often splendid capture, and naturally it was the activity that appealed to him. he knew that he had certain abilities for criminal enterprises, that there was a possibility of making them pay, and he determined to trust to luck. the reader may exclaim here: "but this boy must have been a phenomenon. no lad wilfully chooses such a career so young." he was in all respects an average slum boy in his ambitions and maturity, and if he seems extraordinary to the reader, the only explanation i can give is that low life develops its characters with unusual rapidity. outcast boys are in business and struggling for a place in the world long before the respectable boy has even had a glimpse of it. this comes of competition. they must either jump into the fray or die. the child in them is killed long before it has had a chance to expand, and the man develops with hothouse haste. it is abnormal, but it is true, and it all goes to show how the boy in question was registered so early in the criminal calendar. he had to make his living, he had to choose a business, and his precocity, if i may call it that, was simply the result of being forced so early into the "swim." he ought to have been a frolicsome child, fond of ball and marbles, but he had but little time for such amusements. money was what he wanted, and he rushed pell-mell in search of it. i will leave him in the company of hardened tramps and criminals, into which he soon drifted, and among whom he made a name for himself. the resolution to be a "professional" comes later with some lads than with others. until well on into their teens, and sometimes even into their twenties, there are those who merely drift, stealing when they can and managing otherwise when they can't. finally they are arrested, convicted, and sent to state prison. here there is the same criminal atmosphere that they were accustomed to in the open, only more of it. go where they will in their world, they cannot escape it. in prison they form acquaintances and make contracts against the day when they will be free again. they are eventually turned loose. what are they to do? the "job," of course, that they have talked about with a "pal" in the "stir" (penitentiary). they do it, and get away with two or three thousand. this decides them. they know of more deals, and so do their cronies, and they agree to undertake them and divide the plunder. so it goes on for years, and finally they have "records;" they are recognised among their fellows and in police circles as clever "guns;" they have arrived at distinction. only one who has been in the criminal world can realise how easy it is for a boy to develop on these lines. he who studies prison specimens only, and neglects to make their acquaintance while they are still young and unhardened, naturally comes to look upon them as weird and uncanny creatures, to be accounted for only on the ground that they are freaks of nature; but they are really the result of man's own social system. if there were no slums in this country, no criminal atmosphere, and no unknown thieves to protect the known, there would be comparatively few professional offenders. the trouble at present is that when a boy gets into this atmosphere, once learns to enjoy criminal companionship and practice, he is as unhappy without them as is the cigarette fiend without his cigarette. violent measures are necessary to effect any changes, and there comes a time when nothing avails. before closing this chapter it seems appropriate to refer to some of the peculiar characteristics of professional offenders. the most that can be attempted in the space of one chapter is a short account of a few of their traits as a class, but an interesting book might be written on this subject. a peculiar caste feeling or pride is one of the most noteworthy characteristics of professional offenders. they believe that, in ostracising them from decent company, the polite world meant that they should live their lives in absolute exile, that they should be denied all human companionship, and in finding it for themselves among their kind, in creating a world of their own with laws, manners, and customs, free of every other and answerable only to itself, they feel that they have outwitted the larger world, beaten it at its own game, as it were. their attitude to society may be likened to that of the boy who has been thrown out of his home for some misdemeanour and who has "got on" without paternal help and advice; they think that they have "done" society, as the boy often thinks that he has "done" his father, and the thought makes them vain. individually, they frequently regret the deeds which lost them their respectability, and a number, if they could, would like to live cleaner lives, but, collectively, their new citizenship and position give them a conceit such as few human beings of the respectable sort ever enjoy. watch them at a hang-out camp-fire gathering! they sit there like indian chiefs, proud of their freedom and scornful of all other society, poking fun at its follies, picking flaws in its morality, and imaginatively regenerating it with their own suggestions and reforms. at the bottom of their hearts they know that theirs is a low world, boasting nothing that can compare with the one which they criticise and carp at, and that they are justly exiled; but the fact that they have succeeded alone and unaided in making it their own puffs them up with a pride which will not allow them to judge impartially. i remember talking with a western criminal in regard to this matter, and taking him to task for his loose and careless criticism, as i considered it. he had tossed off bold judgments on all manner of inconsistencies and immoralities which he claimed that he had found in respectable society, and took his own world as a standard of comparison. generosity was a virtue which he thought much more prevalent in his class. he listened to my objections, and seemed to accept some of the points made, but he closed the argument with a passionate appeal to what he would have called my class pride. "but think how we've fooled 'em, cigarette," he exclaimed. "why, even when they put us in prison we've still got our gang, just the same, our crowd,--that's what tickles me. i s'pose they are better'n i am,--i'll be better when i'm dead,--but they ain't any smarter'n i am. they wanted me to go off in the woods somewhere 'n' chew up my soul all alone, 'n' i've fooled 'em,--we all have! that's what i'm kickin' for, that they give in 'n' say, 'you ain't such rubes as we thought you were.' if one uv 'em 'ud jus' come to me 'n' say: 'jack, it's a fact, we can't ring in the solitary confinement act on you.--d'you know, i believe i'd reform jus' to be square with 'im. what i want 'em to do is to 'fess up that i ain't beholden to 'em for cump'y, for my gang, 'n' that they ain't any smarter'n i am in findin' a gang. i'm jus' as big a man in my crowd as they are in theirs, 'n' nothin' that they can do'll make me any smaller. ain't that right, eh?" and i had to confess that from his point of view it was. respectable, law-abiding people never realise what a comfort this caste feeling is to thousands of men. i have met even educated men to whom it has been a consolation. they have never been able to define exactly the compensation it affords them, indeed they have often been ashamed to admit the fact, but it has remained, nevertheless. i think the man i have just quoted enunciates it as clearly as it is possible to be set forth in words. his joy consisted in discovering that he was just as "smart," just as full of resource, just as equal to a trying situation, even in his disgrace and downfall, as the man who shunned his company, who wanted him banished or sent to prison; he had revenged himself, so to speak, on his avengers, a gratification which is more or less dear to all human beings. personal liberty and freedom in contra-distinction to class liberty and freedom also count for a good deal in the outcast's life. besides being independent of other people, he is also more or less independent of his own people, so far as laws and commands are concerned. he tolerates no king, president, or parliament, and resents with vigour any infringements upon his privileges, either from society or his own organisation. in fact, he leaves the organisation and lives by himself alone, if he feels that its unwritten, but at times rather strict, laws bear too heavily upon him. there are men who live absolutely apart from the crowd, shunning all society, except that which supports them. they are often called "cranks" by their less thoroughgoing companions, and would probably impress every one as a little crotchety and peculiar, but their action is the logical outcome of the life. the tendency of this life is to make a man dislike the slightest conventionalism, and to live up to his disliking is the consistent conduct of every man in it. he hates veneer about him in every particular and only as he throws off every vestige of it does he enjoy to the full his world. in a lodging-house in chicago, some years ago, i met a tramp who was a good example of the liberty-loving professional offenders. we awoke in the morning a little earlier than the rest, and, as it was not yet time to get up, fell to talking and "declaring ourselves," as tramps do under such circumstances. after we had exchanged the usual cut and dried remarks which even hobo society cannot do entirely without, he said to me, suddenly, and utterly without connection with what had gone before: "don't you love this sort o' life?" at the same time looking at me enthusiastically, almost as if inspired. i confessed that it had certain attractive features, and showed, for the sake of drawing him out, an enthusiasm of my own. "i don't see," he went on, "how i have ever lived differently. i was brought up on a farm, but, my goodness, i wouldn't trade this life if you'd give me all the land in the wild west. why, i can do just as i please now--exactly. when i want to go anywhere, i get on a train and go, and no one has the right to ask me any questions. that's what i call liberty,--i want to go just where i please," and he brought out the words with an emphasis that could not have been stronger had he been stating his religious convictions. i have often been asked whether tramps and criminals have class divisions and distinctions like those in society proper. "are there aristocrats and middle class people, for instance," a number of persons have said to me, "and does position count for much?" most certainly there are these distinctions, and they constitute one of the most notable features of the life. there is just as much chance to climb high and fall low, in the outcast world, there are just as many prizes and praises to win, as in the larger world surrounding it, and the investigator will find, if he observes carefully enough, the identical little jealousies, criticisms, and quarrels that prevail in "polite society." a man acquires position in pretty much the same way that it is acquired elsewhere,--he either works hard for it, or it is granted him by common consent on account of his superior native endowment. there is as little jumping into fame in this world as in any other; one must prove his ability to do certain things well, have a record of preparation consistent with his achievements, before he can take any very high place in the social order. the criminal enjoys, as a rule, the highest position; he is the aristocrat of the entire community. everybody looks up to him, his presence is desired at "hang-out" gatherings, boys delight to shake his hand, and men repeat his remarks like the wise sayings of a prophet. he feels his importance, works for it, and tries to live up to it, just as determinedly as aristocrats in other spheres of activity, and if he loses it and falls from grace, the disappointment is correspondingly keen. the tramp may be said to belong to the middle class of the outcast world, and, like other middle class people, he often finds life a little nicer in a class socially above him. he enjoys associating with criminals, being able to quote them on matters of interest to the "hang-out," and giving the impression that he is _au courant_ with their business. if he can do all this well it makes him so much the more important among his fellows. his own particular class, however, also has advantages and attractions, and there are men who seek his company nearly as much as he seeks the criminals. there is an upper middle class as well as a lower, and the line of separation is sharply drawn. the "old stagers," the men who have been years "on the road," and know it "down to the ground," as they say, constitute the upper middle class. they can dictate somewhat to the tramps not so experienced as they are, and their opinions are always listened to first. if they say, for instance, that a certain town is "hostile," unfriendly to beggars, the statement is accepted on its face, unless some one has absolute evidence to the contrary, and even then the under class man makes his demurrer very modestly. i have never succeeded in getting as far as this during my tramp experiences, and had to remain content in the lower division, but even there i had a significance denied to men less experienced than i was. a newcomer, for instance, a "tenderfoot," was expected to show me deference, and if i happened in at a "hang-out," where only newcomers were present, i was cock of the walk. even these "tenderfeet" have a class pride, too, for at the bottom of all this social arrangement there are men and women who have been turned out of every class, the outcast of the outcasts. they are called "tomato-can-stiffs" and "barrel dossers" by the people above them, terms which indicate that they have reached the last pitch of degradation. they realise their disgrace nearly as much as their counterparts who have been turned out of respectable society, and often look with longing upon the positions they once enjoyed, but their lot is not entirely without its consolations, as i learned one day in talking with one of them. "well, at any rate," he said, "i ain't got to keep thinkin' all the while 't i'm goin' to fall and lose my posish the way you have to. there's no place for me to fall to, i've come to the end o' my rope. you've got to keep lookin' out fer yerself ev'ry step you take--keep worryin' about gettin' on, 'n' i don't have them worries any more, 'n' it's a big relief, i tell you. you feel the way you do when you get out o' prison." this thought is a little fanciful, and not entirely sincere, but i can nevertheless appreciate the man's point of view, for, with all the independence and liberty of this world, there is, just as he said, considerable worry about holding one's place, and i can imagine a time when it would be pleasant to be relieved of it all. the financial profits in a professional offender's career are not easy to determine, but they must be taken into consideration in all accounts of his life, no matter how short. i saw more of the pickpocket, during my police experience, than of any other professional thief, and it was possible for me to learn considerable in regard to his winnings. chapter iii. the business of picking pockets. next to the tramp, who is more of a nuisance on american railroads, however, than a criminal offender, the pickpocket is the most troublesome man that a railroad police officer has to deal with. he has made a study of the different methods by which passengers on trains can be relieved of their pocketbooks, and unless he is carefully watched he can give a railroad a very bad name. the same is true of a circus, in the wake of which light-fingered gentry are generally to be found. circuses, like railroads, hire policemen to protect their properties and patrons, and there are certain "shows" which one can attend and feel comparatively safe; but in spite of the detectives which they employ, many of them are exactly what the owner of a circus called them in my presence--"shake-downs." everybody is to be "shaken down" who is "green" enough to let the pickpockets get at him, and, if pocketbooks are lost, the proprietor will not be held responsible. a railroad company, on the other hand, is severely criticised, and justly, if pickpockets are much in evidence on its trains, and as they are the most numerous of all habitual offenders, the railroad police officer is kept very busy during the summer season. the origin of the pickpocket takes one too far back in history to be explained in detail here, but the probability is that his natural history is contemporaneous with that of the pocket. when pockets were sewed into our clothes, and we began to put valuables into them, the pickpocket's career was opened up; to-day he is one of the most expert criminal specialists. in the united states he has frequently begun life as a newsboy, who, if he is dishonest, soon learns how to take change from the "fob" pocket of men's coats. if he becomes skilled at this kind of "grafting," and attracts the attention of some older member of the pickpocket's guild, he is instructed in the other branches of the art, or trade, as one pleases; i call it a business. an apt pupil can become an adept before he is in his teens; indeed, some of the most successful pickpockets in the country to-day are young boys. there are a number of reasons why so many criminals make pocket-picking a specialty. in the first place, it brings in hard cash, which does not have to be pawned or sold, and which it is very difficult to identify. the "leather," or pocketbook, is "weeded" (the money is taken out) and then thrown away, and unless some one has actually seen the pickpocket take it he cannot be convicted. another reason is that it requires no implements or tools other than those with which nature has provided us. two nimble fingers are all that is necessary after the victim has once been "framed up," and the ease with which victims are found constitutes still another attraction of the profession. we all think we take great care of our pocketbooks in crowded thoroughfares, and on street cars, but the most careful persons are "marks" for the pickpocket, if he has reason to believe that the plunder will pay him for the necessary preparations. it is usually the unwary farmer from the country who makes the easiest victim, but there are knowing detectives who have been relieved of their purses. a fourth reason, and the main one, is that a practised hand at the business takes in a great deal of money. twenty-five dollars a "touch" is not considered a phenomenal record if there is much money in the crowd in which the pickpocket is working, and five or six touches in a day frequently only pay expenses. an "a number one grafter" is after hundreds and thousands, and it is the ambition of every man in the business to be this kind of pickpocket. some men operate on the "single-handed" basis; they travel alone, arrange their own "frame-ups" (personally corner their victims), and keep all the profits. there are a few well-known successful pickpockets of this order, and they are rated high among their fellows, but the more general custom is for what is called a "mob" of men to travel together, one known as the "tool" doing the actual picking, and the others attending to the "stalling." a stall is the confederate of the pickpocket, who bumps up against people, or arranges them in such a way that the pickpocket can get at their pockets. practically any one who will take a short course of instruction can learn how to stall, but there are naturally some who are more expert than others. a tool who hires his stalls and makes no division of spoils with them will sometimes have to pay as much as $ a day for skilled men. when he divides what he gets, each man in the mob may get an equal share or not, according to a prearranged agreement, but the tool is the man who does the most work. of first-class tools, men who are known to be successful, there are probably not more than , in the united states. practically every professional offender has a "go" at pocket-picking some time in his career, but there are comparatively few who make a success of it as actual pickpockets; the stalls are numberless. among the , there are some women and a fair portion of young boys, but the majority are men anywhere from twenty to sixty years old. the total number of the successful and unsuccessful is thirty, forty, or fifty thousand, as one likes. all that is actually known is that there is an army of them, and one can only make guesses as to their real strength. it is an interesting sight to see a mob of pickpockets at work. it equals football in exercise and tactics, and fencing in cunning and quickness. at the railroad station one of the favourite methods is for the mob to mix with the crowd, pushing and tugging on and near the steps of the coaches. it was my duty to watch carefully on all such occasions, and i was finally rewarded by seeing some pickpockets at work. we were three officers strong at the time, and we had concentrated at the middle of the train, where the pushing was worst. one of the officers was a man who has made a lifelong study of grafts and grafters. he and i were standing close together in the crowd, and suddenly i saw him dart like a flash toward the steps of one of the cars. i closed in also, as best i could, and there on the steps were two big stalls blocking the way, one of them saying to the people in front of him: "excuse me, but i have left my valise in this car." his confederate was near by, also pushing. between the two was the tool and his victim, and my companion had slipped in among them just in time to shove his arm in between the tool's arm and the victim's pocket, and the "leather" was saved. in the aisle of a car, when the passengers are getting out, another popular procedure is for one stall to get in front of the victim, another one behind him, and the tool places himself so that he can get his hand into the man's pocket. the stall behind pushes, and the one in front turns around angrily, blocking the way meanwhile, and says to the innocent passenger: "stop your pushing, will you? have you no manners?" the man makes profuse apologies, but the pushing continues until the two stalls hear the tool give the thief's cough or make a noise with his lips such as goes with a kiss, which is a signal to them that the leather has come up, and is safely landed; it has been passed in lightning fashion to a confederate in the rear; the tool never keeps it if he can help it. on reaching the station platform the front stall begs pardon for the harsh words he has spoken to the passenger, and in the language of the story-teller, all ends happily. still another trick, and one that can happen anywhere, is to tip the victim's hat down over his eyes, and then "nick" him while he is trying to get his equilibrium again. a veteran justice of the peace whom i met on my travels, and who was the twin brother in appearance of the poet whittier, has an amusing story to tell of how this trick was played on him. we had called on him--my two brother officers and i--to find out whether he would enforce the local suspicious character ordinance if we brought pickpockets before him that we knew were in town. it was circus day, and a raft of them had followed the show to the town, and we were afraid that they might attempt to do work on our trains. "pickpockets! enforce the suspicious character ordinance!"--screamed the squire. "you just bring the slickers in, an' see what i'll do with them. why, gol darn them, they got $ out o' me the night the soldier boys came home." "how did it happen?" "i can't tell you. all i know is that i was coming down that stairway over there across the street, my hat fell over my eyes, and i stumbled. i didn't think anything about it at the time, but when i got down to simpson's, where i was going to buy some groceries for my wife, i found that my wallet was gone." "did you notice any one on the stairway?" "yes, there was a well dressed looking stranger coming down behind me, and there may have been another man, coming down behind him, but i couldn't 'a' sworn that they took my wallet. some boys found it down the street the next day." for the benefit of those who have to travel much, and we are all on the cars a little, it seems worth while to describe the "raise" and "change" tricks. when a victim is to be raised, one stratagem is for a stall to go to him and ask whether a valise in the seat behind him is his,--it always is,--and if so will he kindly shift it. if passengers are getting into the car, and there is considerable crowding going on, the man will be relieved of his pocketbook while he is reaching down for his valise. to "change" a man is to shift him from one car to another on the plea that the one he is in is to be taken off at a junction. while he is changing and going down the aisle, his "roll" or wallet disappears, and the pickpockets take another train at a junction. it is all done in a flash, and is as simple as can be to those who are in the business, but a great many "leathers" would be saved if people would only be careful and not crowd together like sheep. at circuses i have seen them push and shove like mad, and all the while the pickpockets were at work among them. an interesting story is told of an illinois town where a mob of pickpockets had been led to believe that they had "squared" things sufficiently with the authorities to be able to run "sure thing" games at the show grounds with impunity,--pickpockets dabble occasionally in games,--but they swindled people so outrageously that the authorities got scared and prohibited the games. the men had paid so heavily for what they had considered were privileges, that they were going to be losers unless they got in their "graft" somehow, so they turned pickpockets again, and, as one man put it, "simply tore the crowd open." when it dispersed, the ground was literally covered with emptied pocketbooks. the easiest way for the police officer to deal with the pickpocket is to know him whenever he appears, and to let him understand that he is "spotted" and would better keep away. some officers are born thief-catchers, and can seemingly scent crime where it cannot even be seen, and, whether they know a man or not, can pick out the real culprit. the average officer, however, must recognise his man before he can touch him, unless he catches him red-handed, and it is he who knows a great many offenders and can call the "turn" on them, give their names and records, that is the great detective of modern times. the sleuth of fiction, who catches criminals by magic, as it were, is a snare and a delusion. during my police experience i carried with me a pocket "rogue's gallery" of the most notorious pickpockets of the section of the country in which i had to travel. for a time i saw so many of these gentry in the flesh, and was shown so many pictures, that a bewildering composite picture of all formed in my mind. it seemed to me, sometimes, as if everybody i saw in the streets resembled a pickpocket that i had to be on the lookout for. i finally determined to commit to memory a picture a day, or every two or three days as was necessary, and learn to differentiate, and the method proved successful. to-day there are about fifty pickpockets that i shall know wherever i see them. the majority of them i have met personally, but a number are known to me by photograph only. to illustrate the usefulness of photographs in the police business, and incidentally my method, i must tell about a pickpocket whom i identified, one morning, in a town where a circus was exhibiting. he had tried to take a watch from a fellow passenger on a trolley-car, and had nearly succeeded in unscrewing it from the chain when he was discovered. he was a desperate character, and drew a razor, with which he frightened everybody off the car, including the motorman. he attempted to escape by running the car himself, but on seeing that it was going to take him back to the town, he deserted it, appropriated a horse and buggy, and made another dash for liberty. he was eventually driven into a fence corner by some of the young men of the town, and kept at bay until the police arrived, when he was taken to the lock-up, where, in company with my two companions, i saw him. he was brought out of his cell for our inspection, and, as luck would have it, it was his photograph in my book that i had elected to commit to memory a few days before. i knew him the minute i saw him, and he was identified beyond a possible doubt. in return he gave me the worst scolding i have ever had in my life, and threatened to put out "my light" when he is free again, but this is a _façon de parler_ of men of his class; after he has served his five or ten years he will have forgotten me and his threat. the amount of money which pickpockets take in annually is probably greater than that of any of the other specialists in crime. it would be idle to say how large it is, but it is a well-known fact that thousands of dollars are stolen by them at big public gatherings to which they have access. it was reported, for instance, that at the recent confederate soldiers' reunion in the south $ , were stolen by pickpockets, and almost every day in the year one reads in the newspapers of a big "touch" reaching into the thousands. i think it is a conservative statement to say that in a lifetime the expert pickpocket steals $ , . multiply this figure by , , which i have given as the number of the first-class tools in the country, and the result reaches high up into the millions. like other professional thieves, the pickpocket throws away his money like water, and very seldom thinks of saving for old age, but practically all successful mobs have "fall money" (an expense fund for paying lawyers, etc., when they get arrested) of from $ , to $ , each, carefully banked, and i know of one pickpocket who is the owner of some very valuable real estate. a good illustration of the rapidity with which they recoup themselves financially after a period of rest, or a term in prison, is the story told about one of them who returned to this country penniless after a pleasure trip in europe. the man related the incident to a friend of mine. "didn't have a red," he said. "i tackled a saloon keeper i knew for a couple of thousand. how long do you think i was paying him back? three weeks!" if the pickpocket knew how to save his money, and could invest it well, his children might some day be but millionaires. chapter iv. how some towns are "protected." speaking generally, there are two methods in vogue in american police circles for dealing with crime, and they may be called the compromising and the uncompromising. the latter is the more honest. in a town where it is followed, the chief of police is known to be a man who will not allow a professional thief within the city limits, if he can help it, and he is continually on watch for transient offenders. he will make no "deal" with criminals in any particular, and he takes pride in securing the conviction and punishment of all whom his men apprehend. he is naturally not liked by offenders, although they respect his consistency, and there is a local element of rowdies who consider him "an old fogey," but he is the kind of officer that makes germany, for instance, and england, too, in a measure, so free of the class of criminals that in this country are so bold. there are some chiefs of police in the united states of this character, and they become known throughout the criminal world, but there ought to be more of them. the compromising policeman is a man of another stripe. he knows about the uncompromising "copper," has read about him and thought about him, but he excuses his disinclination to accept him as a model on the ground that, if he did, the thieves would "tear his town open." "why, if i should antagonise this class, as you suggest," he will say to the protesting citizens, "they would come here some night and steal right and left, just out of revenge. i haven't enough men to protect the city in that way. the town council only give me so much to run the entire force, and i have to manage the best way i can. if you'll give me more men, i'll try to drive all the thieves out of the city." in certain instances his argument has truth in it; it sometimes happens that he has not enough men to take care of the city from the uncompromising policeman's point of view. the trouble is, however, that because he is thus handicapped he thinks that he can go a step farther, and is justified in reasoning thus: "well, i had to pay to get this position, and if the people don't want the town protected as it ought to be, it isn't my fault, and i'm going to get out of the job all that's in it," and then begins a miserable conniving with crime. to illustrate what a professional thief can accomplish with such a police officer, let it be supposed that the thief is happily married, as is sometimes the case, has a family, and wants to live in a certain town. the chief of police knows him, however, and can disgrace his family, if he is so inclined. the thief wants his family left alone, he takes a pride in it, so he visits the chief at "headquarters," and they have a talk. "see here, chief," he says, "i'll promise you not to do any work in your town, if you'll promise to leave me and mine alone. now, what's it going to cost me?" sometimes it costs money, not necessarily handed over the desk, and not always to the chief personally, but in a manner that is satisfactory to all concerned. in other cases the matter is arranged without money, and the thief may possibly promise to "tip off" to the chief some well-known "professional" when he comes to town, so that the chief can get the benefit of an advertisement in the newspapers; they will say that such and such a man has been captured, "after a long and exciting chase ably conducted by our brilliant chief." the chase generally amounts to a quiet walk to the hotel or saloon where the visiting thief is quietly reading a newspaper or drinking a glass of beer, and the capture dwindles down to a request on the part of the chief or his officer that the man shall go to the "front office," which he does, wondering all the while who it was that "beefed" on him (told the chief who he was). a number of the "fly catches," as they are called in police parlance, which create so much comment in the press, can be explained in some such way as this. meanwhile, however, what has become of the protected thief? he may keep his word, a number of thieves do, and commit no theft in the town where he is allowed to live; it depends on how much money he needs to meet his various expenses, how dear his family is to him, and what temptations he encounters. if he does break his word, however, and there are no hall-marks on his theft, by which it can be definitely traced to him, all he has to say, when asked by his protector as to who did it, is: "it must have been outside talent." in other words, he can "work" with almost absolute safety in the town, and the innocent public is paying taxes all the while for a police force that ought to be able to apprehend him. to prove that this case is not hypothetical but actual, i would say that i have recently been in at least two cities where i know that professional thieves live with impunity, for i saw as many as ten in each, and they were not afraid to do criminal work in either. the police of both places claimed that in giving the thieves a domicile they were protecting their towns, but any one who knows either city well is aware that professional crime is prevalent. one of the worst features of the policy under consideration is its selfishness. a chief who says to a professional thief, "i will leave you alone if you will leave me alone," practically says to him: "go to another town when you want to steal." an amusing story is told in this connection about two chiefs who aired their different notions in regard to the matter, at one of the annual conferences of the chiefs of police. one of them had said tentatively, so the story goes, that he had heard that in some cities criminals were protected, and that he considered the practice a bad one. another chief, who was thought to favour such a policy, got up and said that he did not know much about the question in hand, but he did know that his town was particularly free of crime. "that may be, bill," retorted the first speaker, "but i'll tell you what your thieves do--they come down to my town to steal and go back to yours, where they are left alone, to live." i give the anecdote merely as gossip, but it illustrates splendidly one of the worst results of compromise with crime. it sometimes happens that an entire municipal administration, or, at any rate, the most powerful officials in it, favour the policy of compromise, and then it is utterly impossible to punish the criminal adequately. i have been in such communities. not long ago i was in a town of about ten thousand inhabitants where a "mob" of new york pickpockets were caught in the act of attempting to pick a pocket. on being charged with the crime by the officers who had discovered them, they admitted their guilt and profession, and said: "but what are you going to do about it?" if the town authorities had been trustworthy the pickpockets could have been sent to the penitentiary; because there was practically no hope of securing their conviction in the local courts on account of their ability to bribe, or to give a purely nominal bail and then run away, they were let go. one of the best illustrations of how a town's officials sell themselves is embodied in the vile character known as "the fixer." i know this man best as a circus follower. connected with nearly all shows, sometimes officially and sometimes not, are men who have games of chance with which they swindle the public. in late years it has become necessary for these men, in order to run their games, to pay for what are called "privileges," and the man who secures these is called "the fixer." he goes to the mayor or the chief of police of a town, as necessity requires,--sometimes to both,--assures them that the games are harmless (which they know is a lie), and hands them $ , $ , or $ , as circumstances may require. in association with the men who have the games are pickpockets and other professional thieves,--indeed the gamesters themselves can frequently change clothes with the pickpockets and let the thieves attend to the games while they pick pockets. it is not necessarily understood that the "crooks" are to be protected by the authorities to the extent that the gamesters are, but "the fixer," who stands in with the thieves also, is supposed to be able to get them out of any serious trouble, or, at least, to warn them if he knows that trouble is brewing. it was once my duty to run a race with a "fixer," and try to get the ear of a mayor of a town before he did. two other officers and myself had assured ourselves that a "mob" of pickpockets was following up a circus which was being transported over the railroad we were protecting, and we knew that in one town, at least, "the fixer" had "squared" things with the authorities. the circus was on its way to another town on our lines, the mayor and police of which we believed we could swing our way if we got to them before "the fixer" did, and we travelled there ahead of him. we were particularly anxious to have the pickpockets arrested if they put in an appearance, and we told the mayor who they were, what protection they were getting, and explained to him how he would be approached by "the fixer." the mayor listened to us, nodded his head from time to time, and then said: "well, there'll be no fixing done in this town, and if you will point out the pickpockets, when they come in, you may rest assured that they will be arrested. i can't understand what the citizens of a town can be thinking of when they elect to office men such as you describe." the pickpockets as well as "the fixer" must have got wind of what we had done, for the former did not appear, and the latter made no call on the mayor. we learned, however, that he arranged things satisfactorily to all concerned in the town where the circus exhibited on the following day. how many towns in this country can be "fixed" in this manner is a question i would not attempt to answer, but i do know that in the district where i was on duty as a police officer a great deal of tact exercise was necessary to beat "the fixer" in a town where it was to his interests to buy up the local authorities; and i ask in wonderment, as did the mayor whom i have quoted: what are the citizens of a town thinking of, when they allow such corrupt officials to manage things? is it because they are ignorant of what goes on, or merely because they are indifferent? a friend in the police business, but a man who has understood how to remain honest in spite of it, answers the question by saying: "the world is a graft; flash enough boodle under nine noses out of ten, and you can do as you like with them. take new york, for instance. i could clean up that city in a week if the people would stand by me. they wouldn't do it. enough would tumble down in front of some fixer to queer everything that i might do. you can't do anything worth while in the police business unless you've got the people behind you, and they are as fickle as a cat. why, if i were chief of police in new york, and i should clean up the city thoroughly, there is a class of business men who would come to me and say that i was taking away some of the main attractions of the city, and that they were going to make a kick about it. heaven knows that the police are corrupt, but i tell you that the public is corrupt, too. see how things are up in canada! i have just come back from there, and i can assure you that there is no such sneak work going on up there as there is with us. their police courts are as dignified almost as is our supreme court, and if a crook gets into one of them they settle him. how many crooks get what they ought to in this country? about one in ten, and he could get off with a light sentence, if he had money enough to square things." perhaps this is true, and we are indifferent to corruption as a people. certainly the police business makes one think so, but i have not been in it long enough to hold to this pessimistic notion. it is my opinion that the majority of the people in this country do not realise what goes on about them, and i can take my own experience as an example. i have seen more of criminal life, perhaps, than the average person, and it would seem that i ought to have been able to learn considerable about the corruption in the country, but i must admit that, until this experience in a police force, i had no idea that it was as widespread as it is. it is not unreasonable to suppose that people who have never had occasion to look into such matters at all must be even more ignorant of the situation than i was. there is a great deal of wrong-doing that is apparent to any one who takes an active part in municipal politics, and the newspapers are continually reporting things which can but make it obvious to all who read that there is a strong criminal class in the united states; but one seldom takes such matters seriously until he is brought in close contact with them, and the general public is not thus influenced. take the mazet committee, which recently investigated new york. so far as the police are concerned, i cannot see that the committee brought to light much that was new, and it was difficult for me to take an interest in this part of the investigation. if they had subpoenaed a few successful professional thieves located in new york, however, and persuaded them to tell what they know, the situation would have been much clearer to me and to the general public. more interest and indignation would also have been aroused if new york is "protected" in the way that i have indicated in the case of other towns. the police are not going to help investigate themselves, and the public is not likely to be permanently affected by what they say. a very definite effect would be made upon me, however, if a thief would get up and tell on what basis he is allowed to live in new york, what it costs him, if anything, to "square" things when he is arrested, what his annual winnings are, and what, in general, he thinks of the criminal situation in the city. he is a specialist entitled to speak with authority, and i would accept his statements as trustworthy. it is, of course, to be replied to all this that it is very difficult to persuade a thief to talk, but the point i would make is that the public seldom gets the truth in regard to such matters as are under consideration. it hears in an indefinite way that corruption is rampant, and then there is an investigation, but the average citizen rarely realises what is going on until some personal business brings him in contact with the suspected officials. let a man have his pocket picked, or his home robbed, and go to the police about it, and he will begin to see how things are managed. if everybody could have this experience, meet both detective and thief, and all could have a talk together, there would be an awakening in public sentiment that would be very beneficial. meanwhile all that i can recommend is to hunt down the unknown thief, and punish him hard. there are different methods by which he can be apprehended, but i know of none better than to catch the known thief and through him find out the other. the police and court proceedings, if carefully followed, are bound to develop the facts, and, these once secured, the public is to blame if the unknown thief is not punished. chapter v. a penological pilgrimage. one of the advantages that the itinerant policeman has over the stationary officer is that he can inspect a large number of penal institutions, and find out who, among the people he has to keep track of, are shut up. the municipal officer may know that a certain "professional" is out of his bailiwick, but unless he can place him elsewhere he is never sure when or where he may turn up again. the itinerant officer, on the other hand, can follow a man, and if he gets into prison the officer knows it immediately. this is a very definite gain in the police business, and it would be well if police forces generally were given the benefit of it. there is a national bureau of identification to which officers who are members may apply for information in regard to any offender of whom there is a record, and the institution is to be recommended to those who are connected with police life, but voluntary information in regard to convicts sent to police chiefs by prison wardens would also be helpful. my interest in the lock-ups, jails, workhouses, and penitentiaries that i visited on my travels was, in a measure, professional, but i was mainly concerned in getting information in regard to their condition and management, and in finding out to what extent they have a deterrent effect on crime. all told, i inspected about thirty-five places of detention and penal institutions, and they represent the best and worst of their kind in the country. in criticising them i would not have it understood that i hold the officials in charge necessarily responsible for their condition--the taxpayers decide whether a community shall have a truly modern prison or not; my purpose is merely to report what i saw, and to comment objectively on my finding. i visited more lock-ups than anything else. on reaching a town, i went as soon as possible to the "calaboose" to see who were held there. sometimes the little prison was empty, and then again every cell would be occupied, but in a week i generally saw from thirty to fifty inmates. mature men predominated, but women and boys were also to be found. the women were invariably separated from the men by at least a cell wall, but the boys, and i saw some not over ten years old, were thrown in with the most hardened criminals. they were allowed to pass about among the men in the lock-up corridor, and at night were shut up with them in the cells. this is the worst feature of the lock-up system in the united states. very little effort is made in the smaller towns to separate the young from the old, the hardened from the unhardened, and even in the lock-ups of large cities a much more careful classification of the inmates is necessary. the officials in charge of these places excuse the policy now in vogue on the ground that there is not room enough to give the boys better attention, and the taxpayers say that there is not money enough in the community to build larger lock-ups. there is always a reason of some sort for every blunder that is made, but as long as we make our lock-ups "kindergartens of crime," as i once heard a criminal call them, there is no excuse whatever to wonder why there are so many offenders. it is a fashion, nowadays, to run to "the positive school" of italy and france for an explanation concerning the origin of the criminal, to ask signor lombroso to diagnose the situation, but in this country we need but make a round of our lock-ups to discover where the fresh crop of offenders comes from. they generally get to the lock-up from the "slum," where they may or may not have shown criminal proclivities, but once in the lock-up and allowed to associate with the old offenders, very few of them, indeed, escape the contaminating influences brought to bear upon them. the county jail may be described as the public school of crime. there are some county jails in which a thorough classification of the inmates is secured, but there is a very small number of these jails compared with the hundreds in which young and old, first offenders and habitual criminals, are all jumbled together. i can write from a full experience in regard to our county jails, because i have not only had to visit them as a police officer, but i have also had to "serve time" in them as a tramp, and i know whereof i speak. practically any boy, no matter what his training has been, can be made a criminal if handed over to skilled jail instructors, and every day in the year some lad, who, after all is said, is really only mischievous, is committed by a magistrate or justice of the peace to a county prison. there is no other place for the magistrate to send the boy, if his parents demand his incarceration, and the sheriff is not prepared to take him to the reform school immediately, and so he is tossed into the general rag-bag of offenders to take his chances. he is eventually sent to the reform school or house of correction, where it is theoretically supposed that he is going to be reformed; but it is a fact that the majority of professional offenders in this country have generally spent a part of their youth in just such institutions, where they were no more reformed than is a confirmed jailbird on his release from a penitentiary. it is an extremely difficult task to change any boy who goes to a reform school after a long sitting in a county jail, and the wonder to me is that our reformatories accomplish what they do. the superintendent of a reformatory school in colorado took me to task some years ago for making the statement in public, in regard to tramps, that i have just made about professional criminals,--that the majority of them have experienced reform-school discipline,--and he said that it was a thoroughly established fact that tramps keep out of such places. of course they keep out of them as full-grown men, as do also grown-up thieves, but they are sent to them as youngsters, if apprehended for some offence, whether they like it or not, and any one who is acquainted with tramps and criminal life knows this to be true. i make so much mention of boys in this paper because they are to be the next generation of offenders, unless we succeed in rescuing them from a criminal life while they are still susceptible to good influences; and we are not doing this, or even seriously thinking about it, when we give them professional thieves and convicted murderers as associates in jails. various suggestions have been made by which the county jail system can be improved, and i favour the one which recommends that the county institution be abolished entirely, and that two or three well-equipped houses of detention be made to suffice for an entire state. such an arrangement would not only be a great deal cheaper than the present practice, but it would permit of a careful division of all the inmates. some of our workhouses are already run on this basis, several counties contributing toward the support and maintenance of each. it would, of course, be necessary to make a county's contributions toward the support of a jail proportionate to its population, but there ought not to be any great difficulty in arranging a satisfactory contract; and it is time, anyhow, that we throw over some of our commercial notions about making corrective and penal institutions pay their way. the thing to do is to make them effective in checking crime, and if they are successful in this very important particular, we can well afford to put a little money in them without worrying about the financial returns. i visited but one reformatory during my pilgrimage, but it was representative of the latest of these institutions. i refer to the elmira, n. y. type. the old and hardened "professional" calls these places the high schools of crime, the next grade after the county jail, but i do not agree with him in this classification. it is true, as he says, that a number of offenders are committed to these institutions, who ought to have been sent to the penitentiary, and it is particularly disgusting to him to see educated men, with "pull" and friends, who have been convicted of crimes for which less favoured offenders would receive sentences to the state prison, relieved of the disgrace of going to prison by being sent to the "kids' pen," as the reformatory is also sometimes called; but, admitting all this, i believe that the modern reformatory, when well managed, represents the best penological notions. as in all prisons, however, where the inmates work on the association basis, a great deal can be taught that is not in the curriculum of the institution, and it is consequently no surprise to meet, in the open, criminals who have "served time" in reformatories. in the reformatory that i visited, it was a disappointment to me to find that men whose faces, manner, and bearing proved them to be, if not actual professionals, at least understudies of men who are, were mixed up in the workshops with young fellows whom any one would have picked out; for comparatively innocent offenders. i believe in the principle of association in certain corrective institutions also, but i do not approve of indiscriminate companionship. a natural reply to my criticism is that it is hard to tell who are the old offenders, but a prison official who knows his business, and has learned how to read faces and to interpret actions, ought to be able to separate the "crook" from the beginner in crime. it is a false notion to think that the former is going to be helped by association with the latter. a prison is a prison, no matter what euphemistic name it is called, and the old offender is not going to allow any "mother's boy" fellow prisoner to set him an example. in the criminal world, as in the larger world on which it lives, the law of the survival of the fittest is operative, and the fittest, as a rule, are those who are the most hardened; in prison and out, it is they who really run things. another mistake made in the reformatory in question, according to my view, is the age limit by which admission into the institution is regulated. when a young man has reached his twenty-first year, and commits a crime which calls for a prison sentence, i say let him have it, no matter whose son he may be, provided the penitentiary authorities observe the classification referred to above. if it can be proved beyond a reasonable doubt that the young man is mentally deficient, and not accountable for his actions, it is obvious that the state prison is no place for him; but, otherwise, it is my observation that more good than harm is done, if he is made to suffer the punishment that the law demands. i realise that i am on debatable ground in taking this view of such cases, but they are debatable largely because the different opinions held in regard to them are the result of different observations. mine have been made mainly in the outdoor criminal world, and i have not had a wide experience with the offender in confinement, but i have met the pampered young criminal so often, and it has been so plain that it was light punishment which trained him to stand the more severe, that i have come to believe that a quick checking-up at the start would have been more beneficial. of penitentiaries i saw two, each in a different state. one contained about two thousand five hundred inmates, and the other about one thousand eight hundred. it is not easy even for a police officer to explore these institutions freely. i know of one warden who refuses to let the police have photographs of criminals in his charge; he says that "it is not nice to pass them around,"--but i managed to see a good deal that i could not possibly have seen as an ordinary visitor, hurried through by a guard. as a general statement, it may be said that a penitentiary reflects the warden's personality. there are rules to be observed and work to be done, which have been arranged and planned for by the board of directors, but the warden is the man with whom the prisoners have to deal, and they look up to him as the principal authority in every-day matters. his main anxiety is to get good conduct out of his charges, and he has to experiment with various methods. some wardens favour one method and some another. one, for instance, will think that leniency and kindness work best, while another will recommend whipping, the dungeon, electricity, hot water, etc., for recalcitrant inmates. the idea of each warden is that he wants things to go smoothly, and if they do not, he has to straighten them out as best he can. all this is very interesting from the warden's point of view, and it interested me also somewhat when visiting the two penitentiaries; but my main endeavour was to try to find out to what extent these institutions were lessening the number of criminals in the communities which they served. a man may be as gentle as a lamb while in durance, and the warden may pride himself on the good conduct he is getting out of him, but how is he going to be when he has his liberty once more? the cleverest criminal is usually the most docile prisoner, and yet he takes up crime again as his profession after his time has expired, and the penitentiary has been in his case merely a house of detention. excepting the death penalty, however, imprisonment in a penitentiary is the final form of punishment that we have in this country, and if it fails to check crime, either our criminals are increasing out of proportion to our means for taking care of them, or we do not administer the proper chastisement. from what i have been able to see of our penitentiaries as a visitor, and have heard about them as a fellow traveller with tramps, and incidentally with criminals, i am inclined to accept the second conclusion. crime has increased in this country faster than the population, but in the older states there are enough penal institutions to take care of the offenders, if they were made to have the discouraging effect on criminals that similar institutions have in europe. the late austin bidwell, an american offender who had a long experience in an english prison, and who was a competent judge of the kind of punishment that is the most deterrent, once said to me that he believed that a short imprisonment, if made very severe, accomplished more than a long imprisonment with comforts. and he added that he thought that in the united states a mistake was made in giving criminals long sentences to easy prisons. i hold more or less to the same view. penologically, i think that the punishment in vogue in delaware, for certain offences, is wiser and more to the point than that in any other state in the union. punishment in prison ought not to be wholly retributive,--it has been well called expiatory discipline,--but it ought to check crime, and up to date there is no satisfactory evidence that our prisons are achieving this end. in many of them the discipline is too lenient. at one of the prisons i visited, two sundays of the month are given up to a lawn festival, which the prisoners' friends may attend. they bring lunch baskets and join the prisoners in the prison garden, where they chat, eat ice-cream, and drink lemonade, sold at a booth presided over by one of the prisoners, and generally amuse themselves. it seemed to me that i was attending a picnic. in a talk with the warden in regard to the affair, he said that he found that such favours made the prisoners more tractable. in my humble opinion, a prison is not a place where favours of this character need be expected or shown, and if good conduct can only be got out of them by being "nice" to them after this fashion, they would better be shut up in their cells until they can learn to obey. in conclusion, i desire to put two queries: why is it that the cleverest criminals in our prisons are frequently to be found taking their ease in the prison hospitals and "insane wards," and how does it come that men who belong to the class of prisoners who ought to wear the "stripes" are allowed the clothes which ordinarily are only given to prisoners who have passed the "stripe" period of their incarceration? in one penitentiary i found a politician and rich physician favoured in the latter particular, and in the hospital and insane ward of another, enjoying themselves in rocking-chairs and a private garden, i found more professional thieves than in any other part of the institution. i ask the questions in all innocence, but there are those who claim that correct answers to them would disclose some very bad practices in prison management. chapter vi. a new career for young men. up till the present time the police business in the united states has remained almost exclusively in the hands of a particular class. from maine to california one finds practically the same type of man patrolling a beat, and there is not much difference among the superior officers of police forces. they all have about the same conceptions of morality, honesty, and good citizenship, and they differ very little in their notions of police policy and methods. the thing to do, the majority of them think, is to keep a city superficially clean, and to keep everything quiet that is likely to arouse the public to an investigation. nearly all are politicians in one form or another, and they feel that the security of their positions depends on the turn that politics may take. if they have a strict chief, one who tries to be honest according to his best light, they are more on their good behaviour than when governed by an easy-going man, but even under such circumstances there may be found, in large forces, a great deal of concealed disobedience. their main friends and acquaintances are saloon-keepers, professional politicians, and employees in other departments of the municipal government. in small towns they mix with the citizens more than in large cities, but the best of them acquire in time a caste feeling which impels them to find companionship mainly among their own kind. not all are dishonest or lazy, but the majority have a code of honour suggested by their life and business. once in the life, and accustomed to its requirements, it is very difficult for them to change to another. they have learned how to arrest men, to make reports, to keep their eyes open or shut according to necessity, to rest when standing on their feet, and to appreciate the benefits of a regularly drawn salary, and their intelligence and general training correspond with such an existence. a few develop extraordinary ability in ferreting out crime, and become successful detectives, and others keep their records sufficiently clean, or secure enough "pull," to rise to superior posts, and in certain cases these exceptional men would fit into exemplary police organisations. as a general thing, however, they are men who would have received much less responsible positions in other walks of life. this is as true of the commanding officers as of the patrolmen. the captain of a precinct is frequently as poorly educated as the patrolman serving under him, and his gold braid and brass buttons are all that really differentiate him from the men he orders about. the chief, in some instances, is a man of demonstrated ability, but there are chiefs and chiefs, and the way their selection is managed it is largely a matter of luck whether a town gets a good or bad one. occasionally the citizens of a town will become indignant, and remove from office a disreputable chief, choosing in his place some highly respected citizen who has consented to take the position on a "reform platform" and for awhile the town has a man at the head of its police force who is accepted as an equal in society and is recognised as an influential man in municipal affairs, but before long the professional politicians get hold of the reins of government again, things get back into the old rut, and the conventional chief returns. it is this precariousness of the life, and the slavery to politicians, that have probably deterred educated young men from making police work their life business. they have seen no chance of holding prominent police positions long, and they have possibly dreaded the companionship which a policeman's life seems to presuppose. the young man just out of college and casting about for a foothold in the world practically never includes the police career in the number of life activities from which he must make a choice. it is the law, medicine, journalism, or railroading which generally attracts him, and he leaves unconsidered one of the most useful callings in the world. there are few men who are given more responsible positions, and who have better opportunities of doing something worth while, than the police officer, and i think that i ought to add, the prison official. in germany this fact is recognised, and men train for police and prison work as deliberately and diligently as for any other profession; in this country very little training is done, and the result is that comparatively inferior men get the important posts, and our cities are not taken care of as they ought to be, and could be. there is nothing sufficiently promising as yet in the state of public opinion to justify one in saying that the time is particularly opportune for young men to begin to consider the police career as a possible calling, but i doubt whether there ever will be until the young men take the matter into their own hands and give public notice of their determination to enter the profession. numerous obstacles will be put in their way, and hundreds will get discouraged, but for those who "stick," a great career will open up. the beginners must necessarily be the pioneers and fight the brunt of the battle, but, the battle once fought, there will be some positions of splendid opportunity. for the benefit of those who may care to consider seriously the possibilities of the career, it will not be inappropriate, perhaps, to describe the kind of men they may expect to have to associate with while going through their apprenticeship, to explain some of the difficulties that will be encountered, and to make a few suggestions in regard to the training necessary for a successful performance of duty. i can write of these matters only as a beginner, but it is the would-be beginner that i desire to reach. in all police organisations supported by cities there are two distinct kinds of officers, the uniformed men and the detectives. among these the beginner will have to pick out his friends, and until he knows well the work of both classes of men he will be in a quandary as to which he desires to ally himself with. there are things in the detective's life which make it more attractive to some men than the policeman's, and _vice versa_. the two officers have different attitudes toward the criminal world, and the beginner will probably be decided in his choice according to the impression the different attitudes make upon him. the uniformed officer, or "flatty," as he is called in the thief's jargon, if he remains upright and honest, arrests a successful professional criminal with the same _sang-froid_ and objectivity that are characteristic of him when arresting a "disorderly drunk." it is a perfunctory act with him; the offender must be shut up, no matter who he is, and he is the party paid to do it. the officer in citizen's clothes, the "elbow," is a different kind of man. he realises as well as the "flatty" that it is his business to try to protect the community which employs him, but he handles a prisoner, especially if the latter is a nicely dressed and well known thief, in a different way from the ostentatious manner of arrest characteristic of the ordinary policeman. it almost seems sometimes as if he were showing deference to his prisoner, and the two walk along together like two old acquaintances. the fact of the matter is that a truly successful professional thief is a very interesting man to meet, and he is all the more interesting to the officer if he has been able to catch him unawares and without much trouble. realising what a big man he has got,--and thieves themselves have no better opinion of their ability than that which the detective has of it,--he likes to ask him about other big men, to get "wise," as the expression is. if it has been a hard chase, he also likes to go over the details of it, and find out who has doubled the most on his tracks. in time, if he keeps steadily at the business and learns to know a number of what are called "good guns" (clever thieves), he develops into a recognised successful thief-catcher; but he has spent so much of his time in fraternising with "guns," in order to learn from them, that he comes to think that his moral responsibility is over after he has located them. technically, i suppose this is true; it is his business to catch, and the state must prosecute and convict. the point i would bring out, however, is that he is inclined to be lenient with his prisoner. to him the struggle has been merely one of intelligence and shrewdness; he has had to be quick and alert in capturing the "gun," and the latter has exercised all of his ingenuity in trying to escape. moral issues have not been at stake; the thief has not stolen from the officer, and why should the latter not be friendly when they meet? in defence of this attitude toward crime it may be said that criminals are much more tractable in the custody of an officer of the kind under consideration than when arrested by some blustering "flatty," who shows them up in the street as they walk along, and it is natural for a detective to try to do his work with as little friction as possible. the question, however, that i was continually putting to myself as a beginner in the business was, whether i should not eventually drift into a very easy-going policeman if i learned to look upon the thief merely as a whetstone, so to speak, on which my wits were to be sharpened. it seemed to me that to do my full duty it was necessary to have moral ballast as well as shrewd intelligence, really to believe in law, and that lawbreakers must be punished. i would not have it understood that there are no police officers who keep hold of this point, but i am compelled to say that the detective--and he is the man to whom we shall have to go before professional crime in this country can be seriously dealt with--is too much inclined to overlook it. the beginner in the profession must take sides, one way or another, in regard to this kind of officer, and as he chooses for him or against him he will find himself in favour or not with the class--and it is a large one--to which the man belongs. it is unpleasant to have to begin one's career by immediately antagonising a number of daily companions, and a series of exasperating experiences follow such a policy, but in the case in question i believe it will be found best to nail up one's colours instanter and never to take them down. the officer who does this gets the reputation of being at least consistent even among his enemies, and he is also relieved of being continually approached by criminals with bribes. once started on his course, and his policy defined, the worst difficulty that he will encounter for a number of months will be a reluctance, natural to all beginners, to make an arrest. it seems easy enough to walk up to a man, put a hand lightly on his shoulder, and say: "you're my prisoner," but one never realises how hard it is until he tries it. during my experience i had no occasion to make an arrest single-handed, but it did fall to my lot to have a prisoner beg and beseech me to let him go after he had been turned over to my care, and to the beginner this is the hardest appeal to withstand. the majority of persons arrested are justly taken into custody, and the bulk of the "hard luck" stories they tell are fabrications, but it takes a man who has been years in the service to listen to some of their tales of woe without wincing. this squeamishness conquered, the beginner will have to be careful not to become hard and pessimistic. there is a good deal to be said in excuse of a police officer who develops these traits of character,--the life he leads is itself often hard,--but if they dominate his nature he learns to look upon the world in general merely as a great collection of human beings, any one of whom he may have to arrest some day. he sees so much that is "crooked" that he is in danger of thinking that he sees crime and thieves wherever he turns, and unless he is very cautious he will drift into a philosophy which permits him to be "crooked" also, because, as he thinks, everybody else is. if the beginner has lived in a society where courtesies and kindnesses, rather than insults and scoldings, have prevailed, he will also find it hard for awhile to appreciate the fact that a police officer is a peacemaker, and not an avenger. wherever he goes, and no matter what he does, he is a target for the nasty slings of rowdies and a favourite victim of the "roastings" of thieves. in tramp life i have had to take my share of insults, and until i experimented with the police business i thought that as mean things had been said to me as a man ought to stand in an ordinary lifetime, but on no tramp trip have i been berated by criminals as severely as during my recent experience as a railroad police officer, and yet it was my duty not to answer back if a quarrel was in sight. not all, however, in the policeman's life is exasperating and discouraging. but few men have so many opportunities of doing good, and of keeping track of people in whom they have taken an interest. nothing has pleased me more in my relations with the outcast world than the chance i had as a railroad patrolman to help in sending home a penitent runaway boy. he had left chicago on the "blind baggage" of a passenger train to get away from a tyrannical stepfather, and he fell into our hands as a trespasser and vagrant several hundred miles from his starting-point. it was a pitiful case with which no officer likes to deal according to the requirements of the law, but we had to arrest him to rescue him from the local officers of the town where he had been apprehended; if he had been turned over to them the probability is that he would have been put on the stone-pile with the hardened tramps, and when released would have drifted into tramp life. we took him to headquarters on the train, and the general manager of the railroad gave him a pass home, where he has remained, sending me a number of weekly accounts about himself. i report the incident both to show the opportunities in a policeman's life, and to give a railroad company credit for a kind deed which has probably preserved for the country a bright lad who would otherwise have been an expense and trouble to it as a vagabond and criminal. a word, before closing this chapter, in regard to how a young man, desirous of following the police career, can best get a start. i chose a railroad police force for my preliminary experience, and i would recommend a similar choice to other beginners if the opportunity is favourable. as long as a man does his work well in a railroad police organisation he is not likely to be disturbed, but under existing conditions the same cannot be said of a municipal force. a railroad officer also has the advantage of being able to travel extensively and to acquaint himself with different communities. if he can rise to the top there is no reason, so far as i can see, why he should not be an eligible candidate for the superintendency of a municipal police force. the chief that i had, if he were able to gather the right men about him, could protect a large city as successfully as he now protects a big railroad system. if it is impossible for a would-be beginner to find lodgment in any police force at the start, my suggestion is that he experiment with the work of a police reporter on a newspaper. it is difficult at present for a police reporter to tell all that he learns, and it is to be hoped that he will some day be able to give the readers of his paper full accounts of his investigations; but the young man who is training for police work can make the reporter's position, in spite of its present discouraging limitations, a stepping-stone to a position in a police organisation. it helps him to get "wise," as the detective says, and it is when he has become "wise" in the full sense of the word that he is most valuable in the police business. a guard's position in a penitentiary makes a man acquainted with a great many criminals, and is helpful in teaching one in regard to the efficiency of different kinds of punishment. it is, perhaps, to be recommended to the beginner as the next best position to try for, if, after the reporter experience, there is still no opening in a police force. the beginner may not be sure whether he desires to become a police officer or to take part in the management of a prison, and the guard's post helps him to come to a decision. all three of the recommended preparatory positions will be found useful, if the young man has the patience and time to go through the drudgery which they involve, and he will find that when he finally succeeds in getting into a large police force he has a great advantage over men who have not had his thorough training. chapter vii. "gay-cats." scattered over the railroads, sometimes travelling in freight-cars, and sometimes sitting pensively around camp-fires, working when the mood is on them, and loafing when they have accumulated a "stake," always criticising other people but never themselves, seldom very happy or unhappy, and almost constantly without homes such as the persevering workingman struggles for and secures, there is an army of men and boys who, if a census of the unemployed were taken, would have to be included in the class which the regular tramps call "gay-cats." they claim that they are over five hundred thousand strong, and socialistic agitators sometimes urge that there are more than a million of them, but they probably do not really number over one hundred thousand. not much is known about them by the general public, except that they are continually shifting from place to place, particularly during the warm months. in the winter they are known to seek shelter in the large cities, where they swell the ranks of the discontented and complaining, and accept benefits from charitable societies. they certainly are not tramps, in the hobo's sense of the word. his reason for derisively calling them "gay-cats" is that they work when they have to, and tramp only when the weather is fine. many of them really prefer working to begging, but they are without employment during several months in the year, and are constantly grumbling about their lot in the world. they think that they are the representative unemployed men of the country, and are gradually developing a class feeling among themselves. they always speak of their kind as "the poor," and of the people who employ them as "the rich," and they believe that their number is continually increasing. as a railroad policeman it was my duty to keep well in touch with this class of wanderers. although they do not belong to the real tramp fraternity, and are disliked by the hoboes proper, they follow the hobo's methods of travel, and are constantly trespassing on railroad property. the general manager of the railroad by which i was employed asked me to gather all the facts that i could in regard to their class. "the attitude of the company toward this class of trespassers," he said, in talking to me about the matter, "must necessarily be the same as toward the tramps, as long as they both use the same methods of travel, but i have often wondered whether there are enough of those who claim to be merely unemployed men to justify railroad companies in experimenting with a cheap train a day, somewhat similar in make-up to the fourth class in germany and russia. at present the trouble is that we can't tell whether they would support such a train, and i personally am not convinced that all of them are as honest out-of-works as they say they are, when arrested for stealing rides. if you can gather any data concerning them which will throw light on this matter, i should be glad to have it." all told, i have met on the railroads about one thousand men and boys who claimed to be out-of-works and not professional vagabonds and tramps. in saying that i have met them, i mean that i have talked with them and learned considerable about their history, present condition, and plans and hopes for the future. they talked with me as freely as with one of their own kind; indeed, they seemed to assume that i belonged among them. the most striking thing about them is that the majority are practically youths, the average age being about twenty-three years, both west and east. of my one thousand out-of-works, fully two-thirds were between twenty and twenty-five years old; the rest were young boys under eighteen and mature men anywhere from forty to seventy. youths of all classes of society have their _wanderjahre_, and so much time during this period is taken up with mere roaming that it is easy to understand how many of them must be without work from time to time. it is also true that young men are more hasty than their elders in giving up positions on account of some real or supposed affront; life is all before them, they think, anyhow, and meanwhile they do not intend to knuckle down to any overbearing employer. in certain parts of the country, on account of crowded conditions, it must be stated, furthermore, that it is difficult for a number of young men to get suitable employment. there is a sociological significance, however, about the present strikingly large number of young men who are "beating" their way over the country on the railroads. there is gradually being developed in the united states a class of wanderers who may be likened to the degenerated _handwerksburschen_ of germany. they are not necessarily apprentices in the sense that the _handwerksburschen_ usually are, although the great majority of them have trades and make some effort, in winter at least, to work at them, but they are almost the exact counterpart of the _burschen_ in their migratory habits. years ago the travelling apprentice was a picturesque figure in german life, and it was thought quite proper that he should pack up his tools every now and then, get out his wheelbarrow, and take a jaunt into the world. he had to take to the highways in those days, and there was no such inducement, as there is now, to make long, unbroken trips. a few miles a day was the average stint, and at the end of a fortnight, or possibly a month, he was ready and glad to go to work again. this is not the case to-day. the contemporary _handwerksbursch_ works just as little as he can, and travels in fourth-class cars as far as the rails will carry him. in a few years, unless there is some home influence to bring him back, he generally wanders so far afield that he becomes a victim of _die ferne_, a thing of romance and poetry to his sturdier ancestors of luther's time, which for him has become a snare and a delusion. german vagabondage is largely recruited from german apprentices. it is the same love of _die ferne_, the desire to get out into the world and have adventures independent of parental care and guidance, which accounts largely for the presence of so many young men in the ranks of the unemployed in this country. as i have said, they are not tramps or "hoboes," but neither are they victims of trusts, monopolists or capital. great public undertakings, like the world's fair at chicago, the recent war with spain, a new railroad and the attractions of places like the klondike, have a tendency to increase the number of these youthful out-of-works. the world's fair stranded many thousands, and there are already signs that the war with spain has brought out a fresh crop of them. they have taken to travelling on the railroads because they have become inoculated with _wanderlust_ and because they think that it is only by continually shifting that they are likely to get work. the same thing took place, only on a larger scale, after the civil war, and our present tramp class is the result. some of the young men who took part in the spanish war, and when mustered out joined the wanderers on the railroads, will eventually develop into full-fledged tramps; it is inevitable. at present they are merely out-of-works, and at times honestly seek work. let me tell the story of one of my young companions for a few days on a railroad in ohio. he was a plumber by trade and had left a job only a fortnight before i met him. the weather had got too warm to work, he said (it was in june), and he had enough of a "stake" to keep him going for several weeks "on the road." he was on his way to the northwest. "the west is the only part o' this country worth much, i guess," he said, "'n' i'm goin' out there to look around. here in the east ev'rything is in the hands o' the rich. there's no chance for a young fellow here in ohio any more." i asked him whether he was not able to make a good living when he remained at work. "oh, i can live all right," he replied, "but this country's got to give me somethin' more'n a livin', before i'll work hard month in and month out. i ain't goin' to slave for anybody. i got as good a right's the next man to enjoy myself, 'n' when i want to go off on a trip i'm goin'." i suggested that this was hardly the philosophy of men who made and saved a great deal of money. "well, i ain't goin' to work hard all my life 'n' have nothin' but money at the end of it. i want to live as i go along, 'n' i like hittin' the road ev'ry now and then." "how long do you generally keep a job?" "if i get a good one in the fall i generally keep it till spring, but the year round i guess i change places ev'ry two or three months." "how much of a loaf do you have between jobs?" "it depends. last year i was nearly four months on the hog once,--couldn't get anything. as a general thing, though, i don't have to wait over six weeks if i look hard." "are you going to look hard out west?" "well, i'm goin' to size up the country, 'n' if i like it, why, i guess i'll take a job for awhile. i got enough money to keep me in tobacco 'n' booze for a few weeks, 'n' it don't cost me anything to ride or eat." "how do you manage?" "i hustle for my grub the way hoboes do,--it's easy enough." "i should think a workingman like yourself would hate to do that." "i used to a little, but i got over it. you got to help yourself in this world, 'n' i'm learnin' how to do it, too." the nationality of the "gay-cats" is mainly american. a large number have parents who were born in europe, but they themselves were born in this country, and there are thousands whose families have been settled here for several generations. what i have said in regard to the unemployed young men applies also, in a measure, to the old men; the latter, in many cases, are as much the victims of _wanderlust_ as are their youthful companions: but there are certain special facts which go to explain their vagabondage. the older men are more frequently confirmed drunkards than are the younger men. occasionally during the past year i have met an aged out-of-work who was a "total abstainer," but nine-tenths of all the mature men were by their own confession hard drinkers. whether their loose habits are also answerable for their love of carping and criticising, and their notion that they alone know how the world should be run, it is impossible for me to say; but certain it is that their continual grumbling and scolding against those who have been more persevering than they is another of the causes which have brought them to their present unfortunate state. men who are unceasingly finding fault with their lot, and yet make no serious attempt to better it, cannot "get on" very far in this country, or in any other. this type of out-of-work exists everywhere, in germany, russia, england, and france as well as in the united states, but i am not sure that our particular civilisation, or rather our form of government, has not a tendency to develop it here a little more rapidly than in any other country which i have explored. it is a popular notion in the united states that every american has the right to say what he thinks, and my finding is that the love of speaking one's mind is exceedingly strong among the uneducated people of the country. agitators, who go among them, are partly to blame for this, and i have observed that a number of the expressions used by the "gay-cats" are the stock phrases of socialistic propagandists, but there is something in the air they breathe that seems to incite them to untempered speech. in germany, where there is certainly far more governmental interference to rant about, and among an equally intelligent class of out-of-works who are not allowed for an instant the freedom of movement permitted the same class in america, there is no such wild talk as is to be heard among our unemployed. i have met scores of old men on the railroads whom long indulgence in unconsidered language has incapacitated for saying anything good about any one of our institutions, as they conceive them, and they begrudge even their companions a generous word. such men, it seems to me, must necessarily go to the wall, and although a few, perhaps, can advance evidence to show that circumstances over which they had no control brought them low, the majority of those that i know have themselves to blame for their present vagabondage. it is furthermore to be remarked concerning these aged out-of-works that pride and unwillingness to take work outside of their trades have also been causes of their bankruptcy. the same is true, to some extent, of all sorts of unemployed men, young and old, but it is particularly true of "gay-cats" who have passed their thirty-fifth year. i have known them to tramp and beg for months rather than accept employment which they considered beneath their training and intelligence. it has been a revelation to me to associate with these men and see how determined they are that the employing class shall have no opportunity to say: "ah, ha! we told you so!" many of them have given up their positions in a pet, and taken to the "road," with the idea that if they cannot get what they want they will make the world lodge and feed them for nothing. to bring out clearly their point of view, i will describe a man whom i travelled with in illinois. he had been without employment for over eight months when i met him, and had just passed his forty-second year. he expected to get work again before long, and was passing the time away, until the position was ready for him, travelling up and down the illinois central railroad. he was a carpenter by profession, and claimed that for over five years he had never worked at any other occupation, when he worked at all. "i put in three hard years learnin' to be a carpenter," he said, "an' i ain't goin' to learn another trade now. for awhile i used to take all kinds o' jobs when i got hard up, but i've got over that. it's carpenterin' or nothin' with me from now on. you got to put your foot down in this country or you won't get on at all. "if i was married 'n' had kids, o' course i'd have to crawl 'n' take what i could get, but, seein' i ain't, i'm goin' to be just as stuck up as any other man that's got somethin' to sell. that's what all men like us in this country ought to do. the rich have got it into their heads that they can have us when they want us, 'n' kick us out when they don't want us, 'n' that's what they've been doin' with the most of us. they ain't goin' to play with me any more, though. ten years ago i was better off than i am now, 'n' i'd be in good shape to-day if it hadn't been for one o' them trusts." "are you not at all to blame for your present condition?" i asked, knowing that the man was fond of whiskey. he thought a moment, and then admitted that he might have squandered less money on "booze," but he believed that he was entitled to the "fun" that "booze" brings. "'course we workingmen drink," he explained, "'n' a lot of us gets on our uppers, but ain't we got as much right to get drunk 'n' have a good time as the rich? i'm runnin' my own life. when i want work i'll work, 'n' when i don't i won't. what we men need is more independence. what the devil 'ud become o' the world if we refused to work? couldn't go on at all. that's what i keep tellin' my carpenter pals. 'don't take nothin' outside o' your trade,' i tell 'em, 'n' then the blokes with no trades'll have a better chance.' but you know how it is,--you might as well tell the most of 'em not to eat. i have had a little sense knocked into me. you don't catch me workin' outside o' my trade. i'd rather bum." and, unless he got the job he expected, he is probably still "on the road." enough, perhaps, has already been said to indicate the general trend of the philosophy of the "gay-cats," but this account of them will fail to do them justice if i do not quote them in regard to such matters as government, religion, and democracy. it has never been my privilege to hear them contribute anything particularly valuable to a better understanding of the questions they discuss, but it seems fitting to report upon some of their conclaves, if only to show how they pass away much of their time. they have an unconquerable desire to express themselves on all occasions and on all subjects, and it is no exaggeration to say that two-thirds of their day passes in talk. in regard to the government under which we live, the favourite expression used to characterise it was the word "fake." "republic!" i heard a man exclaim one day; "this ain't no republic. it's run by the few just as much as russia is. there ain't no real republic in existence. you and i are just as much slaves as the negroes were." not all stated their opinions so strongly as this, and there were some who believed that on paper, at least, we have a democratic form of government, but the prevailing notion seemed to be that it was only on paper. the republican party is considered as derelict as the democratic by these critics. neither organisation, they contend, is trying to live up to what a republic ought to stand for, and they see no hope, either for themselves or anybody else, in any of the existing political parties. when quizzed about our constitution and the functions of the various departments of the government, they all show deplorable ignorance, but it avails nothing to take them to task on this ground. "they guessed they knew the facts just about as well as anybody else," and that was supposed to end the matter. religion, which the majority of the men with whom i talked took to be synonymous with the word church, was another favourite topic of discussion. indeed, as i look back now over my conversations with the "gay-cats," it seems to me that there was more said on this subject than any other, and i have observed its popularity as a topic of conversation among unemployed men in other countries as well. there is something about it which is very attractive to men who are vagrants, as they think, because of circumstances over which they had no control, and they sit and talk by the hour about what they think the church ought to do, and wherein it fails to accomplish that which it is supposed to have for a purpose. the men that i met think that the reason that the church in this country is not more successful in getting hold of people is because it neglects its duties to the poor. "here you and i are," a young mechanic remarked to me, as we sat in the cold at a railroad watering-tank, "and what does any church in this town care about us? ten chances to one that, excepting the catholic priest, every clergyman we might go to for assistance would turn us down. is that christianity? is that the way religion is going to make you and me any better? not on your life. i tell you, the church has got to take more interest in me before i am going to go out of my way to take much interest in it." "but the church is not a public poor-house," i remonstrated. "you and i are no more excused than other people from earning our living. if the church had to take care of all the people who think they're poor, it would go bankrupt in a day." "it's bankrupt already, so far as having any influence over the men that you and i meet," he replied. "i don't see a man more than once in six months who goes near a church, and he's generally a catholic. there's something wrong, you can bet, when things have got to that pass. if the church can't interest fellows like us, it's going to have its troubles interesting anybody." there were others who expressed themselves equally strongly, but i was unable to get any satisfactory suggestion from any of them as to how the church may be made either more religious or effective. they all had their notions concerning its defects and shortcomings, but they seemed unable to tell how these were to be supplanted by merits and virtues. many of them impressed me as men who would be capable, under different conditions, of religious feeling, and there was something pathetic, i thought, in the way they loved to linger in conversation on the subject of religion, but in their present circumstances the most inspired church in the world could not do much with them. they are victims of the passion for indiscriminate criticism, and i doubt whether they would know whether a church was doing its duty or not. naturally a never-failing subject for talk was the labour question, and, under this general head, in particular the importation of foreign labour by the big corporations. i cannot recall an allusion to their present circumstances that did not bring this point prominently to the fore, and on occasions the mere mention of the word "foreigner" was sufficient to bring out the most violent invectives. in a number of instances they claimed that they knew absolutely that they had been forced out of positions to make room for aliens who would work for less money. "an american don't count for what he used to in this country," an old man said to me in chicago. "the corporations don't care who a man is, so long as he'll work cheap. 'course a dago can live cheaper'n i can, 'n' so he beats me. i don't blame the dago, 'cause he's doin' better'n he did in italy, anyhow, but i do blame them corporations, 'n' they're goin' to get it in the neck some day, too. i won't live to see it, perhaps, but you will. i tell you, jack, there's goin' to be a revolution in this country just as sure as this city is chicago. it's comin' nearer every day. just wait till there's about a million more men on the road, 'n' then you'll see somethin'. it'll beat that french revolution bang up, take my tip for that." this same man, if his companions told the truth, had had a number of opportunities to succeed, and had let them slip through his hands. like hundreds of others, however, he could not bear to admit that he was to blame for his own defeat in life, and he made the foreigner his scapegoat. it is, perhaps, true that some foreigners in this country have ousted some americans from their positions, but one needs but to make a journey on any one of the railroads frequented by "gay-cats" to realise how small a minority of them are tramping because foreigners have got their jobs. corporations and trusts may or may not be beneficial, according to the way one considers them, but, in my opinion, they are innocent of dealing unfairly by the thousand "gay-cats" that i have recently interviewed. chapter viii. the lake shore push. previous to my experience in a railroad police force, i was employed by the same railroad company in making an investigation of the tramp situation on the lines under their management. the object of the investigation was to find out whether the policy pursued by the company was going to be permanently successful in keeping tramps and "train-riders" off the property, and to discover how neighbouring roads dealt with trespassers. incidentally, i was also to interview tramps that i met, and ask their opinion of the methods used by the railroad for which i worked. the first month of the investigation was given up to roads crossing and recrossing the lines in which i was particularly interested, and i lived and travelled during this period like a professional tramp. while on my travels i made the acquaintance of a very interesting organisation of criminal tramps, which is continually troubling railroads in the middle west. as i also had to keep watch of it while on duty as a patrolman, an account of my experience with some of its members seems to fall within the scope of this book. one night, after i had been out about a week on the preliminary investigation for the railroad, i arrived at ashtabula, ohio, on the lake shore and michigan southern railroad, in company with a little englishman, who, when we registered at the police station where we went to ask for shelter, facetiously signed himself, george the fourth. there are four "stops," as the tramp says, in ashtabula, three police stations and the sand-house of the lake shore railroad, and after we had used up our welcome in the police stations we went to the sand-house. later, when we were sure that the police had forgotten us, we returned to the "calabooses," and made another round of them, but we also spent several nights at the sand-house. on our first night at the sand-house we arrived there before the other lodgers had finished their hunt for supper, and on the principle of "first come first served" we picked out the best places in the sand. it was early in april, and in ashtabula at this season of the year the sand nearest the fire is the most comfortable. during the evening other men and boys came in, but they recognised that our early arrival entitled us to the good places, and they picked out the next best. about ten o'clock we all fell asleep, leaving barely enough room for the sand-house attendant to move about and attend to his duties. a little after midnight i was awakened by loud voices scolding and cursing, and heard a man, whom i could not see, however, say: "kick the fellow's head off. it's your place right 'nough, teach 'im a lesson." somebody struck a match then, and i saw two burly men standing over the little englishman. they were the roughest-looking customers i have ever seen anywhere. more matches were struck in different parts of the sand-house, and i heard men whispering to one another that the two disturbers were "lake shore push people," and that there was going to be a fight. "get up, will ye?" one of them said, in a brutal voice to my companion. "it's a wonder ye wouldn't find a place o' yer own." "hit 'im with the poker," the other advised. "stave his slats in." then the first speaker made as if he were going to kick the englishman in the head with his big hobnailed boot. the englishman could stand it no longer, and jumping to his feet and snatching up an empty sand-bucket, he took a defensive position, and said: "come on, now, if you blokes want a scrap. one o' ye'll go down." the crowd seemed only to need this exhibition of grit on the part of the britisher to make them rally to his side, and one of them set a ball of newspapers afire for a light, and the rest grabbed sand-buckets and pieces of board and made ready to assist the britisher in "doing up" the two bullies. the latter wisely decided that fifteen to two was too much of a disadvantage, and left, threatening to come back with the "push" and "clean out the entire house," which they failed to do, however, that night or on any other night that the englishman and i spent at the sand-house. after they had gone, the crowd gathered around the englishman, and he was congratulated on having "put up such a good front" against the two men. then began a general discussion of the organisation, or "push," as it was called, which i could only partially follow. i had been out of hoboland for a number of years previous to this experience, and the "push" was a new institution to me. it was obvious, however, that it played a very prominent part in the lives of the men at the sand-house, for each one present had a story to tell of how he had been imposed upon by it, either on a freight-train or at some stopping-place, in more or less the same way as the englishman had been. had it not been that questions on my part would have proven me to be a "tenderfoot," which it was bad policy for one in my position to admit as possible, i should have made inquiries then and there, for it was plain that the "push" was an association that ought to interest me also; but all that i learned that night was that there was a gang of wild characters who were trying to run the lake shore railroad, so far as hoboland was concerned, according to their own wishes and interests, and that there were constant clashes between them and such men as were gathered together in the sand-house. there was no mention made of their strength or identity; the conversation was confined to accounts of their persecutions and crimes, and to suggestions as to how they could be made to disband. one man, i remember, said that the only thing to do was to shoot them, one at a time, on sight, and he declared that he would join a "push" which would make this task its object as an organisation. "they're the meanest push this country has ever seen," he added, "an' workin' men as well as 'boes ought to help do 'em up. they hold up ev'rybody, an' it's got so that it's all a man's life's worth to ride on this road." the following morning, while reading the newspaper, a week or so old, in which a baker had wrapped up some rolls which i had purchased of him, i came across a paragraph in the local column, which read something like this: "a middle-aged man was found dead yesterday morning, lying in the bushes near the railroad track between girard and erie. his neck was broken, and it is thought that he is another victim of the notorious 'lake shore gang.' the supposition is that he was beating his way on a freight-train when the gang overtook him, and that, after robbing him, they threw him off the train." after reading this paragraph, i strolled down the lake shore tracks to the west, until i came to the coal-chutes, where tramp camps are to be found the year round. as many as fifty men can be seen here on occasions, sitting around fires kept up by the railroad company's coal, and "dope" from the wheel-boxes of freight-cars. i found two camps on the morning in question, one very near the coal chutes, and the other about a quarter of a mile farther on. there were about a dozen men at the first, and not quite thirty at the second. i halted at the first, thinking that both were camps where all roadsters would be welcome. i had hardly taken a seat on one of the ties, and said, "how are you?" when a dirty-looking fellow of about fifty years asked me, in sarcasm, as i afterward learned, if i had a match. "s'pose y' ain't got a piece o' wood with a little brimstone on the end of it, have ye?" were his words. i replied that i had, and was about to hand him one, when a general grin ran over the faces of the men, and i heard a man near me, say, "tenderfoot, sure." it was plain that there was something either in my make-up or manner which was not regular, but i was not left long in suspense as to what it was. the dirty man with the gray hair explained the situation. "this is our fire, our camp, an' our deestrict," he said in a gruff voice, "an' you better go off an' build one o' yer own. ye've got a match, ye say?" the intonation of his voice sneeringly suggesting the interrogation. there was nothing to do but go, and i went, but i gave the camp a minute "sizing up" as i left. the men were having what is called in tramp parlance a "store-made scoff." they had bought eggs, bread, butter, meat, and potatoes in ashtabula, and were in the midst of their breakfast when i came upon them. in looks they were what a tramp companion of mine once described as "blowed in the glass stiffs." it is not easy to explain to one who has never been in hoboland and learned instinctively to appraise roadsters what this expression signifies, but in the present instance it means that depravity was simply dripping off them. their faces were "tough" and dirty, their clothes were tattered and torn, their voices were rasping and coarse, and their general manner was as mean as human nature is capable of. to compare them to a collection of rowdies with which the reader is acquainted, i would say that they resembled very closely the tramps pictured in the illustrated edition of mark twain's "the prince and the pauper." their average age was about thirty-five years, but several were fifty and over, and others were under twenty. the clever detective would probably have picked them out for what they were, "hobo guns,"--tramp thieves and "hold-up" men,--but the ordinary citizen would have classified them merely as "dirty tramps," which would also have been the truth, but not the whole truth. i learned more definitely about them at the second camp, where a welcome was extended to everybody. "got the hot-foot at the other camp, i guess?" a young fellow said to me as i sat down beside him, and i admitted the fact. "those brutes wouldn't do a favour to their own mothers," he went on. "we've jus' been chewin' the rag 'bout goin' over an' havin' a scrap with 'em. there's enough of us this mornin' to lay 'em out." "who are they?" "some o' the lake shore gang. they jump in an' out o' here ev'ry few days. there's a lot more o' them down at painesville. they're scattered all along the line. las' night some of 'em held up those two stone-masons settin' over there on that pile o' ties. took away their tools, an' made 'em trade clothes. caught 'em in a box-car comin' east. shoved guns under their noses, an' the masons had to cough up." a few nights after this experience, and again in company with my friend, george the fourth, i applied for lodging at the police station at ashtabula harbour. we made two of the first four to be admitted on the night in question, and picked out, selfishly, it is true, but entirely within our rights, two cells near the fire. we had made up our beds on the cell benches out of our coats and newspapers, and were boiling some coffee on the stove preparatory to going to sleep, when four newcomers, whom i had seen at the "push's" camp, were ushered in. they went immediately to the cells we had chosen, and, seeing that our things were in them, said: "these your togs in here?" we "allowed" that they were. "take 'em out, then, 'cause these are our cells." "how your cells?" asked george. "see here, young fella, do as yer told. see?" "no, i don't see. you're not so warm." and george drew out his razor. the men must have seen something in his eyes which cowed them, for they chose other cells. i expected that they would maul us unmercifully before morning, but we were left in peace. one more episode: one afternoon george and i decided that it was time for us to be on the move again, and we boarded a train of empty cars bound west. we had ridden along pleasantly enough for about ten miles, taking in the scenery through the slats of the car, when we saw three men climb down the side of the car. george whispered "lake shore push" to me the minute we saw them, and we both knew that we were to be "held up," if the fellows ever got at us. it was a predicament which called for a cool head and quick action, and george the fourth had both. he addressed the invaders in a language peculiar to men of the road and distinctive mainly on account of its expletives, and wound up his harangue with the threat that the first man who tried to open the door would have his hand cut off. and he flashed his ubiquitous razor as evidence of his ability to carry out the threat. the engineer fortunately whistled just then for a watering-tank, and the men clambered back to the top of the car, and we saw them no more. so much for my personal experience with the "lake shore push" as a possible victim; they failed to do me any harm, but it was not their fault. they interested me so much that i spent two weeks on the lake shore railroad in order to learn the truth concerning them. i reasoned that if such an organisation as they seemed to be was possible on one railroad property, it might easily develop on another, and i deemed it worth while to inform myself in regard to their origin, strength, and purpose. nearly every other newspaper that i came across, while travelling in this district, made some reference to them, but always in an indefinite way which showed that even the police reporter had not been able to find out much about them. they were always spoken of as the "infamous" or "notorious lake shore gang," and all kinds of crimes were supposed to have been committed by them, but there was nothing in any of the newspaper paragraphs which gave me any clue as to their identity. in the course of my investigations i ran across a man by the name of peg kelley, who had known me years before in the far west, and with whom i had tramped at different times. we went over in detail, i romancing a little, our experiences in the interval of time since our last meeting, and he finally confessed to me that he was a member of the "lake shore push," and added that he was prepared to suggest my name for membership. from him i got what he claims are the facts in regard to the "push." to the best of my knowledge, never before in our history has an association of outlaws developed on the same lines as has the "lake shore push," and it stands alone in the purpose for which it now exists. in the early seventies, some say in , and others a little earlier, there lived in a row of old frame houses standing on, or near, the site of the present lake view park in cleveland, ohio, a collection of professional criminals, among whom were six fellows called new orleans tom, buffalo slim, big yellow, allegheny b., looking glass jack, and garry. the names of these particular men are given, because peg kelley believes that they constituted the nucleus of the present "lake shore push." they are probably all dead by this time; at any rate, the word "push" was not current tramp slang in their day, and they referred to themselves merely as the "gang." cleveland was their headquarters, and it is reported that the town was a sort of mecca for outlaws throughout the neighbouring vicinity. the main "graft," or business, of the gang, was robbing merchandise cars, banks, post-offices, and doing what is called "slough work," robbing locked houses. the leader of the company, if such men can be said to have a leader, was new orleans tom, who is described as a typical southern desperado. he had been a sailor before joining the gang, and claimed that during the civil war he was captured by union soldiers and sailors, while on the _harriet lane_, lying off galveston. the gang grew in numbers as the years went on, and there is a second stage in its development when danny the soldier, as he was called, seems to have taken slim's place in leadership. by , although still not called "the lake shore push," the gang had made a name for itself, or, rather, a "record," to use the word which the men themselves would have preferred, and had become known to tramps and criminals throughout northern ohio and southern michigan. the police got after them from time to time, and there were periods when they were considerably scattered, but whenever they came together again, even in twos and threes, it was recognised that pals were meeting pals. when members of the gang died or were sent to limbo, it was comparatively easy to fill their places either with "talent" imported from other districts, or with local fellows who were glad to become identified with a mob. there has always been a rough element in such towns as cleveland, toledo, erie, and buffalo, from which gangs could be recruited; it is composed largely of "lakers," men who work on the lakes during the open season, and live by their wits in winter time. this class has contributed its full share to the criminal population of the country, and has always been heavily represented in mobs and gangs along the lake shore. opinions differ, peg kelley claims, as to when the name "lake shore push" was first used by the gang, as well as to who invented it, but it is his opinion, and i have none better to offer, that it was late in the eighties when it was first suggested, and that it was outsiders, such as transient roadsters, who made the expression popular. he says, in regard to this point: "the gang was known to hang out along the lake shore, an' mainly on the lake shore road, an' 'boes from other states kep' seein' 'em an' hearin' about 'em when they came this way. well, ye know how 'boes are. if they see a bloke holdin' down a district they give 'im the name o' the place, an' that's the way the gang got its monikey (nickname). the 'boes kep' talkin' about the push holdin' down the lake shore road, an' after awhile they took to callin' it the 'lake shore push.' "ev'ry 'bo in the country knows the name now. way out in 'frisco, 'f they know 't ye've come from 'round here they'll ask ye 'bout the push, if it's what it's cracked up to be, an' all that kind o' thing. it's got the biggest rep of any 'bo push in the country." the story of how the "push" got its "rep" is best told by peg, and in his own words. i have been at considerable pains to verify his statements, and have yet to discover him in wilful misrepresentation. he admits that the "push" has done some dastardly deeds, and appreciates perfectly why it is so hated by out-of-works who have to "beat" their way on trains which run through its territory, but he believes that it could not have been otherwise, considering the purpose for which the "push" was organised. "ye can't try to monopolise anythin', cigarette," he said to me, "without gettin' into a row with somebody, an' that's been the 'xperience o' the push. when there was jus' that cleveland gang, nobody said nothin', 'cause they didn't try to run things, but the minute the big push came ev'rybody was talkin', an' they're chewin' the rag yet." "who first thought of organising the big push?" "i don't know 't any one bloke thought of it. it was at the time that trusts an' syndicates an' that kind o' thing was beginnin' to be pop'lar, an' the blokes had been readin' 'bout 'em in the newspapers. i was out west then,--it was in ' ,--an' didn't know 'bout the push one way or the other, but from what the blokes tell me the idea came to all of 'em 'bout the same time. ye see, that cleveland gang had kep' growin' an' growin' an' spreadin' out, an' after awhile there was a big mob of 'em floatin' up an' down the road here. blokes from other places had got into it, an' they'd got to be the biggest push on the line. there was no partickler leader, the way the james and dalton gangs had leaders, an' there never has been. 'course the newspapers try to make out that this fella an' that fella runs the thing, but they don't know what they're talkin' 'bout. the bigger the gang got, the more room it wanted, an' pretty soon they began to get a grouch on against the gay-cats that kep' comin' to their camps. ye know how it is yourself. when ye've got 'customed to a push, ye don't want to have to mix with a lot o' strangers, an' that's the way the gang felt, an' they got to drivin' the gay-cats away from their camps. that started 'em to wonderin' why they shouldn't have the lake shore road all to themselves. as i was tellin' ye, trusts an' syndicates was gettin' into the air 'bout that time, an' the push didn't see why it couldn't have one too; an' they begun to have reg'lar fights with the gay-cats. i came into the push jus' about the time the scrappin' began. i ain't speshully fond o' scrappin', but i did like the idea o' dividin' up territory. there's no use talkin', cig, if all the 'boes in the country 'ud do what we been tryin' to do, there'd be a lot more money in the game. take the erie road, the pennsy, the dope,[ ] an' the rest of 'em. ye know as well as i do, 't if the 'boes on those lines 'ud organise an' keep ev'ry bum off of 'em 't wasn't in the push, an' 'ud keep the push from gettin' too large, they'd be a lot better off. 'course there's got to be scrappin' to do the thing, but that don't need to interfere. see how the trusts an' syndicates scrap till they get what they want, an' see how many throats they cut. we've thrown bums off trains, i won't deny it, an' we hold up ev'ry one of 'em 't we can get hold of, but ain't that what the trusts are doin', too?" i asked him whether the "push" distinguished or not in the people it halted. "if a reg'lar 'bo, a fella 't we know by name," he went on, "will open up an' tell us who he is, an' his graft, we'll let 'im go, but we tell 'im that the world's gettin' smaller 'n' smaller, 'n' 't he'd better get a cinch on a part of it, too. that don't mean 't he can join the push, an' he knows it. he understan's what we're drivin' at. he can ride on the road 'f he likes, but he'll get sick o' bein' by himself all the time, an' 'll take a mooch after awhile. 'course all don't do it, ye've seen yerself that there's hunderds runnin' up an' down the line 't we ain't got rid of, an' p'r'aps never will. i ain't so dead sure that the thing's goin' to work, but the coppers'll never break us up, anyhow. they've been tryin' now for years, an' they've got some of the blokes settled, but we can fill their places the minute they've gone." "how many are in the push?" "'bout a hunderd an' fifty. sometimes there's more an' sometimes there's less, but it aver'ges 'bout that." "do all the fellows come from around here?" "no, not half of 'em. there's fellas from all over; a lot of 'em are westerners." "what is the main graft?" "well, we're diggin' into these cars right along. we got plants all along the road, from buffalo to chi. i can fit ye out in a new suit o' clothes to-morrow, 'f ye want to go up the line with me." "don't the railroad people trouble you?" "o' course, they ain't lookin' on while we're robbin' 'em, but they can't do very much. we got the trainmen pretty well scared, an' when they get too rambunctious we do one of 'em up." "do you ever shift to other roads?" "lately we've branched out a little over on the dope an' the erie, but the main hang-outs are on the shore. we know this road down to the ground, an' we ain't so sure o' the others. most o' the post-office work, though, is done off this road." "what kind of work is that?" "peter-work,[ ] o' course, what d'ye think?" "pan out pretty well?" "don't get much cash, but the stamps are jus' about as good. awhile ago i was payin' fer ev'rythin' in stamps. felt like one o' the old fourth-class postmasters." "doesn't the government get after you?" "oh, it's settled some of us, but as i was tellin' ye, there's always fellas to take the empty places." "got much fall money?" "no, not a bit. we don't save anythin', it all goes fer booze an' grub. i've seen a big box o' shoes go fer two kegs o' beer, an' ye can't get much fall money out o' that kind o' bargaining. we have a good time, though, an' we're the high-monkey-monks o' this road." later he introduced me to some of his companions. they were the same kind of men with whom the englishman and i had had the disagreeable encounters,--rough and vicious-looking. "they're not bad fellas, are they?" peg asked, when we were alone again. "you'd tie up to them, cig, 'f ye was on the shore, i know ye would." it was useless to argue with him, and we separated, he to join a detachment of the "push" in western new york, and i to continue on my way westward. since the meeting with peg i have been back several times in the "push's" territory, and have continued to make acquaintances in it. in the tramp's criminal world it stands for the most successful form of syndicated lawlessness known up to date, and, unless soon broken up and severely dealt with, it will serve as a pattern for other organisations. whether it is copied or not, however, when the history of crime in the united states is written, and a very interesting history it will be, the "lake shore push" must be given by the historian a prominent place in his classification of criminal mobs. footnotes: [ ] baltimore and ohio railroad. [ ] a "peter-man" is a safe-"blower," and peter-work is safe-breaking. chapter ix. how tramps beg. it is a popular notion that tramps have a mysterious sign-language in which they communicate secrets to one another in regard to professional matters. it is thought, for instance, that they make peculiar chalk and pencil marks on fences and horse-blocks, indicating to the brotherhood such things as whether a certain house is "good" or not, where a ferocious dog is kept, at what time the police are least likely, or most likely, to put in an appearance, how late in the morning a barn can be occupied before the farmer will be up and about, and where a convenient chicken-coop is located. elaborate accounts have been written in newspapers about the amount of information they give to one another in this way, and many persons believe that tramps rely on a sign-language in their begging. it is well to state at the outset that this is a false conception of their methods. they all have jargons and lingoes of their own choosing and making, and they converse in them when among themselves, but the reported puzzling signs and marks which are supposed to obviate all verbal speech are a fabrication so far as the majority of roadsters are concerned. among the "blanket stiffs" in the far west, and among the "bindle men," "mush fakirs," and "turnpikers," of the middle west, the east, and canada, there exists a crude system of marking "good" houses, but these vagrants do not belong to the rank and file of the tramp army, and are comparatively few in numbers. it is furthermore to be said that the marking referred to is occasional rather than usual. probably one of the main reasons why the public has imagined that tramps use hieroglyphics, in their profession is that when charity is shown to one of them the giver is frequently plagued with a visitation from a raft of beggars. this phenomenon, however, is easily explained without recourse to the sign-language theory. outside of nearly all towns of ten thousand inhabitants and more the tramps have little camps or "hang-outs," where they make their headquarters while "working" the community. naturally they compare notes at meal-time, and if one beggar has discovered what he considers an easy "mark,"--a good house,--he tells his pals about it, so that they may also get the benefit of its hospitality. the finder of the house cannot visit it himself again until his face has been forgotten, at any rate he seldom does visit it more than once during a week's stay in the town; but his companions can, so he tells them where it is, and what kind of a story they must use. although the hoboes do not make use of the marks and signs with which the popular fancy has credited them, they have a number of interesting theories about begging and a large variety of clever ruses to deceive people, and it is well for the public to keep as up-to-date in regard to these matters as they keep in regard to the public's sympathies. not all tramps are either clever or successful; the "road" is travelled by a great many more amateurs than professionals, but it is the earnest endeavour of all at least to make a living, and there are thousands who make something besides. roughly estimated, there are from sixty to seventy-five thousand tramps in the united states, and probably a fifth of all may be classified as "first-class" tramps. there is a second and a third class, and even a fourth, but it is the "a number one men," as they call themselves, who are the most interesting. the main distinction between these tramps and the less successful members of the craft is that they have completely conquered the amateur's squeamishness about begging. it seems comparatively easy to go to a back door and ask for something to eat, and the mere wording of the request is easy,--all too easy,--but the hard part of the transaction is to screw up courage enough to open the front gate. the beginner in tramp life goes to a dozen front gates before he can brace himself for the interview at the back door, and there are men to whom a vagrant life is attractive who never overcome the "tenderfoot's" bashfulness. it was once my lot to have a rather successful professional burglar for a companion on a short tramp trip in the middle west. we had come together in the haphazard way that all tramp acquaintanceships are formed. we met at a railroad watering-tank. the man's sojourn in trampdom, however, was only temporary; it was a good hiding-place until the detectives should give up the hunt for him. he had "planted" his money elsewhere, and meanwhile he had to take his chances with the "'boes." he was not a man who would ordinarily arouse much pity, but a tramp could not have helped having sympathy for him at meal-time. at every interview he had at back doors he was seized with the "tenderfoot's" bashfulness, and during the ten days that our companionship lasted he got but one "square meal." his profession of robber gave him no assistance. "i can steal," he said, "go into houses at night, and take my chances in a shootin' scrape, but i'll be ---- if i can beg. 'taint like swipin'. when ye swipe, ye don't ask no questions, an' ye don't answer none. in this business ye got to cough up yer whole soul jus' to get a lump (hand-out). i'd rather swipe." this is the testimony of practically all beginners in the beggar's business; at the start thieving seems to them a much easier task. as the weeks and months pass by, however, they become hardened and discover that their "nerve" needs only to be developed to assert itself, and the time comes when nothing is so valuable that they do not feel justified in asking for it. they then definitely identify themselves with the profession and build up reputations as "first-class" tramps. each man's experience suggests to him how this reputation can best be acquired. one man, for example, finds that he does best with a "graft" peculiarly his own, and another discovers that it is only at a certain time of the year, or in a particular part of the country, that he comes out winner. the tramp has to experiment in all kinds of ways ere he understands himself or his public, and he makes mistakes even after an apprenticeship extending over years of time. in every country where he lives, however, there is a common fund of experience and fact by which he regulates his conduct in the majority of cases. it is the collective testimony of generations and generations of tramps who have lived before him, and he acts upon it in about the same way that human beings in general act upon ordinary human experience. emergencies arise when his own ingenuity alone avails and the "average finding" is of no use to him, and on such occasions he makes a note on the case and reports about it at the next "hang-out" conclave. if he has invented something of real value, a good begging story, for instance, and it is generally accepted as good, it is labelled "shorty's gag," or "slim's," as the man's name may be, and becomes his contribution to the general collection of "gags." it is the man who has memorised the greatest number of "gags" or "ghost stories," as they are also called, and can handle them deftly as circumstances suggest, that is the most successful beggar. there are other requirements to be observed, but unless a man has a good stock of stories with which to "fool" people, he cannot expect to gain a foothold among "the blowed in the glass stiffs." he must also keep continually working over his stock. "ghost stories" are like bonnets; those that were fashionable and _comme il faut_ last year are this year out of date, and they must be changed to suit new tastes and conditions, or be replaced by new ones. frequently a fresh version of an old story has to be improvised on the spot, so to speak. the following personal experience illustrates under what circumstances "gags" are invented. it also shows how even the professionals forget themselves and their pose on occasions. one morning, about eight years ago, i arrived in a small town in the mohawk valley in company with a tramp called indianapolis red. we had ridden all night in a box-car in the hope of reaching new york by morning, but the freight had been delayed on account of a wreck, and we were so hungry when we reached the town in question that we simply had to get off and look for something to eat. it was not a place, as we well knew, where tramps were welcome, but the train would not stop again at a town of any size until long after breakfast, so we decided to take our chances. we had an hour at our disposal until the next "freight" was due. the great question was what story we should tell, and we both rummaged through our collections to find a good one. finally, after each of us had suggested a number of different stories and had refused them in turn, on the ground that they were too old for such a "hostile" place, red suggested that we try "the deef 'n' dum' gag." there are several "gags" of this description, and i asked him which one he meant. "let's work it this way," he said, and he began to improvise. "i'm your deef 'n' dum' brother, see? an' we're on our way to new york, where i'm going to get a job. i'm a clerk, and you're seein' me down to the city so's't nothin'll happen to me. our money's given out, an' we've simply got to ask fer assistance. we're ter'bly hungry, an' you want to know if the lady o' the house'll be good enough to help yer brother along. see?" i "saw" all right, and accepted the proposition, but the odds seemed against us, because the town was one of the most unfriendly along the line. we picked out a house near the track. as a rule such houses have been "begged out," but we reasoned that if our story would go at all it would go there, and besides the house was convenient for catching the next freight-train. as we approached the back door i was careful to talk to red on my fingers, thinking that somebody might be watching us. a motherly old lady answered our knock. i told her red's story in my best manner, filling it out with convincing details. she heard me out, and then scrutinised red in the way that we all look at creatures who are peculiar or abnormal. then she smiled and invited us into the dining-room where the rest of the family were at breakfast. it turned out to be a free methodist clergyman's household. we were given places at the table, and ate as rapidly as we could, or rather red did; i was continually being interrupted by the family asking me questions about my "unfortunate brother." "was he born that way?" they asked, in hushed voices. "how did he learn to write? can he ever get well?" and other like queries which i had to answer in turn. by the time i had finished my meal, however, i saw by a clock on the wall that we had still fifteen minutes to catch our train, and gave red a nudge under the table as a hint that we ought to be going. we were about to get up and thank our hostess for her kindness when the man of the house, the clergyman, suggested that we stay to family prayers. "glad to have you," he said; "if you can remain. you may get good out of it." i told him frankly that we wanted to catch a train and had only a few minutes to spare, but he assured me that he would not be long and asked me to explain the situation to red. i did so with my fingers, telling the parson afterward that red's wiggling of his fingers meant that he would be delighted to stay, but a wink of his left eye, meant for me alone, said plainly enough to "let the prayers go." we stood committed, however, and there was nothing to do but join the family in the sitting-room, where i was given a bible to read two verses, one for red and one for myself. this part of the program finished, the parson began to pray. all went well until he came to that part of his prayer where he referred to the "unfortunate brother in our midst," and asked that red's speech and hearing be restored. just then red heard the whistle of our freight. he forgot everything, all that i had said and all that he had tried to act out, and with a wild whoop he sprang for the door, shouting back to me, as he went out: "hustle, cigarette, there's our rattler." there was nothing to do but follow after him as fast as my legs would carry me, and i did so in my liveliest manner. i have never been in the town since this experience, and it is to be hoped that the parson's family have forgiven and forgotten both red and me. besides studying the persons of whom he begs, and to whom he adapts his "ghost stories" as their different natures require, the tramp also has to keep in mind the time of the day, the state of the weather, and the character of the community in which he is begging. i refer, of course, to the expert tramp. the amateur blunders on regardless of these important details, and asks for things which have no relation with the time of the day, the season, or the locality. it is bad form, for instance, to ask early in the morning for money to buy a glass of whiskey, and it is equally inopportune to request a contribution toward the purchase of a railway ticket late at night. the "tenderfoot" is apt to make both of these mistakes; the expert, never. the steady patrons of beggars, and all old hands at the business have such, seldom realise how completely adjusted to local conditions "ghost stories" are. they probably think that they have heard the story told to them time and again and in the same way, but if they observe carefully they will generally find that, either in the modulation of the voice, or the tone of expression, it is different on rainy days, for instance, from what it is when the sun shines. it takes a trained ear to discriminate, and expert beggars realise that much of their finesse is lost even on persons who give to them; but they are artists in their way, and believe in "art for art's sake." then, too, it is always possible that they will encounter somebody who will appreciate their talent, and this is also a gratification. speaking generally, there is more begging done in winter than in summer, and in the east and north than in the south and west; but some of the cleverest begging takes place in the warm months. it is comparatively easy to get something to eat and a bed in a lodging-house when the thermometer stands ten degrees below zero. a man feels mean in refusing an appeal to his generosity at this time of the year. "i may be cold and hungry some day myself," he thinks, and he gives the beggar a dime or two. in summer, on the other hand, the tramp has no freezing weather to help him out, and has to invent excuses. even a story of "no work" is of little use in the summer. this is the season, as a rule, when work is most plentiful, and when wages are highest, and the tramp knows it, and is aware that the public also understands this much of political economy. nevertheless, he must live in summer as well as in winter, and he has to plan differently for both seasons. the main difference between his summer and winter campaigns is that he generally travels in summer, taking in the small towns where people are less "on to him," and where there are all kinds of free "dosses" (places to sleep), in the shape of barns and empty houses. in november he returns to the cities again to get the benefit of the cold weather "dodge," or goes south to florida, louisiana, and texas. probably fifteen thousand eastern and northern tramps winter in the south every year. their luck there seems to be entirely individual; some do well and others barely live. they are all glad, however, to return to the north in april and go over their old routes again. an amusing experience that i had not long ago illustrates the different kind of tactics necessary in the tramp's summer campaign. so far as i know, he has never made use of the story that did me such good service, and that was told in all truthfulness, but it has since occurred to me that he might find it useful, and i relate it here so that the reader may not be taken unawares if some tramp should attempt to get the benefit of it. i was travelling with some tramps in western pennsylvania at the time, and we were "beating" our way on a freight-train toward a town where we expected to spend the night. noontime found us all hungry, and we got off the train at a small village to look for lunch. it was such a small place that it was decided that each man should pick out his particular "beat," and confine his search to the few houses it contained. if some failed to get anything, those who were more successful were to bring them back "hand-outs." my "beat" was so sparsely settled that i hardly expected to get so much as a piece of bread, because the entire village was known to hate tramps; but an inspiration came to me as i was crossing the fields, and i got a "set-down" and a "hand-out" at the first house i visited. the interview at the back door ran thus: "madam,"--she was rather a severe-looking woman,--"i have exactly five cents in my pocket and i am awfully hungry. i know that you don't keep a boarding-house, but i have come to you thinking that you will give me more for my nickel than the storekeeper will over in the village. i shall be obliged to you if you will help me out." a look of surprise came into the woman's face. i was a new species to her, and i knew it, and she knew it. "don't know whether we've got anything you want," she said, as if i were a guest rather than a wayfarer. "anything will do, madam, anything," i replied, throwing into my words all the sincerity of which a hungry man is capable. she invited me into the dining-room, and gave me a most satisfying meal. there were no conversational interruptions. i ate my meal in silence and the woman watched me. the new species interested her. just as i was finishing, she put some sandwiches, cake, and pie into a newspaper. i had made a good impression. "there," she said, as i was about to go. "you may need it." i held out my nickel and thanked her. she blushed, and put her hands behind her back. "i don't keep a hotel," she said, rather indignantly. "but, madam, i want to pay you. i'm no beggar." "you wouldn't have got it if you had been. good-bye." the tramps' methods of begging, as has been said, are largely regulated by circumstances and experience, but even the amateurs have theories about the profession, and they are never more interesting than when sitting around some "hang-out" camp-fire, discussing their notions of the kind of "ghost stories" that go best with different sorts of people. indeed, the bulk of their time is passed in conferences of this character. each man, like the passionate gambler, has a "system," and he enjoys "chewing the rag" about its intricacies. the majority of the systems are founded on the tramp's knowledge of women. taking the country by and large, he sees more of women on his begging tours than of men, and it is only natural that his theoretical calculations should be busied mainly with women. some tramps believe that they can tell to a nicety what a blonde woman will give in excess of a brunette, or vice versa, and the same of a large woman in contra-distinction to a small one. much of their theorising in these matters is as futile as is the gambler's estimate of his chances of luck, but certain it is that after a long apprenticeship they become phenomenally accurate in "sizing up" people; and it is he who can correctly "size up" the greatest number of people at first glance and adapt himself to their peculiarities, that comes out winner in the struggle. next in importance to the ability to appraise correctly the generous tendencies of his patrons, and to modulate his voice and to concoct stories according to their tastes, come the tramp's clothes and the way he wears them. it probably seems to most persons that the tramp never changes his clothes, and that he always looks as tattered and torn as when they happen to see him, but the expert has almost as many "changes" as the actor. some days he dresses very poorly; this is generally the case in winter; and on other days he looks as neat and clean as the ordinary business man. it all depends on the weather and the "beat" he has chosen for the day's work. every morning, before he starts out on his tour, he takes a look at the weather and decides upon his "beat." the "beat" selected, he puts on the "togs" which he thinks suit the weather, and away he goes for better or worse. in new york city there are probably a hundred scientific beggars of this character, and they live as well as does the man with a yearly income of $ , . sunday is the most dismal day in the week to the average tramp,--the beggar who is content with his three meals a day and a place to lie down in at night. but few men who go on tramp for the first time expect that sunday is going to be any different from any other day in the week. they usually reach "the road" on a week-day after a debauch, and they find that their soiled clothes and general unkempt condition differentiate them in public thoroughfares very little from hundreds of workingmen. no policeman worries them with suspicious glances, and in large cities they pass unchallenged even in the dead of night. indeed, they receive so little notice from any one that they wonder how they had ever imagined that outcasts were such marked human beings. then comes their first sunday. they get up out of their hayloft, or wherever it may be that they lay down the night before, prepared to look for their breakfast just as they did on the previous day, and after brushing off their clothes and washing themselves at some pump or public faucet, they start out. in a small town they feel that something is wrong before they have gone a block, and by nine o'clock in large towns they decide to go without their breakfast if they have not yet got it. a change has come over the earth; they seem out of place even to themselves, and they return through back streets to their lodging-houses or retreats on the outskirts of the town, sincerely regretting that they are travellers of "the road." a number of men in the world have to thank this sunday nausea that they are to-day workers and not tramps. the latter feel the effects of it to the end of their days; it is as unescapable as death, but like certain seafaring men who never get entirely free of seasickness and yet continue as sailors, so old vagabonds learn to expect and endure the miserable sensations which they experience on the first day of the week. these sensations are due to the remnant of manhood which is to be found in nearly all tramps. the majority of them are for all practical purposes outcasts, but at breakfast-time, on sunday morning, they have emotions which on week-days no one would give them credit for. it was my fate, some years ago, to be one of a collection of wanderers who had to while away a sunday in a "dugout" on a bleak prairie in western kansas. we had nothing to eat or drink and practically nothing to talk about except our dismal lot. toward nightfall we got to discussing in all earnestness the miserableness of our existence, and i have always remembered the remarks of a fellow sufferer whom we called "west virginia brown." he was supposed to be the degenerate scion of a noble english family, and was one of the best educated men i have ever met in hoboland. he took little part in the general grumbling, but at last there was a lull in the conversation, and he spoke up. "i wonder," he said, "whether the good people who rest on sunday, go to church, and have their best dinner in the week, realise how life is turned upside down for us on that day. there have always been men like us in the world, and it is for us as much as for any one, so far as i know, that religion exists, and yet the day in the week set apart for religion is the hardest of all for us to worry through. was it, or wasn't it, the intention that outcasts were to have religion? the way things are now, we are made to look upon sunday and all that it means with hatred, and yet i don't believe that there's any one in the world who tries to be any squarer to his pals than we do, and that's what i call being good." the last "the road" knew of brown, he was serving a five years' sentence in a canadian prison. his lot cannot be pleasant, but methinks that on sundays, at least, he is glad that he is not "outside." chapter x. the tramp's politics. as a political party the tramps cannot be said to amount to much. counting "gay-cats" and hoboes, the two main wings of the army, they are numerous enough, if concentrated in a single state, or in a city like new york, to cast, perhaps, the determining vote in a close election, but they are so scattered that they never become a formidable political organisation. they are more in evidence in the east than in the west, and in the north than in the south, but they are to be met in every state and territory in the union. on account of their migratory habits very few of them are legally entitled to vote, and the probability is that only a small fraction of them actively take part in elections. in large cities like new york, chicago, philadelphia, and san francisco, and during fiercely fought political struggles even in some of the smaller towns, they are collected into colonies by unscrupulous electioneering specialists, and paid to vote as they are told, but otherwise they make very little effort to have their voices count in political affairs. two of their number, indiana blackie and railroad jack, have achieved some notoriety as stump speakers, and blackie was a man who might have secured political preferment,--a consulship, perhaps,--if he had understood how to keep sober, but he broke down during a campaign in west virginia, and was drowned not long after in the ohio river. in wheeling, west virginia, i heard him make one of the wittiest political speeches i have ever heard anywhere, and his hearers listened to him as attentively as a few evenings before they had listened to a famous politician. the speech was no sooner ended, however, than blackie went off on a terrible "jag," and i saw him at noon the next day, looking for a wash-boiler. he was splattered all over with mud, and did not know whether he was in west virginia or indiana. he finally concluded from the colour of the mud that he was out in wyoming. although the tramps have no comprehensive political organisation, and take but little interest in voting, except when their ballots bring in hard cash, they are great talkers on political questions of the day, and are continually championing the cause of some well-known political leader. as a class, they may be called _geister die stets verneinen_,--they are almost invariably in opposition to the party in power. since the last presidential election mr. william jennings bryan has been their hero, and they expect of him, if his ambition to be president is ever gratified, a release from all the troubles which they think are now oppressing the country, and particularly themselves. they have, without doubt, misconstrued a great deal that mr. bryan has said in his speeches and writings; they have pinned their faith to him without carefully considering his promises; but in something that he has said or done, or in his personality, they have discovered, they think, the elements of leadership, which, for the nonce, at any rate, they admire. there is not a man in the country at the present moment, for whom they would shout as much, and in whose honour they would get so drunk, as for mr. bryan. they know very little concerning his theories about silver, beyond the expression, "the cross of gold," and they are very scantily informed in regard to his notions about expansion and imperialism, but he represents for them, as probably no other political leader ever did, upheaval and revolution, and it is on such things that they expect to thrive. the place to hear them talk and to get acquainted with their political views is at the "hang-out." practically any nook or corner where they can lie down at night is a "hang-out" to them, but as most of their life is spent on the railroads their main gathering points are little camps built alongside the track. here they sleep, eat, wait for trains, and "chew the rag." much of their conversation is confined to purely professional matters, but every now and then, at some large camp, a roadster will make a slurring remark about this or that political leader, or a paragraph in a newspaper in regard to a "burning" question of the hour will be read aloud, and the confab begins. the topic that started it is soon smothered under a continually accumulating pile of fresh ones, but that does not matter, the "hang-out" never settles anything; it takes up one thing after the other in rapid succession, as fancy dictates, and one must listen carefully merely to catch the drift of what is said. the sentences are short and broken, and a word often suffices to kill what promised to be a lengthy discussion. the old men speak first, the young men next, and the boys are supposed to keep quiet and listen. sometimes, when "booze" accompanies the talk, the age distinctions are temporarily overlooked, and all speak together; but this kind of a conclave finally ends in a free fight, to which politics and everything else are subordinated. the burden of practically all the palavers is "the way the country is going to the dogs." it comes as natural to the average tramp to declare that the united states is in dire peril as it does to the german socialist to say that germany is a miserable _polizei-staat_. he does not honestly believe all that he says, and it needs but a scurrilous remark about our country from some foreign roadster to startle him into a pugnacious patriotism; but in the bosom of his "hang-out" he takes delight in explaining what a bad plight the country is in. this is really his political creed. free trade, protection, civil service reform, the currency question, pensions, and expansion are mere side issues in his opinion. the real issue is what he considers the frightful condition of our "internal affairs." from maine to california the tramps may be heard chattering by the hour on this topic, and they have singled out mr. bryan as their spokesman because they think that he voices their pessimism better than any other man in public view. it came as a surprise to me, when first getting acquainted with tramps, to find that they were such grumblers and critics,--such _nörgler_, as kaiser wilhelm says. i had pictured them as a class which managed to live more or less successfully whether any one else got on or not, and had imagined that they were, comparatively speaking, at peace with the world. that they troubled themselves with public questions and political problems was a thought that had not occurred to me. the fact is, however, that they are as fierce political partisans as the country contains, and in talking with them one must be careful not to let an argument go beyond what in polite society would be considered rather narrow bounds. they are quick to resort to fists in all discussions, and in my intercourse with them it has paid best to let them do most of the talking when politics has been the topic of conversation. it would take a book, and a large one at that, to report all the evidence that they advance at "hang-out" conferences in support of their statements concerning the evils from which they believe the country is now suffering, but no account of their political notions, no matter how short, should fail to take note of their rantings against capital, and what they consider the political corruption of the country. nearly every conversation they have on politics begins with some wild assertion in regard to one of these topics, and mr. bryan's name is invariably dragged into the discussion. they believe that he hates the man who has saved money and understands how to make it earn more, quite as much as they do, and they will be very much disappointed in him, in case he is ever elected president, if he does not suggest legislation by which the rich man can be made "to shell out his coin." on no subject do the tramps use such violent language as on this one of the capitalist. they think that it is he who has imported all the foreign labour in the country,--another eyesore in their opinion; who has made england the real "boss" of things on this side of the atlantic,--a notion which they claim to have dug out of mr. bryan's speeches; who has reduced the wages of the "poor workingman" and increased the cost of living; and, worst of all, who is now trying to take away from them what they consider their inalienable railway privileges. they hold him answerable also for the trusts and syndicates, agitation against which they require from any political party in which they take an interest. they have thought seriously over these matters about as much as a ten-year-old child has, but that does not matter. they do not propose to think hard about anything. mr. bryan is for the present doing all the thinking which they consider necessary, and they are content merely to repeat in their own jargon statements which he has made, or which they think he has made. he has become for them an infallible oracle, who understands them and their position, and whom they understand. in the bottom of their hearts they know that they are deserving of precious little championship, that they lead despicable lives, and commit some very reprehensible deeds; but it is a consolation to them which they cannot let go, to think that mr. bryan includes them in his classification of victims of the "gold bugs," so they try to make propaganda for him. the time was when many of them shouted for henry george and "general" coxey as vociferously as they now shout for bryan. they expected from george and coxey the same overthrow of their imaginary oppressors and general upheaval of things that they now look forward to from mr. bryan. they were once also enamoured of mr. blaine, but for a different reason. they admired the way he championed the cause of americans who got into trouble in foreign parts. when he was secretary of state it was a temporary fad among them to scold about the way americans were treated abroad, and on one occasion, the details of which i have forgotten, mr. blaine pleased them immensely by insisting on the release of an american who had been falsely arrested in some foreign port. they are particularly entertaining when talking about the corruption in the country. they discuss this question with all the seriousness of professional moralists and reformers, and it seems never to occur to them that there is any inconsistency in their attitude toward the matter. an amusing instance of their lack of perception in this particular came to my notice in columbus, o., where i was temporarily on duty as a railroad police officer. one morning, word came that mr. bryan was expected to arrive about noon. he was to give a talk to his local admirers. there were about two hours between the time i received notice of his coming and the hour of his arrival, and i put them in strolling about the streets, seeing whether there were any light-fingered gentry in the town whom i knew. in the course of my wanderings i dropped into a saloon in one of the side streets where a man, whom i recognised as a "hobo gun,"--a tramp pickpocket,--was holding forth in loud language on the "poleetical c'rupshun" in the country, and in ohio in particular. he made the usual platitudinous remarks about this matter, to which his drunken hearers listened with approval, and wound up his harangue with a eulogy on mr. bryan, who was "the one honest man in the land." when mr. bryan arrived at the railroad station, my companions and i had to be on watch to see that his pockets as well as those of the people crowding about him were not picked, and whom should i find prowling about suspiciously in the throng, but the loud-mouthed reformer of the saloon! he was looking hard for a pocket to "nick," but some one must have "tipped off" the "fly cops" to him, for he disappeared before long as mysteriously as he had appeared, and without any plunder, for no "leather" was "lifted" on that occasion. not all of the tramps' political talk is merely negative and critical; some of it is also positive and constructive. they think that they know what they want in the way of government, as well as what they do not want. speaking generally, they favour a crude kind of state socialism, to be prefaced, however, by a general cataclysm, in which existing conditions are to be entirely revolutionised, and out of which the poor, and more particularly the outcast, are to come victorious. they make no attempt to elaborate in conversation the details either of the convulsion, or of the new order of things which is to follow; generalities alone interest them, and they scorn inquiries as to how their theories are to be put into practice. that mr. bryan is in sympathy with their notions of the extensive powers that the government ought to have is proved for them by the fact that he believes that silver can be given its rightful place in our monetary system merely by an enactment of congress, or by command of the president. they recognise no laws in politics other than those which man makes. that there are natural laws and economic facts, over which man has no control, is a matter which they have never taken into consideration. i refer to the rank and file of the tramp army. there are individual men who do not subscribe to what i have given as the political philosophy of the majority of the tramps,--men, indeed, who laugh at the thought of a tramp having any political notions at all,--but they are exceptions. the average roadster considers himself as justified in stating his political beliefs, and working for them, if he is so inclined, as does the workingman,--even more, because he thinks that he has time to formulate his ideas, whereas the workingman is kept busy merely earning his bread. as agitators and propagandists the tramp is mainly in evidence at big strikes. in the last fifteen years there has not been a notable railroad strike in the country in which he has not taken part either as a helper in destroying property, or as a self-elected "walking delegate." the more damage the strikers achieve, the more he is pleased, because he believes, as said above, that it is only upon ruins that the government he desires can be founded. when a train of cars is derailed or burned, he considers the achievement a contribution to the general downfall of the rich and favoured classes. he also has the antiquated notion of political economy, that when a thing has been rendered useless by breakage or incendiarism the workingman is benefited, because the thing must be replaced, and labour must be employed to do it,--hence it pays the poor to effect as much destruction as possible. it would be unjust to mr. bryan to say that the tramp has got this notion from him, but the trouble is that mr. bryan preaches from texts so easily misunderstood by the class of people to which tramps and criminals belong, that he does a great deal of harm to the country, and materially hurts his own cause. not only the tramp, but thousands of workingmen expect of him, in case he is successful in his ambition, things which he can no more give than can the humblest of his admirers; yet both the tramp and the workingman believe that they have promises from him which justify them in expecting what they do. he is a victim of his own "gift of gab," as the tramp dubs his oratory. he has talked so much and so loosely that the tramp has read into his words assurance of changes which he can never bring about. of course it is not to be expected that he or any other man in his position should put much store by what such a constituency as the tramps thinks of him, but the tramp's exaggerated notions of his policy are symptomatic of the man's influence on people. what the tramp particularly likes about him is his doctrine of discontent; they would drop him like a hot coal if he should admit that the country was in a proper condition. a great many other people, who are not tramps, tie to him for the same reason. he is the idol _par excellence_ of persons who have nothing to lose whether he succeeds or fails. he has promised them great benefits if they will help him to office, and as in the case of the tramp, it costs them nothing to shout and vote for him. his tramp admirers, however, he can hold only so long as he represents what they deem to be the most radical doctrines going. if another man like "general" coxey should appear, with more attractive propositions, they would flock to him as readily as they now rally around mr. bryan. they are a volatile people. just before war had been declared with spain, while everybody was discussing our chances in the approaching struggle, a great many of the tramps were sure that the united states was going to get the "licking" of its life. one tramp was so positive of this that he declared that "spain had forgotten more than we ever knew about naval warfare, or ever would know." to-day the same man, as well as the majority of those who sided with him, believe that the united states can "knock out" any nation in existence, and they are dissatisfied because we don't do it. so it will probably go with bryan, so far as they are concerned. at the next presidential election, if he is defeated again, the majority of them will look around for some other man for whom they can talk. even successful leadership bores them after awhile. they love change, and are continually seeking it in their every-day life as well as in their politics. it is this trait of theirs which would defeat any attempt at permanent organisation among them. two friends were recently discussing the relative power and influence of the man who writes and the man who organises and leads. the late george william curtis was cited as a man who must have wielded great power with his pen, and richard croker was set over against him as an organiser and leader. the argument ran on for some time, and one of the friends finally made this statement: "i wouldn't care if they were nothing better than tramps, provided a thousand of them would follow my directions in everything that was undertaken. why, i could be king of a ward with such a following. take the east side, for instance. the man over there who can vote solid a thousand men on all occasions, beats any writer in the country in influence." perhaps he does, but no man in the country, be he writer or organiser, could hold a thousand tramps together in politics. for one election they might be kept intact, but a defection would take place before the second one was due. as men to manipulate and direct, they could be made to do most in battle, and i have always regretted that a regiment of them did not go to cuba during the late war. with a regiment of regulars behind them to have kept them from retreating, and some whiskey to inspire them, a regiment composed of fellows such as are to be found in "the lake shore push," for instance, would have charged up san juan hill with a dash that even the rough riders would have had trouble to beat. they are not good political philosophers, or conscientious citizens, but in desperate circumstances they can fight as fiercely as any body of men in the world. chapter xi. what tramps read. in a superficial way tramps read practically everything they can get hold of. as a class they are not particularly fond of books when there is something more exciting to engage their attention, such as a "hang-out" conference, for instance, but they get pleasure out of both reading and writing. they have generally learned how to read as boys, either at home with their parents or in some institution for truants and "incorrigibles." dime novels and like literature amuse them most at this stage in their career, and the same is true of tramp boys who are found in hoboland, but they learn to laugh over the fascination that such books had for them, as do more highly cultivated readers. as a rule, however, it is not until they have served a term in prison that they take a definite interest in the books that appeal to educated people. in all large prisons there are libraries from which the inmates can draw books at stated intervals, and the majority of the truly professional tramps generally serve at least one sentence in these institutions. as youths, it was their ambition to be successful thieves, crack burglars, pickpockets, and "peter-men" (safe thieves), and they have usually experimented with the thief's profession long enough to get a year or two in a penitentiary. some take a longer time than others to become convinced that they lack criminal wit, and are fitted, so far as their world is concerned, for nothing higher than tramping, but the majority of tramps in the united states arrive at this conclusion sooner or later, and degenerate into what may be called discouraged criminals. in the process of getting discouraged they have access to prison libraries, and can pick and choose their books as they like. in some prisons the wardens keep track of the kinds of books their charges call for, and i have seen interesting reports in which an attempt has been made to read the characters of the men from their different bookish preferences; but it is easy to make mistakes in such calculations. i know of prisoners, for instance, who have called for nothing but religious books in the hope that the "galway" (the prison priest) would be so impressed with their reformation that he would recommend their cases to the board of pardons for reconsideration. indeed, prisoners in general are such _poseurs_, in one respect or another, that not much faith can be put in conclusions as to their literary tendencies deduced from their selection of books in prison libraries. one must observe them in the open, and see what they read when they are free of the necessity of making an impression, to discover their real preferences. in summer they are almost constantly "in transit," and read very little except newspapers, but in winter they flock to the large cities and gather around the stoves and radiators in public libraries, and it is then that one can learn what kind of reading they like best. the library in cooper union, for example, is one of their favourite gathering-places in new york city during the cold months, and i have seen the same tramps reading there day after day. novels and books of adventure appeal to them most, and it would surprise a great many people to see the kind of novels many of them choose. thackeray and dickens are the favourite novelists of the majority of the tramps that i have happened to talk with about books, but the works of victor hugo and eugene sue are also very popular. the general criticism of the books of all of these writers, however, is that they are "terribly long drawn out." a tramp who had just finished reading thackeray's "vanity fair" once said to me: "why the devil didn't he choke it off in the middle, an' leave out all the descriptions? it's a good book all right enough, but it's as long-winded as a greyhound." robert louis stevenson, on the other hand, is admired by a western tramp acquaintance of mine on account of his "big mouthfuls of words." detective stories like "sherlock holmes" and the books of gaboriau are read widely by both tramps and criminals, and the ingenuity of their authors is often admired; but the tramp cannot understand, and no more can i, why the writers of such stories prefer to give their own conception of a detective to the "hawkshaw" of real life. he believes, and i agree with him, that much more interesting detective tales could be written if the truth about police life were told; and there awaits the writer who is prepared and willing to depict the "fly cop" as he really is in anglo-saxon countries, a remunerative and literary success. no mistake has been made in portraying him as the king of the under world, but some one ought to tell what a corrupt king he has been, and still is, in a great many communities. popular books, such as "trilby," "david harum," and "mr. dooley," almost never reach the tramps until long after their immediate success is over. the tramps have no money to invest in books of the hour, and the consequence is that while the public is reading the book of some new favourite author, they are poring over books that were popular several years back. there are roadsters who are to-day reading for the first time the earliest books of mark twain, bret harte, and other well-known authors, and the next crop of vagabonds will probably read the works of writers who are now in the foreground. in chicago i met, one day, a tramp who had just discovered bret harte, and he thought that "tennessee's partner" and "the outcasts of poker flat" were recent stories. "i tell ye, cigarette," he declared, enthusiastically, "those stories'll make that fella's fortune. jus' wait till people get to talkin' about 'em, an' you'll see how they'll sell." he had read the tales in a sailor's mission to which somebody had donated a mutilated tauchnitz edition of bret harte's writings. in a county jail in ohio i also once heard two tramps discuss for nearly two hours the question whether shakespeare wrote his plays when he did or about two hundred years later. the tramp who favoured the latter theory based it on the supposition that the balcony scene in "romeo and juliet" could not have been possible so far back as "in shakespeare's time." "why, gol darn it," he exclaimed, "they didn't have no such porches in them days. a porch, i tell ye, is a modern invention, just like dynamite is." next to the exciting novel or tale of adventure, the tramp likes to read books which deal with historical and economic subjects. it is a rather exceptional tramp who can read intelligently such a book as henry george's "progress and poverty," but a number of roadsters have gone through this work time and again, and can quote from it quite freely. indeed, it has been the cause of long discussions at "hang-outs" all over the united states. any book, by the way, which "shows up" what the tramps consider the unreasonable inequalities in our social conditions, appeals to them, and thoughts in regard to such matters filter through the various social strata and reach the tramp class more rapidly than the reader would think. i have heard tramps discuss socialism, for instance, with quite as clear an insight into its weak points, and with as thorough an appreciation of its alluring promises, as will be found in any general gathering of people. they are much more entertaining when discussing a book dealing with some serious question than when trying to state their opinion of a novel. if a character in a novel has taken hold of them, they can criticise it intelligently and amusingly, and they have their favourite characters in fiction just as other people have, but only a few tramps read novels with the intention of remembering their contents for any length of time; such books are taken up mainly for momentary entertainment, and are then forgotten. books of historical or political import, on the contrary, are frequently read over and over again, and are made to do service as authorities on grave questions discussed at "hang-out" conferences. bryan's "first battle" has been quoted by tramps in nearly every state in the union, and some roadsters can repeat verbatim long passages from it. a striking example of the tramp's fondness for what he would call heavy books was a man whom i met, some years ago, at a tramp camp in central new york. we had been sitting around the camp-fire for some time, discussing matters of the road, when the man called my attention to his weak eyes. i had noticed that the lids of his eyes were very red, and he told me that it was only with difficulty that he could read even large print. "used them up in the stir" (penitentiary), he explained. "we had no work to do, and were shut up in our cells practically all of the time, and i simply read myself blind." i asked him what kind of reading he had enjoyed most, and he gave me a string of authors' names, whose books he had drawn from the library, which but few college graduates could beat. i have forgotten many of the books he mentioned, but kant's "pure reason" and burton's "melancholy" were among the number. we talked together for over three hours about writers and writing, and i have seldom enjoyed a conversation more. the man was still a tramp in essential matters, and had no intention of becoming anything better, but his reading had widened the boundaries of his world to such an extent that in other clothes and with a few changes in his diction he might have passed muster in very respectable companionship. if he is alive, he is probably still looking for "set-downs" and "hand-outs," and discussing between meals with the hoboes the wonderful things that were revealed to him during the ten years he spent in his prison university. endowed with this interest in books of a serious nature, it would seem that the tramp ought eventually to take to heart some of the wisdom such books contain, and try to live up to it in his every-day life, but i am compelled to say that, in the majority of cases, he considers himself a being apart from the rest of the world, so far as moral responsibility is concerned. he likes to ponder over the moral obligations of others, and to suggest schemes for a general social regeneration, but he finds it irksome and unpleasant to apply his advice and recommendations to his own existence. theoretically, he has what he would call a religion, but he no more expects to live up to his religion than he intends to work when he can get out of it. he has two worlds in which he lives,--one consisting of theories and fanciful conceits which he has got from books and his own imagination, and the other of hard facts, prejudices, and habits. he is most natural in the latter environment, but moods come over him when he feels impelled to project himself into the world of theories, and then nothing pleases him more than imaginatively to reconstruct the world in general as he believes it ought to be. i have been asked whether he ever voluntarily reads the bible. it is an easy book to get hold of, and in prison it is forced upon the tramp's attention, but it has no marked fascination for him. i have known a roadster to beg a new testament from a bible house agency in order to settle a dispute about religious doctrine, but this is a very exceptional case. the average tramp knows no difference between the old and new testaments, and bases any religious convictions that he may have on personal revelations of truth rather than on inspired scripture. in one respect, however, he conforms to conventional customs,--he likes to sing hymns. in jail or out, if he happens to be in a singing mood, it is only necessary to start such hymns as "pull for the shore," "there were ninety and nine," "where is my wandering boy to-night?" and this tattered and uncouth creature breaks forth into song. there is a grin on his lips while he sings, for he appreciates the ludicrousness of the situation, but he sings on at the top of his voice. at night, on a western prairie, where he and his pals have built a "hang-out" near a railroad track, there is no more picturesque scene in all hoboland than when he stands up, starts a tune, and the others rise and join him. equally amusing, if not so harmless, are the tramp's improvised schools. in the autumn, when the weather gets too cold for sleeping out, the country schoolhouse becomes one of the tramp's night shelters. he gets in through one of the windows. a wood-pile is near by, and what with a good fire and benches to lie on, he makes a very cosy nest. let a crowd of ten or twenty appropriate such a place, and there is always a frolic before bedtime. one of the tramps is elected teacher, the scholars' books and slates are taken from their desks, and school begins. "moike, oppen yer mug 'n' see if ye kin read," the teacher commands, and the burly pupil begins to paw over the leaves. later comes a turn at spelling, writing, and "figgerin'," and a wild hobo song ends the session. a keg of beer sometimes helps to enliven things, and then ink-bottles, readers, and spelling-books are scattered about the room in great confusion. the wood-pile also disappears, and sometimes the building itself goes up in flames. i have often wondered whether the real pupils were not glad to find things so topsy-turvy in the morning. it must take time to put the schoolhouse in order again, and the boys and girls have a vacation meanwhile. the taxpayers grumble, of course, but, as the tramp says, "they ought to fasten things tighter," and until they do he will continue, i fear, to entertain himself at their expense. an experience that i had not long ago illustrates the tramp's unwillingness to have his reading matter regulated by outsiders. i was making an investigation of the tramp situation on certain railroads in the middle west at the time, and one night, in company of some fellow roadsters, i went for shelter to the tramp ward of a poor-house. the room we were sent to was in the cellar, and we all passed a very miserable night. in the morning we were given our breakfast in the common dining-room of the institution, and while we were sitting at the table the wife of the keeper gave each one of us a "tract," which we carefully tucked under our plates and left there. when we had finished, one of the tramps asked our hostess whether there was a place in the building where we could wash; the hole we had had to stay in over night was so dirty that our clothes and hands were covered with dust, and the tramp knew that any stream we might find outside would be frozen over. the woman looked at him severely, and said: "there's a brook at the foot of the hill." the tramp's anger was aroused. "madam," he said, "i have always been taught that cleanliness is next to godliness. you have given us all tracts, but you won't give us a place to wash. your religion and mine don't jibe. you'll find the tracts under the plates." we all got another severe look, and the next batch of tramps probably got the tracts. of the newspapers that the tramp reads there is but little that is novel to report beyond the fact that he begs for them in the same systematic fashion characteristic of him when looking for his meals. not all tramps are anxious to keep up to date as regards the world's doings, but a fair proportion of them look for their morning newspaper immediately after breakfast. they go to stores and barber-shops, and do not hesitate to ask even newsdealers. in summer the newspapers which they get also serve them as beds in railroad box-cars; they spread them out on the floor of the car and lie down on them, their shoes and vests doing duty as pillows, and their coats as covering. their favourite papers are of the yellow kind, but i doubt whether they take them any more seriously than other people do who buy them merely for particular items of news and then throw them away. they like spicy articles and glaring pictures, and scramble with one another for first chance at the _police gazette_, but this taste is not unnatural; their life is rough, vulgar, and sensational, and the wonder is that they can appreciate and care for the high-class literature which many of them read. i have said that they get enjoyment out of writing as well as reading. there are a few well-educated men in tramp life, and they have been surprised attempting to make literature as well as to read it. in germany it is quite a custom among the _chausseegrabentapezirer_ to keep diaries in which they jot down notes and comments on their life, and in this country, also, journals and essays by tramps have been discovered. one of the most intelligent criticisms of my tramp papers in _the century_ came from a boston tramp, hailing for the time being from texas. excepting a few mistakes in grammar which many persons who are not tramps are guilty of, it was a very creditable production. once upon a time, not to be too particular, two tramps were shut up all alone in a jail in michigan, and their sentences wore so heavily upon them that they found it very difficult to be patient. their stories gave out, the jail fare became tiresome, there was very little to read, and they were by nature very restless. at last things looked so gloomy that they decided to spin a coin for a choice of two suggested pastimes,--writing a story, or planning and carrying out an escape. it was "heads" for the story, and "tails" for the escape. heads won. true to their contract, these two men, one fairly well educated, and the other with a big imagination, sat themselves down to the task, pencil and paper being furnished by the sheriff. for ten days they wrote and wrote, then rewrote, until, as the man with the imagination said, their "poor brains seemed squeezed to death." indeed, they had worked so hard that the man with a little education thought it would be worth while to try to sell the story; so, after it had been read to the sheriff and his wife, both of whom it pleased, sufficient postage was collected to send it to a periodical thought to be looking for such contributions; and off it went, and with it the solemn prayers of the authors. three weeks later, lo and behold! a letter arrived in care of the sheriff. the two men opened it tenderly and fearfully, each tearing a little of the end off and then passing it to the other, saying, like silly girls: "i don't dare." but what was their surprise, the terrifying little thing once laid bare, to find in it a check for ninety dollars, payable to them jointly or severally, as if the editor had fancied that they might be turned loose at different times. unfortunately, they were freed together, and two hours afterward the man with the imagination had so inflated it with whiskey that he wanted to storm the jail and free the sheriff. his story, however, was not disgraced. it is still quite readable. he, poor fellow, would probably like to toss up again for pastimes; when last heard of he was "doing" solitary confinement. chapter xii. policing the railroads. engineers build railroads and are largely represented in their management, but both in building and operating them they are dependent, at one time or another, upon some kind of police protection. indeed, there are railroads that could not have been constructed at all without the aid of either soldiers or policemen. the trans-caspian railroad was built largely by soldiers, and is still superintended by the war department at st. petersburg rather than by the minister of ways of communication. the siberian line is, in parts, the result of the work of convicts, who were carefully watched by police guards, and the russian civil engineers in manchuria have needed the protection of cossacks merely to survey that end of the road. in germany, practically all the railroad officials, from the head of the engineering department down to the track-walkers, have police power. the conductor of a train, for instance, can put an obstreperous passenger under arrest without waiting until a station is reached, and resistance to him is as serious an offence as is resistance to the ordinary _schutzmann_. in europe, it was seen, when railroads were first coming into use, that police efficiency, as well as that of the technical railroader, would be required, if the properties were to be well managed, and it was secured at the start. before the railroads were built it had been made plain, after long experience, that even on the public turnpikes policemen were indispensable, and the authorities decided to employ them on railroads as well. the protection of life and property is a very serious matter in europe, where precautions are taken which in the united states would seem superfluous. it avails nothing in germany, for example, for a director of a company to excuse the loss of money intrusted to his care on the ground that he thought he was acting in a businesslike manner. inspectors, or commissioners, are appointed to see whether his transactions come up to the standard of what is considered businesslike, and if they find that he has not exercised good judgment, although there may have been nothing intrinsically dishonest in the way he has managed, his bondsmen frequently have to reimburse the stockholders for the loss that his mistakes have brought upon them. it is the spirit of carefulness behind such a precaution as this which goes to explain why the germans have the systematised police surveillance of railroad property referred to. much of this surveillance is in the hands of the municipal police and rural constabulary, but the fact that the majority of the railroad officials have police authority shows how much protection was considered necessary to manage the properties carefully. in the united states the idea seems to have been that the engineers and managers could be relied on to get out of railroad investments all the profit that was in them, and that the assistance of policemen could be dispensed with except as watchmen. it is true that, for a number of years, railroad companies have had on their pay-rolls what are called "railroad detectives," but up to a few years ago there was not a well-organised railroad police force in the united states, and yet there is no country in the world, at the present moment, where railroads are more in need of such auxiliary departments. a great deal of money would have been saved to investors, and not a few lives would have been spared, had the american railroads seriously taken up this police matter in the early days of their existence, and until they do, say what one will about the luxuries to be found on american trains, and the speed at which they run, american railroad properties, in this particular at least, are inferior to those of europe in management. the purpose of this last chapter is to call attention to the inadequateness of the police arrangements now prevalent on nearly all railroad systems in the united states, to show what has resulted from this inadequateness, and to interest railroad men and the general public in police organisations which will be equal to the work necessary to be done. to bring out clearly the defects of the prevailing railroad police methods in the united states, it seems appropriate to take a concrete case, and describe the situation on a railroad which i have been over as a passenger and as a trespasser. it employs about sixty men in its police department, and is one of the most tramp-infested roads in the country. the maintenance of the so-called detective force costs the company about forty thousand dollars a year. by way of illustration, i will give a résumé of conversations that i had respectively with a detective, a tramp, and a trainman that i encountered on the property. each of these men was representative of his class, and spoke his mind freely. the detective had started out in life as a brakeman, but his eyesight became faulty after a few years, and he got a position on the police force. he had just passed his fiftieth year when i met him, and was heavy, unwieldy, and inclined to be lazy. his beat consisted of forty miles of track, and he generally went over it in a passenger train. i asked him whether he found many tramps on passenger trains. he was not supposed to devote all of his time to watching trespassers, but they were so obviously a nuisance on the property that it struck me as peculiar that he did not ride on trains where they were more likely to be found. "no," he replied, in a drawling voice, to my query, "i don't find many tramps in passenger coaches; but i know where their camps are, and several of us raid 'em every now and then." "i should think you would want to ride more on freight-trains," i went on, "and catch the trespassers in the act, so to speak." "i'm too heavy to fool around freight-trains; besides, i don't want to have a knife put into me. some o' them tramps are mighty quick on their feet, and if i went at 'em they'd have a razor cut in me before i could turn round." i asked him why, in view of his age and heaviness, he did not try to find employment in some other department of the road more suited to his abilities. railroad companies are often very lenient with employees of long standing, and give them easy positions in their old age. "this is the easiest department the road's got," he returned. "besides, i'm my own boss." "don't you have to make regular reports to any one?" "i go to the trainmaster's office every morning for orders, but he don't know much about the business, and generally tells me to do as i think best. we men haven't got a chief the way the regular railroaders have." "who is responsible for what you do?" i inquired. "nobody, i guess, but the pres'dent o' the road." "how do you spend your time?" "well, i go to the trainmaster in the morning, and if he hasn't heard of anything special, like a car robbery or an accident where there's likely to be a claim for damages, i stay around the station a while, or go down into the yards and see what i can see. sometimes i spend the day in the yards." "what do you do there?" "oh, i loaf around, keep the kids away from the cars, chin-chin with the switchmen 'n' the other men, keep my eyes open for fellows that there's rewards for, eat my dinner, an' go to bed." "why don't you try to break up the tramp camps?" "we do try it, but they come back again." "don't you think you would probably be more successful if you raided them oftener?" "yes, i guess we would; but, you see, there ain't any one who's running the thing. when an order comes from the superintendent to make raids we make 'em, but he don't send in that order more'n once in three months, an' the rest o' the time we do pretty much as we like." "how do you think things would go if you men were organised and had a chief? would better work be done?" "better work would be done, i guess, but it would be a darned sight harder work," and he smiled significantly. my tramp informant was an old roadster of about forty, who had "held down" the railroad in question for a number of years. i asked him how long it had been an "open" road,--one easy for trespassers to get over. "as long as the memory of man goes back," he replied, with a suggestive flourish of his hand. "are not some divisions harder to beat than others?" "once in awhile a division'll get a little horstile, but only fer a few weeks." "how many tramps are riding trains?" "i don't see all the trains, so i can't tell you; but i never seen a freight yet that wasn't carryin' at least five bums, 'n' i've seen some carryin' over a hundred in summer there's most as many bums as passengers." "is there much robbing of cars going on?" "not so much as there might be. the blokes are drunk most of the time, 'n' they let chances go by. if they'd keep sober, 'n' look up good fences, they could do a nice little business." "do the police trouble you much?" "when they round up a camp they're pretty warm, but i don't see much o' them 'cept then. 'course you wants to look out fer 'em when a train pulls into division yards, 'cause 'f yer handy they'll pinch you; but they ain't goin' to run after you very far. i've heard that they have orders to let the bums ride, so long as there ain't too much swipin' goin' on. the company don't care, some people say." the trainman that i interviewed was a freight-train conductor who had been in the employ of the company over twenty-five years. i asked him whether he had instructions to keep trespassers off his trains. "i got the instructions all right enough," he said, "but i don't follow them. i'm not a policeman for the road. i'm a conductor, and i only draw a salary for being that, too. when i was green i used to try to keep the bums off my trains, but i nearly got my head shot off one night and stopped after that. it's the detectives' business to look after such people." "do you see much of the detectives?" "once in awhile one of them shows up on my trains, but i've never seen them make any arrests. one of them got on my train one day when i was carryin' fifty tramps, and he never went near them." "what do you think ought to be done to keep tramps off trains?" "well, what i'd like to have done would be for the united states government to let all us trainmen carry revolvers and shoot every galoot that got on to our trains. that'd stop the thing." "do you think the company wants it stopped?" "i don't know whether they do or not, but i wish to god they'd do something. why, we men can't go over our trains at night any more, and be sure that we ain't goin' to get it in the neck somewhere. it's a holy fright." i have quoted these men because their testimony may be accepted as expert. they know the situation and they know one another, and they had no reason to try to deceive me in answering my questions. in addition to their remarks, it is only necessary, so far as this particular road is concerned, to emphasise the fact that the forty thousand dollars a year which the company spends for protection of the property are not protecting it, and are bringing in to the stockholders practically no interest. the police force is entirely lacking in system; many of the men are too old and indifferent, and the property is littered up with as miscellaneous a collection of vagabonds and thieves as is to be found in a year's travel. this is neither good management, nor good business, and it is unfair to a community which furnishes a railroad much of its revenue, to foist such a rabble upon it. a more or less similar state of affairs exists on the great majority of the trunk lines in the united states. they are all spending thousands of dollars on their "detective" forces, as they call them, and they are all overrun by wandering mobs of ne'er-do-wells and criminals. there are no worse slums in the country than are to be found on the railroads. reformers and social agitators are accustomed to speak of the congested districts of the large cities as the slums to which attention should be directed, but in the most congested quarters of new york city there are no greater desperadoes nor scenes of deeper degradation than may be met on the "iron highways" of the united states. a number of railroads are recognised by vagrants and criminals as the stamping ground of particular gangs that are generally found on the lines with which their names are connected. every now and then the report is given out that a certain railroad is about to inaugurate a policy of retrenchment, and the newspapers state that a number of employees have been discharged or have had their work hours cut down. the best policy of retrenchment that a number of railroad companies can take up would be to stop the robberies on their properties, collect fares from the trespassers, and free their employees from the demoralising companionship of tramps and criminals. to carry out such a policy a well organised railroad police force is indispensable, and as i have made use of a practical illustration to indicate the need of reform, i will advance another to show how this reform can be brought about. there is one railroad police organisation in the united states which is conscientiously protecting the property in whose interests it works, and i cannot better make plain what is necessary to be done than by giving a short account of its organisation and performance. it is employed on the pennsylvania lines west of pittsburg, and in inception and direction is the achievement of the general manager of that system. as a division superintendent this gentleman became very much interested in the police question, and organised a force for the division under his immediate control. it worked so successfully that, on assuming management of the entire property, he determined to introduce in all the divisions the methods which he had found helpful in his division. there was no attempt made, however, to overhaul the entire property at once. the reform went on gradually, and as one division was organised, the needs and peculiarities of another were studied and planned for. suitable men had to be found, and there was necessarily considerable experimenting. the work was done thoroughly, however, and with a view to permanent benefits rather than to merely temporary relief. to-day, after six years of preparatory exercise, the "northwest system" has a model police organisation, and the "southwest system" is being organised as rapidly as the right men can be found. the force on the "northwest system"--and it must be remembered that this part of the property takes in such cities as pittsburg, cleveland, toledo, and chicago, where there is always a riffraff population likely to trespass on railroad property--is made up of eighty-three officers and men. the chief of the force is the superintendent, whose jurisdiction extends to the "southwest system" also. he reports to the general manager, and is almost daily in conference with him. for an assistant to manage things when he is "out on the road," and to relieve him of road duty when he is needed at headquarters, he has an inspector, a man who has risen from the ranks and has demonstrated ability for the position. each division has a captain, who reports to the division superintendent and to the chief of the police service. this captain has under him one or more lieutenants and the necessary number of patrolmen and watchman, who report to him alone. an order from the general manager consequently reaches the men for whom it is meant through official channels entirely within the police department, and the same is true of statements and reports of the men to the general manager. practically everything is run according to a well-understood system, and this is the secret of the department's success. day in and day out every man on the force knows what he has to do, and expects to be called to order if his work does not come up to what is desired. hunting down trespassers and thieves is but a part of the routine. the property is patrolled almost exactly as a large city is, and the men are expected to make reports about such matters as the condition of frogs and switches, switch-lights, fences, and station-buildings, to do preliminary work for the department of claims, to keep the property free from trespassers, to protect the pay-car, look out for circus and excursion trains, and generally make themselves useful. they are all picked men, and have to come up to the requirements of the united states army as regards health and physical strength. their personal records are known for five years previous to being employed on the force. they constitute for the general manager an invaluable guardianship. he has but to press the button, so to speak, and within a few hours the entire police force is carrying out his instructions. through it he can keep in touch with a thousand and one matters which would otherwise escape his notice, and he can order an investigation with the assurance that he will get an exact and trustworthy report within a reasonable time. such is the organisation. its performance, up to date, has consisted in cleaning up a property that, seven years ago, as i know from observation, was so infested with criminals that it was notorious throughout the tramp world as an "open" road. to-day that system is noted for being the "tightest shut" line, from the trespasser's point of view, in the country, and the company pays seventeen thousand dollars a year less for its police arrangements than it did in for its watchmen and detective force. these are facts which any one may verify, and it is no longer possible for railroad companies to explain their hesitation in taking up the police matter in earnest on the ground that it would cost too much. it costs less, not only in the police department's pay-rolls, but in the department of claims as well, than it did when detached men, without any organisation and direction, were employed, and the conditions at the start were very similar to those on railroads now known to be "open." it is to be admitted that the rabble which formerly infested this property has in all probability shifted to other roads,--gangs of this character naturally follow the lines of least resistance,--but it would have been impossible for it to shift had other railroads taken a similar stand against it; it must have vanished. the time must come when this stand will be taken by all railroads. for a number of years there has been no more valuable contribution to the business of railroading in the united states than the demonstrated success of a railroad police force, and it is difficult to believe that the benefits it brings can be long overlooked. the question of methods to be employed will naturally occasion considerable discussion, and it will doubtless be found that an organisation which suits one railroad is not available for another, but i believe that the general plan of the police organisation described above is a safe one to follow. it is founded on the principle that the men must be carefully selected, thoroughly trained, systematically governed, and the scope of their work sharply defined. no police force, railroad or municipal, can do really good work unless due regard be given to these very important matters. for the benefit of railroad police forces which may be organised in the future, the following suggestion seems to me to be worthy of consideration. the title "detective" should not be given the men. they are not detectives in the ordinary sense of the word, and to be so called hurts them with the public and with their fellow employees. railroading is a business done aboveboard and in the public view, and its police service should stand on a different footing from that of the detective force of a large city, where, as all the world knows, secret agents are necessary. they may be necessary at times on railroads also, but there already exist reputable agencies for furnishing such service. the superintending officers of the force should be superior men. in germany a police patrolman has not the slightest hope of becoming so much as a lieutenant until he has passed a very severe examination, which practically implies a college education, and he consequently realises that his superior officer is entitled to his position on other grounds than mere "pull" or "seniority," and learns to have great respect for him. a similar dignity should be attached to authoritative positions in the railroad police, and to secure it able men must be employed. the superintendent of the service should be as supreme in it as is the superintendent of a division. if he has been chosen for the position on account of his fitness for it, the supposition is that he knows how to fill it, and there should be but one superior to whom he must answer. i bring up this point because on most railroads the police arrangements are, at present, such that almost every head of a department gives orders to the "detectives." on some roads even station agents are allowed to regulate the local police officer's movements. whether an american railroad police can be organised on as broad lines as in germany, where practically all the railroad officials have police authority, is a question which cannot yet be definitely decided. the conditions in the united states are very different from those in germany, and it may be that the sentiment of the people would be against giving so many persons police power; but i think it would be advantageous to experiment with the track-walkers, crossing-watchmen, and gatemen, and see whether they can be incorporated in the railroad police. great care must naturally be exercised in picking out the men to possess patrolmen's privileges, but an examination, such as all german railroad police officials have to pass, would seem to be a precaution which ought to secure safe officers. if such an arrangement were made, the railroad police would admirably supplement the municipal police and the rural constabulary, and the requirements, physical, mental, and moral, of the examinations to be gone through would have a tendency to elevate the morale of the men, not only as patrolmen, but also as railroaders. in conclusion, i desire to point out the opportunity of teaching by example which i believe the railroad police of the united states are going to have. unlike the municipal police, they are free of the toils of politics, and ought to become exemplary. their methods and efficiency will not remain unnoticed. the day that the railroad companies succeed in ridding their properties of the vagrant class which now troubles them, and thousands of this class begin to take up permanent quarters in the cities because they are unable to travel afoot, the public is going to make inquiries as to whence this undesirable contingent has come. they will then learn what a police force can do when it is not officered by political appointment and when it is made up of men who have been trained for the task imposed upon them. a good thing cannot for ever go a-begging. six years ago it seemed as impossible that a railroad could be cleaned up morally, as the one i have described has been, as it now seems that american cities can have police departments independent of politics. the trouble was that no railroad had taken the initiative. ten years hence, i venture to prophesy, the railroads of the united states will not be the avenues of crime that they are at present. some day a similar reform in police methods will be attempted and carried through in one of our cities, and if the railroad police have done their work well, and remained true to honest principles, not a little of the credit will belong to them. [illustration: clifton r. wooldridge.] twenty years a detective in the wickedest city in the world. , arrests made , convictions on state and city laws penitentiary convictions the devil and the grafter and how they work together to deceive, swindle and destroy mankind an army of , criminals at war with society and religion by clifton r. wooldridge the world-famous criminologist and detective "the incorruptible sherlock holmes of america" after twenty years of heroic warfare and scores of hair-breadth escapes, in his unceasing battle with the devil and the grafter, mr. wooldridge tells in a graphic manner how wildcat insurance, fake mines and oil wells, turf swindlers, home buying swindlers, fake bond and investment companies, bucket shops, blind pools in grain and stocks, pool rooms and hand books, fake mail order houses, ordinary gambling houses, panel houses, matrimonial bureaus, fake underwriting, fake banks, collecting agencies, fake medicine companies, clairvoyants, fortune tellers, palmists and other criminals of all classes operate, and how their organizations have been broken up and destroyed by hundreds. the work also contains detective clifton r. wooldridge's "never-fail" system _for detecting and outwitting all classes of grafters and swindlers_ copyright, , by clifton r. wooldridge. chicago publishing co., - plymouth place, chicago. preface. in presenting this work to the public the author has no apologies to make nor favors to ask. it is a simple history of his connection with the police department of chicago, compiled from his own memoranda, the newspapers, and the official records. the matter herein contained differs from those records only in details, as many facts are given in the book which have never been made public. the author has no disposition to malign any one, and names are used only in cases in which the facts are supported by the archives of the police department and of the criminal court. in the conscientious discharge of his duties as an officer of the law, the author has in all cases studied the mode of legal procedure. his aim has been solely to protect society and the taxpayer, and to punish the guilty. the evidences of his sincerity accompany the book in the form of letters from the highest officers in the city government, from the mayor down to the precinct captain, and furnish overwhelming testimony as to his endeavors to serve the public faithfully and honestly. no effort has been made to bestow self-praise, and where this occurs, it is only a reproduction, perhaps in different language, of the comments indulged in by the newspapers of chicago and other cities, whose reporters are among the brightest and most talented young men in all the walks and professions of life. to them the officer acknowledges his obligations in many instances. often he has worked hand-in-hand with them. they have traveled with him in the dead hours of the night, in his efforts to suppress crime or track a criminal, and have often given him assistance in the way of suggestions. he now submits his work and his record to the public, hoping it will give him a kindly reception. table of contents. preface - testimonials biography of the author graft nation's worst foe the "never-fail" system to beat the get-rich-quick swindles the best rules for health matrimonial agents coining cupid's wiles the great mistake. our penal system is a relic of early savagery vagrants, who and why the young criminals and how they are bred in chicago wiles of fortune telling wife or gallows a clever shop lifter (fainting bertha) front the criminal's last chance gone burglary a science cell terms for "con" men panel-house thieves gambling and crime a heartless fraud the bogus mine a giant swindle quacks fabulous losses in big turf frauds fake drug vendors bucket-shop on "sure things." how to learn their real character huge swindles bared the social evil suppress manufacture and sale of dangerous weapons getting something for nothing want ad. fakers millionaire banker and broker arrested dora mcdonald mike mcdonald publisher's preface. the two arch enemies of happiness and prosperity are the devil and the grafter. the church is fighting the devil, the law is fighting the grafter. the great mass of human beings, as they journey along the pathway of life, know not the dangers that lie in wait from these two sources. honest themselves, credulous and innocent, they trust their fellow man. statistics show that four-fifths of all young men and women, and nine-tenths of the widows are swindled out of the money and property that comes to them by inheritance. every year thousands of laboring men spend their hard earnings and beggar their families by falling in traps laid for them. thousands of innocent girls and women, struggling for a respectable livelihood, fall victims to the demons who traffic in human honor. the grafters spend millions upon millions of dollars annually in advertising in america alone. there is not a post office in the land where every mail does not carry their appeals and thieving schemes; and they collect hundreds of millions of dollars annually from the trusting public. the state and national governments spend millions of dollars a year in trying to catch and curb these grafters. some of satan's worst grafters are found in the church, working the brethren; and he has them by thousands in every walk of life. the object of this book is to protect the public by joining hands with the church and the government in their work against the devil and the grafter. the author reveals and exposes the grafter with his schemes, his traps, his pitfalls and his victims. the reader of this book will be fortified and armed with knowledge, facts and law, that should forever protect him, his family and his friends from the wiles of the grafters. it is with the confidence that this work fills an imperative need, and that it should be in the hands of every minister, every physician, every teacher and every mother and father in the land, that the author and publisher send it forth on what they believe to be a mission of good to the world. words of commendation. =from chas. s. deneen, governor of illinois:= "it is with pleasure that i am able to say that detective wooldridge has conducted all his cases with zeal and intelligence." =j. m. longenecker, former state's attorney, says:= "mr. wooldridge has thorough knowledge of evidence and is an expert in preparing a criminal case for trial. i have found him to be one of the most efficient officers in the department." =r. w. mcclaughrey, warden of u. s. prison at leavenworth, kans., ex-warden of illinois state penitentiary and ex-chief of police of chicago, says in a letter to the author:= "you were not only subject to bribes, but also frequently a target of perjurers and scoundrels of every degree. you came out from every ordeal unscathed, and maintained a character for integrity and fearlessness in the discharge of your duties that warranted the highest commendation. it gives me pleasure to make this statement." =j. j. badenoch, ex-general supt. of police, writing mr. wooldridge, says:= "dear sir--before i retire from the command of the police department, i desire to thank you for your bravery and loyal service. the character of your work being such that bribes are frequently offered by the criminal class, it becomes necessary to select men of perfect integrity for the purpose, and i now know that i made no mistake in selecting you for this trying duty. it affords me great pleasure to commend you for your bravery and fidelity to your duties." =nicholas hunt, inspector commanding second division, says:= "i have known clifton r. wooldridge for the last ten years. as an officer he is par-excellent, absolutely without fear and with a detective ability so strongly developed it almost appealed to me as an extra sense. if i wanted to secure the arrest of a desperate man, i would put mr. wooldridge in charge of the case in preference to any one i know, as, with his bravery, he has discretion." =geo. m. shippy, chief of police, of chicago, writing mr. wooldridge, says:= "your heart is in the right place, and while i have always found you stern and persistent in the pursuit and prosecution of criminals, you were very kind and considerate, and i can truthfully say that more than one evil doer was helped to reform and was given material assistance by you." =luke p. colleran, chief of detectives, says:= "his book is most worthy and truthful and commendable; and i take pleasure in commending it to all." sherlock holmes in real life. _from the chicago tribune of november , ._ "chicago may be surprised to learn that it has a sherlock holmes of its own, but it has; and before his actual experiences in crime-hunting, the fictional experiences through which poe, doyle, and nick carter put their detectives pale into insignificance. his name is clifton r. wooldridge. "truth is stranger even than detective fiction, and in the number of his adventures of mystery, danger and excitement he has all the detective heroes of fiction and reality beaten easily. "he has personally arrested , people, of them were sent to the penitentiary; , to the house of correction; , paid fines; girls under age were rescued from lives of shame; $ , worth of property was recovered; panel houses were closed; matrimonial bureaus were broken up. [illustration: disguised as a jew in the ghetto] "wooldridge has refused perhaps bribes of from $ to $ , each. he has been under fire forty-four times. he has been wounded dozens of times. he has impersonated almost every kind of character. he has, in his crime hunting, associated with members of the ' ' and fraternized with hobos. he has dined with the elite and smoked in opium dens. he has done everything that one expects the detective of fiction to do and which the real detective seldom does. "when occasion requires he ceases to appear as wooldridge. he can make a disguise so quickly and effectively that even an actor would be astonished. gilded youth, negro gambler, honest farmer or lodging house 'bum,' it requires but a few minutes to 'make-up,' to run to earth elusive wrong-doers." the pictures which appear here are actual photographs taken from life in the garb and disguises worn by the author in several famous cases. [illustration: "heck houston"--stock-raiser from wyoming in this garb the author makes himself an easy mark for the crooks and grafters of the stock-yard district. the hold-up man--the card-sharp--the bunco-steerer--the get-rich-quick stock-broker fall "easy game" to the detective thus disguised.] [illustration: associating with the stock and bond grafters disguised as an englishman who has money and is looking for a good investment, mr. wooldridge is easily mistaken for a "sucker." the trap is set. he apparently walks into it; but, in a few minutes, the grafter finds himself on the way to prison.] [illustration: policy-sam johnson this is a favorite disguise of the author when doing detective duty among the lowest and most disreputable criminals. unsuspectingly the crooks offer him all sorts of dirty work at small prices for assistance in criminal acts.] [illustration: we never sleep detectives disguised as tramps: "i am made all things to all men," says st. paul. the detective must also make himself all things to all men, that he may find and catch the rascals. to be up-to-date it is necessary to be able to assume as many disguises as there are classes of people among whom criminals hide.] [illustration: policy-sam johnson shooting craps an illustration of the way the detective employs himself in the gambling dens. it is often necessary to play and lose money in these places that he may get at the facts. observe that he is watching proceedings in another part of the room while he is throwing the dice.] [illustration: shadowing one of the four hundred. some of the most dangerous grafters in the world hobnob with the elite. here we have our author in evening dress, passing as a man of society at a banquet of the rich, shadowing a "high-flyer" crook.] [illustration: craps and cards the gambling house is a station on the road to crime. in proportion to population there are, perhaps, more negro gamblers than of any other race.] [illustration: a little game in the alley at noon many boys and young men spend their noon hour in cultivating bad habits that lead to nights of gambling; and then come crimes to get money that they may gamble more.] [illustration: a resting place on the road to crime. the gilded saloon is the club-room of the crook. here he hatches his plots; here he drinks to get desperate courage to carry them out; and here he returns when the crime has been committed to drown remorse and harden conscience.] [illustration: your money or your life] [illustration: a game of poker for "a small stake" this is a clangorous stop. many a ruined man traces his downfall to the day he began in youth to "bet" a little "to make the game interesting."] [illustration: emma ford (sisters) pearl smith mary white, flossie moore four famous negro women grafters as confidence workers, highway robbers, and desperate criminals they were the terror of officers and courts. together they stole and robbed people of more than $ , . . they were finally run to earth and put in prison. our author followed one of them across the continent and back.] [illustration: the destination of the grafter. "the way of the transgressor is hard." "be sure your sin will find you out." the penitentiary is full of bright men who might have been eminently successful--an honor to themselves and a blessing to mankind, if they had only heeded the old adage--"honesty is the best policy."] [illustration: wooldridge's cabinet of burglar tools. at the police headquarters in chicago, one of the most attractive curios is the above cabinet of burglar-tools and weapons taken by the author from robbers and crooks during his eighteen years of service.] [illustration: turning the boys from criminal paths this is a photograph of the juvenile court in chicago, where boys who commit crimes are tried and sent to the reformatory, instead of to prison with hardened criminals. the author claims that our prison system is filling the country with criminals.] [illustration] clifton r. wooldridge america's foremost detective. clifton r. wooldridge was born february , , in franklin county, kentucky. he received a common school education, and then started out in the world to shift for himself. from to , he held the position of shipping clerk and collector for the washington foundry in st. louis, missouri. severing his connection with that company, he went to washington, d. c., and was attached to the united states signal bureau from march , , to december , . he then took up the business of railroading, and for the following nine years occupied positions as fireman, brakeman, switchman, conductor and general yard master. when the gold fever broke out in the black hills in , mr. wooldridge along with many others went to that region to better his fortune. six months later he joined the engineering corps of the denver & rio grande railroad and assisted in locating the line from canon city to leadville, as well as several of the branches. the work was not only very difficult, but very dangerous, and at times, when he was assisting in locating the line through the royal gorge in the grand canon of the arkansas, he was suspended from a rope, which ran from the peak of one cliff to the other, with his surveying instruments strapped to his back. this gorge is fifty feet wide at the bottom and seventy feet wide at the top, the walls of solid rock rising three thousand feet above the level of the river below. the work was slow and required a great deal of skill, but it was accomplished successfully. mr. wooldridge went to denver in and engaged in contracting and mining the following eighteen months. he then took a position as engineer and foreman of the denver daily republican, where he remained until may , . the following august he came to chicago and took a position with the chicago, milwaukee & st. paul railway. in , he severed his connection with the railroad and founded the "switchman's journal." he conducted and edited the paper until may th, when he was burned out, together with the firm of donohue & henneberry at the corner of congress street and wabash avenue, as well as many other business houses in that locality, entailing a total loss of nearly $ , , . thus the savings of many years were swept away, leaving him penniless and in debt. he again turned his attention to railroading and secured a position with the chicago, burlington & quincy railroad and had accumulated enough money to pay the indebtedness which resulted from the fire, when the great strike was inaugurated on that road in february, . the strike included the engineers, firemen and switchmen, and continued nearly a year. on october th of that year mr. wooldridge made application for a position on the chicago police force, and having the highest endorsements, he was appointed and assigned to the desplaines street station. it was soon discovered that wooldridge as a police officer had no superiors and few equals. neither politics, religion, creed, color, or nationality obstructed him in the performance of his police duties, and the fact was demonstrated and conceded times without number that he could not be bought, bribed, or intimidated. he selected for his motto, "right wrongs no man; equal justice to all." his superior officers soon recognized the fact that no braver, more honest or efficient police officer ever wore a star or carried a club. the mass of records on file in the police headquarters and in the office of the clerk of the municipal and criminal court demonstrate conclusively that he has made one of the most remarkable records of any police officer in the united states if not in the world. mr. wooldridge has seen twenty years of experience and training in active police work. ten years of this time he was located in what is commonly known as the levee district, a territory where criminals congregate and where crimes of all degrees are committed. born in kentucky. mr. wooldridge is therefore of southern extraction. and in spite of the "big stick" which this terror of the grafters has carried for twenty years, he still "speaks softly," the gentle accent of the old south. but behind that soft speech there is a determined soul. the smooth-running accents of the south are in this case the velvet which hides the glove of iron. the following are some of the deeds of valor, work and achievements he has accomplished: an unparalleled record. , arrests made by detective wooldridge. he keeps a record of each arrest, time, place and disposition of the case. , arrests made for violation state and city misdemeanors. , arrests made on criminal charges. , of these prisoners paid fines. , of these prisoners were sent to jail or the house of correction. of these were convicted and sent to the penitentiary. , get-rich-quick concerns were raided and broken up. wagon loads of literature seized and destroyed. a conservative estimate of the sum contributed annually by this highly civilized nation to "safe investment" and "get-rich-quick" concerns is $ , , . poker, crap and gambling games raided and closed; $ , , lost. wine rooms closed up. these wine rooms were the downfall and ruination of hundreds of innocent girls. wildcat insurance companies raided and closed. , , bogus securities and patrol wagon loads of books, papers and literature seized. these companies paid no losses, and there were, it is estimated, , , persons who had taken out fire insurance policies in these wildcat companies. they had sustained fire losses and were not indemnified. the conservative estimated loss by these wildcat insurance companies is $ , , . $ , of lost and stolen property was recovered and returned to the owners by detective wooldridge. slot machines seized and broken up; valued at $ , . policy shops raided and closed: $ , would be a conservative estimate of the amount lost by the players. matrimonial agencies raided and broken up. , , matrimonial letters seized and destroyed. , , matrimonial agencies' stock letters seized and destroyed. , , matrimonial stock photographs seized and destroyed. , photographs sent to the matrimonial agencies by men and women who were seeking their affinities seized and destroyed. wagon loads of matrimonial literature seized and destroyed. turf frauds raided and closed: $ , , lost by the public. $ , bribe was offered wooldridge by the turf swindlers to let them run, but he refused to take it. panel houses raided and closed. $ , , was stolen annually from to october, . at that time there were uniformed officers stationed in front of the panel houses. detectives wooldridge and schubert were assigned to break them, which was accomplished in three weeks' time. bucketshops raided and closed; $ , , lost through them. july , , detective wooldridge, in charge of officers, arrested men and landed them in the harrison street police station, and dismantled the following bucketshops: and pacific avenue, sherman street, pacific avenue, pacific avenue, opera house block, exchange court, lyric building, and dearborn street. it was one of the largest and most sensational raids ever made in chicago, and will be long remembered. opium joints raided and closed; $ , spent, and hundreds of persons were wrecked and ruined by the use of opium. girls under age rescued from a house of ill fame and a life of shame, and returned to their parents or guardians, or sent to the juvenile school or the house of good shepherd. home-buying swindles raided and closed; $ , , lost. palmists and fortune tellers raided and closed; $ , lost. spurious employment agencies raided and closed; $ , lost. bogus charity swindles raided and closed; $ , lost. blind pools in grain and stock raided and closed; $ , lost. bogus mail order houses raided and closed; $ , , lost. sure-thing gambling devices raided and closed; $ , , lost. fraudulent and guarantee companies raided and closed; $ , lost. fraudulent book concerns raided and closed; $ , , lost. panel-house keepers were indicted and convicted. owners of the property were indicted and convicted. this broke the panel-house keepers' backbone and they never recovered to resume business again. emma ford, sentenced to the penitentiary april , , for five years. pearl smith, her sister, sentenced to the penitentiary june , , for five years. mary white, may , , for two years. flossie moore, march , , for five years. seventy-five thousand dollars is said to have been stolen by her in eighteen months. $ , bribe was offered detective wooldridge to let flossie moore slip through his fingers. $ , bribe was offered by the same woman for the address of sadie jorden, who was an eye witness of the robbery of e. s. johnson, a retired merchant, aged years. wire tappers were raided and closed. these men secured the quotations from the board of trade and pool rooms, and hundreds of thousands of dollars were secured from the speculators who were victimized; $ , lost. dishonest collecting agencies raided and closed; $ , lost. swindling brokers raided and closed; $ , lost. lotteries raided and closed; $ , , lost. $ per month bribe to run his lottery was offered detective wooldridge, april , , by j. j. jacobs, dearborn street, who conducted the montana loan & investment co. he was arrested and fined $ , by judge chetlain, june , . promoters raided and closed; $ , , lost. salted mines and well companies raided and closed; $ , , lost. city lot swindles raided and closed; $ , , lost. spurious medicine concerns raided and closed; $ , lost. * * * * * $ , worth of poison and bogus medicines seized october , , as follows: $ , worth of spurious medicines seized by detective wooldridge from edward kuehmsted, ingleside avenue. $ , worth of spurious drugs seized from j. s. dean, ellis avenue. $ , worth of spurious drugs seized from burtis b. mccann, madison avenue. $ worth of spurious drugs seized from j. n. levy, dearborn street. $ , worth of spurious medicines seized from w. g. nay, fulton street. * * * * * women arrested for having young girls under age in a house of prostitution. fraudulent theater agencies raided and closed; $ , lost. procurists of young girls for houses of ill fame and prostitution arrested and fined. $ , bribe offered detective wooldridge, september , , by mary hastings, who kept a house of prostitution at custom house place. she went to toledo, o., and secured six girls under age and brought them in the house of prostitution. one of the girls escaped in her night clothes by tying a sheet to the window. there were six in number, as follows: lizzie lehrman, may casey, ida martin, gertie harris, kittie mccarty and lizzie winzel. after mary hastings was arrested and she found out that she could not bribe wooldridge she gave bonds and fled. some months later she was again arrested, and the case dragged along for two years. the witnesses were bought up and shipped out of the state. the case was stricken off, with leave to reinstate. it is said it cost her $ , . four notorious negro women, footpads and highway robbers, arrested by detective wooldridge, whose stealings are estimated by the police to have been over $ , . the following are the names of the women arrested: mushroom banks raided and closed; $ , lost. detective wooldridge has been under fire over forty times, and it is said that he bears a charmed life, and fears nothing. he has met with many hair-breadth escapes in his efforts to apprehend criminals who, by means of revolver and other concealed weapons, tried to fight their way to liberty. he has impersonated almost every kind of character. he has in his crime hunting associated with members of the " " and fraternized with hobos. he has dined with the elite and smoked in the opium dens; he has done everything that one expects a detective of fiction to do, and which the real detective seldom does. wooldridge, the incorruptible! that describes him. the keenest, shrewdest, most indefatigable man that ever wore a detective's star, the equal of lecocq and far the superior of the fictitious sherlock holmes, the man who has time and again achieved the seemingly impossible with the most tremendous odds against him, the man who might, had such been his desire, be wealthy, be a "foremost citizen" as tainted money goes, has earned the title given him in these headlines. and if ever any one man earned this title it is clifton r. wooldridge. it is refreshing to the citizenship of america, rich and poor alike, to contemplate the career of this wonderful man. it fills men with respect for the law, with confidence in the administration of the law, to know that there are such men as wooldridge at the helm of justice. the writer of this article has enjoyed intimate personal association with the great detective, both in the capacity of a newspaper reporter, magazine writer and anti-graft worker. the ins and outs of the nature of the greatest secret service worker in chicago, clifton r. wooldridge, have been to me an open book. and when i call him wooldridge, the incorruptible, i know whereof i speak. i have seen him when all the "influences" (and they are the same "influences" which have been denounced all over the country of late) were brought to bear upon him, when even his own chiefs were inclined to be frightened, but no "influence" from any source, howsoever high, has ever availed to swerve him one inch from the path of duty. cannot be bribed. he has been offered bribes innumerable; but in each and every instance the would-be briber has learned a very unpleasant lesson. for this man, who might be worth almost anything he wished, is by no means affluent. but he has kept his name untarnished and his spirit high through good fortune and through bad, through evil repute and good. wooldridge does not know the meaning of a lie. a lie is something so foreign to his nature that he has trouble in comprehending how others can see profit in falsifying. it has been his cardinal principle through life that liars always come to a bad end finally. and he has seen his healthy estimate of life vindicated, both in the high circles of frenzied finance and in the low levels of sneak-thievery. tremendous amount of work done. but the most remarkable thing to me about wooldridge is the work he has done. consider for a moment the record which heads this article. could anything shout forth the tremendous energy of the man in any plainer terms? there are men in the same line of work with wooldridge, who have been in the service for the same length of time, who have not made one arrest where he has made thousands. twenty thousand arrests in twenty years of service, a thousand arrests every year, on an average. a thousand get-rich-quick concerns, victimizing more than a million people, raided and put out of business; thirteen thousand one hundred convictions; hundreds upon hundreds of wine rooms, gambling houses, bucketshops, opium joints, houses of ill fame, turf frauds, bogus charity swindles, policy shops, matrimonial agencies, fraudulent guarantee companies, spurious medicine concerns, thieving theater agencies and mushroom banks brought to the bar of justice and made to expiate their crimes. that is the record of the almost inconceivable work done by clifton r. wooldridge on the chicago police force. the figures are almost appalling in their greatness. it is hard for the mind to comprehend how any one man could have achieved all this vast amount of labor, even if he worked twenty-four hours a day all the time. and yet it is the bare record of the "big" work done by wooldridge, aside from his routine. life history of wooldridge. detective wooldridge from march, , until april , , was attached to the office of the general superintendent of police and worked out of his office. during that time over , letters and complaints were referred to him for investigation and action. april , , detective wooldridge was relieved of this work and transferred, and crusade and extermination of the get-rich-quick concerns ceased. september , , detective wooldridge was placed in charge of twenty-five picked detectives, who were placed in charge of the suppression of hand-books and other gambling in chicago. he remained in charge of this detail for three years. on december , , at the residence of charles partdridge, michigan avenue and thirty-second street, while three desperate burglars were trying to effect an entrance into the house, detective wooldridge espied them and in his attempt to arrest them was fired upon by the trio. one shot passed through his cap, clipping off a lock of his hair and grazing his scalp. the next shot struck him squarely in the buckle of his belt, which saved his life. numberless hair-breadth escapes. august , , he met with another narrow escape at thirtieth and dearborn streets, while attempting to arrest nathan judd, a crazed and desperate colored man. judd threw a brick at him, striking him over his left temple, and inflicting a wound two inches long. judd was shot through the thigh, and afterwards was sent to the house of correction for one year. detective wooldridge, alone in a drenching rainstorm at o'clock on the morning of june , , at michigan avenue and madison street, intercepted three horsethieves and hold-up men in a buggy trying to make their escape. at the point of a revolver he commanded them to halt. as they approached him no attention was paid to him, or to what he was saying. seizing the bridle of the horse, he was dragged nearly a block before the horse was checked. a twenty-pound horse weight was hurled at him by one of the robbers, which just missed his head. another one of the robbers leaped upon the horse and rained blow after blow upon his head with the buggy whip. detective wooldridge shot this man in the leg; he jumped off the horse and made good his escape while wooldridge was engaged in a desperate hand to hand encounter with the other two robbers. wooldridge knocked both senseless with the butt of his revolver. they were taken to the police station and gave their names as john crosby and john mcginis. both were found guilty a month later and sent to the penitentiary by judge baker. saves women and children in fire. march , , detective wooldridge by his prompt and courageous actions, and the immediate risk of his own life, succeeded in rescuing from the waverly hotel (which was on fire), at and s. clark street, two ladies who were overcome by smoke on the second floor of the burning building: also a lady and two children, aged two years and five months, respectively, from the fourth floor. this act was performed by tying a silk handkerchief around his mouth, and on his hands and knees crawling up the winding stairs to the fourth floor, where he found mrs. e. c. dwyer unconscious. placing the two children in a bed quilt, he threw it over his shoulder, and seizing mrs. e. c. dwyer by the hand, dragged her down the stairs to a place of safety, where medical assistance was called. sept. , , detective wooldridge was placed in charge of the get-rich-quick concerns with which chicago was infested. he also had charge of the suppression of gambling at parks and other places of amusement, the inspection and supervision of picture exhibitions in penny arcades and museums, and the inspection and supervision of illustrated postal cards sold throughout the city for the purpose of preventing the exhibition, sale and circulation of vulgar and obscene pictures, the work of gathering evidence against and the suppression of dealers in "sure thing" gambling devices, viz., loaded dice, marked cards, roulette wheels, spindle faro layouts, card hold-outs, nickel slot machines and many other devices. oct. , , detective wooldridge had a narrow escape while trying to arrest charles sales, a desperate colored man, for committing a robbery at state and harrison streets. sales whipped out his gun and fired four shots at wooldridge at short range; two of the shots passing harmlessly through his coat. sales was arrested and given one year in the house of correction. rides to station on prisoner's back. june , , detective wooldridge arrested eugene buchanan for committing a highway robbery at polk and clark streets. a few days prior he had held up and robbed philip schneider and kicked out one of his eyes. buchanan was met in the alley between clark street and pacific avenue, where he resisted arrest and fought like a demon, using his hands, club and head. in the scuffle he ran his head between wooldridge's legs and tried to throw him, but wooldridge was to quick for him and fastened his legs around buchanan's neck like a clam. buchanan could not free himself. wooldridge pulled his gun and placing it in the ear of buchanan compelled him to carry him to the harrison street police station on his shoulder. it was one of the most novel sights ever witnessed, and will be long remembered by those who saw it. buchanan was convicted and sent to the penitentiary for three years. upon his release he applied to wooldridge to assist him in securing a position. wooldridge took him to his home, fed him and secured employment for him with nelson morris & co., where he remained three years. he afterwards committed a highway robbery in washington park and is now serving an indefinite term in the penitentiary. hangs on window sill. may , , detective wooldridge, accompanied by officers kern, o'connor and cameron, located matt kelly at state street, who was wanted for a criminal assault. kelly was a hold-up man, ex-convict and a notorious safe-blower, who several years prior to this shot two officers in st. louis, mo. kelly was found behind locked doors on the second-floor and refused to open the doors. detective wooldridge went to the adjoining flat, opened a window and crawled along the ledge until he had reached kelly's room; with a revolver in his mouth he pushed up the sash and was faced by kelly and his wife. "go back or i'll kill you," said kelly as he pushed his revolver in wooldridge's face. wooldridge had meanwhile secured a good hold on the sill of the window, but was not in a position to defend himself. the kelly woman tried her best to shove him off; she succeeded in loosening one of his hands, and for an instant detective wooldridge thought he would have to fall. with an almost superhuman effort wooldridge broke in the window and covering kelly with his own revolver ordered him to throw up his hands, which he did. he was taken to the police station and heavily fined. a plot to kill detective wooldridge. a dozen of the highwaymen and robbers on whom wooldridge was waging a relentless warfare gathered together on the morning of july , , and formed a plot to kill wooldridge and get him out of the way. they concluded that the night of july , when everyone was firing off revolvers and celebrating, would afford the best opportunity. they imagined it would be an easy thing to shoot him from one of the windows or from a housetop while he was on duty patrolling his post, and no one would know where the shot came from, as there was shooting from every direction. an oath of secrecy was taken by all present, and lots drawn to see who was to do the deed. in all probability their plan would have been carried out had it not been for a colored woman, who was watching them and heard the whole plot, and who went with the information to the harrison street police station. captain koch and lieutenant laughlin were notified and upon investigation found the report to be true. they took immediate steps to protect wooldridge by placing three additional officers in full uniform with him, and also placing six men in citizen's clothes on his post. every man they met was searched for a gun; every crook, vagrant and thief that they could lay their hands on was placed under lock and key in the station, and by o'clock that night there was no square in the city quieter than the one this officer patrolled, and in two weeks' time "coon hollow" and the whole neighborhood for half a mile in every direction had undergone the most remarkable change known to police history, and this change was apparent for a long time thereafter. february , , detective wooldridge, while trying to arrest a panel-house keeper and three colored hold-up men at dearborn street, was fired upon by one of the trio, kid white, the shot striking the bar of his watch chain, which was attached to the lower button of his vest. when the bar was struck the bullet was diverted from entering wooldridge's stomach, and it glanced off and passed through his overcoat. detective wooldridge roughly handled. in wooldridge's fiercest fight came when he arrested george kinnucan in his saloon at clark street. a dozen roughs, henchmen of kinnucan, who were in the saloon at the time, came to the saloonkeeper's rescue. the officer was knocked down, his billy taken from him and himself beaten unconscious with it, and his face and head kicked into one mass of bruises. through it all he managed to hang on to his revolver. this alone saved him. he finally managed to shoot kinnucan through the hand and forearm, and a moment later a uniformed man burst in and evened up the battle. six of the toughs were arrested, and wooldridge was left alone by them for a long time. fine work in a thieves' resort. in the same year of , detective wooldridge, disguising himself as a cheap thief, entered a clark street criminals' resort and fraternized with thieves, murderers and vagabonds of all kinds, in order to obtain information, leading wooldridge into the most amazing school of crime ever witnessed by a chicago police officer. he was accepted in good faith as a proper sneak thief by the brotherhood, and for his benefit the "manager" of the den put his "pupils" through their "lessons." these lessons were in shoplifting, pocket picking, purse snatching and other forms of larceny requiring skill and deftness. when he had seen enough wooldridge generously volunteered to "rush the growler" and went out--and called the patrol wagon. twenty-three crooks were arrested this time. each one of them swore he would have killed the detective had his makeup or conduct for an instant directed suspicion toward him. makes high dive. november , , detective wooldridge made a high dive. to offset his aerial stunt he took a high dive from the top of a building, landing on his head in a pile of refuse with such force as to go "in over his head" and stick there so tightly that it required the combined strength of two officers to pull him out by the legs. it was near twelfth and state streets while pursuing two women across a roof that his remarkable stunt took place. the women jumped from the roof into a pile of refuse. they landed on their feet. wooldridge came after them. he landed on his head. as he landed he grasped a woman with either hand, and held them until the arrival of his brother officers effected his release and their capture. but these are only humorous incidents, things to laugh over when the day's work is done. in the parlance of the detectives, they belong to "straight police work." as a direct antithesis to them is the story of the murder and the black cat, which is in real life a weirder and more startling affair than poe's fantastic tale of the same subject. a black cat helped solve a murder in a way which puts a distinct strain on the credulity of the uninitiated. story rivals poe's "black cat." a rich man had been murdered in a certain part of the city. he was in his library at the time of the crime. his family was in an adjoining room, yet none of them heard any noise, or knew what had been done until they found him lifeless on the floor. investigation proved that he had been shot, but not with an ordinary weapon. the missile in his heart was a combination of bullet and dart, evidently propelled from a powerful air rifle or spring gun. but no clew was left by the perpetrator of the crime, and wooldridge carried the strange missile in his pocket for several months before a single prospect of apprehending the murderer appeared. then it was the black cat that did it. what strange coincidence or freak of fate it was that impelled the cat to literally lead the detective to a little pile of dirt in an alley that night wooldridge never has attempted to explain. but lead him it did, and when he dug into the disturbed ground he found something entirely new in the gun line, the weapon that had discharged the fatal bullet in his pocket. eventually he traced the gun to its inventor, and from there to the man who had purchased it, a young fellow named johnson, and a supposed friend of the murdered man's family. the consequence was that this man proved to be the murderer. when arrested he at first denied his guilt, broke down under the sweatbox ordeal and confessed, and--killed himself in his cell next morning. for mystery and good fortune in bringing an apparently untraceable criminal to justice this incident perhaps has never been equaled in chicago's police records. on duty in great strike. in chicago's great building trade strike occurred in which , men were thrown out of employment. many acts of violence were committed. several men were killed and many maimed and injured. detective wooldridge was placed in charge of thirty picked detectives from the detective bureau with orders to suppress these lawless acts and arrest the guilty offenders. through his vigilance and untiring efforts law and order were soon restored, and he was highly complimented by chief of police joseph kipley and the public press. literally speaking, the darkest situation into which his experiences have led him was the tunnel by which inmates of mattie lee's famous resort at custom house place escaped when the place was raided. mattie had decided that it was a nuisance to go to the station every time the police wanted to arrest her, so she had the tunnel dug. after that when the police called on her mattie greeted them with an empty house and a sweet smile, while underground the inmates were crawling on their hands and knees to safety. wooldridge found the tunnel and, crawling in, "snaked out" six colored men and women whom he found in the darkness. versatility is a requisite with the successful detective. remarkable work as a ragpicker. may , , perhaps, his appearance in the role of a ragpicker, which led to the arrest and conviction of two negro highwaymen, henry reed and ed lane, was his most daring and successful effort at disguise. lane is at present serving a life sentence in joliet for the murder of robert metcalfe. the assault and robbery of a contractor named anderson was the occasion for wooldridge's assumption of the guise of ragpicker. anderson had described lane so accurately that the detective was sure of recognizing him once he put his eyes upon him, but in those days a detective to go into the black belt looking for a criminal was to spread a wide alarm over the whole district. consequently he "made up." a pair of large, worn overalls, a coat three sizes too large, a bunch of papers between his shoulder blades to give him a hunch back, burnt cork, a curly wig, a bag and a piece of telegraph wire, and the erstwhile shrewd-looking detective was in ten minutes the typical negro ragpicker who shambles up and down alleys on the south side in hope of picking up enough for his day's bread. while thus pursuing his way wooldridge not only discovered the presence of reed and lane, but actually worked through the refuse in a garbage box upon which lane was sitting quarreling with some confederates over the division of the previous night's spoils. he even went so far as to pick up an old coat which lane had discarded. thereupon lane ordered him to get out of the alley or get his throat cut from ear to ear. wooldridge went humbly out, and waited. hero of some fierce fights. presently lane and reed appeared and went south on state street. wooldridge followed, and at an opportune moment seized them both from behind. the fight that followed is historic. only sheer luck and the threat to kill both antagonists on the spot if they did not cease resistance saved the detective's life. after knocking both men down with his billy he succeeded in holding them until a fellow officer came to his rescue. they were arrested and convicted june , , and sent to the penitentiary for three years. may , , detective wooldridge raided the following places: h. c. evins, s. clark street; george deshone, n. clark street; e. manning stockton, bar & co., fifth avenue, seizing some $ , worth of gambling paraphernalia. disclosures of conditions which so seriously threatened the discipline of the united states army and navy that the secretaries of the two departments and even president roosevelt himself were called upon to aid in their suppression. it was charged that a coterie of chicago men engaged in making and selling these devices had formed a "trust" and had for years robbed, swindled and corrupted the enlisted men of the army and navy through loaded dice, "hold-outs," magnetized roulette wheels and other crooked gambling apparatus. crooked gambling trust. the "crooked" gambling "trust" in chicago spread over the civilized world, had its clutches on nearly every united states battleship, army post and military prison; caused wholesale desertions, and in general corrupted the entire defensive institution of the nation. try to corrupt schoolboys. besides the corruption of the army, these companies are said to have aimed a blow at the foundation of the nation by offering, through a mail order plan, for six cents, loaded dice to schoolboys, provided they sent the names of likely gamblers among their playmates. this plan had not reached its full growth when nipped. but the disruption of the army and navy had been under way for several years and had reached such gigantic proportions that the military service was in danger of complete disorganization. thousands of men were mulcted of their pay monthly. desertions followed these wholesale robberies. the war department could not find the specific trouble. post commanders and battleship commanders were instructed to investigate. the army investigation, confirmed after the raid and arrests, showed that the whole army had been honeycombed with corruption by these companies. express books and registered mail return cards showed that most of the goods were sold to soldiers and sailors. detective wooldridge secures evidence in novel way. in august, , complaints had been made at the stanton avenue police station for several weeks concerning the establishment of a disorderly house at thirty-first street, but try as they would uniformed officers were helpless so far as securing evidence enough to convict was concerned. wooldridge at that time a uniformed man, was put in plain clothes and detailed on the case. one of the great stumbling blocks in the way of the police had been the high basement under the house, which made it impossible for any one to look in the windows of the flat without the aid of the ladder. as the presence of a ladder would arouse suspicion, the problem of viewing the inside of the flat was a difficult one. one thing the other men on the case had overlooked. this was the presence of a beam jutting out from the top of the building to which a rope, pulley, and barrel were attached, used as a means of lowering garbage and ashes from the second floor to the alley. wooldridge saw the possibilities of the rope and barrel trick. attaching to the rope a vinegar barrel with holes bored in it at convenient intervals, he awaited an opportune time, curled up in the barrel, and had himself drawn up to the level of the windows by two officers. the lowering and raising of the barrel being a customary thing in the building, excited no suspicion in the minds of those in the flat, and wooldridge, with his sleuth's eye at one of the holes, saw what served to drive the place out of existence and secure the conviction of its keeper. acts as vendor of fighting "chickens." one of the last exploits of detective wooldridge before his completion of the twenty years of service, was the breaking up of the cock-fighting mains, which infested chicago during the latter part of and the early part of . the story savors of the burlesque. wooldridge obtained information as to the whereabouts of a cock-fight which was to be pulled off. then he sought out and purchased a pair of decrepit old roosters, that would not fight an english sparrow, bundled them into a sack and started for scene of action. arrived in what he knew to be the neighborhood of the fight, he declared that he had been sent to deliver some "fightin' chickuns." he was directed to an old, abandoned building. here he was admitted and left the antique roosters. then he said he was going for more birds. instead he went for a patrol wagon. and that was the end of the chicken fight. the trapping of the wildcat insurance companies furnishes one of the most dramatic chapters in the financial history of the united states, if not in the world. it involves millions of stolen dollars, brutal filching from the poor, heartless commercial brigandage and finally the running to earth and conviction of the ringleaders and promoters of the "wildcat insurance companies" of chicago, by detective wooldridge. the police and postal authorities worked together. two thousand eight hundred letters were sent out asking for information and gathering evidence. at the trial of dr. s. w. jacobs, on one of these cases, there were witnesses present. five of these witnesses were victims, and lived in tents. three were living in wagons: one, samuel james, of westfield, illinois, a carpenter, years of age, had a wife and six children. he had built his house morning and evening. bribery tactics of no avail. james accomplished the end of his heart's desire. it cost him $ and his health, for he was in the clutches of consumption when the cottage was finally paid for. fearing lest the fruit of his life-work should be swept away by fire, james took out an insurance policy in one of dr. s. w. jacobs' wildcat insurance companies. the house burned down and he was not indemnified. with his wife and six little children james was forced to take shelter in a chicken coop, where they were living when the broken-hearted father came to chicago as a witness against dr. s. w. jacobs. twenty-five thousand dollars was tendered to an attorney to bribe wooldridge in the case. the breaking up of the drug ring, however, was a delicate task. it was strongly backed financially, and it was aided and abetted throughout the united states by political rings galore. chicago was the headquarters. a ten thousand dollar bribe was offered detective wooldridge, october , , by the spurious medicine concerns to return their goods and stop the prosecution; this failed. then false and malicious charges were filed with the civil service commissioners against wooldridge, which was taken up and the trial lasted nineteen sessions. detective wooldridge was exonerated by the entire board of commissioners, and complimented by the press and public-spirited citizens. detective wooldridge secured four indictments against the above four men, which was returned by the cook county grand jury may , . j. s. dean turned state's evidence and assisted the prosecution. j. h. carson promoted and run eighteen different matrimonial agencies. he was arrested eighteen times. he offered wooldridge a bribe of $ per month not to arrest him. this failed and he brought suit in the superior court against wooldridge for $ , damages, thinking this would stop him. the next day after filing the suit he was arrested again, and was finally driven out of chicago. from $ , to $ , has been offered at a time for his discharge or transfer by these get-rich-quick concerns. every political pressure was brought to bear, but to no avail. ex-chief of police francis o'neill, in his annual report of , states that detective wooldridge accomplished more work in breaking up the get-rich-quick concerns in chicago, in the year , than the whole chicago police department had in its lifetime. he did equally as much work, if not more, in the years of , and . the day is never too long nor the night too dark for detective wooldridge to find time to succor or save a young girl who has gone wrong or strayed from the path of rectitude. detective wooldridge, without fear or favor, for many years inaugurated crusades and waged wars against the hosts of criminal enterprise. whenever a man or concern could not show a "clear bill of health" he forced him to "disinfect, depart, or submit to the quarantine of the county jail." by vigilance and hard work he succeeded in obtaining good results. units, scores, and legions of fraudulent concerns have been exposed and driven out of existence. owners of others, anticipating exposure, did not wait, but closed their places and fled. many headquarters of contraband schemes have been raided and their promoters arrested, fined, and forced to cease operations. during that time retributive justice has been visited upon countless heads that were devoted to devising criminal schemes. detective wooldridge permits no creed, color, religion or politics to interfere with him in his sworn duty. he wants and exacts the truth, and a square deal for himself, and accords the same to his fellow men. he has never been known to wilfully persecute any man or to lie or strain a point to convict him, neither will he suffer the same to be done by any man if he can prevent it. wooldridge's motto is equal justice to all--be sure you are right, then go ahead. james p. wilson. [illustration: what are you going to do about it?] graft nation's worst foe. the reign of graft. recent exposures that show how strongly it is intrenched. are you a grafter? those shocked at exposures may not be clean themselves. "a 'grafter' is one who makes his living (and sometimes his fortune) by 'grafting.' he may be a political boss, a mayor, a chief of police, a warden of a penitentiary, a municipal contractor, a member of a town council, a representative in the legislature, a judge in the courts, and the upper world may know him only in his political capacity; but if the under world has had occasion to approach him for purposes of 'graft' and found him corrupt, he is immediately classified as an 'unmugged grafter'--one whose photograph is not in the rogues' gallery, but ought to be. the professional thief is the 'mugged grafter'; his photograph and bertillon measurements are known and recorded. the world of graft is whereever known and unknown thieves or bribetakers congregate. in the united states it is found mainly in the large cities, but its boundaries take in small county seats and even villages. a correct map of it is impossible, because in a great many places it is represented by an unknown rather than by a known inhabitant, by a dishonest official or an unscrupulous and wary politician rather than a confessed thief, and the geographer is helpless until he can collect the facts, which may never come to light. the most that one man can do is to make voyages of discovery, find out what he can and report upon his experiences to the general public. within the last year or two it has become practically a synonym for a thief who filches public money and money of large enterprises. it has been so largely used in the public prints and periodicals, and more recently in books, that it has spread abroad; and london and paris and berlin, in referring to many american disclosures, adopt the word without any translation. so today no american word is better known either in this country or in europe. when men in office take a bribe and give away what does not belong to them, it is more than the double crime of extorting and stealing; it is treason. graft is the worst form of despotism. it is a usurpation of government by the forces of crime. there have been many virtuous kings and honest feudal lords, but the despotism of graft never founded its rule upon a semblance of the moral law. graft in its highest personification is the king of the american nation in political, commercial and social life. graft is overlord. overlord of , , people in the greatest republic of history, commanding his tens of millions of dollars annually as tribute to graft in a million of his impersonations--was solomon in all his glory to be compared with this? nine states in the union of forty-five states recently have declared that graft exposures have not been in their categories of political publicity for a year. they are maine, north carolina, mississippi, iowa, michigan, colorado, new york, illinois and california. but who shall say what another six months may bring forth? [illustration: centuries of graft looks down upon its headless victims] in industrial, commercial and social life of the american people there is not a state in which king graft has not his court and his following. in the capital of capitals at washington for generations the powers of government as dreamed of for the republic have been superseded by king graft time after time, and the impeachment of his princes, grand dukes and courtiers generally have not threatened his reign in future generations. scores of proud names smirched. within the last few years names that have stood honored for a generation in financial, political and social life have been dragged down from high places perhaps as never before in america. the court of king graft has been attacked and threatened as never before, and with greater showing. there is war in the open against this pretender king, and his legions everywhere are retiring behind their breastworks, broken but not defeated. graft in its nakedness, has been exposed and the people are aroused, fearing that the grafter has sucked the life blood of the republic. what they have seen is but a glimpse of real conditions--the ulcer spots where the rottenness beneath has broken through--but they have seen enough to realize the peril and attack it. while the conditions revealed are astounding and alarming, they are signs of improvement. the nation is better than it was a decade ago, since tens of thousands of grafters have been stamped out, since the leaders of the greatest grafts of the land have been exposed to the withering light of contempt of all decent americans. life of nation imperiled. also, born of the conditions, there has arisen a little army of leaders willing to engage the enemy and lead the people against the grafters. they have been raised up to meet the crisis of the nation's life, and with every blow they strike new recruits are joining them in the war against graft. they are still weak, and king graft and his votaries are still strong, but during the last year the leaders have won some remarkable skirmishes and routed the grafters. [illustration: which road shall he take? a grafter in every road. the public stands at the crossing of the roads, wondering which way he shall go with his money. wherever he turns he sees a grafter in the road before him. the labels on these seven grafters give the names of a few of those that beset every honest man's pathway. the grafters spend twenty million dollars a year advertising; and they swindle the people out of one hundred and sixty million dollars annually.] nation, states and cities aroused. senators and congressmen at the national capital have been impeached, and indicted, and tried, and convicted of grafting. bureau officials, as in the cotton scandal, the postoffice frauds, and other of the departments, and civil service exposes have been arraigned by their own democracy for traitor intrigues with king graft, and have been beheaded. state senators, representatives, treasurers and the innumerable "small fry" of official life, together with the millionaire briber and his henchmen at state capitals, have been uncovered and convicted of debauching democracy in behalf of a pretender sovereign. great cities have been shaken with the inquisitorial rounds of investigations. philadelphia of independence memories has been weighed in the balance and found wanting; in st. louis the prosecutor governor, folk, has stirred corruption to the depths; new york has been moved as it has not been since the overthrow of tammany; minneapolis has been cleansed; and the spectacular "graft hunt" in milwaukee has been a lesson in "how to do it." perhaps never before in the history of america have so many grafters been scattered to the winds, in hiding or locked behind the bars of prisons. president leads foes of graft. but king graft wears the crown of the pretender still, and there are few of his fighting enemies who are disposed to rest upon their arms in either truce or armistice. the war against graft is led by the president of the united states, who stands as the foremost foe of grafting--political, financial or social--in the world, and behind him is a phalanx led by folk, jerome, riis, lawson, hadley, miss tarbell, deneen, monnett and others of their type, fighting the nation's most crucial battle. the grafters have declared that the objects of some of these men were selfish, but, no matter for what object they fight, they are routing the grafters in many fields and showing to the awakening public the peril of the situation; revealing to a commonwealth the worms gnawing at the vitals of the republic. forces of graft hard pressed. never were the forces of money and commercial and industrial power so bewildered and so uncertain of the way to turn as they are now. graft, to their best interests, is still covertly a necessity to them, but covert graft never was so hard to keep covert, now that briber and the bribed are the common quarry of the law. the time was when the rich man who bought political power to his uses was unnamed, standing apart. the grafter legislator was the cause and the consequence. beginning and ending with the corrupt official whose official place was grafted upon corruption, the official became immune from the consequences. "grafting in this state never has cost the taxpayer a dollar," was one of the slogans of a machine government in its attempts to perpetuate that machine for the purposes of king graft and his court. but this false philosophy slowly was undermined. not only was it found that graft did cost money to the state, but it became a certainty that it was costing something even more valuable than money. graft became the one object of the political seeker after office. the impersonal graft-giver was a hanger-on at lawmaking centers, and the political graft-seeker was insisting upon election or appointment to the machine positions. hideous peril is revealed. the result, first, was a campaign upon the man who had the graft to dispense. he was sought out, and was found in high places. his lobbyists were more easily marked than was the principal. so the law and the law's executive began also to campaign against the lobbyists. suddenly the "good fellow" at a state capitol who had with him the perquisites of good fellowship in graft measure found himself facing the interrogation: "what are you doing here?" the scope of the query has grown, and it is still growing, in some quarters even to the point of requiring the man who is elected to office to render the cost figure of his successful campaign. all over the country, and touching nearly every relation in official, commercial and financial life, men have been put on the griddle of publicity by courts and commissions, and with backs to the wall have been sitting in the witness chair, holding to the one surly response to an irritating, penetrating cross-examination: "decline to answer on advice of counsel." but for all purposes of publicity have not these refusals to answer carried light enough? "the public be d----d!" was the original first utterance of the millionaire, designed to stop interrogations which would not down. "what are you going to do about it?" was the counter question of the political grafter who once was charged with grafting. "where did he get it?" came to be a question of the politician for political purposes, and within a year the country has heard non-political bodies asking the same question of the millionaire philanthropist who has been trying to give it away. under the growing interrogations of the time, names have been thrown from pedestals within a year as names never before were juggled by the fates. [illustration: the cave of despair.] idols covered with slime. depew, once a candidate for nomination for the presidency, a united states senator still by some grace of toleration, and at one time referred to in european royal circles as a "representative american citizen." united states senator mitchell became a derelict, politically and socially. united states senator thomas c. platt was wrecked in the wreckage. united states senator burton became blackened in the charges of graft. depew is a name no longer to conjure with. then followed a long list of the commercially and financially prominent civilians, blackened, and with such blackness as never to be white again by any of the old processes which once sufficed. graft is still king. but, truer than of any other monarch, it may be repeated: "uneasy lies the head that wears the crown." the unconscious grafter. it was a rhetorical and sensational sentence in which a recent speaker in this city declared that the worst grafter is the man who does not vote. but there is much more than a kernel of truth in the words. the citizens of a republic need constant stimulus to the fulfillment of the plainest duties of life. the better the working of the machinery of government, the less the average man is affected. he rarely feels the pressure of taxation. he lives in a generation from which no military service is demanded. he is permitted freedom of thought, speech and religion, and almost insensibly, as a result, he loses sight of the supreme obligation which is due his country. he forgets that that country, in time of public stress, may demand his time, his property and his life, drafting him for its armies if he does not wish to volunteer, governing him under martial law, which sets aside the usual privileges accorded him, and exercising over him, if need be, a tyranny ordinarily associated with despotism among the older peoples. the very fact that the american citizen does not often feel the exercise of the sovereign power, and is not called upon to pay the supreme obligation of service, makes him careless of his civic duties, when, it might be thought, he would feel the utmost gratitude for the privilege of living under such favoring conditions. this carelessness becomes chronic, and there is abundant need for the constant reiteration of the call to duty. if, then, a citizen is content to enjoy the comforts and the quiet of american life without rendering any return therefor, he may justly be called a grafter, and a grafter of that worst sort, who robs his benefactor. for, with duty faithfully performed by the citizen, public opinion is readily shaped, laws quickly secure enforcement, and public servants are kept clean and true. it all comes back at last to the individual citizen, upon whom must rest the responsibility for failure or success of government. it is easy enough to cry out against the grafter in official position who puts his hand into the public treasury. perhaps, after all, the worst offender is the citizen who does not vote, who does not take a lively interest in the selection and election of his rulers, who fails to recognize the underlying obligation of service which his country has a just right to demand of him. war on graft just beginning. but, thus far, only the beginning of the truth has been shown. there remains the senate of the united states, the railway companies, the standard oil company, the great trusts, the multimillionaires, to be investigated. all of them now are in the limelight. the courts of law are under suspicion and must clear themselves by their acts, for undoubtedly the revelations of the last year have shaken the faith of the people in their judges. after these, the huge powers of the land, cleansed states, counties and cities must join the augean stable-cleaning, for graft is everywhere. the fight against graft is only beginning, and it will end only when a new generation learns that honor is above money, and that "grafting" is the most disreputable form of theft. wholesale swindling grafters. a chain of stores in various cities for no other purpose than the obtaining of goods under false pretenses from wholesale merchants is the latest novelty in the swindling line. it has often been remarked that the originators of plans to dupe the public might coin their brains into cash without nearly the draft upon their originality that is called for by the devising of a swindling game. but the criminal instinct or incentive seems to lay its hold upon persons who might otherwise fill a leading and respected place in honorable avocations. the men who conceived the system of credit for goods to the value of many thousands of dollars, which they quickly disposed of in different cities by auction and attractive sales, closing up their stores and decamping when they had converted the credited stock into cash, were swindlers of unusual calibre. the police of several cities now have the task of unearthing the frauds and bringing them to justice. they may or may not succeed in so doing, as the scheme was craftily laid and carried out. a harvest of $ , as the returns for a daring exploitation of the credit system will be regarded, even by the gilt-edged among the robbing fraternity, as a fine stroke of craftsmanship. the ingenuity of these cormorants calls for constant readjustment of honest persons to the conditions created. the lesson of the so-called bargain-house fraud will be conned, and for a long time to come it may be practically impossible for the same scheme to be worked again. but the feature of such enterprises is that they are designed only for the one operation. after that they become worthless to their originators. religious graft pays. "fake" religion as a business may have a fanciful sound, but there are plenty of men, and women, too, in this day and age who have found it to be an extremely practical, well-paying proposition. the readiness with which a good share of the people are always anxious to receive any new religion, or an old religion revamped in new fashion, makes the road of the charlatan whose trade is the promulgation of a fake religion one strewn with roses and money. women are principally his victims, although there are plenty of men with a penchant for adopting strange religions, and from them the faker manages to reap a harvest that makes the pay of the average minister look like the earnings of an office boy. while the manner of securing money through the cloak of a false new sect is generally so hidden that the votaries of the cult are never aware of its existence until after their leader is exposed, the main object is never lost sight of by the leader, and the main object is always, "get the money." out of the great mass of religions or new thought sects started each year in this country, it is declared that but extremely few are started with any idea other than that of separating a lot of people from their money. occasionally there is a man who sincerely believes that he has discovered something new and precious in the way of a religion, and establishes a cult with the motive only to help people according to his own lights. but the mass of the new religions, sun worshipers, psychists, brahmins, hindus, theosophists, mystics, etc., are promoted with the same object in view as that of the old negro voodoo doctors--get the money. financial yields are large. the financial yields of the new religions are incomparably higher than is the voodoo man's gain. his followers, who believe in black art and other foolish, old-fashioned things, are nearly always drawn from the poorer, even the indigent classes--classes that have but little to spend, even on a religion. but the east indian religionist, or the sun worshiper, draws his clientele from the better classes, and his followers have the money to reward him in a way that is astounding. he dabbles not with the poor--neither, it must be confessed, entirely with the ignorant. his victims come from the upper walks of life, sometimes from near the top, and their name is legion. there is a hindu who has now left this country to go back to spend the rest of his days in luxurious idleness, the while chuckling over the gullibility of the smart american people, who came here with a new religion and made a fortune. this man was an educated, cultured man of high caste. sent at an early age to england to attend school, he returned to his native country at the age of , wise in the things of two worlds, that of his own and that of the occidentals. for a while he buried himself in the native life of a loathsome colony of fakers. there he learned much of their religious style by rote, and, putting this along with a smattering of buddhism, psychology and sun worship, he managed to appear in america with a new religion, fairly reeking with the essentials required by those who want mysticism served along with their religious beliefs. mysticism draws many converts. he had a new god, a new heaven and forty different and distinct ways of torturing one's self while worshiping his deity. mortifying the flesh through fasting and self-denial, torturing one's self by standing with the hands above the head, etc., all were included in the new creed, besides such things as astral bodies and the other things that go with a new religion. he first held forth in a sumptuously furnished city flat, where he managed to draw to him a small gathering of the select who love to dabble in mysterious oriental affairs. the flat was a dream in itself, and when to it was added a tall, ascetic young hindu, with the look of the fanatic burning brightly in his eyes, and mystic rites of a religious nature, the effect was irresistible; at least it proved to be to those foregathered under the tutelage of the young oriental. there were incense burnings and incantations galore. at first these things did not cost anything. no. the young mystic was simply working for the enlightenment of the world, working to spread light into the stygian darkness of the old and false dogmas and creeds. after those who flocked to his standard had been so thoroughly imbued with the sincerity of his teachings that his word was law to them, the money question came to the fore. he, the missionary, wanted nothing for himself--oh, no. but there was need for funds for the establishment of the cult in india. a school and home must be founded for the young devotees of the new religion in that country, a place where they could go and live and be trained in the tenets of the creed and prepared to go out in the world and teach. and it was for this that the hindu had come to this country, to permit the chosen ones here to acquirement with the new deity by subscribing to the school fund. since the beginning of things, when man first beheld the sun and bowed humbly before it, it has been the custom to heap offerings on the altar of worship. so the hindu went back with funds enough to start half a dozen schools if he had been at all inclined that way, which he wasn't, and the people who were his followers are still living in the hope that he will return. american faker gets the coin. then there is another kind of charlatan, the american fake religionist, of which, perhaps, there are just as many as of the foreigners with the weird doctrines of the orient. this type of faker is coarse compared with the soft-shod, incense-burning hindu, but he "gets the money" without much trouble. he is generally a ranter as far as preaching goes. his methods are those of the shouter, his religion includes visitation of spirits, shaking of bodies and other manifestations of divine power. he boldly asks for contributions, not for a school to be established for the training of missionaries for his faith, but for the furtherance of his own work right here in this country. "it takes money to fight the devil," is a favorite cry with this type of sacrilegist. the stronghold of the religious faker is that the people who follow him believe in him implicitly. one faker recently proclaimed himself the son of god, come to revisit earth, and, when assailed by a paper for it, stood up in an audience of his believers and asked them who they thought him to be and how they regarded him. the answer was that he was the son of god, and his mission was to save all mankind from sin. it is obvious that, when a man with such a hold on a clique asks for money, it is sure to be forthcoming without question. at times he does not have to ask for it, one man of this kind having had money showered upon him at a meeting by the hysterical women of his flock. faith in charlatan strong. this man has operated in at least four sections of this country, has served a term in state's prison for alienating a wife's affections along with the husband's money, has been driven out of two towns by angry husbands; but now he is again in possession of a following which believes implicitly that through him, and through him only, is it possible to obtain eternal salvation. in appearance this man is a human shark, long-faced, thin of jaw and nose, and with a mouth that is nothing but a straight line cut in the face. in repose he might be taken for a shyster lawyer, but when he begins to speak and the artificial frenzy is burning in him it is easy enough to see why impressionable women may be drawn to him. even a strong-willed man, observing his actions and the degree of enthusiasm in him, is apt to feel that he can be nothing other than sincere in his beliefs. but, if he is sincere, his sincerity runs only towards making of his beliefs a good business proposition, and avarice is one of his strongest points. the persistency with which women will take up and practice the cruelest of religious customs is evidenced by the manner in which a chicago girl tortured and starved herself to death in an effort to obtain salvation through the mortification of the flesh. she was not of an ignorant type, either, as might be imagined, but fairly well educated and extremely intelligent, with running to intellectuality. but the thrall of a new religion got her in its power, and, believing she was sinful, she strove to cast out her sins and died in the attempt. it is seldom that pernicious practices of religion fakers carry persons to this extreme, but deranged mentalities, wrecked homes and depleted pocketbooks are of such frequent occurrence as to merit a wholesale crusade against this type of fraud, even without raising the question of religious scruples. pawn tickets on diamonds. another instance: some working man or washing woman, having saved up a little money for a rainy day, reads an alluring advertisement in a newspaper that a party was looking for a small loan on valuable family jewelry and diamonds. the interest offered is much higher than that allowed by any savings bank. diamonds, as everybody knows, are just as good as money and offer perfect security. in hopes of profiting a little more on their savings, such prospective victims respond to the advertisement. the party looking for the loan appears to be a well-dressed, smoothly-talking man, who represents himself to be the scion of a wealthy or aristocratic family temporarily in hard luck. he produces a pawn shop ticket, on the face of which appears that some pawn broker had advanced on certain diamonds a large sum of money, say $ . [illustration: two minds with but a single thought; two heads that beat us all. ] now, it is a matter of common knowledge that pawn brokers know their business, and that no pawn broker would advance more than one-third, or, at the highest, one-half of the actual value of the articles pledged. it is that common belief which the swindler makes, as it were, the psychic basis for his operations. the victim having once jumped at the conclusion that the diamonds offered as security must be worth at least $ , or thereabouts, the rest becomes easy. victim anxious for interest. the victim naturally considers a further loan on such diamonds of $ or $ a desirable risk. the offer of per cent or more interest on the loan is another allurement which makes the transaction still more desirable. the pawn broker recognizes his ticket, and the diamonds, when redeemed, turn out to be worth considerably less than the amount which the broker was supposed to have advanced on them. the victim loses some more by redeeming the diamonds. complaints by such victims have been coming thick and fast into the state's attorney's office in chicago and other large cities. the conspiracy between the swindler and his accomplice, the pawn broker, is almost self-evident. in some instances indictments have been returned against the perpetrators of the fraud, but the prosecution could not succeed. the reason is obvious. on the face of the transaction everything seemed to be regular, and the defendants could not be made criminally responsible for an erroneous conclusion arrived at by the victims as to the business sagacity of the pawn broker or the probable value of the diamonds. and yet who would doubt, in view of the many identical complaints, that the plans in connection with the fraudulent transaction had been laid carefully in pursuance of a conspiracy to defraud the public? new law badly needed. on the civil side of legal practice there is the writ of injunction to prevent threatened irreparable injury to property by one person to another. but in case of organized fraud upon the public in general our modern legislatures have not yet grown to the proper appreciation of the wise and ancient saying that comes from the orient, "the rat hole, not the rat, is the thief." our laws punish the thief when caught, but leave the "hole" intact and ready to give shelter to other "rats." the authorities may know well the fraudulent character of a concern organized and existing for the express purpose of fleecing the public, and yet, in the absence of a complaining victim, they are absolutely helpless and unable to prevent victims from being ensnared by that concern. suppose the legislature would enact a law making it a felony for persons to set in operation any scheme to defraud the public and fix adequate punishment for such offense, would not such a law enable the authorities to anticipate and prevent a great deal of that misery which is caused by organized frauds of all kinds and descriptions, to a class of people that least can afford it? postage stamp grafter. the postage stamp grafter is one of the most pestiferous of the "toucher" genus. he bobs up in offices, on the streets, in hotel lobbies, everywhere and at all times. here is the song he sings: "i'm broke, mister, but i don't want any money. i am looking for work and have just answered an ad. in the paper, but, to tell the truth, i have only got a nickel, and if i break that to buy a postage stamp i can't get a cup of coffee. just a -cent stamp is all i ask." it is too small a request to refuse, and besides there is a chance that the fellow may be telling the truth. anyway, it is only a stamp. you produce the stamp, and may give the "toucher" several stamps so that he can answer more advertisements for work. a half day of industry at this scheme gives any competent "toucher" enough stamps to buy a little food, a good deal of drink and a night's lodging. there is no difficulty in disposing of stamps thus collected, for the salonkeepers and others that buy them--sometimes at a discount--know they have been given, and not stolen. "you are the third man that has tackled me for a stamp today," said a man in the lobby of a downtown hotel recently to a young man who "wanted to answer an advertisement for work." "here, give me the letter; i'll stamp and mail it." whereupon, to use the vernacular of his kind, the young man made a sensational "getaway" via the side entrance. akin to the postage stamp scheme is the one of "touching" for three or some other odd number of pennies to make up the amount necessary "to send a telegram home for money." the "toucher" in this case usually admits frankly that he came to chicago and got drunk, spending all his money. for victims he picks the men that look like they might sympathize with a fellow in his predicament. the clerk grafter. it may or may not be so that a sucker is born every minute. doubt as to the exactness of this has been expressed, the consensus of opinion being that the average runs higher than barnum's estimate. but as to the natural increase of devious and various ways for making, or trying to make, suckers out of the world's inhabitants there can be little or no just doubt. a new one is born every time the old one gets stale. here is the latest: the scene of operation, which is guaranteed to be harmless when performed, but sure to be painful when the reaction sets in, is a small office, store, or shop, any place where the total number of employees is small. preferably it is a place where a young woman stenographer, clerk, or other worker is employed, and, preferably, the stenographer, clerk, etc., is of pleasing and attractive appearance. the more so the better, though this is not absolutely necessary. plays on tardy victim. in fact, the only condition actually necessary to the successful prosecution of this new game is that one of the employees come down to work later than others. this must be. the operator picks a morning when said employee is late in arriving at his or her place of employment. if the employee is a young woman stenographer, so much the better. operator may be either male or female, but should be of prosperous appearance--sort of money-no-object appearance. "is the stool pigeon in?" he inquires. of course, he doesn't call this party "the stool pigeon," having first carefully informed himself as to the individual's christian name and surname, so as to be in a position to rattle it off with becoming familiarity. "not yet, but soon," replies the fall guy. he doesn't know that he's the fall guy, but he is, unless he happens to possess more than a human average of suspicion and wariness. fall guy takes bait. "oh, i'm so sorry! now, i wouldn't have come to deliver this package if he hadn't promised to be here at this moment. and he wanted it so badly--and i can't wait!" "that's too bad," says mr. fall guy. "but that's all right; you may leave the package in my care and i'll see that he gets it the first thing he comes down." "so kind of you," purrs the operator. "the only difficulty in the way of that is that i must see him when i deliver it." nothing coarse or abrupt, you will see; instead the smooth, purring round of the wheels that grind artistically and well. here the operator begins to bite the under lip and look at the clock with clouded brows. "hm! i can't wait, and he wanted it so much this morning!" sucker digs out coin. fall guy being a friend of stool pigeon's (the operator has picked him because of that qualification), gets solicitous. "well, there's a collection of a dollar on this package; that is all, really." if fall guy looks burdened with money the charge may be as high as $ . . hardly more than this. it may run as low as cents. the package contains, according to the operator, anything from a pair of cuff buttons to a pair of shoes. and fall guy pays at least often enough to make the game worth playing for the operator. fleecing invalids and cripples. this is a story of the most despicable graft extant. for, although it has been broken up in chicago, it still flourishes in nearly every other large city in the country. it is not only despicable but it is heinous, fiendish, unspeakable. it is the sort of a thing that causes the blood of an honest man or of a manly rogue to boil, and long for a chance to clutch its inventor by the throat. it is the letter-copying scheme. real criminals take chances on death, or the penitentiary, and on personal encounters with those whose money they unlawfully seek to acquire, but the vultures behind the "ads." promising lucrative work at home content themselves with mulcting helpless invalids, aged and infirm persons who seek to contribute to their own support and persons whom poverty has driven to desperation, and who see in the gilded promises of the cormorant an avenue of escape. the public is familiar with the advertisements which constantly are seen in the newspapers offering employment that will not necessitate canvassing, or peddling, and which can be done in the home with great profit. occasionally the "ads." explain that the work is that of copying letters. [illustration: an attempt to catch your eye] write smooth letters. the victim answers the "ad." and in reply receives this stereotyped letter--the form is the same in every instance: esteemed friend: replying to your application to write letters for us at your home during spare time, we beg to say that your writing is satisfactory, and we have decided to offer you the appointment. the work we give out is simply writing letters from a copy which we furnish, for which we pay you direct from this office at the rate of twenty dollars ($ . ) per thousand. you do not have to write any certain number of letters before receiving pay, and all letters you write you return to us. there is no mailing them to your friends, as most other advertisers who advertise for letter writers demand, neither is there any canvassing or selling anything, or anything else to mislead you; you simply write from a copy which we furnish, and we pay you direct. we are an old, reliable firm, always state plainly what is required, do exactly as we promise and treat our employes honestly. the work is easy; the letters to be written are the length of the ordinary business letter, and all we require is neatness and correctness. we furnish all materials free of charge, paper, etc., and prepay all costs of delivery to your home. you work only when you desire or have leisure time, and no one need know you are doing the work. we pay spot cash for all work done the same day as received. we use thousands of these letters for advertising our business, because we receive better results from using written letters than from plain printed circulars. we have a large number of people all over the country working for us, and if you desire to become one of our regular workers we request that you send us one dollar, for which we will send you our regular dollar package of goods you are to write about. this is all you are required to invest, there being no other payments at any further time, and this deposit is returned to you after doing work to the amount of two thousand letters. we are compelled to ask for this small deposit to protect ourselves against unscrupulous persons who do not mean to work and who apply out of idle curiosity. we also send you first trial lot of letter paper, copy of letter to be written (as we desire all letters to be written on our own letter paper), also instructions and all necessary information. after receiving the outfit you start to work immediately. more reliable workers are needed at once, and we guarantee everything to be exactly as represented. if you find anything different we will refund the amount invested. fill out the enclosed blank and send it to us with one dollar or express or postoffice money order (stamps accepted), and we will immediately send everything, all expenses prepaid. you can start to work the same day you receive the outfit by simply following our plain instructions. kindly reply at your earliest convenience. fill out enclosed blank and direct your envelope carefully. trusting to be favored with your prompt services, we remain, very truly yours, leslie novelty company, per c. c. kendall. rob bed-ridden women. in their investigation of this sort of swindle the police discovered that almost invariably the victims were bed-ridden persons or women in straitened circumstances who were in frantic search of some means of keeping the wolf from the door. many instances were found where some unfortunate had taken up a collection in the neighborhood in order to raise the necessary dollar to send for the "outfit." persons were found who were actually starving and who had pawned their last possession to get the money that was to start them on the road to affluence. of all the offices raided detective wooldridge did not find record of one instance where a victim had been able to keep the requirements of the swindlers. the supposed letter sent to be copied was generally about words in length, full of words difficult to spell, of rude and complicated rhetorical construction and punctuated in a most eccentric manner. the task imposed was practically a life-time job, and even if anyone had fulfilled it there were a hundred loop-holes whereby the thieves could escape payment by declaring their specifications had not been heeded to the letter. the "outfit" consisted of a cheap penholder, a pen and a box of fake pills. imagine the joyous anticipation with which a starving cripple would await the arrival of the "outfit" that was to give him the opportunity of prolonging existence! the bright hopes of the work-worn widow who expected by this genteel means to keep her little ones in bread! think of the despair of both upon discovering they had paid out money so sadly needed--money which probably had been begged or borrowed--only to discover that they had been victimized instead of benefited! "operators" cringing cowards. trembling, cringing, whining specimens of humanity were found in charge of each of these fakers' dens when detective wooldridge swooped down upon them. they were typical of their graft--small, mean, snake-like, cowardly. none among them was found who would bid defiance to the officers, who would resist intrusion by the law or who would go into court and fight. all were cheap and dirty in mind, loathsome, shrinking, snarling, but not daring to bite. among those driven out of business by detective wooldridge were the twain novelty company, the leslie novelty company, the illinois industrial company and blackney & company. "i have raided all classes of swindling institutions," said wooldridge, "but it gave me more pleasure to run down these fellows than all the others put together. they did not dare try to get money out of people who could afford to lose it, or who were out in the world where they could talk with others of more experience. their dupes were in almost every instance the most pitiable objects of the communities in which they lived. the facts disclosed by these raids were enough to fill the heart of the blackest grafter with indignation and a desire to trounce the perpetrators." sharks ruin business men. new line of financial graft. a new loan shark, or self-styled "financial agent," who preys on the business man and manufacturer, robbing him of his money and business more relentlessly than the old-time loan shark ever dared with the helpless wage earner, has made his appearance in chicago and says he has come to stay. [illustration: mr. first mortgage; field of risky investments] under the guise of discounting a manufacturer's accounts at his usual rate of discount, the "financial agent" secures his first hold on the struggling manufacturer, who sees the opportunity to enlarge his business by collecting cash for his merchandise as he sells it. but the first step with the "financial agent" means entering the portals of bankruptcy. the loan shark first finds for his victim an industrious, hard-working manufacturer or wholesaler, who by his push and perseverance has built a business beyond his capital, and approaches him. "you have a good business here," remarks the agent. "if your customers all paid cash it would be pretty easy sailing. life would be one long, sweet song if everyone paid for goods as soon as they were ordered, wouldn't it?" offer of cash arouses interest. even the largest manufacturer in the country could not but accede to this. "i have been watching your business for some time with a great deal of interest," continues the suave grafter, "and i would be glad to discount your bills at the regular rate of discount, so it would cost you nothing and you would have an opportunity to double your business. "i presume you give the regular trade discount of per cent a month for cash. on that i can save you a little money and help your credit materially. you receive per cent a month on your purchases. "this you cannot take, as you are cramped for money, because your customers do not pay their bills promptly. thus you lose per cent a month by not buying and selling for cash." gets $ for $ , . the manufacturer begins to see a thriving business on a cash basis without exposing his weakness, and agrees to allow the banker to discount his bills. "in the morning," begins the agent in explanation of his system, "you send us $ , worth of duplicate invoices of the goods which you shipped today, with shipping bills attached. you attach to the invoices a note for $ , , so the account may be kept from the notes, and not from the invoices which we hold. in return for the note we will send you a check for $ , less our commission of per cent a month, just what you are paying now because your business is not done on a cash basis. the $ , or per cent, we have to deposit in the bank which loans us the money which we in turn pass to you. when any bills are paid we will refund your per cent which we hold. any bank compels us to have a representative in your store to look after our interests, as a matter of form. we will just appoint your bookkeeper--a matter of form entirely. once a month we will send a man over to check up your books. he will see that none of our money has been overlooked." begins to show his teeth. all this sounds businesslike and plausible, and the arrangement runs smoothly for a time, probably six months, to allow the manufacturer time to sell all his open accounts to the financial agent. then the loan shark sends in a statement of the account, and, if the manufacturer complains, begins to show his teeth. on the statement appears all money the manufacturer has received and in addition an extra charge for $ a month to cover the services of their agent--the manufacturer's own bookkeeper. also an additional charge of from to per cent for additional service rendered, although the agency has had absolutely nothing to do with the accounts beyond holding them as security. all overdue accounts are charged back to the manufacturer, and a request for a check to take them up immediately accompanies the statement. as few accounts, if allowed to mature at all, are received by a manufacturer on the exact day when due, the check called for often is a formidable one. the manufacturer is at his wits' end. he goes to the agency post haste and, after they find it is impossible to hold him up for a check, they say: "oh, well, never mind, the bank--always the bank--is pressing us on those overdue accounts, but we can hold up the per cent until these accounts are taken care of. that will be satisfactory, we are sure." [illustration: debt] loses his per cent. after this the manufacturer's chance of ever seeing anything more of his per cent has vanished. each day the agency trumps up some fictitious charge of stamps, new check books, extra labor, taxes, additional fees or other charges that could originate nowhere but in the brain of a financial crook. finally the manufacturer finds he has nothing on his books but accounts belonging to the agency, on which he is paying carrying charges of from to per cent a month. the agency refuses to return his per cent, which they claim has been charged off by the bank to take care of the overdue accounts. the victim, seeing the plight in which he is placed, demands an accounting and threatens legal proceedings. the agency in turn demands he give them an itemized statement of each account, which they have. they agree to check them up, and, if found correct, promise to give him a check for the per cent which they hold. that night the light burns late over the bookkeeper's desk in the manufacturer's office. in the morning the statements go to the office of the loan shark, who says: "i'll have the auditor check them up and send you a check as soon as we find out everything is straight." trade statements to customer. the manufacturer leaves the office. the loan shark gets busy with the statements, and stamps each of them: "this account has been transferred to killem's mercantile company. you are notified to pay this account to no one else." these statements are mailed to the customers. when the manufacturer returns the loan shark greets him cordially and remarks: "unfortunately one of my clerks mailed out a lot of your statements last night, but i guess that won't matter. he stamped on them that they had been transferred to us and sent them out as he does everyone else's. he didn't understand. i am sorry." as expected, the manufacturer, when he sees his business and confidence abused in this manner, flies into a rage. then the suave agent takes the bull by the horns and issues his ultimatum. "our bank"--always "our bank"--"thinks we are not getting all the money coming to us from your account. they demand that in the future you deposit all your checks with us. i am sorry, for i know everything is straight, but your using us as a bank will last but a few days. everything will then run smoothly again." and unless some friend comes to the aid of the manufacturer the agency's prophecy comes true, and it does last but a little while. shrewd beggar graft. pretend to be deaf, dumb and blind, playing on sympathy--how philanthropy is humbugged--begging for money to reach home--an army of frauds and vagabonds--mastering the deaf mute language for swindling purposes--the public should be careful in disbursing alms. speech is so common, eyesight so precious, that he who would appeal for charity needs no better warrant than that he is dumb or blind. in an age when words are multiplied and golden silence is seldom found, the very fact that lips can give no utterance is so unusual that their mute assertion of misfortune is seldom questioned. there is nothing so pitiful in all the world as an asylum for the blind. there is nothing which so draws one to share the burdens of another as the appeal of him in whom the wells of speech are all dried up. we sympathize with illness, we grieve at the misfortune which visits our friends, we mourn with them when bereavement comes, but all these things are in the course of nature. they are sad, but they may be expected. but then a figure in health rises and asks for charity in the hushed language of the mute, philanthropy halts and humanity gives alms. but if the dumb can evoke assistance, assuring of sincerity and disarming doubt, how hushed is the questioning when the blind apply! how much stronger than speech or silence are the sightless eyes that stare unblinking at a darkened world! how sad is the fate of that man who was buried by demons when god cried out, "let there be light"! but not every man is mute who stretches out his hand in silence. laziness is such an awfully demoralizing vice that some who choose to beg a living and decline work are even base enough to feign a misfortune they ought to fear. fellows who find the winter pinching and the ranks of vagabonds full to repletion arm themselves with a slate and pencil and haunt the public with appeals for help on the untrue claim that they are dumb. one of the most persistent beggars of this kind makes the rounds of residence districts with a printed card on which is stated the bearer's desire to reach his home in some distant city--the destination varies from time to time--together with a long-primer endorsement by a group of names which no one knows. the fraud always asks for some slight money offering--nothing can be too small--with which to assist him in the purchase of a ticket. usually his paper shows that he needs but a very little more, and he asks one, by a series of pantomimic signs, to enroll his name, together with the sum advanced, in regular order on a blank list which he tenders with his touching appeal. he is so well drilled as never to be surprised into speech, and looks with such straight, honest eyes into the faces of the women, who form much the larger number of his victims, that they cannot question him and usually give up a dime or a quarter without a struggle. the beggar can readily collect a good day's wages in this manner, and it is a matter of surprise if he does not receive an invitation to partake of food three or four times a day. he never lets his list get full. however small a margin he may lack of having raised the sum needed to buy his ticket to his home, he never gets quite enough, for nothing is easier than to stop in some secluded spot and erase the names of his latest donors, thus proving to those on whom he shall presently call that their help is not only needed, but will so nearly end the necessity for continued appeals. this class of beggar never looks like a dissipated man, is always polite, and bears refusal in so noble a way that nine times out of ten the flinty-hearted women who refused him at the back door hurry through to the front and give the more generously that they have harbored suspicion. another set of leeches have mastered the deaf mute language, and always ask with a pleading, painful face which meets you as your eyes lift from his written questions, if anyone in the house can talk with him. he supplements the penciled question and the eloquent glance of eyes trained by long use in the art with a few rapid passes of his hands, a few dexterous wavings of the fingers, in a language you have heard of and read about, but cannot understand. if the unexpected happens and a person be present who can converse with him, your beggar is sure of some entertainment, and the usual scene of one you know to be honest talking to one who may be equally so, and certainly seems needy, will almost infallibly wring from you the coveted assistance. it is like two minstrels at a saxon court. you know your own has seen the holy land, though you have not, and as he tells you, this thread-bare guest talks familiarly and correctly of distant realms. that is all any one can know to a certainty, but you give him the benefit of the chance that he may be honest, and help him with such loose change as comes to hand. time and again the pretended mutes have been detected in their imposture by men who pitied a misfortune and gave money at their homes in the morning to see it spent for drink by an arguing, contentious fellow in the evening. some beggars even assume the appearance of blindness, and haunt the homes of comfortable people, led by a little girl and asking alms in the name of an affliction that is always eloquent of need. he will sometimes carry a small basket full of pencils, or other little trinkets, and glazes over his evident beggary with the appearance of sales. but he does not hesitate, once the money is in his hands, to ask his patron to give back the pencils, as he cannot afford to buy any more. these people can sometimes see as well as the child that seems to lead them, and yet their eyes, when they choose to assume their professional attitude, seem covered with a film through which no light can penetrate. the public should be chary in bestowing charity, and especially to able-bodied men who appear blind, deaf and dumb, or are still claiming to be victims of some recent disaster. most any one who has charity to bestow can easily think of some deserving and honest unfortunate in their own neighborhood. paralytic a bad actor. the most transparent fraud on the streets of the great cities is the pseudo-paralytic. at almost any street corner can be seen what purports to be a trembling wreck of a man. his legs are twisted into horrible shapes. the hand which he stretches forth for alms is a mere claw, seemingly twisted by pain into all sorts of distorted shapes, trembling and wavering. the arms move back and forth in pathetic twistings as if the pains were shooting up and down the ligaments with all the force of sciatica. the head bobs from side to side as if it were impossible to keep it still. and the words which come from the half-paralyzed mouth are a mere mumble of inarticulate sounds, as if the tongue, too, were suffering torture. a more pitiable sight than this could not be conjured up. and the extended hat of the victim of what seems to be a complication of st. vitus dance, paralysis, sciatic rheumatism, and the delirium tremens, is always a ready receptacle for the pennies, nickels and dimes of the thoughtless. this is one side of the picture; now look on the other. it is dusk. just that time of day when the lights are not yet brightening the streets, and when the sun has made the great tunnels between the sky-scrapers, ways of darkness. detective wooldridge is watching. he has been watching two of the deplorable fraternity for two hours. as the dusk deepens he sees them both arise, dart swiftly across the street and board a car. by no mere chance is it that they are both on the same car. the detective follows. before a low saloon on the west side the victims of innumerable diseases descend from the car, walking upright as six-year soldiers on parade. they enter the saloon. they seat themselves at a table behind an angle in the back which conceals them from the street. the detective loiters down to the end of the bar and watches. from every pocket, even from the hat rim, pours a pile of coins. the two sort out the quarters, the nickels, the pennies. the heaps are very evenly divided over two or three cheap whiskies or a couple of bottles of five-cent beer. then the real finale comes. detective wooldridge gets busy, and a goodly portion of the spoil finds its way out of the hands of the sharpers in the way of a fine. but for every one of these paralytic frauds caught there are dozens, even scores, who get away unscathed. it is the estimate of the best detectives that not one in a thousand of these paralytic beggars is genuine. it is one of the most bare-faced cases of deception of the public which comes under the notice of the police. easy money from kind hearts. charity covers a multitude of sins, almost as many backs, and quite a bit of graft. thoughtless giving is almost a crime. it serve to encourage idleness, and idleness is at the bottom of more crime than any other one thing, unless it is poverty. here is a story, given in the words of the man himself, which shows how the charity graft is worked in a number of ways. it covers several fields, and is so dramatic that it is given as the best example of all-round charity grafting: "in experience in charitable work last summer i discovered some of these truths. it was the first time in all my life that i ever engaged in any charitable enterprise, and the needy that i sought to relieve was myself. "any one will beg, borrow, or steal in the name of charity. they may be as personally honest as a trust magnate--and they would be horrified at the idea of begging or stealing for themselves, but charity makes them respectable. at least this is the theory i worked on. "i was broke and far from home. i decided that i would starve or steal rather than beg. then a fellow i met accidentally put me on to a way of making a living. for the benefit of the heathen. "he had a lot of literature either really from a big church, charitable organization, or fraudulently printed, and he explained to me that i was to sell these cents a copy for the benefit of the heathen somewhere, or home missions. i was to get per cent of the money resulting from such sales. "about a week later, when i had received $ besides a little expense money from him. i discovered that he was keeping all the money. i took the rest of the literature and destroyed it. three days later, when i was hungry, i rather regretted destroying it. "i joined a circus that was moving toward my home town in western iowa, intending to leave it there and quit being a tramp. i was then down in eastern pennsylvania. i was a canvas hand. we went west by a tortuous route, and i never could accumulate enough coin to pay my way home, so was forced to stick to the place for many weeks. "the second week one of the canvas hands came to me and asked me to circulate a subscription paper among the men for the benefit of one will turner, a member of the band, who, he said, had dropped off the train while running over from the last stop, and badly injured himself. gave the money to canvas boss. "i circulated the paper. the man told me he already had collected from the band on another subscription paper, so i needn't go to them. the man subscribed over $ to help turner, and i gave the money and the paper to the canvas boss who asked me to make the collection. "he took it, and remarked gratefully that he would make it all right with me. i didn't catch the significance of the remark then. about a week after that the same canvas boss came again with another subscription paper for the benefit of john kane, who, he said, was a gasoline lamp tender and had been horribly burned and taken to the hospital. he told me a graphic story of the accident that aroused all my sympathy. i took the paper and worked hard on it during the afternoon and evening performances, and, as it was the day after pay day, i collected nearly $ . worked the game once a month. "i got a shock when i took the money to the canvas boss. he gave me $ and said: "'that's your share. we'll work it again next pay day.' "then i went at him, and we had quite a fight. we were both arrested, and at the hearing next morning i learned that he had been working the game with that same circus about once a month. there were so many with the outfit and so few of them knew each other by name, and accidents were so numerous, that no one suspected him. he had grown afraid to work it for himself and used me for a tool. "the show had pulled out and the boss and two others who had been arrested with us took the first train back to it. i used the $ to pay my fine and get home, where i found work and honesty--and, as soon as possible, i sent to the chief horseman with the show $ , to be added to the fund for the benefit of the next person really hurt, telling him the entire story. he wrote that he had been among those who helped kick the canvas boss out of the car after he read my letter." in name of charity. there are probably more "touches" perpetrated in chicago by professionals in the name of charity than under any other guise. in this matter, more of the protection of honest charities than for the protection of the public, the police have taken a hand and done a great deal to weed out and punish the solicitors for fake charities. an imaginary home for epileptics was one of the favorite plans. there was a home for this class of unfortunates that was honestly run, and the peculiar sympathy enlisted by the mention of the word epilepsy was seized upon by dishonest schemers. professional women solicitors were garbed as "nurses" and sent forth. they were mostly austere-looking women and silent. their work of nursing epileptics was supposed to produce this austere silence. this supposed charity appealed with uncommon strength to most people because these "nurses" were supposed to be performing the most unpleasant work imaginable amidst the most grewsome surroundings. large sums were collected in this way, the promoter keeping everything above the liberal commission paid to solicitors. [illustration: rachel gorman] this one made fortune. rachel gorman was the originator of the "nurse for epileptics" graft, and raked in thousands of dollars before she finally was rounded up by the police. not one cent of all the money collected by her and her garbed and hired solicitors ever got past their pockets. in this case the most shining marks were selected. william jennings bryan was touched for $ . as was the governor of illinois, and many others. this money for imaginary epileptics came so easily that the gorman woman confessed that it was almost a shame to take it. there is little excuse, however, for chicago men and women allowing themselves to be talked out of money for charity. in no great city are the charity working forces better organized or better known. for virtually every form and case of need there is in chicago a distinct form of honest, well-organized charity. this condition grew out of necessity, and promiscuous giving to "touchers" who plead as qualification charity cases is dying out as the public comes to know more of the comprehensive systems for the help of the worthy and unfortunate. it took the hotel detectives years to check the "toucher" with the fake bank account that operated largely in the hotel lobbies. now he works in other places. he carries a bank book that has all the superficial marks of genuineness. he engages you in conversation, and at what he considers the right psychological moment, he drops a feeler like this: "it's h---- to be without money when you've got plenty, isn't it?" if you have met this type of "toucher" before, you instantly see it coming and chase off to a most important engagement. if not, you only can agree. being without money when you have none is bad; being broke when you have money is worse. "look here," says the "toucher," "here is my bank book. look at this balance?" often worth the price. a glance seems to show that the bank owes your new acquaintance many thousands. he then tells how it happened, how he came to be without a cent when he was so far to the good with his banker. it's a complicated tale, too long to tell here. there are lost letters, the cashing of checks for friends and, confidentially, a touch of the pace that flattens bank accounts. by this time you see your finish. when you seek to escape you find yourself backed up to the wall with no chance to sidestep. the best you can do is to scale the original touch from $ to cents, thereby making cents for yourself and cents for the "toucher." to "stand for" all the "touches" that are made in chicago one would require an income far in excess of that enjoyed by most. those that are responded to are those in cases where the donor generously thinks that the "toucher" really needs the money. probably in the vast majority of cases there is no delusion as to the fiction woven in order to drag forth the nickel, the dime, the quarter or the dollar. often it is worth the price to hear the fiction. but after all one feels refreshed when a frank but hoarse and trembling hobo says: "say, mister, me t'roat is baked and me coppers sizzlin'. gimme de price of a drink. did you ever feel like jumpin' from de bridge fur lack of a stingy little dime fur booze?" here, you feel, is no misrepresentation. here you may invest a dime without feeling that you have been stung. raffles bank robbery. one of the most annoying of small grafts is the raffle, as conducted for gain. it is bad enough to be held up for cents or cents for a ticket which entitles you to a chance on a rug or a clock when you reasonably are sure that the proceeds will go to charity, but no man likes to be fooled out of his small change by a cheap grafter, even if the grafter happens to need the money. a story is told of two printers who lived for a month on a cheap silver watch which they raffled off almost daily until they had "worked" nearly all the printing offices of any size in town. these typographical grafters are unworthy of the noble craft to which they belong. they pretended to be jobless on account of last year's strike, and unable to live with their families on the money furnished by the union. how skin raffle is worked. during the noon hour, or about closing or opening time, one of the men would saunter into a composing room and put up a hard luck story. he had an old silverine watch that he wanted to raffle off, if he could sell twenty tickets at cents each. he usually managed to sell the tickets. about the time the drawing was to take place the confederate entered and cheerfully took a chance and won the watch without any difficulty. thus, they had the watch and the $ also. they would split the money, and on the first convenient occasion the raffle would be repeated at another place, and by some trick known to themselves the drawing was manipulated so that the confederate always won the watch. a south side woman recently had raffle tickets printed, to be sold at cents each, the drawing to be on thanksgiving day, for a "grand parlor clock," the proceeds to be for the benefit of a "poor widow." as the woman herself happens to be a grass widow, and as the place of the drawing could not be learned, neither could there be obtained a sight of the clock, it is not difficult to guess the final destination of $ for which the tickets were sold. popular game in saloons. at many saloons and cigar stores there is a continuous raffle in progress for a "fine gold watch." it is well for those who buy chances to inspect the time piece with a critical eye. one of these watches was submitted to a jeweler by the man who won it. "it's what we call an auction watch," said the expert. "it is worth about cents wholesale. the case is gilded, and the works are of less value than the movement of a -cent alarm clock. it was keep time until the brass begins to show through the plate, and it may not." one of the attractive forms of the raffle ticket game is valuing the tickets at from cent up to as high as desired. the man who buys a chance draws a little envelope containing his number. if he is lucky and draws a small number he is encouraged to try again. this is a sort of double gamble, and many men cannot resist the temptation to speculate upon the chances, simply in order to have the fun of drawing the little envelopes. of course, many of the raffles are for cases of genuine charity, and it is an easy way to raise a fund for some worthy object. many a person would not accept an outright gift, even in case of sickness or death, will permit friends to raffle off a piano or a bicycle for a good round price in order to obtain a fund to tide him over an emergency. to buy tickets for this kind of a raffle is praiseworthy. raffle is lottery by law. but sharpers are not above getting money by the same means. if a strange man, or a doubtful looking woman, wants to sell you a chance for the benefit of "an old soldier," or a "little orphan girl," or a "striker out of work," it might pay you to investigate. but here is where the easy money comes in for the sharper. it is too much trouble to investigate, and the tender-hearted person would sooner give up the , or cents to an unworthy grafter than to take chances of refusing to aid a case of genuine need. then, too, there is what might be called a sort of legitimate raffle business. of course, the raffle is a lottery under the law, and, therefore, is a criminal transaction. but in many cases goods of known value, but slow sale, are disposed of through raffles, and the drawings conducted honestly. a north side man disposed of an automobile in this way. it had been a good wagon in its day, though the type was old. he wanted to get a new one, and as the makers would not allow him anything in exchange for the old. he sold raffle tickets to the amount of $ , and the winner got a real bargain--the losers paying the bill. raffles that are steals. a group of young men who wanted to build themselves a little club house in the fox lake region, resorted to a raffle that was almost a downright steal. they had the printer make them tickets, and each one went among his friends and organized a "suit club," selling chances for a $ tailor-made suit. of course those who invested understood that the suit probably would be worth about $ , but they were satisfied to help build the club house on that basis, and besides they thought they had a fair chance to get the suit. it was learned afterward by accident that there were twenty "series" of tickets sold by these young men, and instead of each series standing for a suit, only one drawing was held, and only a single suit made for the entire twenty series of tickets. in other words, they sold $ worth of tickets for a $ suit of clothes. they built their club house, however, and laughed at the man who kicked because he thought he did not get a square deal for the half dozen tickets he bought. they thought it was a good joke. graft of train butcher easy. in these days if anything gets past the up-to-date train butcher it isn't because the public knows any more than it did in barnum's time. we get a customer every minute by the birth records. for a genuine, all-round, dyed-in-the-wool separator of coin from its proud possessor, the train butcher is the limit. here is a word for word story by a train "butch" of how the thing is done. he excuses his tactics much the same way that the little rogue does who points out that the giant malefactors are doing the same thing, but "getting away with it." enter mr. butch. "i got back yesterday from a two days' trip--out and in. i had $ . to the good, and the company satisfied, and nary a kick from the railroad. at one little place down the line, though, a railroad detective got aboard and tried to detect. "'say, young feller,' he said to me, 'i saw you go through here yesterday lookin' pretty spruce, and i thought i'd better take a look through yer grips as you came back. what yer got in there?' "he kicked my grip, and i opened her up on the minute. he went through it like an old goat through a cracker barrel, but he didn't find anything--see? if he'd looked under the cushion of a seat in the smoker he might have found a whole lot of stuff that didn't look like a prayer meeting layout. what was hidden under seat. "say, i bet i had fourteen $ gold watches, twenty gold-rimmed spectacles that cost me cents apiece, one dozen books, tightly sealed in wrappers, that looked mighty interesting to the jay who couldn't see into the books, and yet who had to do it finally at $ apiece, and, as a topper of it all, my three-book monte game. did you ever see the game? "i've got a line of wild west books about two inches thick, each, and costing me cents a volume. they've got some great pictures on the cloth covers, and maybe there's some hot stuff inside--i don't know. but here's my unparalleled offer: i pick out my man and lay these three volumes across his knees in the car seat and go after him with some of the warmest kind of air about their interest, the binding, and the illustrations. "you pay me for the set," i explain, "but in doing it i give you a chance to get the books for nothing and at the same time double your investment. how three book monte is played. "i take out three small, thin spelling books, cloth bound, all alike as the bindery and the presses can make them. then, careless like, i take a $ bill out of my pocket, fold it across in a sort of v-shape and slip it into the middle of one of the spelling books, so that just one corner will stick out, probably a quarter of an inch. of course, i haven't seen it! sometimes the man on the cars will try to say something about it, but i cut in and drown him out with easy talk till he gets the idea that he might as well have that ten and the books for five, and let it go at that. "but one corner all the time is torn off that bill, and about a quarter of an inch of that bill is sticking out of the center of one of the other books. of course the jay hasn't seen that! shows corner of bill. "well, i begin and shuffle the books on the payment of the $ . as they are shuffled the corner of the bill that is still attached gets turned around next to me, while the corner that is torn off gets around next to the passenger, whom i have cornered in the seat in a way that he can't see everything that he really ought to see in order to save his money. when i hold out the three books for the drawing i am in a position where i couldn't possibly see the corner that sticks out, while he is where he can't see anything else. "and he draws the book with the corner sticking out! "i take it from him instantly, and hold it up with the bill corner at the bottom, flipping the leaves through from front to back and forward again. in the act the corner of the bill drops out on the floor, where he doesn't see. 'not here,' i says. 'you made a bad draw. here's the bill,' i says, taking up the book that holds it and turning to the $ bill, just where it lies. he doesn't know how it all happened, but i console him that he has the three wild west books for his library when he gets home. all suckers not in day coaches. "i don't find all these suckers in the day coaches--not on your life. i found two pretty boys in the smoking room of a sleeping car a week ago, and i had $ . from one of them and $ from the other, and they didn't know a line about it till they got together after i had gone. "friends of mine have kicked because i get $ , or $ , or $ apiece for gold-rimmed spectacles that cost me $ . a dozen. but where is the kick. i know men who have paid $ or $ for glasses from an oculist when the glass was cut out of a broken window pane. i save such people money, don't i? "i am not out after the old farmer with hayseed in his hair and leaf tobacco in his mouth, chewing. there are a lot of gay chaps traveling these days who think they've got the bulge on the train butcher by a sort of birthright or something. they are after me, sometimes, till i can't go to sleep after i come in from a run. for instance, the other day a chap got into the train out of a little country town, intending to go to another little town twenty miles away without change of cars. he had $ cash and a guitar when he got on the train, but i had both when he got off. he wasn't mad at all; he just didn't understand it. for that reason i'll see him again one of these days, and he will buck the game harder than he did the first time. the trouble is he wants to vindicate himself; he's one of these smart alecs that you couldn't down with a crowbar--he don't think! country town "sport" easiest mark. "just give me the dead-game sport as he comes from the country and the country town. he's as good as i want. it's a sort of charity to take his money away from him before he gets into real trouble with it. one of them thought he had me the other day when i tried to sell him a pair of my famous $ glasses with the gold rims. his had silver, only, but he told me mine wouldn't show a full moon after dark. "i asked him to let me see his specs and he handed them over. i had a bit of wax out of my ear on the tip of my little finger. i touched each of the glasses with the wax, smearing them a little with it. that fixed his glasses for good, and don't forget it. you can't get ear wax off a pair of spectacles with anything yet invented; it's got a sort of acid that eats into the glass and won't ever clear up again. the fellow got hot about it, but i didn't know anything, of course, and finally sold him a pair of my $ . a dozen glasses for $ . cash, net. "o, some people are almost too easy--i get ashamed of my calling!" women victims of old coupon scheme. there is another moss-grown swindle, which, like hope, seems to "spring perennial" in the greater cities. this is the old-time coupon swindle. a suave young man appears at the door, inserts his foot in the crack, if you try to slam it in his face, and rapidly begins to explain that he has something to offer you for nothing. the housewife sighs with resignation, and admits the suave young man, thinking that she might as well get it over. but let the housewife herself talk. here is the story of a good woman who was caught by one of these pettifogging grafters: "since my husband died i have partly earned my living by renting furnished rooms. this seems to be the first thing a woman thinks of doing when she is left unprovided for, but it isn't a business of large profits, and few of us ever cut 'melons.' my furniture, of course, represented my 'plant,' and it was growing shabby. "that is, perhaps, why the glib agent got a hearing from me. he had a lovely proposition. opening a catalogue he showed me pictures of beautiful pieces of furniture, made from expensive materials, just the kind that would make my rooms attractive and easy to rent. "'now,' said he, 'i am soliciting subscriptions for a weekly paper. this paper will cost you cents a number, and with each number you get a coupon. when you have accumulated sixty-eight coupons you can bring them to our wareroom and select any one of these elegant pieces of furniture.' "'why,' said i, 'if these articles are as represented, i couldn't buy them at any store in town for three times what sixty-eight coupons would cost me--$ . .' the old "wareroom" tale. "'call at our wareroom, lady, before you sign the contract, and you will see they are just as described.' "well, i saw the articles, and they were all they were said to be. they explained that they were practically giving them away in order to build up the circulation of the paper. everything appeared to be all right, and i signed a contract. so did my widowed sister; so did some of my neighbors. "the paper was worthless, but i didn't care. sometimes i would buy several copies of one issue so as to make haste toward getting my sixty-eight coupons. the time came when i went around to select my furniture. i selected it, all right--a handsome chiffonier. "'this chiffonier calls for coupons,' said the man. "'why, your agent told me i could have any of these pieces when i had accumulated sixty-eight coupons,' said i, dismayed. "'he couldn't have told you that,' said the man. 'read your contract. you will see it says that when you have sixty-eight coupons you may select any one of these articles, but that means we will then hold the article for you until you have paid the rest. why, we have goods here that call for and coupons.' "i saw how i had been swindled, and was furious. i told him what i thought of him and his business, and he offered to tear up my contract (which, it turned out, bound me to more than i had dreamed of), if i would pay him an additional $ . . i refused. he said he would sue me if i didn't. i told him to go ahead. "shortly afterward a constable served a summons on me to appear at a justice court at the other end of creation. i didn't go; and i don't know whether the concern got a judgment against me or not. "but i do know i haven't anything to show for the money i paid for those coupons." book lovers easy prey of frauds. bogus art works fine graft. some of our citizens are paying a high price for education in art and book swindles. people, generally, are becoming experts in detecting small frauds and attacks upon their pocketbooks, and are becoming wise to pious dodges that run into spiritualism, clairvoyance and fortune telling, but when a large, smooth scheme is broached, they get caught. it may be that we have concentrated our minds upon so many trifling schemes to part us from our money, that we have laid ourselves bare to big operators in big frauds like that perpetrated upon the patten family of evanston. the clever fakir reached for $ , in an "old book" game and came very near gathering in the pot. he did get $ , , which was a very neat job. it appears that there is a wide-spread system under the operations of which chicago book lovers, and others all over the country, have been bilked out of a sum estimated at hundreds of thousands of dollars. the same system is applied to paintings by the "old masters," for which some chicago men have paid fabulous sums, only to find them imitations. the expert frauds are geniuses in their peculiar calling, and would deceive the elect if listened to. a bright, smart, well groomed man with letters of introduction from high quarters, often forged, perhaps with a title, breaks into society and bides his time to make a big haul. the vanity and foibles of the high-steppers and nobility worshipers are pandered to with masterly skill, and then a mere suggestion of untold values in books or paintings is breathed in secret. do the big fish bite? some of them swallow the bait and it has to be cut out of them before they will give it up. it is becoming so easy to gull some people, that the crime should consist in the betrayal of innocence rather than in the successful fraud. while guillible people continue to parade their guillibility to the world, there will always be frauds to take advantage of them. if anybody doubts the fact that people can be easily defrauded, let him visit any old book store, antique furniture dealer, oriental rug concern, even junk shops. he will find an amazing army of faddists, who are willing to pay any exorbitant price for some cheap fraud because a gentlemanly man, or an opium-smoking chinaman, tells him it is the real thing. when business is dull at the shops, agents visit front doors, back doors, or invade society with some bogus job of "art" works and realize enormous sums. miserable little short measure thieves. in the municipal court in south chicago three extremely mean swindlers have been fined $ and costs. it is unfortunate that they could not have been sent to the bridewell without the alternative of paying the fine. for these swindlers were coal dealers who robbed the poor that bought coal by the basket. they stole money from their customers, just as the short-measure milk trust conspirators robbed their patrons. we repeat that they ought to be in the bridewell. giving short measure is the dirtiest, smallest, most cowardly form of commercial rascality. the hold-up man who takes his life in his hand and robs on the public highway is a model of decency and courage as compared with the pitiful rascal who steals the pennies of the poor by selling coal or milk or any other necessity of life by short weight. short weight is larceny. it ought to be treated as larceny by law. crime a fine art. living by one's wits has become a fine art, and it is a profession that is more liberally patronized than any other by the present generation. one of america's leading detectives remarked that there were about seventy-five thousand people in a city the size of chicago that would bear watching. there isn't a bank, insurance office, dry goods store, restaurant or hotel that does not employ men to watch their customers, and there is hardly a business house in the country that has not some system of watching its employes. everybody at this day seems to be afraid of everybody else. [illustration: (learn to paint)] professional criminals pride themselves quite as much upon their ability as men engaged in legitimate occupations. a thief, for instance, is as vain of his superiority over other thieves as a lawyer, politician, or clergyman might be whose talents had elevated him to a commanding position in the eyes of the people. and the talented thief is as much courted and sought after as the successful man in the honest walks of life. the other thieves will say: "he is a good man to know; i must make his acquaintance." but the thief who has earned a reputation is particular about the company he keeps, and is scornful in his demeanor toward another thief whom he does not consider his professional equal. caste exists among criminals as well as among other classes. men and women who are not living merely for today must be deeply interested in the efforts which practical philanthropists are making to discover the causes of crime and to remedy the mischievous conditions which now prevail to such an alarming extent. hidden away to a considerable degree in the great mass of figures which came into being through the operations of the census bureau, are facts that should shock every good citizen. with all the warmth of eulogy the story of wonderful progress has been told again and again, but only a few references have been made to the abnormal growth of what may be termed by the criminal class. forty years ago there was but one criminal to , good or reasonably good citizens. according to the last census the proportion was one in . , an increase of per cent in a period during which the population increased but per cent. never in the nation's history has educational work of all descriptions been nearly so active as at present, yet the increase in the number of those who were confined in penitentiaries and jails and reformatory institutions is almost twice as rapid as the growth of population. cities breeding spots of crime. the true explanation of this unsatisfactory state of things is not far to seek. it is almost entirely to be attributed to the growing tendency of the community to become concentrated in large cities. a highly concentrated population fosters lawless and immoral instincts in such a multitude of ways that it is only an expression of literal exactitude to call the great cities of today the nurseries of modern crime. statistics of all kinds show this, but it can easily be ascertained without the aid of any figures. the aggregation of large multitudes within a very limited area must increase the chances of conflict, and consequently multiply the occasions for crime. a population in this crowded condition has also to be restrained and regulated at every turn by a huge network of laws, and as every new law forbids something which was permitted before, a multiplication of laws is inevitably followed by an increase of crime. the prevention of crime should be the great object with the philanthropist. the obvious remedy is, if possible, to aid the individual in overcoming the temptation to evil or to crime. the remedy must be general, gradual, and constant. it consists in religious, moral, intellectual, and industrial education of the children, especially of the poor and unfortunate and the weakling classes. the most certain preventive is the early incarnation of good habits in children, which, becoming part and parcel of their nervous organization, are an unconscious force when passion, perplexity, or temptation tend to make them lose self-control. little can be expected from palliative remedies for social diseases so long as this educational remedy is not thoroughly carried out. america's educated criminal class. the great mass of the american people, aside from those who have had experience in hunting and shadowing criminals, labor under the popular delusion that the most daring criminals of today are a lot of tough, ignorant men, with little or no education at all, who would do almost anything else than work honestly for a living. if people would but stop to consider the subject a moment they would readily discover their error. there are, it is true, a large number of swindlers, thieves, pickpockets, thugs and criminals of a like class who have but a scant knowledge of books, or literature, but they are only to be found among the lower class of criminals. the most notorious criminals the world has ever produced have been men and women of high culture and refinement, well educated and thoroughly posted on all that is transpiring. it is this class of people who make the most successful, and at the same time most dangerous, criminals. it requires men of education to swindle, crack a safe, rob a bank, jewelry store or forge a paper. to be a successful confidence operator requires the man to be well educated in matters of all kinds, to be a fluent talker, a person of refinement and polite address, and a good judge of character. refined criminals most dangerous. criminal history shows that the most successful jobs are always planned and executed by men of education; the details of some of the great forgeries that have taken place, of the numerous bank robberies and burglar's exploits, all go to show the direction of a brain of no ordinary person, being proof positive that the persons planning the work possessed both education and talent. first class criminals are exceedingly hard to cope with, and are the most dangerous to handle by the officers. they do not generally do things in a rush or by halves. great care is given to all the minor details of their work, and it often takes weeks and months before they are ready to put their plans into operation. they study all the possibilities of the job; the chances of success, and the way of escape in case of failure; how they can cover all traces of the work and throw the guilt or suspicion upon the more unfortunate of their class who have had reputations and who are likely to be brought up and possibly convicted on suspicion of being the guilty parties. educated crooks are always to be feared, not only by the public against whom they are constantly devising ways and means to relieve of their valuables, but by detectives of a lesser grade. this class of crooks do not hesitate to sacrifice the detective if their desired ends can be successfully accomplished, while the detective finds it a task of no little moment to gain even the faintest clue to their operations. prison poor cure for crime. locking a man up for committing a crime does not always cure him. it is now proven that affixed penalties to certain crimes accomplishes practically nothing, for it is based on a wrong principle. the length of confinement ought, confessedly, to be adjusted to the needs of the prisoner. he should not be discharged from his moral hospital until there is reasonable assurance that he is cured. he certainly should not be turned loose on society, on the mere expiration of a formal sentence, when it is known he will begin anew on his old life. protection to society, as well as the reformation of the criminal, call for the retention of the latter until he can be trusted with his liberty, and affords proof that he is fitted to take his place in the world as a useful, law-abiding citizen. this system alone permits the fullest scope to reformatory methods, and leaves to the court the right of sentencing indefinitely, and to the tribunal which has to do with the prisoner's release, to say when there is reasonable ground for faith that if discharged he will not prove either a burden or menace to society. where conduct and character afford no such grounds he should be incarcerated for life, just as we would retain hopeless lunatics in asylums. maconochie's experiment. this form of sentence was first put into operation in a modified form by maconochie, at norfolk island, in , with a success in the way of reformatory results from the start which was unequalled. now the best authorities in penology in all countries not only commend it, but the opinion is fast becoming general that it is a necessary feature in every reformatory system of prison discipline. of course it implies in prison management the highest wisdom and integrity, and especially the banishment of partisan politics therefrom. it makes the dominant idea of prison administration manhood-making, and not money-making. faces portray character. every one knows that men's passions, propensities, and peculiarities, as well as their calling, are reflected in their faces. it is as impossible to disguise a face as a handwriting. when the expert comes the disguise is torn off and the face tells the true story of the spirit inside the body. one only needs to visit the penitentiary to realize how undeniably vice writes its sign manual on the features. it is not the drunkard only whose red nose, flabby cheeks and rheumy eyes betray him; it is the senualist whose vice is read in his lips, the knave whose propensity is revealed in the shape of his mouth; the man of violence is surrendered by his eyes. an experienced detective policeman, or a trained jailer seldom needs to ask the crime of which the prisoner was guilty. he can tell it by his face. it is quite evident that in the future the study of physiognomy is going to be pursued more vigorously than it has been. as a means of preventing crime it may prove invaluable. how constantly do we hear of men "falling from grace," as the phrase goes. yet these men must have carried their crime in their faces for a long time. if any one had been able to read their features the mischief might have been averted. it is well known that every man's face is more or less stamped by the pursuit he follows. an experienced observer can generally detect a lawyer, or a doctor, or a merchant, or a clerk, or a mechanic, or a clergyman, by merely studying his face. the instinctive criminal is a social parasite. the conclusion is irresistible that he is organically morbid. he will proceed to any extreme, and life and property, separating him from the accomplishment of his wishes, are but barriers to be overcome. the occasional criminal is largely a negative creature, who yields himself when temptation and the stimulus of opportunity exceed his resistive power. the habitual and professional criminal represents degree rather than kind. criminality is to him a profession, a fine art, and susceptible of division into specialties. criminal heads not extraordinary. the average heads of criminals and those of ordinary people probably do not vary much in size. a large brain does not necessarily indicate great intelligence any more than a small one mental deficiencies, this being true, as little importance can be attached to the weight of brains of criminals. the weight of oliver cromwell's brain was . ounces; lord byron's, ounces; cuvier's, ounces; ruloff's (a thief and murderer), ounces; adult idiot's, . ounces; daniel webster's, . ounces, and gambetta's, that of the size of a microcephalic idiot. a face may either attract or repel; its lines indicate firmness and decision, or weakness and sensuousness. in physiognomy may be traced fineness or brutality, surfeit or privation, gentleness or irascibility; yet from a consideration of the face it is assuming too much to predicate the form of criminal tendencies, if any, on the subject. criminal physiognomy is not yet an exact science. the practical criminologist regards criminality as bred in the bone and born in the flesh, and the ethology of crime to be looked for chiefly is in heredity and environment, using the word environment in its most liberal sense, ante and post-natal, and whatever cause, in whatever way, that exerts a deleterious influence upon nutrition and the functions of organic life, voluntary and involuntary. little is being done in this country in criminal anthropology that can compare with the studies and researches that are being carried on in italy, france, and germany. the student unacquainted with the language of these countries pursues his studies at a disadvantage, owing to the paucity of literature in english upon the subject. the tide of crime is steadily rising. the level of criminality, it is well known, is rising, and has been rising during the whole of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, throughout the civilized world. its prevention and cure is a perplexing study, and is engaging the thoughts and energies of the best intellects of the world. detective clifton r. wooldridge's _"never-fail" system_ the only sure way to beat: turf frauds. wild cat insurance. bogus securities, confidence games. city-lot swindles. home-buying swindles. dishonest debenture bond companies. fraudulent promoters. "salted" mining and oil wells companies. bucket shops. blind pools in grain and stocks. panel houses. bogus mail order houses. poker, faro and other gambling games. matrimonial bureaus. counterfeit underwriters. fraudulent book concerns. dishonest collection agencies. adulterated medicine dealers. wire tappers. fake brokers. bogus charities. spurious employment agencies. swindle promoters. mushroom banks. clairvoyants. fortune tellers. palmists. $ , reward will be paid to anyone who uses detective clifton r. wooldridge's never-fail system and fails to beat the above swindles. do not risk your money without having first carefully investigated the character of the enterprise in which you are invited to become financially interested. be convinced beyond all reasonable doubt that the men connected with the enterprise are above suspicion. if their probity, integrity or reliability can not be established by past transactions it is certain their honesty will not be disclosed by future dealings. do not invest in any company, corporation, or private concern until the management has furnished indisputable proof of its ability to fulfill every promise. leave speculation to those who can afford to lose. large gains on small investments usually exist only in the imagination of gullible investors and unscrupulous promoters. large risks incur large losses. no man will "let you into a good thing;" he will keep it for himself and his friends. promoters are not in business to make money for you, but "out of you." content yourself with legitimate investments and small but safe returns. rather than seek great profits without toil strive for the deserved fruits of industry. no man will give you a dollar for fifty cents--unless the dollar is counterfeit. do not pay out your own good money for another man's bogus dollars. if the promoter could do one-half of what he claims, he would not need your money, but soon would be rich beyond the dreams of avarice. do not invest your hard-won savings in vanishing air castles. promises which proceed from a desire to get your money always merit suspicion. subject them to the most careful and rigid examination. adopt the banker's rule that: "all men should be regarded as dishonest until their honesty is proved," rather than the sucker's theory that "all men are honest." the banker will end life possessed of wealth while the credulous optimist whose faith is unbounded will wind up his days "a poorer but wiser man." when in doubt do nothing. if a promoter can not dispel your doubts he is not worthy of your confidence. do not follow siren chance. she will lead you into the abyss of despair. beware of the dice; there is but one good throw with them--throw them away. they were used to cast lots for the blood-stained garments of jesus christ; they are used to gamble away the honor of men. play nothing, invest in nothing, buy nothing, trust no man or woman until you have reason to believe the enterprise is legitimate beyond question. avoid the mistake of that greatest fool of all fools, the man who thinks he is too smart to be fooled. you are not shrewd enough to beat any man at his own game; he has studied its manipulations; you are a novice. don't let anyone stampede you into doing anything. the "rush" act is a favorite trick of grafters, from the cheap cadger who borrows small change to the investment broker who offers an opportunity to risk a fortune in "the chance of a life-time" that must be snapped up immediately or lost forever. when a man tries to hurry you into spending your money put it back in your pocket and keep your hand on it. use caution, reason and common sense. do unto others as you would have them do unto you. most others will "do" you if you give them a chance. if you are marked as one of the geese ready for plucking by get-rich-quick swindlers they will send you literature through the mails. save every circular, letter or other communication together with the envelopes and send them to the postoffice inspector in the town from which they were sent. be sure to send the envelopes with the literature as the communications cannot be admitted as evidence unless the original wrappers or envelopes in which they were mailed are offered with them. the postmaster will instruct how to forward the complaint. prosecution of the swindlers will surely follow. if you are in doubt about the character of the concern which invites you to invest your money, consult a lawyer, banker or reputable commercial agency. intending investors should remember that: "sure tips" are sure bait for sure fools. when you hear stocks have gone up and men who bought them cheap have sold them at high prices and gained fortunes suspect your informant. if he seeks to induce you to invest be assured he is a get-rich-quick grafter. many swindlers wear the garb of respectability; they even cloak their rascality with piety. many men accepted by the world as honorable members of society spend their lives living on the credulity of the ignorant, and when they die go to the grave followed by hordes of dupes who mourn their end. these swindlers await you at every turn; on the race-track; in the saloon; with the poker deck and the ivory dice; with watered stock and fraudulent bonds; with prayers on their lips and designs in their minds to defraud you. there is no such thing as an honest gambler. every gambling game is a dishonest scheme. you seek to get the other man's money without giving him anything in return. you are not entitled to one penny unless you give value in return. if you are in business you know that every promissory note, to be valid, must bear on its face two words, "value received." industry, energy, thrift! these are the dice that win. the lesson is hard to learn for the young. he has anxious days and feverish nights who risks at chance what should be devoted to the nobler ends of life; who "makes throws" on the green cloth; who watches the snake-like tape squirm out of the ticker; or gazes at a bunch of horses running around a ring. give it all up and adopt honest means of procuring wealth! the best rules for health, happiness and success. they are worth the attention and thought of all readers. . never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. . never trouble another for what you can do yourself. . never spend your money before you have earned it. . never buy what you don't want because it is cheap. . pride costs more than hunger, thirst and cold. . we seldom repent of eating too little. . nothing is troublesome that we do willingly. . how much pain the evils have cost us that have never happened. . take things always by the smooth handle. . when angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, count a hundred. . watch the small things. . laziness is a vice--fight it. . do your honest best--it pays. . without self-respect you cannot gain respect. . trickery's triumph is fleeting. . remember that opportunity waits only on worth. . cultivate love, loyalty and respect for work--especially your own work. . it is not enough to be honest and lazy. . try to keep your mind clean--evil and success will not mix. . if responsibility confronts you, seize it. do not throw it aside--responsibility represents opportunity. some of these sayings will strike you as very old and lacking in novelty. but, old as these rules are, human beings have not yet learned to follow them. and they won't learn for many a long year. we shall not moralize about them all today, only one or two we want to emphasize. "nothing is troublesome that we do willingly." if you work willingly, if you make yourself realize that willing effort is easy, and the only kind that makes you grow and succeed, you will solve one of your big working problems. did you ever see a small boy walking ahead of a band, with the music playing? and did you ever see the same small boy walking half the distance to get a newspaper for his father? walking with the band rests him; it doesn't tire him at all, because he does it willingly. and the other kind of walking takes the very heart out of him and makes him almost too tired to eat his dinner. it is exactly that way with all the work we do in this world. when you do things willingly, with the heart and the nerves and the brain acting with one another cheerfully, work is easy and success follows. a willing fool may lag behind an unwilling man of intelligence. but even a willing fool is happier in the end than an unwilling one, and, all things being even, the employe working willingly will cease being an employe and have others working for him sooner than the other man. pride costs more than hunger, thirst and cold. this applies to all kinds of foolish vanity. it applies to the young man who never does anything, because he is too proud to do what he has the chance to do. it applies to men and women who squander on dress and show the money that they need for more serious purposes. it applies to those that in old age have no money saved up, because pride spent their money as fast as they got it. the pride that keeps men honest, the pride that makes men truthful, never kept a man back or hurt him. the bad kind of pride is the pride which can be described as "the coward's pride." men are foolishly and cowardly proud because they are afraid of what other men will think. money that they cannot afford they spend helping other men to drink too much, because they are ashamed to be thought stingy or mean. men squander in keeping up appearances money that should be saved for another day, for a good business opportunity, because they are too cowardly to be guided by their own judgment, and ignore what others may think about them. self-respect is one thing; foolish pride, vanity, moral cowardice, are very different. get rid of them. all the advice from these rules is good advice. the man who can keep his temper while he thinks--whether he count ten or a million--is a lucky man. a man in a rage is a man whose brain is no longer working. and the man whose brain isn't working is at the mercy of the man whose brain is working. worry about the future troubles is a curse with many men. it prevents their working well today. overeating, and especially eating at the wrong time, is a great evil in this country. if men would learn to eat heartily only when their day's work is done, when their minds must no longer be concentrated, they will save their stomachs and accomplish twice the amount of work in their lives. read these rules over, and moralize on them for yourselves and for your children. coining cupid's wiles. how matrimonial agencies prey on the public--their degeneration into the worst forms of crime. $ , , secured by these get-rich-quick schemers discovered by detective clifton r. wooldridge, chicago's famous police detective. matrimonial agencies in chicago raided and closed in the last five years. , , matrimonial letters seized and destroyed. , , matrimonial agencies' stock letters seized and destroyed. , , matrimonial stock photographs seized and destroyed. , photographs sent to the matrimonial agencies by men and women who were seeking their affinities seized and destroyed. wagon loads of matrimonial literature seized and destroyed. one of the most insidious forms of crime is the matrimonial agency. seemingly harmless, or at most merely foolish, is the matrimonial agency at its inception. but step by step within the past few years we have seen the matrimonial agency turned into a volcano belching forth fraud, swindling, bigamy, desertion, and finally ghastly wholesale murder. we have seen the matrimonial agency sweep the whole range of the world of crime from the petty thieving of a carson to the almost unbelievable horrors of the gunness farm. [illustration: the sorrows of cupid "he does not see all the rocks ahead when he brings two young people together"--beatrice fairfax.] and this monster is hydra-headed. stamp it out in one place and it immediately reappears in another. send a "manager" to prison once, twice, ten times, and the minute the prison doors are open he is back at the old stand doing business. something of the tremendous efforts being put forth to stamp out this evil may be gained from the headlines of this story, where the strenuous work of detective wooldridge of chicago is summarized. chicago has been and is today infested by a formidable community of matrimonial agencies who invade all ranks of life. they promote many specious schemes to lure the elusive dollar from the pockets of unwary victims. these operatives are sharp, smooth and unscrupulous--the most dangerous of criminal perverts. were the census enumerators of the united states to compile a list of the "sucker" public the gullible ones would aggregate tens of millions. there is not a township in this great nation that does not contain its portion of confiding persons who are ready to believe anything, from the rankest catch-penny advertisement to a fallacy in theological dogma. they are willing to open up their hearts to unknown matrimonially inclined correspondents; to accept as gospel the incredible statements of impostors and to pay out money gained by hard toil for something which the reason of a child should tell them it is beyond the power of man to provide. they are easy prey alike to religious and political impostors and unscrupulous adventurers. investigations for years past into the innermost secrets of swindlers, and the observations incidental to official experience disclosing how victims are drawn into the net of the grafter, impel the belief that the faith of many persons passes beyond the bounds of credulity into the domain of imbecility. men and women who are engaged in promoting matrimonial agencies are guilty of crime. it is opposed to the fundamental principles of society. such a practice should under no circumstances be tolerated. it is inconsistent with the highest ideals of what should constitute the proper marriage relations. human derelicts are dupes. human derelicts of a low mental caliber are the dupes of these matrimonial agencies. few people know that such schemes as these are carried out. few know that advertisements by men of wealth, women of culture and pretty widows who seek matrimonial alliances are merely means by which scoundrels get a revenue. matrimonial agents' methods. to describe adequately the technicalities of the marriage agencies and bureau swindlers' methods would be impossible without presenting actual copies of documents necessary to the system. early in the investigations the discovery was made that the scores of matrimonial agencies, "introduction bureaux" and "marriage clubs" were using practically the same literature. few departed from the stereotyped plan for "pulling the suckers on." for the most part the prospectuses and "follow-up" letters were identical. as often happened, however, when a victim was "landed right" and ventured to chicago from his distant rural retreat prepared to carry out in earnest the game that had been worked upon him in a spirit of mercenary recklessness, the methods of handling him were varied in respect to both finesse and effectiveness. any person familiar with the uses of the typewriter easily could have discovered that the "personal" letters received from time to time were nothing more than circulars printed by the thousands. so vast was the number of the gullible that seldom, if ever, was an actual, bona fide letter sent in reply to those from the victims. space was left at the top of the stock letters for the insertion of the name of the person to whom it was sent. in their haste the swindlers often begrudged the time necessary to change the "dear sir" to "dear miss" or "dear madam" when a woman was addressed on stationery intended for male clients. [illustration: (men on knees, arms stretched towards large image of a heart-shaped lady)] [illustration: notice! she's engaged but engagements have been broken so hurry before the wedding bells have rung.... going! going! third and last call!] no trust here. the general uniformity of the literature was at first thought by me to indicate that the matrimonial agencies were banded together in a gigantic trust. but later i learned that as they increased in number the newcomers exhibited conscienceless audacity in copying the forms used by their predecessors. it was also found in some cases several matrimonial agencies were operated from one address and one or two men, or a man and his wife would represent half a dozen concerns by changing names and locations every thirty or sixty days. because of these facts and the added fact that whoever compiled the original forms from which the others copied, realized, he was in an illegitimate business, the plagiarists were never prosecuted. thus the buncombe administered to the suckers became uniform in phraseology. if a person desired to make assurance doubly sure for gaining wealth and marital bliss and he applied to several agencies at the same time, the same mail would bring him letters from each matrimonial agency with which he communicated, worded identically. they would be mimeograph copies, and the only difference in their appearance would be in the printed heading indicating the name of the agency. the name of the recipient would often be written at the top in ink different in color from the body of the letter. working the double cross. the usual beginning is a small subscription fee paid for a "matrimonial" paper. this paper contains alleged descriptions of men and women, principally the latter, who are claimed by the publisher to be seeking wives or husbands through the matrimonial agency. the subscriber who becomes interested in any of the descriptions is made to pay a fee for more detailed information and alleged record of the financial circumstances of the person. there is sometimes an additional fee for a photograph. this picture may or may not be one of the person described, but that matters little. almost any old photograph will serve the purpose. in all the raids made on matrimonial agencies collections of photographs have been found. that tens of thousands of otherwise intelligent men and women should either entrust pictures of themselves to an agency by which it is to be sent out to unknown persons, or should even begin such negotiations as those carried on through the matrimonial agency, is incomprehensible. the money derived in the aggregate from subscriptions to the matrimonial paper, the fees for particulars and those for photographs and miscellaneous "services" amount to large sums. with many of the agencies the services stop at this point, but many others undertake personal introductions of lonesome maids and widows to the invariably "honest and affectionate" bachelors and widowers, and when this is done there are other fees, depending altogether on how much the victims appear to be willing to stand. a large number have been found and suppressed in which there was but one lonesome maid or widow and one honest and affectionate bachelor or widower, the former being the woman accomplice of the manager of the agency and the latter the manager himself. they answer love-lorn correspondents of both sexes and select for victims those believed to have the most money. if the assistant to the manager is posing as the possible bride in the case the wife hunter must make satisfactory settlements with the manager for conducting the negotiations, and this amount, with that which the accomplice is able to secure from the victim, amounts often to a considerable sum. after the victim is separated from his money something happens to prevent the happy conclusion of the marriage negotiations. two well-defined forms. there are two well-defined forms of the "matrimonial agent." the one is the man who openly runs an agency, who advertises "golden-haired young ladies, worth half a million dollars," "blue-eyed widows of languishing temperaments" and "wealthy farmers." it is through this class of "bureau" that the great crimes of the matrimonial business have been engineered. hoch, mrs. gunness, holmes and other arch-criminals made good use of this type. the other type is just the plain swindler. the man who works along the secondary lines, as they may be called, would scorn to be a matrimonial agent. he is either a reverend gentleman of the cloth, a minister to whom some languishing widow is looking for spiritual direction, and he thinks that she "needs she should get married," to quote the east side phraseology; or he is a lawyer who has a wealthy client, who, not being a business woman, is incapable of running her own affairs, and he again thinks of marriage as a solution; or, again, he is "an employment agency." this secondary type is generally a cheap sort, grafting on the gullible for five or ten dollars, or even as high as $ . concrete examples. type no. . september , , john h. harris, hamlin avenue, editor and publisher of the pilot, a marriage agency paper, and manager of a cheap mail order house, was raided and arrested by detective wooldridge. among the letters seized were complaints from his patrons. they received no returns for money paid him, and averred his paper was being used to blackmail men and women. complaints were also made that many of the names which appeared in the paper were not authorized, and other names attached to the order were forgeries. the following is the copy of a letter dated september , , and is only one among hundreds of others sent out by the thousands by harris. many more thousands were sent through the mail to his sub-agents, who worked on a commission. this agent employed other agents, who started an endless chain by copying the letter and having the friends do likewise. chicago. ill., sept. , . dear sir: we have a very recent application from a brown-eyed widow of , medium size, musical, has no children. she informs us that she has recently come into possession of a fortune of over five hundred thousand dollars, and that she wishes to marry an honest, affectionate gentleman. we also have a recent application from a pretty, blue-eyed lady of , who estimates her present means at forty thousand dollars, and her inheritance at twenty thousand dollars. her form is graceful, her education good, her disposition gentle and she desires a steady, honest husband. we believe she would start her husband in business. and to accommodate those ladies and quickly find a husband for them we make the following special offer: fill out the coupon at the bottom, and send it to us with one dollar (and six postage stamps) and enclose a sealed and stamped letter to either or both of the ladies referred to above. we will immediately mail your letter to the lady or ladies, and place your name on our books, and send you a certificate of membership for six months, and send you the full names and addresses of the handsome widow of means, and the handsome blue-eyed maiden of means, and also send you a list of names and addresses of other ladies of means and otherwise. and until you are married, or until the end of six months, we will, on or about the first of each month, mail you a list of descriptions, names and addresses of ladies of means and otherwise, without application from you or any expense to you. we have good reason to believe that either of the ladies mentioned above would make you a good wife, but if they do not meet your approval you can select one who will from the stream of ladies of means and otherwise who are constantly requesting us to secure husbands for them, which enables us to introduce you to those whom you would be pleased to meet with a view to marriage. faithfully yours, john h. harris. _pub. of the pilot._ john h. harris, chicago, ill. dear sir: i herewith enclose $ . as full payment on the above offer. name---- postoffice---- street, or box no---- state---- united states inspector of mails at chicago postoffice r. w. mcafee compelled john h. harris to furnish him with the names and addresses of the two women heiresses who were worth $ , and $ , , respectively, who were just dying for the want of a good, kind husband to spend their money for them, and were seeking marriage through his paper and matrimonial agency. [illustration: (interest in science; marriage)] harris gave the name of mrs. h. r. adams, at huntington, md., as the $ , woman and jennie ziehler, lawrence, mass., as the $ , woman. upon investigation it was found that neither of the women was worth a dollar. the $ , woman was in the insane asylum. this letter, together with the pilot, marriage paper and its printed advertisements, was plainly intended to draw the unwary and deprive the ignorant of their savings. john h. harris then appealed to ex-mayor edward f. dunne of chicago, under the alias of a. ingird, taxpayer, citizen and reputable business man, to have detective wooldridge stopped from further interfering with him or his business. men who operate these frauds pretend to be honest and high-minded; by constant practice of their wiles upon others they develop self-deception and come to believe in their own honesty to such an extent that when questioned they assume a good counterfeit of honest indignation. mayor dunne upon investigation learned the large mass of evidence gathered, and ordered the investigation to go forward, which, resulted in the arrest and holding over of john h. harris to the grand jury. commits suicide. these complaints and evidence were turned over to colonel james stuart, chief inspector of the mails at the chicago postoffice, for further investigation. a fraud order was requested. on august , , mr. harris committed suicide by blowing out his brains at n. hamlin avenue, chicago, illinois, after the mask had been pulled off and his methods exposed. one is unable to state whether john h. harris is opening a mail order house, paper and marriage agency in the other world. when he left he did not leave word where he would make his next stop, but if he went to the other world, we are not informed that wireless telegraph or balloon companies have as yet perfected the lines of transportation or communication. harris is a fairly representative and concrete expression of the regulation matrimonial agent. it was through such agencies as his that the great crimes eventually were pulled off. secondary types. but in the following letters we have an excellent example of the second type, the little grafter who wants anything you can give, from $ to $ . from the text of the letters it will be observed that this man was operating as a minister, a lawyer and an employment agency at one and the same time, as the letters are all from one source. in the case of the lawyer this scoundrel was trading upon the name of edward h. morris, one of the foremost colored attorneys of the united states, a man universally respected and admired by men in all walks of life. when the fact of this trading on his name was brought to the real attorney's attention he was furious, and he cheerfully gave all the assistance in his power to detective wooldridge. this smooth one was afterward arrested in new orleans, convicted and sent to prison for a term. here follows the text of the letters: matrimonial agencies' stock letters under the guise of ministry. rev. joseph spencer, madison street. manager of american book concern. dealer in religious books. chicago, ill., july , . mr. o. w. zink, marshall, mo. dear sir: for many years i have been a minister of the gospel and during that time i have not only performed hundreds of marriages, but have arranged many, and there are at the present time among my acquaintances some half dozen wealthy ladies, ranging in age from twenty to forty or fifty years, one of whom is the handsome widow whose photo i enclose herewith. she is worth, in actual cash and negotiable securities, fully $ , , inherited from her worthy husband, who departed this life a year ago and, as she is without friends, relatives or children, her physician, a friend of mine, has on account of her utter loneliness advised her to marry, believing that marriage and change of scene will prove for her a blessing in disguise, and naturally she has turned to me, her spiritual adviser, in whom she has the utmost confidence. i have several times talked the matter over with her, and, knowing that she is very much averse to advertising, i have undertaken to introduce to her some gentleman who would make her a good husband, and to arrange a marriage for her. as her physician thinks it advisable for her to reside elsewhere than chicago, i have been somewhat perplexed as to how to secure for her a suitable introduction and in my dilemma consulted a matrimonial agency and, after several conferences with them, i have decided to submit for your kind consideration my proposition and manner of procedure. i have studied the matter carefully, have gone thoroughly into your description and instructions as filed with the agency of which you are a member, and in my mind there is not the slightest doubt as to you two proving mutually suitable to each other. of course, you cannot form the proper idea of her from the small photo enclosed, but in age, appearance, circumstances, etc., she is just what you have been seeking in a wife. she is in every respect a thoroughly good woman, unusually bright and intelligent, but knows nothing of business, and is in absolute need of a husband to look after her affairs, but, to be candid with you, i am getting along in years, and have a large family to support and as i only arrange a few marriages at intervals, i must necessarily have compensation adequate to the service i render. now, i can, by recommending you personally, cause her to enter into a correspondence with you that will undoubtedly lead to your marriage, if you are still desirous of such a marriage, as i presume you are, from the fact that you are registered with a matrimonial agency. i will, for the consideration of $ , introduce you to her by letter and after you have exchanged three or four letters, will have you visit her at her expense, as you may mutually agree, if you will follow my simple instructions. i am not making you this proposition on the spur of the moment, for i have spent much time and thought before deciding to write you, and all i ask is that, as an evidence of your good faith and to cover the immediate expense necessary thereto on my part (such as asking her to dinner with me a few times in order that i may during the good cheer that abounds at such times dwell at length upon the matter without any unnecessary delay), that you enclose me immediately upon receipt of this letter bank draft, registered letter, or express money order, for $ ; the balance, $ , you need not pay me until after you have married her and assumed the management of her affairs. upon receipt of this small amount, $ , i will absolutely guarantee your marriage to her within sixty days and, if before that time you should feel that you do not care to pursue the matter to a conclusion, i will positively refund your money upon my honor as a minister of the gospel. my standing in my profession is such that i could not do otherwise and, as i have stated before, there are several ladies to whom i could introduce you, now that i have really taken the matter up with you, but i consider you two really suited to each other, so will not go into further particulars. trusting to hear from you at the very earliest possible moment, i am, with assurance of my regards, very respectfully, wanted a rich husband. cedar rapids, iowa, july , . rev. joseph spencer, madison street, chicago, ill. dear sir: you asked me in your letter to give you a description of the man that i would like to become acquainted with. i wish him to be as tall as i am, to have dark hair and a very good disposition. i would like him to be rich. his age to be about years, also have a good education. i want him to be a temperate man, and to have a nice appearance, one who is lovely at home, and does not care for society and likes music. i do not care what his occupation is if he is honest. hoping to hear from you soon, i remain yours truly, miss vernie adams. oshkosh, wis., july , . rev. joseph spencer, chicago, illinois. dear sir: you asked me in your letter to give you a description of myself, which i take pleasure in doing: i am a young man years of age, feet inches tall, weigh pounds; blue eyes, red hair; i am strictly temperate, do not gamble; kind disposition, a farm hand; have no means; income $ per month. i would be delighted to make the acquaintance of several of your prospective rich women who are seeking a husband. send me a list of those who are worth from $ , to $ , , also their photographs, whereby i can make a selection, and i will send you your fee of $ . i remain, sincerely yours, thomas flinn. matrimonial agency under the guise of an attorney-at-law. edward morris, attorney-at-law. madison street. trusts and estates a specialty. chicago, ill., jan. , . mr. geo. ferlin, los angeles, cal. dear sir: i have during my professional career arranged many marriages for ladies of means, and at the present time have among my clients some ten or twelve wealthy ladies, ranging in age from twenty-five to fifty years, desirous of marriage, one of whom is the charming widow whose likeness i herewith enclose. she is worth $ , ($ , in ready cash, the balance in high-class tangible property inherited from her mother, recently deceased). she is alone and childless and her physician, on account of her bereavement, has recommended a marriage and change of scene, and in her dilemma she has consulted me, her legal adviser, and i, in turn, without her knowledge, appealed to a matrimonial agency with which i have for several years had business relations in a professional way. out of the several names submitted to me i have, after much thought and deliberation, selected yours, and i beg that you will consider carefully my proposition and the fact that i am not in business for my health, but for revenue, together with a desire to please my clients and to give them value received. this lady, while unusually bright and intelligent, knows little of the ways of the world, and nothing of business, and, to be candid with you, needs a husband to manage her estates, and i can, by recommending you personally, cause her, through me as her attorney, to open negotiations with you for a marriage; so if you desire a wealthy wife, as i presume you do from the fact that you are registered with a matrimonial agency, i will, for the consideration of $ introduce you to her, have you visit her at her expense, as you may mutually agree, and will absolutely guarantee your marriage to her within sixty days, if you will follow my instructions to the letter. all that i ask is, as an evidence of your good faith and to cover the immediate clerical expenses necessary thereto, you enclose me immediately upon receipt of this letter, bank draft or money order for $ , the balance ($ ) to be paid after marriage, and when i have caused her to place in your hands, or under your control, a goodly portion of her worldly possessions. now, if you wish to accept my proposition, enclose me immediately the small retaining fee ($ ) and promise me that you will follow carefully my instructions; otherwise do not write me, as i positively will not enter into further correspondence until you have engaged me as your attorney upon the lines i have laid down. if before the end of sixty days you feel that you do not care to pursue the matter to a conclusion i will refund your money. my standing as an attorney is ample evidence that i will faithfully carry out my contract. remember that i have among my clients, as i have stated before, ten or twelve wealthy ladies to my certain knowledge desirous of marriage. awaiting your immediate reply, i am sincerely and professionally yours, edward morris. edward morris, attorney-at-law. chicago. ill., jan. , . mr. geo. ferlin. los angeles, cal. dear sir: your letter in reply to mine received, and i will say, that as a leading attorney, and a prominent member of the bar, i could not act for you until you have first retained me as your attorney in this matter, and sent me the small retaining fee of $ , as requested. [illustration: oh! oh!! oh!!! awful consternation at pikes crossing! directory gown in town. by jimmineddy!!]. now, my dear sir, if you really mean business and really want to marry the charming and wealthy young widow in question, i see no earthly reason why you should hesitate for a single instant to retain my services in connection with this matter. you may give me good references, and i can give you the same, but that has no bearing on the case whatever. i cannot, as stated, do any business with you until you first enclose me this small retaining fee, as i must be in a position to truthfully state that you are my friend and client. you may have had unfortunate dealings with matrimonial agencies, but as an attorney in high standing, i am not to be compared with such concerns, and on receipt of your small retaining fee, i will guarantee to do my part and arrange a speedy marriage if you adhere strictly to my instructions. trusting to hear favorably from you at once, i am, yours very truly, edward morris. p. s. i do not ask for the balance of the $ until after your marriage, and i have caused the lady to place in your hands or under your control a goodly portion of her worldly possessions. edward morris, attorney-at-law. chicago, ill., jan. , . mr. geo. ferlin, los angeles, cal. dear sir: your favor at hand with enclosure accepting my proposition. now, i wish to assure you that everything you write to me will be treated in the strictest confidence, and i will say that it will be necessary for you to follow to the letter the instructions which i will from time to time give you. in order to break the ice, i would suggest that you address a letter to mrs. lucy kline, in my care, briefly setting forth the fact that you are a friend and client of mine, and that as you are matrimonially inclined. i have advised you to open a correspondence with her. you can say to her that i have favored you with her photograph, and that same meets your approval, and that you would very much desire her acquaintance and what it may lead to. i have already taken up the matter with her, and she is expecting a letter from you, and in reply will send you her private address. i would advise you, after receiving her reply, not to write too often or too long letters. in other words, do not appear to be too anxious, for it must devolve upon me to bring you two together. the correspondence you may have with her is simply a preliminary introduction leading to the establishment of congenial relations and eventually, marriage. important business prevents my writing a longer letter to you today, and in order that i may be prepared to take the matter up, i suggest that you write your letter so that it will reach my office in about one week from today. yours truly, edward morris. matrimonial agency under the guise of employment exchange. positions for men and women. commercial, technical, educational, professional. those hardest to find and hardest to fill. g. h. cannon, manager, ohio block. chicago, ill., sept. , . mrs. a. a. burrows, san fran. cal. dear madam: i am directed by a client for whom we transact much business, to submit you a proposition, which both he and i sincerely hope you will accept. he is a bachelor of middle age, of fine appearance, and is the owner of a large manufacturing plant, as well as of a magnificent residence, in which he lived until recently with his aged mother, who, greatly to his regret, departed this life some six months ago. since her death he has felt the need of a woman's guiding hand in the management of his household affairs, and it is to offer you a position as his housekeeper that i am addressing you personally. i beg to state that attached to the position is a salary of $ per month, your board, and an allowance of $ per month for your clothing, and you will have full charge of his household expenses, including the employment and discharge of servants, consisting of a butler, two housemaids, driver, cook, etc. if you accept the position his carriage will be at your disposal at all times, and you will be the actual head of his household, with no restrains of any kind upon you. as i have stated, this client is a bachelor, and on account of his mother's determined opposition to his marriage during her lifetime, he has gone little in society, but since her death he has never ceased to feel the need of a woman's hand and presence in his home. his first thought was marriage, but after a lengthy talk with me he very cheerfully acquiesced in the suggestion that has led to the writing of this letter, and now to the point. i suggested that he allow me to secure for him a housekeeper who might possess the qualities he most desires in a wife, and then i consulted a matrimonial agency with that end in view. your description seemed to fit so exactly his idea of true womanhood and appealed to him so strongly that his first impulse was to address you directly, but being of a sensitive and retiring disposition, he came to the conclusion that he should become thoroughly acquainted with you, and could not do better than allow me to carry out my original plan to make your acquaintance. to be candid with you, this position is a very lucrative one, and will undoubtedly lead to your marriage with this gentleman, if you see fit to accept the proposition, and for that reason i trust you will give it the consideration it deserves. as he secures the help necessary to the running of his large factory through this firm, of which i happen to be the manager, you cannot but understand that i am thoroughly acquainted with him, and am in a position to arrange this matter to your mutual satisfaction. it is a custom to charge a fee of $ , but in this instance we would make no charge at all, only our client, insists that we require our usual fee simply as an evidence of good faith, and that there may be no misunderstanding. if you accept the proposition i have submitted kindly fill out the enclosed form and return to us with express money order or bank draft for $ , which amount will be returned to you as soon as you have taken charge of his household affairs, as your good faith will have then been proved. as soon as you can start for chicago i will send you expense, free railroad transportation, and if, after your arrival here, you do not care to accept the position, a return ticket, etc., will be furnished you so that you will not be out one dollar of expense. this offer is made to you in the strictest confidence, and i sincerely trust you will so regard it, and not discuss it with any one, at least not until all the details have been arranged. no matrimonial agency in the world can do this for you, nor do i think such an opportunity will ever occur to you again, so kindly sign the enclosed form and return it to me immediately with the small fee necessary, or do not write me at all. no harm will have been done by having submitted the proposition to you, but if you cannot take immediate advantage of it, i simply will not correspond further in the matter. trusting that you will see your way clear, and wishing you well, i am, very sincerely, g. h. cannon. [illustration: opinions differ] the above are illustrations of the method. cannon, rev. spencer and attorney edwards are all one and the same man. we now turn to a few special examples of differences of procedure among the various bureaux. a persistent offender. one of the most successful operators who ever invaded chicago with matrimonial schemes was one john carson, who, on april , , was fined $ , and costs for misuse of the united states mails after he had plead guilty to the charge, which was preferred by inspector ketcham. carson, at one time or another, operated no less than eighteen concerns of this nature. he was first discovered in in chicago by detective wooldridge, operating no less than five matrimonial and fake concerns simultaneously. these concerns were: the loretta matrimonial publishing co., ogden ave. the unida matrimonial publishing co., ogden ave. mr. john's matrimonial publishing co., west madison st. mr. j. c. hills matrimonial agency, west madison st. the chicago mutual securities co., a chicago medicine concern, w. madison st. carson evaded arrest and fled to st. louis, where he was shortly afterward arrested by the postal authorities and sentenced to eighteen months in the state penitentiary at jefferson city, in addition to a fine of $ . bobs up again. in carson bobbed up again in chicago. since that time his record is best given from a report made to chief of police john m. collins by detective wooldridge, who repeatedly broke up carson's games. the report, in part, is as follows: feb. , j. h. carson woods' advertising agency, ada st. goods confiscated; fined $ . march , , j. h. carson, mill's advertising agency, w. lake st. fined $ . may , , j. h. carson, alias j. h. hayes, ogden ave., raided. literature seized and destroyed by order of court. may , , j. h. carson, alias j. h. hayes, madison st., raided. literature seized and destroyed by order of court. nov. , , j. h. carson, alias j. w. bessie, ogden ave., raided. arrested; released; writ of habeas corpus. nov. , , j. h. carson, alias j. w. bessie, flournoy st., raided. arrested; released; writ of habeas corpus. jan. , , j. h. carson and oscar wells, promoted and run the j. h. hunter matrimonial agency, east randolph st. oscar wells was arrested and fined $ by justice john k. prindiville. april , , j. h. carson and j. r. ferguson, conducted the jesse h. lee matrimonial agency, washington st. ferguson was arrested and fined $ by caverley. the literature seized and destroyed. turns clairvoyant. may , , j. h. carson conducted the clay's american bureau of correspondence, ada st. he was arrested and fined $ by justice john k. prindiville. the literature seized and destroyed. aug. , , j. h. carson and j. r. ferguson conduced the ferguson directory, a matrimonial agency at washington st. this place was raided and jesse r. ferguson was arrested and fined $ by justice john k. prindiville. may , , j. h. carson conducted the jesse lee matrimonial agency, washington st. he was arrested and fined $ by justice john k. prindiville. aug. , , j. h. carson was arrested for conducting a chicago matrimonial agency at washington st. and fifth ave., under the name of prof. john c. hall, astrologist, occult, scientist, clairvoyant, medium, and lifereader. with this record behind him this rascal actually had the nerve to bring suit for false arrest against detective wooldridge, but quite naturally, he failed to appear when the suit came up for trial. he has not been heard from since the fine imposed on april , , by the federal authorities. agents of the underworld a nest of pole-cats. but crime is not the only long suit of the matrimonial agency. some of these miserable frauds have descended into the depths and wallowed in the slime of the ultimate shame. with unbelievable effrontery they have attempted to trade upon the basest instincts in human nature; they have attempted to coin the most abominable of the brute passions of men. nothing can exceed the turpitude, the brazen shamelessness of the matrimonial agency, when it decides to go the limit. attest the following from the literature of the new era advertising agency and introduction bureau, curtis, clark & co., props., formerly located at clark street, chicago. this abomination was raided by detective wooldridge and the following sample from one of the circulars seized shows the nature of the concern: "if you are willing to give your name and protection to one who has fallen and wishes again to enter the ranks of respectability, we have some young women who have led fast lives and accumulated considerable money, and want to marry some respectable man, settle down in a new place and be respected and respectable. they are handsome, stylish, lively and full of fun: have money enough for both. they will no doubt make good, loving and true wives for some good-natured fellow who is not particular about their past. through our efforts several wealthy ladies of the demi-monde have married very poor men in return for their name and protection, given them a life of ease and luxury, and the opportunities are greater today than in the past, considering the fact that the world in general is anxious to lend a helping hand to those who have erred and wish to become respectable again." this pole-cat literature was being sent broadcast through the united states mails. in some way it evaded the inspectors until the rd of september, , when detective clifton r. wooldridge descended upon the nest of pole-cats, seized the literature, chased "curtis, clark & co." out of chicago, and made further evil-smelling operations impossible. these abominations are now practically impossible, thanks to the activity of the great police detective. but the above illustrations shows to what depths the marriage bureaus can descend, once they have become started on their infamous careers. november , , detective wooldridge raided the climax matrimonial agency, located at lasalle avenue, which is situated on the north side, in one of the most fashionable places in chicago. it was run not only as a matrimonial agency, but a matrimonial paper and mail order house. among the literature seized was a circular containing a picture of the manager's wife, and of which he sent out over , . which gave the description of her, which read as follows: sheriff duped--attempts role of lothario. "i am years of age, feet inches in height, weigh pounds, have a turn-up nose, plain-looking and worth about $ , . i desire to marry a good, honest, affectionate man. on our wedding day i will give my husband $ , in cash, and one year later, if we are still living together, i will make over to him $ , more. no milk-and-water man need answer." [illustration: "got a good home already paid for, an' money in de bank."] [illustration: "des a plain little oninterestin' fambly row."] one letter from a mississippi sheriff shows that the officer of the law is willing to forsake bachelorhood for a woman who, though plain, advertises that on her wedding day she will give her husband $ , . this is the gay lothario's letter: miss ot--i take pleasure in answering your "ad" in the "hour at home." you stated in your "ad" you were worth $ , , and would give the man that married you $ , on his wedding day. you say you are plain. i am good looking, so the people tell me, and if you correspond with me we may come to an understanding. i am willing to marry you if you give me proof you have the money, and will do all that you say in the "ad." i will do my best to make your life happy. awaiting your reply, i remain. yours truly, w. m. m., sheriff. bigamy and the bureau. where the professional bigamists find wives. the matrimonial agencies that have been investigated and suppressed by detective wooldridge and the postoffice authorities have disclosed an almost incredible phase of woman's nature. there are today in the united states no less than , women who have been married, robbed and deserted by "professional bigamists." this fact represent the most serious phase of the matrimonial agency swindle, for it is the history of nearly all noted bigamists that they secured their victims through the matrimonial agencies. of the thousands who become subscribers to these agencies, however, comparatively few ever proceed far enough to encounter the tragic features of the swindle. it might be inferred from this that women are much easier to entice into matrimony than men. probably, however, this is an untenable conclusion. when a woman does start on marrying bent, mere men fall before her like grain before the sickle. miss marion rapp, arrested at philadelphia, is known to have secured eight husbands in three years, and is suspected of having captured six or eight more. miss rapp is still young, and if her career had not been untimely cut off she might have made a record that would have done credit (or discredit) to her sex. [illustration: puts a snaffle bit on the old man] the sad experiences of people who have been victimized by gay deceivers, male or female, perhaps contain a lesson to persons who carelessly contemplate matrimony. when a stranger proposes marriage at first sight it may possibly be well to take a look into his or her antecedents. this is not the most romantic way to proceed, but it is a way that may have a great practical advantage. it probably would be endorsed by every one of the , women in this country who are now looking for professional bigamists who married them and ran away with their cash. that the matrimonial agency business is not confined to chicago and dupes of the system are found elsewhere than in rural communities and among the poor and humble is demonstrated by recent revelations in europe. during one raid i seized a large quantity of literature in the offices of a swindling concern doing business under the name of mason, brown & co. the "firm" advertised itself as the largest of its kind in the world and the only one "indorsed by press and public and patronized by royalty," adding that its "clients and representatives were to be found in every land." in extra large type the information was conveyed to the victim that he or she need not be ashamed to resort to the agency method in order to secure a life partner, as the royalty of europe used this means exclusively in contracting marriages, especially in cases where american heiresses were sought as wives for titled but impecunious foreigners. when it was casually remarked during an examination of a wagon load of mason, brown & company's advertising matter the reference to the titles and heiresses was the only true statement it contained, there were smiles of incredulity. american millionaires were said to be too shrewd and level-headed to enter into deals with marriage brokers when the life happiness of their fair and independent daughters is concerned. [illustration: (divorce decrees; spring)] it was but a short time after this conversation, however, that the following cablegram was published: the case of count larisch. "aug. th, : the alleged attempt to blackmail count franz joseph maria von larisch monnich out of , marks on a pre-nuptial note alleged to have been signed by the count, and the implication of army officers and members of the aristocracy in the marriage brokerage business, has caused more talk in high circles than anything which has happened since the elopement of crown princess louise of saxony." it is said the kaiser had to take a hand in the matter, and insists that this business shall be stopped finally and effectively on the ground it is bringing the army and nobility into disrepute and ridicule. the harm done by these agencies is almost incalculable. foolish women having money at their disposal fall easy victims to the many scheming scoundrels who make a practice of subscribing to the matrimonial agencies for the purpose of securing the addresses of prospective victims. as instances of the harm done by these matrimonial agencies the case of johann hoch, who married fifty women, and after securing all their money, either poisoned or deserted them. he was captured in new york city, january , , after he had married a woman in chicago, mary schultz, alias brees, alias bauman, poisoned her, then made love to her sister, married her, secured what money she had and deserted her. hoch was brought back to chicago, tried for murder, convicted and hung february . this is a glaring example. [illustration: in cupid's workshop.] [illustration: routing her through "ten dollars extra, cabby. if you catch the train with her. she's my mother-in-law."] the case of fredrick carlton, indicted on two charges of grand larceny in brooklyn, new york, july, , is another. it is stated on what seems to be reliable authority this man made the acquaintance of women in various parts of the country through the medium of matrimonial advertisements, married them and decamped with their money at the first favorable opportunity. still another: dr. george a. witzhoff, champion bigamist, arrested in bristol, england, october, , for bigamy and given a long term in prison. he was wanted in many cities in the united states. witzhoff confessed to marrying and robbing thirty-two women. most all of the women he married lived in the united states, and were secured through the matrimonial agencies. witzhoff's confession--bought fifteen wives from one agent--takes $ , from his first wife. "then, one night, after indulging in plenty of wine, she confessed she had a child in pittsburg. i left her there, telling her i was going to bring her child, which was nine years old. instead, i went to new york with her money ($ , ), and paid my friend part of his money, and started a practice as a dentist in fourteenth street as dr. a. r. houser. i went to see a matchmaker. he introduced me to a widow of means. we got married in two weeks at the city hall, new york. "she had all her money loaned away, so i was compelled to seek another one, as sig. badillo was hard after his balance of $ , . "i went, to philadelphia and got a jewish matchmaker again on fifteenth street and fairmount avenue, and he introduced me to a miss jocker as dr. a. houser. "i got $ from her. i paid badillo $ and left for springfield, mass., where a woman answered one of my ads. i inserted an 'ad.' as follows: "'a professional gentleman of nice appearance, aged thirty-two, desires the acquaintance of a sincere, affectionate lady, with some means; object, matrimony; triflers ignored. give particulars in first letter. address busy bee, the journal.' [illustration: (man with many wives inside heart)] "i had about twelve answers to this advertisement, and i picked out a boarding house mistress, and ten days after she was mrs. westfield, and as she was a vulgar woman, i left her two days after. she had given me $ before marriage. "i returned to new york to wife no. , and a week after i went to st. louis and inserted an 'ad.' as previously, and got fifteen answers. there i selected a farmer's daughter and married her as dr. doesser. i married and left her all within a week. "i came to detroit, and with her money, $ , i started a dental practice as a. houser. in answer to my advertisements in a german paper, mrs. piser came. "we went to toledo, o., five days after our first interview, and we got married. i left her six days after. "i came now to pittsburg, as dr. wolfe, got a furnished room in allegheny. in answer to an 'ad.' in a german paper a sexton's daughter answered, the ugliest i ever had. three days after we went to the justice of the peace and got married." deserts wife after the first day. "there i slept the first night, and the next morning i was on my way to cleveland, and started a nice practice with the $ i had left. i paid the balance to my friend, badillo, and inserted an 'ad.' in the plain-dealer. "i had two answers to my 'ad.,' and selected a mrs. moore, a nurse, and a mrs. kreidman. i got from the nurse $ , and was making love to mrs. kreidman and mrs. moore, when i got a letter from wife no. , with whom i corresponded all the time, telling her i traveled for a firm. "so i left, and forgot that i left in cleveland a paper under the tablecloth which had my address in brooklyn. one morning (ten days after i left cleveland) two detectives came to the house in brooklyn and arrested me. as there was no bail for my offense (obtaining money under false pretenses), i returned to cleveland a week later, and there i married a bad woman in jail, mrs. kreidman. "she gave $ bond, but i left her four days after, as she was a bad woman. i slept one night at her house, and three days after i went to chicago and went to see a matrimonial agent at washington street. identified in chicago; wedding stopped. "he introduced me to a nice jewess, and her father gave me $ . i started an office on fourteenth street, when a man from philadelphia recognized me, and told her father, a rag dealer, that i was a married man, named hausen, just in time to prevent the marriage. "i left chicago as dr. weston and went to st. louis, where i started an office in olive street as dr. a. dresser, and there i advertised and selected from a number of letters that of a farmer's daughter that had $ , , and married her (katie). six days after i left her and left america and went to roumania, and married a girl, a jewess, in pitest, and lived in roumania as dr. f. a. shotz. "happy six months; i got , francs, and we left for germany. there we had a quarrel, and she returned to her parents." dr. witzhoff further states that the number of all the girls and women he merely promised to marry and secured money from would reach over one hundred. one of the women witzhoff married lived in chicago, ill. may , , john j. marietta (alias homer c. reid, harold c. mills, a. s. anderson, c. h. huston, c. b. mccoy, h. c. jones, harold c. reed) was arrested through exposure by laura e. strickler, a beautiful young girl from cincinnati, ohio, who boarded at the young women's association, chicago. she had been lured to the newport hotel, monroe street, where he proposed marriage and attempted liberties. miss strickler became frightened, jumped from the second story window and was badly injured. marietta married no less than six women, three of whom, sophia headley, marie butler and flora beals, appeared in court to prosecute him september . he was convicted. judge brentano's court of bigamy, and given five years in the joliet penitentiary. [illustration: titles are considered great ornaments "for as it was in the beginning, the american girl came over and energetically pursued the lords."] [illustration: (men appealing to lady sitting on chair)] marietta said he secured most of his wives through the marriage agency. mills said to miss headley, after meeting her the second time: "how anxious are you to marry me? make me an offer in cash of the sum you are willing to settle on me." "three thousand dollars," she answered. "all right," he replied, "but you know i am from missouri, you will have to show me." she gave him the $ , and they were married. at the time of his conviction marietta had in the bank $ , , said to have been secured in the above manner. [illustration: (man and two women in fancy clothes)] breaking into the nobility. how titled rakes use the agencies. the marriage bureau is not a distinctly american institution. they know the animal in europe, only there the operators refer to themselves as marriage brokers, and are decidedly more careful than their american prototypes to steer clear of crime. the idea of marriage broking has thoroughly permeated the effete nobility of europe. the broken-down "nobles," out at heels and buried under a mountain of debt, look to america for a rich heiress to whom their titles may be sold. for many years they looked to the brokers on their own side of the water to provide them with golden girls; but of late years they have been mixing with the american matrimonial agencies, sometimes to their sorrow, as attest the case of count larisch. woes of count larisch. the story of the attempt on count larisch is not an unusual one. briefly, the count, who is an austrian, but who has estates in prussia, was anxious to replenish his treasury by marrying an heiress. a syndicate composed of the men now under indictment, it is said, financed him. he set out to marry the daughter of faber, the multi-millionaire pencil manufacturer of nuremberg, giving his notes for $ , , payable upon his marriage to fraulein faber. the venture was a failure, for fraulein faber did not care to become countess larisch. the noble fortune-hunter then went to america in quest of a bride. whether it was on his own account, or under the auspices of another marriage syndicate, does not appear, though it is hinted the latter is the case. in any event, he was successful, and married miss satterlee, of titusville, pa. on his return the members of the first faber syndicate demanded payment, and presented a note purporting to have been given by larisch without the qualification that it was payable only after his marriage to the pencil manufacturer's daughter. larisch, regarding the faber affair a closed incident, and declaring the note presented a forgery, refused to pay. the matter got before the public prosecutor and the exposé resulted. lord bertie cavendish--champion matrimonialist. oct. , , miss gladys simmons, hot springs, ark., married lord bertie cavendish after two days' acquaintance. he represented himself to be of noble birth, son of the late marquis of queensbury, and to have immense possessions in south africa and mexico, which he was unable to obtain on account of his banishment from england for serving against the british in the boer war, due to the activity of british army officers against him. miss simmons' mother received information that her son-in-law's name was not lord bertie cavendish, but douglass. by photographs and further investigation his identity was established as that of an adventurer. following is a partial list of his wives, several of whom have asked the court to grant them divorces: miss louisiana hobbs, lambert point, va., near norfolk. mrs. mabel duncan, denver, colo. mrs. scott, south bend, ind. mrs. beatrice e. anderson, fort worth, texas. market for american heiresses. there has been more than one similar scandal involving members of the high nobility and rich american girls. it will be remembered last year there was a stir created by the broadcast announcement that prince hugo von hohenche-oehringen, prince heinrich von hanan and baron berhard-muenhausen, accused an englishman, o'brien, who was alleged to be the agent of berlin marriage brokers, of attempted blackmail. [illustration: idleness, titles, money, unhappiness, notoriety, divorce] among the americans whose names are said to be on the list of this marriage syndicate, without their personal knowledge or consent, are the misses angelica and mabel gerry, the misses nora and fannie iselin, the misses adeline and electra havemeyer, mrs. lewis rutherford morris, formerly miss katherine clark, daughter of senator clark, of montana; mrs. francis burton harrison, formerly miss mary crocker, daughter of mrs. george w. crocker; miss dorothy whitney, the misses beatrice and gladys mills, miss gwendolyn burden, and the misses florence and ruth twombly. government officials roused to many frauds by the matrimonial agencies and bureaux throughout the country, "agencies" to put under ban the swindling operations. mrs. jennie scott, arrested by postal inspectors, tells secrets of her matrimonial agency. the second blow has been struck against the affinity trust, of chicago, and the second member of the alleged trust in chicago, mrs. jennie scott, a woman of many aliases, by postoffice inspector james e. stuart. this woman was arrested at her home, at thirty-second street, her "cupid shop," where she received thousands of letters, descriptions and photographs of affinity seekers from all over the united states and canada. she received them in the name of "glinn's international corresponding association," to join which from $ to $ was drawn from each affinity. thousands joined. same literature used as in marion grey case. postoffice inspectors a. e. germer and frank sheron worked up the case against the woman and discovered that the same literature was used by this woman as was used by marion grey, convicted for the misuse of the mails in operating an affinity matching business at elgin. there were some changes, however, in the method. this is shown in the literature sent out by this woman. her literature explains to the affinities that the business is absolutely honest and above board, and must be kept so. under "special reduced rates," she drew in hundreds of women clients, many of whom sent in their pictures. [illustration: mrs. jennie scott] [illustration: types of "affinities" found by marion gray, sketched in court where beauty is on trial] mrs. scott operated also at wabash avenue, where she had a room for receiving mail. she was known not only as mrs. scott, but as e. l. glinn, mrs. jennie call, mrs. a. m. harvey and mrs. e. l. glinn. she lived on thirty-second street, with her young daughter. clients all wealthy; take their word for it. almost every client on the books of this marriage-fostering concern claimed to be worth from $ , to £ , , sterling. many of them were alleged to have large incomes. some were said to have children and are not to be divorced, but still seek life partners. witnesses need a shepherd. then, from among the queer little party huddled together on the benches at the rear of the big court room--a helpless, shepherdless flock--mr. shirer began to call out his witnesses. first of the hungering souls who sought life companions through mrs. scott came mrs. mary quinn, of trenton, ill., a short, dumpy little person of about thirty-five or forty, who was chiefly remarkable for the white hat she wore. "i saw the ad.," she whispered--it was with the greatest difficulty that judge bethea induced her to talk so she could be heard ten feet away--"and i answered it. they sent me back a circular and a photograph of a nice-looking fellow who was said to be rich. "i sent my $ and wrote that i would like to get into correspondence with him. they sent me back word that he was corresponding with another lady just then, and didn't want any more names at present, but there was another one just as good. nice letters lack rich tone. "i corresponded with him until three weeks before i remarried my divorced husband, last december. he wrote very nice letters, but he certainly didn't sound rich." "you got what you asked for, didn't you?" asked mr. murphy. "oh, yes, i guess so; i'm not complaining." the uncomplainingness of the alleged victims is the odd feature of the case. [illustration: jail for cupid's aid marion grey, pretty love broker, who was sentenced to a year in prison] dr. montgomery porter, a graduate of the university of arkansas, came all the way from his home in pine bluff, to say that he had answered one of mrs. scott's advertisements but had not paid the $ fee, "which she charged the men members." porter c. dyer, a graduate of the ohio state university, who lives in austin, o., said that he paid the fee and was disappointed, "because the names sent were not those of refinement and culture, as promised in the circulars." mrs. flora scott, a restaurant keeper at middleport, o., tall and not particularly stylish, couldn't recall what any of the circulars said, but she was quite sure she hadn't landed a rich husband yet. southern beauty sends $ . the handsomest of the witnesses was miss avis christenberry, a stately brunette from memphis, who rather liked the looks of the rich young man's photograph used for bait and sent in $ . "they told me he was corresponding with some one else just then," she testified, "and i corresponded with two substitutes, but they didn't entertain me much." wilson schufelt, a real estate man, said that he had rented the matrimonial headquarters to "mrs. a. m. harvey" for a mail order house business. mrs. harvey got her mail under the names of glinn and hill, and when the postal authorities became interested in her she told schufelt that her name was jennie scott. at her home, east thirty-second street, she is known as mrs. jennie call. she was indicted under the name of glinn. it was testified by e. j. beach, superintendent of the twenty-second street sub-postal station, that the matrimonial agency received from to letters every day. she was arraigned before judge bethea and found guilty, on april , , and was sentenced to one year in the house of correction, and was fined $ . the horrible gunness farm. the ripened fruit of the matrimonial agency. but the giant blossom of this plant of hell is not bigamy, not swindling, not desertion; it is murder, wholesale, ghastly murder. for it is the matrimonial agency, nothing else, which is directly responsible for the unbelievable horrors of the gunness murder farm, at laporte, ind., the revelation of the existence of which shocked the entire civilized world as it has not been shocked since the time of the borgias. this wholesale murderess invariably lured her victims to their fate through advertisements in a "matrimonial paper," or through an agency. she would insert the usual stereotyped "ad." of the wealthy widow lady who desired a mate, but always a mate with money. always being able to produce proof that she was well-to-do, it was an easy matter for her to persuade her victims to visit her at the laporte farm. she invariably stipulated that they should bring a substantial sum with them. arriving at the gunness farm, the prospective suitors were invariably impressed with the evidences of wealth and luxury. after a stay of a few days, during which time the cunning murderess would find out how much money her victim had, and whether he could immediately procure more in the form of cash, the victim would be invited to supper and his food drugged. he would then be escorted to his room, where he would soon become unconscious. chloroform was then administered, the body hurled through a chute to the basement, where it would be dismembered and placed in a gunnysack. the sack would then be taken out and buried in a convenient spot on the farm. it was an inquiry from the brother of one of the victims, andrew helgelein, which revealed the whole horrible affair. [illustration: the death harvester. a crop on the gunness farm.] it is estimated that this woman, through the aid of the matrimonial agencies, murdered more people than any other human being that ever lived. she exceeded the records of the benders, holmes, and even those arch-assassins of the middle ages, the borgias. lombroso discusses monster. dr. cesare lombroso, of the university of milan, the world's greatest criminologist, in discussing this woman, said: "in general the moral physiognomy of the born female criminal approximates strongly to that of the male. the female criminal is exceedingly weak in maternal feeling, inclined to dissipation, astute and audacious, and dominates weaker beings sometimes by suggestion, and at other times by muscular force; while her love of violent exercise, her vices and even her dress, increase her resemblance to the stronger sex. "added to these virile characteristics are often the worst qualities of women; namely, an excessive desire for revenge, cunning cruelty, love of dress and untruthfulness, forming a combination of evil tendencies which often results in a type of extraordinary wickedness. needless to say these different characteristics are not found in the same proportion in everybody. one criminal will be deficient in intelligence, but possessed of great strength, while another, who is weak physically, triumphs over this obstacle by the ability with which she lays her plans. "but when, by an unfortunate chance, muscular strength and intellectual force meet in the same individual, we have a female delinquent of a terrible type, indeed. "in short, we may assume that if female-born criminals are fewer in number than the males; they are usually much more ferocious. "what is the explanation? we observe that the normal woman is naturally less sensitive to pain than a man, and compassion is the offspring of sensitiveness. if the one be wanting, so will the other be. "we also find that women have many traits in common with children; that their moral sense is deficient; that they are revengeful, jealous, inclined to vengeances of a refined cruelty. "in ordinary cases these defects are neutralized by piety, maternity, want of passion, by weakness and an undeveloped intelligence. but when a morbid activity of the psychical centres intensifies the bad qualities of women, and induces them to seek relief in evil deeds; when piety and maternal sentiments are wanting, and in their place are strong passions, much muscular strength and a superior intelligence for the conception and execution of evil, it is clear that the innocuous semi-criminal present in the normal woman must be transformed into the born criminal more terrible than any man. "what terrific criminals would children be if they had strong passions, muscular strength and sufficient intelligence; and if, moreover, their evil tendencies were exasperated by a morbid intellectual activity! and women are big children; their evil tendencies are much more numerous and more varied than men's, but generally remain latent. when they are awakened and excited they produce results proportionately greater." list of the victims. below is given a partial list of the victims of this inhuman monster, as it appeared in the chicago american, sunday, april , : partial catalogue of mrs. gunness' victims. . max sorenson, mrs. gunness' first husband--whom she poisoned. . peter s. gunness, second husband, whom she killed with a meat axe. . her infant child, whom she strangled to death. . miss justina loeffler, of elkhart, ind., believed to have been married to johann hoch and sent by him to mrs. gunness to be murdered and buried. . olaf limbo, norwegian farm hand. . ole budsberg, a hired man, from iola, wis. - . three well-known men of fort wayne, ind., who have disappeared in the last two years. . a horse trader from montana. . jennie olsen, eighteen years old, adopted daughter of mrs. gunness. . henry gurholt, left scandinavia, wis., on march , , saying he was going to marry mrs. gunness. . george bradley, forty years old, of tuscola, ill., went to la porte, ind., october of last year. . olaf lindboe, farm laborer, of chicago, employed by mrs. gunness. . lee porter, of bartonville, okla., quarreled with his wife and answered one of mrs. gunness' matrimonial "ads." . crippled man from medina, n. d. - . three children of mrs. gunness killed or burned in house--myrtle, aged ; lucy, ; philip, . . body of unidentified woman found in ruins of burned house. . strange baby left last fall by man and woman, as told by ray lamphere, arrested as accomplice of mrs. gunness. . john o. moe went to la porte from elbow lake, minn., day before christmas, , with $ , . . armat hartoonan, wealthy armenian rug merchant of binghamton, n. y., who went to la porte in in answer to a matrimonial "ad." . charles neuberg, of philadelphia, took $ and went to visit mrs. gunness in june, . . george berry, of tuscola, ill., went to work for mrs. gunness july, . he took $ , , expecting to marry the widow. . john a. lefgren, aged forty-eight, disappeared from the chicago club, and is believed to have gone to mrs. gunness' farm. . e. j. tiefland, retired railroad man, of minneapolis. - . a los angeles college professor and wife--names not yet ascertained. . andrew k. helgelein, aberdeen, s. d., ranchman, the last victim, whose fate led to the discovery of mrs. gunness' crimes. . charles edman, farm laborer, from new carlisle, ind. took $ , in savings to mrs. gunness' home. . frank riedinger, young german farmer, of delafield, wis., went to la porte in february, . . babe seen by a neighbor, mrs. william diesslen, which afterward disappeared. . unknown young woman visitor, seen to go to gunness house; never accounted for afterward. . unknown man, a widower, and his young son, went to mrs. gunness' house a year ago--never seen again. one of the bodies found on farm was that of a small boy. - . twenty-one babies entrusted to mrs. gunness' care while she was running a "baby farm" on the outskirts of chicago all disappeared mysteriously. - . other unknown men, women and babies, who went to chicago and la porte homes of mrs. gunness, and were never seen again, are estimated to bring the grand total of victims up to . this, then, is the crowning work of the matrimonial agency; this horrid burying ground of dismembered bodies, this ghastly charnel pit on an indiana hillside. by their fruits ye shall know them. in the dread gunness farm behold the ripened fruit of the matrimonial agency. [illustration: rides out of the clutches of matrimony] [illustration: she steers him straight for the lily pond.] in lighter vein. the funny side of the matrimonial business. there is necessarily the amusing side in all this miserable trading upon the affections of fools. some of the letters sent in to the matrimonial agencies are little less than "screams." imagine, if you can, a big, husky farmer, a collarless, coatless son of the utah deserts, gushing forth that he "could live and die on love." think of a staid and sober trained nurse who has arrived at the ripe age of forty pouring into the ears of the matrimonial agent that she "wants a man who is a flower," and also saying confidingly that she believes that she requires a few more years in which to prepare for the "solemn step." one who is and dark, blushingly admits that she is a "young girl" of loving disposition, and, since love is the destiny of us all, prays for a husband of fifty or thereabouts. one who describes herself as "lively and frolicsome" frankly admits that she is out for the money and can get along without the love end of it at all. it is needless to say that this letter comes from the pennsylvania dutch regions. here are a few of the gems: could live and die on love. huntsville. utah, dec. . . mrs. ellen marion. grant works, ill. my dear lady: i wish to beg your pardon if i appear rude in trying to personally introduce myself, but allow me to assure you that i am sincere in my quest for a kind friend, and it is nothing but the purest and holiest motives of the human heart that prompts the intrusion. i saw your advertisement in the valley farmer, and in it i seem to behold the image of an ideal lady, who is well worthy of the highest esteem and admiration from a true gentleman, and how happy and thankful should the man be who is so fortunate as to captivate the love and heart of so noble a prize. among many others your advertisement to me seemed to be the most suitable and impressive. while it would not be within good taste to express a great love for you at present, yet i believe that i could come as near living and dying on love as the next one. my object in writing you is to find if there should be a chord within our natures that could be touched mutually to harmonize with the word love. i have been married and know of the joy and happiness of a kind and loving companion. two years ago death robbed me of my greatest prize in life. since then i have been baching it. i am tired of roughing it alone, and if there were only some one to meet me with a kind smile of approval i could work much harder and be a better man for it, and i do most earnestly and sincerely solicit your correspondence with a view to closer ties should our natures prove congenial. should you feel inclined to favor me i would certainly feel highly flattered. not a flirt. please do not rank me with the ordinary flirts and adventurers, for i assure you that i am honest in my intentions and would not mislead or advise anyone wrongfully. my age is thirty-seven, height five feet nine inches, weight pounds, have a good moral character in every respect, honest and industrious, without any bad habits, total abstainer from liquor and tobacco, move in the best society, am of a quiet, kind and loving disposition. home is the dearest place to me on earth and i know how to make it happy. i can appreciate and know the real value of a kind and loving wife, and the dear lady that becomes my wife will find in me a true and honest husband, a kind and loving companion, one whose greatest aim and object will be to make his home and loved ones happy. to you the above may have a smattering of self-praise and flattery, but the facts are wholly true, which i hope in due time will be fully demonstrated. should you wish to hear further from me i shall be quite pleased to furnish any information desired. anxiously awaiting your acquaintance, i am, yours sincerely, jens winter. with best wishes and compliments of the season. [illustration: around the clock with a "home husband"] lovelorn wails. i want a man who is a flower, with love and affection oozing from all its petals. maybe, however, i need a few more years' preparation for the most solemn of steps--matrimony. i admire a man of good physique, kind, gallant, conscientious, of good morals as can be expected nowadays, home-loving, and fond of children.--application for a husband from catherine m. barnes, trained nurse, aged , indianapolis. * * * * * love is the destiny of us all. at times it seems it is going to side-track and pass us. therefore, i ask you to help me to find a handsome man of or over who has some money and can make more. i am a young girl of loving disposition; do not powder, except on special occasions; can cook, and know how to dress on nothing or little. i want love and fidelity. do not send me the name of any traveling men. i am and dark.--miss ella miller, spring garden street, philadelphia. * * * * * introduce me to a widow with money who wants a good entertainer and honest man. i have no funds, but don't tell her that. i play, sing and recite well.--adam werker, glen ellyn, ill. her ideal husband. "my ideal must be tall," suggests miss mary hester, from wayland, n. y., "and a gentleman in every sense of the word. he must be of good standing socially and morally. he must be of temperate habits, kind, generous, affectionate, devoted--a man of ability, who would be a companion socially, intellectually and morally to a true, pure, devoted wife." she says she would ask for no more. [illustration: (letter, first part)] [illustration: (letter, second part)] [illustration: (second letter, first part)] [illustration: (second letter, second part)] [illustration: "read us 'bout whut de folks in pittsburg an' newport is up to."] [illustration: "i'd ruther be married to a woman who was reformin' things outside de house dan in hit."] this one is real frank. here is another letter from reading, pa: dear sir: i notice by sunday's paper that you are looking for a wife. now, strange to relate, i am looking for a husband. i don't know what your requirements are, but i do know mine, and the chief ones of them are money, a good home, less work and worry, and happiness. if love comes, too, i shall not object, although i have lived long enough to realize that there can be a sort of lukewarm happiness without love. be that as it may, i judge my capacity is sufficiently large to satisfy the sort of a man i judge you to be. now, for the next item of importance--myself. i am tall and slender, five feet six inches high, and quite "figuresque," as one of my girl friends tells me. i am of the irish-american type; hair medium in shade and profuse as to quantity; deep-set, very bright gray eyes; good carriage, on account of which strangers often consider me haughty--an entirely erroneous idea. am of a lively, frolicsome nature. i am full of fun, and no matter how black things are i always find something to laugh at. i am twenty-three years old, and decidedly domestic, that being, in fact, my only accomplishment. i am artistic only along some lines; have no musical talent and am not an artist, but i love both devotedly. am very practical, in fact, and a good housekeeper. there is lots more i might tell you, but we will call this enough for the present. should like to know something about you, and hope you will be as truthful and frank as i have been. sincerely yours, mary anderson. one of the lucky ones. a matrimonial agent captures a rich husband and retires from business. mamie marie schultz, a matrimonial agent, outwits the police and postal authorities after being raided and broken up, moves to other quarters, continues business, finds a rich man seeking a wife among her patrons and marries him. september , the german-american agency, run by mamie marie schultz, calumet avenue, was raided by detective wooldridge, the literature seized and destroyed. mamie marie schultz was fined $ by justice hurley. the evidence obtained was submitted to the postal authorities for action. mamie marie schultz fled to oak park, where she continued her matrimonial agency. after she moved to oak park she was notified "by order of the town board" to vacate, but she laughed at the order and enjoyed the newspaper notoriety she attained, for it only increased her business. it is said she made thousands of dollars out of her matrimonial agency. with a stealth that is characteristic of his art, cupid has accomplished what oak park officials had been trying to do for two years. he has closed out the oak park matrimonial agency by making a victim of his promoter in that vicinity, marie schultz, manager of the matchmakers' concern. the postmaster, united states marshal and several of the town officers yesterday received letters signed "mrs. j. d. edwards," announcing that marie schultz "had been caught in her own net" and had deserted the village for a "palatial" home in seattle, wash., where her new husband, j. d. edwards, is a wealthy lumber dealer. swift courtship by edwards. edwards, it is said, arrived in oak park on tuesday, and after a whirlwind courtship this "lochinvar who came out of the west" had won the whole matrimonial agency. "marie," the name in which all her extensive advertising was done, has defeated the officials of chicago, oak park, and even the united states postoffice inspector, in every effort they made to suppress her enterprise. to postmaster hutchinson she wrote requesting that all letters addressed to the agency be returned to the writers, as she didn't "want any more of their money." the postoffice force was burdened with the task of mailing back to some lovelorn men and maidens the letters which had accumulated in "marie's" postoffice box. but the bleatings of the overgrown calf from utah, and the wails of the maiden lady who desires a "flower" for a mate are both eclipsed by the mushy outpourings of a chicago business man. this fellow evidently possesses the artistic temperament. not only is he moved to write prose poetry, "to bay the moon of love," but he insists on inserting illustrative sketches of an ardent wooing. he has forged the white heat of his passion, which evidently puts ella wheeler wilcox at her fiercest to shame, into pictures. here we behold him, hand in hand with his beloved, under the kindly stars. there, more prosaic, it is true, but still quite passionate, is the drawing room scene, with the lady seated on his knee. behold the works of genius when love impels. the festive farm hand frivols. among the hundreds of applications for a wife detective wooldridge found one from jacob c. miller, of martinsville. pa. miller filled out the application blank as follows: q. where born? a. lancaster, pa. q. what language do you speak? a. english. q. nationality? a. white. q. weight? a. . q. color of eyes? a. greenish blue. q. color of hair? a. brown on a little patch. q. complexion? a. fair. q. circumference of chest? a. inches. q. circumference of waist? a. inches. q. circumference of head (just above ears)? a. inches. q. circumference of neck? a. wear - / collar. q. profession? a. farm hand. q. income per year? a. nothing. q. extent of education: common, high school or university? a. common. q. do you use tobacco or liquor? a. i use a little tobacco, but no liquor. q. how much real estate do you own? a. nothing. q. do any of the pictures we have submitted to you suit, and will you marry? a. yes, the one with the turned-up nose. q. if we secured you a wife worth $ , would you be willing to pay us a small commission for our trouble? a. yes. the faker and the press. some newspapers are buncoed, while others willingly assist rascals. strangely enough, the abomination known as the "matrimonial agency," bureau or what-not, has succeeded in hoodwinking the great american press to a certain extent. advertisements appear in leading journals all over the country. without this the great fraud could not exist ten minutes. there are numberless instances, we are quite sure, where the publishers have no suspicion that they are furthering the cause of scoundrels. in others, we regret to say, the motive for accepting these advertisements is traceable to nothing more or less than just the plain greed of the publisher. it is impossible for a private citizen to prophesy whether the entire power of the government of the united states can purify the columns of some of our greedy newspapers. [illustration: how to train a husband] these matrimonial agencies are frauds. the newspaper man knows this and takes their money for the advertisements, and becomes a messenger of a crime for a paltry sum, and if i were the district attorney i would get busy and call the attention of the postmaster general to these alleged newspapers for the purpose of shutting off their distribution through the mails. here are a few samples of the ads appearing in the reputable daily press of the country: matrimonial agencies' advertisements for rich wives and husbands. they appear in all the leading newspapers throughout the country. this is a very select list of ten ladies picked at random from our books by one of the leading newspaper reporters of this city, february , : minnesota maiden-- yrs., ft. in., weight lbs.; brown hair, blue eyes; has $ , . missouri maiden-- yrs., ft. in., weight lbs.; blonde, blue eyes, german; has $ , . pennsylvania maiden-- yrs., ft. in., weight lbs.; light hair, blue eyes; will inherit $ , , provided she is married on her st birthday. [illustration: can a man or woman know each other before marriage? before. "when he was wooing her, romeo devoted his time to thinking of delicate little attentions that he could pay juliet, and of things he could do to make her happy." after. on christmas he is liable to shove a dollar or two at his wife, remarking: "get yourself something. i don't know what you want, and i haven't time to fool with it."] [illustration: "one hour of it is worth livin' for an' dyin' for."] [illustration: "an' dat women's clubs is de cause of all de po' little neglected chillen."] wisconsin widow-- yrs., ft. in., weight lbs.; black hair, black eyes; no children; worth $ , . will marry elderly man. indiana maiden-- yrs., ft. in., weight lbs.; brown hair, blue eyes; pretty and worth $ , . would marry farmer. illinois maiden-- yrs., ft. in., weight lbs.; chestnut hair, blue eyes; worth $ , ; is a cripple. will marry kind man who will overlook her misfortune. new jersey widow-- yrs., ft. in., weight lbs.; brown hair, blue eyes, one child; worth $ , . will marry and assist husband financially. ohio farmers daughter--orphan, yrs., ft. in.; brown hair, gray eyes; has large farm. alone, will marry immediately, farmer preferred. montana maiden--half-breed indian, age , ft. in., lbs.; black hair, black eyes; has large ranch. will marry honest white man. illinois bachelor girl--age , ft. in., lbs.; black hair, brown eyes; owns fine estate, valued at thousands. would marry gentleman of equal wealth. pennsylvania. beautiful maiden lady, refined and well educated; american; blonde, age years, height ft. in., weight pounds; worth $ , . nebraska. stylish young brunette, fond of society; american; age years, height ft. in., weight pounds; baptist, and worth $ , ; income $ , a year. ohio. stately widow, age years, handsome and remarkably well preserved; height ft. in., weight lbs.; no children; worth $ , ; wants elderly husband. [illustration: (man and woman pointing at each other through heart)] kentucky. beautiful blonde southern girl, educated and refined; age , height ft. in., weight lbs.; american, and worth $ , ; wants nice-looking husband. pretty little girl, age years, height ft. in., weight lbs.; american; worth $ , . says she is very anxious to marry. boston, mass. fine-looking lady, age years, height ft. in., weight lbs.; american, protestant, and worth $ , . young lady, blonde, age years, weight lbs., height ft.; american, methodist; income $ a year; worth $ , . chicago, ill. maiden, age years, height ft. in., weight lbs.; scotch, protestant, methodist; income $ , per year; worth $ , . monroe co., pa. young lady, age years, very pretty, height ft. in., weight lbs.; german, methodist; worth $ , . dover, n. h. stylish, brown-eyed lady, age years, height ft. in., weight pounds; american, methodist; worth $ , . new york city. young widow, age years, height ft. in., weight lbs.; irish catholic; worth $ , . utah. maiden lady, age not mentioned, height ft., weight lbs.; worth $ , . and all this, ridiculous, murderous and otherwise, is all outside the pale of the law. the matrimonial agency is a crime _per se_. it is a criminal institution. it has been pronounced to be such by the best and foremost judges of the united states, germany and great britain. judge klerbach, sitting in the case of a marriage broker at goettingen, germany, in , declared that the marriage broker was a criminal in intent, from the very nature of his business. in the celebrated case of alan murray vs. jeanie mcdonald at edinburgh, scotland, in , justice grahame pronounced from the judicial seat one of the most scathing arraignments of the marriage bureau ever delivered. "leeches upon the body social, blood-suckers, destroyers of womanhood, abominations of the bottomless pit," were some of the phrases used by justice grahame in denouncing murray. in the petty sessions at tinahely, ireland, justice o'gorman in may, , is reported in the wicklow people, a newspaper which has a wide circulation in the south of ireland, as fiercely denouncing the marriage broker business. the justice declared that the marriage broker was a wolf, "preying upon the weaknesses of humanity, a pander to the lowest instincts"; that he had no right to demand the interference of the law in his behalf, but rather that the law should always be exercised for the suppression of his nefarious traffic. same thing nearer home. to get nearer home. in the chicago american, february , , judge neely, in the case of the state vs. hattie howard, declared from the bench that to "sell men and women in marriage is the height of crime." judge neely further said: "men and women who engage in this business of promoting matrimony for money are guilty of crime. it is opposed to the fundamental principles of society. such a practice should under no circumstances be tolerated. this practice should be stopped. the trade should be killed. the courts should make it their business to discourage this thing in a way that may be easily understood." judge kohlsaat, of chicago, has inveighed against the practice in equally vehement terms. judge kohlsaat declares that "the police department of chicago is entitled to great credit for what it has done in discouraging this business. i hope it will continue its vigilance until every promoter of marriages of this character has been compelled to leave the city. they should make such criminals give the city a wide berth." there, then, is the law. the business is a crime in its very nature. it leads to bigamy and wholesale murder. it is made the instrument of the thief, the swindler and the murderer. how much longer will the american people look with calmness upon these practices, upon these abominations, which make a stench of the very air of the great and free country in which we live? the answer is up to you. the great mistake. our penal system is a relic of early savagery. our whole penal system needs changing. it is a relic of barbarism, and stands a monument to the early savagery of the human race. how is it possible for a man or woman to lead an upright, useful life after they once come under the ban of the law? society combines to hound them down. they are forbidden to place themselves on an equality with others by narrow, human prejudice--the "holier than thou" attitude of that portion of the public which has not yet been "found guilty." we are pharisees, all, and sit in judgment on our fellowman, because we do not yet realize the mixture of evil and good that is in every man--none are exempt--only some are caught and punished. men have come to us, desperate, despairing men, crying: "for god's sake, what are we to do? if we get a job someone will tell our employers we have 'done time,' and we are fired. if they find us on the street, we're arrested. where can we go and what can we do?" a man may commit murder and not be a criminal, and yet a sneakthief is always a criminal and every burglar a potential murderer. social conditions produce criminals. as well expect a rose to bloom in a swamp as human nature to flower in the slums. all our prisons are hotbeds of tuberculosis and most prison physicians hold their positions through political pull. in our opinion a greater distinction should be made between the penitentiary and house of correction. petty misdemeanants should not be branded with the prison stigma. we also favor suspended sentence for first offenders. the crime and its punishment should be separated. at present the personal equation does not enter into the case when a judge imposes sentence. the man's environment, what leads him to break the law, and how best to help this particular man, all are questions that should be carefully considered before sentence is pronounced. intelligence in punishing crime. a student of prison affairs once said that the prison population consists of two classes--people who never ought to have been sent to prison and people who never ought to be allowed to leave it. it is unfortunate that students interested in either one of these classes are too often apt to forget the importance of the other. there are many habitual criminals, weak persons readily giving way to temptation, who should not be classified as professionals. the professionals are only those who deliberately set about supporting themselves by crime. these are the ones who are among all criminals most unlikely to change their ways, and it was for their control that detective wooldridge suggested some years ago that after several convictions such criminals should be given a special trial to decide whether they were true professionals or not, and if they were, they should be imprisoned for life. if more attention were given to professional crime and if harsher methods were used in protecting society from it, the result would be merciful in the end--merciful both to the citizens protected from such crime and to the men who, as conditions now are, graduate every year into such careers. the "silent system" is a crime against criminals. the penitentiary for the eastern district of pennsylvania, at philadelphia, in , was the only prison in america conducted on what is known as the "silent system." in this grim edifice a man sentenced to twenty years imprisonment might pass all of that time buried from sight in his cell, seeing only his keeper, the chaplain, the doctor and the schoolmaster, and for twenty minutes in every six weeks he would be allowed to talk with a near relative. this man loses his identity the moment he enters the prison gates. a black cap is drawn over his head and he is led to a cell in one of the many corridors that radiate from the central tower like spokes from the hub of a wheel. he is known thereafter by a number. the cell in which he eats and sleeps and works is a little larger than the average prison cell, and more completely furnished--as it must hold his bed, his lavatory, his dishes and a place for eating, his work, his every possession, and such books as he may secure from the prison library. his front door opens on a corridor and is kept ajar on a heavy chain so the prison guards may watch him. his back door opens on a plot of ground about � feet. it is surrounded and cut off from all communication from every living human being by a brick wall. only the watchman in the central tower and the birds that wing their way over the prison can see him in his little yard. robinson crusoe on his deserted island could not be more utterly lonely. in this tiny yard is a circular path worn smooth and pressed deep into the soil by the feet of despairing men--his predecessors. the prisoner is forbidden even the negative pleasure of going out into this god-forsaken walled plot of bare ground except for one hour a day. in his gloomy cell the prisoner drags out the "task" given him to escape insanity. he fears to be idle without the sound of a human voice in his ear or the sight of a human face to relieve his awful loneliness. to lengthen these "tasks" the state of pennsylvania has provided primitive hand-looms, some years old, and other discarded makeshifts of man's industrial infancy. not for him has the world progressed beyond the caveman's day. perhaps he is a skilled mechanic, a man accustomed to the swift play of machinery, the grip of tool on material. he is condemned to manufacture by primitive methods the clothes he wears to keep him from quite going mad. extreme methods faulty. as between the abominable "contract" and "lease" systems and this reversion to blind seclusion, is there no human method to be found of apportioning the convict's labor? yet no. , locked away in his solitary cell in the philadelphia prison, must toil laboriously, denying his brain and hand their cunning, with a pretense at occupation. he is not sharing in the world's work. he knows this child's play of making something that no one needs on an instrument left over from the twelfth century is futile and foolish. how shall he meet and battle with the great world of commerce and labor after twenty years of this? in what way is this make-believe fitting him for liberty? some few in the philadelphia prison escape the fate mapped out for them. there are cells, and there are at present about , prisoners. naturally, some must "double up." and then the regular domestic work of the institution must be done, tasks at which it would be impossible to keep prisoners separated or wholly silent. and so the "silent system" is not entirely silent. but, we protest, that is not the fault of the prison management, nor is it that of the good citizens who seventy-eight years ago devised and built this prison, the only one of its kind in america. men are unfitted for after-life under the "silent system." they come out of prison at the end of their terms with shuffling gait and incoherent speech and unskilled hands. cut off from all obligation to family or friends, the prisoner's whole spiritual nature is bound to deteriorate. will he be a better citizen, a more loving father or husband or son, when he is released? the prison at philadelphia is a model of cleanliness, management, discipline and sanitation. the warden, charles c. church, is humane and intelligent; the guards above the average in character. and yet pennsylvania's crime against her criminal population is appalling. all she does for her unfortunate offender is to guard him securely, shelter him in cleanliness, feed and clothe him--and hold him against the day of his release. these are necessary things, but it is more necessary that the state turn back the criminal at least no worse than she found him when committed to her care. she could turn him out a better man morally, better equipped to gain a livelihood, in fair physical health, and certainly without mental taint or bias due to his imprisonment. jails make , criminals a year. if the jails and lockups in our country-- , or , in number--are in truth, as they have been often aptly termed, in most cases compulsory schools of crime, maintained at the public expense, we shall have from this quarter alone an accession to the criminal classes in each decade of perhaps , trained experts in crime. surely, almost any change in dealing with the young, with the beginners in lawbreaking, would be an improvement on the prevailing system. jails and prisons, so constructed and managed as to keep separate their inmates, would afford an adequate remedy for the evil. until this can be done it would be far better to cut down largely the number of arrests and committals of the young. [illustration: united states penitentiary at leavenworth, kansas; the best and most modern penitentiary in the united states if not in the world.] "it is absurd to argue that life in the penitentiary is conducive to moral betterment, for all the conditions are against this cheerful theory. in jail a man meets criminals. the whole system makes for greater criminality on the release of the prisoner. he has time to plan fresh onslaughts on society. his incarceration further embitters him against the world. he looks with malicious envy on those who have escaped the punishment which he has had to suffer. when he is turned out of prison he is ready for further felonies--only now he has learned more caution, and for this reason he is more dangerous than he was when he entered the institution." when a man has served two prison sentences without being convinced of the futility of the attempt to live without honest work, it is evident that he has abandoned all idea of being a good citizen and has made up his mind to prey upon society. "then," says mr. wooldridge, "moderate sentences having produced no good effect upon him, either to deter or reform, why should he not be taken permanently out of society and put where he cannot harm others or wrong himself by committing crime? no objection," he concluded, "can be found to this method." crime based on suggestion. the man who has declared war upon the world, as every man has done who is not reformed by two successive prison sentences, should be seized and permanently imprisoned. modern thought does not sanction the literal translation of this idea, but that does not interfere with the possibility of carrying it out for the benefit of society. the world spends millions of dollars every year in the business of protecting itself against the criminal and in caring for him. but that is because no serious attempt has ever been made to solve the problem of crime. crime is largely a matter of suggestion and therefore if all the habitual criminals in the country were segregated where their influence would no longer be able to exert itself, crime would not propagate itself so fast. the young men would not have presented to them so often or so forcibly the example which causes most of them to take the crooked path. thus the expense of prevention would be enormously diminished at once. suggests great prison farm. with segregated criminals supporting themselves, as they might be made to do under our plan, the enormous cost of penitentiaries would at one step be done away with. a penal colony such as mr. wooldridge proposed would be placed in such a situation that the convicts could be compelled to raise every bit of food they put into their mouths and every bit of clothing they put upon their backs. out in one of the western states or territories a reservation might be made of several thousand acres of land, around the rim of which the convicts could be made to build a great wall shutting themselves away from the rest of the world. on its surface would be built in the same way habitations for them, and they would live there, tilling the soil and manufacturing their necessities, until death. the time will come when this plan will be carried out. the law-abiding citizens of the united states will not continue forever to be taxed enormously for the support of a class of persons who are enemies of public order and decency. improving the public health. can a nation be said to be civilized that spends billions of dollars every year in the detection and punishment of crime, and not one cent for the prevention and cure of disease, which kills thousands of persons who might otherwise have retained their health and strength? suppose only a billion dollars a year, that now goes to the support of criminals in jails and penitentiaries, were to be saved by the establishment of a national penal colony where criminals would be made to support themselves; and suppose the billion dollars thus saved were to be spent on free hospitals and medical treatment, would the country not be much better off? such a use of the money would result in cutting down the death rate in the united states at least one-half. the death rate in england, through the exercise of care and the assistance of the government, has been reduced from one-half to two-thirds in many diseases, and ten to twelve years have been added to the expectation of life between the ages of one year and forty-five years. a similar state of affairs should exist in this country, where the waste of life and health through preventable diseases is incalculable. our enormous expense on account of criminals, most of which might be avoided if brains were really brought to bear upon the problem, will not always be endured. the future will force the criminal to support himself, and the money now expended on him will be devoted to the preservation of health and life among honest men, for the time will certainly come when free hospitals and medical service will be provided by the government for every citizen who needs them. road work for convicts. criminology, on its humanitarian side, seeks new methods of employment for criminals. it seeks to regenerate convicted criminals morally, as well as care for their physical well-being. indoor prison trades have a deadly monotony. in most cases they are carried on without sunlight, and with too little fresh air. confinement within walls is alone a heavy punishment, but when allied with conditions that breed disease and possibly death, society exacts more than just retribution. modern criminology leans toward both moral and physical care in allotting the daily tasks of criminals. it assumes that the state has no right to make the criminal a worse or a weaker member of society than when he entered the prison walls. this explains why most experts in criminology are strongly in favor of putting criminals to work at road-making. here is employment in god's sunlight and air, where criminals can do useful work, and still be under watchful guard. they will be giving the state better highways, and at the same time escape the deadly indoor prison grind. criminologists are studying a hundred speculative methods of benefiting the criminal. they all agree on one point--namely, that useful work in the open air is beneficial to the average criminal, morally and physically. if there can be a large benefit to the state, at the same time that the state is benefiting the criminal, there is a double advance along the lines of rational, humane treatment of criminals. the sordid idea that criminals should pay the cost of their own incarceration is secondary. and yet, in applying convict labor to the solution of the good roads problem in the united states, the public would get back at least a portion of the enormous drain on public revenues for the support of criminals. solves "good roads" problem. this is the only complete solution of the good roads problem. it is one that all farmers or other rural residents should insist upon. it is the one practical way of gridironing the states, old and new, with good roads. it is especially vital in the newer states, where the absence of good roads is the heaviest tax on industry that individual communities must suffer. it is far better for the criminals themselves that they should be employed in this useful outdoor labor. the greatest clog on the science of criminology is the aversion to breaking away from traditions. the housing of criminals in penitentiaries, where expensive idleness alternates with desultory forms of industry, has ceased to be a method abreast of the times. there is enormous waste in the orthodox prison systems. get all able-bodied convicts into road-making for a single generation, and what would result? the productiveness of agricultural states would be vastly increased. markets, for the average farmer, would be easier of access. instead of virtual isolation for three or four months of the year, agricultural life would be more evenly balanced. the actual financial benefits to farmers would aggregate a vast total. in european countries, it took several generations to solve the good-roads problem. but they have solved it. the rural roads in the average european state or principality are a national blessing. they are not only a joy to transient travelers, but form the bulwark of agricultural industries. european governments have wisely considered no cost too great for good roads. as distances are immeasurably greater in america than in thickly settled european states, the good roads problem takes on a different aspect here. american roads are, on the average, worse than in any other civilized country. therefore, they must be built up, slowly and patiently, perhaps, but with increasing energy as population grows denser. with european methods it would take a hundred years to give the western states good roads. with the convict labor, the problem would be solved in twenty years or less. this would suffice, at least, for a great national system of highways. extend the parole system. the fear is expressed that an extension of the parole system as regards adults would open a velvet path for criminals to continue preying upon society. there was a loud hue and cry raised against the idea as administered recently by one of our municipal court judges. still, there is no denying that there is a great deal of good resultant from this plan. it is a safe, sane and conservative one, especially so when in the hands of judges who can feel for the man who has committed his first offense. chicago has some peculiar problems to contend with. it is the stopping off place for all traveling from south to north, and from north to south, and from west to east. many of these transient visitors live a hand-to-mouth life. oftentimes they are driven to crime by sheer force of necessity. again, the father or son may be out of work, and chance may place in his way the opportunity to commit some petty theft, tempting him on to his first crime. if such offenders show signs of desiring to do better and are susceptible of reformation, they ought to be given another chance. on the other hand, those who are unmistakably guilty and evidence no signs of repentance should be punished without any undue delay. many families have been driven to disgrace and ruin when their heads were sent to prison. surely among these there were some who had manifested repentance and shown indications of a desire to be given another opportunity to start anew; surely had they but been shown lenience they might have proved good citizens and worthy of the confidence reposed in them. of course, there are a lot of drawbacks to the parole system as it applies to juveniles in chicago. but free from politics and in the hands of fair-minded, square-leading men it would prove a splendid scheme worthy of the highest praise. in its infancy it might look like a failure, but as time passed it would be perfected, so that in the long run it would prove a godsend to humanity. when a criminal returns from penitentiary or prison he is shunned by society; he is under the eternal vigilance of our police force--he is walked upon and pushed down. finally, tired with trying to earn an honest living, he again resorts to crime. probably had he been paroled he might have turned out a deserving citizen and the father of a happy family. vagrants; who and why. what will we do with the vagrant and tramp? [illustration: raggles--"why did yer refuse what she offered yer?" weary--"cause i never heard of it before and de name was too much for me. why when she said 'chop suey' cold chills run down me back, 'cause dat word chop reminds me too much of de time when i had ter chop three cords of wood looking into de face of two shotguns."] the vagrant is the most elusive man among us. he is always with us, yet we can never locate him. no one wants him, yet we always send him to someone else. we make laws to get rid of him, but succeed only in keeping him a little longer in custody at our own expense. most of us laugh at him and some of us cry over him by turns. we draw funny pictures of him in our newspapers and in our billboard advertisements, but we are really afraid of him. we blame the police for not keeping him off the streets, or at least out of sight, and yet we feed him at our own doors. we fear to meet him after dark, and nevertheless we give him a nickel or a dime to keep him in town over night. he is an object of charity, or a criminal, just as we happen to feel. he is sometimes the hero of our melodrama at the theater, who gets our tearful applause. at the same time he stands for all that we brand as mean and vile. we spend money lavishly to support him without work by charity, or imprison him in idleness by law. the problem is to understand vagrancy so well that we can deal with it on a large enough scale both to restore the vagrant to the working world or to keep him in custody, and to prevent the accidental or occasional vagrant from becoming a habitual mendicant. the english and european governments have dealt with their problems of vagrancy more effectively than we have. this is due to the fact that they have investigated the causes and conditions of vagrancy more widely than we, and dealt with it on a larger scale by uniform legislation and by more persistently following up the measures in which the public and private resources combine to treat the evil. tramp a railroad problem. thus the tramp cuts no figure as a railroad problem, much less menace, abroad. but with us it is the fact that railroads representing more than half the total mileage operated in the united states and canada testify almost without exception to depredation, thieving, injuries, deaths, accidents to passengers or rolling stock, enormous aggregate costs to railroads or society, caused by the habitual illegal use of the railroads by vagrants. the number of "trespassers," from one-half to three-quarters of whom were vagrants, who are killed annually on american railroads exceeds the combined total of passengers and trainmen killed annually. within four years , trespassers were killed and , injured, thus furnishing the enormous total of , casualties, with all the cost they involve. only by the co-operation of the railroads with one another and of towns and cities with the railroads can this waste of life and property and this increasing peril to the safety of the traveling public be prevented. much more stringent laws will have to be both enacted and enforced to prevent the trespassing, which puts a premium on vagrancy. one of the best effects of the strict prevention of free riding on railroads would be to keep boys from going "on the road" and becoming tramps. it is simply amazing to find little fellows of from to years of age, who have never been farther away from home than to some outlying freight yards, disappearing for several weeks and returning from kansas city, or cleveland, omaha or new york, having all alone, or with a companion or two, beaten their way and lived by their wits while traveling half way across the continent. once the excitement of the adventure is enjoyed, the hardship it costs does not seem so hard to them as the monotony of home or shop. the discipline of the united states navy has been the only regulation of this wandering habit which the writer has known to be successful. but the habit is more easily prevented than regulated. massachusetts has taken the most advanced legislative action of all the states to this end. the wabash and the new york central railways suggest fine and imprisonment for trespassing upon railway tracks or rolling stock. better lodgings for homeless men. far better provision for lodging homeless men must be made by cities in municipal lodging houses of their own, such as chicago effectively conducts, and by far stricter public regulation and supervision of lodging houses maintained for profit or for charity. the anti-tuberculosis crusade shows that this supervision and regulation should be shared by the health authorities with the police. within a period of five years consumptives were taken from only a portion of chicago's lodging house district to the cook county hospital, most of them in the most dangerously infectious stages of the disease. an investigator of chicago's cheap lodging houses and their , beds declares that "the unfortunate man forced to sojourn in them for a while may enter sound and strong and come out condemned to death." the new york city charity organization society and the association for improving the condition of the poor have rendered a country-wide public service in furnishing the report on "vagrancy in the united states" by their joint agent, orlando f. lewis. it may well be the basis for better public policy here and everywhere. startling figures and facts were presented at the state conference of charities and corrections at albany by arthur w. towne, secretary of the illinois state probation commission, regarding the extent of vagrancy and the habits of tramps in this state. more than , persons, mainly vagrants, received free lodgings in new york state, in town and city lockups, during , and the number in was larger. seventy-five cities and towns thus provide for their wandering visitors. half of these towns and cities also feed the wanderers free of charge. a large number of places give lodgings also to boys, many of them as young as or years, thus encouraging the wandering spirit that makes the later tramp. with only one slight exception, not a single town or city required any work at all from the lodgers in return for the lodging or the food provided, thus giving absolutely no incentive to the wanderer to work for his board or meals. it is urged that the system of allowing the police authorities to give these free lodgings, as well as the similar practice in some jails and almshouses, be abolished as a most direct encouragement to vagrancy, and that in their stead such free lodgings as are necessary should be furnished by the overseer of the poor, but only when repaid by some form of work, such as chopping wood or breaking stone. tramps like jail. mr. towne also brought out the fact that tramps like to go to jail in winter. instead of considering a jail sentence for that part of the year as a form of punishment, they welcome it as a chance to keep warm and loaf at the public expense. forty-three per cent of the commitment of tramps occurs between november and february . in short, the jail or the penitentiary becomes a sort of winter vacation resort for tramps. many chiefs of police with whom mr. towne communicated said that tramps in winter would ask to be sent to jail, and that if this were not done they would sometimes commit offenses for the express purpose of being arrested and sent there. it is declared to be significant that in the tramp's slang the word "dump" is applied to both lodging houses and jails. with a cold winter the number of vagrants in penitentiaries and jails increases. in there were more than , tramps and vagrants in penitentiaries and jails, while in , which was a very cold winter, there were more than , . on the average, about one-third of the prisoners are tramps and vagrants. this means that the public is annually paying several hundred thousand dollars for the avowed purpose of punishing men for vagrancy, but in reality it amounts only to furnishing a free place of winter rest. most of the chiefs of police believe that jails and penitentiaries do little good, if any, in their treatment of tramps. another fact is that the sentences for this class of offenders are too short to accomplish any results. about per cent of the sentences are from only one to sixty days. [illustration: the tramp of fiction] [illustration: tore purse from the hobo.] [illustration: (tramp dropping bucket)] hobos classified by races. in a vague way the veteran hobos, classified by the various nationalities, are fairly representative of the make-up of the whole american nation, in accordance with the number of hobos each nationality turns out. after taking into consideration the fact that certain parts of the united states are dominated by people of one nationality, and the bulk of tramps in that part of the country would necessarily come from that nationality, the following classification was given as doing justice to all: the irish and british elements lead in the number of hobos. they are closely followed, however, by the german element. the nations of eastern europe, poles, bohemians, hungarians and others, are next in line. then follow, in smaller numbers, scandinavians, french, italians and jews. the french come mostly from canada, the scandinavians from the northwest and the italians from the largest cities in the country, like new york and chicago, and also from the southern states. here and there one finds a stray servian or bulgarian who drifted into trampdom and has never been able or has never cared to drift out of it again. greeks are seldom found among tramps because they have not yet a "second generation" of greeks to any extent in the united states. chinese and japanese likewise are not found in the hobo class. of the negro race, many would not be averse to becoming professional tramps were it not for the risk which a negro tramp generally runs. a "stray negro," according to the hobos interviewed, is regarded with apprehension and is apt to be shot on mere suspicion. new foreigner not a hobo. you will hardly ever find a foreigner in the first five or ten years of his american life among tramps and hobos. "he may be near tramp, he may be apparently 'down and out,' but he is not a genuine hobo," said one of the men. "you will find plenty of foreigners in the lodging houses, plenty of them who starve and suffer, but they are not hobos. they have had hard luck, and now in their old age they live by doing two or three and some even one day's work a week. but they work more or less. they have not the parasitic philosophy of one who is a full-fledged hobo. they fall more in the class of european vagabonds, such as one finds in germany or russia. they work now and then; they have some trade, or know a smattering about a number of trades." the american hobo falls in an entirely different category from these. work with him is said to be a disgrace. neither does he relish crime much if he can get along without it. he will beg from door to door and will commit a crime only as a last resort. the hobo primarily has no will power, or rather, he destroys it. the majority of hobos became such because of their false conception of freedom and of wrong inter-relations between parents and children. their parents have been held in many cases in semi-savage conditions by their landlords in the old world. when they come to america they naturally appreciate their freedom. they speak of it to their children. they are lax with them, and this spoils them. jew recruit in trampdom. polish tramps and tramps from other nations of eastern and southern europe were declared to be more apt to turn to petty crimes when pressed to it by want. they are, however, according to statements of tramps, easily found out. they somehow are hasty in their actions, and just as they brandish their knives and pistols thoughtlessly they fall into the hands of the police simply and easily. the jewish tramp was a rarity until recently. however, the large number of jews which poured into this country from oppressed countries in europe since have also furnished a "first generation," many of whose members have found their way to the barrel houses and slums of all large cities. the jewish tramp, however, was declared to be entirely of the class of the petty criminal. out of the penitentiary for some petty crime committed, or having been a go-between for thieves and the person who buys the goods stolen, the jewish youth for the time being takes to trampdom. his commercial instinct, however, together with the wide system of charity which the jews maintain in every city where they are found, soon enables him to get out of the hobo class. he becomes a trader of some sort and soon leaves the barrel house and his hobo companions behind him. talks of the tramp--why dilapidated gentleman does not give up wandering and settle down--likes the care-free life--mingles among the people and gets to know them well--changes in community. "why don't i give it up and settle down in city or village and become a respectable member of the community?" echoed the dilapidated gentleman as he pocketed his usual fee. "i have been asked that question a thousand times, it seems to me, and my answer has always been the same. i tramp as a profession, and i stand at the head of it. i like it. there's a good living in it. i come in contact with human nature at every turn. i am respectable as it is. the cities and villages are overcrowded, and the man who butts in has little chance of success. i have less to worry about and sleep more soundly than any business man in america. you newspaper fellers think you know it all, but you'd take a drop to yourselves if you were on the tramp for a month. you'd see more human nature with the bark on in that time than you can find on the east side in new york in five years. "say, now," continued the man, "can you name me one single newspaper in the state of new york that felt sure of roosevelt's election as governor? no, you can't. i hit his majority within , . why? because i was among the people and knew how they talked. plenty of politicians and newspapers said he'd be elected as president when he ran, but no man or no newspaper came within a thousand miles of the popular majority. i don't say that i hit it, but i could have given pointers to a hundred editors. [illustration: showing a "member" getting into the fight last night. roaming rowley--"i've just gotter break inter that nice, warm jail fer de winter. here goes dat old shell i found on de battlefield." (bang! flash! boom!) "yes, mr. sheriff, it wus me did it! i'm a desprit dynamiter and jail bird." sheriff--"git out of this township, quick! i won't have you blowin' up my nice, clean jail! gwan, git!"] get out among the people. "before the next national convention of either party meets i'll have tramped over three or four states, and i'll be ready to wager my life ag'in a nickel that i can name the victorious candidate. i'll wager that i can predict it far closer than any newspaper in the land. if you want to know what this country is thinking about, my boy, don't box yourself up in a sanctum and read a few exchanges. get out and rub elbows with the people. it isn't the few big cities that settle the great political questions. it's the farmer and the villager, and they come pretty near being dead right every time. when i had tramped across seven counties of new york state i shouted for hughes. a politician in syracuse who heard me had me thrown out of a meeting and wanted the police to arrest me. i heard that he had a bet of $ , on another candidate and was predicting hughes' defeat by , . but enough of this. i'll switch off and tell you something that has hurt me for the last three or four years. barns now locked. "do you know that a few men, comparatively, have almost changed the nature of the country and village population? no, you don't, but you'll learn of it some day through some magazine writer who gathers up his points in the way i have. time was when not one farmer in ten in the land locked his house or barn at night. now ninety out of a hundred do it. when a stranger came along they welcomed him. when a man talked with them they accepted his statement. what they saw in the newspapers they believed without cavil. well, they have got over all this. the patent medicine faker, the mine exploiter, the bucketshop man and the hundreds of other swindlers have destroyed the confidence of the farmer and villager in human nature. they have been bitten so often and so hard that they come to doubt if such a thing as honesty exists. they won't take a stranger's word for anything. they have got through believing that there is an honest advertiser. they have even become distrustful of each other. it has become the hardest kind of work to sell a windmill, piano or other articles direct. victims of fakers. "you can't get out into the country and walk five miles without finding a victim of the fakers. the farmer has invested in bogus mines, bogus oil wells, bogus stock and bogus other things, and not only lost his money, but come to know that he was as good as robbed of it. the villager has been trapped the same way. it has hardened their hearts and given them the worst view of mankind. you can know nothing of this by telling, nor of the ruin wrought until you get among the people. "up to a year or so ago it was seldom that a farmer turned me down. if he had nothing for me to do to earn a meal or lodging he would not turn me away. he most always took me on trust and had no fear that i was a rascal in disguise. it's all changed now. this last summer i was paddling the hoof in connecticut and massachusetts, making a sort of grand farewell tour, and it was hard work for me to even get a few apples of the farmers. they used to be full of 'chin' and gossip. they used to hold me for an hour in order to hear all the news. i found them last summer sullen and sulky and calling to me from the fields to move on. in other years the village landlord would set me at work in the stables or with a pail of whitewash in some of the rooms, and in that way i'd pay for my stay. i found a change there. hardened by losses in "prosperity" times. "three years ago, if you had started out for a day's tramp with me along a country road every farmer we met would have had a 'howdy' for us, and perhaps stopped for a chin. you'd have heard whistling or singing from every man at work, and the farmer's wife would have called to you that she had some fresh buttermilk. take such a tramp today and you'll find a tremendous change. i can't estimate the sum the farmers and villagers have been robbed of during the past years of prosperity, but it is something appalling for the whole country. as much and more has been taken out of victims in the cities, but the case is different. the man in the city doesn't pin his faith to an advertisement. he speculates on chance. he is where he can use the law, if needs be. if he loses here he goes at it to get even there. with the other class it is a dead loss, and the swindler can give them the laugh. take almost any highway you will, leading through almost any state, and eight farmers out of ten have been made victims. even the man who has not lost above $ has been hardened by it. his feelings hurt. "i said that this change hurt me, and so it does. you may be surprised to hear that anything can hurt the feelings of a tramp, but that is because you don't know him. he is looked upon as an outlaw in the cities, but ever since he took the road there has been a sort of bond between him and the dwellers outside. he has paid his way or been willing to. he has asked for little and done little harm. the newspapers have made thousands of farmers tell hard stories about the tramp, but it has been in the newspapers alone. the two have worked together harmoniously. "have you got any idea of how the professional conducts himself on the road? no? well, it won't happen once in a week that you will find one without a little money. it has been earned by hard work. when he stops at a farmhouse he offers to work for a meal. if there is no work he pays cash for what he gets. if he has been padding along for three or four days he will stop and work for half a week if the chance is offered him. in his work he keeps up with the hired man. he washes before he eats. he knows what forks are made for. he carries a clean handkerchief oftener than the man he works for. the average tramp can dress a chicken, kill a pig, empty and fill a straw bed, whitewash a kitchen, paint the house or fence, hoe corn, dig potatoes, run a cultivator, drive a team, split fence rails, dig a well, shingle a roof or rebuild a chimney. he is a handy man. he eats what he gets, sleeps where he is told to and brings the farmer a bigger budget of news than any two of his county papers. when his work is finished he slings his hook and is told to stop again. that's the tramp and that's the farmer just as they have been for the last forty years, and that's the reason i bemoan this change in the farmer. he has been victimized by men he thought were honest, he has been robbed where he trusted, and in changing his feelings toward mankind he must include the tramp, who has never wronged him. driven to the cities. "take a walk and you will find those same green meadows, those same brooks, those same lambs, but you won't find uncle josh and aunt mary any more. a city like this seems a hard-hearted and cruel place, and you shiver at the idea of being dead broke. let me just tell you that tramps are driven into the cities to recuperate. all the clothing i have had for the last five years has been begged in the city. all the money i have had has come from the dwellers therein. the only kind words i have heard have come from the hurly-burly. makes you open your eyes, doesn't it? you are still clinging to the old-fashioned ideas of the country. "my friend, let me tell you something. there isn't today a harder man to deal with than the average farmer. there isn't a woman with less sentiment than his wife. there's been a mighty change in the last twenty years. indeed, it is a change that was forced on the farmer to protect himself. in years gone by, in tramping over the highways, i have met lightning-rod men, windmill men, piano men, hay-fork men, commission men, peddlers, chicken buyers and horse traders. all were after the farmer. each and every one intended to beat him, and did beat him. he was beaten when he sold his produce and he was beaten when he bought his goods. he was considered fair game all around. it was argued that his peaceful surroundings made him gullible, and i guess they did. [illustration: maud muller on a summer's day raked the meadows sweet with hay; this heavy work upon the farm gave maud a very strong right arm. in chicago just the other day she raked the muck heaps without pay. "near food" and "curealls" went up in smoke. maud deserves credit, and that's no joke. ] things are changed now. "well, uncle josh and aunt mary died twenty years ago, and their children took hold. the babbling brook babbles for cash now. the green meadows mean greenbacks. the lambkins frisk, but they frisk for the dough. the watchdog at the gate can size up a swindler as well as a man. the farmer holds on until he gets the highest price, and the merchant who sells him shoddy has got to get up early in the morning. say, now, but i'd rather start out to beat ten men in a city than one farmer. i'd rather be dead broke here than to have a dollar in my pocket out in the country. if taken ill here i'm sent to a free hospital; if taken sick in the country, the lord help me. "i'm not blaming the farmer in the least. for a hundred years he was the prey for swindlers and was taken for a fool. if he's got his eyes opened at last and is taking care of himself, and i assure you that such is the case, then so much the better for him. it is the dilapidated gentleman who suffers most from this change. "why is a sailor a sailor? nineteen times out of twenty it is because he wants to rove the seas. why is a tramp a tramp? nineteen times out of twenty it is because he wants to rove the land. it is a nervous, restless feeling that he cannot withstand. he wants to get somewhere, and he is no sooner there than he wants to get somewhere else. the majority of them are sober men. they are as honest as the average. not one in twenty will refuse to work for a meal or for pay. not one in twenty commits a crime for which he should be jailed. you can't make statistics talk any other way. the whining, lying, vicious tramp has his home in the city and stays there. farmers down on tramps. "it is the press of the country that has got the farmer down on the tramp. you may drive for fifty miles and interview each farmer as you come to him and you won't find five to say that a tramp ever caused them any trouble. in summer the tramp may steal a few apples or turnips. anyone driving along the highway is free to do that. should he steal an ax, shovel, plow, sheep, calf or break into the house and steal a watch or clothes, what is he going to do with his plunder? the instant he tries to realize on it he is nabbed. the tramp who entered a house and stole $ in cash would be worse off than if he hadn't a cent. "i can walk into that bakery over there and say that i am hungry and the woman will give me a stale loaf. i can tackle most any man passing here for a dime for lodgings and get it. i can wander down most any residence street and raise a hat, a coat or a pair of shoes. how is it out in the country? we'll say i've hoofed it all day, making about fifteen miles. i've stopped to rest now and then and view the scenery. don't you make any mistake about that scenery feature. if any art company wanted to publish a thousand views it couldn't do better than to ask the tramps where to find the best ones. for lunch i pull two turnips from a field. my drink is from a brook. along about o'clock i hunger for cooked victuals, and as it looks like rain i would like to get lodgings in a barn. i turn aside to a farmhouse. the farmer is washing his hands at the well to go in to supper. out of the tail of his eye he sees me approaching, but he pays no heed until i stand before him and say: "'mister, i can milk a cow, chop wood, mow weeds or hoe if you will give me supper and lodgings on the haymow i will work an hour at anything you wish.' [illustration: "when did you get out of jail?" he asks.] suspicious of caller. "'when did you get out of jail?' he asks. "'i have never been in jail.' "'but you look like a durned skunk who stole a pitchfork from me last year.' "'last year i was in california.' "'want to set my barn afire with your old pipe, do you?' "'i don't smoke.' "he stands and thinks a moment and then grudgingly tells me to take a seat on the kitchen doorsteps. the wife brings me out a stingy supper. there's an abundance on the table and part of it will go to the hogs, but she cuts me short, thinking to get ahead of me. i have cleared my plate in ten minutes and then i am set to work and buckle in until too dark to see longer. my bed is on the hay, and twice during the night the farmer comes out to see if i haven't stolen the shingles off the roof. in the morning if i want a meager breakfast i must put in a good hour's work for it. that means an hour and a half, and when i thank the farmer for his generosity and get ready to go on, he says: "'goin', eh? well, that's the way with you durned critters. i've filled you up and lodged you, and now you want to play the sneak on me.' "my friend, don't look for much sentiment in humanity these days, and don't look for a bit of it out in the country. you won't find it. the farmer can't afford it. he has been beaten by sharpers and squeezed by trusts until he has lost faith in everyone. he has buttermilk, but it's for sale, and before selling it to you he wants a certificate that you have never stolen a haystack or run away with a field of buckwheat." it was hard to suspect that the clean-cut, energetic and rapid-fire talker was a tramp, but when he produced credentials from one end of the country to the other, and promised and threatened to produce them from brazil, hungary, new zealand and the klondike regions to prove his statement, it had to be credited. "i'm a no. , the well-known hobo, tramp, author and traveler," he said, in a speed of diction that would have made the late lamented pete daily or junie mccree green with envy. "everywhere you've seen the marks 'a. no. ,' on railroad fences, in railroad yards, or anywhere else, and you must have seen them if you've been over this country much; you'll know i've been there." hobo looks like business man. a no. had uttered this sentence in almost one breath, and was proceeding with such rapidity that it was impossible to follow his flow of ideas. he was a medium-sized but lithe and powerfully built man, attired in a neat tailor-made brown suit, with highly polished shoes, and looking something like a prosperous business man in a small way. under his arm he carried a pair of blue overalls, and as he laid them on the table he remarked: "my traveling rig." [illustration: "say, jack, have some more nice hot coffee." "gee, bill, i was jus' thinkin' o' that myself. talk about great minds--" "come on, jack, be game. please have some more o' this nice turkey." "turkey! great scott! when have i heard that word before? hain't it a country out in asia some place?" "no. jack, turkey is vittles. you get it if you love your teacher. better let me give you a few nice slivers off the breast." "say, bill, on the dead, you're sure generous, all right, all right. here you are, sharin' your last turkey." "old man, don't you know it's thanksgivin' day? don't you hear the bells ringin'? do you reckon i'd dine alone on a day like this? no, siree, not much. pass your plate fer some more o' this nice hot turkey, and some nice hot scolloped oysters, an' some o' these nice hot biscuits, an' some nice cranberry sauce, an'--" "there you go. bill, robbin' yourself. you won't have any left." "o, there's plenty here. i like to see a man eat till he's plum foundered.... when i used to go home fer thanksgivin' mother wasn't happy unless i et enough to stall a hired hand. if i didn't eat four helpin's of everything she thought i didn't like her cookin'. had to try ever'thing--choc'late cake, turkey, sage dressin', hot gravy, mince pie, an'--" "say. bill, you might gimme a piece o' that mince pie while you're about it. i got a nice, cozy little place fer a piece o' mince pie." "sure, jack. i'll give you a whole quarter section. how do you like this celery? awful hard to get good celery these days." "yep, celery and servants. one's hard to get an' the other's hard to keep." "say, jack." "what?" "shall we have our cigars and coffee here or in th' drawin' room?" "o, let's have james bring 'em in th' drawin' room."] "maybe i don't look like a tramp to you," he continued, "but i'm the genuine article, not the tomato-can or barrel-house bum type, but a real, up-to-date, twentieth-century tramp who respects his profession. why am i a tramp? because i like it. when did i start? when i was years old. what is my name? none but myself knows it. i call myself a no. because i'm an a. no. tramp." [illustration: did ya seen it hen? naw--what was it? (honk)] he had a most convincing way with him and proceeded to spin off a tale of his adventures which differed somewhat from the ordinary story that the average tramp will tell you; how he had been hounded by the police, or released from jail and couldn't get work, or had bad luck in business, being crushed out by the heartless trusts until he had to tramp or starve, ending up with an appeal for the "price of a bed, mister." "i've kept a record of the towns i've been in ever since i've been on the road," continued a. no. . "and up to date i've traveled , miles, and it's cost me just $ . . out of that distance there's been , miles of it by water. in i traveled , miles for cents, and in the year i traveled between stamford and west haven, conn. i jumped a street car and the conductor made me pay my fare. oh, i always have a little money, and i'm honest, too, and that's saying a good deal for a tramp. of course, once in a while i go hungry, but that's when i can't get a potato." [illustration: "dese awnings is handy t'ings. "wot's de matter wit' fixin' one up on meself? "it would be a good umbreller---- "an' if a cop bothered yer---- "youse could let de water off de top. "it makes a bully tent, or---- "a screen for yer fire. "but when it's windy---- "yer wanter look out cause---- "yer might go sailin'!"] "is that your staple article of diet?" "no, i don't eat them except in restaurants," said a. no. , seriously. "here is what i do with them." he pulled a good-sized tuber from his pocket, opened a large clasp knife and speedily had it peeled. then he proceeded to cut and carve, and in about three minutes had fashioned a grotesque human face on the potato, the lines coarse, to be sure, but nevertheless well outlined. tramp an artist. "i make these and can carve anyone's face, and i can sell them anywhere from cents to $ ," said the tramp. "i'm the only man in this country who can do such work, and there's a demand for it everywhere i stop long enough to do it. i only stop to do it when i have to, so that i can get a little money for a meal and pay little expenses, although my living doesn't cost me much. then, again, i never drink or smoke, so that item is cut off. they don't know so much about me in chicago as in other places, because i never stopped here long enough to get acquainted; but they know me back east, all right, and out in the west." then a. no. paused long enough to draw his breath and showed a medal certifying that in he had hoboed his way across the continent in eleven days and six hours in company with the representative of an eastern paper and had been given $ , for doing it. "that's how i first became famous," he said, "but i took good care of the money. i went and bought myself a lot in a graveyard at cambridge springs, pa., so i could be buried respectably when i die, and i paid part of the premium on a sick benefit so that i can be taken care of in case i fall sick suddenly. i'm a member of the chamber of commerce of that town, too. i believe in looking out for a. no. , and that's why i've been so prosperous in the tramping way." then a. no. launched into a long and picturesque description of the ways of tramps in general and himself in particular. "i've always been particular about some things," said he, "and one is to keep clean. i find that in asking for a handout the man who looks up-to-date is the man who gets it. i always wear a suit of overalls when i'm tramping, for i find that it prevents me from being annoyed by watchmen in railroad yards. i am generally taken for an engineer. while i was down in a yard here in chicago one man came and asked if i had a car lock, thinking i was a railroad man. i told him i did not have one and walked off. i have prevented a number of train wrecks, tramping about, probably at least one every year. the last one, as you see by this letter, was a few months ago. i saw a freight running along with a broken truck dragging. i jumped aboard and gave the warning, as you can see by this clipping. i have also been in a number of wrecks myself, and have never been injured. i always carry a little bottle of cyanide of potassium in my pocket so that in case i am ever fatally injured and in great agony i can take it and end all my trouble in about seconds." colonies for tramps. teaching vagrants a trade. the vagrancy problem, growing so great in every part of the country, has caused the authorities of massachusetts to make a trial of the german plan of farm colonies for quasi-criminals. vagrants are sent to such farms under indeterminate sentences, forced to support themselves by honest labor and made to stay there until they give evidence that upon release they will become useful and self-respecting citizens. this is a modification of the penal colony idea, which is to send confirmed criminals to such a place for life. it is a great advance upon the plan in use in chicago, which is to send vagrants to the bridewell for a stipulated time and let them out again. while they are confined they are an expense to honest citizens, they acquire more extensive knowledge of crime, and when released they are less likely than they were beforehand to go to work and support themselves. the massachusetts scheme promises well, so far as it goes. the trouble with it is that in this climate a farm provides work for only a small part of the year. from november to march other work would have to be found for inmates, and up to this time society has failed to agree upon any that would be satisfactory. persons interested in charities and prison reforms are indorsing a plan for "tramp colonies," "forced colonies" and "free colonies." into the one put criminals, or incurable tramps who are unwilling to work. the other would contain tramps who are unable to find work, neuropaths, cripples and those who are judged to be curable. both kinds of colonies would be strictly agricultural, and their products would pay all expenses of operation and relieve the country of the enormous sums now required to be spent. but why confine this plan, admirable and satisfactory as it is, to tramps? why not extend it so as to include criminals? criminals cost honest taxpayers millions of dollars every year. why not reorganize a system of confinement in such a way as to compel criminals to support themselves? but financial relief is not the only advantage. if habitual criminals--that is to say, criminals who have served two terms in the penitentiary, and then have committed another crime--were placed in a penal colony, remote from society and kept there for life, the moral tone of the country would at once be raised. the bad example of such men, which leads youths into crime, would be removed. the knowledge that there was no escape, that return was impossible, once an offender was sent to the penal colony, would deter many would-be criminals. the possibility that hardened criminals might propagate themselves would end. the penal colony is the one rational solution of the crime problem, which becomes more difficult and menacing each year. it will be adopted, sooner or later. the young criminal how he is bred in chicago. chicago raises its own criminals. there is material in this subject for earnest thought. men under twenty-five are responsible for per cent of crimes committed in chicago, and per cent of robberies and burglaries are done by boys under nineteen. if that is true, then the idea many people have had that crimes in this city are mostly committed by a roving army of criminals, alien to chicago and attracted hither by one cause or another, must be abandoned. if it is true, then chicago itself is responsible for most crimes committed here. the men who are guilty have grown up in this environment, which has given them the evil impetus under which they act. the thought that chicago boys are the criminals who terrorize the city, rob houses and flats, hold up citizens on the streets and assault women is distressing. it was much pleasanter to attribute these crimes to desperate men from elsewhere, descending upon chicago like raiders and leaving the city again as soon as possible. but that is a misconception. we ourselves have reared most of our criminals. they are a chicago product. they have received their notions of right and wrong here among us. we are responsible for them. what is the matter with chicago? what are the elements in its life that breed criminals? what causes thousands of young boys to take up a criminal life? what must we do to change conditions? these are questions that should engage every good citizen in anxious endeavor to find answers to them. if we are to reform criminals and lessen crime, we must first learn how to reform our own city. preventing crime better than cure. instead of attempting to prevent crime, we wait until after the crime is committed, then burden ourselves with the expense of apprehending, trying, convicting and imprisoning the criminal. our first duty is to adopt those measures that will prevent the further commission of crime. among the problems of chicago there is no one, perhaps, that is more baffling than that of the vicious boy. his years protect him from the rigors of the law, and it is a difficult matter to know just what to do with him. there are all sorts of organizations formed for his aid and his reformation. there is the juvenile court, for instance, and there are innumerable homes and shelters, and still the problem is not solved. the boy looms large in the public eye these days, when he is sent to prison for life for murder and spends long years in durance for burglary and other serious crimes. the story of the car-barn bandits and their tragic end is too recent to need more than a passing reference. the car-barn bandits met an ignominious death on the gallows. rudolph gamof will spend the remainder of his years behind prison bars and it is quite likely alfred lafferty will know what hard work means in pontiac or some other such institution before he is once more at liberty. the end of the gamin. it will be remembered that little gavroche, the gamin in "les miserables," came to his death on a barricade in the streets of paris. it was during the fatal insurrection of . the lad allied himself with the insurrectionists and found he was in his element. he did prodigies of valor and was robbing the dead bodies of the enemy of cartridges when he was shot. even after he had been shot once and had fallen to the earth he raised himself to a sitting posture and began to sing a revolutionary song. "he did not finish," says hugo. "a second bullet from the same marksman stopped him short. this time he fell face downward on the pavement and moved no more. this grand little soul had taken flight." thus it is to be seen that hugo has made a hero of this lad. but what of the little gamins that throng chicago's streets? will they find any such glorious end? it is not likely. jacob leib is but years old, and alfred lafferty, accused of twenty-three burglaries, is only . the john worthy school is full of boys who have been gathered in by the police; the junior business club, another reform organization, has a big membership, and the juvenile protective league is hard at work trying to do something to arrest the boy in his mad race to the reform school, prison and the penitentiary. in looking about for the causes of crime among boys i found that poverty, liquor, divorce, yellow newspapers, cigarettes and bad company played important parts. certain streets of chicago are schools of crime, where boys are taught the rudiments of larceny and soon become adepts. hardened criminals use the more agile youths they find idle to do work they are unable to do. certain sections of the city swarm with boys who are steeped in vice and crime and are in embryo the murderers, the burglars and the forgers of tomorrow. chicago has her children. turning again to the pages of "les miserables," the story of gavroche, the gamin of paris, may easily be found, and the tale of this youth is not far different from that of the "kid" of chicago. here is what victor hugo says of gavroche in that section of his great novel called "marius": "this child was muffled up in a pair of man's trousers, but he did not get them from his father, and a woman's chemise, but he did not get it from his mother. "some people or other had clothed him in rags out of charity. still he had a father and a mother. but his father did not think of him and his mother did not love him. "he was one of those children most deserving of pity, among all; one of those who have father and mother and who are orphans nevertheless. "this child never felt so well as when he was in the street. the pavements were less hard to him than his mother's heart. "his parents had dispatched him into life with a kick. he simply took flight. "he was a boisterous, pallid, nimble, wideawake, jeering lad, with a vicious but sickly air. he went and came, sang, played, scraped the gutters, stole a little, but like cats and sparrows. he had no shelter, no bread, no fire, no love. when these poor creatures grow to be men the millstones of the social order meet them and crush them, but so long as they are children they escape because of their smallness." this is a true picture of the urchin of chicago. these tiny atoms of humanity are sponges that absorb all the filth, the vice, the sin and the crime of the streets. they pick up all that is evil and nothing that is good. they are nurtured at the breast of poverty and viciousness, and are reared on a diet of depravity and degradation. there is nothing they do not know of crime and of wickedness. they are thoroughly saturated with everything that is evil, unprincipled and debased. is it any wonder, then, that the city brings forth an appalling annual crop of criminals? there may be heroes among the gamins in chicago, but most of them are only heroes so long as they remain uncaught. when they fall into the hands of the police and are taken to jail they are sorry-looking heroes. and in the meantime the problem of the boy is still unsolved. graduate of the streets. this, then, is a good specimen of the kind of boy the schools of the street graduate. from these petty classes of crime they go to the high school, the prison, where they are further grounded in the knowledge of wickedness, and as like as not return to chicago once more, full-fledged criminals, ready for anything. but this is only one of hundreds of such cases that are brought to the attention of the police and the public every year. most of the boys who come here are either orphans or half orphans. drink has wrecked their homes, perhaps, and they are thrown out on the world to shift for themselves. if they get into bad company they soon make their appearance in the juvenile court or in jail. , boys worse than homeless. a charitable worker who has come in touch with the young of the poorer districts, whence comes the tough lad, estimates that there are over , boys in chicago who are worse than homeless. in other words, they are in direct line of becoming criminals or public charges, under the teaching of the trained criminal who makes the city his refuge. anderson, the stickup youth who operated extensively on the north side, choosing women for his victims, is but years old. the men who relieved alderman c. m. foell at the point of a gun are less than , and thus it goes down the line. they laugh at the efforts of the police to catch them. for the most part they live at home or with relatives, and in the neighborhoods are known as dissipated and tough boys, but not as hold-up men. with companions they sally out at night to isolated sections of the city where they know the police protection to be inadequate. they choose secluded spots offering the protection of darkness and lay in wait. then, with plenty of time deliberately to stop the victim and take from him valuables, they operate until it is time for the policeman to be in the vicinity, or until the profits of the expedition are sufficient to satisfy their spirit of revelry and riot. schools for pickpockets. there are numerous places in chicago where boys are taught to become pickpockets. poolrooms are gathering places for such young criminals and certain saloons of a low order harbor others. there is one saloon in west madison street, for instance, not far from canal street, where a lot of pickpockets are in the habit of congregating. they are young fellows for the most part and adepts in their particular field. they find a sort of home in this saloon, where they can get a big glass of beer and a generous free lunch for cents. they are in and out of this place day and night and manage to keep out of the clutches of the law through their sleekness and cleverness. there is one young man in there at least who has made a good living by forging orders for goods. so far he has escaped detection. his method is to forge an order on some big business house and get certain goods. one day he got a lot of belting from a well-known firm on a forged order. he sold this later and realized $ . on the deal. this he spent freely in the saloon mentioned and made no bones of how he got the money. others run out, snatch a pocketbook and make for cover. later on they look up their cronies at the saloon and spend the money for beer and cheap whisky, and eat free lunch provided by the management. there are numerous other such places, more especially on south clark near van buren street. some of the saloons in that section are alive with young fellows who prey upon the public for a living. they do not always beg their way, either, for they often take a run out and stick up somebody, filch a purse or break into a store. when one of them has been up to some devilment his companions can usually detect it, for he will come back and be very flush for a few hours, or a few days, all depending, of course, upon how much he was able to steal. [illustration: (children outside junk shop)] modern boys are gamblers. but it is not only in the slums that the tendencies of the modern boy may be studied. in the more respectable parts of town, in the vicinity of schools and in the neighborhood of churches may be seen evidences of what the youth of today think play. time was when boys were content to play marbles. some of them, of course, had the temerity to play for keeps. others were taught it was wicked, and even at the risk of being called "sissy" refrained from disobeying their mothers. but now marbles are a thing of the past. as soon as spring comes boys want to shoot "craps." they want to play for money. they want to gamble. a visit to almost any school playground during recess or the noon hour will convince any person that the modern boy is a very wise youth. his conversation is not a well of english pure and undefiled by any manner of means. in the first place, his profanity is something shocking, and, in the next place, his knowledge of the world and its wickedness is thorough. there is nothing the modern schoolboy does not know. he is conversant with all sorts of vice and crime, even if he does not take an actual part in it. if this sort of thing obtains among schoolboys and youths of that class it is little wonder, then, that the boys of the slums are what they are. and the pictures is not overdrawn. the conversation of boys of ten and a dozen years will bring the blush of shame even to a grown man. just how to cure all this is a question that is bothering a good many people. societies are being organized right and left. homes for boys are being established, schools are being started and other efforts are being made to reclaim the delinquents. it has been found that good playgrounds in the tenement districts have been beneficial. the boy is exuberant. he must let out some of his animal spirits. if he has a good place in which to play he will not be half as apt to get into mischief. remedies suggested by some. there are some who insist that moral suasion should be used at all times in an attempt to reform the juvenile. but this has been found to fall short in many instances in chicago. even the juvenile court, with all its benefits, is found to come somewhat short of doing everything for the vicious lad. it is found that boys who are herded together in penal institutions are inclined to leave such places much worse than when they entered. the bad boys dominate. the evil spreads and the good is suppressed. one bad boy is able to do much, while the influence of one good boy amounts to almost nothing. those who have made a study of the matter aver that the only true solution of the boy problem is individual work. the lad's characteristics must be studied, the conditions under which he has been living must be scrutinized and all the influences that have been brought to bear upon his particular case must be looked into. under these circumstances it would take a reformer for every dozen boys, and so far the money has not been forthcoming to support so many reformers, for even a reformer must live. a good many of the delinquent youths of chicago have been reared in squalid surroundings and have been nurtured in filth and unloveliness. they have been surrounded from babyhood by poverty, drunkenness and depravity. these boys take to crime as naturally as a duck does to water. in order to reach boys and try to help them individually a movement is now on foot to form juvenile protective leagues in all parts of the city. one organization is now working in the vicinity of halsted and twenty-second streets to put a stop to race wars between school children. it is thought by some that this new movement will fill a long-needed want. it is admitted by those who have given the matter close study that something must be done. the records of the juvenile court and the books of the john worthy school emphatically bear out this contention. failure to rule children makes criminals. what are you doing with your child's sense of right and wrong? are you certain that you are not training a criminal, beginning with him at two years old? what is your boy at six years of age? is he liar, thief--perhaps of insane ego as he was when he first toddled from his mother's arms? inferentially president roosevelt may have complimented you on the acquisition of a large family, but rather than this, has it occurred to you that the father and mother of one child, brought up in the light of wisdom, may be deliverers of mankind against the numerical inroads of the other type of parent? insanity is the mental condition out of which it is impossible for the person of any age to recognize the rights of others in any form. this insanity may be due wholly to the overdevelopment of the primary ego in the child. at one year old the infant may be a potential criminal of the worst type. it lies to the mother by screaming as if in pain in order that she may be brought to its bedside. if the adult should steal personal property as this babe steals food wilfully, the penitentiary would be his end. angered, this same babe might attempt murder in babyhood, the spirit fostered by the same selfish intolerance that is filling jails and crowding gallows traps. respect rights of others. ego in the community life is the basis of all ill or all good, even to the dream of utopia. the basis of all ill is the primary ego which is inseparable from the child until teaching has eliminated it. the basis of all good is that secondary ego which recognizes the rights of others. morality--good--virtue--all that is considered desirable in the best type of citizenship develop out of the community life. even in the lower orders of animals a greater intelligence marks the creatures that live community existences than is to be seen in the isolated creatures. and this is from the development of the secondary ego which exacts rights for others. the child has no knowledge of this secondary virtue save as it is taught it. the mother who, by responding out of a mistaken affection to every wail of the infant, encouraging all, no longer is susceptible to home influences in teaching the lesson. if this youth shall become entangled in the toils of the law and the mistaken parents intercede for him, gaining their ends in saving him from all punishment for his misdeeds, the boy receives through it only another selfish impetus toward more and greater offenses against society. reformatory after first crime. here in this first offense of magnitude sufficient to call for the intervention of the law the parents have their opportunity, if only they would see. the place for such a youth at this period is a reformatory in which are sufficient educational facilities and the strictest discipline, which in justice visits the full penalty of community transgressions upon the head of the offender. in this reformatory environment the offending one finds none of the intercessions that may have been made for him in his home. in sterner fashion than he ever dreamed before he discovers that as he transgresses the community laws he receives a full penalty for the offense. young enough, he may be led to discover that his transgressions are not worth while. too old for these teachings, he becomes the persistent lawbreaker, or, on the other hand, degenerates to the asylum for the insane. how intimately some of the fundamentals of training are associated with everyday lives in the home, and yet not recognized, is shown in the college life of the country. "sophomore" is a class term in schools which needs interpreting. as a word, it is from the greek, meaning "wise fool." its application in the higher education is to the second-year "men"--to those students who are in that period of mental and physical stress after the age of fifteen is reached. in school parlance the word associates itself with the flamboyant youth who prates, and preaches, and struts, and lays down the law of all things as he sees it. until twenty-five years old, indeed, the "sophomoric" period is not fully passed. broadly stated for all men, it may be reiterated that in the parents' failure to enforce the subjection of the selfish first nature in the child lies the seed of his destruction. encouraging the infant to wail again when nothing ails it is already catering to this criminal ego. later, when a parent humors its every whim, he is stunting its growth toward good citizenship. and later still, in that crisis in physical life, between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five years, such a parent may awaken suddenly to a realization of the criminal which he has made. ego in the child mind prompts it to take instantly anything which it desires and which it can take. unchecked by training, this primary ego grows with that upon which it feeds. at two years old the child should have had its lessons in the rights of others administered in any way in which it can be reached, but always in all justice. justice in this lesson should be the first consideration. at six years of age these lessons are of special significance. it is an age in the development of the child when they may be taught with especial emphasis, with lasting results. guide child of fifteen carefully. at fifteen years old a new condition arises in the life of the child. at this time the race condition and the individual condition are at war. it is at the beginning of this period that an unbridled, untrained youth may take his first step toward crime, simply because the primary ego in him has not been set toward the background by the lessons of his duty toward the rights of others. here it is that the heedless, ignorant parents may come to the first realization of what his own sins of omission have been. if for any of the reasons suggested a youth's parents have not given him this necessary training in recognition of the rights of others, the age brings with it a condition making it impossible in ordinary cases for the parental conscience and home environment to avail. [illustration: (do it now scenario)] for example, the fact that the boy becomes a thief, or burglar, indicates in any or many things that disregard for the rights of others which is destructive to all law and order. properly handled in the home he would have been amenable to all of these conditions. raise the child like a plant, care for it as you do for the rarest specimen of vegetation, bring it up in an atmosphere of love. child raising and plant development are akin. if the child has but the smallest trace of some characteristic you desire to develop, take hold of it, care for it, surround it with proper conditions and it will change more certainly and readily than any plant quality. child like a plant. the child in nature and processes of growth is essentially the same as the plant, only the child has a thousand strings instead of but a few, as has the plant. where one can produce one change for the betterment of the plant one can produce a thousand changes for the betterment of the child. surround the child with the proper environment to bring out certain qualities and the result is inevitable. working in the same way as one does with the plant, the development of the individual is practically unlimited. take the common daisy and train it and cultivate it by proper selection and environment until it has been increased in size, beauty and productiveness at least four hundred fold. do our educational methods do as much for our children? if not, where is the weakness? rear child in love. have the child reared for the first ten years of its life in the open, in close touch with nature, a barefoot boy with all that implies for physical stamina, but have him reared in love. take the little yellow california poppy and by selecting over and over again the qualities you wish to develop you have brought forth an orange poppy, a crimson poppy, a blue poppy. cannot the same results be accomplished with the human being? is not the child as responsive? the greatest reform movement of the day is the chicago juvenile court. the statistics show conclusively that the operation of the juvenile court is an advance step in the treatment of the young and helpless. it shows that not only are the dependents helpless, but that the delinquents are helpless to extricate themselves from a life of idleness and crime, for most criminals are made, not born, and the sooner time is devoted to changing the environments of the young, the sooner will be solved the problem of criminology. illinois in the lead. various claims have been put forth from time to time as to the state which was the first to inaugurate the juvenile court idea. the juvenile court law went into effect july , , and immediately the juvenile court was established. the judges of the circuit court assigned one of their members to preside in the juvenile court. the law gave the court jurisdiction of all dependent and delinquent children who are under seventeen and eighteen years of age, and defines dependents and delinquents. the word "dependent" shall mean any child who for any reason is destitute or homeless or abandoned, or dependent upon the public for support, or has not proper parental care or guardianship, or who habitually begs or receives alms, or who is found living in any house of ill-fame or with any vicious or disreputable persons, or whose home, by reason of neglect, cruelty or depravity on the part of its parents, guardian or other persons whose care it may be, is an unfit place for said child, and any child under the age of ten years who is found begging, peddling or selling any article, or singing or playing any musical instrument upon the street, or giving any public entertainment, or who accompanies or is used in aid of any person so doing. the word "delinquent" shall mean any boy under seventeen or any girl under eighteen years of age who violates any law of this state or any city or village ordinance, or who is incorrigible, or who knowingly associates with thieves, vicious or immoral persons, or who is growing up in idleness or crime, or who knowingly frequents a house of ill-fame, or who knowingly patronizes any policy shop or place where any gaming device is or shall be operated. a boy of seventeen is at a period of life where he is neither a boy nor a man. in many cases he has the mind of the boy and the impulses of the savage; his ideals are force, and his ambitions that of the wild, erratic western rover. why the wise head and steady hand of the court and probation officer should be withdrawn at this period is not explainable on any reasonable theory. it may be contended that a boy of seventeen years is too advanced in the knowledge of crime, but it can also be contended that the boy of fifteen years is too old in crime. just what standard can be used to find the responsibility of a boy when measured by his age and physical proportions i am unable to discover. the only just standard is mental capacity. the judge and probation officers, who are familiar with the boy, know his parents or guardians and his environments, should be allowed to exercise their judgment as to the moral responsibility of the boy, for there are many boys at fifteen who are more responsible for their acts than others at eighteen. in many cases where children were committed to an institution the parents were placed under the care of a probation officer and the number of failures to reform the parent are few. in cases where the parents are responsible for the dependency of existence those parents mean well, but they are unfitted for the duties they have assumed. the father thinks he has fulfilled his whole duty to his family when he provides food, shelter and clothing; the mother thinks she has fulfilled her whole duty when she does her house work and attends to the mending and washing. the children are masters of both parents before the parents take cognizance of the actual mental state of the child. what should be done when the boy's home is the case of his delinquency is to provide for him a place where every home impulse would be developed and where industry and economy would be practiced. he should live in this home under the jurisdiction of the court until he has reached his eighteenth year. what is said of the boys is equally true of the girls, and, in many cases, more important. where the father is directly responsible for the downfall of the girl, the girl should not be allowed to return to her parental home. wiles of fortune telling. fortune tellers have existed since records of events began to be kept. some of their methods--charlatans have a great hold on the poorer classes of big cities, much alike--schools of crime run full blast--silly and ignorant people undone by vicious and wide-open fraud. war against the swindlers, impostors and blackmailers who operate in chicago under the guise of clairvoyants, trance mediums, astro-psychics, palmists, magicians and fortune tellers, of whom there are about , in chicago, should be driven out of the city and never allowed to return. there exist in chicago a horde of these brazen frauds, who ply their trade in the most open and unblushing manner. few of them are other than organized schools for the propagation of crime, injustice and indecencies that would make an unjailed denizen of the red light district blush to even mention. we particularly refer to the army of fortune tellers, clairvoyants, hindoo fakers, mediums, palmists, hypnotists and other skillful artists, whose sole occupation is to rob and mislead the superstitious, foolish and ignorant. the business is a paying industry, realizing, it is said, an enormous sum of money every month in chicago, all of which is obtained by false pretenses. here is a very large field for police investigation. the practices of these people are of the most demoralizing tendency. can there be anything worse than holding out love potions to married women to compel other women's husbands to love them? those dens of iniquity offer their services and even actually aid in the procuring of abortions, and in showing how and where a good haul can be made by robbery or burglary. they bring together the depraved of both sexes. many of them are purveyors to our brothels and stews. they flaunt their profession, their "spiritual mysteries," brazenly in public in our busy thoroughfares, even invading some of our hotels. they are the hotbeds of vice and crime, from the robbing of orphans to the deflowering of innocent girls. they fall into "trances" and call up spirits from the vaults of heaven, or elsewhere, to testify to their truth, and in the turn-up of an ace of spades they see a "dark lady" or a "dark gentleman" who is pining for you, and furnish the address of either. [illustration: famous artist's explanation of scientific ghost upper row (left) real ghost. (right) marx's imitation. lower row (left) fake ghost & drawings by von marx showing make up] panderers to depravity. why these panderers to depravity in all its most hideous forms are permitted to continue their depredations among every rank of society without attracting the attention of "reformers" or the grand jury is something beyond the ken of human knowledge. and as a block is a small cityful in some parts of the town, the reading of palms, the casting of horoscopes and the looking into seeds of time through the backs of a greasy pack of thumb-marked, tear-stained cards is a profitable calling. perhaps it should be explained that the tears are not shed by the prophets of the tenements, but by the patrons who go to the oracle to learn if they are to be dispossessed next month or if their ambitious children will sometime learn a little yiddish, so that they may talk with their own parents in their own homes, are sources of information for the settlement workers and others who try to learn the hopes and fears and ambitions, the real life of such places. but the fortune tellers are the real custodians of the ghetto's secrets. in their little back rooms, some of which are cluttered with the trash that suggests the occult to the believer, some as bare as the room of a lodger who has pawned the last stick of furniture, they hear confessions that court interpreters never have a chance to translate, and listen to tales of hard luck that are never told to the rabbis. [illustration: chair with open back stuffed with disguises] [illustration: (drawing of costumes)] [illustration: supposed "medium" sitting in the chair.] prognostications are vague. but they don't use the mails to drum up trade, and they have no barkers at the doorsteps to cajole the credulous to step inside to learn what the future has in store for them. and so, in a legal sense, they are guilty of no fraud. they are not very serious frauds in any sense, for their tricks are harmless and their prognostications are vague as the weather predictions of an almanac and as probable as the sayings of the cart-tail orators who hold forth at the street corners in campaign time. "about this time, look for cold winds, with some snow," sagely remarks the almanac writer, stringing the ten words of his prediction down the entire column of the month. "in a few years," says the fortune teller, solemnly, "you will have good friends and more money than you have now." "if you vote for this man," shrieks the cart-tail orator, "rents will be lower and the street cleaner and you will get jobs. the other ticket stands for graft and greed. vote for it if you want your children to run in the streets, because there is no room for them in the schools." predicts like a spellbinder. like the spellbinder, the oracle frequently builds on the look-on-this-picture-and-then-on-that plan. "this is a strong line," mumbles the palmist. "you will meet a man with blue eyes who will help you, but beware of a man with dark hair." sometimes the helper has light hair and the man to be avoided black eyes. but invariably the good friend of the future is blond and the devil is brunette. no seer would any more think of changing that color scheme than the writer of a melodrama would dare stage a villain who didn't have hair and mustache as black as night. that prediction is one of the traditions of the art, and no future has ever been complete without the dark and the light men or the dark and the light woman, as the case might be. one of the most famous of fortune tellers, a woman, died suddenly. she had been reading cards in the same house for forty years, and on the day of her funeral her house was crowded with mourners, whose future she had foreseen with so much shrewdness that not one of the or more men and women who filed by the coffin, to view the body had any fault to find with the services she had rendered. on the contrary, they compared notes, each trying to pay the best tribute to the dead by telling the most wonderful story of her predictions. warned of the enemy. "i was sitting right in this room at that table where the flowers are today," said one mourner, "and she said to me: 'you have an enemy. it is here on this card where you can see it plainly. but here is a friend, a tall, light man, who will come between you and your enemy. put your trust in the tall, light man, but keep away from a dark man. there is a dark-haired woman who pretends to be your friend, but lies about you.'" compare that prediction of the oracle with this forecast of daniel defoe's famous deaf and dumb predictor, duncan campbell. "to mme. s----h w----d; i see but one misfortune after the year of . a black man, pretty tall and fat, seems to wish you no good. never tell your secrets to any such persons, and their malice cannot hurt you." and that warning wasn't original when mme. s----h w----d called at duncan campbell's lodging in london to learn what was what. no doubt it could be traced beyond delphi. that's almost as safe a guess as to assume that mme. s----h w----d was a sarah wood. she might have been a wedd or a weld, but that is doubtful. predictions change little. so, although the seer of randolph street and all the rest probably never heard of duncan campbell or nostradamus, or of their predecessors at delphi, they have kept the profession of forecasting remarkably free of innovations. "this art of prediction," reads defoe's life and adventures of duncan campbell, "is not attainable any otherwise than by these three ways. . it is done by the company of familiar spirits and genii, which are of two sorts (some good and some bad), who tell the gifted person the things, of which he informs other people. . it is performed by the second sight, which is very various and differs in most of the possessors, it being only a very little in some, very extensive and constant in others; beginning with some in their infancy and leaving them before they come to years, happening to others in a middle age, to others again in an old age that never had it before, and lasting only for a term of years, and now and then for a very short period of time; and in some intermitting, like fits, as it were, of vision that leave them for a time, and then return to be strong in them as ever; and it being in a manner hereditary in some families, whose children have it from their infancy (without intermission) to a great old age, and even to the time of their death, which they even foretell before it comes to pass, to a day--nay, even to an hour. . it is attained by the diligent study of the lawful part of the art of magic." make enough to retire. nowadays the prophets see to it that their miraculous power does not depart from them for any cause whatsoever until their own palms have been crossed with enough silver to enable them to retire in comfort. a certain fatima who told fortunes on madison street for years removed her card from the front window and disappeared altogether. she had bought a farm up the state, where she is now living and raising fancy breeds of poultry. there is no mortgage on the farm, and the hens have grain three times a day. just which one of duncan campbell's three methods a certain practitioner uses is not apparent, but he was one of the most noted and successful fortune tellers, and his men patrons set more store by what he said than in the promises of the district leaders. answers questions for a dollar. he has reduced his business to a fine system, and all the questions that anybody could possibly think of are set down in a book with numbers opposite them. and these books, printed in yiddish, english and german, anticipate all the hopes and fears of the tenements. the questions, all of a strong local flavor, are all answered by the fortune teller off-hand for $ , notwithstanding the fact that they present some of the toughest problems that the philanthropists who support the educational alliance and the settlement houses have been trying for years to solve. to illustrate, take this group of questions under the general classifications "home and children": "can i learn english?" "can i make my son or daughter learn yiddish?" "shall my children play with christians?" the book printed in yiddish shows the most wear. it is divided under these heads: "travel and letters," "love and marriage," "home and children," "business," "work," "luck and losses." some of the questions make interesting reading and supplementary to the reports and papers of the various hebrew charity organizations. one of the more recent of these reports gave statistics of desertions of wives, and "other women" was put down as the cause in a large number of cases. married two wives; what will happen? the first question in the fortune tellers book under "travel and letters" is, "where did my husband elope to?" the identity of the other woman in the case seems to be secondary in importance to the whereabouts of the deserter. under "love and marriage" are these questions, among many others: "is my bride's dowry as big as she says it is?" "i have married two wives; what will happen?" "shall i be married in court?" those who are in doubt about work have many questions to select from, the list starting off like this: "shall i be a letter carrier?" "shall i be a conductor?" "shall i be a street cleaner?" "shall i be an actor?" "shall i be a lady-figure?" a lady-figure is undoubtedly a cloak model. under "business" some of the questions are: "shall i remain a peddler or keep a store?" "shall i sue my partner?" "will my partner sue me?" "shall i take my wife into the store as a partner?" "shall i take my husband into the store as a partner?" "shall i buy the goods?" "will the bank fail?" under "luck and losses" are: "was i robbed by friends or strangers?" "does anybody look in my pockets nights?" "will the landlord put me out?" roomful of patrons. the deviser of these books keeps his office in a rear tenement open from early morning till late at night, and there is generally a roomful of anxious patrons awaiting their turns. at a single sitting, price $ , the man or woman who wants to know may select three questions. she puts the number corresponding to the questions on a slip of paper. the numbers do not run in regular order through the book or through any section of it. the slip of paper is kept concealed by the questioner, and later on, when she is in the actual presence of the oracle, she writes those numbers again on another slip of paper, hidden from the fortune teller by a book cover. she also writes her name on two pieces of paper, which she places in two bibles, opened at random by the fortune teller after she has named any three words she happens to see on the page. gets pointers from customer. then the books are closed, the soothsayer tells his customer what her name is (he is not often absolutely accurate in that part of the game), and then he begins to talk about the past and future in such a rambling, comprehensive way that he is almost sure to hit upon, directly or indirectly, the questions she has in mind. if he is too far off the trail he asks the woman from time to time if she understands him, and from her replies and questions gets a further clew as to just which three questions she had selected from the lists. then the rest is simple. spooks raided. detectives wooldridge and barry descend on a west side medium's place. lively fight before the officers succeed in making arrests--one of the number set upon and severely beaten before aided--spectators at the seance take part and the row becomes general--search of the premises reveals a systematic plan to deceive--anger of the dupes turns to chagrin at the revelations made by the police. september , , catherine nichols, sarah nichols and jennie nichols, sebor street, fake exponents of materialization of spirits and general "spook" grafters, were arrested, the seances raided and the game closed, by detectives wooldridge and barry. the scene of the raid was a brick building at sebor street, which is just east of halsted and a block south of harrison street. the medium arrested was miss jennie nichols, who, with her mother, mrs. catherine nichols, and her sister, sarah, had been gleaning a harvest of dollars from guillible residents, mostly of the west side of the city, during the last two years. the establishment of the nichols family occupies parts of two buildings, the mother and her two daughters living at sebor street, next door to . on the second floor of the latter address was located the hall which they used for their public seances. plans are well laid. the raid was made on the authority of a warrant which was applied for by miss muriel miller, a young woman who was induced by the blandishments of other mediums to come to chicago from her home in portland, ore. miss miller, who is employed in a barber shop in clark street, is slightly deaf. she became interested in spiritualism, and thus came in touch with the nichols' outfit. [illustration: "spirit pictures" of women held as bogus mediums, and scene showing fight between pugilistic spooks and detectives. catherine nichols, jennie nichols] she had written to another chicago medium, and received letters in answer signed "professor venazo." it was explained to miss miller that the wonderful cures which the medium professed to be able to make were brought about while the patient was in a trance. in a letter which had been turned over to the police, "professor venazo," which is the name with which an accomplice of certain chicago mediums signed such communications, explained that because of stress of business it would be impossible to undertake to cure miss miller of her deafness unless she was prepared to put up at least $ in cash. the letter stated that if she would send to "professor venazo" $ the medium would undertake to go to her home and cure her there. if she did not wish to pay that much money she could come to chicago, pay the medium $ , and be cured "while in a trance." detectives barry and david carroll were detailed to assist wooldridge in serving the warrants and making the raid. detectives attend service. barry and carroll planned to effect an entrance to the "seance." inspector revere was informed and asked to give a detail of six officers, who, headed by detective wooldridge, went to the hall on sebor street. barry and carroll had preceded them and succeeded in convincing jennie nichols, who was the master of ceremonies, that they were interested in spiritualism and desired to witness the materializations. when they went to the hall, detective barry walked in and found twenty-eight or thirty others there before him. jennie nichols was busy arranging the spectators in seats. she took a great deal of care about placing them. carroll and barry entered and signed their names on the register. this was a book in which everyone who is admitted to a seance is requested to place his name and place of residence. barry signed as "john woods"; address, ashland boulevard. calling up the spirits. when the seance opened jennie nichols conducted those who were in the hall through the main room and the one at the rear, before which the curtain was placed. everything was all right, so far as detectives barry and carroll could see. the cabinet from which the spirits were to come stood across one corner, and opposite it was a door leading into one of the two rooms in the rear of the hall. they examined the cabinet and the rooms carefully, but found everything all right. after they had been through everything the doors were locked and they returned to their seats, miss nichols making some other changes in the arrangements of the seats, and then the place was darkened. when the place had been made almost entirely dark, jennie nichols, the medium, began pacing back and forth in front of the curtain. she rubbed her hands over her head and eyes a number of times, and began to chant: "come, o queen, o queen." when she began to call on the "queen" the spectators began to get excited. most of them appeared to be thoroughly familiar with the proceedings, and several of them said: "oh, i hope it's the king." then the medium pulled a cord which was attached to a light enclosed in a sheet-iron case, the one small opening of which was covered with several thicknesses of green tissue paper. when she pulled the string the room became darker than ever. spirits begin to move. before she began her incantations the medium had requested everyone present not to cross their feet, and to try to assist her to bring the spirits before them. she said that it would probably not be possible to bring a spirit for everybody, but that if all helped her, the spirits wanted by many in the audience would surely appear. then she asked them all to sing "nearer, my god, to thee," which they did, and after a few more passes over her temples and in front of her eyes the spirit began to move. the detectives could see it, and they began to think they had been wrong in thinking there was nothing in spiritualism. it certainly appeared real. first one form would glide back and forth in front of the curtain, then an entirely different one would appear. altogether there were spirits of about ten men and children materialized. as the apparitions moved slowly in front of the curtain, in the spectral light which made it impossible to detect more than a faint outline of the form, women rushed forward crying out that it was their husband, or their child, that they saw. they stretched out their hands to clasp the forms of their departed, but jennie nichols and her male assistant would take them by their hands and tell them they must not touch the spirit or it would fade away. you could get within six inches of the figures, and peer into the faces as they passed to and fro, but everyone was restrained from attempting to touch them. in the ghostly light of the room the closest inspection could not determine that the figures were frauds, so clever were they disguised. keys up the spectators. while the detectives were waiting for the materialization, a woman they knew entered the room. barry put his handkerchief up to his face for fear she would recognize him. they wanted to know what was the matter with him, and barry said that he guessed he had something in his eye. they wanted to take it out, and he had to put his handkerchief away. he thought he was discovered, but the woman, mrs. ella hoobler, west madison street, said nothing about him. after they had arrested the nichols woman, mrs. hoobler told barry she had recognized him when she first entered the room, but she thought he was "bug" in the game, and said nothing. after about ten materializations of husbands and children had keyed the spectators up to a high pitch, mrs. hoobler asked for the spirit of her daughter, helen. in a few minutes the figure of a young girl, clad in white from head to foot, appeared before the curtain. "oh, helen, my helen!" mrs. hoobler exclaimed, rushing to the apparition. "oh, mamma!" came the answer in a shrill falsetto voice. [illustration: medium's paraphernalia seized by police in raid.] jennie nichols and the big assistant seized mrs. hoobler's hands just as she was about to clasp what she believed to be the spirit of her daughter in her arms. "you must not touch it," jennie nichols told her, "or the spirit will go away." the poor, almost frantic woman kneeled before the apparition. barry thought it was time to get busy, and he whispered softly to carroll: "watch out, there's going to be a pinch." then he threw on the flashlight and whistled for the squad outside to come in. just as he did this the "spook" in front of him looked so realistic that for the life of him he couldn't decide whether he was going up against a real spirit or not. but he took a chance and grabbed for it. even when he had hold of it and knew it must be flesh and blood, it seemed so slimy, with the white stuff rubbed over it, that he felt his hair rising. just about that time the medium outfit got busy. the big man who had been helping jennie nichols hold the hands of the people who were trying to grab the spirits of their dead hit barry over the head with some sort of a club that knocked him to the floor. jennie nichols put out the light entirely, grabbed barry's flashlight and began pounding him over the head with it. they went to the floor in a rough and tumble scrimmage, the crowd on top of them, yelling and screaming. in the next room carroll was busy, too. he got hold of mrs. catherine nichols, the mother, who had been helping with the show, and he was beset by spectators who were incensed because the seance had been broken up. wooldridge takes a hand. when detective wooldridge and his detail broke down the doors of the hall and made their entrance into the place it was pitch dark, and they had to strike matches before they could separate the combatants. after a semblance of order had been restored in the place the premises were searched, and a most astounding outfit of disguises discovered. before this development the spectators, who had been held in the place, were very angry with the officers, saying that they had been attending the seances for the last two years; that they knew jennie nichols as a medium had shown them the spirits of their dead. when the officers produced sarah nichols, to whom detective barry had held when he seized the "spook," they discovered that she had been wearing a pair of sandal slippers with felt five inches thick for soles; a pair of men's black trousers and the white shroud and painted picture face of a young girl. attached to a pole in front of her was a paper head, around which was a white shroud four feet in length. those in attendance believed this image to be the spirit of a believer's dead relative. the "medium" had "spook" images of men, women and children, and could produce them as circumstances demanded. the light was turned up, and the contemptible imposition on credulity was exposed to twenty-six dupes, who had been paying $ apiece for the privilege of attending meetings of the "spook" grafters for years. it was the greatest exposé of "spooks" that has been made in many years. a wagon load of masks, wigs, false whiskers, tin horns, gowns with safety pins in them, skulls and skeletons with cross-bones to match, were seized. women refuse to talk. at the station the women refused to talk. sarah nichols, the "spook," had donned a house dress before she was taken to the station. jennie nichols, the "medium," was dressed in a neat black gown of rich material. the mother appeared in a black skirt and a white shirtwaist. the latter is a gray-haired woman apparently about years old. she wept copiously. sarah nichols also wept. in the scrimmage after the arrest her ear had been injured, and it was bleeding when the trio was booked at the station. jennie nichols was the most composed of all. she held a palm leaf fan in front of her face and above it twinkled a pair of shrewd blue eyes. as she and her relatives were led from the private room at harrison street she even laughed, although her mother and her sister were in tears, and her victims were denouncing her for having robbed them, through their credulity, of hundreds of dollars, which many of them could ill afford to lose. wooldridge makes ghost walk in police court. a "spook" sat on the bench with justice prindiville. he made ghosts walk and graveyards yawn. the "spook" was detective clifton r. wooldridge. when miss sarah nichols, "the ghost," miss jennie nichols, "the trance medium," and mrs. catherine nichols, mother of the other two known as the "overseer," appeared in court to answer to charges of obtaining money by false pretenses through spiritualistic seances, detective wooldridge crowded to the center of the stage. he bore a great board, on which were tacked white shrouds, grinning skulls and cross-bones, the costume of an indian, and other instruments of the medium's trade. "for the benefit of the public at large," he said, addressing the court, "i ask permission to expose the methods of these fake spiritualists." the permission was given, and "spook" wooldridge took the wool sack. "spook" wooldridge demonstrates. he lit the punk with which the mediums were wont to light up the skull. he burned incense. he put on a white gown. "this is carrie's garment," he said, pointing to where "ghost" carrie, twenty-four years old and buxom, stood. he went through the whole performance, save the grease paint. he started to daub his face with the stuff, which gave a ghostly hue, when the justice interrupted: "you needn't dirty your face, friend spook. you've scored your points already." the "spook" had, indeed. despite the exposures, many women and a few men who had come to hear the cases, expressed their devotion to the persons arrested and to the "cause." they finally became so demonstrative that justice prindiville ordered the court room cleared of the "devotees." "this is not a matinee, a spiritualists' meeting or a circus," said the justice. "let the devotees meet in the outer hall." fifty women, of all ages and many conditions of life, stood with mouths wide open and eyes bulging as wooldridge went through his performance. they were the victims of the nichols women. jennie nichols and sarah nichols were fined $ each. arrest south side mediums. to conclude the record of the day, detectives wooldridge and barry, accompanied by two officers from the cottage grove station, visited a seance given by clarence a. beverly and mrs. m. dixon at arlington hall, thirty-first street and indiana avenue. the officers bought tickets and awaited the performance. after a lecture on psychic problems by "dr." beverly and a programme of music rendered by children, "dr." dixon took the rostrum and went through a series of clairvoyant discoveries. among the things which she professed to predict while in her "trance" was a prognostication which had not a little to do with the developments of the evening. after she had pointed out a number of persons in the audience and told what they had done or should do, she discovered wooldridge and singled him out. "i see a man with glasses who has his hands crossed over his knees," she said. "i am governed by the spirit of john googan, an irishman. he gives you a message," pointing to wooldridge, "and says that whatever john orders must be done." at this wooldridge, arising from his seat, advanced to the rostrum. officer serves papers. "john collins, chief of police, says, mrs. dixon, that i am to put you under arrest under a state warrant charging you with receiving money by a confidence game. i also have a warrant charging the same offense against clarence a. beverly. dr. beverly, please come forth." dr. beverly presented himself, and both he and mrs. dixon were taken to harrison street, where strenuous efforts on their behalf on the part of "dr." harry h. tobias, spiritual mental healer, with offices at east thirty-third street, and others, failed to procure them bonds. the arrest of beverly and mrs. dixon was made on a warrant signed by miss miller, who had entered into correspondence with them from her home in portland, ore. the fee in chicago was to have been $ , according to the letters she received from the mediums, as in the preceding instance. she borrowed money to come to chicago, and had but $ to pay the "healers." when she received no benefit from their treatment she made complaint and was threatened with violence, she alleges. thereupon she laid her case before chief collins, resulting in the raid and the closing up of this place. thus did the sleuth a-sleuthing vanquish the ubiquitous "spook," the "ghost," the "spirit," the re-incarnation, the mahatma, the "sending," and all the hosts of the immaterial world, whose immaterialism was being converted into good hard material cash by the producers of the evanescent shapes from beyond the veil. thus did clifton r. wooldridge and his able assistants make "spooking" a dangerous business in chicago. wife or gallows? prefers hanging to living with his wife. hugo devel prefers being hanged to living with his wife. unable to escape her in any other way, lacking the courage or nerve to kill himself, and shuddering at the idea of life imprisonment with the woman he had promised to love and cherish, he confessed to a murder he did not commit, and was ready to go upon the gallows or to penal servitude for life in the stead of the real murderer. [illustration: he'd rather be hanged than live with his wife.] now he is free, and miserable, and in his home at lubeck, in germany. he is envying franz holz, who is awaiting the gallows. devel admits sadly that he had a double purpose in wanting to die on the gallows. first, that he would escape his wife; and, second, that, by being hanged he would make it improbable that any other man should meet his fate--not his fate on the gallows, but his fate in having wedded frau devel. the case, which was cleared up by the hamburg police, furnished a problem that would have defied the cunning of sherlock holmes and all his kindred analysts. briefly stated, the facts in the case, which is the strangest one ever given to a detective department to solve, are these: woman was robbed and murdered. a few months ago a certain frau gimble, of munich, was cruelly murdered by a man. the evident motive of the deed was robbery, and that the crime was planned and premeditated there was sufficient evidence. every clew and circumstance pointed to franz holz. he was known to have been at or near the scene of the murder shortly before its commission. he knew the woman, and had knowledge that she kept a considerable sum of money in her home. he was known to have been without money for days prior to the murder, and immediately after the deed, and before the body was discovered, he had appeared with a quantity of money, made some purchases, bought drinks for acquaintances, and then disappeared. the police were on his trail within a short time after the finding of the body of the murdered woman. holz had fled toward berlin, and a warning was sent in all directions, containing descriptions of the fugitive. the awfulness of the deed attracted the more attention because of the locality and the ruthless and cruel manner of its commission. while the police were making a rapid search for the fugitive holz, hugo devel, a well-to-do tradesman in lubeck, surrendered himself to the police of his home town and confessed that he, and not holz, had committed the crime. devel had been in hamburg at the time the crime was committed. his confession, which destroyed all the evidence and all the theories implicating holz, staggered the detectives. devel confesses to the crime. although apparently saved from a remarkable network of circumstantial evidence, and no longer wanted for the murder of the gimble woman, the german police reasoned that holz, if he had not fled because of that crime, must have fled because of some other crime. so the department, which has a name a couple of feet long, which in english would mean, "the department for finding out everything about everybody," kept on the trail. meantime the police of hamburg got possession of devel and examined him. from the first they were uneasy. he confessed that he murdered the woman to get her money, and beyond that would not tell anything. it is not customary for the police to insist that a man who confesses that he is guilty of murder shall prove it, but there were facts known to the police which made them wonder how it was possible for devel to have killed the woman. they used the common police methods, and made the prisoner talk. the more he talked the more apparent it became to the police that he was innocent, although he still claimed vehemently that he, and he alone, killed the gimble woman. police learn he is not guilty. some of his statements were ridiculous. for instance, he did not know what quarter of the city the woman lived in. he did not know how she had been murdered. he said he climbed through a window and killed the woman. when pressed, he said the window was the dining-room window. in view of the fact that she was killed while working in a little open, outdoor kitchen when murdered, the police became satisfied that devel was not the man, and ordered the pursuit of holz resumed by all departments. the case even then was a remarkable one, and one which would have defied any theoretical detective. the police proved that it was impossible that devel should be confessing in order to shield holz--first, because he never knew holz; and second, because the police had informed him that the real murderer was in custody, in order to discover a reason for his confession. it was suspected that devel was partly insane and seeking notoriety. everything in his life refuted that idea. he was a quiet, orderly citizen, who seldom read newspapers, and who neither was interested in crime or criminals. he owned a small business in lubeck, attended to it strictly, drank little, and apparently was as sane as any one. searching for motive of confession. the case worried the police officials. the absolute lack of reason for devel's confession stimulated their curiosity. he was held in custody for weeks, and then the police gave up in despair, and, as holz had been arrested and had confessed to everything, the release of devel was ordered. the order of release proved the move that revealed the truth. when he was told that he was free to return home, devel broke down and begged the police to keep him in prison, to hang him, to poison him, but not to send him home. in his agony he confessed that the only reason he confessed the murder was that he desired to get hanged, and that he preferred hanging to life with his wife. the hard-hearted police set him free--literally threw him out of the prison, and he returned to his wife in lubeck. the following day he resumed charge of his business. an english correspondent visited devel in his shop and made certain inquiries of him regarding the case. as the hanging editor would say, "the condemned man was nervous." he was afraid his wife would read what he said, but the correspondent finally got him to tell. "i desired to be hung," said devel, mournfully. "life is not worth the living, and with my wife it is worse than death. if i had been hanged no other man would marry my wife, and i would save them from my fate. many times have i planned to kill myself to escape her. that is sin, and i lack the bravery to kill myself, besides. if they will not hang me i must continue to live with my wife." devel states, among other things, that these are the chief grievances against married life in general, and his wife in particular: she was slender, and became fat and strong. she was beautiful, and became ugly and coarse. she was tender, and grew hard. she was loving, and grew virulent. she grew whiskers on her chin. she called him "pig." she wore untidy clothes, and her hair was unkempt. she refused to give him beer. her breath smelled of onions and of garlic. she threw hot soup upon him. she continually upbraided him because there were no children. she scolded him in the presence of neighbors. she refused to permit him to bring his friends home. she came into his store and scolded him. she accused him of infidelity. she disturbed him when he slept in the garden on sundays. she made him cook his own dinners. she spilled his beer when he drank quietly with friends. she told tales about him among the neighbors, and injured his business. she served his sausages and his soup cold, and sometimes did not have his meals for him when he came home. she did not make the beds nor clean the house. she took cards out of his skat deck. she talked continually, and scolded him for everything or nothing. she opened the windows when he closed them, and closed them when he opened them. she poured water into his shoes while he slept. she cut off his dachshund's tail. these things, he said, made him prefer to be hanged to living with her. incidentally holz, who is awaiting execution, expresses an earnest desire to trade places with herr devel. there is no accounting for tastes. a clever shoplifter. detective wooldridge finds a fair criminal. while passing through the fair, one of the largest retail dry goods establishments in chicago, detective wooldridge noticed one of the cleverest shoplifters that ever operated in chicago, bertha lebecke, known as "fainting bertha." she was standing in front of the handkerchief counter, where her actions attracted wooldridge's attention, and he concluded to watch her. she called the girl's attention to something on the shelf and as she turned to get it bertha's hand reached out and took a half dozen expensive lace handkerchiefs, which disappeared in the folds of her skirt. the act was performed so quickly and with such cleverness that it would have gone unnoticed unless one were looking right at her and saw her take the handkerchiefs. from the handkerchief counter she went to the drug department, where she secured several bottles of perfume. as she was leaving this counter she met a central detective who had arrested her before for the same offense. he stopped a few yards from her to make some trifling purchases. she, thinking he was watching her, left the store. from the fair she went to siegel-cooper's, another large dry goods store several blocks away. detective wooldridge followed her. she was seen to go from counter to counter, and from each one she succeeded in getting some article. as she was leaving the store she was placed under arrest by detective wooldridge and taken to the police station. when she was arrested she fainted, and a great crowd gathered around her, and many of the women cried and implored detective wooldridge not to arrest her, but he would not be moved by any of them to let her go free. [illustration: "_fainting bertha_"] when she arrived at the police station she was searched, and beneath the folds of her skirt was found a strong waist pocket which looked like a petticoat. it consisted of two pieces of material gathered full at the top with a strong cord or puckering string run through, and sewed together around the edges. in front of this great bag was a slit two feet long opening from the top to within a few inches of the bottom. this petticoat was worn under the dress skirt. on each side of the outside skirt was a long slit concealed by the folds of the skirt, and with one hand she could slip the stolen articles in through the slit in the inside of her dress and into the petticoat bag to the opening in front. the capacity of the bag was enormous. she had stolen some $ or $ worth of goods when arrested. the following morning she was arraigned in the police court and heavily fined, and the goods were restored to the merchants. bertha lebecke, years old, is conceded by illinois state authorities to be the most troublesome person who ever crossed the state line from any direction at any time. just how large a cash bonus the state treasury today might be willing to advance could it be assured of bertha's deportation forever beyond the confines of illinois is something difficult to estimate, but it is certain that in the asylums for the insane at kankakee, elgin and bartonville, and in the state penitentiary at joliet there are attendants on salaries who would make personal contributions to help swell the possible fund. yet "fainting bertha" lebecke is one of the prettiest, blondest, most delicate handed little bits of well-developed femininity that ever made a marked success in deceiving people of both sexes and all conditions in public, afterwards deceiving officials of jails, asylums and penitentiaries until bars and gates and frowning walls were as cobwebs before her. sleeps all day; makes night hideous. gates of steel never have held her in jail or asylum. in the mightier penitentiaries she has made herself such an uncontrolled fury by night--sleeping calmly all day long and resting for the next seance--that penitentiary gates have opened for her in the hope of having her maintained as an asylum ward. after which "fainting bertha" has secured keys to asylum doors and gone her untrammeled way straight back to a police record which for years has shown her to be one of the most remarkable pickpockets, diamond snatchers and shoplifters of her time. making such a nuisance of herself in the penitentiary as no longer to be tolerated in a refined convict community, she proves her madness. in the locked, barred, asylum she proves her cunning at escape. and, once more at liberty, the abandon with which she goes after personal property in any form, at any time and under any circumstances, proves her skill as a thief and her unbalance in the "get away." there is her escape from the asylum at elgin on the night of december , . christmas eve she had fainted in the arms of an attendant and in the scurrying which followed had secured the keys to the gates. on the night of christmas she went out of the elgin asylum, boarded an electric car for aurora and bought a railroad ticket to peoria. stole $ , worth of goods in two days. on the way to peoria she relieved the conductor of $ in bills, secreting them in her hat. in peoria, within forty-eight hours, she had stolen a thousand dollars' worth of goods from stores, registered at three hotels under assumed names, and was in a chair car with a ticket for omaha when the peoria police had followed her easy tracks through the city. perhaps the broadest, most easily identified track was that which she left in a barber shop in the national hotel, where she appeared for an egg shampoo. two eggs had been broken into her shiny hair when bertha promptly fainted and rolled out of the chair. as a count of shop equipment showed nothing missing an hour later, the barber shop proprietor was at a loss as to the purpose of the faint. this girlish young woman, with the baby dimples and skin of peach and cream, the innocent blue eyes, and the smiles that play so easily over her face as she talks vivaciously and with keen sense of both wit and humor, is a study for the psychologist. there is no affectedness of speech--for the moment it is childishly genuine. she could sit in a drawing room and have half a dozen admirers in her train. but reform schools, asylums and penitentiaries are institutions through which this young woman has graduated up to that pinnacle of notorious accomplishment which today is centering upon "fainting bertha" lebecke the official attentions of a great state. what to do with her is the question. kept at south bartonville without locks. dr. george a. zeller, superintendent of the asylum for the incurable insane at south bartonville, having fought for the care of bertha in his institution, purposes to make her a tractable patient and willing to remain. he has the history of his institution back of him, from whose doors and windows he has torn away $ , worth of steel netting and steel bars. in the first place, "fainting bertha" will have nothing to gain by fainting at bartonville; she is promised merely a drowning dash of cold water when she falls. she can secure no keys by fainting, for the reason that there are no keys to doors. a nurse, wideawake for her eight-hour nursing duty, is always at hand and always watchful. "take away the show of restraint if you would have a patient cease fighting against restraint," is the philosophy of dr. zeller. "human vigilance always was and always will be the greatest safeguard for the insane." if "fainting bertha" lebecke were a grizzled amazon, even, she might be a simpler proposition for the state. she is too pretty and plump, however, to think of restraining by the harsher methods, if harsh methods are employed. she can pass out of a storm of hysterical tears in an instant and smile through them like a stream of sunshine. or as quickly she can throw off the pretty little witticism and airy conceit of her baby hands and become a vixen fury with blazing blue eyes that are a warning to her antagonist. and at large, exercising her charms, she can become the "good fellow" to the everlasting disappearance of half a dozen different valuables in one's tie or pockets. history of "fainting bertha." bertha lebecke says she was born in council bluffs, ia., in . save for the trick of raising her brows while animated, thus wrinkling her forehead before her time, she might pass easily for twenty-three years of age. in these twenty-seven years, however, bertha lebecke has kept the institutions of four states guessing--to some extent experimenting. her father was a cobbler, and there were five children, only one other of them living. the father is dead. the mother, with the one sister, is living in council bluffs. seven asylums and one state's prison have held her--for a time; kankakee three times and elgin twice, with two escapes from each place credited to her childish cunning. but today the face of bertha lebecke in trouble anywhere in christian civilization would draw helping funds for less than her asking. "don't write that i am the awful creature that the papers have pictured me," she exclaimed, with a tragic movement of her little hands. "oh, i have been a bad girl--i know that--but not as bad as they accuse me of being," burying her face in her arm. but in a moment she was sitting up, dry eyed, stitching on the bit of linen "drawn work" which she said was intended for gov. deneen at springfield. criticises the linen purchased by the state. "but what awful linen!" she exclaimed, holding it out to dr. zeller as she sat in a ward with twenty other women inmates regarded as among the hardest to watch and control among the , inmates of the great institution. "i'm surprised at you! can't you buy better linen than that?" but while she talked and the doctor smiled, a small key fitting nothing in particular was laid by dr. zeller close at hand and it disappeared in ten seconds. likewise a pencil from the doctor's pocket found its way almost unnoticed into "fainting bertha's" blonde hair. her smiling face all turned to frowns when finally, one at a time, he took the key from her waist and the pencil from its hiding place in her hair. "did you ever know a man named gunther?" asked dr. zeller suddenly. "yes--what of it?" she asked quickly, with a show of nervousness. "he is in the penitentiary." "good! good!" exclaimed the girl. "i'm delighted to hear it. he ought to have been there long ago, and he ought to stay there the rest of his life!" this was the man whom bertha charged with responsibility for her first wrong step as a girl, sending her first to the glenwood (ia.) home for the feebleminded. later she charges that this man taught her the fainting trick, by which she faints in the arms of a man or woman wearing jewelry or carrying money and in the confusion biting the stone from a pin and swallowing it, or with small, supple hand taking a purse from a pocket or a watch from its fob, perhaps with innocent eyes and dimpled face assisting the loser in the search for the missing valuable. bertha says gunther promised to marry her. "that man gunther promised to marry me," she said, lowering her voice. "he sent me out to steal and when i wouldn't do it he used to beat me when i came home. do you wonder i'm what i am?" there was a burst of what might have been tears. her face was buried and her figure shook with sobs. but in five seconds the dimpled face appeared again, dry eyed, and at a remark on the moment she turned toward her auditors, winking an eyelid slyly. "fainting bertha" lebecke has almost lost consecutive track of the asylums and prisons in which she has been locked. from this glenwood home for the feebleminded she was released. she got into trouble again and was sent to the clarinda state hospital for the insane. here, in the words of the superintendent, she was looked upon as a case of "moral imbecility, with some maniacal complications." here an operation was performed, and, in the opinion of the superintendent, she was eligible to discharge soon afterwards as improved. st. bernard's asylum at council bluffs cared for her for a time, but she succeeded in escaping from it and was not returned. in asylum no. at nevada, mo., in spite of the close watch kept upon her, "fainting bertha" escaped several times, but was caught soon after and returned to the institution. on december , , she was discharged as not insane and returned to omaha, where she had lived for a time. here bertha remained about two years, acting as a maid of all work in households. her experience in chicago and illinois is stranger than any fiction. most unruly prisoner in joliet. on a charge of shoplifting she was given an indeterminate sentence of one to ten years in the penitentiary at joliet. records of joliet prison show her to have been the most unruly prisoner ever confined in that institution. her conduct was such that prison physician fletcher declared that she was insane and she was sent to the asylum at kankakee. twice she escaped from kankakee, once, she says, with the aid of an employee of the institution, whom she refuses to name. this first escape was made within four months of her arrival at the institution; the second after a year. on her return to that institution for criminals her actions were such that the hospital authorities decided that she was not insane and sent her back to joliet prison. on this second imprisonment "fainting bertha" showed what she could do in making herself impossible even in a prison. her cell was in the north wing of the building, overlooking the street. she would appear in the window with her clothing torn to ribbons, shrieking that she was being murdered. according to prison officials, there was no language too impossible for her glib tongue. her furies of temper caused her to heap unspeakable abuse upon matrons and guards alike. deputy warden sims, responsible for order and discipline, says he has been abused by her beyond belief. her plan was to sleep in daylight and make the whole night hideous with her screams and cries and unspeakable language. penitentiary glad to be rid of her. as a last resort the tortured prison officials at joliet, taking the diagnosis of physician fletcher, sent her to the care of supt. podstata at the elgin asylum. there, after consultation of the asylum physicians, it was found that she should have been confined in an asylum for the feebleminded when she was younger; that, lacking this treatment, she had grown and developed such destructive tendencies that a hospital for the insane was the only haven for her. but bertha escaped from the asylum, which has for its safeguards the lock and the steel bar. locks and bars are nothing to "fainting bertha"! she was recaptured and returned, only that she might escape again on christmas night, finding her way to peoria, where her escapades in going through the town were marvels to the peoria police. the conductor on the peoria train from whom she took $ has not claimed his money. but half a dozen stores in which she operated and the salesman from whose samples in the fey hotel she took hundreds of dollars worth of silks, jewelry, clothing and perfumes got back some of the plunder, which detectives found piled around her in a chair car in an omaha train. the peoria police locked her up, and while the charges rested dr. zeller, of the asylum for the incurable insane at south bartonville, asked of dr. podstata and the penitentiary authorities the custody of "fainting bertha." warden murphy at joliet was delighted at the idea. supt. podstata at elgin was as greatly pleased. dr. zeller at south bartonville asylum for the incurable insane, receiving the young woman, was conscious of having a unique addition to the , other inmates of his barless cottages of detention. in the history of the south bartonville asylum only one female inmate has escaped, and she was found dead soon afterwards in a ravine into which she had fallen. pale blue color scheme of bertha's ward. "if bertha escapes here it will be the test of vigilance as opposed to locks and steel bars," is the summing up of the situation by dr. zeller. bertha is not wholly satisfied where she is. the food is not all she desires. she refers to her ward and its environment as "the dump." yet her particular "dump" is decorated in pale blue--part of the color scheme of the asylum management,--the color scheme of her ward being adapted to her particular temperamental degree of insanity. but while bertha has been gnawing diamonds from tie pins, one of her fraternity in ward classification has a record of gnawing the woodwork from at least a dozen other insane wards in as many institutions for the insane. how subtly conscious of her position "fainting bertha" may be on occasion was demonstrated the other day when it was arranged with dr. zeller that she should go with two nurses and the staff member in peoria in order that her picture might be taken in a local gallery. delighted at chance of going to town. with $ to her credit in the asylum's system of personal accounts, bertha wanted some of this sum for "shopping," but when it was refused she accepted the situation without particular protest. the idea of going uptown, five miles from south bartonville, was delightful. her spirits rose high at the idea, and when her nurses had brought her over to the administration building she dropped into the office chair occupied by dr. zeller, and in mock seriousness turned to the little group, asking what she could do for them. on the pekin and peoria electric road she was banked in next the window by her escorts, and was the pink of propriety until peoria was reached, save as occasionally she turned backward toward the conductor and smiled. and invariably the conductor smiled in return! "honey" was her designation of nurse quick. "i'm a perfect lady, ain't i, honey?" she repeated a score of times on the trip. in the photographer's gallery the snap of the camera shutter brought a start from the object of the lens, and the first picture in six years, save as the police authority of the state had insisted that she pose for it. but after the ordeal at the photographer's bertha wanted most of all a "square meal." miss quick knew of a restaurant where quiet prevailed and where there would be little incentive to bertha to faint, and there the little party adjourned for the "square meal." pie--apple or mince--was the dessert. took pie and candy back "home." "you won't mind, honey, if i take a pie home, will you?" miss quick didn't mind at all. and not minding the pie, miss bertha promptly buttered four rolls liberally and included in the package a bunch of celery which had been left over after she had passed it around insistently, time and again. at the candy counter just outside the dining room bertha balked amiably. "i don't like to presume on your good nature, but i know you won't object to a small box of candy?" she purred. the nurse didn't object to the -cent box; which was an inspiration to "fainting bertha." "but don't you think this is ever so much nicer?" the nurse had to admit that it was. it was a half-dollar box of mixed candies! "but i'm afraid it looks like imposing on your good nature just a little?" she smiled, as the cashier proceeded to wrap it up. "and you don't mind, honey?" to miss quick, who smiled indulgently, and with the pie, rolls, and celery in one hand and the box of candy in the other, bertha started back to the asylum for the incurable insane at south bartonville, five miles away. detention record of "fainting bertha." asylum for the feeble minded, glenwood, ia. discharged. insane asylum, glenwood, ia. discharged. insane asylum, nevada, mo. discharged after several escapes. st. bernard's asylum, council bluffs, ia. discharged. indeterminate sentence at joliet penitentiary. kankakee, ill., asylum for the insane. escaped. kankakee, ill., asylum for the insane. escaped. kankakee, ill., asylum for the insane. returned to joliet penitentiary. elgin, ill., asylum for the insane. escaped. elgin, ill., asylum for the insane. escaped. present address, asylum for the incurable insane, south bartonville, ill. but even the genial dr. zeller and his barless windows and lockless prison proved in time to be enervating to such a restless being as "fainting bertha." so, during june, , she made no less than three attempts to escape. she was, however, apprehended in each case before she reached peoria, and returned to the asylum. the authorities declare that she was really playing for theatrical effect rather than from any desire to get away from bartonville. be that as it may, the fact remains that if she desires to get out of bartonville she probably will, as she is the most resourceful criminal of her sex known to the authorities. front. a good front is a distinct asset. a good front is made up of neat, clean clothes, on a clean body, the whole housing a clean mind. a man with clean clothes on a dirty body, or dirty clothes on a clean body, is not wanted anywhere in the business world; and there is no place in the heavens above or the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth, that has room for the man with the dirty mind. but with the clean mind inside the clean body, and neat, simple, clean clothes on the outside of it, the young man has all the essentials of a good front. anything more is superfluous and tends to make him ridiculous. simplicity is the keynote. this moralizing on the value of front is suggested by observations and comparisons of the habits of certain chicago millionaires, and the ways of some of their cheap clerks, the latter having exaggerated ideas of putting up a false appearance of prosperity. these comparisons were so striking that they attracted the attention of detective clifton r. wooldridge, and during the course of his regular work he found time to tabulate a little, with startling results. the detective found that there are in chicago many young men living on very meager salaries, who have such exaggerated notions of the value of a prosperous appearance that they overshoot the mark, and frequently, as result of trying, as they think, to "look like a millionaire," they often succeed in looking very much like the famous animal with very long ears and a loud voice which one spoke to the prophet baalam. [illustration: (man in top hat walking next to man in buggy)] "it is easy to distinguish the real millionaire," said the great detective, in discussing this subject. "if he wants to get anywhere in a great city and his automobile happens to be engaged, he takes the same means of getting there as does the toiler in the mills or factory; he walks, or he rubs elbows on the street cars with the laboring men, many of whom never know that they are brushing against the owner of millions." stanley field's buggy. "stanley field runs around town in a crazy old country buggy, just like a farmer. he took this method of going about when the great teamsters' strike was on, and he was a member of the merchants' committee. "but i will bet you a good cigar that there are any number of little snippety ten-dollar clerks in the great establishment of which stanley field is the head, who would feel themselves eternally disgraced if they were seen in that buggy. "not for little mister-ten-dollar clerk! no, sir. he must go out and spend three dollars for a cab if he wants to get down town to a theatre. it is just this silly pride that makes forgers and embezzlers. "my advice to young men would be, 'keep your mind clean, your body clean and your clothes neat and clean. never mind about fancy show. men will respect you more if you follow this advice than they will if you squander money foolishly in the effort to put up a false front which deceives no one.'" out of hundreds of cases which wooldridge has run down, where embezzlement, forgery and theft, even of the pettiest sort, was at the bottom of the crime, the great detective declares that fully half of the cases had their origin in this silly attempt to appear something more than the real thing. silly pride is a teacher of crime, and a sure school mistress she is. and the absurdity, the bally foolishness of it all, is that these pitiful attempts deceive no one. every one knows solidity when they see it, just as they know sham when they see it. a self-respecting young man cannot afford to make of himself a sham, even by taking a cab when the millionaires walk or take the street car. fake pride leads to crime. on the other hand, many young men have plunged into a life of crime through over-spending their salaries, in the effort to convince every one who looked at them that they were on the directorate of the standard oil company. where the millionaire walks these silly young jackasses take a cab, and pay half a day's salary in order to ride two or three blocks. "i have seen john j. mitchell, the president of the illinois trust and savings bank, and one of our foremost financiers, walk from the northwestern station to the bank building, while right behind him a young donkey, who was working for $ a week in that very bank, would pay a cabby a dollar to drive him the seven short blocks from that same station to the bank. "it is just such young pinheads as that who afterwards turn out to be our embezzlers, forgers and financial criminals." the man who has made a name which is known in every corner of the united states as an authority on all kinds of frauds, snorted his indignation as he thought of the silly bank clerk. then he continued: "does anybody ever see arthur meeker take a cab to ride a few blocks? not on your life. he walks. so does cyrus mccormick, harold mccormick, r. hall mccormick, frank lowden, and any number of the other men whose names stand at the top of chicago finance. i see frank lowden on the indiana avenue cars, the line i take myself, time after time. he is one of the most democratic of men." last chance gone. identification bureau aided by nature. the criminal and the crooked members of the human race have a new and dangerous enemy in the finger print method of identification. the last hope of the enemies of society, the habitual criminals, is gone. the bertillon system sounded the death knell of the criminal so far as capture was concerned. the finger print system, as first set forth by sir francis galton and elaborated by sir edward henry, has made possible the absolute identification after capture. one of the first men to see the tremendous possibilities of the finger print system, as applied to the identification of suspects, was detective clifton e. wooldridge of chicago. through his efforts and that of others equally interested in the exact identification of criminals, the chicago police department established the finger print method of identification in , as a supplement to the bertillon system which was established in . the bertillon system catches the suspect. the finger print system makes sure that he is the criminal. the bertillon system, while a splendid thing for catching the thief, still left some loop-holes which needed strengthening. this was supplied by the finger print system. like the man and woman referred to in longfellow's hiawatha it is a case of "useless each without the other." when the two systems are worked together there is absolutely no possible escape for the apprehended suspect. the chicago police bureau of identification is the second largest in the world, and contains over , pictures. [illustration: trunk measurement, head length measurement, left middle finger measurement, right ear measurement. measurement of the stretch and the left foot. the bertillon system of identification by measurement.] by combining the bertillon measurements with the finger-print system the police department has woven a network of identification around the criminal which makes it practically an impossibility for him ever to disguise himself should he at any future time fall into the hands of the officials of the law. [illustration: (fingerprint form)] the finger print method was discovered about forty years ago by sir william herschell, then an english official in india. sir francis galton, a fellow of the royal society, was the first to systematize it, and the first to establish the fact that the papillary ridges of the fingers did not change through life. this was nearly twenty years ago. sir francis galton made the calculation that the chance of any two sets of finger prints being the same is one in , , , , and as an article from which the writer quotes states, "there are only , , , people in the world," its population would have to be increased ten times before two people were identical and means that a finger print as a mark of identification is practically infallible. perfected in london. sir edward henry, chief police commissioner, london, england, is the man who perfected the system, as it is now used, classifying finger prints by signs and numerals, so that it is now considered perfect. the finger prints of women are the same as men, except in size, while the prints of negroes are the clearest and strongest, owing to the thickness of skin and moisture from perspiration, and it has not yet been demonstrated that finger prints are any indication of character. while quite a large number of cities and penal institutions in the united states have adopted and are now using the bertillon system of criminal identification, it is to be regretted that it has not been more generally adopted by all cities of a population not less than , , and by all penitentiaries, reformatories and county jails. universally applied under competent instructors, nearly every professional criminal would, in a few years, be recorded, so that it would only become necessary to keep up with the new additions to the ranks of the criminal classes. it has been thoroughly established that the papillary ridges of fingers never change during life. from infancy to senility and until long after death no change ensues in the fingers. though partially destroyed by injury, the original lines retain their pristine characteristics when healed. this is nature's method of identification, and no record can be found of the digits of two persons having exactly the same characteristics. numerous instances could be cited of twins and triplets whose finger prints afforded the only means of distinguishing one from the other. [illustration: magnified finger print the above is an enlarged print of a right index finger, which we classify as an ulnar loop. loops on different fingers are not all alike, but vary in many important characteristics, so it is a very easy matter to distinguish one from another.] [illustration: finger print outfit] instructions for taking finger prints. instruments required: a piece of tin, ordinary printer's ink, and a -cent rubber roller are all the tools necessary for getting the impression. it requires no special training to take finger impression, and any rural constable can, with ten minutes' practice, take a set of good finger prints in five minutes. after having a week's practice he could take them in three minutes. scotland yard method. at scotland yard a metallic brace is in use for the purpose of forcing refractory prisoners to leave correct impressions upon the records. one application of this brace is persuasive enough to cause the culprit to hasten to comply with a request for his signature. a small slab stone is covered with ink, which is distributed with a sprayer, and the prisoner is compelled to place his fingers in the ink and then firmly implant them upon paper. on a regular prescribed form impressions are taken so that the flexure of the last joint shall be at a given point on the record. the digits are taken singly and then an imprint is made of all of them simultaneously. when the prisoner has finished imprinting the record he is called upon for his signature, and immediately underneath the name, as written by himself, an imprint is left of the right forefinger. for the edification of american police, mr. ferrier demonstrates that upon a sheet of paper you may sprinkle some charcoal dust and press it upon the paper with your thumb and then blow the dust off and the imprint of the digit will remain. most positive identification. but this thumb print possibility in commercial papers has its greatest future in the positive identification which either thumb or finger print carries with it. criminologists all over the world have satisfied themselves of the absolute accuracy of the finger print identification. it would be hard to figure just how many constantines were arrested or kept under surveillance following the horrible murder in chicago, the suspicions aroused by personal resemblances to the criminal's photograph and especially by the prominent gold tooth of the man. but in a criminal's finger print the merest novice anywhere in the world may take an ink impression of the fingers of the suspected criminal, and if these prints should be in the bureau of identification at scotland yard, with its , records of individuals, the man would be identified positively within half an hour--identified not only by the experts of the bureau, but an ordinary citizen would be an authority in attesting the proof. this is a suggestion of the absolute accuracy of identifications on commercial paper. at the present time traveling salesmen who spend much money and who wish to carry as little as possible of cash with them, have an organized system by which their bankable paper may be cashed at hotels and business houses over the country. applied to immigrants. major r. w. mcclaughry, warden of the federal prison at leavenworth, sees in the finger print system a possibility which might be taken cognizance of by the government at ellis island. with the millions of immigrants who have come and who still are to come to these shores, the finger print requirement would simplify many of the tangles of many kinds which result from this inrush of foreign population. aside from the fact that many of this country's criminals are foreign born, it remains that civil identifications of such people are matters of great moment. titles and estates have hung in the balance of incomplete identifications of persons who are claimants in the united states. fifty years after a finger print is registered that same finger, or group of fingers, will prove the personality of the one registering. in case of accidents of many kinds one hand or the other is most likely to escape mutilation, and a post-mortem imprint of the fingers still is proof of identity. the finger print system is being taken up more rapidly than was the bertillon, largely owing to the fact that police departments, recognizing that a scientific system gives far greater results and can in no way be compared with the old method of describing criminals, by color, age, height, weight, eyes, hair, etc., are more willing than formerly to intelligently investigate and test new methods. under the bertillon system it is contended that the bones of the human anatomy stop growing after the age of twenty-one years. in consequence measurements taken of juvenile offenders under that age are practically of little use, as they show too wide a variance with measurements taken in after years, and are not a certain source of identification. the identification from imprint taken from the finger tips of both hands can be recorded as soon as the child is born, and no matter at what time of life a record is again taken of the subject, absolute identification can be had, as the papillary ridges of the palmer surface of the finger tips present the same formation until death, and even though some of the fingers become mutilated, amputated or lost, sufficient prints would remain on the other fingers to produce identification. while it is claimed that the finger print system is sufficient unto itself for all identification, after working each system side by side for a number of years, i believe that both systems should be installed in all cities, penitentiaries, etc., especially as they both will be given an impartial and thorough test here, with the result that it will be the survival of both, or of the fittest. keep bad men out of service. in these government departments it is expected that the finger print records will serve to keep undesirable people out of the service, as well as to afford a complete method of identifying every member, or past member, in years to come. both branches of the war department, the army and navy, had first installed the bertillon system, and within the last year the finger print system, thereby recognizing both, but apparently giving the finger print system the preference; owing to the many ways it can be applied in the service, and especially as to recording all enlisted men and to the identification of those who might be maimed or killed in battle, whose identity might be sought afterward, or to identify deserters; or if a soldier or sailor has lost his honorable discharge paper, he can go to any enlisting office, have his finger prints taken, his identity established, and new papers issued, thereby avoiding red tape or having about one dozen affidavits from different people to substantiate his claim. not only as a means of detecting and identifying criminals may the finger print be used, but its usefulness in various ways is easily demonstrated. it is clearly within the range of possibility that the traveler a few years hence may be called upon to imprint an identifying finger mark upon his letter of credit or certified check. [illustration: (fingerprints on check.)] as a means of preventing-fraud or securing the signatures of those who cannot write, the finger print system is invaluable, as the mark may be easily forged, but the finger's impress can be only made by the proper party and cannot be duplicated by others. the thumb or finger tips will leave an imprint upon glass, polished metal or wood, owing to the moisture and natural oil oozing from the cuticle. it is a simple matter to procure such imprints when wanted, and they can be turned over to the authorities for identification of a suspect. secure prints of all criminals. if peace officers throughout the country would secure finger prints of all criminals passing through their hands and forward them to a central bureau it would facilitate the apprehension and identification of malefactors. as a preventive of repeating at elections, the finger print identification would serve an admirable purpose. when an elector registered he could leave an imprint of his fingers upon the registration book, and when he went to vote a glance at the registration list and comparison of the imprint made at the polls would readily establish his identity if the prints tallied. the natives of india decline to recognize the validity of any document beneath the signature of which is not imprinted a reproduction of the whorls or loops of the thumb of the signer, alleging that a person might deny his own signature, but that the finger prints afford incontrovertible evidence, as no two people can make the same impression with their thumbs upon paper. upon opening an account with a bank in india the depositor leaves the impress of his right thumb upon the roll of depositors and none of his paper will be honored unless checks are thus imprinted. in the same country pensioners are compelled to imprint their thumbs upon receipts for pension money, and thus obviate the likelihood of other persons drawing the stipend rightfully belonging to the veteran. the best test of a system is its practical use and the results derived, and one of the most important matters is uniformity in all branches of work, classification, filing, size of cards, etc., so that, as the system becomes universal, it will be operated on identical lines in all countries. from my observation of the practical workings of the system, i believe that at new scotland yard, london, to be the best. finger print system furnishes complete identification. in paris a public house or saloon was broken into one morning, and it was found that the owner had been murdered and that apparently there was no clew to the murderer. on arriving at the saloon they found a table on which drinks had been served, and on which were found a number of glasses. on close investigation finger prints were discovered on each. finger prints were also found on a knife by the side of the body and on a decanter. on comparison it was found that the prints were made by the same person. on causing the arrest of the different people who had been seen to visit the saloon they were finger-printed and a comparison made, with the result that the murderer was arrested and a confession obtained within ten days, followed by conviction. at new scotland yard, london, a little boy was brought in and two sets of his finger prints taken and filed away in separate steel deposit vaults. the boy was an orphan and an heir to a very large fortune in africa. his finger prints were taken as a protection, so that if anything happened to him, or he disappeared, or he had to prove his identity to claim his estate, or provided he died and proof of the identity of the body was required, such proof could be shown with absolute certainty. an interesting case nearer home is that of a recent arrest in chicago of a man that the authorities were convinced was a professional criminal, and from his accent and other indications they believed him to be an english professional crook. his bertillon measurements and finger prints were taken at the bureau of identification by captain m. p. evans, superintendent of the bureau, and a copy of the photograph and finger prints given to mr. william a. pinkerton, of the pinkerton national detective agency. mr. pinkerton, who is a personal friend of frank c. froest, superintendent of the criminal investigation department of new scotland yard, london, mailed the finger prints to him without any other memorandum, data or the picture, simply making the test on the finger prints. he received a reply from inspector frank c. froest, giving the name of the criminal, and a long record of some fourteen arrests and the picture, so as to authenticate the identification, and also a statement from superintendent froest that the identification was made inside of three minutes from a collection of over , records. the identification was absolutely correct. the prisoner, on being shown the letter, admitted his guilt. if a clerk handles papers or letters on his employer's desk, it is a very easy matter of detection. by means of a little syringe filled with a powder blown on the paper, the finger prints are reproduced with startling clearness. broken glass proves guilt. some pieces of broken glass had been taken to scotland yard, four days previous to the ward, lock & co. burglary. these fragments of glass had been picked up at the london city mission, where a burglar had broken through a window and carried off a clock and other articles. no one could be connected with the crime after a most thorough detective hunt. the one remaining source was a bit of glass on which finger prints had been noticed. these were photographed and compared with the finger prints of all the recent records. surprisingly enough, they corresponded exactly with those of the young clerk who had been found stealing books from the publishers' warehouse. instead of being a clerk, he was a very adept young burglar. on this new evidence the prisoner was sentenced to twelve months at hard labor. about a month before this a similar case occurred in london. a man was arrested on tower hill carrying a pair of boots wrapped up in a brown paper. he said he had been employed to carry the parcel to fenchurch street station. he was held on suspicion. later in the day it was discovered that the boots had been stolen from a neighboring store, and that on the transom, which had been broken, there was a perfect imprint of a man's finger. inspector collins, superintendent of the finger print department at new scotland yard, examined the print and found it corresponded to the mark of the suspected man's left forefinger made on the brown paper parcel in which the boots were wrapped. the evidence was conclusive, the man pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to nine months at hard labor. about the same time another interesting case occurred in staffordshire, england. there had been a wholesale burglary of a large jeweler's shop. the perpetrator had left distinct finger marks on a plate glass shelf in a window. these marks were photographed and sent to new scotland yard. they were identified as belonging to william davis, a notorious burglar who had been confined at wakefield prison in . the man was hunted up. he was found living near the place of the recent robbery under the name of john mcnally. he at first denied the recent offense, but afterward made a full confession. but for these tell-tale finger marks, he might have continued to ply his trade unsuspected under his new name, in a district where the local police did not know him. in one of the large banks where the finger print system was introduced, they make it a rule that when a depositor cannot read or write, he shall, in addition to making his mark in the old way on checks or documents, place the finger print of the thumb or index finger on them. important in will contests. finger prints are also used in the making of wills, so that while the signature of the testator may be contested, it is almost impossible to contest the signature of the fingers, for so long as the skin of the fingers of the dead person can be taken up, just so long can the finger print impression be obtained to verify the living imprint. it is only a question of time before all large transportation companies, like express and railways, whose employes handle packages of money or other valuables, will be required to place their finger prints on file, so that when money or valuables are missing the cover of the package will indicate who handled or tampered with it. how to detect a forger. how to detect a forger as one of the cleverest of operating criminals has been solved by the "thumb print" method of identification now spreading through the rogues' galleries of the world. it is quite as interesting as the suggestion that through the same thumb print method in commercial and banking houses the forger is likely to become a creature without occupation and chirographical or other means of support. the system is not only a great aid in preventing the forgeries of commercial brigands, but the easiest of all means for a person in a strange city to identify himself as the lawful possessor of check, or note, or bank draft which he may wish to turn into cash at a banker's window. used in ancient times. a thousand years ago the chinese were using the thumb print signatures in commercial business. its practical adaptation today is explained at a glance in the check reproduced here, as it was filled out by mr. mcclaughry himself. in this check the design is that the maker of the check, before leaving home for a distant city, shall draw the check for the needed sum and, in the presence of the cashier of his bank, place one thumb print in ink somewhere over the amount of the check as written in figures. thereupon the cashier of the bank will accept the check as certified by his institution. with this paper in his possession the drawer of the check may go from his home in new york to san francisco, stranger to every person in the city, but at the window of any bank in that city, presenting his certified check to a teller who has a reading glass at his hand, the stranger may satisfy the most careful of banks by a mere imprint of his thumb somewhere else upon the face of the check. had this simple thumb print been used in the stensland bank, no handwriting expert would have been needed to establish the genuineness of any note under question. with the ink thumb print of the cashier of a bank placed on a bank draft over his signature and over the written amount of the draft, chemical papers and the dangers of "raising" or counterfeiting the draft would be an impossibility. the thumb prints of the secretary of the united states treasury, reproduced on the face of greenback, silver certificate and bank note of any series, would discourage counterfeiting as nothing else ever has done. safeguard on seals of letters and money packages. as an aid in the transmission of sealed packages, the thumb print is invaluable. the print will determine absolutely whether the wax has been broken in transit, and it will also establish the identity of the person putting on the seal. packages so protected have been left by train robbers where all other packages in the safe were taken. the thumb print was too suggestive of danger to make tampering with such packages safe. in the ordinary usage of the thumb print on bankable paper, the city bank having its country correspondents everywhere, often is called upon to cash a draft drawn by the country bank in favor of that bank's customer, who may be a stranger in the city. the city bank desires to accommodate the country correspondent as a first proposition. the unidentified bearer of the draft in the city, may have no acquaintance able to identify him. if he presents the draft at the window of the big bank, hoping to satisfy the institution and is turned away, he feels hurt. by the thumb print method he might have his money in a moment. identifying strangers. in the first place, even the signature of the cashier of the country bank will be enough to satisfy its correspondent in the city of the genuineness of the draft. before the country purchaser of the draft has left the bank issuing the paper he will be required to make the ink thumb print in a space for that purpose. without this imprint the draft will have no value. if the system should be in use, the cashier signing the draft will not affix his signature to the paper until this imprint has been made in his presence. then, with his attested finger print on the face of the draft the stranger in the city may go to the city bank, appearing at the window of the newest teller, if need be. this teller will have at hand his ink pad, faced with a sheet of smooth tin. he never may have seen the customer before. he never may see him again. but under the magnifying influences of an ordinary reading glass he may know, past the possibility of doubt, that in the hands of the proper person named in the draft, the imprint which is made before him has been made by the first purchaser of the draft. signing bonds and stocks. in the more important and complicated transactions in bank paper one bank may forward from the bank itself the finger print proofs of identity. the whole field of such necessities is open to adapted uses of the method. notes given by one bank to another in high figures may be protected in every way by these imprints. stock issues and institution bonds would be worthy of the thumb print precautions, as would be every other form of paper which might tempt either the forger or the counterfeiter. in any case, where the authenticity of the paper might be questioned the finger print would serve as absolute guarantee. in stenographic correspondence, where there might be inducements to write unauthorized letters on the part of some person with wrong intent, the imprint of finger or thumb would make the possibility of fraud too remote for fears. for, in addition to the security of signatures in real documents, the danger in attempting frauds of this kind is increased. the beauty of the finger print system is that there is absolutely no chance for error. the finger prints of the child of eighteen months will be the same as the finger prints of the man of eighty. no laceration, wound, or mutilation can disturb the essentials of the outline of the finger print. the only escape for the criminal is to cut off all of his fingers, and even then the toe prints would be as effective. as to the physical necessities in registering finger prints, they are simple and inexpensive. a block of wood faced with smooth tin or zinc the size of an octavo volume, a small ink roller, and a tube of black ink are all that is required. for removing the ink on the thumb or finger a towel and alcohol cleanser are sufficient. a tip impression or a "rolled" finger signature may be used. only a few seconds are required for the operation. [illustration: the bertillon system of identification instruments used in the measurement of criminals by the bertillon system of measurements.] objects to having finger impressions recorded. in one of our prisons recently, a man who had just been sentenced was brought up, and while he made no opposition to being measured by the bertillon system, he objected strongly to having his finger impressions recorded. this caused the identification expert to be suspicious, and he submitted a duplicate record to the scotland yard police, in london, with the result that the man was at once identified as a murderer who had escaped from a prison in england, and was taken back there. when confronted with the english record, the convict at once admitted his identity. an express company lost a large sum of money which was being sent from one point to another in a sealed package. during transmission the seals were broken, the money abstracted and the package resealed with wax. at first the express company were absolutely unable to locate the thief, but later on it was discovered that in resealing the package, the thief had wet his finger and pressed it on the warm wax, leaving a distinct imprint. the finger impressions of all the agents through whose hands the package passed, were taken, with the result that the thief was easily identified, a confession obtained and the money recovered. a jewelry store was entered and valuable diamonds that were on display on glass trays in the windows were stolen. in doing this the thieves left the imprints of their fingers on the glass. an expert, on making investigation with a powerful magnifier, discovered the imprints and by a careful photographic process was able to reproduce them on paper. a research being made among a collection of , finger-print records revealed the fact that the prints left on the glass tray were those of a well-known professional burglar, whose record had been taken some two years previously, while undergoing sentence in state prison. as a result the man was arrested and, through him, his partner in the crime, resulting in a conviction and the recovery of most of the goods. the london police in investigating a burglary discovered in the pantry of a house a partly empty bottle of ale, which had been full the previous day. there were finger prints on the bottle, which was protected by a cardboard shield and taken to scotland yard, where the prints of the photograph, afterwards, were found to correspond with those of mcallister, who had just previously been released from jail. mcallister, on his arrest, in some way learned that they had his finger prints, and, realizing their value as evidence, made a circumstantial admission which led to the recovery of the goods and the conviction of his partner, alexander harley, on whose premises the property was found. a half-empty bottle of wine was discovered in the room of an old woman at asnieres, france, she having been murdered. a close examination of the bottle revealed finger prints, which were submitted to m. bertillon, the great identification expert, who caused large photographs to be made, and who, after research, declared they were the imprints of a hospital attendant named gales, who has since been arrested, charged with the murder, and convicted. murder revealed by finger prints. recently in london a murder was committed, and in order to destroy any chance of detection, the murderer took the tin of his shoe lace and cut the tips of his fingers in all directions. he was suspected of the crime and arrested. the officers found blood prints on the furniture and other things in the house where the murder was committed, and when the man's fingers healed his prints were taken and corresponded exactly with those discovered by the officers; conviction followed. where large bodies of chinese or negroes are employed on government or public work it is often difficult to stop men from representing themselves as being other men and signing the pay roll to obtain the wages due others. nowadays the thumb print of each employee is taken and when he comes up to draw his money and there is any doubt as to his identity he makes a fresh imprint, which easily disposes of the matter. rich men disposing of their property by will, in addition to their regular signature, also place the finger prints of both hands on the paper, thereby insuring the authenticity of the document. an easy way to protect a check is to put the thumb print where the figures are written in. among the most noted of these is the case of thomas wilson, who a few years ago committed a burglary and most atrocious murder near windsor, england. besides the bludgeon with which he felled his unsuspecting victim, wilson carried a lantern which was blackened by smoke, and, after accomplishing his design of robbery, the fiend took his departure. as he made his escape after the foul murder, wilson picked up the smoke-begrimed lantern and left upon it an imprint of a thumb wet with the blood of his victim. sent to gallows by bloody thumb print. with the cunning of the criminal he covered his tracks, and as a last resort chief henry of scotland yard secured the lantern bearing the tell-tale print and resolved to try the efficiency of the ancient chinese method of fixing responsibility by finger tracks. this astute detective had paid some attention to the fact that no two hands would leave a similar imprint, and, working upon this theory, he pursued a still hunt until he found a man whose right thumb made an imprint identical with that upon the lantern. when found, vigorous denial followed accusation, but measurements were drawn to such a fine point that the culprit finally confessed and expiated his heinous crime upon the gallows. recently the perpetrator of an extensive burglary in the jewelry shop of mr. bickley, lord mayor of staffordshire, england, left the imprint of his fingers upon a plate glass shelf. the shelf was sent to scotland yard and the finger-print record disclosed a duplicate in the records left by the digits of william davis, well known to the authorities. when confronted with the mute evidences of guilt the culprit confessed. in a police court at london a few months ago a man appeared who declined to give any name or address. a detective thought he recognized him as john white, wanted for a jewel robbery some time before, though his facial appearance had changed and did not tally with photographs held by the police. however, the imprint left by his fingers when in custody before had not changed a particle and his identity was established. after the success attained in numerous instances the authorities at scotland yard decided to adopt the system and have now so perfected it that no malefactor who leaves a finger print can hope to escape ultimate punishment. mr. wm. a. pinkerton, of the famous pinkerton's national detective agency, and without doubt one of the greatest criminal experts, on his return from europe, in an interview published recently, says: "during my visit at new scotland yard, london, i was greatly interested in the high state of efficiency which the finger print system of identification has reached in the police service of london. the bureau of finger prints there is one of the most marvelous departments i ever examined. identification of criminals has been reduced practically to a matter of bookkeeping. you get the finger print and then simply turn up your indexes, and you know your man at once. a criminal may shave or grow his beard, become stout or thin, alter his appearance to a considerable extent, but the one constant feature of his makeup is his finger prints. "the only safe way for criminals nowadays is to wear gloves when they go out on a job, for the impressions they leave of the fingers are found by detectives on glasses, newspapers, dusty tables, and the slightest impression of the fingers on a damp table or paper can, by the process in use at the yard, serve as an adequate means of identification." government to keep watch on criminals. the united states government at washington, d. c., has established a criminal identification bureau, or what may be called an "habitual criminal registry," for keeping the records of all men convicted of crimes against the federal laws, and also all indicted by grand juries of the united states courts. the bureau is to be under the supervision of the department of justice, and all prisons in the united states where government prisoners are or have been confined have been directed to send their records, consisting of photographs, bertillon measurement cards and finger-print identification sheets immediately to the department of justice. this bureau is intended to be used for the identification of federal lawbreakers. it has been urged for some time by criminologists. heretofore each prison in the united states has kept its own records, and a federal lawbreaker could serve a term in one prison and be freed without the fact ever becoming known that he had served a previous term for a similar offense in another penitentiary. now all records are to be classified in washington, and not in any of the federal jails or prisons. the bertillon measurements, photographs and _finger prints_ of the convicts are to be taken and sent to the central bureau. also, the records of all men suspected of being yeggmen, train or postoffice robbers are to be taken. those held in federal jails under indictment, etc., are to be sent there. this bureau will ascertain the record of each man from the date he has, and if one not yet given trial proves to be an habitual criminal, this fact will be made known to the prosecuting attorney and the judge previous to the hearing, and if the man is convicted it will mean that he will be given the limit sentence. at the present time there are about , known criminals who violate the government laws, and a close tab is to be kept upon these in the future. it will go hard on a known criminal convicted in a united states court hereafter. burglary a science. up-to-date professional burglar must be skilled in latest methods. electricity now a factor. it has taken the place of dynamite and the jimmy in advanced safe looting. scientific equipment of burglar includes high-class automobile. jobs at country houses usually planned far in advance, and with intimate knowledge of loot to be gained. [illustration: _how burglar unlocks doors._ unlocking a door is one of the easiest tasks of the professional burglar. his ingenuity defies the efforts of locksmiths to invent safety devices. the picture shows how an expert turns a key in the lock, and also a simple device to prevent this.] the up-to-date burglar must have a motor car, the use of which is only a part of his scientific equipment. that the modern burglar does not consider that he is properly equipped unless he possesses a motor car is an incontrovertible fact. house-breaking nowadays has been reduced to a science. the use of gloves renders detection by finger prints impossible. besides, the modern burglar's tools are most scientifically made. the men who make it their business to manufacture these tools are first-class workmen. the majority of large country burglaries are planned for days in advance, and every detail is most carefully arranged. in some mysterious manner the word is conveyed to the gang that a visit will be made on a certain day, by a member of the household which it is intended to rob, to a jeweler's shop. the train is met at the terminus and the person followed to the jeweler's or wherever they go. when they enter the shop a man strolls in casually and makes some inquiries. while an assistant is attending to his supposed wants it is very easy for him to see what the person at the same counter is purchasing and, having obtained all the necessary information, the man leaves and imparts all his information to his confederates. before a county ball or such function a visit to the jeweler's is often necessary to get the family diamonds, and the fact that this visit is going to be made is either communicated or anticipated, and the same system of following is put in operation. equipped with all the desired information, the modern burglar then brings his motor car into operation. there is no tedious waiting for trains; he simply drives down to the "crib" and avoids the old-fashioned way of taking a train at a small wayside station, with the chances of being arrested on his arrival in the metropolis. if he is noticed on the road he is taken for a rich man touring in his car, and if a great social function is in progress he is regarded as a belated guest. the car is carefully stalled in an obscure place while the robbery takes place. the booty is subsequently placed in it and a quick trip back to town is made. the police are left practically without a single clew. those members of the community who make a business, or a profession, rather, of burglary keep up with the march of science quite as closely as do people in a more legitimate calling. the burglar of today is a vastly differently equipped individual from the one of a generation ago. he must of necessity be an enterprising and daring man, and in addition to that if he would make a success of safe cracking in this twentieth century he must be something of a scientist as well. the great progress made in the manufacture of safes for the storage of valuables has brought about this revolution in the burglar's methods, and it is a regrettable fact to note that no matter how strong and secure safes may be made, the ingenuity of the scientific burglar is pretty sure to devise some method to overcome their security. the most recent development in the burglar's advancement is the use of electricity to open safes in place of the old-time jimmy and the more recent dynamite. old-time strong box. years ago the old-fashioned strong box was considered quite an adequate protection for hoarded wealth and was the legitimate successor of the stocking in which the gold pieces were carefully stored and hidden away. the strong box of wood bound with iron and with ponderous locks proved but child's play for the burglar thoroughly intent upon obtaining its contents. then came the more modern iron and steel safe, with its thick plates of highly tempered metal and ingeniously complicated time locks. safe breakers have more than kept pace with improvement in safes, including time locks, chilled steel chests of eight or nine inches thicknesses and electric protective attachments. their tools are made by some of the finest mechanics and inventive geniuses of the world. a full kit of the most approved modern safe workers' tools costs about $ , . the modern burglar is like love in one respect; he "laughs at locksmiths." yet he is not much of an artist, although he is rapidly improving. the simple tools of the burglars' trade indicate how easily the contrivances made to bar his progress are overcome. yet these tools give no mark of great mechanical genius. they are as crude as the average burglar is. they are in keeping with his practices of force and brutality. the destructive power of the best pieces of handiwork is their main advantage, and doubtless an illustration of the house-breaker's stunted idea, that the best way to overcome obstacles is in all cases to break them down. the tools used by the burglar are supplied to him. they are made by men after his own heart, and who make for him what is most effective in his hands. no doubt there are smart men engaged in the business of defying law and setting the rights of honest people at naught. some of the methods they employ might be used to their credit in a commendable industry. jimmy is necessary. there are places where the jimmy is absolutely indispensable to the burglar. front doors, which a house proprietor usually has doubly bolted and barred and supplied with improved locks, are the last apertures in the world a night marauder would seek to enter. it must be an amusing thing to the burglar, after noting the precautions taken to prevent his entrance by the street door, when he has walked through the skylight on the roof without the slightest resistance, or dropped through the coal-hole leading to the cellar from the sidewalk, to find that no doors bar his passage from there to the rooms above. those are the popular ways of getting into many banks and business houses. the basement door, at the rear, if there is one, is another. in such case the jimmy is the magic wand that opens the way. it is more useful to the burglar than any half dozen of his other implements, and is the first thing he purchases when getting an outfit. how do safe burglars get their tools? why, every man of any account in that line has what he calls "his man," who is a practical mechanic, and makes everything in the shape of jimmies, punches, etc., that the burglar uses. a safe blower's outfit consists of many curious tools, some of them being of special design for some particular class of work of which the owner is the originator. scarcely any two men work alike, and some of the clever ones invent instruments to do a certain part of their work. when a well-known notorious crook was arrested several years ago in his room, the officers found one of the finest kits of burglars' tools that was ever brought into police headquarters. talk about ingenuity--if that man had applied but one-third of the intelligence to a legitimate business that he had spent in devising tools for robbery, he would have been a millionaire today. twenty years ago when burglars started out to rob a safe they filled a carpet sack with highly tempered drills, copper sledges, sectional jimmies, dark lanterns, powder and a fuse. on the way they stole a horse and wagon, filling the latter with the greater portion of the tools of a country blacksmith shop. they would work on the safe from four to six hours, and finally blow it open with a fine grade of ducking powder. usually the shock would break all the glass in the building, arouse the town, and the burglars would often have to fight for their lives. in those days the men had to be big and powerful, because the work was extremely laborious. if the burglar was an ex-prize fighter or noted tough, so much the better, for he could make a desperate resistance in case he was caught in the act, or immediately after it. with the modern safe burglar it is almost totally different. although much more skillful and successful than his predecessor, he is more conservative. he seldom runs his own head into danger, and therefore seldom endangers the head of a law-abiding citizen by permitting his head to come into contact with him or the job while it is under way. every precaution is taken against being surprised, and it is seldom the robbery is discovered until the cashier's appearance the next morning. the modern safe burglar is an exceedingly keen, intelligent man. he can open a safe having all modern improvements in from ten minutes to two hours without the aid of explosives and by only slightly defacing the safe. sometimes he leaves scarcely a mark. a first-class modern safe, whether large or small, generally has double outside and inside doors, with a steel chest in the bottom, forming really a safe within a safe, the inside being the stronger. the outside door is usually either "stuffed" or "skeleton." the inside one is made of eight or nine sheets, of different temper, of the finest steel. these sheets are bolted together with conical bolts having left-hand threads, after which the heads of the bolts are cut off, leaving what is virtually a solid piece of steel, which no drill can penetrate. the best locks are of the combination type, with time lock attachment. in many cities and town safes containing the valuables have an electric alarm attached. any tampering with it will communicate the fact to the owners or the safe's guardian, which in cities is either an electric protective bureau or a central police station. a recent invention in france is a photographic attachment. as soon as the safe is touched this device will light an electric lamp, photograph the intruder and give the alarm at the electric protective company's office. as a consequence safe-breaking is going out of date in france, as the cleverest criminals have so far failed to find a way to circumvent the camera. the first thing considered by a gang of the finest experts is a desirable bank's location and the chances for getting safely away with the plunder. every transportation facility is carefully considered. as the work is almost invariably done at the season of the year when wagon roads are impassible, railroad time tables are carefully considered. in these days of the telegraph and telephone the gang must be under cover in a large city or concealed with friends by the time the crime is discovered, which, at the utmost, is about six hours after the crime has been committed. from november to march is the safe burglar's harvest time, because then the nights are longest and the chances of detection less, as fewer people are on the streets and houses adjoining, being tightly closed to exclude the cold, exclude noises also. a man can, furthermore, carry tools in an overcoat without attracting attention, that he could not wear with a summer suit. the remainder of the year is spent in "marking" the most desirable banks for future operations. four men, who compose the ordinary safe mob, will put up from thirty to forty "jobs" for a winter's work, allowing for all contingencies. from six to ten of these will be carried out. a bank safe will be broken into in a small town in maine, and in ten days the gang will be operating in texas. [illustration: (burglar blowing up safe, part )] [illustration: (burglar blowing up safe, part )] [illustration: (burglar blowing up safe, part )] [illustration: (burglar blowing up safe, part )] [illustration: (burglar blowing up safe, part )] [illustration: (burglar blowing up safe, part )] having decided on a bank, the habits of the cashier and other chief employees are carefully studied; but, above all, of those who visit the bank after working hours, chief of whom is the watchman, if the bank has one. if the watchman drinks, or spends time visiting women when he should be at the bank, the bank is an easy prey. weeks, and sometimes even months, are spent in putting up a job of magnitude, and a number of smaller jobs are done to carry out one where the proceeds may run into the tens of thousands of dollars. men visit the town who have a legitimate business as a "blind." they make all preliminary preparations. the greatest ingenuity is employed to obtain exact information, such as the evenings the cashier or teller is likely to visit the bank and the exact time. scientific burglary. burglars whose chief qualification is the mechanical ability to open bank vaults and safes and steal thousands of dollars in bonds or cash cannot be classed with those who break open a store door and filch a lot of buckets, brooms or dry goods. the man who makes the defects of a combination lock, safe or vault a study must have intelligence and mechanical knowledge equal to that of a man who draws a big salary for what he knows. whenever any new combination lock is brought in the market for vault or safe use the scientific burglar obtains one, and by patient study discovers its weakness or defect, something which every safe or vault has. the combination of a safe or vault has often been learned by these burglars by obtaining an entrance to the banking house after banking hours, removing the dial of the combination and placing a sheet of tin foil behind it. then, replacing the dial, the turning of the combination in opening or closing makes the impression of letters or numbers on the soft foil, which is removed by the burglar at the first chance he has to get into the banking house. having the combination impressed on the tin foil, he and his accomplices open the vault or safe, secure the contents, and then often change or put out of order the combination, so the doors of the vault or safe cannot be opened for some hours after the regular time for opening, and then only by an expert of that particular safe company. this, of course, gives the thieves several hours of valuable time in which to effect their escape. the tools required by the mechanical burglar who forces open safes are the air pump, putty, powder, fuse, sectional jimmy, steel drills, diamond drills, copper sledges, steel-faced sledges (leather covered), lamp and blow pipe, jack screw, wedges, dynamite and syringe, brace with box slide, feed screw drills, steel punches, small bellows, blank steel keys, skeleton keys, nippers, dark lantern, twine and screw eyes. the latest, most dangerous set of tools manufactured is the second power in mechanics--the screw. the method of work with the screw is to first rig a brace, and then drill a hole in the safe, cut a thread in the hole and then insert a female screw. then, with a long steel screw with a handle so long that two men can turn it, the screw is inserted in the female screw, and by turning it goes in until it strikes the back of the safe. then either the back or the front must give way. in nearly all cases it is the latter, as that is the weakest, and it gives enough to insert the sectional jimmy, which the screw handle is part of. the jimmy is then inserted in the part forced out, and the safe is then torn asunder and its contents easily appropriated. this work is accomplished without much noise. invent new devices. however, these new one-piece safes have not discouraged the malefactors. they have only suggested to them the creation of special appliances which enable them, without stopping to pick the lock, to remove from the side wall of the safe a circle of the metal large enough to allow of an arm to be put inside. one of the most important of these new devices for assisting the safe-crackers in their crime is formed of an iron hoop furnished with well-tempered steel teeth, which is fixed by means of a simple pivot on the safe after a screw worm has been previously driven in. the instrument is then turned on its pivot and plows a groove in the safe wall each time it revolves. science has not left the burglar weaponless, however. the progress accomplished has merely compelled him to obtain higher qualifications, and in the continuous strife between the armor plate and the desperado who would pierce it the thieves have had hitherto the last word. for many years dynamite was their chief reliance, and then a product was discovered some years ago by a chemist, who gave it the name of "thermit," by which the cracksman was able to melt sheet metal, inches thick, with comparatively little trouble. melts hardest steel. this substance known as "thermit" is in current use for repairing, heating or soldering large pieces of metal and consists of a mixture of aluminum and oxide of iron, the latter being replaced, according to the requirement, by oxide of lead, peroxide of sodium or peroxide of barium. this composition is thoroughly mixed together, or is used in the form of cartridges or tablets, which ignite by means of a piece of magnesium fixed in the substance like a wick. the heat developed is more than sufficient to cause the hardest steel to melt. although this process is rapid and silent and really marvelous from the point of view of the result obtained, it is not without much danger to those using it, for at the high temperature produced by it an inexperienced operator runs the risk of being seriously burned. in consequence the prudent and careful burglar uses accessories which render him secure against such accidents. he protects his eyes by means of heavy dark glasses, wears shields of aluminum over his hands and applies the mixture through a small hole in the bottom of a crucible. when the reaction takes place it lasts long enough to allow the operator to charge the crucible again and again in proportion as the melting of the metal plate is effected, thus making an opening of the desired size in the safe. it is a simple enough operation for a skilled burglar, but a very dangerous one for an amateur. tests with electricity. but even this has been discounted by an experiment before a united states government commission, showing that electricity can be so applied as to give the scientific cracksman a greater field for operation than ever before. the experiment was made by an expert burglar, who, having retired from business after amassing a sufficient competency, was requested to favor the commission by contributing the light of his knowledge. he demonstrated that by the aid of electricity he could, within a short time, reduce safes of the highest repute to old iron. for this purpose he took out of his pocket a style in the form of retort carbon, similar to those used for arc lamps; a few yards of electric wire, black eyeglasses and a plate pierced in the middle. it was with this simple outfit he pierced in less than three minutes a circle of holes in a cast steel safe with walls one and a half inches thick. his method of procedure was simplicity itself. to the electric supply current of the chandelier overhead he connected two wires, one of which he fixed on the safe, and the other at the extreme of his carbon style. it was suitably insulated by a wooden handle. then, having inserted this pencil in the hole of the plate, whose purpose was to protect him against the heat and light, he produced a voltaic arc of immense power between the point of his style and the wall of the safe, thus melting the metal with the greatest ease. some concrete examples. burglars use acetylene flame to open safe door. in paris, january , , burglars broke into the premises of martin and baume, colonial traders, at marseilles, and stole money and goods to the value of $ , . most of their booty they took from a safe, the door of which they burnt through with an apparatus giving an acetylene flame of sufficient heat to melt the metal. the case recalls one at antwerp recently, when the thieves melted a safe with a combined oxygen and acetylene flame. the police believe that the marseilles burglars are past masters of the art, and that probably not more than a dozen possess such apparatus for melting safes. one or more of the burglars may probably have been employed at a motor factory, where acetylene lamps are in frequent use. in any case, even the finest lock or the best steel safe can't resist, if burglars take to using oxygen and acetylene lamps with blow-pipes. safe manufacturers have a new problem to solve. the bank sneak. the bank sneaks of the country were formerly among the most troublesome criminals with whom the police had to deal. the money and jewelry stolen by them aggregated hundreds of thousands of dollars annually. the bank sneak is the cleverest of crooks, and as bold and daring as any of them. but modern police methods, the system of exchanging bertillon photographs, and the organization of bankers' and jewelers' associations, together with perfect burglar alarm equipment, have combined to put him out of business, and his work nowadays is on a limited scale. during the past ten years not more than five good bank sneak games have been pulled off, while there has been a similar reduction in the raids on jewelry shops. the bertillon photographs facilitate the identification of the sneak and the bankers' and jewelers' organization put up the money with which to pursue him remorselessly, and soon catch him. concerning the bank sneak and his mode of operating: an expert professional bank "sneak" thief and his associates study the habits of all employes to determine when the greatest number are absent (which generally happens at the noon hour), decide how many confederates will be necessary to engage the attention of the remaining employes, while the sneak thief noiselessly enters a vault, teller's cage, or goes to a safe, and commits the robbery. confederates are usually of good appearance, understand business methods, can discuss loans, mortgages, sale of securities, etc., long enough to allow the "sneak" to operate without discovery. a "sneak" thief, wearing rubber-soled shoes, will frequently pass within a few feet of the official or clerk in charge, enter a vault or teller's cage, or rob a safe or money drawer, without creating the slightest noise. a ruse to make the way clear for the "sneak" is for a confederate to drive in a carriage to the bank or store to be robbed, as a pretext exhibiting a crutch, or accompanied by a female, requesting some passer-by to ask the cashier or some other official to step out to the carriage, which usually occurs when few of the employes are in the place. another device is to hold a large blue print of some property on which is pretended a loan is desirable, or a bundle of maps offered for sale, in such position that the view of the official being interviewed is obstructed, thereby covering the "sneak" and giving him opportunity to operate. another more recent artifice is the telephone; the confederate of the "sneak" at an appointed minute "calls up" the bank and requests that the paying teller be sent to the 'phone, and there detains him in conversation while the "sneak" thief operates; confederates, as may be necessary, engaging the attention of other employes. circus day brings a harvest. many sneak robberies were formerly committed in medium-sized towns on circus days, while most of the employes were at windows or doors watching the circus parade. this offered "sneak" thieves the opportunity to enter the building by some unguarded door or window, or having, prior to the parade, concealed themselves in the bank or store, to commit the robbery while the parade is passing, virtually behind the backs of the employes. a favorite scheme, especially in savings banks, is for one thief to attract the attention of a customer who is counting money, to have a bill purposely dropped in front of him on the floor by the thief and, while he stoops down to pick it up, believing it part of his money, another thief steals the then unprotected money he, the customer, was counting. often professional "sneak" thieves have posed as bank clerks or porters, wearing office coats or porter's uniforms and, when the opportunity presents itself, committed robberies of considerable magnitude. some of the old-time "sneaks" used specially made steel instruments of various shapes to move packages of money from one section of the teller's cage to a point nearer the teller's window, so that it could be more readily extracted. this practice, while the utmost caution is necessary to avoid suspicion, has been quite successful. at times thieves have used large satchels or dress-suit cases to stand upon and, with a long wire hook, extracted money by reaching over the wire screen surrounding a paying teller's cage. a method sometimes used to commit money drawer or "till" robberies in stores is to select some innocent-appearing storekeeper, usually a foreigner, whom one of the thieves wearing a silk hat would approach, informing him that they had just made a wager that the hat would not hold more than a gallon of molasses, and requesting that the storekeeper measure a gallon of molasses into the hat at their expense, to decide the wager. blinding victim with molasses. seeing the prospect of a sale, even if the wager was a peculiar one, the groceryman would concede to this request. the hat being partly filled, one of the thieves would place it quickly on the merchant's head, blinding him with the molasses, while they stole the contents of the money drawer. the "sneak" who commits the robbery, to be successful, usually is of small stature, active, alert and noiseless, as upon him mainly depends the success or failure of the venture. he must judge from the operations of his associates when the opportunity to commit the robbery has arrived. there are no signals or conversations between the confederates and the "sneak" designating the moment for him to act. he must decide this from observation of what his confederates have accomplished in preparing a safe way for him. if there is a suspicion or a discovery by employes, it devolves upon his confederates to do their utmost to confuse and obstruct the pursuers. i once asked an old-time professional "sneak" thief how he was first introduced into a band of first-class bank "sneaks." he explained that he was raised in a small village having a general store presided over by a widow; that she at times would go to the cellar for certain merchandise, leaving the store unguarded. this suggested to him how easy it would be to rob the money drawer during her absence in the cellar, which he afterward did, and which was his first successful "sneak" robbery. afterward he stole from a small window in the same store, packages of chewing tobacco, pipes, etc., also occasionally again robbing a bakery of pies and cakes, and occasionally again robbing the "till." but one afternoon, before a fourth of july, in attempting to steal some packages of fire-crackers and some loose torpedoes, a couple of the torpedoes dropped to the floor, causing an explosion and resulting in his discovery and arrest and final imprisonment. in jail he met with other criminals, and finally became one of them, joining with the first-class "sneak" band of professional criminals. this man for years was a most successful leader of "sneak" thieves, stealing fortunes, finally dying in prison and leaving a family in actual want. rarely use pistols. among the old-timers were some of the most remarkable criminals operating in any part of the world; their thefts requiring, in almost every instance, dexterity and great presence of mind, a quick eye and unflinching courage, yet few of these "sneaks" used firearms or weapons of any kind in the commission of their crimes. among the younger element appear the names of the cleverest thieves of today, some of whom have operated extensively in this country and abroad. the lord bond robbery. one of the largest "sneak" robberies ever committed in the united states occurred late in the sixties, and has always been referred to as the "lord bond robbery." lord was a wealthy man, and had an office at broad street, new york city. he had invested $ , , in - united states bonds, all being coupon bonds, payable to bearer, which any one with a knowledge of finance could easily dispose of at this time. a band of "sneak" thieves, consisting of "hod" ennis, charlie ross, jimmie griffin and "piano" charlie bullard, planned to steal these bonds. awaiting their opportunity until a morning arrived when mr. lord was absent from his office, they entered it when it was in charge of only two clerks. bullard and ross engaged these clerks in conversation, while ennis "sneaked" into the vault, seized the tin box containing the bonds, and walked out with it. while these thieves were expert in their particular line, they did not fully understand the negotiating of the bonds, and for this called in george bidwell, since renowned as the bank of england forger, who went to england and disposed of a large part of them. the thieves were at the time suspected, and ennis fled to canada, but was subsequently extradited to the united states and convicted of a crime committed some time before. he was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. charlie bullard settled in paris, but afterward returned to the united states, and with adam worth, successfully committed the boylston bank robbery, after which both returned to paris and opened the celebrated american bar under the grand hotel, rue scribe, which flourished for many years. bullard afterward was arrested for an attempted bank burglary in belgium, and was sentenced to prison for a long term. bullard, ross, ennis and worth all stole millions of dollars in their day and died poor. [illustration: blind. justice--"i can't see it."] one man's bold operations. another celebrated robbery was on january , , of $ , in bonds and securities from the office of james h. young, a banker and broker at nassau street, new york city, by "sneak" thieves headed by "rufe" minor, alias "little rufe," exceptionally clever in his line, and who had with him george carson, horace hovan and "billy" marr. they were located at petersburg, va., on march , , and found all of the stolen property in minor's trunk. minor was a brooklyn-raised boy, small of stature, of good appearance and engaging manners, a most expert "sneak" leader, and was in his lifetime concerned in many great "sneak" robberies, among them being: $ , from the commercial national bank, cleveland, ohio, ; $ , in bonds from the bank of baltimore, md.; $ , in bonds from the erie county savings bank, in ; $ , from the middletown bank, middletown, conn.; $ , from the detroit bank, detroit, mich.; $ , from the boston safe deposit co., and $ , from the guarantee safe & safety deposit co.'s vaults, philadelphia, pa. in chicago, many years ago, a band of professional bank "sneaks" planned to rob the subtreasury, then located in the arcade court. philip a. hoyne, a leading republican politician in those days, had an office in this building. he was also a candidate on the republican ticket for some local office. at a ball game "joe" parrish, a professional pickpocket and bank sneak, picked the pocket of a clerk. among other articles found in the pocketbook was a key and the personal card of the clerk, which showed he was employed in the subtreasury. parrish imparted this information to walter brown, sam perry, little joe mccluskey and jimmy carroll, all members of a noted bank "sneak" band, then operating. hire a band to help them. after several visits to the arcade court and trying the key in different doors, it was finally found to open a rear door to the subtreasury office. on the day the robbery was planned to be committed, the thieves hired a brass band to play in the arcade court as a serenade to candidate hoyne, the plan of the thieves being to start cheering for mr. hoyne, expecting that the band and the cheering would attract the attention of the subtreasury clerks from their desks to the windows, giving little joe mccluskey, the "sneak," an opportunity of using the key to the bank entrance, passing into the office at the back of the clerks and stealing as much money as he could carry. about the time the plans of the thieves were completed mr. pinkerton learned of them, and communicated with elmer washburn, then chief of the united states secret service at washington. on the day the robbery was to occur the band appeared as arranged, the arcade soon filled with people, and there was prolonged cheering for mr. hoyne. not one clerk left his desk, and when mccluskey tried to open the door with the key he found it would not fit. through precautions taken by mr. washburn, the lock had been changed and instructions given to all clerks to remain at their desks when the band played, which prevented what would have been a very heavy loss to the government. owing to the way the information had been obtained, and not wishing to expose the source, no arrests were made. walter sheridan, known under many aliases, an accomplished "sneak" thief, was a southerner by birth and of gentlemanly, dignified appearance. in addition to being a sneak, he was also a general all-round thief, counterfeiter and forger. importance of being on guard. one night in , at chicago, while mr. pinkerton was on his way home, he recalls seeing walter sheridan, "philly" pearson and charlie hicks on a street car. he followed them to the chicago & alton railroad station, where he saw them purchase tickets for springfield, ill. the following day the vault of the first national bank of springfield was robbed of $ , by pearson, while sheridan engaged the attention of the bank officials, and hicks remained on guard outside. later hicks was arrested, taken to springfield, convicted and sentenced to eight years in joliet prison. pearson fled to europe. later sheridan was arrested at toledo, o., for this robbery, at which time mr. pinkerton identified him, and $ , of the stolen money was recovered. sheridan was mixed up in a great many crimes, but in the last years of his life was looked upon as being cleverer as a first class bank "sneak" than in any other line, although he has been a successful leader of bands of note counterfeiters. "billy" coleman, undoubtedly one of the most expert "sneaks" of modern times, who, between and was arrested thirteen times, and who spent almost half of his lifetime in prisons, is now serving in the auburn, new york, state prison, a four and one-half-year term for the theft of $ , worth of jewelry from a safe in the clark estate building at cooperstown. the stolen jewelry belonged to mrs. ambrose clark, a daughter-in-law of mrs. potter, wife of bishop potter. looked like coleman's work. mrs. clark arrived at cooperstown to spend the summer only a few days before the robbery, and placed the jewelry in a safe in the clark estate building for safety. investigation showed the thief had entered this building, which in many respects resembles a bank, at the noon hour, when all the employes were absent, opened the vault, the lock of which had been left on the half-turn, taking therefrom a tin box, which he carried to the cellar of the building and pried open with tools found on the premises, taking therefrom all the jewelry and also valuable papers. from descriptions of the thief we obtained from witnesses who had seen him loitering in the vicinity of the estate office, and from the manner in which the robbery was committed, we believed it bore the earmarks of coleman's work. subsequent developments satisfied us that our conclusions were correct, and we caused coleman's arrest, two weeks after the robbery, in new york, by police headquarters' detectives. the tin box left by the thief in the cellar was covered with blood. from this an incorrect inference was drawn, that the thief had cut his hands with one of the instruments used to open the box. a careful examination of coleman showed no cuts or bruises of any kind, on any part of his person, from which blood would have flowed. the grand jury refused to indict him for the crime. on his release, knowing that coleman had most mysterious ways of hiding the proceeds of his robberies, he was placed under surveillance, which continued for some time without result, but eventually he was traced and found quite early one morning, digging at the side of a building through the snow into the ground, whereupon he was re-arrested and, in uncovering the spot where he had been digging, most of the stolen jewelry was found in an ordinary fruit jar, buried in the ground about two feet. diamonds buried in jar. in the jar were found several settings from which some of the diamonds were missing; sixty-nine of these were found in coleman's home, hidden in a small pasteboard box in the earth at the bottom of a rubber plant jar, and one of the largest diamonds removed from the ring was found sewn in a ready-made four-in-hand necktie. after his second arrest coleman acknowledged committing the robbery, and explained that a year previous he had made a tour through several new york state counties to locate a bank which would not be difficult to "sneak" in the daytime. he found the clark estate building in cooperstown, which he believed was a bank. he visited it at that time, while the employes were absent, but did not obtain anything, although he made a note of it as an easy place to rob some time in the future. when he did commit the robbery, and did not find any money in sight, he picked up the tin box, little suspecting it contained a fortune in valuable jewelry. when coleman was questioned about the blood stains on the tin box, he explained that, as the day of the robbery was very hot, and he had to work quick, in his great excitement his nose bled freely, covering the tin box as it was found. coleman has been a professional bank "sneak" all his life, and in times past was renowned for entering bank vaults and paying-tellers' cages in the day time without being observed. he never used firearms, and there is no record of his having shed blood of anyone in the commission of a crime. after all of his years of successful stealing, he is again in auburn (n. y.) prison, without means. joe killoran's smooth work. "joe" killoran, alias "joe" howard, a rather picturesque type of criminal, came from good old new york stock, was a rather brainy planner of bank robberies, and was usually the one of a band to engage an employe in conversation while the "sneak" committed the robbery. killoran had the appearance of a well-to-do business man, such as might negotiate a loan from the bank, representing himself as from some firm of brokers. he has frequently played the part of the sick man seated in the carriage with a crutch, and not able to go into the bank. he is notorious as escaping from the ludlow street jail, july , , with harry russell and charles allen, then united states prisoners. he was in many "sneak" robberies in the united states, and one which i especially recall was the theft of $ , by him from the first national bank, plainfield, n. j., on july , . he was accompanied by george carson, "sid" yennie and little patsy flannigan. yennie, carson and killoran held the attention of the employes while flannigan committed the robbery. after killoran's escape from ludlow street jail he fled to europe, and, strangely enough, met with an accident which necessitated the amputation of one of his legs, which made him in reality carry a crutch until those he operated with supplied him with a wooden leg. he was arrested about two years ago in new york city, decidedly broken in health, and was sent to illinois to serve a term for robbing the government postoffice at springfield. after his release he returned to europe, and was, in september, , arrested at vienna for stealing $ , from a depositor in front of the paying teller's window in the bank in that city, and was, on march , , sentenced to six years in an austrian prison. it looks as though he had committed his last robbery, and that this crime will cause him to end his days in prison. the hotel sneak. the use of false keys. "hod" bacon is an illustration of the professional "sneak" who confines his operations more particularly to the rooms of hotel guests. he works systematically and prepares his plans as the skilled detective works to capture the expert criminal. this thief frequently would follow a victim thousands of miles to commit a successful robbery. he would watch hotel guests continuously for several days, until he observed them purchase theater tickets or going out for the evening, first determining how many (if a family) occupied the apartment, and how many servants they had, and assuring himself before committing the robbery they were all absent. he enters the rooms with false keys, locks himself in, and works at his leisure; also unlocks, with false keys, the trunks, bureau drawers, etc., abstracting from them such valuables as he considers worth taking. he invariably takes from the ladies' trunks some ladies' wearing apparel, endeavoring to cast the suspicion that the theft was committed by a chambermaid or other employes in the hotel having access to the apartment. on one occasion bacon robbed a traveling jewelry salesman's trunk in a chicago hotel. not satisfied with the valuable loot of jewelry he obtained, he stole the salesman's overcoat, after which he secured sleeping car passage from chicago to pittsburg via pennsylvania railroad. on the same evening's train, it so happened that the salesman he robbed was then enroute east, and, peculiarly enough, had been assigned a berth opposite the thief, in the same car. after the train left chicago, observing his stolen overcoat hanging in the thief's section, he telegraphed to pittsburg, and on arrival of the train the thief was arrested, and identified as "hod" bacon. [illustration: case of tools and relics collected by detective wooldridge captured burglary implements at central police station] cell terms for "con" men. four are sentenced for long "graft" records. p. l. tuohy, philip bulfer and l. e. burnett are found guilty of systematic fraud by means of "fake" contracts--their clerk is fined $ --many poor people appear as witnesses on fraudulent employment bureau also operated. june , , one of the most persistent and systematic "confidence" gangs that ever operated in chicago was broken up for a few years at least, when patrick l. tuohy, philip bulfer, l. e. burnett, and j. c. daubach were found guilty of obtaining money under false pretenses by a jury in judge ball's court. these men were organizers and managers of the chicago mercantile and reporting agency, with offices at washington street. it was a "fake" employment agency with a side line of swindling by means of getting contracts on carbon paper. bulfer, tuohy and burnett were sentenced to the penitentiary, while daubach, who was only a clerk, was fined $ . the sentence in prison is from one to five years. triumph for wooldridge. the conviction was a triumph for detective clifton r. wooldridge who has followed the men for years. the raid which resulted in the present trial was made by wooldridge and his men on february , . philip bulfer. bulfer's pedigree from his home town is interesting. philip bulfer was born and raised at marshalltown, iowa. his parents live there and have for forty years. the young man was educated, and when still a young man left for omaha, neb. there he started in business with his brother, and in a short course of time they were doing a good business, but finally broke up in a dispute with his brother, resulting in a "skin." later on he became a messenger for some express company, operating on b. m. in nebraska, and he ran through the state of iowa for a good many years. he left that job or was discharged. he left there anyway and finally came to chicago and married a school teacher by the name of mrs. crary, from goshen, ind. after marriage he moved to chicago heights and edited a paper there for some time. moved back to chicago and became a reporter on the chicago times, and finally started in a loan shark business, loaning money at reduced rates and making it a business to fight loan sharks, loaning money on personal property, afterward going into court and enjoining them. he finally was arrested on many charges before justice of the peace fred e. eldred, at logan square, on charges of obtaining money by false pretenses, embezzlement, larceny and on many other counts. was held to the grand jury and indicted in the case of detrich, which was finally nolle prossed before judge stein, after making a settlement with detrich, who promised not to prosecute and was taken care of so he could not be compelled to appear as a witness in the criminal court. this occurred about or . he was also indicted one time for assault or attempt to kill oscar or frank arnold. another compromise was made. many times he was arrested before different justices: underwood, wolff, hogland, woods, prindiville, caverly and many others. cases were disposed of in some way. he was held to the grand jury many times, and finally was arrested charged with conspiracy to cheat and defraud a school teacher. was indicted and had an accomplice--theodore d. courtney. he was convicted and sentenced for three years. was taken to the penitentiary and there served as bookkeeper and tally-man for about five months. later was released from the penitentiary on a writ of habeas corpus by judge farlin q. ball. was taken to the county jail, his case being continued from time to time, meanwhile was obliged to remain in jail for about a year. arrangements were made that if he gave evidence to indict john w. ronksley, thomas d. courtney and isaac a. hartman, the state's attorney's office would in some way be lenient with him, and this he did. he gave evidence that caused the indictment of the aforesaid persons. they were afterwards placed on trial. ronksley was fined $ and sentenced to six months in the county jail by judge horton. hartman was indicted several times in the same proceeding and placed on trial before judge horton and was acquitted. many indictments against bulfer have been nolle prossed, due to a settlement of some kind. the records will show that they have been nolle prossed. the detrich case will show dismissal for want of prosecution, but it was really on account of settlement having been made. after these defendants were convicted he was released without ever having a hearing on the habeas corpus matter and gained his liberty on account of the state losing jurisdiction. since organizing the landlords' protective association he was arrested on complaint of a. d. smeyer before either caverly or prindiville at the harrison street police station and there discharged on account of no prosecution. it was brought about by a settlement. the arrest was made on account of his taking $ appearance fee, which he should have paid and filed appearance in the circuit court in the case of chicago press, r. d. smeyers vs. barry transportation co. he was arrested a great many times for obtaining money by false pretenses from poor and ignorant people, who gave him $ to get them a job, but he failed to do so. patrick l. tuohy was born in ireland; came to chicago about forty years ago and located in rogers park. he was a member of the school board at one time. he is a politician. he is a professional bondsman and is manager of the chicago mercantile & reporting agency, also an employment and collection agency and professional bond agency at washington street. they take a fee of from $ to $ and agree to get employment, but few are ever employed. this money is put into his pocket. he has been engaged in many questionable concerns. among them he and his pals secured a charter for the united states express company and tried to shake down the company and prohibit them from doing business in the state of illinois. the matter was taken into court and a federal injunction issued against them. they have a habit of looking up firms, for instance, say the blackenberg express company, and get someone to do business with them, then they will go in and see if they use a corporate title and force them to settle in some way. bulfer and tuohy were proprietors of the chicago mercantile & reporting agency: daubach was a clerk in the office and burnett was a solicitor for the company. bulfer was the apparent head of the concern--in fact the brains and dominating spirit. tuohy's name appeared as manager on the letterheads of the company and he was plaintiff in all suits brought upon alleged contracts. burnett, as solicitor, called upon small merchants and solicited accounts for collection upon representation that the chicago mercantile & reporting agency would deduct per cent in case of collection. if a merchant gave burnett some bills to collect he (burnett) would ask the merchant to sign his name on a piece of paper giving authority to the chicago mercantile & reporting agency to collect. or if a merchant upon whom burnett called would say he had no bills, burnett would secure his signature upon representation that he must show his company that he had called upon him and solicited. each witness with but one exception testified that no contract was shown him and that he was not told by burnett that in signing his name he was putting it to a contract to furnish the company with at least valid claims during the next thirty days following and to pay the company a fee of $ . louis perlman, the complainant-witness in the case tried, testified that he gave burnett a claim for $ to collect and at the solicitation of burnett signed his name to a paper giving authority (as explained by burnett) to the company to collect. nothing was said to him about a contract, but at the expiration of days he received a letter from the chicago mercantile & reporting agency, signed p. l. tuohy, manager, that he was indebted to the company in the sum of $ . upon calling at their offices to ascertain the cause of such indebtedness he was shown a contract signed by himself, agreeing to furnish the company claims and obligating himself to pay $ on that day. the victims were all men and women of the poorer classes, mostly small shopkeepers, and such tradesmen in the outlying districts. perlman said that was the first time he had ever seen the contract, for when he signed his name at the request of burnett there was no printing in sight and nothing was said about a contract. although perlman had given but one claim to the agent of the company, and that for the sum of $ , which had never been collected, he was threatened with suit by bulfer when he called at the office of the company, and finally compromised by the payment of $ . no service had been rendered him whatever and yet he was compelled to give up $ to have the alleged contract canceled. the state called about witnesses, all of whom had similar experiences to that of perlman. several testified that they told burnett they had no bills to give him, but at his request signed their names so that the company could know how many people he had called upon in the course of a day, and yet each was notified at the expiration of days that he or she was indebted to the chicago mercantile & reporting agency in the sum of $ , and each was compelled to pay from $ to $ to have the alleged contract canceled, although no service had been rendered to any of them. one witness testified that he had refused to compromise and he was sued before a justice of the peace friendly to the company and judgment was rendered against him for $ and costs, amounting in all to $ . , for which no services were performed and for which he got not the slightest return. daubach was merely a clerk in the office, but when a victim called at the office in response to a letter signed by tuohy, daubach would tell him the amount must be paid, although the victim would declare to him no service had been rendered to him and that he had no knowledge that he had signed a contract. the victim would then ask to see mr. tuohy and daubach would take him to bulfer's desk and say, "this is mr. tuohy," and the victim would have to settle or submit to a judgment on the alleged contract at the hands of the justice of the peace friendly to the company. although the indictment charged a conspiracy to obtain the signature of one louis perlman to a written instrument, the state introduced evidence, and rightfully so, to show similar acts of the conspirators. it was demonstrated clearly, by the evidence that bulfer was the leading spirit of the conspiracy; that tuohy's name appeared on the letterheads as manager and all letters sent to victims bore his signature; that burnett got signatures by means of false pretenses, for each witness claimed that the "contract was covered up and they were shown just the part of the paper on which was the space for signature; and daubach performed many acts in furtherance of the conspiracy. bulfer and tuohy did not go upon the witness stand. burnett testified that he always showed the full contract to prospective clients, but was not called upon to explain its contents; he testified further that he received from the chicago mercantile & reporting agency $ . for each contract he brought in and he secured as high as six a day. daubach testified that when the objectors came into the office and complained he would tell them they could compromise and get off cheaper and admitted turning them over to bulfer when they asked for tuohy. so that it appeared conclusively that each in his turn performed some act in furtherance of the conspiracy. the case was called for trial on the th of may, , and was concluded on the th of may, . the jury returned a verdict of guilty as to each and fixed the punishment of bulfer, tuohy and burnett at imprisonment in the penitentiary, and fixed the punishment of daubach at a fine of $ . panel house thieves. among the many dangerous and curious characters who live by their wits in a great city none is more interesting to the outsider than the blackmailer. to the reader of sensational literature the ideal is a person who holds some great family secret which he turns into money at rapidly narrowing intervals. although this character is generally overdrawn, no one familiar with city life pretends to doubt his existence. the blackmailer is a well known character in all large cities, and certainly the arch swindler of the day. blackmailers are ever on the alert to learn anything detrimental to a person's character, and let them once obtain this, they fatten on it. men's passions are taken advantage of by that particular class of thieves known as "badgers," and their operations are very rarely followed by exposure or punishment. a pretty woman is the bait used by these thoughtful rascals, who know full well that where a hundred men will resist a burglar, scarcely one will resist a robbery where disgraceful publicity must surely follow. briefly the mode of procedure is as follows: a house is rented in a quiet side street, not far from the principal thoroughfare. one man, occasionally two men, run the house--that is, they do the actual stealing, while they have from three and often as high as a dozen women out on the street picking up the victims. must have pretty woman. the qualifications necessary for the woman to have is to be pretty, plump, wear good clothes, and understand the art of making herself attractive. it is an understood thing that she shares one-third the proceeds of the robbery. the house is arranged especially for the purpose. the rooms on each floor are fixed so that the door separating them has the panels cut out and put in again on hinges, and fastened with a small button not noticeable. the hinges are well oiled, and a small hole is bored through the door, so that the thief can see into the room, or hear any slight signal given by the woman. the house rented has a front and rear entrance, the latter for the thief or thieves, who always station themselves on a corner of the street near the house, by which the woman will always bring the victim, so her pal can see him. the woman goes out in the evening past the principal hotels and through the principal streets, never speaking to a man, but if she notices one who looks like a stranger and well-to-do, she will give him a coquettish glance and pass on, looking sideways to see if she is followed. if so, she will continue slowly, turning the first quiet street, until the man who follows her has a chance to overtake her. the chances are ten to one that he will address her. she will appear shy at first, and not inclined to speak, but after a short time she will talk, and after some conversation she will convey the idea to the man that she is a married woman; that her husband is out of town and no one is at home. if he will be discreet he may accompany her home, she says, and have a talk. the pair then walk to the house, passing the corner where the male accomplice is lying in wait, and the woman, pulling out her latch-key, will open the door; and the fly is in the parlor of the spider. the male thief waits a few moments, and then makes his way into the house through the rear. as soon as he enters he takes off his shoes and in his stocking feet stations himself in the adjoining room, and there bides his time. the woman is all smiles and affection. she betrays an affected nervousness, which makes her all the more attractive. she talks about the sudden fancy she took to the gentleman who was weak enough to be inveigled, and in a thousand and one ways manages to give the idea that he is, above all others, the very man she could love. all this time she is gradually disrobing, and at the expiration of about ten minutes she is ready to do her part in the robbery. male accomplices get busy. meantime her male accomplice has put on his shoes. he goes around to the front of the house, opens the front door noisily, and, walking heavily, he knocks loudly at the room door, and calls out, "mary!" or any name that may suggest itself. the woman will at once exclaim. "oh, that is my husband! dress yourself quickly, and be ready to go out as soon as i get him away from the room door." the victim will hastily put on his clothes, and as soon as the woman slips out and gives him the signal he escapes, only too glad not to be caught. before he goes, however, and while he is talking to the woman, her pal has opened the panel, put his hand in all the victim's pockets--(his clothes having been put in front of the door), and nearly all his money is taken. a portion is left, so that he may not immediately discover his loss. jewelry is never disturbed, as it would be missed at once. the favorite methods is to take out the middle of a roll of notes, if in a roll, or if in a pocket book, the bottom notes are removed, so that when the victim examines his purse hurriedly he will not discover that he has been robbed. if the amount stolen is large the house is vacated, and the woman skips the town for a time. the women who work for these badger houses work in one city for a time, then go to the next large city with a note to the chief who runs the house there. the women generally wear wigs, so in case the man reports his loss to the police he will, perhaps, describe a fair-haired woman, when perhaps her hair is black. a blonde wig is discarded, the case is fixed. a female badger and her lover may be poor and unable to rent a house. in this event they will rent a furnished room in a furnished-room house. the bolt on the door is fixed by simply taking out the screws from the nose of the bolt, and the screw holes are enlarged. the screws are well greased and then put back, the key taken out of the lock, so when the time comes for the thief in go in, as previously described, he pushes in the door easily and quietly, as the hinges are well oiled, and the victim is robbed while he is making violent love to the supposed "married woman." the photographic catch. only a downright fool or egotist can become the victim of this scheme. he deserves to lose whatever he has if he is foolish enough to be taken in. the only way to protect yourselves against the work of these thieves is to mind your own business. the new panel and blackmail swindle called the "photographic catch" is one by which dupes are frightened into paying hush-money, and otherwise putting themselves in the hands of unscrupulous and designing people. the old panel game has been brought up to date and is being worked vigorously. this new swindle is one of the coolest "bluffs" ever attempted to be worked upon an unsuspecting person. the victim selected by the coterie of choice spirits who work this fraud is always a married man. the blackmailers learn about his habits, and if his wife and family have removed to the country they immediately set about landing him in their net. if the family remains in town the swindlers spot their man and wait until his wife and children go to the country or seashore, leaving him to "work himself to death" in the bad, wicked city. the bait used is a handsome young woman. she soon finds an opportunity to attract the attention of the victim, who is always a business man, generally of middle age and wealthy, for upon handsome but penniless clerks they do not waste a moment of their time. as soon as the intended victim has taken the bait he is enticed to some luxuriously furnished apartment. it makes not the slightest difference how long he may stay there, and it is not even important what he may do there. in the course of a day or two the victim is called upon at his place of business by a tall, well-dressed young man of gentlemanly manners, but with much firmness. this is one of the conspirators. he secures a private interview with his unsuspecting victim, and as soon as the door is closed he proceeds to outline his little game. he pulls from his pocket an alleged instantaneous photograph showing the victim in a compromising position, and for the sake of appearances, make some broad hints about his outraged feelings as a husband. it very soon develops that these outraged feelings can be assuaged by the payment of money, and the sum mentioned is always a large one. scare money out of victim. the victim is thrown into a state of fright by threats of exposure liberally made by the conspirators, and freely "gives up" in order to put a stop to the matter. he gets a considerable reduction upon the original sum demanded by paying down the cash. now, while this game is nearly always successful, it requires but a moment's reflection on the part of any intelligent man to see that it is a swindle, pure and simple, the exposure of which would put a stop to it. the payment of the money is compelled by displaying a photograph, with threats of sending it to the victim's wife. anybody who knows anything about photography will see at once that such a photograph must be fraudulent. it is impossible to take an instantaneous photograph in a room without a flashlight. it is likewise impossible to photograph the interior of a room lighted by gas without a very long exposure, and generally extending over hours. no court of law would place any reliance upon an alleged instantaneous photograph, of the inside of a house professing to show people who were unconscious that they were being photographed. if any such picture were to be used as a means of establishing evidence in court it is not unlikely that the person so producing it would get into prison as an impudent impostor. the photograph which is used by the gang working this new panel game is, of course, a fraud made up by the conspirators. it is an easy enough thing for them to secure a picture of the interior of the room, showing another person. but in order to get the victim into the picture it is necessary that a photograph be taken of him elsewhere; probably in the street. then his features are pasted on the photograph of the room, which is again placed before the camera and reproduced complete. no matter how skillfully such piecing is done, it always shows to the practiced eye, and any professional photographer can detect the fraud. with the guilty knowledge of such swindling in mind, the conspirators who impudently produce such pictures can easily be "turned down" by a brief explanation of their criminal proceedings and a threat to turn them over to the police. they confine their operations to gentlemen who have been indiscreet and who can be easily frightened into paying money to prevent a scandal. blackmail the wife as well. blackmailing the wives of business men is carried on to quite an extent, and it is astonishing how many of them will pay blackmailers to hush up something that really amounts to nothing if the game were exposed. if you refuse to pay blackmail, that usually ends it. they want money, and when they fail to get it, the matter drops. the blackmailer operates on women in this manner: a man has an accomplice, a woman who passes as, and probably is, his wife. she is well educated, of refined appearance, and dresses fashionably and well. the two work together. as the summer season comes on the wives of business men, who cannot leave business themselves, start for eastern resorts and watering places, the woman blackmailer joins the exodus. she knows the people who are wealthy, and these she spots. she watches their every movement, and if the slightest indiscretion is committed it does not escape her eye. she knows the names, business, and homes of all the gentlemen they meet, and when and where they meet them. the season ended, the facts she has obtained are in the hands of the male partner, and he studies them. selecting his victim, he arranges to meet her, as if by chance, usually in one of the leading retail establishments of the city where she resides. he approaches and addresses her with the greatest cordiality, expressing surprise at the unexpected meeting. she is generally surprised, and, of course, fails to recognize him. then he uses the name of one of the gentlemen she has met in the east, recalls who introduced them, where the meeting occurred, and, in fact, all about it. then she recalls it, or thinks she does, and it ends in her inviting him to call at her home. here is the web quite complete. he calls, and, of course, when her husband is out, and may repeat the call several times. then he springs the trap. during one of his visits a note arrives for the lady threatening disclosures unless paid, say, $ . even if innocent of any wrong, the woman is alarmed and shows the blackmailer the note. he appears greatly alarmed also, declares that he is a married man, and that to have his visits known would ruin him. he argues that the money would better be paid. he has only $ about him, but if the hostess will advance the balance of course she shall lose nothing. she does it, and is thereafter in the power of the blackmailer. "bogus detective" game. a scamp, claiming to be a detective, often visits a reputable business man, having gained knowledge of indiscretion early in life. to hush it up they will demand from time to time money, under threats of exposure, thus causing the person to commit crime after crime to satisfy the heartless leech, who never stops until his victim is ruined. in a similar manner does the alleged detective blackmail a man who has committed a crime and who has been imprisoned for it. upon his release the man may feel like reforming and becoming a good citizen if given the chance, but this the detective will not permit, for as soon as he notices the ex-convict he will say, "look here, young fellow, you know my name and address, and when i am in of an evening i want you to come and see me or i'll have you run in." the fear of being "run in" forces the man who has a desire to do right to steal to satisfy the blackmailing demands of this corrupt class of people. if the ex-convict obtains employment he is worked in a similar manner, under threats of exposure to his employer, and so forced to steal, and then the smart detective will exclaim, "there is no reformation in that fellow; i knew he would steal. he will never stop." storekeeper scamps. one of the most contemptible of creatures is the storekeeper who has caught some one (who has the appearance of having money), stealing some trifling article, and will exclaim, "here, here! i have had stolen three hundred dollars' worth of goods by some one, and if you will settle for all i have had stolen, i will let up on you, and not prosecute." these cowardly methods are simply mentioned to show to what depths of meanness some men will descend, and are not to be classed with the professional thief, with whom stealing is a trade. as to how the female blackmailer can be foiled, the remedy is obvious, and no man who possesses proper self-respect will ever become a victim. how fake "journalists" work. the blackmailer first obtains some information about the early life of the person he intends to approach, and there are very few men who have not, in their youthful days, committed some indiscretion which might be brought against them after reaching maturer years. an escapade with a woman, or a mischievous boyish prank which proved more serious than was intended, are the usual indiscretions selected, and there can always be found plenty of gossips who are only too willing to relate full particulars. the information thus obtained is written up in a sensational style, and is taken to a cheap printing office, where it is put in type for a trifling cost. a slip, or what is known in a printing office as a "proof," is then printed, and armed with this the blackmailer pays a visit to the person he intends to fleece. he represents himself as being connected with a reputable newspaper, and says that he has been sent to get the "other side of the story," at the same time producing the slip on which is printed the startling tale, which, if made public, would in all probability seriously effect the social standing and the commercial integrity of the intended victim. in the majority of cases the person approached will at once inquire how much the newspaper would pay for such an article, and the reply usually is, "from twenty to twenty-five dollars." "suppose i pay for the article instead of the newspaper?" says the victim, "and i give you fifty dollars, wouldn't that repay you for your trouble in writing the article?" this is just what the blackmailer has been waiting for. he hems and haws for awhile, so as not to appear too anxious, or for the purpose of getting a higher bid, but the interview usually winds up in his securing a sum of money to suppress the information. as he is leaving the house it may occur to the victim that as long as the story is known to the editor of the paper there may be a publication anyhow, and on this point he makes inquiry. "oh," says the blackmailer, "there will be no danger of that. i will report that i have fully investigated the story, and that there is not a word of truth in it, and, of course, they will not dare to run the risk of being sued for heavy damages for printing it." few "beats" among reporters. there is no necessity for any man being victimized by the "newspaper beat." in the first place, no reputable newspaper ever puts a damaging story in type before every side of it has been thoroughly investigated. the very fact of a man exhibiting a "proof" is evidence that he is a fraud and has no newspaper connection. it can be said with truth that the repertorial profession of america has fewer "beats" in it than any other profession or business that can be mentioned. the majority of reporters are ambitious to gain higher positions, and it is a rare thing to find a man regularly connected with a newspaper descending to such trickery. if he is a genuine reporter he will exhibit his credentials, and should he be assigned to investigate a story that effects the standing of a respectable citizen, and be offered a bribe, he would undoubtedly publish that fact as an additional proof of the truth of what he has written. the treatment for this kind of a blackmailer is to kick him out of the house, and bid him do his worse. depend upon it, the "scandal" will never become public. the new york way. they watch some disreputable resort of the higher order until they see some respectable looking man or woman coming out of it. suppose it is a woman, who may or may not have gone there for an improper purpose. the blackmailer follows her home, thus ascertaining her place of residence. the next day he calls upon her. he puts on an air of deep solemnity. "i am an agent," says he, "employed by a society to ascertain the character of certain suspected houses. i saw you enter one of them yesterday and know that you remained there more than an hour. you know its character, and i shall, therefore, subpoena you as a witness." then he puts his hand in his inside pocket, as if to get the subpoena. of course he hasn't any, but the woman usually faints about this time, and on her recovering is usually willing to take the jewels off her wrists and fingers, if she has no money, to buy her immunity from the subpoena. once she makes a payment she is lost and has to continue it month after month, and year after year, till some kind of a scandal breaks out and she finds, with shame and sorrow, that her previous payments have only put off the evil day. gambling and crime. best cure for gambling: teach pupils in school laws of chance. gambling device swindle is exposed in the army and navy--the scope of fraud is world-wide. there is no such thing as an honest gambler--suicides are common--gambling kings go broke, and often die in the poorhouse--it is a hard, cold, brutal road the gambler travels--it ends badly. we do not believe that many young men deliberately take up the gambler's career. they drift into it through weakness, temptation or accident. if any young man does imagine that in the gambler's life he can find more money, less work and more happiness than in honest living and honest work, he is the victim of a dangerous delusion. a most miserable creature is the gambler. he knows himself, and therefore he hates himself. no man can gamble and be honest, even with his friends, even with his family. the idea of the gambler is to get from another man what he has not earned from that man, giving nothing in exchange. and when a man spends his time trying to get away the money of others with no return he soon drifts into throwing aside all honesty, even the gambler's brand. the unsuccessful gambler is one of the worst of wrecks. he runs his little course of dissipation, dishonesty, cheating and swindling. he is over-matched and eliminated by the bigger, keener, self-controlled gambler, who eats him up as the big spider eats up the little spider. hanging around saloons, begging for a little money with which to bet, doing the dirty work of the bigger gamblers--that is the fate of the little gambling cast-off. he is not worth talking about. [illustration: the foolishly happy life. artist palenske herewith forcefully presents the lamentable contrast of the man who delights to play poker when his boon companions call, and his other self when the wife pitifully and hopelessly pleads for money to meet household expenses. the "poker fiend" will lose his week's wages in a night. sometimes, to boot, he loses money not his own, but he thinks it the part of the "game sport" if he hides his misfortunes behind the mask of a smile. "be a good loser" is his never-failing motto. in the long run it is the neglected wife and family that are the real losers.] the gambler's life is simply the life of a criminal. and, like every other successful criminal, the successful gambler has got to work very hard. what the burglar gets, what the pickpocket gets, what the gambler gets, is money painfully accumulated. the successful burglar, or pickpocket, or gambler must work hard and be forever on the alert. he must be remorselessly cruel in taking money from those that cannot stand the loss. he must be indifferent to all sense of decency, for he knows that he is robbing women and children. the criminal in any line, gambler or other, cannot be a self-indulgent man if he is to be successful. the young man who imagines that the gambler's life is a gay and easy one is badly mistaken. if he tries it he will live to envy any honest man who has a right to look other men in the face. why gambling makes men commit crimes. the statistics of crime prove beyond all cavil that gambling is the king's highway to fraud and theft. this is not merely because it loosens general morality and in particular saps the rationale of property, but because cheating is inseparably associated with most actual modes of gambling. this does not imply that most persons who bet are actually cheats or thieves; but persons who continue to be cheated or robbed, half conscious of the nature of the operations, are fitting themselves for the other and more profitable part if they are thrown in the way of acquiring a sufficient quantity of evil skill or opportunity. the "honor" of a confirmed gambler, even in high life, is known to be hollow commodity, and where there is less to lose in social esteem even this slender substitute for virtue is absent. what percentage of "men who bet" would refuse to utilize a secret tip of a "scratched" favorite or the contents of an illegally disclosed sporting telegram? the barrier between fraud and smartness does not exist for most of them. [illustration: (gamblers cheating at cards)] no basis for livelihood. serious investigation of the gambling process discloses the fact that pure gambling does not afford any economic basis of livelihood, save in a few cases where, as at the roulette table or in a lottery, those who gamble know and willingly accept the chances against them. and even in the case of the roulette table the profits to the bank come largely from the advantage which a large fund possesses in play against a smaller fund; in the fluctuations of the game the smaller fund which plays against the bank is more than likely at some point in the game to be absorbed so as to disable the player from continuing his play. if a man with $ , were to play "pitch and toss" for $ gold pieces with a number of men, each of whom carried only $ , he must, if they played long enough, win all their money. so, even where skill and fraud are absent, economic force is a large factor in success. temptation to embezzle. since professional gambling in a stock broker, a croupier, a bookmaker, or any other species involves some use of superior knowledge, trickery, or force, which in its effect on the "chance" amounts to "loading" the dice, the non-professional gambler necessarily finds himself a loser on any long series of events. these losses are found, in fact, to be a fruitful cause of crime, especially among the men employed in business where sums of money belonging to the firm are passing through their hands. it is not difficult for a man who constantly has in his possession considerable funds which he has collected for the employer to persuade himself that a temporary use of these funds, which otherwise lie idle, to help him over a brief emergency, is not an act of real dishonesty. he is commonly right in his plea that he had no direct intention to defraud his employer. he expected to be able to replace the sum before its withdrawal was discovered. but since legally a person must be presumed to "intend" that which is a natural or reasonable result of his action, an indirect intention to defraud must be ascribed to him. he is aware that his act is criminal as well as illegal in using the firm's money for any private purpose of his own. but in understanding and assessing the quality of guilt involved in such action, two circumstances which extenuate his act, though not the gambling habit which has induced it, must be taken into account. a poor man who frequently bets must sooner or later be cleared out and unable, out of his own resources, to meet his obligations. he is induced to yield to the temptation the more readily for two reasons. first, there is a genuine probability (not so large, however, as he thinks) that he can replace the money before any "harm is done." so long as he does replace it no harm appears to him to have been done; the firm has lost nothing by his action. how commerce condones crime. this narrower circumstance of extenuation is supported by a broader one. the whole theory of modern commercial enterprise involves using other people's money, getting the advantage of this use for one's self and paying to the owner as little as one can. a bank or a finance company is intrusted with sums of money belonging to outsiders on condition that when required, or upon agreed notice, they shall be repaid. any intelligent clerk in such a firm may be well aware that the profits of the firm are earned by a doubly speculative use of this money which belongs to other people; it is employed by the firm in speculative investments which do not essentially differ from betting on the turf, and the cash in hand or other available assets are kept at a minimum on the speculative chance that depositors will not seek to withdraw their money, as they are legally entitled to do. in a firm which thus lives by speculating with other people's money, is it surprising that a clerk should pursue what seems to him substantially the same policy on a smaller scale? it may doubtless be objected that a vital difference exists in the two cases: the investor who puts his money into the hands of a speculative company does so knowingly, and for some expected profit; the clerk who speculates with the firm's money does so secretly, and no possible gain to the firm balances the chance of loss. but even to this objection it is possible to reply that recent revelations of modern finance show that real knowledge of the use to which money will be put cannot be imputed to the investor in such companies, and that, though some gain may possibly accrue to him, such gain is essentially subsidiary to the prospects of the promoters and managers of these companies. [illustration: (group of gamblers commuting)] wherein speculation differs. it is true that these are not normal types of modern business; they are commonly designated gambling companies, some of them actually criminal in their methods. but they only differ in degree, not in kind, from a large body of modern businesses, whose operations are so highly speculative, their risks so little understood by the investing public, and their profits apportioned with so little regard to the body of shareholders, as fairly to bring them under the same category. in a word, secret gambling with other people's money, on the general line of "heads i win, tails you lose," is so largely prevalent in modern commerce as perceptibly to taint the whole commercial atmosphere. most of these larger gambling operations are either not illegal or cannot easily be reached by law, whereas the minor delinquencies of fraudulent clerks and other employes are more easily detected and punished. but living in an atmosphere where secret speculation with other people's money is so rife, where deceit or force plays so large a part in determining profitable coups, it is easy to understand how an employe, whose conduct in most matters is determined by imitation, falls into lax ways of regarding other people's money and comes in an hour of emergency to "borrow" the firm's money. this does not excuse his crime, but it does throw light upon its natural history. when it will cease. publicity and education are, of course, the chief instruments for converting illegitimate into legitimate speculation, for changing commercial gambling into commercial foresight. this intelligent movement toward a restoration of discernible order and rationality in business processes, by eliminating "chances" and placing the transfer of property and the earning of industrial gains on a more rational foundation, must, of course, go with other movements of social and industrial reforms which aim simultaneously at the basis of reformation of the economic environment. every step which places the attainment of property upon a sane rational basis, associating it with proportionate personal productive effort, every step which enables men and women to find orderly interests in work and leisure by gaining opportunities to express themselves in art or play under conditions which stimulate new human wants and supply means of satisfying them, will make for the destruction of gambling. gambling don't pay. two-fifths of all the crimes committed every year are estimated to be attributable to race tracks. five men have been convicted this year of stealing money from the united states postoffice, and every one of them confessed he lost the money at race tracks. the mania for gambling is growing stronger, and as it grows the defenses of honesty crumble away. what may be called gambling thieves are not so numerous in chicago as in some other cities, for the reason that no race tracks are permitted to exist in cook county. but there are many gambling swindlers in this city. a large proportion of the men in the county jail are there because gambling wrecked morals in them, and hardly a week passes that does not find at least one person before the courts charged with robbery because money was wanted to bet. this is not all of the injury that gambling does to the community. because the state's attorney's office and the police have not suppressed gambling the city is full of sharpers who make their living out of men foolish enough to think that they can get rich by betting on horse races, faro or roulette. these sharpers are an organized band of law breakers, preying on society, disorganizing it as far as is possible, their whole existence a menace to decency and order. the passion for gambling can probably never be eradicated from human nature. but civilization should be able to prevent rogues and rascals from profiting by it in the way usual in chicago. professional gamblers--professional swindlers, should be sent to the penitentiary and kept there. there should be some means under the law to send all such to the penitentiary and keep them there. how to end race-track gambling. race-track gambling has unexpectedly become an issue of importance in new york, and widespread discussion of means to rid the city of its race tracks is taking place. discussion, however, is unnecessary. the way to end the plague of betting on races is plain. let the grand jury indict officials of the western union telegraph company for complicity in bookmaking and send them to jail. without gambling race tracks would be deserted. without the aid of the western union there would be no gambling worth mentioning. strike at the western union and the race tracks would go out of existence. the western union company is the one great encourager of gambling in this country. but for its reports of races, hundreds of thousands of young men would be saved from ruin every year. it is in partnership with sharpers who fleece the foolish. it shares their gains in payment for the use of its wires. the money that flows into its coffers from that source is taken by trickery from the public. the race track swindlers rob a man and hand over a part of their loot to the western union, because without the western union's assistance they could not have robbed him. [illustration: do they think about us at home? we air having such a good time hear a lone.] but for the western union telegraph company not a single race track would be in operation in the united states, for without the western union's aid race tracks would not be profitable. the way to stop race tracks gambling and drive race courses out of existence is to compel the western union to observe the law which forbids just such practices as those of which it is guilty every day. that can be done only by sending a few western union officials to jail and keeping them there until their company concludes to dissolve partnership with crooks. learn early not to gamble; teach pupils law of chance. mere driftwood on a restless wave; a shuttlecock that's tossed by fate; year follows year into the grave, whilst thou dost cry, "too late! too late!" a life that's but a wintry day, whilst chilling storms blow thee about; a tempter thou durst not say nay; a conscience long since put to rout. who gets by play a loser is; the gambler stakes his very heart; what's prodigally won's not his; who wagers takes the knave's foul part. thou shouldst not steal nor covet what another hath by labor earned; no man who hath with wisdom wrought but this base sport hath ever spurned. why haggard thus thy fair, young face with vigils, passions, aimed at gain? is this thy mission in this place-- this idleness which brings disdain? be not a weakling, nor of wax; let mind be master over thee; see that its shaping of thy acts prepares thee for eternity! art thou thy brother's keeper? most emphatically, yes, if he be not sufficiently strong to refrain from doing that which is injurious to himself and those dependent upon him. public lax; gamblers active. when the law declares against gambling, and advertisement and sale of even "fair" gambling paraphernalia, why is it that the righteous majority, which would not stoop to this form of speculation, sits inertly by, allows crooked devices to be advertised and sold, permits hundreds of men to waste their time and substance, and dozens to blow out their brains as a consequence? why do "good" men prate on "personal liberty," which is merely their way of washing their hands of the responsibility for good government. does it eradicate the evil to say a man is a free moral agent and need not lose his money gambling unless he wants to; that "virtue is its own reward;" that "honesty is the best policy," or that taking without giving return is a sin? would it not be better for this inactive majority of talkers to elect incorruptible men who can do something besides talk--men who would enforce the laws and provide heavy punishments for concerns which make gambling machines in which the unsuspecting have absolutely no chance to win? are we following rome to the pit? are we going the way of greece and rome? is there a menace in the rapid increase of wealth in the united states? are we allowing the moral tone of society to sink? the present tendency is toward speculation, even from childhood. in most cities the child barely able to walk can find slot machines in candy stores and drug stores from which he is made to believe he can get something for nothing. is this the proper training to give children? is it right to get something for which no return of money or labor is given? and is it right to thus lure children when adults know that their pennies more than pay for what they get--premiums and all? children in school should be taught to calculate probabilities as a part of their course in elementary arithmetic. then they would know better than to play slot machines or buy prize packages. and when they grew up they would shun the bookmaker, the lottery, and the roulette wheel. the ordinary gambler speculates partly because he loves the excitement and thrill of the game, but mainly, he will assure you, as he assures himself, he is buoyed up by the hope of winning. he does not stop to figure out his chances. if he sees a hundred to one shot he will play it, seeing only that by risking a dollar he has a chance to win a hundred. if he had been taught in school to see that really the chances were to against him, and that he was betting a dollar against fifty cents, he would keep his money in his pockets. of course the man who plays the races knows the odds of the book are against him. he prides himself, however, that he is a wise reader of the "dope sheet," and that can overcome the odds by a superior cunning. he knows that he can't win on his luck, for this "breaks even" in the long run. fate's cards always stacked. but the man who plays against a machine, if he has taken the elementary course in the law of probabilities, can suffer under no delusions and cannot give himself any reasonable excuse. he is bound to lose. the odds on the machine are against him. and even if they were not, it is entirely likely that the machine would win. an old gambler contends that if a man matched pennies all day every day for a month against a purely mechanical device he would quit a heavy loser. the only way he could keep even would be to start out with "heads" or "tails," and then go away and leave the machine at work, never changing his bet. if he remained to watch the operation he would, be sure to lose his head and begin to "guess" against the relentless mechanism, and then he would lose. in the ordinary coin-paying slot machine, the dial shows alternate reds and blacks, interspersed here and there with quarters, halves and, perhaps, $ . the player wins cents on the black, cents on the quarter, cents on the half, and cents on the dollar. the dials differ, but suppose there are thirty reds, thirty blacks, ten quarters, five halves, and one dollar. the chances are against you, then, on the red or black, to ; on the quarter, to ; on the half, to , and on the dollar, to . most players, it is said, prefer the larger sums as a hazard in the coin machines, although the probabilities against them are much greater. again, they are dazzled by the chance of winning a large sum at a small risk. really, they are betting their nickel against cents on the red or black, and against cents or less on the larger sums. children throw away money. if the children knew this they would not fool away their money in the machines when they go for a boat ride on the lake, and it is reasonable to suppose that grown men and women would beware of them if they had learned to figure chances when they were in school. in the penny machines in the cigar stores the probabilities are harder to figure. you play a cent in the machine, and if you get two pairs from a revolving pack of cards, always exposing the faces of five, you win a -cent cigar. in most of the machines you must get "jacks up or better" in order to win. any poker player will bet you a chip on any deal that you will not have as good as a pair of trays, and the chances that you will have two pairs as good as jacks up must be at least twenty to one. some of the machines consist of wheels of fortune which revolve from the weight of the penny dropped in the slot. in any event the child gets a penny's worth of goods, and there are chances to get two or five cents' worth. gum machines give an alleged cent's worth of gum, with a chance for a coupon, which is good for a nickel's worth without extra charge. [illustration: (men playing slot machine)] how many steps is this apparently harmless form of amusement removed from the deceptive slot machines in cigar stores? and, in turn, how many steps are these cigar machines removed from those in the saloons? the boy who wins five cents worth in the candy store will take cigarette tobacco or a cigar, if the dealer be unprincipled. next he tries for a cigar in a cigar store, and then for a cigar in a saloon. if he is lucky in the last named, he is asked to a friendly game of poker. beyond asking if it is a pleasure to either lose to or win from a friend, and to express the opinion that even though the game be perfectly square, and there be no rake-off, it still remains true that the time lost, and money spent for drinks and cigars, far outweigh in value any pleasure that may be experienced. confederates used. men who make a business of conducting and playing poker games stop at nothing to get the money. the expenses of running the place, and the free lunches, drinks and cigars dispensed must be paid for by some one, and the proprietor is not in business to lose money. the game in which there is no rake-off cannot possibly be square, and where there is a rake-off the odds against you are prohibitive, if you play fair. with seven men in a game of "draw," three of whom are "house" men, the amount which goes into the "kitty" nightly is usually about equal to the losses of the other cheat who dares not be found out. cheating device in a slot machine. ordinarily the owners and saloonkeepers divide the winnings of all slot machines. in a fair machine the winnings fall into the receptacle a. most of the money gambled by players found its way into this depository. it did not please the owner of this machine to share his profits equally with the saloonkeeper. the winning player was paid from the nickels which lined a zig-zag chute ending at c. the owner changed this scheme by inserting the secret bag b. then he cut a hole in the chute at d. and arranged a spring which diverted one out of three nickels into b. as long as the chute was empty below the point of entrance of a the nickels kept on filling the zig-zag runway. [illustration: slot machine proves a fraud.] when the machine was seized, in the box where all the gains were supposed to be, $ . was found. these two sums represented the total proceeds of a day. confederates, mirrors, words, signs and hold-outs are used. a player dealing from a stacked deck will inform his confederate how many cards to draw by uttering a sentence containing that number of words. men lounging behind a player will "tip off" his hand. cards are marked in a manner imperceptible to the eye of the novice, and sometimes liquid refreshment is spilled on the table in front of the dealer, so that his opposite can read the reflections of the cards as they are dealt face downward across the board. the last-named scheme is used where the table has no covering. there are many who believe that talks of crookedness at card tables are only sermons by "goody-goodies," who know not whereof they speak. let the following advertisement, recently sent broadcast over the country by a large concern located in the business center of one of america's largest cities, refute such claims: hold outs. "correspond with us before buying of others." we have the finest line in the country, and every machine is made to get the money--not for ornament, and accuracy. is as perfect as a watch. works with a knee movement, and by a slight movement everything disappears. if they have played cards all their lives they will stand it. our price only $ . . the circular also mentioned dozens of other crooked devices at lesser prices, and contained illustrations showing how the machines work. can there be any doubt these are used when concerns devote their entire time to manufacturing them and can get such high prices? [illustration: fig. .--showing card held under the arm.] [illustration: fig. .--ring hold-out.] [illustration: fig. . '_table-reflector._--fastens by pressing steel spurs into under side of table. a fine glass comes to the edge of table to read the cards as you deal them off. you can set the glass at any angle or turn it back out of sight in an instant.'] [illustration: (reflector reflecting card)] the sleeve hold-out above mentioned, is made of a hair cloth sideway, about the same size as a deck of cards, with its narrow sides laid in fine, plaited folds, so that it will either lie flat or expand. this is sewed in the sleeve of the coat or shirt and reaches from the cuff to the elbow joint. one of the wide sides is sewn or pasted to the cuff, both ends being open. at the elbow a strap fits around the arm, to which is attached a metal tube that reaches down to the near end of the sleeve, with a pulley attached to the end. a short wide elastic is also attached to the strap, and to the elastic is fastened a metal clamp that holds the cards. a cord is attached to this clamp, which runs down and over the pulley, then back to the elbow through the metal tube, thence to the shoulder, through the clothing to the body, thence down through the loop at the heel, with a hook attached to the end. the cord passes through a flexible tube from the elbow to the ankle. this tube will bend easily, but will not flatten, and is attached to the clothing with string ties to keep it in line with the body. its use is to prevent the cord from ticking or binding. to work this hold out the hook at the end of the cord is fastened to the loop of the shoe on the opposite foot. when the feet are spread apart the act causes the cord to draw the clamp referred to down through the sideway and to the near end of the sleeve. any cards that are in it will reach into the palm of the hand, where they can be taken out or placed back into the clamp. by drawing the feet together again the cord relaxes, and the elastic will draw the clamp and the cards it contains back up the slideway to its place near the elbow. there are other similar hold-outs. don't let them hold you up. marked cards. marked cards are known among gamblers as "paper," and are considered an article of utility in draw poker. the dealer, should he be a second dealer, will deal second to himself instead of reading the hand of his opponent's, thus giving himself a pair, two pair, threes or whatever he wishes. marked cards are used by those who are not second dealers, as they are often able to fill a hand by holding a card in the hand to correspond to the card on the top of the pack, and in any case enabled to read opponent's hands and play accordingly. they are perhaps the greatest advantage to a professional second dealer, as by drawing a bob-tail card of any kind he can spoil the chances of an honest player, however, skillful. people at large are becoming aware of many of the schemes used in swindling, but so fast as the public becomes acquainted with a scheme, the shark invents something to take its place or practices the old one until he has it so fine under his manipulation it is hardly recognizable. a professional gambler is soon known. even if he is never detected cheating, he is given credit for it. [illustration: caught working the sleeve hold-out.] [illustration: fig. . hold-outs.] cards marked with finger nails. this is a mark put on the cards during the progress of the game, with finger nail or thumb nail. it is put on so that the gambler may know just what his opponent holds. the ace is marked with a straight line or mark in upper right hand corner. the king, is a straight line about one-half inch long in the center of the card. the queen is a straight line a half inch longer than the king. the jack is a straight line about the center of the card. the ten spot is designated by a straight line or mark in the same position as the ace. the nine spot is a slanting line in position of king. the eight is a slanting line in position of queen. seven is a slanting line in position of jack. the six is denoted by a straight line in position of ace, running across the card at right angles to the ace mark. the five is same as six in position of king. the four is the same as five and six in position of queen. the tray is same mark in position of jack. deuce is a cross below the jack sign. the mark denoting the suit of the card is placed in the center of the top of the card. hearts are designated by a perpendicular line at the center end of the card. clubs are shown by a horizontal line in the same position. diamonds are shown by a slanting line in the same position. and of course, as hearts, clubs and diamonds are marked, a card without a mark would be a spade. this is one of the most dangerous tricks, as it is done during the progress of the game, and unless some one knows something about it, it would never be detected. the double discard. this is used by many of the gamblers, and is done through the neglect of the players. the man doing this will always draw three cards, no matter what he may hold in his hand. it is done by placing the cards he wishes to keep on top of the ones he wishes to discard, and laying them down beside him, ostensibly discarding them. as he is given his three cards he looks them over and has eight cards out of which to pick his hand. suppose in his original hand he held three diamonds and a club; he places the three diamonds beside him and calls for three cards, holding one diamond and the club in his hand. when his cards are dealt him he has five cards out of which to pick two diamonds. he selects two cards and discards three cards; at the same time he picks up the three cards that he discarded first. very few are expert enough to this trick without detection. check signs. this is a set of signs made with the use of checks. in making these signs a white check counts one, a piece of silver or a colored check counts five; often when colored checks or silver are not handy, matches are used instead. the count of checks corresponds to the size of the cards. one colored check would denote a pair of fives, or three fives, when used in a certain way, which i will endeavor to explain fully. of course, all these different signs are used between two men, who are in league with each other in order to cheat a game. the first sign in this set is the sorting of cards, which means that the hand is no good. should this sign not be given, the partner will look for the sign denoting what is held. when one man wishes to show that he has a pair, he holds the check or cards in the right hand, slightly to the left of his body. for instance, a white cheek held in the right hand, nearly in front of the heart, would denote that a pair of aces were held. two checks, a pair of deuces, and so on to eleven, which signifies jacks; twelve, queens, and thirteen, kings. for two pair, the head pair is shown, the checks being held squarely in front. for instance, aces up would be shown by holding one white check up in front of the body. for three of a kind, the same sign is used, merely the check is held a little to the right of the body. three colored and one white would signify that a straight was held; four colored and one white would signify that a flush was held; five colored and one white check would signify that a full house was held; six colored and one white would mean four of a kind; two colored checks, together in the palm of the hand, means a straight flush. uses to which a pack of cards may be put. a pack of cards may be used as a bible, a prayer book, and an almanac. as a bible and prayer book, the ace should remind you that there is one god; the deuce, of the father and son; the tray, of the father, son and holy ghost; the four, of the four evangelists--matthew, mark, luke and john; the five of the five virgins, who had filled and trimmed their lamps; the six, of the command to labor six days a week; the seven, of the seventh day, which god blessed and hallowed; the eight, of the eight righteous persons who were saved in the ark, noah, his wife and three sons and their wives; the nine, of the nine lepers who were cleansed by our savior and never thanked him for it; the ten, of the ten commandments; the king, of the great king almighty: the queen, of sheba, who visited solomon; solomon was the wisest man living, and she was as wise a woman as he was a man; the knave, of judas iscariot, who betrayed our savior. as an almanac, count the spots, and you have three hundred and sixty-five, the number of days in a year. count the cards, and you have fifty-two, the number of weeks in a year. count the suits, and you have four, the number of weeks in a month. count the face cards, and you have twelve, the number of months in a year. count the tricks, and you have thirteen, and you have the number of weeks in a quarter. the bill hand. you have often seen a lot of poker players playing with a lot of checks stacked up in front of them and a few bills or greenbacks spread out in front of them, between checks and themselves. a player having his checks in this manner needs watching, for it is easy to slide a full hand or four of a kind under those bills whenever an opportunity occurs. whenever a good fat pot appears he can use this hand which he has under the bills by simply putting his hand on top of the bills and turning them over, which brings the good hand on top and poor ones under the bills. he always makes a practice of laying his cards down on the bills, and other players see it at different times and will think nothing of it. the only way to detect this is by missing the five cards out of the pack, and one has to be a expert to miss five cards out of fifty-two without counting them, and after playing a good hand in this way he must get rid of the deal hand, which is under the bills, in order to get ready to collect another hand for the next play. the principal thing about this work is to do it at the right time and with the right people. toothpick or cigar signs. a gambler will use a set of signs made with a cigar, pipe or toothpick to show his partner what he holds in his hand. the signs are as follows: the cigar, pipe or toothpick placed in the left side of the mouth signifies a pair. on the right side two pair; in the center of the month means threes. to signify that a straight is held the cigar is moved up and down with the fore finger. working in the same manner with the first and second finger denotes a flush. with the third finger denotes a full house. with fourth finger means four of a kind. to show the size of the hand the fingers are placed on the cigar, pipe or toothpick in the following manner: suppose a pair of aces are held, the cigar is placed in the left hand corner of the mouth and touched with the first finger of the right hand. aces up or three aces can be shown in the same way. the first finger denoting aces, the second kings, the third queens and the fourth jacks. gambling device swindle in army and navy. scope of fraud world-wide--soldiers and sailors victims of contrivances. on may , , detective clifton r. wooldridge, with ten men, swooped down on: h. c. evans, south clark street; george de shone, north clark street; barr & co., e. manning stockton, fifth avenue. the offices were raided and sure-thing gambling devices valued at $ , seized and destroyed. h. c. evans was arrested and fined $ ; george de shone was arrested and fined $ , and e. manning stockton arrested and fined $ . afterwards e. manning stockton was indicted, arrested and gave bonds, which he forfeited and then fled. disclosure of conditions which so seriously threatened the discipline of the united states army and navy that the secretaries of the two departments, and even president roosevelt himself, were called upon to aid in their suppression, were made in the harrison street police court following this arrest. it was charged that a coterie of chicago men engaged in making and selling these devices had formed a "trust," and had for years robbed, swindled, and corrupted the enlisted men of the army and navy through loaded dice, "hold-outs," magnetized roulette wheels, and other crooked gambling apparatus. [illustration: electric dice] [illustration: the way some cards are marked.] the "crooked" gambling "trust" in chicago spread over the civilized world, had its clutches on nearly every united states battleship, army post, and military prison; caused wholesale desertions, and in general corrupted the entire defense of the nation. [illustration: reward to the party bringing back chicago's gambling kings.--grand jury.] try to corrupt school boys. besides the corruption of the army, these companies are said to have aimed a blow at the foundation of the nation, by offering, through a mail order plan, for six cents, loaded dice to school boys, provided they sent the names of likely gamblers among their playmates. this plan had not reached its full growth when nipped. but the disruption of the army and navy had been under way for several years, and had reached such gigantic proportions that the military service was in danger of complete disorganization. thousands of men were mulcted of their pay monthly. desertions followed these wholesale robberies. the war department could not find the specific trouble. post commanders and battleship commanders were instructed to investigate. the army investigation, confirmed after the raid and arrests, showed that the whole army had been honey-combed with corruption by these companies. express books and registered mail return cards showed that most of the goods were sold to soldiers and sailors. forts infected by evil. fort riley, cavite, p. i., manila, p. i., honolulu, the alaskan army posts, fort leavenworth, fort reno, fort logan, columbus barracks, fort mcpherson, were among the posts where hundreds of dollars worth of equipment was sent, and where thousands upon thousands of dollars a month was the booty obtained by the chicago trust on a commission basis. battleships in every squadron, the naval stations of this nation all through the world, navy yards, and other points where marines are stationed, have been loaded with the devices. it was found, upon investigation, that "cappers" were selected from the enlisted men. agents, who ran the games on commission, were also found. these men, dazzled by financial prospects, deserted in droves. many victims suicides. the men who were fleeced and had their small pay taken from them month after month, became reckless. some ended as suicides. hundreds became unruly and were subjected to guard-house sentences. they deserted in their despair. the conditions in the navy were even worse. scores of the battleship crews would be in irons at a time. to the honor of the service, it was found that no officers had ever participated in the corrupting vocation. it was the rank and file who "fell for it," as the gamblers said. they became either tools or victims, to the extent, it was estimated, of per cent. king death. an average of suicides a year at monte carlo--many bodies are secretly thrown into sea by authorities of this, the world's greatest gambling house. paris, nov. .--three thousand known suicides and murders have been committed in monte carlo in the space of fifteen years. the known suicides average fully a year, and some weeks there have been as many as three a day. the casino authorities do everything to hush up scandals and news of tragedies. a large force of plain-clothes men are engaged to either prevent suicides or to hurry the body of the dead unfortunate out of the way. it is estimated that more than one-half of the tragedies of monte carlo are never heard of except by the casino staff. the corpse is rushed quietly to the morgue--a secret morgue. here it is kept some time to see whether relatives or friends are going to interfere or kick up a row. [illustration: the end of the road] bodies thrown in ocean. every once in a while a small steamer slips out of the harbor at dead of night. its cargo is secured at the secret morgue. at sea the bodies are thrown overboard, duly weighted, without toll of bell or muttered prayer. there are countless graves of unknown dead in the monte carlo cemetery. but these are only those whose death has become known to the public. the casino authorities have a special bureau, whose duties are to relieve persons ruined at the tables. the ruined gambler can get from this bureau enough money to take him to his home, or to some spot far from monaco. few know of this, perhaps, or there would not be so many deaths. the "dead-broke" gambler is taken through many inner chambers and before stern-faced men, to whom he has to tell his history in detail. he is also confronted with the different croupiers, who testify as to whether he really lost as much as he may claim. banish the dead broke. then the wretched man has to sign a document banishing himself forever from monaco. his name and particulars are written in the "black book," his photograph is taken and given to the doorkeepers and other officials to study, and then the man is taken to the railway station, a ticket bought, a few dollars given him, and an official escorts him as far as the frontier. should he return it would not avail him. the police would turn him back again into france or italy. it is related that an american who was "broke" and anxious to get back to the united states heard of this feature of monte carlo. he had not gambled there because he had no money, but he managed to make his way to monte carlo and demanded to see the authorities. he coolly asked for a steamer ticket to new york. inquiries revealed that he had only just arrived in monaco, and had never put a foot inside the casino, but despite this the authorities gave him a steerage ticket to new york and saw him on his way. bonapartes big stockholders. there is also the case of an important indian army officer who went broke. the authorities gave him first-class passage to calcutta, and $ expense money. he had lost several thousands. as much as $ , has been paid out to a big loser so that he could settle up his hotel bill and take himself and family home. should such money be paid back the casino might again welcome the man. the sums usually paid range from $ to $ , and an average of , people a year apply for this relief. the profits of the casino are immense. last year they were $ , , , an increase of $ , over the previous year. seventy per cent was paid to the shareholders. the majority of the shares are held by the blanc family, the leading member of which is the princess marie bonaparte, whose father was prince roland bonaparte, and mother the daughter of m. blanc, the founder of monte carlo. she is the wealthiest princess in the world, and was lately married to prince george of greece, who is an impecunious princeling and needs the money. prince owns no stock. the prince of monaco has not a single share in the enterprise. but he derives his entire income from the sum paid him by the gamblers' company for the lease of monaco. the prince is of especial interest to americans, because of his american wife. she was miss alice heine of new orleans. when she married the prince she was a widow, the dowager duchess of richelieu. the prince is a "divorced" man. he first married lady mary, the daughter of the duke of hamilton and brandon, and a son and heir was born. but eleven years after the marriage the pair were so unhappy that an appeal was made to the pope. the catholic church, of course, does not recognize divorces, but the pope issued a special pronouncement declaring his -year-old marriage invalid, for the reason that the lady mary's mother "over-persuaded her to marry." receives enormous income. the prince, in return for the gambling concession, has been getting an annual income of a quarter of a million dollars and all the expenses of running the state of monaco, including the maintenance of the army and the royal palace. he recently granted a further contract to the "monaco sea-bathing company," or to give the gambling concerns the full title "la societé anonyme des bains de mer et cercle des etrangers à monaco." this concession now extends to , and the annual income of the prince has been raised $ , . every ten years it will be raised an additional $ , . in six years time the casino will also have to pay him a lump sum down of $ , , . it is stated that the prince of monaco is by no means in favor of the casino, and that he abhors the gambling and the consequent scandal in his state, and that could he do so, he would at once stop it. but in the old original contract it was agreed that the concession should be extended to , and the prince is not rich enough to break this contract and pay the indemnity which the law would quickly assess. gambling kings go broke; often die in the poorhouse. some one has advanced the statement that every human being is a gambler at heart. yet for a man to go into the business of establishing a card gambling house under modern conditions is to attempt one of the riskiest businesses in the world. recently one of the most noted gaming-house keepers in the country seems to have suggested a further anomaly in the situation in his utterance in a court of record: "when i conduct a house on a per cent basis of profit it is only a matter of time until my steady patron 'goes broke.'" in the face of this statement, however, the innocent layman may be still further at sea when it is recalled by old habitues of the gaming table that nearly every gambling king of modern history has finished close to the poorhouse and the potter's field! how is it possible that the gambler with the insidious, certain per cent which inevitably wrecks the man who goes often enough to the green table almost invariably dies in poverty? must have fortune to invest. today it is the gambler king who at least has an ephemeral show to gain fleeting riches. but in order that these riches shall approach riches as they are measured in other businesses, the man who opens the gambling house must have a fortune for the investment. his outlawed business itself will make it certain that he pays the maximum rental or the highest price for the property which he chooses for occupancy. to sustain this he will need to seek out the wealthy patron who not only has money to lose, but who may have a certain influence which may tend toward immunity for keeper and player alike. the "establishment" will need to have the best cuisine and the best cellars, with palatial furnishings and a retinue of servants in full keeping. and somewhere money will be necessary in blinding officials to the existence of an institution which is visible to the merest tyro in passing along the street. a constitution of iron, the absence of a nervous system, the discrimination of a king solomon and the tact of a diplomat are requisites for the successful gambling king. considering the qualification of the man for such a place and the final ending of the gambling king's career, it might be a sociological study worth while to determine where, on a more worthy bent, such capacities in a man might land him. in real life, however, it must be admitted that the gambler king is looked upon in exaggerated light. almost without exception the big gambler is posing always. conventionality has demanded it of him. but for more than this, in order to command the following which he desires, he must have a certain social side which is not too prominent, but which with tact and judgment he may bring out on dress parade. to the layman the gambler is the dark, sinister figure pictured in melodrama. he bears the same relation to gambling that simon legree bore to the institution of slavery of fifty years ago. story of one gambler king. one of the noted gamblers of his time in this country passed from laboring on the docks into the prize ring. when his ring work was ended the gambling house was an easy step onward in illegitimate fields. on the docks his reputation was not above a bit of "strong arm" work in separating a man from the money which the dock walloper wanted. naturally, under the queensberry rules, there were things in the ring which he could not do in overcoming an antagonist, and he learned to make concessions to fairness--which was education. opening a gambling house that was adapted to the wants of a rich clientele, it was a necessity that he preserve this educational regard for his patrons, and that he should add to it. soon he was in a position where it was imperative that his reputation for fair dealing be kept intact. he became the "gentleman gambler" whose "word" carried all the accepted concomitants of his gentleman's business. in the course of events he attained a high legislative office under the government. but it may be said for those who knew the man as a man, not one ever ceased to regard him at heart as the dock walloper, with the inherent and unreconstructed disposition to regard other men as legitimate prey. had other conditions and circumstances made a card sharp of him, he would have held to the promptings of his nature. in the conduct of a gambling house of the first class, the gambling king needs for himself and for his patrons the assurance of uninterrupted play. men of money and position will not go to a house where there is menace of a police raid. the small gambler may subsidize the policeman on the beat in which his house stands, but he cannot placate the whole police department. and even when it is thought that the gambler king is impregnable in his castle someone may break over the barriers and raid the place in the name of the law and order. [illustration: (gambler passing card to partner by foot)] [illustration: (man getting caught passing card)] within a few years new york has given to the world some of the inside working of the gambling business. when jerome raided the place of places which had been considered immune, the proprietor of the house was considered worth a million dollars. before the litigation was done and the fine paid the gambler king was out $ , , his "club-houses" were closed, and he had been branded officially as a common gambler, pursued in the courts for payment of lawyers' fees, which he designated as outrageous and a "shrieking scandal." yet this man was of the type whose word had been declared as good as his bond. dice, faro and roulette. dice, faro and roulette are the principal games of the gambling house and, considering these, the experienced player will tell you that he is suspicious of a "petey" in the dice box, a "high layout" in faro, and a "squeezed wheel" in roulette, in just the proportion that the gambling house keeper has not recognized that he cannot indulge them because of the fear of detection. the gambler holds to the gambler's view of the gambler--and it is not complimentary to the profession. that the gentleman gambler is justified in his attitude toward the gentleman player, too, has been shown in the new york revelations. there one gentleman player, loser to the extent of $ , . compromised with the "bank" for bills of $ , denomination. there a gentleman player who had lost $ , to the bank tried to compromise on $ , , but was in a position where the bank could hold him. how much the gambler king may loan and lose in the course of a year scarcely can be approximated. the gambling debt is "a debt of honor," and even in business not all such debts are paid. whether a borrowed debt or a debt of loss to the bank, this honor is the security, unless in emergency the gambler king discovers that he can blackmail with safety to his interests as a whole. in general, the gambler who is "on the square" operates on a per cent basis for his bank. in addition there is the "unknown per cent" which is his at the end of the year. the roulette wheel, for example, presents to the player just one chance in thirty-seven of winning on a single play, while the winning on that play is paid in the proportion of only to . more nerve to win than lose. the one great characteristic in human nature on which the gambler counts is the fact that it requires more nerve in a man to win than is required of him to lose! it is startling for the layman to be told that $ , in a night is a big winning for a player, while $ , is only an ordinary loss in a big establishment. this fact is based on subtle psychology. there are two types of players, one of which gambles when it is in a state of elation and the other when in a state of depression. with either of these types winning, it is a gambler's observation that the man who will play until he has lost $ , when luck hopelessly is against him cannot hold himself to the chair after he is $ , winner. gamblers have made money--fortunes--in times past, only to be buried in the potter's field. there are several reasons assignable for this end. extravagant living appeals to the gambler, and when he has left his own special line of gaming it does not appeal to him strongly as either pastime or means for recouping his fortune. if he turns to gaming at all it is likely to be in fields where he does not know the game. sometimes he goes to the board of trade--sometimes to the stock market. playing there he is without system and without knowledge of conditions. he is likely to bull the grain market two days after the weather conditions have assured the greatest grain crop in history. once a gambler, always a gambler, is his condition; and it is only a matter of time until someone has a game which beats him out. it's up to you, young man. there are two trails in life, young man. one leads to height and fame, to honor, glory, peace and joy, and one to depths of shame; and you can reach that glorious height-- its honors can be won-- or you can grope in shame's dark night. it's up to you, young man. stern duty guards the upper trail-- exact obedience, too-- and he who treads it cannot fail to win if he be true. but tickle folly, gay with smiles, rules o'er the other one, and leads to ruin with her wiles. it's up to you, young man. at parting of the trails you stand. at early manhood's gate; your future lies in your own hand-- will it be low or great? if now you choose the trail of right. when you the height have won, you'll bask in honor's fadeless light-- it's up to you, young man. a heartless fraud. schools to teach show-card writing catch many victims among the poor girls. december , , j. h. bell, the proprietor of a show-card college at quincy st., was arrested and the place closed. bell advertised for students to learn to write show-cards and signs. he is said to charge $ for a course and to promise positions at large salaries as soon as the course is completed. after the course has been finished and the tuition paid bell is declared to have refused to give the graduates employment on the ground that their work is unsatisfactory. a great many girls are attracted to the scheme, and sign contracts to pay bell for the instruction in the belief that they will be benefited. bell tells them that he has customers who will purchase all the cards they can make. they are to receive a few cents for each card as soon as they learn the business, but they are required to pay a fine of cents for each card they spoil. "they are set to work painting gold borders such as are seen in the windows of the department stores, but the task is so difficult that only a finished artist can do the work. bell has a woman accomplice who hustles into the office when it is filled with women and girls and tells how she makes from $ to $ a week painting cards. her talk encourages the girls to keep on spoiling bell's cards and increasing his income. swindler jumps bail. "when taken before the court, bell made a hard fight for freedom, but he was held to the criminal court on five charges of obtaining money under false pretenses. bonds were placed at $ in each case by justice prindiville. "he was unable to do the work he was requiring the girls to do, so when the grand jury saw through his scheme the five indictments were promptly returned. "j. h. bell jumped his bail, fled to minneapolis, where he conducted the same business. here he was again arrested, fined and given so many hours to leave the city." milwaukee, wisconsin, was the next place bell opened his show-card college. on the th of september, , he was again arrested for operating a confidence game and fined $ . he then went to st. louis, mo., and opened an office in the century building, under the name of the clark institute. charges of swindling women who applied to learn card-writing were made against him and he was arrested, but later released through some technicalities set up in the warrant of his arrest; also lack of evidence to support the charges made in the warrant. the newspapers published his swindling operations and on this account bell threatened to sue both the publishers and the police officials. detective wooldridge located him through an article which appeared in the st. louis paper, which gave a description of his show-card college, which was being carried on there. john m. collins, general superintendent of police, sent bell's picture and his bertillon system of measurements to the chief of police in st. louis, and requested him to make the arrest. on the following day john m. collins. superintendent of police, chicago. illinois, received the following letter from e. p. creecy, chief of police, st. louis, mo.: st. louis, mo., dec. , . john m. collins, esq. superintendent of police, chicago, ill. dear sir: replying to your letter of dec. , relative to j. h. bell, wanted in your city for obtaining money by means of a confidence game, will say that w. h. clark, office century building, this city, was in the court of criminal correction this morning charged with larceny by trick, and a _nolle prosequi_ was entered by the prosecuting attorney. he answers the description of bell and is undoubtedly the same person, but i would suggest that you send someone to identify him before the arrest is made, as he is making a fight here on his case. clark is carrying on the same kind of business here as he did in your city. very respectfully, e. p. creecy, chief of police. detective harry harris of chicago was sent to st. louis to identify bell, and swore that in his belief clark was bell. the detective department wanted the case continued until friday, but clark insisted upon immediate trial. judge sale held that the detective had not been positive enough in his identification. detective wooldridge arrived on the scene as bell was leaving the court room after being discharged the second time by the court. detective wooldridge seized bell and turned him over to a st. louis police officer and filed a new affidavit of positive identification that clark was bell. his lawyer demanded an immediate trial, but detective wooldridge secured a two-day continuance to bring witnesses from chicago to prove the identity of bell. this so enraged the attorney that he turned upon wooldridge and informed him that he would again free bell and even offered to bet $ . he further stated that he had asked governor folk not to grant requisition papers for his client. detective wooldridge replied, "do you remember admiral george dewey at manila bay who told captain gridley to fire when he got ready?" wooldridge further told him he didn't care any more for him than the dew that dropped on the jackass' mane. wooldridge told the attorney that bell had defrauded over two hundred working girls in chicago, illinois, and that the cook county grand jury had investigated the matter, and returned five indictments against bell, and the honorable charles s. deneen, governor of the state of illinois, had caused to be issued requisition papers for the arrest and apprehension of j. h. bell, and he had made detective wooldridge a special messenger to go to st. louis, mo., and bring bell to chicago where he could be placed on trial to answer to the indictments that had been brought against him. detective wooldridge stated that he had come three hundred miles to perform that mission and he intended that bell should return to chicago with him. the attorney replied "he hardly thought the honorable governor folk of missouri would grant requisition papers on bell." detective wooldridge told the attorney that he came for j. h. bell and was fully determined to take him back to illinois to stand trial and that he would cross the bridges as he came to them and burn them behind him. he told bell's attorney if the honorable governor folk refused to grant the first requisition papers, he would try on each of the other indictments asking for requisition papers. if this failed there was five forfeited bonds by which bell could be brought back to the state of illinois on extradition papers. if all this failed he had made arrangements to have him brought back by the strong arm of the united states government, through an inspector of mails and united states deputy marshal for using the mails for fraudulent purposes. wooldridge called up john m. collins, general superintendent of police, chicago, ill., by the long distance telephone and requested the second set of requisition papers, certified copies of the five forfeited bonds, and that the bondsman be sent to st. louis at once, which was done. thirty minutes after he left bell's angry attorney, wooldridge was aboard a missouri pacific fast train, bound for jefferson city, mo., to see honorable jos. folk and lay before him the reason why requisition papers should be granted. arriving at jefferson city at p. m., the following morning (which was sunday morning) he made a demand upon jailer dawson for the body of bell. jailer dawson referred him to judge sale. wooldridge found judge sale at his home, who, after examining his papers, found them all right and ordered the jailer to turn over bell to detective clifton r. wooldridge. bell was again brought to the office of the chief of police and confronted by wooldridge and harris who arrested him. when j. h. bell was arrested in chicago december , , mr. turner defended him and afterwards went on bell's bond for $ , . bell was turned over to wooldridge who slipped a pair of handcuffs on him as he was boarding a street car, landed him in east st. louis, ill., none too soon, as bell's attorney had sent out a writ of _habeas corpus_ and would watch all trains and stop the detective from taking bell from the state of missouri. wooldridge requested the chief of detectives to inform bell's lawyer that both he and bell were now in the state of illinois and their address would be in chicago, ill., if he wished to see either of them. one of the police officers at east st. louis overheard bell tell his cell-mate he would make his escape before he reached chicago, and told him to watch the newspapers the next day. this information was given to wooldridge. detective wooldridge had tickets over the chicago and eastern illinois railroad. this train left at p. m. at night and the first stop it made was twenty miles north on the missouri side of the river. wooldridge could not take his prisoner and board the train there on account of _habeas corpus_ writs for bell. officers were watching all trains expecting him to leave st. louis. wooldridge outwitted them by taking interurban street car, traveling some twenty-five miles in company with two officers whom the chief of police had sent along with him. upon arriving at the station in a heavy rainstorm he found the agent had deserted his post and gone home. the headlight on the eastern illinois fast express train showed up in the distance. what was to be done to bring the train to a stop so that they could board it? at this important moment wooldridge's eye rested upon a switch lamp under a switch only a few yards from him; with one leap across the track he secured the lamp and began to swing it across the track to and fro with a red light pointed towards the approaching train. this was a signal for the engineer to stop. but would the engineer see the signal in time, or would the rain which was beating down in torrents prevent the engineer from seeing the signal? it was an exciting few seconds to pass through. but the engineer did see the signal to stop, he blew one long blast of his whistle, reversed his engine, applied the air-brakes which brought the train to a stand-still right at the station door. a conductor and brakeman had alighted and run forward on the sudden stop of the train as they thought some accident had happened, inquired of wooldridge what was the trouble. he replied, "nothing but two passengers for chicago." at this time he and bell were aboard the train. the conductor told wooldridge that he had no right to flag the train. wooldridge told him that he had purchased two tickets to chicago with the understanding that the train stopped there to let on and off passengers, furthermore the card stated that this train stopped there, and arriving there he found that the agent had abandoned his post and gone home, and he had taken it upon himself to act as station agent for the time being and stopping a train. he told the conductor that he had to be in chicago the following morning as his business was urgent, furthermore he could not afford to stand there all night in the rain without shelter because the station agent had neglected to do his duty. on gaining admission to the car bell was made comfortable: by turning two seats together he had two big pillows on which he might rest his head. wooldridge then stooped down and unlaced bell's shoes so he could rest his tired feet, he then called the porter and gave bell's shoes to him with orders to shine them up and keep them until the detective called for them next morning. wooldridge then reached down into his traveling bag, took out a pair of leg-irons which he placed around bell's legs, and locked them securely. bell made a protest and assured the detective that he would not give him any trouble or make any attempt to get away. wooldridge told him the first law of human nature was self-protection and he was exercising that precaution in this case. only a few weeks prior to this time an officer was returning from new york with a prisoner and neglected to take these precautions, dosed off into a little sleep, the train had just then stopped to take on coal, the prisoner only had handcuffs on, and in the twinkling of an eye passed the officer who was asleep and succeeded in getting off the train just as it started. his escape was not noticed by the officer until they had gone several miles; it was then too late, the bird had flown, and having money in his pocket found a man who filed the shackles off his hands. he made good his escape and the officer lost his job. after bell had been securely shackled and made as comfortable as possible, wooldridge turned two seats together on the opposite side of the car, never closed his eyes until they reached chicago the following morning, taking bell to the bureau of identification, had his measure and picture taken. he was then turned over to cook county sheriff. a few months later j. h. bell was arraigned for trial and confronted by over thirty angry women, whom he had robbed, as witnesses. after a long trial he was found guilty of obtaining money under the confidence game. he asked for a new trial which was denied and on march the th, , he was sentenced to joliet penitentiary for an indefinite time by judge brentano. his counsel asked for the arrest of judgment so he might have time to write up the record and present it to the then the bell luck, which could beat even detectives, broke bell's way. also the bell honesty suffered a recrudescence. it so happened that while bell was in the county jail a plot was set on foot to make a big jail delivery. it was planned, and the plans seemed to have been well arranged, to smuggle enough dynamite into the jail to wreck even that formidable building. the plot was hatched by george smith, eugene sullivan, morris fitzgerald and alfred thompson. on march , , this precious crew had been arrested for robbing a mail wagon. they were apprehended and taken to the county jail. there they hatched the plot for the introduction of the dynamite. many other prisoners were admitted to their secret, among them bell. smith, who was as big and powerful as bell was little and insignificant, threatened to choke bell to death in his cell if he told of the dynamite plot. bell's spirit appeared to be as big as the other man's body. this may have been due to the fact that he saw that "peaching" on his confederates was the only method of escape. anyway bell "peached." he told of the dynamite plot and the dynamite was seized. dr. j. a. wesener afterward declared that there was enough of it to have destroyed the whole building. it was so undoubtedly true that bell had been of service to the state in revealing this plot that a plea for clemency was made for him and so he escaped the penalty for his crimes. but the experiences of bell, and the fear of detective clifton r. wooldridge had the salutary effect of putting a stop to the "show-card writing" fraud in chicago. the bogus mine. $ , , each year lost by investments in fake mining schemes. to what extent investment swindlers have operated in illinois will never be known, for some of them have so thoroughly covered up their transactions that it will be impossible to disclose them. this is especially true of a class of mining companies, the promoters of which remained in the background while their dupes were gathered in by seemingly respectable residents. these concerns operated by giving blocks of stock into the hands of unscrupulous men with good or fairly good reputations, and the latter disposed of it to such unsophisticated acquaintances as could be easily gulled. gold and silver mines in colorado, nevada, and utah furnished the basis for most of these swindles. sometimes the company really had an old mine or claim that had been abandoned, sometimes it had a lease on some worthless piece of property that was "about to be developed," but frequently it had nothing more than its gaudy prospects and its highly decorated shares of stock to give in return for the money it received. money-grasping church deacons were the favorite agents for these swindles and widowed women without business judgment their most common victims. it is estimated that in this country every year nearly $ , , are taken out of the savings of people of limited means by financial fakers, especially mining and oil fakers. during the last five years detective wooldridge has observed the "financiering" of several thousand fake companies, each of which secured a great deal of money from ignorant people. bands of swindlers repair to mining camps and establish branches there. they expend a few hundred dollars for shreds and patches of ground void of present or prospective value. they then form a mining corporation, place its capital stock at some enormous figure--a million, two or three million dollars--appoint themselves or some of their confederates, or even their dupes, directors, and sell the worthless claims to the company for a large proportion, or perhaps, all of the capital stock of the company. the stock must be disposed of with a rush. it must all go within a year or shorter time. when it is gone the suckers who get the stock for good money may take the property of the company. they always find an empty treasury, worthless claims, and the rosy pictures that led them astray, smothered in the fog. during the last five years the advertising columns of leading newspapers have been full of offers of mining stocks as "sure roads to fortune." nearly all of these mining companies, into whose treasuries the public has paid millions, have either been abandoned or the properties have been sold for debts, and invariably they bring very little. the major portion of receipts of these companies from the sales of stock is stolen by their promoters. official statistics of the mining industry show that out of each one hundred mines, only one has become a success from a dividend-paying point of view. about five earn a bare existence, while the balance turn out utter failures. promoter's word valueless. investors will do well to consider that stocks of mines which are only prospective are the most risky form of gambling. in buying stocks of the undeveloped mines offered to the public on the strength of statements the only substance of which is the imagination of promoters, one runs up against a sure-thing brace game. don't take the promoter's word for it. when you wish to place money where it can work for you, don't bite at the first "good thing" you see advertised. it is to the interest of the man who wants to sell you stock to place it before you in the rosiest light. otherwise he knows you would not buy it. if you want to buy stock, don't rely upon what the seller says, but consult others. before consulting persons whom you think may be able to express an honest and intelligent opinion, ask the promoter to furnish you a statement of the condition of the company, showing its assets and liabilities, profits and losses, and an accurate description of its property. you will then be able to judge whether the company is over-capitalized; whether it is incumbered with debts (for debts may lead to a receivership), and if its earnings may lead to permanent dividends. also ask for a copy of the by-laws of the company. if, with such information at your disposal, you cannot get a correct idea as to whether the stock is desirable or not, consult your banker or somebody else in your community who may be able to advise you. if some one offered you a mortgage on a certain piece of property, common sense would tell you to ascertain whether the property is sufficient surety for the loan, or if the title to the property is good and there are not prior incumbrances on it. the man who would buy a mortgage without ascertaining the value and condition of the surety, would be considered an idiot. why not use the same precaution when buying stock? don't believe what the promoter tells you about the value and prospects of the stock he wants to unload on you. don't take it for granted the stock offered you will turn out a great money-maker and dividend-payer because the promoter tells you so. the promoter, generally a person from another city and entirely unknown to you, has no interest in you, but is prompted by his own selfish interest to sell you something which, in many cases, he himself would not buy. he may offer you a good thing, but it is up to you to find it out. investigation necessary. in most cases, an intelligent investigation will prompt you to let alluring offers of great wealth for little money severely alone. the observation of the common-sense rules outlined above will save investors bitter disappointments and heavy losses. it is safe to say seventy-five per cent of the so-called "mining, plantation and air line" schemes and "security" companies now paraded before the public in flaring advertisements in the daily papers, and through glittering prospectuses sent through the mails, are vicious swindles. men who operate these frauds pretend to be honest and high-minded. by constant practice of their wiles upon others they develop self-deception and come to believe in their honesty to such an extent that when questioned, they assume a good counterfeit of honest indignation. most of them do not own the furniture in the offices they occupy while swindling the public. it is a common practice for them to rent offices in national bank buildings and to furnish them with rich furniture bought on the installment plan, to make the necessary "front." they spend their cash capital for flaring advertisements, sell as much stock as they can induce the gullible public to buy, and then decamp, leaving unpaid bills for advertising, if they can get credit after their cash is exhausted, and their furniture bill unpaid. the absconding swindler is usually succeeded by an "agent" or "manager," who repudiates the bills against his rascally predecessor and continues the work of fleecing the gullible under some new title or by means of some new trick. keep lists of suckers. every well-equipped fraudulent concern acquires the names and addresses of susceptible persons. painstaking revisions of the lists made up of these names and addresses form an important part of the labor of the principals or employes. the lists grow as each advertisement brings inquiries from persons who, either through curiosity or desire to invest, write for particulars. affiliated swindles operated in succession by a gang of "fakers" use the same list of "suckers." in affiliated swindles if the "sucker" does not succumb and remit his money on the inducements offered by one concern, his name is transferred to the lists of another, and he is then bombarded with different literature. thus a man must pass through the ordeal of having dozens of tempting offers made him before he demonstrates that he is not a "sucker," or has not got the money. his name is then stricken from the list. there are so many "get-rich-quick" operators at present that competition between them has become strenuous. they are now infesting the entire country with local solicitors, who frequent saloons, hotels, and even residence districts, where victims are found in foreigners, ignorant servant girls and inexperienced widows. these solicitors get per cent commission on all sales of stock. this fact in itself is evidence that the propositions are rank swindles. when the swindling operator finds things getting too hot he disappears from his office and bobs up in some new place with a new proposition. pecksniffian tears delude. a few attempts have been made to prosecute the swindlers, but for the most part the local officials have failed. in but few instances have the victims been able to give anything like intelligent statements of the representations made to them. where the right sort of agents have been used the people who have lost their money have not awakened to the fraud passed upon them. a few pecksniffian tears have deluded them into the belief that the swindlers as well as themselves were victims of some third party who is in another state and out of reach. where cases have been brought to trial it has been a difficult matter for juries to understand how the persons aggrieved could have been caught with the sort of chaff thrown to them, and there has been little disposition to show charity for the victims. then, too, the men hauled before the courts have always made it appear they were in the same boat with the complaining witness, and that the culprit was many, many miles away. so, usually, they have escaped. difficult to convict. even in the most flagrant cases and where every advantage was taken of the ignorance, inexperience or trustfulness of the person deluded it has been difficult to bring the offense under the state statutes. it requires more than ordinary misrepresentation and lying to make out a criminal case, and under the rules of evidence which prevail it is almost impossible to overtake a cheat who has not put his misrepresentation into writing or made them in the presence of third parties. where the swindlers have used the mails, however, it is not such a difficult matter to convict. the united states is scrupulously jealous of its postal service, and under its statutes every fellow who undertakes to utilize it for improper purposes can be brought to book. he can not hide behind some one in another state, for the federal jurisdiction is general and the other man can be brought in. nor can he plead that the business was legally licensed in another state, or that its incorporation was regular. if it was a cheat and the mails were used in furtherance of its design, no corporate cloak thrown around it by any of the commonwealths can save the promoters. power of uncle sam. an example of the power of the federal authorities was given when secretary of state rose of illinois was trying to keep the swindling investment companies out of the state. this was before the enactment of the present law regulating the licensing of corporations. a number of concerns had been formed in southern states, and they were insolently demanding licenses to do business in illinois. the secretary of state was powerless under the illinois statutes, but when the matter was called to the attention of the federal authorities they wiped out the whole lot of companies with a postal fraud order. wooldridge finds smooth scheme. detective wooldridge, in looking into many of these mining frauds, discovered one or two which proved quite a revelation even to the united states authorities. this was a system of "kiting" stocks, just as other fraud concerns have been known to kite checks. the method is very simple. james johnson, of indiana, is "roped in" by one of the smooth young men who operate for the schemers. james buys or , shares in the holy moses mine, located in or near goldfield, reno, rawhide, cripple creek, or some other well known mining camp. the "holy moses" is a hole dug in the side of a hill, and all that will ever come out of it is soil. but that part does not matter. under certain strict laws now prevailing only so much stock can be issued even by the schemers. james johnson holds his thousand shares for three months. by this time all the stock has run out and the firm is at the end of the rope, apparently; but no, they have found a way to stretch that rope. william wilson, of michigan, is clamoring for a thousand shares of the "holy moses." there is no stock to sell him, and if any more is printed and issued the waiting detectives will swoop down at once, for word has gone forth that the "holy moses" is a non-producer. how to get that thousand shares for wilson is the problem. "holy moses" rises? aha; it is easy. a letter is drafted to james johnson, bearing to him the gladsome news that "holy moses" has gone up, away up, and that the stock is mounting by leaps and bounds. does james johnson wish to sell his stock at a substantial advance? james johnson does. well, the philanthropic owners of the "holy moses" will put that stock on the market for him at once and send him the proceeds, if he will kindly send in his stock with authority for transfer in blank. the indiana sucker bites at the bait and sends in his thousand shares to be sold. no sooner do they reach the office than they are immediately started off to michigan to wilson, after the precaution has been taken to remove johnson's name from the face of the stock and substitute wilson's. the authority for transfer in blank, and the fact that the transaction is a transfer of stock, is thus kept from wilson. in due course of time a fat check from wilson finds its way into the coffers of the "holy moses" promoters. and also, in due course of time, johnson wants to know something about that sale. "holy moses" falls. he is met with the doleful news that while his stock was on the way to chicago, or elsewhere, the stock in "holy moses" had experienced such a decided slump that it was impossible for them to sell it at a profit. if he desires, they will hold the stock for a raise, which they expect as soon as the present unfortunate financial panic has passed, or until industrials begin to go up. the drop in "holy moses" is not due to any slump in the production of the mine; far from it. it is only the unfortunate financial depression which is to blame, and there is no doubt but that "holy moses" will go up a-whooping very soon. naturally johnson bites again, and says hold the stock for that raise. meanwhile the stock has been procured again from wilson and sent to baker, in kentucky. and so on, indefinitely. it is only when some of the swindled ones become particularly savage that their stock is returned to them. and then it is not their original stock at all, but a new thousand shares which some sucker has sent in. one block of stock in one company was sold in this way in by a chicago mining company, no less than twelve times. the activities of detective wooldridge afterward put this firm out of business, and the head promoter was arrested in the west by the federal authorities. it is well that all these facts should be taken into consideration by the public before investing in mining shares. first principles in mining purchases. here are a few good leads to follow in buying mining stock. first make sure that there is a producing mine. then make sure that the stock you get is not kited stock. but, above all, make sure of the responsibility, respectability and solidity of the firm from which you make the purchase. a giant swindle. banks in chicago, new york and london badly fleeced. bogus notes and stock--many firms are victims--prisoners said to have practiced frauds under titles of corporations--chicago, september , , detectives wooldridge and john hill uncover the fraud--five men arrested. a remarkable story of swindling which, extended to many cities in america and to england, was disclosed, uncovering a gigantic forgery and check kiting plot as well as several fraudulent stock selling schemes. chicago concerns are victims. banks and business concerns, especially in chicago, suffered through the operations of the men. their methods came to the attention of john hill, jr., connected with the board of trade, and detective wooldridge learned enough to convince them and the men behind institutions the objects of which were to obtain money fraudulently. some of the places which have been mulcted are: commercial national bank, august ; bogus note for $ , . stromberg, allen & co., printers, clark street; bogus note for $ . r. b. padgham & co., packing boxes, dearborn street; bogus note for $ . matthew hallohan, river street, september ; bogus note for $ . loses all of savings. julius radisch, south halsted street, a german who lost $ in the wreck of the national fireproofing company, told the police of the unique methods used by johnston in selling him the stock. he asserts that johnston told him that the stock would pay at least per cent dividends, and as proof of the prosperity of the company took him to the downtown district and showed him several skyscrapers which he claimed were owned by the corporation. radisch also says that johnston also pointed out a bank where he said the company had immense sums on deposit. the story told by radisch is peculiarly a sad one, as the money lost by him in the crash of the fireproofing company represented the savings of a lifetime of hard labor. shortly after the discovery that his money was lost his wife died. [illustration: _forged notes cause five arrests_ $ , stolen from banks through plot of swindlers prisoner accused as principal in mammoth swindling plot in which many banks are victims, and a facsimile of one of the notes by which money was obtained. _bond used by the swindler._ george f. johnson] one capitalized at $ , , . the concerns most frequently used by the men in their transactions, the police say, were known as national fire proofing company of new york and the federal trust company of south dakota. the fire proofing company was stated to be capitalized at $ , , and the trust company at $ , . offices for each concern were at broadway, new york. from there, it is charged, circulars and pamphlets were sent out to investors in all parts of the country, and it was also a practice of these concerns, it is alleged, to open accounts with banks and exchange bogus notes for good ones. sheriff in charge of affairs. about one week before the arrest the concerns were placed in the hands of the sheriff of new york county, and, following this, it is declared, disclosures were made which hastened the arrest of the men involved. banks and firms in chicago, new york, philadelphia and london, it is declared, are known to have suffered through the alleged operations of the men, who were aided by companions in the different cities. most of the concerns, of which there are at least twelve, all declared to be fraudulent, are in chicago. list of bogus firms. the following is a list of the concerns, the names of which have been learned by the police: national fire proofing company, new york and chicago. federal trust company, new york and chicago. keystone structure cleaning company, philadelphia. mcguire, johnston & co., new york and chicago. hessley, johnston & co. hessley & johnston, chicago. a. a. hessley, chicago. george f. johnston, chicago. c. f. mcguire, chicago. f. l. cunningham, chicago. chester e. broughn, chicago. lincoln gas light & coke company, lincoln, neb. another concern dealing with alleged spurious bonds of custer county, idaho, the police declare, was under the direction of these men. it was the old-time favorite method of kiting checks and drafts among the banks and private individuals of the city and country that was used, and there is no doubt that it proved successful in this instance. although it is believed the men did not obtain great riches in their operations in chicago, it would have been only a question of time when they would have become wealthy, so apparently easy was it for them to get funds. opened many bank accounts. accounts in banks in chicago and other cities were opened and then exchanges of checks were made among them. only the over-boldness of their operations caused their downfall. an instance of their methods would be the following: the federal trust company, one of their "paper" concerns, would deposit a check in a chicago bank made by the keystone structure cleaning company of philadelphia, another of their alleged firms. the check would be sent east for collection, and in a few days it would be returned marked "no funds." offer bond in a settlement. meanwhile the trust company had checked against its account, to which the keystone structure cleaning company's check had been credited. when the check was returned from the eastern bank the chicago bank would notify the federal trust company of the non-payment of it. the chicago firm would then offer explanation and apologies and give a per cent to concerns that cashed the checks. when they came back, the men who got the money were shocked beyond measure and at once offered stock and bonds of twice the face value of the money involved as security. this quieted the fears and enabled the schemers to go on. five men are arrested by detectives wooldridge and barry. five men were arrested by detectives wooldridge and barry, charged with operating twelve concerns. the commercial national bank was one of the victims. the men arrested are as follows: chester a. broughn, broker, lasalle street. s. l. cunningham, years old. west jackson boulevard. c. f. mcguire, years old, arrested at the great northern hotel. george f. johnston, years old, arrested at dearborn st. alvin a. hessley, years old, arrested at dearborn st. tool tells truth--usher of church in crime cloud. at the age of years, s. l. cunningham, vestryman and sunday school teacher and chief usher in the jackson boulevard christian church, has come to the conclusion that he is "just an old fool, after all." mr. cunningham was arrested recently on the charge of being one of a gang of forgers and "get-rich-quick" men who have been swindling chicago and new york business houses and banks during the last few months. he says his only connection with the gang was in selling stock until a short time ago for the national fireproof paint company, one of the concerns raided, and lending his bank account to george f. johnston, said to have been one of the prime movers in the gang. mr. cunningham looks like a bishop. his hair is white and his appearance distinguished. his story is an illustration of the manner in which swindling concerns procure one or two men of weight and respectability in a community to act as their advance agents and establish confidence. as he sat on the white-pillared porch of his residence, surrounded by his wife and sympathetic neighbors and church members, his face in the gaslight showed the marks of grief through which he has passed since his arrest. cunningham tells the story. "yes," he said, "we of the fold often go astray, but i am innocent. i have a sunday school class of young girls that i am going to take out into lincoln park tomorrow. i hardly know what to say to them. i can't bear to think of taking my place as head usher on sunday, although my pastor tells me to march down the aisle with my head erect. i am getting to be an old man, you see, and i have never wilfully wronged a person in my life." his voice trembled, but his wife laid her hand on his arm and he straightened up. "i know nothing of these men except mr. johnston," he said. "i was introduced to him by a friend of mine three months ago. i have sold stock and insurance for the last twenty years, and i thought he had a good thing in the national fireproof paint company, so i started selling stock for him. i could not sell the stock, as i could not show enough assets, so i quit two weeks ago. i was a fool, and a dupe, all right. bank account overdrawn. "johnston, a young man, told me he was hard up and asked to use my bank account at the commercial national. i let him and endorsed his checks. my wife told me not to do it, but i thought he was all right then. well, he overdrew the account, the check was protested, and when my name was found they arrested me. i never knew any of the other men, although i saw them around the office. they did too much whispering, and i thought it did not look well." then, in a simple way, he went on to tell of his wife and his work in the church. he produced a letter from the pastor of his church, the rev. parker stockdale: "this introduces mr. cunningham, a member of my church. he enjoys among us the reputation of a thorough gentleman and a conscientious business man. he is a highly respected and useful citizen. his honesty is beyond question." he also had a letter from col. jonathan merriam, former united states pension agent, which was along the same lines. offer of bribe alleged. broughn, the broker, is a man of a different stripe, according to detective barry, who arrested him. when he was informed of his arrest he is said by the detective to have replied: "come down to the saloon next door. i will settle the case at once. name your price." when arraigned before justice cochrane the cases were continued until september . all the men were released on $ , bonds each, with the exception of broughn, whose bail was fixed at $ . the bonds were signed by a professional bondsman at the harrison street police station. c. f. mcguire forfeited his bond and fled to new york city, where he was apprehended and arrested by new york authorities at the request of john m. collins, the chief of police. the information which led to his arrest was secured by detective wooldridge, who was made a special messenger by charles s. deneen, governor of illinois. c. f. mcguire was a powerfully built man, weighing pounds and standing over feet tall. he was turned over by the new york authorities to detective wooldridge, who slipped on him a pair of handcuffs and crossed over to jersey city on a ferry, and from there took a section in a pullman car on a fast train on the pennsylvania railroad. mcguire was put to bed in the upper berth, after he undressed. detective wooldridge told him he was bringing him back like a gentleman, but the first law of nature was self-protection. the detective then requested him to turn over all his clothes except his night shirt, which was done. wooldridge then placed the clothes under the mattress in the berth below, which he was to occupy. he then took out a pair of leg irons, tied a strong cord to them, placed the leg irons on mcguire, threw the cord back behind the berth below, and this was tied to his hands after he had buttoned the berth curtains and pinned them with safety pins all the way down. the curtains were then stuffed in under his mattress. after all this was done wooldridge then laid down with his clothes on and laid awake until morning, but managed to get some rest by laying down. chicago was reached in safety. after taking mcguire to the bureau, where bertillon measurements were taken and his finger prints recorded, he was turned over to the sheriff of cook county. the trial was set, which lasted five days. witnesses were brought from the banks in new york city and philadelphia which had been victimized. february , , found guilty. check "kiters" heavily fined--george f. johnston and c. f. mcguire assessed $ , each. a jury in judge kersten's court later returned a verdict finding george f. johnston and c. f. mcguire guilty of swindling and imposed a fine of $ , each. if the fine be not paid the defendants will be compelled to serve the amount at the rate of $ . a day in the bridewell. chester a. broughn and a. h. hessley entered pleas of guilty at the last minute and their cases will be disposed of later by judge kersten. state's attorney john j. healy and assistant state's attorney barbour expressed themselves as pleased over the outcome of the trial. quacks. rascals who prey upon the ignorant. the "specialist," the "optician," the "doctors' college"; all frauds. blackmail helps medical scamps--poor girls victims of "doctor" thieves. the history of quacks and quackery includes some of the most glaring frauds ever perpetrated on a credulous people. in all ages of the world's history down to the present day, these humbugs have cut an important figure in their day and generation. they are numerous in almost every line of business, serving god when it pays them to do it, and assisting the devil when their interests demand it. in these pages i propose to deal with medical quacks only. the advent of every discovery in medicine, slight though it may be, has brought to the front a ring of pretenders in the healing art. these fellows catch the multitude. the poor, the ignorant and the credulous are their followers. it has been so in every age of the world's history. the man or woman with broken health will catch at every straw that offers hope of recovery, and so they drift from one quack to another, until ruined in fortune and oftentimes made worse in their physical ills, they at last pass to the silent home where the pain and joy the cunning and simplicity of the world are alike of insignificance. the desire to live lurks in the heart of nearly every human being. and no matter how wretched they may be, how poor in pocket, broken in spirit, whether suffering from real or imaginary ills, thirsting for relief, they have gone from quack to quack, giving of their meager savings for some vaunted elixir which in all probability only hastens their journey to the grave. one reason why quackery flourishes is the fact that medicine is not a science. ask any honest physician and he will tell you the same. a drug that will help one person will have no effect on another. there are in the realm of medicine no such things as "cures." people who are sick recover, but they would do so whether they took "dope" or not. all disease is self-limited. the doctor who talks of curing smallpox, measles, typhoid fever, is a fool. natures cures, not the doctor. people get well of these complaints, and many others who take no medicines and employ no physicians. physic to the dogs. followers of the late "elijah dowie" relegated physic to the dogs, where it properly belongs, and yet enjoyed good health. mrs. eddy's converts take no drugs, not even simple household remedies. here is a body of people numbering millions, entirely repudiating physicians, yet their health is as good, if not better, than those who continually take drugs. doctors make war on them. why? it interferes with the medical graft. don't think for a minute that advertising doctors are the only grafters in the medical profession. many of them are bad, very bad, but there are men right here in chicago, as well as other big cities, who never advertise in papers, yet they are as notorious swindlers, and will as quickly take advantage of the ignorant and credulous, as the man who flaunts his skill in the daily press. to fall into the hands of these fellows is to be despoiled in pocket and ruined in health. operations that are uncalled for and not needed are performed almost daily. only a short time ago i heard a doctor boast of having removed the ovaries of two thousand women. how many of these operations were actually necessary? probably very few, but each case enriched him to the extent of several hundred dollars. women more frequently than men are the victims of unscrupulous doctors. people do not often question the skill or the opinion of the fashionable physician; they take for granted the truth of all he may say, forgetting for the time that he has a pecuniary interest in the work that may possibly result in the death of the patient. unnecessary operations. how many people die from wholly unnecessary operations? only the hospital records and the immediate friends of the patient can tell. these words are written to put people on their guard. dishonest doctors are everywhere, especially in big cities. chicago is full of them. they may be strictly ethical and affect to despise the advertiser. they do so, however, only from a business standpoint. they hate opposition, and somehow the advertising doctor manages to get a goodly share of the business, and is oftentimes the superior in skill in his particular line or specialty to his ethical brother. there are good doctors and bad ones, just as there are good and bad men in every walk and business of life. in my experience as a detective i have met with both kinds. in these pages i will deal with the advertising doctor only. i will do, and have done, what i can to drive the dishonest ones out of the business. the eye doctor, professing to cure blindness or other diseases of the eye without the knife, is one of the most dangerous and dishonest men in the medical profession. chicago has its full quota of this form of quackery. there are two men in this city--dr. m---- and dr. o----, who are national advertisers. both have been exposed in a recent new york weekly paper at the instigation of the american medical association. it is noteworthy, however, that this same paper accepted a full-page advertisement from dr. o---- only a few months before the expose, thus deluding thousands of its readers. the price paid for one page and one issue was fifteen hundred dollars. this sum, paid to but one paper, will give the reader some idea of the vast expense to which the quack is put to place his name before the public in his effort to rob the blind. this same dr. o---- pays out annually sixty thousand dollars for advertising alone. he employs twenty typewriters--mostly girls. the correspondence is handled entirely by the clerks, the doctor rarely ever seeing a letter. he employs but one assistant, a young man fresh from college. no personal interviews with patients are asked for or desired. it is a mail order business almost exclusively. occasionally a patient comes to the city to see this great oculist. dr. o---- himself is hardly ever in evidence. he spends most of his time in summer resorts and european capitals. the only medicine used is a solution of boric acid in water. the same can be bought at any drug store for a few cents. his charges are ten dollars per month. this man's mail is enormous. i have known him to take in twenty thousand dollars a month. one of the catchy lines in his advertisement says he cures crossed eyes without the use of the knife. this is true, but he uses scissors instead. cross-eye can only be straightened by severing the muscles of the eye. all physicians know this, but the people do not; hence the success of this robber of the blind. dr. o---- is a devout church member. he is one of the largest contributors to the christian church, to which he belongs. nearly all church papers carry his advertisements, though they must know him to be a fraud of the first water. sleek and unctuous church member. personally he is sleek and unctuous, is always found among the godly, takes more interest in foreign missions than the every-day affairs of life, and fully expects to occupy a seat in the parquet of the new jerusalem. the money wrung by the basest of false pretenses from his poor unfortunate blind victims, does not disturb his slumbers. if he has any conscience at all he fortifies himself with the thought that "jesus will bear it all," and lets it go at that. blind people, or those with failing eyesight, beware. a close second to the above-named grafter, and in the same nefarious business, is dr. m----. this man's advertisements read very much like those of others in the same line of work. he also cures without the knife, but uses the scissors. his treatment is the same--boric acid and water. this can do no possible good except in slight inflammations. it cannot cure cataract. it may be set down as a truth (ask any honest physician) that cataract is incurable except by surgical operations. yet these men continue to advertise its cure, claiming to have a specific remedy that will absorb it. dr. m---- is wealthy, all made out of the blind. while other men are giving of their wealth to ease the lives of these poor unfortunates, they are being systematically robbed in the most heartless and shame-faced manner. priceless is sight. a man or woman threatened with loss of it will give up their last dollar for a prospective cure. in this way these so-called "eye doctors" fatten on the credulity of their victims, doing them absolutely no good and quite often a serious injury. dr. m---- is also a devout church member. he can be seen hanging over the pew of a fashionable west side church every sunday. there he is hailed as a good brother by his fellow members, many of whom are as great, if not as successful, a grafter as he is. they use the cloak of religion in which to serve the devil. the "optician" fake. in connection with this subject let me warn you of the existence of an army of "opticians." these men are often swindlers of the first water. their misrepresentations as to the money value of glasses amounts to grand larceny. they charge all the way from ten to seventy-five dollars for a pair of lenses that usually cost seventy-five cents each. there are honest men in the business, but beware of the grafter. there are many lesser lights engaged in the eye business, but the examples given above will serve to place you on your guard. take no treatment by mail. less can be done for the eye than any other organ of the body, unless it is the ear. both are so complex in their anatomy and the symptoms so obscure that it is an impossibility to make a correct diagnosis without seeing the patient and using the best instruments that science can bring to the aid of the physician. consumption cures. a few years ago dr. koch, of berlin, germany, announced that he had discovered a cure for consumption. the same announcement has been made thousands of times before by more or less illustrious physicians. dr. koch's cure was a gas, requiring more or less elaborate apparatus. several years' trial of this supposed cure convinced the medical profession, and dr. koch himself, that he was mistaken. he retracted his statements and acknowledged he had been in error. yet in every large city of the country, chicago, of course, included, there are established "koch institutes" for the cure of consumption. a more brazen fraud was never perpetrated on an ignorant public than the claims which these so-called institutes advertise. they are patronized chiefly by the poor--those who have been told by honest physicians that they are incurable. having no means with which to take trips to the mountain or sea shore, they grasp at every quack medicine or institute that offers hope of recovery. i have visited the chicago branch of this miserable fraud. invalids who can scarcely walk are to be seen there daily inhaling mixtures of nauseous gases that have no more effect on the germ of consumption than a popgun on one of uncle sam's ironclads. by means of paid-for testimonials and a couple of "cappers," people from all parts of the country are brought here, oftentimes taking the last dollar of the family exchequer to pay for the so-called treatment. these frauds have been exposed time and again. however, a new crop of victims are gathered in every day and the game goes merrily on. human ghouls. the human ghouls in the guise of doctors are meantime living in luxury, and fattening on the misfortunes of their already half-dead victims. you might ask why does not the law step in and protect the sick. if you had seen as much of the law as i have you would discover that it too frequently protects the doctors and not the patients. the men running this and other similar frauds are all licensed physicians, and have the authority of the great state of illinois to pursue their calling. if you have consumption spend your money in getting good air, not dope. drugs never yet cured consumption. that is the testimony of all honest doctors, and there are still a few of them left. the morphine cure. forty years ago dr. c----, of laporte, indiana, a bricklayer by profession, conceived the idea of selling morphine as a cure for the opium habit. morphine is the essence of opium, just as cocaine is the essence of the coca leaf. it was a brilliant idea and brought dr. c---- (he afterward bought diplomas galore) a mint of money. c---- constructed himself a mansion in laporte, which stands today, a splendid specimen of the builders' art. he was the first man to put on the market an opium cure. the poor wretches who are addicted to this habit would make any kind of a sacrifice for a cure. the whiskey habit is not a circumstance to the opium or morphine fiend. there is no habit which so enslaves the victim as the drug habit, and they are seldom cured. c---- ran along for many years with but few imitators. the many victims of morphine whom he has gathered into his net were pouring in their wealth until it amounted to thousands daily. as long as they took the c---- remedy they had no desire for morphine. the "remedy" contained morphine--more, usually, than they had been taking before. "dr." c---- had thousands under treatment, but made no cures. at last the so-called remedy was analyzed and its true nature discovered. at once an army of imitators sprang into existence in all parts of the country, and morphine cure became as common as other cures. they all had and have as a basis opium or some of its salts. the extent of these drug addictions is hardly realized. chicago alone has thirty thousand of these unfortunates, and the trade in opium and allied drugs is immense. encouraging the morphine habit. many of these victims date their downfall from some sickness in which a physician prescribed the drug--perhaps to allay pain or produce sleep. when they recovered they found they still had to have it. the habit grew and finally fastened itself with such a deathlike grip that they were unable to shake it off, and so they totter through life, unfitted for anything except to beg, borrow or lend some of the dope. men and women once high in the business and social world are frequently found in the police dock accused of some petty theft in order to satisfy their craving for these destructive drugs. chicago has its quota of doctors who "cure" the morphine habit, but always in the way that "dr." c---- did. most of them are "fiends" themselves who eke out a living selling the drug to other victims in the form of a "cure." if by any chance you have contracted the habit steer clear of all so-called cures. the remedy is worse than the disease. the cancer cure. one can hardly pick up a paper or magazine that does not carry the advertisement of dr. b----, of indianapolis, ind., with branch institutes at kansas city and other places. dr. b----'s remedy is an oil for which he claims wonderful properties. in reply to an inquiry the doctor sends out a little book, filled with testimonials from grateful patients, dependent preachers and his fellow church members. the book tells you that the doctor has even built a church all by himself and maintains it at his own expense, even paying the salary of the pastor out of his own pocket. it will be noticed that all successful quacks appeal to the religious element of the community. a man who is really religious is honest; having no tinge of dishonesty himself, he suspects none in others. he therefore falls easily into the net of the charlatan. the quack knows this, hence his use of the religious press in which to exploit the virtues of his medicines. does dr. b---- cure cancer? yes. there are seven varieties of cancer; two malignant, which all physicians agree are incurable, and five non-malignant, of which the wart and wen are good examples. dr. b---- cures the non-malignant varieties only, and you can do the same yourself by the application of a few drops of glacial acetic acid to the growth once a day. this is the whole secret of the so-called cures wrought by these men. dr. b---- never cured a genuine malignant cancer in his life, and never will until a specific is discovered that will combat it. he has grown very rich, is known as a public-spirited gentleman and to say aught against him in his native town is to bring down on one's head the wrath of the business community. why? patients from everywhere. dr. b---- has patients coming from all parts of the country. they bring and spend money at his sanitariums. it is "business," and i am only sorry to say that what is known as business is too often larceny. if you have a growth you do not understand, trust it to your family physician, if he is an honest man, rather than to one of the many cancer sharks that infest the country. the rupture cure. this, when offered by mail, as it is in almost every magazine that accepts medical advertisements, is also a glaring fraud upon a most helpless class of people. while it is true that a well fitted truss will retain and often cure a rupture, yet the quacks who advertise the rupture cure propose to cure you by mail, then by application of a wonderful oil which they sell at ten dollars per bottle, they propose to close up the opening through which the rupture descends and effect a permanent cure. a few years back the surgical treatment of rupture was not always a success, hence people so afflicted had reason to avoid operations. today the cure of rupture is not attended by any danger. surgery has made many advances in the past few years. people who are ruptured should avoid any other means of cure than the operations. there are not less than twenty-five advertising specialists in chicago who profess to cure rupture without operation. they only succeed in separating you from your money. my advice is not to go near them, lest you regret it. female diseases. it is well known among the readers of the daily press that all the advertisements of a medical nature addressed to women are meant to cover the nefarious business of the abortionist. the commissioner of health in a recent interview stated that not less than fifty thousand abortions are committed yearly in chicago. it is well to state that only a small number of these are performed by the advertising abortionists. most of them are the work of regular physicians. indeed, in no other way could this immense destruction of infant life take place. i know of physicians here in chicago who have and do no other business. i have in mind one palatial residence on michigan avenue patronized exclusively by the rich. it is presided over by a strictly ethical physician. this man's fee is from one thousand to five thousand dollars. the poor content themselves with less pretentious places and prices. i know of physicians on the north side and the west side who do this work for five and ten dollars. they have as many as ten and twelve cases a day. up to a few weeks ago all of the chicago papers contained a list of advertisements under the classification of medical, about as follows: "maternity hospital--ladies taken care of before and after confinement." "mrs. dr. b----, licensed midwife, takes ladies for confinement, etc." "dr. anna b---- elegant home for ladies expecting confinement, etc." the above are only samples of a long list of advertisements of similar tenor which appeared daily in the chicago press for twenty-five years. these advertisements attracted the attention of people in the country. they were not designed to attract city people. people residing here seldom patronize them on account of the high prices usually charged. they know cheaper doctors. girl from the smaller towns and the farms are the ones sought. the girl applying for relief at any of these places was usually told that abortions were unlawful and dangerous to life. she was strongly advised to stay in the hospital, which offered perfect seclusion, until the full period when the child would be naturally born and without danger to either of them. this advice was generally accepted and the price agreed upon paid. this was always all the girl had with her, and the promise of more. the amount ranged from one hundred to five hundred dollars. the money paid over, the girl was shown to a pleasant room, and invited to make herself at home. there were always other girls there, usually under assumed names. they kept coming and going every few days. none remained longer than ten days. after the girl had been there a couple of days the madam announced that the doctor would call on her that day and make an examination, so as to approximate the time of baby's arrival. with a very small instrument the abortion was produced while making the examination, the patient knowing nothing of it. this is done so deftly that labor pains do not come on for sometimes two days afterwards. in ten days the patient is ready to leave the hospital. the fee having been paid, both parties are usually satisfied, and the girl, if she is wise, makes her misfortune a stepping stone to something better. if the amount paid has been too small to satisfy hospital funds, an effort is made to collect more, but usually not from the girl. the madam gets the patient's confidence and discovers, if she can, the man responsible for the girl's condition. a bill is then sent him for several hundred dollars. should he ignore it or refuse to pay, he is politely told that the account will be placed in the hands of a lawyer in the town where he resides and the matter can be adjusted by a "jury of his fellow citizens." imagine the consternation of some business man or church deacon in a small community over the receipt of such a letter. if guilty, and they are as a general thing, they take the next train for chicago and pay the bill. parties running these establishments are money makers. i know of one on west adams street whose owner has made a fortune of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all accumulated in twenty years. the electric belt fraud. this is another one of the many humbugs that seem to have fastened themselves on the country. chicago is the center for this as well as every other fake of a medical character. these belts are of the cheapest construction and are made at a cost of twelve and one-half cents each. they sell for anything, up to three hundred and even five hundred dollars. there may be virtue in electricity, properly applied, but there certainly is none in the belt. dr. mcl---- is located in chicago, and has branch offices in almost every state in the union. he takes pages in the daily press to tell of the virtues of his belt. it cures everything from lumbago to corns. he usually pictures a man in a half-stooping position, holding his back with one hand, while with the other he is getting a belt from a sympathizing doctor. dr. mcl---- has made big money duping his fellow men. recently he opened an office in the city of mexico. there the government protects people somewhat from their own folly. a mexican bought a belt, guaranteed to cure his disease: it failed. the doctor was promptly arrested for obtaining money under false pretenses. he was sent to jail, where he remained sixteen months. the offices were closed and have not since been reopened. the best evidence that electric belts are a useless article is to be found in the fact that physicians neither use nor prescribe them. they are an adjunct to quackery. the varicocele cure. to begin with, varicocele is a surgical disease and is only cured by an operation. yet the daily papers teem with advertisements offering cures by drugs, appliances and external washes. it is needless to say that all of these are fakers. chicago has more than twenty specialists who profess to cure varicocele. only two of them fulfill their promises. the rest take your money and render you no service. nearly every paper advertises these men, such headlines as "cured in five days," "cured without pain." "five-day varicocele cure" meets the eye of the reader on nearly every page. it is true that varicocele can be cured in five days; it can and is cured in one treatment, but always by surgical means. the headlines above are simply baits for the afflicted. the main idea of the so-called specialist is to get the victim into his office. here he will tell him that he has two methods of cure. one is an operation, which necessitates the patient going to a hospital, remaining there for five days in order to effect the cure. the other is a suspensory and a liniment which, applied daily, will do just as well, but it requires three or four months to get the cure. the patient wishes, of course, to avoid an operation. he is always told there is some danger from the chloroform. he usually takes the "slow cure," parting at the same time with a good, fat fee, usually a good deal more than he would have had to pay a reputable man for an operation. at the end of the period fixed for the cure the patient finds himself no better and finally in disgust places himself in the hands of a man who does operate and is promptly cured. among the many men engaged in the cure of varicocele is dr. mark k----, of cincinnati and denver. this man's advertisements adorn every page of papers that will take them. his fee is $ . ; his remedy a suspensory and a wash. both are utterly useless. after you have paid your money your name or original letter is sold to someone in the same business. in a little while you are surprised to receive mail from all parts of the country--all wanting you to purchase a varicocele cure. this applies to vacuum pumps, the superior system, the parisian system and other fakes of a like nature. they are all frauds. in the past few years i have raided their places many times, seized their literature, which is always obscene and indecent, and arrested the proprietors. the game, however, still goes on. the "nervous debility specialist." "lost manhood restored" is probably the greatest of all medical grafts. these men succeed simply because of the total ignorance of the people on matters pertaining to the sexual system. if sexual physiology was a part of the studies in the public schools for pupils at the age of fourteen there would be no cases of nervous debility, and the "lost manhood" physician would have to seek other fields for the display of his talents. one of the saddest of all the habits that young men drop into at some period of their lives is the secret vice. until quite lately prudery has prevented its proper discussion and about the only literature on the subject was to be found in that issued by advertising doctors who treat the effects. one thing is certain--no one ever acquired the habit by reading one of these "scare" or quack books. john stuart mill, in speaking of this vice, says: "the diseases of society can be no more checked or healed without publicly speaking of them than can those of the body." to ignore or deny the prevalence of the evil is sometimes honest ignorance, but is more often hypocrisy. a little scientific discussion on this subject is not out of place here. it will put young men on their guard against themselves, and cut off in some degree the income of that class of doctors who live on their credulity. so far as i have been able to trace its origin it has always been with us. according to ovid, horace and aristophanes, it was a curse in ancient greece and rome. even hippocrates, the father of medicine years before christ, considered it a subject worthy of his pen. of modern writers the greatest was tissot, in , who issued a classic on this subject whose object was to stay, if possible, the abuses and vices which threatened the ruin of the french people. lurid as the little book distributed by specialists usually is, the effects of this vice depicted by tissot puts them all into the shade. if not exactly scientific, it at least exerted a large moral influence which was beneficial in the then state of public and private morals. in the discussion of secret sin let us make it plain that the evil effects are not immediate, as is often thought and frequently taught by school teachers and writers. the brain is not palsied at once. dementia, palsy and sudden death are not likely to occur. the erroneous idea that it does, accounts in a great measure for the terror, the bashfulness and the love of solitude exhibited by this class of sufferers. it is enough for the purpose of this article that in the course of physical decay, gray hair, baldness and enfeebled gait, weakness of the muscular and nervous system, in fact, a general lowering of the tone of the bodily health, appear. life has been lived out with abandon, its energies have been overdrawn and its wheels have run down like the mainspring of a clock whose regulator has been lost. the sporty and fast life led by reckless youth is making him pay the penalty. and what is the penalty? look at the daily papers, see the brazen medical advertisements, "manhood restored" staring at you from every page. these advertisements are costly. they run up into the thousands of dollars a month. one man, a doctor of chicago, formerly paid the daily press eight thousand dollars a month for advertising; his "lost manhood, varicocele and hydrocele cured" appeared in almost every paper in this city. and the people who needed the treatment paid the bills. so powerful was this man's influence that he was enabled to stave off undesirable legislation at springfield. in this he was aided by the newspapers, who did not wish to lose this princely revenue from quack doctors. this doctor is still in business, but on a small scale compared to former times. competition and the advent of more mendacious liars have reduced his income to more modest proportions than it once was. a monumental swindle. men who need treatment or advice concerning their health or any weakness or private disease should, before taking any treatment whatever, go to dr. s. for consultation, examination and advice; free. dr. s.--longest established, most successful and reliable specialist in diseases of men, as medical diplomas, licenses and newspaper records show. dr. s. first came to chicago about the time of the world's fair. his home office was supposed to be in philadelphia. while philadelphia has the reputation of being slow, yet the methods of dr. s. were decidedly swift, so much so that he almost took the breath away from the chicago specialists. he was the first to charge for medicine in addition to his fees. it is a well-known fact that a man having been under the treatment of dr. s. for a week or a month never seeks the aid of another one. he has been cured? not on your life. he has been robbed. i have known this "doctor" to charge as much as one hundred dollars for two small bottles of dope. this is in addition to a fee of twenty-five to five hundred dollars. he always operates a "drug store" in connection with his office. the patient, having undergone an examination and having been thoroughly frightened, is told what the fee will be. this being paid, he is given a prescription and sent to the "drug store." this is so written that no other drug store can fill it. in a short time he is handed two or three small bottles, and on asking "how much" is told a sum varying from ten to one hundred and fifty dollars. surprised and indignant, he hastens back to the "doctor" and complains. he is told that the medicines are cheap at that price; that they are expensive drugs and very necessary in his case. if the patient has the money he pays it, resolving that he will have no more to do with dr. s. if he lives in the country he is surprised the following week by getting notice from the express company that a c. o. d. package awaits him at the office. it is the second week's supply of medicine. charges from twenty-five to ninety-eight dollars. he at once writes to the "doctor" and says he doesn't want the stuff. the first supply has done him no good. it's too expensive and he can't afford to continue it. the "doctor" writes back and says that he must pay for it. it will require three months to effect a cure, and the whole treatment has been prepared. if he does not take it the office will be subject to a loss of many hundreds of dollars. they also threaten him with a suit for the recovery of the amount. blackmail an adjunct. the poor victim, almost frightened to death at the prospect of exposure, usually compromises and pays all the money he can raise, taking the three months' "treatment" which he is assured has been specially prepared for his case. it is not an uncommon thing for dr. s. to get several thousand dollars out of one patient. men have been known to mortgage their farms to get out of the clutches of these cormorants. they never let go until the last dollar has been extracted from the poor patient. after his experience with dr. s. he wants no more. he thinks that they are all alike and carefully avoids them in the future. dr. s. himself is not in chicago. he is said to live in philadelphia. he operates offices in this city and several other places. three men comprise the office staff--one man who "takes" the case, another a physician, usually a dummy engaged at a salary of fifteen to twenty dollars a week, and a druggist. the main guy of every medical quack office is the "case taker." he is always a "confidence man" skilled in the business. he plays upon the fears and credulity of his victims. he pictures the most dreadful fate awaiting the unfortunate patient. if a case of private disease, he knows that the patient will rot on his feet and become a charnel house of infection. if a "lost manhood" case, he pictures the horrors of impotency, a trusting girl deceived, a divorce, together with the scandals that precede and follow. the old reliable b---- doctors cure men--men only. no pay until cured. $ fee for cure, $ . newly contracted special diseases. consultation and examination free whether you take treatment or not. come to expert specialists. we cure varicocele, nervous debility, urethral troubles, blood poison, private diseases, phimosis, piles, skin diseases, rupture and other wasting diseases of men. call or send for free question list. hours--daily. to ; sundays, to . j. b. mcg----, m. d., medical director. b---- medical institute. chicago, ill. the above advertisement appears right along in the chicago dailies. if dr. s---- is the "prince of swindlers" the b---- medical institute is a good second. it is owned and run by a bohemian, who changed his name from an almost unpronounceable one to that of hansen. he employs cheap doctors--mostly dope fiends--men who could not get employment elsewhere. his pay is about fifteen dollars per week. this man also runs a "dental" institute where equally cheap dentists are employed. both institutes rob the unsuspecting. hansen was sued by a former patient and nearly four hundred dollars recovered, quite recently. the man was absolutely free from any disease, but was frightened into paying that amount to get rid of an imaginary one. he is a common, cheap, medical swindler. these are positive facts. men $ . cures you. "don't pay more." under scientific treatment all diseases peculiar to men are thoroughly cured. nervous debility, blood poisoning, lost vitality, prostatic, bladder and kidney troubles, varicocele, hydrocele, contracted diseases, urethral obstruction, male weakness. dr. c----'s medical offices are the most reliable and permanently established specialists in chicago. see them before commencing treatment elsewhere. advice, consultation and examination free. dr. c---- medical offices, hours: a. m. to p. m. sunday, to only. chicago, ill. swindler a "dope" fiend. the above advertisement is that of dr. c----. c---- himself is out of the game. he is a dope fiend. a few months ago he narrowly escaped the penitentiary for taking $ from a sixteen-year-old child. he was fined $ in the municipal court, paid it and quit the business. previously, however, he had sold the use of his name to dick williams, owner of several of the so-called medical offices along state street. williams changes his doctors every few days, so that a patient hardly ever sees the same man twice. each man makes an effort to "re-fee" the patient--that is, they try to extract more money in the way of fees, claiming that the other "doctor" did not grasp the severity of the case. it is not unusual for a patient to pay half a dozen fees in the same office before he drops onto the fact that he is being systematically robbed. the main object of advertising cheap is to get the people into the office and started on the treatment. money is demanded at every visit and new "diseases" discovered as long as the credulity of the patient lasts. consult dr. r---- a graduate and regular licensed physician. dr. r---- is qualified through twenty-one years of practical experience to give you the best medical advice and treatment in all diseases and weaknesses peculiar to men. the oldest established and most reliable specialist, who sees and treats patients personally. dr. r----'s home treatment cures weak men. if you have varicocele, hydrocele, weakness, drains, lost vigor, losses, blood poison, kidney, bladder or any chronic nervous, private or urinary disease, consult the reliable specialist, who will cure you quickly, permanently and cheaply. consultation free and strictly confidential, as the doctor never makes a professional charge unless you desire him to treat your case until cured. remember, you see dr. r---- personally. if you cannot call, write a description of your case and he will send you symptom blank and book, "vital facts for men," free. dr. r---- is no better and no worse than others who have similar advertisements. they all practice the same game. he is not, however, on very friendly terms with other specialists. a few years ago when some adverse legislation was threatened at springfield it was necessary to raise a fund to check it. r---- subscribed one hundred dollars, but never paid it. there must be honor even among thieves. i cure in five days varicocele and hydrocele without knife or pain. i want to cure every man suffering with varicocele, stricture, contagious blood poison, nervous debility, hydrocele or a disease peculiar to men. this liberal offer is open to all who have spent large sums of money on doctors and medicines without any success, and my aim is to prove to all those people who were being treated consult dr. r---- by a dozen or more doctors, also without any success, that i possess the only method, by means of which i will cure you permanently. don't pay for unsuccessful treatment, only for permanent cure. i will positively cure diseases of the stomach, lungs, liver and kidneys, even though very chronic. private diseases of men cured quickly, permanently and with absolute secrecy. nervous debility, weakness. lost vigor, strains, losses, urinary losses. diseases peculiar to women--pains in the back. white discharge and other ailments cured permanently. blood poison--and all kinds of skin diseases, like pimples, swollen glands, wasting diseases, lingering diseases. consultation and examination free. cure once for all. dr. l. e. z----, chicago. office hours: a. m. to p. m. sundays: a. m. to p. m. "i cure in five days." so says dr. z---- and several others in the same business. however, when you offer to take the five-day cure you are told it is an operation. "i have a slow cure," say the oily "doctors," "just as good, which requires three months." as the one operation itself is a little alarming, most men take the "slow cure." at the end of three or six months they find they have been victimized. they are no better, and often worse. just plain fraud. among other advertisers are dr. l. r. w----, dr. h. j. t---- and dr. d----. the last named was recently arrested and held to the grand jury on the charge of defrauding a patient. it might be asked in the light of the above exposés of so-called specialists, are there no honest ones? detective wooldridge says yes, there are several in chicago who deliver the goods. to any earnest seekers after the truth he will be glad to give the names of several men of whom he can say, "they do not misrepresent." fabulous losses in big turf frauds. "investment" companies of last few years netted $ , , . this is a sad, sad story, because it is an obituary, the death notice of one of the meanest and most abominable frauds that has ever taken the hoarded pennies of children and working girls, the "late lamented" "turf syndicate." several years ago the turf syndicate was in its glory. a poor girl, fresh from the old country, would scrub floors for a week or take in washing for a month in order to pour money into the pockets of these swindlers. thanks to the efforts of detective clifton e. wooldridge, of chicago, and others, this particular fraud is now a thing of the past. [illustration: (horses racing)] but the enormity of this tremendous crime against the poor may be appreciated from a study of the following figures. turf "investment" companies that have failed, absconded or have been driven to the wall by prosecutions during the last few years and the amount of money estimated to have been lost in the swindles give the following astonishing record: e. j. arnold & co. $ , , john j. ryan & co., st. louis, mo. , , brolaski & co., chicago , benedict & co., chicago , the mid-continent investment company, chicago , the mason-teller company, chicago , the douglas-daly company, r. s. daly and n. c. clark, chicago , the armstrong-baldwin turf commission, j. p. mccann and o. l. wells, chicago , the money-maker, c. a. pollock, manager, chicago , gulf pacific trust co., f. lehman and r. g. herndon, chicago, new orleans and san francisco , investors' profit-sharing and protective association, chicago , j. j. shea & company, chicago , standard investment bureau, chicago and san francisco , the security savings society, w. r. bennett, chicago , , the investors' protective association, frank e. stone, chicago , d. w. moodey & co., chicago , co-operative trust co., l. m. morrison, chicago , edward l. farley & co., chicago , inter-ocean commission co., j. t. mitchell, chicago , hugo morris & co., chicago , al fetzer & co., co-operative turf pools, hammond, ind. , co-operative investment association, l. h. myers, new york , american stock co., w. m. nichols, new york , mutual security co., c. dudrey, new york , henshall, bronner & co., new york , w. w. o'hara & co., cincinnati , crawford & co., new york , paul pry's investments , the belt company, n. s. goodsill, hammond, ind. , drake, allison & co., hammond, ind. , mcclellan & co., john mcclellan and john murphy, proprietors, new orleans, absconded , new york co-operative company, new york , w. j. keating company, new york , the fidelity trust, wm. j. young, san francisco , c. e. cooper & co., cincinnati , c. e. cooper & co., covington, ky. , c. e. collins & co., george d. jones and charles thompson, new york , ------------ total $ , , gigantic turf swindle. among the first of the get-rich-quick schemes into which the public poured millions was the "turf investment" concern. the "literature" of probably no other class of swindle was so plausible as this. the promise was to pay and in some cases per cent on the investment each week. the method by which the promise was to be fulfilled was this: the money invested was to be placed in a pool and used as capital in playing the races. a standard bet of a certain amount was to be made. if this wager was lost, enough money out of the pool was to be bet on the horse picked by the managers of the concern in the next race, to recoup the loss on the first race, win the amount set out to win on the first race, together with a like amount on the second race. if this wager was lost, the process was to be repeated on the next race, and so on until a wager was won. each time there was a winning, a large enough sum would have been bet to recoup all losses on previous races and win a fixed amount on each of the races played. some concerns claimed to play the favorite horses in the betting, others the second choices to win and others to bet according to "inside information" derived from horse owners and jockeys. regardless of the variations of the scheme, the general plan was the same. the prospectuses, in a most plausible way, set forth the claim that "beating the races" was merely a matter of having a large enough capital at hand to continue the progressive betting plan. by the claim that horse racing was as legitimate a calling as dealing on the board of trade or stock exchange and possessed the additional advantage of being open to persons of small means, a strong appeal was made to the poor. of course, none of the money that poured in ever was bet. had per cent a week on all the millions contributed by the public to this form of swindle been actually derived from the bookmakers, every penciler in the country would have been bankrupted in a month. the remarkable feature of the "turf" investment scheme is that this phase of the matter seemed never to occur to investors, and the other palpably impossible phases of the operators' claims were also overlooked in the effort to secure per cent a year on the investment made. get-rich-quick schemes. as in the horse swindles, the older investors were paid their dividends from funds sent in by new ones. no attempt was made to win dividends in the market. as the gullibility of the "suckers" became a little dulled, innovations to increase the plausibility of the schemes were made and new forms of bait devised. "turf swindles" have flourished, while the victims, who number tens of thousands, dare not raise their voices in protest or complaint, well knowing that they would not only be the butt of ridicule in their community, but also that the world at large would rather rejoice at their losses, and courts and juries would probably waste little sympathy on them. consequently the safest swindles operated today are those having race-track betting for their basis. in the latter part of there were upwards of twenty-five of these schemes in operation in the united states. new york city was the headquarters for about ten, and the balance were located in st. louis, chicago, new orleans, san francisco, cincinnati and brooklyn. their prosperity was evidenced by the ability of managers to buy advertising space in the leading newspapers, to pay the printers for the most elaborate booklets, circulars, etc., and uncle sam for postage stamps, with which they were extremely liberal, usually sending a stamped envelope, for reply, to prospective investors. extracts which i give below from the literature of five of these concerns offer a fair criterion for the whole mass which i have before me, and demonstrate the turf swindlers' method of extracting money from the unsophisticated. fully per cent of their "investors" are women, while the whole number who contribute to their scheme is made up of persons who would not be seen betting at a race track or pool room, but who have consciences that will permit them to make money "honestly or otherwise." [illustration: who said i lost twenty dollars?] here are plausible arguments. this is one argument of a firm of so-called "expert handicappers" of new york city, who bet on the races: "there has never been a week since we started in business when we did not pay a dividend. the smallest dividend we have ever paid for any one week was $ . for every $ invested. we average about $ . per week on each $ ." "an investment with us is safer and brings better returns than bookmaking or any other form of speculation." here is an argument of a firm of so-called "turf commissioners" of san francisco, which claimed to be betting on the races, guaranteeing per cent weekly: "there is no kind of speculation that affords so great an opportunity for making money rapidly on a small capital as playing the races on a business-like and systematic basis. our average weekly profits usually range from to per cent." another argument, that of a so-called "bookmaker" of st. louis, who guarantees per cent weekly dividends to investors: "we make books and allow the betting public to place the money. the man who bets has one horse running for him--the bookmaker has the rest. for this reason the odds are all in favor of the bookmaker and if he understands his business he is certain to make money." argument of a firm of so-called "turf commissioners" of chicago, who claim to make books on the races: "our plan insures a steady income on a small capital, such as no other company offers, and far eclipses any mining, oil, or other stock investment." argument of so-called racing stable concern of st. louis, guaranteeing per cent per week to investors of $ and upward: "we have a large stable of race horses, which we run at all tracks, winter and summer; we make books wherever racing is conducted, and the proposition we manage pays so well because we know how to run it to that end." one of the variants of the old turf scheme is the venerable "two-horse special," a fraud that is so old that its whiskers drag about its knees. here is a sample of the two-horse literature: "my two-horse special plan." (send this slip with remittance.) no account received of less than $ . george f. stone, turf specialist. brooklyn, n. y. i hand you ---- dollars to be used by you in speculating for me, according to your two-horse wire plan of turf speculation. you are to play one-fifth of the amount of capital on each special, placing the money to win and also for place. you are to mail for me your selections each day, mailing the same not later than p. m. you agree to operate the account, making no charge until winnings equal capital invested. after that per cent of all winnings you are to deduct, and send me the balance by money order, with statement, each week. i can close my account and withdraw any balance due me on demand. my liability is strictly limited to above amount. the police, aroused by turf swindlers, raid and close up their places. detective wooldridge led the officers on february , , when the following concerns were raided and closed up: co-operative trust company, and adam street. turf investment company, adams street. inter-ocean commission company, wabash avenue. security savings company, madison street and fifth avenue. investors' protective association, realty building. d. w. moody, and dearborn street. the papers, books and "big-dividend" circulars of these concerns filled several wagons. the police estimated that over $ , had been lost by the investors in these concerns, which, notwithstanding some of the high-sounding names adopted by them, were all turf swindlers. raid after raid has resulted in practically ridding chicago of these vampires, but they seem to thrive wherever they are permitted to exist. fake turfmen indicted. gambling and bookmaking charged against the "get-rich-quick" syndicates, including bennett's. true bills were voted against proprietors of "get-rich-quick" turf concerns by the grand jury. indictments were returned in court, and capiases for the arrest of the accused persons placed in the hands of the sheriff. those against whom bills were voted are: frank e. stone, alias eddie dunne, security savings society, for bookmaking. w. r. bennett, security savings society, for bookmaking. w. i bennett, security savings society, for bookmaking. d. w. moody, security savings society, for bookmaking. louis morrison, alias l. m. morrison, co-operative trust company, for bookmaking. edwin e. farley, for keeping a common gaming house and poolroom. charles carroll, for keeping a common gaming house and poolroom. j. w. turner, alias j. w. taylor, for keeping a common gaming house and poolroom. miss s. beck, stenographer for w. r. bennett, for bookmaking. one puzzling feature of the prosecution of the turf people is that although the bills accuse them of keeping common gaming houses and operating poolrooms, officers and lawyers interested in the cases say the promoters of the concerns never really attempted to win their advertised profits by betting on the races. it has been alleged that not one of them speculated with deposits, but simply sent dividends back to investors out of their own money. it is now suggested that the accused persons will either have to admit they were gambling or confess that their alluring statements about winnings on the race tracks were glittering frauds. the turf swindle was prosperous until february, , when the crash among the st. louis contingent precipitated a "run" on all of the concerns then in operation. as it was not the policy of the swindlers to pay, they either closed their doors and fled or the police conveniently interfered with their business. prior to the crash at st. louis there were several notable failures and disappearances. on july , , the al fetzer co., of hammond, ind., "failed," and about a week prior turf commissioner w. w. o'hara, of cincinnati, absconded. both of these events shattered many dreams of riches. in the fetzer case heavy rains were said to have broken the sure-thing combination by which the company was to win fortunes from bookmakers on the race tracks. the amounts lost by the credulous investors in fetzer's scheme, which, it was declared, "could not lose," reached into the hundreds of thousands. the towns that suffered the most were hammond, ind., and appleton, wis. it was reported that the people of the latter town had suffered to the extent of $ , , and dozens of small cities are believed to have fared almost as badly. the clients of the concern in appleton included a number of well-known business men and people of all classes. they lost from $ to $ each. a poor widow who had put in all her savings was left penniless and was obliged to seek aid from the city authorities. fetzer conducted a large part of his business through the mails. he advertised extensively in the newspapers and found many who were willing to "play the game." dividends of $ a week for $ invested were promised and were paid punctually up to about july , . he said he had a system of playing the races that could not be beaten, and the success of the early investors convinced the doubting ones that his system was all right. the information of the "snap" spread rapidly and fetzer's business increased accordingly. no one thought that dividends of per cent were improbable when they read of the "long shots" that won races on the chicago tracks. fetzer attributed the downfall of his business to the rainy weather and said that he had been unsuccessful in picking "mudders." his system of betting, which was to make everyone rich by the end of the summer, went to pieces with each succeeding thunder shower, and the investors received the doleful information that the company had lost its own capital, as well as the money entrusted to it. an investigation into the affairs of o'hara at cincinnati revealed a state of affairs almost beyond belief. more than , letters which were received within a week after o'hara's disappearance were opened. they were from every state in the country, and many were from canada. amounts from $ to $ in checks and mail and express orders were enclosed. the total amount of the money in the letters opened was $ , , and inspector holmes stated that o'hara got away with $ , which came in the mail the same week, making a total of over $ , for one week's business. o'hara's books showed that from july, , when he commenced operations, until he skipped out in june, , he had received from credulous "investors" the enormous sum of $ , . the inevitable crash came early in february, , and the police and grand juries at chicago, st. louis, new york and other cities got busy, but the money had been transferred to the pockets of the swindlers, who had the choice of paying lawyers and possible fines or traveling in foreign climes until the excitement blew over. february, , detective clifton r. wooldridge raided and closed the following named turf investment companies in chicago: h. b. blackstone, e. j. arnold, dearborn street. harry brolaski, "brolaski & co.," dearborn street. henry thompson, "brolaski & co.," dearborn street. mattie woodin, "benedict & co.," dearborn street. m. j. beck, "benedict & co.," dearborn street. w. j. mason, "benedict & co.," dearborn street. "mid-continent," dearborn street. prey on chicago teachers. from papers found in the mid-continent offices it appears this company had been doing a loan as well as an investment business. a letter addressed to chicago school teachers invited deposits for investment on which - / per cent monthly interest was guaranteed. if the teachers needed money it was offered them at per cent a month. the company's methods and those of the banks were compared in the letter, to the disadvantage of the banks. medical students, stenographers, maids in hotels, women of various classes, farmers in many sections of the country and hundreds of men in different employments in the city were disclosed as the dupes. the following telegram from st. louis to a chicago paper briefly outlines the situation on the second day of the raiding there: st. louis, mo., feb. , .--runs were made on the e. j. arnold turf investment company, the international investment company, the christie investment company and john j. ryan & co. yesterday by hundreds of men and women who during the last six months have invested their savings with these co-operative bookmaking concerns in the hope of enormous profits. the international and christie companies paid all the stockholders who appeared, at first. then they decamped. arnold & co., in accordance with their announcement which caused the panic among the "turf speculators" yesterday, refused to pay back any stock certificates, although still claiming to be perfectly solvent, and determined to pay the usual weekly dividends until affairs of the company are wound up. at the offices of john j. ryan, owner of the newport (ky.) race track, a riot was averted by the presence of the police; and the excited investors, who were reminded that their stock certificates are payable only on thirty days' notice, went off in a state of rage and anxiety at once amusing and pitiful. how arnold inspired confidence. arnold was a wise one. he knew how to work the game. first he sent to new york and bought the famous race horse gold heels. this horse had won many of the great eastern classics. he broke a tendon and was useless, but arnold's investors did not know that. they would swear by gold heels. then he caused his "bank" to issue a letter along the following lines: american central trust company. capital--$ , , . surplus--$ , . s. schnurmacher, president. wm. s. simpson, first vice-president. joseph wachtel. second vice-president. franklin p. hunkins, third vice-president. edward bauder, secretary and treasurer. directors. shepard barclay, edward bauder, g. a. bauder, john n. drummond, jr., henry w. gehner, morris glaser, frank griesedieck, g. a. gurner, franklin p. hunkins, john d. manley, h. i. mills, john a. nies, h. f. powitzhy, leo s. rassieur, b. schnurmacher, wm. s. simpson, joseph wachtel. st. louis, mo., may , . to whom it may concern: the firm of e. j. arnold & company, of this city, is one of our largest depositors, and we consider them amply responsible for every obligation they may assume. american central trust company, by edward bauder, sec'y & treas. the disaster was brought about by the appointment of a committee by the missouri legislature to investigate the "get-rich-quick" situation. st. louis had become the haven of every conceivable class of swindlers, who swarmed there in such numbers that the legislature deemed it wise to look into the matter. what motive inspired it to take this action was a mystery. sufficient, however, to observe that when it came to following out its own recommendation to pass laws that would drive the "get-rich-quick" companies of all kinds out of the state something stopped the legislation. the investigation of the "get-rich-quick" concerns in missouri by the state senate committee resulted in an elaborate report, which was presented march , . this report had the following to say of the turf investment companies: "these institutions are of modern origin. the pioneer in this field, especially in this state, seems to have been e. j. arnold & co. then followed ryan & co., the international, the christian syndicate, brolaski, thomas walsh, maxim-gay and others. "these concerns were presumably prosperous until the examination which was begun by the grand jury, instigated by the circuit attorney of st. louis, hon. joseph w. folk, and your present committee. when the crash came, company after company closed its doors or refused to pay back to depositors on demand, and upon examination of these companies, we found them to be mere shells, with little or no money or available assets on hand, and the millions of dollars handled by them either paid out in dividends, squandered and gambled away on race tracks, or absorbed by the officers and managers of the said companies. "the evidence discloses the fact that e. j. arnold is supposed to be in mexico, the books of said company being in the hands of the grand jury. so far as the search under legal process has developed, no assets of arnold & co., except a stock farm and stock thereon, office furniture and fixtures, and a few hundred dollars in cash, were found. "ryan & company claim that they have on hand $ , , which has been attached and garnisheed, in the hands of the depositories, and the same process has been used to take possession of the real estate holdings and other personal property. "george a. dice, inspector of the postoffice, in charge of the st. louis department, testified that he had made an examination of e. j. arnold & co. and john j. ryan & co., and that on their showing arnold & co. had on hand $ , more assets than their liabilities; that two different examinations of these concerns were made by him and his deputies, and that in the last report of november and december, , his report to the department recommended that they be cited to appear before the department and answer as to their liability for criminal use of the mails, and that so far as his report went they were notified that there was a case pending against them; that the ruling of the department was not in accordance with his recommendation; that from the evidence it appears that the department at washington, by some process or other unknown to your committee, overruled the recommendations of the inspector, dismissed the cases pending against these companies, and they were allowed to proceed with their process of absorbing the people's money. had the department at washington acted promptly and properly upon the recommendation of the inspector, millions of dollars would have been saved to the people of the state of missouri and other states. "in order to protect the people who are attracted by the fair promises and the payment of extraordinary profits or dividends, and to prohibit the improper and vicious misapplication and absorption of the money of the people who confide in the representation of investment companies, your committee recommends that a law be passed which will prohibit the doing of business by said turf investment companies or other like institutions in this state." if one should moralize on the turf swindles it would only be to repeat the old story--avarice. nothing else explains why they are permitted to flourish and rob, and then a newspaper story and no more. justice, blind and decrepit, is unable to scale the insurmountable barrier of the swindlers' "bank roll." but there is still hope, for from washington we hear from day to day that another boodler has been landed in the grand jury net--thanks to president roosevelt, who, if he knew all, would do more. when the last paragraph was written the finale had not been reached. but the strong arm of the federal government has at last been felt and the turf investment companies are no more. it is impossible for even the veriest sucker to be taken in by them any more, and their literature would be barred from the mails in an instant. it is all over with the turf investment companies. "_requiescat in pace._" may they rest in peace. fake drug vendors. a most dangerous form of rascality. drugs worth $ , seized. war on makers of imitations of medicines begun by the chicago police in charge of detective clifton r. wooldridge. in all the history of fraud, imposture and graft, there is no story to parallel that of the "fake drug clique." there is no means of finding out how many thousands of lives are annually sacrificed in consequence of its nefarious practices, and the strong arm of the law while it can reach out and prevent further crime, can not call back to life those who have been offered up on the altar of greed. sensational raids made in the effort to clear chicago of its numerous "fake" patent medicine concerns, occurred on the morning of nov. , . the raids followed a long conference between chief of police francis o'neill and col. james e. stuart, chief inspector of chicago postal department, and for the first time in the history of the city, the federal and city forces worked in unison. they decided that chicago should be cleared of "fake" patent medicine concerns which for years had been using the mails to defraud hundreds of thousands of sick and weak persons. george g. kimball, u. s. inspector of mails, and detective clifton r. wooldridge were assigned to gather the evidence and prepare the cases for prosecution. the work was no easy task. both officers went about the work of gathering the evidence in a thoroughly systematic manner. inspector kimball discovered the mails were employed extensively by the agents in disposing of their spurious drugs. investigation proved that large orders were sent to small suburban towns and cities weekly. the correspondence, circulars and goods were secured. the breaking up of the drug ring, however, was a delicate task. it was strongly backed financially, and it was aided and abetted, throughout the united states, by political rings galore. chicago was the headquarters, and it was natural that to the police department of this city, ever-famed for its hatred of "grafts" big and little, should fall the lot of exterminating the traffic. detective wooldridge gathered the information in chicago, the names of the firms, location and the men who owned them. the men are charged with making and selling a spurious preparation of aristol, a product made in germany, and valued as a substitute for iodoform. their products were represented as genuine, were said to differ from those handled by the wholesale drug trade, only in the fact that they were imported from canada and england instead of from germany. here are a few of the things discovered in the course of the investigation by detective c. r. wooldridge. the statements are printed from an interview with the great detective. "as we have progressed the work has broadened and grown to proportions never anticipated at the start. among the goods seized were found boxes, the labels of which bore the chemical name and formula of trional, and which gave an exact description of the chemical and physical properties of trional and the medicinal indications of this drug. "on examination it was found that these boxes contained pure acetanilid. the dosage of drugs recommended upon the label was fifteen to twenty grains, and it was stated 'that night sweats of phthisis are promptly arrested by eight grains." "i am informed that it is within the professional knowledge of every druggist as well as every physician that the substitution, grain for grain, of acetanilid, for trional, is a most reprehensible fraud, which might cause the death of the patient to whom the drug was administered. "as indicating the commercial fraud connected with this substitution, it should be stated that the price charged for this drug by the defendants in this case, as shown by the price list, was cents per ounce, commercial value of acetanilid is one and one half cents per ounce. "but by far the largest fraud found was in the counterfeit label business. there were , metal caps for bottles stamped with the name of a swiss manufacturer. there were also labels purporting to be german or swiss labels. a number of half filled bottles, waiting for the adulterants, showed conclusively the use to which these labels were to be put. "we were fortunate enough to find certain cards and bills in this place indicating that the makers of these metal caps and labels had never been nearer switzerland or germany than clark and harrison streets. acting upon this information we secured evidence that these articles were made in chicago and never imported. "these entire preparations including the mixing, boxing, labeling and placing upon the market was done by these parties here in chicago, and the goods, much of it undoubtedly, placed in the hands of innocent purchasers, who were deceived by the external appearance of genuineness, into purchasing the adulterated and fraudulent goods, without analysis or investigation of any kind. "the great public, the individuals who use these drugs when prescribed by their physician, are themselves in total ignorance of the fact, not only that they have defrauded and cheated, but perhaps placed in jeopardy of their lives. "there were found among these boxes seized, certain receptacles which bore labels stating that aristol was contained therein. on examination by reputable chemists at the columbus laboratories, the powder in these boxes was found to be fullers earth, colored with oxide of iron, not containing a single trace of aristol. the aristol, which was quoted on the price lists as 'equal to bayer's' was sold at cents per ounce, at which almost a ton of fullers earth and oxide of iron could be purchased. "the evidence was procured and chemical tests made which proved the presence of alien matter in the prescriptions which called for pure drugs. in nearly per cent of the samples obtained there was not even a trace of the drug called for in the prescription; acetanilid as a substitute for trional-aristol, which is an antiseptic wash much used by surgeons. "prescriptions were sent to druggists signed by dr. j. scott brown, calling for pure aristol. dr. j. a. wesener of the columbus laboratories conducted the tests. what the test showed. (the results) dr. wesener showed the following: prescriptions no trace of aristol prescriptions per cent impurity prescriptions per cent impurity prescriptions per cent impurity prescriptions pure "druggists have been misled into purchasing this substitute for aristol by unscrupulous salesmen, who have palmed off on them a substance which in many cases is nothing more than 'fuller's earth,' said dr. wesener. this stuff was sold to them cheap. "the druggist can have no excuse for selling this stuff, which is injurious, because it is an easy matter for him to test it to find out whether it is aristol or not. aristol is soluble in either, and makes a dark brown solution. some of the powder which we have obtained on these prescriptions is not soluble at all. we have not completed the chemical analysis of all the precipitates, but those which we have tried consist of chalk mixed with an iron oxide to give it the color, or some other mineral substance." the two leading imitations are as follows: spurious preparation of aristol, and an imitation of triethylate which is a substitute for trional. aristol sells at $ . an ounce and triethylate retails at $ . an ounce. the cost of manufacturing the two imitations is about cents an ounce. danger to the patient. "the adulteration of aristol is liable to be fraught with serious consequences to the patient. it is extremely dangerous to introduce a mineral substance into an open wound, and many surgeons who have used this adulterated antiseptic, having bought it in good faith for the pure drug, have been at a loss to know why the wounds have suppurated. it is possible this adulterated drug may have caused numberless cases of blood poison with consequent loss of life." hastened mckinley's death. it is even whispered that one of the products sold by this gang as a counterfeit of a standard article hastened the death of president william mckinley. the story goes that when the physicians sent to the nearest drug store for a certain kind of medicine they were given a substance which resembled it in every way but which was spurious. it is said the drug had exactly the opposite effect upon the president from what the doctors had reason to suppose it would have. some there are who even declare that the application of the genuine article at that critical time would have saved the life of william mckinley. otta g. stoltz, druggist at rush street, chicago, ill., assisted by his porter, manufactured the spurious drugs in his basement for e. a. kuehmsted. in manufacturing the standard remedy of aristol, he used fifty per cent of various ingredients, and fifty per cent of rosin. it was called "thymistol, manufactured by the mexican chemical company," and substituted for aristol. there was no such a company in mexico. the goods, boxes and labels were made in chicago, illinois, and the stuff was sold to the druggists for one half the price of the genuine aristol. the gang was ostensibly engaged in selling to the retail drug trade infringements of a large number of patented drugs, manufactured in germany. their products were represented to be genuine, differing from those handled by the legitimate wholesale drug trade only in the fact that they were imported by them direct from canada and england, thereby evading payment of royalty to the american patentees. as a matter of fact, the peddlers used the cry of monopoly under the patents merely as a pretext for ingratiating themselves with the retail druggists, and then foisted upon them many adulterated and spurious imitations of the imported preparations. the drugs imitated are standard medical preparations, dispensed on physician's prescription by every retail pharmacist. these remedies are in so general use that at least one-half the prescriptions written by physicians call for one or other of them. letter from edward a. kuehmsted, the principal dealer in spurious drugs; it is self-explanatory. chicago, ill., july , . mr. m. r. zaegel. sheboygan, wis. my dear mr. zaegel: although i have been selling bogus phenacetine and a lot of other bogus goods for over three years. i have never had the pleasure of selling you any of them. i should very much like to do so, and feel that i can give you satisfaction both in goods and prices. some time ago i perfected arrangements to get my supplies direct from europe, where the supply is not so limited as in canada, and i can do much better in price. the enclosed list gives my complete line. all items with prices attached i have in stock and can supply without delay. other items are continually arriving. the prices i have made you are, i think, exceptionally low, and i trust they will induce you to give me a trial. express charges i prepay. trusting i may be favored with your valued orders, i am, very respectfully, edward a. kuehmsted. ingleside ave., chicago, ill. the state laws covering the fraudulent adulteration of drugs and medicines for the purpose of sale, reads as follows. "section , chapter of hurd's revised statutes of illinois for . whoever fraudulently adulterates, for the purpose of sale, any drug or medicine, or sells or offers or keeps for sale any fraudulently adulterated drug or medicine, knowing the same to be adulterated, shall be confined in the county jail not exceeding one year, or fined not exceeding $ , , and such adulterated drugs and medicines shall be forfeited and destroyed." after the great mass of evidence had been gathered it was submitted to the chief of police, francis o'neill, who instructed detective clifton r. wooldridge to lay the matter before john k. prindiville, justice of peace, and if he would issue warrants to go ahead and search the premises and make arrest. desk sergeant mike white looked upon as an expert by the police department drew the complaints and warrants which were duly signed and a detail of picked men was assigned to detective wooldridge with instructions to go ahead, and on oct. , , they were divided into four squads and they swooped down on the five medicine concerns at one time without giving them any warning. the following is a list of the parties arrested: w. g. nay, alias s. b. soper, fulton street; over $ , worth of spurious stuff seized. nay and wife arrested. burtis b. m'cann, alias george a. barton, madison avenue, $ , worth of stuff seized. mccann arrested. j. j. dean, ellis avenue; $ , worth of spurious medicines seized; dean and wife arrested. j. n. levy, dearborn street; $ worth seized. edward a. kuehmsted, ingleside avenue, and isabella kuehmsted were arrested; over $ , worth of spurious drugs were seized by detective clifton r. wooldridge, sergeant william m. mcgrath, sergeant thomas fitzpatrick, officers terence n. kelly, mathew j. reilly, michael o'neill, thomas ready, michael mcguire, august c. dolan, patrick quinn, thomas daly, bernard conway. v. goldberg, a partner of edward kuehmsted, appeared on the scene and tried to prevent the officers from taking the goods. he was locked up on the charge of disorderly conduct and on the following morning entered a plea of guilty before justice john r. caverly and was fined $ and cost. john g. campbell, alleged attorney for edward a. kuehmsted, appeared upon the scene and tried to force his way into the house while the drug was being removed. he also tried to prevent the officers from taking the drugs and threatened to whip them, pulled his coat off and assaulted detective wooldridge. he too was sent to the harrison street station and locked up. the prisoners arrested in the raid were sent to the harrison street police station together with eleven wagonloads of drugs seized, which were valued at $ , . upon the arrival of the prisoners and the drugs, a united states warrant was served upon them, charging the defendants with using the mails to defraud, also a duces tecum subpoena was served for the drugs seized in the raid to be brought into the united states court forthwith, was served upon detective wooldridge, and other officers by united states marshal. the two ex-convicts were levy, who was also known under the aliases of charles meyers, r. waldron, and r. cassat and george edwards. under the latter name he served a year in joliet. hass was the other ex-convict. his sing sing number was b . yet under the administration of the law under the justice shop system these men, who sold chalk and water mixed with idorn oxides for an antiseptic, finally managed to get out of the clutches of the law on a compromise adjudication, concerning which the state's attorney alone knew the details. then the insolent vendors of fake drugs thought they saw a chance to get back at the officers of the law. they found a nice little loop-hole in the fact that when the raids were made a few chemicals, which were not contraband had been seized, in the rush and scurry of the raid. therefore a suit was brought against detective clifton r. wooldridge, charles m. carr, editor of the n. a. r. d. notes, a police publication, henry d. morton, chief of police francis o'neill, the farbenfabriken co. and wooten. the suit called for heavy damages. after going over the evidence the court of first resort awarded damages of $ . . rather than be put to the cost of an appeal this $ . was paid by the defendants. but the business of vending fake drugs in the city of chicago had been broken up and the city made unsafe for this most detestable class of swindlers, who prey upon the sick and wounded and endanger human life by the sale of their nostrums. "it was worth $ . to put the rascally crew out of business," said detective wooldridge afterward in discussing the matter. "it is surely worth a dollar to a man to know that he has been instrumental in saving thousands of human lives." and there the matter rested. bucket-shop. every day the american people squander $ , in fictitious speculation in grain. there are , bucket shops operating in the united states at this time, their geographical distribution marked by the boundaries of the country. for each of these , shops an average of $ a day gross income is necessary to meet its expenses, chief of which are for wire and ticker service and blackboard writers. thus, in order that , of these shops may live and remain open, they must have $ a day each, which, in a year of days, means an income of $ , , annually. many of these bucket shops fail for lack of money, while others "fail" in order that they may keep the money of the investor. while $ , a day as the losses of the people in the illegitimate speculation in grain is very conservative, one must add another $ , a day as tribute which the gullible pay to the fake "get-rich-quick" and kindred sharper concerns of the country. "speculation" an unmeaning term. yet with this $ , a day going into the hopper of frenzied speculation of all kinds, bradstreet's for the year showed business failures from speculation as one-eighth of per cent of the total failures of the country. whatever may be bradstreet's definition of the word "speculation," as used in his lists, the word to the average business man who knows whereof he talks is as unmeaning as any other in the business dictionary. suppose a man somewhere in a country town loses money in any speculative venture anywhere under the sun. if it is a few dollars only, he may not speak of it at all. if it is enough to embarrass him, perhaps he may have to speak. under these circumstances the best possible thing to do is to explain that he lost it "on the chicago board of trade." if he has no credit at stake in the matter, and is sore, he may yell murder over his losses "on the board." but hundreds of such men have lost their money in bucket shops, and scores of them have lost it at poker or some other gambling game. "board of trade" falsely blamed. every little while a banker somewhere goes wrong with funds that are intrusted to him, and in the telling of the story the "chicago board of trade" is the secret of his undoing. one of the marked cases of the kind was that of the aurora banker who defalcated with $ , , "lost on the board of trade." but when the story was run down it was discovered that his money was lost in a bucket shop in hammond, ind., which had been driven out of chicago through the efforts of the chicago board. when $ , , at a conservative estimate, every day, is lost by the american public in bucket shops, just the thing that such a shop is "in being" should be of economic interest and consideration. within the knowledge of tens of thousands of citizens some acquaintance or person of whom they have had personal knowledge has gone "broke" in grain speculation. yet to find a man who has lost his fortune on the race tracks or in a gambling den is not at all an easy task. without a question the gambling losses in the bucket shop are more serious in consequences the country over than the losses in any other one kind of gaming, for the reason that the man who could afford to confess losses at horse racing or at cards may retain his character as a business man to a far greater extent by having lost at a "little flyer in grain." what is a bucket shop. i have frequently been requested to define bucket shops--a most difficult task, owing to the variety of disguises which they assume and the outward similarity which they bear to legitimate brokerage. the following definition covers the essential features of bucket shops from the standpoint of an expert. a bucket shop is an establishment conducted nominally and ostensibly for the transaction of a grain, cotton or stock exchange business. the proprietor, with or without the consent of the patron, takes one side of every deal that is made in his place, the patron taking the other, no article being bought or sold in any public market. bucket shops counterfeit the speculative trading on exchanges. continuous market quotations of an exchange are the essence, the very sinew of the gambling business carried on in a bucket shop, being used as dice are used, to determine the result of a bet. the market quotations posted in a bucket shop are exactly similar to those posted in a legitimate broker's office, but they are displayed for a different purpose. the broker posts the quotations for the purpose of showing what the market has been on the exchange as a matter of news. the bucket shop posts them as the terms upon which its patrons may make bets with the keeper. a bucket shop is destroyed if it loses its supply of quotations. margins deposited with the bucket shop proprietor by the patrons are nothing but the patrons' stakes to the wager, and are appropriated by the proprietor when the fluctuations of the price on the exchange whose quotations are the basis of the bet, reach the limit of the deposit, one party (the proprietor) to the bet acting as stakeholder. the commissions charged by the bucket shopkeepers are odds in its favor, and necessary in order to maintain their pretense of being legitimate brokers making the transaction on an exchange. ready to make all deals. the bucket shop proprietor is ready to make all deals offered in any commodity that fluctuates in price. he may call himself banker and broker, or commission merchant, or disguise his business under the form of an incorporated enterprise or exchange. but he is still a common gambler. the interest of the proprietor of a bucket shop is at all times opposed to that of his patrons, as the profits of the shop are measured by the losses of the patrons. bucket shops should not be confounded with the great public markets of the world, where buyer and seller, producer and consumer, investor and speculator meet in legitimate trade; for the pretended buying of millions of bushels of grain in bucket shops will not add a fraction of a cent to the price of the product of the farm, nor will the pretended selling of as much increase the supplies of the consumer or lessen the cost of his loaf a farthing. nor should they be confounded with the offices of legitimate brokers which they endeavor to imitate in appearance. name coined in london. the term "bucket shop," as now applied in the united states, was first used in the late ' s. it was coined in london fifty years ago, when it had absolutely no reference to any species of speculation or gambling. beer swillers from the east side (london) went from street to street with buckets, draining every keg they came across and picking up cast-off cigar butts. arriving at a den they gathered for social amusement around a table and passed the bucket as a loving cup, each taking a "pull" as it came his way. in the interval were smoking and rough jokes. the den came to be called a bucket shop. later the term was applied, both in england and the united states, as a byword of reproach to small places where grain and stock deals were counterfeited. yet the bucket shop is a gambling den par excellence, with all the paraphernalia necessary for the deception of the unsuspecting. one may place a $ bet in the bucket shop, pay a commission of per cent to the "bucket shopper," who may so shuffle the "cards" that the bettor may have to lose, even after he has won. as an example: game neatly fixed. the one thing absolutely necessary to the bucket shop are quotations, never from a legitimate board of trade, but through leased wires, or wire tappings, or from some other fake source. for the instant that the "quotations" cannot be written upon the blackboards the betting must cease. the bet of the customer is that before a certain grain drops off a point against him, it will advance a point or more in his favor, and the bucket shopper takes the bet, holding the stake himself. frequently the bettor may realize that he has won a point, or two, or three, and may insist upon the bucket shop selling for him. perhaps the victim lives at a distance from the shop and must write or wire his "broker." he wires for the "broker" to sell, and perhaps gets a message in reply to the effect that the market must go much better than that; that he refuses to sacrifice his patron's best interests in that way, and will hold on for the certain rise. in most cases this patron is immensely flattered, until within a few days the market is "off" again, wiping out not only his profits, but his original margins as well. how the suckers are skinned. or if on a certain day the customer takes advantage of a rise in the commodity bet upon, and insists upon closing out the deal, it is most frequently settled by the bucket shop upon the lowest figure for the day. occasionally, indeed, where a bucket shop keeper has allowed one or more customers to "win" a considerable figure from it through some untoward turn in figures, the whole shop closes up and disappears, leaving the victims no redress at law for the reason that they have left the money voluntarily in the hands of the sharpers. occasionally the country branch office of one of these central bucket shops may clean out a town of its currency until the scarcity of money in the place may demoralize the every-day business of the town. that the man who tries to beat the bucket shop has an impossible task in front of him in investigating the $ bet, the commonest in the shop. the man with the bill steps up to the window and asks to buy ten shares of american sugar at $ a share, paying per cent out of the $ as commission. then, counting that the bucket shop might be as nearly straight as such an institution can be, remember that the decline of sugar three-quarters of a point will wipe out the bettor's $ , while for him to win another $ , sugar will have to advance to $ . . in short, the customer is betting against a proposition which will lose him $ if sugar declines cents, while to win $ it must advance $ . , in either case the bucket shop holding his money and taking cents in tolls. other "fakes" "boost" the game. in the machinations of the bucket shop interests and those of kindred concerns that are garnering this $ , a day from the american people, the fake trade journal has had much to do; the fake mercantile agency, reporting extravagantly upon the responsibility and wealth of the schemers, has played extensively upon the credulity of men and women; fake banks and bankers have come into existence for the completion of the work of the others, and have been by no means the least in the category of rascality; the whole aggregation has been lending back and forth the "sucker lists," which is an interchangeable lists of names and addresses of men and women who have "bitten" at one scheme and may be promising of a rise to another of different type under a new title. on file in the office of a chicago man of affairs at the present moment is a series of interesting letters, which he shows occasionally to a friend. these letters are especially eloquent of a spirit of investment which is in the country today and which prompts the "biting" at almost any sort of flaunting announcement of quick riches. the letters are from a young man holding an official job under the government at washington. big dividend promises false. the first letter is apologetic for reminding the addressee that he is an old friend of the writer's family; but it recites that the young man has about $ in bank which he has saved from his salary, and which he is disposed to invest with a certain company if his friend in chicago thinks the prospects are in line with good business and responsibility. evidently the chicago man does not regard the concern as dependable, for the next letter expresses thanks for saving the writer loss, but asks a further question of a concern that promises per cent a month on cash investments in grain. the third letter, recognizing all that the old friend from chicago has done, explains that he has only a fair salary from which it is hard to save much money, and this fact has led him to the necessity of considering an investment of his savings that promise large returns, and yet at the same time promise the maximum of safety. having established his reasons for such ventures, he suggests to the friend: "perhaps you can answer all i want to know in a single reply. 'are any of these concerns promising dividends of per cent and such to be depended on'?" and the chicago man's letter, in substance, reads: "no!" "outsider" has no chance. speculation, for the most part, as in the case of this young man, means for the average intelligence a possibility for placing money in a side line where quick and profitable returns may be expected, wholly independent of the person's occupation. to the man who knows what the best of the speculative market is, the necessity for all of the time and attention and best judgment of the speculator is imperative. it is a business in which only the best business methods succeed. on the boards of trade the commission merchants may be wholly apart from any risk in even the legitimate trading, taking the commission of one-eighth of a cent a bushel in buying and selling. on the board of trade of chicago the designated leading speculative articles, in their order, are wheat, corn, oats, rye, barley, mess pork, lard, short ribs, live hogs and cotton. a year's grain crop may be , , bushels of wheat, , , , bushels of corn, , , bushels of oats, , , bushels of barley, and , , bushels of rye. bucket shops have been condemned by statutes as criminal and pernicious in many states in the union, but anti-bucket shop laws are rarely enforced by public servants whose duty it is to enforce them. prosecutions thus far, except in illinois, have been left to private citizens or associations for the suppression of gambling. the "bucket shop" has, within a few years past, sprung from comparative inconsequence into an institution of formidable wealth and threatening proportions. there are nearly a thousand in the united states. every large city in the west has at least one. having banded together in a strong combination they sneer at legislation. opulent and powerful they scoff at antagonistic public opinion. on level with lottery and faro bank. the "bucket shop," like the lottery and the faro bank, finds its profits in its customers' losses. if its patrons "buy" wheat and wheat goes up, the "bucket shop" loses. many a bucket shop commission merchant would hardly know wheat from oats, and none of their grain and produce "exchanges" ever had a sample bag on its counters. their transactions are wagers and their existence is an incitement to gambling under the guise of commercial transactions. the pernicious influences of the gaming house are, in the bucket shop, surrounded by the allurement of a cloak of respectability and the assumption of business methods. the legitimate exchange is a huge time and labor saving machine. its benefits are universal. while its privileges are valuable they have been rendered so only by hard work, and its members are entitled to the protection of the state against thieves. the "bucket shop" is a thief. the quotations upon which the "bucket shop" trades are the product of the labor and intelligence and information of the exchange. the exchange gathers its news at great cost from all over the globe and disseminates it for public advantage. but its quotations should be its own property. they are the direct product of its energy, its foresight and its business sagacity. the "bucket shop," at no parallel cost, usurps the functions of the exchange and endeavors to secure for itself the returns for a labor performed by others. were it to use honorable methods with its patrons it would be a dishonorable institution. using the methods it does, the "bucket shop" is twice dishonored. as a matter of fact, all other forms of gambling or swindling are commonplace and comparatively innocent when compared to the "bucket shop" which has caused more moral wrecks, more dismantled fortunes and made more of the innocent suffer than any other agency of diabolism. just why so brazen an iniquity in the guise of speculation should be allowed to exist it is difficult to explain. open gambling under ban. open gambling has been placed under the ban of civic reform. while the policy shop, the lottery and other less dangerous methods of swindling have been effectively stamped out of most cities, the "bucket shop tiger" continues to rend the ambitions of young and old, dragging them down to forgery, embezzlement, suicide,--or that which is quite as bad,--broken spirit for legitimate endeavor. under the circumstances the sympathy of the public should be with the movement to drive "bucket shops" out of business, to close them along with all other gambling institutions. it is time that something was done to check the growing evil of gambling on produce, cotton and stock exchange quotations. a beginning has been made, but the movement has not gone far enough. these excrescences on the body politic have multiplied rapidly and so dangerously near do they come to being popular that the mercantile community owes it to itself to apply the knife at once. moreover, there is no form of gambling more disastrous to the player than "bucket shop" gambling. its semi-respectability and likeness in many outward features to regular and reputable commission houses makes it the most insidious of all temptations to the young speculator and aspirant for wealth. it is the open door to ruin. [illustration: that new leaf] open door to ruin. men do not blush at being seen in a "bucket shop" as they would if caught in a faro bank or poker room though they are drawn thither by the same passion for gambling that takes them to the regular gambling den. the "bucket shop" successfully carries on a worse swindling game than the "blacklegs." the wealth the chief "bucket shop" men of the country have acquired proves this. men can be pointed out in chicago, new york and other cities of the country who have amassed fortunes at the business while their thousands of victims are impoverished and ruined. persons desiring to speculate or invest can avoid "bucket shops" and "fake" brokers by making a preliminary and independent investigation into the character of the broker and the merits of the enterprise. if they accept the statements and references of promoters of schemes without making such investigations they are not entitled to sympathy if they are robbed. legitimate brokers do not resort to sensational advertising; they do not guarantee profits; nor do they solicit funds to invest on their judgment. the functions of a broker or commission merchant are to receive and execute the order of his customers. when he offers to do more (except in the way of giving market news, advice or conservative opinions) he should be avoided. promoters of pools and syndicates and disseminators of advance information should be carefully avoided. on "sure things." how to learn their real character. the cleverness and boldness with which the up-to-date investment swindler plies his craft are almost incredible. wherever you find a fraudulent scheme you will find both of these elements present in some degree--but the comparative proportion of one to the other is generally determined by the element of time of operation. for example, if the projectors of a scheme are old hands at the game and have established records of the wrong sort, then the idea of quick results is not only attractive, but often imperative. there are many "old offenders" in the profession of investment swindling who have been convicted and have "done time" in jails and penitentiaries, but have not yet learned to prefer straight to crooked finance. men of this character realize that a "quick getaway" is a cardinal essential of success; they must complete the transaction and get in the harvest before there is time for the public to wake up and do any investigating. the length to which the bolder spirits in this class will go almost surpasses credibility. here is an example, discovered by detective wooldridge of chicago, of the tricks to which they will resort in order to create the impression of having the backing of men or institutions of strength and character: through introduction by social friends, the local representative of an investment scheme was able to open a checking account with a banking and trust company in a big city--a company of such high standing that it is very widely known outside of financial circles and among people of small means. its endorsement was worth "ready money" to any enterprise, and the fact was keenly appreciated by the "fiscal agents" of the brite & fair bonanza company. after the opening of his personal checking account the fiscal agent lost no time in cultivating the acquaintance of the trust officer of the banking institution, which did a very large business in the discharge of trusts. one day the depositor came to this officer and explained that he had a very simple little trust which he wished to have executed. finding it necessary to leave the city for a few days, he wished to provide for the delivery of a sealed package, containing "valuable papers," to a man whose name and personal description was given. the person to call for the package would leave a certified check, in the amount of $ , , which was to be placed to the credit of the "fiscal agent" of the brite & fair bonanza company, whose business connections were unknown to the trust officer of the banking and trust company. all "brite & fair." weeks later the trust officer was astonished to receive from an old personal friend, who was knocking about in the west, a circular of the brite & fair bonanza company, in which the big trust company was designated as "trustee" for the "b. & f." stocks. as the friend who forwarded the circular knew something of the wildcat nature of the brite & fair enterprise, his comments on the folly of the bank's accepting such a "trust" had an edge on them. when the matter was investigated it was found that the whole plot had been carefully concocted and worked up; that the circulars had been printed and put in directed envelopes ready for mailing in advance of the placing of the so-called "trust," and that when the trust officer of the solid financial institution had given his receipt for the "sealed package said to contain valuable papers," a telegram had been sent by the "fiscal agent" to "mail out trustee circulars." the man in this scheme, of course, believed that, as the circulars were being mailed out into a territory about a thousand miles from the city in which the banking and trust company was located, the trust officer who had been imposed upon would never hear of the misuse of his receipt for a "dummy" package which actually contained certificates of the mining company's stock. why did the men who worked this scheme to steal the moral support of the big trust company go to so great pains to get it? because fake investment operators have found it profitable to take every precaution to give the color of legality to their acts, they have found it profitable to hire shrewd legal pilots to tell them just how far they may go in a given direction without running upon the reefs of the united states postoffice's "fraud order" or upon the rocks of a "conspiracy" prosecution. dodge uncle sam and conspiracy laws. take it in the incident above related: had these men been prosecuted for falsely using the name of the trust company or for obtaining money by misrepresentation (the claim that the trust company was acting as trustee for the brite & fair securities), an able lawyer could have made out of the "trust" to transfer a package of unknown contents a very plausible defense. again, the mining company was able to make valuable use of the trust company's receipt for the package by having fac similes of the receipt printed and distributed among solicitors for the stock who were canvassing persons not at all familiar with legal documents--and who, under the statements and arguments of the agent, would see in the receipt an acknowledgment that this great trust company and its millions were behind the securities of the brite & fair company. this brings us straight to the practical point in the matter. never go into an investment until you first find out for yourself, by direct and first-hand investigation, what the "references" named in the literature or advertising matter of the company have to say about it, and how much the references themselves amount to. wildcats give good reference. promoters of wildcat investment enterprises have used hundreds of names as references which they had not the shadow of right to use--calculating that persons credulous enough to be interested in the proposition would also be credulous enough to say, "these references will speak well enough for the enterprise, else their names would not be given out for this purpose," and to act without making any inquiries of them. again, some man of prominence and great faith may have been, at the start, a believer in the enterprise and willing to say, within certain limitations, that he believed the venture could be made a success if conducted according to certain plans and under given restrictions. this does not signify that he will continue to retain that confidence or that he is willing to be understood as giving the venture his unqualified endorsement, or to say to the public which respects his name and position: "come and share this enterprise with me; put your money into it, for it's a good thing." detective wooldridge, who has examined many of these concerns, desires to place special emphasis upon the crafty use which these companies make of the names and services of reputable "trust" companies. he uses the word "services" because a trust company may execute a "trust" in connection with bonds, stocks, property or securities without really assuming any general financial or moral responsibility for those securities or without becoming a sponsor for them. in a word, the trust company may engage to act as an escrow agent to see that a certain technical transaction is completed, and nothing more. that means this: the trust company consents to hold the stakes between two parties, but without the slightest responsibility as to the value of those stakes or what may be done with them after the stipulations as to the conditions precedent to delivery have been fulfilled. because a trust company acts as the trustee of a certain bond issued there is no warrant for a prospective investor to feel that the resources of the trust company are in any sense behind these deeds as a guarantee of values. another word of caution: whenever you see the name of an educator, a pastor or a popular politician, or any other leader having a hold on the sentiment of a community used in connection with an investment offering, look into it carefully and take no step until the person mentioned has been questioned directly by you. huge swindles bared. officers of four underwriting and guarantee companies arrested by detective clifton r. wooldridge. charges are bogus underwriting and fraudulent inspection of properties. all the officers of the four biggest underwriting and guarantee companies in the west, with headquarters in chicago, were arrested. they were charged with having engineered the boldest and most comprehensive swindle ever exposed in this country. [illustration: gett, rich & co. promoters of "good things"] the following are the names of the men arrested for running the central state underwriting and guarantee corporation room , tribune building: w. h. hulbert, h. b. hudson, francis owings, m. j. roughen, w. h. todd, were arrested for running a confidence game. w. h. todd jumped his bond and fled to st. louis, mo., where he was apprehended and brought back by detective wooldridge. $ , , capital. the book of the central state underwriting and guarantee corporation had promoted corporations and companies which were capitalized at $ , , . stock bonds were issued which was guaranteed by this company. this company further agreed to sell these bonds and stocks to raise the money to financier these companies. the complaint was made by the compensating pipe organ company, through c. v. wisner. the firm is located at battle creek, mich. w. h. todd & co. was employed by the pipe organ company to make a bond issue of $ , . the brokerage firm, he said, demanded a per cent deposit, amounting to $ , . this was paid, according to wisner's complaint, and todd & company undertook to deposit the money with another underwriting company. then, he asserts, the bond issue was never made, and todd & company failed to repay the $ , . the firm conducts a banking, brokerage and underwriting business at room , dearborn street. did heavy business. rare oriental rugs, the most costly tables and chairs, and elaborate grandfather clocks, together with an amazing amount of polished brass work and plate glass, were found in each of the imposing offices raided by the deputy marshals. the central states underwriting & guarantee company did a business commensurate with the costly environment. the books of the concern show that from february , , to august , , corporations throughout the united states paid money to the central states concern, and the aggregate amount paid was $ , . [illustration: at last!] advertisements were placed in all the leading papers throughout the country, circulars were distributed broadcast with propositions that capital could be obtained for corporations and manufacturing enterprises by addressing this company. the officers of corporations replying to these advertisements would be asked to call at the chicago offices of the companies. the brokers acquainted with the scheme would then introduce the corporation officials to alleged capitalists who represented they had available capital to finance business propositions, and would buy the underwritten stock, provided the corporation officers would have them underwritten by responsible guarantee companies. it is asserted that these alleged capitalists would then advise that the work be done by the central states underwriting & guarantee company, the american corporation & securities company, or the national stock & guarantee company of san francisco. scheme of the company. the brokers in the alleged fraudulent transactions would represent to the proposed victim that they would get no returns for their work unless they actually sold the stocks, and that they would be content with a commission of from one-half to per cent on such stock as they sold. they assured the victims that there could be no doubt that the stock underwritten would be sold, as the capitalists to whom the victims had been introduced would be certain to buy them. the brokers would then take the men seeking the underwriting to the offices of the guarantee companies and arrange for guaranteeing the bonds on payment of a fee of per cent of the amount of underwriting. the men arrested never entered into a proposition on which less than $ , was involved, and that they, in some cases, obtained $ , , worth of stock to underwrite. detective wooldridge secured proof that the application fee which was paid by the officers of the corporations to the underwriting companies was always divided among those companies and the fraudulent brokers who had sent the corporation's officers to the supposed underwriters. the guarantee co. methods. the guarantee company system is a new phase of "promotion" that has come to the surface during the past two years, but which, through police and legal investigation, has about reached its limit. a strictly legitimate guarantee company is modeled much after the fidelity and insurance bond corporations. they issue secured bonds for all necessary business purposes, and are reputable and responsible. about a promotion gang in chicago stole the name "guarantee," and half a dozen fake guarantee companies were started. in all the phraseology of tricky finance there is no word so overworked as "guarantee." and this means that experience has proved it to be highly effective in the hooking of "suckers." depend upon it, that no word or phrase achieves marked popularity in the literature of the "small investments" appeal which has not demonstrated its rare effectiveness as an agency of deception; the phrase that does not draw the money is promptly thrown out by these shrewd fishers of men, who check up their returns as accurately and systematically as the most legitimate mail order business. if the small investors of this country could reach anything like a fair knowledge of just how much and how little there is in each of these appealing "catch words" in each phrase, the plausibility of which has been scientifically tested, they would be well on the way toward being able to protect themselves against the cleverest and most convincing of these appeals. perhaps the writer can do the public more service in analyzing a few of these "star phrases" than by any amount of denunciation of the wildcat schemes and schemers which deserve as harsh a characterization as any man can frame. [illustration: rural residents cannot be too prompt in tying down their property.] but, to return to the word "guarantee," which has attained first rank in the terminology of the investment trickster, there is scarcely a circular, folder or advertisement, or any other piece of literature put out by the pot hunters of small savings which does not display the word "guarantee" in big type, and with reiterated emphasis. if this institution chances to be of a financial character itself, rather than a mining, oil or industrial concern, the word "guarantee," or its twin, "security," will be found incorporated in the name chosen for the company. get a list of wildcat investment schemes which are dead beyond hope of resurrection, and it is a safe prediction that one-half the names will contain the word "guarantee" or "security." these two words are as common to the eye in the graveyard of fake investment schemes as is that of smith, jones or brown in any country cemetery; they adorn practically every other tombstone in the last resting place of defunct financial frauds. the question of the value of either of these words in the title of a corporation or concern is disposed of by the statement that there is no legal restriction in the choice of names of companies; the organizers are as free to name their flimsy creation "the rock of gibraltar guarantee security company" as the parent is to saddle a weak, under-sized male child with the name of samson. and, as a rule, there is as much license or propriety in giving the name of the mighty enemy of the philistines to a stunted boy as there is for applying the name "guarantee" or "security" to a company which is brought into being for the purpose of going out after the savings of the "small investor." why? because the companies which are really warranted in making either of these words a part of their corporate name do not have to go into the highways and hedges and beat the bushes for their business; it comes to them by force of their "financial strength." they have no need to drum it up. good advice on "guarantee." however, scores of oil, mining and investment companies which do not use either of these clever catchwords in their corporate titles cannot be charged with undervaluing the "pulling power" of such phrases; in their literature this kind of bait is employed with the greatest skill and plausibility. one of the most common ways in which this idea is dressed is this: "we guarantee you, under all conditions and at all times, to get you, without cost to yourself, the highest market price for your holdings." this sounds very assuring; it carries with it a protective and almost paternal atmosphere and seldom fails to inspire in the trusting investor the feeling that there is a strong hand always ready to take the investment off his shoulders the moment it threatens to become a burden. this particular phrase is especially fortunate and typical, by way of illustration, for the reason that it couples with the word "guarantee" another term which is a warm favorite with the word artists of the get-rich-quick studies. i allude to the phrase, "highest market value." wherever either of these clever signals to credulity is displayed the possible investor should invariably remember these points: =first--a guarantee is never stronger than the guarantor.= =second--a security only has a "market value" in the fair and true sense of the term where a large demand for it meets a large supply; there, and there only, exists an active market and a genuine "market value."= let these two propositions (which any reputable banker or broker will tell you are axiomatic) be considered separately. there is no virtue in the word "guarantee." if this simple fact could have been firmly fixed in the minds of the small investors of this country they would have been saved the loss of millions of dollars since our present period of wonderful prosperity began. in these days of highly perfected business organization the process of finding out the responsibility of any financial or business concern has been reduced to an exact science and made available to all. is it reasonable to suppose, under these conditions, that any company or corporation which cannot stand on its own feet can get any responsible concern to guarantee its bonds or other so-called securities? never! such a supposition is absurd on the face of it, and an instance where it has been done is not, so far as is known, to be found in actual practice. dig down under the "guarantee" of the company which asks you to invest your savings and what do you find? that if you do invest you and your fellow victims are really your own guarantors; that the financial strength of the concern is really the money which you and your associates pour into it; that its only financial life blood comes from the purses of the small investors, and that when the stream of vitality from this source begins to dry up, the services of the financial undertaker are in near and inevitable demand. reduced to its last analysis, the blacktype declaration of a "guarantee" in the literature of the "get-rich-quick" concern simply means that it has something to sell you. generally, it is also an invitation to you to pay in advance for the flowers to adorn your own financial funeral. as to the other pet phrase, "highest market value," or market value of any kind, for that matter, a very few words will suggest the situation: excepting where a very large demand meets an insufficient supply in a free, open and comparatively unmanipulated market, where sales are regularly made of record and those records command the respect and confidence of the legitimate financial public, there is no "market value" save that which is arbitrarily made by the broker. he is the market; he makes the price by the simple process of "thumbs up" or "thumbs down." the man who is on the "sucker" list of a wildcat concern receives an announcement that "all indications point to the conclusion that next week the stock of the honor bright company will sell at not less than five points advance of the present price." the next week he gets notice that the prediction of an advance had proved true. if he is unsophisticated enough he receives the announcement with solemn credulity and credits the author of the promotion literature with great acumen and shrewd prophetic powers. he figures up the profits he would have made on the advance and condemns himself for not heeding the "confidential" advice to "buy quick." what he does not consider is the fact that he is dealing with a fictitious market, where the seller simply makes up his mind how much he will advance the stock in question and then, when the time comes, marks it up and makes the announcement of the "sharp advance." this trick is turned not only for the purpose of getting a larger price per share, but mainly to tickle the cupidity of hesitating investors and making sales which otherwise could not have been made. in order to understand how these companies operate, the actual experience of one victim will serve to explain the whole system. a country manufacturer, rated at $ , , read an advertisement in a financial journal about as follows: "capital supplied--we have the means of furnishing any amount of capital for any meritorious industrial proposition. address lock box xx, chicago." the manufacturer wrote he wanted to raise $ , to increase his business, and offered to put in all his effects, stock and good will. he received a letter asking him to come to chicago and visit the firm, which, for convenience, shall be described as "cold cash & co." he did so. cash received him in an elegant office with open arms. the manufacturer there re-stated his necessities. the affable broker informed him his proposition was a fine one, and said he could have the desired $ , within thirty days. "what would be the broker's fee?" he inquired. only per cent when $ , was in the hands of the manufacturer. certainly an alluring prospect. but how was the money to be raised? the manufacturer was to incorporate his business for $ , , and the broker would sell half of its capital stock at par. as the delighted "sucker" was about to leave the broker's office the latter, in the most off-hand manner, said: "oh, by the way, mr. manufacturer, what arrangements have you made to guarantee your capital stock?" "guarantee it? i don't understand you," replied the victim. "bless you!" said the broker, "modern methods demand that all stock be guaranteed--quite the new order of things. we couldn't sell a share of stock nowadays unless it was guaranteed." "explain!" "i will. you go to some guarantee company and have them agree to guarantee the payment of the principal of each share of stock sold at thirty years. don't you see that makes your stock as solid as a government bond? "the guarantee company takes a certain portion of the proceeds of the stock, invests it for thirty years. with interest and compound interest, in the stock has accumulated its par sum. it is a beautiful system." do booming business. "very plausible, but where are these guarantee companies?" "why, there are the national, the states, and the industrial. we hear the states is doing a booming business. go and see them. they are at such a number." the victim went to the richly furnished suite of offices occupied by the guarantee company and met its dignified "president," to whom he explained the purpose of his visit. "very good," said that official. "we will accept your risk. we will issue you an option agreeing within one year to issue you bonds against your stock as sold, you to pay us an advance fee of $ , ." the "sucker" demurred. he had only $ spare cash. the president suggested that as the broker would make a liberal commission out of the deal he might put up the other $ . the manufacturer 'phoned the broker, who promptly agreed to pay one-half of the fee. the broker gave the victim a worthless check for $ , which he gave, together with $ of his own good money, into the hands of the "guarantee" company. the company thereupon issued a certificate, or option, for bonds that were never called for because the broker never sold any of the stock. the victim went home loaded down with promises. the broker "strung" him along for a month or two, but sold no stock. finally the manufacturer realized he was buncoed. the broker and the "guarantee" company divided the $ , and proceeded to find other suckers. march , , e. c. talmage, who conducted the national underwriting & bond co., of san francisco, cal.; the pacific underwriting & trust co., of san francisco, cal.; the imperial bond & trust co., of new jersey city, new jersey; the international trust co., of philadelphia; the chicago national bonding co., of chicago, at dearborn street; e. c. talmage; e. s. barnum, randolph street; and m. j. carpenter, of the first national bank, were arrested. george d. talmage, another member of the firm located at kansas city, mo., was afterwards arrested and brought to chicago, charged with obtaining money under the confidence game. the warrants on which they were arrested were taken out by e. j. denison and rev. peter a. baart, a methodist minister of marshall, mich., who were officers of the la vaca mines and mills, of joplin, mo. rev. mr. baart first went to e. c. talmage. talmage sent him to e. s. barnum to have the stock guaranteed. barnum charged him a fee of $ and agreed to sell the bonds, which he failed to do. they just simply divided this fee between them and made no effort to float the bonds. among the persons alleged to have suffered losses are the following: victoria a. toole, th street $ dr. c. j. grey, state street miss frances mason, sister of hon. w. e. mason , a. c. nelson, addison avenue j. w. wilson, opera house block g. g. eustis, melrose, ia. lalorena gold and copper mining company wortham bros. company golden ranch sugar and cattle company , frank mccuddy, clinton, ia. , dr. e. hall and j. brown e. c. talmage, s. d. talmage and e. s. barnum were indicted by the cook county grand jury. george d. talmage fled to kansas city, mo., where he conducted a branch office in the same business. he was arrested at kansas city, mo., on request of the chief of police of chicago, for operating the confidence game. extradition papers were secured and detective wooldridge brought him back. when his father's office was raided, at dearborn street, a number of letters was seized, among them were several written from george d. talmage, at kansas city, mo. the following extracts are taken from george d. talmage's letter to his father: "saw old blank today. he was easy. inclosed find his check for $ , "; and, "when i mentioned bonds to old tightwad he fell over backwards and swallowed a set of false teeth." one from a town in kansas is said to have read: "nothing doing in this joint. the people here wouldn't buy gold dollars for cents." one letter which reflected particularly upon the cupidity of our k. c., u. s. a. citizens, runs: "i am giving it to these little kansas city suckers strong. i expect to be able to send you $ , the last of the week." e. c. talmage, george d. talmage and e. s. barnum were placed on trial before judge brentano for swindling the rev. peter a. baart, marshall, mo., out of $ . e. s. barnum was discharged and the talmages found guilty. a new trial was secured for george d. talmage. his father, e. c. talmage, on may , , was sentenced to an indefinite term in the joliet penitentiary. the social evil. the treatment of the social evil is one of the most difficult problems with which society has ever been confronted. until society is thoroughly regenerated and the consequent purity, both of manhood and womanhood, has become a permanent fact, illicit relationship between man and woman will exist. the attraction of the sexes is as mighty as it is mysterious. no legislation will weaken its inherent force. the man who can come forward with a cure for this great curse is, i fear, yet to be born. [illustration: (people running by heart)] in common with other vices the so-called "social evil" is as old as mankind, and it will probably remain as long as vice and sin are found in the human heart. its complete eradication will, perhaps, never be accomplished solely through the process of law, yet it seems to me that the law and its administrators should not lessen their efforts to destroy this evil. in norway, and in switzerland, are the conditions most favorable to virtue and independence, the absence of extreme wealth and poverty. both countries are comparatively isolated from the rest of the world. in switzerland, as well as norway, there is an absence of large masses pent up together in cities, the population being distributed in small numbers about the country. sir john bowring, sent from england to investigate swiss society, found that "a drunkard is seldom seen, and illegitimate children are rare." as a people these swiss are a testimonial to the doctrine of equal distribution of wealth and temperate habits as preventive of immorality. america follows old lines. the history of the united states is the history of all countries as regards prostitution. the population is made up of all nations, civilized and semi-civilized. in the majority of cases poverty is the greatest incentive to prostitution. permanent prostitution has a numerical relation to the means of occupation. at the present time in all parts of the united states the lower strata of men and women are deprived of the results of their labor except in quantities barely sufficient to retain life in their bodies. they are huddled together indiscriminately as to sex, in close, crowded quarters, so that the ordinary delicacies of life cannot be practiced even if there should be a desire. the chiefest and often the only form of pleasure within their reach is that given by nature for the purest and best use in life, but which comes to be the veriest debauchery. children and youth growing up among adults, depraved because no ray of light was shed to show the way for moral and physical uplifting, must naturally imbibe the miasma of social impurity. from the very cradle through life their influence is to further degrade themselves. on the other hand are the extreme rich, who, not being compelled to labor for sustenance, spend their time and money in selfish enjoyment. in contrast with the extreme poor, they have every possibility to cultivate the good in themselves, but will not, and it grows pale and sickly among the rank weeds of their selfishness. chiefly, among self-gratifications, are social evil habits, especially on part of the men of wealth. their manner of life, the food they eat, creates a fictitious force which must expend itself. they may have a chivalrous regard for the women of their class, but consider all women below them to be legitimate prey. relying on their wealth to insinuate themselves into the good graces of young women by supplying them with such things as will gratify vanity, the offspring of rich parentage find fascination in pursuit of their object. when she is at last won, and her virtuous scruples overcome, she is thrown aside like the wilted flower which has yielded all its perfume. the brothel is open to receive all such, particularly if she be handsome of face or form. only burned orphan asylum. new york, chicago, st. louis, any great city will furnish examples by the thousands. where one girl enters this life from choice (through sensuality inherited from the lust of her father, no doubt), ninety-nine are sucked into its whirlpool by force of circumstances. the young woman who is a clerk is paid an amount which will barely cover the cost of living. she is expected to dress well, and if she protests that she can not, is told to rely on some "gentleman friend" for other expenses. likewise in factories and shops. only she who is protected by home associations, and whose labor is done to add to the general home comfort, can hope to escape, and then not always. the grim, irrefutable facts in connection with the thrusting of the working girl into prostitution by the wealthy owners of department stores, was never better expressed than in a recent story by o. henry, in mcclure's magazine. henry dreamed that he had been dead a long while, and that he had finally arrived at the judgment day. an angel policeman was haling him before the great court of last resort. as he was forced into the waiting room the angel policeman asked him kindly if he belonged with a certain crowd which he saw near him. the members of this coterie were dressed in frock coats, gray trousers, spats, patent leather shoes, and all of them boasted of high silk hats. "who are they?" asked the trembling henry. "oh, they are the men who ran big department stores and paid their poor girls five dollars a week in order that they themselves might belong to clubs, go to europe and own fine residences and automobiles," replied the angel. "not on your life," replied henry. "i'm only the feller that murdered a blind man for his pennies and burned down the orphan asylum. i don't belong with that bunch." with the present system of government, each year tends to annihilate the middle class, in which lies a nation's strength. "ill fares the hand, to hastening ills a prey, where wealth accumulates, and men decay." while extreme poverty exists on the one hand, and extreme wealth on the other, it would be as plausible to dam up niagara falls as to stop prostitution by legislating against it. the current, checked in one course, is bound to break out in another, and with all its pent-up force. human life, like the river, is bound to flow in the channel of the least resistance. nature planned the association of the sexes as surely and as inevitably as any other of her laws. whenever her laws are trespassed upon in any way there is suffering. the wretched conditions of the poor and the perverted natures of the wealthy turn sex association into social evil. give all honest chance. giving to all young men and women honest means of livelihood with extra times and resources for the cultivation of their talents and their better selves, honorable marriage would be preferred to prostitution in nearly every case. [illustration: the pace that kills] there is no hope for moral purification among the wealthy until such time as they will use their time and talents in useful work. an enormous field for missionary work would be for some one of ability to convert the wealthy world to the religion of useful work. as a self-evident truth, no able-bodied person has the right to live off the labor of another person. instead of the many working to the last notch of human endurance that the few may live in luxury and idleness, there should be labor for all, and enough for all. money, however, is without love, or patriotism, or kindness--is all-powerful, and is fawned upon, and catered to by those possessing it in limited quantities. the remedy for prostitution, as well as other evils, lies in the hands of the american people themselves, if they only knew it. just a few years of intelligent voting and legislating for better conditions for the many, instead of for the few extremely wealthy, would tend to overcome all injustice and inequality. the social evil would be weeded out because people would then have time to obey the injunction, "know thyself." average evil life very short. according to statistics the average life of a prostitute is four years after entering the maelstrom of such a career. the life is never such as to be recommended even by its followers. it is moral as well as physical death when followed, and is well-nigh impossible to escape once having bowed to its seeming fascination. as to the libertine, he "sells himself for what he buys." he may enjoy pleasure, but not happiness. happiness comes from within, in the consciousness of doing right. pleasures come from without, in the gratification of self. in addition to the hollowness of the enjoyment in the lives of prostitute and libertine, is always the danger of loathsome disease which tortures body and brain, lowering them in their own minds. it is about the only ill in the category that does not command sympathy, but it should. the evils of drunkenness, theft, or prostitution are on the same basis as far as the "necessity" for their existence. all are more or less the result of a badly adjusted economic condition of whatever nation. they can be reduced to a minimum, if not eradicated, by removing the cause. argument against segregation. the first and most convincing argument against the segregation of vice is found in the fact that the law expressly condemns crime of all kinds and requires its relentless prosecution in order to effect its destruction. besides, vice districts would shortly become breeding spots for the propagation of crime of every kind. here would be attracted the criminal classes from all parts of the country, because here they would be protected by the very law which they violate. not only would the inhabitants of such districts regard themselves within the law, but others, who now fear to enter these resorts because of the probability of arrest and public exposure, would patronize the district, armed with the knowledge that non-arrest was a certainty and exposure highly improbable. the locality and extent of such districts would soon become a matter of common information, and young men would thus find easy access to disreputable resorts which otherwise they might never find. evil not necessary. many advance the argument that the evil is a necessary one and must be tolerated, else the safety of virtuous women upon our streets would be seriously threatened and imperiled. the fallacy and absurdity of this contention is proved by the conditions which exist in many of the large cities of great britain and canada, where houses of ill-fame are practically unknown, and where women are as safe as in cities where the segregation of vice prevails. this result has been obtained by persistent effort on the part of officials whose duty it is to suppress and punish crime. such a condition can never be secured here if districts are established where this particular form of vice may flourish with the tacit approval of our public officers. surely we in chicago are not willing to admit that which has been done elsewhere cannot be done here. chicago could not legally license or regulate this evil, for our state law forbids license. the moral sentiment of our people is also against it. several years or so ago, when a resolution was introduced into the city council looking toward segregation, medical examination and license, a vigorous protest was made by the chicago woman's club, the evanston woman's club, and other such organizations. the good women of chicago will not tamely submit to such additional degradation of their wronged sisters. nobler womanhood the goal. chicago women are working hard to protect innocent women from lives of infamy and to help the repentant to a nobler womanhood. if there were men working among their own sex with equal devotions there would be a lessening of the social evil. if physicians would teach men the safety of chastity and the horrors of licentiousness, if preachers would train their guns against impurity, if popular clubs would expel licentious men, if the mayor would order the arrest of every person, man or woman, found in these houses, apparently so well known to the police, and have such arrests continued night after night, these methods would cause a marked lessening of the social evil. the police of chicago have done much in recent years to make it a better city. to them is due the credit more than to anyone else for better conditions in our moral life. if they are encouraged and allowed to work out these problems in their own practical way they will do more for our city's good than all the theoretical reformers combined. many conditions ought not to exist, but they must and will remain for the present. your reformer, so-called, writes and pleads for the ideal. the police force deals with what is and knows best what can be done. suppress manufacture and sale of dangerous weapons--they are a constant menace to life and good order. made solely for unlawful use--engender crime, increase accidents and make suicide easy--carrying concealed weapons a vicious and inexcusable habit.] [illustration: law to regulate sale of firearms] the "lid" should be put upon deadly weapons--pistols, revolvers, dirk knives, brass knuckles--not merely to hide them, but to prevent their manufacture and sale. while serving as police officer i could not fail to observe that substantially all of the crimes committed with the pistol or revolver resulted from the practice of carrying the weapon upon the person. there would be a controversy in a bar-room, on the street or elsewhere, followed by a fight and ending with a shooting by someone present who had the weapon conveniently concealed upon his person. but for the presence of the weapon on the scene there would have been no shooting. i recall but one case where the defendant left the scene of the controversy to procure a weapon. murder committed by lying in wait or with premeditation for any length of time is extremely rare. in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the crime is committed on the spur of the moment. statistics furnished by the police department show startling facts. citizens do not realize the number of persons who are either wounded or killed every year by shooting with the revolver. one can hardly pick up a metropolitan paper without finding an account of a shooting, either by accident or design. we have laws forbidding the carrying of concealed weapons, which are to a certain extent effective, but to a very small extent, because it is practically impossible to search every man on the street--and keep him searched. the law, no matter how rigidly enforced, can do but little substantial good. we must also consider other deadly weapons, such as dirk knives and brass knuckles. so far as these are concerned, they are manufactured solely to be used as instruments of crime. the brass knuckle is never used as a weapon of defense, but always as one of offense. the dirk knife has no use other than as a weapon to be used against human beings. it is not used either in war or for any domestic purpose. so far as the revolver is concerned, it has no proper use anywhere in the world. it is carried either as a weapon of offense or defense; but as a weapon of defense it is only possibly effective when there is a revolver in the hands of the antagonist. if he has none, none is needed for defense. an attack made upon a man at close quarters by the use of a sandbag or any other weapon in the hands cannot be met practically with a revolver. there is no time or opportunity for its use. the proposition is therefore sound that, if no one carried a pistol for offense, none would be needed for defense. shotguns and rifles are used in hunting, but not the revolver. the ordinary revolver of commerce, the one which a man can carry concealed, has no use in modern warfare. there is no legitimate use anywhere for such a weapon. september, , officials of the new york police department, acting under commissioner bingham's orders, took , revolvers out to sea beyond sandy hook and threw them overboard. the literary secretary of the commissioner said it reminded him of the doges who used to wed the sea with rings. if the new york ceremony was not so richly symbolical it certainly was vastly more sensible. these revolvers were the results of eighteen months of police seizures. some of them were automatic weapons in the $ class, and others were of the common variety used by small boy initiates in crime. together they were worth at least $ , . not so very long ago new york city held an auction sale every year just before the fourth of july at which all confiscated weapons were sold. thereby fourth of july killings were made easy and cheap, and crime at all other times of the year was encouraged, for most of the weapons went to pawnbrokers and second-hand dealers, who put them back in the hands that would use them worst. the police have one instance of a revolver that to their knowledge came back into their possession four times in this way. it is wise to destroy these weapons, but consider how little good is accomplished compared with what might be accomplished by original control of the sale of weapons. the city sacrifices the $ , or something less which it might have got for these weapons, but if it would take $ , and spend it vigorously in regulating the sale of weapons, in licensing and perhaps heavily taxing all dealers, in requiring the keeping of complete records of sales and in prosecuting all persons carrying concealed weapons, it would accomplish very much more to the same end. chicago is a city in which unlimited laxity is allowed dealers in pistols. the way is made easy for the criminal who wants to arm himself. despite the successful experience of other cities in regulating the sales of weapons, the council is reluctant to give the city a stronger ordinance. suicide with the revolver is a favorite method of self-destruction with men. press the muzzle against the head or heart, a slight pressure of the forefinger--instant oblivion follows. the bandit who holds up the railroad train and robs the passengers almost invariably uses a revolver. with this small weapon he terrorizes and robs an entire trainload of travelers. the vicious carry pistols with criminal intent, but there is also a very large class, which might be designated as a "weak" class, which carries the pistol without any criminal intent, but under the influence of a fascination for the handling of deadly weapons. among certain classes of negroes it is the habit to carry pistols or other deadly weapons to balls, parties or other places where they congregate, and they carry them, apparently, to a certain extent, as a matter of ornament, something on the principle of our gentlemanly forefathers of a few hundred years ago, who considered no full-dress equipment complete without the rapier. the very fact that these weapons are present leads to brawls and quarrels, which result only too frequently in killing, or an attempt to kill. it is dangerous to put into the hands of a weak person a weapon which may carry death and destruction by the small pressure of the finger. the very handling of such weapons seems to breed the desire to use them. the situation is something similar to that of a man who gazes over the brink of a precipice and to whom there comes an almost irresistible desire to throw himself over. there would be some force in the argument that the law-abiding citizen has the right to carry a revolver to protect himself from thugs if his pistol were any real protection; but it is not. the attack from the thug on the highway comes so suddenly and unexpectedly that there is rarely an opportunity to use a weapon in defense; and, even if it should occasionally happen that a man would be at a disadvantage because he had no pistol, this loss to the community is outweighed a thousand to one by the evils which follow its use. why should we permit men to manufacture and sell instruments of crime--weapons which are designed for no other purpose? we do have laws which prevent the free sale of poisons, based upon the fact that poisons may be used as a means of self-destruction or in the destruction of others. but we have no safeguards against the purchase and use of these other deadly agencies. a brilliant display of deadly weapons may be found in any first-class hardware store, one which is peculiarly tempting to the young, the weak and the vicious. pawnshops are heavily stocked with weapons of this character. there are a hundred places on the streets of chicago, particularly on clark and state streets, where may be found in cases standing in front of stores a display of brass knuckles, dirks and revolvers, which can be purchased at a very small price--and without restrictions of any kind. yet they are purchased, almost exclusively, to be used as instruments of crime. experience has demonstrated that the laws which forbid the carrying of concealed weapons are not effective; and it is not possible that, in the very nature of things, they can be entirely so. there is only one sure and effective way of preventing the criminal use of these deadly weapons--that is, to make it impossible for men to get hold of them. this can be done only by forbidding their manufacture and sale. the state, in the exercise of its police power, has authority to pass laws of this character. i submit that it is the duty of the community to demand the passage of such laws. there seems to be no answer to this proposition when you consider that these articles are not manufactured to sell for any legitimate purpose, and that to deprive men of the privilege of manufacturing and selling deadly weapons does not, in any degree, deprive the community of anything which may be of any real use or benefit. it is the duty of the state to prevent as well as to punish crime and to protect its weak and vicious citizens, so far as it can, from the temptation to do wrong. we would not tempt men to steal by affording them easy opportunities for theft, especially if we knew that they were either weak or wicked. and yet, we make absolutely no effort to keep deadly weapons out of dangerous hands. we do attempt to forbid their concealment. practically this attempt is a failure and, in effect, we permit men to carry deadly weapons which may be successfully concealed until the very moment they are brought into use. a great deal of the lurid literature has grown up around the pistol. the cowboy with his gun play has always been an attractive character in fiction. no doubt there is a time in the pioneer life of a community when there seems to be some excuse for the use of the revolver. but a dispassionate view of this subject, having in mind the welfare of a settled, organized state, every part of which is pervaded by law and within its restraining influence, points to the conclusion that the time has come to legislate revolvers, dirks and brass knuckles out of existence. queers the town. the elaborate display of revolvers, dirks and brass knuckles in shop windows creates a most unfavorable impression on visitors. many travelers like to walk to their hotels for the exercise after the long journey from the east. they get their first impression of chicago from a walk up clark or state street. on all sides they see revolvers, bludgeons, sandbags and slung-shots. "ah! this is the west at last," say many. "now look out for indians and grizzy bears." upon chicagoans who witness these exhibitions of criminal tools daily the effect is most depressing. it makes them think that civilization is still far off. in new york there is an ordinance forbidding pawnshops to display such weapons in the window. the accidental shootings, alone, caused by the careless handling of pistols, would justify a law preventing their manufacture and sale. what possible benefit can be suggested to offset the evils which we have spoken of? certainly the idea of individual liberty cannot be carried to the extent of making it the duty of a state to afford a man the facilities for the commission of crime. there is no right involved in the matter which is worthy of respect. let me give you a few illustrations: a negro carried his revolver with him to a ball. this was customary. during a lull in the dance, while talking with his companions--men and women--he pulls out this revolver and shows it around for the admiration of his friends. he is under the impression that it is not loaded. he places it playfully at the head of his sweetheart, pulls the trigger, and she drops dead. that chamber happened to be loaded. it was determined to be a case of wanton carelessness on his part and he was sentenced to two years in the penitentiary. why should a man like that be allowed to carry a pistol at all? under what possible circumstances could he use it in any legitimate way? a few months ago the cashier in a bank, a valuable citizen, in a neighboring town, sat down at his desk in a despondent moment. he opened the drawer, saw the revolver lying there, and, overcome by an irresistible impulse, he placed the muzzle to his head, pulled the trigger and--he is a dead man! there is not one chance in a thousand that this man would either have taken poison, with its lingering agonies, cut his throat, hung himself or jumped off the bridge. the other day, in the country near by, a man with his hands in his pockets stepped up to a wagon standing in front of his door and said to the driver: "you made an insulting remark about me to my wife a few weeks ago. will you apologize?" the driver replied: "i do not know that i made such a remark." "well," the man replied, "your time has come." he pulled out his pistol, which he had held concealed all the time in his hand, and fired the shot; the driver of the wagon fell over the dashboard--dead. here, without warning, without the slightest ground to expect such an act, the man, who might, under any other circumstances, have had some possible chance for defense, was hurled into eternity, apparently, to gratify the mere desire to kill. a few nights ago a lone robber boarded a railroad train and with a revolver compelled the conductor and porter to walk through the car in front of him and demanded of the passengers that they surrender their money and jewels--which the passengers promptly proceeded to do. the entire train was held up by a single pistol, a thing which would be absolutely impossible with any other weapon. a revolver enables the highwayman to use one of his hands free, which he could not if he had either a shotgun or a rifle. and so it goes. instance after instance is within the recollection of everyone where crime is made possible by the easy possession of this deadly weapon--the revolver. the point i wish to emphasize is, that there is no legitimate use for the revolver anywhere in the world; no reason for its existence; no legitimate use for the dirk knife or the brass knuckles. all these things are manufactured and sold as instruments of crime. and, although their deadly use is familiar to everybody, yet we seem to take it for granted that the right to manufacture and sell them and the right to own them are rights which the law is bound to protect. we seek only to impose a restriction that is vain and ineffective. pistol carrying is an american habit; one which is comparatively infrequent abroad, and there is in europe--particularly in england--compared with us, a proportionately small fraction of shooting affairs. even policemen in london do not carry revolvers. it is time for us to take this evil seriously in hand and effect a cure, which, to be effective, must be radical. i favor a law restricting the display and sale of firearms. carrying a loaded revolver concealed ought to be made a felony. for carrying a concealed weapon--firearm, dirk, brass knucks, razor, knife, etc.--the penalty cannot be too severe. i would cut out the fine and make the penalty for carrying a concealed weapon three to twelve months in the workhouse and from two to five years in the penitentiary. a severe penalty would help the police to break up this criminal habit. it would help to tame the ex-convict who returns to a life of crime. it would aid in overcoming the influence of the cheap novel among light-minded youth. sale of weapons which can be concealed on the person ought to be restricted to officers of the law. if permits are issued at all, they ought to be given by a responsible officer of the law. concealed weapons are the cause of a large per cent of the crimes committed in which weapons are used. there were many arrests for carrying concealed weapons in the last official year. thousands of people carry them. every man with a concealed weapon, unless he has a right to carry it to serve the public peace, is a danger to the citizens of chicago. men who carry concealed weapons imagine they would protect themselves with them; often they would, but more often the weapons serve no good purpose. make the law against promiscuous sale and carrying of concealed weapons so severe that it will be necessary for the officers of the law only to carry them. getting something for nothing. how the worthless certificate works. stock transfers from worthless stock to worthless stock a game that fools the uninitiated. how the rhodus boys worked the old "come-on." one of the most open frauds, one which should not for a minute have deceived any investor in "securities" and things, was unearthed by detective clifton r. wooldridge, and the results of his work were shown in chicago when thomas rhodus and birch f. rhodus were indicted by the federal grand jury. the central life securities company in chicago was apparently a sound concern. the managers were always careful to keep money in the bank and any insinuation that this was not a sound company was immediately refuted by bankers who were handling the rhodus money. but detective wooldridge had seen so much of "guaranty" and "security" that he was suspicious of all companies which made this name a rallying point in their literature. also the rhodus brothers seemed to be using the same old catch-words which had beguiled men into the fake underwriting schemes. so the detective was not impressed by "security" or "guarantee." he proceeded to investigate the record of the rhodus brothers. and ere the great scandal began to open out and assert itself, wooldridge found that the rhodus brothers had been in the lottery business in denver in and . now it does not conduce to belief in the soundness of a firm to find that its managers have been common, cheap lottery workers. so wooldridge went into the record. in the course of his examinations he discovered that the chicago independent in january, , contained the following notice: in and , thos. rhodus and birch f. rhodus were operating the denver lottery company, later called the denver state lottery. the following are extracts from the chicago independent, january, , number: "the attention of the postoffice authorities was attracted to this scheme by seeing circulars of the denver lottery company about august , , saying, 'all remittances to be addressed to a. c. ross & co.,' who were none other than thomas f. rhodus, jr. ross, or rhodus, jr., was arrested by postoffice authorities october , , fined $ and costs, which was paid november, . a. c. johnson, alias a. c. ross, alias thomas f. rhodus, jr., was arrested march, , and was at that time running what was called the denver state lottery company, having changed its name from denver lottery company. they kept arresting him daily for over forty days. the federal grand jury found five indictments, with over one hundred counts, against a. c. johnson, alias thomas rhodus, jr., for fraudulent use of the united states mails. he then changed his business to the name of bank of commerce. was arrested several times, and then sold out, or pretended to do so, to birch f. rhodus. trying their hand at life insurance. "the western mutual life association of this city has been weighed in the balance by the missouri and michigan state insurance commissioners and found wanting. an examination of the concern by these officials, made as of august , , has recently been reported upon. on that date a deficiency of assets under the most favorable showing of $ , . was shown to exist. in other words, the association was impaired that amount. "president thomas f. rhodus and vice-president birch f. rhodus each received a salary of $ , a year, and there seems to have been a handsome expense allowance besides. secretary charles s. johnson received $ , annually; second vice-president john b. kirk, of james s. kirk & co., and treasurer j. v. clarke, president of the hibernian bank, under an arrangement, the annual sum of $ , ." the facts here cited were disclosed by the investigation made by the insurance commissioners mentioned above. the association did not long survive this incident, and its assets were soon taken over by the illinois life insurance company. when the records of these men are considered, it is believed that the boldness of their operations, the ease with which they have obtained the endorsement of representative business men in chicago and elsewhere for their various schemes, and the way in which, unchecked, they have personally profited from their operations in the name of legitimate business, are absolutely without a parallel in the history of this city. any number of stockholders in the different companies stand ready to testify to the correctness of the foregoing. every company started and operated by these men appears to have been exploited for the sole benefit of themselves. the stockholders have, with a few insignificant exceptions, lost every dollar invested. this was the opening gun in the rhodus campaign. when detective wooldridge began boring in he found that in addition to the central life securities company (whatever that might mean), the rhodus brothers were promoting the moss-grown mining proposition, and that the mina grande mining company, with certain holes in the ground located in the state of sonora, mexico, was also a rhodus company. the mercantile finance company, which was capitalized at the sum of $ , in the state of maine, maine being almost as easy as new jersey as a corporation state, was the basis for the manipulation of all the other companies. even maine would not stand for a big capitalization of penniless adventurers, so to make the capitalization bug the services of the mina grande and the state of sonora, where things are still easier than in maine, were called in and the capitalization of the mina grande was rated at $ , , . this did not look nice to the detective. there was too much hunting of easy ground. he bored in further. then he discovered the true inwardness of the situation. around joplin, webb city, carterville and other cities in southwest missouri, are certain very fine lead and zinc mines. joplin is the first zinc producing city in the world. it has been known as such for a number of years. the lead from this district is second only in output to that of leadville, colo. here was another easy chance. of course any one who knew anything at all about the lay of the land in jasper county, mo., knew that all the possible lead and zinc lands had been snapped up years ago; that "pat" sullivan of joplin had been a political boss on the strength of his turning monopolist of the very districts which produced the lead and zinc. but the public did not know it. at least not the great, gullible public. they only knew that jasper county was full of lead and zinc and they in some way formed the conclusion that the whole county was underlaid with the precious metals. therefore it was easy for the rhodus "companies" to start the "independent zinc securities company," bore a few holes in the ground which would produce fish-worms and black ants and nothing else, and "transfer the stock of the 'mina grande' to the 'independent zinc'." this only was used as a safeguard where a stockholder of mina grande began to get peevish because the holes in the hillsides of sonora produced nothing. but the rhodus game was not yet complete. the mercantile finance company, with its thousand-dollar capitalization in the state of maine, might get into difficulties transferring stock to the "independent zinc," because somebody might know enough about jasper county to realize that there was not enough lead in that county outside the control of the lead trust to make a small-sized pea. therefore it needed another company to "transfer" the peevish stockholder to. so the mexican development company was formed by the mercantile, the capital of the new company being $ , , , and its assets , shares of the "mina grande" stock, the par value of which would not buy a cigarette paper. the literature of the new company also carried the literature of the "mina grande," with a glowing account of how the new company was going to turn mexico upside down and enrich the whole world from the scorpion holes in the sonora hillsides. the stockholders in the mexican development are still waiting for returns on their investment. but the american people were getting wise to the mining game, even when the magic name of jasper county was used. so to supplement mexico and jasper county the mercantile finance company, the old reliable thousand-dollar concern, organized in rapid succession the boise king placers company, which was going to wash fortunes out of the inoffensive mud of idaho rivers, the moose creek placer company, which had the same end in view, the american fibre company, which had about as much fibre about it as a paper candy box, the illinois finance company (frenzied finance, all right), the indiana securities company, which "secured" the money of the investor, but secured nothing else, the minnesota securities company, and then with a great play to the galleries, the finance company of america. from one to another of these absolutely bankrupt and worthless concerns the investor was thrown back and forth like a shuttlecock. if he was sore on independent zinc he got american finance. if he became convinced that american finance was worthless paper he got idaho mud in the shape of "moose creek placers." interest-bearing bonds with coupons attached were floated on a number of these companies and sold largely through the mails. just here uncle sam, urged on by reports made to the chicago postoffice inspectors by wooldridge, took a hand. when wooldridge began boring in the bankers and other influential friends of the rhodus people, who had been wise enough to get good political affiliations as an adjunct to their business, became extremely busy and influences were brought to bear to call wooldridge off the case, because he was the most feared man in america on a fraud game. wooldridge accepted the recall gracefully, but immediately stepped over the way to the federal building, and called upon postoffice inspector william ketcham, who is acknowledged by everyone in the secret service of the united states and the general public to be the shrewdest, most astute, and most indefatigable man in the service of the united states government. wooldridge convinced the great inspector that there was something doing in the "rhodus" line. ketcham complimented wooldridge highly on the manner in which he had gathered the data together. then ketcham got busy himself. when two such men as wooldridge and ketcham get busy it is not long until the explosion comes. nor was it long coming in the rhodus case. first came the receivership of the central life securities company. and here another big man and an incorruptible one got into the game--none other than john c. fetzer, founder of the "fetzer system" of receiverships that receive for the victims of defunct concerns, in place of and for the receiver. this man was fresh from the great stensland bank fraud, where as receiver he had paid cents on the dollar and wound up a record receivership in less than one year, whereas the usual time taken in such cases was ten years. [illustration: with some of the water out of her food, all profits milked out, too, with little to eat and going dry, what is the poor beast to do? ] when fetzer's name appeared as receiver there was dismay in the rhodus camp. the triple combination was enough to frighten anyone, especially where the guilty conscience was a factor. fetzer immediately went to work. he called in his fighting aids. he told ketcham and wooldridge to "keep it up." when the rhodus people began to give evasive answers before the referee in bankruptcy, it was a short step, with the information which had been gathered, to bring the matter before the federal grand jury. and the indictments of the rhoduses followed. the investigation of the rhodus manner of doing business showed that the shrewd manipulators of fish-worm holes and scorpion nests had not neglected the feminine element. the treasurer of the old thousand-dollar stand by hailing from the pine tree state, the mercantile finance company, was mary c. scully, who had been with the rhodus gang since . katherine t. scully, a very young woman, who had recently appeared on the scene, was listed as treasurer of the good old "thousand-dollar" medium. she came into the secretaryship as a result of a shuffle of officers of the rhodus companies, the shuffle of officials being found to be as necessary as that of the shuffled stock. it was also found that the rhoduses came to chicago about and organized the western mutual life association. this company had a stormy career and was finally merged into the illinois life insurance co. the methods of the rhoduses were severely criticised in connection with this company and all confidence in it was destroyed. prior to coming to chicago, thomas and birch f. rhodus operated a lottery at denver, colo., and in came in conflict with the federal authorities. indictments are on record against them and it is claimed that they used various aliases. thomas rhodus was convicted at denver in november, , and fined. during the past four or five years the mercantile finance co. has offered the stock of numerous mining schemes, none of which has shown any merit, but were officered and owned by the rhoduses and their associates. the methods employed to sell stock in these enterprises were (according to bills filed in court by the persons victimized) those of the ordinary swindler, and a close study of the schemes and the manner in which they are floated leads to the conclusion that the rhoduses are not entitled to any confidence. at the time of going to press the rhodus brothers are still under indictment. the tangle in their affairs seems to show conclusively that the matter will be long and bitterly fought, but the facts that have come to light make matters look very dark for the manipulators of the moss-grown stock-kiting game. samples of the literature secured by wooldridge and ketcham prove very enlightening to the general public as to the methods of the rhodus' and kindred concerns. here are a few of them: "it is a rule of this company," one pamphlet of the company reads, "not to act as fiscal agent for any corporation unless this company is prominently represented in the management, so as to be able to protect the interests of our clients." assurance given investors. the cover of the pamphlet bears the assurance: "are your interests protected? they are if made through the mercantile finance company. avoid risk of loss; make certain of gain." on another page is a list of high-class railroad stocks to the amount of $ , which the company is declared to be the possessor of in addition to assets in stocks, mortgage loans, cash on hand and other collateral. careful reading of the pamphlet, however, shows that these stocks are not a part of the exchange list. an explanation of the system, which probably will be a part of the testimony submitted to the grand jury in conjunction with the tales of luckless investors, as printed, is: "its plan is to create profits for its customers by aiding in the intelligent development and working of legitimate mining enterprises. through this system its customers become careful and conservative investors. furthermore, they are given an opportunity to participate in the vast wealth created in these industries, having at the same time such assurance against loss as would not otherwise be possible. it is a rule of this company never to handle as a fiscal agent stock in any property until after a careful and thorough examination has been made. it rejects those properties which do not come up to the high standard required. this accomplishes for the customers what the individual investor by himself, unaided, cannot afford to do, for his own investment is usually too small to justify his having this done on his own account. purchases "guaranteed." "the mercantile finance company positively guarantees to allow its customers the privilege of exchanging any stock purchased from it for stock of any other company which may be in the said guarantee fund. such exchange may be made and repeated as often as desired during a period of five years following the date of the original purchase." the tremendous activity of inspector ketcham, ably assisted by wooldridge, has been at the bottom of the exposure of this whole abominable swindle. but this is by no means the first case in which these two men have joined hands and caused an upheaval in pseudo-financial circles. these two men first began to work together in the famous wild cat insurance raids. these raids furnish one of the most dramatic chapters in the financial history of the united states if not of the world. the wild cats had stolen millions of dollars. their methods involved brutal filchings from the poor, heartless commercial brigandage and finally the running to earth and conviction of the ringleaders and promoters of the concerns. the work was all done by wooldridge and ketcham. it would be improper to close the story of the great rhodus frauds without some mention of attorney patrick h. o'donnell, who, by his wise counsel and careful review of the matters submitted in evidence, materially assisted the two men who had most to do with the unearthing of the frauds. want ad. fakers. the petty dollar swindlers put out of business in chicago by detective clifton r. wooldridge. the cheap little grafter who takes dollars, dimes, nickels and pennies from the poor, while not exactly a great financier, is one of the smoothest propositions with which secret service men and federal inspectors are confronted. his main hold is on the public press, because he operates through the seemingly innocuous want advertisement. the statements of some advertisers may be taken literally; some should be taken with caution, and some should not be taken at all. in the postoffice department at washington, in the files of the assistant attorney general, one may study the methods of the black sheep of the advertising fold against whom fraud orders have been issued. a fraud order is an order directed to a postmaster forbidding him to deliver letters to a certain person or concern or to cash money orders for them. if a man swindles his neighbor without using the mails the postoffice department will not interfere with him, although the police may, but if he attempts to make uncle sam a party to the swindle, the old gentleman lets loose on him a horde of postoffice inspectors, who not only put a stop to the business, but frequently put the swindler himself behind the bars. the department issues year in and year out an average of one fraud order a day, and an examination of the reports of the inspectors who have investigated these cases is apt to convince one that the long-accepted estimate that there is a sucker born every minute is much too low. the schemes most commonly employed are here set forth. home work scheme catches many. the chance to earn a few dollars a week without leaving home appeals to many women whose household duties occupy the greater part of their daylight hours. unfortunately the work-at-home scheme catches not only the woman whose object is merely to earn a little pin money and who in many cases can afford to lose a dollar or two without suffering any hardship as a consequence, but it gathers in as well the working girl eager to add to her scanty earnings by engaging in some remunerative work at home. the work-at-home scheme is operated in a variety of ways, but the underlying principle is the same in all cases. sometimes the work to be done consists in embroidering doilies or in making lace, and in other cases it consists in filling in with gilt paint price tickets printed in outline. in all cases the work is described as easy, the advertisements assuring the reader that experience is unnecessary. in all cases, too, the victim is obliged to buy, from the promoters of the scheme, "materials" or a lace-making machine or some other object before she is given any work. the following description of a scheme against which a fraud order was issued last may will make clear the methods pursued by all fakers of the work-at-home class. the advertisement in this case reads as follows: home work, $ to $ ; no canvassing. $ to $ weekly working evenings; experience unnecessary. inclose stamps for instructions, sample, etc. address b. wilson & co., walnut street, philadelphia, pa. money charged for fake "outfits." to those who reply to this advertisement a circular letter is sent stating that the work required consists in filling in with bronze paint store-window price tickets printed in outline, one of which, partly filled in, is inclosed as a sample. [illustration: if you don't know just where to go or how to do the thing that you may have in mind--or if you find that you can't rise--then advertise, a "business chances" ad advances your desires to many buyers-- and our want ads, if you use them, bring so many--you can choose them. ] the circular states that the work is easily done, requires no previous experience, and that all that is necessary, is to do the work in a neat manner. two dollars and a half a hundred is offered for tickets filled in as described, and the prospective victim is assured that she can easily gild at least tickets a day. she will require an "outfit," of course, the cost of which is generously put at the remarkably low price of $ . . in return for her $ . the victim receives a handful of window tickets, a small bottle of bronze paint, and a brush for applying it--the actual value of the articles furnished, including postage, being fully covered by the extra cents. the worst is yet to come. when the woman, having parted with her money and having spent her time in filling in the handful of tickets sent her, returns them, at her own expense, she receives, not a check in payment for the work done, but a circular letter stating that her work is "unsatisfactory." she may possess the talent of a rosa bonheur and a department store ticket writer rolled into one, but she will never succeed in selling a cent's worth of bronzed price tickets to the fakers who sold her the "outfit." their business is not to buy but to sell, and her fate is not to sell but to be sold. similar to the work-at-home scheme is what may be described as the letter-writing dodge. the following is a typical advertisement of its class: ladies--earn $ per hundred writing short letters. stamped envelope for particulars. gem manufacturing company, cassopolis, mich. when the woman anxious to earn an honest penny replies to this ad. she receives the following letter: dear madam: we pay at the rate of $ per hundred or cents for each letter sent us in accordance with our printed circular of instructions, and make remittances to you of all money earned by you at the end of each week. the letter which we send you to copy contains only eighty words, and can be written either with typewriter or with pen and ink, as you prefer, and you can readily see that you can write a number of letters during your leisure time each day. you do not pay us one penny for anything, except $ for the instructions and for packing and mailing the ideal hoodwinkem which we send you. there is no canvassing connected with the work, and if you follow our instructions you can earn good wages from the start. when the victim sends her dollar for the instructions and for the ideal hoodwinkem (or whatever the name of the article the fakers are selling happens to be), she discovers that the cents is not to be paid merely for writing a letter. oh, no! the cents will be paid only for such letters as induce some other woman to part with a dollar for one of "our ideal hoodwinkems." the following letter, which is sent after the unsuspecting one's dollar has been safely salted down, lays bare the true inwardness of the scheme: dear madam: we herewith hand you trial blanks, also copy of letter which you are to write. you are to send these letters out to ladies, and for every letter which you write and send out and which is returned to us with $ inclosed for one of our ideal hoodwinkems, with your number on the letter, we will send you a cash commission of cents. it is needless to say that the fakers do not expect their victim to be so stupid as to send out the letters on the terms indicated. the object of the plan is accomplished when "dear madam" parts with her dollar for the letter of instructions and the hoodwinkem, which would be dear at cents. a smooth scheme. one of the simplest and most effective schemes for hooking new "suckers" was adopted by a dearborn street "investment" concern. this consisted in sending to a prospective victim a check for $ , made payable to some other man, and accompanied by a brief letter telling that recipient would find inclosed his weekly dividend on his investment of $ , . of course the marked "sucker" knew nothing of the deal, and, believing a mistake had been made would return the check and letter. he at once received in reply an apologetic letter, stating that the first letter and check had been inserted in the wrong envelope through the carelessness of a clerk, it having been the intention to mail to the recipient a circular instead of another man's check for dividends. it was enough. ten per cent a week was not to be resisted. the "sucker" almost invariably opened negotiations on his own initiative and was landed. financial "journal" frauds. the multiplicity of these schemes led to the establishment of the "financial paper," designed, according to the publisher's statement, to guard investors against get-rich-quick frauds. to the police these papers are known as "special form papers." the editor comprises the staff. the contents consist of financial matter usually stolen from reputable journals, a formidable array of financial advertising, and, most important, "reports" on investment concerns. for a consideration the "special form" paper tells its readers that the "cotton mutual investment company" is sound and reliable. the manager of the "cotton mutual" buys as many copies of the paper as he wants, as it has no regular time of publication, and can be run off in any quantity at any time with the article boosting the "cotton mutual." the get-rich-quick manager then sees to it that the paper finds its way into the hands of his "sucker list," or list of names of persons whom he hopes to be able to induce to "invest." therefore, when reading want ads. in the newspapers, consider carefully the nature of the promises made. if they are too rosy, too high-flown, have nothing to do with that ad. or the man who inserted it. you may depend upon it that it is a fake. there are no great armies of persons walking about this country seeking to give away something for nothing. millionaire banker and broker arrested. ramifications of the bucket shop system revealed by detective clifton r. wooldridge. george t. sullivan, the millionaire stock, bond, grain and cotton broker at - lasalle street, chicago, illinois, was arrested may , , with inmates. twelve patrol wagon loads of books, records and papers were seized and carted off to the harrison street police station. mr. sullivan at the time had one of the finest, best-equipped offices in chicago, which was located in the traders' building, opposite the chicago board of trade. he occupied several floors, and they were very elaborately furnished. part of the third floor was used as a telegraph office, where forty men were constantly at work at the telegraph keys. his private telegraph wires reached from the atlantic to the pacific ocean, and from the gulf of mexico to the british possessions in the north. mr. sullivan paid to the western union telegraph company for the privilege of using their wires and services $ , per year. mr. sullivan had branch offices, located in the principal cities of the united states. each of these branch offices evidently was equipped with all the paraphernalia used in the bucketshop, and was in charge of one of mr. sullivan's representatives. mr. sullivan owned the entire equipments of the offices and dictated the policy and work to each manager, which had to be carried out to the letter. the following is a list of the branch offices and locations which were operated by mr. sullivan: [illustration: george t. sullivan] [illustration: offices of george t. sullivan after the raid] list of branch offices. the sullivan letterhead gives branch offices in the following cities: altoona, pa., arcola, ill.; aurora, ill.; avoca, ia.; boston, mass.; buda, ill.; burlington, ia.; cambridge, ill.; chicago, ill.; cleveland, o.; davenport, ia.: decatur, ill.; des moines, ia.; detroit, mich.; earlville, ill.; effingham, ill.; elkhart, ind.; fairfield, ind.; fostoria, o.; fort madison, ia.: galesburg, ill.; geneseo, ill.; gibson city, ill.; goshen, ind.; grand rapids, mich.; greenville, ill.; grinnell, ia.; iowa city, ia.; ivesdale, ill.; johnstown, pa.; kalamazoo, mich.; keokuk, ia.; kewanee, ill.; lancaster, pa.; mansfield, ill.; mattoon, ill.; michigan city, ind.; milwaukee, wis.; monmouth, ill.; monticello, ill.; morris, ill.; mount pleasant, ia.; new castle, pa.; new york, n. y.; niles, o.; omaha, neb.; peoria, ill.; pittsburg, pa.; plano, ill.; princeton, ill.; racine, wis.; roberts, ill.; saybrook, ill.; south bend, ind.; sheffield, ill.; st. louis, mo.; tolono, ill.; tiffin, o.; toledo, o.; tuscola, ill.; waukegan, ill.; wyanet, ill. exclusive offices for lady speculators. chicago-- dearborn street, national life building, imperial building, dexter building, adams street, south chicago-- commercial avenue. mr. sullivan had his correspondents and solicitors in all of the leading stock, bond, grain and cotton markets of most of the foreign countries. on may , , he was doing a business of from $ , to $ , per year. his weekly expenses ran from $ , to $ , . mr. sullivan advertised extensively in the leading newspapers throughout the united states and in foreign countries. many of his advertisements would cover an entire page. these advertisements brought him many inquiries from persons either through curiosity or desire to invest, saying nothing of the cash customers secured. [illustration: sullivan's red letter tips ] mr. sullivan made special effort to buy or acquire every mailing list to be found in the entire country which had been used by other fraudulent and get-rich-quick concerns. it is said that he had secured over , names, which he had on his mailing list. these men were bombarded from day to day with his literature and his _red-letters_, giving the forecast of the market. these letters were very ingeniously gotten up by himself and a clairvoyant fortune teller named madame dunbar. his methods were absolutely devoid of even a pretense of sound business ethics, sensationalism and red ink being his only stock in trade. the class of literature and telegrams he sent broadcast and regardless of expense is well illustrated by the following: telegram sent january , , to hundreds of persons throughout the country: "am going to run three-cent turn in may wheat. let me act for you heavy. i will take loss if any. mail three-cent margin. george t. sullivan." in his "red letter" of may he makes the following statement: "there is only one thong about this wheat, and that is, a bull market is at hand; and those who buy cannot lose, and if they buy on my advice and buy quickly, i will pay the loss if there should be any." he had four offices in chicago aside from his main office, these being designated by him as "exclusive offices for lady speculators." when about to open one of these offices he addressed a circular letter to the wives of many prominent citizens announcing the opening of same. the first paragraph of this letter reads as follows: "i have opened superbly appointed offices on the ground floor of the national life building, room , where i accept accounts from ladies of $ or upwards for marginal speculation in stocks, bonds, grain and cotton. "george t. sullivan." george t. sullivan, who frequently signs himself "red letter sullivan," is by occupation a telegraph operator. he was first heard of in boston during the year and the early part of . on the "oil exchange." on may , , sullivan was admitted as a member of the consolidated stock and petroleum exchange of new york and under the firm name of sullivan & sullivan advertised extensively and had a system of wires through new england. it was noticed that his business on the exchange was very small and upon the complaint of a customer his trading methods were investigated, with the result that on the th of october he was adjudged guilty of obvious fraud or false pretenses and expelled from membership in the exchange. he made some threats of a suit against the exchange, but the firm of sullivan & sullivan failed in november and nothing was heard of him in new york. his customers and correspondents never received any statements of their accounts and sullivan fled the state. he seems to have come direct to chicago, and was employed for several months by bucketshops and private-wire houses as a telegraph operator. in the fall of he associated himself with e. f. rowland, ostensibly to do a commission business in stocks, grain and cotton. his methods of advertising were extremely lurid, and he flooded the country with literature and letters printed in red ink. the employee, sullivan, soon forced rowland out of business and continued under the name of rowland until the first of january, , when by degrees he had worked the name of sullivan into prominence and the name of rowland had gradually been eliminated from his signs and literature. reasons which caused investigation, raid and arrest. the raid by detective c. r. wooldridge on the lincoln commission company, a race track scheme, in the portland block, dearborn street, may , , developed the peculiar relations between this concern and sullivan, and the police department was somewhat astounded to find among the papers of the lincoln commission company conclusive evidence, in the shape of telegrams and correspondence, proving that sullivan's agents on his private wires were acting as the agents of the turf scheme, and that the employees and private wires of the sullivan concern were used in common by the lincoln commission company with the consent and approval of sullivan. more than twenty of sullivan's agents were posting in his various offices the tips sent out by the lincoln commission company and accepting bets which were transmitted over sullivan's wires to be placed ostensibly by the lincoln commission company on the horses which they tipped off as sure winners. the mixing up of a turf scheme with a so-called grain and stock business was something new to the police, and detective wooldridge prosecuted the investigation, and, upon becoming fully acquainted with sullivan's methods, concluded that he was not only running a bucketshop, but was interested in the turf scheme to a greater extent. the evidence gathered in the raid on the lincoln commission company fully established the fact. the cook county grand jury was in session at the time and the evidence was presented to them. detective wooldridge was ordered to make a full investigation and report to them, which he did. the grand jury instructed wooldridge to lay the matter before the general superintendent of police, francis o'neill, and say: "the grand jury requested immediate action should be taken by the police to enforce the state law, which was being violated." wooldridge submitted the case to chief o'neill. he asked if wooldridge had secured the necessary evidence to prove that sullivan was conducting an illegitimate business. he was answered in the affirmative. wooldridge's raid. on the morning of may , , ten picked detectives were secured from the detective bureau to accompany wooldridge in the raid on george t. sullivan, which turned out to be one of the largest as well as one of the most sensational raids and arrests that had occurred in chicago for years. sullivan did an extensive business. the offices of the company which were raided were elaborately furnished, and there was a complete assortment of tickers, blackboards and like paraphernalia. at the time of the raid the offices were crowded, the operations on the open board and the board of trade being remarkably exciting. the officers who assisted wooldridge in the raid were detective sergeants howe, mullen, quinn, qualey, miskel, mclaughlin, weber, flint and mclane. offices filled with patrons. it was at o'clock in the morning, when the largest throng of speculators can be found in the offices at - lasalle street, opposite the board of trade, that wooldridge and his men swooped down on the place and proclaimed "every one there a patron of a bucketshop and under arrest." the wildest excitement prevailed. telegraph operators, messenger boys, pit men and persons of every station in life were caught. some of the traders, thinking of their wives and children, pleaded frantically for their freedom. some attempted to force their way from the betting rooms, but, meeting with armed resistance, they desisted. "i don't belong here," said one man, indignantly. "i only dropped in here to see a friend." his plea was unavailing. another man, attired in a frock coat and a silk hat, attempted to bribe one of the detectives. "i can't have it get out that i was arrested," said he. "state your price and i will give it to you gladly." [illustration: he'll have to act faster, or somebody will slip between his fingers.] the only persons allowed to escape were three women stenographers, who fled through a rear window. advertising matter, private correspondence, telephones, tickers, telegraph instruments and everything of consequence was seized and loaded into twelve patrol wagons and taken to the harrison street police station. four hundred and twenty telegraph wires were cut which connected sullivan's bucketshops in chicago and through the country. it took the western union telegraph company two weeks to get the wires in working order. names of prisoners arrested. at the harrison street police station those arrested in the raid gave their names as follows: g. t. sullivan, w. d. hart, john conway, l. j. hoff, charles barth, william wilson, e. e. matwell, j. a. hogadorn, e. l. wilson, t. n. lamb, r. j. brennan, ralph cunningham, fred boller, john whitmar, e. f. black, john a. manley, ernest gerard, john lawson, j. k. west, george rodger, henry miller, j. a. crandall, y. r. pearson, george wilson, harry van camp, george t. kelly, j. p. morgan, joseph cohen, butler coleman, arthur mclane, george frederick, a. l. kramer, m. j. franklin, edward o'connell, oren mills, w. h. kelley, o. s. reed, f. foley, i. j. kennedy, robert delaney, joseph bowers, john black, l. frederick, b. c. cover, george johnson, g. weightman, h. c. boder, samuel e. brown, joseph smith, c. e. tracy, w. jones, j. w. kennedy, john p. garrison, al. dewes, elmer c. huntley, t. a. duey. crowd gathers. the fact that a raid was being made became known outside the offices and in a short time several thousand persons gathered. crowds peered through the windows and doors. the chicago open board of trade is directly across the alley in the rear of sullivan's offices, and business there was at a standstill for a time. the traders gathered about sullivan's offices and remained until the last prisoner had been taken away in the patrol wagon. sullivan himself was in his private office when the raid was made. wooldridge broke open the door and faced the man at the desk. "you are under arrest, mr. sullivan," said the detective. sullivan grew pale and then reached his hand to the telegraph instrument which stood on the table. he started to work it. "stop that!" ordered wooldridge. but sullivan continued. wooldridge made a leap for the trader and forced him away from the instrument. but the trader was not to be thwarted. he reached over the detective's shoulder, and again the click began. wooldridge then seized the instrument and hurled it into the desk. "cut all telephone and telegraph wires," was the order given by wooldridge, and the frenzied occupants of the place were thrown into terror. there was a mad rush for the door, but the detectives stood in the way. every inducement was offered the policemen, but efforts failed. then sullivan claimed that he had an injunction issued by judge elbridge hanecy forbidding the police from raiding his place. "i have an injunction from judge hanecy to stop you!" yelled sullivan. "show me the injunction, then," replied wooldridge, "and i will obey it. if not, i am an officer of the court and have warrants here charging you with keeping a bucketshop and gambling house." the injunction which sullivan claimed to have was found by the police in one of his drawers in blank form, without any signature, together with the following letter to one of his managers: may , . mr. charles a. warren, new york. dear mr. warren: your friend wooldridge was in all day monday. we had four detectives here all day investigating my guarantee plan, and they showed up again today and held several conversations with miss lorentzen before we realized who they were. it looks like they were trying to make a case. in looking up the injunction papers, find you neglected to change them to read the george t. sullivan company and the george t. sullivan elevator & grain co. i took them to morris and he rehearsed them, patched them, etc., and they are now ready to play ball with. morris is very busy and it looks as if we might need someone else on the scene of action to watch things. hope you arrived o. k., and with best wishes, i remain, yours very truly, george t. sullivan. however, it was not until o'clock and more than an hour after the raid had been made that attorney edward morris filed the injunction bill in the circuit court. the injunction was finally issued by judge abner smith at : o'clock. it restrained chief o'neill and detectives hertz and wooldridge from interfering in any way with the property contained in the offices occupied by the concern or cutting the telegraph wires leading to them. it is represented in the bill that the company has offices at lasalle street, bush temple of music, lasalle street, imperial building and adams street; but the damage had already been done. sullivan was practically out of business, and was being bombarded and seized by a horde of infuriated patrons who demanded their money, entrusted to him to invest. sullivan could not return the money, as he had spent it and was bankrupt. "red letter" well known. patrons told they would not lose if advice was followed. in sullivan's office the detectives found great quantities of advertising matter. this matter was thoroughly gone over in the search for evidence against the grain and stock broker. pile after pile of sullivan's "red letter" circulars were found. sullivan's "red letter" was issued daily, and printed in red ink. the circulars were written in a manner characteristic of all the advertisements, printed matter and correspondence to patrons. in telegrams to patrons and the "red letters" sullivan often made the proposition that he would make good all loss sustained by patrons while they were making purchases upon his advice. the detectives were somewhat surprised when they saw at the top of the circular in bold, red type that "four exclusive offices for lady speculators" were being operated in chicago, one in south chicago and one in st. louis. the addresses given for the chicago offices were dearborn street, lasalle street, clark street and adams street. women speculators of south chicago had the opportunity of making their purchases at commercial avenue. wooldridge was asked by the press what justification he had in making the raids, and by whose orders they were made. he said that he raided the lincoln commission company at dearborn street, may , , which was conducting a turf investment company, and found that george t. sullivan was operating the same in connection with his bucketshop; that george t. sullivan and inmates were arrested, and eleven wagon loads of books, letters, papers and records taken to the harrison street police station. wooldridge said that he had evidence to indict them on charges, and he intended to deliver the goods, and he would not be pulled off by any man in the state of illinois. wooldridge immediately took steps to get his evidence in shape. he called on john hill, jr., who had charge of the board of trade quotations and who was an expert on bucketshop methods. wooldridge, hill and two clerks went to work gathering evidence for the trial; eleven wagon loads of books, papers, letters and records had to be gone through, which was done in the most careful, systematic manner. they worked from p. m. until o'clock and the evidence gathered was placed in a vault. after they had secured something to eat in a nearby restaurant and taken two hours' sleep, they resumed their work, which was carried on until o'clock sunday morning. this evidence which was secured was locked up in another vault for safe keeping. after they had eaten their breakfast they resumed work again and worked until p. m. this evidence gathered was placed in another vault. after they had eaten their supper they resumed work again and worked until o'clock sunday night, when they succeeded in going through every scrap of paper which was seized in the raid. this evidence gathered was placed in another vault. the placing of this evidence in different vaults was for the purpose of preventing george t. sullivan or any of his friends from securing it on a writ of replevin. wooldridge slept until o'clock, then went to the residence of charles s. deneen, state's attorney. arriving at his house and finding that he had not arisen from bed, wooldridge pulled up a settee which he found on the veranda and placed it in front of his door where it would be impossible for him to get out of his house without first awaking wooldridge. wooldridge laid down and went fast asleep and was found there when state's attorney deneen was making his departure next morning for his office. wooldridge, upon being aroused from his sleep, told mr. deneen of the raid made and the evidence gathered and showed him some or telegrams from reputable board of trade men who were worth over $ , , collectively. the substance of the telegrams was as follows: "officer clifton r. wooldridge: we are informed that you raided george t. sullivan's bucketshop. you have done your duty and been criticised and assailed for doing it. my name is ---- and my attorneys name is ---- and we are at your service night or day, without any expense to you." mr. deneen asked wooldridge how soon he would be ready to present his evidence to the grand jury. wooldridge replied that he had two cases already prepared before he made the raid and would be ready in six hours with a number of additional cases. mr. deneen told wooldridge to accompany him to his office, which was done. he called assistant state's attorneys albert c. barnes, f. l. barnett and howard o. sprogle and instructed them to assist wooldridge in preparing the cases for the grand jury and give him a clean road just the minute he was ready. they were further instructed to give him all the assistance and advice he should need in the matter. the special complaints were drawn, the telegraph wires became busy and at o'clock wooldridge and witnesses went before the grand jury and george t. sullivan was indicted for keeping a bucketshop and common gaming house. george t. sullivan was also active from saturday until monday morning. he had prepared writs of replevin and warrants for larceny for wooldridge and officers who were with him. wooldridge was called up over the telephone by sullivan's friends and offered a bribe of $ , if he would release and turn over the books, letters and records which were seized in the raid, so sullivan could resume business. this offer was refused by wooldridge and the matter reported to the state's attorney. sullivan then resorted to sending various friends and powerful politicians for the paraphernalia seized. still wooldridge turned a deaf ear to their requests and entreaties. wooldridge was a very busy man at the county court building on monday. before the george t. sullivan bucketshop raid and the indictment before the grand jury, wooldridge had the case of j. j. jacobs, manager of the montana mining, loan & investment company, which was a lottery, on trial before judge chetlain. while in the courtroom he was informed by officers that they had a writ of replevin for the goods seized in sullivan's bucketshop; that they also held warrants for wooldridge and the officers who were with him, but if he would surrender the goods seized they declared the warrants would not be served and there would be no trouble. wooldridge called on the state's attorney and informed him of the demand made upon him. state's attorney deneen called the officers in his office and told them that wooldridge was there in attendance in the court and he would not permit the warrants to be served on him until after court adjourned. further, he had instructed wooldridge not to turn over any of the property. sullivan during the meantime had learned that there was an indictment against him by the grand jury and withdrew the order for serving of the warrants. he was indicted, convicted and paid a $ fine. after the police had secured the evidence, his books, letters and records were returned to him. he tried to start up in business again; also to get other parties interested with him who had money, but in this he failed. he was forced to refund $ , to his patrons who had advanced money to him to speculate in grain and stock. he expected financial assistance and hoped to resume business, but nothing materialized. there were thousands of other creditors throughout the country who were not so fortunate in obtaining a settlement. these creditors combined and forced him into bankruptcy. he was then cited in the united states court for violating a federal injunction. he quietly folded his tent at night and left chicago without leaving his address. he was next heard of in england six months later. all traces of him were lost until, in august, , at pittsburg, pa., he was arrested for running a bucketshop. george t. sullivan, of george t. sullivan & co., brokers, with offices in the bijou building, pittsburg, and was arraigned before magistrate f. j. brady at central police station, charged with a misdemeanor and violating a city ordinance. sullivan has record. the misdemeanor was based on sullivan's doing business without being properly registered at harrisburg, and he was charged with violating a city ordinance for running a brokerage office without taking out a city license. he was held, for court in $ , bail on the misdemeanor charge and was fined $ on the other. george t. sullivan, the napoleon of frenzied finance, cut a large figure in chicago. from a telegraph operator in the pool rooms and bucketshops at a salary of $ per week, he acquired enough in the short space of two years to own and operate the largest bucketshop in the united states. he soared high in the money circles, but at last was brought crashing to the earth, a financial wreck. he was convicted of keeping a bucketshop and gambling house. he went bankrupt, hounded to death by his creditors, many of whom he had wrecked. he was cited to appear in the united states court for violating an injunction, and warrants had been sworn out by the postal authorities for using the mails to defraud the public. he took his freight from chicago to new fields of pasture. wine, women and high financing brought his downfall. [illustration: dora mcdonald.] dora mcdonald. million-dollar gambler's wife arrested for murder. webster guerin murdered february , --the arrest of dora mcdonald for the murder by detective clifton r. wooldridge and j. f. daugherty a few minutes after the tragedy. spectacular case--battle bitterly waged. important dates in mrs. mcdonald's life tragedy. important dates in the trial of mrs. dora mcdonald: february , --webster guerin shot to death in room , omaha building, where he was closeted with mrs. dora mcdonald. march , --the coroner's jury returned an open verdict, failing to find mrs. mcdonald responsible for guerin's death. march , --mrs. mcdonald released from the county jail under bonds of $ , . august , --michael mcdonald died, reconciled to his first wife through the efforts of the church. august , --"mike" mcdonald's funeral, one of the largest ever known, held. january , --mrs. mcdonald placed on trial before judge brentano. january , --jury completed and sworn. february , --the jury returned a verdict of not guilty. [illustration: judge theodore brentano webster s. guerin assistant state's attorneys edwin s. day and william a. rittenhouse sam berkley detective clifton r. wooldridge col. james hamilton lewis and p. h. o'donnell michael c. mcdonald dora mcdonald] the murder of webster guerin occurred on the morning of february , , at his office, room omaha building, van buren street. detectives clifton r. wooldridge and j. p. daugherty were on their way to see guerin about a complaint made against him when they ran into the shooting. they had been there before, but were not able to find the man. under the name of fisher, guerin had another office in the same building. the complaint was from mrs. g. boynton, east fifty-fifth street, who said she had been forced into buying a picture frame through the promise of the managers of the harrison art studio that they would enlarge the picture free of charge. upon reaching the building detectives wooldridge and daugherty heard a pistol shot ring out which sounded as if coming from the upper story of the building. springing into the elevator, they soon reached the top floor, where they were directed to room , where a number of the tenants of the building had already gathered. stretched upon the floor lay the body of webster guerin with the blood oozing from his mouth and a bullet wound from a -caliber revolver on the left side, just above the heart; the bullet had passed through his lungs and caused a hemorrhage; from his mouth came nearly one-half gallon of blood. when wooldridge and daugherty reached the side of guerin he was past human aid. no witnesses of killing. there were no witnesses of the killing of guerin. he was in his office with mrs. dora mcdonald. several persons heard a shot, and a moment later the glass door was broken and the head of mrs. mcdonald came out. the condition of the studio, in room of the omaha building, shows that a violent quarrel took place between guerin and mrs. mcdonald. mrs. mcdonald left her residence shortly after breakfast. she arrived at the building about : o'clock. guerin expected her, for he told his office boy, thomas hanson, who lives at west ohio street, to leave the room and not come back until o'clock. before the boy left the room mrs. mcdonald entered and the two immediately began quarreling, it is said. guerin shouted to hanson to leave and nothing more was heard until the shooting at : o'clock. [illustration: persons and places involved in the killing of crayon artist guerin by mrs. "mike" mcdonald. mrs. m. c. mcdonald webster s. guerin room in omaha building in which shooting occurred. detective wooldridge in charge. the mcdonald residence drexel boul.] lorenzo blasi, who lives at west ohio street, and who is employed in room of the same building, heard the shot and the sound of breaking glass. he was in the corridor on the seventh floor. he hurried to the scene and on the way heard the glass breaking again and a woman screaming: "he shot himself! he shot himself!" woman cut by broken glass. when blasi reached the studio he found mrs. mcdonald with her head partly thrust through the broken glass. her face was bleeding from cuts. in her hand she held a revolver. she was trying to break more of the glass with her revolver and escape. a moment later eric allert and charles b. williams, who work across the corridor, rushed out to blasi's aid. mrs. mcdonald was pulled through the door and the revolver was secured. in the office, men found guerin lying dead in the room leading off from the main part of the office. a torn picture and some hatpins were on the floor. there were finger marks on her throat. when dora mcdonald recovered consciousness she shrieked: "oh, god! get a doctor; he has shot himself." where the revolver may have been at that time it was difficult to say. several witnesses said that it was lying at the right side of guerin, who was dying. others said that the woman held it in her hand, waving it above her head as she screamed out: "he has shot himself." who this strong, handsomely garbed woman was who had either witnessed a suicide, committed a murder or participated in an accident no one knew, but she was hurried off to the police station by detective wooldridge. "daddy, oh, daddy, forgive me!" she kept screaming out. she was recognized, however, and it was found that "daddy" could be none other than the big gambler and political boss, mike mcdonald. so they sent for mike, and he gathered into his arms the woman who in that moment broke his heart and sent him to his grave in sorrow. an inquest was begun before coroner peter j. hoffman in the harrison street station on march , . after five days an open verdict was returned, in which the jurors declared themselves unable to determine the cause of the death of guerin. the coroner's jury consisted of the following named persons: joseph willis, cass street; frank o. borhyar, madison avenue; william merker, seminary avenue; william c. hollens, rhodes avenue; david a. smith, california avenue; george f. cram, drexel boulevard. on march , municipal judge newcomer went to the jail hospital, where dora mcdonald, still in bed, was formally arraigned and held on a charge of murder. two weeks later she was indicted by the grand jury. all of the evidence so gathered was embodied in the report of the coroner, and the names of the witnesses were thereto attached, all of which were made public at the time. the state and the defense secured a copy of the same. mystery too much for coroner. all the additional evidence and the preparation of the case was made by the state's attorneys, william h. rittenhouse. edwin s. day, frank comerford, city police attorney, and other officers. all the names of new witnesses (some twelve or fifteen in number) and the evidence were concealed from detective wooldridge, and at no time was he present, or did he hear to what the witnesses would testify. therefore, he had no knowledge of any new facts when the case was called for trial. the mystery of guerin's death proved too much for a coroner's jury. more than two weeks after the artist was slain the coroner's panel returned an open verdict. it merely found that guerin had died from a bullet wound in a manner which the jury was unable to determine. this same verdict colonel lewis sought to introduce at the trial in judge brentano's court. such a move was new in criminal annals, and it was some time before the court decided that it should be ruled out. mrs. mcdonald was meantime transferred to the county jail from the harrison street station. she was broken in health and a confirmed invalid. two persons, however, were faithful to her, mike mcdonald and miss amanda beck, her nurse. friends get busy quickly. a few hours after the tragedy of webster guerin all the influences and machinery at the command of mike mcdonald were brought to bear to save the life of dora mcdonald. a. s. trude, one of the greatest criminal attorneys in chicago, was employed, besides several other noted lawyers, to defend dora mcdonald. mike mcdonald's political friends soon became active. everything was done to gather evidence in dora mcdonald's case, and everything was done that could be done to suppress any evidence that was injurious to her. there was one witness who was greatly feared, and that was detective clifton r. wooldridge, who made the arrest. several days after the shooting a. s. trude, mike mcdonald's attorney, met wooldridge in the criminal court and shook hands with him. he said that he was very glad that wooldridge was interested in the case for one reason, for he knew he would get a square deal. he also stated that there was another reason why he was sorry that wooldridge was in the case, because he had too many eyes and too many feet to be on the opposite side of any case in which he (trude) was interested. this view was shared by mike mcdonald and his friends, who became active to get wooldridge out of the way. mike mcdonald first paid a visit to john m. collins, then general superintendent of police, and one of his warm personal friends, and frank comerford, city police attorney. what occurred in that office will never be known, unless collins chooses to make a statement, as mcdonald has since died. detective wooldridge was called to the office of john m. collins, general superintendent of police, and told not to talk to any newspaper men or anyone else about the mcdonald case. he was further told not to make himself too officious, and not to be too active in the case. several days later he was again called to chief collins' office and told that frank comerford, then acting as city police attorney, and a warm friend of mike mcdonald's, was to take charge of the case, so that he need not bother himself further with the matter. mr. comerford became very active, securing the names of all the witnesses and all evidence to which they would testify, together with other facts. all this matter eventually found its way into the hands of the defense long before the trial. mike mcdonald and his friends thought that wooldridge would become active again in the case. therefore mike proceeded to get busy himself. no one seems to know the ins and outs of the case, but it is nevertheless a fact that soon after the election of april, , wooldridge was transferred from the office of the general superintendent of police, where he had served since , to the cottage grove avenue station. no reason was assigned for this transfer. guerin's life story. webster guerin, who lived at west harrison street, was well known on the west side, where he was born thirty years ago. he kept a haberdashery on west madison street a few years before the murder, but left it to go to california. on his return he went into the picture business. guerin was a tall, splendid-looking fellow more than six feet in height. guerin was known at the offices in the omaha building as louis fisher, and it was under that name that he operated the harrison art company. dora mcdonald divorced wife of "sam" barclay. dora mcdonald, years old, was the divorced wife of "sam" barclay, a former professional ball player and chicago saloonkeeper. they had one son, harold barclay, who was later legally adopted by "mike" mcdonald, and who was at school in florida at the time of the murder. he was years old. she had separated from barclay shortly prior to her divorce and had been on the stage for a short time under the name of mme. alberta. she was married to mike mcdonald a week after her divorce and was taken by him to his home at harrison street and ashland avenue. beauty of west side. dora mcdonald was one of the beauties of the west side in her day, and many admirers hovered about her threshold. the lights of the midnight hours charmed her then, and she dashed off to marry sam barclay, a professional baseball player. into that home came michael cassius mcdonald. he was a gambler and a politician and a man of great wealth. for the second time his wife had left him; run away, people said, with a man who had been a guest at their home. mike was lonesome. he saw the bride of sam barclay and loved her. he dined with her, and perhaps he paid for her divorce trial. at least she separated from barclay and when mike went a-wooing again he won this pretty woman. in a west side home of some pretensions mike established his new wife. he thought so much of her that he sent his sons away when she could not agree with them. he gave her money and finery and servants and carriages, and thought that she ought to be happy. boy of enters. webster guerin lived across the street. he was a boy of attractive manners and he won the affection of dora mcdonald. slander gives one reason for that affection; the woman gives another. stole him as a boy, slew him as a man, says archie guerin. archie guerin, webster guerin's brother, told how mrs. dora mcdonald had taken a violent fancy to webster when he was a boy of , and archie , or thereabouts; how she would meet them on their way home from school and whisk webster into the mansion, keeping him two, three or four hours; how she used to waylay webster on his way home from church; how she followed him through the years until she got the notion that he was falling in love with avis dargan; how she put detectives on the boy's trail and sat for hours in a cab opposite the omaha building to see whether miss dargan entered; how she threatened to shoot him; how she would break out into wild and vehement declarations of her love, wailing that she "worshiped every hair of his head," and that she would kill him before she would lose him. how she came into the studio on the day webster was shot, asserting that she had "told that old slob everything" (meaning her husband), and said she was going to new york; how webster had replied that he was "through with her," to which she retorted, "i am not through with you; do you think i would kill myself without first putting a bullet into your head?" how mrs. mcdonald had requested him to leave the studio, and how he had refused to do so until webster joined his request to hers; how archie and the two boys employed in the studio had gone away and left them to act out the tragedy by themselves behind doors that were closed and locked; how archie had gone to the windsor clifton hotel to meet harry feldman, with whom he had a business appointment; how feldman had become alarmed when he heard that mrs. mcdonald and webster were alone in the studio, urging archie to call webster on the telephone; how he and archie stepped to the 'phone, called up the studio, and after a gruff "hello" from a policeman got back the staggering news: "your brother has been murdered." mike mcdonald deluded by wife. "mike" seemingly was deluded. he may have had suspicions of his wife, but his suspicions seem to have been quieted by the woman. even when guerin followed her to california she dared to wire mike: "web guerin is coming; fear i shall be compromised; shall i come back?" it was such a frank admission that the gambler urged her to have mettle. "stick," he sent back word. "don't let anyone bluff you." things went on this way until the morning of february , . then something happened, the climax occurred and guerin was shot. provides for the defense. after the arrest of his wife, "mike" mcdonald announced that he believed in her integrity and declared he would spend every cent of his fortune to save her. the former gambling dictator was almost years old and his health was failing rapidly. four months after the event he was taken to the st. anthony de padua hospital, where he remained until his death, august , . mcdonald was still passing to his death when there crept into his room a little, white-haired woman who had come from newark, n. j. there she was known as mrs. grashoff and a great charity worker, especially in the interest of fallen girls in the crittenden homes. years before mike mcdonald had called her his first wife. dramatic meeting of mcdonald and first wife. by the laws of the church she was still his wife, no matter what the years had brought forth. so mike took her hand and held it and spoke softly to her in a breath of full forgiveness and passed away. without the door sat the woman whom he had called his wife--dora, whom he had won from a husband and to whom he had been faithful until he stepped to the brink of his grave. this was the last straw that crushed the spirit of dora mcdonald. the body of webster guerin was removed to mcnally & duffy's undertaking rooms at wabash avenue. detective wooldridge took up the work of gathering the evidence and prepared the case for the coroner and grand jury. the grand jury indictment placed dora mcdonald seemingly beyond the pale of bail, but mike worked assiduously and finally secured her release from prison on $ , bonds. then mike became ill and died in st. anthony's hospital. before he gave way to his broken heart mcdonald drew up a will. he set aside a defense fund with which the woman might be given adequate chance for freedom in the court, and left her "such rights and only such rights as she may be entitled to as widow." trial begins. mrs. mcdonald was put on trial january . the jury was completed january and the taking of testimony began at once. the case of the state was made as complete as possible and the defense began an exhaustive array of testimony. the defense, however, came to a surprisingly sudden end. it had been feared that mrs. mcdonald might not live through the trial and there was every desire to have a verdict before she might give way to heart trouble. the case was heard before judge theodore brentano, and it lasted twenty-one days. dora mcdonald was represented by colonel james hamilton lewis, chief assistant patrick h. o'donnell, attorneys benjamin m. shaffner, frank r. cain, gabriel norden, clarence shaffner and forest g. smith. [illustration: love tragedy jury harry corcoran. joseph koehly. arne peterson. charles r. johnson. herbert r. garn. charles m'grath. hugh h. fulton. george w. miller. roland f. graham. james j. noonan. otto h. nelson. john c. anderson. ] the state was represented by assistant state's attorneys william a. rittenhouse and edward s. day. names of the jury. harry corcoran, joseph koehy, arne peterson, hugh h. fulton, george w. miller, roland f. graham, james j. noonan, otto h. nelson, charles r. johnson, herbert r. garn, charles mcgrath, john c. anderson. packed courtroom. with the courtroom packed to the doors and several hundred men and women struggling to gain admission, the actual trial of mrs. dora mcdonald, widow of mike mcdonald, commenced. assistant state's attorney edward s. day made an opening statement of the case. trembling and his eyes flashing, he pointed a finger at mrs. dora mcdonald and in a ringing voice denounced her as the murderess of guerin. "dora mcdonald became acquainted with guerin, who was about years old. his parents lived a short distance from the mcdonald home. "a friendship between mrs. mcdonald and the boy began, which his mother and other relatives later tried to end. three years later the mcdonalds removed to the drexel boulevard home, but the intimacy of webster guerin and mrs. mcdonald continued. "at any event, as time passed on, dealing meantime gently with the woman and developing web into a young man of more than six feet in height, the two were seen frequently together. relatives of both testified that the two kissed each other; that at times mrs. mcdonald grew jealous, in all apparent intent, over him; that she wrote poems and set them to music to show what seemed to be the very depths of a despairing heart. "the woman was insanely jealous over him." "he had wandered out from her love into the light of other women's eyes. driven to distraction by the thought that the boy she had taught to love had grown up to love another, she murdered him." "no," said the defense. "this woman was the victim of blackmail. first she had been hounded until she gave way to the big youth, and then she had paid him money from her hoard in the hope that she might free herself of him." testimony on the blackmail point was clouded by the maze of recrimination, but the state could not deny that mrs. mcdonald had on several occasions given the young man money with which to leave the city, but that each time he had returned "broke" within a few days. mr. day's denunciation of mrs. dora mcdonald was bitter, but the defendant appeared to take no notice of what the lawyer was saying. dora mcdonald sat quietly as if in a trance; the bitterness of failure, the weariness of defeat, was expressed in every flutter of her purple-shadowed eyelids as she came before the bar to answer for the murder of webster guerin, january , . dora mcdonald presented a pathetic appearance before the jury. she was dressed all in black. not a single bit of lace or white relieved the somber effect of her funereal widow's garb. in arranging her hair mrs. mcdonald exhibited a novel idea. the long, deep-auburn strands were braided into one plait and this was wound over her temples in a single coil and fastened with coral pins. in its unaffected artlessness mrs. mcdonald's entry into the courtroom and her removal of her hat as she sank into her chair was an act of almost girlish grace. her long black cloak, satin lined, was thrown carelessly on a chair. when she had removed her hat and cloak she looked squarely into the faces of the jury. dramatic scene in courtroom. the face that was turned piteously toward the jury was deeply lined with the furrows of physical and mental suffering. the eyes drooped constantly, and there were times when she closed them for a full minute. every movement of the lips or eyelids, every arrangement of dress and costume, was either studiously planned or pathetically dramatic. the weariness and bitterness were marked in the droop of her mouth, in the perplexed wrinkling of her forehead, in the stoop of her shoulders, in the relaxation of her hands, lying heavily on the table before her. a long, long line of battles she has behind her, with her good name torn to shreds in the fight; and nobody can guess at the scars and open wounds in her soul. no matter how great may have been her fault, how untrammeled her impulses and wishes, how wild and defiant her spirit toward the law and society, now she is a tired, broken woman, who has lost the day. bloom gone from cheek. there are many who say that the beauty of which dora mcdonald was once so proud has departed entirely. the eyes were heavy, the skin no longer showed the pink of health, but was a dead white, her figure had fallen away until she was almost emaciated, but there was a beauty in her sadness and despair that the triumphant woman never possessed. she seldom looked at the veniremen, nor did she appear to be following the questions put to them. occasionally she glanced at a possible juror as he stepped up to be sworn, but for the most part she sat with her head resting on her hand, or looking ahead at some mental vision. is it the face of young webster guerin she sees, as he lay dead, or the face of old "mike" mcdonald as he smoothed her hair and loaded her with caresses? is it remorse for a crime, or longing and grief for a dead admirer? or is it despair for a wasted life, a hopeless future, a thousand lost opportunities? no madness in her eyes. if the defense expected to utilize the plea of insanity it would have had some difficulty in inducing a jury to believe that mrs. mcdonald was greatly deranged. there was no gleam of madness in her eyes. they were dark-circled and languid, but not at all staring or strange. she seemed unusually self-poised and collected. without any artifices of dress or cosmetics, without any gleam of gaiety or vivacity, it was not impossible to understand why this woman wielded the great influence in the lives of three men that she did. in the first place, her features were regular and fine. her eyebrows were delicately penciled and her eyes large and dark. traces of siren left. the contour of her cheeks was soft and round. but one can imagine, in happier days, that there was a captivating play of expression, an esprit, a beauté de diable, that would be particularly fascinating to a man like old "mike" mcdonald. and upon such a woman would the self-made man, the gambler, uncultivated and rough, fast approaching old age, delight to heap luxury and adoration, as there is no doubt "mike" mcdonald did. and is it not easy to imagine that such a woman would have a powerful attraction for a young man, with her sophistication and experience matched against his ignorance? and now one of the men is dead of a broken heart, and the other struck down in the very first flush of his youth, and the instrument of pleasure and destruction stands at the end of a shattered life. until a jury should decide, in so far as human fallibility may decide, just whether or how dora mcdonald shot down webster guerin, that victim of tangled love and jealousy, a waiting city hung expectant on every incident bared since the day that the artist toppled before a pistol ball in his studio with a woman of furs and furbelows standing sobbing above him. a "sappho" and "salome." a "sappho" in a grimy city she was called because her heart was touched by the strength of youth; a "salome" because she planted a kiss on his dying lips, but whether she was victim or vampire, sinner or sinned against, was solely for the jury to say. cries of blackmail, of bribery, of frenzied jealousy, of shameless love and daring intrigue, rang around the courtroom for the long days of the trial, but for the jury it was only to look behind the locked door of the artist's studio and see whether the revolver with which guerin was shot down was held by the woman or the young man; whether there was malice or accident or self-destruction, and what the motive for either might be. the shot that sounded his death was the climax to an attachment--guilty or not, as the case might be--that began when dora mcdonald was a wonderfully beautiful and younger woman, the wife of a wealthy gambler, and the lady of a mansion, and webster guerin was a mere lad, just old enough to doff short trousers for manly attire. affection, money and attention were lavished on the young man by this woman. at banquet board and in the theater box they passed their hours together. of this there was no dispute. the sole question was whether the woman gave way to the lure of a boy, or whether the boy was importuned by the woman; whether in after years that boy blackmailed that same woman, or whether she loved him to a distraction that brought the madness of jealousy and the revolver. and what of the love attachment? the police wondered. but as they delved a little they unearthed strange and tender things, but nothing more strange than poems written by the woman and apparently dedicated to the youth. the tragedy of a soul was bared when assistant state's attorney day read to the jury poems of passion found in the reticule taken from mrs. mcdonald on her arrest. the state regarded the declarations contained in the verse as disclosing a dual motive of murder and suicide, and introduced them as circumstantial evidence. one entitled "mistakes" was written on the day of the guerin love tragedy. here is the first one read: tragedy of a soul in poems of passion by dora mcdonald. put the word "finish" down by my name: i played for high stakes, but i lost the game; i played for life, for honor and love: well, i am not the first mortal who has lost all. i have made up my mind to care not a bit; let honor and love sink to the bottomless pit. pull down the curtains, bring in the lights, put from my memory horrible sights of treachery where there should have been love, of red blood where should have been whiteness of dove; the past, the present and the future are done: how different, o god! had it been had i won. written as tragedy approached. we are drifting apart, though from no change of heart: but we cannot agree, and the end we can see, so the bonds of our love we will sever; and i wonder if we will, alas! too late see that our happiness lay in each other. for when soul finds its mate it is often too late to struggle and fight against conquering fate. and what does it mean? this parting, i ween; i'll leave you, but, well. neither heaven nor hell will make me forget you. nor save you should i find another holds the place that was and is mine. poem written on date of the guerin tragedy. this poem, entitled "mistakes," is dated february , . : a. m.: said he: "where is my sin? i'm only as men have ever been. i'm not so bad, i'm not so good, and i'd be as you'd have me if only i could. but you are strong and good and brave. surely for me a road you can pave, a road which shall be my happiness, my very soul save. after all, it's for you and you only that i crave." she waited a moment, then came her reply: "to the old adage, that women are weak, you can give the lie. not only you, others as well, all through life have the same tale to tell. i didn't mean to do it--i didn't, i swear, but you can forgive me; your loss i cannot bear. can i forgive you? well, that's not so clear, though you certainly were to me very dear. i think, after all, now that i am awake. i think it was i who made the mistake. i thought of you ever as a flower rare. with whom other flowers could not even compare. alack and alas! i find, after all, you are only a sunflower, of which there are many, who take all the elements have to give and give nothing that creates or causes happiness to live." "kill me if you will," she says in a verse. another of mrs. mcdonald's poems, written on the day of the killing, is as follows: kill me if you will, for all is well. i know that to satan your soul you can't sell, and i've saved you from everlasting hell. i had lifted you up, when, lo! i found slowly but surely you were dragging me down. out of space thus came a warning soft and clear as the breath of the morning. pearls before swine. have you learned the old saying of pearls before swine? i gave every pearl that ever was mine. i've nothing more to give. and it's hardly worth while for me to live. more blessed to give than receive, they say. i followed that teaching in my poor way. i wanted returns, i'll have to confess, and i had to be cool, and firm and brave, for i knew 'twas my duty your soul to save. and i've set your feet on the path of right, and from now till the end you shall see but the light and turn from it to pitfalls and terrors of night. turn to the right, to the wrong you may sway. from black imps' vile rottenness i've snatched you away, and though i fall slain at your feet with a moan, i care not, for evil from you has flown; and, by all the glory of god above, i've proven the strength of a weak woman's love, and i thought my pearls would bring love that was blessed. i did so want love that was loyal; 'twas more to me than a diadem royal. but i found too late that i was wrong, that love but existed in hopes and in song. what became of those pearls of mine? oh, nothing! i just threw my pearls to the swine. another poem of passion. i waged a battle fierce and long, i fought to know the right from wrong. did i succeed? i cannot tell, yet when i met sin i knew full well that fight's not over. 'tis scarcely begun, and i struggle again to win, one by one, steps on the ladder that mounts to great deeds, where the path to the right unfailingly leads. as i gazed at the battlefield, flooded with gore, where the path to the right unfailingly bore, i knew that the wounds came from contact with sin. 'twas demons let loose that float in the air; but the fight's worth the while, for when misery and heartaches shall all pass away right has full sway. the reading of the poems was followed intently by the big crowd in judge brentano's courtroom. mrs. mcdonald appeared uninterested. from poetry the step was easy into song. accomplished and educated as dora mcdonald was, with time hanging, sometimes, heavy on her hands, what more natural than that she should set her verses to music of her own composing? never again. (song written, composed and published by mrs. michael c. mcdonald.) 'twas only a story of a woman's love, a tale that has often been told. she gave a love that knew no bounds; the rest of the story is old. again he had strayed, and this time had made a mistake she could never forget; in a voice that was dense with a grief intense she mournfully did say: i gave you sweetest love, you gave me naught but pain; oh, i forgave you more than once but to be hurt again. this time it means the end, for i could never forget. i shall never see you again, although i love you yet. with tears in his eyes the man replied: "i know that i have gone astray; remorse will last till life is passed; forgive me, don't send me away. oh, let me atone, live for you alone; just once more have pity on me." but, bowing her head, with its look of one dead, she softly but firmly said: i gave you sweetest love, etc. the mother of the woman, an aged orthodox hebrew, never went near dora mcdonald until the trial was nearly done, though that same old woman bent her knees as she day and night raised her voice to jehovah in lamentations. ill health, mental and physical, followed. all the sorrows of a shattered life befell her. sought vindication to spare her aged mother. for dora mcdonald, life had been lived when guerin died. it mattered not after that whether she went to the gallows or to freedom. but for one reason she would not have cared a whit whether her case was fought before a jury or not. the one reason was vindication that her mother might be spared something of shame. the vindication, however, was sought at a costly price--the price of a life and heart and love bared to a gaping world. it was an expensive effort to wash off the stain of an indictment. at the trial assistant state's attorneys edward s. day and william h. rittenhouse wrangled with their own witnesses and tried one after another to have them testify to things they never saw or heard. they attacked inspector john wheeler, officer j. g. s. peterson, thomas f. mcfarland, detective wooldridge, police matron elizabeth belmont, charles freudenberg, an old soldier years old, and threatened him with an indictment; louis jacobs, lorenzo blasi, herman hanson and charles b. williams. all of those accused except detective wooldridge considered the fulminations of attorneys day and rittenhouse a good joke. they regarded them as the vaporings of temporarily disordered intellects, minds that had become rattled by a case which was too big for them. owing, however, to the peculiar position in which he was placed as the officer who made the arrest, wooldridge was forced to take cognizance of the matter. wooldridge denied the statements made against him and branded them as malicious lies manufactured out of whole cloth. he asked for a hearing before the civil service board, which was granted to him after the trial was over. it was fully shown at the investigation how wooldridge had been treated in the matter, and the motive for his transfer; it was also shown that he knew no new facts, neither did he meet or know any witnesses except those who had testified to the coroner and grand jury. the motives for his transfer and the reports were fully uncovered and exposed. detective wooldridge was exonerated by the entire board of civil service commissioners. day and rittenhouse simply sewed up the case in criminations and recriminations. assistant state's attorneys day and rittenhouse were outgeneraled, outclassed and whipped, and wanted to throw the blame for the acquittal of dora mcdonald on the police department and failed. they did everything but try the case. strong defense by lewis. colonel lewis said that the state had not denied that the revolver with which guerin was shot was his own. he called for the weapon and showed the jury how guerin might have shot himself if mrs. mcdonald, in her struggle with him, had merely pushed the revolver around in the palm of his hand. again he called for the blood-stained coat that guerin wore when he was killed. it was too good an opportunity to be overlooked by the fine dramatic eye of the colonel. "you remember the speech of mark anthony," he said; "how he produced a tremendous effect with the robe of the great cæsar? i will not ask for more than the robe that this cæsar wore." thereupon he spread out the grewsome relic on the railing on the jury box to show what he said were powder marks. in his mind, there was no doubt about how the tragedy worked out. guerin, enraged and terrified when mrs. mcdonald told him that she had told her rich and influential husband everything, attacked her. he got the revolver out of his drawer, probably to frighten her. mrs. mcdonald, half choked, saw it gleam and pushed it away from her. strikes hard at archie guerin. more striking than the beautiful imageries and the wealth of quotation from ancient and modern authors with which the colonel embellished his speech was his strong play upon "that fifteen minutes," which, according to his interpretation of the evidence, elapsed between the time the boys in guerin's studio were ejected and the time when archie came out, leaving his brother and mrs. mcdonald alone, behind locked doors. "there need be nothing else in this case for you," exclaimed the speaker, "than this fifteen minutes unaccounted for. archie guerin knew what was going on there, and before god he should tell, but he did not. he hurried away and cleared the corridors. nervous and confused, he hunted up harry feldman in the windsor-clifton hotel, so that if anything happened, he could say: "'i didn't do it. you know i didn't, feldman. i was right here with you.'" o'donnell moves to tears. there were wet eyes in the courtroom as the real dora mcdonald was brought to life in the closing address of mr. o'donnell. the bickerings and the charges and the abuse that had made the courtroom like a pothouse brawl all day were forgotten. the woman's black clad figure and her white, despairing face became the living picture of the world-old tragedy of the judgment and the problem of pardon. "the tragedy was in that room," said mr. o'donnell, pointing to a plat of room of the omaha building, "and no one knows how the life of guerin was ended. "i am not going to place a wreath upon the brow of this woman. she is not all that a man would wish his wife to be. she has traveled the devious pathways and her eyes have fallen upon the shifting scenes of life. "the sabbath is coming on. her ancestral people lit the candles at sundown last night. somewhere in this city a light is burning where a jewish mother is praying and hoping for her erring daughter. you are approaching the moment when you must do your great duty. you are here only to say whether she killed guerin with a criminal intent in her heart. quotes the gospel. "a daughter of israel coming to judgment. she may have been wayward, but we are not here to judge her past life. in a temple of jerusalem many years ago the saviour of us all stood before the multitude and they brought him a woman and said: "'she has been taken in sin and she must die.' and he said: "'let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.' and they walked away and left him with the woman. then the master said to the woman: "'go and sin no more.' "let us pass judgment upon this woman as the son of man passed it upon the woman of old that we may expect mercy when we stand at last where the fallen woman of jerusalem stood." mr. o'donnell created a scene of profound dramatic features when he based his contention that guerin blackmailed mrs. mcdonald upon a letter written by guerin. he called the ghost of guerin to take the witness stand and testify against the state's attorneys. acquittal creates thrilling scenes. these were the scenes which attended the rendition of the dora mcdonald verdict: "bring in the jury," said judge brentano, as he dropped into the big leather-upholstered chair behind the bench. bradley was waiting for the word at the door to the judge's right. looking very solemn and sphinx-like, the twelve men filed in and took their usual places. at the same time mrs. mcdonald came through the corridor from the custodian's room, accompanied by her nurse, miss a. k. beck. miss beck was trembling, but there was not a tremor in mrs. mcdonald's hands or a movement of the facial muscles to indicate that she felt the least excitement. attorney norden pulled out her armchair for her and pushed it under her again as she sat down. every man in the courtroom felt a choke in his throat, but if mrs. mcdonald felt it she gave no evidence of it. "gentlemen," said the judge, turning toward the jury, "have you agreed upon a verdict?" at first there was no answer, and the judge had to repeat the question. that interval was like a lapse of a week or a month. mrs. mcdonald, who had not been asked to rise, sat facing the jury and looking straight at them. she considered it only polite to keep awake and to forego those beloved "dreams" of hers in honor of the verdict, whatever it might be. suspense frightful. "have you agreed upon a verdict?" repeated judge brentano, a little impatiently. "we have," replied the foreman, hugh h. fulton, rising and displaying a paper which he held in his right hand. "let the clerk of the court read it." a. j. harris, the clerk, was already in front of the railing to receive the paper. he took it to his desk, and holding it under an incandescent lamp, for the courtroom was dark, he read, in a loud voice: "we, the jury, find the defendant, dora mcdonald, not guilty." it was as though you had touched a match to a pile of gunpowder. the people in the courtroom seemed to explode. they did not cheer, or applaud, or shout, and yet they appeared to be doing all of them. the tension was broken and a sort of bubbling effervescence took its place. mcdonald jurors tell of the verdict. "the jury found mrs. mcdonald innocent because they could not feel sure that she did not act in self-defense, and, following the instructions of the court, gave her the benefit of the doubt." this was the opinion voiced by juror charles mcgrath. mr. mcgrath said that the jury presumed the defendant sane, and that the matter of possible insanity was not considered at any time. "i think that the jury attached a great deal of importance to the testimony of dr. mcnamara," continued mr. mcgrath. "he was the only physician that had made a thorough physical examination of the defendant subsequent to guerin's death. we especially paid a great deal of attention to that portion of his testimony that told of the marks found on mrs. mcdonald's neck, indicating that she had been choked. this evidence, taken with that relative to the finding of the hairpins on the floor, showed that there had been a struggle, and the court had instructed us that if we found that there had been a struggle we would be justified in finding a verdict of acquittal. "although i, perhaps, ought to speak only for myself, i will say that i do not think that the members of the jury were much impressed with the expert testimony." another juror said that those favoring an acquittal based their arguments largely on the fact that most of the evidence in the case was circumstantial, and that there was no absolute proof that mrs. mcdonald fired the fatal shot at all, and that if she did it was not shown that it was not in self-defense. "it was mostly by argument along these lines that the conviction men were won over, one by one," said this juror. "the subject of the unwritten law was not gone into at all." woman serene as verdict is read. dora mcdonald, in a state of serenity and composure that is baffling even to those who are nearest her, was surrounded after her acquittal by friends and relatives, who were weeping for very joy at her acquittal. she seemed quite unconcerned about it all, but when they took her to one side and asked her how she felt about it, she said, in the amazingly simple way she has: "i am pleased. do you want me to tell you the five reasons why?" they said yes, and though she lost herself several times in the attempt, for she was very tired--these were the reasons she gave: --because no jewish woman could ever do a deed like that of which i had been accused. --because it removes the stigma from dad's (michael c. mcdonald's) name. --because of my boy. --because of my darling old mother. --please believe it, last and least--absolutely least of these--because of myself. "the only real disappointment to me is that dad did not live to hear that verdict, and that is my bitterest disappointment." it had been the belief generally among those who followed the case that the woman would not outlive the verdict long, no matter what it might be. the original plans were that she would be sent to a sanitarium in case of acquittal. she herself is said to have planned that if let go she would make a journey to jerusalem, and there end her days in prayer with her chosen people, in an effort to blot out her past. "life can never have any more meaning for her," colonel lewis said when the jury first retired. "no matter what the verdict, it is of little consequence to her, though she will die happier, maybe, if she is acquitted." in jerusalem there is what is known as the "wall of the wailing of the jews." in the valley of tyron, at the foot of mount moriah, on which now stands the mosque of omar, but where formerly the temple of solomon stood, there are five enormous stones built into the foot of the hill. a little courtyard beside these stones, which solomon laid as the foundations of his temple, is set aside for the jewish race. each friday this courtyard is filled with jews wailing for the sorrows of israel. every type of jew, from the hunted russian to the wealthy american, may be found there, reading from the book of lamentations, and sending the cry of sorrow to the skies. it was here that dora mcdonald proposed to weep out her ruined life. but no, it is not the place of wailing in jerusalem to which dora mcdonald has gone. hard as it is to believe of the woman who so bravely passed through this tremendous ordeal, she has stooped, stooped lower than one would believe humanly possible. she has returned to the stage. she is now engaged in attempting to have a play based upon the tremendous tragedy of her life placed on the boards in new york. she is attempting to lay bare to the gaping audiences of cheap theatres the sores upon her soul. she has been calloused to publicity to such an extent that she now hungers for the public eye. she has placed herself in the same class with the lepers outside the walls of jerusalem who display their horrid sutures and demand a penny before they replace the bandages. to this petty end has come this greatest and most spectacular of modern trials, this heart-shaking romance of love and life. [illustration: the vampire from the painting by burne-jones] the vampire. after painting by sir ed. burne-jones verses by rudyard kipling. a fool there was and he made his prayer-- (even as you and i.) to a rag and a bone and a hank of hair-- (we called her the woman who did not care) but the fool he called her his lady fair-- (even as you and i.) oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste-- and the work of our head and hand belong to the woman who did not know-- (and now we know that she never could know) and did not understand. a fool there was and his goods he spent-- (even as you and i.) honor and faith and a sure intent-- (and it wasn't the least what the lady meant) but a fool must follow his natural bent (even as you and i.) oh, the toil we lost and the spoil we lost-- and the excellent things we planned belong to the woman who didn't know why-- (and now we know she never knew why) and did not understand. the fool was stripped to his foolish hide-- (even as you and i.) which she might have seen when she threw him aside-- (but it isn't on record the lady tried) so some of him lived but the most of him died-- (even as you and i.) but it isn't the shame, and it isn't the blame that sting like a white hot brand-- it's coming to know that she never knew why-- (seeing at last she could never know why) and could never understand. mike mcdonald. "king of gamblers," supreme in his day, relentless nemesis of old "clark street gang," brings his gray hairs to grave with broken heart. rises from newsboy to gambling king and becomes millionaire. mike mcdonald's career in chicago has been spectacular and sensational to a degree. the present-day generation in chicago cannot appreciate what the name michael c. mcdonald meant twenty years ago in chicago. there is not a single man today in chicago, or in any city in america who occupies relatively the position that mike mcdonald did in the old days in chicago. he never held office, but he ruled the city with an iron hand. he named the men who were to be candidates for election; he elected them; and then, after they were in office, they were merely his puppets. while in recent years michael c. mcdonald has shown little activity in chicago political and sporting circles, living quietly at drexel boulevard and forty-fifth street, in a costly mansion, his name twenty years ago was a power in both. born in in niagara county, new york, he came to chicago in and was a newsboy with john r. walsh and other pioneers, in the city's infancy. before the war a business venture took him to new orleans, and when the south began to become inflamed he returned to chicago with enough money to purchase the sample room of the richmond house, michigan avenue and south water street. here a spectacular career began. mcdonald became the big gambler of all the host of gamblers that were then growing rich in chicago. he also became one of the leaders in the democratic organization. he made money hand over fist. [illustration: michael c. mcdonald's wheel of fortune, showing his progress from bootblack to gambling king, and the woman's face that brought him to the tragic present, causing him to exclaim: "my riches have brought me only sorrow."] begins life as "candy butcher." mike mcdonald began life as a "candy butcher" on railroad trains before the war. he sold peanuts and popcorn and mysterious packages not to be opened on the train, and fine gold watches at $ . apiece. mike ran on many different railroads, although it must be said for the sake of truth that his customers were often very sorry to board a train and find that the energetic little candy butcher who had sold them jewelry on the last trip they had made had left and gone over to some other railroad. mike's old customers used to beg him to return to them. they even dared him to come back. patriotic for a price. the candy butcher made money and saved it, and during the war he settled down in chicago. mike was very patriotic. he sent many men around to the enlistment offices, especially when big bounties were offered for volunteers. the trouble with the gallant soldiers that mike put into the service was that after they got their bounty money they lost their enthusiasm and faded from view, like an evanescent mist. mike made much money out of his bounty-jumpers, but lost a good deal of it gambling. at this time he trained with "tip" farrell, charley miller, john sutton and matt duffy, who figured more or less in the police records of that time. sutton was shot and killed in front of pete page's saloon, on clark street, in . toward the close of the war mcdonald and a notorious st. paul crook lost $ in the famous game that colonel cameron was running in chicago. mcdonald found out that the cards were stocked against him, and it discouraged him with having anything more to do with poker playing from the front of the table. colonel cameron had taught him, at the expense of $ , that the money in gambling was in running the game, not playing it. from that day mike mcdonald never gambled. he straightway opened his own game. with dave oaks he started a game of faro at dearborn street. it was a nice, little, modest game, with only those two as the entire crew of the place. they took turn alternate days as dealer and roper in. the suckers who played the game used to complain frequently that the firm of oaks & mcdonald worked sleight-of-hand tricks with the faro deck, and the unkind police used to raid the game every day. solved gambling problem. this frequent raiding cut frightfully into the profits of the enterprising firm of oaks & mcdonald, and set the junior member thinking again. he had already solved the great problem that it is better to run a brace game than to play one, but he found there were thorns even in running a game. therefore he set to work to discover how these thorns could be removed. the thorns that beset his career as a gambler were the police. but the police acted under instructions from the chief of police. the chief of police acted under instructions from the administration. therefore, mcdonald figured out that he would have to control the administration. so he straightway blossomed out as a politician, and grew in importance until finally he ruled chicago, and realized the great ambition of his life, to make and unmake things like chiefs of police, with a curt nod of his head. once ruled all chicago. mike mcdonald never got over his hatred for the police that was born in the days when they used to raid his little game at dearborn street. he probably would have abolished the police department entirely when he finally found himself on the throne of chicago, had it not been that he found the police useful in making the other fellows behave, while he could do as he pleased. and then, it was such a joy to make the police bend the knee and acknowledge him as lord and master. generally the superintendents of police knew what was expected of them before they accepted the office, but once in a while one of them had foolish notions about duty and law, and had to be taught his place. poor old simon o'donnell, when he became superintendent of police, in the days when mike mcdonald ran "the store" and ruled chicago, got the idea, because of numerous complaints of many patrons of the gambling games in "the store," that the place should be raided. so he raided it. it was a most impious act. it was like laying hands on the ark of the covenant. superintendent simon o'donnell lost his job so quickly it made his head ache, and william j. mcgarigle, whom mcdonald afterward made warden of the county hospital, and who was indicted and convicted of boodling, was installed as superintendent of police in place of the simple-minded mr. o'donnell. mike mcdonald's hatred and contempt for the police is preserved in a joke that the few minstrel companies still left on earth continue to cherish as one of their best beloved jests. it originated with mcdonald. one day, when he was in the zenith of his power, a man came into "the store" with a subscription list. "the boys are raising a little money, mike," said the man. "we'd like to have you give something. we are putting our names down for $ a piece." "what's it for?" asked mike, suspiciously. "why," answered the man, considerably confused, "we're burying a policeman." "fine," said mike. "here's $ ; go and bury five of 'em." near to penitentiary. while mike was running the place at dearborn street he became involved in an affair that put him in jail for three months and made the portals of the penitentiary loom up largely across his path. it looked for a time as if his career was about to be nipped in the young bud. in charles goodwin, assistant cashier of the chicago dock company, was found to be a defaulter to the extent of $ , . he fled from chicago and went to california, but in a few months came back and surrendered himself to the authorities. he testified that mcdonald had lured him into the game at dearborn street, where he had played and lost his money in a series of brace games that lasted during a period of several weeks. at first he lost a few hundred dollars, and he was persuaded to go back to the dock company's office and get money out of the safe in order that he could return the next evening and win back the money he had lost. he never won anything back, but kept getting in deeper. at length the poor, deluded victim was told to make a big haul and skip the town. he made a last pull at the strong box for $ , or $ , , and his friends at dearborn street let him play one last farewell game, at which they took the trouble to see that the boy should not be bothered in his flight from justice by lugging a big bag full of money around with him. case finally "fixed." mcdonald was arrested, and the dock company also proceeded against him civilly, as it was not certain he could be held on a criminal charge owing to the guarded manner in which he had conducted his operation. mcdonald was put under bail of $ , , and, being unable to supply it, remained in jail for several months. things were finally "fixed" all right, though. a few days before his trial he was released from jail, john corcoran and alderman tom foley going on his bail bond. the trial was a farce. all the gamblers, "con" men, bunko steerers and strong-arm men in chicago lined up in court and told how the defaulting clerk had begged to be permitted to play the brace game, with tears in his eyes, and that most of his money had been spent on wine, women and song. the jury solemnly declared mcdonald innocent. the expense of his trial on the charge of stealing the dock company's $ , had made mcdonald poor, and he had to get out and do a little "hustling." soon after his release from the county jail john donaldson, a california gambler and a high roller, made a winning in mcdonald's place of $ , at poker. he took the money back to the hotel with him and was robbed of it and $ besides before he had been in bed ten minutes. a cracksman by the name of travers was convicted of the crime. donaldson used to go to joliet every day or two to interview travers. finally he came back from joliet and never ate nor slept until he had run mcdonald down. tweaking his nose he shouted: "travers has confessed. you are a thief. you are a coward. within twenty minutes after i was robbed you were dividing my $ , with travers and his pal." mcdonald did not deny the charge or strike back at donaldson, as the latter apparently hoped he would. donaldson was a slight man, almost dead with consumption, but he was famous as a man killer, and while with one hand he tweaked mcdonald's nose, the other hand was jammed down in his coat pocket, and mcdonald knew that if he made a move or said a word he was a dead man. donaldson's hatred for mcdonald became a mania with him. he was a doomed man, anyhow, and he wanted to kill mcdonald before he went. so for the three years before death finally claimed him he would drag himself about the streets until he could stand in front of his enemy and slap him in the face and curse him, and beg him to raise his hand or say a word, or give him the slightest pretext for killing him. it was a great relief to mcdonald when grim death finally claimed donaldson. rises in his profession. after the fire mcdonald opened a place on state street, in partnership with nick geary, a celebrated thief, who was subsequently killed in philadelphia. mcdonald next moved to the west side, and was taken in by john dowling, who gave him a third interest in his game in consideration of indemnity against police interference, mcdonald's political star at this time being on the rise. the firm cleared $ , in less than a year. [illustration: (gambling with skeleton)] about this time mcdonald formed a partnership with harry lawrence and morris martin, and for four or five years they had supreme control of the bunko business. none others could work excepting those who took the trouble to see the firm of mcdonald, martin & lawrence. among the gang who worked under the protection of the firm were tom wallace, john wallace, "snitzer, the kid," john martin, "snapper johnny," "kid miller," "sir james" arlington, or gannon, "appetite bill," and "hungry joe." there is no telling how much money these individuals took away from the unsuspecting public, but it is estimated at over $ , , . of this, per cent went to the police, per cent to the roper, and per cent to the firm. the latter furnished straw bail, witnesses and juries, and other protection, and the confidence gangs reported to it and received orders. in "white pine" martin shot and killed "sir james" gannon in front of "the store" while quarreling over the division of the proceeds of some job. throne in "the store." the firm of mcdonald, lawrence and martin had opened up the resort known as "the store" on clark street, on the northwest corner of monroe street, where the hamilton club stands today. the first floor was operated as a saloon, and the floors above as gambling rooms. after public sentiment became aroused over the bunko business of the firm, lawrence and martin drew out, leaving mcdonald to run "the store" alone. "the store" was the most famous place in chicago in those days. it was not only the rendezvous of all the sporting men, politicians and denizens of the underworld in chicago, but it was virtually the city hall, for from his little office in "the store" mcdonald managed the affairs of the city. every form of gambling known flourished on that wonderful second floor. the most expert manipulators of cards that ever dealt a second or shifted a cold deck sat behind the tables. they were clif doherty, frank gallon, billy tyler, charles winship and george noyse. high-ball poker, in which the roller holds the high ball in his fist and rolls it to the cappers continuously, and faro, with fifty-three cards in the deck, so that the odd could be dealt, were said to have always prevailed in "the store." "there never was an honest card dealt in the place," is the epitaph one old-time gambler has written on its dead proprietor. big as the place was, it was always crowded. mcdonald is said to have coined a very common phrase when, on one occasion, one of his dealers protested against putting in more tables and increasing the size of the gambling rooms. "i tell you, mike," he said, "we won't have enough players to fill up all the games." "ah, don't worry," mcdonald is said to have replied, "there's a sucker born every minute." in politics mcdonald's first great triumph was when he elected colvin mayor on the democratic ticket. then he put the elder harrison in the mayoralty chair, and after that he had plain sailing. his control lasted during the entire harrison administration of eight years. in all that time there was no bigger man in chicago than mike mcdonald. the only time he met with a serious set-back was in , when he tried to elect william j. mcgarigle, then chief of police, sheriff of cook county. the big courthouse "job." another disappointment of mcdonald's political career was when he got a bill past the county commissioners and city aldermen authorizing harry holland to paint the outside of the city hall and county building with a mixture which was guaranteed to prevent the stone from decaying. holland applied his marvelous preparation, but when the time came to pay the bill a newspaper man, john j. lane, who died only the other day in st. louis, had dug up evidence tending to show that holland's preparation was nothing but water and chalk, and not quite so efficacious in preventing the decay of stone as prune juice or ice cream would have been, but much cheaper. the county has never yet paid the $ , that holland wanted for the job on the county building. after the close of the harrison administration a new day began in chicago. the independent voter broke the power of party bosses. mike mcdonald's rule was broken. he could no longer do what he pleased with city administrations and be unofficial chief of police. he bowed pleasantly to the inevitable, and stepped down and out. he was wise in that he saw the handwriting on the wall, and gracefully submitted instead of "kicking against the pricks" and wasting his time and his money, as did other gamblers and sports, who were finally crushed out simply because they could not recognize that new conditions and new men had come. mcdonald quit every sphere of his old life and went into business. it was he who, with william fitzgerald, built the first elevated road in town, the lake street "l." then, in , he thought he would like to be an editor. he bought control of the globe, a daily morning paper, and ran it for over two years. it was not a financial success, and finally mcdonald gave it up. "i guess i was never cut out for a literary man," was his laughing remark. "there are other things i know more about." domestic life rough. a great deal has been said about mcdonald's domestic unhappiness, but it was not until his body had been buried that the truth was known. his first wife was mary noonan, whom he married in the days when "the store" was the sporting and political mecca of chicago. it was a great scandal in the community later when she suddenly disappeared, and it was reported that she had run away with "billy" arlington, a minstrel man. it was the greater shock because her devotion and loyalty to mcdonald had been the talk of the town. one time she had stood, with a pistol, in her husband's gambling house, and defied the police when they raided the place under instruction of some blundering chief of police, who did not realize that he was toying with the lightning when he laid violent hands on anything that belonged to mcdonald. mary mcdonald had held her ground at the door in "the store," and declared she would shoot the first policeman that attempted to enter. she was as good as her word, and one of the officers was carried to a hospital with a bullet through his arm. mrs. mcdonald, through her husband's pull, was never prosecuted. mcdonald went to san francisco and brought his wife back and installed her in the house he had built at ashland avenue and harrison street, considered in those days a veritable palace. mcdonald gave it out to the world that he had built the mansion for his wife, and his taking her back after she was reputed to have run away with another man was accepted as a wonderful instance of his great-heartedness and magnanimity. sam barclay tells "how mike mcdonald's coin won dora away." "sam" barclay (harry is supposed to have been his baptismal name) was one of the great ball players of the long ago, and the shadows of the drama that wrecked his life are, therefore, interwoven with the world of sport, and even with the career of charles comiskey, "the master of the white sox." barclay, a trim and graceful fellow, came into prominence twenty years ago and played with pittsburg and st. louis. at st. louis he was under the command of comiskey, who therefore knew him well, and was always interested in his doings. on two or three occasions quarrels over the contracts of sam barclay nearly wrecked organized base ball. he was a wonderful second baseman, and one of the fastest and most scientific players of the day. in barclay's knee went back on him, and, while he regained full use of the leg, he was never fast enough to play his former game. he also began to take on flesh, and was glad to retire from the diamond. [illustration: home mcdonald built for his first wife harrison st. and ashland bld.] opens saloon in chicago. coming to chicago, barclay opened a saloon on west madison street. back in , west madison, from halsted to elizabeth, was the real red-light district, full of saloons and concert halls. barclay's place was the headquarters of revelry, but sam himself kept a good name for personal honesty and unbounded generosity to his friends. when the red-lights went out on madison street, sam leased a saloon at north clark, where for some time he held the same kind of sway he had maintained west of the river. this place was ultimately lost, and he went over in garfield park district, without much success. "sam" barclay, former husband of mrs. "mike" mcdonald ii, west lake street, freely discussed his life with mrs. mcdonald. it was an interesting story, in which he told of mrs. mcdonald's attempt to commit suicide once in kansas city, of brawls in his saloon, the "half moon," and of how "mike" mcdonald, assisted by "bunk" allen, lured his wife away from him. here is what he said: "they have printed stories that are not true about this case. mrs. mcdonald's mother was a mrs. feldman, who at one time lived at harrison street. at the time i knew her mrs. feldman had been divorced from her husband and he was living in the ghetto. likely lad of pounds. "it was in ' that i met dora. i was in the kansas city ball team, and was a likely lad. i weighed pounds, trained down, and it was a good man who was able to floor me. "dora came to visit her brother-in-law in kansas city. he is dick vaughn, and a very good 'pal' of mine. i met her there at his house. "we took a liking to each other, so i used to have her in the best seat every day at the games when we played on home grounds. "and she never was slow, i tell you, of giving me credit when i made a double play or lined out a hot one. nothing like real love. "well, the season came to a close. i liked the kid, but i didn't feel nothing like real love for her. i was going to leave kansas city, and nothing was said about taking her with me. i noticed that big tears came in her eyes when i told her, but she didn't say much. that night they sent for me. they told me that dora was dying. "i got to vaughn's house and found her unconscious. she had taken laudanum, the doctor said. she was in a stupor. the first chance i got, i asked her what was the matter, and she said to me, as the tears rolled down her cheeks: "'i don't want to be left alone.' "that, you know, touched me. we got married. i've got the license right here. it was all doped up by a fellow in the washingtonian home, who thought he owed a lot to me. he certainly did some fine pen and ink decorating with birds, and shadings and such things. "so, after i quit the national game, i went into the saloon business at west madison street, first, and then started the 'half moon.' "i'll tell you the truth about how dora met mike mcdonald. she went to mcvicker's theater one day with harry summers, who is now treasurer of the illinois theater. "dora was with mrs. elliott. she used to be a model in ryan's store, at madison and peoria streets. summers introduced dora to mike mcdonald, and that's the way they started. day of harrison funeral. "well i remember the time--it was on the day that carter harrison's funeral went past the house, at washington boulevard, where we were living at that time. "'i met an old gentleman today who has lots of money,' dora said to me, as we looked out of the window. "'it's funny how a man gets up in the world and then loses it all when he's laid away in the narrow box,' i said, keeping my eyes on the hearse. "i was thinking, then, but not about what my wife said. afterward the words came to me, but i didn't realize the meaning of her expression or what it had in store for me then. deep game well played. "a few years passed. they went quick, then. money made the time fly, and dora certainly was a spender. then one night they pulled off the game that was to separate us and give mike mcdonald a young wife. "i was boozy with wine. bill hoffman and 'bunk' allen were masters of the ceremonies. they bundled me in a cab and drove me to a place on wood street. detectives came in, and my wife, too, and they there and then laid the basis of the divorce suit which ended the game between dora and i." barclay then told of a fight in his saloon, in which one man was almost killed and another badly wounded. then he said: "that's how they wound up the 'half moon.' jimmy quinn said he was my friend, but he stabbed me in the back. i was getting too strong in politics, so he got me and i was put down and out." barclay had seemed perfectly happy with her, but one night when he was living in rooms over his saloon at north clark street he learned that mike mcdonald had come into her life, and it was not long before the ball player's romance was ended. wife gets divorce. mrs. barclay obtained a divorce--with mcdonald's money, so barclay always said--and the ball player was left alone. the blow proved his utter undoing. barclay lost ambition and energy. he spent hours in his rooms, gazing mutely at a huge crayon portrait of his wife, taken a year before she left him, and he seemed to have no desire or ability left for business. second wedding in milwaukee. mrs. barclay was married to mcdonald in milwaukee. at the time she was in the chorus of the chicago opera house. her mother is mrs. fanny feldman, south marshfield avenue. she has two brothers, harry and emil feldman, both known in west side political circles. harry feldman was employed in the city clerk's office during william loeffler's term. when mcdonald took his new wife to his house on ashland boulevard there was a red-hot family row. guy, the elder of the two sons of mcdonald, had a pitched battle with her, and the fight was carried into the street. the boy was victorious at first, but his father sided with the stepmother, and eventually the boy left home. harold barclay, years old, mrs. mcdonald's son by her first marriage, was adopted by mcdonald, and with his two sons, cassius and guy mcdonald, has an equal share in the estate. induces husband to disinherit son. shortly after her marriage to mcdonald, dora became angry at her husband's son, harley. the latter objected to his father contracting further matrimonial alliances, and did not hesitate to say so. mrs. mcdonald prevailed upon her husband to disinherit the son, and later, of her own initiative, caused the arrest of the young man. the charge was threats against her life. the case came up at the old armory police court, and the young man was placed under bonds to keep the peace. the breach between father and son is said never to have healed. young mcdonald went into the sign painting business soon after the episode. guy married miss pearl flower, and lives in chicago. mrs. mcdonald once had guy mcdonald arrested on the charge of writing threatening and obscene letters. the case was hotly fought in the united states court. a juryman, and warm personal friend of mike mcdonald, saved him from conviction, which would have carried with it a penitentiary sentence. the sting and curse of ill-gotten money. "mike" mcdonald, the king of gamblers, was buried like a king of men. there were flowers, tears, friends, orations and processions. but as clothes are not, neither is a funeral, an index to character--nor even is the obituary column. strangers, reading the story of the last day above the sod of mcdonald's body, might has thought that chicago had lost a leading good citizen. they were told that mcdonald had amassed wealth, but they were not told how he got it. they read of the great men whom he had befriended, but they were not told of the men whom he had ruined. they were not told that mike mcdonald living, had violated the laws of the land, of society and of the home. "mike" mcdonald died worth a million dollars. a young man beginning life, familiar only with the post-mortem, story of mcdonald, and seeing no condemnation of his method of getting rich, might feel encouraged to hold to the idea that the accumulation of money bars all criticism for the way it is acquired. though the publicity of cold type has put no brand on the dead mcdonald, the story of "mike" mcdonald's life and fortune is not yet finished. suppose he did die worth a million dollars, whom will it benefit? what good will it do? there will be a fight in every dollar, a quarrel in every penny. there will be a strife among men and women over this fortune. much of it will go to lawyers to defend a woman charged with murder. much more of it will go to other lawyers who will try to break his will. as mcdonald's money was ill-gotten, so will it be spent to no good purpose. in a few years mcdonald will be forgotten except by those whom in life he ruined. his fortune will be gone. no one will remember him for the good he did, if he did any good. let not "mike" mcdonald's success in securing money encourage you to follow his method. if you, young man, had an opportunity of entering a gambling venture, with a certainty of securing for yourself a fortune of a million dollars, you would be a fool to take advantage of that opportunity. there is nothing in the life of even a successful gambler worth imitating and nothing that he does worth admiring. "mike" mcdonald may have been better than the ordinary class of gamblers, but the occasional good deeds that men of his character do are always exaggerated. ninety-nine gamblers out of a hundred that amass fortunes die paupers. the money that a few accumulate, even as mcdonald did, is, as a rule, a curse to those that inherit it. but if mcdonald had sense--and we believe he did have sense--in the closing years of his life he cursed the day when he started on a career that wrecked him, socially and morally, and left him in his dying hour a bankrupt in everything but the possession of a few hundred thousand dollars, which he could not take beyond the grave. and what has happened after mcdonald's death, and what will happen in the courts of law, will prove to men that ill-gotten money carries a sting to its possessor and a curse to those who inherit it. wife no. , widow; no. , repudiated. burial of "mike" mcdonald serves to open new chapter in his troubles--old scandals denied. mary noonan now claims innocence and fights to prove divorce illegal. the grave out at mount olivet that closed over the body of "mike" mcdonald refused a final sanctuary to the life-tragedy of the political boss and millionaire gambling king. the same hand of death that closed his eyes on his triumphs and afflictions raised the curtain on an unforseen last act in this drama of chicago life. in this new part of the plot mrs. dora feldman mcdonald, who turned the old gambler's head and broke his heart through the shooting of webster guerin, appears as a wife solemnly repudiated in death-bed rites. at the same time mrs. mary noonan mcdonald, the divorced and exiled first wife, steps upon the scene to cleanse her name of the scandals to which it has been linked for twenty years. while the two wives and the relatives stood before the coffin it came out that mcdonald, shortly before his death at st. anthony de padua hospital, had uttered a formal repudiation of his second marriage, in the presence of the rev. maurice j. dorney, pastor of st. gabriel's catholic church, and several witnesses, in the persons of hospital attendants. this having been done, mcdonald was permitted the last sacraments of the church and burial under the roman ritual. first wife denies charges. as the second wife passed under the ban, the first one came forward to claim that of which she had been dispossessed by human passion. sitting in her apartment last night at the vincennes hotel, vincennes avenue and thirty-sixth street. mary noonan mcdonald gave her version of the romance and tragedy that have measured forty years of her life. "for the sake of my two boys, it is now my duty to tell the world the truth about the slanders with which my name has been blackened," she said. "i am not perfect, and i have done things for which i am sorry, but i am guiltless of the charges with which i have been hounded about the world for twenty years. this i can prove, and to do so i shall remain in chicago as long as necessary." repudiation of second wife. it was after the solemn requiem mass over mcdonald's body in the church of the presentation that the rev. father dorney consented to tell the story of the gambler's dying repudiation of his second wife. "i told 'mike' mcdonald before his death," said father dorney, "that in the eyes of the roman catholic church there was no such thing as divorce; that he had but one wife, the mother of his children--mary noonan. i told him he must publicly repudiate this other woman, and only when he said he did so could he receive the last sacraments, penance, holy eucharist, and extreme unction. "although he was critically ill, he said, firmly, that he would do as the church wished: that he was sorry for his sins, and he wanted to receive the last sacraments. then, in the presence of witnesses, as is required, he made the repudiation. later he went to confession, but what he told there i can never reveal. "afterwards the other woman, dora feldman, came to see him at the hospital, but if he was conscious he never recognized her. he was true to his promise, true to his resolution to put her out of his life." church not interested in will. father dorney's attention was called to the fact that mcdonald probably had left a considerable portion of his estate to his second wife. "i suppose he did, but this is a legal matter in which the church is not interested. mike mcdonald and mary noonan were legally married in the eyes of the law, and the church, in a catholic church edifice. we never recognize divorce. of course, we know it is impossible at times for men and women to live together, and the church permits them to reside apart, but remarriage is impossible as long as both of the parties are still alive. "mcdonald never remarried in the eyes of the church, because his first wife was not dead. by his actions with dora feldman he gave great scandal, but before his death he repented of it. if dora feldman followed mike mcdonald to his grave, she could not do so from an ecclesiastical standpoint, and in my sermon this morning when i referred to the wife of the dead man i meant mary noonan mcdonald, the mother of his children." mrs. mary mcdonald changed. no greater contrast could be conceived than that between the woman reputed to have deserted her husband in turn for a renegade french priest and a minstrel, and the woman who rose to greet the interviewer who called at the vincennes hotel for mrs. mary noonan mcdonald. twenty years of sorrow have left snow white hair that still crowns her head with the same wealth as that of younger days, and twenty years of struggle to support herself have dulled the fire of those gray eyes that once looked over a smoking revolver with which the girl wife held at bay the police raiders of her husband's gambling house. but the slender figure appeared as erect as ever, though standing forth with an added frailty beside her stalwart, brown-faced son, guy, and her face, though pale and sad, scarcely confessed to her years of age. [illustration: mary noonan mcdonald, michael c. mcdonald, mrs. michael c. mcdonald] this is the woman who began her career in chicago as the helpmate of an old-time gambling king, and is ending her days in the work of rescuing wayward girls; this is the woman who was driven to abandon the name of mcdonald and bury her identity for the last fifteen years under the alias of mrs. grashoff, holding communication only with her children and secretly visiting chicago periodically to see them. tells her story at last. "it is sixteen years since i have talked to a newspaper reporter," said mrs. mary noonan mcdonald. "again and again have i been besought to tell my story, but long ago i determined to remain silent until after the death of mr. mcdonald. for the sake of my children's relations with their father i held my peace, and now, for the sake of my children's name, i have decided to give my story to the world. "the lies that have been printed about me for the last twenty years are but a feeble testimonial of the tremendous power wielded by mr. mcdonald and his friends. none knows better than i how he made and unmade public officials, set judges on the bench, determined public politics in the old days, and fought his enemies with a ruthlessness that made him feared far and wide. when i became his enemy, i, too, began to feel his power, as it was manifested in the public press. "the lies have multiplied day by day, but i have so far refused to answer them. only during the last week the papers have said that dora mcdonald, who ruined mike mcdonald's life, and i, met at the bedside of the dying man. we have never met. the only time i ever saw her was in a providence (r. i.) hotel, ten years ago, where i was stopping while at a convention of charities. we sat at the same table, and i heard her say to a girl with her that i looked like guy's mother. then i knew who she was. i have not seen her since, not even at the grave today, though i was told she was there." guy mcdonald interposed to explain that his stepmother had not been allowed to attend the funeral service at the church, being taken directly to the cemetery. says charges were invented. "the statement i want to make to the world," resumed mrs. mcdonald, "is that all the stories told of my conduct at the time i was separating from mr. mcdonald, are absolutely false, and were maliciously invented and circulated. the trouble between my husband and me grew out of his brutality. he was a big, red-blooded man, but when under the influence of liquor he was rough and disorderly. he often struck me at such times, and mistreated me in other cruel ways. "i finally came to the conclusion that i could stand the life no longer. so i ran away. but i went alone, and not with billy arlington, the minstrel, as the story was told afterwards. i went to san francisco and visited with friends, and while there i met arlington. he was only a casual acquaintance, and i never saw him after i left san francisco. i went from there to cincinnati, and thence to new york, with friends. we stopped at the gilsey house, and there william pinkerton, al smith, the old-time gambler, who had a resort at clark, and mr. mcdonald, coaxed me to come back home. "but it was not long before the old trouble began again. mr. mcdonald was extremely abusive when in liquor, and mr. a. s. trude will tell you that i went to his office one day and asked him to get me a divorce. he tried to smooth matters over, and succeeded for a time. no chapel in house. "then we went to live in the new house at ashland avenue. there my troubles began afresh, and grew until . the newspaper stories have dwelt at great length on insinuations of my conduct with a priest for whom i was said to have built a chapel in my house. nothing could be more preposterous on the face of it, as any roman catholic will tell you. the church does not sanction the erection of altars, the giving of communion, and the receiving of confessions in private homes. dispensations for temporary masses can be obtained in rare instances. "there was a priest named father price, from asheville, n. c., who was raising money for his church in chicago. we gave a recital that netted him $ , after which he was a guest for two weeks at our house. "he obtained a dispensation to say mass a few times, and did so before a temporary saint's altar set on a bureau. when he departed the altar went with him, and that is as close as we ever came to having a private chapel in our house. "the french priest with whom i was said to have eloped was father moysant. he never said a mass in our house, and i never knew him except as one of the priests of the parish who were entertained frequently by mr. mcdonald. leaves husband; goes to sister. "i did not run away with father moysant or any other person, the fact being that, unable to stand mr. mcdonald's treatment, i left his house in the fall of and went to live with mrs. peter mcguire, whose house stood on the site of the present studebaker building. i begged mr. mcdonald to let my boys come to me, but he refused. at the end of three weeks i went to new york alone, sailed for havre, still alone, and went to visit my sister, mrs. catherine phillpot, who lived in paris. "i remained there eleven months and returned to new york. at the fifth avenue hotel, where i stopped, i found pinkerton detectives, hired by mr. mcdonald, watching me. i complained to mr. philips, the house detective, of the annoyance, as he will tell you. i was traveling under the name of armstrong, my mother's maiden name--she was english and my father, irish, you know. the annoyance of the detectives became so great that i returned to paris on the same boat on which i had come to america. that was the middle of october, . "after six months with my sister in paris i returned directly to chicago. when i arrived i found my daughter dead and with my own hands i buried her baby the next day. i found also that i had been divorced by mr. mcdonald in proceedings before judge jamieson, though no notice ever was served on me." pawns her diamonds. mrs. mcdonald spread out her ringless fingers significantly, and continued: "i went to a pawnbroker that day and sold my diamond rings, ear-rings, and cross, and with the proceeds opened a rooming house at wabash avenue. mr. mcdonald often came to see me and dine there, and it looked as if there might be a reconciliation. but soon after that he met dora barclay, and from that time we were friends no longer, but bitter enemies. "the reputation of my house was ruined by the arrest of mike coleman, alias charles wilson, the safe-blower, who had lived there a few weeks, and at first i thought mr. mcdonald was behind this plot to ruin me. i went to the animosa, pa., penitentiary, saw coleman, and learned that mr. mcdonald was innocent. but after that a story was started that i lived with coleman for years. i never saw him after that time at the penitentiary. "after the world's fair i removed to st. louis and started a boarding house at locust street. but soon mr. mcdonald's detectives were hounding me there, the newspapers began to print stories of our troubles, and my business was ruined. driven to hide identity. "i saw that if i was to live peacefully i must bury my identity, and so, assuming the name of mrs. grashoff, i went to new york, and obtained employment with the board of charities at fourth avenue and twenty-third street, of which mr. van vordenberg was the head. for fifteen years i have been in charitable work. i founded the destitute old ladies' home at paterson, n. j., and at present my work is with the crittenden rescue homes for unfortunate girls. it is not the least solace for my many misfortunes that i have been able to save many girls from continuing their wayward careers. "so much for the lies circulated about me for twenty years. i never saw father price after he left chicago, nor father moysant after i went to mrs. mcguire's. both are living, so far as i know, but where, i do not know." but the records show, according to mrs. mary mcdonald, that her husband repented of the wrongs he had heaped upon her, and called her to his bedside when he was dying, acknowledging her as his wife, and begging her forgiveness. they were reunited, and a few days later mcdonald died. opposed by documents. for mrs. dora mcdonald, on the other hand, an entirely different case is made out by her attorney, colonel james hamilton lewis. he said that he had procured new evidence in the shape of affidavits and sworn statements of witnesses in the suit for divorce brought by "mike" mcdonald against mary c. mcdonald in , and letters in the handwriting of mary mcdonald, and others. the divorce bill, according to colonel lewis, was filed in the superior court of cook county on september , . in the complaint, mcdonald alleged that he married his first wife november , , and lived with her until may , . he alleged misconduct in the complaint, naming joseph moysant, or father moysant, a renegade priest, and gave dates and places of alleged misconduct. he also alleged that mrs. mcdonald had fled to france with moysant, and that she was not a resident of chicago, or the state of illinois. joint letters in evidence. letters were offered in evidence which were alleged to have come from mrs. mcdonald to women friends. some of these are said to have been signed mrs. j. moysant, and to have been partly in the handwriting of mrs. mcdonald and partly in the handwriting of moysant. these letters are said to have shown that mrs. mcdonald had a knowledge of the divorce suit pending against her. an attempt was also made to prove that mrs. mcdonald was deeded certain property by mcdonald in connection with the divorce proceedings, and that she negotiated and disposed of that property in part, thus, acquiescing in the terms of possession and establishing the legality of the divorce. mrs. mary mcdonald, now a white-haired woman upward of sixty, declares that she has brought suit to establish her legal status as the widow of "mike" mcdonald for the sake of her two sons, guy and cassius, for whom she desires to clear her name of any stain. her petition for an injunction restraining the trustees of the estate from paying to mrs. dora mcdonald any money as dower rights was heard by judge barnes on november . the contest was long and bitter between the attorneys. crimination and recrimination flew thick and fast. in the end, however, judge barnes decided that the divorce of mike mcdonald from mary noonan mcdonald was legal, that the law could not go back of the records, and that, therefore, mary noonan mcdonald was not entitled to any share of the mcdonald estate. but the sordid contest over the ill-gotten money of the gambling king was not yet at end. dora mcdonald failed to pay her attorney's fees, and the estate was again brought into the courts on an injunction obtained by james hamilton lewis, who threatens to throw the estate into involuntary bankruptcy. thus the long battle over tainted gain goes on. let those who think gambling an easy way to wealth and power read aright the lesson of the life of mike mcdonald; one continual tissue of law-breaking, imprisonment, divorce, scandal upon scandal, murder, adultery, leaving a name covered over and associated with all vileness, all the mud and slime of society, to go down to the grave with a broken heart. is that an alluring spectacle? is such a life worth living? who would emulate it? [illustration: the devil and the grafter] have you read the devil and the grafter and how they work together to deceive, swindle and destroy mankind. a thrilling and graphic story of truth stranger than fiction. how a great army of , criminals in america, under the influence, guidance and leadership of satan wage continued war with justice, law, society and religion. by clifton r. wooldridge the world's great criminologist and detective after twenty years of heroic warfare and scores of hair breadth escapes, in which he suffered wounds and bruises by the hundreds, and baffled death so often that his criminal enemies declare "he leads a charmed life." mr. wooldridge, while still "in the harness," has given this volume to the public with the belief that he is sending forth a book with a mission of good to the world. no man in all our country is so feared by evil doers of all classes as the author of this revelation of the ways and wiles of wicked men and women, who graft and swindle, rob and corrupt their fellows in defiance of law and justice. "the incorruptible sherlock holmes of america" is the title by which mr. wooldridge is favorably known. hundreds of times large and tempting bribes have been offered him by wealthy criminals; thousands of dollars at a time might have been his for a "wink" at a nefarious practice, or for the loosing of his hold upon a rich criminal's wrist. but like cæsar's wife, he stands "above suspicion." he is still a poor man, but deeply and earnestly studying the science of criminology, laboring and lecturing for the cure of crime by wise laws and scientific means--declaring himself to be the enemy of crime, but the friend of the criminal, whose disease of crime he believes can be cured, and that it is his mission to help the world suppress crime and find out the way for its elimination. with an aim so lofty, and a motive so pure, the good people of every religion, all trades, all professions and all classes are in hearty sympathy, and the circulation of this book will not only serve to warn the people against the snares and pitfalls of the devil and the grafter (into which thousands of new victims fall and one hundred and sixty millions of dollars of the people's money are lost every year), but it will tend to make grafting impossible and turn the grafters into honest, legitimate channels and good citizenship. this book should be in the hands of every minister, every doctor, every student, every teacher, farmer, business man, mechanic and laborer, every wife and widow--statistics show that ninety widows out of every hundred are swindled out of what their husbands leave them. it should be in the reach of all, male and female, for there is not a postoffice in all the land where the mail, every time it comes, does not bring the alluring literature of the grafter to swindle or tempt the unwary. price cloth, illustrated $ . [illustration: hands up! in the world of crime] hands up in the world of crime or years a detective by clifton r. wooldridge chicago's famous detective a book of thrilling descriptions about the capture of bandits, robbers, panel house workers, confidence men and hundreds of other criminals of all kinds. tells in graphic manner how criminals of all classes operate, illustrations showing arrests of murderers, safe blowers, diamond thieves, procuresses of young girls, etc., etc. the contents of this book is a narrative of the authors twelve years' experience on the chicago police force. his long and successful experience with the criminal classes justly fitted him for the work of bringing before the public in presentable form the many and interesting features of a detective's life. in detail he tells the story of his life, and without coloring of any kind produces an accurate account of his twelve years' experience, many times under fire; his famous efforts to apprehend criminals, who, by means of revolvers and other conceivable methods tried to fight their way to liberty. =the book contains over pages=, is profusely illustrated from specially drawn pictures and photographs of desperate criminals and law-breakers, such as murderers, highwaymen, safe blowers, bank robbers, diamond thieves, burglars, porch climbers, shop lifters, bicycle thieves, box car thieves, lottery swindlers, gamblers, women footpads, panel-house thieves, confidence men, pickpockets, procuresses of young girls for immoral purposes, women gamblers, levee characters, etc. this great production is not a ponderous volume filled with dry statistics, but made up of thrilling accounts which depict the most noteworthy incidents in the lives of criminals in large cities. during detective wooldridge's service on the force he has made , arrests, secured penitentiary convictions, recovered $ , worth of lost and stolen property, which was returned to its rightful owners; seventy-live girls under age were rescued by him from houses of ill-fame and a life of shame and returned to their parents or guardians or sent to the juvenile school or house of the good shepherd. it is well known in police circles that detective wooldridge has refused at many different times, bribes of from $ to $ , ; $ , was offered for his discharge or transfer from the levee district by criminals against whom he had waged a warfare. _he has letters from carter h. harrison, the mayor, three state's attorneys, eight chiefs of police, three assistant chiefs, six inspectors, nine lieutenants, six police justices and others too numerous to mention, which testimonials are printed in the book together with their autographs. the book contains all the general superintendents of police of chicago from to ._ detective wooldridge has a wonderful record in police annals. price cloth, illustrated $ . paper, illustrated c transcriber's notes minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected. some illustrations have descriptions added for the benefit of the plain text version readers. title page: changed "covictions" to "convictions." (orig: penitentiary covictions) title page: changed "criminal" to "criminals." (orig: an army of , criminal at war with society and religion) table of contents: added listings for the last chapters. changed "wails" to "wiles" and "tellers" to "telling" to match the chapter title: "wiles of fortune telling." (orig: wails of fortune tellers) page : changed "acomplished" to "accomplished." (orig: it was acomplished successfully.) page : changed "connetion" to "connection." (orig: he severed his connetion with the railroad) page : women's names omitted in original book after the sentence: (orig: the following are the names of the women arrested:) page : changed "rerevolver" to "revolver." (orig: he pushed his rerevolver in wooldridge's face.) page : changed "woolridge" to "wooldridge." (orig: one of the last exploits of detective woolridge) page : opening quotes retained; no closing quotes in original. (orig: "a 'grafter' is one who makes his living (and sometimes his fortune) by 'grafting.') page : retained "salonkeepers," possible typo for "saloonkeepers." (orig: salonkeepers and others that buy them) page : changed "phychological" to "psychological." (orig: what he considers the right phychological moment,) page : changed "knowns" to "knows." (orig: it isn't because the public knowns any more than) page : retained "senualist;" possibly a typo for "sensualist." (orig: it is the senualist whose vice is read in his lips,) page : changed "posssesed" to "possessed." (orig: the banker will end life posssesed of wealth) page : changed "ofered" to "offered." (orig: in which they were mailed are ofered with them.) page : changed "allegitimate" to "illegitimate." (orig: he was in an allegitimate business,) page : changed "weathy" to "wealthy." (orig: ten or twelve weathy ladies,) page : changed "los angelese" to "los angeles." page : changed "is" to "it." (orig: give it the consideration is deserves.) page : retained "caverley," possible typo for "caverly." (orig: was arrested and fined $ by caverley.) page : changed "shoudl" to "should." (orig: to find if there shoudl be a chord) page : changed "vigliance" to "vigilance." (orig: he is under the eternal vigliance of our police) page : changed "snoke" to "smoke." (orig: i don't snoke.) page : changed "nof" to "not." (orig: "sophomoric" period is nof fully passed.) page : changed "dicharged" to "discharged." (orig: insane asylum, nevada, mo. dicharged after several escapes.) page : changed "indentification" to "identification." (orig: the finger print indentification.) page : changed "lot" to "lost." (orig: sailor has lot his honorable discharge paper) page : changed "rougues" to "rogues." (orig: spreading through the rougues' galleries) page : opening quotes retained; no closing quotes in original. (orig: each witness claimed that the "contract was covered up and they were shown just the part of the paper on which was the space for signature; and daubach performed many acts in furtherance of the conspiracy.) page : changed "slighest" to "slightest." (orig: it makes not the slighest difference) page : changed "is" to "it." (orig: this is not merely because is loosens general morality) page : changed "cildhood" to "childhood." (orig: toward speculation, even from cildhood.) page : changed "nickle's" to "nickel's." (orig: good for a nickle's worth) page : retained "sideway," possible typo for "slideway." (orig: clamp referred to down through the sideway) page : sentence possibly missing "do" after "to." (orig: very few are expert enough to this trick without detection. page : changed "sailers" to "sailors." (orig: the goods were sold to soldiers and sailers.) page : changed "torents" to "torrents." (orig: the rain which was beating down in torents) page : incomplete sentence in original book. (orig: his counsel asked for the arrest of judgment so he might have time to write up the record and present it to the) page : changed "mammonth" to "mammoth." (orig: prisoner accused as principal in mammonth swindling plot) page : changed "numerious" to "numerous." (orig: clear chicago of its numerious "fake" patent medicine) page : changed "lavatories" to "laboratories." (orig: columbus lavatories conducted the tests.) page : retained "either," possible typo for "ether." (orig: aristol is soluble in either, and makes a dark brown) page : changed "sppply" to "supply." (orig: i have in stock and can sppply without delay.) page : changed "sargeant" to "sergeant." (orig: desk sargeant mike white) page : retained original , , but the math is incorrect. page : changed "felling" to "feeling." (orig: the trusting investor the felling that there is a strong hand) page : retained "grizzy," possible typo for "grizzly." (orig: look out for indians and grizzy bears.) page : retained joseph koehy/koehly variations. page : changed "answr" to "answer." (orig: to answr for the murder of webster guerin) page : changed "women" to "woman." (orig: dora mcdonald was a wonderfully beautiful and younger women) retained spelling variations: r. w. mcclaughrey and r. w. mcclaughry. [frontispiece: at work in the printing-office.] phaeton rogers a novel of boy life by rossiter johnson _illustrated_ new york charles scribner's sons and broadway copyright by charles scribner's sons trow's printing and bookbinding company, _ - east th street_, new york. contents. chapter i. a morning canter chapter ii. rapid transit chapter iii. aunt mercy chapter iv. jack-in-the-box chapter v. jimmy the rhymer chapter vi. the price of poetry chapter vii. phaeton's chariot chapter viii. a horizontal balloon-ascension chapter ix. the art deservative chapter x. torments of typography chapter xi. a comical comet chapter xii. a literary mystery chapter xiii. a lyric strain chapter xiv. an alarm of fire chapter xv. running with the machine chapter xvi. a new fire-extinguisher chapter xvii. how a church flew a kite chapter xviii. an extra fourth-of-july chapter xix. a conquest chapter xx. rings, scissors, and boots chapter xxi. a tea-party chapter xxii. old shoes and orange-blossoms list of illustrations. the printing-office rapid transit by cable rapid transit by car the boys consult jack-in-the-box ned's invention "the whole caravan went roaring down the turnpike" ned's plan for a press the meddlesome poet the frame of a comet "a comet, gentlemen--a blazing comet!" "it rose like a fountain" a broken poem "jimmy looked so pale and thin" "ned looked up into the face of a policeman" phaeton is taken for a burglar "jump her, boys! jump her!" "this must be put in a safe place" phaeton's fire-extinguisher the kite on the steeple discharging the arrow riding home in the barouche how the chair was mended taking home the chairs the boys run the red rover bridal favors phaeton rogers. chapter i. a morning canter. nothing is more entertaining than a morning canter in midsummer, while the dew is sparkling on the grass, and the robins are singing their joyful songs, and the east is reddening with the sunrise, and the world is waking up to enjoy these beautiful things a little, before the labors of the day begin. and here is one of the many advantages of being a boy. when ladies and gentlemen ride horseback, it is considered necessary to have as many horses as riders; but an indefinite number of boys may enjoy a ride on one horse, all at the same time; and often the twenty riders who walk get a great deal more fun out of it than the one rider who rides. i think the best number of riders is three--one to be on the horse, and one to walk along on each side and keep off the crowd. for there is something so noble in the sight of a boy on a horse--especially when he is on for the first time--that, before he has galloped many miles, he is pretty certain to become the centre of an admiring throng, all eyes being turned upon the boy, and all legs keeping pace with the horse. it falls to the lot of few boys to take such a ride more than once in a lifetime. some, poor fellows! never experience it at all. but whatever could happen to any boy, in the way of adventure, was pretty sure to happen to phaeton rogers, who was one of those lucky fellows that are always in the middle of everything, and generally play the principal part. and yet it was not so much luck or accident as his own genius; for he had hardly come into the world when he began to try experiments with it, to see if he couldn't set some of the wheels of the universe turning in new directions. the name his parents gave him was fayette; but the boys turned it into phaeton, for a reason which will be explained in the course of the story. it was my good fortune to live next door to the rogers family, to know all of phaeton's adventures, and have a part in some of them. one of the earliest was a morning canter in the country. phaeton was a little older than i; his brother ned was just my age. one day, their uncle jacob came to visit at their house, riding all the way from illinois on his own horse. this horse, when he set out, was a dark bay, fourteen hands high, with one white foot, and a star on his forehead. at the first town where he staid overnight, it became an iron-gray, with a bob tail and a cast in its eye. at the next halt, the iron-gray changed into a chestnut, with two white feet and a bushy tail. a day or two afterward, he stopped at a camp-meeting, and when he left it the horse was a large roan, with just the hint of a springhalt in its gait. then he came to a place where a county fair was being held, and here the roan became piebald. how many more changes that horse went through, i do not know; but, when it got to us, it was about eleven hands high (convenient size for boys), nearly white, with a few black spots,--so it could be seen for a long distance,--with nice thick legs, and long hair on them to keep them warm. for these particulars, i am indebted to ned, who overheard the conversation between his father and his uncle, and repeated it a few times to the boys. now, mr. rogers had no barn, and his brother jacob, who arrived in the evening, had to tie his horse in the wood-shed for the night. he might have taken it to the "cataract house, by james tone," which was only a short distance away, and had a first-rate stable; but it was not the custom, in that part of the country, ever to patronize a hotel if you could by any possibility quarter yourself and your horse on a friend. just before bedtime, ned came over to tell me that phaeton was to take the horse to pasture in the morning, that he was going with him, and they would like my company also, adding: "uncle jacob says that a brisk morning canter will do us good, and give us an appetite for breakfast." "yes," said i, "of course it will; and besides that, we can view the scenery as we ride by." "we can, unless we ride too fast," said ned. "does your uncle's horse go very fast?" said i, with some little apprehension, for i had never been on a horse. "i don't exactly know," said ned. "probably not." "has phaeton ever been on a horse?" said i. "no," said ned; "but he is reading a book about it, that tells you just what to do." "and how far is the pasture?" "four miles,--kidd's pasture,--straight down jay street, past the stone brewery. kidd lives in a yellow house on the right side of the road; and when we get there we're to look out for the dog." "it must be pretty savage, or they wouldn't tell us to look out for it. are you going to take a pistol?" "no; fay says if the dog comes out, he'll ride right over him. you can't aim a pistol very steadily when you are riding full gallop on horseback." "i suppose not," said i. "i never tried it. but after we've left the horse in the pasture, how are we to get back past the dog?" "if fay once rides over that dog, on that horse," said ned, in a tone of solemn confidence, "there won't be much bite left in him when we come back." so we said good-night, and went to bed to dream of morning canters through lovely scenery, dotted with stone breweries, and of riding triumphantly into pasture over the bodies of ferocious dogs. a more beautiful morning never dawned, and we boys were up not much later than the sun. the first thing to do was to untie the horse; and as he had managed to get his leg over the halter-rope, this was no easy task. before we had accomplished it, ned suggested that it would be better not to untie him till after we had put on the saddle; which suggestion phaeton adopted. the saddle was pretty heavy, but we found no great difficulty in landing it on the animal's back. the trouble was, to dispose of a long strap with a loop at the end, which evidently was intended to go around the horse's tail, to keep the saddle from sliding forward upon his neck. none of us liked to try the experiment of standing behind the animal to adjust that loop. "he looks to me like a very kicky horse," said ned; "and i wouldn't like to see any of us laid up before the fourth of july." phaeton thought of a good plan. accordingly, with great labor, ned and i assisted him to get astride the animal, with his face toward the tail, and he cautiously worked his way along the back of the now suspicious beast. but the problem was not yet solved: if he should go far enough to lift the tail and pass the strap around it, he would slide off and be kicked. ned came to the rescue with another idea. he got a stout string, and, standing beside the animal till it happened to switch its tail around that side, caught it, and tied the string tightly to the end. then getting to a safe distance, he proposed to pull the string and lift the tail for his brother to pass the crupper under. but as soon as he began to pull, the horse began to kick; and not only to kick, but to rear, bumping phaeton's head against the roof of the low shed, so that he was obliged to lie flat and hang on tight. while this was going on, their uncle jacob appeared, and asked what they were doing. "putting on the saddle, sir," said i. "yes, it looks like it," said he. "but i didn't intend to have you take the saddle." "why not, uncle?" said phaeton. "because it is too heavy for you to bring back." "oh, but we can leave it there," said phaeton. "hang it up in kidd's barn." "no; that won't do," said his uncle. "can't tell who might use it or abuse it. i'll strap on a blanket, and you can ride just as well on that." "but none of us have been used to riding that way," said ned. without replying, his uncle folded a blanket, laid it on the horse's back, and fastened it with a surcingle. he then bridled and led out the animal. "who rides first?" said he. i was a little disappointed at this, for i had supposed that we should all ride at once. still, i was comforted that he had not merely said, "who rides?"--but "who rides first?"--implying that we were all to ride in turn. phaeton stepped forward, and his uncle lifted him upon the horse, and put the bridle-reins into his hand. "i think you won't need any whip," said he, as he turned and went into the house. the horse walked slowly down till he came to a full stop, with his breast against the front gate. "open the gate, ned," said phaeton. "i can't do it, unless you back him," answered ned. this was true, for the gate opened inward. "back, dobbin!" said phaeton, in a stern voice of authority, giving a vigorous jerk upon the reins. but dobbin didn't back an inch. "why don't you back him?" said ned, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. "why don't you open that gate?" said phaeton. by this time, three or four boys had gathered on the sidewalk, and were staring at our performance. "shall i hit him?" said ned, breaking a switch. "no," said phaeton, more excited than before; "don't touch him! back, dobbin! back!" but dobbin seemed to be one of those heroic characters who take no step backward. "i know how to manage it," said ned, as he ran to the wood-pile and selected a small round stick. thrusting the end of this under the gate, he pried it up until he had lifted it from its hinges, when it fell over outward, coming down with a tremendous slam-bang upon the sidewalk. a great shiver ran through dobbin, beginning at the tips of his ears, and ending at his shaggy fetlocks. then, with a quick snort, he made a wild bound over the prostrate gate, and landed in the middle of the road. i don't know how phaeton managed to keep his seat, but he did; and though the boys on the sidewalk set up a shout, dobbin stood perfectly still in the road, waiting for the next earthquake, or falling gate, or something, to give him another start. "come on, boys! never mind the gate!" said phaeton. when he said "boys," he only meant ned and me. but the boys on the sidewalk promptly accepted the invitation and came on, too. "you walk on the nigh side," said phaeton to me, "and let ned take the off side." i was rather puzzled as to his exact meaning; and yet i was proud to think that the boy who represented what might now be considered our party on horseback, as distinguished from the strangers on foot crowding alongside; was able to use a few technical terms. not wishing to display my ignorance, i loitered a little, to leave the choice of sides to ned, confident that he would know which was nigh and which was off. he promptly placed himself on the left side, near enough to seize his brother by the left leg, if need be, and either hold him on or pull him off. i, of course, then took a similar position on the right side. "he told you to take the nigh side," shouted one of the boys to me. "he's all right," said phaeton. "i'd advise you to hurry home before your breakfast gets cold. we'll run this horse without any more help." "run him, will you?" answered the boy derisively. "that's what i'm waiting to see. he'll run so fast the grass'll grow under his feet." "if there was a hot breakfast an inch ahead of your nose," said another of the boys, addressing phaeton, "it'd be stone cold before you got to it." notwithstanding these sarcastic remarks, our horse was now perceptibly moving. he had begun to walk alone in the middle of the road, and--what at the time seemed to me very fortunate--he was going in the direction of the pasture. "can't you make him go faster, fay?" said ned. "not in this condition," said phaeton. "you can't expect a horse without a saddle on him to make very good time." "what difference does that make?" said i. "you read the book, and you'll see," said phaeton, in that tone of superior information which is common to people who have but just learned what they are talking about, and not learned it very well. "all the directions in the book are for horses with saddles on them. there isn't one place where it tells about a horse with just a blanket strapped over his back. if uncle jacob had let me take the saddle, and if i had a good pair of wheel-spurs, and a riding-whip, and a gag-bit in his mouth, you wouldn't see me here. by this time i should be just a little cloud of dust, away up there beyond the brewery. this animal shows marks of speed, and i'll bet you, if he was properly handled, he'd trot way down in the thirties." so much good horse-talk, right out of a standard book, rather awed me. but i ventured to suggest that i could cut him a switch from the hedge, which dobbin could certainly be made to feel, though it might not be so elegant as a riding-whip. "never mind it," said he. "it's no use; you can't expect much of any horse without saddle or spurs. and besides, what would become of you and ned? you couldn't keep up." i suggested that he might go on a mile or two and then return to meet us, and so have all the more ride. but he answered: "i'm afraid uncle jacob wouldn't like that. he expects us to go right to the pasture, without delay. you just wait till i get a good saddle, with mexican stirrups, and wheel-spurs." by this time, the boys who had been following us had dropped off. but at the next corner three or four others espied us, and gathered around. "why don't you make him go?" said one who had a switch in his hand, with which at the same time he gave dobbin a smart blow on the flank. a sort of shiver of surprise ran through dobbin. then he planted his fore feet firmly and evenly on the ground, as if he had been told to toe a mark, and threw out his hind ones, so that for an instant they formed a continuous straight line with his body. the boy who had struck him, standing almost behind him, narrowly escaped being sent home to his breakfast with no appetite at all. "lick those fellows!" said phaeton to ned and me, as he leaned over dobbin's neck and seized his mane with a desperate grip. "there are too many of them," said ned. "well, lick the curly-headed one, any way," said phaeton, "if he doesn't know better than to hit a horse with a switch." ned started for him, and the boy, diving through an open gate and dodging around a small barn, was last seen going over two or three back fences, with ned all the while just one fence behind him. when they were out of sight, the remaining boys turned their attention again to dobbin, and one of them threw a pebble, which hit him on the nose and made him perform very much as before, excepting that this time he planted his hind feet and threw his fore feet into the air. "go for that fellow!" said phaeton to me. he struck off in a direction opposite to that taken by the curly-headed boy, and i followed him. it was a pretty rough chase that he led me; but he seemed to know every step of the way, and when he ran into the culvert by which the deep hollow stream passed under the canal, i gave it up, and made my way back. that he should have run from me, seemed at first a mystery, for he had a far better pugilistic record than i. but he probably ran because he was conscious of being in the wrong, as he had no shadow of right to throw a pebble at the nose of another boy's horse. this proves the power of a just cause. calculating that phaeton must have passed on some distance by this time, i took a diagonal path across a field, and struck into the road near the stone brewery. phaeton had not yet arrived, and i sat down in the shade of the building. presently, dobbin came up the road at a jog trot, with phaeton wobbling around on his back, like a ball in a fountain. the cause of his speed was the clatter of an empty barrel-rack being driven along behind him. on arriving at the brewery, he turned and, in spite of phaeton's frantic "whoas!" and rein-jerking, went right through a low-arched door, scraping off his rider as he passed in. "so much for not having a gag-bit," said phaeton, as he picked himself up. "i remember, uncle jacob said the horse had worked fifteen or sixteen years in a brewery. that was a long time ago, but it seems he hasn't forgotten it yet. and now i don't suppose we can ever get him out of there without a gag-bit." he had hardly said this, however, when one of the brewery men came leading out dobbin. then the inquiry was for ned, who had not been seen since he went over the third fence after the curly-headed boy who didn't know any better than to hit a horse with a switch. phaeton decided that we must wait for him. in about fifteen minutes, one of the great brewery wagons came up the road, and as it turned in at the gate, ned dropped from the hind axle, where he had been catching a ride. after we had exchanged the stories of our adventures, ned said it was now his turn to ride. "i wish you could, ned," said phaeton; "but i don't dare trust you on his back. he's too fiery and untamable. it's all _i_ can do to hold him." ned grumbled somewhat; but with the help of the brewery man, phaeton remounted, and we set off again for kidd's pasture. ned and i walked close beside the horse, each with the fingers of one hand between his body and the surcingle, that we might either hold him or be taken along with him if he should again prove fiery and untamable. when we got to the canal bridge, we found that a single plank was missing from the road-way. nothing could induce dobbin to step across that open space. all sorts of coaxing and argument were used, and even a few gentle digs from phaeton's heels, but it was of no avail. at last he began to back, and ned and i let go of the surcingle. around he wheeled, and down the steep bank he went, like the picture of putnam at horseneck, landed on the tow-path, and immediately plunged into the water. a crowd of boys who were swimming under the bridge set up a shout, as he swam across with phaeton on his back, and, climbing out on the other side, accompanied us along the road as far as the requirements of civilization would permit. ned and i crossed by the bridge. "i only hope uncle jacob won't blame me if the horse takes cold," said phaeton. "can't we prevent it?" said ned. "what can you do?" said phaeton. "i think we ought to rub him off perfectly dry, at once," said ned. "that's the way mr. gifford's groom does." "i guess that's so," said phaeton. "you two go to that hay-stack over there, and get some good wisps to rub him down." ned and i each brought a large armful of hay. "now, see here, fay," said ned, "you've got to get off from that horse and help rub him. we're not going to do it all." "but how can i get on again?" said phaeton. "i don't care how," said ned. "you've had all the ride, and you must expect to do some of the work. if you don't, i'll let him die of quick consumption before i'll rub him." this vigorous declaration of independence had a good effect. phaeton slid down, and tied dobbin to the fence, and we all set to work and used up the entire supply of hay in rubbing him dry. after several unsuccessful attempts to mount him by bringing him close to the fence, phaeton determined to lead him the rest of the way. "anyhow, i suppose he ought not to have too violent exercise after such a soaking as that," said he. "we'll let him rest a little." as we were now beyond the limits of the town, the only spectators were individual boys and girls, who were generally swinging on farm-yard gates. most of these, however, took interest enough to inquire why we didn't ride. we paid no attention to their suggestions, but walked quietly along,--phaeton at the halter, and ned and i at the sides,--as if guarding the sacred bull of burmah. about a mile of this brought us to mr. kidd's. "what about riding over the dog?" said ned. "we can't very well ride over him to-day, when we've neither saddle nor spurs," said phaeton; "but you two might get some good stones, and be ready for him." accordingly we two selected some good stones. ned crowded one into each of his four pockets, and carried one in each hand. i contented myself with two in my hands. "there's no need of getting so many," said phaeton. "for if you don't hit him the first time, he'll be on you before you can throw another." this was not very comforting; but we kept on, and ned said it wouldn't do any harm to have plenty of ammunition. when we reached the house, there was no dog in sight, excepting a small shaggy one asleep on the front steps. "you hold dobbin," said phaeton to me, "while i go in and make arrangements." i think i held dobbin about half a minute, at the end of which time he espied an open gate at the head of a long lane leading to the pasture, jerked the halter from my hand, and trotted off at surprising speed. when phaeton came out of the house, of course i told him what had happened. "but it's just as well," said i, "for he has gone right down to the pasture." "no, it isn't just as well," said he; "we must get off the halter and blanket." "but what about the dog?" said ned. "oh, that one on the steps won't hurt anybody. the savage one is down in the wood-lot." at this moment a woman appeared at the side door of the farm-house, looked out at us, and understood the whole situation in a moment. "i suppose you hadn't watered your horse," said she, "and he's gone for the creek." phaeton led the way to the pasture, and we followed. i shouldn't like to tell you how very long we chased dobbin around that lot, trying to corner him. we tried swift running, and we tried slow approaches. i suggested salt. ned pretended to fill his hat with oats, and walked up with coaxing words. but dobbin knew the difference between a straw hat and a peck measure. "i wish i could remember what the book says about catching your horse," said phaeton. "i wish you could," said i. "why didn't you bring the book?" "i will next time," said he, as he started off in another desperate attempt to corner the horse between the creek and the fence. nobody can tell how long this might have kept up, had not an immense black dog appeared, jumping over the fence from the wood-lot. phaeton drew back and looked about for a stone. ned began tugging at one of those in his pockets, but couldn't get it out. instead of coming at us, the dog made straight for dobbin, soon reached him, seized the halter in his teeth, and brought him to a full stop, where he held him till we came up. it only took a minute or two to remove the blanket and halter, and turn dobbin loose, while a few pats on the head and words of praise made a fast friend of the dog. with these trappings over our arms, we turned our steps homeward. as we drew near the place where we had given dobbin the rubbing down to keep him from taking cold, we saw a man looking over the fence at the wet wisps of hay in the road. "i wonder if that man will expect us to pay for the hay," said phaeton. "it would be just like him," said ned. "these farmers are an awful stingy set." "i haven't got any money with me," said phaeton; "but i know a short cut home." ned and i agreed that any shortening of the homeward journey would be desirable just now,--especially as we were very hungry. he led the way, which required him to go back to the first cross-road, and we followed. it seemed to me that the short cut home was about twice as long as the road by which we had come, but as i also was oppressed with a sense of having no money with me, i sympathized with phaeton, and made no objection. when i found that the short cut led through the deep hollow culvert, i confess to some vague fears that the boy i had chased into the culvert might dam up the water while we were in there, or play some other unpleasant trick on us, and i was glad when we were well through it with only wet feet and shoulders spattered by the drippings from the arch. we got home at last, and phaeton told his uncle that dobbin was safe in the pasture, at the same time giving him to understand that we were--as we always say at the end of a composition--much pleased with our brisk morning canter. but the boys couldn't help talking about it, and gradually the family learned every incident of the story. when mr. rogers heard about the hay, he sent phaeton with some money to pay for it, but the stingy farmer said it was no matter, and wouldn't take any pay. but he asked phaeton where we were going, and told him he had a pasture that was just as good as kidd's, and nearer the town. chapter ii. rapid transit. if phaeton rogers was not an immediate success as a rider of horses, he certainly did what seemed some wonderful things in the way of inventing conveyances for himself and other people to ride. one day, not long after our adventures with dobbin, ned and i found him sitting under the great plane-tree in the front yard, working with a knife at some small pieces of wood, which he put together, making a frame like this: [illustration: rapid transit by cable.] "what are you making, fay?" said ned. "an invention," said phaeton, without looking up from his work. "what sort of invention? a new invention?" "it would have to be new or it wouldn't be an invention at all." "but what is it for?" "for the benefit of mankind, like all great inventions." "it seems to me that some of the best have been for the benefit of boykind," said ned. "but what is the use of trying to be too smart? let us know what it is. we're not likely to steal it, as lem woodruff thinks the patent-lawyer stole his idea for a double-acting washboard." phaeton was silent, and worked away. ned and i walked out at the gate and turned into the street, intending to go swimming. we had not gone far when phaeton called "ned!" and we turned back. "ned," said he, "don't you want to lend me the ten dollars that aunt mercy gave you last week?" their aunt mercy was an unmarried lady with considerable property, who was particularly good to ned. when phaeton was a baby she wanted to name him after the man who was to have been her husband, but who was drowned at sea. mrs. rogers would not consent, but insisted upon naming the boy fayette, and aunt mercy had never liked him, and would never give him anything, or believe that he could do anything good or creditable. she was a little deaf, and if it was told her that phaeton had taken a prize at school, she pretended not to hear; but whenever ned got one she had no trouble at all in hearing about it, and she always gave him at least a dollar or two on such occasions. for when ned was born she was allowed to do what she had wanted to do with fayette, and named him edmund burton, after her long-lost lover. later, she impressed it upon him that he was never to write his name e. b. rogers, nor edmund b. rogers, but always edmund burton rogers, if he wanted to please her, and be remembered in her will. she never called him anything but edmund burton. whereas, she pretended not to remember fayette's name at all, and would twist it in all sorts of ways, calling him layit and brayit, and fater and faylen, and once she called him frenchman-what's-his-name, which was as near as she ever came to getting it right. "why should i lend you my ten dollars?" said ned. "for the information you kindly gave us about your invention?" "oh, as to that," said phaeton, "i've no objection to telling you two about it, now that i have thought it all out. i did not care to tell you before, because i was studying on it." "all right; go ahead," said ned, as we seated ourselves on the grass, and phaeton began. "it is called the underground railway. you see, there are some places--like the city of new york, for instance--where the buildings are so close together, and land is worth so much, that they can't build railroads enough to carry all the people back and forth. and so they have been trying, in all sorts of ways, to get up something that will do it--something different from a common railroad." "balloons would be the thing," said ned. "no; balloons won't do," said phaeton. "you can't make them 'light where you want them to. i've thought of a good many ways, but there was some fault in all of them but this last one." "tell us about the others first," said ned. "i'll show you _one_ of them," said phaeton, and he drew from his pocket a small sheet of paper, which he unfolded. [illustration: rapid transit by car.] "this," said he, "represents the city of new york. _a_ is some place far up-town where people live; _b_ is the battery, which is down-town where they do the business. i suppose you both know what a mortar is?" "a cannon as big around as it is long," said ned. "and shoots bomb-shells," said i. "that's it," said phaeton. "now here, you see, is a big mortar up-town; only, instead of shooting a bomb-shell, it shoots a car. this car has no wheels, and has a big knob of india-rubber on the end for a buffer. when you get it full of people, you lock it up tight and touch off the mortar. this dotted mark represents what is called the line of flight. you see, it comes down into another sort of mortar, which has a big coiled spring inside, to stop it easy and prevent it from smashing. then the depot-master puts up a long step-ladder and lets the people out." ned said he should like to be the one to touch off the mortar. "and why wasn't that a good plan?" said i. "there are some serious objections to it," said phaeton, in a knowing way. "for instance, you can't aim such a thing very true when the wind is blowing hard, and people might not like to ride in it on a windy day. besides, some people have a very strong prejudice, you know, against any sort of fire-arms." "there wouldn't be much chance for a boy to catch a ride on it," said ned, as if that were the most serious objection of all. "but tell us about the real invention." "the real invention," said phaeton, "is this," and he took up the little frame we had seen him making. taking an india-rubber string from his pocket, he stretched it from one of the little posts to the other, and fastened it. "now," said he, "suppose there was a fly that lived up at this end, and had his office down at that end. he gets his breakfast, and takes his seat right here," and he laid his finger on the string, near one of the posts. "i call out, 'all aboard!' and then----" here phaeton, who had his knife in his hand, cut the string in two behind the imaginary fly. "where is the fly now?" said he. "at his office doing business--" "i don't understand," said ned. "i've only half explained it," said phaeton. "now, you see, it's easy enough to make a tunnel under-ground and run cars through. but a tunnel always gets full of smoke when a train goes through, which is very disagreeable, and if you send a train every fifteen minutes, all the passengers would choke. so, you see, there must be something instead of an engine and a train of cars. i propose to dig a good tunnel wherever the road wants to go, and make it as long as you please. right through the centre i pass an india-rubber cable as large as a man's leg, and stretch it tight and fasten it to great posts at each end. all the men and boys who want to go sit on at one end, as if on horseback. when everything is ready, the train-despatcher takes a sharp axe, and with one blow clips the cable in two behind them, and zip they go to the other end before you can say jack robinson." ned said he should like to be train-despatcher. "they'd all have to hang on like time," said i. "of course they would," said phaeton; "but there are little straps for them to take hold by." "and would there be a tub at the other end," said ned "to catch the passengers that were broken to pieces against the end wall?" "oh, pshaw!" said phaeton. "don't you suppose i have provided for that?" the fact was, phaeton had spent more study on the question of landing his passengers safely than on any other part of his invention. it was not the first instance since the days of the hand-mill that made the sea salt, in which it had been found easy to set a thing going, but difficult to stop it. "there are several ways," said he, continuing his explanation, "to let the passengers off safely. i haven't decided yet what i'll adopt. one way is, to have a sort of brake to squeeze down on the cable and make it stop gradually. i don't exactly like that, because it would wear out the cable, and these cables are going to cost a great deal of money. another way is, to throw them against a big, soft mattress, like pins in a bowling-alley. but even that would hurt a little, i guess, no matter how soft you made the mattress. the best way is, to have it drop them in a tank of water." "what! and get all wet?" said ned. "don't be in a hurry," said phaeton. "each one would wear an india-rubber water-proof garment (a sort of over-dress), covering him all over and fastened up tight. of course, these would be provided by the company." "but wouldn't it use up a cable every time you cut it?" said ned. "not at all; it could be stretched again by hitching a team of horses to the end and drawing it back, and then we should solder it together with melted india-rubber. probably a dozen teams would be at work at night stretching cables for use next day. you see, we should have as many cables as the business of the road required." i have never known whether phaeton was sincere in all this, or whether he was simply fooling ned and me. i have since suspected that he had a purpose which did not appear at the time. at any rate, we took it all in and believed it all, and looked upon him as one of the world's great inventors. "and what do you want the ten dollars for?" said ned. "well, you know nothing can be done without more or less money," said phaeton. "the first thing is, to get up a model to send to the patent-office, and get a patent on it." "what's that?" said ned. "what's what?" "a model." "a model," said phaeton, "is a little one, with tunnel and all complete, to show how it works." "but a tunnel," said ned, "is a hole in the ground. you can't send a hole in the ground to the patent-office, no matter how small you make it." "oh, pshaw! don't you understand? there would be a little wooden tube or shell, painted red, to represent the brick-work that the real tunnel would be arched in with." "well, what then?" "i suppose it would cost about ten dollars to get up a model. if it's going to the patent-office it doesn't want to be botched up with a pocket-knife." "of course not," said ned. "but the model will be only a beginning. it will take a great deal more money than that to build the real thing." "now you talk business," said phaeton. "and i'm ready to talk with you. i've thought it all out. i got an idea from the way that father says mr. drake manages to build so many houses." "let's hear about it." "there are two ways to get the thing into operation. one is, to try it first in this town. you know we boys could dig the tunnel ourselves, and it wouldn't cost anything." "yes, i suppose so--if enough boys would take hold." "then we could give a mortgage on the tunnel, and so raise money to buy the cable, and there you are." "that's all very fine," said ned; "but they foreclose mortgages. and if there was a mortgage on our tunnel, and they foreclosed it while we were in there, what would become of us? how should we ever get out?" phaeton laughed. "i'll tell you how we'll fix it," said he. "we'll have a secret shaft leading out of the tunnel, and not let the man we give the mortgage to know anything about it." ned didn't exactly know whether he was being quizzed or not. "what's the other way of getting the thing into operation?" said he. "the other way," said phaeton, "is to go to new york and see uncle silas, and have him get up a company to start it there." "i think i like that way best," said ned. "but, to tell you the truth, i had made arrangements to do something else with that ten dollars." phaeton looked disappointed. "then why didn't you say so in the first place?" said he, as he put his things into his pocket and turned to walk away. "don't get mad, fay," said ned. "perhaps we can get another ten." "where can we get it?" "of aunt mercy." "you might, but i can't." "well, i'll try to get it for you, if you'll let me take your machine." "all right," said phaeton. "when will you go?" "i might as well go this evening as any time," said ned. so it was agreed that he should visit his aunt mercy that evening, and see if she would advance the money for a model. i was to go with him, but phaeton was to be kept entirely in the background. "do you suppose fay can really make anything out of this machine?" said ned to me, as we were on the way to his aunt mercy's. "i should think he might," said i. "for he is certainly a genius, and he seems to have great faith in it." "at any rate, we might as well get fifteen dollars while we are about it," said ned. "i suppose we might," said i. chapter iii. aunt mercy. "good evening, aunty." "good evening, edmund burton." aunt mercy was sipping a cup of tea, and reading the evening paper. "what's the news, aunty?" "another railroad accident, of course." "nobody hurt, i hope?" "yes; a great many. i wonder that anybody's foolhardy enough to ride on the railroads." "how did it happen?" said ned, beginning to think it was a poor time to get money for a railroad invention. "train ran off the track," said aunt mercy, "and ran right down an embankment. seems to me they always do. i don't see why they have so many embankments." "they ought not to," said ned. "if they only knew it, there's a way to make a railroad without any track, or any wheels to run off the track, or any embankment to run down if they did run off." "you don't say so, edmund burton! what sort of a railroad would that be?" "i happen to have the plan of one with me," said ned. "edmund burton! what _do_ you mean?" "i mean this," said ned, pulling from his pocket the little frame with a rubber string stretched on it. "it's a new invention; hasn't been patented yet." "edmund burton!" was all his aunt could say. "i'll explain it to you, aunty," said ned, as he picked up the newspaper which she had dropped, and rolled it into a tube. "this," said he, "represents a tunnel, a big round hole, you know, as big as this room, bored along in the ground. it goes right through rocks and everything, and is perfectly straight. no dangerous curves. and this"--showing the frame and then passing it into the paper tube--"represents an india-rubber cable as large as a stove-pipe. it is stretched out as far as possible, and fastened tight to posts at the ends." "edmund burton!" "now, aunty, we'll call this end albany, and this end buffalo." "edmund burton!" "all the men and boys in albany that want to go to buffalo could come down to the depot, and get on the cable right there, sitting just as if they were on horseback, and there will be nice little straps for them to hold on by." "edmund burton!" "when everybody's ready, the train-despatcher just picks up a sharp axe, and with one blow cuts the cable in two, right here, and zip! the passengers find themselves in buffalo. no boiler to burst, no track to get off from, no embankment to plunge down, no wheels to get out of order." "edmund burton, you _are_ a genius! but ladies can't ride that way." "of course not," said ned, catching an idea. "we have a car for the ladies. this"--and he picked up a spool of thread and a lead pencil, and passed the pencil through the spool--"represents it. the pencil represents the cable, and the spool represents the car, which is fastened tight on the cable. when the ladies are all in, it is locked up, and then the cable is cut behind it." "edmund burton!" "and the great advantage of it is, that the car is perfectly round, and so whichever way it might happen to turn, it would always be right side up, for every side is the right side!" "edmund burton, you _are_ a genius!" "but you mustn't tell anybody about it, aunty, for it hasn't been patented yet." "why don't you patent it, edmund burton?" "we think of doing so, aunty, but it will cost more money than we have just now. the first thing is to get up a model." "what's that, edmund burton?" "a little one, with tunnel and everything complete, to show how it works. that has to go to the patent-office and be put in a glass case." "and how much will it cost to make a muddle, edmund burton?" "fay says he thinks one _could_ be made for ten dollars; but i suppose more money would build a better one." "your brother knows nothing about it, edmund burton. _he_ would get up a miserable cheap muddle, and disgrace the family. don't let him have anything to do with it. jane!"--calling to the servant--"bring me my pocket-book from the right-hand corner of my top bureau drawer." jane brought it. "how much will it take for a good muddle, edmund burton?" said his aunt mercy, as she opened her pocket-book. "i should think fifteen dollars ought to be a great plenty," said ned, and she handed him a crisp new ten-dollar bill and a five. "thank you, aunty." "you're welcome, child. always come to me when you want money to make a muddle. but mind what i tell you, edmund burton. don't let that numskull brother of yours have anything to do with it, and be sure you get up a handsome muddle that will do credit to the family." "yes, aunty. good-night!" "good-night! but come and kiss me before you go, edmund burton." * * * * * "don't you think," said ned, as we were walking home, "before fay goes any further with this invention, and spends money on it, he'd better talk with somebody who knows more about such things than we do?" i didn't quite know whether ned said this because he was really anxious about the fate of the invention, or because he did not like to part with the money, now that he actually had it. some people are always ready to say that they would lend money to a friend, if they had it; but when they feel it in their hands, they are not in such a hurry to let it go out. however, i thought this was a good idea, whatever might be ned's reason for suggesting it; so i said, "certainly, he ought! who do you think would be the best person for him to talk with?" "i don't know anybody better than jack-in-the-box," said ned. "of course he knows all about railroads." "of course he does," said i, "and he'll be glad to help us. jack-in-the-box is the very one!" chapter iv. jack-in-the-box. the box was a red box, about five feet square and eight feet high, with a pointed top. jack was about five feet nine inches high, with a brown beard and mustache and dark hazel eyes, and might have been twenty-six years old, possibly older. when he was in the box, he wore a blue blouse and dark trousers and a small cloth cap. the only time i ever saw him away from the box was on sundays, when he always came to the presbyterian church, and sat in pew no. . one of the great pillars that supported the gallery was planted in this pew, and spoiled nearly the whole of it; but there was a comfortable seat for one at the outer end, and jack had that seat. the box had two small square windows on opposite sides. on another side was a door, with over it. the fourth side was covered in summer with morning-glory vines, planted by jack, and trained to run up on strings. a stove-pipe about as large as your arm stuck out at the top. when jack looked out at one of his windows, he looked up the railroad; when he looked out at the other, he looked down the railroad; when he stepped out of his door, he stood beside the track, and on those occasions he generally had in his hand either a red flag or a red lantern. close beside the box rose a tall, heavy pole, with a cross-piece on the top and short iron rods stuck through it at intervals all the way up. a rope passed over pulleys in the ends of the cross-piece, and jack used to hoist sometimes three white balls, sometimes two red balls, at night tying on white or red lanterns below the balls. to us boys, jack was a delightful character, in an enviable situation, but to older people he was a mystery. i remember one day i was walking with father, when mr. briggs joined us, and as we came in sight of the box, jack was rolling up his flag, a train having just gone by. "what do you make of that young man?" said mr. briggs. "i don't know what to make of him," said father. "he is evidently not the sort of man they generally have in those positions. you can tell by his speech and manner, and his whole appearance, that he is an educated man and a gentleman." "oh, yes," said mr. briggs. "if you peep in at the window, you will see a shelf full of books. he seems to have taken this way to make a hermit of himself--not a bad way, either, in these modern times, when there are no uninhabited wilds to retire to, and when a little money income is absolutely necessary to existence." "i should like to know his history," said father. "either he has committed some crime--forgery, perhaps--and escaped," said mr. briggs, "or he has quarrelled with his family, or in some way been disappointed." "i don't think it's for any crime," said father; "his appearance forbids that." "still, you can't always tell," said mr. briggs. "i tried to make his acquaintance once, but did not succeed. i am told he repels all advances. even the presbyterian minister, whose church he attends, can't get at him." "i understand he likes the boys, and makes their acquaintance," said father. we had now arrived at our gate, and mr. briggs said good evening, and passed on. it was true that jack-in-the-box was partial to boys; in fact, nobody else could make his acquaintance. he liked to have us come and talk with him, but never wanted more than two or three to come at a time. perhaps this was on account of the size of the box. we used to consult him on all sorts of occasions, and got a great many shrewd hints and useful bits of information from him. the inside of the box was a romance to me. i never saw so many things in so small a space. in one corner was a stove about as large as a coffee-pot, and beside it a sheet-iron coal-box, not much larger. in another corner stood the red flag, when it was furled, and a hatchet. behind the door, hung flat on the wall, was a large coil of rope. overhead, on one side, was a shelf, nearly filled with tools and trinkets. on the opposite side--lower, but still over the window--was another shelf, filled with books. i took a special interest in this shelf, and studied the backs of the books so often, that i think i can give the title of every one, in their order. they were, beginning at the left hand, a bible, "essays of elia," "henry esmond," "life of columbus," "twice-told tales," "anatomy of melancholy," "modern painters," "the shadows of the clouds," "the middle ages," "undine and sintram," "tales of the great st. bernard," "sordello," "divina commedia," "sophoclis tragoediæ," "demosthenis orationes," "platonis dialogi," "q. horatii flacci opera," "robinson crusoe," "byron's poems," and shakespeare. i was so curious about them, that i copied off all the hard ones on a card, and, when i went home, tried to find out what they were. under the book-shelf, at one side of the window, fastened to the wall, was a little alarm-clock. jack knew exactly what time every train would come along. as soon as one had passed, and he had rolled up his flag, he used to set the alarm so that it would go off two minutes before the next train was due. then he could sit down with his book, and be sure of not forgetting his duty. jack generally sat in a sort of easy chair with one arm to it, on which a board was fastened in such a way as to make a little writing-desk. the space under the seat of the chair was boxed, with a little door on one side, and in there he kept his stationery. hardly a day passed that jack did not have boy visitors. there were only two things about him that seemed singular to me. we could never find out his real name. he told us to call him simply jack; whereupon isaac holman said the full name must be jack-in-the-box, and after that we always called him by the full name. the other queer thing was, that he was never known to read a newspaper. the boys sometimes brought one to him, but he always said he didn't care about it, and would not open it. father and mr. briggs appeared to think it very strange that he should live in that box and attend to the flags and signals. to me it seemed the most delightful life imaginable, and jack-in-the-box was one of my heroes. i often thought that if i could choose my own station in life, my choice would be a flag-station on the railroad. phaeton adopted ned's suggestion as to consulting jack-in-the-box about his invention, and we three went together to see him. when we got there, the door of the box stood wide open; everything seemed to be in its place, but jack had disappeared. "probably gone up the road, to flag an extra train," said phaeton. "no, he hasn't, for there's his flag in its place in the corner." "he can't have been murdered," said ned, "or they would have robbed the box. must be suicide. perhaps we'd better take charge of his things." "i wouldn't be in a hurry about that," said phaeton. "or he may have been run over by a train that he didn't see," said ned, getting excited, and examining the rails in search of blood-marks. "if he was trying to remember all that funny-looking greek stuff in some of those books, i shouldn't think he would notice a train, or anything else. and we'll all have to sit on the coroner's jury. poor jack! i don't believe we can say the train was to blame, or make it pay damages. i think i should like to sit near the feet; for he had handsome feet and only wore number six boots. he was an awful good fellow, too. but that'll take us out of school one day, anyway." "so you think there is no great loss without some small gain," said phaeton. "i didn't say so!" said ned, a little offended at this plain interpretation of his last sentence. "i feel as badly as anybody about jack's death. but, at any rate, they'll have to do something with his property. i suppose, if he had no relations--and i never heard of any--they'll give it to his best friends. i think i should like the alarm-clock, and the chair, and perhaps a few of the tools. what will you take?" turning to me. "i think i should like to take his place, if anything," said i. ned took a look at the box. "i tell you what it is," said he, "the prettiest design for a monument over jack's grave would be a box just like that--all cut in marble, of course--with jack's name and age on the door, and beside it a signal-pole struck by lightning and broken off in the middle, or something of that sort." a slight noise, or else the allusion to the signal-pole, caused us to look up. there was jack coming down, with an oil-can in his hand! he had been at the top oiling the pulleys, and had probably heard every word we said, for there was a quiet smile all over his face. "good morning, jack," said phaeton, who seldom lost his presence of mind. "good morning, boys. i'm glad to see you," said jack. as soon as ned and i could recover from our abashment, we also said good morning. "is there anything i can do for you to-day?" said jack, as he set away the oil-can, observing that phaeton had the little frame and a small drawing in his hand. "yes, sir," said phaeton. "i want to get your advice about a little invention that i've been making." "it's a new kind of railroad," said ned; "and we thought you'd be the one to know all about railroads. beats these common railroads all to nothing. why, three months after ours is introduced, and the public understand it, they'll have to take up this track and sell it for old iron." [illustration: the boys consult jack-in-the-box.] ned had thoroughly identified himself with the invention, and thought it was as much his as phaeton's. "but then," he added thoughtfully, "that would spoil your business, jack. and we should be sorry to do that." jack smiled, and said it didn't matter; he wouldn't wish to let his private interests obstruct the march of improvement. phaeton explained the invention to jack, illustrating it with a rubber-string stretched on the frame, just as he had explained it to us. "i see," said jack. "quite a novel idea." "we haven't made up our minds," said ned, "what sort of depot we'll have. but it'll be either a big tank full of water, or an awful soft mattress." "how is that?" said jack. "why, you see," said ned, "this railroad of ours is going to go like lightning. there's no trouble about its going." "none whatever," said jack. "but it's going to stop rather sudden." "how so?" said jack. "i mean the trains," said ned. "that is, the cables. they're going to fetch up with a bang at the other end. at least, they would, if we hadn't thought of a way to prevent it. because it wouldn't do to break the heads of all the passengers every time." "no," said jack. "that would be too much." "too much," said ned. "and so you see the depot must be some sort of contrivance to let 'em off easy." "of course," said jack. "and the first thing anybody thinks of is a bowling-alley, and the pins flying every which way." "quite naturally," said jack. "and that makes you think of a soft mattress to stop them. but fay thinks it would be better, on some accounts, to drop them into a big tank of water." "i suppose in winter you would have the water warmed?" said jack. "of course we should; though we hadn't thought of it before," said ned. "and that would give the passengers a ride and a bath, all for the price of one ticket," said jack. "certainly; and you see that would be favorable to the poor," said ned, willing to indulge in the joke. "exactly; a great boon to mankind," said jack. "and i think it would not only make them cleaner, but more religious." "how so?" said ned. "well, i think every passenger would feel like saying his prayers, as the train, or cable, drew near the getting-off station." phaeton and i burst out laughing. "i'm afraid you're only making fun of our invention," said ned. "not i," said jack. "i like to encourage the inventive faculty in boys." "well, then, tell us honestly," said ned,--"where would you introduce it first? would you go to new york, and build it under broadway at once? or would you go slow, and try it first in this town, on a rather small scale?" "i think i'd go slow," said jack. "and where would be the best place to build it?" "you'll have to survey the town," said jack, "and find out where there is the most travel." "we thought we'd dig the tunnel ourselves," said ned, "and then give a mortgage on the tunnel, and raise the money to buy the cable." "i see you have the true business idea," said jack. "in that case, i think you'd better build it wherever you find the softest dirt." "that's worth thinking about," said ned. "and now, jack, i'll tell you what 'tis. we don't want to throw you out of employment; and when our road's running, and this one stops, you shall have a good situation on ours. there won't be any signal stations, but you may be the train-despatcher--the one that chops off the cable, you know." "thank you," said jack. "i'll think about it." "it will probably be good pay," said ned, "and it's certain to be lots of fun." "oh, there can be no doubt whatever about that," said jack, drily. "good morning!" "good morning!" "jack-in-the-box takes a deep interest in our invention," said ned, in a low, confidential tone, as we walked away. "i can see that he thinks it's going to be a great success." phaeton burst out laughing. "what are you laughing about?" said ned. "i am laughing to think how jack-in-the-box fooled you to the top of your bent." "what do you mean?" "i mean that the thing won't do at all; and he saw it wouldn't, as soon as he looked at it; but he thought he wouldn't say so. he just liked to hear you talk." "do you think so?" said ned to me. "i'm afraid it's true," said i. "well," said ned, growing a little red in the face, "i don't care. it's no invention of mine, anyway. it was all your idea, fay." "oh, was it?" said phaeton. "when i heard you talk to jack-in-the-box about it, i began to think it was all yours." "if i was going to make an invention," said ned, "i'd make one that would work--something practical." "all right," said phaeton; "you're at liberty to do so if you wish. i should be glad if you would." "well, i will," said ned. "i'll make one to beat yours all hollow." * * * * * three or four days afterward, ned came to me with a look on his face that showed he had something important in his mind. "can you go?" said he, almost in a whisper. "that depends on where you're going," said i. "to see jack-in-the-box," said he. "yes, i always like to go to the box," said i. "but i've got to split these kindlings first." "oh, never mind your kindlings! you can split those any time. i've got a sure thing now; and if jack says it's all right, i'll let you go partnership." of course, this was more important than any paltry consideration of lighting the fires next morning; so i threw down the hatchet, and we started. "i think we'd better go by the postern," said i. postern was a word we had found frequently used in "the haunted castle;" and we had looked out its meaning in the dictionary. whenever we thought it desirable to get away from the house without being seen,--as, for instance, when we were leaving kindlings unsplit,--we climbed over the back fence, and called it "going by the postern." "all right," said ned, for in these things he was a wise boy, and a word to him was sufficient. "what is it?" said i, as soon as we were fairly out of sight of the house. "tell me all about it." "wait till we get to jack's," said he. "has your aunt mercy given you money to make a muddle of it?" said i. "that troubles me a little--that fifteen dollars," said ned. "you see, we got it honestly; we thought fay's invention was going to be a great thing, and we must have money to start. but now, if aunt mercy knew it was a failure, it would look to her very much as if we had swindled her." "not if you gave her back the money," said i. "but i don't exactly like to do that," said ned. "it's always a good thing to have a little money. and, besides, she'd lose faith in me, and think i couldn't invent anything. and next time, when we had really made a good thing, she'd think it was only another failure, and wouldn't furnish the money. that's one reason why i made this invention that i have in my pocket now. we can use the money on this, and tell aunt mercy we changed off from the underground railroad to a better thing." "how do you do to-day, jack?" "pretty well, thank you! how are you? come in, boys; i'm glad to see you." "would you be willing to look at another invention for us?" "certainly; with the greatest pleasure." "i hope it will turn out to be better than the other--that is, more practical," said ned. "but you see, jack, that was our first invention, and i suppose we can only improve by practice." "that is about the only way," said jack. "what is your second invention?" ned drew a bit of paper from his pocket. "the other day," said he, "i heard father reading a piece in the newspaper about a church that was struck by lightning, although it had a lightning-rod. the reason was, that the rod was broken apart at one place, and nobody had noticed it, or if they had, they didn't take the trouble to fix it. people are always careless about those things. and so they lost their church. father says there are a good many things that spoil lightning-rods. he says, if there's rust in the joints they won't work." "that's true," said jack. "well, then, all this set me to thinking whether i couldn't invent a lightning-rod that would be a sure thing. and here you have it," said ned, as he unfolded his paper. jack looked at it. [illustration: ned's invention.] "i don't understand it," said he, "you'll have to explain." "of course you don't," said ned. "i will explain." jack said he was all attention. "what does fire do to ice?" said ned, taking on the tone of a school-master. "melts it," said jack. "right," said ned. "and when ice is melted, it becomes what?" "water," said jack. "right again!" said ned. "and water does what to fire?" "puts it out," said jack. "exactly so," said ned. "and there you have it--action and reaction. that's the principle." i think ned borrowed his style of explanation not so much from the school-master as from a young man who appeared in the streets one day, selling a sort of stuff to clean the teeth, calling a crowd around him, and trying it on the teeth of one or two boys. "that's all true," said jack; "but how do you apply it to lightning-rods?" "here is a picture," said ned, "of a house with a rod on it. the family think it's all right, and don't feel afraid when it thunders. but that rod may be broken somewhere, or may be rusted in the joints, and they not know it. what then? we simply fasten a large ball of ice--marked _i_ in the illustration--to the rod at _r_--freeze it on tight. you see it isn't likely there will be any break, or any rusty joint, between the point of the rod and the ball." "not likely," said jack. "but there may be one lower down." "there may be," said jack; "though there couldn't be one higher down." ned was too intent on his invention to notice this criticism on his expression. "we'll say a thunder-storm comes up," said he. "the lightning strikes this rod. what then? in an instant, in the flash of an eye, the lightning melts that ball of ice--it becomes water--in another instant that water puts out the lightning--and the family are safe!" "it will if there's enough of it," said jack. "oh, well," said ned, "if there should happen to be a little lightning left over, that wasn't put out, why, you see, as lightning-rods are _generally_ in good order, it would probably be carried off in the usual manner, without doing any harm." jack sat with the paper in his hand, and looked at it in silence, as if he were spell-bound. "what do you think of it?" said ned. "i think it's a work of genius," said jack. "i'm glad you think so," said ned. "and yet," said jack, "some things that exhibit great genius, don't work well in practice." "certainly!" said ned. "that was the way with fay's underground railroad." jack smiled, and nodded. "and now," continued ned, "how would you go to work to introduce it? you wouldn't like to take it and introduce it to the public yourself, would you?--on shares, you know,--you take half of the profits, and we half." jack said his business engagements wouldn't permit him to go into it at present. "then we must manage it ourselves. where would you advise us to put it first?" "on a tall hickory-tree in burke's woods," said jack. "why so?" said ned. "because the great trouble's going to be with the lightning that's left over. you don't know what that may do." "i'm afraid the invention doesn't look practical to you," said ned. before jack could answer, isaac holman appeared at the door of the box, with a latin grammar under his arm. at that time of day, there was an interval of an hour and a half when no train passed, and isaac had arranged to come and take of jack a daily lesson in latin. "i see it's time for your school to begin; we'll finish talking about this some other day," said ned, as he hastily thrust the paper into his pocket. for he didn't want isaac (nor anybody else, i guess) to know about it. "don't hurry yourself; i can wait awhile," said isaac. "to-morrow will do as well for us," said ned. "_totus dexter!_--all right!" said isaac, as we left the box, and made room for him to enter. isaac had been studying the language only a fortnight, but was fond of using latin expressions in talking to the boys. yet he was very considerate about it, and always gave an immediate translation, as in the sentence just quoted. as ned and i walked away, i was the first to speak. "ned, i have an idea! that ball of ice would only stay on in winter." "i suppose so," said ned, a little gloomily. "and nearly all the thunder-storms are in summer," said i. "i'm afraid they are," said ned. "and this invention isn't worth a cent. it's not any better than fay's." and he tore up the paper, and threw the pieces into the gutter. "then what will you do with the fifteen dollars?" said i, after another pause. "that's a thing we must think about," said he. "but here comes jimmy the rhymer. i wonder if he has anything new to-day." chapter v. jimmy the rhymer. james redmond, the boys used to say, was small for his size and old for his age. he was not exactly humpbacked, but his shoulders came so nearly up to the level of his ears that he seemed so; and he was not exactly an invalid, though we never counted on him in any of the games or enterprises that required strength or fleetness. i have no idea what his age was. he must have been some years older than i, and yet all the boys in my set treated him tenderly and patronizingly, as if he were a little fellow who needed their encouragement and protection. jimmy used to make little ballads, generally taking for his subject some incident that had occurred among the boys of the neighborhood, and often sticking to the facts of the case--at the expense of rhyme and rhythm--with a literalness that made him valuable as a historian, whatever he was as a poet. he was called "jimmy the rhymer," and the polite thing to do, on meeting him, was to ask him if he had anything new to-day--meaning any new poem. if he had, he was always willing to read it, sometimes accompanying it with remarks in prose that were quite as entertaining as the ballad itself. "hello, jimmy!" "hello, boys!" "got anything new to-day?" "not much." "that means that you have something." "well, yes; a little one. but i don't think very much of it." this didn't satisfy us. jimmy, like many greater artists, was a poor judge of his own productions. some of his ballads of which he had been proudest were so long and dull that we had almost told him they were failures; but it would have required a very hard-hearted boy to say anything unpleasant to jimmy. others, which he thought little of, the boys would call for again and again. "let us hear it, please," said ned. "i'm afraid i've left it at home," said jimmy, feeling in his pockets. "oh, no; here it is." so we sat down on the horse-block in front of the quaker meeting-house, and while ned whittled the edge of the block--which had not been rounded off quite enough, by previous jack-knives, to suit his fancy--jimmy read his newest ballad. "it is called 'the unlucky fishermen,'" said he; "and you will probably recognize some of the characters. "joe chase and isaac holman, they would a-fishing go; they rose at sunrise friday morn, and called their dog fido." "what!" said ned, interrupting, "the little yellow cur that joe bought of clam jimmy for a six-pence?" "yes, that's the one." "but his name isn't fido--it's prince. haven't you ever noticed that the smaller and snarlier and more worthless a dog is, the surer it is to be called prince?" "perhaps that's the way with princes," said jimmy, who had more than once uttered the most extreme democratic sentiments, expressing contempt for all royalty, merely because it was royalty. "but i don't know,--i never saw one. at any rate, i didn't know the dog's name, and i had to call him something. i think you'll find that everything else is correctly stated." i ventured to suggest that it didn't make much difference whether the dog's name was right or wrong, in a poem. "oh, yes, it does," said jimmy. "i always try to have my poems true to life; and i shall change that, and make it prince--that is, after i have inquired of joe, and found out that the dog's name really is prince. i am glad you spoke about it." then he continued the reading. "in two small willow baskets-- one white, the other brown-- their mothers put the dinners up which they were to put down. "they'd dug their bait the night before,-- the worms were live and thick; their bamboo poles were long and strong, their hooks were limerick." "my brother fay says there isn't a limerick hook in this whole town," said ned. "you can buy plenty of them at karl's--two for a cent," said jimmy. "oh, no, you can't," said ned. "fay says you can't get a limerick hook this side of new york." "what is a limerick hook?" said i, for i was not much of a fisherman. "why, don't you know?" said jimmy. "a hook that's made like a little file on the end where you tie the line, instead of a flat knob." "a real limerick hook is one that's made in limerick," said ned. "those you get in this town are made in connecticut, and are only imitations." i began to suspect that ned had been nettled at the failure of his lightning-rod invention, and was venting his spite on poor jimmy's literary invention. "i can't see," said i, "that it makes any difference with the poem, whether they were real limerick hooks, or only imitation. the poetry is just as good." "oh, no, it isn't," said jimmy; "and i'm glad to have my attention called to it. i'll inquire about that, and if i find they were not true limericks, i'll change that line." then the reading proceeded. "'now let us make it doubly sure that nothing's left,' said joe. and '_totus dexter!_' ike replied-- which means 'all right!' you know. "these jolly boys set off at once when everything was found; their fathers said, 'we wish good luck!' their mothers, 'don't get drowned!'" "holman's father hasn't been at home for four months," said ned. "he's gone to missouri to see about an iron mine." "i admit," said jimmy, "that there i drew a little on my imagination. i didn't know what they said, and so i put in what i thought they would be likely to say. but if holman's father wasn't at home, of course he couldn't have said anything at all. however, i think you'll find that the rest of the poem is entirely true to nature. "when they unto the river came, where they should cast the lead, the dew still glistened under foot, the robin sang o'erhead." "i doubt if any robin sings so late in the season as this," said ned. "still," said jimmy, "if one did sing, it would certainly be overhead, and not on the ground. no robin ever sings when he's on the ground. you admit that?" "oh, certainly," said ned. "then i think that line may stand as it is," said jimmy. "all down the road and through the woods they had a lovely walk; the dog did frisk, and chase the birds, and they did laugh and talk." "he's been anything but a frisky dog when i've seen him," said ned. "perhaps so," said jimmy; "but there are exceptions to all rules. "but here their luck all left them-- the case seemed very sad: for everything was good before-- now everything was bad. "their sinkers were not large enough, the current was so strong, and so they tied on pebble-stones, to help the thing along. "and bitterly they did regret they bought their lines at karl's; for every time they hauled them out, they found them full of snarls." "of course they did," said ned. "there's not a thing in karl's store that's not a cheat--all imitation." "i am glad to hear you say so," said jimmy. "i thought you would see that the rest of the poem was true to nature. "when little fish got on the hooks, they soon flopped off again; when big ones bit, they gave a jerk, and snapped the line in twain." "isaac told me," said jimmy, interrupting himself, "that that thing happened every time with him, and every time but once with joe." "he probably said that as an excuse for coming home with no fish," said ned. "oh, no,--ike wouldn't lie about it," said jimmy. "he's one of the most truthful boys i ever knew." "everybody lies about fishing," said ned. "it's considered the proper thing to do. that's what they mean by a fish-story." "but i saw the lines myself," said jimmy. and then he hurried on with the reading. "the dog lay by the dinners, and was told to guard them well-- to let no stranger, man or beast, come near, touch, taste, or smell. "but fido--of course i mean prince--fell asleep, and kicked the baskets in a dream; the contents tumbled o'er the bank, and floated down the stream. "and once a bass robbed isaac's hook, just as he tried to haul; which made him nervous, and in haste he let the bait-box fall." "how could he know what kind of fish it was that robbed his hook?" said i. "i didn't think to ask," said jimmy. "but, at any rate, he said it was a bass, and isaac is generally pretty correct. "it fell between two rugged rocks, where out of reach it lay; and when with sticks they fished it up, the worms had crawled away. "now when the golden setting sun was shining down the glen, they sadly turned their steps toward home, these luckless fishermen. "and when they came upon the road, all tired in foot and side, they said, 'let's hide our poles away, and try to catch a ride.' "they caught upon an omnibus-- they did not stir or talk; but some one cried out, 'whip behind!' and so they had to walk." "that must have been a dublin boy," said ned. "nobody on our side of the river is mean enough to holler 'whip behind!'" "i think it was a dublin boy," said jimmy. "if i can find out for certain, i shall state it so in the poem. "they came up slowly from the gate, and fido--that is to say, prince--walked behind; their parents sat about the door, or on the grass reclined. "their fathers said--at least joe's father did--'it grieves us much that you no luck have found.' their mothers said, 'our precious boys, we're glad you are not drowned.'" "that's a good poem," said i, as we rose from the horse-block. "i like that." "yes," said ned; "it ought to be printed." "i'm glad to hear you say so," said jimmy. "but i think i can improve it in a few spots, if i can get at the facts. at any rate, i shall try." jimmy continued his walk up the street, while we sauntered toward home. "i think you were too severe in your criticisms on the poem," said i. "i'm afraid jimmy felt hurt." "do you think so?" said ned. "well, now, i didn't mean to be. i wouldn't hurt that boy's feelings for the world. i suppose i must have been a little cross on account of my lightning-rod. but i shouldn't have played it off on jimmy, that's a fact." "i think he has great genius," said i, "and it ought to be encouraged." "yes, it ought," said ned. "i've often thought so, myself, and wished i could do something for him. perhaps i can, now that i have capital. father says nothing can be done without capital." "jimmy's folks are very poor," said i. "that's so," said ned. "i don't suppose his father ever had fifteen dollars at one time in his life. do you think of any good way in which i could help him with a little capital?" "i don't know of any way, unless it is to print his poems. i should think if his poems could once be published, he might make a great deal of money out of them, and be able to support himself, and perhaps help his mother a little." "that's so," said ned. "i'll publish his poems for him. come over after supper, and we'll talk it up." chapter vi. the price of poetry. when i went over in the evening, i found that ned had gone to jimmy's house, and obtained thirteen of his poems in manuscript, and was now carefully looking them over, correcting what he considered errors. "i tell you what 'tis," said he, "jimmy's an awful good poet, but he needs somebody to look out for his facts." "do you find many mistakes?" said i. "yes; quite a few. here, for instance, he calls it a mile from the four corners to lyell street. i went with the surveyors when they measured it last summer, and it was just seven eighths of a mile and three rods over." "but you couldn't very well say 'seven eighths of a mile and three rods over' in poetry," said i. "perhaps not," said ned; "and yet it won't do to have that line stand as it is. it'll be severely criticised by everybody who knows the exact distance." i felt that ned was wrong, but i could not tell how or why. in later years i have learned that older people than he confidently criticise what they don't understand, and put their own mechanical patches upon the artistic work of others. "perhaps we'd better see what fay thinks about it," said i. "he probably knows more about poetry than we do." "he's in the library, getting father to help him on a hard sum," said ned. "he'll be here in a minute." when phaeton returned, we pointed out the difficulty to him. "that's all right," said he. "that's poetic license." "what is poetic license?" said i. "poetic license," said phaeton, "is a way that poets have of making things fit when they don't quite fit." "like what?" said ned. "like this," said phaeton; "this is as good an example as any. you see, he couldn't say 'seven eighths of a mile and three rods over,' because that would be too long." "that would be the exact distance," said ned. "i mean it would make this line too long," said phaeton; "and, besides, it has to rhyme with that other line, which ends with the word _style_." "and if that other line ended with _cheek_, would he have to call it a _league_ from the four corners to lyell street?" said ned. "i suppose so," said phaeton, "though it wouldn't be a very good rhyme." "and is that considered all right?" "i believe it is." "then you can't depend upon a single statement in any poem," said ned. "oh, yes, you can," said phaeton--"a great many." "mention one," said ned. "'thirty days hath september, april, june, and november,'" said phaeton. "that's true," said ned; "but it's only because the words happen to come so. at any rate, you've greatly lessened my respect for poetry, and i don't know whether i'd better publish them, after all." "these poems?--were you going to publish them?" said phaeton. "yes." "why?" "to make a little money for jimmy. you know his folks are very poor," said ned. "the papers won't pay you anything for them," said phaeton. "alec barnes's sister had a poem two columns long in the _vindicator_ last week, and alec told me she didn't get a cent for it." "but we're going to make a book of them," said ned. "you can make money on a book, can't you?" "i believe you can," said phaeton. "wait a minute." he went to the library, and came back with three volumes of a cyclopædia, out of which, after looking through several articles, he got, at intervals, these bits of information: "moore received three thousand guineas for 'lalla rookh.'" "how much is that?" said ned. "over fifteen thousand dollars," said phaeton. "whew!" said ned. "scott made a profit of ten thousand dollars on 'the lady of the lake.'" "good gracious!" said ned. "byron received more than seventy-five thousand dollars for his poems." "great cæsar!" said ned. "tupper must have made thirty thousand dollars on his 'proverbial philosophy.'" "that's enough!" said ned. "that's plenty! i begin to have great respect for poetry, in spite of the license. and i suppose that if the poets make all that money, the publishers make a little something, too." "they probably know how to look out for themselves," said phaeton. "but who is going to publish this book for you?" "i'm going to publish it myself. you know we haven't used up the capital i got from aunt mercy," said ned. "but you're not a publisher." "nobody is a publisher until after he has published something," said ned. "but that won't be capital enough to print a book," said phaeton. "printing costs like fury." "then i shall have to get more from aunt mercy." "yes, i suppose you can--she'd give you anything; but, the truth is, ned, i--i had a little plan of my own about that." "about what?" "about the fifteen dollars--or a part of it. i don't think i should need all of it." "what is it? another foolish invention?" "yes, it is a sort of invention; but it is sure to go--sure to go." "let's hear all about it," said ned. "will you lend me the money to try it?" "how much will it take?" "six or eight dollars, i should think." "yes; i'll lend you six dollars on it. or, if it is really a good thing, i'll put in the six dollars as my share, and go partnership." "well, then, it's a substitute for a balloon," said phaeton. "much cheaper, and safer, and better in every way." "how does it work?" said ned. "it makes a horizontal ascension. i could tell you all about it; but i would rather wait a week, and then show you." "all right!" said ned. "you can have the money, and we'll wait." "thank you!" said phaeton. "but now tell me how you are going to publish jimmy's poems." "why, just publish them, of course," said ned. "and what do you understand by that?" "take this copy to the printer, and tell him to print the books. when it's done, load them into big wagons, and drive around to the four book-stores and leave them. after a few days, call around and get the money, and divide with jimmy. we wouldn't ask them to pay for them till they had a chance to look them over, and see how they liked them." "i don't believe that would work," said phaeton. "why not?" said ned. "the booksellers might not take them." "not take them!" said ned. "they'd be only too glad to. of course they would make a profit on them. i suppose the price would be--well, about half a dollar; and we should let them have them for--well, say for forty-seven cents apiece. maybe if they took a large number, and paid cash down, they might have them for forty-five." phaeton laughed. "they don't do business for any such small profits as that," said he. "i've heard father tell of a man," said ned, "that made his fortune when wheat rose three cents on a bushel. and who wouldn't rather have a volume of jimmy's poems than a bushel of wheat? if nobody happened to buy the wheat for a year or two, it would spoil; but that volume of poems could stand on the shelf in the book-store for twenty years, and be just as good at the end of that time as the day it was put there." "all that sounds very well," said phaeton; "but you'd better talk with some one that knows about it, before you rush into the enterprise." "i'll go and see jack-in-the-box, of course," said ned. "he must know all about books. i never yet asked him anything that he didn't know all about." ned could hardly wait for the night to pass away, and when the next day came, off we posted once more to see jack-in-the-box. when we got there, ned plunged at once into the business, before we had fairly said good morning. "jack," said he, "did you ever publish a book?" jack blushed, and asked why he wanted to know. "i am thinking of publishing one," said ned. "indeed?" said jack. "i didn't know that you had written one." "i haven't," said ned. "jimmy the rhymer wrote it. but i talk of publishing it." "i see," said jack. "i didn't understand you before." "i thought you would understand all about it," said ned. "your expression might have meant either one of two things," said jack. "when a publisher prints a book and sells it, he of course is said to publish it; and when a person writes a book, and gets a publisher to publish it for him, he also is said to have published a book." "i see," said ned. "and did you ever publish one?" "i never was a publisher," said jack. "still, you may know a good deal about it." "i know a little about it," said jack, "and shall be glad to give you all the advice i can. is this the manuscript?" ned said it was, and handed him a roll which he had brought in his hand. "ah, poetry, i see," said jack, turning over the leaves. "yes, first-rate poetry," said ned. "a few licenses here and there; but that can't be helped, you know." "of course not," said jack. "we want to make as much money as we can," said ned, "for jimmy's folks are awful poor, and he needs it, and poetry's the stuff to make money." "is it?" said jack. "i'm glad to hear it." "there was sir walter tupper," said ned, "made thirty thousand dollars, clean cash, on a poem called 'the lady and the snake'--probably not half so good as these of jimmy's. who'd want to read about such a dreadful thing? and mr. barrons was paid seventy-five thousand dollars for his poem called 'the little rook,' whatever that is. and there was lord moore got three thousand guineas--that's fifteen thousand dollars, you know--for some sort of philosophy all turned into rhyme. i don't see how a philosophy could be in rhyme, though, for you know everything in philosophy has to be exact, and in poetry you have to take licenses. suppose you came to the five mechanical powers, and the line before ended with _sticks_, what could you do? you'd have to say there were _six_ of them." jack laughed heartily. "yes, it would be ridiculous," continued ned. "but that's lord moore's lookout. in these poems of jimmy's, there isn't any trouble of that sort. they don't need to be exact. suppose, for instance, one of them says it's a mile from the four corners to lyell street. what odds? very few people know that it's just seven eighths of a mile and three rods over. i might not have known it myself, if i hadn't happened to be with the surveyors when they measured it. jimmy admits that he has drawn on his imagination in one or two places; but he isn't going to do it any more, and i think those can be fixed up somehow." jack laughed again, said he thought imagination was not altogether objectionable in poetry, and kept on turning over the leaves. "where is the title-page?" said he. "what is that?" said ned. "the one with the name on it--the first page in the book," said jack. "oh!" said ned, "we never thought about that. won't the printer make it himself?" "not unless you write it first." "then we've got to name the book before we go any further," said ned. "that's it, exactly," said jack. "couldn't you name it for us?" "i might suggest some names," said jack, "and let you choose; but it seems to me, the person who wrote it ought to name it." "oh, never mind jimmy," said ned. "he'll be satisfied with anything i do." "it might be called simply, 'poems. by jimmy the rhymer,'" said jack. "his name is james redmond," said ned. "i'll write down a few," said jack, as he reached into the box under his chair and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil, and in five minutes he showed us the list: "rhymes and roundelays. by james redmond." "a picnic on parnassus. by james redmond." "the unlucky fishermen, and other poems. by james redmond." "jimmy's jingles." "songs of a school-boy." "minutes with the muses. by james redmond." it did not take ned very long to choose the third of these titles, which he thought "sounded the most sensible." "very well," said jack, as he wrote a neat title-page and added it to the manuscript. "and how are you going to publish it?" "i thought i'd get you to tell me how," said ned, who by this time had begun to suspect that he knew very little about it. "the regular way," said jack, "would be to send it to a firm in new york, or boston, or philadelphia." "and then what?" "they would have a critic read it and tell them whether it was suitable." "he'd be sure to say it was; but then what?" "then they would have it printed and bound, and advertise it in the papers, and sell it, and send it to other stores to be sold." "but where would our profits come from?" "oh, they would pay you ten per cent. on all they sold." "and how many do you think they would sell?" "nobody can tell," said jack. "different books sell differently--all the way from none at all up to a great many." ned borrowed jack's pencil, and figured for two or three minutes. "then," said he, "if they should sell a hundred of our book, we would only get five dollars--two and a half for jimmy, and two and a half for me." "that's about it," said jack. "then that won't do," said ned. "jimmy's folks are very poor, and he needs more than that. isn't there some way to make more money out of it?" "not unless you pay for the printing and binding yourself," said jack. "and how much would that cost?" jack looked it over and said he guessed about two hundred dollars for an edition of five hundred. "we can't do it," said ned, with a sigh. "aunt mercy wouldn't give me so much money at a time." "there is one other way," said jack. "how is it?" "to get up a little printing-office of your own, and print it yourselves." "that sounds like business; i guess you've hit it," said ned, brightening up. "how much money would it take for that?" "i should think twenty-five or thirty dollars would get up a good one." "then we can do it," said ned. "aunt mercy will let me have that, right away." "do you know anything about printing?" said jack. "not much; but my brother fay knows all about it. he worked in a printing-office one vacation, to earn money to buy him a chest of tools." "indeed! what did your brother do in the printing-office?" said jack. "they called him second devil," said ned, "but he was really a roller-boy." "they're the same thing," said jack. "there's no harm in a printer's devil; he's only called so because he sometimes gets pretty well blacked up with the ink." "i'm glad to hear you say so," said ned, who had been a little ashamed to tell what fay did in the office, but now began to think it might be rather honorable. "in fact, he was first devil one week, when the regular first devil was gone to his grandfather's funeral in troy." "then he knows something about the business," said jack; "and perhaps i can help you a little. i understand the trade to some extent." "of course you do," said ned. "you understand everything. and after we've finished jimmy's book, we can print all sorts of other things--do a general business, in fact. i'll see what fay says, and if he'll go in, we'll start it at once." while ned was uttering the last sentence, jack's alarm-clock went off, and jack took his flag and went out to flag the pacific express, while we walked away. we must have been very much absorbed in the new project, for we never even turned to look at the train; and a train of cars in swift motion is a sight that few people can help stopping to look at, however busy they may be. readers who have followed this story thus far will perhaps inquire where the scene of it is laid. i think it is a pertinent question, yet there is a sort of unwritten law among story-writers against answering it, excepting in some vague, indefinite way; and i have transgressed so many written laws, that i should like at least to keep the unwritten ones. but if you are good at playing "buried cities," i will give you a chance to find out the name of that inland city where phaeton and his companions dwelt. i discovered it buried, quite unintentionally, in one of jimmy the rhymer's poems. here is the couplet: "though his head to the north wind so often is bared, at the sound of the siroc he's terribly scared." chapter vii. phaeton's chariot. ned and i pushed on the project for a printing-office with great energy. we made the acquaintance of a man named alvord, who kept a job office--where they never seemed to be in a hurry, as they always were in the newspaper offices--and was never unwilling to answer questions or sell us old type. it was great fun to explore the mysteries of his establishment. i think he liked boys as much as jack-in-the-box did, and i'm sure it was a pleasure to us, in laying out ned's capital, to pay so much of it to so pleasant a man. but energy without skill is like zeal without knowledge; in fact, it is about the same thing, and we couldn't really make much progress till phaeton should take hold; and he would have nothing to do with it till he had finished his apparatus for "a horizontal balloon-ascension," which he was at work upon every minute that he could spare from sleep and meals. with the help of the carriage-maker and the blacksmith, and ned's capital--which he drew upon much more freely than had been bargained for--he constructed a low, broad, skeleton-like carriage, the body of which was hung below the axles of the wheels, instead of above them, and almost touched the ground. this was to prevent it from tipping over easily. the front axle turned on a swivel, and was controlled by two stout handles, by means of which the carriage could be steered. on the front of the box were three iron hooks. at the back there was a single hook. the wheels were pretty large, but the whole was made as light as possible. when it was finished, phaeton brought it home and put it away carefully in the wood-shed. "i am afraid," said he, "that somebody will steal this car, or come in and damage it, unless we put a lock on this wood-shed door." "who would want to steal it or damage it?" said ned. "the dublin boys," said phaeton, half under his breath. "two of them were seen prowling around here the other day." one section of the town, which was divided from ours by the deep gorge of the river, was popularly known as dublin, and the boys who lived there, though probably very much like other boys, were always considered by us as our natural enemies--plotters against the peace of boy society, capable of the most treacherous designs and the darkest deeds ever perpetrated in the juvenile world. every piece of mischief not obviously to be accounted for in any other way, was laid to the dublin boys as a matter of course. "but we haven't any padlock," said ned, "except that old brass one, and the key of that is lost, and we couldn't turn it when we had it." "i suppose we shall have to buy a new one," said phaeton. "all right--buy one," said ned. "i haven't any money," said phaeton. "nor i," said ned--"spent the last cent for a beautiful little font of tuscan type; weighed just five pounds, fifteen cents a pound--nothing the matter with it, only the es are gone." "the es are gone?" said phaeton. "do you mean to say that you have been buying a font of type with no es in it?" "yes; why? what's the harm in that?" said ned. "you don't expect everything to be perfect when you buy things second-hand." "of course not," said phaeton; "but what can you do without es? if the qs or the xs were gone, it wouldn't so much matter; but there's hardly a word that hasn't at least one e in it. just count the es on a page of any book. and you've been fooling away your money on a font of type with no es! mr. alvord ought to be ashamed of himself to cheat a boy like that." "you needn't be scolding me for fooling away the money," said ned. "what have you been doing, i should like to know? fooling away the money on that old torrid-zontal balloon thing, which will probably make a shipwreck of you the first time you try it. and, besides, i didn't buy the type of mr. alvord." "where did you get it?" "bought it of a boy that i met on the stairs when i was coming down from alvord's." "who was he?" "i don't know. he lives on one of those cross-streets down by the aqueduct. i went to his house with him to get the type. he said he used to have a little office, but his father wouldn't let him keep it any more, just because the baby ate some of the ink." "it's too bad," said phaeton; "the type will never be of any use. what do you suppose could have become of the es?" "i don't know," said ned, a little morosely, "unless the baby sister ate them too." "they'd set rather heavy on her stomach," said phaeton. "but how are we going to get a lock for this door?" "i don't see that we can get one at all," said ned. i suggested that the door of the wood-shed might be nailed up, to keep out the dublin boys, till we had a chance to get a padlock. "that's a first-rate idea," said phaeton, and he at once brought out the hammer and nail-box, and began to nail up the door. it was a heavy, panelled door, which had evidently come from some old mansion that was torn down. "it's as well to make it strong while we're about it," said he; "for if those fellows should come, they'd pry it open if they could," and he put in a few more nails. "father showed me how to drive nails so as to make them hold," said i. "let me show you;" and taking the hammer from his hand, i drove eight or ten more nails into the door, driving them in pairs, each pair slanting in opposite directions. "that's a thing worth knowing," said ned. "let me practice on it a little." he took the hammer, and drove one or two pairs in the manner i had shown him, and was so pleased with his success, that he kept on till he had used up all the nails in the box. "no dublin boy is going to get that car this night," said he, as he gave a final blow to the last nail. "no," said phaeton; "i think that's pretty safe." as it began to rain, i was obliged to hurry home. that night, as i afterward learned, there was sorrow in the breast of the youngest member of the rogers family. little may rogers, who never went to sleep without her favorite cat, jemima, curled up on the foot of her little bed, couldn't go to sleep because jemima was nowhere to be found in the house, and had not come when every outside door in turn was opened, and she was called from the vasty darkness. even when mrs. rogers stood in the kitchen-door and rasped the carving-knife on the steel, jemima failed to come bounding in. that was considered decisive as to her fate. the cat would be sure to come at that sound, if she were able to come at all. but a much more serious commotion shook the family next morning. when mr. rogers went down to his breakfast, it was not ready; in fact, the kitchen fire was not made. "how is this, biddy?" said he to the cook. "sure, i couldn't help it, sir; i could get no kindlings." "why so, biddy?" "because, sir, the wood-shed door's bewitched. i couldn't get it open. and everything outside is soakin' wet wid the rain, and so of course i couldn't kindle the fire." mr. rogers walked out to the wood-shed door, and attempted to open it with an impatient and vigorous jerk, but the handle came off in his hand. then he tried to get hold of it by the edge, but there wasn't a crack where he could insert his fingers. then he took hold of it at the bottom, where there was considerable space, but it would not budge a hair. he was becoming a little excited, for he had an engagement to leave town by the early train. he went into the house for some sort of tool, and brought out the poker. cutting a little hole with his pocket-knife at the edge of the door, he inserted the poker, and pried; but the poker bent double, and the door did not stir. then he went in again, and brought out the stove-wrench. cutting the hole a little larger, he pried at the door with the wrench; but the wrench was of cast-iron, and snapped in two. "biddy," said he, "i see a light at robbins's,"--it was very early in the morning--"go over and borrow an axe." biddy soon returned with an axe, and mr. rogers tried to pry the door open with that, but only succeeded in breaking splinters from the edge. "biddy," said he, "bring a light, and let's see what ails it." biddy brought out a candle, but trembled so at the idea of letting out the witches, that she dropped it at mr. rogers's feet, and it struck on its lighted end and immediately went out. biddy made rapid apologies, and ran in for another candle. but mr. rogers would wait no longer. he raised the axe in fury, and began to slaughter the door, like a mediæval soldier before the gate of a besieged castle. slice after slice was torn off and flew inward, striking the opposite side of the shed; but the door as a whole would not fall. when a considerable hole had been made, a frightened cat, its eyes gleaming wildly, and its tail as large as a feather-duster, leaped out from the inner darkness, passing over mr. rogers's head, and knocking his hat off, landed somewhere in the yard, and immediately made for the woods. biddy, who arrived on the ground with the second candle just in time to witness this performance, dropped the light again, and fled screaming into the house. this aroused two neighbors, who threw up their windows, thrust their heads out, and, hearing the powerful blows of the axe, thought a maniac was abroad, and hallooed for the police. the watchman on that beat, ever on the alert, waited only eight or nine minutes, till he could call four others to his aid, when all five of them started for the scene of the trouble. separating after they had entered mr. rogers's gate, they made a little circuit through the yard, and cautiously approached him, two on each side, and one behind. as the one behind laid his hand on his shoulder, mr. rogers dropped the axe, whirled around, and "hauled off," as the boys say, but caught the gleam of the silver star on the policeman's breast, and dropped his fist. "what do you want?" said he. "if it's you, we don't want anything," said the policeman, who, of course, knew mr. rogers very well. "but we thought we wanted a crazy man." "then you might as well take me," said mr. rogers, "for i am pretty nearly crazy. the mischief has got into this door, so that it couldn't be opened, and the cook had no kindlings and i no breakfast; and i shall lose the early train, and if i don't reach albany to-day, i can't tell how many dollars it will cost me, but a good many." mr. rogers drew out his handkerchief, and wiped the perspiration from his brow. one of the policemen produced a bull's-eye lantern, and examined the ruined door, passing it up and down the edge where the outer frame, studded with many nails, still clung tightly to the jambs, all the central portion having been cut away in ragged slices. "this door has been nailed up with a great many nails," said he. "i can't imagine who would do that," said mr. rogers; "this isn't the first day of april." neither could the policemen. in fact, i have observed that policemen have very little imagination. in this instance, five of them, all imagining at once, could not imagine who nailed up that door. the nearest they could come to it was, that it was probably done with a heavy, blunt instrument, in the hands of some person or persons unknown. when, later in the day, we boys stood contemplating what ned called the "shipwreck of the door"--older people than he call all sorts of wrecks shipwrecks--he remarked that he didn't know what his father would say, if he should find out who did it. mr. rogers had taken the next train for albany. "he will find out," said phaeton; "for i shall tell him as soon as he gets home." the day that his father returned, phaeton told, at the tea-table, the whole story of how the door was bewitched. a week had then passed, and--such are the soothing influences of time--mr. rogers laughed heartily at the whole affair, and at his own excitement most of all. "i had no idea," said ned, solemnly, "that so much trouble could be caused by a few nails." his mother thought "few" was good. the next day i heard little may rogers telling another child about it. this was her story: "you see, brother fay and brother neddie, they drived a nail in the wood-shed door; and biddy, she lended mr. robbins's axe; and then papa, he got besited; and so we haven't any wood-shed door any more." * * * * * meanwhile, the preparations for the horizontal balloon ascension had gone on. but, as ned remarked long ago, nothing could be done without capital, and he was obliged to make another business call upon his aunt mercy. "what's new down at your house?" said she, after the greetings were over. "nothing particular," said ned. "i hear that idiotic brother of yours has been cutting up a pretty caper," said aunt mercy, after a pause. "what was it?" said ned. "why, don't you know?" "i don't know what you have been told, and i can't think of anything very bad that fay has done." "gracious me!" said aunt mercy. "don't you call it bad to go around slyly in the night and nail up every door and window in the house?" "yes, that would be pretty bad, aunty. but fay hasn't done so." "you admit that it was bad, then?" "why, certainly--but it isn't true. only one door was nailed up--the wood-shed door." "i do believe you're standing up for him. but i tell you, a boy that would nail up one door would nail up a hundred." "he might if he had nails enough," said ned, in a low voice. "that's just it," said aunt mercy. "that fellow would nail up just as many doors as he could get nails for. i've no doubt it was only the givin' out of the nails that prevented him from going through every house in the neighborhood. mark my words, he'll come to some bad end. don't you have anything to do with him, edmund burton." ned said he thought it would be rather hard not to have anything to do with his own brother. "yes, i suppose so," said aunt mercy. "but do the best you can." "yes, aunty, i'll do my best." "now tell me," said she, "about your muddle. have you made a muddle yet?" i thought ned might have answered conscientiously that he had made a muddle. but he said: "no, aunty, we've put that off for a while. we think it will be best to do some other things first." "what are the other things?" "one of them is a printing-office. we think of setting up a little printing-office to print little books and papers and cards and things, if we can get together enough money for it. it takes rather more capital than we have at present." i suppose aunt mercy thought i was the other one besides himself included in ned's "we." "i should have supposed," said she, "that it was best to finish one muddle before going into another. but you know best, edmund burton. i have great confidence in your judgment." and she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, and seemed to be dreaming for some minutes. i doubt if she more than half knew which edmund burton she was talking to--the one who had long since gone down beneath the waters of a distant sea, or the young scapegrace who, without intending to represent anything falsely, had got so much money from her on false representations. "i don't know how it is," said he to me one day. "i never intend to cheat aunt mercy; and yet, whenever i go to see her, things seem to fix themselves somehow so that she misunderstands. i guess it's her imagination." "how much money do you need for your new muddle?" said she, when she came out of her reverie. "jack-in-the-box says he thinks twenty-five or thirty dollars would fit up a good one," said ned. "who is jack-in-the-box?" "a gentleman connected with the railroad." "queer name for a railroad director," said aunt mercy. "but i suppose you've blundered on it. french, very likely. might be jacquin thibaux. (i studied french two terms at madam farron's.) some of those old huguenot names have got into strange shapes. but it doesn't matter. i dare say monsieur thibaux is right about it. i haven't any money with me to-night, but i'll send it over to you to-morrow. don't let that ignorant brother of yours meddle with your printing-office; he'll misspell every word, and disgrace the family." "i'll try to keep him straight," said ned. "good-night, aunty." "good-night, edmund burton, my dear boy." "i thought part of this capital," said i to ned, as we walked away, "was for the horizontal balloon." "so it is," said he; "but i couldn't explain that to aunt mercy, because fay has never explained it to me. i have no idea how he's going to make that queer thing go." when phaeton was furnished with a little more money, we soon saw how the thing was to go. he built three enormous kites, six feet high. they were not bow-kites--the traditional kite always represented in pictures, but seldom used in our country. they were the far more powerful six-cornered kite, familiar to the boys of the middle states. he certainly built them with great skill, and ned and i had the pleasure of helping him--if holding the paste-cup and hunting for material to make the tails was helping. as each was finished, phaeton carefully stood it up in the wood-shed to dry, where there was no more danger of dublin boys; for mr. rogers had sent a carpenter to put on a new door and furnish it with a lock. nevertheless, phaeton took the first kite to his room for the night, and put it against the wall behind the bed. but ned, who tossed a great deal, managed to kick a hole through it in his sleep. after that, they were left in the wood-shed over night, where a similar misfortune befell the second. biddy, breaking kindlings in an unscientific way with the hatchet, sent a piece of wood flying through the kite, tearing a large hole on what a sailor would call the starboard quarter. when phaeton complained of her carelessness, she seemed to think she had improved the kite, saying: "the two kites were not comrades before--but they are now." when an enterprising boy attempts to carry out some little project of his own, it is astonishing to see how even the best natured household will seem to conspire against him. if he happens to leave a few of his things on the dining-room floor, they are carelessly stepped upon by his own mother, or swept out-of-doors by an ignorant servant. i have seen a boy trying to make a galvanic battery, and his sister looking on and fervently hoping it would fail, so that she could have the glass cups to put into her play-house. however, phaeton had about as little of this sort of thing to endure as any boy ever had. when the kites were finished and dry, and the holes patched up, and the tails hung, phaeton said he was ready to harness up his team as soon as the wind was right. "which way do you want it?" said i. "it must be a steady breeze, straight down the turnpike," said he. one reason why phaeton chose this road was, that here he would encounter no telegraph wires. at the railway crossing, two men, riding on loads of hay, had come in contact with the wires and been seriously hurt. another repetition of the accident might have been prevented by raising the wires on higher poles, but the company had chosen rather to run them down the pole on one side, under the street, and up the next pole. "but i don't see how these kites are going to work," said ned, "if you fly them side by side, and hitch the strings to those three hooks." "why not?" "because they'll interfere with each other, and get all tangled up." "you would think so," said phaeton, "if you haven't made a study of kite-flying, as i have. if you look at a dozen boys flying their kites at once on the common, you will see that, no matter how near together two or three boys stand, their kites will not go in exactly the same direction. either the strings will slant away from each other a little, or else they will cross." "how do you account for that?" said ned. "i suppose it's because you never can make two kites exactly alike; or, if they are exactly alike, they are not hung precisely the same; and so the wind bears a little more on the left side of one, and a little more on the right side of the other." "i guess that's so," said ned. "and yet it seems to me it would be better to fly them tandem." "how would you get them up?" said i. "first get up one," said ned. "and when it was well up, fasten the end of the string to the back of the next kite, and let that up, and do the same with the third. then you would have a straight pull by the whole team in line." "and the pull of all three kites would come on the last string, and probably break it," said phaeton. "i didn't think of that," said ned. "i see your way is the best, after all. but hurry up and have it over with, for we want you to help us about the printing-office; we can't get along without you." "it never will be 'over with,'" said phaeton. "i shall ride out every fine day, when the wind is in the right direction." "why, is that all it's for?" said ned--"merely your own amusement?" "not at all," said phaeton. "it is a great invention, to be introduced all over the country. better than a locomotive, because it will run on a common road. better than horses, because it doesn't eat anything. but then, i'm going to enjoy it myself as much as i can. however, we'll find time for the printing." chapter viii. a horizontal balloon-ascension. phaeton had to wait three days for a fair wind, and in that time the secret--for we had tried to keep it quiet--leaked out among the boys. it was saturday, and everything seemed favorable. as ned and i wanted to go up town in the forenoon, and phaeton could not start the thing alone, he appointed two o'clock in the afternoon as the hour for the experiment. on our way up town we met isaac holman. "i'm going down to see your brother's new flying machine, or whatever it is," said he. "'tisn't going to start till two o'clock," said ned. "_totus dexter!_--all right! i'll be around at that hour," said holman. phaeton gave his apparatus a thorough inspection, newly greased the wheels, tested every string about the kites, and made sure that all was in perfect order. exactly at two o'clock, he took a strong stake and a heavy mallet, walked out into the street, and, amid a babel of questions from about twenty boys, who had gradually gathered there, drove the stake exactly in the middle of the road, leaving it a foot and a half out of the ground. he answered none of the questions, and, in fact, did not open his lips, except to return the greeting of holman, who sat on the bowlder by the horse-gate, and was the only one that asked nothing. i saw monkey roe hanging on the outskirts of the crowd. his name was james montalembert roe; but he was never called anything but monkey roe, and he seemed to like it just as well. the moment i saw him, i began to fear mischief. he was a thoroughly good-natured fellow, but was always plotting some new sort of fun, and was as full of invention, though in a very different way, as phaeton himself. when phaeton had returned and put away his mallet, we all took hold of the car and ran it out into the street, where phaeton fastened a short rope to the hook at the back, and tied the other end firmly to the stake. then i stood by the car, as a sort of guard, while he and ned brought out the kites, one at a time, and got them up. when each had risen to the full height of the string, which was pretty long,--and they were the best-behaved kites i ever saw,--phaeton tied the string to one of the hooks on the front of the car. when all three were harnessed up, they lifted the fore-wheels from the ground. this work used up considerable time, and while it was going on, the crowd about us was increasing by the addition of dublin boys, who kept coming, singly or in twos and threes, and were distinguishable by the fact that they were all barefooted, without jackets, and had their trousers supported by one suspender buckled around the waist like a belt. it seemed evident that somebody had told them about the horizontal balloon-ascension, for they did not come as if by accident, but as if by appointment, and made straight for the car, which they inspected with a great deal of curiosity. phaeton brought out four shot-bags filled with sand, and placed them in a row in the front of the car. then he brought out a rope five or six yards long, with a small balloon-anchor fastened to it. a balloon-anchor is made of three iron hooks placed back to back, so that the points project in three different directions, and the three backs or shanks welded together into one stem, which ends in a ring, through which the rope is tied. phaeton tied the end of the anchor-rope to the hook on the back end of his car, coiled it up in one corner of the box, and laid the anchor on the coil. his calculation was, that when he threw it out on the road it would catch a little here and there in the ground, as the hooks dragged over the surface, making the car go more slowly, till after a while it would take a firm hold of something and bring him to a full stop. phaeton also brought out a small american flag, on a light staff, and stuck it up in a place made for it, on one of the back corners of the car. the kites were now tugging away at the car, with a steady and strong pull. the arrangement was, that when phaeton was seated (on a light board laid across the top of the car) with the steering handles in his grasp, and all was ready, he would give the word, and i was to draw a sharp knife across the rope that held the car to the stake. all now was ready. ned, who had gone down the road a short distance, to see if any teams were coming, signalled that the coast was clear, and phaeton stepped into the car. "i say," said one of the dublin boys, "why don't you put up the stake before we start?" "the stake is all right," said phaeton, just glancing over his shoulder at it. "who's holding it?" said the dublin boy. "don't you see, the ground is holding it?" said phaeton, arranging the sand-bags. "oh, don't try to get out of it in that way," said the dublin boy. "i don't understand you," said phaeton. "what do you mean?" "didn't you say," said the dublin boy, "you'd give a dollar to any boy that could beat your machine in a mile run?" "no," said phaeton. "i have never said anything of the sort--nor thought of it. who told you so?" "lukey finnerty." "and who told lukey finnerty?" "berny rourke." "and who told berny rourke?" "teddy dwyer." "and who told teddy dwyer?" "owney geoghegan" (pronounced gewgan). "and who told owney geoghegan?" "patsy rafferty." "and who told patsy rafferty?" "oh, never mind who told me!" broke in another dublin boy, who, it seems, was patsy rafferty. "the question is, are you going to put up the money?" "i never offered to put up any," said phaeton. "and i haven't any with me, just now, to put up." "then somebody's played us a trick," said patsy. "i'm sorry for that," said phaeton. "ah, well, we don't mind--we'll run all the same," said patsy. "but i don't care to have you run," said phaeton. "in fact, i'd rather you wouldn't." "well, we're all ready for it," said patsy, giving his trousers a hitch, and tightening the suspender a little by giving another twist to the nail that fastened it in lieu of a buckle. "and i suppose the road's as free to us as 'tis to you?" "oh, certainly!" said phaeton. "if you haven't any money," spoke up another dublin boy, "you might say you'll give a ride in your car to the fellow that beats it--just to lend a little interest to the race, you know." phaeton somewhat reluctantly said he would,--"although," he added, in an undertone, "if you can beat it, i don't see why you should want to ride in it." casting one more glance about, to see that all was ready, phaeton told me to cut the rope and let him start. partly because he spoke in a low tone, wishing to make as little excitement as possible, and partly because i was watching what i considered certain suspicious movements on the part of monkey roe, i did not hear or heed him. "_littera lapsa!_--let her slide!" roared out holman, who saw that i had not understood. with a quick, nervous stroke i drew the knife across the rope. the machine started--at first with a little jerk, then with a slow rolling motion, gradually increasing in speed, until at the end of six or eight rods it was under rapid headway. the dublin boys at first stood still, looking on in gaping admiration at the wonder, till they suddenly remembered that they were there to race it, when they started off after it. our boys naturally followed them, as we couldn't see any more of the fun unless we kept up with it. it was a pretty even race, and all was going on smoothly, when down the first cross-street came a crowd of women, apparently very much excited, many of them with sticks in their hands. the sight of our moving crowd seemed to frenzy them, and they increased their speed, but only arrived at the corner in time to fall in behind us. at the same time, down the cross-road from the other direction came a drove of cattle, pelted, pounded, and hooted at by two men and three boys; and close behind them was dan rice's circus, which had been exhibiting for two days on the falls field, and was now hurrying on to the next town. whether it was because of the red skirts worn by many of the women in front of them, or the rumbling of the circus so close behind them, i did not know, but those cattle did behave in the most frantic manner. and so the whole caravan went roaring down the turnpike--phaeton in his flying car at the head, then the dublin boys, then our boys, then the mothers of the dublin boys, then the drove of cattle, then the circus, with all its wagons and paraphernalia,--the striped zebra bringing up the rear. [illustration: "the whole caravan went roaring down the turnpike."] it soon became evident that the mothers of the dublin boys were proceeding on erroneous information--however they got it--and supposed that the contest between us and their sons was not a friendly one. for whenever one of our boys lagged behind in the race, and came within reach of their sticks, he was pretty sure to get a sounding whack across the shoulders. i dare say the dublin boys would have received the same treatment if they had not been ahead of us in the race, which they always were, either because they were better runners, or better prepared. foremost of all was patsy rafferty, who, by doing his prettiest, had closed up the distance between himself and the car, and was now abreast of it. phaeton became excited, and, determined not to be beaten, lightened his car by hurriedly throwing out one of the bags of sand. unfortunately, it struck the ground right in front of patsy, and the next instant he stubbed his toes on it and went sprawling into the gutter. when the dublin women saw this, they probably took it as full confirmation of the evil designs which somebody had told them we had on their sons, and some of our boys immediately paid the penalty by receiving a few extra whacks. as for patsy, he soon picked himself up and renewed the race, all the more determined to win it because he thought phaeton had tripped him purposely--which i am happy to say was not true. as we neared the railway crossing, jack-in-the-box was half way up the signal-pole. hearing the outcry, he looked down upon us, took in the situation at a glance, then descended the pole two steps at a time, seized his red flag, and ran up the track at lightning speed. he had calculated that the pacific express would arrive at the crossing just in time to dash through some part of our procession, and as he saw it would be useless to try to stop us, with everything crowding on behind us, he went to flag the train and stop that. this he just succeeded in doing, and when my section of the procession passed that given point,--you know it is the inveterate habit of processions to pass given points,--there stood the great locomotive stock still by jack's box, with its train behind it, and seemed to look down upon us like an astonished and interested spectator. we swept on across the track, and as there was a straight, smooth piece of road before us, all went well till we neared the canal. there a stupid fellow, as we afterward learned, leading home a cow he had just bought, had tied her to the corner-post of the bridge by which the turnpike crossed the canal, and gone into a neighboring grocery. the cow had placed herself directly across the narrow road-way of the bridge, and there she stood contentedly chewing her cud, entirely ignorant of the fact that an important race was in progress, and that she was obstructing the track. phaeton saw her with horror; for if he kept on, the car would run into her--the foot-path over the bridge was too narrow for it. he threw out his anchor, which ricochetted, as an artillerist would say. that is, it would catch the ground for an instant, and then fly into the air, descend in a curve, catch again, and fly up again. at last it caught on a horse-block, stuck fast, and brought the car to a stop. but before phaeton could climb out, patsy rafferty had come up, and, whipping out his jack-knife, cut the anchor-rope in two. in an instant the machine was off again. phaeton's situation was desperate. there stood the stupid cow like an animated toll-gate closing the bridge, and he rushing on to destruction at the rate of a good many miles an hour, with no way to stop the machine, and a certainty of broken bones if he jumped out. in his agony, he half rose in the car and gave a terrific yell. the cow started, saw him, and then clumsily but quickly swung herself around against the truss of the bridge that divided the carriage-way from the foot-path. but the carriage-way had been newly planked, and the planks were not yet nailed down. as the cow stepped on the ends, four or five of these planks were instantly tilted up like a trap door, while the cow sank down till she was wedged between the truss and the first sleeper or lengthwise beam (the space being not quite large enough to let her drop through); the planks of course being held in an almost perpendicular position between her body and the sleeper. into the abyss that thus suddenly yawned before him, phaeton and his chariot plunged. after him went patsy rafferty, who on seeing the danger had laid hold of the car and tried to stop it, but failed. whether he jumped through, or let himself down more cautiously by hanging from the floor of the bridge and dropping, i did not see; but, at all events, when the rest of us reached the tow-path by running down the embankment, the waters of the canal had closed over both boys and the car. at this moment another accident complicated the trouble and increased the excitement. this was a "tow-path bridge"--one which the boat-horses have to pass over, because at that point the tow-path changes from one side of the canal to the other. the "red bird" packet-horses, coming up at a round trot, when they reached the crown of the bridge and saw the rushing, roaring caravan coming at them, and heard phaeton's yell, stopped, and stood shivering with fear. but the packet was all the while going ahead by its own momentum, and when it had gone the length of the tow-line, it jerked the horses over the parapet into the water, where they floundered within a yard of the sunken machine. the dublin women gathered on the tow-path, and immediately set up an unearthly wail, such as i have never heard before or since. i think that some of them must have "cried the keen," as it is called in ireland. patsy soon emerged from beneath the wreck, hauling phaeton out by the hair, and as half a dozen of the boys, from both parties, were now in the water, they had plenty of help. the bow-hand of the "red bird" cut the tow-line with a hatchet,--if he had been attending to his business, he would have done it soon enough to prevent the accident,--and the horses, thus released, swam ashore. meantime the circus had stopped, and many of the men came to the scene of the disaster, while most of the packet passengers stepped ashore and also joined the wondering crowd. the steersman brought a long pike-pole, with which he fished out phaeton's car. every one of the kite-strings was broken, and the kites had gone down the sky, with that wobbling motion peculiar to what the boys call a "kite-broke-away," to find lodgment in some distant forest or meadow. great was the wonderment expressed, and many were the questions asked, as the packet passengers and the circus people crowded around the rescued car and the dripping boys. the dublin women were wringing out the jackets of our boys, and talking rather fast. a benevolent-looking old gentleman, who wore a white vest and a large fob-chain, said, "something ought to be done for that boy"--pointing to patsy rafferty. the clown of the circus said "certainly!" and taking off his hat passed it first to the benevolent-looking old gentleman, who seemed a little surprised, but soon recovered, and hastily dropped in ten cents. then the clown passed it all around, and nearly everybody, excepting the boys, of course, put in a little something. the patagonian woman of the circus, who had very red cheeks and very round eyes, and wore a large diamond ring on nearly every finger, gave the most of anybody,--half a dollar,--which she borrowed of the strong man, who used to lift the big iron balls on the back of his neck. the clown counted the money, and said there were three dollars and eighty-four cents, and a crossed shilling, and a bogus quarter, and two brass buttons, and a pewter temperance medal. "well," said he, in a solemn tone, looking down at the collection, and then around at the people, "i should say this crowd was about an average specimen of humanity." i didn't see the clown himself put in anything at all. "here, sonny," said he to patsy, "we'll tie it up in your handkerchief for you." patsy said he hadn't any handkerchief with him, just then; whereupon the patagonian woman gave him hers--excellent people, those patagonians!--and the clown tied it up with two hard knots, and patsy tucked it into his trousers pocket, which it caused to bulge out as if he had just passed through 'squire higgins's orchard. the boss of the circus offered to give patsy a place, and take him right along, at fifteen dollars a month and his board. patsy was crazy to go; but his mother said she couldn't spare him. some of the circus men brought a pole and tackle from one of their wagons, and lifted the cow out of her uncomfortable position, after which they replaced the planks. "all aboard!" shouted the captain of the "red bird," for the tow-line had been mended and the horses rubbed down, and all the passengers started on a run for the boat, excepting the benevolent-looking old gentleman, who walked very leisurely, seeming to know it would wait for him. "all aboard!" shouted the boss of the circus, and his people climbed upon the wagons, whipped up the horses, and rumbled over the bridge. the dublin women each laid hold of one or more of their boys, and marched them home; lukey finnerty's mother arguing, as they went along, that her boy had done as much as patsy rafferty, and got as wet, and therefore ought to have a share of the money. "oh, there's no doubt," said mrs. rafferty, in a gently sarcastic tone, "but your boy has taken in a great deal of cold water. he shall have the temperance medal." the other women promptly took up the question, some on mrs. finnerty's side and some on mrs. rafferty's, and thus, all talking at once, they passed out of sight. chapter ix. the art deservative. when phaeton's kites went wobbling down the sky, owney geoghegan and three or four others of the dublin boys who had escaped their mothers, started off on a chase for them. phaeton, ned, holman, and i took the car up the bank, and when we arrived at the top we saw monkey roe walking away pretty rapidly. "_gravitas pro vehiculum!_--wait for the wagon!" shouted holman to him. roe seemed a little uncertain whether to stop, but finally leaned against the fence and waited for us. i observed that the drove of cattle had gone down to a shallow place in the canal on the other side of the bridge, and were most of them standing in the water, either drinking or contemplating. their drivers were throwing stones at them, and saying uncomplimentary things, but they took it philosophically--which means they didn't mind it much. when you are stolidly indifferent to anything that ought to move you, your friends will say you take it philosophically. "wasn't it an odd thing, roe," said holman, "that all those dublin boys should have got the idea that a prize was offered for anybody who could beat this machine?" "yes, it was very odd," said roe. "fay, what sort of wood is this?" "chestnut." "but i say, roe," continued holman, "who in the world could have told them so?" "probably somebody who was fond of a practical joke," said roe. "who did the blacksmith work for you, fay?" "fanning." "and i suppose," persisted holman, still talking to roe, "that it must have been the same practical joker who sent their mothers after them." "very likely," said roe. "are you going to get the kites and harness her up again, fay?" "haven't made up my mind." it was evident that monkey roe didn't want to talk about the mystery of the dublin boys, and holman--probably satisfied by this time that his suspicions were correct--himself changed the subject. "when i saw this thing tearing down the turnpike," said he, "with all that rabble at its heels, and go splash into the canal, i was reminded of the story of phaeton, which i had for my latin lesson last week." of course, we asked him to tell the story. "phaeton," said holman, "was a young scapegrace who was fond of fast horses, and thought there was nothing on four legs or any number of wheels that he couldn't drive. his father was the sun-god helios--which is probably a corruption of 'held a hoss' (i must ask jack-in-the-box about it)--and his mother's maiden name was clymene--which you can easily see is only changed a little from 'climb-iny.' this shows how phaeton came by his passion for climbing in the chariot and holding the hosses. "one day, one of the boys, named epaphus, tried to pick a quarrel with him by saying that he was not really a son of helios, but was only adopted out of the poor-house. phaeton felt pretty badly about it, for he didn't know but it might be true. so he went home as fast as he could, and asked helios, right out plump, whether he was his own son, or only adopted out of the poor-house. 'certainly,' said the old gentleman, 'you are my own son, and always have been, ever since you were born.' "this satisfied phaeton, but he was afraid it might not satisfy the boys who had heard epaphus's remark. so he begged to be allowed to drive the chariot of the sun one day, just to show people that he was his father's own boy. helios shook his head. that was a very particular job; the chariot had to go out on time and come in on time, every day, and there couldn't be any fooling about it. but the youngster hung on and teased so, that at last his father told him he might drive just one day, if he would never ask again." "did he have a gag-bit?" said ned, remembering his brother's remarks on the occasion of our brisk morning canter. "probably not," said holman, "for gag-bits were not then invented. the next morning old helios gave the boy all the instructions he could about the character of the horses and the bad places in the road, and started him off. "he hadn't gone very far when the team ran away with him, and went banging along at a terrible rate, knocking fixed stars out of their places, overturning and scattering an immense pile of new ones that had been corded up at the side of the road to dry (that's what makes the milky way), and at last setting the world on fire. "jupiter saw that something must be done, pretty quick, too, so he threw a sand-bag, or a thunder-bolt, or something of that sort, at him, and knocked over the chariot, and the next minute it went plump into the river eridanus--which i've no doubt is the latin for erie canal. you can easily see how it would come: erie canal--erie ditch--erie drain--erie drainus--eridanus. that's the way professor woodruff explains words to the advanced class. he can tell you where any word came from in two minutes. "phaeton wasn't so lucky as you, fay, for there was no patsy rafferty to pull him out, and he was drowned, while his poor sisters stood on the tow-path and cried till they turned into poplar-trees." we were all deeply interested in this remarkable story from grecian mythology, told in good plain american, and from our report holman was often called upon to repeat it to the other boys. it was this that gave fayette rogers the name of phaeton. the fate of the horizontal balloon for a time dampened phaeton's ardor for invention, and he was willing at last to unite with ned and me in an enterprise which promised to be more business-like than brilliant--the printing-office scheme. meanwhile, we had been doing what we could ourselves. the first necessity was a press. ned, whom we considered a pretty good draughtsman, drew a plan for one, and he and i made it. there was nothing wrong about the plan; it was strong and simple--two great virtues in any machine. but we constructed the whole thing of soft pine, the only wood that we could command, or that our tools would cut. consequently, when we put on the pressure to print our first sheet--feeling as proud as if we were faust, gutenberg, schöfer, the elzevirs, ben franklin, and the whole manutius family rolled into one--not only did the face of the types go into the paper, but the bottoms of them went right into the bed of the press. [illustration: ned's plan for a press.] "it acts more like a pile-driver than a printing-press," said ned, ruefully. "it'll never do," said i. "we can't get along without fay. when he makes a press, it will print." "when fay makes a press," said ned, "he'll probably hire somebody else to make it. but i guess that's the sensible way. i suppose the boys would laugh at this thing, even if it worked well; it looks so dreadfully cheese-pressy." "it does look a little that way," said i. "but fay will get up something handsome, and i've no doubt we can find some good use for this--perhaps keep it in the corner for the boys to fool with when they call. they'll be certain to meddle with something, and this may keep their hands from the good one." "i don't intend to run the office on any such principles," said ned. "the boy that meddles with anything will be invited to leave." "then you'll make them all angry, and there won't be any good-will to it," said i. "i've heard father say that the good-will of the _vindicator_ office was worth more than all the type and presses. he says the _vindicator_ lives on its good-will." "that may be all very nice for the _vindicator_," said ned; "but this office will have to live on hard work." "but we must be polite to the boys that patronize the establishment," said i. "oh, yes; be polite to them, of course," said ned. "but tell them they've got to keep out of our way when the press is running." whether the press ever would have run, or even crawled, without phaeton to manage it, is doubtful. but he now joined in the enterprise, and very soon organized the concern. as ned had predicted, he hired a man who was a carriage-maker by trade, but had a genius for odd jobs, to make us a press. in those days, the small iron presses which are now manufactured in great numbers, and sold to boys throughout the country, had not been heard of. ours was a pretty good one, made partly of wood and partly of iron, with a powerful knee-joint, which gave a good impression. the money to pay for it came from aunt mercy _via_ ned. there was a small, unused building in our yard, about fifteen feet square, sometimes called the "wash-house," and sometimes "the summer-kitchen," now abandoned and almost empty. phaeton, looking about for a place for the proposed printing-office, fixed upon this as the very thing that was wanted. he said it could not have been better if it had been built on purpose. after some negotiation with my parents, their consent was obtained, and phaeton and ned took me into partnership, i furnishing the building, and they furnishing the press and type. we agreed that the name of the firm should be rogers & co. on the gable of the office we erected a short flag-staff, cut to the form of a printer's "shooting-stick," and whenever the boys saw the stars and stripes floating from it, they knew the office was open for business. "this font of tuscan," said ned to phaeton, as we were putting the office in order, "is not going to be so useless as you suppose, even if the es are all gone." "how so?" said phaeton. "because i asked a printer about it, and he says when you find a box empty you simply use some other letter in place of the one that is missing--generally x. and here are plenty of xs." phaeton only smiled, and went on distributing type into his case of pica. "i say, fay," said ned again, after awhile, "don't you think it would be proper to do a little something for patsy rafferty, just to show your gratitude for his services in pulling you out of the canal?" "i've thought about it," said phaeton. "we might print him a dozen cards, with his name on," said ned, "and not charge him a cent. get them up real stylish--red ink, perhaps; or patsy in black and rafferty in red; something that'll please him." and ned immediately set up the name in tuscan, to see how it would look. it looked like this: mr. patsy raffxrty, xsq. "how do you think he'd like that, done in two colors?" said ned. "i don't believe he'd care much about it," said phaeton. "but i've invited him to come over here this afternoon, and perhaps we can find out what he would like." patsy came in the afternoon, and was made acquainted with some of the mysteries of printing. after a while, ned showed him what he intended to print on a dozen cards for him. "it's very nice, indeed," said patsy; "but that's not my name." "not your name?" said ned. "no," said patsy. "my father's name is mr. patsy rafferty, esquire; but i'm only patsy rafferty, without any handle or tail to it." "if that's all that ails it," said ned, "it's easy enough to take off the handle and tail," and he took them off. patsy took another look at it. "that's not exactly the way i spell my name," said he. "there ought to be an e there, instead of an x." "of course there ought," said ned, "but you see we haven't any es in that style of type, and it's an old established rule in all printing-offices that when there's a letter you haven't got, you simply put an x in place of it. everybody understands it." "i didn't understand it," said patsy, "and i think my name looks better when it's spelled the way i was christened." "all right!" said ned. "we'll make it as you want it; but it'll have to be set in some other kind of type, and that tuscan is the prettiest thing in the office." patsy still preferred correctness to beauty, and had his way. "and now what color will you have?" said ned. "we can print it in black, or red, or blue, or partly one color and partly another--almost any color, in fact." patsy, true to the tradition of his ancestors, chose green. "i'm awful sorry," said ned, "but we haven't any green ink. it's about the only color we haven't got." "you can make it by mixing blue and yellow together," said patsy. "true," said ned; "but the fact is, we haven't any yellow. green and yellow are about the only colors we haven't got." after studying the problem a few minutes, patsy chose to have his visiting-cards printed in alternate red and blue letters, and we set about it at once, ned arranging the type, while i took the part of devil and managed the ink. as they were to be in two colors, of course each card had to go through the press twice; and they were not very accurately "registered," as a printer would say--that is, the red letters, instead of coming exactly on even spaces between the blue, would sometimes be too far one way, sometimes too far the other, sometimes even lapping over the blue letters. but out of fifty or sixty that we printed, patsy selected thirteen that he thought would do--"a dozen, and one for luck"--and, without waiting for them to dry, packed them together and put them into his pocket, expressing his own admiration and anticipating his mother's. he even intimated that when she saw those she would probably order some for herself. patsy asked about phaeton's chariot, and whether it was hurt much when it went into the canal. "hardly damaged at all," said phaeton. patsy hinted that he would like to see it, and he and phaeton went over to rogers's. when phaeton returned an hour later, he was alone. "where's patsy?" said ned. "gone home with the chariot," said phaeton. "gone home with the chariot?" said ned, in astonishment. "yes," said phaeton, "i have given it to him. i saw, by the way he looked at it and talked about it, that it would be a great prize to him, and i didn't intend to use it any more myself, so i made him a present of it." "but you had no right to," said ned. "that chariot was built with my money." "not exactly," said phaeton. "it was built with money that i borrowed of you. i still owe you the money, but the car was mine." "well, at any rate," said ned, who saw this point clearly enough, "you might have sold the iron on it for enough to buy another font of type." "yes, i might," said phaeton. "but i preferred giving it to patsy. he's a good deal of a boy, and i hope father won't forget that he said he should do something for him." "but what use will the car be to him?" said ned. "he says it'll be a glorious thing to slide down hill in summer," said phaeton. a few days afterward, patsy came again to see phaeton, and wanted to know if he could not invent some means by which the car could be prevented from going down hill too fast. he said that when berny rourke and lukey finnerty and he took their first ride in it, down one of the long, grassy slopes that bordered the deep hollow, it went swifter, and swifter, until it reached the edge of the brook, where it struck a lump of sod and threw them all into the water. "water is an excellent thing," said ned, "for a sudden stoppage of a swift ride. they always use it in horizontal balloon-ascensions, and on the underground railroad they're going to build all the depots of it." phaeton, who appeared to be thinking deeply, only smiled, and said nothing. at last he exclaimed: "i have it, patsy! come with me." they went off together, and phaeton hunted up an old boot, the leg of which he drove full of shingle-nails, driving them from the inside outward. then he filled it with stones and sand, and sewed the top together. then he found a piece of rope, and tied one end to the straps. "there, patsy," said he, "tie the other end of the rope to one of the hooks on the car, and take the boot in with you. when you are going fast enough, throw it out for a drag. i don't believe a streak of lightning could make very good headway, if it had to pull that thing along on the ground after it." patsy, berny, and lukey tried it, but were thrown into the brook as before. phaeton said the true remedy was, more old boots; and they added one after another, till they had a cluster of seven, which acted as an effectual drag, and completely tamed the spirit of the machine, after which it soon became the most popular institution in dublin. patsy said seven was one of the lucky numbers. to return to the printing business. when i was about to sit down at the tea-table, that evening, mother exclaimed: "what in the world ails your hands?" i looked at them. some of my fingers were more red than blue, some were more blue than red, and some about equally red and blue. i said i guessed patsy rafferty's visiting-cards were what ailed my hands. "well, i wish you'd wash your hands of patsy rafferty's visiting-cards," said she. "can't do it with any such slimpsy water as we have here," said i. "and where do they have any that is less slimpsy?" said mother. "at the printing-offices," said i. "they put a little ley in it. we haven't any at our office, but that's the next thing we're going to buy. don't worry; it won't rub off on the bread and butter, and we shall have a can of ley next week." "the next thing to be done," said ned, when we had the office fairly in running order, "is to get up a first-rate business-card of our own, have it large enough, print it in colors, and make a stunning thing of it." "that reminds me," said phaeton, "that i was talking with jack-in-the-box about our office the other day, and i told him we ought to have a pretty poetical motto to put up over the door. he suggested two or three, and wrote them down for me. perhaps one of them would look well on the card." "what are they?" said ned. after some searching, phaeton found a crumpled piece of paper in one of his pockets, and smoothing it out showed the following, hastily scratched in pencil: faith, he'll prent it.--_burns_. i have misused the king's press.--_shakespeare_. so careful of the type she seems.--_tennyson_. "i don't like one of them," said ned. "why not?" said phaeton. "well, the first one is spelled wrong. we _print_ here, we don't _prent_." "but it means the same thing," said phaeton; "that's the scotch of it. burns was a scotchman." "was he?" said ned. "well, i never heard of him before, and we don't want any of his scotch spelling. that second motto is all wrong; the press belongs to us, not to any king, and we're not going to misuse it. the third one would do pretty well, but it says 'she,' and we're none of us girls." "perhaps you can think of a better one," said phaeton. "yes, i can," said ned. "i heard uncle hiram say that printing was called the art deservative of all arts, and that would be just the motto for us." "what does it mean?" said i. "it means," said ned, "that printers deserve more than any other artists." "didn't he say _pre_servative?" said phaeton. "oh, no," said ned; "that wouldn't mean anything. printing has nothing to do with preserving--unless we should print the labels for mother's fruit-cans next fall. he said 'deservative,' i heard him distinctly, and we'll put it on the card." "very well," said phaeton; "you set up the card according to your own taste, and we'll see how we like it." the next day phaeton and i went fishing. while we were gone ned set up the card, and on our return we found, to our consternation, that he had not only set it up, but printed scores of them, and given away a good many to the boys. it ran as follows: [illustration] "good gracious, ned!" said phaeton, "why did you print this thing before we had seen it?" "because i felt sure you'd like it," said ned, "and i wanted to surprise you." "you've succeeded admirably in that," said phaeton. "i hope there's nothing wrong about it," said ned. "i took a great deal of pains with it. oh, yes; now i see there's one letter upside down. but what of that? very few people will notice it, and they will know it's an accident." "one?" said phaeton. "there are half a dozen standing on their heads. and that's not the worst. just look at the spelling!" "i don't see anything wrong about that," said ned. "you must remember that what's wrong by webster may be right by worcester." "what do you call that?" said phaeton, pointing at the first word in the third line. "job, of course," said ned. "some people spell it with a j, but that can't be right. j-o-b spells job, the name of that king of israel who had so many boils on him at once." "he wasn't king of israel," said phaeton. "well, king of judah, then," said ned. "i always get those two mixed. what's the use of being too particular. those old kings are as dead now as julia cæsar. and everybody knows how dead she is." "well, then, what's this?" said phaeton, pointing to the second word on the right-hand side of the press. "don't you know what dodgers are?" said ned. "little bills with 'bankrupt sale!' or 'great excitement!' or something of that sort across the top, to throw around in the yards, or hand to the people coming out of church." "oh, yes; dodgers," said phaeton. "but i never saw it spelled so before. have you given out many of these cards?" "i gave one to holman," said ned, "and one to monkey roe, and one to jack-in-the-box." "what did jack-in-the-box say to it?" said phaeton. "oh, he admired it amazingly," said ned. "he said it was the most entertaining business-card he had ever seen. but he thought perhaps it would be well for us to have a proof-reader. i asked him what that was, and he said it was a round-shouldered man, with a green shade over his eyes, who knew everything. he sits in the corner of your office, and when you print anything he reads the first one and marks the mistakes on it, so that you can correct them before you print any more. we might get jimmy the rhymer; he's awful round-shouldered, but he doesn't know everything. the only man in this town who knows everything is jack-in-the-box himself, and i suppose we couldn't get him." "i suppose not," said phaeton, "though i know he'd look over a proof for us, any time we took one to him. but now tell me whether you've given out any more of these cards." "well, yes, a few," said ned. "patsy rafferty was over here; he rolled for me, or i couldn't have got them done so soon; and when he went home, he took fifty to leave at the doors of the houses on his way. i thought if we were going to do business, it was time to be letting people know about it." "just so," said phaeton. "and is that all?" "not quite. uncle jacob was going to ride out to parma, and i gave him about forty, and asked him to hand them to people he met on the road." "y-e-s," said phaeton, with a deep sigh; "and is _that_ all?" "i put a dozen or two on that little shelf by the post-office window," said ned, "so that anybody who came for his letters could take one. and now that's all; and i hope you won't worry over one or two little mistakes. everybody makes some mistakes. there is no use in pretending to be perfect. but if you two fellows had been here in the office, instead of going off to enjoy yourselves fishing and leaving me to do all the work, you might have had the old card just as you wanted it. of course you'd have spelled it right, but there might have been bad taste about it that would look worse than my spelling. and now i'm going home to supper." "the worst thing about ned," said phaeton, after he had gone, "is, that there's too much go-ahead in him. very few people are troubled in that way." "but what are we going to do about that dreadful card?" said i. "when the people see that, they may be afraid to give us any jobs, for fear that we'll misspell everything." "i don't know what we can do now," said phaeton, "unless we get out a good one, and say on it that no others are genuine. i must think about it over night." chapter x. torments of typography. in spite of ned's declaration that he would tolerate no loungers, the office soon became a favorite gathering-place for the boys of the neighborhood; which fact contributed nothing to the speed or accuracy of the work. they made us a great deal of trouble at first, for few of them knew better than to take a type out of one box, examine it curiously, and throw it into another; or lift a page of type that had just been set up, "to see how heavy it was," and let it drop into a mass of pi. they got over this after a while, but they never did quite get over the habit of discussing all sorts of questions in a loud voice; and sometimes, when we happened to be setting type, and were interested in what they were talking about, fragments of the conversation would mingle in our minds with the copy before us, and the curious effect would horrify us in the proof. for instance, monkey roe's mother had employed us to print her a few copies of mrs. opie's poem, "the orphan boy," which she had known since she was a child, and very greatly admired, but of which she had never had any but a manuscript copy. while i was setting it up, three boys were carrying on an animated discussion about the city fire department, and when i took a proof of my work, i found it read like this: stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, and hear the brick church bell strike the th district. ah! sure my looks must pity no by crackie orph bo cataract eight can't begin to throw the stream red rover three can--tis want that makes reliance five wash my cheek so pale at annual inspection. yet i was once a mother's pride, three's men cut her hose at the orchard street fire before bix six's air chamber busted my brave father's hope and joy. but in the nile's proud fight he sucked archer's well dry in three minutes and a half, and i am now assistant foreman of torrent two with a patent brake on the orphan boy. i am afraid if monkey's mother had seen that, she would hardly have recognized it as the first stanza of her favorite poem. instead of feeling sorry for spoiling my work, the boys seemed to think it was a good joke, and nearly laughed their heads off over it. they insisted on my printing a few copies of it, just as it was, for them to keep. next time i saw jack-in-the-box, he showed me one of them pasted into a little old scrap-book that he kept under his chair. on the opposite page was one of our business-cards, as printed by ned. jack very kindly explained to me some of the mysteries of proof-reading. "the next thing to be done," said ned, when the office was fairly in running order, "is to get out jimmy the rhymer's poems. that's what we got up the establishment for, and it'll be more profitable than all these little puttering jobs put together. and, besides, jimmy's awful poor and needs the money. i've been around to the book-stores and told them about it. hamilton promises to take ten copies, and hoyt twenty-five. when they see how good the poems are, they'll be sure to double their orders; and when the other stores see the book going off like hot cakes, they'll rush in and want to buy some, but they'll have to wait their turn. first come, first served." there were enough of jimmy's poems to make a little book of about sixty pages, and we all went to work with a will to set the type. it would have been a pretty long job for us, as it was, but jimmy made it a great deal longer, and nearly drove us crazy, by insisting on making changes in them after they were set up. he could not understand how much extra work this made for us, and was as particular and persistent as if his whole reputation as an author had hung on each disputed comma. sometimes when we had four pages all ready to print, he would bring in a new stanza, to be inserted in the first page of the form, which, of course, made it necessary to change the arrangement of all the others. at last ned got out of patience. "you try it yourself once," said he to jimmy, "and you'll find out whether it's easy to make all these little changes, as you call them." jimmy secretly made up his mind that he would try it himself. he went to the office one day when we were not there, found four pages "locked up" ready for printing, and went to work to make a few corrections. as he did not know how to unlock the form, he stood it up on edge, got a ten-penny nail and a mallet, and tried to knock out an obnoxious semicolon. the result was a sudden bursting of the form, which rattled down into ruin at his feet, and frightened the meddlesome poet out of his wits. [illustration: the meddlesome poet.] in his bewilderment, jimmy scooped up a double handful of the pi and was in the act of pouring it pell-mell into one of the cases, when phaeton, ned, and i arrived at the door of the office. ned, who saw him first, and instantly comprehended the situation, gave a terrific yell, which caused jimmy to drop the handful of type, some of which went into the case, and the rest spattered over the floor. "are you trying to ruin the office?" said ned. "don't you know better than to pi a form, and then throw the pi into the cases? after all the trouble we've had with your old poems, you ought to have more gratitude than that." jimmy was pale with terror, and utterly dumb. "hold on, ned," said phaeton, laying his hand on his brother's shoulder. "you ought to have sense enough to know that it must have been an accident of some sort. of course jimmy wouldn't do it purposely." "pieing the form may have been an accident," said ned; "but when he scoops up a double handful of the pi and goes to pouring it into the case, that can't be an accident. and it was my case, too, and i was the one that did everything for him, and was going to bring him out as a poet in the world's history. if he had behaved himself, i'd have set him up in business in a little while, so he could have made as much money as sir walter tupper, or any of those other fellows that you read to us about. and now, just look at that case of mine, with probably every letter of the alphabet in every box of it." "but i tell you it must have been a mere accident," said phaeton. "wasn't it, jimmy?" "suppose it was an accident," said ned; "the question is, _whose_ accident was it? if it had been my accident, i should expect to pay for it." phaeton took hold of his brother's arm with a quiet but powerful grasp, and led him to the door. "you're needlessly excited, ned," said he. "go outside till you get cooled off." and he put him out and shut the door. then he asked jimmy how it happened, and jimmy told us about it. "i'm sorry you poured any of it in the cases," said phaeton. "for, you see, the cases have a different letter in every box, and if you take a handful of type like that and pour it in at random, it makes considerable trouble." "oh, yes; i knew all that before," said jimmy; "but when the form burst, and i saw the type all in a mess on the floor, i was so frightened i lost my head, and didn't know what i was about. i wish i could pay for it," he added, as he left the office. "don't let it trouble you," said phaeton. for a long time jimmy did not come near us again, and as he had carried off the copy of his remaining poems, that enterprise came to an end--for the time being, at least. there was no lack of other jobs, but we sometimes had a little trouble in collecting the bills. small boys would keep coming to order visiting-cards by the hundred, with their name on them in ornamental letters,--boys who never used any visiting-card but a long, low whistle, and never had a cent of money except on fourth of july. when phaeton or i was there, they were given to understand that a pressure of other work compelled us to decline theirs with regret; but, if they found ned alone, they generally persuaded him that they had good prospects of getting money from some source or other, and so went away with the cards in their pockets. there was no lack of advice, either. the boys who lounged in the office were always proposing new schemes. the favorite one seemed to be the publication of a small paper, which some of them promised to write for, others to get advertisements for, and others to distribute. after the book of poems had come to an untimely end, ned was fierce for going into the paper scheme; but phaeton figured it up, declared we should have to do an immense amount of work for about a cent an hour, and put an effectual veto on the plan. charlie garrison, who, while the other boys only lounged and gossiped, "learned the case," and quietly picked up a good deal of knowledge of the trade, intimated one day that he would like to be taken into the partnership. "yes," said ned; "there's work enough here for another man; but you'd have to put in some capital, you know." "put in capitals wherever they belong, of course," said charlie; "begin proper names and every line of poetry." "i mean money," said ned. "money's called capital, you know, when it's put into business. we put capital into this office, and you'd have to, if we took you into partnership." "oh, that's it," said charlie, musingly. "well, i suppose i could; we live on the bowl system at our house; but i should hardly like to take it." "the bowl system? what's that?" said ned. "soup, or bread-and-milk, for every meal?" "no; not that at all," said charlie. "you see, on the highest shelf in our pantry there's a two-quart bowl, with a blue-and-gold rim around it. whenever any member of the family gets any money, he puts it into that bowl; and whenever any of us want any money, we take it out of that bowl. i've seen the bowl full of money, and i've seen it when it had only five cents in it. the fullest i ever saw it was just before sister edith was married. for a long time they all kept putting in as much as they could, and hardly took out anything at all, till the bowl got so full that the money slid off from the top. then they took it all out, and went down town and bought her wedding things. and oh, you ought to have seen them! stacks and stacks of clothes that i don't even know the names of." "then i suppose you could help yourself to all the capital you want, out of the bowl?" said ned. "yes, i could," said charlie; "but i shouldn't like to; for i am the only one of the family that never puts anything into it. perhaps other people don't know it by that name, but brother george calls it living on the bowl system." "why don't you put the money into the bank?" said phaeton. "father had a lot of money in a bank once," said charley, "but the bank broke, and he said he'd never put in any more." "i wish we lived on the bowl system at our house," said monkey roe. "it wouldn't be many days before i'd have a velocipede and a double-barrelled pistol." chapter xi. a comical comet. the business of the printing-office went on pretty steadily, so far as ned and i were concerned. phaeton's passion for invention would occasionally lead him off for a while into some other enterprise; yet he, too, seemed to take a steady interest in "the art deservative." the most notable of those enterprises was originated by monkey roe, who had considerable invention, but lacked phaeton's powers of execution. one day monkey came to the door of the office with mitchell's "astronomy" in his hand, and called out phaeton. "there's some mischief on foot now," said ned; "and if fay goes off fooling with any of monkey roe's schemes, we shall hardly be able to print the two thousand milk-tickets that john spencer ordered yesterday. it's too bad." when they had gone so far from the office that we could not hear their conversation, i saw monkey open the book and point out something to phaeton. they appeared to carry on an earnest discussion for several minutes, after which they laid the book on the railing of the fence and disappeared, going by the postern. ned ran out, and brought in the book. on looking it over, we found a leaf turned down at the chapter on comets. neither of us had studied astronomy. "i know what they're up to," said ned, after taking a long look at a picture of halley's comet. "i heard the other day that mr. roe was learning the art of stuffing birds. i suppose monkey wants fay to help him shoot one of those things, or catch it alive, may be, and sell it to his father." then i took a look at the picture, and read a few lines of the text. "i don't think it's quite fair in fay," continued ned, "to go off on speculations of that sort for himself alone, and leave us here to do all the work in the office, when he has an equal share of our profits." "ned," said i, "i don't believe this is a bird." "well, then, it's a fish," said ned, who had gone back to his case and was setting type. "they stuff fishes, as well as birds." "but it seems to me it can hardly be a fish," said i, after another look. "why not?" "because i don't see any fins." "that's nothing," said ned. "my book of natural history says a fish's tail is a big fin. and i'm sure that fellow has tail enough to get along very well without any other fins." this did not satisfy me, and at length we agreed to go and consult jack-in-the-box about it. "jack," said ned, as soon as we arrived at the box, "did you ever stuff a fish?" "do you take me for a cook?" said jack, looking considerably puzzled. "i don't mean a fish to bake," said ned. "i mean one to be put in a glass case, and kept in a museum." "oh," said jack, "i beg pardon. i didn't understand. no, i never stuffed a fish." "but, i suppose you know all about how it's done?" said ned. "oh, yes; i understand it in a general way." "what i want to get at," said ned, "is this: how much is a fish worth that's suitable for stuffing?" "i don't know exactly," said jack, "but i should say different ones would probably bring different prices, according to their rarity." "that sounds reasonable," said ned. "now, how much should you say a fellow would probably get for one of this sort?" and he opened the astronomy at the picture of halley's comet. something was the matter with jack's face. it twitched around in all sorts of ways, and his eyes sparkled with a kind of electric light. but he passed his hand over his features, took a second look at the picture, and answered: "if you can catch one of those, i should say it would command a very high price." "so i thought," said ned. "should you say as much as a hundred dollars, jack?" "i should not hesitate to say fully two hundred," said jack, as he took his flag and went out doors to signal a freight-train. "i see it all, as plain as day," said ned to me, as we walked away. "fay has gone off to make a lot of money by what father would call an outside speculation, and left us to dig away at the work in the office." "perhaps he'll go shares with us," said i. "no, he won't," said ned. "but i have an idea. i think i can take a hand in that speculation." "how will you do it?" "i'll offer fay and monkey a hundred dollars for their fish, if they catch it. that'll seem such a big price, they'll be sure to take it. and then i'll sell it for two hundred, as jack says. so i'll make as much money as both of them together. and i must give jack a handsome present for telling me about it." "that seems to be a good plan," said i. "and i hope they'll catch two, so that i can buy one and speculate on it. but, then," i added, sorrowfully, "i haven't the hundred dollars to pay for it, and there's no aunt mercy in our family, and we don't live on the bowl system." "never mind," said ned, in a comforting tone. "perhaps you'll inherit a big fortune from some old grandmother you never heard of, till she died and they ripped open her bed-tick and let the gold tumble out. lots of people do." as we arrived home, we saw phaeton and monkey coming by the postern with half a dozen hoops--that is to say, half a dozen long, thin strips of ash, which would have been hoops after the cooper had bent them into circles and fastened the ends together. "that's poor stuff to make fish-poles," said ned, in a whisper; "but don't let them know that we know what they're up to." they brought them into the office, got some other pieces of wood, and went to work constructing a light frame about ten feet long, three feet high at the highest part, and a foot wide--like that shown in the engraving. [illustration: the frame.] "what are you making, fay?" said ned. "wait a while, and you'll see," said phaeton. ned winked at me in a knowing way, and we went on printing milk-tickets. when the frame was completed, monkey and phaeton went away. "i see," whispered ned. "they're going to catch him with a net. the netting will be fastened on all around here, and this big end left open for him to go in. then, when he gets down to this round part, he'll find he can't go any farther, and then they'll haul him up. it's all as plain as day." but when monkey and phaeton returned, in about half an hour, instead of netting they brought yellow tissue-paper and several candles. we pretended to take very little interest in the proceeding, but watched them over our shoulders. when we saw them fasten the tissue-paper all around the frame, except on the top, and fit the candles into auger-holes bored in the cross-pieces at the bottom, ned whispered to me again: "don't you see? that isn't a net. they're going to have a light in it, and carry it along the shore to attract the fish. it's plain enough now." "if you'll be on hand to-night," said monkey, "and follow us, you may see some fun." "all right! we'll be on hand," said ned and i. in the evening we all met in the office--all except phaeton, who was a little late. "monkey," said ned, in a confidential tone, "i want to make you an offer." "offer away," answered monkey. "if you catch one," said ned, "i'll give you a hundred dollars for it." "if i catch one?" said monkey. "if--i--catch--one? oh, yes--all right! i'll give you whatever i catch, for that price. though i may not catch anything but hail columbia." "but i won't take it unless it's the kind they stuff," said ned. "the kind--they--stuff?" said monkey. "did you say the kind _they_ stuff, or the kind _of_ stuff? oh, yes--the kind of hail columbia they stuff. that would be a bald eagle, i should think." at this moment phaeton joined us. "it's no use, fay," said monkey. "jack won't let us hoist it on the signal-pole. he says it might mislead some of the engineers, and work mischief." "hoist it on the signal-pole," whispered ned to me. "then it's a bird they're going to catch, after all, and not a fish. i see it now. probably some wonderful kind of night-hawk." "well, then, what do you think is the next best place?" said phaeton. "i think haven's barn, by all odds," monkey answered promptly. "haven's barn it is, then," said phaeton, and they shouldered the thing and walked off, we following. before we arrived at the barn, holman, charlie garrison, and at least a dozen other boys had joined us, one by one. the numerous ells and sheds attached to this barn enabled monkey and phaeton to mount easily to the ridgepole of the highest part, where they fastened the monster, and quickly lighted all her battle-lanterns, when she blazed out against the blackness of the night like some terrific portent. "now you stay here and keep her in order," said monkey, "while i go for adams." mr. adams was an amateur astronomer of considerable local celebrity, whose little observatory, built by himself, was about fifty rods distant from haven's barn. unfortunately, his convivial habits were as famous as his scientific attainments, and roe knew about where to find him. i went with him on the search. we went first to the bar-room of the "cataract house, by james tone," but we did not find him there. "then," said roe, "i know where he is, for sure," and he went to a dingy, wooden building on state street, which had small windows with red curtains. this building was ornamented with a poetical sign, which every boy in town knew by heart, and could sing to the tune of "oats, peas, beans." w. wheeler keeps in here, sells groceries, cider, ale, and beer; his produce is good, his weight is just, his profits small, and cannot trust; and those who buy shall be well used, shall not be cheated, nor abused. "is professor adams present?" said monkey, as he opened the door and peered through a cloud of tobacco smoke. an individual behind the stove returned a drowsy affirmative. roe stepped around to him, and with a great show of secrecy whispered something in his ear. he sprang from his chair, exclaimed, "good night, gentlemen! you will wake up to-morrow morning to find me famous," and dashed out at the door. "what is it?" said one of the loungers, detaining monkey as he was about to leave. "a comet," whispered monkey. "a comet, gentlemen--a blazing comet!" repeated the man aloud; and the whole company rose and followed the astronomer to his observatory. when they arrived there, they found him sitting with his eye at the instrument, uttering exclamations of thankfulness that he had lived to make this great discovery. [illustration: "a comet, gentlemen--a blazing comet!"] "not biela's, not newton's, not encke's--not a bit like any of them," said he; "all my own, gentlemen--entirely my own!" then he took up his slate, and went to figuring upon it. several of the crowd, who were now jammed close together around him in the little octagonal room, made generous offers of assistance. "i was always good at the multiplication-table," said one of them. "i have a fine, clear eye," said another; "can't i help yez aim the pipe?" this excited a laugh of derision from another, who inquired whether the man with the fine, clear eye "didn't know a pipe from a chube?" another rolled up his sleeves, and said he was ready to take his turn at the crank for the cause of science; while still another expressed his willingness to blow the bellows all night, if professor adams would show him where the handle was. they all insisted on having a peep at the comet through the telescope, and with some jostling took turns about. one man, after taking a look, murmured solemnly: "that thing bodes no good to this city; i'm going home to make my will," and elbowed his way out of the room. "ah, professor," said another, "your fortune's made for all time. this'll be known to fame as the great american comet. i dare say it's as big as all the comets of the old world put together." mr. wheeler took an unusually long look. "gentlemen," said he, "i don't believe that comet will stay with us long. we'd better leave the professor to his calculations, while we go back and have a toast to his great discovery." but nobody stirred. then mr. wheeler left the observatory, and walked straight up to haven's barn. he picked up a cart-stake, swung it around his head, and hurled it; and, in the twinkling of an eye, that comet had passed its perihelion, and shot from the solar system in so long an ellipse that i fear it will never return. unfortunately, the flying cart-stake not only put out the comet, but struck phaeton, who had been left there by monkey roe to manage the thing, and put his arm out of joint. he bore it heroically, and climbed down to the ground alone before he told us what had happened. then, as he nearly fainted away, we helped him home, while holman ran for the family physician, who arrived in a few minutes and set the arm. "it serves me right," said phaeton, "for ever lending myself to any of monkey roe's schemes to build a mere fool-thing." "i'm sorry you're hurt," said ned; "but it does seem as if that comet was a silly machine, only intended to deceive me and professor adams, instead of being for the good of mankind, like your other inventions. and now you won't be able to do anything in the printing-office for a long while, just when we're crowded with work. if you were not my own brother, and such an awful good fellow, we wouldn't let you have any share of the profits for the next month." chapter xii. a literary mystery. the printing-office enjoyed a steady run of custom, and, as ned had said, we were just now crowded with work. almost every hour that we were not in bed, or at school, was spent in setting type or pulling the press. it was not uncommon for ned to work with a sandwich on the corner of his case; and, as often as he came to a period, he would stop and take a bite. "this is the way barnum used to do," said he, "when he started his museum--take his lunch with him, and stay right there. it's the only way to make a great american success"--and he took another bite, his dental semicircle this time inclosing a portion of the bread that bore a fine proof-impression of his thumb and finger in printer's ink. though phaeton was not able, for some time, to take a hand at the work, he rendered good service by directing things, as the head of the firm. he was often suspicious, where ned and i would have been taken in at once, as to the circuses and minstrel shows for which the boys used to come and order tickets and programmes by the hundred, always proposing to pay for them out of the receipts of the show. the number of these had increased enormously, and it looked as if the boys got them up mainly for the sake of seeing themselves in print. sometimes they would write out the most elaborate programmes, and then want them printed at once, before their enterprises had any existence except on paper. one boy, whose father was an actor, made out a complete cast of the play of "romeo and juliet," with himself for the part of _romeo_, and monkey roe as _juliet_. one day a little curly-headed fellow, named moses green, came to the office, and wanted us to print a hundred tickets like this: +-------------------+ | mose green's | | minstrel show. | | admit the bearer. | +-------------------+ "where's your show going to be?" said phaeton. "i don't know," said moses. "if uncle james should sell his horses, perhaps he would let me have it in his barn." "yes, that would be a good place," said phaeton. "and who are your actors?" "i don't know," said moses. "but i'm going to ask charlie garrison, because he's got a good fife; and lem whitney, because he knows how to black up with burnt cork; and andy wilson, because he knows 'o susanna' all by heart." "and what is the price of admission?" said phaeton. "i don't know," said moses. "but i thought if the boys wouldn't pay five cents, i'd take four." "i'll tell you what 'tis, moses," said phaeton; "we're badly crowded with work just now, and it would accommodate us if you could wait a little while. suppose you engage your actors first, and rehearse the pieces that you're going to play, and get the barn rigged up, and burn the cork, and make up your mind about the price; and then give us a call, and we'll be happy to print your tickets for you." "all right," said moses. "i'll go home and burn a cork, right away." and he went off, whistling "o susanna." "fay, i think that's bad policy," said ned, when moses was out of sight. "i don't see how you can say that," said phaeton. "it's as plain as day," said ned. "we ought to have gone right on and printed his tickets. suppose he hasn't any show, and never will have one--what of it? we shouldn't suffer. his father would see that our bill was paid. i've heard father say that mr. green was the very soul of honor." "ah, ned, i'm afraid you're getting more sharp than honest," said phaeton. from the fact that our school has hardly been mentioned in this story, it must not be inferred that we were not all this time acquiring education by the usual methods. the performances here recorded took place out of school-hours, or on saturdays, when there was no school. the events inside the temple of learning were generally so dull that they would hardly interest the story-reader. yet there was now and then an accident or exploit which relieved the tediousness of study-time. on one occasion, robert fox brought to school, as part of his luncheon, a bottle of pop-beer. an hour before intermission we were startled by a tremendous hissing and foaming sound, and the heads of the whole school were instantly turned toward the quarter whence it came. there was fox with the palm of his hand upon the cork, which was half-way in the bottle that stood upon the floor beside his desk. though he threw his whole weight upon it, he could not force it in any farther, and the beer rose like a fountain almost to the ceiling, and fell in a beautiful circle, of which fox and his bottle were the interesting centre. [illustration: "it rose like a fountain."] any boy who has ever attended a school taught by an irascible master will readily imagine the sequel. isaac holman recorded the affair in the form of a latin fable, which was so popular that we printed it. here it is: vulpes et beer. _quondam vulpes bottulum poppi beeris in schola tulit, quod in arca reponebat. sed corda laxa, ob vim beeris, cortex collum reliquit, et beer, spumans, se pavimento effudit. deinde magister capit unum extremum lori, ci vulpes alterum sentiebat. hæc fabula docet that, when you bring pop-beer to school, you should tie the string so tight that it can't pop off before lunch-time._ when jack-in-the-box saw this fable, he said it was a good fable, and he was proud of his pupil, though some of the tenses were a little out of joint. holman said the reason why he put the moral in english was, because that was the important part of it, and ought to be in a language that everybody could understand. monkey roe said he was glad to hear this explanation, as he had been afraid it was because holman had got to the end of his latin. charlie garrison, in attempting to criticise the title of the fable, only exposed himself to ridicule. "it must be a mistake," said he; "for you know you can't eat beer. it's plain enough that it ought to be, _vulpes_" (he pronounced this word in one syllable) "_drank beer_." this shows the perils of ignorance. if charlie had had a thorough classical training, he wouldn't have made such a mistake. it was a curious fact that the boys who had never studied latin, and to whom the blunder had to be explained, laughed at him more unmercifully than anybody else. but holman's literary masterpiece (if it was his) was in rhyme, and in some respects it remains a mystery to this day. one evening he called to see me, and intimated that he had some confidential business on hand, for which we would better adjourn to the printing-office, and accordingly we went there. "i want a job of printing done," said he, "provided it can be done in the right way." "we shall be glad to do it as well as we possibly can," said i. "what is it?" "i can't tell you what it is," said he. "well, let me see the manuscript," said i. "there isn't any manuscript," said he. "oh, it isn't prepared yet?" said i. "when will it be ready?" "there never will be any manuscript for it," said he. i began to be puzzled. still, i remembered that small signs and labels were often printed, consisting of only a word or two, which did not require any copy. "is it a sign?" said i. "no." "labels?" "no." "then what in the world is it? and how do you suppose i am going to print for you, unless i know what to print?" "that's the point of the whole business," said isaac. "i want you to let me come into your office, and use your type and press to print a little thing that concerns nobody but myself, and i don't care to have even you know about it. i want you to let me do all the work myself, when you are not here, and i shall wash up the rollers, distribute the type, destroy all my proofs, and leave everything in the office as i found it. of course i shall pay you the same as if you did the work." "but how can you set the type?" said i. "you don't even know the case, do you?" "no," said he; "but i suppose the letters are all in it somewhere, and i can find them with a little searching." "and do you know how to lock up a form?" said i. "i've often seen you do it," said he; "and i think i'm mechanic enough to manage it." "when do you want to go to work?" "_duo eques, rectus ab_--to-night, right away." "very well--good night!" said i. when i went to the office next day, i found ned busily at work trying to fit together some small torn scraps of paper. they were printed on one side, and, as fast as he found where one belonged, he fastened it in place by pasting it to a blank sheet which he had laid down as a foundation. when i arrived, the work had progressed as far as this: to on ed. vainly trive sweetness-- instantly comet back: over rt rol dream its fleetness, with its tor and rack. how i sigh my od. going in fan long agone.-- looking cross he jo i knew er me dawn earest and bes aughters. aspire t ove regard? even in otus dext aters, never again to ai ward. "here's a mystery," said ned. "what is it?" said i. "did you print this?" said he, suddenly looking into my face suspiciously. "no," said i, calmly; "i never saw it before." "well, then, somebody must have broken into our office last night. for when i came in this morning, i found the oil all burned out of the big lamp,--i filled it yesterday,--and these torn scraps in the wood-box. i got so many together pretty easily, but i can't find another one that will fit." "it looks as if it had been a poem," said i. "yes," said ned; "of course it was. and oh, look here! it was an acrostic, too!" ned took out his pencil, and filled in what he supposed to be the missing initial letters, making the name viola glidden. "it _may_ have been an acrostic," said i; "but you can't tell with certainty, so much is missing." "there isn't any doubt in my mind," said ned; "and it's perfectly evident who was the burglar. everybody knows who's sweet on viola glidden." "i should think a good many would be sweet on her," said i; "she's the handsomest girl in town." "well, then," said ned, "look at that 'otus dext.' of course it was _totus dexter_,--and who's the boy that uses that classic expression? i wouldn't have thought that so nice a fellow as holman would break in here at midnight, and put his mushy love-poetry into print at our expense. he must have been here about all night, for that lamp full of oil lasts nine hours." "there's an easy way to punish him, whoever he was," said phaeton, who had come in in time to hear most of our conversation. "how is that?" said ned. "get out a handbill," said phaeton, "and spread it all over town, offering a reward of one cent for the conviction of the burglar who broke into our office last night and printed an acrostic, of which the following is a fac-simile of a mutilated proof. then set up this, just as you have it here." "that's it; that'll make him hop," said ned. "i'll go to work on it at once." "but," said i, "it'll make miss glidden hop too." "let her hop." "but then perhaps her brother john will call around and make you hop." "he can't do it," said ned. "the man that owns a printing-press can make everybody else hop, and nobody can make him hop--unless it is a man that owns another press. whoever tries to fight a printing-press always gets the worst of it. father says so, and he knows, for he tried it on the _vindicator_ when he was running for sheriff and they slandered him." at this point i explained that holman had not come there without permission, and that he expected to pay for everything. "then why didn't you tell us that before?" said phaeton. "i was going to tell you he had been here," said i, "and that he did not want any of us to know what he printed. but when i saw that you had found that out, i thought perhaps, in fairness to him, i ought not to tell you _who_ it was." "all right," said ned. "of course, it's none of our business how much love-poetry holman makes, or how spooney it is, or what girl he sends it to, if he pays for it all. but don't forget to charge him for the oil. by the way, so many of the boys owe us for printing, i've bought a blank-book to put the accounts in, or we shall forget some of them. monkey roe's mother paid for the 'orphan boy' yesterday. i'll put that down now. half a dollar wasn't enough to charge her; we must make it up on the next job we do for her or monkey." while he was saying this, he wrote in his book: _mrs. roe per monkey orphan boys paid._ hardly had he finished the entry, when the door of the office was suddenly opened, and patsy rafferty thrust in his head and shouted: "jimmy the rhymer's killed!" "what?" "what?" "i say jimmy the rhymer's killed! and you done it, too!" i am sorry that patsy said "done," when he meant _did_. but he was a good-hearted boy, nevertheless; and probably his excitement was what made him forget his grammar. "what do you mean?" said ned, who had turned as pale as ashes. "you ought to know what i mean," said patsy. "just because he had the bad luck to spill a few of your old types, you abused him like a pickpocket, and said he'd got to pay for 'em, and drove him out of the office. and he's been down around the depot every day since, selling papers, tryin' to make money enough to pay you. and now he's got runned over be a hack, when he was goin' across the street to a gentleman that wanted a paper. and they've took him home,--and his blood's all along the road,--and my mother says it's on your head, too, you miserable skinflint! i won't have any of your gifts!" and with that patsy thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out the visiting-cards that ned had printed for him, and threw them high into the room, so that in falling they scattered over everything. "i'll bring back your car," he continued, "as soon as i can get it. i lent it to teddy dwyer last week." then he shut the door with a bang, and went away. we looked at one another in consternation. "what shall we do?" said ned. "i think we ought to go to jimmy's house at once," said i. "yes, of course," said ned. and he and i started. phaeton went the other way--as we afterward learned, to inform his mother, who had long been noted for her benevolence in cases of distress and sorrow among her neighbors. ned and i not only went by the postern, but made a bee-line for jimmy's house, going over any number of fences, and straight through door-yards, grass-plots, and garden-patches, without the slightest reference to streets or paths. we left in such a hurry that we forgot to lock up the office. while we were gone, monkey roe sauntered in, found holman's acrostic which ned had pieced together, and, when he went away, carried it with him. chapter xiii. a lyric strain. the impulse which had sent ned and me headlong toward jimmy's home as soon as we heard of the accident, found itself exhausted when we reached the gate. as if by concert, we both came to a dead halt. "what shall we do?" said ned. "if jimmy was alive, we could whistle and call him out; or we might even go and knock at the door. but i don't know how to go into a house where somebody's dead. i wish we had gone first and asked jack-in-the-box what was the right way to do." "perhaps jimmy isn't dead," said i. "there's no black crape on the door." "that doesn't prove it," said ned; "for jimmy's folks might not have any crape in the house." while we were still debating the question, the front door opened, and jack-in-the-box came out. "you're the very boy--i mean man--i wanted to see," said ned, running up to him, and speaking in a whisper. "that's fortunate," said jack. "tell me what i can do for you." "why, you see," said ned, "we came right over here as soon as we heard about jimmy. but we don't know the right way to go into a house where anybody's dead. we never did it before." "jimmy isn't dead," said jack. ned literally gave a great bound. i suppose he felt as if he had been suddenly acquitted of a serious charge of murder. "oh, jack, how lovely!" said he, and threw his arms around jack's neck. "but i suppose he must be hurt, though?" "yes," said jack, "he's pretty badly hurt." "still, if he's alive, we can do something for him," said ned. "oh, certainly!" said jack. "a great deal can be done for him--a great deal has been done already. but i think you'd better not go in to see him just yet. wait a few days, till he gets stronger," and jack hurried away. we still lingered before the house, and presently a little girl came out, eyed us curiously, and then went to swinging on the chain that supported the weight which kept the gate shut. "you don't seem to go along," said she, after a while. we made no answer. "did you want to know about my brother jimmy?" said she, after another pause. "yes," said i, "we'd be glad to hear all about him." "well, i'll tell you all about it," said she. "jimmy's hurt very bad--because he was runned over by a wagon--because he got in the way--because he didn't see it--because a gentleman wanted a paper on the other side of the street--because jimmy was selling them--because he wanted to get money--because he had to pay a great lot of it to a naughty, ugly boy that lives over that way somewhere--because he just touched one of that boy's old things, and it fell right to pieces. and he said jimmy'd got to pay money for it, and shouldn't come in his house any more. and jimmy was saving all his money to pay; and he's got two dollars and a half already from the papers, besides a dollar that isaac holman gave him to write a poem for him. and that makes almost five dollars, i guess." "let's go home," said ned. but i lingered to ask one question of the voluble little maiden. "what poem did jimmy write for isaac holman?" "i don't know," she answered. "it's the only poem jimmy ever wouldn't read to me. he said it was very particular, and he mustn't let anybody see it." a literary light dawned in upon me, as we slowly walked away. ned was silent for a long time. at last he spoke. "i feel sick," said he. "what's the matter?" said i. "the matter is," said he, "that everybody seems to be trying to make out that it's all my fault that jimmy got hurt." "patsy rafferty and jimmy's sister are not everybody," said i. "of course not; but they only talk what they hear other people say." "i suppose you were a little to blame," said i. "perhaps i was," said ned, "and i wish i could do something for him. i'd get any amount of money out of aunt mercy--if money would do him any good." as our way home led us past jack's box, i suggested that we should stop and consult him about it. "jack," said ned, "please tell us exactly how it is about jimmy." "the poor boy is fearfully hurt," said jack. "one leg is broken, and the other badly bruised." "do you know of anything we can do for him?" "what do you think of doing?" said jack. "if money was wanted," said ned, and the tears started in his eyes, "i could work on aunt mercy's feelings and get him any amount." jack drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair, and said nothing for some minutes. then he spoke slowly. "i doubt if the family would accept a gift of money from any source." "couldn't i, at least, pay the doctor's bill?" said ned. "you might," said jack. "yes, of course," said ned; "i can go to the doctor privately, and tell him not to charge them a cent, and aunt mercy'll pay him. that's the way to do it. what doctor do they have?" "dr. grill." "dr. grill!" ned repeated in astonishment. "why, dr. grill doesn't know anything at all. father says somebody said if a sick man was made of glass, and had a drummond light in his stomach, dr. grill couldn't see what ailed him." "we don't need a drummond light to see what ails jimmy," said jack, quietly. "still," said ned, "he ought to have a good doctor. can't you tell them to get dr. campbell? father says he has tied the croaking artery nineteen times. dr. campbell is the man for my money! but how queer it must feel to have nineteen hard knots tied in your croaking artery. do you think jimmy's croaking artery will have to be tied up, jack? if it does, i tell you what, dr. campbell's the man to do it." jack laughed immoderately. but ned was not the only person who ever made himself ridiculous by recommending a physician too enthusiastically. "i don't see what you're laughing at," said he. "it seems to me it's a pretty serious business." "i was only laughing at a harmless little mistake of yours," said jack. "when you said 'the croaking artery,' i presume you meant the carotid artery--this one here in the side of the neck." "if that's the right name of it, that's what i meant," said ned. "and when your father said dr. campbell had tied it nineteen times," continued jack, "he didn't mean that he had tied nineteen hard knots in one person's, but that he had had occasion to tie the artery in nineteen different persons." "and will jimmy's have to be tied?" said ned. "as the carotid artery is in the neck, and jimmy's injuries are all in his legs, i should say not," said jack. "of course not; i might have thought of that," said ned. "but you see, jack, i don't know much about doctor-things anyway, and to-day i don't know what i do know, for everybody's been saying i'm to blame for jimmy's hurt, and making me feel like a murderer. i'll do whatever you say, jack. if you say run for dr. campbell, i'll go right away." "i think dr. grill will do everything that ought to be done," said jack. "there's nothing you can do now, but perhaps we can think of something when jimmy begins to get well." "then you think he will get well?" said ned. "i hope he will," said jack. "i tell you what 'tis," said ned, as we continued our walk toward home, "that jack-in-the-box is the nicest fellow that ever waved a flag. sometimes i think he knows more than father does." a day or two later, ned went to see his aunt, and i went with him. "aunt mercy," said he, "one of the best boys in this town has got badly hurt--run over down by the depot--and his folks are so awful poor i don't see what they're going to do." "yes, i heard about it," said aunt mercy. "it was that wretched, brutal brother of yours who was to blame for it all." "oh no, aunty, fay had nothing at all to do with it," said ned. "don't tell me, child; you needn't try to shield your wicked brother; i know all about it. miss pinkham came to call on me, and told me the whole story. she said the poor little fellow tipped over a type or something, and one of those rogers boys drove him away, and swore at him dreadfully, and made him go and sell papers under the wheels of the cars and omnibuses, to get money to pay for it. of course i knew which one it was, but i did not say anything, i felt so deeply mortified for the family." it is difficult to say what answer ned ought to have made to this. to convince his aunt that miss pinkham's version of the story was incorrect, would have been hopeless; to plead guilty to the indictment as it stood, would have been unjust to himself; and to leave matters as they were, seemed unjust to his brother. and above all was the consideration that if he vexed his aunt, he would probably defeat the whole object of his visit--getting help for jimmy. so he remained silent. "what were you going to say, edmund burton, about poor jimmy redmond?" said his aunt. "i was going to say," ned answered, "that i wished i could help him a little by paying his doctor's bill, and not let him know anything about it." "you lovely, benevolent boy!" exclaimed aunt mercy, "that's exactly what you shall do. you're an ornament to the family. your right hand doesn't know what your left hand's doing. as soon as you find out what the doctor's bill is, come to me, and i'll furnish you the money. oh, what a pity that hard-hearted brother won't follow your noble example." jimmy had the best of care; mrs. rogers did a great deal, in a quiet, almost unnoticeable way, to add to his comforts; and after a while it was announced that he might receive short visits from the boys. phaeton, ned, and i were his first visitors. we found him lying in a little room where the sunbeams poured in at a south window, but not till they had been broken into all sorts of shapes by the foliage of a wistaria, the shadows of which moved with every breeze to and fro across a breadth of rag carpet. the walls were ornamented with a dozen or twenty pictures--some of them out of old books and papers, and some drawn and painted in water-colors by jimmy himself--none of them framed. the water-colors were mainly illustrations of his own poems. i am not able to say whether they possessed artistic merit, for i was a boy at the time, and of course a boy, who only knows what pleases him, can not be expected to know what is artistic and ought to please him. but some of them appeared to me very wonderful, especially one that illustrated "the unlucky fishermen." it was at the point where joe and isaac were trying to catch a ride behind an omnibus. not only did the heroes themselves appear completely tired out by the long day of fruitless fishing, but the dog looked tired, the bus horses were evidently tired, the driver was tired, the boy who called out "whip behind!" was tired, even the bus itself had a tired look, and this general air of weariness produced in the picture a wonderful unity of effect. [illustration: "jimmy looked so pale and thin, as he lay there."] jimmy looked so pale and thin, as he lay there, that we were all startled, and ned seemed actually frightened. he lost control of himself, and broke out passionately: "oh, jimmy, dear jimmy, you mustn't die! we can't have you die! we'll get all the doctors in the city, and buy you everything you need, only don't die!" here he thrust his hand into his pocket, and brought out two silver dollars. "take them, jimmy, take them!" said he. "aunt mercy's got plenty more that you can have when these are gone. and we don't care anything about the type you pied. i'd rather pi half the type in the office than see your leg broken. we can't any of us spare you. live, jimmy, live! and you may be proof-reader in our office,--we need one dreadfully, jack-in-the-box says so,--and you know pretty nearly everything, and can soon learn the rest, and we'll get you the green shade for your eyes, and you're awful round-sho--that is, i mean, in fact, i think you are the very man for it. and you can grow up with the business, and always have a good place. and then, jimmy, if you want to use your spare time in setting up your poems, you may, and change them just as much as you want to, and we won't charge you a cent for the use of the type." ned certainly meant this for a generous offer, and jimmy seemed to consider it so; but if he could have taken counsel of some of the sad-faced men who have spent their lives in proof-reading, i think, perhaps, he would have preferred to die. ned had scarcely finished his apostrophe, when jimmy's little sister brought in a beautiful bouquet, sent by miss glidden to brighten up the sick boy's chamber. looking around, we saw that other friends had been equally thoughtful. isaac holman had sent a basket of fruit; monkey roe, a comic almanac, three or four years old, but just as funny; jack-in-the-box a bottle of cordial; and patsy rafferty, a small bag of marbles. whether these last had been acquired by honest purchase, or by the gambling operation known as "playing for good," it would be ungenerous to inquire. "how do you amuse yourself, jimmy?" said phaeton. "i don't have much amusement," answered jimmy; "but still i can write a little." "poetry?" said phaeton. "oh, yes," said jimmy; "i write very little except poetry. there's plenty of prose in the world already." "perhaps," said phaeton, "if you feel strong enough, you'll read us your latest poem." "yes, certainly, if you'd like to hear it," said jimmy. "please pull out a box that you'll see under the head of my bed here." phaeton thrust his arm under, and pulled out a pine box, which was fastened with a small brass padlock. "the key is under the dying hound," said jimmy. looking around the room, we saw that one of jimmy's pictures represented a large dog dying, and a little boy and girl weeping over it. whether it was beth gelert, or some other heroic brute, i do not know. the corner of this picture being lifted, disclosed a small key, hung over the head of a carpet-tack driven into the wall. when the box was opened, we saw that it was nearly full of manuscripts. "the last one," said jimmy, who could not turn from his one position on the bed, "is written on blue paper, with a piece torn off from the upper right-hand corner." phaeton soon found it, and handed it to jimmy. "it is called an 'ode to a horseshoe'--that one over the door," said jimmy. "i found it in the road the day before i was hurt, and brought it right home, and put it up there." "then it hasn't brought you much good luck, so far, has it?" said phaeton. "i don't know about that," said jimmy. "it's true i was hurt the very next day; but something seems to have brought me a great many good friends." "oh! you always had those, horseshoe or no horseshoe," said ned. "i'm glad if i did," said jimmy; "though i never suspected it. but now i should like to read you the poem, and get your opinions on it; because it's in a different vein from most of my others." and then jimmy read us his verses: ode to a horseshoe. thou relic of departed horse! thou harbinger of luck to man! when things seem growing worse and worse, how good to find thee in the van! a hundred thousand miles, i ween! you've travelled on the flying heel-- by country roads, where fields were green, o'er pavements, with the rattling wheel. your toe-calk, in that elder day, was sharper than a serpent's tooth; but now it's almost worn away; the blacksmith should renew its youth. bright is the side was next the ground, and dark the side was next the hoof; 'tis thus true metal's only found where hard knocks put it to the proof. for aught i know, you may have done your mile in two nineteen or twenty; or, on a dray-horse, never run, but walked and walked, and pulled a plenty. at last your journeys all are o'er, whether of labor or of pleasure, and there you hang above my door, to bring me health and strength and treasure. when the reading was finished we all remained silent, till jimmy spoke. "i should like to have you give me your opinions about it," said he. "don't be afraid to criticise it. of course, there must be faults in it." "that's an awful good moral about the hard knocks," said i. "yes," said phaeton, "it might be drawn from jimmy's own experience. and as he says, the poem does seem to be in a new vein. i noticed a good many words that were different from any in his other pieces." "that," said jimmy, "is because i've been studying some of the older poets lately. jack-in-the-box lent me shakespeare, and i got three or four others from the school library. probably they have had some effect on my style." ned walked to the door, and, standing tiptoe, looked intently at the horseshoe. "one thing is certain," said he, "that passage about the toe-calk is perfectly true to nature. the toe-calk is nearly worn away, and the heel-calks are almost as bad." "it's a good poem," said i. "i don't see how you could make it any better." "nor i," said phaeton. "it tells the whole story." "i'm glad you like it," said jimmy. "i felt a little uncertain about dipping into the lyric strain." "yes," said ned; "there's just one spot where it shows the strain, and i don't see another thing wrong about it." "what's that?" said jimmy. "perhaps we'd better not talk about it till you get well," said ned. "oh, never mind that," said jimmy. "i don't need my legs to write poetry with, or to criticise it, either." "well," said ned, "i hate to find fault with it, because it's such a good poem, and i enjoyed it so much; but it seems to me you've strained the truth a little where you say 'a hundred thousand miles.'" "how so?" said jimmy. "calculate it for yourself," said ned. "no horse is likely to travel more than about fifty miles a day. and if he did that every day, he'd go three hundred miles in a week. at that rate, it would take him more than six years to travel a hundred thousand miles. but no shoe lasts a horse six years--nor one year, even. so, you see, this couldn't have travelled a hundred thousand miles. that's why i say the lyric strain is strained a little too much." "i see," said jimmy. "you are undoubtedly right. i shall have to soften it down to a dozen thousand, or something like that." "yes," said ned; "soften it down. when that's done, the poem will be perfect; there won't be a single fact misstated in it." at this point, phaeton said he thought we had staid as long as we ought to, and should be going. "i wish, jimmy," said ned, "you'd let me take this poem and read it to jack-in-the-box. i know he would enjoy it." "i've no objection," said jimmy. "and if you can find time some day to print it for me, here's two dollars to pay for the job," and he thrust ned's money back into his hand. "all right!" said ned, as he saw that jimmy would not accept the money, and yet did not want to refuse it rudely. "we'll try to make a handsome job of it. perhaps some day it will be printed on white satin, and hung up in the emperor of china's palace, like--whose poem was it father told about the other day, fay?" "derzhavin's," said phaeton. "yes, derzhavin's, whoever he was," said ned. "and this one of jimmy's ought to have a horseshoe embroidered in gold thread on the corner of the satin. but those funny ladies with slant eyes and little club feet will have to do that. i suppose they haven't much else to keep them busy, as they're not able to do any housework. it might have a small gold horseshoe on each of the four corners, or it might have one big horseshoe surrounding the poem. which do you think you would like best, jimmy?" "i've no choice; either would suit me," answered the poet. "good-bye, jimmy!" "good-bye, boys!" chapter xiv. an alarm of fire. every day some one of us called to see jimmy. he was well taken care of, and got along nicely. jack-in-the-box lent him books, and each day a fresh bouquet was sent in by miss glidden. one day monkey roe called on him. "jimmy," said he, "you know all about poetry, i suppose." "i know something about it," said jimmy. "i have written considerable." "and are you well enough yet to undertake an odd job in it?" "oh, yes," said jimmy. "a fellow doesn't have to be very well to write poetry." "it isn't exactly writing poetry that i want done," said monkey. "it's a very odd job, indeed. you might call it repairing poetry. do poets ever repair poetry, as well as make it new?" "i don't know," said jimmy. "i should think it might be done in some cases." "well, now," said monkey, "i have a broken poem. some part of every line is gone. but the rhymes are all there, and many of the other words, and most of the beginnings of the lines. i thought a poet would know how to fill up all the blank spaces, and make it just as it was when it was whole." "i don't know," said jimmy, doubtfully. "it might be possible to do it, and it might not. i'll do what i can for you. let me see it, if you have it with you." monkey pulled out of his pocket the mutilated poem of holman's which ned had pieced together, and, after smoothing it out, handed it to jimmy. as jimmy looked it over, he turned every color which it is possible for an unhappy human countenance to assume, and then gave a heavy groan. "where did you get this, monkey?" said he. "found it," said monkey. "found it--impossible!" said jimmy. "upon my word, i did find it, and just in the shape you see it now. but what of it?" "where did you find it?" said jimmy. "in rogers's printing-office, kicking around on the floor. it seemed to be thrown away as waste paper; so i thought there was no harm in taking it. and when i read it, it looked to me like a curious sort of puzzle, which i thought would interest you. but you seem to take it very seriously." "it's a serious matter," said jimmy. "no harm done, i hope," said monkey. "there may be," said jimmy. "i can't tell. some things about it i can't understand. i must ask you to let me keep this." "if it's so very important," said monkey, "it ought to be taken back to phaeton rogers, as it was in his office that i found it." "no," said jimmy; "it doesn't belong to him." "then you know something about it?" said monkey. "yes, monkey," said jimmy, "i do know considerable about it. but it is a confidential matter entirely, and i shall have to insist on keeping this." "all right!" said monkey. "i'll take your word for it." a few days after this, we were visiting jack in his box, when, as he was turning over the leaves of his scrap-book to find something he wanted to show us, phaeton exclaimed: "what's that i saw?" and, turning back a leaf or two, pointed to an exact fac-simile of the mutilated poem. it had evidently been made by laying a sheet of oiled paper over the original, and carefully tracing the letters with a pencil. "oh, that," said jack, "is something that monkey roe brought here. he said it was a literary puzzle, and wanted me to see if i could restore the lines. i've been so busy i haven't tried it yet." phaeton at once wrote a note to monkey, asking him to bring back the original; whereupon monkey called at the office and explained why he could not return it. "all right! i'll see jimmy about it myself," said phaeton. "but have you made any other tracings of it besides the one jack-in-the-box has?" "only two others," said monkey. "where are they?" "one i have at home." "and the other?" "i sent it to miss glidden, with a note saying that, as i had heard she wrote poetry sometimes, i thought she might be interested in this poetical puzzle." "good gracious!" said phaeton. "there's no use in trying to dip up _that_ spilled milk." * * * * * in those days there was an excitement and pleasure enjoyed by many boys, which was denied to phaeton, ned, and me. this was the privilege of running to fires. nearly all large fires occurred in the night, and mr. rogers would not permit his boys to turn out from their warm beds and run at breathless speed to the other side of the town to see a building burned. so they had to lie still and possess their souls in impatience while they heard the clanging of the bells and the rattling of the engine, and perhaps saw through their window the lurid reflection on the midnight sky. there was no need for my parents to forbid me, since none of these things ever woke me. running to fires, at least in cities, is now a thing of the past. the alarm is communicated silently by telegraph to the various engine-houses, a team is instantly harnessed to the engine, and with two or three men it is driven to the fire, which is often extinguished without the inhabitants of the next street knowing that there has been a fire at all. at the time of this story, the steam fire-engine had not been invented, and there were no paid fire departments. the hand-engine had a long pole on each side, called a brake, fastened to a frame that worked up and down like a pump-handle. when the brake on one side was down, that on the other was up. the brakes were long enough for nearly twenty men to stand in a row on each side and work them. no horses were used, but there was a long double rope, called a drag-rope, by which the men themselves drew the engine from its house to the fire. they always ran at full speed, and the two men who held the tongue, like the tongue of a wagon, had to be almost as strong as horses, to control and guide it as it went bumping over the pavement. each engine had a number and a name, and there was an organized company, of from forty to seventy men, who had it in charge, managed it at fires, drew it out on parade-days, took pride in it, and bragged about it. the partiality of the firemen for their own engine and company was as nothing in comparison with that of the boys. every boy in town had a violent affection for some one company, to the exclusion of all others. it might be because his father or his cousin belonged to that company, or because he thought it had the handsomest uniform (for no two companies were uniformed alike), or because it was first on the ground when his uncle's store was on fire, or because he thought it was the company destined to "wash" all others. sometimes there would be no discoverable reason for his choice; yet the boy would be just as strong in his partisanship, and often his highest ambition would be to be able to run with the hose-cart of his favorite company. the hose was carried wound on a reel, trundled on two light wheels, which was managed by half a dozen boys, fifteen or sixteen years of age. when a fire broke out, the bells of all the churches were rung; first slowly, striking one, two, three, four, etc., according to which district of the town the fire was in, and then clanging away with rapid strokes. thus the whole town was alarmed, and a great many people besides the firemen ran to every fire. firemen jumped from their beds at the first tap of a bell; or, if it was in the day-time, they instantly threw down their tools, left their work, and ran. there was an intense rivalry as to which engine should first get to the fire, and which should pour the most effective stream of water upon it. but the highest pitch of excitement was reached when there was an opportunity to "wash." if the fire was too far from the water-supply to be reached through the hose of a single engine, one engine would be stationed at the side of the river or canal, or wherever the water was taken from, to pump it up and send it as far as it could through its hose, there discharging into the box of another engine, which, in turn, forced it another distance, through its own hose. if the first engine could send the water along faster than the second could dispose of it, the result would be that in a few minutes the box of the second would be overflowed, and she was then said to be "washed," which was considered a great triumph for the company that had washed her. this sort of rivalry caused the firemen to do their utmost, and they did not always confine themselves to fair means. sometimes, when an engine was in danger of being washed, some member of the company would follow the line of the other company's hose till he came to where it passed through a dark place, and then, whipping out his pocket-knife, would cut it open and run away. when there were not enough members of a company present to man the brakes, or when they were tired out, the foreman had the right to select men from among the bystanders, and compel them to take hold. monkey roe was a born fireman. he never failed to hear the first tap of the bell, about ninety seconds after which he dropped from the casement of his window to the roof of the kitchen, thence to the roof of the back piazza, slid down a pillar, and was off for the fire, generally following in the wake of red rover three, which was the company he sided with. it was entertaining to hear him relate his exciting adventures; but it was also somewhat exasperating. "i don't see," said ned, after monkey had finished one of these thrilling narratives, "what father means by never letting us run to a fire. how does he suppose he's going to make men of us, if we never begin to do anything manly?" "perhaps he doesn't think it is especially manly," said phaeton. "not manly!" exclaimed ned, in astonishment. "i should like to know what's more manly than to take the tongue of big six when there's a tremendous fire and they jump her all the way down state street. or to stand on the engine and yell at the men, when torrent two is trying to wash her. why, sometimes the foreman gets so excited that he batters his trumpet all to pieces, pounding on the brakes, to cheer his men." "knocking trumpets to pieces is very manly, of course," said phaeton, smiling. "i didn't mean to say father wouldn't consider it manly to be a fireman. what i should have said was, that perhaps he thought there were other ways to become manly. i should like to run to a fire once in a while; not for the sake of manliness, but to see the fun." the more ned thought about it, the more it seemed to him it was a continuous wrong. at last he spoke to his father about it, and set forth so powerfully the danger of growing up without becoming manly, that mr. rogers laughingly told the boys they might run to the very next fire. the next thing was to count me in. the only difficulty to be overcome in my case was sleepiness. we canvassed many plans. ned suggested a pistol fastened to the side of my window, with a string tied to the trigger and reaching to the ground, so that he or phaeton could pull it on their way to the fire. the serious objection to this was that a shower would prevent the pistol from going off. it was also suggested that i have a bell, or tie the cord to a chair or something that could be pulled over and make a racket. "the objection to all those things is," said phaeton, "that they will disturb the whole family. now, if you would make a rope-ladder, and hang it out of your window every night, one of us could climb up quietly, and speak to you. then you could get out at the window and come down the ladder, instead of going through the house and waking up the people." this suggestion struck us with great force; it doubled the anticipated romance. under instructions from phaeton, ned and i made the ladder. in the store-room we found a bed-cord, which answered well for the sides. the rungs must be made of wood, and we had considerable difficulty in finding anything suitable. any wood that we could have cut would be so soft that the rungs, to be strong enough, must have been very bulky. this was an objection, as i was to roll up the ladder in the day-time, and hide it under my bed. at last, ned came over to tell me he had found just the thing, and took me to the attic of their house to see. "there," said he, pointing to half a dozen ancient-looking chairs in a cobwebbed corner. "that is exactly what we want. the rounds of those old chairs are as tough as iron." "whose chairs are they?" said i. "oh, anybody's, nobody's," said ned. "i suppose they are a hundred years old. and who's ever going to sit in such awkward-looking old things as those?" it did seem preposterous to suppose that anybody would; so we went to work to take out the rounds at once. the old chairs were very strong, and after we had pulled at them in vain to spring them apart enough for the rounds to drop out, we got a saw and sawed off all the rounds an inch or two from the legs. with these, the ladder was soon made, and i went home and drove two great spikes into the sill of my window, to hang it by. i used to hang out the ladder every night, and take it in every morning. the first two nights i lay awake till almost daylight, momentarily expecting the stroke of the fire-bell. but it was not heard on those nights, nor the next, nor the next. "it would be just like our luck," said ned, "if there should never be another fire in this town." "it would be lucky for the town," said phaeton, who overheard him. "perhaps so," said ned; "and yet i could point out some houses that would look a great deal better burned up. i wonder if it would do any good to hang a horseshoe over the door." "what for?" said phaeton. "to prevent them from burning?" "oh, no," said ned. "i mean over the door of our office, to--to--well, not exactly to make those houses burn, but to bring us good luck generally." it did seem a long time for the town to be without a conflagration, and one day ned came into the office looking quite dejected. "what do you think has happened now?" said he. "just like our luck, only worse and worse." "what is it?" said i. "the whole fire department's going to smash." "i shouldn't think you'd call that bad luck," said phaeton. "for now when there _is_ a fire, it will be a big one, if there's no fire department to prevent it from spreading." "but the best fun," said ned, "is to see the firemen handle the fire, and to see red rover three wash cataract eight. i saw her do it beautifully at annual inspection. what i want is a tremendous big fire, and plenty of engines to play on it." the explanation of ned's alarming intelligence was that the fire department had got into a quarrel with the common council, and threatened to disband. one company, who had rather a shabby engine-house, and were refused an appropriation for a new one, tied black crape on the brakes of their engine, drew it through the principal streets, and finally, stopping before the court-house yard, lifted the machine bodily and threw it over the fence. then they threw their fireman hats after it, and quietly disbanded. this company had been known as reliance five. the incident frightened the common council into giving the other companies what they asked for; but there was never more a number five company in that city. i had got pretty tired of hanging out my rope ladder every night, and rolling it up every morning, when at last the hour of destiny struck, as the majority of poets would say--that is, the court-house bell struck the third district, and steeple after steeple caught up the tune, till, in a few minutes, the whole air was full of the wild clangor of bells. at the same time, the throats of innumerable men and boys were open, and the word "fire!" was pouring out from them in a continuous stream. "wake up, ned!" said phaeton. "here it is at last, and it's a big one." ned bounded to his feet, looked out at the window, exclaimed "oh, glory!" as he saw the lurid sky, and then began to get into his clothes with the utmost rapidity. suddenly he stopped. "look here, fay," said he. "this is sunday night. i'm afraid father won't let us go, after all." "perhaps not," said phaeton. "then, what must we do?" said ned. "do the best we can." "the question is, what _is_ best?" said ned. "it is evident we ought to go out of the window, but it's too high from the ground." "then we must make a rope," said phaeton. "what can we make it of?" "the bedclothes, of course." "that's a splendid idea!--that saves us," said ned, and he set about tying the sheets together. before phaeton was dressed, ned had made the rope and cast it out of the window, first tying one end to the bedpost, and sliding down to the ground, made off, without waiting for his brother. he came straight to my ladder, and had his foot on the first rung, when a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder. "so you're the one he sends in, are you?" said a deep voice, and ned looked up into the face of a policeman. "i'd rather have caught the old one," he continued, "but you'll do. i've been watching this burglar arrangement for two hours. and by the way, i must have some of it for evidence; the old one may take it away while i'm disposing of you." and he turned and with his pocket-knife cut off about a yard of my ladder, taking which in one hand and ned in the other, he hurried away to the police-station. [illustration: "ned looked up into the face of a policeman."] it was useless for ned to protest that he was not a burglar, nor a burglar's partner, or to tell the true story of the ladder, or to ask to be taken to his father. the policeman considered himself too wise for any such delusive tricks. "mr. rogers's boy, eh?" said he. "why don't you call yourself george washington's boy, while you're about it?" "washington never had any boys," said ned. "didn't eh? well, now, i congratulate george on that. a respectable man never knows what his sons may come to, in these times." "washington didn't live in these times," said ned; "he died hundreds of years ago." "did, eh?" said the policeman. "i see that you're a great scholard; you can go above me in the history class, young man. i never was no scholard myself, but i know one when i see him; and i always feel bad to put a scholard in quod." "if i had my printing-office and a gun here," said ned, "i'd put plenty of quads into you." "would, eh?" said the policeman. "well, now, it's lucky for me that that are printing-office and them ere quads are quietly reposing to-night in the dusky realms of imagination, aint it, young man? but here's the quod _i_ spoke about--it's reality, you see." and they ascended the steps of the station-house. in the midst of sound sleep, i woke on hearing my name called, and saw the dark outlines of a human head and shoulders at my window, projected against a background of illuminated sky. i had heard father reading an article in the evening paper about a gang of burglars being in the town, and i suppose that in my half-wakened condition that mingled itself vaguely in my thoughts with the idea of fire. at any rate, i seized a pitcher of water and threw its contents toward the light, and then, clubbing the pitcher, was about to make a desperate assault on the supposed burglar, when he spoke again. [illustration: phaeton is taken for a burglar.] "what are you doing? don't you know me?" "oh, is that you, fay?" "yes, and you've drenched me through and through," said he, as he climbed in. "that's too bad," said i. "i didn't know what i was about." "it's a tremendous fire," said he, "and i hate to lose the time to go back home and change my clothes. besides, i don't know that i could, for we made a rope of the bedclothes and slid down from our window, and i couldn't climb up again." "oh, never mind, put on a suit of mine," said i, and got out my sunday suit, the only clothes i had that seemed likely to be large enough for phaeton. it was a tight squeeze, but he got into them. "why did you make your ladder so short?" said he. "it reaches to the ground," said i. "no, it doesn't," said phaeton; "i had hard work to get started on it. i expected to find ned standing at the foot of it, but he was so impatient to see the fire, i suppose he couldn't wait for us." we dropped from the shortened ladder to the ground, passed out at the gate and shut it noiselessly behind us, and then broke into a run toward that quarter of the town where both a pillar of flame and a pillar of cloud rose through the night and lured us on. at the same time our mouths opened themselves by instinct, and that thrilling word "fire!" was paid out continuously, like a sparkling ribbon, as we ran. chapter xv. running with the machine. presently we heard a tremendous noise behind us,--a combination of rumble, rattle, and shout. it was red rover three going to the fire. she was for some reason a little belated, and was trying to make up lost time. at least forty men had their hands on the drag-rope, and were taking her along at a lively rate, while the two who held the tongue and steered the engine, being obliged to run at the same time, had all they could do. the foreman was standing on the top, with a large tin trumpet in his hand, through which he occasionally shouted an order to the men. "let's take hold of the drag-rope and run with her," said phaeton. if i had been disposed to make any objection, i had no opportunity, for phaeton immediately made a dive for a place where there was a longer interval than usual between the men, and seized the rope. not to follow him would have seemed like desertion, and i thought if i was ever to be a boy of spirit, this was the time to begin. when a boy for the first time laid his hand upon the drag-rope of an engine under swift motion, he experienced a thrill of mingled joy and fear to which nothing else in boy-life is comparable. if he missed his hold, or tired too soon, he would almost certainly be thrown to the ground and run over. if he could hang on, and make his legs fly fast enough, he might consider himself as sharing in the glory when the machine rolled proudly up in the light of the burning building, and was welcomed with a shout. there comes to most men, in early manhood, a single moment which perhaps equals this in its delicious blending of fear and rapture--but let us leave that to the poets. phaeton and i hung on with a good grip, while the inspiration of the fire in sight, and the enthusiasm of our company, seemed to lend us more than our usual strength and speed. but before we reached the fire, a noise was heard on a street that ran into ours at an angle some distance ahead. the foreman's ear caught it instantly, and he knew it was cataract eight doing her best in order to strike into the main road ahead of us. "jump her, men! jump her!" he shouted, and pounded on the brakes with his tin trumpet. the eighty legs and four wheels on which red rover three was making her way to the fire each doubled its speed, while forty mouths yelled "ki yi!" and the excited foreman repeated his admonition to "jump her, boys! jump her!" [illustration: "jump her, boys! jump her!"] phaeton and i hung on for dear life, though i expected every moment to find myself unable to hang on any longer. sometimes we measured the ground in a sort of seven-league-boot style, and again we seemed to be only as rags fastened to the rope and fluttering in the wind. the men at the tongue were tossed about in all sorts of ways. sometimes one would be lying on his breast on the end of it where it curved up like a horse's neck, and the next minute one or both of them would be thrown almost under it. whenever a wheel struck an uneven paving-stone, these men would be jerked violently to one side, and we could feel the shock all along the rope. it seemed sometimes as if the engine was simply being hurled through the air, occasionally swooping down enough in its flight to touch the ground and rebound again. all the while the church-bells of the city, in the hands of sextons doubly excited by fire and fees, kept up a direful clang. i doubt whether the celebrated clang of apollo's silver bow could at all compare with it. as we neared the forks of the road, the foreman yelled and pounded yet more vociferously, and through the din we could hear that cataract eight was doing the same thing. at last we shot by the corner just in time to compel our rival to fall in behind us, and a minute or two later we burst through the great ring of people that surrounded the fire, and made our entrance, as it were, upon the stage, with the roaring, crackling flames of three tall buildings for our mighty foot-lights. we had jumped her. the fire was in the novelty works--an establishment where were manufactured all sorts of small wares in wood and iron. the works occupied three buildings, pretty close together, surrounded by a small strip of yard. either because the firemen, from the recent demoralization of the department, were long in coming upon the ground, or for some other reason, the fire was under good headway, and all three buildings were in flames, before a drop of water was thrown. phaeton whispered to me that we had better get away from the engine now, or they might expect us to work at the brakes; so we dodged back and forth through the crowd, and came out in front of the fire at another point. here we met monkey roe, who had run with red rover's hose-cart, was flushed with excitement, and was evidently enjoying the fire most heartily. "oh, she's a big one!" said he, "probably the biggest we ever had in this town--or will be, before she gets through. i have great hopes of that old shanty across the road; it ought to have been burned down long ago. if this keeps on much longer, that'll have to go. don't you see the paint peeling off already?" the "old shanty" referred to was a large wooden building used as a furniture factory, and it certainly did look as if monkey's warmest hopes would be realized. i observed that he wore a broad belt of red leather, on which was inscribed the legend: we have can and will "monkey," said i, "what's that?" "why, don't you know that?" said he; "that's red rover's motto." "yes, of course it is," said i; "but what does it mean?" "it means," said monkey, with solemn emphasis, "we have washed eight, we can wash eight, and we will wash eight." there were older people than monkey roe to whom the washing of eight, rather than the extinguishing of fires, was the chief end of a company's existence. "yes," said i, catching some of monkey's enthusiasm, in addition to what i had already acquired by running with red rover, "i think we can wash her." the next moment i was pierced through and through by pangs of conscience. here was i, a boy whose uncle was a member of cataract eight, and who ought, therefore, to have been a warm admirer and partisan of that company, not only running to a fire with her deadly rival, but openly expressing the opinion that she could be washed. but such is the force of circumstances in their relative distance,--smaller ones that are near us often counterbalancing much larger ones that happen, for the moment, to be a little farther off. it did not occur to me to be ashamed of myself for expressing an opinion which was not founded on a single fact of any kind whatever. the consciences of very few people seem ever to be troubled on that point. "the hook-and-ladder is short-handed to-night," said monkey. "i think i'll take an axe." "what does he mean by taking an axe?" said i to phaeton. "i don't know," said phaeton; "let's follow him, and find out." monkey passed around the corner into the next street, where stood a very long, light carriage, with two or three ladders upon it and a few axes in sockets on the sides. these axes differed from ordinary ones in having the corner of the head prolonged into a savage-looking spike. monkey spoke to the man in charge, who handed him an axe and a fireman's hat. this hat was made of heavy sole-leather, painted black, the crown being rounded into a hemisphere, and the rim extended behind so that it covered his shoulder-blades. on the front was a shield ornamented with two crossed ladders, a trumpet, and a large figure . he took the axe, and put on the hat, leaving his own, and at the man's direction went to where a dozen axe-men were chopping at one side of a two-story wooden building that made a sort of connecting-link between the novelty works and the next large block. monkey seemed to hew away with the best of them; and, though they were continually changing about, we could always tell him from the rest by his shorter stature and the fact that his hat seemed too large for him. before long, a dozen firemen, with a tall ladder on their shoulders, appeared from somewhere, and quickly raised it against the building. three of them then mounted it, dragging up a pole with an enormous iron hook at the end. but there was no projection at the edge of the roof into which they could fix the hook. "stay where you are," shouted the foreman to them through his trumpet. then to the assistant foreman he shouted: "send up your lightest man to cut a place." the assistant foreman looked about him, seized on monkey as the lightest man, and hastily ordered him up. the next instant, monkey was going up the ladder, axe in hand, passed the men who were holding the hook, and stepped upon the roof. while he stood there, we could see him plainly, a dark form against a lurid background, as with a few swift strokes he cut a hole in the roof, perhaps a foot from the edge. the hook was lifted once more, and its point settled into the place thus prepared for it. the pole that formed the handle of the hook reached in a long slope nearly to the ground, and a heavy rope formed a continuation of it. at the order of the foreman, something like a hundred men seized this rope and stretched themselves out in line for a big pull. at the same time, some of the firemen near the building, seeing the first tongues of flame leap out of the window nearest to the ladder,--for the fire had somehow got into this wooden building also,--hastily pulled down the ladder, leaving monkey standing on the roof, with no apparent means of escape. a visible shudder ran through the crowd, followed by shouts of "raise the ladder again!" the ladder was seized by many hands, but in a minute more it was evident that it would be useless to raise it, for the flames were pouring out of every window, and nobody could have passed up or down it alive. "stand from under!" shouted monkey, and threw his axe to the ground. then, getting cautiously over the edge, he seized the hook with both hands, threw his feet over it, thus swinging his body beneath it, and came down the pole and the rope hand over hand, like his agile namesake, amid the thundering plaudits of the multitude. as soon as he was safely landed, the men at the rope braced themselves for a pull, and with a "yo, heave, ho!" the whole side of the building was torn off and came over into the street with a deafening crash, while a vast fountain of fire arose from its ruins, and the crowd swayed back as the heat struck upon their faces. by this time the engines had got into position, stretched their hose, and were playing away vigorously. the foremen were sometimes bawling through their trumpets, and sometimes battering them to pieces in excitement. the men that held the nozzles and directed the streams were gradually working their way nearer and nearer to the buildings, as the water deadened portions of the fire and diminished the heat. and, through all the din and uproar, we could hear the steady, alternating thud of the brakes as they struck the engine-boxes on either side. occasionally this motion on some particular engine would be quickened for a few minutes, just after a vigorous oration by the foreman; but it generally settled back into the regular pace. and now a crack appeared in the front wall of one of the tall brick buildings, near the corner, running all the way from ground to roof. a suppressed shout from the crowd signified that all had noticed it, and served as a warning to the hose-men to look out for themselves. the crack grew wider at the top. the immense side wall began to totter, then hung poised for a few breathless seconds, and at last broke from the rest of the building and rushed down to ruin. it fell upon the burning wreck of the wooden structure, and sent sparks and fire-brands flying for scores of yards in every direction. the hose-men crept up once more under the now dangerous front wall, and sent their streams in at the windows, where a mass of living flame seemed to drink up the water as fast as it could be delivered, and only to increase thereby. it might have been ten minutes, or it might have been an hour, after the falling of the side wall,--time passes so strangely during excitement,--when another great murmur from the crowd announced the trembling of the front wall. the hose-men were obliged to drop the nozzles and run for their lives. after the preliminary tremor which always occurs, either in reality or in the spectator's imagination, the front wall doubled itself down by a diagonal fold, breaking off on a line running from the top of the side wall still standing to the bottom of the one that had fallen, and piling itself in a crumbled mass, out of which rose a great cloud of dust from broken plaster. the two other brick buildings, notwithstanding thousands of gallons of water were thrown into them, burned on fiercely till they burned themselves out. but no more walls fell, and, for weeks afterward, the four stories of empty and blackened ruin towered in a continual menace above their surroundings. the old shanty which monkey roe had hoped would burn, had been saved by the unwearied exertions of the firemen, who from the moment the engines were in action had kept it continually wet. "the best of the fire was over," as an habitual fire-goer expressed it, the crowd was thinning out, and phaeton and i went to look for ned, who, poor fellow! was pining in a dungeon where he could only look through iron bars upon a square of reddened sky. we had hardly started upon this quest when several church-bells struck up a fresh alarm, and the news ran from mouth to mouth that there was another fire; but nobody seemed to know exactly where it was. "let's follow one of the engines," said phaeton; and this time we cast our lot with rough-and-ready seven--not with hand on the drag-ropes to assist in jumping her, but rather as ornamental tail-pieces. "i think i shall take an axe this time," said phaeton, as we ran along. "i've no doubt you could handle one as well as monkey roe," said i,--"that is,"--and here i hesitated somewhat, "if you had on an easy suit of clothes. mine seem to be a little too tight to give perfectly free play to your arms." "oh, as to that," said phaeton, who had fairly caught the fireman fever, "if i find the coat too tight, i can throw it off." the new fire proved to be at mr. glidden's house. it had probably caught from cinders wafted from the great fire and falling upon the steps. all about the front door was in a blaze. at the sight of this, phaeton seemed to become doubly excited. he rushed to the hook-and-ladder carriage, and came back in a minute with an axe in his hand and a fireman's hat on his head, which proved somewhat too large for him, and gave him the appearance of the victorious gladiator in gérôme's famous picture. he seemed now to consider himself a veteran fireman, and, without orders from anybody, rushed up to the side door and assaulted it vigorously, shivering it, with a few blows, into a mass of splinters. he passed in through the wreck, and, for a few minutes, was lost to sight. i barely caught a glimpse of a man passing in behind him. what took place inside of the house, i learned afterward. miss glidden had been sitting up reading "ivanhoe," and had paid no attention to the great fire, except to look out of the window a few minutes on the first alarm. hearing this thundering noise at the door, she stepped to the head of the stairs, in a half-dazed condition, and saw ascending them, as she expressed it, "a grotesque creature, in tight clothes, wearing an enormous mediæval helmet, and bearing in his hand a gleaming battle-axe." she could only think him the ghost of a templar, screamed, and fainted. the man who had gone in after phaeton, passed him on the stairs, and soon emerged from the house, bearing the young lady in his arms. it was jack-in-the-box. phaeton came out a few minutes later, bringing her canary in its cage. [illustration: "this must be put in a safe place."] "this must be put in a safe place," said he to me; "miss glidden thinks the world of it. i'll run home with it, and come back again." and he ran off, just escaping arrest at the hands of a policeman who thought he was stealing the bird, but who was not able to run fast enough to catch him. meanwhile the firemen were preparing to extinguish the new fire. there was no water-supply near enough for a single engine to span the distance. some of them had been left at the great fire, to continue pouring water upon it, while the chief engineer ordered four of them to take care of this one. they formed two lines, red rover three and big six taking water from the canal and sending it along to cataract eight and rough-and-ready seven, who threw it upon the burning house. as phaeton, jack-in-the-box, miss glidden, and the canary emerged from the house, half a dozen men rushed in--some of them firemen, and some citizens who had volunteered their help. in a little while, one of them appeared at an upper window, having in his hands a large looking-glass with an elaborately carved frame. without stopping to open the window, he dashed the mirror through sash, glass, and all, and as it struck the ground it was shivered into a thousand fragments. then another man appeared at the window with an armful of small framed pictures, and, taking them one at a time by the corner, "scaled" them out into the air. then the first man appeared again, dragging a mattress. resting this on the window-sill, he tied a rope around it, and let it down slowly and carefully to the ground. the second man appeared again in turn; this time with a handsome china wash-bowl and pitcher, which he sent out as if they had been shot from a cannon. in falling, they just escaped smashing the head of a spectator. bearing in mind, i suppose, the great mercantile principle that a "set" of articles should always be kept together, he hurriedly threw after them such others as he found on the wash-stand,--the cake of soap striking the chief engineer in the neck, while the tall, heavy slop-jar--hurled last of all to complete the set--turned some beautiful somersaults, emptying its contents on lukey finnerty, and landed in the midst of a table full of glassware which had been brought out from the dining-room. next appeared, at another upper window, two men carrying a bureau that proved to be too large to go through. with that promptness which is so necessary in great emergencies, one of the men instantly picked up his axe, and, with two or three blows, cut the bureau in two in the middle, after which both halves were quickly bundled through the window and fell to the ground. the next thing they saved was a small, open book-case filled with handsomely bound books. they brought it to the window, with all the books upon it, rested one end on the sill, and then, tripping up its heels, started it on the hyperbolic curve made and provided for projectiles of its class. if the commissioner of patents could have seen it careering through the air, he would have rejected all future applications for a monopoly in revolving book-cases. when it reached the ground, there was a general diffusion of good literature. they finally discovered, in some forgotten closet, a large number of dusty hats and bonnets of a by-gone day, and came down the stairs carefully bringing a dozen or two of them. close behind them followed the other two, one having his arms full of pillows and bolsters, while the other carried three lengths of old stove-pipe. "we saved what we could," said one, with an evident consciousness of having done his duty. "yes," said another, "and it's too hot to go back there, though there's lots of furniture that hasn't been touched yet." "what a pity!" said several of the bystanders. meanwhile the hook-and-ladder company had fastened one of their great hooks in the edge of the roof, and were hauling away with a "yo, heave, ho!" to pull off the side of the house. they had only got it fairly started, separated from the rest of the frame by a crack of not more than five or six inches, when the chief engineer came up and ordered them to desist, as he expected to be able to extinguish the fire. and now the engines were in full play. a little trap-door in the top of cataract eight's box was open, and the assistant foreman of red rover three was holding in it the nozzle of three's hose, which discharged a terrific stream. the same was true of big six and rough-and-ready seven. i never heard a more eloquent orator than the foreman of cataract eight, as he stood on the box of his engine, pounded with his trumpet on the air-chamber, and exhorted the men to "down with the brakes!" "shake her up lively!" "rattle the irons!" "don't be washed!" etc., all of which expressions seemed to have one meaning, and the brakes came down upon the edges of the box like the blows of a trip-hammer, making the engine dance about as if it were of pasteboard. the foreman of red rover three was also excited, and things in that quarter were equally lively. for a considerable time it was an even contest. eight's box was kept almost full of water, and no more; while it seemed as if both companies had attained the utmost rapidity of stroke that flesh and bones were capable of, or wood and iron could endure. but at last four fresh men, belonging to red rover three, who had been on some detached service, came up, leaped upon the box, and each putting a foot upon the brakes, added a few pounds to their momentum. the water rose rapidly in eight's box, and in about a minute completely overflowed it, drenching the legs of her men, and making everything disagreeable in the vicinity. a shout went up from the bystanders, and three's men instantly stopped work, took off their hats, and gave three tremendous cheers. we had washed her. big six was trying to do the same thing by rough-and-ready seven, and had almost succeeded when the hose burst. phaeton and i were standing within a step of the spot where it gave way, and we ourselves were washed. "let's go home," said he, as he surrendered his axe and fire-hat to a hook-and-ladder man. "yes," said i, "it's time. they've poured water enough into that house to float the ark, and all the best of the fire is over." as we left the scene of our labors, i observed that my sunday coat, besides being drenched, was split open across the back. "phaeton," said i, "you forgot to throw off my coat when you went to work with the axe, didn't you?" "that's so," said he. "the fact is, i suppose i must have been a little excited." "i've no doubt you were," said i. "putting out fires and saving property is very exciting work." chapter xvi. a new fire-extinguisher. it was not yet morning, and my rope-ladder was still hanging out when phaeton and i reached the house. we climbed up, and as soon as he could tie up his wet clothes in a bundle, he went down again and ran home. when our family were assembled at the breakfast-table, i had to go through those disagreeable explanations which every boy encounters before he arrives at the age when he can do what he pleases without giving a reason for it. at such a time, it seems to a boy as if those who ought to sympathize with him, had set themselves up as determined antagonists, bringing out by questions and comments the most unfavorable phase of everything that has happened, and making him feel that, instead of a misfortune to be pitied, it was a crime to be punished. looking at it from the boy's side, it is, perhaps, wisest to consider this as a necessary part of man-making discipline; but, from the family's side, it should appear, as it is, a cowardly proceeding. it was in vain that i strove to interest our family with vivid descriptions of how we jumped red rover three, how we washed cataract eight, and how we saved mr. glidden's property. i suppose they were deficient in imagination; they could realize nothing but what was before them, visible to the physical eye; their minds continually reverted to the comparatively unimportant question as to how my clothes came to be in so dreadful a condition. as if 'twas any fault of mine that big six's hose burst, or as if i could have known that it would burst at that particular spot where phaeton and i were standing. the only variation from this one-stringed harp was when they labored ingeniously to make it appear that the jumping, the washing, and the saving would all have been done quite as effectually if i had been snug in bed at home. phaeton came over to tell me that ned was missing. "i don't wonder that we didn't happen to run across him in that big crowd," said he; "but i shouldn't think he'd stay so long as this. do you suppose anything can have happened to him?" "what could happen?" said i. "he may have taken an axe, and ventured too far into some of the burning buildings," said phaeton. "no," said i, after a moment's consideration; "that wouldn't be like ned. he might be very enthusiastic about taking care of the fire, but he wouldn't forget to take care of himself. however, i'll go with you to look for him." as we went up the street, we came upon patsy rafferty and teddy dwyer, pushing phaeton's car before them, with jimmy the rhymer in it. they were taking him out to see what remained of the fire. jimmy said he was getting well rapidly, and expected soon to be about again on his own legs. his parents never knew who paid the doctor's bill, but thought it must have been the unknown gentleman who was calling him to come across the street when he was run over. a few rods farther on, we met ned rogers walking toward home. "hello! where have you been all this time?" said phaeton. "can't you tell by the feathers?" said ned. "what feathers?" "jail-bird feathers. i've been locked up in jail all night." of course we asked him how that came about, and ned told us the story of his captivity, which the reader already knows. "but how did you get out?" said phaeton. "why, when 'squire moore came to the office and opened the court, i was brought out the first one. and when i told him my story and whose boy i was, he said of course i was; he'd known father too many years not to be able to tell one of his chickens as soon as it peeped. he advised me not to meddle any more with burglar things, and then told me to go home. 'squire moore's the 'squire for my money! but as for that stupid policeman, i'll sue him for false imprisonment, if aunt mercy will let me have the funds to pay a lawyer." "aunt mercy's pretty liberal with you," said phaeton, "but you may be sure she'll never give you any such amount as that." when ned heard of our adventures at the fire, he fairly groaned. "it would be just like my luck," said he, "if there shouldn't be another good fire in this town for a year." the lost brother being found, phaeton said the next thing to be done was to take home the bird he had rescued. i went with him on this errand. as we approached the house, phaeton carrying the cage, a scene of desolation met our eyes. nearly everything it contained had been brought out-of-doors, and had sustained more or less injury. the house itself, with all the windows and doors smashed out, the front burned to charcoal, the side so far wrenched apart from the rest of the frame that it could not be replaced, and the whole browned with smoke and drenched with water, was a melancholy wreck. mr. glidden and his son john stood in the yard looking at it, and their countenances, on the whole, were rather sorrowful. "good-morning, mr. glidden," said phaeton. "good-morning, sir." "i should like to see miss glidden," said phaeton. "she is at her aunt's, over on west street," said mr. glidden. phaeton seemed a little disappointed. "i've brought home her bird," said he. "i carried it out when the house was on fire, and took it up to our house for safety." "my sister will be very much obliged to you," said john glidden. "i'll take charge of it." phaeton intimated his entire willingness to run over to west street with the bird at once, saying that he knew the house where she was staying perfectly well; but john said he wouldn't trouble him to do that, and took the cage, which phaeton gave up with some appearance of reluctance. "i don't believe the smell of smoke will be good for that bird," said phaeton, as we walked away. "canaries are very tender things. he'd better have let me carry it right over to his sister." "yes," said i, "and relieve her anxiety of mind about it. but i suppose he and his father are thinking of nothing but the house." "i don't wonder at that," said phaeton. "it must be a pretty serious thing to have your house and furniture knocked to pieces in that way. and the water seems to do as much harm as the fire." "yes, and the axes more than either," said i. "but it can't be helped. houses will get on fire once in a while, and then, of course, they must either be put out or torn down." "i am inclined to think it can be helped," said phaeton. "i've been struck with an idea this morning, and if it works out as well as i hope, i shall be able to abolish all the engines and axe-men, and put out fires without throwing any water on them." "that would be a tremendous invention," said i. "what is it?" "wait till i get it fully worked out," said he, "and then we'll talk it over. it needs a picture to explain it." a day or two afterward, phaeton asked me to go with him to see jack-in-the-box, as he had completed his invention, and wanted to consult jack about it. "by the way," said he, as we were walking up the street, "i received something this morning which will interest you." he took from his pocket, and handed me, a note written on delicate scented paper and folded up in a triangle. it was addressed to "dear mr. rogers," and signed "v. glidden." it acknowledged the receipt of the bird, and thanked him handsomely for his "gallantry in rescuing dear little chrissy from the flames." "that's beautiful," said i, as i folded it up and handed it back to phaeton, who read it again before putting it into his pocket. "yes," said he, "that's lovely." "you never were called 'mr. rogers' before, were you?" said i. "no," said he. "i tell you what 'tis, fay," said i, "we're getting along in life." "yes," said he; "youth glides by rapidly. it was only a little while ago that we had never run with a machine, never taken an axe at a fire, and--never received a note like this." "and now," said i, "we--that is, you--have made an invention to abolish all fire departments." "if it works," said phaeton. "i haven't the least doubt that it will," said i, although i had not the remotest idea what it was. jack, who had just flagged a train, and was rolling up his flag as we arrived, cordially invited us into his box. "i want to consult you about one more invention," said phaeton, "if you're not tired of them." "never tired of them," said jack. "i have found something to admire in every one you've presented, though they were not all exactly practicable. the only way to succeed is to persevere." "it's very encouraging to hear you say so," said phaeton. "the thing that i want to consult you about to-day is a method of putting out fires without throwing water upon the houses or chopping them all to pieces." "that would be a great thing," said jack. "how do you accomplish it?" "by smothering them," said phaeton. "i know you can smother a small fire with a thick blanket," said jack, "but how are you going to smother a whole house, when it is in a blaze?" "if you will look at this drawing," said phaeton, "you will easily understand my plan." and he produced a sheet of paper and unfolded it. [illustration: phaeton's drawing.] "i first build a sort of light canvas tent," he continued, "somewhat larger than an ordinary house. it has no opening, except that the bottom is entirely open, and there is a long rope fastened to each of the lower corners. then i have a balloon, to which this tent is fastened in place of a car. of course the balloon lifts the tent just as far as the ropes--which are fastened to something--will let it go." "that's plain enough," said jack. "then," continued phaeton, "whenever a fire occurs, the firemen (it needs only a few) take these ropes in their hands and start for the fire, the tent and balloon sailing along over their heads. when they get there, they let it go up till the bottom of the tent is higher than the top of the burning house, and then bring it down over the house, so as to inclose it, and hold the edge close against the surface of the ground till the fire is smothered." "i see," said jack; "the theory certainly is perfect." "i have not forgotten," said phaeton, "that the tent itself might take fire before they could fairly get it down over the house. to prevent that, i have a barrel of water at this point,--below the balloon and above the tent,--and have a few gimlet-holes in the bottom of the barrel; so that there is a continual trickle, which just keeps the tent too wet to take fire easily." "that's as clear as can be," said jack. "it's the wet-blanket principle reduced to scientific form." "and how shall i manage it?" said phaeton. "as to that," said jack, "the most appropriate man to consult is the chief engineer." chapter xvii. how a church flew a kite. as soon as possible, phaeton went down town with his drawing in his pocket, and hunted up the office of the chief engineer. this, he found, was in the engine-house of deluge one,--a carpeted room, nearly filled with armchairs, having at one end a platform, on which were a sofa and an octagonal desk. the walls were draped with flags, and bore several mottoes, among which were "ever ready," "fearless and free," and "the path of duty is the path of glory." under the last was a huge silver trumpet, hung by a red cord, with large tassels. this was the room where the business meetings of deluge one were held, and where the chief engineer had his office. but the young men who were now playing cards and smoking here, told phaeton the chief engineer was not in, but might be found at shumway's. this was a large establishment for the manufacture of clothing, and when phaeton had finally hunted down his man, he found him to be a cutter,--one of several who stood at high tables and cut out garments for the other tailors to make. "i've come to consult you about a machine," said phaeton. "how did you happen to do that?" said the chief engineer, without looking up. "a friend of mine--a railroad man--advised me to," said phaeton. "clever fellers, them railroad men," said the chief engineer; "but what's your machine for?" "for putting out fires," said phaeton. "one of them gas arrangements, i suppose," said the chief engineer,--"dangerous to the lives of the men, and no good unless applied in a close room before the fire begins." "i don't know what you mean by that," said phaeton; "but there's no gas about mine." the chief engineer, who all this time had gone on cutting, laid down his shears on the pattern. "let's see it," said he. phaeton produced his drawing, spread it out before him, and explained it. "why, boy," said the chief engineer, "you couldn't--and yet, perhaps, you could--it never would--and still it might--there would be no--but i'm not so sure about that. let me study this thing." he planted his elbows on the table, each side of the drawing, brought his head down between his hands, buried his fingers in the mass of his hair, and looked intently at the picture for some minutes. "where did you get this?" said he, at last. "i drew it," said phaeton; "it's my invention." "and what do you want me to do about it?" "i thought perhaps you could help me in getting it into use." "just so! well, leave it with me, and i'll think it over, and you can call again in a few days." phaeton did call again, and was told that the chief engineer was holding a meeting in the engine-house. going over to the engine-house, he found it full of men, and was unable to get in. the next time he called, the chief engineer told him he "hadn't had time to look it over yet." next time he was "not in." and so it seemed likely to go on forever. but meanwhile something else took place, which called out phaeton's inventive powers for exercise in another direction. it happened that the pastor of the baptist church, in talking to the sunday-school, dwelt especially on sabbath-breaking, and mentioned kite-flying as one of the worst forms of it. "this very day," said he, "as i was coming to church, i saw three wicked boys flying kites in the public street, and one of them sits in this room now." a boy who knew whom the pastor referred to, pointed out monkey roe. as many of the school as could, turned and stared at monkey. the truth was, he had not been flying a kite; but on his way to church he passed two boys who were. it was the universal practice--at that time and in that country, at least--when a boy was flying a kite, for every other boy who passed to ask "how she pulled?" and take the string in his hand a moment to see. if she pulled hard, the flyer was rather proud to have his friends ask the question and make the test. in fact, i suppose it would hardly have been polite not to ask. monkey had just asked this interesting question, and had the string in his hand, when the pastor happened to pass by and see the group. of course it would have been well if he could have stood up in the sunday-school, and simply told the fact. but he was not the sort of boy who could do such a thing at any time, and he was especially unable to now, when he was taken by surprise, and felt that an outrage had been committed against his character and reputation. but perhaps the pastor was not much at fault. he had probably been born and brought up in a breezeless country where kite-flying was unknown, and therefore was ignorant of its amenities. just before the school closed, monkey was struck with a mischievous idea. "i prophesy," said he to the pastor's son, who sat next to him, "that this church will fly a kite all day next sunday." "i should be greatly delighted to see it," answered the pastor's son. early monday morning, monkey went over to dublin, and found owney geoghegan, who had chased and recovered one of the kites that drew phaeton's car. monkey obtained the kite, by trading a jack-knife for it, and carried it home. every day that week, as soon as school was out, he took it to a large common on the outskirts of the town, and flew it. he thoroughly studied the disposition of that kite. he experimented continually, and found just what arrangement of the bands would make it pull most evenly, just what length of tail would make it stand most steadily, and just what weight of string it would carry best. it occurred to him that an appropriate motto from scripture would look well, and he applied to jack-in-the-box for one, taking care not to let him know what he wanted it for. jack suggested one, and monkey borrowed a marking-pot and brush, and inscribed it in bold letters across the face of the kite. finally he procured a good ball of string, a long and strong fish-line, and a small, flat, light wooden hoop, which he carefully covered with tin-foil, obtained at the tobacco-shop. saturday night monkey's mother knew he was out, but not what he was about, and wondered why he stayed so late. if she had gone in search of him, she might have found him in independence square, moving about in a very mysterious manner. the baptist church, which had a tall, slender spire, ending in a lightning-rod with a single point, faced this square. it was a bright, moonlight night, and it must have been after eleven o'clock when monkey walked into the square with his kite, accompanied by owney geoghegan. monkey laid the kite flat on the ground near one corner of the square, stationed owney by it, and then walked slowly to the opposite corner, unwinding the string as he went. after looking around cautiously and making sure that nobody was crossing the square, he raised his hand and gave a silent signal. owney hoisted the kite, monkey ran a few rods, and up she went. he rapidly let out the entire ball of string, and she sailed away into space till she hovered like a night-hawk over the farthest corner of the sleeping city. the sunday-school room was hung round with mottoes, printed on shield-shaped tablets, and monkey had made copies of some of them on similarly shaped pieces of paper, which he fastened upon the string at intervals as he let the kite up. among them i remember "look aloft!" "time flies!" and "aspire!" then monkey took up the hoop, and tied the string through a hole that was bored near one edge. through a similar hole on the opposite side of the hoop, and near the same edge, he tied about a yard of comparatively weak string. to the end of this he tied his long fish-line, which he carefully paid out. the kite sailed still higher and farther away, of course carrying the hoop up into mid-air, where it was plainly visible as the tin-foil glittered in the moonlight. so far, monkey's task had all been plain mechanical work, sure of success if only performed with care. but now he had arrived at the difficult part of it, where a great amount of patience and no little sleight-of-hand were necessary. the thing to be done was, to let out just enough string for the kite to carry the hoop exactly as high as the top of the steeple. it took a vast deal of letting out, and winding in, walking forward, and walking backward, to accomplish this, but at last it seemed to be done. then he must walk back and forth till he had brought the hoop not only on a level with the top of the spire, but directly over it, which took more time. as the strings were fastened at one edge of the hoop, of course it remained constantly horizontal. when, at last, monkey had brought it exactly over the point of the lightning-rod, he carefully and steadily brought the hand in which he held the string down to the ground. the hoop encircled and slid down the rod, and, after two hours' hard work, his task was virtually done. he had now only to walk up to the church, and give a steady, hard, downward pull at the fish-line, when the weak piece of string that fastened it to the hoop snapped in two. winding up the fish-line, he slipped it into his pocket, looked about once more, said good-night to owney, walked rapidly home, and went softly up to bed. sunday morning dawned beautifully, and everybody in town, who ever went to meeting at all, prepared for church. as the time for services approached, the bells rang out melodiously; down every street of residences, door after door opened, as individuals and families stepped forth, attired in their best, and soon the sidewalks were full of people passing in every direction. somebody discovered the kite, and pointed it out to somebody else, who stopped to look at it, and attracted the attention of others; and thus the news spread. a few groups paused to gaze and wonder, but most of the people passed on quietly to their respective places of worship. [illustration: the kite on the steeple.] somebody told the baptist pastor of it as he was ascending the pulpit-stairs. "i will have it attended to," said he; and, calling the sexton, he ordered him to go into the steeple at once and take down the kite. easy to say, but impossible to do. the highest point the sexton could reach was more than forty feet below the top of the spire, and there he could only poke his head out at a little trap-door. the appearance of his head at this door was the signal for a derisive shout from a group of boys on the sidewalk. by the time the services in the various churches were over, and the people on their way home, nearly everybody in town had heard of the phenomenon. they gathered in small groups, and gazed at it, and talked about it. these groups continually grew larger, and frequently two or three of them coalesced. they soon found that the best point to view it from--considering the position of the sun, and other circumstances--was the southwest corner of the square; and here they gradually gathered, till there was a vast throng, with upturned faces, gazing at the kite and its appendages, and wondering how it got there. it was amusing to hear the wild conjectures and grave theories that were put forth. one man thought it must have been an accident. "probably some boy in a neighboring town," he said, "was flying the kite, when it broke away, and, as the string dragged along, it happened to catch somehow on that steeple." another said he had read that in china grown-up people flew kites, and were very expert at it. "depend upon it," said he, solemnly, "you'll find there's a chinaman in town." another presumed it was some new and ingenious method of advertising. "probably at a certain hour," said he, "that thing will burst, and scatter over the town a shower of advertisements of a new baking-powder, warranted to raise your bread as high as a kite, or some other humbug." still another sagacious observer maintained that it might be merely an optical illusion,--a thing having no real existence. "it may be a mirage," said he; "or perhaps some practical joker has made a sort of magic-lantern that projects such an image in mid-air." patsy rafferty happened to see a lady sitting at her window, and looking at the kite through an opera-glass. immediately he was struck with an idea, and ran off home at his best speed. his mother was out visiting a neighbor; but he didn't need to call her home; he knew where she kept his money. going straight to the pantry, he climbed on a chair and took down what in its day had been an elegant china teapot, but was now useless, because the spout was broken off. thrusting in his hand, he drew out the money which the clown had collected for him from the crowd on the tow-path,--every cent of it, except the crossed shilling, the bogus quarter, the brass buttons, and the temperance medal. patsy then ran to a pawnbroker's shop, before the window of which he had often stood and studied the "unredeemed pledges" there displayed. the pawnbroker, whose sabbath was the seventh day, sat in the open door, smoking a pipe. "how much for a spy glass?" said patsy, as soon as he could get his breath. "come inside," said the pawnbroker. "this one i shall sell you for five dollars--very cheap." and he handed patsy an old binocular, which really had very powerful glasses, though the tubes were much battered. patsy pointed it out of the door, and looked through it. "oh, moses!" said he, as a dog larger than an elephant ran across the field of vision. "sir?" said the pawnbroker. "i can't buy it," said patsy, with a sigh, laying it upon the counter. "why not?" said the pawnbroker. "i haven't enough money," said patsy. "how much have you got?" said the pawnbroker. "three dollars and eighty-four cents," said patsy. "and you don't get some more next saturday night?" said the pawnbroker. "no," said patsy. "well, you are a good boy," said the pawnbroker; "i can see that already; so i shall sell you this fine glass for three dollars and eighty-four cents,--the very lowest price. i could not do it, but i shall hope that i trade with you again some day." patsy put down the money in a hurry, took the glass, and left the shop. he went to where the crowd was gazing at the kite, took a long look at it himself, and then began renting out the glass at ten cents a look, at which price he found plenty of eager customers. when they looked through the glass, they read this legend on the face of the kite: ye shall have in abomination the kite after his kind. levit. xi. , . when teddy dwyer saw the success of patsy's speculation, he thought he also had an idea, and running home, he soon reappeared on the square with a large piece of newly smoked glass. but nobody seemed to care to view the wonder through smoked glass, though he offered it at the low price of "wan cent a look," and teddy's investment was hardly remunerative. patsy, before the day was over, amassed nearly thirteen dollars. he carried it all home, and without saying anything to his mother, slipped it into the disabled teapot, where the money collected for him by the clown had been kept. the next day he quietly asked his mother if he might have ten cents of his money to spend. "no, patsy," she answered, "i'm keeping that ag'in the day you go into business." but mrs. rourke was present, and she pleaded so eloquently patsy's right to have "a little enjoyment of what he had earned," that his mother relented, and went to get it. "either my hands are getting weak," said she, as she lifted it down, "or this teapot has grown heavy." she thrust her hand into it, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and then turned it upside down upon the table, whereupon there was a tableau in the rafferty family. "i often heard," said mrs. rafferty, "that money breeds money, but i never knew it bred so fast as that." she more than half believed in fairies, and was proceeding to account for it as their work, when patsy burst out laughing, and then, of course, had to tell the story of how the money came there. "and so you got it be goin' after pawnbrokers, and be workin' on sunday?" said his mother. patsy confessed that he did. "then i'll have none of it," said she, and opening the stove, was about to cast in a handful of the coins, when she hesitated. "after all," said she, "'tisn't the money that's done wrong; why should i punish it?" so she put it back into the teapot, and adopted a less expensive though more painful method of teaching her son to respect the sabbath. in the bitterness of the moment, patsy firmly resolved that when he was a millionnaire--as he expected to be some day--he wouldn't give his mother a single dime. he afterward so far relented, however, as to admit to himself that he might let her have twenty thousand dollars, rather than see her suffer, but not a cent more. chapter xviii. an extra fourth-of-july. deacon graham had predicted that "the wind would go down with the sun," and then the kite would fall. but the prediction was not fulfilled: at least there seemed to be a steady breeze up where the kite was, and in the moon-lighted evening it swayed gently to and fro, tugging at its string, and gracefully waving its pendulous tail. all the young people in town appeared to be walking out to see it, and the evening services were very slimly attended. monday morning the trustees of the church began to take vigorous measures for the suppression of the mysterious kite. the cart of hook-and-ladder no. was wheeled up in front of the church, and the two longest ladders taken off, spliced together, and raised with great labor. but they fell far short of reaching any point from which the hoop that held the kite could be touched. "i hope you are satisfied," said the foreman to the trustees. "i told you them ladders wouldn't reach it, nor no others that you can get." "yes, i see," said deacon graham. "i supposed the ladders were longer. but we're very much obliged to you and your men." "you're welcome," said the foreman, as the men replaced the ladders on the cart. "and by the way, deacon, if you was thinking of sending a dish of oysters and a cup of coffee around to the engine-house, i may say that my men prefer saddle-rocks and java." "just so!" said the deacon. "i'll send saddle-rocks and java, if i send any." one of the trustees suggested that the most muscular of the firemen might go up in the steeple, open the little trap-door, and from there throw clubs at the string. one of the firemen procured some sticks, about such as boys like for throwing into chestnut-trees, and went up and tried it. but the door was so far below the top of the steeple, and the position so awkward to throw from, that he did not even hit the string, and after one of the clubs in descending had crashed through the stained-glass skylight of a neighboring mansion, this experiment was abandoned. the next consisted in firing with rifles at the kite, the hoop, and the string. the trustees looked up two amateur huntsmen for this purpose, and furnished a small amount of ammunition. as there was a city ordinance against discharging firearms "in any street, lane, or alley, park, or square of the said city," the trustees were obliged to go first to the mayor and get a suspension of the ordinance for this special purpose, which was readily granted. as soon as the two huntsmen saw this in black and white, they fired half a dozen shots. but they did not succeed in severing the string or smashing the hoop. like all failures, however, they gave excellent reasons for their want of success, explaining to the trustees that there was a difference between a covey of partridges and a small hoop on the top of a steeple. their explanation was so lucid that i feel confident the trustees must have understood it. "in rifle-shooting," added one of the huntsmen, "you always have to make allowance for the wind, and we can't tell how it may be blowing at the top of that spire till we learn by experimental shots. but we shall get the range after awhile; it's only a question of time." what little ammunition they had with them was soon exhausted, and deacon graham, who was very excitable and over-sensitive as to anything connected with the church, rushed down town to buy some more. "how much powder will you have?" said the clerk. "enough to shoot a kite off from a steeple," said the deacon. the clerk couldn't tell exactly how much that would take--had not been in the habit of selling powder for that purpose. "give me enough, at any rate," said the deacon. the clerk suggested that the best way would be to send up a small keg and let them use as much as was necessary, the remainder to be returned. to this the deacon assented, and accordingly a small keg of powder, with a liberal quantity of bullets and caps, was sent up at once,--all to be charged to the account of the church militant. at the first shot the boys had begun to gather. when they found what was going on, that the ordinance was suspended, and that ammunition was as free as the gospel, they disappeared one after another, and soon reappeared carrying all sorts of shot-guns, muskets, and even horse-pistols and revolvers. no boy who could get a fire-arm failed to bring it out. most of us had to hunt for them; for, so far as i know, not one of our boys was guilty of the folly of habitually carrying a pistol in his pocket. the powder and bullets were on the church steps, where all who wished to aid in the good work could help themselves; and within half an hour from the time the ball opened, at least thirty happy and animated boys were loading and firing. the unsectarian spirit of those boys was beautiful to behold. they were from all denominations, and yet every one of them was both willing and eager to burn baptist powder in firing baptist bullets at a baptist steeple. the noise had attracted the townspeople, and several hundred of them now stood looking on at the strange spectacle. patsy rafferty ran home to draw some money from his teapot-bank, but found the cashier present, and hesitated. however, he soon plucked up courage, and said, with a roguish twinkle: "mother, will you please lend me two dollars of my money?" ordinarily, mrs. rafferty would have said no. but she was a very bright woman, and was so pleased with this evidence that patsy had inherited some of her own wit, that she could not find it in her heart to refuse him. "there's two dollars, and i suppose when you come back it'll be four," said she, remembering how money breeds money. "yes--four o'clock," said patsy, as he ran out of the door and made for his friend the pawnbroker's, who sold him an old musket, with which, in a few minutes, patsy joined the volunteers. ned rogers had not been able to find any fire-arm; but when he learned where patsy got his musket, and that the pawnbroker had a mate to it, he ran off to his aunt's house at his best speed, and entering unceremoniously, exclaimed: "aunty, i want two dollars quicker than lightning!" "edmund burton! how you frighten me," said his aunt mercy. "jane, get my pocket-book from the right-hand corner of my top bureau-drawer, and throw it downstairs right away." the instant the pocket-book struck the floor, ned snatched two dollars out of it and was off like a shot. "sweet, benevolent boy!" said aunt mercy. "i've no doubt he's hastening to relieve some peculiar and urgent case of distress he has discovered among the poor and sorrowful." as it was rather late when ned arrived at the church with his weapon, and the keg of powder was in its last quarter, he thought he'd make up for lost time. so he slipped in three bullets, instead of one, with his first load, and in his excitement rammed them so hard as almost to weld them together. the consequence was that, when he discharged it, a large sliver was torn from the spire, and at the same time he found himself rolling over into the gutter, a very peculiar case of distress, indeed. when deacon graham saw how fast the ammunition was disappearing, while the desultory firing produced no effect upon the kite, he thought some better plan should be devised, and conceived of a way in which, as he believed, concerted action might accomplish the desired result. but when he tried to explain it to the crowd, everybody was excited, and nobody paid the slightest attention to him. the spectators partook of the general excitement, and applauded the performance. "bang away, boys! never mind the deacon!" said the pastor's son, as he pulled both triggers of a neat little double-barrelled shot-gun. "_epigrus via, generosissimi tormentarii!_ peg away, most noble gunners!" shouted holman. the deacon, who had been growing more and more excited, was now beside himself. in his desperation, he sat down upon the keg of powder, and declared that no more should be used till he was listened to. whereupon the pastor's son produced a lucifer match, lighted it, and declared that if the deacon didn't get up at once, he'd send him kiting. "get up, or go up," was the laconic way in which he put it; and the deacon got up. "i'll tell you, deacon," said one of the huntsmen, "a chain-shot would be the thing to break that string with." "you shall have it," said the deacon, and off he posted down town again, to order chain-shot. but the article was not to be had, and when he returned, the kite still rode triumphant. the trustees held a meeting on the steps of the church. "now don't get excited," said mr. simmons, the calmest of them; "the first shower will bring down the kite. we've only to go off quietly about our business, and leave it to nature." "i don't know about that," said monkey roe, in a low tone, to one of the boys who had crowded around to learn what the trustees would do. "the back of that kite is pretty thoroughly greased. it'll shed water like a duck, and nothing less than a heavy hail-storm can bring it down." "how do you know that, young man?" said mr. simmons, who overheard him. "why," said monkey, seeing that he had betrayed himself, "you see--the fact is--i--i--saw a little bird try to light on the kite, but he slipped off so quick i knew it must be greased." "humph!" said mr. simmons. "that's a likely story." "brother simmons," said deacon graham, "we can't wait for a storm,--there is no prospect of any. if we don't dispose of this thing pretty soon, i'm afraid it'll make us ridiculous." nobody was able to suggest any means of relief. perhaps a sailor could have climbed the lightning-rod; but there was no sailor in town, and half way up the spire the rod was broken and a section was missing. there seemed to be no way short of building a scaffolding to the top of the steeple, which would have cost considerable money. the pastor's son took monkey roe aside. "your prophesy has been nobly fulfilled," said he, "and you've given us a tremendous piece of fun. get us up another as good as this." the result of the deliberations of the trustees was, that they resolved to offer a reward of twenty dollars to any one who would get the kite off from the steeple; and this offer was formally proclaimed to the crowd by deacon graham. hardly had the proclamation been made, when phaeton rogers, who had conceived a plan for getting down the kite, and had been preparing the necessary implements, appeared on the scene with his equipment. this consisted of a powerful hickory bow, about as tall as himself, two heavy arrows, and a large ball of the best kite-string. after measuring with his eye the height of the steeple and the direction of the kite, phaeton said he must mount to the roof of the church. "certainly, young man," said deacon graham; "anything you want, and twenty dollars reward if you'll get that thing down. here, sexton, show this young gentleman the way to the roof." phaeton passed in at the door with the sexton, and soon reappeared on the roof. the crowd seemed to watch him with considerable interest. standing on the ridge-pole, he strung his bow. then he unwound a large part of the ball of string, and laid it out loosely on the roof; after which he tied the end of it to one of the arrows, and laid the arrow across his bow. a murmur of approbation ran through the crowd, as they thought they saw his plan. pointing the arrow upward at a slight angle from the perpendicular, and drawing it to the head, he discharged it. the shaft ascended gracefully on one side of the string of the kite, and descended on the other side. [illustration: "pointing the arrow upward at an angle, phaeton drew it to the head."] at sight of this, the crowd burst into applause, supposing that the task was virtually accomplished. it would have been easy enough now to take hold of the two ends of the string that had been carried by the arrow, and by simply pulling bring down the kite. but this would not have taken off the hoop from the top of the spire, and it would have been necessary to break off the kite-string, leaving more or less of it attached to the hoop, to float on the breeze like a streamer till it rotted away. phaeton intended to make a cleaner job than that. when the arrow fell upon the ground, ned, by his brother's direction, picked it up and held it just as it was. phaeton threw down the ball of string still unwound, and then descended to the ground. he very quickly made a slip-knot on the end of the string, passed the ball through it, and then, by pulling carefully and steadily on the ball-end, made the slip-knot slide up till it reached the string of the kite. before it was pulled up tight, he walked out on the square in a direction to pull the slip-knot as close as possible to the hoop. this done, he placed himself, with the string in his hand, on the spot where he supposed the one who got up the kite must have stood while putting the hoop over the point of the lightning-rod. that is to say, he walked from the church in such a direction, and to such a distance, that the string he held in his hand formed a continuous and (but for the sag) straight line with the string that held the kite to the hoop. he expected, on arriving at this point, to raise his hand, give a jerk or two at the string, and see the hoop slide up and off the rod, from the tendency--caused by the kite's pulling at one end of the string, and himself at the other--to take up the sag. his theory was perfect, but the plan did not work; probably because the wind had died down a little, and the kite was flying lower than when it was first put up. when he saw that the hoop was not to be lifted by this means, he cast about for a further expedient, the crowd meanwhile expressing disappointment and impatience. carrying the string entirely across the square, he stopped in front of the house that was in line with it, and asked permission to ascend to the roof, which was granted. breaking off the string, and telling ned to stand there and hold the end, he put the ball into his pocket, took a pebble in his hand, and went up through the house and came out at the scuttle. tying the pebble to the end of the string, he threw it down to his brother, who tied the end of the string to the end he had been holding. phaeton then drew it up, and once more pulled at the hoop. it stuck a little at first; but as he alternately pulled and slackened, it was started at last, and began to slide up the lightning-rod; whereupon the crowd set up a shout, and a great many people remarked that they knew all the while the boy would succeed. but the hoop only rose to a point about half way between its former resting-place and the tip of the rod, and there it remained. no sleight-of-hand that phaeton could exercise would make it rise another inch. if the wind had freshened, so as to make the kite sail higher, the hoop would have slid to the top of the rod at once. but the wind did not freshen, and there was no taller building anywhere in line with the string than the one phaeton was standing on. the crowd expressed disappointment again, some of them groaned, and remarked that they had been confident all the while the boy couldn't do it. "ned," said phaeton, "come up here." ned went up. "now," said phaeton, "stand right in this spot; hold the string just as you see me holding it now; and try to pull on it just hard enough to make the hoop hang loosely around the rod instead of being held close against it either by the tugging of the kite one way, or by your pulling the other." "i understand," said ned. "i'll do my best." phaeton then went back to the church, and ascended to the roof again with his bow and arrow and the ball of string. laying out the string as before, and tying the end to the arrow, he shot it over the kite-string so that the arrow fell upon the roof. making a slip-knot as before, he pulled upon the end of his string till the knot slid up to the kite-string at a point pretty near the hoop. he now broke off the string, leaving it just long enough to reach from the point where it was attached to the kite-string straight down to where he stood on the roof. he tied the end to his arrow, and, drawing the shaft to the head, shot it straight upward. as the arrow left the bow, the crowd cheered again, for it was evident that when the arrow, in its course, should reach a point as far above the kite-string as phaeton was below it, it would begin to pull the kite-string upward, and if it had force enough to go a yard or two higher, it must, of course, pull the hoop off from the rod. but it lacked force enough. it rose till it had almost straightened the string it was carrying, and then wearily turned its head and dropped to the roof again. the crowd groaned, and some of them left for their homes or their business, saying they knew all the while that foolery wouldn't work. phaeton sat down on the ridge-pole of the church, put his head between his hands, and thought. while he sat there, the crowd shouted all sorts of advice to him, most of which was intended to be sarcastic, though some spoke seriously enough, as those who suggested that he use a larger bow and a lighter string. after some moments he got up, went to the arrow, and detached it from the string; then, taking the end of the string between his palms, he rolled it and rolled it, until he had very greatly hardened the twist. if you have ever twisted a piece of common string up tight, and then, taking the two ends between your thumb and finger, let go of the middle, you know what it does. it doubles and twists itself together, in the vain effort to untwist. when phaeton had tightened the twist of his string as much as he could, he tied the arrow on again, laid it across his bow, pointed it toward the zenith, drew it to the head, and once more discharged it. while the arrow was climbing, the string--wherever the slack folds of it hung near enough to one another--was doubling and twisting together, thus greatly shortening itself. the arrow had not gone much more than half its former distance above the kite-string when it arrived at the end of its own now shortened string, and gave such a jerk as pulled the hoop clear up from the end of the lightning-rod. when the crowd saw this, they burst into a tremendous cheer, threw their caps into the air, and bestowed all sorts of compliments upon phaeton. phaeton took off his hat and made a low bow to the people, and then disappeared through the little door in the tower, by which he had gained access to the roof. he soon reappeared, emerging from the front door, and then ran across the square, to the house where ned still stood on the roof, like a statue, or casabianca, waiting for his next orders. "haul her in," said phaeton, and ned immediately began winding in the kite, using his left forearm as a reel, and passing the string around his elbow and through the notch between his thumb and forefinger. he wound on everything as he came to it--hoop, mottoes, even phaeton's arrow. phaeton stood in the street before the house, caught the kite by the tail as it approached the ground, and soon had it secure. he broke off the string, and ned came down through the house. an immense crowd surrounded them, and impeded their progress as they started for home. "jump into my carriage; i'll take you home," said the driver of an open barouche, who had stopped to see the performance, and like everybody else was intensely interested in it. phaeton was instantly seized in the arms of three or four men and lifted into the carriage. then ned was lifted in the same way and seated beside him. then the kite was stood up on the front seat, leaning against the driver's back, with its astonishing motto staring the boys in the face. lukey finnerty, who had been proudly holding ned's musket for him, handed it up, and it was placed aslant of the seat between the two boys. the bow, brought by the sexton, was placed beside it, and the carriage then moved off, while a large number of boys followed in its wake, three of them being suspended from the hind axle by their hands, while their feet were drawn up to clear the ground. [illustration: riding home in the barouche.] "why is he carrying away that kite?" said deacon graham, asking the question in a general way, as if he expected the crowd to answer it in concert. "that belongs to the church." "_sic nodus_--not so," said isaac holman. "it belongs to him; he made it." "ah, ha!" said the deacon; "i smell a mice, i s-m-e-l-l a mice!" as the driver had recently procured his new and handsome barouche, and was anxious to exhibit it, he drove rather slowly and took a somewhat circuitous route. all the way along, people were attracted to their windows. as the carriage was passing through west street, phaeton colored a little when he saw three ladies standing on an upper balcony, and lifted his hat with some trepidation when the youngest of them bowed. the next moment she threw a bouquet, which landed in the carriage and was picked up and appropriated by ned. "i am inclined to think," said phaeton, "that bouquet was intended for me." "was it?" said ned. "then take it, of course. i could buy one just like it for a quarter, if i cared for flowers. but, by the way, fay, what are you going to do with the twenty dollars you've won? that's considerable money." "i am going to put it to the best possible use for money," said phaeton. "i didn't know there was any one use better than all others," said ned. "what is it?" "to pay a debt," said phaeton. "i never should have guessed that," said ned; "and i don't believe many people think so." as they rode by jack's box, jack, who stood in the door, learned for the first time what monkey roe had wanted the scripture motto for. they also passed aunt mercy's house, and their aunt and miss pinkham were on the piazza. ned stood up in the carriage and swung his hat. phaeton saluted his aunt more quietly. "what in the world are those boys doing in that barouche?" said aunt mercy. "i don't know, but i'll go and find out," said miss pinkham, and she ran to the gate and got the story from one of the dublin boys, who spoke of phaeton and ned as "the rogers boys," without differentiating them, as a scientific man would say. miss pinkham returned to the piazza and repeated the whole story. "edmund burton always was a smart boy," said aunt mercy. "i could have predicted he would be the one to get that kite off. he'd find a way to scrape the spots off the sun, if they wanted him to. but i don't see why that stupid brother of his should be stuck up there to share his glory." when it came to the question of paying the reward, deacon graham stoutly opposed the payment, on the ground that phaeton himself had been concerned in putting the kite on the steeple--or, at least, had furnished the kite--for the very purpose of getting it down as he did. he said "no boy could fool him,--it was too long since he was a boy himself,"--which seemed to me a very singular reason. it looked for a while as if phaeton would not get the money; but the other trustees investigated the matter, rejected the deacon's theory, and paid the reward. on their complaint, monkey roe was brought before 'squire moore, the police justice, to answer for his roguery. the court-room was full, about half the spectators being boys. "what is your name?" said the justice. "i'm not sure that i know," said monkey. "not know your own name? how's that?" "because, my mother calls me monty, my father calls me james, and the boys call me monkey roe." "i suppose the boys are more numerous than your parents?" said the justice. "much more," said monkey. "and you probably answer somewhat more readily when they call?" "i'm afraid i do." "then," said the justice, "we'll consider the weight of evidence to be in favor of the name monkey roe, and i'll enter it thus on the record." as he wrote it down, he murmured: "we've often had richard roe arraigned in this court, but never monkey, i believe." "now, monkey, i'm going to ask a question, which you need not answer unless you choose to. did you, on saturday night last, between the hours of sunset and sunrise, raise, fly, and elevate one six-cornered paper kite, bearing a motto or sentiment from the sacred book called leviticus, and tie, fix, anchor, attach, or fasten the same to the lightning-rod that surmounts the spire, or steeple, of the first church of the sect or denomination known and designated as baptist, fronting and abutting on independence square in this city?" "to the best of my knowledge and belief, i did," said monkey. "please state to the court, monkey, your motives, if you had any, for this wicked and atrocious act." in answer to this, monkey told briefly and clearly the whole story, which the reader already knows, beginning at the point where he "just stopped half a second, sunday morning, to see how that boy's kite pulled." when he came to the scene in the sunday-school room, he gave it with a dramatic effect that was well calculated to arouse sympathy for himself. 'squire moore had been as much interested as anybody in the kite on the steeple, and had laughed his enormous sides sore when he scanned it and its appendages through patsy's glass. when monkey had finished his story, the 'squire delivered the decision of the court in a little speech. "i have searched the revised statutes," said he, "and have consulted the best authorities; but i look in vain to find any statute which makes it a penal office to attach a kite to a steeple. the common law is silent on the subject, and none of the authorities mention any precedent. you have succeeded, young man, in committing a misdemeanor for which there is no penalty, and the court is, therefore, obliged to discharge you, with the admonition never to do so any more." as monkey left the bar, there was a rush for the door, the boys getting out first. they collected in a body in front of the building, and, when he appeared, gave him three tremendous cheers, with three others for 'squire moore,--in which performance the pastor's son was conspicuous. but when monkey came to face the domestic tribunal over which his father presided, he found that a lack of precedent was no bar to the administration of justice in that court. about a week later, a package addressed to me, and bearing the business-card of a well-known tailor, was left at our door. when i opened it, i found a new sunday suit, to replace the one which had been ruined when phaeton wore it to the fire. it must have taken about all of his reward money to pay for it. for years afterward, the boys used to allude to that season as "the summer we had two fourth-of-julys." the scars made by the bullets on the steeple were never healed, and you can see them now, if you chance to pass that way. chapter xix. a conquest. when, at length, phaeton got an answer from the chief engineer concerning his invention, it seemed rather surly. "this thing won't do at all, boy," said he. "it can't be made to work on a large scale." and he handed the drawing to phaeton, and then turned his back to him and resumed his work. phaeton thrust it into his pocket, and walked out of the shop, quite crestfallen. when he told us about it, ned became indignant. "i don't believe a word of it," said he; "i see through the whole plot. the chief engineer has entered into a conspiracy with himself to crush out your invention, because he knows it would do away with all the fire-engines and hook-and-ladders, and the city wouldn't need a chief engineer any more, and he couldn't draw that nice little salary of a thousand dollars just for running to fires and bossing things." "i didn't know that the firemen got any pay," said i. "i thought it was only a patriotic duty,--besides all the fun." "that's just it," said ned. "the men who do the hard work don't get a cent; but the chief engineer, who has more fun than any of us,--for he can choose the best place to see the fire from, and can order the engines to play any way he likes,--gets a thousand dollars a year." i thought almost everybody had had a better place than ned's to see the novelty works' fire, but kept my thoughts to myself. "i'll spoil that job for him," continued ned. "how can you do it?" said i. "by getting fay's invention patented, and then having it brought before the common council at their very next meeting. we might let this city use it free; that would give us a great reputation for patriotism, and bring it into notice, and then we could make all the other cities pay a big price for it." "wouldn't some people oppose it?" said i. "yes, the boys would, because it spoils all the fun of fires; and the chief engineers would, because it spoils their salaries; but all the other people would go for it, because it saves millions of dollars' worth of property. the women, especially, would be friendly to it, because it saves the scare." "what do you mean by that?" said i, not quite understanding him. "why, you must know," said ned, "that when a woman wakes up in the middle of the night and finds the four walls of her room on fire, and the floor hotter than an oven, and the ceiling cracking open, and the bed-clothes blazing, she's awfully scared, as a general thing." "i don't doubt it," said i. "but fay's invention puts out the fires so quick, besides keeping them from spreading, that it saves all that anguish of mind, as well as the property." "it seems to me it's a good plan," said i, referring to ned's proposal for taking out a patent at once. "then we'll go to aunt mercy and get the money right away," said he. "what do you say, fay?" this conversation took place in the printing-office. phaeton, after telling us the result of his interviews with the chief engineer, had taken no further part in it, but busied himself setting type. "i've no special objection," said he, in answer to ned's question. "then let's have your drawing," said ned, and with that in hand, he and i set off for aunt mercy's. "i don't feel quite right," said ned, as we went along, "about the way aunt mercy has always misunderstood these things. this time i am determined to make her understand it right." "you mean to let her know that it's phaeton's invention, and not yours?" said i. "that's the main thing," said he. "i've got a good deal of credit that belonged to him; but i never meant to take it. she has always managed to misunderstand, somehow, and i could never see any way to correct it without spoiling the whole business." "but if you tell her that, will she let you have the money?" said i. "not so easily, of course," said ned; "but still aunt mercy's a good-hearted woman, after all, and i think i can talk her into doing the generous thing by fay." we found aunt mercy apparently in an unpleasant mood, from some mysterious cause. but ned talked away in a lively manner, and when she began to brighten up, he gradually approached the subject which he really had in mind. "aunty," said he, sympathetically, "don't you ever feel afraid of fire?" "yes, indeed, edmund burton," said she. "i'm afraid of it all the time, especially since i've had this new girl in the kitchen. it seems to me she's very careless." "if your house should take fire in the night, and burn up the stairs the first thing, how would you get out?" said ned. "i really don't know," said she. "i ought, by good rights, to be taken out of the window and down a ladder by some gallant fireman. but it seems to me they don't have any such gentlemen now for firemen as they used to. they're more of a rowdy set." "they're certainly not very gentle," said ned. "did you hear how they knocked mr. glidden's house and furniture to pieces at the last fire?" "yes; but why were they allowed to do so?" said aunt mercy. "that's it," said ned. "somebody, out of all the people there, ought to have had sense enough to stop them. as for myself, i wasn't there. i was going, but was detained on the way." "if you had been, you'd have stopped them, i've no doubt," said his aunt. "i should have tried to, i hope," said ned. "and now, aunty, i'd like to show you a little invention for doing away with all those horrors." "something you want me to furnish money to make a muddle of, i suppose?" said she. "well, yes, if it pleases you," and here ned produced the drawing of the fire-extinguisher. "and now i want to tell you, aunty, that this is not my own invention, but my brother's; and i think it's about the best that he's ever made." "u-m-m-m," said aunt mercy. ned then proceeded to explain the drawing. "i see it all quite plainly," said aunt mercy, when he had finished. "my house takes fire----" "i hope not," said ned. "the alarm is given, and this thing is brought out----" "just so," said ned. "in about a minute it is clapped right down over the house----" "precisely," said ned. "and smothers the fire instantly----" "that's it exactly," said ned. "and smothers me in it, as well." ned was dumbfounded for a moment, but soon came to his senses. "as to that," said he, "it's to be supposed that you'd run out of the house just before we put on the extinguisher. but the fact is, you've suggested an improvement already. i guess fay must have inherited his inventive genius from you. of course we shall have to build the extinguisher with several flaps, like tent-doors, so that if there _are_ any people in the house, they can easily escape." "and you think i ought to furnish that brother of yours the money necessary to make a proper muddle of this thing?" "i should be glad if you would," said ned. "well," said aunt mercy, "there's a piece of his work in the kitchen now. i wish you'd step out and look at it, and _then_ tell me what you think." ned and i walked out to the kitchen. there stood the skeletons of half a dozen chairs--those from which we had taken the rounds to make our rope-ladder. "those look well, don't they?" said aunt mercy, who had followed us. "they belonged to my great-grandfather, and were probably not new in his time. i had them stored at your house, and yesterday i sent a furniture man to get them and polish them up for me. he brings them home in this plight, and tells me the mischief has been done recently, for the saw-cuts are all fresh. they were priceless relics; i wouldn't have taken ten dollars apiece for them; and your brother has ruined every one of them." ned was staggered, and i wondered what he would find to say. but he was equal to the occasion. "aunty," said he, "fay didn't do that----" "don't tell me, child; nobody but a boy would ever have thought of such mischief." "very true," said ned; "it _was_ a boy--two boys--and we two are the ones." aunt mercy turned pale with astonishment. apparently it had never occurred to her that ned could do any mischief. "we sawed out the rounds," he continued, "to make a rope-ladder. but we didn't know the chairs were good for anything, or we wouldn't have touched them. if there's any way we can put them in again, we'll do it. i suppose we can get them all--except a few that the policeman carried off." aunt mercy was still more confounded. "rope-ladder"--"policeman"--that sounded like robbery and state-prison. "go home, edmund burton," said she, as soon as she could get her breath. "go home at once, and take away out of my house this bad boy who has led you into evil ways." ned wanted to explain my innocence; but i took myself out of the house with all possible haste, and he soon followed. "it's of no use," said he. "aunt mercy's heavily prejudiced against me." when all this was told at the rogers's breakfast-table next morning, mr. rogers could not help laughing heartily. he said his sister valued the chairs far above their real worth, though of course that did not excuse us for sawing out the rounds. "but as for patenting your invention, boys," said he, "you need not trouble yourselves. it has been tried." "how can it have been tried?" said phaeton. "as a great many others are," said his father. "by being stolen first. the reason why our worthy chief engineer kept putting you off, was because he thought it was a good invention and wanted to appropriate it. he had a model built, and applied for a patent through lawyer stevens, from whom i have the information. the application was rejected by the patent office, and he had just received notice of it when you called on him yesterday, and found him so surly. his model cost him forty dollars, the patent office fee on a rejected application is fifteen dollars, and he had to pay his lawyer something besides. you can guess at the lawyer's fee, and the express company's charge for taking the model and drawings to washington, and then reckon up how much his dishonesty probably cost him." "but what puzzles me," said ned, "is the rejection. that's such a splendid invention, i should think they would have given it a patent right away." "it does seem so," said mr. rogers, who never liked to discourage the boys by pointing out the fatal defects in their contrivances; "but the commissioner probably had some good reason for it. a great many applications are rejected, for one cause or another." phaeton had suddenly ceased to take any part or interest in the conversation, and ned observed that he was cutting his bread and butter into very queer shapes. one was the profile of a chair; another was a small cylinder, notched on the end. as soon as breakfast was over, phaeton took his hat and disappeared. he went up to his aunt's house, and asked to see the mutilated chairs. "i think they can be mended," said he. "of course they can," said his aunt. "the cabinetmaker can put in new rounds, but those wouldn't be the old rounds, and he'd be obliged to take the chairs apart, more or less, to get them in. i don't want anything new about them, and i don't want them weakened by being pulled apart. unless they are the same old chairs, every splinter of them, that stood in grandfather's dining-room, they can have no value for me." "i think i could put in the old rounds without taking the chairs apart," said phaeton; "and if you'll let me, i'll take one home and try it." "try what you like," said aunt mercy. "you can't make them look any worse than they do now." so phaeton took up one of the ancient chairs, inverted it and placed it on his head as the easiest way of carrying it, and marched home. his next care was to secure the missing rounds. he came over to our house and got the rope-ladder, and then went to the police-station and had the good fortune to recover the piece which the over-shrewd policeman had carried off as evidence. this gave him the whole twenty-four rounds, and it did not take him long to select from them the four that had been sawed from the particular chair which he had in hand. ned and i had done our work hurriedly, and somewhat roughly, and no two were sawed precisely alike. we had sawed them so that stubs, perhaps an inch long, were left sticking out from the legs. phaeton procured a fine saw, and sawed one of the rounds in two, lengthwise, thus splitting it in halves, each of which, of course, had one flat side and one curved side. then he sawed in each of the two stubs which had originally been parts of that same round, a notch, or "shoulder," which cut away about half of the stub,--the upper side of one and the lower side of the other,--carefully saving the pieces that came out of the notches. then he put the two halves of the round together, as they were before being sawed apart,--except that he slid them by each other, lengthwise, a distance equal to the length of the notches in the stubs. [illustration: how the chair was mended.] now, as he held the reconstructed round in its place in the chair, it just fitted, and there was sufficient overlap on the stubs to make a secure fastening possible. near each end there was a small vacant space, into which the pieces that had been cut out to make the notches in the stubs exactly fitted. phaeton procured a pot of glue, and fastened the pieces together and in place. to give the work greater strength, he carefully bored a hole through the stub and the overlapping end of the round, put in a piece of large copper wire, a trifle longer than the hole, and, holding a large hammer against one end, gently pounded on the other with a tack-hammer, till he had flattened it out into a rivet-head; then reversed the hammers, and made a head on the other end. finally, as he had no vise or hand-screws, he placed a strip of wood on each side of the mended round, tied a piece of strong cord in a loose hanging-loop around each end, put a stick through, and twisted them up tight,--the sticks resting against the legs of the chair, which prevented the cords from untwisting. he thus made what a surgeon would call a couple of tourniquets, to hold his work firmly together while the glue was hardening. ned and i had watched all these operations with intense interest. "i tell you what 'tis," said ned, "fay sometimes makes mistakes when he goes sailing off in the realms of imagination with his inventive genius, like that fire-extinguisher; but when you come down to a real thing that's got to be fixed, and nobody else can fix it, he's right there every time." phaeton treated the other three rounds of the chair in the same manner, and then set it away for the glue to harden. when that had taken place, he took off the tourniquets, scraped and sand papered the rounds, so as to leave no unevenness at the edges of the pieces, and then varnished them. waiting for that varnish to dry was one of the severest trials of patience we ever endured. but it was dry at last, and of course ned and i were proud to go with phaeton when he carried home his work. he left the chair in the hall, where ned and i also remained, and went in first to speak to his aunt. "seems to me things are mightily changed," said ned, in a humiliated tone, "when fay walks in to see aunt mercy, and i stay outside. but i suppose it's all right." we heard his aunt say to phaeton: "i'd given up looking for you. i thought you'd find you couldn't do it; but i know you tried hard, poor boy, and i'm just as much obliged to you." presently phaeton came out and got the chair, and this time we went in with him. he set it down before his astonished aunt, and carefully explained to her the whole process, showing her that not a splinter of any but the original wood had been used. that cobbled-up old chair went straight to aunt mercy's heart, and seated phaeton in her affections forever. she made us stay and take tea with her, and after tea we took home the other five chairs, to be similarly treated; phaeton marching first with two on his head, then ned with two more, and i bringing up the rear with the odd one on my head. [illustration: taking home the chairs.] chapter xx. rings, scissors, and boots. phaeton's fame as an inventor and general engineer was growing rapidly among the boys. they had great faith in his powers, and in some of them a similar inventive spirit was awakened, though none of them accomplished much. they very commonly came to consult him when they thought they had an idea. one day holman came to the printing-office when we were all there,--including jimmy, who, with the help of wilson's "treatise on punctuation," was learning to read proof,--and said he thought he knew how we could make a fortune. "that's a good thing to know," said phaeton. "but i can't be quite sure that i do know it," said holman, "till i talk with you about some parts of the scheme." "i shall be glad to help you if i can," said phaeton. "i don't care to make any secret of it," continued holman, "because, if it can be carried out, we shall have to make a sort of joint-stock company, and take in several of the boys." "will it make us a fortune apiece?" said ned, "or only one fortune, to be divided up among the company?" "that depends on how much you consider a fortune," answered holman. "the main thing i want to know, fay, is this: whether it is possible to invent some way of going under water, and working there, without a big, heavy diving-bell." "i think," said phaeton, "that other and lighter apparatus has been invented already; but if not, i should think it could be." "then we are all right," said holman. "i know where the fortune is,--there's no uncertainty about that,--but it's under water a few feet, and it won't do to go for it with any large and noticeable machinery." "fay can easily invent a pocket diving-bell," said ned. "do you know the history of venice?" said holman. phaeton said he knew the outlines of her history, jimmy said he knew about the bucentaur and the brass horses, but ned and i confessed total ignorance. "i've just been reading it," said holman, "and that's where i got my idea. you must know that when venice was a rich republic, the doge--who was the same as a president or mayor--used to go out once a year in a big row-boat called the bucentaur, with banners and streamers, and a brass band, and a lot of jolly fellows, and marry the adriatic sea, as they called it. that is, he threw a splendid wedding-ring into the water, and then i suppose they all gave three cheers, and fired a salute, and had some lemonade, and perhaps made speeches that were a little tedious, like those we have to listen to at school on examination-day. at any rate, he threw in the ring, and that's the important thing." "what was all that for?" said ned. "jack-in-the-box told me," said holman, "it was because the venetians were a sea-going people, and all their wealth came from commerce, and so this ceremony signified their devotion to the sea. but, as i was saying, this was done regularly every year for six hundred and twenty years; and what makes it lucky for us is, that it was always done at the same spot--the porto di lido, a channel through that long, narrow island that lies a little off shore." "i don't see where the luck for us comes in," said i. "if the doges had been our grandfathers, and bequeathed us the rings instead of throwing them away, there might be some luck in that." "wait till you see what i'm coming to," said holman. "the adriatic is a shallow sea,--i've looked up all the facts,--and my idea is, that we might as well have those rings as for them to lie there doing nobody any good." "how much are they worth?" said ned. "you can calculate it for yourself," said holman. "as i said before, the ceremony was repeated every year for six hundred and twenty years. of course, we might not get quite all of them--throw off the twenty; there are six hundred rings. they must have been splendid ones, and were probably worth at least a hundred dollars apiece. there's sixty thousand dollars, all in a huddle in that one spot." "but don't you suppose," said ned, "that after a while those cunning old doges would stop throwing in solid gold rings with real diamonds on them, and use brass ones washed with gold, and paste diamonds?" "i think not," said holman; "for they didn't have to pay for them--the bill was footed by the common council. and they couldn't try that without getting caught. for of course the ring would be on exhibition a week or so in the window of some fashionable jewelry store, and the newspapers would tell that it was furnished by the celebrated establishment of so-and-so." "but don't you suppose," said phaeton, "that as soon as it was dark, some fellow went out quietly in a little skiff, and dove for the rings? some of those italians are wonderful divers." "i think not," said holman; "for the ring would be of no use to a venetian; he wouldn't dare offer it for sale." "how do you propose to get them?" "my plan is, first, to invent some kind of diving apparatus that is small, and can be packed in a valise; then, for us to save up all the money we can get, till we have enough to pay the travelling expenses of two of us from here to venice. we could go cheap in a sailing-vessel. suppose you and i went, fay; we'd ask the venetians about the fishing, and buy or hire some tackle, and put a lunch in our valise, with the diving apparatus, and get a skiff and start off. i've planned the very course. when you leave the city you steer a little east of north-east; row about four miles, and there you are." "that's easy enough," said i,--"only a little over half the distance from here to charlotte, which we've all rowed scores of times." "when we get there," holman continued, "we'll fish a while to lull suspicion, and then i'll quietly get into the diving apparatus and drop into the water, with the valise in my hand. it wouldn't take me long to scoop up those rings, once i got amongst them; then, of course, fay would haul me up, and we'd hurry home and divide. we could easily turn the rings into money." "i should think we might get more for them as curiosities than as old gold," said i. "that's a good idea," said holman. "but we mustn't be in a hurry to sell them _all_," said jimmy the rhymer. "when a fellow grows up and gets engaged, one of those would be an awful romantic thing to give to the lady." "i know a better way than that to get them, though," said ned. "let's hear." "just invent some kind of magnet that'll stick to gold, as a common magnet sticks to iron, and put a good strong one in the butt end of your fish-pole; then, when the venetians were looking, you could be fishing; and when they were not looking, you could drop the big end of the pole into the water, poke around a little on the bottom, and haul up a ring. maybe sometimes you'd haul up a dozen at once, all sticking together like a cluster of grapes." whether holman was in earnest, or was only testing the credulity of us younger boys, i never knew; but we took it all in good faith, and went home that night to dream of loading our fingers with rings, and spending sixty thousand dollars divided into five shares. however holman may have been jesting in this scheme for acquiring a fortune for himself, it was not many days after this when he actually entered upon a rather ludicrous performance to get a little money for somebody else. there were two red rovers in our town--in fact, there were three. the reader has already made the acquaintance of the fire-company and engine known as red rover three. a man who had once belonged to that company, but was now past the prime of life, and honorably retired from the service, made his living by grinding knives and scissors. but he was too much of a yankee to go about with a wheel in a little frame strapped upon his back, and a bell in his hand, to be rung monotonously, from street to street. he built a peculiar carriage,--a square framework, about four feet high and six feet long,--running on four large wheels, wherein was a bewildering mass of machinery. standing behind it, and laying his hands upon two great brass knobs, he walked slowly through the streets, pushing it before him in a dignified manner, to the awe of the boys and the wonderment of the whole town. it went with an easy motion, the wheels making only a subdued and gentle noise. surmounting it in front was a large bell, which was struck at solemn and impressive intervals. this apparatus both increased his patronage and elevated the dignity of the profession. he had no vulgar and noisy cry, soliciting custom in a half-intelligible jargon. people who wanted their scissors ground came to the doors with them when they heard his bell. then the wheels of the chariot stopped, the charioteer lifted his hat in salutation, and the negotiation seemed like a matter of friendly favor, rather than bargain and pay. in order to grind, he opened a little gate in the rear of the machine, stepped inside, closed the gate behind him, and seated himself upon a small shelf which was fastened to the gate. his feet were then placed upon two pedals, and the machinery began to move. five small grindstones, of different sizes and fineness, revolved before him. at his right hand was a little anvil; at his left was a vise; and under this was a box of small tools. about the middle of the machine, on the top, was a small figure of a scottish highlander, with bag-pipes under his arm. the bag--which was of painted tin--was filled with water; and a plug, withdrawn from the longest of the pipes, allowed the water to trickle down upon the knife-wheel. scissors were generally ground on a dry wheel. when the machinery was in motion, the pipes played something, intended for music, between a squeak and a whistle; so that when he was travelling, the bell rang, and when he was grinding, the pipes played. on one of the front corners was a little bronze bust of washington, and on the other was one of franklin; between them was a clock, with a marine movement. the whole frame and running gear were painted a bright red, and garnished with shining brass ornaments. the man called his machine red rover, after the beloved engine with which he used to run, and the name appeared on the side in brass letters. it seemed as if he must spend the greater part of his earnings on its improvement and embellishment. the man himself, whose hair was broadly streaked with gray, was called "the old red rover," and we never knew him by any other name. he lived in a little bit of a house by the canal; and the machine, which was always kept in shining order, had to be taken in-doors every night. how he managed to find room in the house for himself, his wife, and his four children, besides the machine, we could never imagine--and it was none of our business. that little house by the canal was as much the old red rover's castle as the palaces that you and i live in, dear reader, are ours. i think it was a week after our conversation concerning the doge's rings, when, one saturday, ned and i heard the bell ring, and saw the red rover coming up state street, with isaac holman propelling it, instead of its owner. this was rather astonishing, and, of course, an immediate explanation was demanded. "why, you see," said holman, "mother had been for a long time wishing the old red rover would come around, for every pair of scissors in the house was as dull as a dutch grammar. at last she got tired of waiting, and so i went to his house with them. i found he was laid up with rheumatism, and hadn't been out for five weeks. it looked to me as if the family were on short rations, and i began to think what i could do for them. i thought the best thing would be, to take the machine and spend the day in going around grinding scissors, and at night take home the money to the old red rover." "yes," said ned, "that's the very best thing; it's more fun than anything else you could have thought of." "he was rather afraid to let me try it," continued holman, "but mrs. the-old-red-rover was greatly pleased with the idea, and soon persuaded him. 'be very tender with her--she's the pride of my life,' said he, as we rolled it out of the door; and he didn't mean his wife--he meant the machine." we had often kept this machine company as it passed through the streets in charge of its owner, and it was doubly interesting now when one of our own number was allowed to run it. so, of course, we went along with holman on his benevolent tour. other boys also joined us, and the unusually large crowd attracted attention. we were all ready to explain the situation to people who stood in the doors or looked out at the windows, and the result was that holman had plenty of work. [illustration: the boys run the red rover.] soon after turning into west street, he began to go much more slowly. at the house where miss glidden had been living since the fire, nobody appeared at door or window. it happened that right here something got out of order in the machine--at least, holman said it did, and he had to stop stock-still and tinker at it a long time; but i was not able to see what was out of order. at last miss glidden appeared at the door, and inquired what was going on. monkey roe ran up the steps and informed her. "it's entirely out of mercy," said he, "and you'd be doing a benevolent thing to give him as many scissors as possible to sharpen." miss glidden invited him in, and soon collected three pairs of scissors and a pair of shears, which she requested him to take out and have ground for her. "is this all you have?" said he, in a tone signifying that he considered it a very small crop. "there may be more," said she. "biddy"--to the servant--"bring here any scissors you have that need grinding." biddy brought from the kitchen a pair that were used to trim lamps. "is this all, biddy?" said monkey. "i don't know--i'll see, sir," said biddy; and monkey followed her to the kitchen. next to it he found a sort of combined work-room and store-room, the door of which stood open, and, looking over its contents, soon discovered a pair of tinsmith's shears, a pair of sheep-shears, a drawing-knife, a cooper's adze, and a rusty broad-axe, all of which, with the family carving-knife, brought by biddy, he added to the collection, and came down the steps with them in his arms. "here, holman," said he, "miss glidden wants you to sharpen these few things for the good cause." "_boni cani calcei!_--good gracious!" exclaimed holman, "does she think i'm hercules?" "no," said monkey, in a low tone, "but i guess she thinks you're her--admirer." "but i suppose it must be done," isaac added, not hearing monkey's remark. and he took off his jacket and went to work manfully. the scissors were soon disposed of, as were also the carving-knife and the drawing-knife; but the other articles were somewhat troublesome. about all he could do with the broad-axe was to grind off the rust that completely coated it. the tinsmith's shears were a heavy job, and the sheep-shears completely baffled him, till he gave up trying to sharpen them on the grindstone, and, finding a file in the tool-box, applied that to their edges, against the solemn protest of monkey roe, who declared it would take the temper out of the steel. "and when miss glidden sees them, it may bring her temper out too," he added. "can't help it," said holman, "and now the lot's finished; you may take it in and collect the pay." he had just begun to study book-keeping, and, opening a little drawer in the machine, he found a scrap of paper, and made out this bill: miss v. glidden. to mr. the old red rover. _dr._ to sharpening prs. scissors, @ c $ " " shears, @ c " pr. tinsmith's shears " " sheep-shears " drawing-knife " adze " broad-axe " carving-knife ---- $ . received payment, the old red rover, pr. holman. monkey took this and the armful of cutlery, and carried them in to miss glidden, who was somewhat surprised, as she had not known exactly what he was about. however, she laughingly paid the bill, and he carefully piled the articles on the parlor table, and came away. i observed that holman put the dollar into the drawer where he had put all the other money, but the cent he put into his pocket. then he took another cent from another pocket, and threw it into the drawer. we had travelled perhaps half a mile farther, and holman had ground something like forty pairs of scissors in all, when we were joined by phaeton, who watched him as he ground the next pair. "is that the way you've ground them all?" said he, when it was finished. "yes, of course--why?" said holman. "because if you have, you've ruined every pair you've touched," said phaeton. "don't you know that scissors must be ground on the edge of the blade, not on the side, like a knife? if you grind away the sides, the blades can't touch each other, and so can't cut at all." "i declare, i believe that's so," said holman. "i thought it was kind of queer that none of the scissors would really cut anything; but i was sure i had made them sharp, and so supposed they were all old, worn-out things that wouldn't cut, any way. i guess you'd better take my place, fay." phaeton declined to do this, but went along as confidential adviser. we wound about through a great number of streets, the accompanying crowd of boys being sometimes larger and sometimes smaller, and ground a great many knives and scissors. on turning a corner into a by-street that bore the proud name of fairfax, we came suddenly upon jimmy the rhymer. he was sitting on a bowlder, with a quantity of printed bills over his left arm, a paste-brush in his right hand, and a small bucket of paste on the ground beside him. he looked tired and melancholy. the outward situation was soon explained. a man who had kept a cobbler's shop for many years, but had recently enlarged it into something like a shoe-store, had employed us to print some bills to be posted up on the fences and dead-walls, announcing the event. they began with the startling legend, printed in our largest type, go it boots! which was followed by an account of the new store and new goods, the favorite rhetorical figure being hyperbole. looking about for some one to post them who would do it more cheaply than the regular bill-poster of the town, he had thought of jimmy the rhymer, who accepted the job because he wanted to earn a little money. "are you sick, jimmy?" said phaeton, observing his dejection. "not in body," said jimmy, "but i am sick in mind--sick at heart." "why, what's the matter?" "look at that," said jimmy, slowly raising his hand and pointing at one of the bills which he had just posted on a barn-door. "go it boots!"--he quoted it very slowly. "what do i care about going it boots? i couldn't go it boots if i wanted to. there is no more going it boots for me in this world." "i don't quite understand you," said phaeton. "i mean," said jimmy, "that my soul yearns for poetry--for the beautiful in nature and art. and it disgusts me to think of spending my time in spreading such literature as this through the world." "that isn't very complimentary to us," said ned. "we spent considerable of our time in printing it." "i suppose you get paid for it," said phaeton. "of course," said jimmy, "or i shouldn't do it at all." "then it seems to me," said phaeton, "you might look upon it cheerfully as only so much drudge-work done to purchase leisure and opportunity for the work you delight in. you know a great many famous men have been obliged to get through the world in that way." "yes, cheer up," said monkey roe. "look at us: we're having lots of fun over drudgier work than yours. come along with us, and we'll make one circus of the whole thing--two entertainments under one canvas, as the bills say. holman has plenty of help, so i'll be your assistant." and he took the brush and paste-bucket, while jimmy still carried the bills, and we all moved on together. as jimmy walked beside the machine, he and holman seemed to resume some former conversation. "can't you make up your mind to do it, if i double the price?" said holman. "on the contrary," said jimmy, "i've made up my mind that i _won't_ do it at _any_ price." "why not?" asked holman. "for two reasons," answered jimmy. "one is, that i don't think it's exactly honest to write such things for anybody else to pass off as his own." "and the other?" said holman. "the other is," said jimmy, speaking much lower, but still so that i who was next to him could hear, "and i may as well tell you plainly, isaac,--the other is, that i have some hopes in that direction myself, and if i write anything more for her, i'll send it as my own." "you?" said holman, in astonishment. "certainly," said jimmy, with great coolness, as if he felt himself master of the situation, "and i think my claim is better than yours. whatever there is between you and her--if there is anything--is entirely of your seeking. but in my case it's all of her seeking; she sent me flowers every day when i was laid up." "that's nothing--that doesn't mean anything," said holman. "if it doesn't, then i've read the poets all wrong," said jimmy. "_poetæ apis suspensi!_--poets be hanged!" exclaimed isaac, and then gave a prolonged whistle, which closed the conversation. phaeton, who was next to me, and also overheard, opened his mouth as if to say something to jimmy, but checked himself. yet he was so full of his idea that he was obliged to utter it somehow, and so whispered it in my ear: "if it comes to that, my claim is even better than his, for she gave flowers to me when i was not an object of pity." * * * * * the way monkey roe did that job created an epoch in bill-posting. we passed the office of a veterinary surgeon, who had the skeleton of a horse, mounted on a board, for a sign; and before anybody knew what he was about, monkey whipped off one of the bills from jimmy's arm, and pasted it right across the skeleton's ribs. we came to a loaded coal-cart, broken down in the middle of the street by the crushing of a wheel, and he posted one on that. we passed a tobacco-shop, in front of which stood a life-size wooden statue of a bare-legged and plaided highlander; and monkey pasted a go it boots! on his naked shin. we met a beggar who went about on two crutches, but who was known to be an impostor; and after he had passed us, one of the bills was attached to his coat-tail, like the cheapest kind of april-fool. we passed a windmill that had been put up as an experiment, and had failed; and monkey posted a bill on each of the sails--revolving it enough to bring each of them near the ground in turn--and one on the door. there was an omnibus-horse that had fallen by the roadside that morning, and monkey unfeelingly pasted a go it boots! on his poor, dead back. on whatever he saw that couldn't go it at all, he was sure to fasten this advice to go it boots. i think monkey was a very ironical boy. "there, jimmy," said he, as he disposed of the last bill, "you see it's only necessary to approach your work in the right spirit to make it a pleasure, as the school-master says. but i'll tell you what to do, if you don't want to spread this sort of literature. the next time dunderson, or any other cobbler, wants to get out a bill, you write it for him, and put it all in poetry. then it'll be a delight to post it." jimmy said he'd consider it. about five o'clock in the afternoon, when we were all pretty tired, we returned the red rover safely to its home, and holman gladdened mrs. the-old-red-rover with more money than she had seen in a long time, for which she was very grateful. as we turned away, we met their eldest boy, johnny the-old-red-rover, bringing a basketful of bark which he had cut from the oaken logs in the saw-mill yard. before we were out of sight of the house, the smoke curled out of the little chimney, and i've no doubt they celebrated the day with a joyful supper. as we passed the box, we stopped to speak with jack. he was flagging an express train that was creeping slowly into the city, retarded by a hot box. when it had reached the crossing, it stopped entirely, and most of the passengers thrust their heads out at the windows. one of these heads came out in such a way as to be exactly face-to-face with jack, the interval between them being less than a yard. jack gave a piercing shriek, and fell to the ground. phaeton and i ran to him, and picked him up. "he's in a fit," said i. "no," said phaeton, "i think he has only fainted. bring water." i found a pitcher-full in the box, and we poured it upon his face, which brought him to. he looked about in a bewildered manner for a moment, then seemed to recollect himself, and turned toward the track. but the train had passed on. "phaeton," said he, "will you please stand here and flag a special freight train that will come along in about ten minutes?" "certainly, with pleasure," said phaeton, receiving the flag. "and after that has passed, haul down the red ball and run up the white one; then turn that second switch and lock it." "all right!" said phaeton. "i understand." jack then picked up his cap, and started on a run, crossing the public square diagonally, evidently taking the shortest route to the passenger station. chapter xxi. a tea party. the mending of the chairs had entirely changed aunt mercy's demeanor toward us. "i've given you money to make a great many muddles," said she; "but, so far as i can learn, this is the first successful muddle you've produced. however, this is fine enough to make up for all. and i want you both to come and take tea with me saturday evening." phaeton and ned not only accepted the invitation with thanks, but asked to have me included in it. "certainly," said aunt mercy; "it wouldn't do to separate you and him. and if you have any other very particular friends among the boys, bring them along too. only let me know how many are coming." phaeton said he should like to invite jimmy the rhymer. "invite jimmy," said aunt mercy. "and monkey roe is awful lively company," said ned. "invite monkey," said aunt mercy. "if we're going to have so many," said phaeton, "i shouldn't like to leave out isaac holman." "it isn't exactly a spelling-match, but choose away," said aunt mercy. "it's your turn now, edmund burton." ned chose charley garrison, and then phaeton chose patsy rafferty, and after some discussion they determined to let the list end there. "you haven't mentioned a single girl," said aunt mercy. "sister may is too little," said ned; "and besides that, i don't much believe in girls, any way." "that's complimentary to your mother and me," said his aunt. "i don't think we know any girls well enough to ask them," said phaeton,--"unless it may be one," and he blushed a little. "one will do," said aunt mercy; and so it was agreed that she should invite miss glidden, whom she called "a very sweet girl." the evening that had been designated was the evening of the day recorded in the last chapter, and not one of the eight boys included in the invitation forgot it. we gravitated together, after a series of whistlings, and all went to aunt mercy's in a crowd. when we arrived at the house, phaeton went up the steps first, and rang the bell. there was no immediate response, and while we were waiting for it, ned and monkey roe, who had lagged behind a little, came up. "oh, pshaw!" said ned, "don't fool around out here. probably the girl's cooking something that she can't leave right away; but aunty expects us--come in, boys," and he opened the door and led us into the hall. "i ought to know the way around this house pretty well," he continued. "here's the place to hang your caps," and he pointed out the hat-rack under the slope of the stairs. with a soft, pattering noise, the eight caps almost instantly found lodgment on the pegs, some being thrown with great precision by the boys who were hindmost over the heads of the others. "now follow me, boys; i'll introduce you to aunt mercy; i'm perfectly at home here," said ned, and throwing open the parlor door, he ushered us in there as unceremoniously as he had admitted us to the house. the parlor was beautifully though not brilliantly lighted by an argand lamp. aunt mercy was sitting on the sofa, and beside her--"awful near together," as ned expressed it--sat a tall gentleman, with a full beard and a sun-browned face. "why! what does this mean?" said aunt mercy, as soon as she could get her breath. ned was considerably abashed, and had fallen back so that he was almost merged in the crowd of boys now huddled near the door. but he mustered courage enough to say: "we've come to tea." phaeton stepped forward, and relieved the situation: "you remember, aunty, you asked us to come to tea this evening, and bring our friends. but, perhaps now it isn't convenient for you. we can come some other day just as well." "really," said his aunt, "i made preparations for you to-day, and it's perfectly convenient; but in the last two hours i had totally forgotten it. you see i have an unexpected visitor." phaeton introduced those of the boys whom his aunt had never seen before, and she then introduced us all to mr. burton. she had not the least trouble in remembering phaeton's name, and she called mr. burton's attention especially to ned as his namesake. "is this the mr. burton who was dead long ago?" said ned. "the very same one," said his aunt, laughing. "but he has suddenly come to life again, after many strange adventures, which he has just been telling me. i must ask him to tell them over again for you. but did none of you call for miss glidden?" we all looked blank. "then," said she, "fayette must go after her now." phaeton took his cap and started at once. three of the boys kindly offered to go with him, fearing he would be lonesome, but he said he didn't mind going alone. while he was gone, we made the acquaintance of mr. burton very rapidly. he seemed a good deal like jack-in-the-box in one respect--he liked boys. in ned he appeared to be particularly interested. several times over he asked him how old he was, and how tall he was. i suppose ned seemed to him to be a sort of visible measure of the time that had been lost out of his life; for he must have disappeared from the knowledge of his friends about the time that ned was born. soon after phaeton returned with miss glidden, tea was announced. both during the meal and afterward, mr. burton did the greater part of the talking, and his conversation consisted mainly of a running account of his adventures since he left his home, more than a dozen years before. i give the story as nearly as possible in his own words. it was of a nature to seize upon a boy's fancy; but i fear it has not lain in my memory all these years without losing many of its nicest points. "i was a tall and slender boy," said mr. burton,--"so slender that my parents feared i would become consumptive, and i reached the age of twenty without improving much in that respect. our family physician said a long sea-voyage might build me up and make a strong man of me, and as my uncle owned a large interest in a whaler then fitting out, at nantucket, for a cruise in the north pacific, it was arranged that i should make the voyage. by my own choice, i shipped as a common sailor before the mast, as it seemed to me that was the only way to get the full benefit of the experience. "i need not tell you the story of the tedious passage around cape horn, against head winds and through rainy seas. you have all read it dozens of times. the greenest hand on board was an accomplished sailor by the time we reached the whaling-ground. we had a prosperous cruise, and i calculated that though the hundred and twenty-fifth lay, which was to be my share, would not make me rich, it would give me considerable pocket-money when we got home. "when we turned our prow southward for the long homeward voyage, our troubles began. week after week we labored against heavy gales and head seas. it was many months since we had been in port, and we were not well equipped for so long a strain. at last, when we were barely out of the tropics, a terrific and long-continued easterly gale struck us, and drove us helplessly before it. just before daylight, one morning, she struck heavily, with a shock that sent one of the masts overboard. dawn showed us that we were wrecked on a lonely island. as nearly as the captain could calculate, this was in south latitude degrees and longitude degrees west. "we judged that the island must be about a dozen miles long. three volcanic peaks rose in plain sight, to a height of more than a thousand feet, and between their branching ridges were green valleys sloping down to the shore. if you ever see an old cart-wheel, with half its spokes broken or missing, which has lain upon the ground till the grass has sprung up through it, you may look upon it as a rude representation of the appearance that island presented from the sea. the hub would be the cone of an extinct volcano, the weather-beaten wood being about the color of the volcanic rock, and the remaining spokes the irregular, sharp ridges that radiated from it, some of them reaching to the water's edge and others stopping half-way. "an hour or two after daylight, we found there was no possibility of saving the ship, though the storm was over. we launched the boats, but could make no landing on that side of the island, which was steep and rocky. so we pulled southward, and through a channel where two rocky islets lay off the south-east point, and soon came to a pretty bay, where we made a landing. "looking at the shore through the misty dawn, we had seen what looked like giants standing on the flat roofs of their houses and watching us. but they showed no signs of life, and the captain at length made them out, through his glass, to be images of some sort. we afterward had abundant opportunity to examine them, and found them to be stone statues of colossal size. what we had taken for houses were three platforms of solid masonry, built on ground that sloped toward and overlooked the sea. four of these great statues had originally stood on each of the platforms, but most of the twelve were now overthrown. we measured one that lay on the ground, and found it was fifteen feet high and six feet across the shoulders. "they were cut in gray stone, and each statue that was still standing had on its head an immense red stone, smoothly cut to the shape of a cylinder, at least a yard high,--as if it wore what you call a band-box hat, but with no brim. we afterward found there were great numbers of these statues in various places on the island, though mostly on the east side. few of them seemed to be finished. it was as if the sculptor had taken the rough blocks and begun work at the top, and, after bringing out the statue perhaps as far down as the waist, had left it in that condition, and begun on the next one. the largest one we found was over twenty-five feet high. "it was two hours after our landing before we saw any living being. then we saw three children peeping at us from the top of a little hill. when we discovered them, they scampered away, and pretty soon a crowd of people appeared, led by an old man whose face was painted white, and who carried a long spear. "the captain made them understand that we were cast away, and wished to be taken care of. they led us along the shore, to the entrance of one of those green and beautiful valleys, where we found a village and were made welcome. they kept saying '_taya, taya_, which we found meant 'friends,' and gave us a feast of yams, bananas, and roast chicken. the next day they went through a ceremony which we understood to mean that they formally adopted us into their tribe, and considered us their brothers. they also exchanged names with us. the man who adopted my name (burton) called it obuttee, and his which he gave me in exchange was moaneena." mr. burton gave a considerable account of his adventures on the island, which we found very entertaining; but i cannot remember it with sufficient accuracy to attempt repeating it. as we were walking home, monkey roe pointed out what he thought were improbabilities in the narrative too great to be believed,--especially the account of the gigantic stone statues, which he said could not possibly have been made by people who had no iron tools. i was inclined to share monkey's incredulity at the time; but i now know that mr. burton told the truth, and that he must have been cast away on easter island, where roggeween, the dutch navigator, had discovered the mysterious statuary more than a century before. "that little island," he continued, "was our home for nearly ten years. it is far out of the usual track of ships, and as good water is very scarce upon it, there is little temptation for them to go out of their way to visit it. we had two small boats, but the coast of south america was more than two thousand miles distant. "at last a merchantman, driven out of her course by stress of weather, came to anchor off the western shore, and sent in a boat, the crew of which were naturally astonished at being greeted by white men. "we were taken off, and carried to melbourne, where every man took his own way of getting home. about half of them went to the newly discovered gold-fields. i got a chance after a while to ship before the mast in a vessel going to calcutta. "there i made the acquaintance of a young man who, i found, was from my native town; though i had not known him at home, as he was nearly, or quite, ten years my junior. his name was roderick ayr. he offered to lend me money, but i would take it only on condition that he receive my watch as security, to be redeemed when we reached home. it was a splendid watch, but had long since ceased to keep time, for want of cleaning. "mr. ayr had been educated at one of the older colleges, knew something of engineering, had studied law, had spent a year in journalism, and had done a little something in literature--in fact, i think he told me he had published a small volume of poems, or essays. his talents were so varied that he found it difficult to settle down to one occupation; and so he had made a voyage to india, merely to see something of the world, while he was growing a little older and finding out what he was best fitted for. "he was about to return home as a passenger, when i found an opportunity to ship before the mast in the 'emily wentworth,' bound for boston. to keep me company, he shipped in the same capacity. "we passed down the hoogly, and wound through the horrible swamps and jungles of the sunderbunds, where tigers and crocodiles were an every-day sight, till our pilot left us, on a sunny july morning, with the deep blue waters of the bay of bengal before us, and a gentle breeze from the north-east. "two days later we were struck by a cyclone, and the vessel was reduced to a helpless wreck. everybody on board seemed paralyzed with terror, except ayr and the captain, and the captain was soon swept away by a heavy sea. three of the men, headed by the second mate,--a fellow named hobbes,--managed to launch the only boat that had not been stove, threw into it a keg of water, a few provisions, and the charts and instruments, and were about to pull away and leave the rest of us to our fate, when ayr ordered them back. as they paid no attention to him, he sprang into the boat and took hobbes by the throat. hobbes drew his knife, but as quick as lightning ayr gave him a blow that sent him overboard. one of the sailors caught him and drew him in, and then they all consented to return to the deck. the next sea swept away the boat. "ayr was now recognized as commander, by virtue of his natural superiority, and the first mate, a well-meaning but forceless man, had the good sense to resign his authority to the only one who could do anything for us--if anything could be done at all. "with a few volunteers to assist him, ayr rigged and launched a raft, upon which nine of us embarked. the remainder of the crew had already been lost, or were afraid to leave the vessel, and some had lashed themselves to her spars. ayr was the last to leave her. he jumped overboard, swam to the raft, cut the hawser, and we drifted away from the hulk, which heeled and went down before we were out of sight. "the raft floated low, and half the time we were up to our necks in water, for all that day and all night heavy seas broke over her. ayr, who was a powerful swimmer, was swimming about the raft the greater part of the time, sometimes tightening the fastenings where she threatened to break apart, and often saving and hauling on board again some poor wretch who had been swept off. but every few hours a man would be carried away whom ayr could not reach, and our little company was continually growing smaller. "as for myself, i was rather a poor swimmer, and either the exposure, or some disease that i had previously contracted, caused an uncomfortable swelling and puffiness in my fingers and toes. i took off, with some difficulty, a ring which i had worn for a dozen years, as it now begun to hurt me, and slipped it upon ayr's finger, asking him to keep it for me till some happier time. "in the afternoon of the second day, it became evident that the raft was too large for the strength of the ropes that held it together, and that a smaller one must be made. ayr set to work to build it almost alone. indeed, but four of us were now left--simpson, an englishman, hobbes the mate, ayr, and i. ayr had lost a great deal of his strength, and his knife slipped from his hand and sank in the sea. i lent him mine, for the other two men were destitute of knives; hobbes had lost his when ayr knocked him out of the boat. "just as the new raft was ready to be cut loose, a great sea struck us, and widely separated the two, leaving ayr and hobbes on what remained of the old one, while simpson and i were on the new. i saw ayr plunge into the water and strike out toward us; but after a few strokes he turned back, either because he felt he had not strength to reach us, or because he would not leave hobbes helpless. the sudden night of the tropics shut down upon us, and when morning dawned the old raft was nowhere to be seen. "the sea was now much less violent, and simpson and i managed to maintain our position in spite of our wasted strength. i felt that another night would be our last. but an hour before sunset we were picked up by a dutch vessel, bound on an exploring voyage to the coasts of borneo and celebes. we had not the luck to sight any vessel going in the opposite direction, and so could only return after the explorations had been made, which kept us away from home nearly two years longer. "when at last i crossed my father's threshold again, a week ago, i found that i was not only given up for dead, but was supposed to have been murdered by my dearest friend, roderick ayr. he and hobbes had been picked up by a vessel bound for liverpool. "hobbes, who, it seems, had never given up his grudge against ayr, passing through my native town on his way from boston to his own home, had stopped over a train for the purpose of setting afloat the story of the wreck, in which he so far mingled truth and falsehood as to represent that ayr, in view of the scanty stock of provisions on the raft, had successively murdered three of the men in their sleep,--of whom i was one,--robbed them, and rolled their bodies off into the sea. "when ayr came along on the next train, a policeman's hand was laid upon his arm before he stepped off from the platform. he was taken to police headquarters and searched, and as my watch, my ring, and my knife were found in his possession, the evidence against him seemed conclusive. but the living, lying witness had disappeared, and could not be found. either he had felt that he would be unable to confront ayr and withstand cross-questioning, or else he had no desire to send ayr to the gallows, but only to disgrace him in the estimation of his townsmen. in this he succeeded to a considerable extent. ayr told the straight story, which his nearest friends believed--except some who feared he might have done, under the peculiar temptations of a wreck, what he would not have done under any other circumstances; and as no murder could be actually proved, he, of course, could not be held. but most of the people ominously shook their heads, and refused to receive his account of the watch, the ring, and the knife as anything but an ingenious triple falsehood. it was more than he could stand, and between two days he disappeared, his nearest relatives not knowing what had become of him. "when i suddenly appeared in the town a few days since, those overwise people of two years ago were dumbfounded, and i hope by this time they are sufficiently ashamed of themselves. but some one besides roderick ayr had left the town during my absence. miss rogers had removed to detroit six years before, and i took the next train for that city, only to learn that after a brief residence she had come here. so i retraced my journey. "as we were entering the city this afternoon, i put my head out of the car-window in an idle way, and thought i saw a strange vision--a man standing beside the track with a flag in his hand, who wore the features of roderick ayr. in a moment it was gone, and i could not tell whether it was fancy or reality, whether i had been dreaming or awake. but as i was passing through the door of the railway station he accosted me, and sure enough it was my friend." "by jolly!" said monkey roe, and brought his fist down upon the table with a whang that made every dish leap up an inch. "_johannes in perpetuo!_--jack for ever!" said isaac holman. "o-o-o-o-h!" said ned, three times--once with his mouth, and once with each eye. phaeton leapt to his feet, and waving his napkin over his head, proposed "three cheers for roderick jack-in-the-box!"--whereupon all the boys rose instantly and gave three terrific cheers and a handsome tiger. "please excuse me, aunty," said phaeton; "i'm going to bring jack-in-the-box," and he was off. "i don't know what he means by that," said aunt mercy. "you see, edmund burton, there's a gentleman connected with the railroad--either president or one of the directors--monsieur thibaux, jacquin thibaux, originally a frenchman, who seems to have befriended these boys in some way, and they talk a good deal about him. i always have to laugh at the way they pronounce his name; as they don't understand french, they call it jack-in-the-box. i believe monsieur thibaux is a very fine man, but i don't know why my nephew should bring him here." "the explanation is this," said miss glidden, "that jack-in-the-box, jacquin thibaux, and roderick ayr are one and the same person." "then of course i shall be most happy to welcome him," said aunt mercy. "but i confess i can't understand how a runaway young man could so soon become president of a great railroad, nor why the president should be waving a red flag, like a switch-tender." the good lady had surpassed both of her nephews in making a muddle, and before it could be cleared up to her satisfaction, mr. ayr was announced. the hostess rose to greet him, and "all the boys except miss glidden," as patsy rafferty expressed it, made a rush for him and wound themselves around him like an anaconda. "where's fay?" said ned, as he looked about him when the anaconda had loosened its folds. "he's at the box, managing the signals," said jack. the hero of the evening was now beset with inquiries, and nearly the whole story was gone over again, by question and answer. "i understand it all now," said ned, "except one thing. why did you always refuse to look at a newspaper?" "there were several reasons for that," said jack. "one was, that the paragraph about my supposed crime was constantly turning up. another was, that i thought my friends would advertise for me, and was afraid some of them might attempt to decoy me with what they would consider a justifiable fib,--as, that my mother was at the point of death, or something of that sort. if such a thing appeared, i preferred not to see it." chapter xxii. old shoes and orange-blossoms. not many weeks after the tea party, there were two weddings. mr. burton and aunt mercy were married on wednesday quietly at her house, and none of the boys were there except phaeton and ned. roderick ayr and miss glidden were married next morning in church, and all the boys were there. in the arrangements for this wedding, it was planned that there should be no bridesmaids and no best man, though it was then the fashion to have them,--but four ushers. jack had asked phaeton and ned rogers, isaac holman, and me, to officiate in this capacity; and we, with a few of the other boys, met in the printing-office to talk it over. "i suppose we shall get along somehow," said ned, "but i never ushed in my life, and i wouldn't like to make any blunder." "you can buy a behavior-book that tells all about it," said charlie garrison. "i don't much believe in books for such things," said ned. "i remember once when we were going to take uncle jacob's horse to pasture, fay sat up half the night reading a book about horseback-riding, and yet when we actually had the horse under us, we didn't get along very well." "that," said i, "was only because we hadn't the proper things. if we had had a mexican saddle and a gag bit and wheel spurs, we should have galloped over the ground so fast we could hardly have viewed the scenery as we rode by." "yes," said charlie, "and you'll find you must have a lot of trappings for this affair--white gloves and bouquets, and rosettes and cockades, and bridal favors, and a little club with ribbons on it, to hit the boys when they don't keep still." "oh, pshaw!" said jimmy the rhymer, "half of those are the same thing. and as for hitting the boys, they'd better hit the whole congregation, who never know any better than to jump up and gaze around every time there's a rumor that the bridal party have arrived." "i don't think we need be troubled about it," said phaeton. "of course jack will rehearse us a little, and instruct us what to do." "_bonus ego cervus!_ good idea!" said holman. "let's go up to the box this afternoon and ask him." and we agreed that we would. "that's all very well for that part of the business," said jimmy the rhymer; "but there's something else we ought to talk over and agree upon, which we can't ask jack about." "what's that?" "i mean," said jimmy, "our own demonstration. of course we're not going to stand by and see jack-in-the-box married and disposed of without doing something to show our friendship for him." "they won't receive any presents," said holman. "and i think all the flowers there need be will be provided by somebody else," said phaeton. "then," said jimmy, "there is but one thing left for us." "what's that?" "old shoes." "old shoes?" "yes. don't you know that it's a famous custom to throw old shoes after people, as a sign that you wish them good luck--especially when they're just married and starting off on their wedding journey?" "i've heard of it," said phaeton, "but i never saw it done." "i'll go for that," said monkey roe. "horseshoes, or human shoes?" "for roderick ayr and his beautiful bride, nothing but the softest velvet moccasins," said the poet. "don't believe i can get them," said monkey. "we don't wear that kind at our house." "i'm afraid it won't do to have any throwing about it," said holman. "last week i read a paragraph about a negro wedding where they all threw their old shoes after the couple as they were riding away, and one of them knocked the bridegroom's five-dollar silk hat into the middle of next week, while another broke the bride's jaw." "was there a full account of the other ceremonies at that wedding?" said patsy rafferty. "i don't remember," said holman. "why?" "because," said patsy, "whatever they did, we must do the very contrary." "there needn't be any throwing, that's certain," said jimmy. "and that will give us a chance to put in an old horseshoe, which is luckier than any other." "those carriages," said phaeton, "generally have a platform behind to carry trunks on. while the bridal party are in the church, we might have all our old shoes piled up on that platform." "that's it," said jimmy. "and that will give us a chance to decorate them with a few flowers and ribbons." we appointed jimmy a committee of one to manage the old shoes. in the afternoon we four who were to be ushers went to see jack-in-the-box. "jack," said ned, "if we're going to ush for you, you'll have to instruct us a little. none of us understand the science very well, and we're afraid to try learning it from books." jack laughed heartily. "as to the science of ushing, as you call it," said he, "it's a very simple matter." then he got a sheet of paper and a pencil, drew roughly a ground plan of the church, showed us our places at the heads of the aisles, and gave us all the information that was needed for our simple duties. "and about the clubs?" said ned. "will you make those? or do we buy them?" "what clubs?" said jack. "the little clubs with ribbons wound around them," said ned, "to hit the boys with when they don't keep still." jack laughed more heartily than before. "i guess we won't hit the boys," said he. "they needn't keep any stiller than they want to, at my wedding." and then he explained to us the difference between a marshal and an usher. "a marshal," said he, "is a sort of commander, and the little club, as you call it, is the symbol of his authority. but an usher stands in the relation of servant to those whom he shows to their places." "i must tell charlie garrison about that," said ned; "it was he who started the story about the little clubs. charlie's an awful good boy, but he generally gets things wrong. i'm afraid he's too ready to believe everything anybody tells him." in trying to describe charlie, ned had so exactly described himself, that we all broke into a smile. as we were walking away, holman suggested that perhaps while we were about it we ought to have got instructions as to the reception, also; for there was to be a brief one at the house immediately after the ceremony in the church. "oh, i know all about that," said phaeton. "then let's hear how it is," said holman. "it's simply this," said phaeton. "you go up to the couple, and shake hands, and if you're a girl you kiss the bride--what did you say? you wish you were?--and wish them many happy returns of the day; then you say what kind of weather you think we've had lately, and the bridegroom says what kind he thinks, and the bride waves her fan a little; then you give a real good smile and a bow, and go into another room and eat some cake and ice-cream; and then you go home. that's a reception." "it sounds reasonable," said i; "but i don't feel quite certain about it. i will ask my sisters." when i asked them, they laughed, but said that if i did as phaeton had directed, i'd probably get through safely. two days before the wedding, jack resigned his place in the employ of the railroad, and took all his things away from the box. patsy rafferty's father succeeded him as signal-man. thursday was a beautiful, dreamy october day, and as we had settled all the weighty questions of etiquette, we put on the white gloves with a feeling of the most dignified importance. the people began coming early. the boys, who were among the earliest, came in a compact crowd, and we gave them first-rate seats in the broad aisle, above the ribbon. before ten o'clock every seat was filled, and in the steep gallery beauty and fashion were banked up, "like niobe, all tiers." everybody in town seemed to be present. there were matrons with a blush of the spring-time returned to their faces, who must have witnessed scores of weddings and become connoisseurs in all that pertains to them. there were little misses in short dresses, who had never looked on such a spectacle before. there were young ladies evidently in the midst of their first campaign, just a little excited over one of those events toward which ill-natured people say all their campaigning is directed. there were fathers of families, with business-furrowed brows, brushing the cobwebs from dim recollections, and marking the discovery of each with the disappearance of a wrinkle. there were bachelors who, if not like the irreverent hearers of goldsmith's preacher, were at least likely to go away with deep remorse or desperate resolve. there were some who would soon themselves be central figures in a similar spectacle. there were those, perhaps, whose visions of such a triumph were destined to be finally as futile as they were now vivid. frequent ripples of good-natured impatience ran across the sea of heads, and we who felt that we had the affair in charge began to be a little anxious, till the organ struck up a compromise between a stirring waltz and a soothing melody, which speeded the precious unoccupied moments on their long journey. the usual number of false alarms caused the usual automatic turning of heads and eyes. but at last the bridal party, like the wolf in the fable, really came; and as they glided up the broad aisle, the bride might almost have mounted bodily to the seventh heaven on the substantial stares that were directed at her,--whence perhaps she could have slidden down again on some whispered railing at her want of bridesmaids. but her eyes were on the ground, and she heard nothing but the rustle of her own train, and saw nothing, i trust, but the visions that are dear to every human heart, in spite of the sorrowful comment of human experience. the organ checked its melodious enthusiasm as the party reached the chancel. then the well-known half-audible words were uttered, with a glimmer of a ring sliding upon a dainty finger. the benediction was said, a flourish of the organ sounded the retreat, and the party ran the gauntlet of the broad aisle again, while the audience, as was the fashion of that day, immediately rose to its feet and closed and crushed in behind them, like an avalanche going through a tunnel. while we were in the church, jimmy the rhymer, with lukey finnerty to help him, had brought the old shoes in an immense basket, and arranged them on the platform at the back of the bridegroom's carriage. the cluster of seven boots which patsy had used for a drag to control phaeton's car, was laid down as a foundation. on this were piled all sorts of old shoes, gaiters, and slippers, bountifully contributed by the boys, and at the top of the pyramid a horseshoe contributed by jimmy himself. sticking out of each shoe was a small bouquet, and the whole was bound together and fastened to the platform with narrow white ribbons. [illustration: bridal favors.] "i wanted to write a little poem for the occasion," said jimmy to me, the next day, "and tie it to the horseshoe; but somehow when i tried there was a lump in my throat, and the inspiration wouldn't come." my young lady readers will want to know what the bride wore. as nearly as i can recollect--and i have refreshed my memory by a glance at the best fashion-magazines--it was a wine-colored serge sicilienne, looped up with pipings of gros-grain galloon, cut _en train_ across the sleeve-section; the overskirt of pompadour passementerie, shirred on with striped gore of garnet silk, the corners caught down to form shells for the heading, and finished off in knife plaitings of brocaded facing that she had in the house. coiffure a fanchon remnant of pelerine blue, laced throughout and crossing at the belt. the corsage was a pea-green fichu of any material in vogue, overshot with delicate twilled moss-heading cut bias, hanging gracefully in fan outline at the back, trimmed with itself and fitted in the usual manner with darts; bertha panier of suit goods, and watteau bracelets to match. with such a costume as this overflowing its open sides, and our contribution on the trunk-board, the carriage presented a very original and picturesque appearance as it rolled away. the boys went to the reception as they had gone to the tea party and the wedding, in a solid crowd. when we presented ourselves, ned made us all laugh by literally following his brother's humorous instructions. the caterer thought he had provided bountifully for the occasion; but when the boys left the refreshment-room, he stood aghast. the premium boy in this part of the performance was monkey roe. as ned and i walked silently toward home, he suddenly spoke: "it's all right! for the fact is, miss glidden was too awful old for fay and jimmy and holman. she's nineteen, if she's a day." "i've no doubt of it," said i, "and besides, they couldn't all have had her. but how came you to know that about fay and jimmy and holman?" i thought ned had not discovered what i had. without a word, he placed his forefinger in the corner of his eye, then pulled the lobe of his ear, and then, spreading the fingers of both hands, brought them carefully together, finger-end upon finger-end, in the form of a cage. by which he meant to say that he could see, and hear, and put this and that together. "ah, well!" said i, "let us not talk about it. we may be nineteen ourselves some day." the end. a mystery story for boys the arrow of fire by roy j. snell the reilly & lee co. chicago new york copyright by the reilly & lee co. printed in the u. s. a. contents chapter page i the squad call ii a running battle iii talking in the dark iv johnny calls the squads v mysterious violence vi who? and why? vii in court viii prisoners at the bar ix clues x a royal feast xi sworn to stand by xii from out the shadows xiii a marked man xiv johnny scores a knockdown xv johnny finds a man xvi the face that seemed a mask xvii the sergeant's story xviii a scream--a shot xix a bullet xx a card from the underworld xxi the secret number xxii startling transformations xxiii many bullets xxiv not on the program xxv a wolf seeks culture xxvi these are the guns xxvii an arrow speeds to its mark xxviii taken for a ride xxix the night ride xxx many perils xxxi the creeping spot xxxii sky high xxxiii the show-down the arrow of fire chapter i the squad call it was midnight. the waters of lake michigan were like glass, smooth glass, miles of it, blue-black. there was no moon. the stars burned queer bright holes in the blue-black glass. the long, low craft that glided through the water caused scarce a ripple. at the prow of this great lakes' freighter stood johnny thompson. he was gazing at the skyline of his own beloved city. three years had passed since last he had caught the rumble of that great metropolis and had seen her lights gleaming out into the night. now he was gliding slowly, surely forward--to what? his city, to be sure. but after that? mystery? romance? fresh adventure? who could say? in his three years of wandering johnny had known mystery, romance, and adventure aplenty. he had glided up dark mangrove-bordered streams at the heart of tropical america. he had crept into dungeons in the haunted castle of haiti. he had felt the call of the barren tundras and smoking mountains of british columbia and alaska. he had faced the savage, hungry wolf pack, and had matched power and prowess with the kadiak bear. ah yes, mystery, romance, adventure, had been his. and yet, as he stood there watching the skyline of the city he had known so well as a boy, as her massive buildings bulked larger and larger before him, as he saw the spire-like structures that had reared themselves skyward in his absence, as he thought of the dark, little known streets, of the hidden cellars, the underground tunnels, of the wealth, the misery, the power, the intrigue, the crime of this, his native city, he could not but feel that after all he had wandered far in vain, that even here at his own doorstep was to be found romance, thrills, adventure such as he had not known in strange lands. was he right? only time could tell. so he stood there dreaming until he felt the boat bump against the massive cement finger that is the city's municipal pier, and knew it was time to go ashore. "where'd you come from?" a well set up young man, some years his senior, asked him this question the moment his feet were on the pier. he wanted to tell the fellow it was none of his business. but he had learned caution. he looked the questioner over from head to toe. "some college fellow," was his mental comment as he took in the other's spick-and-span appearance. dressed to the minute, that's what he was. "may be a young reporter." "just came down from the north," he said quietly. "been hunting with bow and arrow." he whirled his leather cased bow about as evidence. "caught this boat at two harbors." "yeah? do you always travel that way?" "freight? why, anyway, i've never waited for a fancy boat. take the first one that will bring me where i want to go." "not a bad idea." the stranger's look changed. "going over town? bound that way myself. mind company?" "not a bit." "all the same, i wonder who he is and what business of his it is that i came from somewhere and am going somewhere else," johnny thought, as they passed through a long, low shed, and turning to the right, headed down the pier toward the city. for some time the two walked on in silence. johnny was busy studying his rather sudden friend. his smart black derby, neatly creased trousers and shining shoes contrasted oddly with the blue shirt and khaki trousers that johnny wore. but johnny had formed a habit of looking through clothes to the man. "this chap," he told himself, "is no fop. hate to meet him when he is full of fight. don't get those shoulders, that chest, that stride drinking pink tea, nor smoking through his nose. this chap's a man. hundred per cent. but why did he pick me up? try to find out." "used to live here in this city," he volunteered. "had a room with another boy in an old bat roost over beyond the wells street bridge." "i know the place," the stranger replied. "gone now. tore it down. putting up the biggest business building in the world there now." "they are?" johnny was taken aback. this city of his was too fast for him. "sure are. quite a building yours was, too. don't matter. thing's in the way. down it comes. that's the city for you." again there was a period of silence. "get a car here." the stranger stopped beside the curb. "one coming now. but where you going?" "hadn't thought much about it. lots of places in a city. one night, it don't matter." "come on down with me. like to see that thing you say is a bow. can't do much with it, can you? come along. got an extra bunk. not much. good enough for one night, though. just down here on grand. be there in ten minutes." the street car rumbled by. once more johnny marched beside his new-found friend. and march was exactly the word. "walks exactly as if he were going to war," johnny told himself. "what a queer chap! dresses like a college dude. trains like a prize-fighter. walks like a soldier. worth knowing, i'd say." when, however, they reached a dark opening between two six story buildings and the stranger said, "this is the place. we go down. watch your step. shaky old stairs," johnny experienced something very much akin to fear. he knew enough about strange cities at midnight to be on his guard. this part of the city certainly was not the best. they were near the city's water front. the river was two blocks away. between them and the water lay endless rows of warehouse slips, great dilapidated sheds, boats half sunken and rotting; all this and more. as he hesitated a truck rumbled down the deserted street. it turned to the right to enter a gap of darkness that was a door to the brick structure nearest at hand. cheered by the thought that there was someone about, he decided to risk it. moving cautiously, he followed his companion down a low flight of stairs, then passed down an uneven board walk that ran close to the walls of what appeared to be a dilapidated one story structure. once more a stair confronted them. this time they mounted upward. once at the top the stranger threw open a door and touched a switch to throw on a flood of light. johnny entered. the door was closed and locked after him. the room his eyes took in at a glance was in strange contrast to its rude exterior. softly tinted wall paper, shelves filled with books. good pictures, tasty furniture. a man's place; but neat, with the neatness that comes only at the touch of a woman's hand. "nice place," said johnny. "i like it," the other smiled. "even like where it is. know what? this shack is older than the place where you used to live! funny, ain't it? just a wooden shack. but here she stands. life's funny that way." johnny stared at his companion. his words did not affect him. it was what he did at this moment that counted most. having removed his coat, he unstrapped a belt to lay an automatic pistol on his dresser. he did all this as if it were quite the customary thing, part of his day's business. "and this," johnny told himself with an inaudible gasp, "is neither in the movies nor in the wild and woolly west." "well," he told himself a moment later, "whatever's on, i'm in for it. i'll not run." johnny was no weakling, nor was he a coward. when opportunity permitted he spent an hour or two each day punching the bag or swinging the gloves at some real companion. he was a lightweight boxer of no mean ability, as you who have read our other books will know. just at present he was at his best. boxing had been denied him, but rugged mountain trails, the camp axe, and a six foot bow had offered opportunities for training that no indoor sports could match. nor was johnny wholly unarmed. he had never in his life carried a revolver, yet in the corner where he had placed it, close at hand, was such a sturdy yew bow as might have gladdened the eye of robin hood. and beside it were six ashen arrows with points of steel keen as a razor blade. "but this," he told himself, "is chicago. my native city. my home." "you'll be feeling need of sleep," said his companion of the hour. "that's your bunk. turn in when you wish. don't mind a little music to lull you to the land of dreams?" he snapped on a radio which stood, until now quite unnoticed by johnny, in the corner. "not a bit. something soft and low," johnny chuckled, "like the murmur of a mountain stream." "no chance at this hour. jazz is all you'll get." johnny disrobed to the tune of "deep night" which seemed appropriate to the hour. when he had crept beneath the blankets, his strange host threw off the house lights, leaving only one dull golden eye, the radio's tiny dial lamp, gleaming. johnny was truly weary. the day had been long and full of the inevitable excitement of arriving. his last impression as his eyes closed and his senses drifted away was that of a great golden eye glaring at him from the dark. then, with a suddenness that set his blood racing, he was sitting up in bed wide-awake. loud, jangling, setting his ears roaring, a gong had sounded. "bam! bam! bam!" it seemed in this very room. "wha--what was that?" he stammered as the sound died away. as if in answer to his query, a voice came from the radio: "squads attention! squads and go to jackson and ashland at once; a drug store. robbers breaking in there." what did it mean? to johnny the whole affair was but a confusion of sensations, a mild affair of the night. before his question could be answered the words came again. "squads and go at once to jackson and ashland; a drug store. robbers breaking in there." then, in strange incongruity, there came again the wild, fantastic rhythm of a modern dance tune. "that," said the strange host in a quiet tone, "is a squad call. it's a thing the police have taken up. they hope to check crime that way. forty-six squad cars are waiting for the calls. two cars are at jackson and ashland now. it's a new stunt." "i should say it was," said johnny as he began to understand that the sound of the gong as well as spoken words had come from the radio. once more he settled back against his pillow. as he lay there now he kept his eyes on the profile of his host. dimly lighted as the room was, johnny seemed to read on the face of the man a look of alert expectancy which had nothing to do with jazz music. "he is listening," he told himself. "waiting for another squad call." at once questions formed themselves in his mind. why did this young man listen so intently? where lay his sympathies? with the police, or with the law breaker? if with the law breaker, was he interested in some dark doings of this night? was he listening for the call that would tell of the discovery of his band? "strong body. clear eyes. keeps himself fit. wonder if law breakers are like that. be interesting study. have to--" in the midst of his speculations he fell asleep. chapter ii a running battle the morning light shone dimly through a narrow, darkly shadowed window when johnny awoke. to the reader it may seem strange that he had slept so soundly. to the habitual wanderer a cot, a hammock, or only a hard floor is made for sleep. the places, a jungle, an arctic tundra, a shack in a city's slums are all the same to him. he sleeps where he may and leaves trouble to the morrow. so it was with johnny. his first waking thought was of his newfound friend. as he sat up and stared about him, he realized that he was alone in the room. the cot close to his own was mussed up and empty. his strange friend was gone and his automatic had passed out with him. "queer." johnny's hand went out for his trousers and his bill folder. "all there," he murmured. "mighty queer, i'd say. i--" his reflections were broken off by the squeak of a door hinge. the outer door had been opened a crack. it was closed so quickly that he caught no glimpse of the intruder. springing out of bed, he hastily drew on his clothes, then went to the corner and bathed hands and face. "ah!" he breathed, "another day. and once more a city, my native city! my home! how good it is to live!" he opened the door and stepped outside. what he saw amazed and puzzled him. the place in which he had spent the night was a plain board shack of but one room, built at the back of a lot. before it, separated from it by some ten feet of boardwalk, was a second low, wood structure. this building was three times as large as the other, but was, if anything, in a worse state of repair. these shacks had evidently been built before the street was laid, for their eaves were about on a level with the street walk. "queer place to live," he mused as his eyes, sweeping from left to right, found brick structures of considerable height on every side. "queer they'd leave such a shack standing. stranger still that anyone'd care to live here. fellow'd think--" at that instant the back door of the larger of the two wooden structures opened and a girl stepped forth. a girl of sixteen, with well rounded face and figure, big brown eyes and a disarming smile, she formed an unforgettable picture, framed as she was by the gray of decaying wood, the door frame. "hello." "hello back," said johnny. "you want some coffee? yes?" "yes," johnny grinned. "but say!" he exclaimed as she prepared to vanish. "where is he?" he nodded toward the shack he had just left. "drew? him? he is gone a long time. before the sun is up. he is gone. gone to work. what kind of work? i don't know. fine man, drew lane. you know him?" "a little." johnny studied the girl as she turned to go for his coffee. she was dark. her hair was black. her speech was not broken, but her sentences were short and crisp. "italian. born in america, perhaps," he told himself. "wonder why they live here? no neighbors; no lawn; no garden; no scenery; no nothing. only bare walls." she brought him coffee, this girl, and thin sandwiches spread with odd but delicious preserves. she set these on a small table in the room where he had spent the night. he ate in silence. "queer old world," he murmured to himself. "wonder what i should do next." opening his bill folder, he counted two hundred dollars in currency. "in chicago they wear store clothes, i guess you'd call them. better buy some, i guess." this to himself. the girl by this time was gone. leaving his duffel bag and archery equipment in the corner, he walked out of the place, boarded a street car and went rattling away downtown. twenty minutes later he was engaged in the dual task of trying on a ready made suit and convincing the clerk that he had not always lived in the "sticks." two hours later, when he boarded a car going north, he seemed quite a different person. save for the deep tan which life in the open had bestowed upon him in lavish abundance, he could scarcely have been told from any city youth. such is the transforming power of clothes. "i'll go back to that shack and see if this fellow, drew lane, has come back," he told himself. "don't want to leave without at least thanking him. queer sort of chap. wonder why he carries a gun? express messenger maybe." at that he gave himself over to a study of his fellow passengers. he was standing on the rear platform. two of the half dozen men there attracted his attention. they talked of cards and gambling. one said he had lost a "leaf" last night. what was a "leaf?" johnny couldn't even hazard a guess. the car lurched. johnny put out a hand to steady himself. it was his left hand, for he was decidedly left handed. strangely enough, one of the men cast a sharp look at his hand, then turned to his companion with a knowing wink. the other replied with a dainty pluck at his own sleeve, as if to say, "see! it's new." this last action was not lost on johnny. they took him for a hick, just because his clothes were new. he colored behind his ears. "like to give them a good swift poke," he thought. johnny could do it, too, as you probably know. but johnny was wise. he knew how to wait his time. and how very short the time is on some occasions! at grand avenue he swung about to drop off the car. suddenly there was a confused crowding about him. he felt something hard strike him in the left thigh. something snagged at his pocket. "thieves!" he thought. his hand shot down for his purse. it was gone! "so that was it! how dumb i--" "there they go! i'll get 'em." he leaped off the car and followed in hot pursuit. but what was this? now there were four. two were much younger than the ones he had seen. "what of it?" he did not slacken his pace. "get help from somewhere. can't pick my pocket in broad daylight," he panted. down an alley they raced. the two younger men had been behind at first. they were swifter of foot, were catching up with the two he had seen on the car. then of a sudden he caught his breath. the foremost young man had half turned his head. in that instant johnny recognized his host of the night before, drew lane. "the dirty dog!" he muttered, slowing up. "no wonder he carries a gun! ho well, let 'em have it. you can't get yourself shot to save a few dollars, especially when you haven't a chance to win." but what was this? another wild turn of events. having caught up with one of the men johnny had seen on the car, drew lane dealt him a blow on the chin that sent him spinning round and round, and dropped him with a crash to the ground. "what you running about?" drew lane fairly shouted. "get yourself killed." leaving him lying there, he went racing on after the other fugitive. still johnny did not understand what it was all about. only one thing was clear. one of two people had his purse. in that purse was his remaining one hundred dollars, and some odd bits of change. there was an even chance that the man lying on the stones of the alley pavement was the one. he might at any moment recover the use of his legs and vanish with the purse. johnny needed the money. having reasoned this out, he sprinted up to the spot beside the man and stood there, feet well placed, hands in position, attentive, expectant. what he expected came to pass. rolling over twice, the man put a trembling hand to his jaw and stole a furtive glance at johnny; then he crept to a position on his hands and knees closely resembling that of a racer who prepares for a hundred yard dash. "i wouldn't move, if i were you," said johnny, coming a step closer. "you are all out of breath. besides, you are in no condition to run. don't exercise enough, you don't. your clothes are all right, quite the thing, i suppose. but it's what's inside the clothes that really counts. how'd you look stripped? huh!" the man looked up at johnny out of the corner of his eye. he took in the well rounded shoulders that bulged the lines of his new coat, noted his hard clenched fist and the clear keen glint in his eye. "think you're a smart bunch, don't ya'?" he growled. "college kids!" "we're not a bunch," said johnny. "and i'm not from college. i'm just now from the sticks. some day you fellows will learn that all the boobs don't come from the sticks. mostly they don't. they live right here in the city. "as for those other fellows, i don't know their game. i only know that one of you got my money, and i want it back." "you--you don't know those other young fellows?" the man's tone sounded his surprise. then a light of cunning appeared in his eyes. "all you want is your money? well, there it is, kid." he placed johnny's purse on the cobblestones, then stole a fugitive glance to the corner round which the other three had gone. "you've got your money back. sorry i took it, kid. just a joke. joke on a country kid. ha! ha! guess i can go now." "guess you can't!" said johnny, paying no attention to the pocketbook. "say, i'll tell you!" the man exclaimed. "you're a smart kid. how'd a leaf look to you? huh? a whole leaf?" "a--a leaf?" "sure. there it is." the man drew a crumpled bill from his pocket and put it beside johnny's purse. it was a hundred dollar bill. "so that's a leaf?" johnny grinned. "i'm not much used to city talk." "i'll leave it right here," the man whined. "now can i go?" "no, you can't. not for ten grand!" johnny said. "and there's some of your crime slang right back at you. put up your filthy old leaf. they grow better ones on cottonwood trees out in the sticks. here come the rest of them." it was true. his host of the night before was returning down the alley. so, too, was a slimmer young man with a freckled irish face. between them, looking very much exhausted and quite disgusted with life, was johnny's other street car companion. "well, well!" said johnny's host, drew lane, eyeing the purse on the cobblestones. "exhibit a. right before my eyes! "that yours?" he asked, turning to johnny. "sure it is." "and these birds took it?" "sure did." "what could be sweeter? luck's with us this morning, old pard!" he patted the freckled faced irish youth on the back. "got a case. all sewed up neat and tight. "get up!" he ordered. the man on the cobblestones stood up. drew lane picked up the purse. at the same time he threw open his coat, revealing a star. it was the emblem of a city detective. "you'll get it back o.k.," he said to johnny. "here's ten till you do." he pressed a bank note into johnny's hand. "don't mind coming along, do you? need you for a witness. been looking for these birds for six weeks. now we got 'em; got 'em dead to rights!" "don't mind a bit," said johnny. "come on, you!" drew turned his prisoners about. "march! and make it snappy!" "name's lane," he said to johnny as they tramped along side by side, "drew lane. glad i found you. you've helped us to a pretty good break. fellow's record depends on how many good clean arrests he makes. "this is tom howe, my side-kicker." he grinned as he put his hand on his freckled companion's shoulder. "detectives mostly work in pairs. we've been together a good long time. lane and howe. lane and how! that's the way they say it." he chuckled. "pretty good pals, even at that." a police car was called. it arrived. lane followed one of the prisoners into a seat. howe took the other. johnny took his place by the door. they went rattling away toward the police station. at the station the prisoners were allowed to call a lawyer on the phone, then were locked up. "case'll come up in two or three days," said drew lane. "be in town that long, won't you?" "hadn't thought much about it," said johnny. "sort of interested in life, that's all. mostly stay around where life's current moves swiftest. "this," he added, "looks like a good start." "no place in the world half as interesting as this old city," said drew lane, gripping johnny's hand. "stay with us, and we'll make you a police captain. won't we, howe?" "and how!" exclaimed his partner. "looks like the real thing to me. bet he could knock your right ear off with that mit of his right now." "ever box?" drew turned to johnny. "a little." "we'll put on the gloves sometime. "say!" he exclaimed. "there's no reason why you shouldn't shack it with me for a few days. why don't you?" "i will," said johnny. "wants to keep track of me," was his mental comment. "needs me for a witness." "see you there at : p.m. here's your purse. we'll need it as evidence later. you can swear to its contents. don't let anyone get it while howe and i are not around. may not get it back." "right!" said johnny. "see you at six." chapter iii talking in the dark johnny spent the remainder of the day sight-seeing. old friends awaited him, the museum, the art institute, the state street stores. the work along the outer drive amazed and delighted him. "great city!" he mused. "do anything. no spare land for parks. make some. why not? goes and gets things, this old city does. no islands. dig some from the bottom of the lake. great, i'd say!" then his brow clouded. he recalled stories he had heard repeated. even in the far-away canadian woods men had spoken of rampant crime, gang killings, wholesale gambling and robbery in his beloved city. but at once his face brightened. "a few hundred fellows like this drew lane would fix that all up. young, ambitious, fearless college fellow, i'll bet. looks like a dude, but got real stuff in him. why not a thousand like him, fresh from college, full of ideals, ready for fight? like the men that went to france. why not? a thousand strong! the legion of youth. man! oh man!" so, sight-seeing, reminiscing, dreaming, he wandered through the day to find himself, toward eventide, wandering back to the low shack that lay at the foot of many great piles of brick, and wondered more and more that such a fellow as drew lane should choose so humble, not to say disreputable appearing, habitation. "lot of things go by opposites," he told himself. "besides, there's that girl. italian. but a beauty for all that." he was only partly right. the girl had played a part in it all, but not exactly in the way he thought. "just what you been doing with this thing?" drew asked, taking up johnny's bow, as he entered. "hunting." "what did you kill?" drew's brow wrinkled. "you couldn't kill much." "couldn't i though!" johnny drew forth an arrow and handed it to him. "exhibit a. i will ask you to examine the point." drew felt of the razor-like edge and whistled. taking up a square of pine board, johnny set it against the far end of the room. then, nocking the arrow, he sent it fleeting. the arrow struck squarely in the middle, passed quite through the board and buried itself in the wainscoting. "oh--ah!" said johnny. "'fraid i've marred your paint." "silent murder!" murmured drew. "what a spiteful little thing of power! "wouldn't be bad; not half bad," he mused a moment later. "bad for what?" johnny asked. "for an officer. catch a bunch of yeggs pulling a job. pick 'em off one by one with that bow, like the indians used to do wild turkeys. and gather them up after. never know what killed them. i say! we'll have to add you to our staff!" they laughed together, then went out to the little restaurant around the corner for their evening meal. darkness had fallen when they returned to the shack, yet drew lane did not throw on the lights at once. instead, he guided johnny to a comfortable chair. "let's just sit and talk," he said. "i like it best this way, in the dark. you tell me of the wild woods where the north begins, and i'll tell you of a city where trouble is always just around the corner!" "tell me first," said johnny quickly, "how you came to be at the pier last night and why you picked me up." "nothing easier," drew laughed. "an officer of the law is never fully off duty. tell you about some of my 'off duty' experiences some time. you'll be surprised. "you see, last night i strolled down to the pier, just for an airing. then your ship came in. thought i'd have a look at anyone who came off. an extraordinarily large number of persons enter our country in this way from canada and mexico. mighty undesirable persons, many of them. so i was on the lookout. "when i saw you i guessed you were all right. but in our business, guesses don't go. we must have facts. i got them. you were o.k." drew lapsed into silence. "but that doesn't explain why i am here now," johnny suggested. "oh! that." drew sat up. "there's a natural comradeship between certain people. if you are one of the parties you know it at once. i felt sort of related to you. liked the way your muscles bulged beneath your clothes. you had an air of open spaces about you. i wanted to know you. so here you are. regret it?" "not a bit." "nor i." so they talked. and as drew lane's voice came to him in a slow and steady murmur johnny felt a kindred spirit laying hold of his very soul. more than once, too, he felt an all but irresistible impulse to leap to his feet and dash from the room, for a steady, indistinct but unmistakable still small voice was saying to him: "this man goes into many dangers. if you travel with him he will lead you into great peril. once you have followed you cannot turn back. such is the spirit of youth, faith, romance, and love for the human race. test the steel of your soul well. if you are in the least afraid it were better that you turn back now." johnny listened and humbly vowed to follow this or any other leader whose purpose was right and whose heart was true. an hour passed. at last drew lane rose, stepped across the room and pressed a button to set a square of light dimly glowing. "like a little music?" he asked. johnny did not reply, but waiting, heard as in a dream the faint, plaintive notes of a violin creeping into the room. it rose louder and louder. then of a sudden, quite without warning, it was broken in upon by a terrible, jarring whong! clang! clang! clang! sounded a brazen gong. then a voice: "squads attention! squads and go to nd and wabash. a man robbed there." the message was repeated. then again, quite as if nothing had happened, the violin resumed its lovely melody. "that's the way it goes at that station," said drew. "funny part is that the gong sings a sweeter song to us than the violin. it's a great service, son; a great service. "of course in time we'll have our own station; broadcast the calls on a low wave-length. only people who get the squad call will be the boys in the squad cars. know how it works, don't you?" "not very well." "simple enough. someone reports a robbery, a burglary or what have you, to the police by phone. the report is relayed to headquarters. headquarters gives it the once over. is it important? out it goes on a private wire to the radio station. 'hold everything!' the radio squad report operator signals to the other studio people. then whang! whang! whang! the report goes out. "more than forty squads of police, with loud-speakers in the tops of their cars, are listening, waiting. number is called. the squad car whizzes away. two minutes later they are there. burglars have laid down their tools to find themselves staring into the muzzle of an officer's gun. a bank robber has pulled off a slick daylight affair, only to walk right into the waiting arms of a detective squad summoned by the radio. i tell you it's great. "but after all," his voice dropped, "we're not getting them very fast, not as fast as we should. it's the professional criminals we don't get. we--" "there! there she goes again!" once more the squad call sounded. this time it was the robbery of a store by two men who fled in a green sedan. "you might haunt the courts for two weeks at a time and never see a professional criminal on trial," drew went on. "and yet eighty-five per cent of crimes are committed by professional criminals, men and women with records, who make a business of crime, who haven't any other occupation, who don't want any other, who wouldn't know what you meant if you asked them to settle down and live an honest life. in this city one person out of every three hundred is a professional criminal. think of it! three hundred people go to work every day, work hard, save their money, raise their children in a decent manner, look ahead to old age; and here is one man who robs them, beats 'em up, burglarizes their homes, disgraces their children. and the irony of it all is, the whole three hundred can't catch that one man and lock him up. be funny if it wasn't so tragic." "i suppose," said johnny, "it's because the city is so big." "well, perhaps." once more the young officer's voice dropped. "it's discouraging. and yet it's fascinating, this detective business. there are boys, lots of them, who think crime is fascinating. they read those rotten stories about jimmy dale and the rest, and believe them. i tell you, johnny!" he struck the table. "there never was the least touch of romance in any crime. it's mean and brutal, cowardly and small. but hunting down these human monsters. ah! there's the game! you tell of your white bears, your wolves, your grizzlies. fascinating, no doubt. but compared with this, this business of hunting men, there's nothing to it!" he took a long breath and threw his arms wide. "i believe you," said johnny with conviction. "i wish i might have a part in it all." "don't worry. you have made a good start. you are to be a witness." "that--why, that's nothing." "nothing, is it? you wouldn't say so if you had seen witnesses kidnapped, bribed, beaten, driven out of town, murdered by the gangs that all but rule us. a good witness. that's all we need, many's the time. and lacking him, the case is lost. "you won't fail us?" he said in a changed voice. "i won't fail you. when the trial comes up i'll be there." "of course." drew's tone was reassuring, "i don't want you to become unduly frightened. pickpockets don't band together much. we seldom have trouble once they are caught. it's the robbers, the hi-jackers, the bootleggers. they are the ones." a few moments later they turned in for the night. johnny, however, did not sleep at once. he had been interested in all this newfound friend had told him. he had felt himself strangely stirred. "if only i could have some real part," he whispered to himself. a few moments later he murmured half aloud, "that's it! i believe i could do that. anyway it's worth the try. do it first thing in the morning." with that he fell asleep. chapter iv johnny calls the squads it was night: ten o'clock. johnny stood atop a ten story building, looking off and down. a thousand white lights shone along an endless way. like great black bugs with gleaming eyes, countless cars glided down that glistening boulevard. to the right, shimmering waters reflected the thousand lamps. and at the edge of this water, on a yellow ribbon of sand, a host of ant-like appearing creatures sported. these were human beings, men, women and children, city cave-dwellers out for a breath of fresh air and a dip in the lake before retiring for the night. "how happy they are," he murmured to himself as their shouts of joy came floating up to him. "and how happy they should be. the great creator meant that they should be happy. and for the most part they have earned happiness, a brief hour of pure joy after a day of toil. "'one in three hundred,'" he recalled drew's words, "'one in three hundred is a crook.' "ah well," he sighed, "catching the crooks, and so making those others safer, happier, freer to enjoy their well earned rewards: that's our job. and it's a big one." these last were no idle words. only a day had passed since his long talk with the young detective, drew lane; yet even in that brief span of time he had found for himself a part in the great work, in the task of detecting crime. a very, very small part it was, but a real one all the same. he smiled as he thought of it now. in half an hour he would enter the door at his back, would pass through a rather large room in which stood all manner of band and orchestra instruments, and then would enter a veritable cubby-hole of a place. in this closet-like room was a chair, a telephone, a large police gong set on a steel post, and a microphone. when these were rightly placed there was room for johnny to squeeze himself into the chair, that was about all. here, for two hours around noon, and again two hours at midnight, it was to be his task to sit waiting for the rattle of the telephone. every jangle of that telephone was to set him into brief but vigorous action. in a word, he formed the last link between the unfortunate citizen who was being robbed, burglarized or attacked, and the police squad that stood ready to come to his aid. johnny had landed this part-time job, which he felt sure would prove more than interesting, just as he had secured all else in life, by going after it. he had spoken to drew. drew had spoken to a police sergeant. the sergeant had said a word to a captain. the captain, being just the right person, had spoken to the manager of the station. and there you are. "and here i am," johnny said to himself. "and, for the glory of the good old city i have always loved, i am going to pound that police gong as no one ever has, and to such good purpose that someone higher up will say: "'good boy! you deserve something bigger and better.'" he threw back his head and laughed. "then," he sighed, "maybe they'll make me an honest-to-goodness detective." meanwhile there was the telephone, the "mike," and the gong. he had taken his training at noon. now, from : p.m. to : a.m. he was to go it alone. as he reached the door to his cubby-hole, a tall, red-headed youth rose and stretched his cramped legs. "quiet night," he murmured. "ought to have it easy." "thanks. hope so, for the first night at least." johnny eased himself into the chair and the red-headed youth departed. a quiet night? well, perhaps. yet for johnny, all unaccustomed as he was to his new duties, it proved an exciting one. the very place itself, a great broadcasting station at night, was filled with interest and romance. the large studio before him was not in use. more than a score of instruments, horns, bass viols, cellos, snare drums, basso drums and all the rest stood there, casting grotesque shadows in the half light. beyond this, through glass partitions, he could see a young man. sitting before an elaborate array of lights, plugs and switches, this man put out a hand here, another there, regulating the controls, directing the current that carried messages of joy, hope, peace and good will to the vast invisible audiences out in the night. he was the station operator. in the studio beyond, only half visible to johnny, the men of a jazz orchestra performed on saxophones, trap drums and who can say what other instruments? "and i am now part of it all!" johnny thought to himself. "i--" but now came a buzzing sound, a red light flashed. "a call!" he exclaimed in an excited whisper. "my first night call." placing his finger on a button, he pressed it twice. this told the operator in the glass cage to stand by, ready to give him the air. "all right," he spoke into the phone, then gripped a pencil. his pencil flashed across the paper. "got you," he said quietly. "repeat." his eyes followed the lines he had written. "o.k." now, striking the gong, he spoke into the microphone: "squads attention!" his own voice sounded strange to him. "squads attention! robbers breaking in at drexel boulevard. squad assigned." repeating: "robbers breaking in at drexel boulevard. squad assigned." once more, save for the ticking of his watch and the faint throb of the jazz orchestra penetrating the padded walls, his cubby-hole was silent. "queer business," he murmured. he tried to picture what was happening ten miles away at drexel boulevard. burglars had been breaking in. who had reported them? he pictured neighbors looking through a darkened window, seeing the burglars prying up a window. he saw the neighbors tip-toeing to a telephone, notifying the police. "and then the chiefs call to me; my call to the squad. the burglars are inside by now. and here comes the squad. clang! clang! clang! "they are not the first arrivals. nearby residents have heard the squad call. in dressing gowns and slippers they have rushed outside. "but the burglars?" he mused, settling back in his chair. "did they get them? who knows? if they were professionals, wise to all the tricks of escape, probably not. if they were amateurs, first-timers, boys who saw romance in crime, probably they were caught. and drew says one professional is worth ten first-timers in jail. the first-timer may never repeat. the professional will never do anything but repeat. it's his business, his _profession_. and what a profession! bah! i'd rather--" again the buzz; the light. this time it was a shooting at halsted and nd streets. "drunken brawl." the affair did not interest him. he put it through with neatness and dispatch; then he resumed his meditations. chapter v mysterious violence it was twenty minutes past twelve o'clock, ten minutes before closing time. at this precise moment a thing happened that was destined to change johnny's whole career. it was to make him a hunter of men. at this hour the radio studio in an out-of-the-way corner on the tenth floor of a great hotel was dimly lighted and spooky. the merry-makers in the studio beyond had long since departed. that room was completely dark. so, too, was the studio nearest johnny. even the dim shadows of musical instruments had faded into nothing. two lights burned dimly, one over johnny's head, the other directly before the operator who, half asleep, sat waiting for the moment when he might cut a distant ballroom orchestra off the air and follow his fellow workers home. "no more calls tonight," johnny was thinking to himself. "quiet night, right enough; one holdup, two robberies and a shooting. ho well, it's been interesting all the same. fellow wouldn't--" no, there it was again, one more call. buzz, buzz, flash, flash. he pressed his ear to the head phone, his lips to the mouthpiece. and then, like lightning from a clear sky, things began to happen. he was struck a murderous blow on the head. he was pitched violently forward. he had a vague sensation of something resembling a microphone glancing past him, then crashing violently against the wall. other objects appeared to follow. a sudden shock of sound burst on his ears, filling the air. "shot," he thought to himself. "i'm shot!" he experienced no pain. for all that, his mental light blinked out and he knew no more for some time. in the meantime the operator in the glass cage was seeing and hearing such things as he had never so much as dreamed of. his first intimation that something was wrong was when johnny's microphone sent him a curious sound of warning. this was caused by someone grasping it in both hands. compared to the sound that followed at once, this was as nothing. had two freight engines entered the room from opposite directions and suddenly crashed they could not have produced a more deafening hubbub than that which came from the loud-speaker as the microphone, hurled by mysterious hands, crashed against the studio wall. as the operator's startled senses directed his attention to johnny's cubby-hole, and his eyes took in at a glance the full horror of the situation, he stood paralyzed with fear. his chair overturned, johnny thompson lay crumpled on the floor. a shadowy figure reached up and crushed his light as a child might a bird's egg. the same figure seized the police gong and hurled it through a window. broken glass flew in every direction. a telephone followed the gong. then, as mysteriously as he had come, the sinister figure stepped once more into the dark, leaving wreck, ruin and perhaps death in his wake. "gone!" no, not quite. one more act of violence. came a flash, a roar, and a bullet struck with a thud against the padded partition. the operator promptly dropped flat upon the floor. nor did he, being a prudent youth, rise until heavy feet came stamping up the stairs and three uniformed policemen, led by a youth in shirt sleeves, burst into the room. the young man in shirt sleeves was drew lane. from the moment johnny took his first squad call, drew had been listening in at his room. he had come to have a very great interest in johnny. "anyone of his courage, spirit and ambition, coupled with a desire to be of real service to others, will go far," he had told himself. "i'll just listen in tonight. he may make a slip or two. if he does i can set him right." johnny made no slips. in fact drew was obliged to give him credit for a steady hand and a clear head. drew had been thinking of throwing off the radio and turning in, when the crash of the wrecked microphone reached him through his loud-speaker in the shack. with a mind well trained for sudden disaster, he knew on the instant that something unusual and terrible was happening in the studio. what it was he could not guess. grasping his automatic, without waiting to draw on his coat, he had dashed out of the shack, down one rickety stairway, up another, and raced. by good chance he had run squarely into a police squad car. "step on the gas, mike!" he shouted, springing into the car. "east on grand, then north on lake shore. something gone wrong at the broadcasting studio!" the motor purred, the gong sounded as they were away at sixty miles an hour. "heard it," mike shouted above the din. "guess your young friend dropped his 'mike'!" "worse than that," drew came back. "i've heard that happen. this was different. worse! ten times worse!" that he was telling the truth you already know. and that was how it happened that drew and the squad appeared on the scene, exactly six minutes after the destroyer had completed his work of demolition. "hey! what's this? who's here?" bellowed mike o'hearne, the head of the squad, drawing his revolver and leading the way. "he--he's gone!" the terrified operator rose shakily. "who's gone?" "i--i don't know. truly i don't. but look! look what he's done!" "where's the light switch?" mike advanced into the studio, tripped over a trap drum, dropped his gun; then said some words appropriate to the occasion. "here. just a moment." the operator, who was rapidly regaining the power of his senses, touched a switch and the room was flooded with light; so, too, was johnny's cubby-hole. "they--he shot at me," stammered the operator, once more thrown into confusion at sight of johnny's still form crumpled up beneath the debris. "who shot?" demanded mike. "i--i don't know." "you don't know much. looks like they'd done for this boy here. and why, i wonder? that's always the question. why? here, give us a hand. let's get him out of here. somebody call the house doctor." relieved to find there was something definite he might do, the young operator got the doctor on the phone at once. "he'll be up right away," he reported. "hm, let's see." mike, the experienced police officer, who had examined a thousand cases, living and dead, turned johnny over carefully. "lot of blood," he muttered. "hit on the head. may come round. doctor can tell. bring some water." the operator brought a pitcher of water. mike bathed johnny's forehead, then began washing away the blood. johnny had just begun to stir a bit when the doctor arrived. a full five minutes the doctor remained bent over the prostrate form. "i hope he's going to come out of it," drew said to a husky, grizzle-haired irish sergeant named herman mccarthey. "he's a game kid, and he's got right ideas. he'll go far. this was his first night." at the end of that tense five minutes johnny sat up unsteadily. "he's reviving," said the doctor. "let's have some air." windows were thrown up. johnny opened his eyes and looked about him. "wha--where am i?" he half whispered. "right where you were," drew chuckled. he was pleased to see the boy coming round so soon. "i--i--" johnny's eyes held an uncertain light. then they cleared. "something hit me. i--i went--went down. the microphone, the telephone, every--everything went--" "that's all right," said herman mccarthey quietly. "just you take it easy. you'll be fine and dandy pretty soon. then we'll take you home in the car and you can tell us all about it. he hit you, that's clear. hit with his gun. dent of the hammer's in your scalp. an' it's goin' to stay some time. "he hit you. we don't know just why. but we'll find out, won't we, drew?" "you know we will!" "and we'll find the man, won't we, drew?" "we sure will!" "and when we do!" "and when we do!" drew lane echoed with appropriate emphasis, and a light grip on his automatic. chapter vi who? and why? half an hour later johnny and drew were back at the shack. the squad car with its load of burly policemen was gone. for a long time nothing was said. johnny's head hurt. it also ached in a most extraordinary manner. he felt sick at the stomach. life for him had gone suddenly very strange. "drew," he said at last, "that man, whoever he was, didn't give me a chance, not a single fighting chance." "of course not. they never do, those gangsters." "drew," said johnny, "i was hunting in the arctic once, stalking a polar bear all alone; following his track. he turned the tables and started stalking me. but, drew, before he struck at me with that great paw of his, he hissed like a goose." "gave you a warning," drew said quietly. "rattlesnake'd do that, too; but not a gangster. "johnny," he said, suddenly wheeling about, "you've been believing in that old saw, 'honor among thieves.' forget it. there isn't any. not a bit. "i've known them to run over a little family car, smash it in bits with a powerful truck they were using to carry illicit goods. did they stop? not much. fired shots in the air, and left little children to perish in the wreckage. honor! not a bit. i tell you it's war! pitiless war waged by monsters. and this land will not be free until they are all safely lodged in jail." again for a time there was silence. "drew," johnny spoke again, "i used to say that if a man picked my pockets or held me up and got my money, i'd say, 'you are a smart guy,' and let it go at that, but that if he hit me on the head i'd spend the rest of my life hunting him. and when i found him i'd kill him. that man hit me, drew, hit almost hard enough to kill, and without warning!" "he did," said drew, "and we are going to get him, you and i. but after we get him, i guess we'd better let the courts deal with him. justice, johnny, is an arrow, a keen pointed arrow that goes straight and fair. sometimes i think it is an arrow of fire that burns as it strikes." johnny thought that a strange expression. he was to learn more of it as the days passed. "first thing we've got to do to-morrow," said drew, "is to work out the probabilities?" "the probabilities?" "sure. you've read detective stories?" "sometimes." "know how most of 'em go? a murder. one of six men may have done the killing. this one might have, or that one. this one probably did. and this one, well, you hardly consider him at all. but in the end, it's always the one you did not suspect. it's the bunk. real life is not like that at all. you have to figure out what is probably true, and try to prove that it is true. it usually is. "take this case of yours. you are to be a kingpin witness in my case against two pickpockets. your testimony will convict them. no doubt about it. do they belong to a well organized gang? did a member of the gang try to do away with you so you could not testify? it's been done many times. "another possibility. you were about to put through a squad call. what was that call? was it important? was a big burglary in progress? was this man sent up to silence the radio and prevent the squad call? if that was the angle, was more than one major crime committed in that half hour? if so, which one was connected with the attack upon you? "once again; many a gang's activities have been interrupted, their purpose thwarted, by radio squad calls. the leader of one of these gangs may have decided to take revenge; hence the raid to-night. "so you see," he said, rising, "there are several possibilities to work out. the probability must be reached. herman mccarthey will have all the dope in the morning. he will help us work it out. he is a seasoned trooper and has a wise old head on his shoulders. meantime, you must try to recall every incident connected with the affair." "i remember one thing," said johnny. "it came to me at this very instant. i didn't see the man's face, but i saw his hand, a large dark hand, and it was deeply scarred. it had a hole in the middle of the palm." "good!" exclaimed drew. "couldn't be better. take us a long way, that will. "and now we must catch three winks. to-morrow is a big day. to-morrow you are to be our star witness." chapter vii in court johnny and drew were up at eight o'clock next morning. at : the black-haired, dark-eyed girl with smiling lips and dimpled cheeks brought in steaming coffee and some unusual but delicious pastry. drew called her rosy, and patted her on the arm. rosy's dimples deepened. who was rosy? why did she live in that other shack among the walls of brick and mortar? why did drew room in this odd place? johnny wanted to ask all these questions. realizing that their answers did not greatly concern him, he asked none of them. at ten o'clock he and drew were seated on the front bench of the "local ," the particular court room in which their pickpocket case was to be tried. the whole scene was packed with interest for johnny. the judge in his box-like coop, the young prosecutor and the deputies standing below, the motley throng that filled the seats at his back, each waiting his turn to appear as complainant, defendant or witness, made a picture he would not soon forget. the judge was a dark-skinned man of foreign appearance. his hair was long. his eyes were large, and at times piercing. he sat slumped down in his chair. when sudden problems arose, he had a trick of bracing his hands on the arms of his chair and peering at a prisoner as a hawk might peer at a squirrel or a mouse. "he's italian," said drew. "smart man. knows his business. square, too. a good judge. lots of fun, too, if he wants to be." at this moment two names were called. two large men, respectably dressed, walked up the aisle to take their places at the high, narrow table just before the judge's stand. two officers stepped up beside them. "confidence men," whispered drew. "we all know them. haven't got a thing on them, though, i'll bet. just picked them up on suspicion. they get thousands every year from people who are looking for a chance to make easy money. they-- "see! i told you. the judge is letting them go. it's not what you know that counts in court. it's what you can prove." once more the stage was set. an attractive young woman, carefully and tastefully dressed, a young man at her side, a middle-aged man of stocky build carrying a package, a young lady of the shop-girl type at his side; these four stood before the judge. "young lady," said the judge, leaning forward and adjusting his glasses as he spoke to the well dressed one, "you are charged with the theft of one dress, taken from the store of dobbs, hobson & dobbs; value $ . . guilty, or not guilty?" "guilty," the girl murmured with downcast eyes. "it is my duty," the judge leaned forward in his chair, "to warn you that if you plead guilty i may fine you from one dollar to one hundred dollars, or send you to jail for from one day to one year. knowing this, do you still wish to plead guilty?" his tone was impressive. the girl hesitated. a short, gray-haired man stepped up and whispered in her ear. "her lawyer," explained drew. "guilty." the girl nodded her head. the evidence was presented. then the husband of the young lady spoke: "if your honor please. this is the first time this sort of thing has happened. i will give my pledge that it will not happen again." the judge raised himself on his elbows, stared through his glasses and exclaimed: "i'll see that it doesn't happen again for sixty days. the idea! a woman of your intelligence going into a store and carrying off a dress that doesn't belong to you and you don't need! why did you do it?" "i--i don't know, judge. i--i just saw it there. i--i liked it. so, the first thing i knew i was taking it away." "exactly. sixty days! sit over there." the judge pointed to a row of chairs at the right of his box; the defendant burst into tears, dabbled her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief; her young husband led her to a seat and, for the time, the affair was ended. "the judge will allow her to weep for a couple of hours," drew explained in a whisper. "meantime, his secretary in the back room will get some people on the wire and look up her record. if her record is good, he'll set his sentence aside, put her on a year's probation. probably never hear from her again. she's had about enough. "but why do they do it?" he exclaimed in a whisper. "if you were a young woman would you go through all this and carry the memory of the humiliation and disgrace through a long life for a fourteen dollar dress? you would not; nor for forty dresses! "but they do it, over and over and over. hats, belts, coats, dresses, artificial flowers. what don't they steal? and they come to court, sometimes three or four a day, to stand before the judge and weep. you'd think they'd learn, that everyone in the world would learn after awhile, everyone, except the professional shoplifter. but they don't." and now a score of young black men stood before the bench. they were accused of gambling with dice. the dice, a hook for raking them in, and a few coins were offered in evidence. "who was running this game?" the judge thundered at them. nobody knew; not even the arresting officer. "well," said the judge, "you all working?" "ya-as, sir." "got good jobs?" "ya-as, sir." "louder." the judge cupped a hand to his ear. "you all got real good jobs?" "ya-as, sir!" "all right, you can go, but we have a police benefit fund here. if you've all got real good jobs you might contribute a dollar each to that fund." the black men went into a huddle. they produced the required sum and marched out. "one of the judge's little jokes," drew smiled. "i don't see how he could live through all this low down squalor day after day if it wasn't for his jokes." "i want to tell you, johnny, i wish i could tell every boy in the land a thousand times, crime is not attractive! it is mean and low down, sordid and dirty. that's the best you can make out of it." "one more case," he whispered as he rose, "then comes ours. you wait here. i'll go get the men." chapter viii prisoners at the bar johnny will never know what that next brief trial was about. it had struck him all of a sudden that he was to play a part in the trial that was to follow. this thought set his blood racing. he was glad not to be the defendant. but as a witness his responsibility was great. for the first time in his life he was to utter words that would without doubt send a fellow human being to jail. the thought was not pleasing. "and yet it's my plain duty," he told himself. he found much consolation in that. a fresh turn of his mind for the moment crowded out all other thought. who had beaten him up the night before? was it some pal of these pickpockets? would he be able to tell from the expressions on their faces when they saw him? his head was heavily bandaged. "they could not help but notice that. perhaps they believe that their confederate made a thorough job of it," he told himself. "they may not expect to see me here at all." "ah! now's the time!" he whispered to himself. his name was being called. so, too, were the names of the two pickpockets and drew lane. "here they come." he caught his breath and half rose from his chair. as he did so, one of the two prisoners coming down the aisle caught sight of him. it was the larger of the pickpockets. for ten seconds he stood there motionless, one foot poised in midair. then his face spread in a broad grin, and he marched on up to the bar. that grin puzzled the boy. "wouldn't grin if he hadn't expected to see me," he reasoned. "but why the grin at all?" there was no further time for such thoughts. he was at the bar, between a police officer and a pickpocket. his right hand was in the air. he was being sworn to "tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me, god." it struck him all of a sudden that some witnesses these days truly needed divine help if they told the whole truth. he felt his bandaged head, and resolved to honor his oath, come what might; not only now, but always. the judge went through with the usual formalities. the prisoners were charged with the theft of a purse. guilty, or not guilty? a hook-nosed lawyer had advised a plea of guilty. "and do you wish to be tried by this court?" "yes, your honor." the prisoners were warned of the possible outcome. did they still wish to plead guilty? they did. the trial began. johnny was asked to tell his story. this he did in a straightforward manner, in spite of numerous interruptions from the lawyer for the defence. he neglected no detail of the little drama that was played by drew and howe, two pickpockets and himself on that fateful june day. "is that true?" the judge leaned forward to glower at the older of the two prisoners. "yes, your honor. but, your honor, it's the police. they--" "just a moment," the judge cut him short. "i asked you a question. you say this young man has told the truth? very well. "now you tell us what you know." he nodded to drew lane. drew said that he and his fellow detective, howe, had been riding that car line for three days, because there had been several losses by surface line riders along that line. "when we saw these two birds," he went on, "we knew we had our men. we--" "you knew them?" the judge interrupted. "it's our business to know them. we know more than three hundred pickpockets by sight." "you're too darn smart!" snarled the slighter of the two prisoners. the bailiff rapped for order. "have these men a record?" the judge asked. drew lane passed up two sheets of paper. the judge studied these with a gathering scowl. then his face lighted as he looked at drew lane. "bad ones. that right?" drew nodded. "go on. tell us what happened." "we saw them take this boy's pocketbook. they saw us and made a break for it. we nabbed them. that's all. what this boy told you is true, as far as we saw it." "it must be," agreed the judge. "they don't even deny it. "what have you got to say?" he turned a poker face toward the prisoners. the larger one answered, "it's the police, judge, and the detectives. i was goin' to tell you, judge. they won't leave us alone. we been out of the jug six months. been goin' straight." "call picking pockets going straight?" the judge flashed. "we wouldn't have done it, judge, only them college boy detectives made us." he glared at drew lane. "your honor," a flicker of a smile hovered about drew lane's mouth, "i object to being called a college kid. i've been out of college four years, and been in the service all that time." "i wouldn't," the judge leaned forward and pretended to whisper, "i wouldn't object at all if i were you. it's your greatest asset. they don't know you're a detective, these fellows, and when they do they don't take you seriously. that right?" he winked at the older pickpocket. "that was it, judge. you see, judge," the man went on, encouraged by the judge's disarming smile, "i knew this boy was a detective. i--i'd see him before, and i says to jimmy, me pal here, i says, just whispers, y' understand, 'jimmy,' i says, 'it would be great sport to grab that country boy's wad right before this college boy detective's eyes.' we done it for sport, judge, honest we did." the prisoner essayed a laugh, which turned out number one common, and scarcely that. "i see," said the judge, leaning back in his chair and appearing to think deeply. "you stole a hundred dollars from an innocent boy as a joke on a boy detective? you were getting off the car, weren't you?" "yes, your honor." "and the boy was getting off to go another way. how did you expect to get his money back to him? how did you mean to explain his loss to him?" "your honor, we--" "ah no! you didn't do it as a joke!" the judge leaned far forward. there was a glint of fire in his eye. the smile had faded from his face as a field of sunshine is blotted out by dark october clouds. "you meant to steal that boy's pocketbook. these records show that. "it didn't matter to you that this boy might be left penniless in a strange city. if it had been a poor shop-girl with two weeks' pay in her purse, the price of a well earned week's vacation, you'd have done it too. it wouldn't have meant anything to you if it had been a scrub-woman. if the money had been earned by eight hours of scrubbing six days a week, you'd have taken it just the same. "you don't want to go straight. you want to be pickpockets. that's the only occupation you have. it's the only one you'll ever have, except when you're in jail. and that's where you'll be for some time. "six months. take them away." the deputies led the prisoners down the aisle. johnny followed drew out into the bright sunshine of a beautiful june morning. "so that's the way they do it?" johnny said breathlessly. "it's the way they do it sometimes," replied drew. "you see," he went on to explain, "you are a transient witness. you are here now. but if we needed you to appear before a jury as a witness in this case four months from now, would you be in chicago?" "four months is a long time." "sure it is. ordinarily those fellows would have gone before a grand jury and been held over to the higher courts. they'd been tried by a jury and got three or four years; that is, if you were present. but the judge, knowing you were likely to leave the city, made the best of things and tried them for larceny. he gave them all he could, under the circumstances. they are out of the way for a while at least. "well, that's that!" drew said a moment later. "thanks a heap. you made our case for us. you helped us; now it's up to us to help you find the fellow who battered up your head. herman mccarthey is in the station now. let's go back and see what he's uncovered." retracing their steps, they walked once more into the lobby of the police station and waited for an up-bound elevator. chapter ix clues "it's queer the way the thing works out." sergeant mccarthey looked the two boys squarely in the eyes when drew lane asked him how he had progressed with the radio station case. meanwhile johnny was sizing up the sergeant. nothing very wonderful to look at, this sergeant mccarthey. average size he was, with a face like a hawk. his nose was too long. it was curved like a beak. shining out from behind it were two small black eyes. his head was, for the most part, bald, and he was but forty-five. "reminds me of a bald eagle," johnny told himself. to complete the picture johnny discovered an ugly scar running down the sergeant's jaw and around his neck. the sergeant had got that scar during his first year of service. a holdup man, caught in the act, had pretended to surrender. he had given up his gun, but seeing an opening, had stabbed mccarthey, half behind his back. from that time on mccarthey began earning the name of the hardest man on the force. certainly he made them "stick 'em up, and keep 'em up." for all that, there were those who knew that the sergeant had a very human side. "what do you think, drew?" he shot at the young detective. "do you think those pickpockets had their gang walk in on this boy and beat him up?" he was speaking of johnny. "tell the truth, i don't," said drew lane. "first place they laughed when they saw him. if--" "can't tell as much about a crook's laugh as you can a bullfrog's croak," mccarthey broke in. "not as much. when a frog croaks he's saying he's happy. a crook's liable to laugh when he gets ten years." "it's not just that," said drew. "you know yourself that pickpockets are sneaks; coyotes, not wolves. they may be well organized in some cities. they're not in this one." "you're right," said mccarthey, shuffling a sheaf of papers on the desk. "that possibility is about all there is to that clue. but we'll keep the sheets; you never can tell. "i work it out this way." he spread five sheets of paper on the desk. "see! this one is for your pickpocket friends who are naturally afraid of johnny as a star witness against them. we'll put it over here." he laid it aside. "but what about the squad call that was going through when the raid on the radio station was made?" drew broke in. "i'm coming to that. that's the queer part," the sergeant went on. "you see i have four sheets left. that means four possibilities. "since you insist, we'll take the call that was going through when the station was raided. you'll be surprised. that squad call was a notice that someone was breaking in over on lake shore drive. swell apartment. people all gone. when the radio failed to give the alarm, a squad was sent out from the local police station, and the burglars were caught." "oh!" johnny leaned forward expectantly. "that's what i thought," grumbled the sergeant. "but they turned out to be two kids, one about twenty, the other younger. dressed like college kids, they were, in yellow slickers decorated with hearts and kewpies; you know the sort. "but let me tell you one thing. you may lay a bet those boys never saw the inside of any college. i've been watching. we don't get many real college boys. when they're smart enough and good enough workers to get up to college, they're too smart to think they can beat the game by turning crooks." "but where did the boys come from?" johnny asked. "that's what they didn't tell," said mccarthey. "if we knew, it might throw some light on the subject. but you can see how likely it is that a bunch of kids are going to figure out that they'll get caught burglarizing an empty flat unless they send someone to beat up a radio announcer or two. and besides, if they did, who would they get to go for 'em? too dangerous. lot worse than burglarizing. "so that," he threw the second sheet aside, "looks like a doubtful chance. but we'll keep 'em all. "another queer thing." he turned to the third sheet. "not many cases go out over the air. we can handle 'em other ways. three an hour is a good many. but in that fifteen minutes when the radio station was dead, smashed to bits, there were three squad calls that did not go out, and two were mighty important. "you know that long row of warehouses just back of your shack, drew?" he turned to drew lane. "sure." "some cracksmen burst the safe in the third one from the water, ten minutes after the radio station was smashed." "that looks like a hot scent," said drew, starting forward to bend over mccarthey's sheet. "rather blind one, at that," said the sergeant. "no one saw them. a straggler heard the blast and turned in the alarm. squad came. safe was looted. birds flown. might have gone a dozen ways, rowboat, on foot, in a car. gone, that's all. got something over a thousand dollars. left nothing, not even a fingerprint." "it's too bad," sighed drew. "i'd say that was the likely case. going to blow up a safe. mighty few cases these days. since the radio gave us a lift, electric drills are cheap. radio's too quick for them. whang! goes the blast; r-ring-ring! the telephone; gong-gong! the radio; and the police squad is on the way; all too soon for the safe-cracker. "easy enough to see why they'd send an accomplice over to break up the radio!" "ah, well!" mccarthey's narrow eyes contracted. "give us time. not so many of 'em escape us. "the other case that came off in that fateful quarter of an hour was a theatre holdup on state street, just over the river; one of those quiet little affairs. two men say, 'stick 'em up! give us the swag. don't yell! don't move for a full minute, or you'll be dead!' a car. quick getaway. and there you are! "no clue. nothing to go by. one of those things that are mighty hard to trace." "and you don't think they could have had a friend--" began johnny. "who made you a call? not likely," mccarthey laughed. "little those birds fear the radio. they're too quick. no radio will ever stop 'em. they're like the army transports during the war that were too fast for the submarines. "this last sheet," he added, "i have saved for gentlemen who, on other occasions, have had their gentle business of robbing, burglarizing, bombing, safe-blowing and the like interfered with. from time to time i will enter the names here of those who show undue resentment to the radio activities of the police. "and that, boys," he concluded, once more shuffling his sheaf of papers, "appears to bring the case to date. these are the facts. draw your own conclusions." "conclusions!" johnny said as he left the office. "i only conclude that i was slugged; that my telephone was smashed; and that my head still is very sore." "give him time," said drew. "he seldom fails. in the meantime, we must do our bit." chapter x a royal feast that evening at nine o'clock johnny was given a delightful surprise. at the same time some of the questions that had been revolving about in his mind like six squirrels in one cage were solved. he had returned to the shack at six. weary from his exciting day, he had stretched himself out on his cot and had at once fallen asleep. awakened by someone entering the room, and startled by the darkness that had settled upon the place since he fell asleep, he was about to cry out in alarm when the place was flooded with light and he found drew lane smiling down upon him. "have a good rest?" he asked. "fine. and you? what luck this afternoon?" "no luck at all. but that's what one must expect. you can't get 'em every day. if you did you'd soon be out of a job. all the crooks would be behind the bars. "not that i'd care," he hastened to add. "there are a lot of occupations more congenial. if i didn't have a conscience that keeps me hunting men, i'd take up commercial aviation. there's a job for you! i can fly. have a hundred and ten hours to my credit, and never a crack-up." "think they'll ever use airplanes in hunting criminals?" asked johnny, sitting up. "might. couldn't do much right in the city. but if a gang was supposed to be leaving town; if the car they used was well marked, you could do a lot with a plane; soar about, watching a hundred roads at once." "had anything to eat?" drew asked, as johnny rose and busied himself with his toilet. "not since noon." "my treat to-night. and you'll like it. mrs. ramacciotti has some ravioli a la tuscany on the stove." "what's all that?" "you'll see. just get on your collar and tie. we'll want plenty of time for a feast before you go back there to get beaten up again. or are you going?" "think i'd stay away?" johnny gave him a look. "no, i didn't. but if i were you i'd sit with my back to the wall." "do more than that. take 'silent murder,' as you call him, along." he nodded toward the bow that stood in the corner. "too slow. better get a gun." "slow! sometime i'll show you. that studio is all of twenty-five feet long. door's at one end. my cubby-hole's at the other. let anyone try getting to me after this!" he picked up an arrow and felt its razor-like point. "silent murder," he mused. "about right, i guess." to johnny's surprise he found that the feast drew had alluded to was just ten steps from their own door. down one low flight of stairs, up another, and there they were in the shack that stood before their own and fronted the street. a large, dark-skinned woman of middle age greeted them with a smile that was genuine, and a handshake that was "all there." "this is mrs. ramacciotti," said drew. "without her and rosy this city would be a dreary place." rosy stood by the table dimpling and smiling her thanks. johnny had seen rosy before. now, however, she was dressed for the occasion, and one good look at her made him think of cool meadows, shady orchards, blushing russet apples, and all the rest. "i don't blame drew," he told himself. they were invited to take seats before a small square table covered with a cloth of snowy linen. at once a steaming platter was set before them. "but what's on the platter?" johnny asked himself. "dumplings in meat gravy?" it was far more than that. the finest of chicken meat, run through a grinder, some fine chopped veal; carrots cut fine, and who knows what else of viands and seasoning had been mixed together and used as the filling for small, turnover pies. these had been boiled for half an hour in salt water. after that they were smothered in rich gravy. a layer of meat pies, then one of gravy, then pies again until they stood a foot high on the platter. but then, who can describe ravioli a la tuscany? it is the proudest dish of italians, and they are an exceedingly proud people. for a full half hour the time was spent between small talk, and much eating. as johnny pushed back his chair with a sigh of regret, mrs. ramacciotti put her hand to her hair, and said in a sympathetic tone: "your head. what could have happened to it?" "haven't you heard?" exclaimed drew. "some gangster beat him up last night." "oh, the miserable ones!" madame spread her hands in horror. "but why? he is only a boy." "i'll tell you," said drew. he proceeded to tell of johnny's unusual adventures. "and the only thing we know," supplemented johnny at the end, "is that the man has a hole in his hand. i saw that. i--" but what was this? rosy had uttered a low scream, then had dropped into a chair. her face had gone white. "now! now!" her mother said, placing a protecting hand across her shoulder. "you see," the italian mother's face took on added character as she spoke in a low, clear, steady tone, "her papa was shot by a man. he wanted papa's money. he would give. but he not always understand. he move his hand to pocket. always he did so when he was nervous. this man shoot him--dead! rosy, she see this man. see hole in the hand. same man? what you think? mebby so." johnny and drew stared at one another. johnny was thinking, "so the man who beat me up was a murderer!" "you never told me this before," said drew, speaking to mrs. ramacciotti. "no. i did not know you then. you did not work on the case. the man, he was never found." "well," said drew as his lips drew together in a tight line, "now we know, and we have a double reason for getting the man with a hole in his hand. and we will get him. never fear." this unfortunate interruption of their party ended in a prolonged silence. in the end the two boys expressed sincere thanks for the splendid feast and begged to be excused. rosy, with an effort, summoned one of her sweetest smiles of farewell. as she stood there framed in the door, a brave little orphan of gangland's making, johnny could not help feeling that their common tragic interest in finding the man with a hole in his hand was destined to bring them very close together in the days that were to come. nor was he far wrong. chapter xi sworn to stand by johnny's return to the radio studio that night caused quite a sensation. he arrived somewhat ahead of time. the girl who presided over the switchboard, one floor lower than the studio proper, was still at her post. "gee!" she stared at him, wide-eyed. "they nearly killed you, didn't they?" "tried it, i guess," johnny admitted. "and still you came back?" "lightning never strikes twice in the same place," johnny laughed. "it does. i've seen it. very same tree. going to strike twice here, too. something tells me that. you'll see. they'll bomb this place. when those sicilians start a thing they never quit 'til they get what they want. that's what my dad says. and he knows. i'm quitting; to-morrow night's my last. dad says, 'let the police do their own work.' and that's what i say, too." "if the officers of the law were not backed up by the honest people of a great city like this," johnny replied thoughtfully, "nobody's life would be safe for a moment. in such times as these every man must do his duty." "not for me, sonny, not for me! i know where there's a safe place to work, and me for it!" johnny climbed the stairs with heavy steps, only to learn that his operator of the night before had also quit. "quit us cold," was the way bill heyworth, the sturdy night manager and chief announcer, put it. bill was thirty, or past. he was a broad shouldered scotchman with a stubborn jaw. "said he didn't want to be shot at. well," he philosophized, "guess nobody does. but somebody has to carry on here. this thing is not going to stop because the gangs want it stopped. in time, of course, the city will have a station of its own. that will let us out. but until then the squad calls will go through if we have to call upon the state militia to protect us. this city, officer and civilian, has set itself for a cleaning up. and a cleaning it shall be! "what's that?" he asked, as johnny drew forth his six foot yew bow. "a plaything, you might say," johnny smiled. "then again you might say it has its practical side. i'll demonstrate." picking up a bundle of magazines, he set them on end atop a table against the wall. the outermost magazine had an oval in the center of its cover-jacket the size of a silver dollar. johnny drew back to the end of the room, then nocked an arrow and drove it through the very center of that spot. bill heyworth whistled. he whistled again when johnny showed him that four of the thick magazines had been pierced by the arrow's steel point. "of course," said johnny, laughing low, "i don't expect ever to use it here. but i'll feel safer if you allow me to turn that chair about so i'll be facing the entrance to this studio and have this 'silent murder,' as drew lane calls it, close at hand. do i have your permission?" "with all my heart, son. with all my heart. and you'll stick?" "till they drag me out by the feet!" "two of us!" the scotchman put out a hand. johnny gripped it tight, then went to his post. * * * * * * * * the days that followed were quiet ones for johnny. there needs must be many quiet days in every life. these days, calm as a may morning, placid as a mill pond, give us strength and fortitude for those stormy periods that from time to time break upon us. but these were not uninteresting days. far from it. hours spent in a fresh environment, among new and interesting people, are seldom dull. there are few more interesting places than the studio of a great radio station. besides the never ending stream of famous ones, great authors, moving-picture actors, statesmen, musicians of high rank, opera singers, and many more, there are the regulars, those who come night after night with their carefully prepared programs planned to entertain and amuse a tired world. that he might cultivate the society of those more skilled, more famous than he, johnny arrived night after night an hour or two ahead of his schedule. he came, in time, to think of himself as one of them. and he gloried in this rich environment. bill heyworth, the night manager, was himself worthy of long study. a doughty scotchman, sturdy as an oak, dependable as an observatory clock, brave as any who ever wore kilts, a three year veteran of the great world war; yet withal, bubbling over with good humor, he was a fit pattern for any boy. quite different, yet not less interesting, were the comedy pair, one very slim, one stout, who came in every evening at ten o'clock to put on the adventures of a german street band. not all the skilled musicians were transients. the anthony trio, piano, violin and cello, might have graced the program on many a notable occasion, yet here they were, night after night, sending out over the ether their skillful renditions of the best that other times have produced in the realm of music. dorothy anthony, the violinist, a short, vivacious girl with a well rounded figure and dancing blue eyes, seemed no older than johnny himself. many a talk, gay and serious, they had, for dorothy took her outdoor adventures at second hand. she listened and exclaimed over johnny's experiences in strange lands, and insisted more than once upon his demonstrating his skill by shooting at the magazines with his bow and arrow. as for his bow, it stood so long in the corner that it seemed certain that it would dry out and become too brittle for real service in emergency. though johnny enjoyed the company of the great and the near-great, he found most satisfaction in his association with a certain humble individual who occupied a small space before the switchboard at the foot of the stairs. and that person was none other than rosy ramacciotti. since johnny had been told that rosy was in need of work, he had hastened to secure this position for her. he had thought at first, because of her father's most unhappy death, she, too, might be afraid. when he suggested this to her he was astonished by the snapping of her black eyes as she exclaimed: "me afraid? no! i am italian. did you not know that? we italians, we are many things. afraid? never!" so rosy presided at the switchboard. each night, during the hour that preceded rosy's departure and johnny's taking up of his duties, they enjoyed a chat about many, many things. nor did drew lane object; for, as he one night explained to johnny, his relations with the ramacciottis were based on little more than a charitable desire to be of service to someone. "you have heard, i suppose," he said to johnny one evening, "that there is a society that looks after the families of policemen who lose their lives in the service. that is a splendid enterprise. "there are also many societies in existence that take care of the interests of criminals and their families. that too, i suppose, is all right. "but where is the society that cares for the women and children made widows and orphans by the bullets of gangsters, burglars, and robbers? never heard of one, did you? "well, some of us fellows of the force decided to do what we could for these. "i learned of the ramacciotti family. they had inherited a small candy store and a large debt. they were paying sixty dollars a month flat rent, and going bankrupt rapidly. "i helped them sell out the store. then i found these two shacks. used to be fishing shacks, i suppose, twenty-five years ago. tried to find the owner. couldn't. so we moved in anyway. i pay for my room and morning coffee. the furniture is mrs. ramacciotti's. "i found her a small kitchen and dining room down street, where she serves rare italian dishes, ravioli a la tuscany and the like. they are doing very well, and are happy. "happy. that's it," he mused. "everyone in the world has a right to be happy. it's our duty, yours and mine, to be happy, and to do the best we can to help others to their share of happiness." "so that was how drew came to live in such a strange place, and to be interested in these unusual people." johnny thought about this for a long time after drew had gone. his appreciation of the character of this young detective grew apace as he mused. his interest in rosy and her mother also increased. chapter xii from out the shadows shortly after his discovery that the man who wrecked his broadcasting corner and beat him up was, in all probability, the robber who had murdered rosy's father, johnny visited sergeant mccarthey at the police station. as the days passed, this station was to become a place of increasing fascination for this boy who was interested in everything that had to do with life, and who had a gnawing desire to know all that is worth knowing. this day, however, his interest was centered on one question: what additional information had the sergeant secured regarding the man who had wrecked his station? "little enough, old son." the sergeant leaned back as he spoke. "visited those pickpockets in the jail. if they know anything about the affair, their lips are sealed. "as for those young chaps, caught looting a house, they promise even less. won't tell a thing about themselves; names, addresses, nothing. they're not foreigners. american stock, i'd say. it's my guess that they had nothing to do with your radio affair. they appear to be boys from out of town. some of those chaps who read cheap detective stories that make the criminal a hero. came to this city to crash into crime. got caught. and now they'll take what's given to them rather than disgrace their families. can't help but admire their grit. but the pity of it all! to think that any boy of to-day should come to look upon crime as offering a career of romance and daring! if only they could know the professional criminal as we do, could see him as a cold-blooded brute who cares only for himself, who stops at nothing to gain his ends, who lives for flash, glitter and sham, a man utterly devoid of honor who will double-cross his most intimate friend and put a pal on the spot or take him for a ride if he believes he is too weak to stand the test and not talk if he is caught." then johnny spoke. he told of the murder of rosy's father. "he did? the same man!" the sergeant sat up straight and stared as johnny finished. "the man with the hole in his hand shot rosy's father? "let me think." he cupped his chin in his hands. "i worked on that case. didn't get a clue. there was just one thing. after rosy's father had been shot, this man fired a shot into the wall. bullet's there still, i suppose. few crooks would do that. likes noise, i suppose, the sound of his gun. "you know," he explained, "we are always studying the peculiarities of bad men. it pays. you know how a poker player judges men. when his opponent has a good hand, he looks just so, from beneath his eyelashes, or his fingers drum the table, so. but if his hand is bad, and he's bluffing, he looks away, whistles a tune, does some other little thing that betrays him. "it is that way with the crook. each man has some little tell-tale action which brands each job he pulls. one man never speaks; he writes out his orders. another whispers. a third shouts excitedly. one is polite to his victims, especially the ladies. another is brutal; he binds them, gags them, even beats them. some prefer silence; some, noise. "it would seem," he sat up to drum on the desk, "that our friend with the hole in his hand likes the sound of his gun. he fired an unnecessary shot in the ramacciotti case, and one when he raided your studio. "now," he said with a sigh, "all we have to do is to search the records of crimes committed in this city and see if we can find other raids and stick-ups to lay at this man's door. of course, if the perpetrator of other crimes fired his gun needlessly, it will not prove that mr. hole-in-the-hand did it, but it will point in that direction. "that bit of research will take some time. i'll let you know what i find." "in those other cases of that night, the safe-blowing and theatre robbery, was there any unnecessary shooting?" johnny asked. "none reported. but then, of course, it is not likely that mr. hole-in-the-hand was on the scene in either case. he was busy with you. if he was in on either of these, the work was done by his gang, not by him." that night a curious and startling thing happened. this affair, as herman mccarthey agreed later, might or might not have a bearing on the problem just discussed. the detective team of drew and howe worked for the most part during the daylight hours. they were assigned to the task of detecting and arresting pickpockets. if you rode a crowded street car, attended a league baseball game, or chanced to be on the edge of a crowd drawn together on the street corner by a vender of patent medicine or unbreakable combs, you might easily sight the nifty hat and flaming tie of drew lane, the natty detective. they knew more than three hundred pickpockets by sight, did this young pair. they picked up any of these on suspicion if they were found in a likely spot, and at once haled them into court. this permanent assignment left drew with his evenings free. because of this, he and johnny enjoyed many a night stroll together. one of their favorite haunts was a slip which ended some four blocks from their shack, and extended for several blocks east until it lost itself in the waters of the lake. this narrow channel of water was lined on one side by great bulging, empty sheet iron sheds, and on the other by brick warehouses which appeared equally empty. a narrow landing extending the length of the sheds, and fast falling into decay, offered a precarious footing for any who chose to wander there. it was a spooky place, this slip at night. at the end nearest the shore, half under water, half above, a one-time pleasure yacht lay rotting away. at the far end, an ancient tug fretted at a chain that was red with rust and from time to time added to the general melancholy of the place a hollow bub-bub as it bumped the shore. one would scarcely say that a horde of gigantic red-eyed rats could add to the attractions or any place, let alone one such as this. lend it a touch of joy, they did, nevertheless. this became johnny's hunting ground. armed with his bow and quiver of arrows, he stalked rats as in other climes he had stalked wolves and bears. drew never tired of seeing his keen bladed arrow speed straight and true. there is a certain fascination about such expert marksmanship. besides, drew hated rats. he had said many times, "a great city has two scourges, professional criminals and rats. it's every honest man's duty to help rid the city of both." on this particular night johnny and drew had gone on one of their hunting trips. they had put out a lure of shelled corn during the day. game was plentiful. in the half light of the smoke-dulled moon, many a rodent whose eyes gleamed in the dark met his death. drew had tired of the sport and had walked a dozen paces down the way. johnny was lurking in the shadows, hoping for one more good shot, when he thought he heard a curious sound. this sound appeared to come from the shadows opposite the spot where drew, unconscious of any danger, walked in the moonlight. then, of a sudden, a terrifying thing began to happen. a hand and half an arm emerged from the shadows that lay against the rotting shed. in the hand was a gun. this gun was rising slowly, steadily to a position where it would be covering drew. what was to be done? johnny's mind worked with the lightning rapidity of a speed camera. should he shout a warning? there was not time. leap forward? this too would be futile. one thing remained. the movement of that hand was slow, sure. johnny's fingers were fast as the speed of light. he nocked an arrow, took sudden aim, and let fly. "silent murder" found his mark. came a low cry of surprise, then a thud. "what was that?" drew whirled about and snatched for his own gun. johnny did not dare answer. what had he accomplished? where was the hand, the gun, the man? nocking a second arrow, he crowded further into the shadows. what was to come next? his heart pounded hard against his ribs. ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty. with gun drawn, drew advanced toward him. johnny expected at any moment to hear a shot ring out. none did. once more drew demanded, "what was that?" "i-i saw a hand, half an arm, a-a gun," johnny stammered. "i shot--shot an arrow at the arm." "a hand, an arm, a gun?" drew was plainly bewildered. "the gun was aimed at you." "where?" "there. over there in the shadows." gripping his gun tight, drew threw the light of his electric torch into those shadows. "no one there," he muttered. "you were dreaming. but no. i heard something. "and look!" he cried, springing forward. "here's the gun. he dropped it. fled. thought the devil was after him. no wonder, when you hunted him with 'silent murder.' "but i say, boy!" he exclaimed, gripping johnny's hand till it hurt. "you saved my life. i'll not forget that!" "we'll just take this along," he said a moment later as he picked up a steel blue sixshooter with a six inch barrel. "a forty-five," he said, turning it over. "not a bad gun. and full of slugs. reminds me of one that nearly did for me once. tell you about it sometime." at that they turned and walked quietly away from the scene of the near tragedy. where was the intruder? gone. what of johnny's arrow? what damage had it done? perhaps the light of day would answer some of these questions. at present it was time for johnny to hasten away to his nightly vigil in the squad call corner. chapter xiii a marked man johnny's work at the studio never failed to fascinate him. the noon hours were pure routine. but at night, when squad calls came thick and fast--that was the time! an entire symphony orchestra might be crashing its way through some magnificent concerto. no matter. the squad operator spoke a few words in johnny's ear. he jotted down those words. he pressed a button twice. for one brief second the air, a thousand miles around, grew tensely silent. then _clang! clang! clang!_ and after that, johnny's voice: "squads, attention! squad . a shooting at madison and ashland." ah! there was power for you; a little press of a button and all the world stood by. each night brought to his ears a terse description of some new form of violence. "you'd think," he said to drew once, "that the whole city had turned criminal." "but it hasn't," drew replied thoughtfully. "only one person in three hundred is a professional criminal. don't forget that. if you want to know what that means, go somewhere and watch a turnstile. count three hundred people as they pass through. then say 'one.' big, like that. that stands for one crook. then begin all over again, and count three hundred." johnny tried that, and derived a deal of assurance from the experiment. it gave him the comforting feeling that one might have who has three hundred friends arrayed solidly behind him, row on row, while a single enemy stands across the way. but were these truly ready to stand back of law and justice? "if they are not," he told himself, "it is because of ignorance. if they do not know the truth they must be told." johnny hurried back to the shack as soon as his work was done, on the night of his curious adventure down by the slip. he had no desire to go prowling about those abandoned sheds again that night. he did wish to be abroad the first thing in the morning. he wanted to discover, if possible, how the would-be assassin had made his escape. he was also curious to discover whether or not his arrow had gone with the stranger. "i am surprised that anyone should attempt to kill me," drew said, as they started for the slip early that morning. "but isn't a police officer's life always in danger?" "why, no, i wouldn't say so. depends, of course, on your record, and the type of crooks you are assigned to. "take the matter of arresting a crook. he doesn't usually resist, unless you've caught him red-handed in crime. rather take a chance with the judge. figures you've got nothing on him anyway. and i haven't been in on anything really big. they give those things to older men. howe and i have been following pickpockets for months. that was my first and it's my last assignment as a detective so far. "pickpockets are seldom violent. sneaking is their game. they seldom pack a gun. if they do, they don't know how to use it." "that man knew his gun," said johnny with a shudder. "fairly good gun." drew had thrown the cartridges out of the revolver. he had hung it on a nail over the head of his bed. there it was destined to remain until a busy spider had spun a web about it and built him a gauzy home inside the trigger guard. for all that, neither the spider, the revolver, nor the former owner of the revolver were destined to rest long in peace. "it's plain enough," said johnny, as they reached the sheds, "why that assassin was unconscious of my presence. i had been standing silently in the shadows, a long time, looking for a rat." "well," chuckled drew, "you got one, didn't you?" "that's what i've been wondering," replied johnny. "probably i did; otherwise why did he drop the gun?" "quite so. you traded an arrow for a loaded gun. not so bad." "i still have hope of recovering my arrow. the flesh of a man's arm is a thin target. i put all i had into that shot." they found some footprints ground into the cinders where the man had stood. they discovered several breaks in the rusting sides of the shed, where he might have escaped. and yes, true to johnny's expectations, they found the arrow where it had spent its force and dropped a hundred or more feet from the spot from which it had been fired. "see!" exclaimed johnny as he picked it up. "i got him. blood on the feathers." "i never doubted that for a moment," drew said impressively. "as you suggested, the arrow must have gone through the fleshy part of his arm. "he's a marked man!" he exclaimed. "you must keep that arrow. some day, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps ten years from now, it may be needed as evidence." "why, i--" "that arrow mark will leave a scar that matches the width of your arrow blade. it will have other peculiarities that will tell straight and plain that the wound was made, not only by an arrow, but by one arrow--this one. i've seen things far more technical than that, far more difficult to prove, sway a jury and win a hanging verdict." so, in the end, the arrow was laid across two nails close to the revolver above drew's bed. and, just by way of providing an easy means of escape if escape were necessary, the spider ran a line from the thug's revolver to johnny's blood-dyed arrow. "you said something about boxing once," drew was at the door of the shack, ready to depart for his day of scouting. "how'd you like to meet me at the club this evening for a few rounds?" "be great!" johnny exclaimed enthusiastically. "you'll find me rusty, though. haven't had gloves on for a long time." "here's the address." drew wrote on a bit of paper, and handed it to johnny. "i'll meet you in the lobby at nine o'clock." "fine!" with drew gone, and only the distant rumble of the city to keep him company, johnny sat down in drew's rocking chair to think. from time to time his gaze strayed to the wall where the revolver and the arrow hung. "life," he thought, "has grown more complicated and--and more terrible. and yet, what a privilege it is to live!" for the first time since he arrived on that freighter at midnight, he felt a desire to be far, far away from this great city and all that it stood for. "power," he murmured, "great power, that is what a city stands for. great power, great weakness, great success, gigantic failure, men of magnificent character, men of no character at all; that's what you find in a city of three million people." at once his mind was far away. in his imagination he stood upon a small and shabby dock. a small and shabby village lay at the back of the dock. at his feet a dilapidated clinker-built rowboat bumped the dock. oars were there, minnows for bait, and fishing tackle. two miles up the bay was a dark hole where great muskies waved the water with their fins, where bass black as coal darted from place to place, while spotted perch, seeming part of the water itself, hung motionless, watching. "ah, to be there!" he breathed. "the peace, the simple joy of it all. to drop a minnow down there; to cast one far out, then to watch for the move that means a strike! "and yet--" he sighed, but did not finish his sentence. on the youth of to-day a great city exerts an indescribable charm. johnny would not leave this city of his boyhood days until he had conquered or had been conquered. "it's strange, all this," he mused. "wonder why that man beat me up there in the studio? wonder if sergeant mccarthey knows any more than he did. let me see. pickpockets, boy robbers, theatre holdup men, safe blowers. wonder whose accomplice that man with a hole in his hand is. who can tell?" chapter xiv johnny scores a knockdown johnny experienced no difficulty in locating drew's club. it was a fine place, that club; small, but very useful. not much space for loafing there; a lobby, that was all. a completely equipped gymnasium, showers, a swimming pool, bowling alleys in the basement, a floor for boxing and fencing. a young men's club this was, with a purpose. that purpose was set up in large letters above the desk in the lobby: keep fit. in a surprisingly short time they had undressed, passed under the showers, gone through a quick rub-down, drawn on shorts and gloves, and there they were. drew was five years johnny's senior. he was taller almost by a head, and thirty pounds heavier. it seemed an uneven match. but johnny was well built. then, too, he had a passion for boxing that dated back to his sixth year. when at that early date a boy three years his senior had taken it upon himself to put johnny in his place, johnny had emerged from the engagement bloody, tattered and victorious. for a space of five minutes these two, johnny and drew, sparred, getting up their wind and landing comfortable body blows now and then. when they sat down for a brief blowing spell, drew looked johnny over with increased admiration. he had expected to amuse this boy and get a little workout for himself. he had found that johnny was quick on his feet, that his eyes were good, and that his left carried a punch that came with the speed of chain lightning. "i was going to give you a little sermon on keeping fit," drew said after a moment of silence. "guess you don't need it." "everyone needs it." "you bet they do. hadn't been for my keeping fit, i wouldn't be here at all. come on. let's go another round." once more they sparred. this time drew seemed determined to deal johnny at least one smacker on the face. in this he was singularly unsuccessful. johnny was never there when the blow arrived. he ducked; he wove right, wove left, sprang backward, spun round. then of a sudden, something happened. in making a desperate effort to reach johnny's chin, drew exposed the left side of his face. johnny swung hard, but planned to pull the punch. drew suddenly leaned into it. johnny's blow came in with the impact of a trip hammer, just under drew's ear. drew dropped like an empty sack. he was out for the count of five. then he sat up dizzily, stared about him, caught johnny's eyes, then grinned a crooked grin that lacked nothing of sincerity as he exclaimed: "that was a darb!" half an hour later, after a second shower, the two boys sat in the small lunch room of the club, munching cold tongue sandwiches on rye, and drinking coffee. "boy!" said drew. "you should train for the ring." "doesn't interest me," said johnny. "fine thing to box, just to keep fit. but when it comes to making a business of a thing that should be all pure fun--not for me!" "guess you're right." "but tell me," said johnny. "is it hard to become a city detective?" "not so easy. many a fellow out in the sticks pounding a beat would like to be on the detective force. it's more dangerous. but you have more freedom. and you get a bigger kick out of it. if you get there quick you've got to get a break. i got a break. "queer sort of thing," he mused as one will who is about to spin a yarn. "i was off duty, dressed in knickers, driving home in my car, with a friend, from a golf game. traffic light stopped us. fellow, tough looking egg, stuck a cannon in my face and said: 'stick 'em up!'" "what did you do?" johnny leaned forward eagerly. "what would you have done?" "you weren't on duty. weren't wearing your star?" "not wearing my star, that's right. but in a way an officer of the law is never off duty. many a brave fellow has been killed because he stepped into something when he was in civilian clothes and off duty. "my friend that was with me was a real guy. he wouldn't have squawked if i had given that bad egg my money and driven on. "but you know, that's not the way a fellow's mind works. no, sir! you say to yourself, 'this guy's got the drop on me. i've got to get him. how'll i do it?'" "what did you do?" johnny's coffee was cooling on the table. "i said, 'please, mister, don't shoot me. i'm a young fellow. i don't want to die. i'll give you everything, but don't shoot!' stalling for time. see? "'all right,' he growled, 'back the car into the alley.' "he climbed into the back seat and pressed cold steel against the back of my neck. "of course i had to look through the rear window to back into the alley. that gave me an idea. i blinked my eyes as if i saw someone behind the car. he was nervous. they generally are. who wouldn't be? "he turned his head to look back. i had a small in my pocket. i whipped it out and took a pot shot at him. "my hand struck the back of the seat. the gun flew up. i missed. "he whirled about and put his gun on my temple. 'you murderin' ---- ----,' he said, and pulled the trigger three times. "the gun didn't go off." drew paused to smile. "sometimes a fellow gets a break that makes him want to believe in angels and things like that. "that gun was loaded with slugs. it had a lock on it. he had failed to release the lock. he threw away his gun and grabbed for mine. "we grappled, and i went over the seat on top of him, shouting to my friend: 'go call the police.' he went. "then we fought it out there alone. that's where keeping fit came in. he was a tough egg with a record long as your arm. he was strong. he was desperate. the 'stir' craze was on him. "'don't resist me,' i said. 'i'm an officer.' "'i'll kill you with your own gun if it's the last thing i ever do!' that was his answer. "we fought and struggled. he banged me here. he banged me there. he bit my hand to the bone. once he pressed my own gun to my head, but my finger was on the trigger. he couldn't shoot. "'pull the trigger, ---- ---- you! pull the trigger. it's on your head!' that's what he said. "a stranger heard the noise and came to look at us. "'call the police!' i yelled. 'call the police!' "you should have heard him hot-footing out of there! i tell you that was funny! "and then we bumped into the door. it flew open. we tumbled out. i got my chance. i fired one shot. i got my man. "hey, waiter!" drew called with a smile. "bring us some more coffee. this has gone cold." "of course," he said thoughtfully, "it's always too bad when a man has to die. but it was one or the other of us. he wasn't much good. they wanted him for a dozen robberies, and for shooting a policeman. "i was in the sticks walking a beat then. they gave me a job on the detective force, and i received a hundred dollars reward from one of the papers. so you see, life as a copper isn't so bad, providing you get the breaks." "yes," johnny said slowly, "providing you do." "i suppose," said drew after stirring his coffee reflectively for a time, "that i should be satisfied. and i am, reasonably so. but you know, pickpockets are very small game. it's necessary enough that they should be mopped up. but it's like hunting rabbits when there are grizzly bears about. i'd like to get in on something big. "things are going to happen in this old town. judges are getting better. the prosecutors are working harder. the honest people are waking up. one of these fine days the order will be given to break up every gang in town; bring them in or drive them out. i want to be in on that." "you will," said johnny. "they won't be able to do it without you. they need a thousand like you, a legion of youth." "you are right!" drew put his cup down with a crash. "college men. that's what they need. men may sneer at them. they needn't. i'm a college man, and i'm proud of it. "know what?" his eyes shone. "they are going to put courses in criminology in the colleges and universities. they'll do more than that. they'll teach young fellows how to be good detectives. why not? they teach them everything else. why not that?" "they will," said johnny. "and i'd like to take the course myself." chapter xv johnny finds a man that night sergeant mccarthey visited johnny in his cubby-hole by the big radio studio. "hello, boy," he said, putting out a big, brown hand for a shake. "mind if i sit down awhile? sort of like to see how the calls go out." "not a bit," johnny smiled. "glad to have company. little dull lately. robbery, shooting, burglary, shooting, holdup; that's about the way it goes. nothing really new." he laughed a short laugh. "say!" the sergeant exclaimed, "you've got to hand it to this old burg. that stuff goes out all over the country. everybody gets it. and they say, 'what a terrible town!' "but it's not a bad town. i've lived in others. i know. they're all alike. difference is, others cover it all up. we don't. you'll see. when we shout enough, the crooks will begin clearing out. you--" johnny held up a finger. he listened. he wrote. he banged his gong. then-- "squads attention! squads and . robbers in the second apartment at wabash." "that's the way it goes, is it?" said the sergeant. "pretty quick work. when we get our own station it will be snappier. and only the squad cars will get the calls. special low wave-length." for a time they sat in silence. then johnny's telephone buzzed. "another call?" mccarthey asked in a low tone. "just a report on that last call." johnny's eyes twinkled. "got 'em. got 'em four minutes after the call went out." "good work. no wonder they hate you, those crooks. this place should be guarded." "it is." johnny laid his hand on his bow. "drew told me about that thing and the way you handled it down there by the slip. wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't told me. "by the way, i've been making a little study of that man's history, the one who shot rosy's father, the one that beat you up." "find anything?" "following the hunch about his liking the sound of his gun, and the descriptions given in other robberies, i believe he's responsible for several bad bits of business. "this much we know from the case of rosy's father. he's a sicilian. a tall fellow, and heavily built. not dark for his race. got a low, narrow forehead, and blue eyes very close together. he's never been caught. probably sneaked into our country from canada or mexico. send him back where he came from if we get him. and we'll get him!" "i hope so," said johnny, with a furtive glance toward the door. "i mostly manage to keep wide awake. but it's late by the time i'm through. if i should get drowsy, and he walked in again, well--" "this place should be guarded," the sergeant repeated. "i'll suggest it." "no, don't bother." "i'll lend you a gun." "guns make such a lot of noise. old silent murder here will do as well." "guess i'd better be going." herman mccarthey rose. "got to catch my train." "train?" "yes. i live in the country. little village; one store, one church, post office, few homes. need the peace i find there to go with the rush of the city and this business of hunting crooks. it's good to wake up with a breath of dew in your nostrils, and the robins singing their morning song. nothing like it." "no," said johnny, "there isn't." he was thinking of the woods by his fishing hole in the far away north peninsula, where the song sparrows fairly burst their throats with melody. "good night," said johnny. "good night, son." the sergeant was gone. * * * * * * * * the state street police court with its humorous punch and judy judge became a place of great fascination to johnny. in the past he had dreamed of courts where trials dragged through weary months; where prisoners languished in jail; and a man might be sentenced to five years of hard labor for stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family. how different was this court where a pretty lady might steal a dress she did not need, and never go to jail at all. the very poor, johnny soon learned, were treated with consideration. their poverty was not forgotten. "and yet," he said to drew one day, "i can't help but feel that there would be less stealing if some of these first offenders scrubbed a few floors in the workhouse." "there are many things to be considered," was drew's reply. and then one day, as he stood in that state street court room, all eyes and ears for what was taking place, johnny made a great discovery. he found a man. this man was not brought to court. he came of his own accord, to plead the cause of another. he was not quite sober, this man; indeed there are those who would have said he was drunk. and yet he spoke with precision. though there was about him an indescribable air of youth, this man's hair was white. his face was thin. some of his teeth were gone. his clothes were well-worn, yet they showed immaculate care. his linen was clean. "shabby gentility" partly described him; but not quite. "judge," he said, tilting first on heels, then on his toes, "judge, your honor, you have a man in jail here. he was fined twenty-five dollars for being drunk." he paused for breath. "judge, your honor, he can't pay that fine. he isn't a bad man, judge. he drinks too much sometimes, judge. let him go, can't you, judge?" the man's voice took on a pleading note. "what's this man's name?" the judge studied the stranger's face. "judge, your honor, his name is robert maccain. he isn't a bad man, judge. let him go, will you, judge?" "he's a pal of yours?" "yes, your honor." "you drink with him sometimes?" "yes, your honor." "you took a little drink yesterday?" "yes, your honor." "and last night?" "and last night. yes, your honor." "how does it come you were not arrested with this pal of yours?" "your honor," again the stranger tilted backward and forward from heel to toe, "your honor, i try at all times to be a gentleman. "let him go, judge. will you?" "are you a lawyer?" the judge leaned forward to stare at him. "no, your honor. but i know more law than your swanson or darrow or--" "you should have been a lawyer. what are you?" again the stranger went up on his toes. "your honor, for seventeen years i was a detective on the police force of new york. i ranked as a lieutenant, your honor." "this fellow is a romancer," johnny whispered to an attorney who stood beside him. "he doesn't know truth from lies." "he is telling the truth," was the astounding reply. "i know him. he was rated high." the lawyer scribbled a sentence on a slip of paper. he handed it to the judge. this movement did not escape the stranger. "your honor," he pleaded, "don't let any of this get into the papers. i have a mother eighty-six years old. it would kill her." "what is your name?" "your honor, my name is newton mills." "newton mills?" the judge started, then stared in unfeigned astonishment. "you are newton mills?" "yes, your honor." "what are you doing here?" "nothing, your honor." "yes, you are!" the judge braced himself on the arms of his chair. "you're drinking yourself to death. you are breaking your mother's heart. "i'll tell you what i'll do." he reached for an order blank. "i'll send you down there with your pal. you'll have a chance to sober up." at once the face of newton mills became a study in pain. "don't do that, judge. don't do it. it will break my mother's heart. i haven't done anything bad, judge. i'll quit drinking, judge. i promise. don't do it, judge. i'll quit. i promise, judge." there had been a time when, quite a young boy, johnny thompson had made friends with a homeless dog. at another time he had found a half grown kitten starving under a barn. after much trouble he had caught the kitten. it had scratched him terribly, but he had clung to it and had carried it home to give it a chance. something of the same feeling came over him now. only this time he had found, not a dog, not a cat, but something more precious--a man. "you--your honor," he stammered, scarcely knowing what he was saying, "if your honor please, i'd like this man." "to what purpose?" the judge stared. "to give him another chance." "can you?" once more the judge leaned far forward in his chair. "drew lane is my friend. we live together. with his help i can." "done!" said the judge. "you heard what he said!" he exclaimed, turning to the astonished newton mills. "you promised to stop drinking. this young man will see that you do stop." never in all his life had johnny seen such a look of despair as came over the face of the old-time detective. he had made that promise a thousand times. he had never kept it. now here was someone with the mighty arm of the law behind him, who said, "you must!" he glanced wildly about the room, as if looking for means of escape. then with a look of utter weariness he murmured: "yes, your honor." chapter xvi the face that seemed a mask so it happened that when drew returned from work that evening he found a man in johnny's bunk, and johnny seated near him. the man was asleep, or in a drunken stupor. "i found a man," said johnny. "looks like a bum," said drew, casting a critical eye over the stranger. "he has been." "looks like he was drunk." "he is." "then why--" drew paused to stare at the stranger. "drew," said johnny, almost solemnly, "did you ever hear of newton mills?" "newton mills, the great city detective? who hasn't?" "that," said johnny dramatically, "is newton mills." "what!" drew took a step forward. "it can't be. he disappeared three years ago. he's dead. "and yet--" he stared at the face of the man on the cot. then he tore into a trunk to drag out a bundle of old photographs. one of these he studied intently for a moment. then turning to johnny, he said in a voice tense with emotion, "yes, johnny, that is newton mills. you have indeed found a man. "my god!" he exclaimed in an altered tone. "i wonder if that's the price? will i be like that in twenty years?" to this question he expected no reply. he received none. he took a seat beside the cot where the man with deep-lined face and tangled white hair was sleeping. for a long time he said nothing. silence brooded over the shack. "this man, drew lane, is an unusual person," johnny told himself. "he is so full of strange deep thoughts." this beyond question was true. he was given to actions quite as strange as his thoughts. at one time he had paid a half-dollar for the privilege of taking johnny to the top of his city's highest tower. once there, he had spread his hands wide as he exclaimed, "see, johnny! look at all that!" it was indeed an awe-inspiring sight. mile on mile of magnificent buildings. towers rising to the clouds, all the wealth and glory of a great modern city was there, spread out beneath them. "johnny," drew had said, "there are people living down there who are ashamed of their own city. they don't believe in its future. "you can't blame them too much." his voice took on a note of sadness. "the badness of it is pretty terrible. "but think, johnny! look! look and think how many men of great wealth must have believed in this city and her future. not one of those great towers could have risen a foot from the ground had not some man had faith in the city's future. "and, johnny!" he had gripped the boy's arm hard. "it's my task and yours, every young man's task, to prove to the world that the faith of those men was not misplaced. "and we will!" he had clenched his hands tight. "we'll make it the grandest, the greatest, the safest, most beautiful city the world has ever known!" he had said that. and now he sat brooding beside the form of one who, like himself perhaps in his youth, had thrown himself against the slow revolving wheel of stone that is a great city's appalling wickedness. "and now see!" he murmured, half aloud. "the lawyer who told me who he was said he was 'just a shell!'" johnny volunteered. "do you think you can make anything of just a shell?" "i don't know." drew's tone betrayed no emotion. "but who could do less than try?" "who?" johnny echoed. at that moment the souls of drew and johnny were like those of david and jonathan. they were as one. "that man," said drew as he nodded at the slight form on the cot, "was one of new york's finest. many a member of the old five point gang has felt a light touch on his arm, to turn and laugh up into those mild blue eyes. but they never laughed long. that touch became a chain of steel. the chain dragged them to a cell or to a grave. "there are people still," he rambled on, "who believe that a detective should be a man of muscle and brawn. in a fight, of course, it helps. but in these days when fighting is done, for the most part, with powder and steel, a slight man with brains gets the break. this newton mills surely did. for a long, long time he got all the breaks. but now look!" "he told the judge he had been living on fifteen dollars a week, sent by his mother," said johnny. "what could have happened?" "many things perhaps. herman mccarthey will know. i have heard him speak of newton mills. we will ask him, first thing to-morrow morning." and there, for a time, the matter rested. that night as he went to work, walking by preference down the avenue, then over the drive that fronted the lake, as one will at times, johnny received the impression that he was being watched, perhaps followed. an uncomfortable feeling this, at any time. a late hour, a deserted street, do not lessen one's mental disturbance. long ago johnny had formed two habits. while walking alone at night he kept well toward the outer edge of the sidewalk. under such conditions it is hard for a would-be assailant to spring at one unobserved. then, too, he carried one hand in his coat pocket. "for," he was accustomed to say to his friends, "who will know what i hold in that hand? it may be a small gun. if it were, i could shoot it quite accurately without removing it from my pocket. crooks are, at heart, great cowards. what one of them will face a hand in a coat pocket?" thus far in johnny's young life, not one of the night prowlers had molested him. though some sixth sense told him now that he was being followed in the shadows, he was not greatly alarmed. he merely increased his pace to a brisk walk. from time to time he looked over his shoulder. each time he saw no one. he was passing along an empty lot lined with great signboards, and had reached the center of the block when two men sprang from the shadows. not wholly unprepared for this, he gave a sudden leap to one side, then sprang forward to transform the affair into a foot race. fortunately at that moment four sturdy citizens turned a corner and advanced in his direction. this apparently was an unforeseen part of the program, for at once his would-be assailants stopped short, then turned as if to walk in the other direction. as they turned, the face of the shorter one was suddenly illumined by a light from an auto that had turned a corner. it was but a flash. then all was darkness. yet in that flash johnny had seen a man, one of those who had followed him. he was a youth with broad, slightly stooping shoulders. his face seemed a mask. his clothes were in the height of style. the light brought a flash from a diamond somewhere on his person. darkness followed. johnny walked straight ahead. he met and passed the four men, who paid him not the slightest attention. fifteen minutes later he was at his post in the radio station. there, for a time, the matter ended. of two things you may be sure. johnny walked that street no more at night, nor did he forget that youth with a face that was like a mask. chapter xvii the sergeant's story when johnny returned to the shack that night his strange guest was still asleep. a third cot had been set up in the room. understanding this, johnny crept between the fresh, clean-feeling sheets, and was soon sleeping soundly. when he awoke in the morning drew was gone. his white-haired guest, newton mills, the man he had found, was seated on his bunk, chin cupped in hands, staring at the floor. johnny lay in his bunk watching him for a full quarter of an hour. in all that time he did not move so much as a finger. this man fascinated johnny. does this seem strange? who has not dreamed of coming upon a derelict at sea; of seeing her masts broken, bridge and gunwale gone, decks awash, yet carrying on, the wreck of a one-time magnificent craft? could such a sight fail to bring to the lips an awe-inspired cry? how much more the wreck of a great man? but was this a true derelict? this was the question that pressed itself upon johnny's eager young mind. many a drifting hulk, having been found sound of beam and keel, has been towed ashore to be refitted and sail the seas once more. so, too, it is with men. thus johnny's thoughts rambled on. but what of this strange, prematurely gray man? what thoughts filled his mind at this hour? or did he think? rousing himself, johnny stepped from his bed, donned shirt, trousers and slippers to glide from the room and knock at that other door. into rosy's ready ear he whispered: "coffee for two. stout! black and strong!" a short time later as he and the one-time great detective drank hot black coffee in silence, the door opened and herman mccarthey entered. johnny understood in an instant. drew had sent him. "hello, mills!" the sergeant exclaimed heartily. "remember me, don't you? we worked together on the romeri kidnapping case. that was, let me see, twelve years ago." "romeri." the man passed a hand before his face, as one will who brushes away a cobweb. "romeri. yes, i remember the case. and you, herman mccarthey. ah yes, herman mccarthey. there were no stool pigeons in that case." "no," said herman, "there were none." conversation lagged. herman sat down to drink a cup of coffee. he sighed, got up, walked across the floor, and sat down again. "tell you what," he said at last, looking at johnny. "to-day's my day off. going out to my place at mayfair. it's quiet out there and mighty fine. to-morrow's sunday. supposing i take mills out there for the week-end. you come out sunday and stay all night. then we'll come back to town in my car, the three of us. what do you say, mills?" the white-haired man rose with the air of one who has surrendered his will; like a prisoner who receives orders from a guard. herman mccarthey read the meaning of that act, and frowned. he did not, however, say, "well, let's not go." he said nothing, but led the way. the other followed. johnny went with them to the sidewalk. there he stood and watched them board a west bound car. after that he turned about and walked thoughtfully back to the room. in his mind questions turned themselves over and over. "when is a man an empty shell? when is he a hopeless derelict?" he thought of herman mccarthey, alone out there at his country place with that terribly silent man, and was tempted to regret the steps he had taken. he ended by drinking a second cup of coffee, then falling asleep in his chair. * * * * * * * * next day johnny went out to herman mccarthey's place. he had no trouble finding the house. the town was small, only a tiny village, but filled with many stately trees. he wondered a little as he walked up the gravel path. how was his man, his derelict? would anything worth while come of this affair? he found newton mills in the same condition as when he left the shack. he talked little, always of trivial matters. he ate almost nothing. at times a haunting desire was written on his face. "been like that all the time," herman whispered to johnny. "can't tell how he'll come out. seen many like him. can't help it when you're a cop. they're like a lamp that's been burning a long time and gone dim. some, if you give them a fresh supply of oil, flare up, then burn steadily again. some don't. last spark is gone. how about him? who knows? only god knows. we must do our best." they spent the day in quiet rambles about the village and long periods of loafing on the porch. newton mills retired early. that left herman and johnny to amuse themselves; not that the strange derelict had furnished them much amusement. in his bed at least he was no longer a burden. the two, the seasoned detective and the boy, chose to sit the long evening through on the broad screened porch. the still peace of the place seemed strange to the boy whose ears had become accustomed to the rattle of elevated trains, the shouts of newsboys and the miscellaneous din of a city's streets. "it's so quiet," he said, looking away through the motionless leaves of stately trees, across the darkened lawn to the spot where the moon was rising. "yes," said herman mccarthey, "it is quiet. sometimes i like to feel that the peace of god hovers over the spot. anyway, it's the only place i'll ever live. "you know, of course, that you're supposed to live in chicago if you're on the force," he went on. "but the chief fixed that for me. it's only a rule; not a law. "the chief and i," and his tone became reminiscent, "were on the force together when we were young. we were in one fight which the chief won't forget. nor i, either. "there was a tough gang down by the river. a shooting had been reported. we got there on the double-quick; too quick perhaps. we met 'em coming up the bank, all armed. they didn't wait for words. just started in shooting. they got me in the shoulder first round. but i stood up to 'em and let 'em have it back. so did the chief. one man went down. "of a sudden the bullet i had in me made me dizzy. i spun round and went down. "the chief stood up to 'em. a dozen rounds were fired before my head cleared. when it did, i propped my eyes open just in time to see one of them bending over the chief, taking deadly aim. the chief was down with a bullet in his back. that shot never was fired." "you--you got him." it was johnny who spoke. "you said it, son." "and that," said herman mccarthey, "is why the chief lets me live where i please. "but that," he went on after a moment, "is not why i live here. of course i've always loved the quiet peace of the open country. you need it after the day's rush and noise and all the squalid fuss you endure as a police officer. somehow i have a notion that if a lot more of those city cave-dwellers lived out in places like this we wouldn't have so many to run down and put in jail. but who knows? "that's not the whole reason either." he leaned forward in his chair. "i live here because it's the place where i spent my honeymoon." "you--your--" johnny stared at him through the darkness. "yes." herman mccarthey's tone was deep. "i was married once. "no. she didn't die. just went away. they do that sometimes. she's living yet, and happy, i hope. successful too, and prosperous. buys dresses for a big store in new york, swell dresses they say. goes to paris every year and all that. ten thousand a year, maybe more. "you see," his tone became very thoughtful, "she married the wrong man. that happens too. i was only a cop, a plain ordinary policeman. perhaps she married my uniform. who knows? "i brought her out here. she wasn't happy. 'too still,' she said. "so we took a flat in the city. but she wanted what i couldn't give, kind of a society life." for a time, he stared away to the west where the first stars were appearing. then he spoke again. "i bought this place on payments. when we moved to the city i couldn't very well keep up the payments, so i let it all go; or thought i had. "but when she'd left me and gone to new york i sort of felt like i'd like to come out and see the old place--the place where i'd spent my honeymoon. "and what do you think? the man i'd bought the place from had saved it for me all that time! all i had to do was begin paying again, and it was mine. "it's things like that that make me like quiet country places. men do such things out here. perhaps they do in the city, too. but somehow i feel that a man is a bit nearer god when he sees the dew on the grass, the red in the sunset, and the gold in the moon." again he was silent for a time. "all this," he went on then, "hasn't made me bitter. it's the duty and grand privilege of most men to have a home and raise a family of youngsters. it's the duty of us all, especially of us officers of the law, to make it easy and safe for those boys and girls to grow up strong, clean, and pure. that's why an officer who doesn't do his whole duty is so much of a monster." chapter xviii a scream--a shot that particular sunday was a happy one for rosy, the bright-eyed italian girl. why not? it was her birthday. she was sixteen. what is more wonderful than being sixteen? besides, her mother had given her a new dress. it was real silk, the color of very old italian wine, this dress was, and trimmed with such silk flowers as only the skillful fingers of mother ramacciotti could form. there were other reasons for happiness. rosy's life had known misery and sadness. now she had a home; very plain, it is true, but comfortable. she had friends. were not johnny and drew her friends? many more there were at the radio studio. rosy was a favorite. her obliging interest in all that pertained to her duties, her ready smile, won many. then too, her mother had said to her that very morning, "six months more, and we will go to those so beautiful hills that are my home. your grandmother awaits us among her flowers and her vines. the white-topped alps will look down upon us from afar. ah! there is a country! italy! oh, my beloved italy!" rosy had not seen italy. her mother had painted glowing pictures of that land. oh! such pictures! who can say which one longed most for that land, mother or daughter? a gay time they had that day. drew was in for dinner. they had ravioli a la tuscany, and after that some very rare fruit cake that had come only the week before from sunny italy. so proud of her new dress was rosy, that she needs must wear it to her work. her friends, all of them, must see how very beautiful it was. so, with a smile on her lips, and a dimple in each cheek, she departed, waving goodbye. rosy, happy rosy! at the studio she was greeted with many smiles and hearty congratulations. in time, however, all her friends had passed to their work on the floor above, leaving rosy there alone. it was always a little dreary down at the foot of the stairs. only an occasional buzz at the switchboard disturbed the silence of the place. faint, indistinct, seeming to come from another world, the mingled notes of many musical instruments floated down from above. some tunes were merry; some sad. on this particular night, for no reason at all, they all reached her ears tinged with melancholy. what was it? is great happiness always followed by a touch of sadness? was a shadow of the future stretching out to engulf her? in one studio was a massive pipe organ. at : the organist, ascending to the console, left the studio door ajar. the pealing, throbbing notes of this organ drifted down to rosy. for each of us there is some musical instrument whose notes stir us with joy, another that awakens a feeling of sadness. to rosy the pipe organ carried a feeling of infinite pain and sorrow. on that tragic day, when her murdered father had been carried to his last long rest they had led her, at her mother's side, to a great dark, damp and lofty room that was a church. there for one long, torturing half hour she had listened to the most mournful tones she had ever known. the tones had come from a pipe organ. now, as she sat listening, it seemed to her that the dampness, the darkness, the gloom of that vast church were once more upon her. she shuddered. then, though the night was warm, she threw a wrap about her shoulders. her fingers trembled. "that door," she thought. "i will go up and close it." she had risen and was turning about when, of a sudden, her blood froze in her veins. directly behind the place where she had been sitting, were two men. one was half concealed by a door. his head and shoulders were within a closet. the other looked squarely at her. two things rosy's startled eyes told her at a glance. the man who looked at her was young. his face was like a mask. the other man had a hole in his hand. it was enough. without willing to do so, she screamed. it was such a long-drawn, piercing scream as one utters but once or twice in a lifetime. * * * * * * * * in the meantime, under quite different circumstances, johnny and sergeant mccarthey were discussing their latest problem, the derelict from new york. "has he told you how it all came about?" johnny asked. "no. he won't tell that. what's the use? he knows i am a detective. he knows i know all that's worth knowing." "someone has told you?" "no. they never need to. i've seen it before; too often. too often!" sergeant mccarthey's tones were sad. for some time he said no more. when he did speak it was with the voice of one who has resolved to tell much. "you're young, son," he began. "you don't know a great deal about this business of hunting down criminals. you heard mills say there were no stool pigeons used in that kidnapping case we solved?" johnny nodded. "to me that remark was significant. he hates stool pigeons. everyone does. a stool pigeon is a person who, for pay or for immunity from arrest for some crime he has committed, tells on some other person. "there are men on every police force, good men too, who believe that criminals cannot be captured without the aid of stool pigeons. "but how one must come to hate them when he is obliged to deal with them constantly. perhaps you think of stool pigeons as poor, weak-eyed, slinking creatures who can earn a living in no other way. if so, you are wrong. some are rich, some are poor, some men, some women. all are alike in two particulars. all want something; for the most part protection for some form of petty vice or crime. and they all crawl. how they do crawl! "perhaps you don't quite understand. it's using the little criminal to catch the big one. take an example. some greek runs a cheap gambling house. with card games and roulette wheels he entertains laborers and takes their money. he breaks the law. but he knows of a man who has robbed a bank. he is afraid of having his place raided, having his evil means of living taken away. he becomes a stool pigeon by informing on the robber. after that the detective uses him on many cases. "but how must the detective feel who has dealings with such a man? you can't play with snakes unless you lie down and crawl. "little by little, the thing gets you. to associate with stool pigeons you must do the things they do. you begin to drink. you do other things. you break the law. but the law forgives you, for you are working for it. "can't you see? no matter how high your ideals were in the beginning, how lofty your aims, you step down, down, down, when you deal with stool pigeons. "it was so with him." he nodded his head toward the room in which the white-haired one was sleeping. "i happen to know. when i worked with him there was no finer man on any force. a college man, born to his task, enthusiastic for it from his youth; no one promised more. but his chief believed in stool pigeons. he had a complicated, well guarded system of informers. newton mills was forced into this system. a man of sensitive nature and much native honor, he went down fast." "and you--" "i have never used a stool pigeon in my life. i never will. perhaps i am wrong. crime must be punished. it's a matter of method. i have informers, but they are all honest citizens. they tell what they know, and ask nothing in return. they are my friends. they are more than that. they are true americans. it is the duty of every honest citizen to inform the officers of the law when he learns of any flagrant violation of the law. perhaps if every citizen did his full duty, there would be no need of stool pigeons. who knows? i-- "there's the telephone," he broke off suddenly. "go answer it, will you?" johnny sprang through the door and disappeared into the dark interior of the house. * * * * * * * * the young man with a face like a mask was not one of those who love the sound of his own gun overmuch. but he was, by nature, a killer. when rosy screamed, indeed even as she did so, he whirled about and, without removing his hand from his hip, fired one shot. rosy crumpled to the floor. soon a scarlet stream began disfiguring her bright new birthday dress. her eyes closed as in death. her cheeks were white with pain. when a throng of musicians and operators, electrified by rosy's scream, at last came to their senses and, led by bill heyworth, came pouring down the stairs, they found rosy lying unconscious on the floor. otherwise the place was deserted. some time later it was found that a wire had been cut in the closet back of rosy's chair. this wire ran through the closet to the studio above. it was the private wire from the central police station to the radio squad call room. chapter xix a bullet johnny thompson was not at the telephone for more than the space of one minute. when he returned to the porch where herman mccarthey sat placidly smoking, he was choked with emotion. "it's rosy," he said in a scarcely audible voice, "rosy! they have shot her!" "who?" herman sprang to his feet. "the crooks!" "where?" "at the radio station." "why?" "no one knows. a wire was cut. the private wire of the police. she was shot. no one was seen by anyone but rosy." for one distressing moment they stood there silent. then a voice came from the half darkness of the house door. "the bullet!" that voice said. "have they found the bullet?" no one answered. they were too greatly astonished. standing there in the doorway, before johnny and herman, looking like a ghost, dressed in a white bathrobe as he was, and with white hair flying, stood newton mills, the derelict detective. "i say!" his voice rose shrilly insistent. "have they saved the bullet?" "here!" said herman mccarthey a trifle shakily, "let's have a light." "there! that's better." he peered into the face of newton mills. the face was wan, ghastly. but the eyes! a fresh fire burned there. "they didn't tell you, did they?" herman said, speaking quietly to johnny. "tell me?" "the bullet." "they didn't say anything about a bullet." johnny was at a loss to know what it was all about. "you must call them," said the gray detective. "tell them to preserve it carefully." "i will call them at once." herman mccarthey's tone was that used by a subordinate officer to his chief. he went to the telephone immediately. he got drew on the phone, talked with him for a little time, then ended by saying, "we will drive in at once. yes, at once." "she's not dead. the doctor says there is hope." there was relief in his tone. "she has been conscious for a brief time. the man who fired the shot was a youth with a mask-like face." "a mask!" johnny exclaimed. "you have heard of him?" "more than that. seen him. he and another crook nearly waylaid me on the drive." "you have the best of me. i never saw him. but i fancy the fellow has a record. question is, what were the rascals about? "and the other man," he exclaimed quite abruptly, "was the man with a hole in his hand! he was the one who beat you up. matters appear to have come to a head. we will put all these together and arrive at something." "and the bullet?" it was newton mills again. "i was unable to learn anything. however, i cautioned them to save the bullet." "good!" muttered mills. "we are driving to the city at once," said herman. "shall you go with us? may i ask you to assist us in this case?" newton mills' slight form stiffened perceptibly. "i will gladly do all i can." johnny understood. he loved herman mccarthey for his generosity, his foresight, his extreme benevolence. "it may save this man mills for a great service," he told himself, "and who knows better than he how to bring these inhuman ones to justice?" in an incredibly short time newton mills was clothed and ready to go. he took the seat beside herman mccarthey. johnny sprang into the back seat. the motor purred and they were away. as they sped toward the city johnny sat hunched up in one end of the seat, the greater part of the time immersed in deep meditation. from time to time newton mills leaned over to speak to herman mccarthey. johnny caught snatches of the conversation. always it had to do with bullets. "bullets?" johnny said to himself. "what can one learn from a spent bullet?" so they sped on through the night. as the hand on the dial of the great illuminated clock that overlooked the city pointed to : they slid into grand avenue and came to a stop before the shack. as they passed the ramacciotti cottage on their way to the shack, johnny noted that the place was illumined by a single tiny lamp. "rosy is dead!" was his melancholy thought. "that is the light of the death watch." this was not true. rosy was in the hospital. her mother had gone to her bedside. that she might not be obliged to re-enter her cottage in darkness, she had left the light. drew awaited them in the shack. the tragic story was soon told. the birthday party, the new dress, the return to work, the silent house, the strange men, the hand with a hole at its center, the face that was a mask; the scream, the shot--no detail was omitted. "and now," concluded drew, "the poor girl hovers between life and death." "and the bullet?" insisted newton mills excitedly. "it has been removed. i have it. here it is." drew dropped a pellet of lead into the trembling hand of the old-time detective. johnny shuddered and turned away at sight of it. holding it between thumb and finger, as a jeweler might a pearl, newton mills examined it with a critical eye. he turned it over and over. he studied it from every possible angle. "the forceps," he commented at last, "have done harm, but not too much." "this," he said, turning it over once again, "is a precious thing." thrusting his hand in his pocket, he drew forth a small leather pouch. from this he poured a handful of coins. he put the bullet in their place, wrote a few words on a slip of paper and thrust it after the bullet. "there must be no mistake," he murmured as he drew the strings of the pouch tight and put it back into his pocket. as if to say, "money is of little consequence," he scooped up the coins and dumped them loose into another pocket. then herman mccarthey, drew, and the strangely reclaimed derelict sat down to discuss the various aspects of the case and map out plans. as for johnny, he felt a need for solitude. he left the shack, made his way to the street level, and there wandered amid the shadows that are a city street three hours before dawn. for a long time he found himself incapable of thinking in a rational manner. the whole affair had come to him with the force of a blow on the head. that such a thing could have happened in a city in a civilized country seemed incredible, monstrous. "a girl!" he fairly cried aloud, "a mere child in a birthday dress. she is at her post of duty. she sees a hand, a face. she is frightened. she screams. she is shot!" in an instant his mind was made up. he would leave this city. he would leave all cities. cities were all bad. man has made them. man is evil. god made the country. god is good. "but no!" he cried. "i will not leave. i will never, never go from this city until those monsters are trapped like the beasts they are, and punished!" calmed by the firm resolve, he returned to the shack. there he listened quietly to the council of seasoned warriors as they mapped out a campaign in which he was to have a definite part. when at last they all tumbled down upon bunks or in great chairs for a few winks of sleep, johnny's eyes did not close at once. he was still thinking of the man with the hole in his hand. he had conceived a great and, beyond doubt, a just hatred for that man. upon what was this hatred based? three counts. first, he had beaten johnny up when his back was turned. he had not given him the least shade of a fighting chance. no person had so much as attempted this before. it should not go unpunished. far mightier was the second count. this man with his accomplice, the youth of the masked face, had shot a defenseless girl, and for no better reason than that she had screamed. the shot might prove fatal. for this, whether the girl died or not, these men deserved the electric chair. third, and most important of all, based not at all upon revenge, but upon a desire for the good of all,--these were dangerous men. the man-killing tiger in his jungle is not more deadly. for this reason they must be speedily brought to justice. has anyone in all the world ever known better reasons for wishing to accomplish a given task than johnny had as he entered upon this new field of endeavor? chapter xx a card from the underworld long before johnny and his companions were awake, newsboys were shouting: "extra! extra! all about the radio studio murder!" the newspapers, as is their custom, had exaggerated a little. rosy had not been murdered. she was not dead. yet, so slender was the thread that held her once abundant life to this earth of ours, it seemed that a breath of air, a thought, might snap it, as the lightest feather may snap the spider's web. her mother, sad faced, patient, resigned to the many sorrows that fate, or what is worse than fate, crime, had bestowed upon her, sat at the girl's side. from time to time in her mind's eye she saw the sunny hills of her native land, and seemed to catch the gleam of perpetual snows on the italian alps. this vision lasted but a moment. yesterday, as she had talked with rosy, it had seemed very near, very real indeed. but now it was far away. "rosy! my rosy!" she murmured, as a stubborn tear splashed on her toil-worn hands. then, as if powerful hands suddenly seized her by the shoulder and stood her upon her feet, she rose from her chair. the tear was gone. gone, too, was the expression of pain from her face. in its stead had come a look of sudden, stubborn resolve. her eyes glistened like cold stars. she left the hospital to board a street car. at her cottage she dug deep into an ancient italian trunk. from its depths she extracted a single square of cardboard. at the center of the card was a name; in one corner an address, in another, done in red ink with a pen, was a number; that was all. with this card in her hand, she marched to drew's shack and knocked. no answer. she pushed the door open. no one there. she returned to her cottage. there, for a full half hour, she sat in silent meditation. at the end of that time she spoke aloud to the empty room: "yes, i will do it. if it is the last thing i do, that i _will_ do! "they have killed my husband, who was a good man. now they shoot my rosy, who is a good girl. yes, i will do it!" with the air of one who has formed a purpose from which she will not deviate, she thrust the card within the folds of her dress. the card was a secret token. the number on that card was a password. it belonged to the underworld. it admitted one to secret places. how had the ramacciottis come into possession of this card? who can say? when people speak a common language in a foreign land, strange things will happen. it was enough that she had the card. she meant to use it; had purposed to deliver it to drew. drew was not there. very well. she could wait. * * * * * * * * newspaper reports of the bold attack, of the ruthless shooting, roused the usually apathetic public. two thousand dollars in rewards were offered. a thousand humble men in all walks of life became, overnight, zealous detectives. "they have gone too far. this must end! we must put a stop to it all!" these were the words on every honest person's lips. but how? who were the culprits? where were they to be found? these questions could be answered best by the city's detective force. and this force, in the person of drew lane and herman mccarthey, together with those recently drafted ones, johnny thompson and newton mills, were doing their best to answer them. the chief of detectives had granted drew lane a leave of absence from his position as pickpocket hunter in order that he might work on this special case that had assumed such a personal aspect for him. the pickpockets, however, could not be neglected. it was necessary for the team of drew and howe to dissolve partnership for a time. tom howe was given another partner while drew lane joined sergeant mccarthey. they were gathered in sergeant mccarthey's office at the police station. for his broad sheets of paper the sergeant had substituted oblongs of cardboard not unlike playing cards. "here are the clues, the possibilities," he said, thumbing the cards with nervous fingers. "you will recall," he said to drew, "that when those miscreants beat johnny up in the radio studio, three cases were reported which might have a bearing on the case; that is, they happened within a half hour of the time the boy was slugged. "in the first place, let me say that this last instance, when the girl rosy was shot, appears to eliminate one possibility. you remember i had a sheet on which i proposed to record the names of those who might have wrecked the radio station on that first occasion because their criminal ventures had been interrupted in the past by radio squad calls. "that's off, i guess. this time the man with a hole in his hand was engaged in cutting wires. that's all he meant to do. the shooting was an accident. that makes it certain that he wanted the radio silent. why? he was afraid a squad call would go through. if he cut that wire the police report could not come in, and the squad call could not go out. "now here." once more he thumbed his cards, as the others leaned forward eagerly. "here are the records of last night's doings in gangland, during the half hour after rosy was shot. "card no. . a daring theatre holdup on state street. it was to have been a rather large affair, involving several thousand dollars. fortunately, it did not come out so well. the greater part of the money had been spirited away by the proprietor fifteen minutes before the robbers arrived. they got only about seven hundred dollars. "this robbery was pulled off by two heavy-set men of dark complexion. they made a fruitless attempt to locate the balance of the money by going to an office in the basement. had a squad call gone through they might have been caught. the cutting of those wires saved them." "the man with the hole in his hand and old mask face are their men!" johnny exclaimed impetuously. "not so fast." the sergeant held up a hand. "there was another case. a fur store was robbed. more than ten thousand dollars in furs is gone. they jimmied the back door and hauled the stuff off in a truck. "a watchman in the building adjoining saw them working. suspecting something crooked, he called the police station. had a squad call gone through, these men, too, would have been caught. they were not. "there you have it!" he leaned back in his chair. "what do you say? does our friend hole-in-his-hand belong to the holdup gang, or the fur store robbers?" "well," said drew thoughtfully, "you've got to go back to that other night when the radio station was wrecked and johnny was beaten up. there were three cases that night, weren't there?" "three. a robbery by two boys in an empty apartment, a stickup of a theatre and the dynamiting of a safe. "i think," the sergeant went on, "that we may drop the two boy robbers. they don't seem to fit into the picture. but how about the others?" "they go in pairs," drew spoke again. "two theatre stickups go together. men who dynamite safes are likely to rob a fur store. those go together. two and two." "sounds like sense." the sergeant pinned two cards together. "we'll play 'em that way. but after all, the question is, where do the radio station wreckers belong?" "with the theatre stickups," said drew. "the dynamiters and fur robbers," said johnny. "they require most time for their work." "you can't both be right," the sergeant grinned. "all i have to say is, you'll have to scurry round and find out. "this is our job. it's a mighty big one. and the reward is large. not alone the two thousand dollars, but tremendous acclaim by the people awaits your success." all this time newton mills, the veteran, had sat listening in silence. "but the bullets?" he exclaimed. "how about the bullets?" "what bullets?" the sergeant looked at him in surprise. "there was but one shot fired. you have that bullet." "on this last occasion, yes. but on other occasions, no. when the girl's father was killed a random shot was fired. when this boy was beaten up," he nodded toward johnny, "a shot was fired. these bullets doubtless remain where they lodged. you are aware of the fact that through the use of forensic ballistics we have been able to convict many criminals. the bullets in this case are likely to prove of vast importance." "and are you equipped to handle that side of the case?" asked the sergeant. "equipped?" the veteran, mills, opened his hands. they were empty. "we will need tools and instruments." "i have an expense account and access to the station equipment. you may draw upon these in my name. i will write you an order. anything else?" "one--only one more thing." newton mills appeared to hesitate. "i--i shall need an assistant. i should like this boy." again he turned to johnny. "how about it?" the sergeant's eyes were on johnny. "if i may be excused from my duties at the station," johnny said eagerly. "i'll arrange that." "so now you are fixed." the sergeant turned once more to newton mills. "we will begin work at once." the veteran left the room. he was followed by johnny. that was the manner in which johnny became the assistant of a veteran detective whom he had saved from disgrace. the enterprise promised adventures of a fresh and interesting character. johnny entered upon it with unlimited enthusiasm. chapter xxi the secret number when drew lane returned to the shack an hour later, he was treated to a great surprise. seated in his most comfortable chair was a slender girl of some eighteen summers. her hair was dark; her eyes, of the eager sort, were brown. drew had never seen her. as he entered the room she sprang up. "where is he?" she demanded. "he? who? why--" drew was astonished. "you have him locked up. they told me at the police station that you would know where he is. where is he?" her voice rose to a shrill note. "why, i--" drew's mind was in a turmoil. who was this whirlwind? whom did he have locked up? at that moment, no one. he looked into those eager eyes. he studied those high cheekbones, that sensitive mouth, and read there the answer to at least one of his questions. "why! you--you are newton mills' daughter." he sat down quite suddenly. "he--he never told us--" "that he had a daughter? he wouldn't. he's that way." her tone went cold. "sit down, won't you?" drew offered her a chair. "what's your name?" she ignored the chair, but answered his question. "joyce mills. where is my father?" "your father? the last time i saw him he was going out of a door. he's been assigned to a case, a rather big case. has to do with what he calls ballistics. he--" he came to a sudden pause. the girl's face was a study. surprise, doubt, joy, sorrow, laughter, tears; they were all there, registered in quick succession. "a case! a case!" she fairly shrieked. "and i thought he was in jail." she crumpled into a chair. "well," said drew quietly, "he might have been. but he isn't. and he's not likely to be. so you can set your heart at rest on that." having regained her self-composure somewhat, she leaned forward as if expecting to be told more. drew humored her. he told, so far as he knew it, the whole story of the downfall and the redemption of newton mills. "oh!" she breathed. "and you saved him. you and that boy!" "johnny thompson saved your father," drew smiled. "the rest of us only helped a little." she rose and advanced toward him. there is no telling what might have happened. but at this moment the subject of their conversation, newton mills himself, opened the door and entered. "joyce!" he exclaimed. "you here?" "father!" there was an indescribable touch of something in her tone that caused the tense muscles of the man's face to relax. "father, i had to come." she laid a hand on his arm. "and now you have a case, a very hard case. he has told me. i must stay and help you." "no! no! you must not!" the words came like a startled cry from the lips of the veteran detective. "but, father, i used to help you." "yes, yes. that is all in the past. this case is a dangerous one. it has to do with desperate characters. it may mean death. i cannot take you with me. you are too young." he said these last words as if he were speaking of going to the grave. dropping into a chair and cupping his chin in his hands, he sat for some time thinking. as he thought the blood vessels swelled and throbbed on his broad temples. "i have it!" he exclaimed at last, springing up. "your cousin doris mills lives in naperville. she is married. they are fine people. i haven't a doubt of it, though i have never seen them. you must go there. when this affair is over, i, too, will come. we will have an enjoyable time together." the girl, who had measured the emotions that flowed through his being, did not say, "i will go," nor yet, "i will not go." she said nothing. after opening a leather bag and fumbling about among his belongings, her father handed her an envelope. "the address is on that," he said. at once he appeared to forget her. having taken some small articles from his bag, he thrust them deep in his pocket. one was a very thin automatic pistol. one glance about the room, a halting puzzled stare at the pistol and arrow hanging over drew's bed, then he was gone. "he was always like that." there was a look of tenderness and a smile on the girl's face. she turned again to drew. "i can't thank you enough," she said. "i must find johnny thompson and thank him, too. it was terrible when father lost interest in everything, and took to forgetting in that horrible way." "he'll be all right now, i think," drew replied. "but i must help him!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet and walking the length of the room. "i must! i will!" "i am afraid," said drew in a quiet tone, "that this is no task for a girl." "girl!" she gave him a look. "i'm eighteen. as long as i can remember, i've been helping him. "when i was thirteen we went to live in the worst corner of new york. department orders for him. mother wouldn't go. grandmother is rich. she's in society. mother's in society. society folks don't go to live on a street where they're all sicilians. i went. i made him let me come. "learned the language, i did. played around with the kids. found out things. say! i found out things he'd never have learned any other way!" "maybe so." drew's tone was still quiet. "but this is not new york." she looked at him for a moment in silence. when she spoke it was with some effort. "big cities are all alike. i know!" dropping into a chair she remained silent for a time. then she said in a changed voice: "tell me about this case." because he was beginning to like this girl, drew told her. "and we'll get them," he concluded. "justice is an arrow of fire. it burns its way in time to every evil heart." joyce took in every word. then she asked a question: "where is mrs. ramacciotti?" "in the cottage just ahead of this shack." "take me there." drew led the way. the instant the girl entered mrs. ramacciotti's cottage she began talking. she spoke in italian, and mrs. ramacciotti, smiling for the first time since the tragedy, answered her in italian. "i'll leave you," said drew. "i have some things to do." "please do." the girl sat down. the two, the tall girl and the stolid italian mother, talked for a solid hour, always in italian. when they had ended, the mother said, "if you are going to this place, you will not be safe. they will kill you. unless i give you this, they are sure to murder you." she drew from the folds of her dress the square of cardboard and pointed to the secret number in red. "oh!" the girl exclaimed. "i understand. how perfectly grand!" "and, miss," mother ramacciotti ran her hand across her face, "your hair, it is dark. your eyes also. there is this which comes in bottles. fine ladies who want to seem tanned, they use it. you speak so good italian. put this on hands and face. they will think you are italian. it is better so." "thanks a lot," joyce responded, "i will." joyce mills did not go to naperville. she went instead to a drug store and then to a men's furnishing store. after that she went into a barber shop and got a hair-cut. as night began to fall upon the city, she took a car on madison street and went west. she dismounted at ashland boulevard and walked slowly toward the south. chapter xxii startling transformations some twenty blocks from the shack, in a south-westerly direction, well out of the city's business section, and just off a broad boulevard, there was a club. this was a very unusual club. entrance was by card. the man at the door was old and very wise. he had lived in sicily in the days of the mafia. the place went by the name of the "seventy club." it is not certainly known what the "seventy" stood for. there are those who said it was the club of seventy thieves. others insisted that there were more than seventy members and that not all were thieves. be that as it may, the police held no cards of admission, and were granted entrance only when accompanied by search warrants. on several occasions the police had entered. always they had found no cause for complaint. at the front of the place was a lobby and reading room; at the back, pool tables and other tables for card playing. in the center was a grill, where excellent food was served. men, for the most part of dark complexion, shot pool and shuffled cards at the back. they dined, often with ladies, in the grill and went to smoke in the lobby. the manager, a short, broad-shouldered man, with deep set, gleaming eyes, presided at a desk near the door and scrutinized all comers. to this man, on the very night of which we are speaking, there came a youth. this youth was dressed in a suit of modest gray. he wore a dark tie, a gray shirt and black shoes. he was dark complexioned with dark eyes and close cropped hair. he was very slender of build. his fingers were extremely long; his feet small. in his hand this boy bore a card. in one corner of the card was a secret number done in red ink. truth is, everyone who entered here possessed such a card, marked in just this manner. without the card, they did not enter. the manager questioned the boy in his native tongue, studying him the while. the boy replied politely in the same tongue. the manager scribbled a note, gave it to him, then nodded toward the door at the back of the lobby. the boy went back. half an hour later he might have been found dressed in a dark brown suit trimmed in gold braid, clearing dishes from the tables in the grill. he had been given a position as bus boy. the building in which the club was located rose only a single story from the ground. did it have a basement? to all appearances it did not. the heating plant was situated back of the billiard room. there were no outside entrances to the place save the one at the front. there were no stairways leading down. the grillroom possessed one slightly unusual feature. six telephone booths, standing in a row, occupied one corner of the large grillroom. one would have said that one, or at most two booths, would have sufficed for such a place. but no; here were six. and, if one judged by the number of people who entered the booths, one might have said there were not too many, for people were constantly entering and leaving them. two things were strange about these booths. they were not constructed as other booths are. true, they were just as broad and just as tall; but they contained far less glass. the windows were narrow and high. in fact, once a person was inside and had closed the door, nothing at all could be seen of him. this, one would say, was an improvement, for who wishes to be seen grinning and gesturing at a telephone, as one is forever doing? the other feature was far more startling. it was a thing you might not notice until you had dined there many times. did the new bus boy take cognizance of it on that first night of service? if one were to hazard a guess one would answer, "he probably did." that guess, however, might easily be wrong; for, during the entire evening the boy rendered faultless service. he did not drop a dish, spill a glass of water, nor do any of those things one is so likely to do when startled. the peculiarity of these six booths was that they did not always disgorge the identical persons who had entered them. now such a thing will seem strange under any circumstances. if a short dark man dressed in brown enters a telephone booth, and three minutes later a short blonde man in gray comes out, it might seem a curious circumstance. but when a short, broad, dark complexioned man in a blue suit enters and, after five minutes, a tall blonde lady in a pearl gray dress emerges, it is enough to cause the most phlegmatic person to stare. as for the guests, they paid not the slightest attention to the succession of transformations that were being made in these booths. they went right on laughing and talking, drinking coffee and munching salad, just as if nothing unusual was happening in the world. chapter xxiii many bullets for johnny thompson the events of that day were full of interest. they provided him with a whole volume of speculations. while newton mills was returning to the shack for certain articles in his kit, johnny had been sent to a seed store. there he purchased two hundred small cloth sacks. in this manner he missed meeting joyce mills. since her father did not as much as mention her name, he was not even aware of her existence. armed with a hammer and several small chisels, they went first to an unoccupied store-room. having presented his papers to the janitor, and procured the key, newton mills led the way into this dingy cavern where dust lay thick and cobwebs festooned the walls. this room had known tragedy. it was here that rosy ramacciotti had seen her father shot down. johnny fancied that if one were to brush away the dust, he might still find blood stains on the floor. he did not brush away the dust. instead he shuddered. then, so that his mind might be occupied with brighter thoughts, he set himself at the problem of picturing the place as it was before the tragedy. bright lights, gleaming show cases, boxes of candy, their colorful wrappings lending a note of cheer to the place, and behind all this, smiling, happy to be of service, rosy. "and after that," he thought, "there--" his thoughts were interrupted by newton mills, who was speaking aloud. "the cash register was about there. rosy's father had just waited on a customer. he would not be far from this spot. the man with the gun must have advanced from the door, but not too far. he would aim so. the bullet would take this direction. it lodged in that wall." during all this time the veteran detective went through a small dream which took him about from place to place. he now marched across the room at an acute angle from the door, put his hand to the wall, felt about, then uttered a low sigh of satisfaction. "the medium sized chisel, please." he held out a hand toward the boy. johnny supplied the required instrument. after prodding about, first in the plaster, then in a wooden lath at the back, the detective gave vent to a second sigh as a leaden pellet dropped into his hand. "here we have it," he murmured. "and not badly preserved. it should present no difficult problem." he placed the bullet, which had been fired at rosy's father several months before, in one of the white cloth bags. to this bag he attached a tag. he wrote a number on the tag, recorded the same number in a small notebook, and scrawled a few words beside the number; then, having placed both notebook and bag in his pocket, he turned to go. "that is all here. we will go next to your radio studio." he led the way out of the gloomy place. at the studio they searched the padded walls until they located the bullet that had been fired on the night when johnny was beaten up. this bullet was also secured, placed in a bag, labeled and recorded. "we will return to the police station." once more newton mills led the way. they spent the remainder of that day in a vacant basement room at the police station. to johnny their occupation seemed passing strange. first they filled a barrel with cotton waste. next they went to a room in the station where a great number of used arms were stored. these had been taken from hoodlums, suspects, and police characters. with his arms full of pistols of all possible descriptions, johnny returned to the basement. for four hours after that, they practiced the same bit of drama over and over. newton mills loaded a pistol and fired it at the barrel of waste. johnny retrieved the bullet from the waste. this bullet was bagged, numbered and recorded. after that a different pistol was fired, and the identical process repeated. darkness fell before they finished. as johnny left the basement he fancied that he still heard the sharp crack of small fire-arms. "we will return to the shack," said newton mills. "no. first we will go to the laboratories." they took an elevator, mounted five floors, then entered a room. the walls of the room were lined with all manner of instruments. with some of these johnny was thoroughly familiar. others were of a sort of which he knew nothing. newton mills requested the loan of two microscopes, some prisms, a curious type of camera and various odds and ends of equipment. these he wrapped in a bundle. he tucked the bundle tightly under his arm. "to-morrow," he said as they descended to the main floor, "i shall not require your services." johnny was disappointed. his curiosity had been roused by the strange occupation of that day; it had been redoubled by the package under newton mills' arm. he had hoped that the morrow would reveal the purpose of it all. "but now," he told himself with a sigh, "i am left out." during the three days that followed, newton mills never left the shack. he rigged up a curious affair made of microscopes and prisms. with this he studied bullets. bullets, bullets, and more bullets were studied, measured, compared, and studied again. he ate little, drank much black coffee, took numberless tiny photographs, sent these out to have them enlarged, then pored over the numerous enlargements, hours on end. since he had no part in this, and understood it not at all, johnny returned to the radio studio and his squad calls. in this he found slight comfort. rosy was not there. from time to time he made inquiries regarding the girl. she was holding her own, that was all. time alone would tell whether or not this bright world of sunshine and shadows, of moonlight, springtime, birds' songs, and budding flowers was to exist longer for her. chapter xxiv not on the program the new bus boy at the seventy club was making progress. the boss liked him. he had eyes in his head and a tongue in his cheek. he also knew what they were for. he did his work in an intelligent manner. he talked little and asked no questions. from time to time the boss called him to his desk. there he plied him with questions regarding their mutual friends in another city. the boy knew an amazing amount about this man's underworld friends there. on the third night the boss pressed a telephone slug into the boy's hand, and said: "go call your friend." he added a wink. the boy entered one of the six booths, closed the door firmly, slipped the slug into its place, heard it click, then felt himself slowly descending. there are those who might have cried out at this extraordinary occurrence. not this boy. he merely mumbled: "so that's it." after that he was all eyes for what was to come. he had not long to wait. having dropped some fifteen feet, in the manner of a slow elevator, his curious conveyance stopped. at the same time a door directly before him slid open. he passed out. the door closed. he found himself in a second dining room. at the back, too, there were tables for cards. but how different it all was! here was music, dancing, drinking, gambling; just such a life as the hard working members of gangland demand while off duty. from that night on, the new boy carried dishes and brushed crumbs from the tables on the floor below, this secret meeting place of gangland. did he prefer it so? who could have told? he went about his work in the same mechanical, precise manner. he talked little. he asked no questions. when the boss descended to the floor below, he rubbed his hands and seemed pleased. despite the drinks, the music, the dancing in this place, it possessed a somber air. pure unadulterated joy never comes to those who attempt to extract pleasure from that which has cost other people days of arduous toil. this is a law of nature. like the laws of the medes and persians, this law altereth not. men and women did not frequent this place for pleasure alone. we have said it was a club. men meet in their clubs for purposes of business. it was so here. that this business might be transacted in the strictest privacy, booths had been provided. it was the duty of the new boy to bring away dishes from these booths. on the second night of service here on the floor below, the boy saw a tall, broad man with the features of a southern european, but the complexion of an anglo-saxon, with close-set eyes of blue, and a mass of tumbled hair, enter the second booth from the center. he had a companion. the companion was younger than he. at times this youth's face seemed a mask; at others, when he smiled, it changed. they ordered a sumptuous feast, these two: chicken, italian style; creamed new potatoes; lobster salad; and a great black bottle. they ate in silence. as the bus boy removed the dishes, he noted the large man's hand. it appeared to give him a start. he barely avoided spilling a glass of water on the table. perhaps this was because there was a hole in the center of the man's hand. dinner disposed of, the younger man of the pair left the booth, walked out upon the floor, talked for a time to one of the entertainers, a tall blonde, then held out his hand for a dance. shortly after that he returned to the booth, poured a drink from the black bottle, then sat in the semi-darkness talking in guarded tones to his companion, him of the hole in his hand. at that instant a curious thing happened. against the wall, on the darkest side of the booth, appeared a singular phenomenon. a red arrow as long as a man's forearm was distinctly to be seen. and even as the two stared at it in astonishment, the arrow appeared to flame, as if perhaps the walls were on fire. the younger of the two men shot a startled glance at his companion. then, with fingers that trembled ever so slightly, he drew a chain that flooded the booth with light. instantly the arrow of fire vanished. the light was extinguished. the arrow did not return. once more the light was thrown on. chancing to glance down at the table, the younger gangster uttered a low exclamation, then put out a hand to grasp a note that had appeared from nowhere. holding this up to the light, he read aloud these words: "_justice is an arrow of fire. it goes straight to hearts that are evil. it burns as it strikes. no one shall escape._" the thing was done on white paper with a typewriter. for a full moment the two men stared at one another in silence. then they rose abruptly to disappear into the secret booths where one does not telephone. it is a curious fact that no man ever grows so hard, so stoical, so impervious to emotions that he fails to retain a superstitious fear of that which seems unnatural and uncanny. the flaming arrow, the mysterious note, stirred up within the hearts of these killers a sense of dread such as no display of arms, no great body of police, could ever inspire within them. this little affair most certainly was not on the program as it had been prepared by the heavy-set, stolid man who presided over the door. yet, strange to say, neither the man with a hole in his hand, nor his companion, spoke one word to the manager regarding the affair as they left the clubroom above, for the cooling air of night. the name by which the younger of these two gangsters was known was jimmie mcgowan. jimmie was not the name his mother had given him at birth. nor was mcgowan the one he had inherited from his father. his face was dark. his parents had come to america from a foreign land. this gave jimmie no occasion to be ashamed. that foreign nation has furnished the world many of her bravest warriors, her wisest statesmen, her sweetest singers. still jimmie had chosen another name. on the following night jimmie and his companion, who was named mike volpi, returned to their booth on the lower floor of the seventy club. the slender bus boy who hovered about the place did not appear to notice them. they had ordered dinner and were seated in the shadows talking when, of a sudden, the flaming arrow once more appeared on the wall. like a flash jimmie's hand threw on the light. his sharp eyes looked for a note. there was none. the need was not great. the message of the flaming arrow was burned on his brain: "justice is an arrow of fire." the two men rose without a word. they left the place without dining. they did not return. their actions spoke louder than words. they appeared to say: "here is something alarming, sinister, terrifying. are we warned or threatened? who is to stand up against such an invisible force?" was there, from time to time, about the corners of the slim bus boy's lips on that night the suggestion of a smile? who can say? chapter xxv a wolf seeks culture jimmie mcgowan was no ordinary cheap crook. that is to say, he did not deal in small change. he never picked a pocket nor snatched a purse. he did not jimmy a door to enter and carry away the silver while a family was away. he preferred to deal in matters pertaining to thousands. he did not, however, disdain a few hundreds if opportunity came his way. by all this you may be led to conclude that he belonged in a class with robin hood; that he robbed only the rich, because they were rich, and perhaps even slipped a little of his quickly secured wealth into some poor man's hand. but jimmie was no robin hood, as you must know from what follows. it chanced on a certain night that he saw a man draw a sum of several hundred dollars from his bank. the man walked away from the bank. jimmie, noting his direction, walked around the opposite corner and, by doing a double-quick down an alley, managed to meet him at a dark corner two blocks farther on. "hands up!" commanded jimmie. the man hastened to comply. but at once he began to plead with jimmie. the money was the result of two years of careful saving. he meant to use it in paying a skillful surgeon for straightening his child's spine. this child, his only son, had been a cripple since birth. but now he might be made to walk. it chanced that the man was telling the truth. but must a high class robber believe all that he hears on the street? was he to be expected to accompany the man to his home and see for himself that the truth was being told? most certainly not. at least, so concluded jimmie. he struck the man on the head, took his money and departed. the man went to the hospital. his son remained a cripple. and jimmie, being one of those persons known among his friends as a "hot sport," put on a party that very night which was the envy of all his pals. such a feast, such drinking, such dancing! well, that was jimmie. jimmie knew how to dress. never doubt that. his suits were tailor-made. his shirts were custom-made to match his suits, and his ties to match the shirts. at all times jimmie was immaculate. it pays in his line of business. a natty burglar gets fine notices in the papers. nor was jimmie entirely devoid of culture. back in his family somewhere, there had been a musical strain. at the symphony orchestra opening concert or the opera first night, unless too greatly annoyed by the troublesome police, jimmie was present. and invariably he was accompanied by a person described in the papers as a stunning blonde. the blonde was dressed in an opera cloak of dark, dark purple, trimmed in richest white fox. it was not always the same blonde. it was always the same cloak. jimmie provided that. for how is one to enjoy culture unless he has a lady on his arm? well, that was jimmie. on the night following that disagreeable affair of the flaming arrow, jimmie was not at the club, nor was he with mike volpi. instead he was out in search of culture. with a lady on his arm, he was strolling a certain park where, every summer, opera is put on in the open air. drew lane was also there. drew saw jimmie. he had never seen him before, nor even heard of him. for all this, instinct, trained by experience, said to him: "here is a crook. he has a gun." now there is one trinket which no plain citizen may carry--a gun. drew stepped up to jimmy and patted him on the back, exclaiming: "how are you, son?" that instant jimmie's face became a mask. well for him that drew was not looking at his face. instead he was watching jimmie's hands. also his own hands were busy. they were extracting a gun from a hidden pocket in jimmie's coat. "you haven't a thing on me." jimmie's tone was low. it was also the snarl of a wolf. "you can arrest me for that, but it will do you no good." drew knew he spoke the truth. a man may be fined or imprisoned for carrying a gun, but only when the officer who takes the gun has a search warrant. "i am glad to have met you, old son." drew spoke in a tone of counterfeit cordiality. at the same time he displayed a little corner of his star. "i will be glad to meet you under different circumstances." once more it was jimmie the wolf who spoke in scarcely audible tones. "no doubt you will," said drew. "and here's luck to the best man." drew lost himself in the crowd. jimmie's gun was in drew's pocket. had drew been asked just how he knew that jimmie was a crook who carried a gun, he could not have told. his reasons for taking the gun were clear enough. a snake without fangs is harmless. so, too, is a crook without a gun. the fewer guns there are in a night crowd such as this, the better. for all that, jimmie seldom mixed business with pleasure. without doubt he carried that gun for defense only. for the moment he was defenseless; quite as defenseless as his many victims. what a pity that the victims did not know this! as it was, jimmie and his companion imbibed fresh culture without further disturbance. that night when drew returned to the shack, he found the slight form of newton mills still bent over his microscope. "there you are, old timer!" drew exclaimed as he removed the clip from jimmie's gun and let it drop with a clatter on the table. "there's another little plaything for you." newton mills looked at the gun for a space of ten seconds. then, as his weary eyes became focused upon it, he seized it eagerly. "it's the type!" his words were tense. "what do you mean, the type?" "it is the type of gun from which that bullet was fired." "what bullet?" "the one that may have ended the life of your good friend rosy." "no!" "it is." "we will try it out, examine the bullet to-night. now." drew reached for the gun. "not to-night." newton mills made that old familiar gesture seeming to brush cobwebs from his face. "my eyes are gone for to-night. to-morrow will do." drew started to hang the gun on a nail beside the one that had hung there so long. newton mills took it from him and buried it deep in the bottom of a chest. he then locked the chest and hid the key. "you can never be too careful," he said quietly. "things happen when we least expect them. "by the way!" he changed the subject. "where did you get that gun?" he pointed to the one hanging close to johnny's blood-stained arrow. drew sat down and told the story of the gun and the arrow, as it was enacted that dark night on the deserted slip. newton mills drank in his every word. "it's strange i never told you about that before," said drew. "it is," agreed the veteran detective. reaching up, he took the gun from its nail and brushed away the spider's web. after that he unlocked the chest and placed this gun beside the other. without another word, he undressed and went to bed. chapter xxvi these are the guns johnny was awakened early next morning by the sound of muffled shots. drew too was awake. he was sitting up in bed, listening. the old timer's cot was empty. "wha--what is it?" johnny asked. "shots," drew replied. "where?" "in the basement of the ramacciotti cottage, i would say." this guess was correct. having awakened before dawn, newton mills had removed the two guns from the bottom of his chest, had searched in a box for cartridges, then had crept quietly out of the room. he had meant to go down to the beach and fire shots into the sand. however, having found mrs. ramacciotti in her kitchen, he had stuffed a keg with rags and had retired to her basement. there he fired three shots from the young gangster's gun and three from the one that had so long been hanging on the wall of the shack. he left the cellar, as soon as he had retrieved and labelled the bullets, and returned to the shack. "out gunning rather early," drew commented. "hey? yes. important, i'd say." newton mills seated himself at his bench, switched on a light, and at once lost himself in a study of the freshly fired bullets. at a certain time, had one chanced to observe him closely, he would have noted that intense excitement gripped him. his fingers trembled. three times he dropped the same bullet. his lips trembled as if with palsy. a few moments later he became a creature of marble calmness. turning about in his chair he stood up, stretched his arms, straightened his tie, then announced quietly: "these are the guns." "what guns?" drew looked up. "this," he said, patting jimmie mcgowan's gun, the one drew had taken the night before, "this thin automatic is the gun that fired the shot that has perhaps taken the life of rosy ramacciotti." had he exploded a bomb in the center of the room, he could not have caused greater excitement. drew leaped to his feet, overturning his chair with a crash. johnny allowed a glass of water to slip from his hand. "that gun!" drew exclaimed as soon as he had regained possession of his senses. "why! i had that man in my hands, unarmed, defenseless, last night!" "can't help that," newton mills smiled a dry smile. "bullets don't lie, not to me. "what is more--" he laid a hand on the other gun, the one that had been taken from a murderous hand on the deserted slip on the night johnny shot an arrow, "this is the gun that killed rosy's father. it is also the gun that fired the shot in the studio on the night that johnny was beaten up." the two boys stood there for some time, silent, dumfounded by such startling revelations. "since you know this much," the old timer went on at last, "you may as well know the rest. let me explain to you how it is that i can know these things with such certainty. i will explain it to you just as i would to a jury. may take a little time, but in view of the large place this new science of forensic ballistics is sure to play in future detection of crime, i am certain it will be time well spent." there was a tap at the door. mrs. ramacciotti appeared with the morning coffee. "good!" exclaimed the old timer. "coffee and bullets. what could be sweeter! "forensic ballistics," he said musingly as he sipped hot coffee, "sounds rather impossible, doesn't it? it means only this. forensic, having to do with the law; ballistics, the science of projectiles. forensic does not interest us. ballistics, for us, means the science of bullets. "now," he said, reaching for jimmie's automatic and glancing down its barrel, "you know that the barrels of revolvers are rifled; that is, there is a series of spiral grooves running through each barrel. that is done to make the bullet go straight. a smooth surface causes the bullet to tumble end over end the instant it leaves the gun." taking three small white sacks from his bench, he emptied their contents on the table before him: three bullets. displaying two of these on the palm of his hand, he asked: "are they alike?" "yes," replied drew after a moment's scrutiny. "no," said johnny. "in what way do they differ?" the detective's eyes lighted. "i don't know. let me have them." johnny studied them closely. "the grooves in one are wider than in the other," he said at last. "correct. in other words, there is one more spiral groove in the barrel of one gun than the other. so we know at once that if a bullet killed a man it could have been fired from only one of these guns. "in fact the guns are of different makes. no two manufacturers rifle their barrels in the same manner. some cut more grooves. some cut deeper grooves, and so on. "we have got this far," said the veteran detective, taking a long drink of coffee, "but that isn't very far. there are thousands upon thousands of automatics in this country, manufactured by the same company. they are of the same rifling, same caliber and all. suppose a bullet has been fired from a revolver. it has killed a man. you think you have the gun. you wish to say to judge and jury, 'i have the gun that killed the man. this is the gun. i will prove it to you by a study of bullets fired from it.' in view of the fact that there are thousands of such guns in existence, of the same caliber and manufactured by the identical machinery, are you able to prove that one particular gun fired the fatal shot?" "don't seem possible," said johnny. "it is possible, nevertheless." newton mills' eyes shone. "with the aid of a comparison microscope and micro-photography, it can be done. "in the first place, the spiral grooves in a gun are made by passing a narrow cutting die many times through the barrel. no metal has ever been found that will not wear. the cutting die wears. its edge becomes rough. you cannot see the roughness with the naked eye. a microscope reveals it. this rough cutting edge imparts just such a roughness to the spiral groove. "since the cutting die is constantly wearing, the roughness of the spiral groove of one gun, when studied under the glass, will not be exactly the same as that of any other barrel, though cut by the same machine on the same day. "now, when a soft bullet is shot from a gun, the rough edge of the groove leaves scratches upon its surface. you cannot see these scratches with your naked eye. the microscope again reveals them. "when you put two bullets fired from two guns of the same identical type under a comparison microscope, you can see them both at once and can place their scratches side by side and end to end, and you know at once that they were not fired from the same gun. "but if the scratches match perfectly, then you know that the two bullets were fired from the same gun, and no other." by this time both johnny and drew were listening with all their ears. "this study," said mills, "is sure to be of great service to the forces that make for justice. every crook has his weakness. a weakness common to many is love for a particular gun. a man has carried a gun and used it many times. it has saved his life by taking the life of another. the gun becomes his pal, his defender. he does not willingly part with it. and in this he reveals a great weakness. that gun has left its trademark, its bullets, behind. by these, man and gun may be traced. if the gun falls into the hands of the law, woe to the crook! "as you know," he turned to johnny, "we secured the bullet that wounded rosy; also the one that was fired that other time in the studio; and the one imbedded in the wall at ramacciotti's old place. "after examining these, we fired test bullets from all guns taken by the police from suspects during the past six months. "an exhaustive study of these showed that the guns from which our three bullets were fired had not been taken by the police. that was a discouraging discovery. "but now, as so often happens, just as we seemed at a standstill, drew takes a gun from a suspect; he hauls another down from the wall, and behold: here we have the very guns we seek! "the test bullets fired from the gun of drew's suspect are exactly the same as the one fired into rosy's body. the ones fired from the gun you took in such a strange manner beside that deserted slip are exactly the same as those fired by the man with the hole in his hand. i will be able to prove this to any jury by the use of enlarged photographs of the bullets. i now have evidence that will convict these two men. bring me the men!" "ah yes!" drew sighed. "that's it! catch the men!" "but we will do it!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. "such men are a menace to any community. no decent, law abiding citizen is safe as long as they are at large. we will get them. we will! we _must_!" chapter xxvii an arrow speeds to its mark while the old time detective was making these brilliant discoveries, herman mccarthey and drew had made little progress in their endeavor to find the men in the case. they had taken to riding a squad car at night. a special car of great speed was assigned to them. this car was equipped with a loud gong. they worked only on radio squad calls. the moment a call was announced, they threw on the gas. if the case reported was within a certain distance of the place where their car was parked, they set their gong clanging and dashed away. in this manner, during a two nights' vigil, they had run down more than twenty squad calls and had learned not one thing to their advantage. they did not despair. "the fish are here," was herman's sage remark. "we may be obliged to let down the net many times. at last we will get them." on the night following newton mills' great discovery, both the old timer and johnny decided to accompany the others on their squad calls. since johnny was once more on the late squad calls at the radio station, he took with him his bow and arrows. "we'll just drop you off there later in the evening," was herman's word to him. it was well along toward midnight. they had chased down four radio calls to no purpose. it was beginning to look like another wasted night. they were parked north of the river on main street, when of a sudden there struck their waiting ears a call that promised much. "the roosevelt on main!" herman exclaimed in a breath. "that's the place they picked the night rosy was shot. same gang. came back for the rest of the roll. step on the gas!" the motor purred. the gong sounded. they were away. by some unusual chance, theirs was the first car to arrive. they had not come to a standstill before herman, drew, mills and two men in uniform were out of the car and bounding through the theatre door. "down there!" cried an excited youth in a green cap. "they went to the basement!" down the stair they plunged. in the meantime johnny, gripping his bow and arrow, and urged by who knows what instinct, raced around the building to enter an alley which ran at the back of the theatre's stage. halfway down the stairs, herman mccarthey suddenly found himself facing two stocky men. the foremost of these whipped out a gun and fired. the bullet grazed herman's cheek and lodged in a policeman's thigh. a second shot followed instantly. newton mills had gone into action. his bullet entered the robber's heart. he fell back dead. the other man turned to flee down the stairs. he was struck down by a blow from herman's gun. in the meantime, what of johnny? astonishing things were happening to him. hardly had he entered the alley than someone sprang around a corner of masonry and, without noting him, began to approach. the light of a street lamp fell on his back. johnny recognized him instantly. he had a face that was like a mask. it was jimmie mcgowan. scarcely had johnny stepped back to nock an arrow, than the other saw him. among people of his own kind this youth, jimmie mcgowan, was known as the quickest trigger in all gangland. nor was an automatic lacking. what saved johnny? one curious circumstance. as the gangster came to a halt, a weird red light, from no one will ever know where, fell upon johnny and his bow. his arrow was turned to a thing of flaming red. it was this weird light that sent cold terror to the gangster's heart. the hand that did not falter at the dealing of death was paralyzed by fear of that which could not be understood, the arrow of fire. before the gangster's hand could regain its cunning, a missile came crashing into his shoulder. it was johnny's arrow. the gun went clattering to the pavement. next instant, with the force of a tiger, johnny leaped upon mask-faced jimmie mcgowan and bore him to the ground. in the meantime herman had made fast work of the second robber. having knocked him down, he had him in handcuffs at once. as he turned the fellow over, more than five thousand dollars in currency dropped from beneath his coat. drew had noted the direction johnny had taken. as soon as possible he followed in his wake. he found johnny sitting on the chest of jimmie mcgowan. a feathered arrow protruded from jimmie's shoulder. "i got him!" exulted johnny. "i got the one we want!" "silent murder," murmured drew. "so you have. but not so fast. not another word at this time." jimmie mcgowan went to the hospital in the jail to have johnny's arrow removed. drew called the radio station and had johnny released from duty that night. then they all adjourned to the shack. "we win!" said johnny exultantly. "not so fast," said herman mccarthey. "what was this bird doing when you shot him with that arrow?" "coming down the alley. preparing to shoot me." "can you prove that he meant to shoot you?" "no. but anybody knows--" "sure. but not in court. crooked lawyers, and all that. this poor boy, meaning jimmie mcgowan, was obliged to go out at night. he carried a gun for protection. he met a stranger. the stranger attempted to massacre him with a murderous six foot bow. can't you see how they'll shape it up?" "yes, but rosy will identify him." "perhaps, if she lives. there are still grave doubts regarding her recovery. but if she does live, this boy has two faces, a smile and a mask. he will show her the smile. she must pick him from among other men. she was frightened that night. will she recall the face? well, perhaps." "but there are the bullets. they are absolute proof." "they are our best bet. we must guard them well." a little later newton mills spoke to johnny in a low tone. at the same time he pressed a package into his hand. "you keep these until to-morrow," he said. "i'm a marked man. they won't suspect you of having them. it's the bullets, the little pills that will send that man of the masked face down for life." perspiration started out on johnny's brow as he listened to these words. nevertheless, he stowed the small package deep in his innermost pocket. "they won't get them," he muttered. "none of them will." as an afterthought, he drew the package from his pocket, seated himself at a table, then wrote his name and address on the outside of the package. he then replaced it in his pocket. this was a habit of johnny's, of long standing. not for ten years had he carried a package a distance of so much as one block without first writing his name and address upon it. absent-minded people should keep their records well. johnny was, at times, absent-minded. chapter xxviii taken for a ride as often happens when men have a good piece of work well off their hands, drew lane and newton mills went to bed almost at once, and were soon fast asleep. not so johnny. he sat in a chair thinking. the room was dark. that did not matter. the men he had most feared were in prison and in the hospital. one was dead. he had not seen the dead man, nor his accomplice who surrendered. as one will, he had assumed that one of these was the man with a hole in his hand. what could be more natural? those two, the youth of the mask-like face, and he of the hole in his hand, had been together on every other occasion. as johnny thought the thing through now, the whole affair seemed clear. on the night he had been attacked in the studio, this gang had planned to rob a theatre. two had come up to silence the radio. another pair had pulled off the robbery. on the second occasion they had not dared to enter the radio studio, so had planned to cut the private wire of the police. in doing this they had frightened rosy, and shot her, either without purpose or to cover their escape. on this, the third night, they had feared to approach the radio station. without doubt they knew that now the station was strongly guarded. they had disregarded the peril of a squad call and had staged the robbery with all hands on board. in drawing these conclusions, johnny may have been partly right. in one matter he was completely wrong. the man with the hole in his hand had not been captured. as johnny was thinking of retiring he touched a pocket. the pocket gave forth a crackling sound. "a letter," he thought. "meant to mail it. forgot. may as well take it to the box now." as we have said, johnny believed the entire gang that had been troubling them were in jail. he had no fear of the dark and empty street. indeed, as he walked the two blocks that lay between the shack and the mail box, he was thinking of that dark fishing hole on the far shores of lake huron where the black bass lurk. he did not note the two men who lay in hiding beneath the shadows of the ramacciotti cottage. nor was he conscious of their presence as they pussyfooted along after him. only when he was within ten paces of the mail box did he turn his head half about, to see them out of the corner of an eye. it was with the greatest difficulty that he suppressed a start. "the bullets!" he thought. "they know. they are after the bullets." what should he do? like a flash a plan of action came to his mind. quickening his pace a little, he allowed his left hand to drop to his side, revealing the letter. at the same time his right sought the inner pocket of his coat. arrived at the mail box, he put up both hands, as one will; one to lift the metal flap, the other to drop the letter. all this was true to form, except that he dropped two parcels instead of one. as he turned about he was seized from behind. a car glided to the curb. three men sprang out. he was overpowered, gagged and thrown into the car. just as the motor purred a shadowy figure sprang from the darkness, to leap upon the spare tires which this car carried, and cling there as the car sped away. "well," johnny thought grimly, "they have me; but they won't get the bullets. the trial will go on." the next instant he received a shock. as the light from a passing auto flashed upon them, the man at the wheel of the car shifted his position and johnny saw his hand. he was the man with a hole in his hand. as the car sped swiftly westward, johnny realized that he was, in the language of gang-land, being "taken for a ride." his heart stood still. he felt a sudden chill pass over him and the terror of it all came to him. to-day, to-morrow, perhaps the next day his bullet-ridden or fire-charred body would be found beside some deserted road. that was how they did it. they were possessed of no heart, no compassion, no conscience. "dead men tell no tales." no greater falsehood was ever uttered than this. dead men have told many tales. more than once a dead man's tales have brought men to the gallows. but gangsters have not learned this. they are a stupid lot. one fact consoled johnny. these gangsters wanted something. they wanted the telltale bullets that were capable of sending their fellow gangster, him of the masked face, to the electric chair or to prison for life. these they would have at all cost. they undoubtedly expected to find them on johnny's person. "they will question me," johnny told himself. "i can stall; hold them off. they may torture me!" he shuddered and turned his thoughts to other channels. he thought of that slim, dark-eyed girl, joyce mills. drew had told him all about her. he was sure he would have enjoyed knowing her. frank, friendly, fearless, she would have made a great pal. he regretted not having seen her. had she gone to her cousin's in naperville? somehow he doubted that. she had said she could help her father; that she _would_. she had seemed very determined about this. was she trying to help? how? he had seen no sign of it. at that moment they approached the end of a street. a blank brick wall loomed darkly before them. of a sudden, above the blur of white caused by the car's lights, there appeared a spot of vivid red which formed itself into an arrow of fire, then as quickly lost form and vanished. at the same instant the car swerved sharply to the right and missed an iron post by a narrow margin. the man sitting beside the driver seized the wheel with a curse. the driver muttered something about the "arrow of fire," then settled down once more to steady driving. the thing puzzled johnny. at the same time it cheered him. he had not forgotten the words of drew lane: "justice is an arrow of fire." it seemed to him that he felt the presence of someone hovering near him, someone who cared and would help if such a thing were possible. the shadowy creature that had sprung out to attach itself to the spare tires when the car started, still clung there. chapter xxix the night ride the car sped on and on into the night. past low narrow cottages interspersed with apartment buildings, past long rows of modern apartments, across countless railway tracks, in and out among great looming factory buildings, they glided. into the open country where the air was heavy with the scent of weed dust and fresh cut grain they went, and the end was not yet. a stretch of broad paved road ended in gravel and dirt. the car bumped and swung from side to side. farmhouses, drowsy with night, flashed by them. at last, with a lurch, they swung off the road and entered a narrow lane and arrived in the back yard of a house that appeared abandoned. the grass, damp with dew, was up to their knees as they alighted. "no more likely place could be found for dark deeds!" was johnny's mental comment. once more he shuddered. still he did not wholly despair. pushing him before them, the gangsters approached the house. at the same time a dark shadow, that might have been a dog, a wolf, or a skulking human being, glided from the back of the car toward a great barn that loomed away to the right. arrived at the door of the house, the man with the hole in his hand gripped the doorknob and shook it. the door did not open. producing a small flashlight, he turned it on the door. "padlocked," he grumbled. "tony's been here. got no key." "let's go to the barn," suggested a gruff voice. without another word they turned and started for the barn. had they flashed their light against the one small window on that side of the barn, they might have seen there a frightened, staring, but determined face. when they entered the large room that had doubtless at one time been a granary, the place was deserted. had they looked carefully they might have noted that the dust on the stairway leading to the loft had recently been disturbed by fleeing feet. they did not look. their minds were concentrated upon the telltale bullets. "now, young man." it was volpi, he of the hole in his hand, who spoke. "where are them slugs?" "slugs?" said johnny. "bullets then. them bullets?" "i have no bullets. i use no gun. i shoot only with bow and arrow." "ah, yes! with those you are skillful!" volpi's words carried infinite hate. he knew what had happened to jimmie mcgowan. jimmie had been useful to him in many ways. and now, who knows? ah yes, he must have those bullets at any cost. "look here, you!" he advanced upon johnny in a threatening manner. "you know what slugs i mean. them slugs that this new york bull's been makin' evidence with. you're goin' to give 'em up!" he did not wait for johnny to give them up. he stepped up and thrust his hand into the boy's inner coat pocket. a look of blank astonishment overspread his face. when he had gone hurriedly through all the boy's pockets, he stood back to stare into johnny's face. his fingers worked convulsively. his small eyes became buttons of staring blue. it seemed that he would spring at the boy and tear him to pieces. at that instant a curious thing happened. the room, lighted as it was only by a small flashlight, was more than half in darkness. into that darkness there stole a strange red light. on the floor, at the gangster's feet, there appeared the flaming arrow of fire. "o-oof!" the man sprang back as if from a ghost. "the arrow!" he mumbled. "the arrow of fire!" as on those other occasions, even as he spoke, the apparition vanished. whatever may have been the gangster's intentions in the beginning, they had been changed by the arrow of fire. leading his men into a corner, he began to talk to them in whispers. was he recounting to them in detail the history of that mysterious arrow? no one but they will ever know. chapter xxx many perils the person who leaped upon the back of the car as it went speeding out of grand avenue, who left it only as it arrived at the abandoned farmyard, and who now found himself in the mammoth hayloft of that barn, was none other than the new bus boy of the seventy club. you may have guessed that this person was not a boy, but a girl, and that her name was joyce mills. this is true. the thought of going to naperville, of lolling about in white duck skirts on summer porches or playing tennis with well-to-do and self satisfied suburbanites had been abhorrent to her. the love of adventure was in her blood. more than that; she had come to this city with the expectation of finding her father in jail. instead, thanks to a boy, a young detective, and a sergeant of the force, she had found him free and employed as he should be at the task for which god had created him. she wanted above everything else to prove herself of service to those who had brought so much joy into her life. she wished to assist in the capture of jimmie mcgowan and his gang. this was not the first time she had masqueraded as a boy. more than once, while living in the sicilian quarters of new york, she had dyed her face brown, donned trousers and haunted dark places of crime, as a newsboy or a city waif. having secured the secret card, she had donned her disguise and had succeeded in getting herself employed at the seventy club. she had been able to shadow the gang. she had witnessed the capture of the crook, jimmie mcgowan, had learned of the intended reprisal, had ridden to the shack on the back of the gangster's car, and had seen them spying there. there had been no opportunity for warning johnny. she had ridden on the car to this deserted spot in the hope that here she might be of some service. her best course at present appeared to be that of leaving the barn and going for help. but how was this to be effected? there appeared to be but two entrances to the hayloft: the trapdoor which led to the room now occupied by the gangsters, and a large one very high up, through which in days of farming the hay had been drawn. both of these were too dangerous. the way seemed blocked. as her eyes became accustomed to the light, however, she saw a ladder leading to the very peak of the barn. it ran up one end, and was only a dozen paces from the spot where she stood. the floor was strewn with chaff. her light footsteps, as she moved toward the ladder, made no sound. with one hand on the first round of the ladder, she paused to remove her shoes and tie them about her neck. nimble as a squirrel, she darted up the ladder to the very peak of the barn. a small opening there gave her a view of the overgrown pasture that lay dizzy depths below. the moon was out. she could distinguish every detail of the scene beneath her. beyond the narrow pasture was a field of wheat in the shocks. these shocks cast dark shadows. "like so many tombstones in a cemetery," she told herself with a shudder. she measured the distance to the ground, and then shook as with a chill. "no use," she told herself. "i'm trapped." turning about, she tried to peer into the dark depths of the hayloft. as she did so, she became conscious of a beam that lay directly before her. this beam, which ran the length of the barn, was suspended by iron bars at a distance of two feet from the peak. it formed a track along which, in haying time, a car carried great bundles of loose hay to all parts of the loft. as she looked she saw that stray moonbeams lighted this track at regular intervals. "cupolas," she told herself. she had noted that curious little structures, perfect little barns, some four feet square and six feet high, had been placed along the ridge of the barn. these were in truth cupolas. their sides were made of slanting slats. these let in air, and kept out rain. they were for the purpose of ventilation. new made hay needs air. she studied this beam with dawning hope. "if i could climb out over that beam," she told herself, "i could swing up into the first cupola. i might then be able to reach the roof and at last the ground." it was uncertain, but worth the risk. gripping the beam with both her strong hands, she let go her feet and, swinging in midair, made her way hand over hand along the beam until she was beneath the cupola. now for swinging up. this seemed easy. it was difficult. was it impossible? twice she swung her legs up. twice she failed. her arms were tiring. if she failed again could she make her way back to the ladder? she doubted it. and to fall! one last desperate endeavor. a toe caught. she swung the other foot over. she clung there a moment. then, after executing a revolving motion, she lay panting atop the beam, beneath the cupola. ah! how sweet life was! how cool the air from the cupola that fanned her cheek! how good it all was! but there remained much to be done. she roused herself; dragged herself to her knees, then stood erect in the cupola. at once there came a wild and noisy whirring of wings. pigeons were sleeping there. she caught her breath. would the gangsters hear? would they find her? she wore the bus boy's brown uniform. they would understand. she would never return alive. and life was so sweet! the pigeons were gone. there came no other sound. if the gangsters had heard they had thought nothing of it. who would? the slats of the cupola fitted loosely into grooves. she had only to lift them out. she took out five and laid them down without a sound. then she crept out into the moonlight. one look told her that at the end farthest from her, the barn ended in a lean-to. the eaves of this lean-to reached within ten feet of the ground. close by these eaves was an old straw pile. "what could be sweeter?" she straddled the ridge of the roof, then hunched herself along until she was at the end. there, by clinging to the edge, she let herself down to the roof of the lean-to. down the lean-to roof she glided. then, with a spring, she landed on the straw pile. she slipped, did a somersault, then tumbled into a patch of weeds. she was just picking herself up from this patch of weeds when she caught a slight sound to her right. she looked. there was a man, a guard. he had turned. he was looking her way. without doubt he had heard a sound as she struck the straw pile. but had he seen her? her heart pounded against her ribs as she crept deeper into the mass of protecting weeds. chapter xxxi the creeping spot in the shack on grand avenue, drew lane stirred uneasily in his sleep. he awoke at last. with that feeling which so often comes to us in the middle of the night, that something is not right, he sat up in bed. he stared about him. johnny's cot was empty. he could not understand. he threw on a light. johnny was not in the room. he went to the door and looked out. he was nowhere to be seen. the creaking of the door awakened the veteran detective. "what's wrong?" he asked sleepily. "johnny's gone." "gone?" "nowhere to be seen." "gone!" newton mills sprang out of bed. he began to walk the floor. "gone! i should have warned him. that's the trouble with a boy. there are so many things he must be told. judgment; that's what a boy lacks. judgment comes only with years of experience. gone; and the bullets gone with him! they have him. they have the bullets. the case is lost!" "i wouldn't say that exactly." drew lane spoke in a quiet, even voice. "he must have left the shack for something. they must have got him. that is unfortunate. will they get the bullets? i doubt it. johnny is an unusual boy. i haven't lived with him all this time without knowing that. "and if the bullets are gone, we have a witness, rosy." "if she lives." "she must live. life is too beautiful for such a girl to part with it so soon." "and yet it has ended for many at her age." the two men fell into silence. "i'll call up headquarters," said drew at last. "the night chief will send some men over to question old mask face, who says his name is jimmie mcgowan. they'll make him tell where the gang hangs out. we'll get johnny back yet." jimmie mcgowan was one person who talked only when he chose to talk. the men from the detective bureau learned nothing of any importance from him. * * * * * * * * in the meantime joyce mills, in her bus boy costume, was creeping through the weeds down a one-time cattle lane that led away from the barn toward the wheatfield. once she reached the field, she rose on hands and knees to crawl toward a wheat shock. she was nearing the dark shadow cast by one of these shocks when a shot rang out. dropping flat in the shadows, she waited and listened, breathless. she heard the blood beating in her temples. it was like the ticking of a watch in the dark. creeping around the shock, she started toward another. she had just reached the second shadow when she heard a gruff voice say: "what you shoot at?" "something dark moving out there. dog, maybe." "wolf, maybe." "might be." again the girl's blood raced. would they come to search for her? an idea occurred to her. these shocks were like miniature tents. the bundles were long. they were set two and two, one against the other. the shocks were long. there was room for a slim person like herself to creep in there without disturbing a single bundle. no sooner thought than done. wriggling like a snake, she worked her way into the center of the shock. she lay there, head upon one arm, quite still. the day had been warm. the night air was chill. the earth beneath the shock and the shock itself were still warm. how cosy it was! what a sweet place for a few pleasant dreams. the night was well on. she felt the need of sleep. "but i must not sleep!" she whispered fiercely. "i must get away. somehow i must get to the city." for half an hour she lay there wide-awake. no further sound came to her. without doubt the dark spot had been forgotten. she crept from beneath the shock. she crawled from the shadow to another shadow, and another, until the barn was far away. at last she sprang to her feet and ran for a cornfield. once in the cornfield she was safe. the corn was above her head. ten men on horseback could not have found her there. by following a row of corn she came at last to a fence and a road. she tramped the road for an hour. then a truck driver gave her a lift. he stared at her strange costume, but thought of course that she was a boy. he was on his way to the city. did his truck carry flour, melons, green corn, or moonshine? the girl will never know because she did not ask. she curled back in one corner of the seat and went fast asleep. chapter xxxii sky high in the granary room of the abandoned farmstead, johnny was being questioned by some very angry men. "you had the slugs. you can't deny that!" volpi exclaimed with an oath. "what have you done with them? did you drop them in the car? where are they?" johnny was puzzled. what should he say? he might tell them the whole truth, that he had dropped them with his letter into the mail box back there in the city. as far as the bullets went, this would do no harm. they could not possibly return to the mail box and rifle it before the collector arrived and carried the package away. but would not this hasten his own death? once in possession of the whole truth, they would not hesitate to kill him. his reply was: "i do not know where the bullets are." in this he told the exact truth. for who can tell at what hour mail is collected from street boxes at night? or is it collected at all between midnight and : a.m.? johnny did not know. perhaps the package still lay in the box. perhaps by this time it was in a branch post office. "you don't know!" the gunman sprang at his throat. a companion pulled him back. "not so fast, mike," he grumbled. "plenty of time. he will tell." he whispered a few words in volpi's ear. volpi nodded. the man left the room. johnny thought he heard him jimmying a window to the house. no doubt he interpreted the sounds correctly. the man returned presently. then they all marched to the house, pushing johnny before them. arrived at the house, they thrust johnny unceremoniously into a dark cellar and barred the doors behind him. the place was cold and damp; full of evil smells. there were rats. he could hear them scurrying about as he made his way over the uneven floor. there were two windows. these were high up and very narrow. if he pried one of them open could he escape? the thing seemed dubious. soon enough he discovered that his captors had left nothing to the imagination. the windows were heavily barred on the outside. "been used as a prison before!" his blood went cold at the thought of the dark deeds that might have taken place in this evil smelling and gloomy hole. feeling his way back to the stairs, he crawled part way up, then sat down. he would not dare sleep because of the rats. on the stairs he was safest from them. he heard the gangsters rattling the lids of a stove. "going to cook a meal," he told himself. he did not expect to be fed. he was not. very soon he began to realize that there was something besides food in the house. there was intoxicating drink. the party became noisy. moment by moment the hubbub increased in volume until it was a revel. after that, by degrees, it subsided. "all drunk and gone to sleep," he told himself. "what a time to escape!" search as he might, he could find no means of breaking the bars of the windows. the plank door was impregnable. at last he gave up and seated himself once more on the stairs to await the dawn. what occupied his thoughts during these long hours? one might well be surprised. he was thinking of dark, shadowy forests, where the ferns grow rank and the pheasant rears her young. he was seeing a deep, blue-green fishing hole where black bass lurk and great muskies fan the water as an eagle fans the air. who can say what relief one may find, from surroundings that are terrible, by contemplating that which is beautiful, though very far away? * * * * * * * * drew lane had just returned to the shack from a disheartening search for some clue that would lead to a knowledge of johnny's whereabouts, when an apparition burst in upon him; a person he had known for a girl, but who wore torn and soiled boy's clothes, and whose complexion had turned a very dark brown. "you are joyce mills!" he stared at her in amazement. "yes," she admitted, dropping into a chair. "and i know where johnny thompson is." "you know--" "listen!" she held up a hand. in just three minutes by the clock, she had sketched the whole story. "but do you know the exact way to this farm?" drew demanded. "i--i'm sorry, i do not. i--i fell asleep. i--" "would you know the barn if you saw it?" "oh, yes. surely. it is a large red barn. the paint is old. there are three cupolas. five slats from one cupola are gone. i took them out myself." "good! here's where the police use an airplane. you're not afraid to fly?" the girl sprang to her feet. "sit down. drink this." he poured a steaming cup of coffee. "eat these." he slammed a plate of doughnuts on the table. he dashed to the phone. one call, then another, and another. joyce had just swallowed her third doughnut when drew seized her and whirled her, dirty rags and all, into a squad car. "clang! clang! clang!" went the gong. they were away. half an hour later, in an aviation suit three sizes too large for her, the girl saw the earth drifting away from her as she rose toward the fleecy clouds that floated lazily in an azure sky. * * * * * * * * that morning the mail collector on grand avenue was not a little puzzled over a package which was quite properly addressed to a johnny thompson of a certain address on grand avenue. all the package lacked was postage. the place addressed was but two blocks away. since he would be passing it in a very short time, he might easily have dropped it there. this, however, would have been contrary to postal regulations. he carried the package to a branch office. there a clerk made a record of the affair. after putting in the mail a card notifying johnny thompson that a package mailed to him without sufficient postage lay in that office, subject to his order, he threw the package in a pigeonhole and promptly forgot about it. and that, as you will know, was the package of incriminating bullets which had caused great commotion in more than one quarter. chapter xxxiii the show-down had it not been for the anxiety that filled their hearts, the airplane flight would have been an affair crowded with joy for drew lane and joyce mills. the day was perfect. a faint breeze wafted fleecy clouds about them. the fields, squares of gold and green, dotted here and there by white houses and red barns, were an ever changing picture. straight as a crow they flew for twenty miles. then swooping down low, they began to circle. with never tiring eyes joyce searched the earth beneath her for the object she sought. barns aplenty passed beneath them, but not _the_ one. joyce was beginning to despair when, upon entering their fourth great circle, she spied a barn with a gaping cupola. gripping the young detective's arm, she pointed away to the west. he understood. they circled back. the barn loomed within their view. he studied her face, read there the look of joy; then he understood again. he directed his plane at full speed back toward the city airport. an hour later, the fastest squad car in the city's service sped westward toward the suburbs and into the open country. it carried six burly detectives, one machine gun, two riot guns and four rifles. crowded between drew lane and herman mccarthey, still clad in her much damaged brown suit, rode joyce mills. * * * * * * * * at the abandoned farmhouse the gangsters, drowsy from the poison they had taken into their systems the night before, slept late. when at last they awoke, they were in a quarrelsome mood. johnny, still sitting on the stairs, hungry, thirsty, longing for sleep, heard them, and trembled. after half an hour of raving and tramping about the house, the men calmed down and appeared to hold a consultation. they approached the cellar door. as one heavy bar was thrown back, johnny dropped noiselessly to the cellar floor. "the end has come!" he told himself. at the same time he resolved to sell himself as dearly as possible. these were wicked men who richly deserved to die. the second bar was removed. the door was thrown open. mike volpi appeared on the threshold. in one hand, supported by a strap, he carried a three gallon glass jug. the jug was filled to the very top with some colorless liquid. still carrying the jug, the man made his way unsteadily down the stairs. "see here!" he spoke with the fierce growl of an angry dog as he looked at johnny through bleared eyes. "you know where them slugs are. you are going to tell!" "i do not know where they are," johnny answered in a steady, even tone. his tone angered the gangster. "har, har!" he laughed. "did you hear him? he don't know where them slugs are. well, that's good! he don't. nobody does. well then, they don't tell no stories. "no--nor you don't neither!" he turned fierce, glistening eyes on the boy. "you'll tell no tales. do you hear me? "know what's in this jug?" he laughed a fiendish laugh. "it's alki--alcohol you'd call it. alki's hard to get these days. but we don't grudge the cost. we're going to give you a mighty sweet death, we are. "some cheap ones would use kerosene. bah! kerosene stinks! "but this. how sweet it smells!" he removed the cork and put it to his nose. "mm! how sweet! pity to waste it! "but there, we ain't tight. we ain't. we'll use it, every drop! "know what?" he dropped his voice to a whisper. "there's a patch of woods over yonder a mile. forest preserve. campers make fires there. nobody notices smoke. we're going to light a torch there, a flamin' torch. you and this alki. do you understand?" johnny did understand. his heart paused. they meant to soak him in alcohol, then burn him alive. he had heard of such things, but had not believed them. "it'll be a sweet death," the half drunk man raved on. "such a sweet death. all alki, hundred per cent. a sweet--" he broke off short, to stare at the wall. his face went white. his lips remained apart. his hands began to tremble. the glass jar dropped to the floor. it broke into a thousand pieces. the alcohol filled the air with a pungent odor as it flowed across the floor. on the wall before mike volpi had appeared the arrow of fire. "the arrow of justice!" he murmured thickly. the next instant there came the sound of other breaking glass; a window was smashed from without. a voice said: "don't move! stick 'em up! quick now! we've got you covered--machine gun!" it was herman mccarthey's voice. the squad had arrived. by way of emphasis a machine gun went _rat-tat-tat_, and three bullets spat against the wall. the gunmen acknowledged a master. up went their hands. johnny was not long in securing their weapons. then they were marched, single file, out of the cellar, and each one handcuffed to a police officer. on searching the house, besides other articles they found a number of ladies' garments, all new and in original packages. these, beyond doubt, were part of the loot taken from some store. joyce mills was glad enough to accept the loan of some of these, and so embraced an opportunity to become once more a lady. the gangsters were taken to the city in the squad car. two police officers commandeered the gangster's car. there was room for johnny, drew and joyce in the back seat. so they rode happily back to town. "do you know," said drew, "i heard good news this morning. rosy is past danger." "good!" in one word johnny uttered a prayer of thanksgiving. "say!" he exclaimed. "we will get the reward, won't we? two thousand!" "between us," said drew. "my share goes toward sending rosy and her mother back to italy." "between us," drew answered again. for a time they rode on in silence. joyce mills was fumbling with something beneath her jacket. all at once there appeared on the back of the seat before them a faint red arrow. it flamed up in a peculiar manner. drew and johnny stared. joyce laughed a low laugh. "it's a trick," she explained. "i've used it before. sometimes you can do with a trick what you can't do with a cannon. you can frighten gunmen. they are very superstitious. "it is really very simple." she displayed a long black tube. "one flashlight, plus a reading glass, makes a small stereopticon. over the glass of the flashlight i pasted a black paper in which the figure of an arrow had been cut. before this i set a strip of glass. the glass is red, but is darker in some spots than others. the reading glass focuses the light so that the arrow becomes definite in form and intensely red. by moving the strip of red glass back and forth i am able to make the arrow appear to be on fire. very simple, isn't it? but it worked!" "yes," said johnny. "it worked. once it worked too well; came near causing us to crash into a wall." "so you know i rode the back of the gangster's car all the way out?" "i guessed it." joyce told johnny the rest of the story. "i think," said drew when she had finished, "that it is time we had some real women on our detective force." "give me a job," laughed joyce. * * * * * * * * two days later the seventy club was raided. this time the detective squad did not stop at the main floor. there was room for three men in each of those curious telephone booths. three times six is eighteen. each officer carried two guns. two times eighteen is thirty-six. that was too many for the gunmen and the ladies down below. they surrendered without a fight. the place was padlocked. five of the men and three of the ladies taken had been wanted for some time by the police. joyce attempted to give credit for this discovery to her father. he would have none of it. he told on her. johnny had no trouble in retrieving the package of bullets which he had entrusted to the care of uncle sam in such a strange manner. the cases against jimmie mcgowan, mike volpi and their confederates were complete. for once a well selected jury and an unimpeachable judge gave a gang of gunmen their just deserts. the reward was paid. a month later, a scene half cheerful, half sad, was enacted at the ramacciotti cottage. rosy and her mother, smiling their best to keep back the tears, walked out of the cottage for the last time. a taxicab was waiting. they were on their way to the depot, bound for italy. they were just an italian mother and daughter; simple, kindly folks, just such people as we almost all are. yet they mattered much to some; to johnny and drew, to herman mccarthey and newton mills. johnny and drew helped them into the cab, gripped their hands in a last farewell; then they turned to walk back to the shack. drew paused to lock the cottage which had been mother ramacciotti's. he had bought the furnishings. "what will you do with the cottage now?" johnny asked. "listen." drew's look was serious, sad. "we are going on a vacation, you and i, herman, newton mills, and joyce. before that vacation is over, unless conditions change, the gunmen will have provided us another widow and more orphans to fill that cottage. i mean to keep it till there are no more. god grant that the time may soon come!" a week later johnny, drew and joyce were seated in a clinker-built rowboat over a deep, dark hole that lies close to shore on the north side of lake huron. on the shore was a cabin. in a sunny spot before the cabin herman mccarthey and newton mills sat spinning yarns. for life must not be all work. man's nature demands a change. they were enjoying the change along with those who were younger. drew lane's experiences as a detective were not over. they were but well begun. the problems of enforcing the law and maintaining order in a great republic are never fully solved. they go on from year to year and from generation to generation. drew lane was destined to do his full part. and johnny thompson, as his understudy, was not to lag far behind. if you are to realize this to the full, you must read our next book entitled _the gray shadow_. * * * * * * transcriber's note: --copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication. --apparent typgraphical errors were corrected without note. --non-standard spellings and dialect were not changed. a history of police in england by captain w. l. melville lee m.a. oxon. "qu'on examine la cause de tous les reláchemens, on verra qu'elle vient de l'impunité des crimes et non pas de la modération des peines."--"l'esprit des lois-bk. vi.," cap. xxii. methuen & co. essex street w.c. london dedicated by permission to the right hon. lord alverstone, g.c.m.g. lord chief justice of england contents chap. page i. anglo-saxon and norman police ii. watch and ward iii. justice and constable iv. forest police and police in the fifteenth century v. commercial police and police under the tudors vi. ecclesiastical police and police under james i. vii. military police and police under charles ii. viii. bow street police and magisterial reform ix. parochial police of the eighteenth century x. police at the dawn of the nineteenth century xi. pioneer reformers xii. "the new police" xiii. public opposition to the "new police" xiv. police reform in boroughs xv. police reform in counties xvi. co-operative police and the suppression of riots xvii. police statistics and penology xviii. detective police and the right of public meeting xix. conclusion preface a title of convenient length, but one which shall exactly fit the subject-matter in hand, is a desideratum that seldom lies within an author's reach. the title selected for this book is open to the objection that, though consisting of as many as six words, it is, however, not quite explicit. the sense in which the word "police" is used is explained in the introductory chapter, but it here remains to be said that "england" must be taken to include the principality of wales, and, incidentally, that by the employment of the indefinite article an indication of the non-pretentious character of the work is intended. references have been but sparingly given throughout, and, in answer to those critics who may possibly object that the array of authorities quoted is too meagre, the author can only plead in extenuation that opportunities for taking full advantage of good reference libraries are often denied to dwellers in camps and barracks. in general the plan adopted, or at least aimed at, has been to refer to all acts of parliament mentioned in the text, to acknowledge the source of _verbatim_ quotations, and to give the authority relied on in support of any statement that may reasonably be held to verge on contentious, or even on debatable, ground. in amplification of the criminal statistics tabulated on page , and in confirmation of the deductions there drawn, an encouraging fact may be mentioned. although the census returns for shew that the population of england and wales now exceeds thirty-two and a half millions, the judicial statistics recently published by the home office state that the number of persons brought to trial before the superior criminal courts during (the last year for which such statistics are available) was under eleven thousand, which is the lowest figure yet recorded. before concluding these prefatory remarks i must express my thanks to lord alverstone, who has been kind enough to find time to look through my proof-sheets and to allow me to dedicate the book to him; to h. w. carless davis, esq., of all souls' college, oxford, who has so generously brought an expert knowledge of anglo-saxon history to bear upon my earlier chapters, and to those chief constables and other officials who have helped me with information and advice. in particular must i acknowledge my indebtedness to d. w. rannie, esq., of oriel college, oxford, for it is not too much to say that without his invaluable assistance and encouragement the following pages would never have appeared. inner temple library _august _ introductory chapter introducing himself to his readers at the close of the eighteenth century, dr colquhoun wrote: "police in this country may be considered as a new science." a full generation later, or to be more precise, in the year of queen victoria's accession, one of the leading magazines of the day found occasion to remark as follows: "the art of preventing offences is unbeaten ground--has hardly had a scientific teacher. on laws and general legislation, on the theory of crimes and punishments, on prison discipline, on the execution of offenders, and all the ulterior proceedings of delinquency, we have treatises without number; but on the institutions of police we have not a single work, except perhaps the matter-of-fact publication of the late dr colquhoun."[ ] since this paragraph was first printed a period of unparalleled literary activity has been witnessed, a period so prolific of book-making that the thirty-nine miles of shelves with which the main building of the british museum is furnished have not sufficed to contain the ever-increasing accumulation of volumes that must be housed. it is true that in modern melodrama the detective has been found an almost indispensable property, nor has he been altogether neglected by the modern novelist; there are scores of blue-books containing evidence collected by parliamentary committees on the subject of police, and there is no lack of excellent manuals wherein the constable's duty is defined and explained; but at the dawn of the twentieth century, and in spite of the over-crowded state of our public libraries, we are still waiting for the advent of the teacher who will investigate and expound for us the police sciences. in the following pages some attempt will be made to approach this strangely neglected subject, not indeed by the avenue that a scientist would use, but simply to trace in outline the story of english police, keeping in view the underlying principles that have directed, as well as those political and other considerations that have controlled, its evolution. previous neglect is not however the only reason why the institution of police calls for historical treatment. on three other grounds in particular can the subject claim recognition; it deserves notice on account of its interest, on account of its antiquity, and on account of its importance. the history of any national institution should not be totally devoid of interest; and amongst all our institutions it would be hard to find one so eminently characteristic of our race, both in its origin and in its development, or one so little modified by foreign influences, as the combination of arrangements for maintaining the peace, which we call "police." police questions touch each one of us so intimately in our daily life, in our personal liberty and in our self-respect; the character of a nation is so profoundly influenced by the nature of the control to which it is subjected, that a due appreciation of the scope of police functions, a proper knowledge of the origin and extent of the powers and duties delegated to our constabulary forces, must possess a more than academic interest. continental gendarmeries, framed for the most part on the latin model, have been imposed--often ready-made--on various nationalities, without heed to their racial peculiarities, and careless of local tradition or circumstance. our english police system, on the other hand, rests on foundations designed with the full approval of the people, we know not how many hundreds of years before the norman conquest, and has been slowly moulded by the careful hand of experience, developing as a rule along the line of least resistance, now in advance of the general intelligence of the country, now lagging far behind, but always in the long run adjusting itself to the popular temper, always consistent with local self-government, and even at its worst, always english. when a people emerges from the savage state its first care is the institution of some form of civil government. to this there is no exception, it is, in the words of macaulay, "as universal as the practice of cookery." martial law may co-exist with, and at times obscure, the civil machinery; but depending essentially, as it does, on local and temporary causes, must in the end inevitably be superseded, and whenever there arises a conflict between the two, the civil administration will invariably outstay the other by virtue of the inertia of its everlasting necessity. the penal department of any form of civil government must principally consist of two closely allied branches, the judiciary that interprets the law and exacts penalties for its infraction, and the police whose duty it is to enforce the legal code as laid down by the judges, it being in the nature of things that judicial functions cannot exist independently of police functions. webster defines "police" as "the organized body of civil officers in a city, town or district, whose particular duties are the preservation of good order, the prevention and detection of crime, and the enforcement of the laws." blackstone goes further when he says that "the public police and economy" must be considered as "the due regulation and domestic order of the kingdom, whereby the individuals of the state, like members of a well-governed family, are bound to conform to the rules of propriety, good neighbourhood and good manners, to be decent, industrious and inoffensive in their respective stations." as used in this book, the term "police" approximates to the definitions of both these authorities; in general merely a synonym for "constabulary," it also embraces all the various expedients employed by society to induce its members to acquiesce in the arrangements that tend to promote public security, including such measures as the compulsory education of children, the reformation of criminals, the observance of sanitary and hygienic conditions, the control of the liquor traffic, and the prevention of cruelty to children and animals. in this latter sense the object of police is not only to enforce compliance with the definite law of the land, but also to encourage a general recognition of the unwritten code of manners which makes for social progress and good citizenship. police, therefore, occupies a position of vital importance in the commonwealth; it is not too much to assert that the restraining influence exerted by a good police system is as necessary to the welfare of society as are self-imposed moral and physical restraints to the health of the individual. to the superior judges fall the duties of solving abstruse legal problems, and of determining the weightiest legal issues, but it is the police magistrate who is in daily contact with the criminal and with the aggrieved person, it is he who applies the law in the first instance, and to him the large majority of the people look for decisions upon which their liberty or their property may depend. "there is scarcely a conceivable case," said a london magistrate in ,[ ] "arising particularly among the lower orders, which may not immediately or indirectly come under the notice of the police offices. it is most important, therefore, that every means should be adopted for upholding their reputation, and so extending and increasing their moral influence." only second in importance to the magistracy comes the constabulary, "the primary constitutional force for the protection of individuals in the enjoyment of their legal rights,"[ ] designed to stand between the powerful and the weak, to prevent oppression, disaster and crime, and to represent the cause of law and order at all times and in all places. in every court and alley the policeman stands for good citizenship, he is a reality that the most ignorant can comprehend, and upon his impartiality, efficiency, and intelligence depends the estimation in which the law is held by the masses. there is no doubt that this country is well policed, and fortunately for us, there is equally no doubt that we are not over-policed. however numerous and outrageous may be the theoretical imperfections of our method for maintaining the peace, its practical superior has yet to be discovered. a police system does not only need to be efficient, it must be popular; that is to say, it must conduct its operations with so scrupulous a regard to the susceptibilities of the people that public sympathy and approval are not alienated. the problem of devising an engine of sufficient power and mechanical ability to compel subjection to a rigid standard of uniformity is not a matter of great difficulty, but there is little credit and no comfort in the indiscriminate tyranny of a juggernaut that mangles its suicidal votaries. government cannot be exercised without coercion, but the coercion employed ought to be reduced to the lowest possible limit consistent with safety, the ideal police force being the one which affords a maximum of protection at the cost of a minimum of interference with the lawful liberty of the subject. the real difficulty of the police problem is therefore to fix the limits where non-interference should end, and where coercion should begin. mill enunciated the maxim that "all restraint qua restraint is an evil," and bentham taught that only those preventive measures are sound the application of which involves no injury to the innocent; but there is one limit which cannot be disregarded if police is to be a blessing rather than a curse, and that is, that the plan adopted for the prevention of crime must never become more intolerable than the effect of the crime itself. english police, however, is not the creation of any theorist nor the product of any speculative school, it is the child of centuries of conflict and experiment. simple pecuniary compensation to the injured, sumptuary laws for the removal of temptation, torture in lieu of legal process, the payment of blood-money to informers, martial law enforced by puritan zealots, an amateur constabulary spasmodically supported by soldiery, the wholesale execution or banishment of offenders, these and many other expedients have all in their turn been grafted on the parent stock, tried, and found wanting. are our present methods for the maintenance of the peace, for the suppression of crime, and for the encouragement of social virtue, perfect or nearly so? we can hardly suppose that posterity will answer these questions in the affirmative, but we can at least congratulate ourselves that the people of england, no longer living under a barbarous criminal code, enjoy to-day no small measure of security for their property and persons, without having to submit to a host of meddlesome restrictions and unreasonable formalities. chapter i anglo-saxon and norman police in the days before the attainment of english unity, the maintenance of the peace was the care of certain local institutions and bodies, the nature of which need not here be specified. the anglo-saxon period of our history being one of continual change and gradual development, the maintenance of the peace cannot be treated as a homogeneous whole before the various arrangements which secured it had been consolidated, and, for the first time reduced to a system, by edgar. from this time onwards, however, the whole of the now united england may be said to have enjoyed a general guarantee for public order under the name of the "king's peace," so called because the king guaranteed, or at least promised, to his subjects, a state of peace and security in return for the allegiance which he demanded from them.[ ] as "the highest maintainer of the peace," the king claimed an actual police supremacy, and was not content with a mere title. moreover, by virtue of his position as commander-in-chief, he had the power of enforcing compliance with the rules of the peace, of which he was the chief guardian and exponent. an english king was not only the hereditary ruler of his people, he was their chosen chief magistrate also. the idea that the peace and orderliness of the kingdom intimately depended upon the personality of its ruler was so deeply rooted that, at his death, the "king's peace" was held to have lapsed, and, on their accession, english sovereigns were wont to make proclamation afresh of "general peace orders," an example which was followed by william the conqueror and his successors.[ ] referring to the death of henry i., a chronicler writes: "the king died on the following day after st andrew's mass day, in normandy, then there was tribulation in the land, for every man that could, forthwith robbed another ... a good man he was, and there was great awe of him. no man durst misdo against another in his time. he made peace for man and beast."[ ] the king's peace was of two kinds: there was the public peace of the realm, common to all men; and there was the private peace proper to the king himself, designed to safeguard his person, to uphold his dignity, and to secure his interests in every way. this royal peace, as it may be called, was especially concerned with certain places, seasons, and individuals; a special measure of protection was accordingly extended to the king and his nobles, to nuns, widows and clergy; whilst breaches of the peace which occurred on coronation days, on fast days, and the like, or which were committed in the vicinity of the royal palaces or upon the "king's highway," received exemplary punishment from the royal judges. the public peace, on the other hand, afforded protection to all alike, to the exclusion only of the "unfrith," as those men were called whose crimes placed them without the pale of society, or who, holding no land, yet failed to enrol themselves in a "tything." the police system which, under the king, maintained the peace was partly organised on the basis of land tenure. as in the sudan to-day the omdah is held responsible for the robberies committed in his district, and as in china the head of a family may legally be called upon to answer for the transgressions of his kinsfolk, so king alfred looked to the thane[ ] to produce the culprit or satisfy the claim. the plan adopted counted on the assistance of self-interest for its complete success; the thane being a landed proprietor and consequently unable to dispose of his property secretly, was security to the king for all the members of his household--if any of them broke the law, his over-lord the thane was careful to bring him to justice. yet poverty brought no exemption to the landless freeman. he too had to find a guarantee for his good behaviour; if he was unable to attach himself to some thane, he was compelled to combine with others in the same position as himself, in order that their joint goods or aggregate credit should provide sufficient bail for the shortcomings of any member of the society: the penalty incurred by those who could not, or would not, thus find the required security was that they were forbidden to possess cattle, and were no longer under the protection of the law. freemen, therefore, who had no freehold, banded themselves together into "tythings": a tything consisted of the inhabitants of ten homesteads, and the members elected one of their number to be their "headborough,"[ ] who thus became their representative, and was responsible for the community. the police organisation which we are considering is generally spoken of as the "frankpledge system," frankpledge signifying the guarantee for peace maintenance demanded by the king from all free englishmen, the essential properties of this responsibility being, that it should be local, and that it should be mutual. as we trace the history of police in england we shall see that these two qualities have survived through the successive stages of its evolution, and seem to be inseparable from our national conception of police functions. the development of this system led to the institution of the hundred,[ ] which, as its name implies, was a group of ten tythings, under a responsible head. hundreds as well as tythings had definite police functions to perform: when a crime was committed, information had to be at once given to the hundred-men and tythingmen of the district, and it was their duty to pursue, arrest, and bring to justice all peace-breakers. in the event of the non-appearance of a culprit at the court of justice to which he was summoned, his nine fellow-pledges were allowed one month in which to produce him, when, if he was not forthcoming, a fine was exacted, the liability falling, in the first place, on any property of the fugitive that might be available, in the second place, on the tything, and,--should both these sources prove insufficient to satisfy the claim,--on the hundred.[ ] furthermore the headboroughs were required to purge themselves on oath, that they were not privy to the flight of the offender, and to swear that they would bring him to justice if possible. on the other hand, if any member of a tything was imprisoned for an offence, it was not customary to release him without the consent of his fellow-pledges, even though the fine had been paid.[ ] the practice of levying police fines from hundreds and tythings was an old one, and the limits of its application were clearly defined by edgar: "and let every man so order that he have a surety, and let the surety then bring and hold him to every justice: and if anyone do wrong and run away, let the surety bear that which he ought to bear. but if it be a thief, and if he can get hold of him within twelve months, let him deliver him up to justice, and let be rendered unto him what he before has paid."[ ] the fines[ ] that were exacted, called respectively fightwitt, grithbryce, and frithbrec, differed in character, and varied in amount. when several persons had participated in a common crime the fine was payable by all who had a hand in it; an infraction of the peace by seven associates constituted a riot, and if thirty-five persons were concerned, the breach amounted to a rebellion. distinct from the official police societies, created by the central government for the general security, there also existed certain private and voluntary associations called peace-guilds, entered into by the inhabitants of london and other towns for their own protection. each guild consisted of members arranged in ten groups under ten headmen, one of whom acted as chief of the guild and treasurer, the remainder forming a kind of consulting committee to discuss and advise upon the various interests of the associations at their monthly gatherings. the object of these guilds was simply mutual assurance, and each member had to pay fourpence to a common fund, out of which subscribers were compensated for any loss they might sustain through theft, the treasurer being authorised further to contribute a sum not exceeding one shilling towards the apprehension of delinquents. the military and police systems were closely allied: the national militia was organised in tythings and hundreds, and had a place to fill in the complete design of peace maintenance; its embodiment was not only resorted to in time of war, it was also liable to be called out by "summons of the array" if disturbances were feared, or even for the pursuit of a single fugitive from justice, but its members could not be called upon to serve beyond the limits of their respective shires except to repel invasion. every free englishman between the ages of fifteen and sixty (the clergy and infirm only excepted) was liable to be called upon to perform three public services[ ] for the peace of the commonwealth; he was bound to assist in repelling invasions, in crushing rebellions, and in suppressing riots. the sheriffs therefore who were responsible for the conservancy of the peace in the hundreds were enabled to muster the _posse comitatus_, or whole available police force of the shire, in case of emergency. all men went armed in those days, and since the members of a tything were obliged on the summons of a headborough to join in the pursuit, the cry of "stop thief" was a formidable weapon in the hands of the local executive. the anglo-saxon conception of police functions is thus clearly intelligible: the internal peace of the country was held by them to be of the first importance, and every free man had to bear his part in maintaining it; theoretically all men were policemen, and it was only for the sake of convenience that the headborough (or tythingman as he came to be more generally called) answered for those of his neighbours, on whom he had to rely in case of necessity. the word "peace" was used in its widest possible meaning, and a breach of the peace was understood to include all crimes, disorders, and even public nuisances. the principle on which the police system was based was primarily preventive. "the conservancy of the peace," says lambard, "standeth in three things: that is to say, first, in foreseeing that nothing be done that tendeth either directly or by means to the breach of the peace; secondly, in quieting and pacifying those that are occupied in the breach of the peace; and thirdly, in punishing such as have already broken the peace." our saxon ancestors did not spend much time in "quieting" or "pacifying"--a lawbreaker was at war with the community and received no quarter--but in other respects lambard's definition applies. it was assumed that all but a small minority of the king's subjects were, to use a modern phrase--good citizens--and personally interested in keeping the king's peace inviolate; and that they might therefore safely be trusted to do everything in their power to preserve it, without any necessity arising for the use of coercion. had all men been equally trustworthy in this respect no police measures would have been required and none devised; but there existed on the fringe of anglo-saxon society, as will occur with all societies, a certain number of delinquents perpetually on the look-out for opportunities of preying on their fellows, and the decennary system of police, as it may be called, was an attempt to hold in check this lawless minority without having to raise and permanently support an expensive or elaborate force for its suppression. the design was to group all honest men into convenient companies, excluding therefrom and from the benefits that civil government could then confer, not only those men who were living in open defiance of the rules laid down by society for its protection, but those men also, whose reputation for honesty and fair dealing did not stand high enough in the estimation of their neighbours to induce a sufficient number to accept a share of responsibility for their defaults. by this means a fence was set up which divided with a fair degree of accuracy the law-breaking section of society from the law-abiding, the problem of peace-maintenance being much simplified thereby; it was not the declared enemy nor the recognised outcast that was feared; the former might be met with superior force, and the latter could be kept down like vermin, it was the danger of the wolf within the fold that alarmed our ancestors. the dread of secret crime is a deeply-seated national characteristic, and accounts for the savage treatment served out to witches and egyptians (as gypsies used to be called) through the middle ages and almost up to our own times. alfred the great reflected this feeling when he drew a distinction between cutting down a neighbour's tree with an axe and burning it with fire, the latter offence being declared the more heinous of the two, not as one might suppose, because of the danger of the fire spreading to other trees, but because of the clandestine character of the deed, it being open to the offender if detected to declare the burning to be accidental, a plea that he could not advance if the axe was used. a detected criminal was either fined, mutilated, or killed, but punishment, as we now understand the term, was seldom inflicted; that is to say, the dominant idea was neither to reform the culprit nor to deter others from following in his footsteps. if a man was killed it was either to satisfy the blood-feud or to remove him out of the way as a wild beast would be destroyed; if a man was mutilated by having his forefinger cut off, or branded with a red-hot iron on the brow, it was done, not so much to give him pain, as to make him less expert in his trade of thieving, and to put upon him an indelible mark by which all men should know that he was no longer a man to be trusted; if fines were levied, it was more with a view to the satisfaction of the recipients of the money or cattle or what not, than with the intention of causing discomfort or loss to the offender. the distinction that we now make between remedial and legal justice was theoretically held by the anglo-saxons, that is to say, repayment in money or kind for a civil offence, and death or some less punishment for an offence against the criminal code was recognised in their penal administration; but at the same time fines to expiate criminal injuries were also allowed, both in the shape of amercements to the crown and of compensation to the injured. homicides rendered themselves liable to a triple penalty, which, it appears, was the same whether the killing was wilful or whether it was accidental--one third part, called "maegbote," being assigned to the next-of-kin to compensate him for the death of a relative; a second portion, or "manbote," reconciling the thane to the loss of his vassal; and the remaining share, known as "wite," passing to the king on account of the violence done to his peace.[ ] only offences of a particularly heinous description were "bootless" (bote-less), as those crimes for which no compensation was permitted were called--of such a nature were murder when committed in a church, and the slaying of a man asleep. the fines payable by the aggressor in cases where minor personal injuries had been inflicted were carefully graduated; thus, for a cut one inch long on the face, the sum of two shillings had to be paid; if the wound was underneath the hair only half that sum was exacted; but should the victim have suffered the loss of an ear, he was compensated to the extent of thirty shillings, and so on.[ ] it would offend our modern ideas of justice if a murderer were allowed to go free on payment of a sum of money to the relatives of his victim, still more so if a portion of the fine went to the sovereign; but the practice is common amongst semi-civilised communities, to whom the complex and costly methods we now employ would be at once unintelligible and impracticable. when it came to a question of proof, reliance was placed, in the absence of any surer method of discovering the truth, upon the oath of the interested party or parties; and just as the security of a thane was sufficient, where that of a landless freeman had to be supplemented by the contributions of his neighbours, so would the oath of a man of fortune and position prevail in cases where that of a common man had to be fortified by the corroborating oaths of his fellows.[ ] no matter what his station in life might be a man could always strengthen his case in this way: the more numerous the oath-helpers the greater the value of their evidence, and this held good even if it was clear that none of them were acquainted with the circumstances under consideration, because it was commonly believed that divine interference would prevent any considerable number of persons from perjuring themselves _en bloc_. the various ordeals, by combat, by fire, by water and many others, were conceived in the same spirit. the principle of making every man responsible for his own actions, and to some extent answerable for the doings of his neighbour, has much to commend it, and its application would produce an almost ideal state of social security if its practical employment was not marred by two inherent weaknesses; in the first place it can only be applied with success to an agricultural community that is content to live always in the same spot, or whose migratory instincts the authorities are prepared to suppress; and, in the second place, such a system puts a premium both on the concealment of crime, and on the commission of perjury, since a tything had every inducement to forswear itself in order to escape the infliction of a fine or to save one of its members from punishment. that the system above described was effectual in dealing with any crime that may have existed in england at the time cannot be doubted, and gneist,[ ] in his review of the period, says, "the insular position of the country, and the pre-eminently peaceable character of the later anglo-saxon times, developed the maintenance of the peace to such a perfection, that the chroniclers give an almost arcadian picture of the peacefulness and security of the land in the time of alfred the great, and at some subsequent periods." lord coke[ ] too declares that before the conquest, whilst this ancient constitution remained entire, a man might ride through england with much money about him and run no risk of molestation, though armed with no other weapon than a white wand.[ ] if it is allowable to estimate the efficiency of a police system by the measure of the security enjoyed by those under its protection (nor is it easy to conceive of a fairer or more comprehensive test), it may then be asserted with confidence that the anglo-saxon model, crude as it undoubtedly was in many respects, compares not unfavourably with the various preventive agencies which the wisdom of succeeding generations has been able to produce. this comparative superiority survived, as we shall see, until the advent of the admirable system of police, not yet a century old, under which we have the good fortune to live to-day. after the conquest, the national police organisation was retained by the normans, the headborough becoming the "præpositus," and the joint guarantee being known as "mutual security"; but the old forms which had weighed lightly on the people hitherto, were now harshly administered by the conquerors, whose officials, unaccustomed to the system, and indifferent to the susceptibilities of the native population, arbitrarily exacted the police fines, and did so in a manner that whilst proper investigation was rare, violence was common. of these officials the worst offender was the "vicecomes," the successor to the shire-reeve (_i.e._ sheriff), who under the anglo-saxon régime had controlled the police administration of the county.[ ] the vicecomes went on circuit each michaelmas, to hold an ambulatory police court, called the court of the tourn, to deal with petty offences in the provinces, to bring capital crimes to the cognisance of the superior courts, and to make an annual revision of the frankpledge, _i.e._ an inspection of the police societies, with the object of ensuring that all the tythings were full. the visit of the norman sheriff generally resolved itself into a demand for the payment of heavy fines, that might, or might not, be legally due, and which too often were heavier than the people could bear, for whereas the english shilling had been worth about fivepence, the norman shilling was equivalent to twelve pence, and yet amercements were still calculated on the old scale without any allowance being made for the change in the value of the coin. even in the rare cases where extortion was not practised the local character of the police administration, which had always been one of its most prominent features, was to a certain extent destroyed by the interference of the alien tourn. the object of the vicecomes being to collect as many fines as possible, and to return to the king with some substantial evidence of his zeal, he was not over particular as to details, but fined a whole township or borough, and left the community to settle the incidence of the burden amongst the individuals composing it. a representative and well-known example of the harsh control that then obtained, may be instanced; an enactment of william the conqueror ordained that any hundred within whose boundaries a norman was found murdered, should pay forty-six marks[ ] unless the murderer was delivered up within five days; and the sheriffs threw the burden of proof of the victim's nationality on the hundred; in other words, the corpse was assumed to be norman and had to be paid as such, unless the contrary was proved to their satisfaction; it is almost unnecessary to add that in nine cases out of ten, acceptable proof could not be produced in the specified period of time. another unpopular institution was that of curfew bell, introduced by the conqueror ostensibly as a protection against fire, but in reality intended as a check upon the saxons, to prevent them from meeting after dark, and discussing the shortcomings of their oppressors, or for other political purposes. the anglo-saxon chronicle gives a pathetic account of the severity and injustice meted out by the normans. "a.d. . this same year after st andrew's mass, and before christmas, held ralph basset and the king's thanes a 'géwitenemote' in leicestershire, at huncothoe, and there hanged more thieves than ever were known before, that is, in a little while, four and forty men altogether: and despoiled six men of their eyes and mutilated them. many true men said that there were several who suffered very unjustly; but our lord god almighty, who seeth and knoweth every secret, seeth also that the wretched people are oppressed with all unrighteousness. first they are bereaved of their property and then they are slain. full heavy year was this." and again, "then was corn dear, and cheese, and butter, for there was none in the land: wretched men starved with hunger: some lived on alms who had been erewhile rich: some fled the country, never was there more misery, and never heathen acted worse than these. the earth bare no corn, you might as well have tilled the sea, for the land was all ruined by such deeds." if we may accept this as a true version of the condition of england and the english, it is abundantly clear that the system of police by decennary societies was inevitably doomed to failure after the conquest. the two nations, who had little in common, who were in fact animated by bitter racial animosity, could not combine for any common purpose; and it is obvious that the "mutual security" plan can only be successful amongst a community bound together by the ties of family or friendship. the sheriff's court never won the confidence of the people, and gradually certain neighbourhoods, or, more correctly speaking, certain lords more favoured than the rest, obtained the royal consent to the substitution of local police courts, under a steward nominated by the lord of the manor. these "courts of the leet" not only had the power to "inquire of and punish all things that may hurt or grieve the people in general, in their health, quiet, and welfare," but were authorised to abate or remove public nuisances.[ ] courts leet became so popular, and proved so successful, that we soon find them established, not merely in a few privileged places, but all over the country; before long the sheriff's tourn became the exception and the court leet the rule, the struggle for survival only coming to an end when the sheriff altogether ceased to trouble the village communities with his annual visit of inspection. the rise of the court leet marks an important stage in the development of english police. the decennary system could only be of value as long as its strictly local character could be preserved, and the power of interference possessed by the vicecomes was foreign to the national idea of police administration. although the creation of the sheriff's court must only be considered as an ill-advised and novel attempt at centralisation, and its discontinuance a return to first principles, it was not to be expected that the tourn, when once established, would be allowed to disappear until there was an alternative institution ready and able to take its place. on this account the appearance of the court leet was well timed, for the moment and indispensable for the future, to act as a link between ancient principles and modern practice. when henry ii. returned from the continent in he found it necessary to investigate the complaints that were persistently made against the sheriffs, who were said to have been guilty of oppression and extortion. the charges were well founded, and the result of his inquiry was that several were dismissed from their office, whilst a few years later the assize of northampton considerably reduced the authority of the remainder. in the years that follow we find evidence, over and over again, of the abuse of their power by the sheriffs, whose importance steadily declined in consequence; the decay of their office was gradual at first, but proceeded more rapidly, as we shall see, after the institution of "conservators of the peace" by richard i. at the council of northampton provision was also made for holding assizes in the different counties of england. for this purpose the kingdom was divided into six circuits, and three judges, subsequently known under the title of "justices itinerant," were assigned to each circuit. notwithstanding the recent friction between the two nationalities (now happily on the wane), and all the evils which had accompanied it, hundreds and tythings continued to perform their executive functions as best they could, and not altogether without success; but the levying of amercements, which was essential to the system, was so liable to abuse at the hands of royal officers, and the fines grew so out of proportion to the offences for which they were exacted, that advantage was very properly taken of king john's humiliation in to insist that they should only be enforced in future "on oath being made by the worthy men of the district," and steps were taken to confine amercements to their proper limits. by magna carta police fines were henceforward to correspond in amount to the magnitude of the crime for which they were incurred, and might not be enforced except with _beneficium competentiæ_ _i.e._ every man had a right to his bare living, the merchant to his merchandise, and the villein to his agricultural implements.[ ] in the following reign an attempt was made to put fresh life into the police administration that for more than a hundred years had been deteriorating; it was therefore ordained[ ] that a view of frankpledge should be made every michaelmas, and tything be kept as in the old days; the effort, however, was not a success, and before long the prestige of the institution was irrevocably damaged by the relief granted to the baronage and clergy by the statute of marlborough, which excused them from attendance at the court, unless they received special orders to be present. in any case a return to the past was impossible, the country had outgrown the method of control that had once been efficacious, and altered conditions had completed the wreck of the decennary system that racial differences had commenced. from this time onwards, when frankpledge is spoken of, it must be understood to mean only the general principle that was the basis of the indigenous system; that is to say, a recognition of the bounden responsibility of every citizen to take his part in the duty of maintaining peace in the state; or, in other words, the liability that all men share to render police services when called upon to do so. chapter ii watch and ward the intimate bond which linked together the kingly office and the general police organisation invested the latter with a certain concrete dignity that was beneficial. the people were impressed by the fact that police was the special province of the highest personage in the land, at a time when they were incapable of appreciating the abstract importance of the subject. the responsibility for peace-maintenance was in this way definitely fixed on the one individual, who besides being best able to enforce compliance with his commands, had also the greatest stake in the continued preservation of the public peace; a kingdom without order being a kingdom in name only. this was so well recognised that, overbearing or indifferent as too many of our english sovereigns proved themselves, not one of them ever repudiated this responsibility, or failed to lay claim to be considered as the champion of order. the benefits that resulted from this royal pre-eminence were, it must be confessed, often counter-balanced and sometimes outweighed by corresponding disadvantages--good kings were rare--the hand of a king who was inclined to oppress his people became the more grievous by reason of his police supremacy--whilst under a weak king the burden of oppression grew intolerable on account of the numberless oppressors who immediately arose to take advantage of his supineness. the reign of henry iii., externally brilliant, internally miserable, is a case in point; for fifty-six long years peace gave place to chaos--the king robbed, and the barons plundered, whenever and whomsoever they could--shoals of needy foreigners invaded england--the clergy swindled their congregations first on one pretext then on another, and remitted the bulk of their spoil to the pope's nominees in far-off italy--"crimes," we are told, "escaped with impunity because the ministers themselves were in confederacy with the robbers." men had cause to be dissatisfied and an excuse for taking the law into their own hands, with the result that violence from above was answered by violence from below. the lawlessness which followed took several forms and infected all classes of the community--the half-starved peasantry, hitherto patient, now scoured the country, and regained by force a portion of the spoil amassed at their expense by foreigners and others who had traded on the ignorant superstitions of the native english. the outbreak which at first was directed against the italian clergy soon degenerated into a general campaign of license, until, as we learn, "men were never secure in their houses, and whole villages were often plundered by bands of robbers."[ ] the king adopted a capricious policy of repression, but his action, never vigorous, came too late to be effectual, and failed to pacify the disturbed districts. the obvious, if still unconfessed, inability of henry iii. to cope with the disorders which infested the realm served as a pretext to the barons to usurp the royal functions of peace-maintenance, and keeping the king a virtual prisoner in their hands, they caused the so-called mad parliament holden at oxford in to create a committee of reform armed with authority to formulate new regulations for the preservation of the peace. this committee appointed that four knights should be chosen by the freeholders of each county with power to inquire into and present to parliament the police shortcomings of their respective shires, enacting as a further safeguard that the freeholders concerned should annually elect a new sheriff, and that the sheriff should be called upon to render to parliament an account of his stewardship on relinquishing office. these regulations, which formed part of the "provisions of oxford," were well conceived, and for the moment proved extremely popular. but they left little permanent impress on the future life of the nation because they were fraudulently put forth by the barons, who, as it soon appeared, were only scheming to win the populace over to their side in the struggle for power, and who were far more anxious for their own aggrandisement than they were for any object connected with the mitigation of the troubles that afflicted the people. the whole attitude of the nobles was so lawless, supporting, as they did, bands of adherents to prey on each other's lands and on the chattels of the defenceless commonalty, that no lasting good could be expected to follow upon their most specious actions, their very gifts were presumptive evidence of premeditated guilt, and their evil disposition was a matter of common knowledge. "knights and esquires," says the dictum of kenilworth,[ ] "who were robbers, if they have no land, shall pay the half of their goods, and find sufficient security to keep henceforth the peace of the kingdom." well might hume exclaim, "such were the manners of the times!" the practical disappearance of the decennary societies, followed by the failure of the provisions of oxford to restore peace to the state, necessitated the creation of some more effectual agency for the re-establishment of good order. such a substitute was fortunately provided by the famous statute of winchester, which was passed in the thirteenth year of edward i., of whom it has been said that he did more for the preservation of the peace in the first thirteen years of his reign than was collectively accomplished by the thirteen monarchs next succeeding. this winchester statute is especially important to our inquiry, because it sums up and gives permanency to those expedients introduced in former reigns, which were considered worthy of retention for the protection of society; and because it presents to us a complete picture of that police system of the middle ages which continued with but little alteration for more than five hundred years, and which even now, though greatly changed in its outward appearance, is still the foundation upon which our present police structure is built. the statute of winchester is not here presented as a brand-new system of police extemporised in the year , but rather as the definite product of a long series of experiments all tending in the same direction. legislation hastily conceived seldom survives; and however the case may stand in other lands, or in other departments of government, every police measure which has won a permanent place in english history has had a gradual growth, now retarded, now accelerated--here something removed as old fallacies were exposed, there something added as new knowledge was acquired. a few well-known and representative examples of the process at this stage of its development may be enumerated. first in importance comes the "assize of clarendon," issued in , which describes how notorious and reputed felons are to be 'presented' to the courts of the justices or to the sheriffs, which commands one sheriff to assist another in the pursuit and capture of fugitives, and which deals with the restrictions to be enforced against the entertainers of strangers and the harbourers of vagabonds. the assize of northampton, which was issued three years after the rebellion of , prescribes severer punishments, provides for the registration of outlaws, and reduces the powers of sheriffs. a writ for the conservation of the peace issued in is referred to by dr stubbs in these words: "this is a valuable illustration of the permanence of the old english regulations for the security of peace in the country.... the principle thus expanded is here developed into a separate system of watch and ward, which a few years later is brought into conjunction with the assize of arms, and completed by edward i. in the statute of winchester, and by the assignment of justices of the peace under edward iii." finally, writs for enforcing watch and ward and the assize of arms, issued in and in , may be instanced as the immediate precursors of the statute of winchester. few legislative measures have stood so long or so prominently as this act of . its vitality has been remarkable; we find it periodically referred to, and its provisions re-enforced whenever an increase of lawlessness afflicted the state, as the universal and proper remedy to apply to all distempers of the sort; we find it cited as the standard authority on watch and ward, even in the eighteenth century, when two acts of parliament[ ] quote it to prove that the protection of a district is a constitutional duty compulsorily incumbent on its inhabitants; nor was it until , in which year a committee of the house of commons appointed to inquire into the state of the nightly watch of the city of westminster stated that "the statute of winchester being very obsolete is a very improper regulation," that people began to talk of it as old-fashioned. after stating that, "robberies, murders, burnings and thefts, be more often used than heretofore," the statute confirms the ancient responsibility of the hundred for offences committed within its boundaries, "so that the whole hundred, where the robbery shall be done, with the franchises being within the precinct of the same hundred, shall be answerable for the robberies," and ordains that "cries shall be made in all counties, markets, hundreds, fairs and all other places, where great resort of people is, so that none shall excuse himself by ignorance." another paragraph defines the law with regard to "watch and ward"--the gates of walled towns are to be shut between sunset and daybreak, men are forbidden to live in the suburbs, except under the guarantee of a responsible householder, and it is enacted that in every city "from the day of the ascension until the day of st michael," a watch of six men is to be stationed at each gate: every borough has to provide a watch of twelve persons, whilst the number of watchmen insisted upon by law for the protection of the smaller towns, varies from four to six, according to the number of inhabitants in each. strangers must not pass the gates during the hours of darkness, any attempting to do so are to be arrested by the watch, and detained until morning, when, "if they find cause of suspicion, they shall forthwith deliver him to the sheriff," but if no such cause is found, "he shall go quit." the affiliated institutions "hue and cry" and the "assize of arms" are next considered. both had previously existed in some form or other, but had been allowed to fall into disuse, so it is now laid down afresh that in case strangers do not obey the arrest of the watch, "hue and cry shall be levied upon them, and such as keep the watch shall follow with hue and cry, with all the towns near." sheriffs are reminded that it is their duty to follow the cry with the country-side, in pursuit of law-breakers: and that if they are neglectful, a report will be made by the constables to the judges, who will inform the king of the default. the clauses relating to the assize of arms command every male between the ages of fifteen and sixty to have harness in his house, "for to keep the peace"; the nature of the arms to be provided depends upon the man's rank, and on the value of his property, and varies from "an hauberke, an helme of iron, a sword, a knife and a horse" for a knight, down to bows and arrows, which were the only weapons that the poorest class had to furnish. in each hundred two constables were appointed to make a half-yearly inspection of arms, and "such defaults as they may find" shall be notified through the judges to the king, and the king "shall find remedy therein." the assize of arms was something more than a mere police regulation. sheriffs and constables were royal officers, and the powers entrusted to them, which included the liberty to make domiciliary visits for the purpose of viewing the armour, together with the general supervision they exercised over an armed population, placed at the king's disposal a force that could on occasion be employed for political ends unconnected with the professed motive of the assize, that of peace maintenance. the only other part of the statute that need now be noticed deals with the regulating of highways: it is directed that roads leading from one market town to another "shall be enlarged so that there be neither dyke, tree nor bush whereby a man may lurk to do hurt, within two hundred foot on the one side and two hundred foot on the other side of the way": this, however, is not to apply to oaks or great trees, but if a park march with the roadway, the lord must "minish his park the space of two hundred foot from the highways, as before is said, or that he make such a wall, dyke or hedge, that offenders may not pass, nor return to do evil." the declared object of the statute of winchester, was, in the words of the preamble, "for to abate the power of felons," and the highway clause is said to have been designed against the depredations of bands of robbers called drawlatches and roberdsmen, who, concealing themselves in the thick undergrowth by the roadside, had been a terror to travellers for the last hundred years or more. if the law could have been enforced in this particular, so as to leave a clear two hundred feet both sides of the road, the result would have been admirable, but the regulation was framed on too ambitious a scale, with the result that it was generally disregarded, or at the best only partially carried out, and it is extremely unlikely that many lords minished their parks as they were ordered. it was, of course, extremely difficult to give effect to the new police system throughout england; conditions and customs varied in different districts; before the introduction of newspapers ideas spread but slowly; and people did not readily comprehend strange institutions, nor accept them, when understood, without protest. this was especially the case in the north-westerly provinces; the men of cheshire, amongst others, were dissatisfied with the new arrangements, and petitioned the king to relieve them of the burden of maintaining so many peace officers; but edward was not to be influenced against his judgment, by these entreaties, and answered in an abrupt manner that he would not change the law, nor revoke his statutes. the men of shropshire and westmoreland also, who, as it appears, had successfully evaded their obligations under the decennary system, now took it upon themselves to ignore the provisions of the statute of winchester; with the result that some fifteen years later, on it being brought to his notice that the regulations which he had laid down were not being properly carried out, the king ordained that "the same statute be sent again into every county to be read and proclaimed four times a year, and kept in every particular as strictly as the great charters, upon pain of incurring the penalties therein limited." it is worthy of notice, that as early as the thirteenth century, the police of the capital city was placed on a different footing from that of the rest of the kingdom, a distinction which, to some extent, has been retained until the present day. the statute of winchester did not apply to london, but in its stead a local act[ ] was passed in the same year, having special reference to the government of the metropolis. from this and from other sources, a comprehensive reconstruction might be made of the police arrangements that controlled london at the time of edward i., the principal features of which may here be briefly indicated. the city was divided into twenty-four wards, and in each ward there were six watchmen supervised by an alderman, who was expected to acquaint himself with the personal characters of the residents of his ward, and was ordered to secure any malefactors that he might find; the aldermen, therefore, were executive as well as judicial officers, and might have to adjudicate in the morning upon the evidence they themselves had collected overnight. in addition to the ward-watchmen there was a separate force called the "marching watch" (the germ of the patrols of later days), whose duty it was to exercise a general vigilance for the maintenance of peace in the city, and to give their assistance to the stationary watchmen as occasion demanded. foreigners, who were not freemen of the city, might not be innkeepers, and lepers were forbidden to leave their houses under the severest penalties; regulations were made against the rearing of oxen or swine within the city walls, and against the establishment of schools of arms where fencing with the buckler was taught. by day the gates were open, but even then care was taken to exclude undesirable visitors, for two sergeants "skillful men and fluent of speech" were placed at each gate to scrutinise all those who passed in or out. one hour after sunset, curfew was rung simultaneously from the church of st martin's le grand and in the other parishes, the gates were then shut, taverns were closed, and men might not go about the streets armed till the morning, "unless he be a great man, or other lawful person of good repute, or their certain messengers, having their warrants to go from one to another with lanthorn in hand." the peace officers were authorised to arrest anyone who broke these regulations, and to bring him the following day before the warden, mayor, or aldermen of the city, for punishment; officers were secured against all penalties for acts done in the execution of their office, and no complaints were permitted to be made against them with regard to the imprisonment or punishment of offenders, "unless it be that an officer should do so of open malice, and for his own revenge, or for the revenge of another that maliciously procureth the same, and not for the keeping of the peace." it will be observed that the intention both of the statute of winchester and of these regulations for the government of london is in the main a preventive one, that whilst every care is taken to place obstructions in the way of transgressors, and every caution exercised to render a criminal career difficult, we hear but little of the penalties that follow upon detection. this tendency is in marked contrast to the custom of subsequent legislation, which increasingly insisted on the infliction of punishment as the only effectual means of diminishing crime. the earliest english police known to us, relied almost entirely, as has already been pointed out, on the efficacy of the preventive principle. the system inaugurated by the statute of winchester which took the place of the ancient institutions, may be considered as the connecting link between the two extreme conceptions of police functions, between the policy of prevention and the policy of repression. watch and ward was the civil equivalent of the sentry who, in time of war is posted outside the camp, and whose functions are purely preventive, whilst hue and cry was partly preventive and partly repressive. although the main object of the latter institution was the apprehension of offenders, quite half its value depended on the effect produced on the minds of intending criminals by the fear that any illegal act on their part might raise the whole county in arms against them, and by the knowledge that escape was well-nigh impossible. the law against vagrancy was conceived in the same spirit, the statute in question requiring bailiffs of towns to make enquiry every week of all persons lodging in the suburbs, in order that neither vagrants, nor "people against the peace" might find shelter, a regulation designed on the lines of the universal police maxim "allow the thief no rest." the custom was to make the householder responsible for the deeds of those whom he harboured, and to punish the indiscriminate giver of alms.[ ] this method was not only more humane, but it also proved more effectual than the everlasting imprisonment, whipping, and branding of vagrants, that tudor legislation enjoined. neglect of the hue and cry, failure to make "fresh and quick pursuit," and sometimes want of success when pursuit was duly made, were visited by the imposition of fines upon the neglectful or unfortunate inhabitants as the case might be: many examples of this are on record, _e.g._ (exchequer rolls, vol. i. sect. ). "item. the citizens of lincoln fined fifty marks for suffering a robber to escape, etc.: and the men of colchester for the like. item. (sussex: edward i.) homicide committed in a fray: the offender who had stabbed his adversary, a butcher, takes refuge in the church of crawley and abjures the realm: townships of crawley and hurst amerced because they did not make suit. item. a quarrel in an alehouse at hodley, in which a man is struck on the head and dies four days afterwards. the offender escapes, and all the persons present in the alehouse amerced, because they did not secure him."[ ] when hue and cry had been raised against a fugitive, every man had to lay aside his work and join in the pursuit to the best of his ability, anyone failing to do so, or withdrawing himself without permission, was considered to have taken the part of the person who was fleeing from justice, and the two might be hunted down together, and when apprehended, delivered to the sheriffs, "not to be set at liberty, but by the king, or by his chief justice."[ ] once levied, hue and cry recognised no boundaries, the pursuit spread from hundred to hundred, and from county to county, "till they come to the seaside," or until the man surrendered himself. "the life of hue and cry," says coke, "is fresh suit," and in order that valuable time should not be lost in preliminary enquiries, no liability for malfeasance attached to those who followed the chase; if therefore an innocent man was hunted down, he had no remedy against his pursuers, but, to obtain satisfaction, had first to discover the author of the false report. if the fugitive sought refuge in a house, and refused to open the door, the peace officer might break it open, and in the event of a man grievously wounding another, it was held that killing was no murder, provided that hue and cry had been duly levied, and provided also, that the offender could not otherwise be taken.[ ] the best, and as a rule, the only practicable chance of escape open to the pursued, lay in the possibility of his reaching a sanctuary before the hunters came up with him. if a man took sanctuary, his life was safe, but he remained a close prisoner within the precincts of the asylum in which he had found refuge until he received the king's pardon, or until he purchased his freedom by "abjuring the realm," an undertaking which entailed upon him perpetual banishment, besides the forfeiture of all his belongings. these sacred asylums, within whose precincts the law was powerless, were often made use of in a manner never contemplated when the privilege of affording protection to fugitives was first extended to them. if an offender was unpopular his chance of reaching sanctuary was very remote, it was easy enough to head him off, or to surround the place in such a manner that approach meant certain capture; on the other hand, if the country folk were disposed to favour the escape of the hunted man, there was little difficulty in managing the pursuit in such a way that he should reach his goal in safety. hue and cry was therefore not as effectual as it ought to have been, especially against men who for one reason or another enjoyed the goodwill of their neighbours, and its efficacy was still further reduced by the freedom with which charters of pardon were granted by the king to powerful nobles and others, who were prepared to pay for the concession.[ ] in addition to the statute of winchester upon which his reputation as a police reformer mainly rests, edward i. was the author of other valuable measures designed to produce and conserve a state of public tranquillity. under former rulers sheriffs had been allowed a dangerous amount of freedom, which they had abused for their own advantage, both by improperly admitting to bail offenders who ought not to have been permitted to remain at large, and by exacting bail from others on trivial or trumped-up charges. this practice edward combated, and forbade sheriffs, under severe penalties, to hold to bail any who were not strictly bailable. mindful also of the disturbances wrought by idle rumour, he set himself to put a stop to the dissemination of scandal by irresponsible tale-bearers, and decreed that henceforth those "who be so hardy as to tell or publish any false news or tales whereby discord may arise" should be "taken and kept in prison until he is brought into the court which was the first author of the tale."[ ] of greater practical value, however, were his enactments dealing with coroners[ ] (so-called because they were principally concerned with pleas of the crown). with the intention that these most important officers should stand high in the estimation of all men, edward, in , ordained that no one under the degree of knight should be chosen to the office, and in the year following he defined the powers of coroners, setting forth what steps they were called upon to take for the better preservation of the peace, and in what manner their functions ought to be carried out. it was enacted[ ] that, in the event of any person meeting with an unnatural or violent death, the township concerned had to immediately give notice to the nearest coroner, who was thereupon bound to issue a precept to the constables of the neighbouring vills, requiring them to cause to appear before him a competent number of good and lawful men in order that the matter might forthwith be investigated at the place where the corpse had been found. if, upon inquiry, and upon the oath of the jurymen, it should appear that foul play had been the cause of death, the coroner was, by the same statute, further instructed to use his best endeavour to discover the guilty party, and if the murderer was known, the coroner was authorised to deliver him to the sheriff and to proceed to his house, and there to cause a valuation of all his belongings to be made, the amount thereof being notified and secured to the township or hundred, which was then answerable to the judges for any amercement that might subsequently be imposed. nor was the business of holding inquisitions in cases of sudden death the only duty of the coroner; he was also expected to make enquiry, in like manner, of every reported case of housebreaking, and was required to keep a watchful eye on any of the king's subjects who seemed to live riotously, haunting taverns and the like, and to attach them by four or more pledges on the not unreasonable suspicion that the funds which supported such extravagances proceeded either from some illegal practice, or from a secret store of treasure trove. though answerable to the king, coroners were chosen by the county, and sworn by the sheriff; any holder of the office concealing felonies, or failing in his duty through favour to the misdoers, was liable to be fined at the king's pleasure and to be imprisoned for a year. much of the good work done for the internal peace of the kingdom by edward i. was undone by his successor, whose predilection for evil counsellors led to much baronial resistance, and threw the country back into that state of lawlessness from which it had been delivered by the wise police regulations of the statute of winchester. organised bands of robbers harried the country, setting at defiance sheriffs, judges, and even the king himself, who was stopped near norwich by a freebooting knight called sir gosseline denville, and stripped of his money and other valuables. with such an example of reckless disregard of the king's peace before them, it is not wonderful that the lower orders of the people ignored the restrictions that the law imposed; the weak had no protectors, so the hand that was strong enough to take and to hold fast was seldom empty. these predatory rovers waxed so powerful, and grew so numerous as the result of the impunity they enjoyed, that nothing short of a regular military campaign sufficed to free the land from their ravages. the end of this same denville illustrates the extensive nature of these operations. after years spent in successful plundering, and after an unprecedented reward had been put on his head, he was at length brought to bay by the sheriff of yorkshire, who, with five hundred men surrounded the inn where the robber slept, and in the course of the desperate fight which followed between the _posse comitatus_ of the peace officer and the banditti, it is said that two hundred men were killed before the knight and his brother were captured.[ ] indolent and incapable as edward ii. proved, his police administration was not altogether without merit, and an important statute passed in the eighteenth year of his reign is worthy of more than passing notice. in order that the value of this act may be fully appreciated a few words of preliminary explanation are necessary. one of the principal functions of the norman sheriff at his annual visit of inspection or tourn, was to inform himself (by making inquiry from the chief frankpledges) as to the nature and extent of the crime existing in his district, and to make a report thereof to the king, if, in his opinion, any particular offence or class of offences was unduly prevalent. the exercise of this function, which was known as "presentment," to some extent secured the trial and punishment of criminals, by bringing their offences to the knowledge of the central authority, and the officer who made the report may, in a sense, be considered to have acted the part of a public prosecutor. when the court leet took the place of the sheriff's tourn this function was partially lost, and the object of the statute in question was to increase the value of the court leet as a preventive agency, by reaffirming and clearly defining its responsibility with regard to the important duty of presentment, which it had inherited along with the other functions of the sheriff's tourn. to this end courts leet were now ( ) ordered to certify that all the chief-pledges were present at the sitting of the court to which they were summoned, and that they duly brought to the notice of the same court all offences committed within their knowledge. for their guidance a list of the matters which concerned them, arranged under thirty-four headings, was added, of which the most important were the following:-- (_a_) of damages done to walls, houses, ditches and hedges set up or beaten down to annoyance. (_b_) of bounds withdrawn or taken away. (_c_) of breakers of houses. (_d_) of petty larrons, and their receivers (_i.e._ harbourers). (_e_) of such as go messages for thieves. (_f_) of cries levied and not pursued. (_g_) of bloodshed and of frays made. (_h_) of escape of thieves and felons. (_i_) of clippers and forgers of money. (_j_) of persons outlawed returned, not having the king's warrant. (_k_) of women ravished not presented before the coroner. (_l_) of false balances, measures, and weights. (_m_) of such as continually haunt taverns, and no man knoweth whereon they do live. (_n_) of such as sleep by day, and watch by night, and eat and drink well, and have nothing. (_o_) of persons imprisoned and let go without mainprize. (_p_) of the assize of ale and bread broken. a glance at the subjects enumerated in this schedule is sufficient to illustrate the comprehensive nature of the part assigned to courts leet in the general scheme of peace maintenance, and to show how in addition to their primary duty of bringing to light all breaches of the peace, these local police courts were furthermore charged with the supervision of everything that tends to promote good order and good citizenship, such as, for example, the regulating of weights and measures and the abatement of public nuisances. this statute is entitled "a statute for view of frankpledge," but it was not put forward with any intention of reverting to the old system of police by decennary societies, nor with any idea of superseding or even modifying the statute of winchester, but rather as an auxiliary measure to enlarge the sphere of usefulness of that statute, and to render its administration more effectual, by ensuring that no violations of its provisions should go undetected and unpunished. chapter iii justice and constable the accession of edward iii. marked the beginning of a new police era, that of the petty constable acting under the direction of the justice of the peace. the statute of winchester continued to be the guide in matters of police, but the executive which carried out its provisions underwent a change. any attempt to follow in detail the history of the justices of the peace, and the powers resident in them, is beyond the scope of the present work; this task has already been often and ably performed.[ ] it is impossible, however, to divorce the functions of the justice from those of the constable; the story of the evolution of the latter is so dovetailed into the history of the former, the two are so closely allied in their mutual relationship of master and servant, that some reference must here and elsewhere be made to the office of the justice, a functionary who claims a considerable share of attention in any enquiry that deals with police in the full interpretation of the word, because the executive power vested in a justice as peace officer is antecedent to, and on the whole more important than, the judicial authority attaching to him as magistrate: in other words, he must be considered as a policeman first, and as a judge afterwards. the origin of the justice's office is by no means obscure. towards the close of the twelfth century ( ), by a proclamation of richard i.,[ ] knights were appointed to see that all males over the age of fifteen years were "sworn to the king" by taking a solemn oath to maintain the peace: after fifty years or so had elapsed ( ) these knights had become peace wardens or conservators, who again, continually undergoing a process of development as the importance of the sheriffs dwindled, were eventually invested with judicial powers, and were then known as justices of the peace. when the office of justice was first created, it was not intended that the sheriff should be altogether superseded, but rather that the new officer should become an auxiliary agent for the preservation of the peace, to co-operate, as the conservator had formerly done, with the sheriff, who still retained the primary responsibility for the policing of his shire. it would appear that the supremacy of the royal officer in matters of police was generally recognised throughout the thirteenth century; for when, in , edward i. had occasion to rebuke the men of kent for the prevalence of crime in their county, he made no mention of the conservator, but ordered the inhabitants to afford in future every assistance in their power to the sheriff, whose especial province it was (so the king declared) to keep the peace, not only by his own power, but also by means of the "posse comitatus," or power of the county.[ ] on the other hand, even at this time, the sheriff was not always given a free hand. in warwickshire, for example, all arrangements for the preservation of the peace had first to be submitted to the conservator for his approval;[ ] it cannot, however, be supposed that the supervision exercised by the conservators over the police administration was more than nominal, because, as a rule, they were great noblemen, holding a plurality of offices, and because the districts within their wardenship were usually too large to be effectively controlled by any one man. we learn, for instance, that in the earl of cornwall was peace warden for the counties of middlesex, essex, herts, cambs, hunts, norfolk, suffolk, kent, surrey, oxon, beds, bucks, berks, northants, lincoln, and rutland. when both population and trade increased, and when offenders and offences grew more varied and numerous, it became necessary to augment to a proportionate degree the staff of officers answerable to the king for the internal peace of the kingdom: it was no good making more sheriffs, who had seldom proved a success in the past (whose misconduct, in fact, had led to the restricting of their power to do harm on more than one occasion), and so it came about that the justice gradually superseded the conservator, and in the end not only deprived the sheriff of his judicial powers, but to a large extent took his place as director of the police also. the sheriff did not submit to this curtailment of his authority without a struggle. after he was no longer allowed to act in his old capacity, he sometimes managed to get made a justice, and to hold both offices in the same county at one time, to the great oppression of the people, who bitterly complained of the heavy fines that were inflicted, and of the outrageous bail that was exacted by these pluralists, until in , at the request of parliament, richard ii. put an end to such practices. nevertheless, the sheriff still remained the responsible person for the levying of hue and cry, for the pursuit and apprehension of felons, for the due execution of the sentences pronounced by the law-courts, and was answerable for the persons of prisoners handed over to him for punishment. he also had to perform various duties connected with elections, and until the reign of edward vi. retained certain military functions. before , the so-called justices were executive officers only, "they were little more than constables on a large scale";[ ] but in this year, edward the third, who had recently come to the throne, considerably extended their powers by entrusting to them the examination and punishment of law-breakers. the king reserved to himself the right of nominating those who should hold the office, and, throughout his long reign, continued to take the liveliest interest in his justices of the peace. he ordered that they should be connected with the county for which they were appointed, by holding therein a certain amount of landed property, a qualification which has been retained for many centuries. he made it a condition that they should be _bons gentz et loiaulx_; and for fear lest the granting of judicial powers to local officials should open the door to extortion on the one hand, and to ignorant maladministration on the other, was very careful as to the class of man he selected. for this reason, the pleadings of parliament notwithstanding, he could not be induced to give up the privilege of appointing his own nominees, and even the democratic tendencies of modern times have left the appointment of justices of the peace in the hands of the crown. another statute[ ] (also passed in ) ordained that no man should "go offensively" or "ride armed" before the new magistrates--a wise enactment designed to protect them from being brow-beaten and intimidated by those great nobles who sought to obtain their own ends through the awe inspired by the display of a large armed retinue. in [ ] edward informed the commons that one of his principal reasons for calling them together was to take counsel with them concerning the means that should be adopted for preserving the peace, and to this end charged them to assist him to the best of their ability. the commons readily accepted the invitation, and subsequently lost no opportunity of expressing the interest they took in the justices of the peace, whose office was the constant theme of suggestions and petitions, which, however, the king, who preferred to take his own line, usually disregarded. of the several statutes that were successively passed dealing with the office in question, the most important became law in .[ ] "in every county in england, there shall be assigned for the keeping of the peace, one lord, and with him three or four of the most worthy men in the county, together with some learned in the law, and they shall have power to restrain offenders, rioters, and other barretors, and to pursue, arrest, take, and chastise them, according to their trespass or offence; and to cause them to be arrested and duly punished according to the law and custom of the realm, and according to that which to them shall seem best to do by their discretions and good advisement; ... and to take of all them that be not of good fame, where they shall be found, sufficient surety and mainprise of their good behaviour toward the king and his people ... and also to hear and determine at the king's suit all manner of felonies and trespasses done in the same county according to the laws and customs aforesaid." two years after the statute above quoted had been enacted, the justices were empowered to sit quarterly for the transaction of business,[ ] and before long quarter sessions absorbed the major portion of the executive and administrative government of the county.[ ] when richard ii. ascended the throne, the justice of the peace was thus firmly established as one of the permanent institutions of the kingdom. since that time, the office has passed through many vicissitudes, experiencing many a rise and many a fall; but through all these changes, the statute quoted above, which first defined his position, has always been referred to when any doubt arose as to the powers a justice may exercise by virtue of his commission, and its meaning has been stretched and extended by degrees until, as burn says, "there is scarcely any other statute which hath received such a largeness of interpretation."[ ] it will be observed that in addition to the powers given to justices for the punishment of offences against the peace, express authority was also conferred upon them by the same instrument for the prevention of such offences, for they were specially ordered to "take sufficient surety and mainprise of all them that be not of good fame." we have seen how under the decennary or tything system, all freemen were bound to find sureties for the preservation of the peace, and we have watched the decay of that system after the norman invasion; in the provisions of this act of parliament, however, we may discover at least a partial revival of the ancient plan of demanding guarantees against any contingent infraction of the public peace, and of associating in a joint pecuniary responsibility the actual or potential peacebreaker with his immediate neighbours.[ ] the "sufficient security" which justices were authorised to take might be of two kinds--"surety of the good behaviour" and "surety of the peace," and the security might be by bail or by mainprise, the difference between the two being "that mainpernors are only surety, but bail is a custody; and therefore the bail may retake the prisoner, if they doubt he may fly, and detain him."[ ] ... sureties of the good behaviour and sureties of the peace were granted on suspicion or on the flimsiest sort of evidence; for instance, "any suspected person who lives idly, and yet fares well, or is well apparelled, having nothing whereon to live," any common gamester, or the reputed father of a bastard child, or an eaves-dropper even, might be called upon to find mainpernors or bail; and so great discretion was required on the part of the justices, who had to decide such knotty points; it was consequently of the highest importance that these officers should be familiar with the districts in which their duties were performed, and legal erudition was a consideration subordinate to personal character and local knowledge. when the law was young evidence was received for what it was held to be worth, without distinction as to whether it might be hearsay, circumstantial, or direct; the word of a thane would prevail against the evidence of six ceorls; in fact the credibility of every witness was appraised in proportion to his social position, just as a man's life had formerly been estimated at a distinct valuation, and scheduled according to a recognised scale.[ ] the feudal system had taught the retainer to look to the lord of the manor for the redress of any grievance that he might have against his neighbour. to the tribunal of the manor, also, he was wont to bring family differences for settlement; here the father would recount the follies of his son, and the wife complain of the habits of her husband: for, just as the priest was the spiritual adviser to his congregation, so, in many instances, was the lord of the manor the lay-counsellor to the dwellers on his estate. it was essential, therefore, that the justice, who had to perform many of the duties formerly attaching to the feudal lord, should be a local man and a man of position; people would have nothing to do with a stranger, or with one who, in their opinion, was a man of no account, however great a lawyer he might be. the status of the justice of the peace at the time of edward iv. was not very different from that held by the same functionary at the present day. his powers and duties are not now quite the same as they once were, but the history of the office has been remarkable for its steady persistence in one groove: the justices of five hundred years ago might be defined as a select number of country gentlemen deriving their authority from the crown, primarily responsible to the crown for the preservation of the peace, and exercising judicial functions of a simple kind within the limits of the county for which they were appointed--and such a definition would still apply. the rise of the justice of the peace at the expense of his rivals was due to some extent to political causes. sovereigns were favourable to the growing importance of an estate that promised to act as a counterpoise to the arrogant claims of the nobles, and although parliament had nothing to do with the appointment of the new magistrates it was generally in sympathy with them, because they did not abuse their powers as the sheriffs had done, nor neglect their duties like the conservators; and also because the house of commons, which was almost entirely composed of country gentlemen, recognised in the justices, members of the same social class to which they themselves belonged. the mass of the people, too, were inclined to view them with favour, choosing to place themselves and their fortunes in the hands of men they knew something about, who were on the spot and likely to execute justice speedily, rather than in the hands of strange judges whose visits were few and far between, and who, when they came, were likely to be deficient in local knowledge. the first justices therefore were in the enviable position of enjoying at one and the same time the hearty support of king, commons, and people; but unfortunately such a healthy state was not destined to be permanent, and before long the symptoms of internal disease presented themselves. as the attractions of town life increased it became more and more difficult to obtain the services of the best kind of country gentlemen for a post that was often arduous, that brought no emolument to the holder, and that was incompatible with absenteeism. an inferior type of man was glad enough to take the place for the sake of the patronage and the social position he thereby acquired, and a corresponding depreciation in the police administration was at once apparent. richard ii. endeavoured to counteract this tendency by ordaining that justices should be possessed of property in their own county of a minimum annual value of twenty pounds, and at the same time relieved them of some of their routine duties by appointing clerks of the peace to assist them. he fixed the number of justices for each county at eight, two of whom only had to be in attendance at each sessions. these remedial measures served their purpose for the time, but in after years we find the danger resulting from the admission of inferior men into the ranks of the justices constantly recurring, necessitating a more rigid enforcement of the property qualification. in the city of london the duties that in the country would have fallen to the justices of the peace were performed instead by the mayor and aldermen, a custom that has been continued ever since, and with good results.[ ] all that remains to be said on the subject of justices of the peace in this place must be compressed into a few lines. various statutes, passed between and , multiplied their powers exceedingly by giving them authority to settle the wages of labourers and servants, to punish unlawful huntings, false weights in the staple, and the unlawful wearing of liveries. in the reign of henry iv. they were directed by statute to suppress riots with the help of the sheriff and his "posse," and henry v. ordained that, in future, justices should only be appointed from "the most sufficient men of the counties, resident respectively therein," and that they should thenceforward be nominated by the king's council.[ ] the yorkist period saw justices of the peace at the zenith of their power; for, although the importance of the office tended to increase rather than to diminish, tudor sovereigns, always masters in their own house, refused to allow them the same measure of independence that they had before enjoyed--in fact, one of the first acts of henry vii.[ ] was to rate them soundly for their past negligence, and to threaten unpleasant consequences if an improvement was not quickly manifest. subordinate to the justices were the petty constables; "the lowe and lay ministers of the peace" as lambard calls them; these officers were appointed annually by the jury of the court leet, but their control was vested almost entirely in the hands of the magistrates who swore them in, and who afterwards directed their actions. careful investigation into the origin and precise nature of the petty constable's office has failed to set finally at rest the many discussions that have arisen from time to time, and has left some minor points still obscure; the essentials, however, are sufficiently clear for the purposes of the present inquiry. the word "constable" was imported by the normans, but its etymology is not quite certain; formerly it was said to be derived from "conning," a king,[ ] and "stapel," a stay or prop, and to signify "the king's right-hand man," but this is an unlikely solution, because the invaders despised the anglo-saxon language, and would not use a word which was partly derived from that tongue. latterly the derivation "comes-stabuli," meaning an equerry or master of the horse, has been generally accepted as correct. in england the title has been applied to a variety of functionaries, some high and some low, who had little in common beyond the fact that they all owed their authority to the crown. the first mention of petty constables occurs in , in a writ of henry iii. for enforcing watch and ward. this writ provides for the employment of these officers in parish and township, but it is more than likely that the office was not then a new one, because the word "constable" is there used without any explanation being added, and it may therefore be assumed that its meaning was a matter of common knowledge. the statute of winchester, it will be remembered, ordained that there should be two constables in each hundred, to carry out the inspection of arms; these officers were probably connected with the militia, and were closely allied to, if not identical with, the high constables of later date; in any case they must not be confused with the petty constables, who, according to blackstone, were so called when they added the duties of assistants to the high constable, to their ancient business of keeping the peace, and who, as lambard explains, were modified tythingmen; "when there be many tythingmen in one parish, there only one of them is a constable for the king, and the rest do serve but as the ancient tythingmen did." the transition from the anglo-saxon tythingman to the petty constable, that is to say, from the chief frankpledge to the justice's assistant was very gradual, and it is impossible to determine a rigid boundary line between the two. all we can say is that the term "constable" was introduced as early as the year , and that the term "tything man" continued to be occasionally made use of down to the beginning of the nineteenth century: that first and last the offices were in effect the same does not admit of doubt, both were primarily _ex officio_ guardians of the peace, and when the tything man came to be commonly called "constable," it does not follow that the change marked the creation of a new office. the normans naturally substituted french or latin names for anglo-saxon ones; headborough became præpositus, and shire-reeve or sheriff became vicecomes. of these foreign titles, the former is now never used, and the latter[ ] has acquired a new meaning totally distinct from its original sense. "constable," on the other hand, survived, although at first it was used only by the normans, and in official documents, the people continuing to employ the native words according to the custom of the different parts of the country; thus in middlesex there were headboroughs, in kent borsholders, and in the west of england tythingmen. it is not necessary to pursue the matter further except to say, that when the justices of the peace, owing to the increased amount of work thrown upon them, were in want of subordinate officers, advantage was taken of the staff of tythingmen already existing, some of whom were given new functions, _e.g._ the execution of the justices' warrants and the service of summonses, but without prejudice to their duties in connection with peace-maintenance; in short, the titles of tythingman, petty-constable, parish-constable, and finally police-constable, are the various names applied to the same office from the time of alfred the great to that of king edward the seventh. we do not know enough about the social distinctions of the period to say what the precise status of the early constable was. his position was without doubt an honourable one, superior in every way to that of the parish constable of later years, who only served because he could not help it, or because he was poor enough to bear another man's burden for a paltry pecuniary consideration. the local competence of the officer has always been insisted upon, and his incapacity to exercise any powers outside a particular area was one of the causes that contributed to make him the useless nonentity that he at one time became. so close was the connection between constable and parish that the court of king's bench decided, in , that a place that did not employ one constable at least must be considered merely as a hamlet, and was not entitled to the privileges that belonged to an independent township; and whenever similar questions arose, the decision invariably turned on the existence or the non-existence of a parish constable. the qualifications that a constable ought to possess are thus tabulated by coke:-- i. honesty: to execute his office truly without malice, affection, or partiality. ii. knowledge: to understand his duty, what he ought to do. iii. ability: as well in estate as in body, that so he may attend and execute his office diligently, and not neglect the same through want or impotency.[ ] it would be tedious to recount the multifarious duties that from time to time have fallen to the constable, especially as many of the most important are noticed in subsequent chapters; it will here be sufficient to state, in a general way, a few of the main directions by which he was expected to act: these may shortly be summarized as follows:-- i. his duties with regard to watch and ward were, to keep a roster of the watchmen, to see that they were vigilant and alert during the hours of watching, to receive into custody any guilty or reasonably suspected person handed over to him by the watch, and to keep such person in safety, until he should give bail or be brought before a justice of the peace. ii. with regard to hue and cry, and generally with regard to the pursuit and arrest of felons, peacebreakers and suspected persons, his duty was to obey the sheriff, to follow with the hue and cry, and to keep in safe custody any prisoner delivered to him, until relieved of further responsibility by the orders of justice or sheriff. iii. with regard to inquiring into, and prosecuting offences: he was bound to make presentment at the assizes, sessions of the peace or leet, and in some cases before the coroner, "of all bloodsheddings, affrays, outcries, rescues, and other offences committed or done against the king's majesty's peace." iv. finally he had to serve precepts, warrants and summonses, and obey all the lawful commands of the high constable and justice of the peace. the subordination of petty constables to justices was from the first generally understood and acted upon, but the custom did not receive definite official sanction until the seventeenth century, when it was tardily recognised by statute.[ ] the true relationship between the two has found apt expression in an old simile which likens constables to the eyes and hands of the justices, "eyes to see through the medium of presentments, and hands to act by virtue of warrants or process." chapter iv forest police and police in the fifteenth century just as the state of public tranquillity brought about by the wise government of edward i. had been disturbed by the irresponsible and childish behaviour of his pleasure-loving successor, so was the admirable domestic policy of edward iii. robbed of its due reward by the lack of judgment and the want of administrative capacity exhibited by richard ii., whose unhappy reign is thus described by froissart. "the state generally of all men in england began to murmur and to rise one against another, and ministering of justice was clear stopped up in all courts of england, whereof the valiant men and prelates, who loved rest and peace, and were glad to pay their duties, were greatly abashed; for there rose in the realm companies in divers routs, keeping the fields and highways, so that merchants durst not ride abroad to exercise their merchandise for doubt of robbing; and no man knew to whom to complain to do them right, reason, and justice; which things were right prejudicial and displeasant to the good people of england, for it was contrary to their accustomable usage." it would be unjust, however, to attribute the state of affairs as above portrayed solely to richard's incapacity: he was still a minor when his grandfather died, and many circumstances conspired to render his task an extremely difficult one. a latent discontent had smouldered amongst the peasantry ever since the oppressive statute of labourers had been passed some thirty years before, and the universal poll-tax of one shilling a head, imposed in to meet the expenses incurred in the interminable wars with france and scotland, suddenly caused the flame of rebellion to blaze forth with unexampled violence. it has been said that if anything like an adequate police force had been available in , wat tyler's movement might have been arrested before the riots in the southern counties had attained the dimensions of a general insurrection. such may, or may not, be true of this particular rising; but happily for english liberty there has never existed in this country any police force at the disposal of the central government, powerful enough to coerce the nation at large. our national police has always been of the people and for the people, and obviously at no time could long be used to oppress those from whom its strength was derived, provided only that one and the same sentiment pervaded a majority of the oppressed. the attack on villenage was too reasonable to be fruitless, and resistance to the popular demands could be but temporary. the death of tyler, and the consequent suppression of the insurrectionary movement which he led, caused the concessions wrung from the king to be revoked, and so delayed the cause of agrarian freedom; but the ultimate triumph of free tenure and labour was already assured from the moment that unanimity was achieved. the constitution of the general police of the country being of such a nature that it was powerless to enforce any universally unpopular measure, a distinct and separate organisation was required to administer the well-hated code of law which had to do with the royal prerogative of hunting. the whole subject of forest law and forest police is of sufficient interest and importance to warrant an account of its main characteristics in some detail. the king's peace, as we have already seen, was of two kinds--there was the public peace of the realm, and there was the royal or private peace, enjoyed by the sovereign, and by those closely connected with him. if we examine further these main divisions, we shall find that each is composed of certain sub-divisions, with their own particular laws and customs: thus under the general heading of public peace must be included--( ) the peace and privacy to which every man is entitled at his own fireside, securing him against all intrusion as long as he commits no felonious action--( ) the "peace of the church" as kept by the ecclesiastical courts--and ( ) the "peace of the sea" with its court (afterwards known as the court of admiralty) "to maintain peace and justice amongst the people of every nation passing through the sea of england."[ ] the private peace of the king, besides protecting his person and the precincts of his palaces, extended also over all the royal forest land, that is to say, over about a third part of the whole area of england: canute's law was "i will that every man be entitled to his hunting in wood and field, on his own possession. and let everyone forego my hunting";[ ] but there is no evidence to prove that the danish king enforced his forest law otherwise than by the ordinary law of the land. the system of game preservation that grew up under the normans, however, was so rigid that it necessitated the creation of special laws, special courts of law, and a special police for the prevention and punishment of illegal hunting. the norman code was modified somewhat by magna carta,[ ] and again in ; but it continued to oppress the nation through many generations, for wherever the peace of the forest was well maintained, there did the peace of the people suffer. the amount of afforested land varied considerably from time to time. henry ii. possessed forests, chaces and parks,[ ] but it was not necessarily those monarchs who were particularly devoted to sport that were the most exacting, a strict enforcement of the forest laws brought much money to the royal exchequer in the shape of fines levied on trespassers and others who were tempted to offend against the arbitrary restrictions imposed. "a forest," says manwood,[ ] "is a certain territory of woody grounds and fruitful pastures, privileged for wild beasts and fowls of forest, chase and warren to rest, and abide there in the safe protection of the king, for his delight and pleasure: which territory of ground so privileged is mered and bounded with irremovable marks, meres and boundaries, either known by matter of record or by prescription: and also replenished with wild beasts of venery and chase, and with great coverts of vert, for the succour of the said beasts (to have their abode in): for the continuance and preservation of the said place, together with the vert and venison,[ ] there are particular officers, laws and privileges belonging to the same, requisite for the purpose, and proper only to a forest and no other place." in connection with every forest there were four courts, called respectively the woodmote court, the court of regard, the court of swanimote, and the court of the justice seat. of these the first was only competent to inquire of offences, and could not proceed to conviction. the verderers, as the judicial officers of this court were called, met once in every forty days, and could acquit accused persons, or hold them to bail--in the latter case the attachment had to be by the goods of the offender, unless he was "taken with the mayneer," _i.e._ _in flagrante delicto_,[ ] when the attachment might be by his body. "if any forester shall find any man attachable for vert in the forest, first he shall attach him by two pledges, if they be to be found: and if he be afterwards found, he shall attach him by four pledges: and if the third time, he shall be presented before the verderers, and be put by eight pledges: after the third attachment, his body shall be attached and retained, that he may remember what thing vert is."[ ] coke tells us that there were four degrees of "mayneer," viz.:-- (i.) dog-draw, or tracking a wounded deer. (ii.) stable-stand, that is, standing ready to shoot or course, with weapon in hand, or greyhounds in leash. (iii.) back-bear, or carrying away the venison; and (iv.) bloody-hand, or being found in the forest stained with blood.[ ] the second court, that of "regard," was held once in three years, and had for its object the prevention of unlawful hunting. for this purpose all dogs belonging to dwellers near the forest were registered and divided into three classes; that is to say ( ) greyhounds, including spaniels and lurchers; ( ) mastiffs, including the various kinds of large dogs; and ( ) dogs of the smaller breeds. no restriction was placed on the possession of the last-mentioned class, but whilst greyhounds were not allowed on any pretence, mastiffs might be kept by a man for his own protection, provided that he had them mutilated in such a way that they could not pursue and pull down the game. this operation, called "lawing" or "expeditation," consisted in removing the claws of the fore-feet, and was performed in the following manner--one of the dog's fore-feet was placed upon a piece of wood eight inches thick and twelve inches square, and then the three claws were struck off at one blow with a two-inch chisel; if a mastiff was found "unlawed" near a forest, a fine of five shillings was imposed on its reputed master. the "court of swanimote" met three times a year, and had the power not only of inquiring into all alleged offences against the forest laws, but, unlike the woodmote, might also convict. finally, judgment was given and sentences passed by the chief justice of the forest, at the triennial meeting of the court of the justice seat.[ ] each forest was surrounded by its "purlieu," or belt of pasturage, for the deer to graze in. the jurisdiction of the courts above enumerated extended over both forest and purlieu, and since the two together covered a third part of the kingdom, it will be seen that the police regulations that secured the peace of the forest profoundly affected the daily life of the nation. many of these regulations pressed very hardly on the people, especially on folk who had the misfortune to live in the purlieu: for instance, a man found trespassing by night could be imprisoned, even if he was only in search of strayed cattle, and his beasts might be confiscated. in times of drought, or when grazing was scarce, foresters might lop trees and cut fodder for their charges on the land of any man, whilst tanners and dealers in horn were not permitted to live anywhere in the neighbourhood of a forest, for fear lest their trade should tempt them to become receivers of stolen property. when an offence had been committed hue and cry might be made by any of the king's ministers of the forest, but the pursuit had to be "fresh"; that is to say, the offender had to be detected in the act, and the fugitive kept always in sight. pursuit, on suspicion, was illegal, and hue and cry was applicable to trespass in venison only, not to trespass in vert. if any township or village failed to follow the hue and cry they were liable to be amerced at the justice seat for the default.[ ] from the "carta de foresta"[ ] we learn that the officers originally appointed to each forest were fifty-two in number, and consisted of four primarii or chiefs of the forest, sixteen mediocres homines, or yoongmen, and thirty-two minuti homines, or tine-men. this organization did not long continue, however, and was quite extinct at the accession of henry ii. the four primarii were superseded by four verderers; the sixteen yoongmen gave place to twelve regarders; and instead of thirty-two tine-men we find a staff of foresters, with their underlings, called walkers or rangers.[ ] the number of foresters and rangers employed was not arbitrarily fixed, but varied with the size of the forest, and in accordance with the exigencies of time and place. the ministers of the forest appear to have been very numerous in the days of the plantagenets, and the functions of the different grades were clearly defined: thus, the verderers were judicial officers, roughly corresponding to justices of the peace; the agisters were officers whose business it was to look after the pasturage of the purlieu; the regarders were responsible for the lawing of dogs; whilst the foresters and rangers were sworn to preserve the wild beasts and timber respectively in their several bailiwicks. the precautions taken to preserve the peace of the forest were doubled during the month of fence, or breeding season, at which time the officers were ordered to be more than usually vigilant, and offences were punished with increased severity. in the last chapter reference was made to the oath which every male over fifteen years of age had to take in furtherance of the general scheme of peace-maintenance. similarly, under forest law, an oath was required from all the inhabitants of the forest, that they would not disturb the peace of the wild beasts therein. manwood says that this oath was anciently administered in doggerel verse, in some such words as these: "you shall true liege-man be, unto the king's majestie: unto the beasts of the forest you shall no hurt do, nor anything that doth belong thereunto: the offences of others you shall not conceal, but to the utmost of your power you shall them reveal, unto the officers of the forest, or to them who may see them redrest: all these things you shall see done, so help you god at his holy doom."[ ] such then in brief were the salient features of the police arrangements by which the prerogative of hunting was secured to the sovereign, arrangements which, it will be seen, were closely allied to the general scheme of peace maintenance then in vogue throughout the realm. a fuller description of forest law, together with an interesting map of the forest lands, may be found in mr inderwick's "the king's peace": the present enquiry, however, must not extend beyond this slight survey of the machinery by which the laws in question were enforced, and may conclude with a glance at the influence that such legislation exerted over the country at large. the severity of the law coupled with the inadequacy of the executive government produced their natural result. the people resented the harsh treatment they were subjected to, and broke the unpopular regulations or evaded the irksome restrictions whenever they could, which was not seldom. many who under a wiser régime would have remained good citizens became outlaws merely out of a spirit of opposition, and in consequence, these huge tracts of forest, whose recesses were hardly ever visited even by the forest officers, and whose boundaries were hardly known to anyone else, became the stronghold of the lawless and disaffected, as well as the refuge of the unfortunate.[ ] in the opinion of many, our existing game laws, are harsh and tyrannical: it is often said that all men have an inalienable right to chase or snare any animal that is not domesticated, because, in the nature of things, a wild beast cannot have an owner. all this may be perfectly true, but if such a common right existed, it has not been enjoyed for a very long time, not since the days, perhaps, when our forefathers performed their druidical rites at the monoliths of stonehenge, apparelled only in woad and mistletoe. it is unprofitable to argue about the rights of prehistoric man: what was best for him is not always applicable to a twentieth century community, and we may be thankful that whilst a few beasts of warren and chase still remain to us, we are no longer oppressed, as men used to be, by a relentless "lex foresta" for their protection. to return, however, from the digression into which the consideration of forest law has led, to the more general theme of the police system of the statute of winchester, it is to be observed that the terms "watch" and "ward," though commonly used in conjunction to express a single idea, are not really synonymous. blackstone says that the ward was set by day, and the watch by night, and that the one begins only when the other ends. without making too much of the distinction between the two, we must remember that the population was almost entirely an agricultural one, and was occupied throughout the day in the fields; consequently every man could protect his own property and, if necessary, raise the hue and cry against any who came to despoil him. household belongings were few, and apparently of such little account that not only were they always left unprotected in the daytime, but it was even thought unnecessary to employ a nightly police except during the summer and autumn months, when the crops were ripening in the fields, the statute only requiring the watch to be set "from the day of the ascension until the day of st michael." the method of setting the watch was by house-row, that is to say, a list of the dwellings in every parish and township was prepared, and as his turn came round each householder or some one lodging under his roof was required to keep a watch: if any such "contemptuously refused" to obey the summons of the constable, that officer might set him in the stocks for his contempt. the liability to watch by roster attached equally to all the male inhabitants; when, however, it happened that it came to a woman's turn, she was allowed to find a substitute, but there is no evidence to show whether the substituted service was rendered gratuitously or whether she had to pay for the accommodation. watchmen were expected to be able-bodied and sufficiently armed, a pitchfork was not held to be an adequate weapon,[ ] but within reasonable limits a man might arm and accoutre himself as he pleased, and it was not until comparatively recent times that the watch were provided with arms at the parish expense. generally speaking, the house-row arrangement worked smoothly enough, but that friction occasionally arose, when the constables came to call upon unwilling citizens to perform the police duties incumbent on them, the following extract from "town life in the fifteenth century" bears witness: "in aylesbury" according to the constables' report, "one reygg kept a house all the year until the watch time came, and when he was summoned to the watch there came edward chalkyll 'fasesying' and said he would not watch for no man and thus bare him up, and that caused the other to be bolder for to bar the king's watch.... he said and threatened us with his master," add the constables, "and thus we be over crakyd' that we dare not go, for when they be 'mayten' they be the bolder. john bossey said the same wise that he would not watch for us, and three others lacked each of them a night."[ ] the police regulations for the government of london, as introduced in , had become very minute and exacting by the latter half of the fifteenth century, many restrictions being placed on the enjoyment of personal liberty. the use of coal was prohibited, sunday trading was forbidden, and, amongst other rules for the control of the wheeled traffic, a maximum width between wheels for vehicles was laid down which might on no account be exceeded. ordinances also were promulgated against tradesmen who should attempt to advertise their callings in an objectionable manner, such as, for instance, the display of a basin of blood by barbers anxious to let people know that phlebotomy was included in the list of their accomplishments. the provisions of the before-quoted statuta civitatis (london), touching the control of leprous persons continued in force, and about this time special officers were appointed to prevent such as were infected with the plague from associating with those who were whole. the employment of a "police des moeurs" was a novel feature of the administration. a register containing the names of all women of ill-fame was kept by the police, and such women were not allowed to reside within the city walls; a certain promenade, known as the "stews of southwark," was assigned to them, where they were kept under the vigilant eyes of the city sergeants, who, in consideration of the extra work thus thrown upon them, might confiscate and retain as a perquisite any "minever fur or cendale silk" that a courtesan might presume to wear. the inhabitants of the surrey suburb were probably not consulted as to the desirability or otherwise of this arrangement, edward iii. having granted the town and borough of southwark _in perpetuo_ to the citizens of london. this he did in answer to their complaint that the peace of the city was continually being placed in jeopardy by the facility with which thieves and felons could make good their escape over the river and take refuge in southwark, a place with no recognised privilege of sheltering runaways. the official sanctuaries were of course on a different footing, and in the fifteenth century were rendered less dangerous to society, than had formerly been the case, by an ordinance which required those who lived hard by the sanctuary to watch all avenues of escape by day and night until the refugee surrendered himself, a fine of five pounds being levied against the responsible ward if he succeeded in getting away. the general scope of the responsibilities and powers proper to these old-time city constables is clearly defined in the oath that they were required to take before entering upon the duties of their office. "you shall swear, that you shall keep the peace of our lord the king well and lawfully according to your power, and shall arrest all those who shall make any contest, riot, debate or affray, in breaking of the said peace, and shall bring them unto the house or compter of one of the sheriffs. and if you shall be withstood by strength of such misdoers, you shall raise upon them hue and cry (and) shall follow them from street to street, and from ward to ward until they are arrested. and also you shall search at all times when you shall be required by scavenger or bedel, for the common nuisances of the ward; until they are arrested. and also if there be anything done within your bailiwick contrary to the ordinances of the city. and the faults you shall find, you shall present them unto the mayor and to the officers of the said city. and if you should be withstood by any person, or persons, that you cannot duly do your office, you shall certify unto the mayor and council of the said city the name and names of such person or persons who trouble you. and this you shall not fail to do. so god you help and the saints."[ ] when the decennary societies ceased to exist, the connection between the peace officer and the particular group which he represented underwent a change, but the alteration was one of degree rather than one of kind. the fifteenth century constable was taught to look for the support of his fellow-citizens in case of need, though not to the same extent, perhaps, as the headborough was wont to rely on the members of his tything. the great principle of mutual responsibility remained, and was kept alive by insisting that all freemen should enter into a solemn obligation to keep the peace, a compact which, modified to suit more modern requirements, had its origin in the ancient oath of allegiance. the form of oath varied in different places; in london it was as follows--"you shall swear that you shall be good and true unto the king of england and to his heirs, kings and the king's peace you shall keep; and unto the officers of the city you shall be obedient, and at all times that shall be needful, you shall be ready to aid the officers in arresting misdoers, and those disobedient to the king's peace, as well denizens as strangers. and you shall be ready, at the warning of the constables and bedels, to make the watches and (to bear) the other charges for the safeguard of the peace, and all the points in this wardmote shown, according to your power you shall well and lawfully keep--and if you know any evil covin within the ward or the city, you shall withstand the same, or to your alderman make it known. so help you god and the saints."[ ] an examination of the oaths administered to constables and freemen respectively reveals to us in a concise form the motives which directed the mediæval machinery for maintaining the peace. we see how a compromise was arrived at between the ancient system of frankpledge and the more modern plan of employing a professional class of peace officers, and how, by means of the combined action of police and public, domestic tranquillity was assured. had it been possible to have made this co-operation complete and thorough, the resulting security would have left little to be desired; but, as was only to be expected, discord not infrequently took the place of harmony, and freemen sometimes forgot what was due to the oath they had taken. let the events of a certain night in canterbury serve as an illustration. some watchmen, it appears, challenged a man whom they found abroad "out of due time" and inquired his business, but (to continue the story verbatim) "the suspect person gave none answer, but ran from thence into st austin's liberty, and before the door of one john short they took him. and the same john short came out of his house with other misknown persons and took from the said watchmen their weapons, and there menaced them for to beat, contrary to the oath of a true and faithful freeman."[ ] according to the strict letter of the law it was a constable's duty, immediately after making an arrest, to deliver his prisoner to the sheriff; but, as a matter of fact, this was seldom done, and the sheriff had little or nothing to do with accused persons until after their conviction. in the absence of proper lock-ups the village stocks were commonly used by the parish constable to secure his man until he could conveniently bring him before a magistrate but, as time went on, confinement in the stocks became the normal mode of punishment for minor offences, and it was no rare thing for a constable to keep a troublesome parishioner in this uncomfortable custody for a space, on his own initiative and responsibility. prisons had existed in some form or other from the earliest times. the first dungeon was doubtless coeval with the first fortress, and london's great jail at newgate dated back to the twelfth century. but it was not then a penal establishment in our sense of the term, in so far that imprisonment was hardly as yet the recognised punishment for the ordinary run of criminals; such places were rather convenient strongholds in which to confine debtors till they paid their dues, suspected persons till they confessed their crimes, jews till they disgorged their wealth, and generally for the safe-guarding of political opponents or private enemies whom it was desirable to keep under lock and key. it was not until the fifteenth century that we find a regularly graduated connection between punishment by imprisonment and punishment by fine; the penalty for drawing a sword in the city of london, for example, was then half a mark or fifteen days, for inflicting a wound with the same, twenty shillings or forty days, and so on. the pillory was a more serious affair, and its pains were beyond the power of a constable to inflict; it was generally resorted to in cases where the offender had been guilty of practices which rendered him particularly obnoxious to the people, so that the punishment he received at their hands was nicely proportioned to the degree of unpopularity he had earned for himself. the baker who gave short weight, or the dairyman who watered his milk, received such a lesson at the hands of his customers that he was little likely to repeat his offence. it was customary, moreover, in sentencing a man to the pillory, to make the punishment fit the crime as much as possible, and to compel the culprit to advertise his guilt in some personally unpleasant fashion; thus, the man who had stolen a cart was forced to pull it through the streets to the place of punishment, and an offending vintner had to drink a full draught of the sour wine that had disagreed with the frequenters of his shop. englishmen are proverbially interested in what they eat and drink, and this public concern for good victualling explains why, when life and property were as yet but moderately secure, safeguards against the adulteration of human food were notably complete. the chief legislative authority upon which police action, directed against dishonest purveyors, rested, was the "judicium pillorie," or, as it is commonly called, "the statute of the pillory and tumbrel."[ ] this act belonged to the same period as the statute of winchester (both dating from the latter half of the thirteenth century), and like its more famous contemporary had a long career of practical usefulness in the public service. from , the year of its enactment, until , the date of its repeal, the judicium pillorie did much for english food, by maintaining a high standard in the quality of our meat and bread, and in the soundness of our ale. the statute requires that "they have in the town a pillory of convenient strength as appertaineth to the liberty of their market, which they may use (if need be) without bodily peril either of man or woman." provision is made for the sending of six "lawful men" to collect all the measures of the town, care being taken that the owner's name is legibly inscribed on each measure, "after which thing done" a jury of twelve lawful men have to make oath that they will truly answer concerning such things as may be demanded of them on the king's behalf, "and such things as be secret, they shall utter secretly and answer privately," also, "if any butcher do sell contagious flesh, or that died of the murren, or flesh that hath been kept so long that it loseth its natural wholesomeness, or meat bought from jews and then sold to christians"--for these and similar offences the penalty is the same, viz.: "if a baker or a brewer be convict ... then he shall suffer punishment of the body--that is to wit--a baker to the pillory and a brewer to the tumbrel." from "liber albus" we get a more detailed account of the fashion in which these exemplary punishments were carried out in london, we learn that "if any default be found in the bread of a baker in the city, the first time, let him be drawn upon a hurdle from the guildhall to his own house through the great street where there be most people assembled, and through the great streets which are most dirty, with the faulty loaf hanging from his neck: if a second time he shall be found committing the same offence, let him be drawn from the guildhall through the great street of cheepe, in the manner aforesaid, to the pillory, and let him be put upon the pillory, and remain there at least one hour in the day; and the third time that such default shall be found, he shall be drawn, and the oven shall be pulled down, and the baker made to forswear the trade in the city for ever." before leaving this part of the subject, it may be worth mentioning, that as long ago as the year [ ] all public officers in city and borough were debarred from selling wine or victual during their term of office, a prohibition which some people think might with advantage be applied at the present day to such modern officials as the members of borough watch committees.[ ] chapter v commercial police and police under the tudors the growth of the royal power that was so well defined a characteristic of the sixteenth century was accompanied by a general re-establishment of good order throughout the kingdom. as long as the reins of government were slackly held by feeble monarchs, the king's peace was reckoned of but little account, and in the words of the anglo-saxon writer already quoted, "every man that could, forthwith robbed another." nobles surrounded by their retainers, broke the peace whenever they chose, and laid their hands on any property that they felt strong enough to hold. as long as punishment overtook the man who had offended against a great noble with more precision and with greater celerity than it did the offender who had broken the law of the land, guardians of the peace were despised, whilst peace-breakers were admired by the multitude, if not respected. when henry vii. came to the throne he resolutely set himself to put an end to this state of affairs, and to re-assert the personal ascendancy of the sovereign, especially with regard to the maintenance of the peace. he was obviously unable to achieve this object single-handed, for he had no army with which to enforce his commands, and the mass of the people were not yet thoroughly emancipated. something of course might be done by dividing the nobles into separate factions, and then pitting one faction against another, and these tactics he pursued with some success; the class however to which in the end the king had to look for assistance was the middle-class, which was chiefly occupied with money-making, which was inclined to resent any interference with a pursuit at once so novel and so absorbing, and which, at the same time, was beginning to cry out for increased protection for its newly acquired wealth. as it seemed worth while to purchase the goodwill of the spokesmen of this powerful class, at the cost of complying with their not unreasonable requirements, the king was ready to meet them halfway, and the police administration was modified accordingly. the compulsory duty of serving as a constable, argued the middle-class, was not only unprofitable but a wicked waste of good time that might be devoted to objects that paid better; and so the system of deputy constable crept in. hue and cry was all very well, they said, for the agriculturist or the villein; he could lay down his spade to join in the pursuit with little detriment to himself; but it was different in the case of the weaver or the merchant, the former could not afford to leave his loom nor the latter to lose a bargain; and so hue and cry fell into desuetude. when property cansisted only of timber, cattle, and land, difficult things for a thief to remove, little protection was demanded, but when valuable articles, all more or less portable, became common, and when many kinds of fraud, all more or less subtle, menaced both consumer and producer, a better guarantee for security was asked: and so the old-established trade-guilds adapted themselves to the changed conditions, and introduced new protective measures. these modifications must now be examined in more detail. it is doubtful at what date the custom first arose of discharging the office of constable by proxy, but certain it is that, in the tudor period, instead of one headborough responsible to the crown for the maintenance of the peace in tything and hundred, which, as we have seen, was anciently the system, we find two or more constables answerable to the justices, nominally employed by the year, but practically as permanent deputies, performing duties delegated to them in parish and township, and their services paid for, not by the public at large, but by the individuals whose deputies they were. in some respects the change, which in all probability was a gradual one, contributed to the deterioration of the police administration, because unfortunately a very indifferent sort of man was almost invariably selected as deputy. speaking of constables, bacon says they are "of inferior, yea, of base condition, which is a mere abuse or degenerating from the first institution, for the petty constables in towns ought to be the better sort of residents in the same, save that they be not aged or sickly, but of able bodies in respect of their keeping watch and toil of their place"; and blackstone says that considering the class of man that commonly acts as constable, it is just as well that he should remain in ignorance of the powers that are entrusted to him by law. despite the fact that the employment of deputies was mischievous in its immediate consequences, the rise of the custom marked a distinct stage in the development that resulted in the freedom from personal liability which, without prejudice to the police administration, we now enjoy; it began to be felt that the onerous and thankless position of constable deserved remuneration, and that it was more economical to delegate constabulary duties to experts, than that every man should be compelled to serve his turn in an office that interfered with his normal activity, and for which, perhaps, he had no special aptitude. england, as we have seen, was rapidly becoming a commercial country, and all were eager to take advantage of every chance of money-making that offered itself, and finding that the duties of citizenship absorbed more of their time than they were willing to spare, peace-officers were no sooner elected than they hastened to hire any proxies whom they could persuade to undertake the burden of office. this reluctance of busy men to devote their valuable time to an unpaid public service was reasonable enough, and the practice of employing substitutes was winked at by the authorities; yet centuries passed before a way was found to organize with intelligence, and officially recognize a system, that whilst freeing the mass of the people from an unnecessary conscription, should yet retain the essential principle that every man shares in, and cannot divest himself of, a definite responsibility for the maintenance of good order in the commonwealth. the decay of the feudal system and the gradual abolition of villenage went hand in hand, as we have seen, with the rise of the merchant and the artisan; as trade increased and as the skilled workman became a recognized power in the state, the police horizon widened, new interests needed protection, new laws and regulations had to be made and enforced. the supreme direction of commercial police rested with the crown; and, as long as the sovereign's prerogative was confined to the control of fairs and ports, to the granting or withholding of monopolies, and to the regulating of weights and measures, the services of the justices of the peace, assisted by their constables, had been found sufficient for all practical purposes. but when questions arose, touching our trade with foreign merchants or demanding a technical knowledge of native manufactures, it became necessary to submit these difficult problems to some more expert authority than the ordinary executive officer. this want was supplied, to a great extent, by the above-mentioned police development of the trade-guilds or livery companies, which, recently deprived of much of their former political influence, now for the first time seriously began to devote themselves to the special interests of their several trades, by properly confining their energies to channels more legitimate than state-craft, such as the protection and control of the various markets, manufactures, and handicrafts. in the early stages of its development in this country, commerce stood on a very different footing from that upon which it rests to-day: skilled artizans came and settled in england from all parts of the continent, bringing their laws and customs with them; arrived here, they not only competed with the native manufacturer, but beat him at all points of the game. in the absence of any preventive police worth mentioning, the position of these aliens would have been an impossible one, except for two considerations; in the first place they thoroughly recognised the value of combination and acted upon it, and in the second place the very considerable revenue that their activities brought to the royal coffers, secured for them the king's protection and support.[ ] this incursion of foreigners was not without its effect on our craftsmen, who saw, that to command success, they too must combine, organize, and regulate. the result was that nearly every trade and industry soon had its guild organized on the continental model, the object of which (unlike the modern trades-unions that exist mainly to prevent the power of the capitalist over his employées from becoming absolute), was to create a monopoly, and hedge it round so that no outsider could enter the exclusive circle without being properly initiated and regularly admitted to craft-membership. the livery company punished the fraudulent workman, corrected the idle apprentice, and also prosecuted the would-be interloper who attempted to infringe upon its rights and privileges. we are indebted to these trade-guilds for introducing to our shores in the first instance, many mechanical arts which, greatly to our advantage, subsequently became naturalized, and afterwards for keeping them alive through times of difficulty and danger, when the central government was not strong enough to afford much protection; the high character that english goods have earned throughout the world's markets is, to a great extent, owing to this system of commercial police, which compelled every workman to serve a long apprenticeship in a technical school, and which punished the producer of fraudulent and worthless articles. on the other hand whole fields of industry were arbitrarily closed to honest and capable folk by the absurd restrictions imposed for the sole benefit of corporations, which, when full allowance has been made for the good they did, and when full credit has been given for the service they rendered by standing in the breach at the critical moment, were, after all, thoroughly reactionary in their tendency, bent, as they were, upon stifling healthy competition whenever possible, and inclined to look upon any new invention as a crime against their craft mysteries. a serious defect in the constitution of our mediæval police consisted in the numerous privileges enjoyed by favoured communities. no police regulation was of universal application; we have seen how in anglo-saxon times the king's peace afforded especial protection to certain classes, and how various limitations were imposed according to locality and according to season; subsequently charters were freely given to monasteries, guilds, boroughs and cities, carrying rights and conferring favours that were not shared by the nation at large. the consequence was that every rule bristled with exceptions, and legislation grew proportionally more complicated and difficult of application than would have been the case had all men been equal in the eye of the law. many a useful measure was rendered largely inoperative by reason of the numbers of persons who could plead privilege against its enforcement in their particular case. hue and cry could avail nothing against the baron who had bought a charter of pardon for felonies committed in the past or contemplated in the future, and the pursuit of the sheriff was stayed when the fugitive took refuge in sanctuary. first the clergy, and afterwards persons not in orders who could prove their ability to read a word or two in the gothic character,[ ] were entitled to plead "benefit of clergy," and thereby escape perhaps well-merited punishment. in the reign of henry vii. this privilege was wisely restricted, by ordaining that those who had pleaded "clergy" once, should be branded on the brawn of the thumb with a hot iron (m for a murderer, t for a thief), so as to prevent their cheating justice a second time by means of the same plea. gradually benefit of clergy was taken away from one offence after another, until at last[ ] no serious crime was left to which this exemption from punishment attached. again, the scholars of oxford and cambridge were not subject to many regulations that applied elsewhere, the members of these universities being allowed to beg, under certain restrictions, without incurring the penalties that ordinary "vagabonds and sturdy beggars" were liable to; on the other hand jews and gypsies were subject to pains that did not attach to the native population. the confusion of the illiterate constable, called upon to act when confronted with a medley of contradictory charters, passports and privileges, can well be imagined, and, needless to say, personation and forged certificates were largely resorted to both by the habitual criminal and by the professional beggar. a very necessary reform introduced in this reign was that which, in cases of homicide, made the trial of the accused follow immediately upon the discovery of the offence. by long-established usage, originating from the time when the blood-feud was the recognised agency for avenging murder, the custom had arisen of postponing royal interference until the relatives or friends of the deceased had been allowed ample time in which to bring the criminal to justice, and, by ancient consent, those parties who were interested acted the rôle that our police detectives are now charged with, and, so to speak, had to "get up" the case against the alleged offender. an "appeal," as it was called, was then made before the coroner and by him publicly declared at five consecutive county-courts. it had been laid down in ,[ ] that homicides should not be proceeded against at the king's suit until a year and a day had elapsed since the commission of the murder, and in ,[ ] twelve months was declared to be the privileged period in which appellors alone might formulate an accusation. the natural result (to quote the statute,[ ] which did away with these out-of-date restrictions) was, that "the party is oftentimes slow, and also agreed with, and by the end of the year all is forgotten, which is another occasion of murder." the anxiety to make money that pervaded all classes, but which was especially observable in the middle class, besides influencing the status of the constable and making the guild such a prominent feature of the time, was to a large extent responsible for the increasing rigour of the criminal law. the claims of property were urged to the uttermost, and people who had anything to lose pressed for the infliction of exemplary punishment in all cases where the rights of ownership were threatened. the result of this attitude was, that the war of extermination against those who had no visible means of subsistence was waged more relentlessly than ever before. the dissolution of the religious houses, following upon the civil commotions of the previous century, had multiplied the number of vagrants until the country was full of homeless and starving wanderers, many of whom, needless to say, maintained themselves by robbery. bad government first created this dangerous class, and then attempted to exterminate it by wholesale hanging: it is said that more than , persons were put to death during the thirty-eight years of henry the eighth's reign; from this number a considerable reduction may be made for exaggeration, and of the remainder a large proportion suffered on religious and political grounds. but the general government was rigorous in the extreme, and, the value of human life being but little accounted of, a penal system grew up which exacted the death penalty for offences of a comparatively trivial nature, thus laying the foundations of the barbarous code which continued to disgrace our statute book for centuries, vainly endeavouring to supply the place of preventive police by repressive measures that were expected to deter by virtue of their extreme severity. sir thomas more saw the uselessness of such a policy, and pointed out in his "utopia," that as robbers often killed their victims on the principle that dead men tell no tales, it would be desirable, therefore, to reduce the punishment for theft in order to check the frequency with which murders were committed. wales and the welsh borderland had long been the refuge of the outlaw, and the fastness of the robber; for whilst the natural features of the country favoured the escape of the fugitive from justice, the division of the principality into independent lordships, from which the king's writ was excluded, still further increased the difficulty of arrest. at one time there were of these lordships, under as many petty chieftains known as lords-marchers, who indiscriminately sold charters, and harboured any lawbreaker who would pay for his footing. this kind of home-rule in wales was incompatible with the maintenance of order in the west of england, and the counties near the border suffered severely for their proximity to this alsatia. accordingly in it was decided to extinguish the separate jurisdiction of the lords-marchers, and the whole of wales was incorporated into england by an act passed in the th year of henry the eighth, which provided justices-of-the-peace, justices-of-the-quorum, and justices-of-gaol-delivery for the welsh counties, armed with the same power and authority that the corresponding justices in england were possessed of; shortly afterwards ( )[ ] these newly-appointed justices of the peace were authorised to select two "substantiall gentlemen, or yeomen, to be chiefe constables of the hundred wherein they inhabite, which two constables in every hundred shall haue a speciall regard to the conseruation of the king's peace." a somewhat similar state of unrest existed in the neighbourhood of the scottish border. here the simple expedient of incorporation by act of parliament was of course impossible, so in the following year henry instituted a court, called the president and the council of the north, and empowered it to preserve the peace, in that part of the realm, in the king's name; so that "his true subjects ... have undelayed justice daily administered." nearer home, thomas cromwell, acting for the king, overhauled the administration of police, and amongst other improvements established parochial registers of births, marriages and deaths,[ ] but he was too fond of thrusting petty and vexatious regulations down the throats of a people, who, recently freed from their old bondage, were now for the first time beginning to think for themselves; his whole system moreover was vitiated by the frequency with which he employed spies and informers, a method of police control always peculiarly abhorrent to the english. the law against vagrancy, which, as we have seen, was extremely severe during the preceding reigns, reached its most barbarous stage soon after the accession of edward the sixth. it is the irony of circumstance which associates the name of so mild a prince with one of the most atrocious measures ever imposed upon englishmen, for edward was but a child when the statute in question was passed, and can have had no hand either in the inception or application of its provisions.[ ] the responsibility belongs to the protector, somerset, yet it will always remain a mystery how he could sanction such a measure, for he is well known to have felt much sympathy for the masses of his countrymen, and was ever anxious to please. after remarking in the preamble that "idle and vagabond persons are worthy of death, whipping, imprisonment, and other corporal pain," the statute proceeds to enact that "the offender there described to be an idle person shall be taken before a justice of the peace, who shall cause him to be marked with a hot iron in the breast, the mark "v," and adjudge him to be a slave to the person presenting him for two years, to be fed with bread and water, and be put to work (how vile soever it be) by beating, chaining, etc.: and if he runs away, the justice, on conviction, shall cause such slave to be marked on the forehead or ball of the cheek with the sign of an "s," and shall further adjudge him to be his master's slave for ever:[ ] and if he again run away, he shall suffer death as a felon."[ ] no record tells how many unfortunates suffered the pains above recited, but the number is not likely to have been considerable, because vagabondage was by no means stamped out: the conclusion is forced upon one, however, that whilst law-making of such a type was in vogue, the infirmity of the police, whose business it was to enforce its enactments, cannot be considered as an unmitigated evil. the grandmotherly domestic policy of the time, which told people what they were to eat, how they were to dress, and the number of hours they must labour, resulted, as all such attempts to interfere with the natural laws of supply and demand must result, in serious conflict between the authorities and the people, who sooner or later are sure to resent coercion, and have recourse to violent resistance to obtain economic freedom for themselves and their descendants. dissatisfaction had long been dormant, but matters came to a head early in the reign of edward vi.; popular risings took place simultaneously all over the country, the most serious outbreaks occurring in counties as far remote from each other as cornwall in the west, and norfolk in the east. there was no machinery in existence for the suppression of riots, no standing army, and no civil power in any way adequate to meet force with force: the executive was well-nigh powerless. under these circumstances a penal statute[ ] against unlawful assemblies was passed, much of which survives in our present riot act now in force. it became high treason for twelve or more persons, being assembled together, to attempt to alter any laws, etc., or to continue together for the space of an hour after being commanded by a justice of the peace to depart. it was made felony for twelve or more persons to "practice to destroy a park, conduit, or dovehouse," to pull down houses, barns, or mills, to burn any stack of corn, or to abate the price of victuals; or being assembled, to continue together an hour, after being ordered in like manner to depart. to make this statute effectual, it was necessary to devise some new executive to enforce its provisions; accordingly in each county a high official called the lord-lieutenant was appointed, who was authorized to levy men and lead them against the enemies of the king, to which category rioters, as being guilty of high treason, were now specifically declared to belong. with the appointment of lords-lieutenant, the last of the military functions exercised by the sheriff passed out of his hands into those of the new official, who to this day retains a remnant of authority over the regiments of yeomanry and militia of his county.[ ] until the middle of the sixteenth century any person so inclined[ ] could keep an alehouse--there were no licensing laws and no excise-duty leviable on alcoholic beverages, which indeed, remained untaxed until . police control was therefore both difficult and unpopular. a first attempt to grapple seriously with this rapidly increasing mischief was made in ,[ ] when justices of the peace and constables were given powers, which, it was hoped, would do something to "remedy the intolerable hurt and trouble to the commonwealth of the realm" by "common alehouses and other houses called tipling-houses." to this end justices were authorized "to remove and put away ... the common selling of ale and beer" as they might see fit. henceforward only houses "admitted and allowed in the open sessions of the peace" were to be used for the sale of liquor, and justices were furthermore instructed to take bond and surety of the occupiers; "for which recognizance, the party so bound shall pay but pence." alehouse keepers who should fail to comply with these conditions might be committed to gaol by the justices of the peace. chapter vi ecclesiastical police and police under james i the accession of queen elizabeth inaugurated a period of great activity for the police departments. her rule was masterful and her control maternal. magistrates and constables were kept busy in administering the statutes dealing with apprentices, wages, disputes in service, hours of labour, the regulation of industrial trades, laws for the suppression of rogues and vagabonds, and other enactments too numerous to mention, which followed each other in quick succession. of the many statutes, public and private, passed in this reign, having for their object the enforcement of government by police, amongst the most important were those which referred to the city and borough of westminster, "for the suppressing and rooting out of vice there used." the police administration of the city had from time immemorial rested with the ecclesiastical authorities, and in the queen gave a charter to the dean and chapter, carrying the same privileges, immunities and powers, that the abbot and convent used to enjoy. the dean and chapter delegated their authority to a functionary called the high steward, and made him responsible for the preservation of the peace, but they conferred upon him no power of levying money on the inhabitants for that purpose, and made no provision for the appointing of assistants to help him in his duties. the result of this policy was continued disorder, and after twenty-five years of failure, a change of system was decided upon. in [ ] westminster was divided into twelve wards, each under a burgess, who was nominated by the dean or high steward, and these twelve burgesses, as well as the superior officers, were authorized to punish "incontinences, common scolds, inmates, and common annoyances" in accordance with the laws and the customs of london. they had the power, also, to commit to prison peace-breakers, but they were bound to give notice of such committals to a justice of the peace for middlesex within twenty-four hours. it was hereby further enacted that "if any person or persons, after he or they shall happen to be punished and banished from this city for any incontinency of life or such like, and shall return again to the city or borough, to the intent there to inhabit and dwell, that then every such person and persons shall be whipped naked at the cart's tayle throughout the said city, for every time so offending, contrary to this order."[ ] lord burleigh was the first high steward appointed under this act, and on his initiative certain ordinances[ ] for the better government of the people of westminster were added in the course of the same year. these regulations were as minute as they were varied. not more than one hundred ale-houses were allowed, which taverns were bound to display a lantern with candle complete at their street-doors "every night, nightly (except those nights as the moon shall then and at that time shine and give light) upon paine to forfeit and pay for every time offending herein fourpence." fourpence was in like manner the fine imposed on those burgesses and their assistants who failed to attend divine service at the abbey on sunday, but the owner of any hogs found wandering in tuthill were mulcted in the sum of twelve pence. it would be interesting to learn the basis of these computations, and why a wandering hog cost the owner as much as three absences from morning prayer. more valuable, however, were the regulations introduced with the object of preventing the sale of bad and unwholesome food. special officers, called searchers, "discreet men having a knowledge of the trade," were appointed to look after the butchers, poulterers, and provision purveyors, with power to seize and burn bad meat, and to commit the owners (or their agents exposing food unfit for consumption), to prison, for a period of twenty-four hours. the licensing of ale-houses still rested with justices of the peace, and constables who neglected to apprehend "sturdy beggars" were liable to a fine of six shillings and eightpence. in addition to the extra work thrown on their shoulders in connection with the acts above mentioned, the jurisdiction of the justice of the peace was extended so as to encroach upon territory that had hitherto been the province of the justice of assize. courts leet, moreover, having by this time become quite unimportant, the appointment and control of the constabulary was centred almost entirely in the hands of the county magistrates. they held office under the crown direct, and on their commission took an oath to do equal right between rich and poor, to accept nothing beyond the customary fees for the performance of their duties, and to pay all fines inflicted by them into the queen's exchequer without embezzlement or delay. "the justices of the peace," writes sir thomas smith, "be those in whom, at this time, for the repressing of robbers, thieves, and vagabonds, of privy complots and conspiracies, of riots and violences and all other misdemeanours in the commonwealth, the prince putteth his special trust ... and generally, as i have said, for the good government of the shire, the prince putteth his confidence in them."[ ] amongst the duties laid upon the rural police for the control of agriculture, we find that before a labourer "retained in husbandry" could leave his parish or township, he had to obtain a testimonial from the constable, and to get two householders to declare his lawful departure.[ ] this system of passports for the suppression of vagrancy never worked smoothly, and its development in later times as enforced against beggars by parish constables, led to serious abuses that will demand our attention further on.[ ] the th section of the same act empowered justices and constables, upon request being made during harvest time, to compel labourers to work on farms where labour was scarce, and to put those who obstinately refused in the stocks for two days and one night. the treatment served out to rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars was more severe. persons taken begging or "misordering themselves" were to be committed to the common gaol, and if convicted of the offence at the next sessions of the peace or gaol-delivery--"grievously whipped, and burnt through the gristle of the right ear with a hot iron of the compass of an inch about."[ ] the burning was repealed, and open whipping "until his or her body be bloody" was afterwards substituted.[ ] although the severity of the punishment was thus mitigated, it was now apparently inflicted in a more summary fashion, for offenders were no longer to be committed to gaol, but were to be whipped on apprehension, probably by the constables at the instance of a justice. up to this point the history of the constable is one long record of new duties undertaken, and fresh responsibilities incurred (though perhaps unwillingly), by that officer. this tendency, as we shall see, becomes more pronounced as time goes on, though in one particular, the contrary may be noticed. in , the famous poor law of elizabeth[ ] sensibly relieved the parish officer of much irksome responsibility by associating with him churchwardens to help in assessing the poor-rate, and to assist in the general duty of supervising the needy. from this date until (when the essex rural constabulary were first employed as assistant relieving officers for casuals) the care of the impotent poor was entrusted to overseers specially appointed for the purpose, with the result that constables had more leisure to make things unpleasant for the vagrant man and the sturdy beggar. hue and cry remained the only practical agency for the pursuit and capture of delinquents. the method of its application, by whom it was to be made, and the penalties that followed upon its neglect, are fully dealt with in an act passed during the th year of this reign,[ ] which declares that hue and cry is to be deemed lawful only when made by horsemen and footmen, "any usage or custom to the contrary notwithstanding." it is not clear what is meant by this restriction, but it is probable that the prohibition of man-hunting with the aid of dogs was intended. in cases where the fugitive was not apprehended, and where the inhabitants responsible for the capture refused to pay the amercement, the constables and headboroughs were authorised to distrain upon the goods and chattels of the obstinate parishioners, and to hand over the money realized by the sale thereof to the justices.[ ] the system pressed hardly on certain hundreds, which owing to their situation and local circumstances, were unable to apprehend all the peace-breakers of the neighbourhood, and which were often so poor that a heavy fine meant ruin to one or more families in the group. we find in consequence that petitions against amercements were not uncommon: in , for instance, the poor inhabitants of benhurst in berkshire had to appeal to the clemency of the queen on account of the constant penalties imposed on them, some at least of which they thought should be borne by the neighbouring town of maidenhead. the language in which this appeal is couched is so quaint and pitiful that their own words are given. "that whereas the said hundred doth consist only of five small villages and three small quillets or hamlets, and hath lying through it two great highways: the one leading from london to henley-on-thames and the other from london to reading: and either of them at the least three miles in length within the great woody ground called the 'thicket'--and no-one of the same villages standeth upon or adjoining to either of the said ways, but lie dispersedly far from the same: neither have the inhabitants of the same hundred any open or common fields, either arable or other, adjoining or lying near to such parts of the same ways (within the said thicket) as are most apt for robberies to be done, whereby they may have their servants or workmen labouring within the view of the said ways, to take notice of the robberies done: and therefore the said inhabitants cannot well have any speedy notice or intelligence of any robbery which shall be there committed unless the party or parties robbed should give the same unto them."[ ] it is to the queen's credit that the inhabitants of benhurst in berkshire did not appeal in vain to the royal clemency. when in the civil arm was found insufficient to put down the riotous proceedings that disturbed the peace of the home counties, its shortcomings were made good by the supplemental employment of the military power. elizabeth has been accused of proclaiming martial law when its application was not warranted by the exigencies of the case.[ ] it is difficult for us at the present day to determine how grave were the disturbances that induced the proclamation in question, or how far the ordinary methods of control had been tried and found wanting; but it is certain that no adequate police existed to quell anything in the nature of a serious riot. it was no doubt discreditable to the government that such should be the case, but it was a discredit that it shared with all preceding governments, and one that attached with a greater degree of culpableness to all subsequent governments down to the year . given an unlawful and violent assembly of riotous persons, and the lack of any civil force strong enough to disperse them, it is difficult to see the practicability of any alternative measure to that of calling out the troops. the commission given to sir thomas willford in did not amount to martial law in the usual acceptation of the term, that is to say, the ordinary law was not to be entirely superseded, the provost marshal was only to "speedily execute" those offenders whom the justices of the peace signified as deserving of death, and such sentence was to be carried out in the presence of the justices who had had judicial cognisance of the offence. the only additional powers granted to sir thomas willford were those by which he was authorized to "repair with a convenient company," and "calling to your assistance some convenient number of our justices and constables abiding about the said places, to apprehend all such vagrant and suspected persons, and them to deliver to the said justices, by them to be committed,"[ ] etc., etc. the powers, in fact, given to the soldiers on this occasion were solely executive; no one was to be tried by court-martial; the verdict lay with the civil power; and only the carrying out of the sentence rested with the military authorities. at no time of our history have the duties of the justice and the tasks of the constable been more varied and onerous than they were at the period we are considering. the jurisdiction and control of these officers reached to the furthest corners of the social edifice; they had to see that the labourers rose betimes and did not take too long over their meals, nor might the country parson marry without "the advice and allowance"[ ] of two justices of the shire. all these multifarious duties they performed for the most part without pecuniary reward, the only fee to which they were entitled being the sum of five shillings for each day they sat in the execution of the statute of labourers. on the whole it must be allowed that they carried out the duties entrusted to them both with credit to themselves, and to the public advantage; for whilst sheriffs, under-sheriffs, and bailiffs were for ever giving cause for complaint on account of their "misdemeanour and evil behaviour," it was a rare occurrence for a justice to be accused of extortion or injustice, and crime was far less common at this time than it afterwards became. contemporary writers, however, criticise the county magistracy with some severity. freak, the bishop of worcester, for example, writes to the lord treasurer in , giving his opinion of the justices of the peace: "i do observe some weakness in that number: divers of them being but superficial, either for advice or for execution of any weighty affaires of the county," whilst shakespeare is very hard upon all police functionaries as he knew them. mr justice shallow, representing the bench, dogberry and verges of the watch, as well as elbow and dull of the constabulary, are all treated with good-humoured contempt. the dramatist's account of the interview between escalus and elbow is of particular interest because it illustrates the evils of the system of deputy which clung to the office of parish-constable until forty or fifty years ago.[ ] the sort of difficulties that magistrates had to contend with, owing to the slackness of the constabulary, are graphically described in a letter dated in the course of which, mr hext, then a justice of the peace for somersetshire, complains officially to the lord treasurer that thieves and robbers had grown so cunning, through having often been in gaol, that these old hands could seldom be laid hold of. "others," he writes, "are delivered to simple constables and tything-men, that sometimes wilfully, and other times negligently suffer them to escape." after suggesting that steps should be taken to punish all keepers of ale-houses who harbour suspicious persons, and all constables and tything-men who suffer them to be at large, he goes on to explain how difficult it is to get the country people to prosecute in cases of theft, "for most commonly the most simple country man and woman, looking no further than to the loss of their own goods, are of opinion, that they would not procure any man's death for all the goods in the world." this same reluctance to prosecute, as we shall see, hindered the administration of justice for many generations, and the question of how best to remove it, is to this day a police problem, that has only been partially solved by the comparatively recent institution of the office of public prosecutor. mr hext was either very credulous, or thieves' appetites must have been prodigious in the sixteenth century, for in the same letter he describes how "within this three months i took a thief, that was executed this last assizes, that confessed unto me, that he and two more lay in an ale-house three weeks: in which time they eat twenty fat sheep: whereof they stole every night one." finally he gives a woeful account of the egyptians (_i.e._ gypsies) that infested his county. "the inhabitants," declares the magistrate, "being wonderfully grieved by their rapines, made complaint at our easter sessions, after my lord chief justice's departure: precepts were made to the tythings adjoining for the apprehending of them. they made answer, but (the gypsies) were so strong that they durst not adventure of them: whereupon precepts were made to the constables of the shire: but not apprehended, for they have intelligence of all things intended against them.... and they grow the more dangerous in that they find they have bred that fear in justices, and other inferior officers, that no man dares call them in question."[ ] from all this it is clear that the police organization left much to be desired. the country, in fact, was not yet ripe for a good police. with the central government corrupt, the superior courts venal, the upper classes of society prone to violence, and the masses for the most part unacquainted with justice, the sixteenth century would have found a good police force according to our standard, about as useful and as easy of comprehension as they would an edison's phonograph or a modern treatise on the spectrum analysis. the police administration of the seventeenth century differed but little from that which had gone before, no real advance being discoverable either in the theory or practice of peace-maintenance. certain changes were indeed taking place from year to year, as old customs fell into disuse and as ancient words acquired new meanings; but, on the whole, growth and decay were almost evenly balanced. if it is admitted that the duties of a constable, and the matters that fell within his province, were now more clearly defined than heretofore, it must also be confessed that he was permitted to shirk his work more than ever. this slackness of performance may be clearly demonstrated by a comparison between the oaths taken by high and petty constables respectively, on their appointment, and the copious evidences of neglect that are everywhere apparent. before his admission to office an oath was administered to the high-constable-elect in these words:--"you shall swear, that you shall well and truly serve our sovereign lord the king in the office of constable. you shall see and cause his majestie's peace to be well and truly kept and preserved according to your power. you shall arrest all such persons as in your sight and presence shall ride or go armed offensively, or shall commit or make any riot, affray, or other breach of his majestie's peace. you shall do your best endeavour (upon complaint to you made) to apprehend all felons, barretors, and rioters, or persons riotously assembled: and if any such offenders shall make resistance (with force) you shall levy hue and cry, and shall pursue them until they be taken. you shall do your best endeavour that the watch in and about your hundred be duly kept, for the apprehending of rogues, vagabonds, night-walkers, evesdroppers, scouts, and other suspected persons, and of such as go armed, and the like: and that hue and cry be duly raised and pursued according to the statute of winchester, against murderers, thieves, and other felons: and that the statutes made for the punishment of rogues and vagabonds, and such other idle persons as come within your bounds and limits be duly put in execution. you shall have a watchful eye to such persons as shall maintain or keep any common house or place, where any unlawful game is or shall be used: as also to such as shall frequent or use such places, or shall use or exercise any unlawful games there or elsewhere, contrary to the statutes. "at your assizes, sessions of the peace, or leet, you shall present all and every the offences done contrary to the statutes made jacobi, jacobi, and jacobi regis, to restrain the inordinate haunting and tippling in inns, alehouses, and other victually houses, and for repressing of drunkeness: you shall there likewise true presentment make of all bloudsheddings, affrays, outcries, rescous, and other offences committed or done against the king's majestie's peace within your limits: you shall once every year during your office present at the quarter sessions all popish recusants within your liberty, and their children above , and their servants, (_scil_ their monthly absence from the church).[ ] you shall well and duly execute all precepts and warrants to you directed, from the justices of the peace of the county or higher officers: you shall be aiding to your neighbours against unlawful purveyances: in time of hay or corn harvest, upon request, you shall cause all persons meet to serve by the day for the mowing, reaping, or getting in of corn or hay: you shall in easter week cause your parishioners to chuse surveyors for the mending of the highways in your parish or liberty; and you shall well and duly, according to your knowledge, power, and ability, do and execute all other things belonging to the office of constable, so long as you continue in the said office. so help you god." if the obligations here enumerated had been effectually carried out, the king's peace might have been a reality instead of the meaningless formula it had become; but high constables were not professional police-officers like our chief constables, nor were they county magnates like the high constables who once had superintended the police of the shire. the status of the office had steadily declined: instead of the great noblemen who, as we have seen, occupied similar posts under the plantagenet kings, and instead of the "yeomen of the better class" spoken of by lord bacon, we find ale-house keepers and petty tradesmen, hardly less ignorant than the petty constables they were supposed to instruct, undertaking the office for the sake of profit, without any special aptitude, knowledge, or experience of their important duties, and without any serious intention of learning their work; for as no inducement or encouragement was held out to tempt or stimulate them to exertion, they were as inefficient when they relinquished their task as they were when they undertook it. the form of oath required of petty constables, or tything men, as they were still called, was as follows--"you shall swear that you shall well and truly execute the office of a tythingman of the tything of h. (or headborough, etc.). his majestie's peace in your own person you shall keep, and see it kept in all others, as much as in you lieth. in the presence of the high constable you shall be aiding and assisting unto him: and in his absence you shall execute his office, and do all other things belonging to your office, according to your knowledge and power, untill another be chosen in your room, or you shall be legally discharged thereof.--so help you god." it is immaterial whether these police officers deliberately took the required oath, meaning not to be bound by it, or whether they were so ignorant as not to understand the nature of a solemn affirmation; but be this as it may, high constables neglected their oath and their office, and petty constables followed suit, rarely acting at all except under compulsion, or unless an opportunity offered for some petty tyranny or extortion, whilst anything like professional activity was quite unknown. nor was the prevailing stagnation the worst feature of the times. the moral character, as well as the social position of peace officers, justice and constable alike, deteriorated under stuart misgovernment. the king of course remained _ex officio_ the "highest maintainer of the peace," and his weaknesses, illegalities, and extortions were not only repeated but multiplied in the descending links of the chain of responsibility. it was in the reign of james i. that corrupt magistrates first earned for themselves the nickname of "basket justices," as the predecessors of the "trading justices" of later days were called; and even the higher judges were not altogether above suspicion. with such a degenerate personnel to carry out its provisions, small wonder that the law frequently became a dead letter. let one instance suffice. during this reign the right of sanctuary was abolished by law; but custom, which was far more powerful than the police, having decided that sanctuaries should continue, not only was no attempt made to deprive these asylums of their ancient privileges, but certain of them, notably whitefriars, secured for themselves additional immunities. the country, in fact, too often had to witness the ridiculous spectacle of a legislature solemnly filling the statute book with elaborate enactments, whilst the constables whose duty it was to see the law enforced, were quietly going about their own business, following the plough, or minding the shop. english police was in truth at a low ebb, and the inevitable consequences of such a feeble executive quickly followed; bullies and blackguards of every kind overran the realm, and the weak had no rights except such as the strong chose to leave them. "private quarrels were nourished" (writes the historian of the period) " ... and duels in every street maintained: divers sects and peculiar titles passed unpunished and unregarded, as the sect of the roaring boys, bonaventors, bravadors, quarterors, and such like, being persons prodigal, and of great expense, who, having run themselves into debt, were constrained to run next into factions, to defend themselves from danger of the law. these received countenance from divers of nobility: and the citizens, through lasciviousness consuming their estates, it was like that the number (of these desperadoes) would rather increase than diminish: and under these pretences, they entered into many desperate enterprises, and scarce any durst walk in the street after nine at night.... alehouses, dicing houses, taverns and places of iniquity, beyond manner abounding in most places."[ ] slack as the police were in other directions, the campaign against vagrants continued to be conducted with vigour. all men, whatever their station, were ordered to apprehend such rogues or vagabonds as they might see begging, and to convey them to the nearest constable or tythingman, at whose hands they were liable to be branded with the letter "r," should they be found incorrigible.[ ] nor was this all. justices of the peace were instructed to summon the constables together some four or five days before the half-yearly sessions, and to command them "to make a general privy search one night for the finding out of such rogues and idle persons, and such as they find they shall bring to the justices, and if for punishment (cause them to be) conveyed to the house of correction, there to be set to labour."[ ] in order, moreover, that this privy search might be the more effectual, constables were empowered to claim the assistance of as many neighbours as they might find sufficient for their purpose. such persistent persecution of the vagrant class does not argue that the police were efficient, for if the vagrants had been organized or able to stand up for themselves, there is little doubt that they would have been left alone just as the roaring boys and the bonaventors were. this is also true, to some extent, of those unfortunate persons who were suspected of being afflicted with the plague, and who were, in consequence, treated with as little consideration as are pariah dogs in an indian cantonment. fear of the plague aroused an unwonted display of energy amongst police officers, and caused extraordinary powers to be given to the justices, who were authorised to appoint searchers, watchmen, examiners, and others to see that no person suspected of being infected left their houses. if any such person, having been duly warned, "contemptuously went abroad," the watchmen might, with violence, enforce him to keep his house, but if he was caught in the public streets having any infectious sore upon him uncured, he was adjudged "_ipso facto_" guilty of felony, and might be sentenced to death. furthermore, if any man was discovered abroad "conversing with company" after being cautioned to keep house, even if there was no sore found about him, it was ordained that he should be punished as a vagabond, and be subject to all penalties for vagabondage (including whipping) besides being bound to his good behaviour for the space of one year.[ ] in remote country districts similar powers were conferred, not only on justices of the peace, but also on constables and headboroughs.[ ] the following police regulations, which were in force during an outbreak of the plague in the city of oxford, are from a proclamation by charles i. in the year , and are far milder and more reasonable than those considered necessary in the previous reign, as a few extracts will shew. it is ordained--"that a watchman (be) set at the fore door of the house, to keep in the persons within the house, and also to fetch them such necessaries as they want, to be delivered to them so discretely and warily as may not endanger themselves, or those to whom they may resort. "that when a house shall be known to be infected with the plague, forthwith a red crosse be set on the outward doore of the house, with an inscription in capital letters, with these words lord have mercy upon us. "that every such watchman, when he sitteth or goeth in the streets, carry a white stick in his hand, so that others may be admonished not to presse too neare into his company. "that all burialls of persons dying of the plague be in the night-time, after tenne of the clock at the soonest, and without concourse of people, and that the corpse be laid at least foure foot deep under the ground. "that all dogs and cats in the towne be forthwith sent away out of the towne, or such as are found in the streets, or courts of the colledges, to be knockt on the head, and their carcasses carryed away and buried without the works at a convenient distance."[ ] it is not to be wondered at if during the troubles which befell the nation in king charles' reign, police suffered in common with all other institutions. internal peace was not likely to thrive during those eleven years whilst no parliament was summoned, whilst wentworth was devoting his energies towards the creation of a standing army that was to make the crown absolute, whilst soldiers were billeted broadcast on unwilling inhabitants, and as long as in many districts martial law continued to supersede the ancient judicial system. the keynote of charles' policy was, from the first, a determination to raise money by hook or by crook, wherever the cost might fall, and to this end, one field of trickery after another was exploited. one device ( ) was to make sheriffs of those of his opponents whom the king feared, so as to secure their detention in their own counties; another was an attempt ( ) to reintroduce the forest laws, by determining afresh the boundaries of the royal forests,[ ] and re-insisting on their old-time privileges for the sake of the revenues accruing therefrom. amercements were collected with an energy that was not content until the uttermost farthing had been gleaned: offences against the licensing laws were usually punished by fines, and the income arising from this source was not small, so it was enacted,[ ] that if offenders did not pay up within six days, they were to be delivered to the constable to be whipped, and if the constable failed to execute his warrant, he was to be committed to prison by the justice until he should induce someone else to do it for him. before approaching the subject of the civil war and its after-consequences, it will, perhaps, not be out of place to pause for a moment, and looking back on the history of the past, to enquire, how much of the ancient police system of england survived at this period, how much of it was dormant, and what portions had altogether disappeared. the tything could no longer be said to exist: the increase of population, the growth of trade, and the improved facilities for moving from one part of the country to another, having rendered the retention of such a small sub-division impracticable. the parish took the place of the tything, and the parish-constable filled, to some extent, the position once held by the tythingman. we have seen how the office of constable, which theoretically ought to fall to all the inhabitants in rotation ("religious persons, knights, clerkes and women" only excepted) came to be generally executed by paid, and practically permanent substitutes; but it must not be forgotten that the liability of the principal was not at an end, nor the appointment of the substitute valid, unless the transfer was approved by the inhabitants, and until it was duly confirmed by the proper authority. the decay of frank-pledge, as a practical system, had long been complete, but the general principle remained, and now and again we come across attempts at revival and other indications, which prove that the saxon régime was not entirely forgotten. in his "customs of the city of london," published in , sir henry colthrop quotes from liber albus: "a large charter is granted for the liberties of southwark, and for correction of offences there, with a view of franck-pledge with arrests, and to bring the offenders to newgate."[ ] writing in the first half of the seventeenth century, minsheu says that "inlaugh signifieth him that is in some franke-pledge," and goes on to remark that "decennier is not now used for the chiefe man of a dozen, but for him that is sworn to the king's peace ... and that no man ordinarily giveth other securities for the keeping of the king's peace, but his owne oath, and that therefore none answereth for another's transgression, but every man for himself--and for the generall ground this may suffice."[ ] the exceptions here implied, refer no doubt to the custom of binding over an offender to keep the peace. "inlaugh" is obviously the antithesis of the more familiar "outlaw," whilst "dozen" is used in its original sense of "ten," and has nothing to do with the number "twelve." the liability of the hundred to compensate the sufferers for the damages done therein still held good,[ ] and constables had never been relieved, by statute or otherwise, of their constitutional duty of presenting offences at the court of the hundred or leet. the high constable was the chief executive officer of the hundred, but as the scope of his office has been fully set forth in the form of oath already quoted, his exact position need not be further enlarged on, except to say that his disciplinary powers over the petty-constables seem to have been very limited. the justices decided what the petty-constables were to do, and how they were to do it, despite the fact that the high constable was the man who was responsible for the due conservation of the peace in his district: he had, in short, most of the responsibilities of a modern chief constable, with no power of appointing, dismissing, or controlling his assistants. the obligation of all to bear arms had been re-enforced by statute as recently as the year ,[ ] and this liability remained the law of the land, at least nominally so, until the eighteenth century. the statute of winchester defined the law as to watch and ward as heretofore, and although of course its precise regulations were no longer adhered to in detail, but modified continually with the changing circumstances of the times, no fresh authoritative declaration was issued on the subject. hue and cry, also, had undergone little change and in is thus defined by minsheu: "hue and cry--this signifieth a pursuit of one having committed felonie by the highway, for if the partie robbed, or any in the companie of one murdered or robbed, come to the constable of the next towne, and will him to raise hiew & crie, or to make pursuit after the offendour, describing the partie, and shewing, as neere as he can, which way hee is gone: the constable ought forthwith to call upon the parish, for aid in seeking the felon: and if he be not found there, then to giue the next constable warning, and he the next, untill the offender be apprehended, or at the least untill he be thus pursued to the sea-side." this brief survey of the police system of the early stuart period not only shews how little progress had been made during the last five hundred years, but partly explains the rash haste with which all classes decided to appeal to the sword for the settlement of the differences that divided crown and commons. for some time back, in the absence of that restraining influence which an efficient police force might have afforded, people had readily run into factions; and, with arms in their hands, had supported their particular opinions by force, in defiance of all authority, and with a degree of violence that would never have been tolerated for a moment in any community where the value of peace-maintenance was duly appraised and properly insisted upon. chapter vii military police and police under charles ii if the feebleness of the police was in some degree responsible for the ready appeal to arms in , the lawlessness that was so widespread at the close of the century, was largely the outcome of the disorganization of the national police system, which was the natural accompaniment of the revolution. civil war is invariably attended by an outbreak of crime that has no connection with the main quarrel, but which arises in the day of trouble because the powerlessness of the executive is the opportunity of the criminal. no longer is any one power supreme (crimes committed in one camp being generally condoned in the other), and a mania of insubordination drives ordinarily well-disposed persons to throw off the old restraints to which they instinctively submit in times of peace. when civil war begins, the "king's peace" is at an end, the law is forgotten or despised, the whole body politic is in a state of fever, and the usual functions of orderly government are suspended. if the revolution in england produced less serious consequences than might have been expected, this result was due to the puritan zeal of the parliamentary army, which had no sympathy with any acts of violence that were not directed against those whom it held to be the enemies of liberty and religion, and which at least permitted no riotous licence amongst its adherents. yet in spite of this desire of the popular party to maintain order, the whole civil machinery of the country was dislocated and out of gear as long as the war lasted; even the circuit of the justice of assize was discontinued; and marriages, no longer solemnised with the customary religious ceremony, were performed by justices of the peace, and in such a casual manner that few records were kept. as soon as cromwell's victory was complete he at once set to work to establish an orderly government, only to find that the old implements that had served his predecessors were now broken and well-nigh useless. in london, the parliamentary stronghold, the re-establishment of order presented no insuperable difficulties, but in the rural districts the case was different. there the gentry, to which class both justices of the peace and grand jury-men belonged, were in the main royalists--whilst constables, tythingmen and petty jurymen were usually roundheads. the resulting friction hampered the protector's administration from the first; so that, much as he would have preferred to have made use of the constitutional machinery for peace-maintenance, he was often compelled to resort to novel expedients to police the new commonwealth. if it was denied to oliver cromwell to govern on constitutional lines, he held, nevertheless, the supreme command of a large and powerful army, such as no sovereign in england had previously had the control of, and inevitably therefore, he fell back upon the military forces that had served him so well in the past, hoping by their aid to restore, if not to improve upon, the state of security that had been wrecked by the war. an attempt to reform the county magistracy by the creation of a new commission of the peace in the year having ended in failure, the protector had no choice but to hand over to the army those police functions which no alternative organization was competent to undertake, and so for the first time in english history, the civil power was subordinated to a military dictatorship, and for a while the sword supplanted the baton. in the course of the year the whole of england and wales was divided for administrative purposes into twelve police districts, viz.:-- i. kent and surrey. ii. sussex, hants, and berks. iii. gloucester, wilts, dorset, somerset, devon and cornwall. iv. oxford, bucks, herts, norfolk, suffolk, essex and cambs. v. london. vi. westminster and middlesex. vii. lincoln, notts, derby, warwick and leicester. viii. northants, beds, rutland and hunts. ix. herefordshire, salop and n. wales. x. cheshire, lancashire and staffordshire. xi. yorkshire, durham, cumberland, westmoreland and northumberland. xii. monmouth and s. wales. to each of these districts a military officer was assigned, and largely endowed with inquisitorial and penal powers. though holding for the most part no higher army rank than that of colonel or major, these functionaries (who were appointed by cromwell himself, and who remained under his personal supervision) were styled major-generals,[ ] and under this title exercised an office which for the moment overawed the constitutional ministers of the peace. at first it was not intended that the ordinary magistrates should be superseded, for the major-generals were instructed to co-operate with "the other justices of the peace," and if in practice this co-operation degenerated into flat coercion, such a result must be attributed to the exigencies of the occasion, or to the misinterpretation of their orders by the protector's agents, rather than to the deliberate design of cromwell himself. the programme in front of the military reformers was a sufficiently extensive one, comprising, as it did, measures "for the security of the peace of the nation, the suppressing of vice, and the encouragement of virtue."[ ] to enable them to grapple with their herculean task, they were assisted by a special force of militia, strong, all but two hundred of whom were mounted, and the expense of the new administration was met by the imposition of a tax of ten per cent. on the estates of royalists, on the old english principle that those responsible for disturbances should pay for the re-establishment of order. as was only to be expected, political considerations suggested many of the police regulations now enforced--travellers from foreign parts were not free to remain on english soil till they had communicated to the major-general of the district, their names, their destination, and their business, nor were they allowed to move from shire to shire without previously advising the justices; whilst ex-cavaliers and other persons of known royalist sympathies were bound to notify every change of address to the soldier-magistrates, who were also empowered to disarm rebels and to distribute the confiscated weapons amongst supporters of the parliamentary cause. for the guidance of the major-generals a document was circulated, containing twenty-one headings, under which was set out a scheme for the better government of the people--horse-racing, cock-fighting, and bear-baiting were forbidden, drunkenness, blasphemy and sabbath-breaking were to be severely punished, and alehouses, not absolutely necessary for the refreshment of travellers, were to be suppressed.[ ] the vigour with which this crusade against popular sports was pushed is well illustrated by the activity displayed by colonel barkstead, who with his own hand killed all the bears in westminster, and ordered his men to wring the neck of every game-cock that they could find. under the military régime espionage was encouraged, and the new functionaries received special instructions to watch carefully such persons as appeared to live beyond their means. at the same time better protection for the public highways was provided, sheriffs being ordered to apprehend vagrants, robbers and highwaymen throughout their respective districts, with the assistance, if necessary, of the military police; in this way the vagrant nuisance was considerably abated, if not for long, and in one neighbourhood at least complete success would seem to have been attained, for whalley was able to boast, "this i may truly say, you may ride all over nottinghamshire, and not see a beggar or a wandering rogue." although the meshes of what the protector called his "little poor invention" were calculated to entangle petty sinners amongst his opponents whilst admitting of the escape of more dangerous offenders amongst his adherents, it would be unjust to suppose that cromwell's police system was only a pretext for the exercise of political tyranny. many of the pains suffered by royalists were directly attributable to their own faults, and, without deserting their cause, they might with ordinary care have avoided many of the penalties they incurred. generally speaking, the code was especially severe against moral as contrasted with criminal offences; gambling and profane swearing being punishable by heavy fines and imprisonment, whilst dissolute living rendered the offender liable "to be sent out of the commonwealth," as transportation to barbadoes was euphemistically termed. in addition to their already too numerous duties, the major-generals were expected to exercise a general supervision over the religious habits of the people, the regulations of weights and measures and the control of certain trades also falling to their lot. in london and westminster, where the puritans had a preponderating majority, and where major-general skippon and colonel barkstead respectively held command, the police control grew particularly irksome and irritating, puritan zeal being carried to such a pitch that fiddlers found themselves in the stocks for no worse offence than playing a jig, and even the ordinary christmas festivities were sternly repressed. search was frequently made in the taverns and alehouses, and any servant or apprentice found there after p.m. was seized and taken before a justice of the peace for punishment. the commissioners of customs also were instructed to cause their officers to make similar visits in order to prevent tippling amongst watermen,[ ] whilst stage-plays and places of public amusement were vigorously proceeded against.[ ] the régime associated with the major-generals was short; these functionaries were practically extinct before the end of , and all traces of their rule were quickly obliterated after the restoration of the monarchy. but the episode is none the less interesting as being the only example in england of an almost unqualified military police ascendancy, such as has been common elsewhere. in estimating the results produced by this system, it must be borne in mind that the circumstances under which it was instituted were quite exceptional. the army which undertook the policing of the country was composed neither of foreigners nor of mercenaries; on the contrary, its members were the pick of the middle classes of england, and their object was the maintenance of liberty and religion, as they understood those terms, not conquest, nor oppression for oppression's sake. cromwell's lieutenants did their work with honesty and diligence, and, according to their lights, they held the balance of justice level between man and man. if their discretion had equalled their impartiality, posterity would be able to look upon their administration with unqualified approval, but the admonishing, meddling, and eavesdropping tactics that they saw fit to pursue only invited the reaction that so quickly followed on the heels of their employment. as long as a strict military discipline remained in force, disorders were kept in check, but as soon as it was relaxed, the havoc caused by the war soon became apparent, and at no time in our history has there been such a need of a strong and capable police force as there was at the time of the restoration. the country was overrun by vagrants and disbanded soldiery, numbers of people had suddenly been reduced to poverty, and numbers had as suddenly been raised to affluence; the revulsion of feeling that followed upon the downfall of the puritan party led to excesses of every kind, and licence and violence thrived in the general confusion; nor was it till charles ii. had been king for several years that any attempt was made to grapple with the state of chaos to which the internal security of the kingdom had been reduced, and even then the matter was not faced with any resolution. london was in a disgraceful condition. few towns in europe were at once so inadequately policed, so badly lighted, and in such an insanitary state as the capital city of england; proof of the lack of proper sanitation, and its unfailing result, was brought home to people in convincing form at the time when the nightly procession of dead-carts, filled with victims of the plague, was the only traffic to be seen in the streets; but although the great fire of improved out of existence some of the most pestilential quarters, london remained a city of squalor and darkness. most of the thoroughfares were without pavements of any kind, and such as existed were so sunken and broken that they were a source of danger to those who stumbled along them; rubbish was shot out of upper windows into the street beneath, and the public squares were used as receptacles for all the filth of the neighbourhood. after nightfall the certainty of having to encounter drunken bullies and highway robbers confined to their houses those citizens whom urgent business did not compel to walk abroad; even in daylight there were districts where the peace officers dared not venture, and macaulay tells us that within the sanctuary of whitefriars "even the warrant of the chief justice of england could not be executed without the help of a company of musketeers."[ ] all this time the legislature was mute: throughout the reign of charles ii. hardly a single act of parliament was passed dealing with the policing of the twin cities that make up the metropolis. the municipal authorities did what they could, and by an act of common council provided a force of about one thousand bellmen, afterwards called charlies, in memory of the monarch in whose reign they were first instituted. unfortunately these watchmen were allowed to shirk their duties and were well known to be altogether inefficient, so much so, that when rowdy apprentices and other unruly assemblages gave trouble, as they too often did, no one thought of looking to such weak-kneed officials for the safety of the town. on such occasions companies of soldiers were requisitioned to protect the main thoroughfares, and, as a further precaution, chains were stretched from one side of the street to the other to prevent the free movement of the riotous bands. before the end of the reign, however, some advance was made towards rendering london a fit place to live in. several squares were enclosed and planted; new and wider streets were built; but the greatest improvements of the time were due, not to the efforts of municipal authorities, but to the recently-formed royal society, which investigated the question of sanitary police, and offered suggestions that to some extent were acted upon, with the result that england has since been free from the plague, so fatal in former years. commissioners of sewers were appointed, and the duties of scavengers and rakers, with regard to the cleansing of the metropolis, were formulated. in other departments also, progress was manifest, especially in the lighting arrangements. by an act passed in [ ] it had been ordered that a certain number of candles should be displayed every night between michaelmas and lady day; but in private enterprise was responsible for placing a light before every tenth door from dusk till midnight. the effect cannot have been dazzling, but even this moderate amount of illumination was more effectual in preventing crime than any number of the watchmen of the period were likely to be. about the same time regulations for the control of hackney carriages plying for hire were first published.[ ] in the rural districts peace-maintenance was, if possible, at a lower ebb than in london--the roads were almost impassable throughout the winter months, and highwaymen were as frequent as mile-stones. peace officers were practically non-existent: justices were careless and apathetic, and lords of the manor had neglected to hold courts-leet for the annual election of constables. a statute of [ ] complains of the lack of constables, and authorises two justices of the peace in each district to fill up the vacancies immediately. this was the first occasion on which the power of appointing petty constables had been by act of parliament conferred on the magistrates, and official sanction extended to what had for years been the almost invariable custom. for the better policing of highways, turnpikes were established,[ ] and those who used the roads made to subscribe towards the necessary repairs, instead of the whole burden being thrown on the rural population, which, partly by forced labour exacted by law (the _corvée_ of feudal times), and partly by a parochial rate, had been compelled to mend the roads that traversed their neighbourhood. it is to be feared that this long-delayed act of justice was attributable rather to the vile condition of the highways than to any tender consideration for the rural population. the system of passports, which had been introduced some centuries before for the purpose of checking vagrancy, continued to find favour, and was believed in as a panacea for the prevention of all kinds of crime. it was thought, not without reason, that a thief could not long pursue his vocation undetected amongst neighbours, who were acquainted with his circumstances, and who saw how he occupied his time and how he spent his money, whilst a stranger who came to-day and was gone to-morrow, might rob from one end of england to the other with impunity. the police were therefore instructed to enforce the regulations against vagrants with increased vigour, and in the following manner. after a vagrant beggar had been whipped he was entitled to a testimonial signed by the minister of the parish and countersigned by the constable or tythingman, setting forth the date and place of his punishment, something after this form. "w. w., a sturdy vagrant beggar (aged about forty years) tall of stature, red-haired, and long lean-visaged, and squint-eyed, was this th day of a in the nd year of the reign of our gracious sovereign lord king charles the second, etc., openly whipped at t in the county of g; according to the law, for a wandering rogue; and is assigned to pass forthwith from parish to parish by the officers thereof the next streight way to w in the county of b, where he confesseth he was born: and he is limited to be at w aforesaid within twelve days now next ensuing at his peril. given under the hands and seals of c. w. minister of t. aforesaid, and of j. g. constable there, the day and year aforesaid."[ ] any vagrant found by a constable, and unable to produce such a testimonial, was straightway to be arrested, and became liable to more whipping, or if found incorrigible[ ] to transportation "to any of the english plantations beyond the sea" by the order of a majority of justices at quarter sessions. although we no longer look upon vagrancy as "the mother and root of all evil" as our forefathers did, and have relaxed the stringency of the laws against vagabondage, the tramp is still an object of legitimate suspicion, and a watchful eye is kept by the convict supervision office over all convicts at large, who are bound to produce their licenses when called upon by a police officer to do so, and are only allowed to travel from district to district under certain restrictions. among the many difficulties that those responsible for the preservation of the peace had to contend with, one of the most complicated was how best to deal with the lawless aggression of the lowland scots without involving the two nationalities in actual war. henry viii. endeavoured to solve the problem by the creation of a special local authority called "the council of the north," but this was only a temporary measure, and not very successful, nor were the expedients adopted by elizabeth any more effectual. throughout the whole of the seventeenth century, the northern counties were continually overrun by predatory bands, called moss-troopers, who taking advantage of the almost perennial hostility existing between the english and the scots, harried the country-side, murdering, marauding, and lifting cattle: in case of pursuit, or after an unusually successful expedition, they had only to cross the border to avoid capture. according to fuller,[ ] their numbers amounted at one time to some thousands of men, who scoured the country in troops and exacted an annual tribute from the inhabitants of the valleys between the solent and the north sea. although fuller's was assuredly an exaggerated estimate, these enterprising freebooters were without question a most formidable fraternity. the union of the crowns of england and scotland deprived them, it is true, of the international pretext they had traded upon in the past, but their depredations continued just the same as before. with the hope of putting an end to these raids, a local police force was established in ,[ ] and afterwards kept alive by successive acts of parliament. the justices of the peace for the northern counties were empowered by virtue of this statute to make a charge of £ against northumberland, and of £ against cumberland, for the payment and support of a body of men, forty-two strong (viz., thirty northumbrians and twelve cumbrians), whose duty it was to "search out, discover, pursue, apprehend, and bring to trial by law,"--the raiders. in strict justice, the task of suppressing the moss-troopers should not have been left to a local force, but the political relations between the two countries were already strained almost to breaking point, and the employment of troops on the borderland might, and probably would, have induced a rupture. under the circumstances, therefore, the government of the day was probably justified in the course pursued, but on no account should the whole expense have been borne by the very counties which had already principally suffered through the inroads of the raiders. contemporary literature shews how lamentably insecure life and property had become in the days of the later stuarts, and during the early georgian period. luttrell's diary is one long catalogue of crimes of violence, and he remarks, from his own experience, that "footpads are very troublesome in the evening on all the roads leading to the city, which renders them very unsafe." in his history of england, smollet declares that "thieves and robbers are now become more desperate and savage than they had ever appeared since mankind was civilized." no thoroughfare was free from the tyranny of the fraternity of highwaymen, who were allowed to terrorize whole districts, and who enjoyed an almost unlimited freedom from interference. as their depredations grew more extensive, their insolence increased. evelyn describes how a gang of robbers succeeded in appropriating the taxes that had been collected in the northern counties, as the bags containing the money were being escorted through hertfordshire, on their way to london: the highwaymen first stopped and secured all travellers in the immediate neighbourhood, placed them under guard in a field, and after killing the horses of their captives to prevent pursuit, attacked the escort, put them to flight, and captured the treasure. the authors of this outrage were never caught. troops were sometimes made use of in a half-hearted sort of way to patrol the most infested localities, but the simple remedy of maintaining a properly paid and equipped police was never tried: the only expedient that the wisdom of the age could suggest was the offering of rewards to all and sundry to encourage the apprehending of highwaymen. this disastrous policy was inaugurated in .[ ] "whereas the highways and roads," runs the preamble of the statute in question, "within the kingdom of england and dominion of wales have been of late times more infested with thieves and robbers than formerly, for want of due and sufficient encouragement given, and means used, for the discovery of such offenders," provision is accordingly made, that in the event of any person being killed in the act of taking a highwayman, his executors shall have the reward, and a free pardon is promised to accomplices and other criminals who shall cause such offenders to be brought to justice. the conditions under which this pardon was granted were as follows: "if any person or persons, being out of prison from and after the said five-and-twentieth day of march, commit any robbery and afterwards discover two or more persons, who already hath or hereafter shall commit any robbery, so as two or more of the persons discovered shall be convicted of such robbery--any such discoverer shall himself have, and be entitled to, the gracious pardon of their majesties." the provisions of this act were afterwards extended to robberies in london,[ ] and first and last were responsible for an appalling sum of wickedness. the bait of blood-money and the lack of a salaried or professional class of detectives were answerable for the appearance of amateur thief-takers; these men were mostly ex-thieves, who had given up their old vocation for the safer, more lucrative, but infinitely baser role of fattening on the conviction of the innocent, and on the execution of those whom they had themselves corrupted. the best known and most energetic member of this horde of vampires was the notorious jonathan wild, who flourished at the beginning of the eighteenth century, and whose _modus operandi_ is fully set forth for us by henry fielding in his satirical history of "jonathan wild the great." this arch-ruffian had a most complete knowledge of all the thieves in england, and at one time practically monopolised in his own person the trades of receiver of stolen property and trafficker in blood money. he established warehouses all over the country, and even bought himself a ship to export what he could not dispose of at home. to those thieves who submitted to his authority, and who brought him the proceeds of their robberies, he extended a protection that must have been dependent to a certain degree on the connivance of some person or persons in authority. grandmaster of espionage, and holding in his talons the threads of all villainy, wild could manufacture whatever evidence he chose, could ruthlessly destroy any who opposed him, and deliver up to justice those thieves who were bold enough to take their spoils elsewhere for disposal. when this supply of victims ran short, or when it suited his purpose to shield the real culprit, he was content to take the reward offered for the conviction of the innocent. it is comforting to know that his carcass, the foulest fruit the fatal tree ever bore, eventually swung at tyburn, at the same spot where so many of his victims had preceded him. the iniquitous system of paying blood-money for the conviction of certain classes of offenders continued for generations, but is now happily extinct. at the present day rewards are not offered by government except under very exceptional circumstances, and then only in cases where the identity of the criminal is clear, whilst rewards offered by private persons are placed under restrictions that prevent any revival of the abominable traffic that continued even into the nineteenth century. as late as george vaughan, and others associated with him, were convicted at the middlesex sessions of conspiring to induce three brothers named hurley, and a lad named wood, only thirteen years of age, to commit a burglary at hoxton, and by having them convicted of the fact, to procure for themselves the rewards given by parliament for the conviction of housebreakers. one of the chief embarrassments, after the inefficiency of the constabulary, which hampered the action of the authorities, and made the suppression of crime more difficult, was the popularity that the more notorious thieves enjoyed amongst a large section of the people; the sympathy, felt and expressed, for highwaymen of the claude duval type was widespread, and arose from a variety of sentiments. the mass of the people, who never suffered in their own pockets, were not altogether averse to seeing the rich plundered occasionally, especially as it was the policy of the robbers to be free and open-handed with a part of their booty. another class of people who were well-disposed towards the highwaymen, gave their sympathy as a misdirected kind of protest against the severity of the law; and the "gentlemen of the road," as they were called, quick to perceive the advantage that this popularity, from whatever source arising, gave them--sometimes, but not often--performed quite gentlemanly actions, in order to enhance and to advertise their reputation for good deeds. the abbé le blanc, who spent some years in england early in the eighteenth century, declared that he frequently met englishmen who were as proud of the exploits of their highwaymen as they were of the bravery of their soldiers, and in a letter to de buffon he writes: "it is usual, in travelling, to put ten or a dozen guineas in a separate pocket, as a tribute to the first that comes to demand them," and adds that, "... about fifteen years ago, these robbers, with a view to maintaining their rights, fixed up papers at the doors of rich people about london, expressly forbidding all persons, of whatever quality or condition, from going out of town without ten guineas and a watch about them, under pain of death. in bad times, when there is little or nothing to be got on the roads, these fellows assemble in gangs, to raise contributions even in london itself; and the watchmen seldom trouble themselves to interfere with them in their vocation."[ ] without attaching too much importance to the statements of this foreign critic, it must be confessed that at no time in our history have the arrangements for maintaining the peace sunk to so low an ebb as when thief-takers like jonathan wild were officially recognised and allowed to co-operate with the constitutional police forces, and at no time has the flood of lawlessness reached such a height as when highwaymen and footpads dictated their own terms to all who made bold to use the king's highway. yet the government took no steps towards organizing an adequate defence, and utterly failed to provide any counterpoise to the criminal tendencies of the age; it was left to private enterprise to carry out the duties, or some of them, that parliament neglected to perform. in a "society for the reformation of manners in the cities of london and westminster" was formed, and in was instrumental in securing the conviction of "leud and scandalous persons." two years later, the governors of the london poor issued a proclamation, promising the sum of twelve pence to any person who should apprehend "any rogue, vagabond, or sturdy beggar," and, having brought him before a justice of the peace, cause him to be committed to the workhouse. the particular kind of lawlessness, however, that chiefly exercised men's minds in the days of queen anne was the work of young men of the town, commonly known as "mohocks," who established a reign of terror in london, and whose excesses the peace-officers were powerless to prevent. the worst outbreak occurred in , and the doings of these young blackguards are minutely described in a pamphlet published in that year.[ ] "the watch in most of the out-parts of the town stand in awe of them, because they always come in a body, and are too strong for them, and when any watchman presumes to demand where they are going, they generally misuse them. last night they had a general rendezvous and were bent on mischief; their way is to meet people in the streets and stop them, and begin to banter them, and if they make any answer, they lay on them with sticks, and toss them from one to another in a very rude manner. they attacked the watch in devereux court and essex street, made them scower: they also slit two persons' noses, and cut a woman in the arm with a penknife that she is lam'd. they likewise rowled a woman in a tub down snow hill, that was going to market, set other women on their heads, misusing them in a barbarous manner." in spite of the public indignation that such brutalities aroused, the feeble and timid watchmen were not superseded, nor was any inquiry instituted to discover the reasons for their inability to cope with these scandalous proceedings. it was thought rather a good joke that watchmen should be knocked down, and constables overturned, whilst the fact that london was left in complete darkness during the greater part of the night seems to have occasioned but little concern. there is a saying to the effect that a good lamp is a good policeman; but the subjects of queen anne, as it seems, expected the peace to be maintained without the assistance of either the one or the other,--the lamps were only lighted at six o'clock in the evening, and those that had not gone out before were extinguished at midnight, and when the moon was full they were not lighted at all. the outrages committed by the mohocks were so serious and persistent that something had to be done towards putting a stop to them, and so recourse was had to the objectionable expedient of offering a government reward for the conviction of the members of the gang. on the th of march , the queen issued a royal proclamation in the following words--"anne r. the queen's most excellent majesty being watchful for the public good of her loving subjects, and taking notice of the great and unusual riots and barbarities which have lately been committed in the night time, in the open streets, in several parts of the cities of london and westminster, and parts adjacent, by numbers of evil dispos'd persons, who have combined together to disturb the public peace, and in an inhuman manner, without any provocation have assaulted and wounded many of her majesty's good subjects, and have had the boldness to insult the constables and watchmen, in the execution of their office, to the great terror of her majesty's said subjects, and in contempt and defiance of the laws of this realm, to the dishonour of her majesty's government, and the displeasure of almighty god, &c., &c.... her majesty doth hereby promise and declare, that whosoever shall before the first day of may now next ensuing, discover to any of her majesty's justices of the peace, any person who, since the first day of february, last past, hath, without any provocation, wounded, stabb'd, or maim'd, or who shall before the said first day of may, without any provocation, wound, stab, or maim, any of her majesty's subjects, within the said cities of london and westminster, and parts adjacent, so as such offenders be brought to justice, shall have and receive the reward of one hundred pounds, &c., &c." the continuance of disorders, which rewards and royal proclamations were unable to check, and the prospect that the jacobites would not tamely accept the rule of the house of hanover, combined to make the question of peace-maintenance a very difficult problem for queen anne's successor. it is not surprising, therefore, that one of the first legislative enactments of george the first had for its object the suppressing of public tumults. the act referred to is commonly called "the riot act,"[ ] and became law in . this statute introduced no new principle--similar enactments, or at any rate measures which had the same object in view, had been frequently brought forward by tudor sovereigns and by their predecessors, but in the offence of rioting (together with the penalties attaching thereto) was more clearly defined than had formerly been the case, and extended powers were conferred on a single justice of the peace or other authorized officer, acting alone, for "preventing tumults and riotous assemblies, and for the more speedy and effectual punishing the rioters." after reciting that "the punishments provided by the laws now in being are not adequate to such heinous offences" the statute enacts, that if any persons to the number of twelve or more, being unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously assembled together, to the disturbance of the public peace, at any time after the last day of july , and after being commanded by any one or more justice or justices of the peace, or by the sheriff, etc., by proclamation in the kings name, to disperse themselves, shall unlawfully continue together for the space of one hour after such command, then such continuing together to the number of twelve or more, shall be adjudged felony without benefit of clergy, "and the offenders therein shall suffer death as in the case of felony without benefit of clergy." the method of making the proclamation is as follows:--the justice of the peace or other authorised person "being among the said rioters, or as near to them as he can safely come" shall command silence, and after that shall openly and with loud voice make proclamation in these words:--"our sovereign lord the king chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the act made in the first year of king george, for preventing tumults and riotous assemblies. god save the king." to constitute a riot it is essential that alarm should be caused amongst the king's subjects, and if the four last words of the proclamation are omitted the reading of the riot act has no virtue. if after proclamation has been made the rioters do not disperse within an hour, any or all of them may be apprehended by force, and if they make resistance, the persons killing or injuring them are indemnified and discharged of all liability with respect to any death or lesser injury they may happen to inflict. the general tone of public opinion was constantly being lowered by the degrading spectacles that were everywhere displayed. government itself set the example of brutality and violence by countenancing the procession to tyburn, the use of the pillory, and the setting up of whipping-posts in the public streets; with the result that imitators sprung up in abundance to practice the lessons so sedulously taught by the authorities. the punishment of the pillory was in itself sufficiently severe, but the method of its infliction practically amounted to the official legalising of lynch law, because the populace were permitted to torture the sufferer almost to any extent; stone-throwing was nominally forbidden, but the prohibition was not enforced, and, if a victim died of the ill-usage to which he was subjected, no one was punished. the police, who were feeble and timid when danger threatened, and who could never be trusted to quell the most insignificant riot, grew bold on occasions, when, without risk to themselves, they could pounce upon some weak or unpopular individual. although whipping could be legally inflicted only by order of the magistrate, it was no unusual occurrence for a constable to take a man to the nearest whipping post, and there have him thrashed without reference to any superior authority whatever. for the safeguarding of prisons, banks, and other important places, military guards were often used to reinforce the ordinary watchmen, and, when so employed, the soldiers were accompanied by constables, whose duty it was to question passers-by, to hand suspicious characters over to the guard, and to bring them before a justice of the peace on the following morning. these duties, simple as they were, seem to have been negligently performed by the peace-officers, for complaints of neglect of duty were frequent; when brigadier mackintosh and his companions escaped from newgate, they were lucky enough to pass the guard without examination, because the constable was absent from his post, and, in his absence, the military sergeant in charge had no authority to detain fugitives. further evidence, were any required, of the unsatisfactory condition of the parochial constabulary in london is abundant--not only was delinquency on the increase, but internal squabbles were everywhere rife amongst the local bodies intrusted with the preservation of the peace. in the vestry of st george's, hanover square, for example, established a force of thirty-two watchmen and four bedels for that parish; several of the inhabitants, however, refused to pay the watch-rate, and set up an opposition establishment which they called "the inhabitant watch" consisting of some sixteen persons, who repudiated the authority of the existing constables, and, on one occasion, flatly refused to arrest certain offenders even when required to do so by the high constable. an ineffectual attempt to reform the police of london was made in , in which year an act of parliament[ ] was passed, giving powers to the common council of the city to raise a sum of money sufficient for all police purposes, to appoint as many peace officers as they thought proper, and to issue new and improved orders for the guidance of the nightly watch. by the same statute, aldermen were made responsible for their respective wards, constables were empowered to arrest night-walkers, malefactors, and other suspected persons, and watchmen, in the absence of the constable, might perform the duties of that functionary. liability to watch and ward extended to all the inhabitants of london who were not "rated and assessed," by virtue of the statute of winchester. at about the same time, the police administration of the rural districts was the subject of legislation, it being enacted[ ] that any constable neglecting to make hue and cry shall be fined five pounds, and the liability of the hundred, in which a felony has been committed, for the escape of the felon is again insisted upon. by another statute,[ ] passed four years later, high constables were ordered to levy a county rate in the provinces and to pay the proceeds over to a treasurer appointed by quarter sessions, to be applied by him to the general police purposes of the county. it is obvious that the civil power ought to be prepared for any possible emergency, but before this was far from being the case, and we find that when any exceptional conditions arose, temporary expedients had to be hurriedly devised to meet the crisis, affairs being allowed to slip back into their normal state of unpreparedness immediately the pressure was relieved. such was the nature of the arrangements improvised during the rebellion in favour of the young pretender in , when london prepared to defend itself against the enemy that marched southwards from perth as far as derby, almost without a check. the trained bands, who a hundred years before had barred the advance of charles i. at turnham green, were called out, and, for a period of five months, the city militia superseded the normal police establishments. at this time the trained bands consisted of six regiments, viz., the yellow, the white, the orange, the blue, the red, and the green. their numbers amounted to close on ten thousand men, who at the crisis undertook to protect london, not only against a possible attack of an enemy from without, but also against the depredations of thieves and rioters within. the different regiments were told off to come on duty in rotation, for twenty-four hours at a time, and were disposed for police purposes in the following manner. near the mansion house was placed the main guard, and here the commanding officer was to be found during his tour of duty; other guards, under subordinate officers, being stationed at various points in the city. during the day, only "home-sentinels," as they were called, were posted, but after sunset both "out-sentinels" and patrols were added; these patrols, called "petty-rounds," periodically visited the neighbouring sentries; in the event of any rioting or other disturbance taking place, they had to return immediately, and inform the officer in charge. he was then instructed to march out his party to suppress it, at the same time notifying his commanding officer of the extent of the disorder, in order that the latter might send the necessary reinforcements, not only from the main guard, but from the other guards also, in sufficient numbers until peace was restored. moreover, a general supervision was maintained by means of "grand rounds," which starting from the main guard patrolled the whole circuit to see that sentries were alert, that patrols were acquainted with their duties, that the countersign was correctly given, and to conduct prisoners to head-quarters for subsequent disposal by the magistrates. at daybreak reveille was sounded, and all out-sentinels relieved; but the home-sentinels were continued at their posts throughout the day. the retreat of the invaders, and their final rout at culloden, rendered the further embodiment of the citizen soldiers unnecessary, but during the period of their employment they performed their police duties with so much success, that robberies in the streets of london were for the time almost entirely suppressed, and the king's peace was maintained in unexampled tranquillity. it does not appear that the militia abused the power placed in their hands in any way, whilst the superiority of their rule over that of the watchmen was so pronounced, that there was some talk in after years of permanently handing over the policing of london to the trained bands; but the national distrust of a too powerful gendarmerie prevailed, and the old régime was allowed to continue. if the suggestion had come to anything, it would of course have been necessary to modify their organization which was of a strictly military character; but when the proposal was rejected an excellent opportunity was lost of obtaining the services of a really efficient body of men, at an expense to the ratepayers far below that of the existing watch, which then cost about £ per night for the city proper, besides what was paid by banks and private individuals for special services. chapter viii bow street police and magisterial reform it was not until the middle of the century that any intelligence was brought to bear on the problem of police, or that any promise appeared of a better state of things in that department of government. for an awakened interest and the resulting improvement we are mainly indebted to the famous novelist, henry fielding, who spent the closing years of his short life in a vigorous campaign against the growing domination of society by the criminal classes. appointed to the westminster bench at the age of forty-three, he exhibited in his new capacity an acquaintance with law and a knowledge of human nature, that were but rarely found in the ranks of the magistracy of the day: his charge to the grand jury, delivered in , reads more like the deliberate composition of a justice of assize of large experience than the work of a junior magistrate just appointed to the office. in the hope of rousing the civil power from its somnolent state, fielding published a treatise called "an enquiry into the cause of the late increase of robbers," in which he gave an interesting account of the habits and customs of the people, with observations on the poor law, and on the apprehension, trial, and execution of felons. he attributed the prevalence of crime principally to the luxurious habits indulged in by the populace, especially gambling and drunkenness. with gin at a penny the quartern, and high play the absorbing passion of all classes, it was small wonder that crime was on the increase. in his attempts to improve the police, fielding was ably seconded by his half-brother sir john fielding, who succeeded him as magistrate at bow street, and there inaugurated some valuable and far-reaching reforms. by the employment of regularly-paid detectives he did more to render the streets of london safe than the whole body of watchmen, beadles and constables, to the number of about two thousand, had previously been able to effect, and soon afterwards obtained permission to establish, by way of experiment, a small police force organised on novel lines. this force, called the bow street foot patrol, was divided into eighteen parties, thirteen of which (called country parties) patrolled the principal highways outside the metropolis, whilst the remaining five (known as town parties) watched the streets of the central district. the remuneration of the patrols was high in comparison with the wages then customary, no patrolman receiving less than two shillings and sixpence a night. the system proved a great success, and a few years later its sphere of usefulness was enlarged by the formation of a horse patrol, which was posted for the protection of travellers on one or other of the main roads leading into the country. though consisting only of eight men, who, however, were well mounted and well armed, it afforded a better state of security to the suburbs than they had previously enjoyed.[ ] the success that attended sir john fielding's innovations was prompt and abiding. bow street quickly became pre-eminent as the only court where justice was dispensed in a business-like manner, and its officers, under the name of bow street runners, became famous for their skill and sagacity. sir john fielding was blind, but his infirmity did not prevent him from constantly attending to his magisterial work. when seated in court he used to wear a white silk bandage over his eyes, and the striking figure of the tall blindfolded knight was a dramatic picture long remembered at bow street. his knowledge of everything that concerned the criminal classes was remarkable. it was said of him that he never failed to recognise an old offender, though the only indication he had to go by was the sound of the prisoner's voice. he was the author of several pamphlets on police questions, the most important being that published in under the title of "a plan for preventing robberies within twenty miles of london"; the details of which may be briefly stated as follows: he suggested that the landowners and occupiers of high-class residential property near london should combine to form societies for the apprehension of burglars and other depredators. each society was to select a treasurer to collect an annual subscription of two guineas a-piece from the members. when a robbery was committed, the injured party was to immediately despatch a mounted messenger to the magistrate at bow street, warning on his way all the turnpike keepers, advising them as to the property stolen, and of any other particulars of importance. the magistrate was then to be empowered to draw on the funds of the society in the hands of the treasurer, for any expenses that might be incurred in the course of the pursuit and subsequent prosecution of the criminal. this pamphlet was followed by a second called "an account of the origin and effects of a police, set on foot in by the duke of newcastle, on a plan suggested by the late henry fielding."[ ] the publications of the brothers fielding were to some extent instrumental in directing the public conscience towards a consideration of the state of the criminal law, which, year by year, had tended to increase in severity, without thereby effecting any diminution in the tale of offenders. "extreme justice is an extreme injury," wrote sir thomas more, but abstract ideas of justice were little entertained in the days of the georges; tyburn and transportation were the only recognised remedies for the more serious breaches of the law, and men were slow to realise that it is better to make the commission of crime difficult than to punish it with indiscriminate severity. but from this time onwards arose a genuine wish for some change, a desire to repress crime as humanely as possible; a half-formed idea found partial expression that perhaps, after all, the pain suffered by the culprit ought not to exceed the benefit conferred on the community by the punishment exacted; henceforward the statute book was not disgraced by fresh barbarities, and in course of years the old ones were gradually eliminated. in the procession to tyburn was discontinued, and the use of the drop to accelerate death by hanging, introduced; the pillory was abolished in for all offences except perjury; whipping in public was done away with the following year, and transportation finally ceased in . instead of legislating on the lines suggested by fielding, whose scheme of police was proving practical and successful, the government preferred to revert to the methods of queen elizabeth,[ ] and in was responsible for an act[ ] that was nothing but an attempt to revivify the westminster statute of , the only new feature being the appointment of a committee called "the jury of annoyances," a body designed to see that the pavements were kept in repair, and to prevent obstructions and encroachments thereon; this addition, it was supposed, brought the act up to modern requirements. the number of constables to be yearly appointed for the city and liberty of westminster was fixed at eighty, furnished proportionally by the different parishes; any man who had already served, personally or by deputy, was not to be again chosen until seven years had elapsed since he last held office. two years later another act,[ ] to explain and amend the foregoing, followed, by which a regular chain of responsibility was created; the petty constable had to obey the high constable; and he, again, had to observe the lawful commands of the dean or high steward, who still remained the paramount police authority in the district. in , the house of commons appointed a committee to inquire into the burglaries that had recently become so frequent in london and westminster, one hundred and four houses having been broken into between michaelmas and march . this committee was the first of a long series authorised by parliament with the idea of improving the police; every few years a new committee was appointed, and each in turn recorded a wearisome tale of resolutions without finding a remedy or indeed arriving at any satisfactory solution. one and all reported that the existing watch was deficient, a fact long patent to everybody without the assistance of select committee-men; they deplored the want of uniformity and co-operation in wards and parishes, and recorded the shortcomings of beadles, constables, and watchmen; but whilst suggesting various minor reforms, they failed to see that no real progress was possible until a clean sweep had been made of the old system and its abuses. the principal witnesses examined before this first committee were sir john fielding of bow street and mr f. rainsforth, the high constable of westminster; the former spoke as to the position of the magistracy and the state of the liquor traffic; the latter confined his remarks to the inefficiency of the peace-officers. the following extracts from mr rainsforth's diary for the rd of march , which he read to the committee, shew us the kind of thing that used to go on. "saint margaret's--three quarters past eleven: constable came after i was there: houseman and beadle on duty: watchmen, with st john's united, at - / d. per night, with one guinea at christmas, and one guinea at lady day, and great coats as a present: their beats large: was obliged to take a soldier into custody for being out of his quarters, and very insolent, with several more soldiers in the street at o'clock: called out 'watch,' but could get no assistance from them. "st clements' danes--past : no constable on duty: found a watchman there at a great distance from his beat: from thence went to the night-cellar facing arundel street in the strand, which is in the duchy, and there found of st clements' watchmen drinking. st mary-le-strand no attendance, having only two constables, which only attend every other night, watchmen, duchy included, at one shilling each. a very disorderly cellar near the new church for selling saloop, etc., to very loose and suspected persons: st clements' watchmen at one shilling." after hearing much evidence of this description, the committee passed thirteen resolutions, none of which, however, were of a very vigorous character. they recommended an increase in the number of watchmen, higher pay and a better method of appointing them; they suggested that the name "beadle" should no longer be used, that ballad-singers should be suppressed, and that steps should be taken to put a stop to the custom of granting wine and spirit licences indiscriminately to all who applied for them, adding by way of a conclusion to the whole matter, that the roundhouses, as the constables' lockups were called, should not be used for the sale of intoxicants, and should be large enough to accommodate the prisoners arrested by the watch; it having frequently been found necessary to release disturbers of the peace and other minor offenders to make room for more serious cases! in consequence of the report of the parliamentary committee, a bill was introduced into the house of commons to provide an improved watch system for the "city of westminster and parts adjacent ... uniformly ordered and regulated throughout the whole district." this act,[ ] passed in , directs that trustees shall meet annually to appoint "what number of watchmen they shall judge necessary to be kept and employed" for the ensuing year, specifying how many are to be apportioned to "beats" and "stands" respectively, and how many are to be told off for patrols. the local authorities are not, however, given a free hand in the administration of the interior economy of their trust: the minimum establishment that must be kept up by each parish is fixed by law, and varies from sixty watchmen on the beats and stands, and eight on patrol for st george's hanover square, down to the single watchman required for the "purlieus of the savoy." watch-houses must be substantially built, and watchmen are to be armed with staff and rattle, provided at parish expense, as well as with lanterns paid for out of their own pockets; the minimum wage must not fall below one shilling and threepence per night unless a man is employed by the year, in which case his nightly remuneration need not exceed one shilling: the hours are from p.m. until , , or a.m. according to the season of the year. the duties of the watch comprise the apprehending of disorderly and suspected persons and handing them over to the constable; testing the fastenings of houses, shops and warehouses, and warning the occupier when necessary; twice every hour the watchmen must patrol his beat, and "as loudly and audibly as he can, proclaim the time of the night or morning." on coming off duty, the watchman has to submit his staff, rattle and lantern for the inspection of the constable; neglect of duty entails a fine of ten shillings, and any person who assaults a watchman in the execution of his office renders himself liable to a £ penalty; watchmen are forbidden to frequent alehouses during their tour of duty, and provision is made for the punishment of those publicans who harbour them. there is much that is good in this act, but it applied only to westminster, and half of its provisions were never carried out. instead of the uniform order that was to be established, the old confusion continued, the fine of five pounds was insufficient to protect the watchmen from assault, and the peace officers still tippled in alehouses, whilst thieves were comfortably carrying home the booty they had so easily secured. the utter inadequacy of the whole system of defence against civil tumults, and the complete helplessness of london to protect itself against mob violence, was brought home to its inhabitants in a startlingly convincing manner in the course of those six terrible days during which their city was within an ace of being destroyed at the hands of the rabble let loose upon her streets by the crackbrained fanatic, lord george gordon. the events that took place in the first week of june , and which are to some extent familiar to us through the pages of "barnaby rudge," would never have happened if, in the earlier stages of the outbreak, the rioters had had opposed to them even a couple of hundred resolute constables, accustomed to deal with mobs, and working under the direction of officers experienced in the tactics of street-fighting. at no time is an efficient civil force of such inestimable value as it is at the first appearance of great popular ferment; for in accordance with the strength or weakness of the police at that moment, is the course of after events decided. a crowd is like a great volume of water, harmless as long as its embankments are kept in repair and, if necessary, strengthened, but capable of an infinite amount of mischief if once allowed to break its barriers. anything like a full description of the gordon riots lies outside the scope of this book; but a brief account of the principal features of the outbreak will very properly find a place here, in order to illustrate the degree of violence that an english mob is capable of, when allowed to get out of hand, and for the purpose of comparing these riots with others that took place on subsequent occasions after our modern police had been established. london is the mother-city of the english-speaking races, all of which have modelled their police forces on the metropolitan pattern; and the gordon riots, which were the most violent ever experienced in this country, have therefore served as a lesson to cities as distant from us and from each other as sydney and new york, forewarning those responsible for the maintenance of the peace in those places of the extent of the danger that threatens when proper precautions are neglected. the disturbances in question arose out of an agitation directed against the roman catholics, whose position had been much improved by a recent act of parliament, the agitation culminating in a demand for the repeal of the unpopular concessions. a monster petition was prepared, and it was decided to present it to parliament, with such a display of force that a refusal would be unlikely. accordingly, at o'clock on the morning of the nd of june, as many as , people assembled in st george's fields to accompany lord george gordon in his attempt to intimidate the legislature. marching to westminster by different routes, the crowd closed all the avenues to both houses, stopped peers and commoners on their way thither, and treated those who fell into their hands with insult and personal violence, smashing their carriages, tearing their clothes and in some cases removing their wigs; many members of parliament were forced to put blue cockades in their hats and shout "no popery" before they were released, others only regained their freedom on promising to vote for the repeal of the obnoxious act. whilst these proceedings were taking place, a squadron of horse arrived; but on being hooted and threatened, the troopers declared that their sympathies were altogether with the people, and then trotted off amidst the cheers of the crowd, who soon afterwards began to disperse, to riot in other parts of the town. that evening the roman catholic chapels attached to the sardinian and bavarian embassies were looted and burned. rioting continued during the three days that followed, the paralysed executive submitting in helpless impotence, and it was not until the fifth day that the climax was reached. the mob now suddenly broke out into an almost inconceivable state of fury, and overran the whole of london, pillaging and burning as they went, and spreading terror in every direction: all business was suspended and most of the houses were barricaded; many persons, hoping to pacify the destroying furies, hung blue flags out of their windows and chalked the words "no popery" on their shutters. an organized attack was made on newgate, and when the old prison walls successfully withstood all the efforts of the mob to injure them, the furniture from the governor's house was thrown out of the windows and piled up for a bonfire, with the idea of consuming the great wooden gates; when these at length gave way, the rabble poured into the gaol through the smoking gateway, shortly to return bringing with them three hundred liberated prisoners, many of whom were under sentence of death already, and over-ripe for any atrocity. matters now grew worse than ever, distilleries were broken open, and the raw spirits poured down the gutters to be lapped up by a crowd that was already mad. an attempt to break into the bank of england was prevented by the guard stationed there, but many houses, including lord mansfield's and sir john fielding's, were burnt to the ground, and all books and documents destroyed. when thirty-six incendiary fires were raging simultaneously, and when the king's bench and fleet prisons had shared the fate of newgate, the troops and militia, who were employed with vigour only at the eleventh hour, began to get the upper hand of the rioters, and then only by dint of firing volleys into the mass. gradually through the next two days some semblance of order was restored, and by the third morning the riots were at an end. the official return handed in to the secretary of state showed that people had been killed by the troops and wounded, several of whom subsequently died; but the bill was not complete: the public hangman claimed more victims, and a much larger number were transported for life. the lord mayor of london was tried for his faulty arrangements and for his alleged supineness, but was let off with a fine of a thousand pounds. lord george gordon's insanity saved him from the consequences of his misdeeds. these fatal riots should have taught the lesson that soldiers are ill-suited to the task of putting down civil tumult, and that their use entails an unnecessary amount of bloodshed, especially when their action is so long delayed that an increased severity becomes necessary. unfortunately the lesson, if learnt, was not taken to heart: at any rate no adequate remedy was proposed at the time. on one point only was any light immediately thrown. hitherto some doubt had existed as to the legality of employing the military to put down riots, but on this occasion the king sought the advice of the attorney-general,[ ] who gave it as his opinion, that, as soldiers were also citizens, they could constitutionally be used to prevent felony, even without the riot act being read. it was well that this point was cleared up, because circumstances will occasionally arise when troops must be sent for as a last resource; but it is remarkable that, after the failure of the soldier to keep the peace had just been demonstrated in so signal a manner, no one should have supplied the obvious rider, and suggested the substitution of a more satisfactory agent. half a century slipped by before the necessary change began in england; but on the principle of applying the remedy to any limb except the diseased one, dublin was quickly provided with what london lacked, and in was passed the "dublin police[ ] act,"[ ] under which three commissioners were appointed, and given the command of a paid and well-organised constabulary. in the course of the following year the whole of ireland came under the protection of the new guardians of the peace, who, developing as time went on, eventually reached that state of efficiency that is now invariably associated with the name of the royal irish constabulary. the magistrates of the period set the worst possible example to their subordinate officers, and there were but few of them who did not deserve the name of "trading justices," that was so commonly applied. those who did not actually accept bribes were usually ready to make a little extra money by the improper and wholesale bailing, not only of offenders who ought to have been kept in confinement, but of innocent persons also, who ought to have been immediately and unconditionally set at liberty. the system was to issue warrants against helpless people for imaginary crimes, and then to let them out on bail, the magistrate netting the sum of two shillings and fourpence every time he repeated the trick. james townsend, a bow street runner, who gave evidence on this subject before a parliamentary commission in , explained how lucrative this practice used to be, "and taking up a hundred girls, that would make at two shillings and fourpence, £ , s. d. they sent none to gaol, for the bailing them was so much better." there is much to be said for the plan of employing country gentlemen to administer justice, without stipend, in the neighbourhood of their own estates; but in london, where all the criminal talent of the three kingdoms was collected, and where the duties of magistrates became both difficult and onerous in consequence, only inferior men could be induced to undertake the office, and then only for the sake of the patronage they could control, and for the perquisites they were able to pick up. they were distinguished neither for social position, nor for legal knowledge, and readily succumbed to every temptation that offered. as long as the magistracy was corrupt, acts of parliament were powerless to purify the police: the duty of the government was plain if not easy; the commission of the peace for middlesex had to be immediately purged of the trading justices, and a scheme had to be introduced under which capable and upright men would be secured to take their place: the hands of the new magistrates, when appointed, had to be strengthened and sufficiently enlarged to enable them to grapple with the problem of keeping order in london, a city which besides being the most populous in europe, had the reputation of being the most difficult to manage, its inhabitants quickly resenting any action of the executive that threatened to interfere, in the smallest particular, with their liberties or their customs. at the same time it was necessary to devise a check upon the magistrates, powerful enough to prevent a recurrence of the old abuses. the middlesex justices bill, which was laid before the house of commons in march , was an attempt to satisfy the above-mentioned conditions, and was framed on the model of the stipendiary establishment already existing at bow street, where satisfactory results had been obtained. it was proposed to create five new police offices (shortly afterwards increased to seven), and to appoint three justices to each, at a remuneration of £ a year apiece. this salary was only to be paid on the explicit understanding that they were neither directly nor indirectly to apply to their own benefit any of the fees received by them, from whatever source arising, all such fees to be devoted in future to reducing the expenses of the office. the courts were to be open daily for the transaction of business, one magistrate always to be in attendance, empowered to dispose summarily of the cases brought before him without the assistance of a jury. provision was also made for the appointment of six constables to each office, at a wage not exceeding twelve shillings a week, invested with authority to apprehend any person suspected of malpractices who was unable to give a satisfactory account of himself. finally, the constables were to be under the control of the magistrates, and the magistrates were to be answerable to the secretary of state, in whom was to be vested the power of dismissal, as well as that of appointment. when introduced, the bill was severely criticised, fox and sheridan, who were two of its strongest opponents, both declaring that the principle of a magistrate punishing without the intervention of a jury was barbarous and unconstitutional, and that the proposal to set up constables with increased powers was an unwarrantable attempt to oppress the poor, already ground down under the heels of the rich. it was advanced that the influence exerted by the ministry of the day over the magistracy was already excessive, and that the real object of the bill was to still further increase this influence, by adding the power of conferring salaries to that of making appointments. the framers of the bill, whilst denying the truth of these statements, and confident of the ultimate triumph of the principles they advocated, were willing that the measure should at first become law for a limited period only, and were content that parliament should have the opportunity of amending, or even annulling its provisions, if on trial they should prove unsatisfactory. the middlesex justices act first came into operation, therefore, as an experiment. the seven public offices were established in different parts of the metropolis at convenient distances from each other, the twenty-one justices were appointed, and the forty-two constables were sworn in, an insignificant force indeed with which to contend against the whole criminal array of london, but of great historical interest as a development of the bow street system, the two together forming the first regularly organized and paid force ever established in england. the acknowledgement of the desirability of employing stipendiary magistrates in crowded centres was no less important, and gradually led up to the system that is found so valuable to-day, not only at the metropolitan police courts, but also in those great towns where the principle has, in recent years, been adopted. the reform of the magistracy that was taken in hand in was not so thorough as it might have been, and the opportunity that then offered of removing once and for all every unworthy taint from the administration of justice in the metropolis was only partly taken advantage of. the middlesex justices bill was conceived in too parsimonious a spirit, and the right sort of men did not come forward to fill the important posts of police justices, many of the new magistrates, in fact, being recruited from the ranks of the old discredited class, which it was one of the principal objects of the bill to displace. neither the justices nor the constables received a salary large enough to make them independent of improper sources of income, the latter being openly permitted to engage in various lucrative transactions that had nothing to do with their office. it is said that constables attached to the public offices would not infrequently fill the role of counsel for the prisoner, as well as holding a brief for the prosecution. the small force called into being by the act of , and which, including the bow street officers, amounted to about fifty men, was designed only against individual criminals; the idea of preventing or repressing riots by means of a civil police force was hardly considered to fall within the range of practical politics. at the moment when the success of the revolutionary leaders had achieved the overthrow of the french monarchy, and had culminated in the execution of louis the sixteenth, established authority all the world over was in danger of subversion. the violent utterances of certain radical societies shewed that there were many in england who violently sympathised with the revolution, and the riots that took place in many of our towns proved that the excesses which had turned the streets of paris into shambles, were finding an echo amongst the discontented and disorderly on this side of the channel. considering the urgency of the matter, the attitude assumed by the government then in office seems altogether incomprehensible. the political horizon was assuredly dark enough to warn the most heedless; and the signal manner in which the military had failed to keep order during the gordon riots conclusively demonstrated how unreliable was that arm for the purposes of peace maintenance. yet the only steps taken by the responsible authorities were to embody the militia, and to pass an ill-considered measure called "the alien act,"[ ] which required that all foreigners resident in england (unless duly naturalized), should provide themselves with passports, or forthwith leave the country. that we survived the crisis without having to face a similar conflagration was hardly due to the foresight of our rulers, who, though well aware that our preventive appliances were rusty and out-of-date, neglected to replace them by others, or even to modernize them. chapter ix parochial police of the eighteenth century before proceeding to a narration of the successive steps that culminated in the radical reorganization authorized in , it is necessary to describe the nature and extent of the various police establishments as they existed at the close of the eighteenth century. exclusive of special constables, who, though legally available, were but rarely if ever employed, there were, at this time, five distinct classes of peace officers: (i.) parochial constables, elected annually in parish or township and serving gratuitously. (ii.) their substitutes or deputies serving for a wage voluntarily paid by the principals. (iii.) salaried bow street officers, and patrols expressly charged with the suppression of highwaymen and footpads. (iv.) stipendiary police constables attached to the public offices established under "the middlesex justices act." (v.) stipendiary water-police attached to the thames office, as established by act of parliament in . it will be noticed that of these five classes, numbers i. and ii. were common to the whole of england, whilst numbers iii. iv. and v. were peculiar to london and its immediate neighbourhood, but, for our present purpose, it will be more convenient to consider the provincial constabulary as altogether distinct from the various metropolitan police bodies. theoretically and constitutionally, there should have been little or no difference between the policing of london and that of any rural district, but the stage of development reached in the metropolis already foreshadowed the impending changes, whilst in the country the standard of police had as yet deviated hardly at all from the mediæval pattern. leaving the london police establishments, therefore, for future consideration, we find that in rural districts, and in provincial towns, high constables and parish constables, acting under the direction of the justices of the peace, continued to exercise the time-honoured powers which had been handed down to them from forgotten generations. to get a clear idea of how the old-time system adapted itself, more or less, to the changed conditions that prevailed in the nineteenth century, the best way is to turn to what we may call the police text-books of the period such as the "treatise on the functions and duties of the constable," by colquhoun ( ), or "the churchwardens' and overseers' guide," by ashdowne, published at about the same time. "the high constable," says colquhoun, "has the superintendence and direction of the petty constables, headboroughs, and other peace officers in his hundred or division. it is his duty to take cognisance of, and to present, all offences within his hundred or division which lead to the corruption of morals, breaches of the lord's day, drunkenness, cursing and swearing. to bring forward sufficient number of constables to maintain decency and good order during the execution of malefactors or the punishment of offenders, and to attend in person to see that the peace officers do their duty. to summon petty constables to keep order in the courts of justice &c...." with regard to tumults and riots, "to do all in his power to arrest offenders, and so to dispose of his constables as to suppress the disorders in question, also to give assistance to neighbouring divisions ... to present all persons exposing for sale unwholesome meat ... and to take cognisance of false or deficient weights and measures." in another place he declares that petty constables should regularly perambulate their districts once at least in every twenty-four hours, and visit all alehouses once a week "to see that no unlawful games are permitted, and that labouring people are not suffered to lounge and tipple until they are intoxicated." the duty of petty constables when riots are threatened is thus described. "the instant a constable hears of any unlawful assembly, mob, or concourse of people likely to produce danger or mischief within or near his constablewick or district (he must) give notice to the nearest justice, and repair instantly to the spot with his long or short stave, and there put himself under the direction of such magistrate or magistrates as may be in attendance." "the churchwardens' and overseers' guide and director" is arranged in the form of a vocabulary, and in alphabetical order gives explanations of the principal matters with which parish officers are chiefly concerned. "constables," we learn, "are to make a hue and cry after the offenders where a robbery or felony is committed, to call upon the parishioners to assist in the pursuit: and if the criminal be not found in the liberty of the first constable, he is to give notice to the next, and thus continue the pursuit from town to town, and from county to county; and where offenders are not taken, constables are to levy the tax to satisfy an execution on recovery against a hundred, and pay the same to the sheriff &c...." "hundreds or wapentakes," according to ashdowne, "are generally governed by a high constable, under whom a tythingman or borsholder is generally appointed for each borough or district within the hundred. hundreds are liable to penalties on exportation of wool, liable also for damages sustained by violently pulling down buildings; by killing cattle; cutting down trees, ... by destroying turnpikes, or works on navigable rivers; by cutting hopbines; by destroying corn to prevent exportation; by wounding officers of the customs; by destroying woods &c.... hundreds are also bound to raise hue and cry when any robbery is committed within the hundred; and if the offender is not taken, an action may be maintained against the hundred to recover damages."[ ] under the heading of "swearing" is arranged the following information:--"persons guilty of profane swearing, and convicted thereof, to forfeit to the poor of the parish. day-labourers, common soldiers, or common seamen, /-. persons under the degree of gentlemen, /-. gentlemen or persons above the degree of gentlemen, /-. the above penalties to be doubled for a second offence, and trebled after a second conviction." of tythingmen the same author writes:--"there is frequently a tythingman in the same town with a constable, who is, as it were, a deputy to exercise the office in the constable's absence; but there are some things which the constable has power to do that tythingmen cannot intermeddle with. when there happens to be no constable of a parish, the office and authority of a tythingman seems to be the same under another name." if anyone should be inclined to doubt the remarkable stability of the constable's office, and all that pertains to it, he may find it instructive to look back a few hundred years, and refer to what lambard and others have to say about tythingmen and constables, part of which is quoted in the third chapter of this book. to the scope and intention of the functions exercised by parish officers as stated by colquhoun and ashdowne, if somewhat old-fashioned, no exception need be taken. the trouble was, however, that the office-holders did not live up to the standard inculcated by their teachers. the commonsense and reasonableness of the whole system fell to the ground whenever ignorant and unworthy agents were entrusted with its administration, and such, unfortunately, was the character of the large majority of the police personnel. the parish constable was incompetent, and the duties imposed on him were either evaded, or performed in a purely perfunctory manner. under the circumstances such a tendency was perhaps inevitable, for it is not to be expected that unpaid services will be well performed by the poorer classes without constant supervision. struggling men, who have to work hard to provide for themselves, and for their families, are not likely to overtax their energies in the service of the state without reward, and those substitutes who received a few shillings a year from their principals were only careful not to exceed the minimum amount of labour which could be exacted from them compulsorily. further consideration of the rural constabulary must be postponed until we come to deal with the reorganization which was set on foot in . for the present we must return to the metropolis, where the doomed parochial system was now tottering to its fall, and where the need for reform was more pressing than elsewhere. at the time we are considering, london boasted a variety of police establishments, all more or less disconnected. the city had one organization, westminster another, the public offices distributed justice after a fashion in their respective districts, and bow street prided itself upon holding a position of complete isolation and independence. nor was this all--the whole of the metropolis was split up into parishes, and each parish made its own arrangements for keeping the peace, or dispensed with police altogether, as it saw fit. twelve london parishes were thus entirely unprotected: st james' and marylebone employed chelsea pensioners, the city supported watchmen, edgeware had no policeman and no patrol, camberwell armed its night watchmen with blunderbusses, whilst st pancras had no less than eighteen distinct watch trusts, a source of weakness rather than of strength, because they never co-operated with each other. in kensington the police force consisted only of three headboroughs, excellent men perhaps; but as peel remarked, "if they had been angels, it would have been utterly impossible for them to fulfil the duties required from their situation." deptford, being without a single professional watchman, was at one time patrolled by the inhabitants, who enrolled themselves into companies twenty strong for that purpose, quickly disbanding, however, as soon as the robbers moved into another district. in some parishes, again, there were patrols and no beats, and in others there were beats and stands but no patrols, despite the recommendations of special commissions and the provisions of acts of parliament. the degree of security extended to the ratepayers by the local authorities was thus a very variable quantity; but it is not too much to say that without exception the constitution of all the parochial police bodies was antiquated and radically unsound, and that watch and ward was at this time more indifferently kept than had previously been the case throughout the whole history of the metropolis. in the year parish constables were generally permanent deputies and of inferior origin; nor was any trouble taken to secure officers of the right stamp. the wages paid to parish watchmen were miserable, and the men usually engaged were those whose antecedents and qualifications precluded them from obtaining more lucrative or reputable employment. these "charlies" (as they were popularly called, after their predecessors the bell-men, instituted in the reign of charles the second) were for the most part infirm from age and starvation, drunken, the creatures of street-walkers and publicans rather than servants of the public, and altogether contemptible. dressed in heavy capes, muffled up to the ears, provided with long staves and dim lanterns, they issued from their watchboxes twice an hour for a minute or two to call the time and the state of the weather. as clocks and barometers they may have been of some service; or, as somebody once put it, to wake a man up after his house has been robbed to tell him the bad news; but for the prevention of crime, they were worse than useless. striking their staves on the pavement, and shewing their lanterns, they gave timely warning of their approach; and if the thieves thought it worth while to take any notice at all of such a trivial interruption, they had only to remove themselves temporarily into the next parish to be secure from pursuit. as an object for practical joking, and as a theme for ridicule, the charlies provided some amusement to the jerry hawthorns and corinthian toms of the period, but this was the extent of their usefulness. quite a considerable literature hinged on their grotesque incompetency, but in their praise not a syllable was uttered; everyone made fun of them. they were humorously described as "persons hired by the parish to sleep in the open air," and another topical saying was to the effect that "shiver and shake" ought to be substituted for "watch and ward," because they spent half the night shivering with cold and the other half shaking with fright. it was a popular amusement amongst young men of the town to imprison watchmen by upsetting their watchboxes on top of them as they dozed within; and the young blood who could exhibit to his friends a collection of trophies such as lanterns, staves, and rattles, was much accounted of in smart society. the newspapers were never tired of skits at the expense of the parochial watch: the following extract from _the morning herald_ of october th, , will serve as an example:-- "it is said that a man who presented himself for the office of watchman to a parish at the west end of the town very much infected by depredators, was lately turned away from the vestry with this reprimand--i am astonished at the impudence of such a great sturdy strong fellow as you are, being so idle as to apply for a watchman's situation, when you are capable of labour." another publication calling itself "the microcosm of london" gives its readers a satirical account of the nightly watch in these words. "the watch is a parochial establishment supported by the parochial rate, and subject to the jurisdiction of the magistrates: it is necessary to the peace and security of the metropolis, and is of considerable utility: but that it might be rendered much more useful cannot be denied. that the watch should consist of able-bodied men, is, we presume, essential to the complete design of its institution, as it forms a part of its legal description: but that the watchmen are persons of this character, experience will not vouch: and why they are chosen from among the aged and incapable must be answered by those who make the choice. in the early part of the last century, an halbert was their weapon: it was then changed to a long staff: but the great coat and lantern are now accompanied with more advantageous implements of duty--a bludgeon and a rattle. it is almost superfluous to add, that the watchhouse is a place where the appointed watchmen assemble to be accoutred for their nocturnal rounds, under the direction of a constable, whose duty being taken by rotation, enjoys the title of constable of the night. it is also the receptacle for such unfortunate persons as are apprehended by the watch, and where they remain in custody till they can be conducted to the tribunal of the police office, for the examination of a magistrate." the watchhouses here referred to were dirty and insecure hovels, with an underground cellar secured by a grating, behind which prisoners were confined, sometimes for forty-eight hours, but in the case of minor offences a tip of half-a-crown to the constable was generally sufficient to secure release. in there were parochial constables and watchmen in the metropolis, including the employed by the city, that is to say, about one watchman to every seventy or eighty houses. the city of london was much better policed than the rest of the metropolis. it was said that so superior were the arrangements eastward of temple bar to those of the more westerly districts, that a pickpocket was easily recognised when he came to the city boundary, because he always walked so fast, and so often looked over his shoulder, as if he suspected that someone was after him. the watchmen appointed by the lord mayor and aldermen were selected from a better class of men than were those who held office in westminster and other parishes; they were also better paid and more carefully superintended. in the lord mayor himself, on more than one occasion, visited the watch by night and had the men mustered, discharging on the spot those whom he considered unfit. briefly the organisation was as follows--the city was divided into four divisions with three day patrols to each division, in all twelve patrolmen at one and a half guineas a week each. by night, whilst the constables and watchmen were on duty, the patrols were reduced to eight, two to a division; their duties were, to visit the watchhouses at least twice a night, to see that the constable of the night was not absent from his post, signing their names at every visit in a book kept for the purpose at the several watchhouses. the constables of the night were paid no salary, but were generally in receipt of fees from the elected householders whose deputies they were. they were bound to be present with the watch all night long, and were held responsible that the watchmen did their duty. in time of riot, or when disturbances were apprehended, the lord mayor had power to summon them, together with the watch, at any hour--by day as well as by night, for the maintenance of the peace. the task of supervising the city police was entrusted, not to a high constable, but to the two city marshals, whose duty it was to pay surprise visits to the watchhouses at uncertain hours, to certify that the patrolmen's books were duly signed up, and to report every morning to the lord mayor concerning the "internal quiet of the city of london." they also bound themselves on oath to proceed against no man through malice, and to screen no man through favour or affection. both in the city and in other parts of london, the management of the traffic was in the hands of special officials called street-keepers; but beyond the regulation of vehicular traffic within the limits of the parishes where they were employed, they had no general police duties to perform, and were not under the control of the magistrates, nor subject to the police authorities. the burgesses of westminster still suffered their police administration to be bound by the ecclesiastical traditions of bygone centuries; and if we make an exception in favour of the "jury of annoyances," established in , we may say that little evidence of progress was discoverable within the liberties of the western city. the act creating the annoyance jury was passed in the twenty-ninth year of george ii., and two years later was amended and enlarged. the court of burgesses was now empowered to maintain forty-eight inhabitants of westminster for the suppression of public nuisances: members of this jury had authority to enter any shop or house, and if they found any unlawful or defective weight or measure therein, to destroy the same, and to amerce the offender a sum not exceeding forty shillings for each offence. in the jury was divided into three divisions, called st margaret's division, the st james' division, and the st martin's division, each containing sixteen members; at the same time it was ordained, that all presentments had to be in writing under the hands and seals of at least twelve jurymen. in the annoyance jury was still nominally responsible for the cleanliness, sightliness, and sanitary condition of westminster, but, as a matter of experience, the removal and prevention of nuisances was left almost entirely to the discretion and taste of the more fastidious householders. as has already been said, the middlesex justices act was at first an experimental measure; in it was repealed, but most of its provisions were at once re-enacted by a statute[ ] which placed the public offices on a more permanent basis, and raised the salary of the magistrates and the wages of the police officers. there were now ten of these offices, viz., mansion house, guildhall, hatton garden, worship street, whitechapel, shadwell, southwark, queen street westminster; great marlborough street, and wapping. mansion house and guildhall belonged to the city proper, and wapping was the headquarters of the river police. to each office were apportioned three magistrates, eight constables, and a clerk or two. the magistrates sat in rotation, and, within the limited areas of their respective jurisdictions, acted independently of their colleagues. there was little uniformity or co-operation. each office had a general duty of apprehending and punishing any criminals found within its boundaries, but had no connection with the nightly watch. the different parishes concerned had transferred to the public offices the duties connected with hue and cry, whilst retaining in their own hands the responsibilities of watch and ward. the relations existing between the parochial and stipendiary authorities were not cordial, in fact there was frequently a pronounced enmity between the parish constable and the police constable, whilst the amateur peace officer not infrequently set at defiance the professional magistrate. the impossibility of controlling the local watchmen conduced to a very unsatisfactory state of affairs, as is seen by the following evidence given before the committee by mr robert raynsford, the magistrate of hatton garden. "at present, as the law now stands," he said, "we have no power at all over the parish watchmen: but when this question was agitated on a former occasion, the parishes had so rooted an aversion to the interference of the magistracy, that i believe there were petitions from most of the parishes: at the same time there are offences committed in the streets, close by a watch-box, and we are told that the watchman was fast asleep, or would give no assistance: we have no power of sending for the watchman, or if we did, we have no power of punishing him. i think it would be an improvement if they were put under the direction of the police." it will be remembered that the middlesex justices act had placed the police offices under the control of the home office, which had the power of appointing and dismissing the magistrates: this was right and proper, but it would have been far better if any further supervision exercised by the secretary of state had been confined to the larger and more general issues connected with the police establishments, and had stopped short of the injudicious meddling that went on. the magistrates might surely have been trusted with the selection of their own constables, but, for some occult reason, successive ministers seem to have thought it their duty to diminish the authority of the magistrates by actively interfering with the nomination and election of the rank and file. under these circumstances it is strange that the magistrates were as well served by their subordinate officers as they seem to have been, yet, everything considered, the stipendiary policeman proved so superior to the amateur constable that maurice swabey, the magistrate at union street, declared, that he would rather have six additional officers than fifty parish constables. from the list of the public offices above enumerated, the most interesting has intentionally been omitted, because its unique position calls for separate and more detailed notice. besides being of earlier date than the other offices, bow street exceeded them also in importance, and was distinguished as the centre of the police activities of the time. from henry fielding, who presided in , to sir franklin lushington, who recently succeeded sir john bridge, the chief magistrate at bow street has nearly always been a man of mark amongst his brother stipendiaries, and in their day the bow street runners (as the officers attached to this court used to be called) were of quite a different type from their comrades employed in the junior offices. though only eight in number (afterwards increased to twelve) these runners exerted a preponderating influence, which largely altered the aspect of the contest between the professional thieves and the helpless public on whom they preyed. the bow street policemen were the first peace officers to make a serious study of the art of detecting and running down criminals: they were experts whereas all their predecessors had been amateurs; no longer dull officials performing routine duties in perfunctory fashion when "not otherwise engaged"; but keen hunters with all their faculties stimulated by the prospect of the blood money and other rewards they hoped to earn. when they appeared on the scene the professional depredator no longer had things all his own way; instead of the parish constable who could be outwitted and bamboozled at every turn, the cracksman or forger found himself confronted by a wary adversary, well armed, and up to every move on the board. that the bow street runners achieved much good in breaking up predatory gangs, and in bringing notorious offenders to trial, is not to be denied, but it is no less certain that they were the source of much evil. actuated by the hope of gain rather than by any sense of duty, their motives were as ignoble as their methods were shady. they played only for their own hand, and all their best endeavours were bent towards the arrest of the particular criminal whose conviction would bring the greatest profit to themselves, and not to the pursuit of the fugitive from justice whose capture was chiefly desirable on public grounds. prevention did not enter at all into their conception of police duty, and their services were of course only at the disposal of those who were rich enough to pay handsomely for the privilege. the extent to which this system of feeing was carried may be guessed from the fact that townsend left £ , behind him, and that sayer's heirs divided no less than £ , at the death of their benefactor. in order to obtain information, the runners made it a rule to frequent low "flash-houses," as the resorts of thieves were called, and to associate with the vicious and desperate characters to be found there. when examined before a parliamentary commission, several of these officers freely admitted that it was by the employment of such tactics that they expected to obtain the most valuable information, and gave it as their opinion that flash-houses ought to be encouraged rather than suppressed, on account of the facilities they afforded the runner in his search for a man who was "wanted." there were, no doubt, many honest men amongst the bow street officers doing their duty to the best of their ability after their lights, and although their methods would not be tolerated for a moment at the present day, they were much in advance of their predecessors. certain of them attained a wide celebrity. such men as lavender, nelson and others--unique characters in their way--made it their business to go everywhere and know everybody: they carried a small baton surmounted by a gilt crown, and this badge of office admitted them not only to such unsavoury dens as "the dog and duck" and "the temple of flora," but even into the royal palaces, where two officers, we learn, were constantly stationed "on account of the king being frequently teased of lunatics." runners were often specialists, occupying themselves in one line of business to the neglect of others: thus, whilst that well-known gossip townsend chiefly confined himself to safeguarding the property of his wealthy clients, and to capturing noble duellists, keys devoted himself to circumventing coiners and forgers of bank notes, and a third was principally engaged in the detection and apprehension of "resurrectionists." there is no doubt that more than one of the bow street policemen were actually in league with the depredators they were paid to catch, though they were generally too alert to be found out; but the confidence of the public in their thief-takers received a rude shock when vaughan, of the horse patrol, was proved to have arranged a burglary for the sake of the reward that would have come to him on the conviction of the felons. "set a thief to catch a thief" may sometimes be good policy, but it is nearly always bad police. the patrols, horse and foot, which were attached to the bow street office, had been in existence some fifty years or so, but had only consisted of a handful of men quite insufficient for the amount of work that was expected of them. in sir richard ford, the chief magistrate, obtained permission to extend the system of mounted police so as to provide patrols for all the main roads to a distance of about twenty miles from bow street. the strength of this new force was fifty-two patrols, two inspectors, and a clerk: they were recruited almost exclusively from retired cavalrymen, and were familiarly known as robin redbreasts on account of the red waistcoat that was a conspicuous part of their uniform. they were better paid than their predecessors, the wages of a "patrol" being twenty-eight shillings a week, with allowance for horse keep, and the salary of a "conductor" standing at £ a-year and a guinea a-week for forage and shoeing. their energies were principally directed against highwaymen, and they quickly cleared hounslow heath and other infested localities from this class of plunderer. the horse patrol cost the government £ a year, not a high price to pay for the suppression of those impudent robbers "the gentlemen of the road." the foot patrol policed the inner circle within a radius of about four miles. the legal powers of bow street were never very strictly defined, but it was generally understood that the jurisdiction of the office was confined to the county of middlesex (the city of london excepted), and to the main roads in the neighbourhood of the metropolis which were patrolled by bow street officers. under the direction of the home secretary, the chief magistrate had, in fact, the control of a small and independent force applicable to the general police requirements of the capital and its environment. chapter x police at the dawn of the nineteenth century in the year , the population of london and middlesex hardly exceeded a million, but how many of the individual units that went to make up this total were engaged in criminal pursuits, it is of course impossible to estimate with any degree of accuracy, because the bulk of the crime was undetected and consequently unrecorded. from such data as we possess, however, it is certain that the proportion of thieves and other delinquents to honest men must have been alarmingly high. between and the population increased some sixteen per cent., and during the same period the number of commitments rose nearly fifty per cent.[ ] this increase in the number of rogues whose careers were cut short by capture, speaks well for the bow street runners from one point of view; but it also indicates no less surely that these officers were making no progress at all in the art of preventing crime, which instead of diminishing as time went on, continued to grow in volume year by year. indeed the state of the metropolis was such, that social reformers might well have despaired of ever seeing an improvement; every corrupting influence, and every criminal tendency seemed to flourish unchecked and unrebuked in the congenial atmosphere of the london slums: children, neglected by their parents and uncared for by the state, got their only schooling in the gutter, where they educated themselves, and each other, in all the tricks of vice and dishonesty. night after night, undisturbed by watchmen or other peace-officers, hundreds of urchins of both sexes huddled together for shelter and company under the fruit-stalls and barrows of covent garden market. day after day, these homeless and unhealthy vagabonds quartered the town, street by street, and alley by alley, in search of any prey that they might be able to lay their hands on. their pickings and stealings were turned into money with fatal ease at the shop of any one of the eight thousand receivers of stolen property, who were supposed to ply their trade in london; and however meagre might be the income realised by the juvenile criminal, drink in plenty, with gin at tenpence a pint, was within the reach of all. such licensing laws as existed, were seldom enforced, and even after the scandalous public lotteries had been suppressed, public-houses continued to hold minor lotteries, called "little-goes," for all comers, men, women and children. mondays and fridays were the great days for bullock-hunting, an inhuman and brutal sport that throve in the neighbourhoods of hackney and bethnal green, with the sanction, if not with the connivance, of the peace officers of those parishes. the procedure of the bullock-hunters was as follows. a fee having been paid to a cattle drover, an animal was selected from his herd, peas were put into its ears, sticks pointed with iron were driven into its body, and the poor beast, when mad with rage and pain, was hunted through the streets with a yelling mob of men, women, and dogs behind it; the weavers left their looms to join in the pursuit, and passers-by continually augmented the crowd, until the exhausted victim could no longer be goaded into any shew of resistance or movement, when it was left to die where it fell, or when sufficiently recovered, to be removed to some butcher's slaughter-house. on sundays the favourite resort was a field adjoining bethnal green church, and here some hundreds of men and boys assembled during the hours of divine service, to indulge in less exciting games, such as dog-fighting and duck-hunting. on holidays and fair-days these saturnalian proceedings grew more outrageous than ever. in a letter descriptive of the occurrences that used to take place at an annual fair held in the west-end of london, which the receiver of the metropolitan police wrote to lord rosslyn in , occurs the following passage: "it will hardly be credited that within five or seven years ... people were robbed in open day ... and women, stripped of their clothes, were tied to gates by the roadside; the existing police being set at defiance." john sayer, the bow street officer, stated before a parliamentary committee, that there were streets in westminster, especially duck lane, gravel lane, and cock lane, infested by a gang of desperate men, and so dangerous that no policeman dared venture there, unless accompanied by five or six of his comrades, for fear of being cut to pieces. these are not highly coloured fairy-tales, but actual facts as recounted in the blue-books of the period, recounted moreover without exciting any particular notice at the time. in , the crime of murder was so common, and so much on the increase, that a parliamentary committee was appointed to hold an inquiry as to the best means of combating the savage tendencies of the people. offences against property were even more prevalent than crimes of violence. spurious coin and counterfeit banknotes deluged the country.[ ] in the parish of kensington alone there were sixteen successful, and three unsuccessful, attempts at burglary in six weeks, and john vickery, an experienced bow street officer, calculated that in one month property to the value of £ , was stolen in the city of london, without one of the guilty parties being either known or apprehended. thieves and receivers, drivers of hackney coaches, and sometimes toll-gate keepers, conspired together to rob the travelling public. their favourite _modus operandi_ was as follows--the thief climbed on the back of the conveyance, unfastened the ropes that secured the luggage, and with the assistance of an accomplice, removed the trunk or other booty when close to the house of the confederate receiver. as soon as the loss was discovered, the coachman repudiated all knowledge of the affair, and having at the first opportunity put away the false and resumed his registered number, became to all appearance an honest cabman, against whom the police could prove nothing. the transformation was not difficult, because numbers were not then painted on the coach as on hackney carriages they now have to be, but were displayed on a removable iron label. still more serious were the conspiracies in which solicitors and police officers were concerned, which had for their object the levying of blackmail from bankers and others. in this organized system of fraud the following method was usually adopted--a man of education, with money behind him, would plan a bank robbery, purchase the necessary information, and hire expert thieves to do the actual work. the robbery having been duly effected, some time would be allowed to elapse, and then the prime mover in the affair, through his agent the police officer, would notify to the manager of the bank that the stolen notes or securities had been traced, and might be recovered, if a large enough reward was forthcoming. this offer was invariably coupled with the _proviso_ that, in the event of the proposed restitution being carried out, no further questions should be asked, nor further proceedings taken. the trick seldom failed, because the parties who had been robbed knew, that in the absence of any detective police agency worthy of the name, acceptance of the terms offered them was the only chance they had of recovering their property. under the circumstances, they could hardly be expected to be public-spirited enough to incur the heavier loss, and at the same time, through advertising the affair, suffer some diminution of credit, for the sake of the principles involved. the committee which sat in , and which investigated the whole question, considered it advisable not to publish the evidence brought before them, but stated that they had abundant proof that frauds of this description had for years been carried through with almost uniform success, and to an extent altogether unsuspected by the public. they were satisfied "that more than sixteen banks had been forced to pay blackmail, and that more than £ , worth of property had, in a short space of time, been the subject of negotiation or compromise," and stated that about £ had been paid to blackmailers by bankers alone, "accompanied by a clearance from every risk, and perfect impunity for their crimes." between and there were more than two hundred executions for forgery alone, that is to say at the rate of one execution in every three weeks. when one considers that only a few of the forgers were caught, that of these not all were convicted, and that of the convicted but a moderate percentage were hanged, we get some idea of the prevalence of this particular offence. the alarming frequency with which mobs began to appeal to violence to compel attention to their grievances, real or supposed, by force of arms, was one of the most dangerous symptoms of the age. the food riots of , the luddite disturbances of - , spafield ( ), manchester ( ), peterloo ( ),[ ] and the riots throughout the manufacturing districts in - , were all cases in point which convinced the thoughtful that, unless something better than the shoddy defence, which was all that the civil power could then muster, was quickly forthcoming, the mob would soon obtain a complete mastery, to the destruction of all law and order, just as had recently happened in france. the mania for duelling, again, which was now at its height, was an indication that the prevailing spirit of lawlessness was not confined to the masses. when hereditary lawgivers, and even cabinet ministers, could find no better way of settling their differences than by calling each other out, little wonder that the rank and file followed suit, and took the law into their own hands. it is no valid argument to say that duelling was merely a passing fashion; by the law of england any duel is a gross breach of the peace; and that such deliberate infractions should have become fashionable only proves that the law was held in contempt, and that the police system which failed to compel people to keep the peace was totally inadequate to the requirements of the times. there was a period when the vendetta was the natural defence adopted by semi-civilised communities to diminish the frequency of murder, and to protect the honour of their women: in time blood feuds gradually died out, not because any great change had overtaken human nature, but because there was no longer any need for the individual or the family to perform duties which could be executed with greater discrimination, impartiality, and thoroughness by judges and policemen. after the disappearance of the vendetta the custom of duelling remained. it was felt that personal honour was too delicate a matter to be delegated to any outsiders, and that questions in which honour was concerned must continue to be settled by the principals themselves. eventually however, the same influences that rendered blood feuds unnecessary removed the excuse for the practice of duelling; under modern conditions, a man can usually vindicate his honour by an appeal to public opinion, or, in the last resort, by an action for slander, without having to submit his cause to the uncertain arbitrament of the rapier or the pistol. on the whole, there is no exaggeration in saying that, at the dawn of the nineteenth century, england was passing through an epoch of criminality darker than any other in her annals; the resurrectionist atrocities of burke and hare, the more inhuman villanies of williams and bishop the cold-blooded depravity of vaughan and his accomplices, and the other lurid crimes which belong to this age, surpass in enormity anything before or since. such then was the desperate state of society at the dawn of the century. what arrangements did the country make to protect itself against the consequences of this accumulation of crime? what organization was provided for the enforcement of order, and for the protection of life and property? for its first line of defence england trusted to the supposed deterrent effect of a rigorous penal code; the more humane and effectual method, prevention, being lost sight of in the mistaken belief that it was possible to extirpate crime by the severity with which it was punished, a belief that survived in face of the fact, that as punishment increased in bitterness, so did offences grow in frequency and in violence. the penal laws were written in blood. colquhoun estimated that there were different offences which were punishable by death, without benefit of clergy: a man could be hanged for larceny from the person if the value of the article stolen was more than one shilling: townsend stated before the parliamentary commission of , that he had known as many as forty people hanged in one day: on another occasion seven persons, four men and three women, were convicted at kingston of being concerned in robbing a pedlar, "they were all hanged in kent street, opposite the door." such indiscriminate infliction of the extreme penalty of the law could serve no useful purpose,[ ] on the contrary it undoubtedly aggravated the very offences it was intended to check. the punishment for a trivial theft being identical with that meted out for the most heinous crime, all sense of proportion in the different degrees of moral guilt was lost. "as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb" represented a point of view not unnatural under the circumstances, and expressed the actual mental attitude of the average criminal. it can easily be demonstrated that an inverse ratio exists between the efficiency of police and the severity of sentences.[ ] the more difficult the commission of crime is made, the less necessity will there be for deterrent measures that savour of vindictiveness. the intimate knowledge that an effective police have of the habitual criminal class is not only a safeguard against the conviction of the innocent, but renders it possible to deal leniently with the juvenile, and with the casual, offender. within reasonable limits, the fear of almost certain detection is a far stronger deterrent than the distant prospect of severe punishment. sir samuel romilly speaking in the house of commons in said, "if it were possible that punishment, as a consequence of guilt, could be reduced to an absolute certainty, a very slight penalty would be sufficient to prevent almost every species of crime, except those which arise from sudden gusts of ungovernable passion. if the restoration of the property stolen, and only a few weeks, or even but a few days imprisonment, were the unavoidable consequence of theft, no theft would ever be committed. no man would steal what he was sure he could not keep." romilly made strenuous efforts to persuade the government to reduce the number of offences punishable by death, but without immediate success. sir james mackintosh followed in his footsteps, and in proposed to the house that measures should be adopted "for increasing the efficiency of the criminal law by mitigating its vigour." it is worthy of remark that, at this time, peel opposed the principles advocated by mackintosh and romilly, though seven years afterwards he was the author of the act that gave effect to a part of romilly's ideal, "a vigilant and enlightened police, and punishments proportioned to the offender's guilt." the savage rigour of the penal code defeated its own ends in many ways. people would not give evidence that might condemn a man to such barbarous treatment; juries would not always convict, even when the evidence was perfectly clear. consequently the law often became a dead letter, and the prospective criminal had many inducements to tempt him to break it; for, in the first place, he probably would never be caught; and in the second place, the chances were, that the jury would evade the responsibility of giving a verdict, that might lead to a sentence, that would be an outrage to their humanity. with crime so increasingly prevalent, there might have been some justification for great severity of punishment, if it had been found by experience that strong repressive measures had invariably been followed by a permanent reduction in the number of criminals; but this is not the lesson that history has taught. it is true that exceptional cases have arisen from time to time in which signal severity meted out to a prominent offender has proved the safest and best course. prompt and exemplary punishment, even in excess of his deserts, inflicted on a ringleader, has often been the only way to enforce discipline or to prevent the spread of dangerous mutiny; but such cases are rare, and owe their success as deterrents to their rarity, and to the attention that they excite at the time; whereas a consistent course of excessive severity has never been a lasting success, unless combined with powerful preventive measures,[ ] and then such a course is no longer necessary. highway robbery and sheep-stealing were common when they were capital offences, now they are seldom heard of, and the thieving that invariably went on at the foot of the gallows was sufficient proof that the popular belief in the deterrent value of public executions was a popular fallacy.[ ] the futile cruelty of the frequency with which capital punishment was inflicted was equalled if not exceeded by the manner in which the secondary punishments were administered. transportation was introduced[ ] in the reign of charles ii., but at first was not, strictly speaking, a legal punishment, but rather an exercise of the royal clemency towards those in "the king's mercy"; and it may be said to have taken the place in the social scheme of the old system of outlawry which, in former times, enabled a capital felon to save his life by abjuring the realm. labourers were required to develop the resources of america and the west indies, and to this end criminals under sentence of death were often pardoned on the understanding that they transported themselves to those colonies. several convicts, however, were clever enough to secure the pardon and yet avoid fulfilment of the condition on which it was granted. by so many of these persons were at large, that arrangements were made[ ] by which felons were to be kept in prison until they could be handed over to agents, who were required to give security that the undesirables in question were really deported. fifty years later the practice of transportation was common, and had come to be esteemed as an easy and profitable means of getting rid, once and for all, of offenders caught transgressing the laws made by society for its protection. though called transportation the system really amounted to perpetual slavery; it could nominally be inflicted for fourteen years, but was almost invariably for life. the convicts were handed over to contractors at so much a head, and shipped off to america to work on the plantations: many died on the voyage, thus reducing the profits of the traffic; in fact a bristol contractor complained that if another plague broke out on his ship he would have to give up the business. to prevent this waste, an act was passed in [ ] which provided that, for the future, contractors should take the convicts immediately they were sentenced, for fear that they should deteriorate during their sojourn in prison, and consequently fetch less money. after the american revolution we lost this source of revenue, and penal establishments at bermuda, gibraltar, and in new south wales took the place of the plantation in the social scheme. at the same time a change took place in the method of conveying convicts to their destination; they were no longer bought for the sake of the work that could be got out of them, but contractors were paid for carrying them to the penal establishments. the frightful mortality on board the ships continued, however, until the terms of the contract were altered; as soon as the practice of paying a fixed price for every man embarked was discontinued, and the payment of a larger sum for every man landed alive substituted, the convicts were treated more like human beings, and the death-rate on these voyages was no longer excessive. transportation signally failed as a deterrent, partly because the punishment was carried out so far from home, and partly on account of the unequal manner in which the penal system was administered. in the crown colonies, such as bermuda, the servitude was of the hardest description, but in australia the custom arose of assigning convicts as servants to colonists. this gave facilities for all kinds of abuses. a glaring and often-quoted instance of the kind of thing that went on may be cited. a certain bank clerk who had robbed his employers was convicted and sentenced to be transported to australia, but the stolen property was not recovered. the convict was duly conveyed to new south wales; soon afterwards his wife arrived in the same colony, and having selected her husband as a servant, the two lived together in security and wealth on the proceeds of the robbery. deterrents must be advertised in order to be effectual; the county gaol by the roadside is an ocular reminder of the reality of punishment, but a vague knowledge that felons were serving their time in the antipodes was a far less potent preventive: indeed transportation came to be regarded as desirable by many, who gladly submitted to expatriation for the sake of getting a fresh start in life in a new land at the public expense. escott remarks that whilst australia was at once a penal settlement and a thriving colony, "the strange spectacle was seen of honest artisans emigrating of their own accord to spots where felons also were relegated for their offences."[ ] the second line of defence upon which the country relied for the diminution of crime was an unpaid parochial police, sometimes assisted, and sometimes thwarted, by the various stipendiary establishments already described, and this combination, as we have seen, was almost as untrustworthy as the penal system had proved itself to be. the constables or headboroughs, and the thief-takers, or as we should now call them, detectives, were more vigorous than the watchmen, but in some respects they were also more dangerous to society; the former lived largely by blackmail and the latter on blood-money. the salary of the headborough for shoreditch was only ninety shillings a year, the post was not one of honour, and the stipend surely too insignificant to be an attraction; yet there was no lack of applicants, who by the diligent gleaning of perquisites and by the industrious collection of blackmail, saw their way to make a good living out of the office. as much as thirty-six shillings a day could be earned by a headborough by appearing in a prosecution at the old baily, and bribes from those employed in the liquor traffic were a still more profitable source of income. in alone, eighty thousand pounds was given in blood-money, an expenditure that might almost be considered as a government subsidy for the encouragement of felony. forty pounds was the reward offered for the conviction of certain offenders, and it was obviously to the advantage of the thief-taker not to interfere with a promising young criminal until he should commit a forty pounds crime; premature detection was tantamount to killing the goose that should lay the golden egg, and the common cant phrase of the day, when referring to a juvenile offender, was, "he doesn't weigh forty pounds yet." the mischievous tendency of this system of rewards cannot be exaggerated, it vitiated the whole police constitution; nor was there any chance of recovering property until a sufficient reward was advertised to stimulate those who alone were familiar with the haunts and methods of thieves and receivers. "officers are dangerous creatures," said townsend, after more than thirty years' experience as a bow street runner; "they have it frequently in their power (no question about it) to turn the scale, when the beam is level, on the other side: i mean against the poor wretched man at the bar; why? this thing called nature, says profit is in the scale: and melancholy to relate, but i cannot help being perfectly satisfied that frequently that has been the means of convicting many and many a man.... i am convinced that whenever a is giving evidence against b he should stand perfectly uninterested.... nothing can be so dangerous as a public officer, where he is liable to be tempted." the following is a list of the rewards, that could be earned by police and others:-- . highway robbery-- from the sheriff £ } £ from the hundred } . burglary-- from the sheriff } a tyburn ticket worth } . housebreaking in the daytime do. . counterfeiting gold or silver coin . do. copper coin . stealing from any shop, warehouse or stable, to the value of more than five shillings . horse stealing . stealing cattle or sheep . compounding a felony . wounding and killing a revenue officer . certain offences under the black act . persons returning from transportation . embezzling the king's stores . apprehending deserters from the army . apprehending rogues and vagabonds . apprehending idle and disorderly persons a tyburn ticket was a certificate granted by a judge or justice to the person who captured and prosecuted a felon to conviction; it freed the holder from all liability to serve as a constable, and exempted him also from many other ward and parish obligations. the ticket was transferable, and so had a pecuniary value which varied in different parishes, generally ten pounds or more. a tyburn ticket had been known to fetch as much as forty pounds. the law being powerless to prevent crime, and the police being unable to give protection, people exerted themselves to safeguard their own interests in their own way; shopkeepers combined to provide patrols to watch the fronts of their shops, householders armed themselves for the defence of their houses, whilst steel man-traps and spring-guns were set up in gardens and coverts. in consequence of the number of innocent persons maimed and killed by these not very discriminating agencies, lord suffield, in , introduced a bill with the object of making their use illegal, but it was not until may that an act was passed, prohibiting the setting of spring-guns, man-traps, and other engines calculated to destroy human life, or inflict grievous bodily harm.[ ] it is not too much to say, that a survey of all the institutions of england, as they existed at the beginning of the nineteenth century, would reveal the fact, that whereas many departments of government were feeble and many corrupt, in no department were ignorance, corruption, and inefficiency so pronounced as in that of police. if, however, any should wish to find a rival institution to share this unenviable position of discredit, he would not have far to look, but could discover the object of his search in the disgraceful mismanagement that pervaded every corner of our gaols, from prison-gate to condemned cell. if the criminal, whilst at large, could count on a minimum of interference with his career of depredation, he had at the same time to reckon with a maximum of ill-treatment if ever he was deprived of his liberty. it almost seemed as if the authorities, piqued at their ill-success in the departments of prevention and detection, were determined to wreak their vengeance on the unfortunate few who fell into their hands. neglect was the keynote in every part of the penal administration, the public suffered through the neglect that failed to provide a modicum of protection, and the prisoners suffered through the neglect of the governors and warders to provide them with the necessaries and decencies of life. a description of the extortions, inhumanities, and crimes against the most elementary laws of sanitation, that were rife in prison-houses and convict establishments, would here be out of place. a full account is to be found in the interesting volumes in the pages of which, major arthur griffiths has exhaustively dealt with the subject; but to shew with what reckless disregard for consequences prisoners were treated, and how little attention was paid to the reclamation of juvenile offenders, it is sufficient to mention the fact that in newgate, a felon, who had been sentenced to transportation, was retained in england, to act as a schoolmaster to the boy prisoners. under the unreformed prison system, gaols were little better than universities of crime, that conferred the diploma of "habitual" on the criminals who graduated there, and it was said that half the burglaries that were committed in london were planned in newgate. chapter xi pioneer reformers just when the immediate outlook was the most gloomy, and at an hour when the future seemed most barren of any hopeful sign, unseen and unsuspected influences were already at work; influences which were destined first to arrest, and eventually to repel, the increasing flood of criminality, as well as to alleviate the hard lot of the unhappy convict. up to this point the annual total of crime had ever been mounting higher and higher whilst the tale of abuses had continued to increase. but the malady had now come to a head, and intelligent public attention was at length focussed on a difficult and unpopular subject, which hitherto had been deliberately avoided by all but the very few who had been familiarized with its magnitude by routine, and who had mostly grown callous to its evils by use. when john howard began to minister to prisoners, and when jeremy bentham began to propound his doctrine of utilitarianism, no one foresaw that the devotion of the one would achieve a transformation of the whole prison system, nor that the profound common-sense of the other would triumph over the irrationality which for centuries had vitiated the penal administration of england. foremost amongst the many objects for which bentham worked were the amendment of the criminal code, the improvement of the poor laws, the abolition of transportation, sanitary and prison reform, systematic registration, and the instituting of public prosecutors, in short better police all round and in the widest sense of the term. though most of bentham's best work was done in the eighteenth, his doctrines received but little attention in this country before the nineteenth century, and the practical reforms which he advocated, though for the most part inaugurated in his own lifetime, were the immediate achievements of his disciples and friends. his own special hobbies were not altogether successful, the panopticon idea did not repay him for the labour and the money which he lavished upon it, and his philosophy did not prove the complete panacea for human ills that he anticipated; but through the medium of his friend romilly he slew the draconian monster, and he pointed out the path which colquhoun followed and which ultimately led to the genesis of modern police. the pamphlets of the two fieldings, and the exertions of other minor reformers who succeeded them, had no doubt done something to stir up public opinion and to pave the way for a better system, but their combined influence was only effectual up to a certain point, and the virtue of the remedies they proposed was not sufficiently potent to get to the root of the all-pervading mischief. the credit of being the first to perceive the true functions of a rational police force, as it should be, belongs to bentham,[ ] and the credit of formulating the details and presenting them in a tangible and practical shape to his contemporaries is due to dr colquhoun, who, in , published his famous treatise "on the police of the metropolis." if we think of colquhoun as the architect who designed our modern police, and of peel as the builder who constructed its framework, we must remember that there were others who had a hand in the good work, and that a long time elapsed between the drawing of the plans and the erection of the edifice. if it is allowable to carry the simile a stage further, we may say that the government pigeon-holed the draughtsman's plans for many years before the order was given for the foundation stone to be laid. this delay must not be attributed to indifference, but rather to necessity. it is, perhaps, a truism to say so, but in order to carry any valuable reform to a successful issue, thought must precede action. law is the public opinion of yesterday put in force to-day, and as professor dicey has somewhere pointed out, legislation has almost always been the outcome of the opinion of thirty years before. no better example of the truth of this general formula could be instanced than the case of the police reforms of the nineteenth century: bentham, colquhoun, romilly and others did the necessary thinking and sowed the seed in the public conscience; a period of thirty years elapsed whilst the seed was coming to maturity; meanwhile peel and the duke of wellington watched the gradual ripening of public opinion and provided the necessary legislation as soon as the people were ready for it. colquhoun, who, like fielding, was a middlesex magistrate, saw that the essential need was method. he recognized that before any material improvement could be looked for, or any real security obtained, the miserable jumble of wards, parishes, hundreds and boroughs, each with its private establishment of watchmen and constables, who were debarred from acting one yard outside their own boundaries, would have to be swept away, and a centralized agency substituted under the superintendence of "able, indefatigable and intelligent men." the criminal classes, at this time, had an organization far superior to any that society could oppose to it; in fact, if a committee of pickpockets and burglars had been entrusted with the task of creating and arranging a system of police, they could hardly have devised any scheme under which they would have secured to themselves greater freedom from molestation. colquhoun pointed out how all this might be changed: he would have a register prepared of all the known offenders, containing a complete history of their connexions and haunts, together with a list of all property stolen; he would establish such a correspondence between the town and country magistrates that the movements of suspected persons might be effectually watched, and finally would "interpose those embarrassments which a vigilant and active police may place in the way of every class of offenders, so as to diminish crimes by increasing the risk of detection." he also collected a mass of evidence bearing on the causes that were responsible for the prevalence of crime, and proposed that a scientific campaign against the enemies of society should be inaugurated, under the direction of experts, who should be free to devote the whole of their time and energies to the task. his proposition, in fact, amounted to the creation, if possible, of a centralized police, related to the general government through the home office, and officered both in the superior and subordinate grades, by men specially trained for the purpose. it was on these lines, of course, that peel set to work twenty years later, but there is little doubt that he would have failed to carry his measure, in the face of the opposition which it aroused, if men's minds had not been to some extent prepared beforehand by the convincing arguments brought forward in "the police of the metropolis." it must not be imagined that the period immediately preceding the formation of the new police was a time of expectant idleness, or that nothing was being done beyond the publication of treatises. experiment and legislation were both at work; parliamentary committees, which sat in the years , , , and , to investigate the subject of police, collected a mass of evidence, much of which was useful; and the select committee on vagrancy, appointed in , performed a necessary and valuable task. distinct progress was also made towards the correction of prison abuses and in the direction of the reform of the penal code, whilst several statutes which were out of sympathy with the new standard of humanity were very properly repealed. the pillory was virtually abolished in , public flogging of women was made illegal in ,[ ] that anomalous institution "benefit of clergy" disappeared in , and the death penalty could not be inflicted on persons convicted of forgery after . of new enactments belonging to this period, the most important was the "alehouse act" of ,[ ] which reduced to one statute all the licensing laws passed in former years, and which to this day remains the foundation of our present system. broadly speaking the object of the act was decentralization, and its effect to place the whole licensing jurisdiction in the hands of the justices of the peace in their several districts.[ ] the laws relating to remedies against the hundred were amended and consolidated in ,[ ] and shortly afterwards regulations affecting the jurisdiction of courts of quarter sessions came into force.[ ] colquhoun's activity did not stop short at the production of his first book, a work which roused the government from its lethargy, and which even awakened the interest of the king, he issued a police gazette containing a full description of all known offenders, which circulated in all parts of the kingdom, and was the means of bringing many miscreants to justice; he strongly endorsed bentham's suggestion that a public prosecutor should be appointed, in order that private persons should be relieved of the odium and expense of coming forward to prosecute offenders, who might enjoy a measure of popularity, or whose conviction might be desirable on public grounds, even if no individual had suffered specific injury; and in the year he was induced to turn his attention to the question of river-police. the rich cargoes of west india merchantmen lying in the thames had long offered temptations, and the absence of police gave frequent opportunities which london thieves could not resist. robberies were of daily occurrence, and the value of the property annually stolen from ships and wharves has been computed at half a million sterling.[ ] under these circumstances, the principal ship-owners, despairing of ever obtaining protection from government in return for the heavy taxes they paid, applied to colquhoun to help them to defend their goods. he assented, and produced a work called "a treatise on the commerce and police of the river thames," which was soon followed by the establishment by government[ ] of an efficient water-police, with headquarters at wapping, and composed, for the most part, of sailors who had served their time in his majesty's navy. in the home secretary, lord sidmouth, who had given much attention to police questions, determined if possible to put an end to the discreditable state of the london streets, where of recent years robberies had increased to an alarming extent. with this object in view, he decided to confine the services of the bow street patrols to the metropolis, and gave orders that, in future, the wide circuit they had previously guarded was to be reduced, and their energies concentrated within the circumference of the central region. dividing this limited area into sixteen districts, he attached to each a party of four men under a conductor, and retained at bow street a reserve of one conductor and fourteen men at the disposal of the inspector there, for use in any sudden emergency. the suburbs and outlying districts were momentarily left unprotected by this withdrawal of the bow street officers; so to repair this defect, the horse patrol, which in had been reorganized by sir richard ford, was further improved and its numbers increased. the force was now divided into two branches, the mounted and dismounted, each of which was again split up into four divisions: the strength of the establishment was fixed at of all ranks, apportioned as follows-- mounted-- inspectors, deputy inspectors, patrols. dismounted-- inspectors, sub-inspectors, patrols. as was formerly the case, the horse patrol consisted of ex-cavalry men, and they were dressed and accoutred in the following manner-- blue double-breasted coat with gilt buttons, scarlet waistcoat, leather stock, white leather gloves, black leather hat, wellington boots and steel spurs, whilst each man, when on duty, was furnished with a pistol, sabre, truncheon and pair of handcuffs. only married men were employed, and cottages were provided for them at convenient spots close to the roads they had to patrol, their wives were forbidden to keep pigs or poultry, a wise prohibition designed to secure to the government-horses their full allowance of forage. the mounted and dismounted patrols worked in connection with each other; the latter were responsible for the immediate neighbourhood of london to a distance of five miles from its centre, and the former looked after the remoter districts included in a circle with an average radius of twenty miles; their principal routes were--to enfield by hampstead and highgate in the north, to epsom by croydon and richmond in the south, to windsor by uxbridge in the west, and eastwards to romford on the left bank of the thames, and towards maidstone on the right bank. their orders were to proceed along the specified road at such a pace as would bring them to the end of their beat at the appointed time--halt ten minutes and then return meeting the other patrolmen half-way; when passing travellers they were ordered to make themselves known by calling out in an audible tone "bow street patrol"; and on arriving at the home-end of their beat they were timed to meet the dismounted patrol, and had to communicate to them any news of importance. every patrol, when on duty, was expected to be fully equipped, with his pistol loaded, and his sword-belt outside his coat; if his horse should go lame he had to dismount, and on foot patrol half his usual distance; in the event of a robbery or other breach of the peace coming to his notice, his duty was to join his companion, if possible, and that of the two together to pursue and endeavour to apprehend the offender or offenders, summoning outside assistance if necessary. if they effected a capture their prisoner was to be safely secured till morning, when they had to bring him to bow street. the orders issued to the dismounted patrol, _mutatis mutandis_, were practically identical with those already detailed: the men were warned never to go out on their rounds without truncheon, cutlass and warrant; and they had to meet the mounted patrol at the extremity of their beat, or report the circumstances under which they failed to carry out their instructions. the bow street patrols were efficacious to a certain extent. their presence gave confidence to travellers, and highway robberies on the main roads were put a stop to; but they were of little use against burglars, and altogether failed to suppress the footpads who took to the lanes and by-ways when the high-roads were protected, nor could the removal of stolen property be prevented as long as the patrolmen were only kept on duty for half the night. the small force at the disposal of the chief magistrate at bow street, for the purpose of safe-guarding the outlying districts, had to patrol such a large area, and their movements were in consequence so regular, that it was easy for thieves to calculate the hour at which the peace officer was due at any given point, and equally easy to avoid him by concealment in a cross-road or behind a hedge until he had passed: a thief named wilson long avoided capture in this manner, and when he eventually fell into the hands of the police, it was discovered that he had in his possession a regular time-table on which was marked at what o'clock the patrols might be expected at various points on all the main roads. twelve months after lord sidmouth's improvements had been initiated, a further advance was made, this time at the instance of robert peel, by the establishment of a day-patrol to supplement the bow street force. the new police body was very small, and only of an experimental nature; but it served the purpose of its institution, and the success achieved by the three inspectors and twenty-four men who composed this little force was a strong argument for a subsequent extension on similar lines. these reforms, following close upon each other, showed that at last government was disposed to make a sustained effort to put the police on a better footing, and to give effect to the recommendations of the parliamentary committees, which it had summoned year after year, but whose advice it had hitherto as regularly neglected. chapter xii "the new police" the depth of lawlessness under which london lay submerged, and the deplorable condition of the feeble bulwarks that the richest city in the world had so long been content to rely on, have been considered at some length, because it is only by contrasting the security of recent years with the lawless confusion previously existing, that an intelligent appreciation of the debt we owe to sir robert peel is made clear. the evidence given before the various parliamentary committees reveals to us an impartial contemporary view of things as they then were, and it requires but little acumen to see for ourselves how well we are served by our police to-day. the improvement that has taken place has been something more than a well-defined instance of the general amelioration in our institutions, which was the feature of the nineteenth century: the year saw an almost instantaneous change in the police of london, a transformation from an inconceivably rotten and antiquated system into one which immediately became an example to the world, and one which still remains a credit to our civilization. simultaneously with the police revival there suddenly dawned an unwonted era of security out of the dark and dangerous shadows of the past: that this was due to peel's act, and to no other cause, is conclusively proved by the fact that the rural parts of england, to which the act did not apply, had no share in the improvement which was at once manifest in the metropolis. the sharp contrast between the state of london under the old _régime_ and its condition under the new administration is well illustrated by a comparison of two critical articles taken from the leading reviews of the day. a year before the introduction of peel's bill the _quarterly review_ said--"there can be no doubt that the whole of the existing watch system of london and its vicinity ought to be mercilessly struck to the ground. no human being has the smallest confidence in it.... their existence is a nuisance and a curse"; and some years afterwards, when people had begun to realise how indispensable their police had become, the _edinburgh review_ refers to the metropolitan force in these words: "the arrangements are so good, the security so general, and the complex machinery works so quietly, that the real danger which must always exist where the wealth and luxury of a nation are brought into juxtaposition with its poverty and crime, is too much forgotten: and the people begin to think it quite a matter of course, or one of the operations of providence, that they sleep and wake in safety in the midst of hordes of starving plunderers." the change was the more sudden because it had been so long deferred. when the transition stage was over there could be no sustained conflict between the new champions of order and the old allies of disorder, because the latter had been allowed to hold the boards until their charlatanism and worthlessness were thoroughly exposed. people might, and actually did, say that the new system was bad and would lead to all kinds of disaster, but no one was bold enough to assert that the old system was good. population had increased enormously, people were richer, more civilized and more humane than they had ever been before, and yet they put up with the same old apology for police that their grandfathers had been dissatisfied with and ashamed of. in some respects it is fortunate for us that this was so; for when the inevitable change was brought about, we got a better article than we should have done if an earlier model had been adopted, or if the abuses had not been allowed to flourish until they had become sufficiently glaring to demand radical measures for their removal. of the many parliamentary commissions, which since the year had investigated the police problem, the only one which did its work in a satisfactory manner was that convened on peel's initiative in . this commission went into the question very thoroughly, and came to the conclusion that "it was absolutely necessary to devise some means to give greater security to persons and property." as soon as the commissioners' report was issued, peel decided to act upon it immediately, and on the th april , introduced his bill in the house of commons. after briefly reviewing the prevailing state of insecurity, and commenting upon the notoriously defective police arrangements in vogue, he declared that no longer must petty parochial jealousies be allowed to outweigh higher and more extended principles. he then unfolded to the house his general plan. recognizing the impossibility of simultaneously providing the entire metropolis with trained policemen, he proposed, in the first instance, to start on a modest scale, hoping that by the gradual absorption of parishes, the central agency would become exercised in the management and control of the police, until in course of time it should be competent to take charge of the whole constabulary of london:[ ] the first experiment would begin with westminster; kensington and hammersmith would come next; and eventually every parish, any part of which was within fifteen miles of charing cross, would be taken over. most recent attempts to reform the police had been entered into under the influence of panic, and when some patched-up defence could be extemporised against the danger that threatened, those responsible for the public quiet had been content. peel's aims were more comprehensive: he set himself to design a framework sufficiently rigid to withstand the stress of the moment, and elastic enough to admit of expansion along the lines of future development. a nice judgment was required to determine how far the old materials could be made available for the reconstruction, to decide how much to retain and how much to discard. certain sound and well-proved principles, admirably suited to the national temper, underlay the structure which he was bent on modernizing, and these, he saw, could not be dispensed with. no mania for novelty blinded him to the value of much of the groundwork of the old system; and his reforms, therefore, were in the best sense conservative, for whilst there was no break in the continuity of whatever was good, neither was there any deliberate retention of anything that was bad. it is largely due to peel's moderation that, the more one studies the anatomy of modern english police, the more one discovers birthmarks of its anglo-saxon parentage. two months after its introduction, peel's measure became law. the famous act of parliament[ ] creating the metropolitan police force was entitled "an act for improving the police in and near the metropolis." the preamble declared that, it having been found expedient to substitute a more efficient system of police for the local establishments of nightly watch and nightly police which had proved inadequate for the prevention and detection of crime, a new office of police was to be constituted, under the immediate authority of the home secretary. the act is a long one, but its main provisions are simple and concise. his majesty appoints two justices of the peace to conduct the business of the police office, and to frame regulations for the management of the force, subject to the approval of the secretary of state. the financial department is placed under an official called the receiver, and the police rate (which must not exceed eightpence in the pound) is to be collected by overseers like the poor rate. the existing watch shall continue to discharge its duties in the various parishes until notification is made that the new police is appointed, and then all watch-boxes, arms, etc., shall be handed over, and the present watch rates shall cease. the limits of the "metropolitan police district" are defined to comprise westminster, and such parishes in middlesex, surrey, and kent, as are enumerated in the schedule of the act. the metropolitan police district is partitioned off into various "divisions" according to counties, those of middlesex being as follows, westminster, holborn, finsbury, tower, kensington, brentford, and a division comprising certain extra-parochial places such as grays inn, furnivals inn and ely place. a short supplementary act[ ] relieves the chief magistrate at bow street of the direction of the horse and foot patrols, and places them under the new police office. this office, as created by the act of parliament, the chief provisions of which are above detailed, was situated in westminster and was called scotland yard. it differed from the older offices in many respects, for whilst it was given no judicial functions to perform, it was charged with the duty of supervising the police machinery of the metropolis. it thus became a centre from which to amalgamate the heterogeneous elements that went to make up london's police, and from which to administer the reclaimed territory in an ever-widening circle, until the whole metropolitan area, amounting to nearly seven hundred square miles, was freed from the trammels of bumbledom, and brought under the control of a bureau directed by "able, indefatigable, and intelligent men." the intimate connection that had always existed between justice of the peace and constable was not severed at the birth of the metropolitan force, and the first officers of the new establishment, appointed under the provisions of the act, were two justices. colonel rowan, a soldier of distinction who had already gained some experience with the royal irish constabulary, and richard mayne, an eminent lawyer, were the men selected. the task could not have fallen into better hands, and to the energy and tact displayed by the first commissioners[ ] must be attributed, in great measure, the success achieved by the new force from its inception. in the course of an appreciative report, dealing with the results obtained by the new police, a parliamentary committee, which sat in and , paid a high compliment to these gentlemen. "much, in the opinion of your committee, is due to the judgment and discrimination which was exercised in the selection of the individuals, colonel rowan and mr mayne, who were originally appointed, and still continue to fill the arduous office of commissioners of police. on many critical occasions and in very difficult circumstances, the sound discretion they have exercised, the straightforward, open and honourable course they have pursued--whenever their conduct has been questioned by the public--calls for the strongest expression of approbation on the part of your committee." the task in front of the commissioners was far from being an easy one: they had to raise a new force, but more important still was the business of restoring to the discredited office of constable some of its native dignity and prestige. to this end it was necessary to get rid, as quickly as they dared, of all the unworthy ministers whose shortcomings had emboldened the lawbreakers and whose backslidings had disheartened the law-abiding; in so doing they had to incur the odium of causing the wholesale dismissal of public servants, who, worthless as they were, had no other trade to fall back upon. nor was this the end of their difficulties. they had to organize and train a very considerable army of recruits, they had to drill this force and educate it to discharge duties requiring tact and forbearance, they were assisted by no expert opinion, and had little previous experience to guide them. the novelty of the problem increased the difficulty of its solution. they had to encounter a popular prejudice that was almost unanimously opposed to them, and although a false step might have produced the most disastrous consequences, no delay was allowed them for consideration or experiment. having undertaken the task, however, they were not the men to turn back, and in an incredibly short space of time they had the whole machine in working order; the metropolitan area was mapped out into police divisions, the divisions divided into sections, and sections subdivided into beats: the various grades of superintendent, inspector, sergeant, and constable were created, and to each grade was assigned its proper duties. by june , the metropolitan police consisted of superintendents, inspectors, sergeants, and , constables, or , of all ranks, distributed in the following manner: return of metropolitan police, st june . key: col a: letter. col b: name of division. col c: superintendents. col d: inspectors. col e: sergeants. col f: constables. col g: total. col h: estimated population. +---+---------------+----+----+-----+------+------+-----------+ | a | b | c | d | e | f | g | h | +---+---------------+----+----+-----+------+------+-----------+ | a | whitehall | | | | | | , | | b | westminster | | | | | | , | | c | st james | | | | | | , | | d | marylebone | | | | | | , | | e | holborn | | | | | | , | | f | covent garden | | | | | | , | | g | finsbury | | | | | | , | | h | whitechapel | | | | | | , | | k | stepney | | | | | | , | | l | lambeth | | | | | | , | | m | southwark | | | | | | , | | n | islington | | | | | | , | | p | camberwell | | | | | | , | | r | greenwich | | | | | | , | | s | hampstead | | | | | | , | | t | kensington | | | | | | , | | v | wandsworth | | | | | | , | | +---------------+----+----+-----+------+------+-----------+ | | totals | | | | | | , , | +---+---------------+----+----+-----+------+------+-----------+ this table shows at a glance how rapidly the parochial police was giving ground before the advancing battalions from scotland yard. in less than twelve months, in place of the five districts originally taken over, we find practically the whole of london and its suburbs policed by the new constabulary. the skeleton of this force's organization is also indicated in the above table, the details only require to be filled in. the metropolitan police district, it will be seen, was divided into seventeen police divisions, each designated by an appropriate local name, and by a letter of the alphabet. these divisions were then divided into sub-divisions, sections, and beats. there were eight sections in a division, and eight beats in a section. in every division a police-station was provided, in as central and convenient position as possible, where the business of the division was conducted on a plan approved by scotland yard, and common to all alike. the constabulary force was organized in police companies, one company to a division, under the command and direct supervision of its officer, the superintendent. furthermore, each company was split up into sixteen parties, each party consisting of one sergeant and nine men, four sergeants' parties being equal to one inspectors' party. to put it in tabular form-- constables in charge of beats, wages s. a week. sergeants " sections, " s. d. a week. inspectors " sub-divisions, £ per ann. superintendents " divisions, £ per ann. nine men, it will be observed, were apportioned to only eight beats; the sixteen odd men, _i.e._, one from each party, constituted a divisional reserve. every constable and sergeant was distinguished by an embroidered number and the letter of his division, in order that he might readily be identified; the earlier numbers (from to ) denoted sergeants, the higher numbers constables. each constable was provided with a beat-card, giving the names of the streets, etc., in his beat. at first the twenty-four hours were divided into two day reliefs and two night reliefs, half of the entire force being on duty by day and half by night. this arrangement was not a success, and was subsequently altered, when the day duty was performed in two reliefs and the night duty in one relief: under this system two-thirds of the force were employed by night, one-third by day, individual men doing eight months' night work and four months' day work during the year. by this means a greater degree of security was attained when it was chiefly required, and the health of the men suffered less than under the former plan. such in outline was the organization of the metropolitan police; absolute and arbitrary uniformity, however, was not insisted upon, but when necessary the system was modified to suit local requirements; thus, there were not exactly constables in each company, but the number varied from in the stepney (k) division down to in the whitehall (a) division. the first mentioned of these two divisions was densely populated, whilst the other contained but few people, and the whitehall company, therefore, which was mainly composed of picked men, was generally available should any sudden emergency arise in other quarters of the town. prominent amongst the earlier constitutional functions conferred upon the english constabulary for the prevention of crime were those of presentment and inquiry. we have seen how, with the decay of the police system which once effectually maintained the peace, these primary duties had fallen into disuse, and how in consequence, the principle of "quick and fresh pursuit" had been neglected--partly by reason of the defective information possessed by the executive, and partly on account of the inefficiency of the inferior officers. under the new _régime_, however, these most essential constituents of successful police action were reintroduced, a conspicuous feature of the new police being the excellence of the arrangements arrived at for the supply of information as to the persons and habits of delinquents. to this end, a report or "presentment," containing the results of all inquiries made during the last twenty-four hours was daily rendered to the commissioners, who were thus enabled to take steps for the prevention of any threatened breach of the peace. when a serious crime had been committed, not only were the known facts of the case immediately circulated amongst all the members of the london force, but necessary particulars were periodically notified to a wider circle through the columns of the "police gazette," a new official organ which superseded the old bow street publication known as "the hue and cry." the police constable who made his appearance in was a very different kind of man from any of his predecessors in the same office. the new force was recruited from the best procurable material, and those who sought admission to its ranks were expected to possess good physique, intelligence above the average, and an irreproachable character. hitherto a variety of officers had been employed in their separate capacities of constable, watchman, street-keeper, and thief-taker: now, all these duties had to be performed by the same individual. the new policeman, also, was required to have sufficient acquaintance with ordinary legal procedure to enable him to collect and arrange the available evidence in such a manner that, when his case came into court, the magistrate could dispose of the matter without vexatious delays induced, either by blunders committed, or by necessary formalities omitted. the difficulty of securing a sufficient number of men with the necessary qualifications at the rate of remuneration offered was immense; and although great care was exercised in the choice of candidates, but a small proportion of those selected were retained for any length of time. the extent to which this weeding-out process was carried may be estimated from the fact that between and there were nearly five thousand dismissals, and more than six thousand resignations, most of the latter not being altogether voluntary. this was in marked contrast to the happy-go-lucky method of the old parochial bodies, who readily accepted infirm old men, ex-thieves, and sometimes thieves without the "ex," provided only that they were cheap. for the guidance of all ranks, a set of rules and regulations were drawn up embodying principles and maxims upon which our modern police codes rest. "at the commencement of the new establishment," say the commissioners, "it is the more necessary to take particular care that the constables of the police do not form false notions of their duties and powers. the powers of a constable, as will appear hereafter, are, when properly understood and duly executed, amply sufficient for their purpose. he is regarded as the legitimate peace officer of his district; and both by the common law and by many acts of parliament, he is invested with considerable powers, and has imposed upon him the execution of many important duties.... it should be understood at the outset that the principal object to be attained is the prevention of crime. to this great end every effort of the police is to be directed. the security of person and property, the preservation of the public tranquillity, and all other objects of a police establishment will thus be better effected than by the detection and punishment of the offender after he has succeeded in committing the crime. this should constantly be kept in mind by every member of the police force, as a guide for his own conduct. officers and police-constables should endeavour to distinguish themselves by such vigilance and activity as may render it extremely difficult for anyone to commit a crime within that portion of the town under their charge. when in any division, offences are frequently committed, there must be reason to expect that the police in that division is not properly conducted. the absence of crime will be considered the best proof of the complete efficiency of the police. in divisions where this security and good order have been effected, the officers and men belonging to it may feel assured that such good conduct will be noticed by rewards and promotions." touching the duties of the individual constables, mr mayne, who drew up the regulations, went on to say "he (_i.e._ the constable) must remember that there is no qualification more indispensable to a police officer than a perfect command of temper, never suffering himself to be moved in the slightest degree by any language or threats that may be used: if he do his duty in a quiet and determined manner, such conduct will probably induce well-disposed bystanders to assist him should he require it." these regulations require no comment, they speak for themselves: but in view of the intense and unreasoning hostility direct against the police both by press and public, not only in , but also on more recent occasions, it is fortunate that this evidence of the conciliatory spirit in which the reforms were introduced, should be on record. it is hardly necessary to add that the high standard set up by the first justices of the metropolitan force has never been departed from by the successive commissioners of police, from that day until now. the immediate result of the institution of an effective police force, whose main object was prevention, was precisely that which was to be expected: convictions for crimes of violence decreased, because evil-disposed persons knew that they could no longer commit them with impunity, and convictions for minor offences increased, because the vigilance of the new policemen brought to their proper punishment many a petty depredator who had easily hoodwinked his familiar friend, the old parish officer. under the date of november rd, , or little more than four months after the passing of the act, the duke of wellington was able to write to peel--"i congratulate you on the entire success of the police in london, it is impossible to see anything more respectable than they are"--and peel to answer "i am very glad indeed to hear that you think well of the police. it has given me from first to last more trouble than anything i ever undertook. but the men are gaining a knowledge of their duties so rapidly, that i am very sanguine of the ultimate result. i want to teach people that liberty does not consist in having your house robbed by organised gangs of thieves, and in leaving the principal streets of london in the nightly possession of drunken women and vagabonds."[ ] nothing has yet been said about the expense of the new establishment. at what cost to the ratepayers was this increased security obtained? such a question is not easy to answer with any degree of certainty. before many parishes were practically without police of any kind, and if they spent little in watch-rates they paid dearly in the heavy tolls exacted by "the organised gangs of thieves" referred to by peel. other parishes kept their accounts so carelessly that their records are useless for purposes of comparison, and it is therefore impossible to tell how much money they wasted. the committee, which investigated this question of comparative expense, had all the available material before them, and they gave it as their opinion that strict economy pervaded the new system. in support of this opinion, they quoted the case of the parish of hackney, which was moderately well policed as things went then. prior to the introduction of the reformed police, the ratepayers of hackney contributed £ , per annum, whereas at the maximum police rate that could be levied under the new system (viz. eightpence in the pound) the bill was only £ , . chapter xiii public opposition to the "new police" the formation of the new police force in the metropolis aroused the fiercest opposition and remonstrance. invective and ridicule were heaped upon the measure from all sides. the hopeless incompetence and the discredited character of the blackguardly charlies were at once forgotten, nor were the prevalence of crime and the insecurity of life and property at all considered by those who made it their business to foment the popular antagonism. week by week certain newspapers continued to publish the most preposterous attacks: no story was too improbable to gain credence. a _coup d'etat_ was contemplated--it was sir robert peel's intention to place the duke of wellington on the throne--english liberty was to give place to military tyranny--under the pretence of providing protection for the people the government aimed at the creation of a secret political inquisition,--in fact anything that was at once inconsistent and absurd was listened to with avidity and partly believed. at first sight it seems almost incredible that any part of the nation, except the criminal class, should have felt and exhibited such bitter hostility to legislation that we now see had been too long delayed; but the reluctance of the people to welcome the innovation was not so unreasonable as it now appears. it is easy for us to be wise after seventy years' experience of the admirable results that have followed upon the act of ; but in that year the only example of modern militarily organized police before the eyes of the people, was that under which paris had groaned since the time of la reynie. chateaubriand's philippics directed against the french system were eagerly read and quoted, and it was felt that london could not avoid the condition of interference with individual liberty that obtained across the channel. people could not associate in their minds a proper police organization and the maintenance of justice, and remembered that "injustice is always most formidable when armed." the events of the french revolution were still in the public mind; and many englishmen, who had looked on with horror at the spectacle of a neighbouring country writhing in the grip of anarchy, narrowly watched the course of events at home, in fearful anticipation lest any of the causes which had brought about the debâcle in france should be reproduced in this island. nothing under the ancient régime had pressed the french people so hard nor bitten so deep as the police tyranny of the eighteenth century; and when the day of reckoning came, the one rallying cry which never failed to stir the parisians to an extremity of fury, was that for the abolition of the "lettre de cachet"[ ] and for the overthrow of the lieutenant of police and his gang. and no wonder! liberty was impossible under a system which arrogated to itself the right "de tout voir, de tout connaître, et de tout juger;" when no man could call his conscience his own, and when no fireside was secure against the paid informer. "if three men meet together, i can rely on it that at least two of them are on my side" boasted sartines, a famous chief of police. what plan could be more demoralizing than the one which sets the servant to spy on the master, the son to watch his father? what system so base as that under which the same hand that presses yours in friendship is the first to arrest you, what instrument so fatal to liberty or justice as the "lettre de cachet" which proclaims the innocence of the man who was legally convicted yesterday, and sends to the bastille to-morrow the man who was honourably acquitted to-day? people in england who knew these things, not unnaturally asked themselves the question, why, with our eyes open, should we forge against ourselves a weapon similar to that, whose sharp point has goaded our neighbours till they were driven to set alight the torch of revolution and to destroy the whole fabric of government? the fear that the continental system[ ] of police might be introduced into england was not the only ground upon which this strenuous opposition rested. another factor was the deeply rooted antipathy that the english have always displayed to any armed force that they feared might deprive them of their liberty. the inherent national suspicion of standing armies is well known: james ii. tried to govern by the aid of one, but his attempt ended in failure owing to the opposition of the people; william iii. wished to maintain a large permanent force, but so hateful was the mere name of a standing army in english ears, that lord somers, the king's minister, was constrained to talk of it as a temporary measure, to allay the popular irritation. even to the present day, our comparatively small army, half of which is permanently on foreign service, only exists at the will of parliament, and from year to year; whilst the fact that only two regiments, the lineal descendants of the trained-bands, are allowed to march through the streets of london with fixed bayonets, is an interesting survival, as shewing the distaste that the display of armed force in their midst has always produced amongst our countrymen. if this was the feeling with regard to the army, which was to a certain extent indispensable and which was only maintained, ostensibly at all events, for use against foreign enemies, it was not to be wondered at, if the hostility to a strange body of men uniformed and drilled like soldiers, who were admittedly employed to keep their fellow-countrymen in order, was more pronounced. the mildest form of police supervision was believed by many to necessitate the use of domiciliary visits, universal espionage, and official interference with the concerns of daily life. men could not foresee the possibility of an armed constabulary keeping their hands off law-abiding citizens, and directing their energies solely against law-breakers. it has been said, that had the original police constables been first seen in their present head-dress, the result would have been dubious, but the glazed hat was just homely enough to save the situation. in their fears, the opponents of the police bill underrated the efficacy of the two safeguards that have proved amply sufficient to defend society against the employment of any objectionable or tyrannical methods by the members of the force. the first safeguard was, that the new police was placed under the immediate control of the home secretary, who was directly responsible to the cabinet, and through the cabinet to the country, for the actions of the metropolitan force. the second safeguard lay in the power of the public press. the routine duties of a constable were, and are necessarily, performed in the eye of the public, and every bystander is free, through the columns of the newspapers, to tell the rest of london what he has seen. this facility he is seldom slow to avail himself of, and so any act of oppression, any dereliction of duty, on the part of the police is discussed by thousands of people by the following morning. the turks have a proverb "the dog barks, but the caravan passes on"; and in this case the necessity for ending the existing state of affairs was so overwhelming, that the appeals, threats, and forebodings of the opponents of reform were powerless to prevent, or even retard, its progress. from its first commencement the new force learnt how to combine authority with moderation, and the storms of clamour that attended its birth were disguised blessings that conduced to its subsequent efficiency. the opposition of the less reputable part of the press, and the very lukewarm support that was all it received from the remainder, were not without their effect on the force, though the result produced was far from being that hoped for by the agitators. the commissioners, instead of being discouraged, were stimulated. with rare wisdom, assuming that the complaints which were continually being published against the constables were made in good faith, they carefully investigated each fresh indictment, with the result that, not only was the constabulary purged of its unworthy members, but the better sense of the country, appreciating the devotion to its interests practised by the commissioners, was the sooner convinced of the advantages that follow from the establishment of a permanent and properly organized "standing army against crime." some of the malcontents, however, who, from the first, had been so bitter in their opposition to sir robert peel's design, by no means relaxed their hostility after a reformed police was an accomplished fact, but on the occasion of a projected royal procession through london in again attempted to inflame the ignorant, and to provoke them to violence against the new guardians of the peace, by the distribution of anonymous placards. one of these placards read as follows:--"liberty or death! englishmen! britons!! and honest men!!! the time has at length arrived. all london meets on tuesday. come armed. we assure you from ocular demonstration that cutlasses have been removed from the tower, for the use of peel's bloody gang. remember the cursed speech from the throne!! these damned police are now to be armed. englishmen, will you put up with this?"[ ] the authors of this precious appeal must have had a pathetic belief in the efficacy of strong language, if they thought that the prospect of a collision with six thousand policemen armed with cutlasses would be a sufficient inducement to bring together an armed mob to oppose them; but popular feeling ran so high that it was decided to abandon the royal procession, and elaborate precautions were taken to prevent a riot. the day passed, however, without serious consequences. at the time of the accession of william iv., the whole country was restless and ripe for mischief. the irritation caused by the rejection of the reform bill by the house of lords stirred up a feeling of violent opposition amongst the masses of the people, directed, not only against the upper house, but against the whole executive machinery of the constitution. the worst outbreak occurred at bristol, where the gaols, public buildings, and many private houses were burnt, and the whole town sacked as ruthlessly as if it had been an enemy's stronghold. birmingham was the headquarters of an association said to consist of , members, enrolled with the avowed intention of coercing the government by the use of armed force, if they were unable to achieve their objects by legitimate means. in london, an organization, calling itself "the national political union" had been established with affiliated branches all over the metropolis: these branches, or "classes," as they were called, each consisting of from to members, held secret meetings at which the most violent language was often indulged in: the union leaders were wont to insist on the necessity of the associates arming themselves, in order that the police might be successfully resisted, and a certain mr hetherington went so far as to publicly advertise that he would give a reward of £ to the best marksman in the ranks of the union. the most formidable "class" was the rd, popularly known as the "fighting class," recruited chiefly from the camberwell district, which, for some reason or other, seemed to be peculiarly hostile to the police: other centres were less openly violent, and, for the most part, contented themselves with the publication of political manifestoes and proclamations. the wording of these latter were, as a rule, more curious than edifying. members of parliament were called "mock representatives" and "borough-mongers' creatures," the house of lords was referred to as "the hereditary hospital of incurable national nuisances," whilst the king was described in these words: "alas, poor william guelph! he is merely the puppet of a base scoundrelocracy." fortunately for the peace of london, the national political union lacked influential leadership; and this want, coupled with the fact that, by the institution of the metropolitan police, a powerful weapon had just been placed in the hands of the government, prevented the occurrence of disasters, similar to those which had devastated bristol. but amongst the many difficulties that surrounded colonel rowan and mr mayne, the most exasperating originated in the hostile attitude of these unions. it was, therefore, much to be regretted that any just cause for complaint should have been given to that discontented section of the populace, which was anxiously looking out for an opportunity to discredit the new establishment. unfortunately the hoped-for opportunity was soon afforded by the improper and unauthorised conduct of a policeman, popay by name, who took it upon himself to act as a spy, and by pretending to be an advanced radical, to gain the friendship and confidence of the members of one of the classes of the union, in order to betray them to his superiors. it appears that when it came to the knowledge of the police authorities, that speeches of a threatening nature were delivered at the meetings of the various centres, the district superintendents were instructed to send a man in plain clothes to make reports, not with any intention of entrapping the speakers, but in order that any projected breach of the peace might be prevented. popay was accordingly sent to the camberwell neighbourhood, and either misunderstanding his instructions, or, as is more likely, purposely exceeding them in the hope of earning the approbation of his officers, entered upon an elaborate career of deceit and double-dealing. disguised under an assumed name, and pretending to be a struggling artist, he professed revolutionary principles of an advanced character; and having enrolled himself in the local class, quickly became one of its ruling spirits, inciting the other members to proceed to extreme lengths, railing against the government, abusing the police, and even subscribing to the funds of the society. this sort of thing continued for some months, until it happened one day that a camberwell reformer, whilst passing a police office, saw popay sitting at the window with a ledger before him. when questioned as to the business that took him there, popay said that he had only casually been called in, because the police had got their accounts into a muddle, and had asked him to set them right. suspicion having been aroused, however, further enquiries were made, and it soon came to light that the _soi-disant_ ardent politician was actually one of peel's hated myrmidons, with the result that the outcry about police tyranny began all over again. the new agitation did not materially differ from the old one: the same exaggerations and the identical falsehoods, threadbare already, were again made use of. one new feature, however, was introduced in the shape of a petition, which was presented to the house of commons, signed by one frederick young and nine other inhabitants of camberwell and walworth, setting forth their grievances with a great parade of humility. "some of your petitioners," they wrote, "have frequently seen those whom they know to be policemen disguised in clothing of various descriptions, sometimes in the garb of gentlemen, sometimes in that of tradesmen and artizans, sometimes in sailor jackets, and sometimes in ploughmen's frocks: that thus feeling themselves living among spies, seeking their lives, and sorely feeling the taxes heaped upon them for the maintenance of those spies, they make this appeal to your honourable house," etc., etc. although the mis-statements and exaggerations contained in this petition were patent to all, the house of commons very properly considered the matter to be a serious accusation against the entire police force, and at once appointed a committee to enquire into the truth or falsity of the system of espionage, which was alleged to be universal. after the most careful investigation the committee gave it as their opinion, that the authorities should be exonerated from the charge of connivance, but that popay's conduct had been highly reprehensible, adding by way of comment that "with respect to the occasional employment of policemen in plain clothes, the system as laid down by the heads of the police department affords no just matter of complaint, whilst strictly confined to detecting breaches of the law and to preventing breaches of the peace, should these ends appear otherwise unobtainable: at the same time, the committee would strongly urge the most cautious maintenance of those limits, and solemnly deprecate any approach to the employment of spies, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, as a practice most abhorrent to the feelings of the people, and most alien to the spirit of the constitution." the popay incident would not in itself have been of more than passing interest, had it occurred at some later period when results had justified the creation of the metropolitan police, but happening as it did, whilst everything was still in the experimental stage, and at a time when the new constables were, so to speak, on probation, the certainty that even a single policeman had been guilty of such conduct was a severe blow to the well-wishers of the force. the culminating point of the tide of unpopularity which threatened to overwhelm sir robert peel's police was reached soon afterwards. in the month of may , it was advertised that a public meeting, under the auspices of the national political union, would be held in coldbath fields. lord melbourne, the home secretary, fearing disorder would result, informed the organizers that the gathering would not be permitted to take place, and instructed the police commissioners to have the ring-leaders arrested if they should attempt to disregard his veto. the steps taken by colonel rowan to carry out these orders were as follows: men of the "a" division were selected for the duty and despatched under a superintendent to coldbath fields, with instructions to seize the leaders the moment they began to address the crowd, and, if the attempt was persevered in, to disperse the meeting. it was not considered advisable to occupy the ground in force before the agitators assembled, because, strictly speaking, the police had no authority to prevent peaceable citizens from walking across this particular piece of ground if they were minded to, and because it was foreseen that, should the mob find their rendezvous already strongly held, they would attempt to carry out their programme at some other spot, where there was no police force strong enough to interfere with them. colonel rowan attended in person to direct the operations of the police, and to read the riot act, if either of these steps should appear necessary; as a further precaution, a considerable body of constables were kept in reserve close by, in order that there should be no danger of the police being worsted in any encounter that might take place. this reserve, which consisted of about men, was kept out of sight, it being thought that, in the excited state of public feeling then prevailing, the display of an overpowering force would be calculated to irritate the mob, and to attract in consequence a still larger crowd than might otherwise be expected to assemble. at the time appointed numbers of people began to congregate on the waste ground at coldbath fields, and soon afterwards the speeches commenced. as soon as it became clear that the meeting was identical with that proscribed by the home secretary, the men of "a" division, after having been warned by colonel rowan to be cool and temperate in their demeanour, were ordered to carry out the instructions previously given them. at the same time a portion of the reserve was moved from the stables (where the men had been waiting) to support the first party, and it was during this advance that a collision took place at a street corner with a mob of people, who immediately began to throw stones, by which several constables were injured. thereupon the superintendent gave the word to charge, and in the melée which followed truncheons were made use of, and three policemen were stabbed, one of them being killed on the spot. meanwhile the crowd was incited to further resistance by the action of a man called stallwood, who falsely representing himself to be a magistrate, harangued the police from the balcony of his house, and told them that they were acting illegally in making use of force before the riot act had been read. the struggle was of short duration. the people began to disperse in all directions, and numerous arrests were made by the police, who committed the error of following up their victory with too much vigour, carrying pursuit in some instances to a considerable distance from the scene of the original conflict. this first collision between the metropolitan force and the people gave rise to a series of charges against the police, which, if they could have been substantiated, might have ended in the undoing of all the good achieved after so many years, and brought about with so much labour and difficulty. it was said that the police were intoxicated and, in that condition, had made an unprovoked assault on inoffending citizens, knocking down women and children with brutal impartiality, and then stunning them with their truncheons as they lay on the ground. fortunately an exhaustive enquiry was held, with the result that the action of the police was satisfactorily vindicated. an unanswerable argument against the accusers was that, whereas several constables were badly knocked about, and one killed, not a single case of serious injury was to be found on the other side. public animosity, however, did not pause to reason; and at the inquest which was held on the body of the murdered policeman culley, the jury, sympathizing with, or intimidated by, the popular feeling, brought in a verdict of "justifiable homicide." a verdict so flagrantly in the teeth of the evidence could not be allowed to stand: the crown applied to the court of king's bench, and the inquisition was very properly quashed. a committee of the house of commons was then appointed to enquire into the conduct of the police, who came out of the ordeal with more credit than the government did, for it was proved that the police commissioners only carried out the instructions of the home secretary, who, when trouble arose, sought to escape all responsibility, and to throw the blame on colonel rowan. whatever may be thought of lord melbourne's action, it is certain that he did not err on the side of over-generosity, and the slender support which he somewhat grudgingly gave to the police authorities was hardly of a nature to encourage them in their uphill task. it may be that this cold-shouldering of its youngest child by a government department was not altogether a misfortune, for a popular reaction in favour of the police quickly followed, and friendship was expressed in quarters where nothing but hostility had been looked for: vestries which had recently petitioned against the formation of the force now passed resolutions in its praise, and nearly all those parishes situated just outside the boundary applied to be admitted into the metropolitan police area. before long provincial towns and outlying districts began to solicit the loan of police officers trained in the london school; and in eight years some two hundred places, including birmingham, bristol, hull, liverpool and manchester were supplied with experts, who carried with them to their new sphere of action the methods they had learnt in the metropolis, and whose excellent work in the provinces did much to disprove the ridiculous fables, which had once gained credence, as to the overbearing incompetence of the new constabulary. public opinion is notoriously unstable; and in recent years the police have probably suffered to a greater extent than any other institution from the alternating favour and disfavour of the populace.[ ] the comparative popularity enjoyed by the metropolitan police force in was only a precarious possession, gratifying enough at the moment, but of little permanent value. no such disadvantage, however, attaches to a testimonial deliberately given by a representative tribunal, especially when such testimony is in direct contradiction to anticipations recently expressed by an equally competent and similarly constituted body. the committee were of opinion that it would be difficult "to reconcile an effective system of police with that perfect freedom of action and exemption from interference which are the great privileges and blessings of society in this country." the committee, on the other hand, having satisfied themselves that these gloomy forebodings were groundless, reported to the house of commons as follows: "looking at the establishment as a whole, it appears to your committee that the metropolitan police has imposed no restraint, either upon public bodies or individuals, which is not entirely consistent with the fullest practical exercise of every civil privilege, and with the most unrestrained intercourse of private society." chapter xiv police reform in boroughs it is sometimes assumed that the metropolitan police act solved, once and for all, the question as to the manner in which london was to be policed for the future. such, however, was far from being the case. the old prejudice was not lived down in a day; and the jealousy of those who saw what they were pleased to consider their vested rights slipping out of their grasp into the hands of the newcomers, caused the remnant of the old office-holders to make frantic efforts to recover what they had lost, and to hold fast what they were in danger of losing. there were still many irreconcilables, who looked upon the new force as a gang of usurpers and treated it with distrust and suspicion accordingly, hoping that some false move on the part of the police authorities, or some unlooked-for happy chance, might change the fortunes of the day. luckily no such set-back occurred, and by slow degrees the ultimate success of the principles enunciated by peel became more and more assured, and scotland yard triumphed to the discomfiture of all possible rivals. from the very commencement sir robert peel had declared that unity of design was essential to success; but when the reorganization took place, parliament shrank from the bold course marked out for it, and instead of making a clean sweep of all that was useless, whilst transferring to the new police anything in the old system that was of value, preferred to retain some of the existing unsatisfactory agencies, and to allow them to continue to manage or mismanage their own affairs as before. the establishments within the boundaries of the metropolitan police area that survived the reorganization of were[ ]-- i. the bow street horse-patrol, under the control of the chief magistrate at bow street. ii. the police constables under the separate control of the magistrates of the police offices, to which they respectively belonged, being the following offices--bow street, hatton garden, union hall, worship street, lambeth street, queen square, marlborough street, high street marylebone, and the town hall southwark. iii. the river police, under the control of the magistrates of the thames police office. iv. the city of london police, under the control of the municipal authorities. each of these independent establishments carried out its police functions according to its own peculiar ideas and local traditions. one and all were jealous of their powerful neighbour at scotland yard; and when they dared to do so, were not ashamed to countenance the petty and spiteful tactics that their subordinate officers lost no opportunity of indulging in. it will be remembered that a short supplementary act[ ] had contemplated the transference of the powers possessed by the chief magistrate at bow street over the horse patrol, to the metropolitan police commissioners. this intention was not given effect to at the time, the patrol being left under the command of its old chief, mr day; and the act was repealed in .[ ] it was not until october , or more than seven years after the passing of peel's measure, that the horse patrol became an integral part of the metropolitan consolidated police, an amalgamation which, besides increasing the actual efficiency of both forces, effected an annual saving of more than a thousand pounds.[ ] the horse-patrolmen became mounted constables, being attached as such to the exterior divisions, where the beats were long; and this arrangement has been continued to the present day. it took longer to arrive at a satisfactory settlement with regard to the small detached bodies of police belonging to the nine stipendiary offices enumerated above. no one wished to interfere with the judicial functions of these police-courts; but it was highly desirable to effect a separation between the judicial and executive branches, and to bring under proper supervision and control the undisciplined plain-clothes policemen who thought more of picking up a good living for themselves, and of "scoring off" their uniformed rivals, than they did of the preservation of the peace. the manner in which the general business of these police offices was conducted left much to be desired, whilst the arrangements for the conveyance of prisoners, and for their detention when awaiting disposal and under remand, were about as bad as they could be. as many as thirty prisoners of all conditions, of various ages, and of both sexes, were often crowded together in a prison van, in which there was only accommodation for twenty, and left there for hours in the dark whilst the van was making the tour of the police offices. when no conveyance was available, prisoners were sometimes conducted from the place of detention to the police-court handcuffed and fastened together by a long chain. it was alleged, probably with truth, that the officer in charge would allow his prisoners to be supplied with drink by sympathetic onlookers as, in indian file, the procession passed through the public streets. such abuses were put an end to when the inevitable consolidation took place and the separate jurisdiction of the stipendiary offices ceased. the necessary duties about the courts were for the future ably performed by sergeants and constables of the new police, and the old staff, including the bow street runners, were pensioned off or absorbed into the metropolitan force. this centralization not only materially conduced to increased efficiency and diminished expense, but by severing the too intimate connection that had previously existed between magistrates and policemen, was calculated to reassure the public, in so far that a magistracy untrammelled by police responsibility would be less prone to be over-indulgent towards any excesses of which the constabulary might at any time be guilty. the case of the third independent body was altogether different. the duties that fell to the river police were special duties, and specially trained men were required to perform them adequately. the thames police establishment, which was recruited chiefly from ex-sailors and watermen, consisted of sixty constables under the direction of twenty "surveyors"--each surveyor being in charge of a boat manned by three men; their powers comprised the right to board vessels in search of contraband or stolen articles, and generally to discharge the duties of excisemen and policemen combined. since the year , when the river police was remodelled on the lines suggested by colquhoun, it had proved an efficient body, and there were no obvious abuses or shortcomings that necessitated a radical change; the arguments for and against amalgamation were therefore more evenly balanced than was the case with the stipendiary offices, but it was felt that as both banks of the thames were patrolled by the metropolitan police, it was rather absurd that the river between should be under a separate organization and control. it was accordingly decided to continue the work of consolidation, and many of the powers previously exercised by the magistrates of the thames office were transferred to the commissioners at scotland yard, the personnel of the river force being left as before. the police arrangements in the city of london have already been described; certain modifications and improvements had been recently introduced, but the general scheme remained virtually the same as it had been any time during the last quarter of a century. it is true that a better class of man was employed than was formerly the case; but the system was not good, marred as it was by a lack of uniformity within, and a failure to co-operate with the kindred agencies without, the city boundaries. the expense too was excessive, and there was a period between the relief of the day patrols and the mounting of the night watch when no police at all were on duty. there can be little doubt that if the civic authorities had permitted this unsatisfactory state of affairs to continue much longer, government would have insisted upon consolidation, thus putting an end to the separate and exclusive jurisdiction in matters of police which, for five hundred years, had been the privilege of the city of london. such a step, however, was rendered unnecessary by the timely precautions adopted by the lord mayor and aldermen, who, taking the metropolitan police as a pattern, entirely reorganized the city force, bringing it up to date both in respect to numbers and efficiency, and so ordering it that there should be no cause for friction between the city constables and metropolitan policemen, and no cause for jealousy other than that which proceeds from a healthy sentiment of _esprit de corps_. the legislature was all the more ready to acquiesce in this compromise, because the city, asking for no assistance from the treasury, bore the whole expense connected with the improved constabulary out of its private revenues.[ ] by the end of the consolidation was complete, and within a circumference distant fifteen miles from charing cross there remained but two police forces, both organized on similar lines and each designed on intelligent principles, in the place of the heterogeneous medley of samples formerly existing. in this same year, the efficiency of the metropolitan police was increased, and its sphere of usefulness enlarged, by an act[ ] which enables additions to be made to the police district by an order in council, and which empowers its officers to act as constables in and for certain specified districts outside the metropolitan police area, such as, for example, the city of london, all navigable parts of the river thames, and any place within ten miles of a royal palace. authority was also given to police-constables to suppress gaming houses, disorderly houses, and illegal games (such as cock-fighting, prize-fighting, bull-baiting, and the like), to supervise licensed premises and pawnbrokers, and to regulate fairs and street-musicians.[ ] the success that had attended the reorganization of the police of the metropolis, and the gratifying results that, on the whole, had followed the experiment, encouraged the hope that the benefits conferred by an efficient constabulary would soon be shared by the boroughs throughout the country. it would be an endless task to attempt a description of all the various police systems which found favour in the provincial towns, especially as in no two places was exactly the same pattern adopted; and it will be quite sufficient for our purpose if we briefly notice the arrangements come to for the prevention of crime and the maintenance of order in the case of a few selected boroughs. in bath had a population of about , , or if we include the suburbs, , ; there was no permanent body of professional peace officers, only tythingmen or constables to the number of . this small force was split up into three parts, each part independent of, and antagonistic to, the others: on the occasion of a parliamentary election, when party feeling ran high and serious disturbances took place all over the town, the walcot and bathwick divisions gave their assistance, but the city police refused to act, even when they were appealed to by the mayor in person. if a felony was committed in the city, the guilty party could only be apprehended on the warrant of a city magistrate, and, if the felon should succeed in reaching the suburbs, the city constables could not execute the warrant until it was backed by a justice of the county of somersetshire. in gloucester no watchmen were employed before , and the whole available constabulary force consisted of the sergeant-at-mace, and the other officers of the corporation, assisted by twelve constables appointed by the magistrates. the ancient court of pie-poudre flourished until or thereabouts, after which it gradually fell into disuse. in two day policemen were appointed in imitation of the london system. coventry, with a population of , , supported peace-officers under the command of a chief-constable, and from to watchmen under the orders of an official called "the inspector of the watch." in case of emergency the town looked for protection to the services of special constables who had been enrolled in times of tumult to the number of four or five hundred. generally speaking the police were unpaid, but when employed in quelling a riot, the constables were sometimes given a shilling or eighteenpence for refreshments. dover had two distinct forces, one under the control of the magistrates, and the other (established under the "pavement act"), wholly independent. the total number of constables was from to , but they had nothing to do with watching the town. at this time hull contained , inhabitants, and was policed on a very economical plan. the chief constable supervised thirty-nine officers who were only paid for work done; that is to say, the constables were allowed so much an hour for time actually spent in apprehending felons or vagrants, on the principle: no prisoner, no pay. the dock companies employed a percentage of their day-labourers to act as night watchmen, and, under a local act, watchmen were appointed for the town and outlying districts. in portsmouth peace officers pretended to protect nearly , people, and in liverpool, where the prevalence of crime was so pronounced that the town was often spoken of as the "black spot on the mersey," the only police force existing in was a body of watchmen (of the usual type), to keep order amongst , inhabitants. these brief but representative examples will give some idea of the diversity of police systems and police expedients to be found in the larger towns. if each borough had been left to work out its own salvation according to its own predilections, constabulary forces more or less efficient would eventually, no doubt, have sprung up here and there; but the absence of uniformity and co-operation, which necessarily must accompany such a spasmodic process, would have seriously retarded the ultimate triumph of good government throughout england. there were three principal reasons why the immediate provision of a general scheme of police reform in the boroughs was urgently required at this particular moment. criminals of all kinds are ever on the alert to find an alsatia where they can ply their trades without the unwelcome interference of their hereditary enemy, the policeman, and the formation of the metropolitan force was the signal for a wholesale exodus of depredators from london towards other and more secluded centres of activity. the smaller country towns and rural districts offered few attractions to enterprising thieves, and so boroughs like liverpool, manchester and bristol, where considerable plunder was to be had at little risk, were the chosen retreats of many who no longer dared to brave it out in london. if any reliance may be placed on contemporary statistics, this migration entirely altered the distribution of the criminal classes: it was estimated, incredible as it may seem, that in nearly ten per cent. of the population of london supported themselves "by pursuits either criminally illegal or immoral":[ ] in , the proportion of known bad characters to the population was calculated at only to in the metropolitan police district, but at to in the borough of liverpool, to in the city of bristol, and to in the town of newcastle-on-tyne.[ ] one cannot believe that these calculations were based on perfectly accurate information, but on the other hand it is unlikely that the results are so wide of the mark as to be altogether without value, and after allowing a large margin for error, proof enough remains that the enhanced security of london had, to some extent, been purchased at the expense of the inhabitants of other towns. the desire to acquire wealth without working for it--to "live idly yet to fare well"--is the main incentive that makes men criminal, and experience proves that if those who live by their wits are sufficiently harassed, they soon show their wit by returning to the humdrum path of honesty till such time as the vigilance of their enemies is relaxed. "allow the thief no rest" is a sound maxim of preventive police; and if in it had been possible simultaneously to provide efficient police for all the towns of england, many and many a thief would have been driven to exchange his old occupation for some less precarious trade. the second reason why delay was dangerous was because of the enormous increase of population in the manufacturing towns. trade was brisk, money plentiful, and the rapid development of the railway system caused an increasing stream of workers to flow from the country into the industrial centres. the population of birmingham, for instance, increased in this way from , in to , in . the last of the three reasons which contributed to make this particular moment especially opportune for insisting that the provincial towns should provide themselves with an improved and adequate police, was because municipal reform was the question of the hour, and it was therefore extremely important that the new-fashioned boroughs should neither perpetuate faulty tradition nor originate impracticable experiment. the history of english boroughs cannot here be discussed; it will be sufficient to remark that, early in english history, charters, giving powers of self-government, had been granted to many towns and by many successive sovereigns. the creation of corporate towns was esteemed one of the highest prerogatives of the crown, but the powers so conferred were seldom employed to the best advantage; and the fact that failure was especially pronounced in the matter of peace-maintenance is sufficiently illustrated by the examples already given of borough police forces, as at this time constituted. legislative reform was set on foot in by the "lighting and watching act" of william iv.,[ ] which provided that inspectors should be appointed and given a large measure of control over the local police establishments of all english towns with the exceptions of london, oxford, and cambridge; this act was, however, of little permanent value,[ ] and is only worthy of notice as the first attempt to provide a day police outside the metropolis. in the following year the whole question of charters, etc., was investigated by special commissioners, who issued a report embodying recommendations, which, for the most part, were given effect to by the "municipal corporations act" of .[ ] after repealing all acts, charters, and customs inconsistent with itself, this statute proceeds to create municipal corporations for the larger towns; such corporations to be styled "the mayor, aldermen, and burgesses." the mayor is declared to be a justice of the peace for the borough, and no property qualification is now required of him. the common law method of appointing constables is placed on a new basis, for the act entrusts the making of head and other constables to a body composed of the mayor and councilmen, called "the watch committee," the members of which are empowered, at their discretion, to make regulations for the management of the police, and to discharge or otherwise punish any constable found remiss in his duties, provided that three members at least are present when the award is made. borough constables are given powers to act in the county as well as in the town, and are authorized, not only to apprehend disorderly persons at any time, but during the night may take bail by recognizance from persons brought before them for petty misdemeanours, such recognizance to be conditioned for the appearance of the parties before the magistrate. watch committees are required to provide station-houses, and every quarter must transmit to the home secretary a return shewing the number of men employed, the nature of their arms and accoutrements, together with an account of all salaries, clothing, and standing regulations for the forces; provision is made for the appointment, under certain conditions, of stipendiary magistrates at the request of the council; the office of borough coroner is instituted; and finally, the act requires two or more justices to nominate and appoint by precept in writing, in october of each year, as many as they see fit of the inhabitants of the borough to act as special constables there, whenever they shall be required by the warrant of a j.p. the institution of special constables was a natural accompaniment to the general drift of circumstances which, for a long time, had been modifying english police. originally, as we have seen, every free englishman was compelled to take an active part in maintaining the peace: subsequently, by common consent and merely for the sake of convenience, the performance of police functions passed into the hands of individuals, either chosen or hired for the purpose, it mattered not which. as long as the principle of an inherent liability to universal service was generally well understood and acted upon, or, in other words, as long as the sheriff's _posse_ was available in emergencies, no legislation was required on the subject, because at common law a sufficient force of special constables already existed; but when this common responsibility for action was in danger of being forgotten, or, what amounts to much the same thing, when the existing machinery was incapable of giving effect to it, some new expedient had to be devised to take its place. the first act of parliament authorizing the appointment of special constables was passed in ,[ ] and was a tardy attempt to repair the havoc caused by the civil war, but like many laws that found their way into the statute book during the seventeenth century, it might just as well have remained unprinted, for all the use that was made of it. it was not employed to restrain the mohocks, nor to suppress the gordon rioters, nor to save bristol from the incendiaries. in , however, began a sustained effort to systematize the overwhelming reserve of force at the disposal of the government of the country; this was the combined work of "the special constables' act"[ ] of , of the "municipal corporations act"[ ] of , and lastly of an act[ ] which became law shortly after the accession of queen victoria. these three statutes dealt with the subject in detail, by defining what constitutes a special constable, by specifying his powers, and by stating when and by whom he is to be appointed. between them they authorize "two or more justices, upon information on oath of any credible witness, that tumult, riot, or felony has taken place, or may be reasonably apprehended, such justices being of opinion that the ordinary officers are not sufficient for the preservation of the peace and protection of the inhabitants and property," to "nominate and appoint by precept under their hand so many as they shall think fit of the householders or other persons (not legally exempt from serving the office of constable) residing in the parish or place or in the neighbourhood, for such time and in such manner as to the same justices shall seem fit," and ordain that they "shall send notice of such appointment to the secretary of state and the lieutenant of the county. specials may act, not only in the parish or place for which appointed, but throughout the jurisdiction of the justices appointing, and on the order of justices of their own county, may act in an adjoining county."[ ] generally speaking, special constables have all the powers, and are subject to all the responsibilities, that ordinarily attach to police constables within their constablewicks. the years and mark the limits of the most important decade in our police history. during this period of time the english boroughs acquired the means of securing themselves against the rising tide of crime which had threatened to overwhelm them; and an adequate defence against mob violence was made available by the legislation which restored, and reduced to a system, the power of the executive to enlist as many special constables as might be necessary for the maintenance of law and order. whilst the former year will always be considered, and rightly so, as the most prominent landmark of the great revival from which dates an almost constant growth of police efficiency, the latter is hardly less noteworthy. not only saw the metropolitan forces for the first time firmly established on a permanent and satisfactory basis, it witnessed also the earlier stages of that movement in the rural districts which eventually provided the whole of england with a trustworthy constabulary. chapter xv police reform in counties before describing the successive steps by which the county constabulary progressed towards its long-delayed reorganization, it will be convenient to follow the method before adopted, when dealing with the somewhat similar march of events in the metropolis, and to preface such description by a short account of the unreformed county police, thereby shewing how disastrous were the consequences of the faulty system in vogue, as revealed by the deplorable condition of rural england under its influence. the great source of information on this subject is the exhaustive report of the royal commission, appointed in , to inquire as to the best means of establishing an efficient constabulary force in the counties of england and wales. in the course of their enquiry (which was the most complete investigation of crime, its causes, and the means of its prevention, ever undertaken in this country), the commissioners not only interrogated heads of business-houses, their commercial travellers and foremen, country magistrates, policemen, and coastguards, but examined thieves, receivers, and all kinds of gaol-birds. the immediate result of the activity of the new metropolitan and municipal police forces was found to be, that habitual criminals had migrated in large numbers from london, and from those towns where an improved constabulary had superseded the old parish watch, and had begun to ply their trade in the unprotected districts. country magistrates unanimously reported that the bulk of the more serious offences recently committed in their respective neighbourhoods was the work of strangers from the great towns. the superintendent of the liverpool dock police stated that about a thousand well-known thieves, who had been evicted from the city, were now continuing their depredations in the suburbs and small towns near. questioned on this subject, a prisoner confessed--"i considered that in london and liverpool, or such places as have got the new police, there is little to be done, unless it be picking pockets; people there think that they are safe under the eye of the new police, and will take large sums of money in their pockets." another prisoner, in corroboration, said "the most important obstructions that could be placed in the way of depredations is a more efficient police similar to that in london and liverpool--very few robberies in the centre of liverpool,--all in the outskirts, out of the police districts." a second cause that contributed to the migration of both thieves and receivers to the provinces was the extension of the railway and canal systems, which, besides facilitating the rapid movement of plunderers from place to place, exposed quantities of valuable merchandise on truck and canal boat without protection. merchants were indifferent to the fate of their goods when once a receipt had been obtained from the carriers; and they again, in common with the shipping agents, found it extremely difficult to put a stop to the petty thieving that went on, partly because the loss was generally undiscovered until the goods reached their destination (which as often as not was in a foreign country), and partly because the number of people through whose hands the property passed was so great, that the attempt to fix the responsibility on any individual would have been to incur a laborious and expensive system of checking and counter-checking that the value of the articles stolen did not seem to justify. of all these petty thieves, the bargemen were the worst offenders, and the opportunities they met with, combined with the impunity they enjoyed, attracted many thieves to the calling; all over the country receivers of stolen property set up shop near the canals; burglars would bring their spoil by night to a pre-arranged rendezvous, and hand it over to the bargees, who took it aboard, concealed it under the cargo, and disposed of it at the fence's shop as occasion offered. much ingenuity was displayed in this traffic. for instance, an ex-bargeman convicted of theft explained to the commissioners how he and his mates used to extract valuables from bales, casks, and boxes without risk of discovery, every trip they made. silk could be withdrawn from the centre of a bale by means of a hook specially designed for the purpose; chests of tea were carefully opened, a few pounds extracted, and the remainder made to occupy the original space by means of judicious damping. in the case of casks of wine or spirits, the following ingenious method was resorted to; first one of the hoops was removed, and two holes were bored on opposite sides of the cask, one for drawing off the liquid, the other for letting in air; when a considerable portion of the liquor had been taken, the cask was filled up with water, the holes were pegged up, and all traces covered up by replacing the hoop. nor did canal-thieves confine themselves to pilfering from boats, but as they travelled the country, they slaughtered sheep, snared game, and milked farmers' cows. the next matter investigated by the commissioners was the lack of proper protection to travellers on the public highways. by this time highwaymen, the terror of the last century, had been practically suppressed, but footpads were more common than ever; countrymen returning from market used to make up parties, and wait for hours for company rather than go home alone, whilst after dark many a commercial traveller would go armed with a pistol, and accompanied by a dog, for fear of being robbed. more serious still were the revelations brought to light with regard to wrecking. it was proved that almost all the inhabitants of the coast were wreckers; children were brought up to consider the practice legitimate, and women prayed that the winter would bring a rich harvest. when the weather was stormy, hundreds of people would crowd to the beach, not with any thought of rescuing the drowning, but only eager for plunder; as wreckage neared the shore men might be seen swimming out to be the first to touch any article that appeared to be of value, for by local tradition undisputed ownership was in this way acquired. witnesses testified to all kinds of atrocities. a ship called "the grecian" went to pieces off the cheshire coast--the captain was drowned, and his body was found stripped naked by the wreckers, who, not content with his clothes, cut off one of his fingers to obtain possession of the ring. even this act of savagery was surpassed at a village called moreton, where it was proved that a woman had bitten off the ear-lobes from a female corpse for the sake of the earrings. mr dowling, the commissioner of the liverpool police, stated that in cheshire parish constables never interfered with wreckers, and on occasions when the borough police were employed on salvage duty they had to go armed to protect themselves against the hostility of the neighbouring villagers. in cornwall, public opinion was so well disposed towards wreckers, and so superstitiously hostile to shipwrecked sailors, that the coastguard were frequently intimidated and forced to desist from their efforts to save life. it is related how, on one occasion, after communication had with much difficulty been established with a stranded ship by means of the rocket apparatus, the onlookers rushed down and cut the hawser when only one man had been saved, because they believed that if the crew was rescued, ill-luck would befall the district. the commissioners' summing-up on this part of the subject was couched in the following words: "it is our duty to report, as the result of the extensive inquiries we have made, as to the mode in which the primary duties of a civilized community, in the protection of the persons and property of wayfarers and strangers, are performed, that the barbarous practices above described are not confined to particular districts, but prevail among the population of our coasts wherever wrecks occur...." another matter which occupied the attention of the commission had reference to the lawlessness prevailing in the manufacturing districts. as is well known, the introduction of machinery, or, more correctly speaking, the quarrels and consequent cessation of work to which the innovation gave rise, brought much suffering to the wage earning classes. in the hand-weavers of lancashire rose in rebellion, and the combinations entered into by the operatives in mines and factories were at first remarkable for the extreme violence of the methods employed, being signalised by an epidemic of machine-breaking in some counties, and by the crime of vitriol-throwing in others. the right of every man to sell his labour at his own price, or to cease work altogether if it pleased him to do so, was at this time recognised, and the legality of combination was no longer denied; but the organizers of labour were not willing to grant to the independent artisan the same measure of liberty that they demanded for themselves and for those whom they claimed to represent. the result of this attitude on the part of the leaders of trades-unionism was that cases of coercion, accompanied by violence, were of common occurrence, and the need of an efficient police force to protect life and property, as well as to prevent intimidation, was very urgent. in this connection the commissioners remark "some of the strongest corroborative evidence in favour of the efficiency of a well-organized constabulary or police force, might perhaps be found in the extreme bitterness of invective with which the parties implicated in illegal practices in these districts treat any proposition for its introduction, whilst they view with complacency any actual increase of the military force." the "illegal practices" above referred to had their origin, not only in differences between employers and employées, such as the rate of wages and hours of labour, but certain organizations, confident that they were stronger than the representatives of the law, presumed to take the law into their own hands, and to dictate terms right and left. at sevenoaks, in kent, a colony of journeymen paper-makers determined to pay no poor-rate, and terrorised the local constables when they came to levy distress. the authorities having sought the assistance of the metropolitan police, a small party was dispatched from london, which, though savagely attacked, succeeded in arresting some of the rioters. on their return they proposed to take one of the local constables with them to identify the prisoners, but he was so alarmed at the consequences of incurring the vengeance of the paper-makers, that he tried to escape, and could only be induced to accompany the victorious policemen by counter threats of personal violence. scanty as was the protection afforded to the well-to-do, the chief sufferers under the parochial system were the very poor. inability to pay for a substitute compelled a poor man, whatever his trade or employment, to serve in person, if chosen as constable; and it was seldom that the fees he could honestly earn in his office recouped him for the losses he was certain to sustain in his business. again, if a labourer had anything stolen from his cottage, he had to put his hand in his pocket for half-a-crown, or more, before he could employ a parish-constable, and should there be no committal, all the expense of the investigation and subsequent proceedings fell on the man whose only offence had been that he had lost his property; and even when the offender was convicted it sometimes happened that the circumstances made it impossible for the magistrate to allow full expenses. the injustice of such a state of affairs is well illustrated by a case heard at devizes in , the details of which were as follows: a poor man had a pair of boots stolen from his barge, he followed the thief into somersetshire, and after a long chase, caught him and handed him over to the nearest constable, who conducted the culprit back to wiltshire, where at the ensuing sessions he was convicted and sentenced. the constable's bill amounted to £ , s. d., made up as follows:-- to apprehending prisoner £ maintaining do. two days guard-watching do. one night -------- carry forward, £ brought forward, £ conveyance of prisoner at d. a mile, and allowance to constable d. a mile ( miles) three days' loss of time hire of conveyance, coach, and other fares ------- total £ but because the offender, a boy, was convicted under the juvenile offenders act, which only authorized an allowance of forty shillings for expenses, there was a deficit of £ , s. d. to be made good by the man who had lost his boots. the reluctance of the public to prosecute, which, as we have seen, was one of the many avenues of escape open to the criminal, was only to be expected, and was due rather to a defective system than to any lack of what is called public spirit. at a time when punishments were vindictive, men sympathized with the prisoner, and could with difficulty be induced to appear against him; this was especially the case when the community at large, and not any particular individual, had suffered injury. when the severity of the penal code was mitigated, it still remained unfashionable to prosecute, partly from force of habit, partly because the public which had no confidence in the police, would not willingly incur the trouble and danger of taking an active part in the administration of justice, but chiefly because the expense of putting the law in motion was prohibitive for all but the comparatively wealthy. well aware of their impunity, tramps would enter cottages at an hour when the owners were at work in the fields, steal the supper from the cupboard, and perhaps take a coat from behind the door, confident that poor people could do nothing to further the ends of justice as long as the first question asked by the parish constable was sure to be "who is going to pay me?" even when thieves were caught red-handed, and delivered over to the constable, the informant was frequently tempted to think better of it, and either let the matter go by default or compound with the prisoner. in , within a space of seven months, persons, taken into custody for felony, were discharged without trial, simply because the parties concerned refused to prosecute, and out of this total as many as were well-known thieves. under these circumstances it is not to be wondered at that from all parts of england suggestions poured in, urging the necessity of provision being made for the appointment of a public prosecutor, suggestions which were emphatically echoed in the report of the commission. in scotland, it may be mentioned, such an official, called the procurator fiscal, had existed for some time, with the most beneficial results, whilst in london, the metropolitan police undertook similar work in the public interest. amongst many contributing causes which were answerable for the breakdown of the parochial system of police, the chief was undoubtedly the incompetency of its agents. frequently a pauper would be chosen constable, either with the idea of saving expense to the parish by keeping down the poor-rate, or from a misdirected impulse of charity, which prompted people to give the appointment to an old man who could earn his livelihood in no other way. sometimes the parish constable would add the business of master of the village alehouse to that of policeman, a comfortable arrangement which, if not otherwise advantageous, at least produced perfect harmony between the representative of the law and the representative of the trade. justice, so called, was administered in a haphazard, and often in a ludicrous, manner. in one country town constables were instructed to arrest all vagrants, and after having their heads shaved at the local gaol, set them at liberty; in another district the magistrates ordered parish constables to tap with their staves the pockets of all labourers they might meet after dark, in order to break any pheasants' or partridges' eggs that might be concealed there; a bedfordshire farmer who had given offence to a gang of poachers was shot in broad daylight on the public road, and in the view of several persons, but the assailant was not arrested, the constable excusing himself from acting on the plea that he did not think himself justified in apprehending anybody without a warrant. a return from the city of lincoln, on the other hand, described how an over-officious parochial constable "brought two men in handcuffs to the police station at lincoln for a trifling squabble and assault, which he did not witness, and without any previous information or warrant." complaints against constables, on the score of their neglect to pursue criminals, came from all parts of the country. a return from a monmouthshire village reported the escape of a murderer which was solely due to the refusal of the constable of the tything of colgive to get out of bed at midnight, though "repeatedly and urgently called upon" to do so; and in another country parish, the constable, when summoned to quell a disturbance, sent word to say that he regretted that he was unable to come himself "but that he sent his staff by bearer." at welchpool the wife of a shopkeeper poisoned her husband, and the same night eloped with the shop-assistant. the coroner's inquest returned a verdict of wilful murder against the guilty couple, but no pursuit was made for several days, and then only after the magistrates and others, scandalised at such a miscarriage of justice, had got up a public subscription to defray the expenses of the constable's journey. the apathy of those who were responsible for the policing of rural england produced its natural result; and, in the absence of adequate government protection, people who were not content to submit quietly to be robbed by any scoundrel who preferred plunder to labour, made their own arrangements for self-protection. in , there were upwards of five hundred voluntary associations for the apprehension of felons; of these associations some only concerned themselves with the financial side of the question, and by a system of mutual assurance guaranteed compensation, in part at least, to any member of the society who had suffered loss by theft or arson; others took a more active part against depredators, and revived the ancient institution of hue and cry in a practical manner by binding themselves to make quick and fresh pursuit on horseback after any aggressor. during a parliamentary election at maldon, one party was compelled to employ a bodyguard of professional boxers to protect its candidate from the attacks of political opponents, who, in their turn, retained the services of a band of gypsies, as a measure of retaliation. but perhaps the most irregular of all these associations was that established in the isle of ely, where the parishioners of whittlesea kept a pack of blood-hounds for the purpose of hunting down sheep-stealers. after carefully considering the operations of these societies for self-protection, the special commissioners unanimously condemned such expedients, and stated, that in their opinion, "the fact that they had been found necessary was as serious an indictment as could be preferred against the rural police," and remarked, that the existence of such associations might, in after years, be cited as a proof that the community which employed them was relapsing into a state of barbarism. the prostrate condition of english police under the parochial system should be sufficiently clear without the production of further evidence. what, however, is perhaps the most convincing proof, that could be found, of the utter futility and unseemliness of the police arrangements in rural districts, is contained in the following plain statement from the magistrates of the trant division of sussex, on the subject of the lack of proper lock-ups for the temporary detention of prisoners. "in case," they complain, "a prisoner is remanded for further examination, there is no efficient place nearer than lewes ( miles) ... there are cages in several parishes but never used being unsafe ... for twenty years we have been compelled to hire a man, and handcuff him to the prisoner, and they are obliged to live at a public house.... two incendiaries were each locked to men hired for the purpose, and kept at a serious expense ten days, separately in different houses." some sixty years ago a comic engraving was published, which portrayed a prisoner handcuffed to his gaoler, undergoing a mock trial in the taproom of an alehouse for the amusement of the village tipplers. such an incident may well have happened, at a time when it was no uncommon occurrence for a constable to confine his prisoner in a stable, or to chain him to a bedpost, until it might be convenient to remove him to a distant lock-up. in concluding their comprehensive and interesting report, the commissioners (colonel rowan, mr shaw lefevre, and mr edwin chadwick) strongly recommended the immediate establishment of a paid rural constabulary throughout england and wales, with an organization similar to that of the metropolitan police, and pointed out, that in order to lessen the expense of the proposed establishment, the new constables might conveniently perform various civil and administrative services, in addition to their normal duties connected with the maintenance of the peace. shortly after the presentation of the report, an act of parliament, commonly called "the permissive act,"[ ] was passed, enabling a majority of the justices in quarter sessions, to raise and equip, at their discretion, a paid police for the protection of their county. justices who decided to take advantage of the act were empowered to appoint a chief-constable, and delegate to him the power of appointing, directing and disciplining a sufficient number of police constables, the expense of the force to be charged against the general county rate.[ ] adjoining shires were permitted to unite for the common purpose of policing the larger area; and if any county refused, as a whole, to avail itself of the facilities now afforded, any division of that county might maintain a separate police force; provision was also made for the voluntary amalgamation of existing borough forces with any country constabulary, that might thereafter be appointed in the immediate neighbourhood. the permissive character of the "rural police act" has often been adversely criticised, sometimes, perhaps, without due allowance being made for the difficulty of the problem which confronted the government. it cannot be denied that, judged by its immediate results, the act was largely a failure, and it is equally certain that its ill-success was consequent upon the free choice between adoption and rejection allowed to local magistrates; but it must be remembered that the power of the government in this matter was far from being unrestricted, the only possible alternatives before the authorities being, the policy of making a small beginning, and the policy of doing nothing at all. reference has already been made to the difficulty of securing satisfactory recruits for the metropolitan police, and the available supply had been still further reduced by the demands made upon it to satisfy the necessities of the boroughs. an endeavour to provide simultaneously the whole of england and wales with efficient police-officers would have been to attempt the impracticable, whilst knowingly to admit inferior men into the ranks of the new constabulary would have been to condemn it irretrievably. nor was the lack of suitable material the only reason why a cautious plan of campaign was necessary and inevitable; the same spirit of obstinate opposition which had been encountered and nearly overcome in london was, to some extent, apparent in the counties; country gentlemen, besides being indisposed to favour any innovation that threatened their personal supremacy so near home, were strongly opposed to any additional burden being thrown on the county rate. the press, without repeating the bitterness displayed in , added its influence to that of the county magnates, and the idea that any reform of the rural police was at all necessary was scouted by people who ought to have known better; the very men who a year before had testified to the increase of rural crime, now declaring that any interference with the existing machinery for its suppression would be disastrous. amongst the many objections put forward, some were not very complimentary to the "great unpaid;" it was argued, for example, that the county justices were comparatively harmless so long as they wielded that blunt instrument, the parish constable, but should they be armed with a sharp weapon, such as the police-constable was admitted to be, no man could foresee the damage that would result.[ ] whilst public opinion remained in ferment the government was surely well advised to act with caution, by making the adoption of the act dependent upon the consent of those whom it was designed to benefit. in this way much opposition was disarmed, and the care of the infant institution was entrusted only to those who voluntarily undertook it. between and the history of rural police divides into two branches: in the counties which adopted the permissive act, the record is one of almost constant progress towards efficiency; in the counties which preferred to prolong the defective régime of the parish-constable, the story is largely one of stagnation, unnecessary friction, and weak-kneed experiment. although these tendencies are so diverse, the migratory habit of criminals makes it impossible to follow the history of either to the exclusion of the other. no police system can rightly be considered without constant reference to neighbouring systems, because every improvement in the police of one district immediately increases the difficulties of every adjacent district. the result of the permissive act was precisely what might have been expected, and the situation may be summed up in the single phrase--crime follows impunity. the influences of pride and local jealousies proved powerful enough to prevent a complete recantation by those counties which had pinned their faith to the _status quo ante_, but they were not sufficiently potent to produce insensibility or indifference when the day of reckoning came. county magistrates, who in had refused to set their houses in order, were ready to embrace almost any expedient by the end of . by this time they were only too glad to accept the services of police officers, trained in london or elsewhere, and to entrust them with the task of supervising the local constables. one of the chief reasons why parochial constables had become so useless, was because there was no one to keep them up to their work. the office of high-constable (finally abolished in ) had long been purely nominal, and justices of the peace could hardly be expected to devote much time or trouble to the unpleasant task of extracting service out of unwilling agents. in country towns where watchmen were employed, it was usually the constable's duty to oversee the watchman, but it was found by experience that the business was so indifferently performed that a plan, known as the "clock system" had, in many places, been introduced. this method of supervision consisted of a mechanical contrivance, in the shape of a clock with a revolving face: the watchmen were instructed to pull the chain attached to the clock every time they passed any of the machines during the night. in the morning, the constable would visit the clocks, and note the hours at which the chains had been pulled; but as a matter of fact the check on the watchmen was valueless, because subsequent inquiry showed that one man could easily attend to three or four clocks. in the more remote country districts watchmen were seldom or never employed, and no responsible person conceived it to be his particular business to supervise the comings or goings of the parish-constables. under these circumstances, an attempt was made in to infuse new life into the decrepit parochial system by an act[ ] of parliament, which ordered justices of the peace to hold special sessions for appointing proper persons to act as parish constables, and which authorized the employment of new functionaries called superintending constables to have the management of lock-up houses, and also the supervision of all the parish-constables within the petty sessional division of the county for which they might be appointed--such superintending constables to receive a fixed salary out of the county rates. the superintending constable system was given a fair trial; most of the counties in england and wales which refused to adopt the permissive act employing trained stipendiaries to look after their unpaid and amateurish parochial constables. that the compromise proved a comparative failure must be attributed not to the shortcomings of the officers selected, but to the impossibility of the task they were required to perform. individually, superintending constables were often meritorious officers, and they proved so far useful that a substantial improvement was soon apparent in the police of nearly every county which employed them; but their exertions, however great, were doomed to failure because the very unpromising material they had to manipulate was proof in the long run against the limited powers they were allowed to exercise. without asserting that parish constables were altogether hopeless, it may be said without fear of contradiction that only the strictest discipline could have sufficed to render them efficient; but the sole punishment a superintending constable could inflict on a refractory subordinate was the very mild one of reporting him to the justices, who, in their turn, were powerless to administer anything like adequate correction. to expect a parochial constabulary to learn efficiency voluntarily from a superintending constable living in their midst, was as unreasonable as it would be to look for knowledge in a schoolroom where a scholar without authority is the teacher. whilst this want of control was the chief element of weakness, it was not the only fault of the system under consideration. for effectual action, responsibility should be centred if possible in the hands of one individual, or at all events not equally divided between a dozen or more participants; yet in counties where the system of superintending constables obtained, there was no uniformity or general plan, but the officer of each petty sessional division took his own line, and as long as he put in an appearance at the sessions, and visited the various parishes of his district once a fortnight, no one interfered with him, or directed his method. it was the custom for the county to provide each superintending constable with a horse and cart, but, even with this convenience, the districts were frequently too large for any one man to supervise; in kent, for example, a certain division contained as many as fifty-six different parishes, whilst in northumberland the normal area of a single police district was about three hundred square miles. despite its obvious defects, the system was popular: not on account of any hidden virtue which it may perhaps have possessed, but simply because the small initial outlay required to start it made it look cheap: opposition to the alternative system, on the other hand, though it assumed many garbs, had its root and origin in the false economy which hopes to avoid paying for the measure of security which it knows to be indispensable. the pioneer county, as far as stipendiary police is concerned, was cheshire, where a paid constabulary was already ten years old when the permissive act was passed. at the time of the formation of the metropolitan police, sir robert peel was anxious to make trial of a similar organization in the country. his efforts were successful in so far that he obtained the necessary parliamentary sanction[ ] and induced the county palatine of chester to appoint an experimental force; once established, however, he was unable to exercise any control over its destinies, and the first rural police developed along lines never intended by its author. the only point of similarity between the metropolitan and the cheshire constabularies was that they were both stipendiary bodies; the county was divided into nine police districts, six of which were identical with existing hundreds; each district was under the supervision of a high-constable, assisted by from six to eight petty constables. the whole scheme, therefore, was conceived on a paltry scale; the petty constables were not selected with sufficient care, they were not graded, and they wore no uniform; responsibility was not vested in the hands of any one man, and internal jealousies rendered impossible that co-operation, which is so necessary to the efficiency of the whole.[ ] one of the reasons why cheshire was selected as a trial ground, was because rural crime was more prevalent in that county than elsewhere; but although some lessons of value were acquired for future application, as a result of this experiment, it must be confessed that the cheshire constabulary were hardly more successful in preventing crime than the parish constables had been. among those counties which were wise enough to take immediate advantage of the permissive act, the lead was quickly taken by essex, which had the good fortune to entrust the control of its rural police to a really brilliant chief-constable in the person of captain m'hardy, a retired naval officer, who had already done good work for the coast-guard service. taking "efficiency with economy" for his motto, captain m'hardy was able to achieve results which proved that a really well-managed force could be made self-supporting, or in other words that an efficient constabulary saves and earns as much as it costs. the strength of the rural police in essex averaged about one constable to every fifteen hundred of the population, and the gross expenses, which included the erection and maintenance of suitable station-houses, were from the first considerable; yet the chief-constable claimed that the net annual cost of the whole establishment was only £ , s. d. this sum is surprisingly small, but not so incredible as, at first sight, it may appear. the figures (which are printed at length in an appendix to the nd report of the select committee appointed in ) were arrived at by placing on the debit side of the account the gross amount expended for all police services, and on the credit side, the total savings and earnings effected by their agency. the largest credit taken was an item of five thousand pounds odd on account of the decrease of vagrancy, and the second largest, one of nearly four thousand pounds on account of the estimated increase in the value of land, calculated at the rate of only one penny per acre.[ ] the practical difference between the working of the parochial system and that of the rural police could find no better illustration than that afforded by a comparison of the extent of vagrancy respectively existing under the two systems. formerly parish-constables served at a loss unless crime was plentiful, and their interest therefore lay towards the encouragement rather than in the prevention of offences. it is not suggested that parish constables, as a class, were in the habit of deliberately manufacturing crime, but instances not infrequently came to light which proved that such practices were not so exceptional as they ought to have been. we have it on the authority of the vagrancy commission, that a regular system of fraudulent collusion between constables and tramps was common as recently as the year .[ ] it appears that at this time parish constables were entitled to ten shillings for apprehending a vagrant, upon proof being shown that the latter had either solicited or received money, and the fraud consisted in a compact between the two by which the constable first gave the vagrant a penny, and having arrested him as a beggar, claimed the reward, which was ultimately divided between the conspirators. under the rural police system such a state of affairs was impossible. constables were paid a regular salary, and had no interest in crime except to prevent it by every means in their power: prevalence of crime in any district meant extra work and less chance of promotion for every policeman concerned. of the many excellent arrangements introduced by captain m'hardy, with a view to reducing the expense of the essex constabulary, none was so successful as the plan of employing constables as assistant relieving officers for casuals. the resulting advantage was twofold. the prospect of having to interview a policeman acted as a moral check upon vagrancy, and the constable acquired in this way an extensive and first-hand acquaintance with the members of a fraternity professionally interesting to him. the success of this experiment, with which was associated the supervision of low lodging-houses, astonished even its strongest adherents; a comparison of the vagrancy returns for and (the year of the initiation of this policy) shewing a decrease amounting to ninety per cent. in the number of indoor, and to seventy-seven per cent. in the number of outdoor vagrants, the gross figures being , for , and for the following year--this result was achieved, moreover, without relief being refused, as far as could be discovered, to a single pauper who was really destitute.[ ] the essex constabulary was also the first to undertake the supervision of weights and measures, thus saving the salaries previously paid to the old inspectors who were inefficient, and saving the pockets of labouring men who were the chief sufferers by short weight. the extent to which false measures used to be employed can only be conjectured; but it is a fact that, when in the rural police of wiltshire took charge of this department, in no less than , instances were defective weights and measures discovered. further savings were effected in essex under the headings of, conveyance of prisoners, prevention of fire, excise duties, etc., etc., whilst private associations for the apprehension of felons died a natural death wherever the maintenance of the peace was entrusted to the new police. the effect of the admirable force established in essex was to compel the adjoining counties of suffolk, hertfordshire and cambridgeshire reluctantly to follow suit, and in other parts of england and wales rural police were gradually appointed. by may , twenty-two counties had adopted the permissive act, seven counties had partly adopted it, and twenty-two counties (including two ridings of yorkshire) continued the parochial system, with or without superintending constables. a return dated shews the progress that had been made-- _for the whole county_--bedford, cambridge, durham, essex, gloster, hertford, lancaster, leicester, norfolk, northampton, nottingham, salop, southampton, stafford, suffolk, surrey, wilts, worcester, cardigan, carmarthen, denbigh, montgomery. _in parts only_--cumberland, dorset, rutland, sussex, warwick, westmoreland, york. _counties not adopting the provisions of the permissive act_--berks, bucks, chester, cornwall, derby, devon, hereford, huntingdon, kent, lincoln, monmouth, northumberland, oxford, somerset, anglesey, brecon, carnarvon, glamorgan, merioneth, radnor, flint, pembroke. three years later the distribution was still much the same, only two counties having remodelled their police in the interval. unfortunately there was little uniformity of system throughout the twenty-four police forces now established: some counties framed their regulations on those of the royal irish constabulary; others adopted an independent attitude; lancashire was unlucky; cheshire was unique; and only hampshire and cambridgeshire were humble enough to take full advantage of the excellent model designed by captain m'hardy. the confusion resulting from this patchwork arrangement was put an end to by the second great rural police act, passed in , "to render more effectual the police in counties and boroughs in england and wales." this measure, commonly called the "obligatory act," enacted that where a constabulary had not already been appointed for the whole of a county, the magistrates were forthwith to cause such a force to be appointed for the whole or residue of that county, as the case might be; and further, that the police forces of all boroughs containing five thousand inhabitants or less were to be consolidated with the police of the county wherein such boroughs might be situated. an annual statement respecting crime in counties was required to be transmitted by the magistrates (a similar statement for boroughs to be rendered by the watch committees), to the secretary of state for the home department, in order that an abstract of the same might be presented to parliament. provision was also made for the appointment of inspectors of constabulary, with authority to visit and enquire into the state and general efficiency of the police in the several counties and boroughs, and to report thereon to the secretary of state. on a certificate from the home secretary that the police force of any county or borough was efficient, a sum not exceeding one-fourth part of the total cost of pay and clothing for such police force was to be paid by the treasury.[ ] the effect of this statute was, for the first time, to provide every part of england and wales with stipendiary police, thus completing the process which had been initiated at bow street more than a hundred years before. the metropolitan police act, the municipal corporations act, and the permissive act, valuable and indeed indispensable as they undoubtedly were, had been effective only in certain districts: delinquents, whom the activity of the metropolitan police had driven out of london, found a home in other large towns; a second migration followed when the boroughs got their police; and yet a third took place, as we have seen, after the partial introduction of rural constabularies. if it is true that the degree of impunity looked for has more to do with the amount of delinquency prevailing than the want of life's necessaries, or any other factor, it is not a matter for surprise that a large army of vagrant thieves continued to ply their trade as long as there remained twenty counties and scores of small towns where no interference with their illegal pursuits was to be anticipated, and to which they might return after a successful raid to safely dispose of their plunder. the obligatory act tended to reduce crime in many ways, for not only did a criminal career become much less attractive after the last alsatia had been closed, but the efficiency of all existing police bodies was enormously increased by the uniformity and co-operation between different units which naturally followed upon the compulsory adoption of one general system through the whole country. local control was not interfered with by this act, but a certain standard of excellence was set up and maintained by means of the government grant--the withholding of which as a punishment for inefficiency, took the place to some extent of the amercements once levied against districts whose police had been found wanting. and finally, the vexatious restrictions which prevented constables from acting outside the narrow limits of their constablewicks, were removed by the clause which gave county constables the same powers in boroughs as borough constables enjoyed in counties, thus restoring (in a form improved by modern aids, such as the postal service and the electric telegraph) a power similar to that which our english police long ago possessed, of carrying the hue and cry from township to township, and from shire to shire "untill the offender be apprehended, or at the least untill he be thus pursued to the seaside." chapter xvi co-operative police and the suppression of riots when the new police was first introduced, the promoters of the scheme did not look beyond the creation of a local force, sufficient to protect life and property in the metropolis and its immediate neighbourhood. no doubt peel intended that his police should serve as a model to other forces which he hoped to see established throughout the kingdom; but it was no part of his plan that the metropolitan police should be extended until the whole of england was policed by a homogeneous organization administered from a central bureau in london. such a result, however, was at one time imminent, and would have become inevitable if the process had not been arrested by the timely reforms in county and borough, described in the last chapter; reforms which, besides helping towards the general reduction of crime, prevented also the threatened centralization, by securing to provincial districts the control of their own police. as the metropolitan police increased in numbers and efficiency, it began to lose its strictly local character, and to become a national police. up to a certain point this was to the public advantage, but it would have been calamitous if the tendency had been allowed to continue beyond that point. it is obvious, however, that after the failure of the permissive act in , the retention of local control, so desirable on many grounds, was only rendered possible by making the abolition of the parochial system universally compulsory. as a matter of fact, the powers of making additions to the metropolitan district, acquired in ,[ ] were only taken advantage of to a very small extent, and the growth of the metropolitan police was almost entirely confined within the limits originally assigned to it. in the houses of parliament and the london docks were taken over; next came the woolwich and deptford yards; woolwich arsenal, and greenwich were incorporated in ; then the tower of london, and finally the royal dockyards (portsmouth, devonport, chatham, and pembroke dock) were policed by the metropolitan force in . the entire establishment, which in june was of all ranks, had risen to in , and ten years afterwards a new division (x) was created to deal with the crowds which were expected to visit the second international exhibition. in the total strength was . colonel rowan resigned in , and in the two commissioners were replaced by one commissioner (sir r. mayne) and two assistant commissioners. at first no steps were taken to fill the gap caused by the disappearance of the bow street runner, and the popay incident discouraged the commissioners from venturing on what was felt to be dangerous ground. the lack of a detective service was a great source of weakness, and so in a new department, especially devoted to this very necessary branch of police work, was instituted by sir james graham, and attached to scotland yard. a small staff was selected out of the uniform branch to form a nucleus. at first the department only consisted of three inspectors and nine sergeants; soon afterwards six constables were added, and gradually the numbers were increased until in the whole detective service was reorganized, and the criminal investigation department created. at the time when the metropolitan force was the only efficient police in the kingdom, individual officers, it may be remembered, were often sent to the provinces, on loan or permanently, to assist in the formation of similar organizations in other parts of england; this of course was right and proper, and was attended by the best results. subsequently, the practice arose of temporarily drafting large bodies of london policemen to keep the peace in distant districts wherever disturbances were feared, a course of action sound enough in theory perhaps, but seldom found effectual when put to the test of experience. an english mob quickly resents high-handed interference, and will not tolerate at the hands of strangers the same degree of repression it would quietly submit to from local peace officers. several examples might be given of the ill-success which has almost invariably attended the employment of london police in the provinces; but the following is selected as a particularly well-defined instance. in the summer of a force of metropolitan policemen, about ninety strong, were dispatched to birmingham, to over-awe the turbulent crowds which, it was feared, might proceed to extremities if their demands were not complied with. when the police arrived in the town, a noisy public meeting was in progress at the bull ring, but no overt act of violence had as yet been committed. the superintendent in charge of the constables peremptorily ordered the crowd to disperse; his summons was as positively disregarded, and within five minutes blows were exchanged. in the melée which followed, the police were worsted, and the situation was barely saved by the opportune appearance of the military. on the ensuing monday evening, a second conflict took place, in which the policemen were victorious, though at the expense of an increase of bitterness on both sides. a spurious semblance of peace having thus been restored, fifty constables returned to london, and only forty were left to deal with any recrudescence of disorder; for this they had not long to wait, as an attempt to break up a public meeting, a few days later, was followed by the most serious consequences. after destroying some iron palisading which surrounded the nelson monument, the crowd, now animated by a worse temper than before, made weapons of part of the débris, and drove the small force of constables to take refuge in the police-yard. for the next hour and a half the town was at the mercy of the rioters, who, having begun by smashing lamps and windows, ended by pillaging shops and warehouses.[ ] eventually the police charged the mob with drawn cutlasses, and, assisted by dragoons, got the upper hand; shortly afterwards the police were withdrawn, and the task of keeping order was entrusted to a strong levy of special constables locally enrolled, who succeeded in maintaining the peace where their more professional _confrères_ had failed. there is little doubt but that these riots might have been avoided, or at least mitigated, had no strangers been introduced to quell them.[ ] an isolated fact seldom proves anything; but it will be allowed, without the production of additional evidence, that the birmingham fiasco affords sufficient proof that the metropolitan police had not yet learnt the art of managing an angry crowd. there are, no doubt, many occasions on which it is desirable to transfer bodies of police from one place to another in order to concentrate the forces of law and order at some threatened or strategic point, but in so doing the danger to be apprehended from the resulting increase of local animus, ought to be taken into account, and adequately provided for. the valuable, if not indispensable, nature of the services which may be rendered by special constables when directed towards the suppression of riots, already indicated at birmingham in , was more fully exemplified in , when the chartists assembled at kennington common, threatened to descend upon london. the fear that the metropolis might be subjected to an access of anarchy similar to that which bestowed an evil notoriety on the gordon riots, gave rise to preparations for defence on an unprecedented scale. at this crisis not less than two hundred thousand citizens enrolled themselves as special constables; the metropolitan police were told off to guard the bridges; and all available troops were held in reserve, mostly in houses on the middlesex side of the river. the duke of wellington took command of this huge police army, and so perfect were his arrangements that, without the display of a single redcoat, the rioters outside dared not advance to the attack, and their sympathisers within dared not make any diversion in their favour. the whole subject of the policing of riotous and riotously disposed crowds is of the highest importance; but being a science in itself, its many aspects cannot be discussed in a book which only professes to tell briefly the story of police development in this country. at the same time, if we are to appreciate correctly the bearing of one fact upon another, if we hope to draw intelligent conclusions, it is impossible to avoid altogether what may be called the semi-scientific side of the question. in order to estimate the efficiency of any police force, to decide, for example, whether its failures are due to faulty organization or to bad generalship,--it is not sufficient to have an acquaintance with a mass of facts, dates and figures, but a key is required to read the cipher, some guide is necessary to assist in arranging the known factors in the order of their relative importance. an indifferently directed force may be capable of dealing in detail with isolated offenders; but the problem of pacifying a combination of peace breakers may induce a strain which will find out the faulty link in all but the most highly tempered organizations. just as a concerted breach of the peace by a number of persons is disproportionately more serious than an independent breach by any individual, so also do police duties take a higher range as soon as it becomes necessary to concentrate the energies of a number of constables for the attainment of a common object. if he is to employ his constables to the best advantage, a superior officer of police must have some knowledge of the general laws that sway men when they are assembled together in great numbers, those "volcanic forces" which, in the words of an american writer, "lie smouldering in all ignorant masses." men have a gregarious instinct which, under the influence of excitement, induces them to herd together without any definite object and often at great inconvenience to themselves; the progress of the resulting congestion is normal until a certain point is reached, the point at which entirely new forces begin to act. when this moment arrives, all self-control is repudiated, decent and orderly men become desperadoes, cowards are inspired by a senseless bravado, the calm reason of common-sense gives place to the insanity of licence, and unless the demoralising tendency is checked, a crowd rapidly reaches the level of its most degraded constituent. the explanation of these phenomena is probably to be found in an excessive spirit of emulation aroused under conditions of excitement, which makes a man feel that the responsibility for his actions is no longer to be borne by himself, but will be shared by the multitude in which he has merged his identity. it is the business of the police to exhaust every art in a sustained effort to prevent the ferment from reaching the critical stage, and to watch the crowd so narrowly that the first symptom of violence may instantly be suppressed. this can best be accomplished by local constables who are acquainted with the persons and names of individual members of the crowd, while it is of even greater moment that the constabulary should not be the first to give offence, or contribute to a breach of the peace by the use of exasperating language or aggressive action. the problem before the policeman operating against a riotously disposed crowd is somewhat similar to that which confronts the soldier in the face of the enemy, and it was on this account that the metropolitan force was given a semi-military organization. in some respects, however, the policeman's task is the more difficult of the two, chiefly because he has to strive for peace whilst actually engaged in conflict; the soldier at least enjoys the advantage of knowing his own comrades, whereas the constable is often unable to distinguish friends from foes, and continually runs the risk of converting the former into the latter. whilst the greatest possible latitude must be allowed to individual constables, the secret of success lies in mutual, not in independent action, and for mutual action to exist, there must be discipline and intelligent direction. when the use of force can no longer be delayed, the plan adopted by the officer in command should be easy of accomplishment, simple of comprehension, and its success should leave the law-breakers at a strategical disadvantage sufficiently obvious to convince them of the futility of further resistance. nothing is so fatal as vacillation: partial success leads on a mob to the commission of fresh excesses, partial repression only aggravates it. it is far better to leave a crowd altogether alone, than to sustain even an apparent defeat. force is no remedy unless it is unswervingly and unhesitatingly applied; and as it is comparatively immaterial in what direction repression is exercised so long as it is consistent and irresistible, it is usually good policy to divert the energies of the mob towards the line of least resistance. it is more efficacious, for example, to keep a crowd moving in some definite direction, than to dissipate the strength of the police in attempts to arrest ring-leaders, to seize banners or the like, which may degenerate into a series of disconnected single combats not uniformly favourable to authority. any apparently uncalled-for attack may convey the impression of wanton outrage, and so tend to defeat the object in view, by increasing that state of irritation and excitement which it is the principal duty of the police to allay. many branches of police science which to-day are in the common knowledge were unheard of and unsuspected during the first half of the nineteenth century. this is particularly the case with regard to that part of the constable's duty which has to do with the management of crowds: before there were only two methods of dealing with a riotous mob, the first was to leave it severely alone, and the second was to allow a regiment of cavalry to trample it into submission. no government worthy of the name is justified in adopting a policy of non-interference at a time when the lives and property of law-abiding citizens are in preventible jeopardy, and the disastrous consequences that may follow upon the employment of the second method were sufficiently advertised (to cite two instances only) by the bristol riots and the so-called peterloo massacre. london police and london crowds are now renowned all over the world, the former for the general excellence of their arrangements, and the latter for their almost invariable good humour. perhaps the credit is not always fairly apportioned, for it is not too much to say that the good humour of the crowd is more often due to the admirable tact of the police than to any inherent virtue that exclusively resides in londoners. at first the police were hardly more successful in suppressing riots than the soldiers had been: in birmingham as at coldbath fields, events shewed that the unpopularity of the new constabulary went far to neutralize the undoubted superiority naturally possessed by a civil, over a military, force for the purposes of peace maintenance. as time went on, and as police and public came to understand each other, riots became less frequent, and conflicts less bitter, until the harmony which now so happily exists was arrived at. if it is allowable to talk of a turning-point in a process which is gradual, this point was reached soon after the disturbances which commonly go by the name of the sunday-trading-bill riots. though not accompanied by any loss of life, nor followed by those unsparing attacks on the conduct of the police that had embittered the coldbath fields controversy, the collision which took place in july , between the metropolitan police and a mixed london crowd, were serious enough to stir up much of the old animosity, and to prove that, if the policeman was no longer an object of active dislike to his fellow-citizens, neither could he as yet lay claim to any great measure of popularity. the disturbances in question arose out of the following circumstances. lord robert grosvenor had introduced a bill, the object of which was to prevent all buying and selling within the city of london and metropolitan police district on sundays. popular feeling, which ran high against the measure, found expression in a variety of ways, some serious and some serio-comic. the point of view of the masses was not badly summed up in these lines: "sublime decree, by which our souls to save no sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave, and chins unmown, and throats unslaked display, his lordship's reverence for the sabbath day." unfortunately the opponents of the obnoxious bill did not confine themselves to versification, but caused handbills to be circulated, announcing that on the th of june, an open-air meeting would be held in hyde park "to see how religiously the aristocracy observe the sabbath, and how careful they are not to work their servants or their cattle on that day." the result of this manifesto was that, at the time mentioned, a mob assembled near the serpentine, but the demonstration did not assume serious proportions, the crowd contenting themselves with hooting and jeering at those who were taking their afternoon ride or drive in the park. throughout the following week, certain persons continued the agitation, and, by means of placards, summoned their sympathisers to meet them on the next sunday in hyde park, where it was announced that "the open air concert and monster fête, under the patronage of the leave-us-alone club will be repeated." another appeal was of a more personal nature and ran as follows, "let us go to church with lord robert grosvenor next sunday morning. we can attend his lordship in park lane at half past ten, go to church with him, then go home to dinner, and be back in time to see our friends in hyde park. come in your best clothes, as his lordship is very particular." these handbills and placards having been brought to his notice, sir richard mayne replied by publishing a proclamation requesting well-disposed persons not to attend the proposed meeting, at the same time warning all concerned that steps would be taken by the police to prevent the meeting being held, and that, if necessary, force would be employed to maintain the peace. undeterred by this notice, thousands of people entered the park on the afternoon of sunday the st of july, drawn thither, some by curiosity, some for purposes of recreation, some with the fixed determination of resisting the police. certain precautionary arrangements were made by the chief commissioner, and orders were issued to the effect that any persons shouting or frightening horses, or attempting to address the crowd, were to be cautioned as to the consequences of their action and required to desist, the police being instructed to remove, and if necessary take into custody, any who persistently refused to obey their orders. as on the previous sunday, the disturbances commenced with hooting and shouting, but the police who, in obedience to orders, were lying down on the grass, did not interfere; at about half past three, the crowd began to assume a more threatening attitude, and things began to look serious. a dense mob was gathered along the railings and across the carriage way, stones were thrown at carriages, some wooden hurdles were broken up, and the fragments used as missiles, whilst the crowd continued to hoot, whistle and make discordant noises, with the object of frightening the horses. the superintendent in charge, thinking that the time for vigorous action had arrived, ordered the police to draw their truncheons and clear the roadway. whilst this order was being carried out, a considerable number of people who did not give way with sufficient promptitude were struck and some knocked down. the mob now turned upon the police, making insulting remarks, throwing stones, and repeatedly attempting to break the line of constables, who retaliated by making short rushes and taking into custody all who offered resistance. victory eventually rested with the police, but desultory fighting continued throughout the afternoon, and it was not until six o'clock in the evening that the commotion in the neighbourhood of the drive subsided. whilst the main crowd was being dispersed, a mob some strong, with cries of "now to lord robert grosvenor's," left the park, and proceeded to park street, and at the same moment another body made their way to the magazine barracks, where they amused themselves by throwing stones at a small party of grenadiers stationed there. the sergeant in command sent to the police for assistance which was promptly rendered, and quiet was soon restored. meanwhile the constables in park street were endeavouring to persuade the crowd, who had gathered in force in front of lord robert's house, to disperse quietly, but when their efforts proved of no avail, and when cries of "chuck him out" and threats of violence were raised, the reserves previously stationed at stanhope gate were moved up, and the street cleared by force. in this encounter truncheons were again used, and numerous minor injuries inflicted, but only one arrest was made. by nine o'clock the police were withdrawn, all disturbance being at an end. in the course of the day forty-nine policemen were reported hurt, and on the other side seventy-two persons were taken into custody and removed to vine street police station, ten of them being charged with felony, and the remaining sixty-two with riotous conduct or with assaults on the police. unfortunately the accommodation at vine street was altogether insufficient for such a large number of prisoners, the cells ordinarily in use were soon filled, and then recourse was had to an underground room, formerly the place of confinement attached to the old parish watch-house. into this prison, which was dark and badly ventilated, were crowded forty-three persons, ten of whom were subsequently removed, but the remaining thirty-three had to spend the night (which happened to be unusually sultry), standing up, or lying on the damp floor as best they could. many of the prisoners were respectable people, unused to dirt and discomfort, and their sufferings must have been considerable. the inspector in charge of the vine street station, somewhat tardily communicating with sir richard mayne, informed him of the overcrowded state of the cells, with the result that thirty-one prisoners out of the original seventy-two were removed to neighbouring stations by order of the chief commissioner. in the course of the next two days, all the accused were brought before the magistrates, when twenty-nine, or nearly half the number, were discharged, the remainder being fined or sentenced to short terms of imprisonment. the conduct of the police in hyde park, and the treatment of the prisoners at vine street, having given rise to serious allegations and to much adverse comment in the public press, the government decided to hold an inquiry into the matter. three commissioners were appointed, and given full powers to investigate and report upon the occurrences of the st of july and the following days. in the course of the inquiry, several attempts were made to discredit sir richard mayne; some accused him of slackness for not personally directing the police in the park, whilst others held that he was over-officious in not leaving the crowd alone altogether. the responsibility for the overcrowding at vine street was laid to his charge, and it was suggested that he failed in his duty, in that he did not go to the police station, and, by virtue of the powers vested in him as a justice of the peace, admit to bail those prisoners who were not charged with felony, and who might be able to find sufficient guarantee for their future appearance. of these charges, which were made by people who seemed to think that any stone was good enough to throw at the chief officer of police, the two first, when taken together, were mutually destructive, besides being silly when considered separately; whilst the suggestion that sir richard mayne ought to have admitted certain of the accused to bail, was not to the point, because it had been clearly laid down by statute when the office was first created, that any exercise of the powers of a justice by the chief commissioner of police was to be strictly confined to his duties connected with the preservation of the peace. the net result of the labours of her majesty's commissioners was to establish, beyond a doubt, that certain constables had been guilty of unnecessary violence; that the superintendent in charge, losing his head, or his temper, or both, had authorized stronger measures than the circumstances of the case warranted; and that blame attached to the authorities at vine street for the mismanagement which caused the detention of a far larger number of prisoners than there was accommodation for at that station. on the other hand, it was proved that the large majority of the police had acted with moderation and good temper throughout a long and trying day in spite of the continued attempts of the crowd to harass and annoy them; and that the measures adopted for the preservation of the peace had on the whole been successful, in so far that a mob many thousands strong, bent on mischief, had been effectually controlled and prevented from doing any material damage worth mentioning. from the evidence as a whole, it is clear that the accusing witnesses (and they were very numerous,), must have been guilty of much exaggeration when describing the violence with which they said the police had acted; since in a conflict lasting several hours, in which it was alleged the constabulary used their truncheons unmercifully, sparing neither age nor sex, no life was lost, no limb was broken, nor was any permanent injury inflicted. on the other hand, many witnesses voluntarily came forward to testify to the good behaviour of the police, not only on this particular occasion, but generally in all their dealings with the public. the promptitude with which the inquiry was granted, and the thorough and impartial manner in which it was carried out, was attended by the happiest results, and did much to foster friendly relations in the future between police and public; the latter were reassured that government would not tolerate, much less countenance, any excesses committed by the police, upon whom again it was impressed that even a disorderly mob must be treated with a certain amount of consideration, and that high-handed interference would lead to the punishment of the offending constables. a minor improvement which originated from this inquiry may, in passing, be noticed. hitherto a constable's number had been surrounded by a scroll of embroidery that made it difficult to decipher except at very close quarters, so that identification was often rendered impossible: to rectify this, the plain metal figures now worn by constables on collar and helmet were introduced. the sunday-trading bill riots were quite unimportant as riots, and yet their influence upon the future of the police was very great, because the inquiry which followed illuminated a question that had been obscured by ignorance and prejudice, causing misconceptions to be removed on both sides, and a better understanding and mutual appreciation to be substituted, with the result that the metropolitan force soon began to be popular in quarters where it had previously been hated. the best proof of its efficiency, so far as the management of crowds is concerned, may be found in the fact that, during the first forty years of its existence, the peace was so well maintained, that the damage done to property by rioters was quite insignificant, and this without the intervention of the military; whilst in witness of the moderation of the methods employed by the police in the attainment of this result, it need only be stated, that in every conflict which occurred during the same period, the personal injuries sustained by the aggressors were invariably less severe than those suffered by the constables, though the latter were all men of exceptionally fine physique, and were armed with truncheons. in the course of the reform riot which took place in hyde park in the year , two hundred and sixty-five policemen were wounded out of a total of actually on duty, "and one superintendent, two inspectors, nine sergeants, and thirty-three constables were so severely injured as to be rendered unfit for duty, many for life," yet "the police behaved with the most admirable moderation and not a single case of unnecessary violence was proved against them."[ ] there is a saying that the strength of the man in blue lies in the fact that he has the man in red behind him. this of course is superficially true, in so far that in the event of a riot or other disturbance, with which the local police is for any reason unable to cope, a sufficient number of troops will be called out to assist the civil arm. but the saying is not true if any suggestion of an offensive alliance between constabulary and soldiery is intended; nor is it true if it is meant to give the impression that there is a potentiality of physical force behind the policeman, which, under any circumstances whatever, could be exerted to coerce the nation at large. the members of the english police are public servants in the fullest sense of the term; not servants of any individual, of any particular class or sect, but servants of the whole community--excepting only that part of it which in setting the law at defiance, has thereby become a public enemy. the strength of the man in blue, properly understood, lies in the fact that he has behind him the whole weight of public opinion; for he only wages war against the law-breaker, and in this contest can claim the goodwill of every loyal citizen. if a police constable is in need of assistance, he can call upon any bystander, and in the king's name demand his active co-operation; should the bystander refuse without being able to prove physical impossibility or lawful excuse, he can no longer be considered as a loyal citizen, but is guilty of an indictable offence and becomes liable to punishment. the basis upon which our theory of police ultimately rests, is the assumption that every lawful act performed by a police officer in the execution of his duty, has the sanction and approval of the great majority of his fellow-citizens; and under our constitution it would be impossible for any constabulary force to continue in existence, if its actions persistently ran counter to the expressed wishes of the people. the actual continuance of the english police is therefore dependent upon the consent of the people; but this mere acquiescence is not enough. if the police are to be efficient, they must earn for themselves the respect and sympathy of all classes, they must be popular. it is only on the rarest occasions that a policeman is actually the eye-witness of a crime, nor in the nature of things is he likely to be in the confidence of the criminal. as a rule he must rely on information, and generally speaking the public is the only source from which the necessary knowledge can be obtained. if the public are hostile, the one source of information is closed, and the police are rendered powerless. this difficulty has often been experienced in ireland, where, on several occasions, it has proved a practical impossibility to discover the authors of agrarian crime, even when all the facts were well known to dozens of people, simply because the whole neighbourhood had entered into a conspiracy of silence. such a manoeuvre instantly paralyzes the civil executive. in the olden days, when an offence had been committed and there was no culprit forthcoming, a fine was levied against the hundred or hundreds implicated, and justice was satisfied; in mediæval times, the "peine forte et dure" was employed to elicit information; but since the abolition of torture no effectual method has been invented by means of which an unwilling witness can be forced to tell what he knows; in ireland, especially, the inducements held out by government, to tempt a man to speak, are of little avail against the terrorism that the other side can invoke by the mere whisper of the word "informer." but there are other reasons, besides this important question of obtaining information, why a measure of popularity is of such extreme value to every police force. there are a thousand ways in which the members of an unpopular service can be embarrassed and thwarted. no matter how capable and painstaking a man may be, he cannot do himself justice, nor can the best results attend his labours, if his every act is questioned, and if at every turn he has to surmount some obstacle set up to annoy and discourage him. the constabulary has been described as "the great army of order that is always in the field"; the protracted campaign in which this army is engaged is under all circumstances extremely arduous, but it becomes doubly so when its operations have to be conducted in an enemy's country. we demand intelligence, good personal character and great physical strength from those to whom we entrust the duties of peace maintenance; and if we are to obtain men of the right stamp, men, that is, who possess these qualifications, it is essential that the police service should be held in popular esteem, and that the position of a constable should be sufficiently well thought of, and sought after, to create a keen competition for the vacancies as they occur. it would never do to have to beat up recruits for the constabulary forces, and to fall back on the expedients that the military authorities have to resort to to fill the ranks, nor to enlist immature lads in the hope that some day they will grow into well-developed men. from every point of view, then, popularity is of the utmost value to the police; and yet, from the very nature of their duties it is extremely difficult for them to win it. a policeman who will lend himself to the screening of crime, or who is conveniently blind on occasions, may quickly become the object of a worthless and fleeting popularity; but it is not the friendship of the publican nor the applause of the rabble that is desirable; what is wanted is the respect and approval of all good citizens. year by year, in spite of occasional set-backs, the english police have risen in the estimation of their fellow-countrymen until they have won for themselves a position in the minds of the people which for respect and regard combined is without a parallel in europe. "weak in numbers as the force is," wrote mr munro, the late commissioner of police for the metropolis, "it would be found in practice altogether inadequate were it not strengthened, to an extent unknown, i believe, elsewhere, by the relations that exist between the police and public, and by the thorough recognition on the part of the citizens at large of the police as their friends and protectors. the police touch all classes of the public at many points beyond the performance of their sterner duties as representatives of the law, and they touch them in a friendly way.... the police in short, are not the representatives of an arbitrary and despotic power, directed against the rights or obtrusively interfering with the pleasures of law-abiding citizens: they are simply a disciplined body of men, specially engaged in protecting 'masses' as well as 'classes,' from any infringement of their rights on the part of those who are not law-abiding." the wisdom of fostering cordial relations between the people and the civil defenders of their lives and properties seems so obvious, that it is a source of wonder that so little attention has been given to the study of how best to promote this desirable _entente cordiale_. before the new police was instituted constables were merely despised; after the re-organization was completed they were generally feared and often hated; the fact that they won their way to popularity is to be attributed almost entirely to their own merits. at the beginning of the century colquhoun, who was a long way in advance of his contemporaries in his conceptions of what a police force should be, wrote: "everything that can heighten in any degree the respectability of the office of constable, adds to the security of the state, and to the safety of the life and property of every individual," but at the time only a very few people heeded what he said; and parish authorities persisted in the idea that it did not matter who or what a constable was so long as he was cheap, whilst in more recent years, politicians of a certain stamp, who ought to be alive to the fatal consequences of their action, have not scrupled to try and stir up bad blood between the constabulary and the uneducated section of the public, whenever it has suited their purposes to do so, though happily without much success. if the co-operation of which we have been speaking is to be complete, it should rest on a more substantial basis than goodwill: it is not sufficient that private citizens should be well-disposed towards their allies, it is necessary also that they should be acquainted with the conditions that govern the mutual relationship. the sphere of police utility is seriously limited by reason of the ignorance which commonly prevails, both as to the executive powers that private persons can assume as citizens, and with respect to the functions that officials may exercise by virtue of their office. in his "history of the criminal law," sir james stephen thus explains the position. "the police in their different grades are no doubt officers appointed by law for the purpose of arresting criminals, but they possess for this purpose no powers that are not also possessed by private persons.... a policeman has no other right as to asking questions or compelling the attendance of witnesses than a private person has; in a word, with a few exceptions, he may be described as a person paid to perform as a matter of duty acts, which if he so minded, he might have done voluntarily."[ ] the law on the subject is further defined by another authority in these words. "if a constable be assaulted in the execution of his office, he need not go back to the wall, as private persons ought to do; and if, in the striving together, the constable kill the assailant, it is no felony; but if the constable be killed it shall be construed premeditated murder."[ ] for all practical purposes, however, the only real difference that exists between the powers that are actively made use of by the police, and the latent powers that are vested in every british citizen, is this:--a police officer may arrest (without warrant) if he has a reasonable suspicion that a felony has taken place; a private person cannot arrest unless he has certain knowledge that a felony has actually been committed. within these limits, and according to our opportunities, the duty of each one of us is clear and inalienable, remaining the same to-day as it was in the time of queen elizabeth, when it was written "so that every english man is a sergeant to take the thiefe, and who sheweth negligence therein do not only incurre evil opinion therefore, but hardly shall escape punishment."[ ] chapter xvii police statistics and penology attention has already been directed to the excessive zeal of the opponents of the "new police"; but no mention has been made of those enthusiasts who looked for an instant millennium to follow upon the adoption of the measures they advocated. yet there were many such who formed extravagant hopes too high for realization. it is seldom easy for the observer to arrive at a just estimate of the value of a new institution until his standpoint is far enough removed from the stress of the moment to secure him from the current partisanship which every novelty arouses. we, however, who have crossed the threshold of the twentieth century, can disregard the extreme views of both parties, and heedless of the outpourings of admirers and detractors alike, can gauge the issue by the light of ascertained results, supported by facts and figures. judged by this standard, and viewed from the standpoint of to-day, the police reforms inaugurated between and will be found to justify all reasonably conceived expectations, disappointing as they no doubt appeared to over-sanguine extremists at the time. since the ideal standard of excellence aimed at by every properly constituted police force is the complete prevention of crime, and as there can be no record of offences prevented, it is obviously impossible to arrive at an entirely satisfactory conclusion as to the efficiency of police by means of any arithmetical process. at the same time it will be allowed that if, whilst population increases, recorded offences are a stationary, or better still if they are a diminishing quantity, there is at least strong presumptive evidence that the result is largely due to the efficiency of the established police. unfortunately there is no infallible method of discovering the amount of criminality existing in the country at any given time; but, of all available statistics, the best for our purpose are certainly those, which give the annual total of commitments for indictable offences from until the present day. before the records are not altogether trustworthy; but the parliamentary committee which sat in , stated that in the ten years between and , during which the average increase of population was about nineteen per cent., the average increase of commitments for the same period was no less than forty-eight per cent. there can therefore be no doubt that prior to the establishment of the new police the increase of crime was outstripping the increase of population; but taking only those figures which are generally acknowledged to be correct, we get the following interesting table. +---------------+-------------+--------------+-------------------+ | census years. | population. | number of | proportion. | | | | commitments. | | |---------------+-------------+--------------+-------------------| | | , , | , | · per , | | | , , | , | · " " | | | , , | , | · " " | | | , , | , | · " " | | | , , | , | · " " | | | , , | , | · " " | +---------------+-------------+--------------+-------------------+ such is the remarkable result obtained by taking the whole number of indictable offences sent for trial at assizes and quarter sessions in each census-year since , nor is there any reason to suppose that the process of amelioration has slackened to any appreciable extent during the last decade. when the census returns for are published it will probably be found that the population of england and wales now totals to about thirty-two millions; and assuming that the amount of crime committed during the current year is not abnormal, the number of commitments will work out at a little more than thirty for every hundred thousand inhabitants. that is to say, during the last sixty years, serious offences have decreased nearly sixty per cent. in actual volume, and some eighty per cent. if considered relatively to population--or in other words, between two-thirds and five-sixths of the type of crime, which sixty years ago brought men to trial, is now prevented. these figures, of course, deal with detected crime only: if it were possible to include all grave offences, irrespective of whether their authors were discovered or not, the results would be even more striking, because owing to the increased activity on the part of the police, and to the greater readiness to prosecute on the part of the public, comparatively few serious crimes now remain mysteries for any length of time. calculations based on the number of offences disposed of by courts of summary jurisdiction are valueless if the object in view is to estimate the prevalence of crime, because not only are new minor offences continually being created (thus rendering such returns too intricate for purposes of ready comparison) but the inclusion of trivial breaches of the licensing acts, education acts, vaccination acts &c. reduces the plane of the enquiry from one which deals only with crimes to one which is mainly concerned with misdemeanours. if we confine our attention, therefore, to the commitment returns, the most noteworthy feature which strikes us, is the drop between and --the decade in which the obligatory act gave the _coup-de-grâce_ to the parochial system, and for the first time covered the whole of england and wales with a network of stipendiary police. at first sight it would appear that here was cause and effect, that is, that the signal improvement indicated by these statistics was primarily due to the act of ; it is more likely, however, that the result must, in the main, be placed to the credit of the police reforms of the previous decade, for reasons which will presently appear. in view of these eminently satisfactory figures, it may well be asked how it came about that those persons, who most firmly believed that security was only to be attained through police instrumentality, were so grievously disappointed at the imaginary failure of their pet scheme. in order to find the answer to this question it will be necessary to probe a little deeper into the statistics, and to do so by the light of contemporary events. in the first place it is to be remarked that a closer inspection of the commitment returns reveals the fact that a reaction took place between and , the figures for those years reading as follows: , , , , this result was due, no doubt, to the combined effects of two distinct causes, one of which produced an actual growth of crime, whilst the other accounted for what was but an apparent increase of delinquency. if it is true that crime was more common than before, it is no less true that offences were more commonly detected, the apparent increase being the necessary result of the efficient action of the newly organized constabularies, which, naturally enough, did not take full effect until the whole machine was in proper working order. before preventive police can develop its maximum deterrent energy, it has to prove its title to respect by its success in the detection of crime; criminals do not search the statutes at large, nor judge of the efficiency of a policeman from government statistics.[ ] they take him as they find him, and learn to fear him only after they have acquired a practical familiarity with his activity, either by personal contact, or vicariously, through the misfortunes of acquaintances. the significance of the heavy calendars in the early sixties, therefore, is largely discounted by the fact, that the accumulations of former years had to be dispersed, before entire responsibility for the amount of crime prevailing could be laid at the door of the new régime. with regard to the second reason for the despondency above referred to, it must be remembered that offences against property so outnumber other offences, that they entirely dominate all criminal statistics; whilst the public alarm occasioned by a single case of robbery involving personal injury to an individual, is infinitely greater than that caused by a whole series of depredations on property if unaccompanied by violence. in the quinquennial period ( - ), the number of persons for trial at assizes and quarter sessions, charged with murder, attempted murder, manslaughter, felonious wounding, malicious wounding and assault, amounted to ; whilst in the next quinquennial period ( - ), the number of commitments for these offences had risen to ; and herein lay the _raison d'etre_ for the widespread alarm which, in and especially, may be said to have amounted to panic. not only were such crimes more frequent than had formerly been the case, but they began to be marked by a degree of violence[ ] which argued that a peculiarly desperate class of criminal was abroad; and such indeed was the actual state of affairs, occasioned by the temporary breakdown of the penal system and consequent upon the discontinuance of the practice of shipping the most dangerous criminals across the seas. before the abolition of transportation, the career of the criminal was generally brief unless he confined his attention to petty depredations, or unless he was particularly skilful in avoiding capture; a felon once caught was given little chance of repeating his offence. if he escaped the gallows he was as a rule removed from the scene of his temptations, never to return; and the labours of the police were far less arduous as long as distant colonies were content to absorb the dregs of our population, and as long as the press-gang claimed a large proportion of our vagabonds and neer-do-weels. impressment, however, practically ceased in ; and australasia soon grew weary of the refuse which we were yearly depositing on her shores. between and as many as seventeen thousand convicts were sent to van diemen's land alone, and in one year more than four thousand felons were transported to australia: the result was that the supply exceeded the demand, and the colonists, though not blind to the advantages of a moderate supply of free labour, began to protest warmly against the wholesale importation of such eminently undesirable neighbours. a large public meeting was held at sydney in , at which it was unanimously decided to petition her majesty to procure the immediate discontinuance of transportation; the british government at once consented, and after no more convicts were sent to new south wales, tasmania, or south australia.[ ] morally bound, as it was, to comply with the request of the colonists, the government found itself impaled on the horns of a dilemma: about nine thousand persons actually under sentence of transportation lay awaiting disposal in the hulks, and the number was steadily increasing. it was impossible to set them at liberty; there was no room in the english prisons; and there was nowhere to send them to except western australia, which, though still willing to annually receive a certain proportion, was unable to digest such an accumulation. the demoralization which infected the ordinary gaols was as nothing compared to that which pervaded the hulks,--filthy derelict vessels crowded with unclean and abandoned mortals who were allowed absolutely free intercourse with each other, and who were subjected to no supervision beyond that exercised by a sentry or two with loaded muskets. in this emergency extra prison accommodation was hurriedly provided. portsmouth prison was opened in ; dartmoor (originally designed for the detention of french prisoners-of-war, but long disused) was converted into a convict establishment in , and a new prison at chatham was made ready in the year following. in this way the immediate necessity was partially relieved; but for the complete solution of the difficulty, a radical reform of the whole penal system had to be devised. convicts who had been sentenced to transportation could not in common fairness be detained in english prisons for the whole period of their sentences, and there was no law which authorized any remission. prisoners felt that they had a grievance, and mutinous outbreaks occurred at dartmoor, portland and chatham.[ ] under these circumstances a "penal servitude act"[ ] was introduced, which provided that henceforward penal servitude was to be substituted for transportation as the punishment for all offences too serious to be met by simple imprisonment, yet not of sufficient enormity to deserve a sentence of fourteen years; at the same time it was notified that those persons, then in confinement, who had been condemned to transportation were to be released with a free pardon after the expiration of from half to two-thirds of their original sentence. in another act was passed, authorizing the secretary of state conditionally to discharge convicts undergoing penal servitude in england, before they had served their full term. this system, popularly known as the ticket-of-leave system, was sound in theory, and whenever properly administered has proved both beneficial to prisoners and harmless to society. but when first inaugurated it produced the most disastrous consequences. under present conditions a convict can only earn remission by good behaviour and constant industry, generally leaving the prison a better man than when he entered it, even if he is not entirely reformed; whilst under the old conditions, incarceration corrupted the novice in crime, and still further hardened the habitual offender. the last hulk was closed in , and a few years afterwards the effect of the unavoidable policy of turning loose unreformed gaol-birds was fully experienced, and the sequel made apparent in the criminal statistics of the period. according to the intention of its authors, adequate police supervision over those who had been conditionally liberated on license was an essential feature of the ticket-of leave system, but this was not the interpretation adopted by the home office, for on behalf of that department, evidence was given before the select committee of to the effect that "it was thought far better to give no directions whatever to the police on the subject, but to leave them (_i.e._ the license-holders) precisely in the situation of men who had served out the whole period of their sentence." on every ticket-of-leave issued, the following conditions were endorsed:--"notice--( )--the power of revoking or altering the license of a convict will most certainly be exercised in case of his misconduct. ( )--if, therefore, he wishes to retain the privilege, which by his good behaviour under penal discipline he has obtained, he must prove by his subsequent conduct that he is really worthy of her majesty's clemency. ( )--to produce a forfeiture of the license, it is by no means necessary that the holder should be convicted of any new offence. if he associates with notoriously bad characters, leads an idle or dissolute life, or has no visible means of obtaining an honest livelihood, &c.--it will be assumed that he is about to relapse into crime, and he will be at once apprehended, and recommitted to prison under his original sentence." these conditions, admirable in themselves, were not enforced and so were practically useless. ticket-of-leave men almost invariably destroyed their licenses (which they were not compelled to keep), and if apprehended for a fresh offence, or on suspicion, stoutly denied that they had previously been convicted; nor was it easy for the authorities to prove the contrary in the absence of any proper system for the registration of convicts. the helplessness of the police in the matter may be measured by the fact that constables were instructed on no account to interfere with ticket-of-leave men, "nor when seen in public houses are they to be pointed out to the landlord, and required to leave, as in other cases of convicted thieves and suspected characters." it was of course only just that convicts released on license should not have their comings and goings continually dogged by constables; but to elevate them into a privileged class, and to place them on a higher plane than "suspected characters" who had never been convicted, was, in the words of sir richard mayne, "to give them opportunities to commit crime which they might not otherwise have." the police were not to blame for this state of things, for they only carried out the instructions of the home office, which, again, did not feel justified in interfering with liberated convicts unless authorized to do so by act of parliament. to shew how entirely the police authorities dissociated themselves from any responsibility for the supervision of licensees, it may be mentioned that, in his evidence before the select committee of , the chief commissioner of police for the metropolis made the following confession. "it may appear strange for me to say so, but until a few months ago i never saw a ticket-of-leave, and did not know what was endorsed upon it:--it was no business of mine."[ ] fortunately this state of affairs was not allowed to continue indefinitely. various reforms, extending over a series of years, were successively taken in hand with the object of making penal servitude reformatory as well as retributive, of ensuring that convicts released on ticket-of-leave should remain under police supervision until the expiration of their sentences, of arresting the criminal career of juvenile law-breakers by means of reformatories and industrial schools; and of protecting society, as far as possible, from the repeated ravages of incorrigible offenders, by instituting a system for the thorough identification and registration of criminals. the history of these reforms must be briefly sketched. of all the abuses which used to disgrace our penal establishments, the most disastrous in its results, was the promiscuous herding together of male with female, adult with juvenile, habitual with casual offenders, under conditions calculated to lower the tone of the whole prison community to the level of the most degraded inmate. the evils inseparable from unchecked association of felons in confinement were recognised even in the eighteenth century; and bentham, howard, and other reformers persistently urged the adoption of the "separate" system for all english prisons. ultimately the government was induced to make the experiment, and in millbank penitentiary was opened for the reception of prisoners. a long delay followed, and not until was the first stone of the next model prison laid at pentonville. both millbank and pentonville were constructed on the "radiating" principle which admits of the constant exercise of perfect supervision over all the prisoners, who are, however, confined in separate compartments. the expense of the new establishments, as well as a popular prejudice against solitary confinement due to its too rigorous enforcement in pennsylvania, retarded progress, and although a few gaols of a modern type were here and there constructed, the large majority of those convicts who were not transported, were allowed to corrupt each other in the old-fashioned local prisons. this policy of inaction continued until , when the "prison act" was passed, which requires that every male prisoner shall be accommodated with a separate cell, and which insists on uniformity of treatment for all persons (except first-class misdemeanants and debtors) undergoing a sentence of two years' imprisonment or less. we have already seen how the gradual discontinuance of transportation ( - ) and the abolition of the hulks ( ) caused "public works prisons" to be established at dartmoor, chatham, etc. at these places, (where prisoners undergoing penal servitude are incarcerated) the plan of silent associated labour by day, with separate confinement by night, was adopted; and although no relaxation of discipline was allowed, the reform of the criminal, rather than his punishment, was aimed at. under the modern system the convict spends the first nine months of his penal servitude at pentonville, or in some other local prison, and during this period is kept to solitary hard labour of an irksome and unproductive description; he is then moved to one or other of the "public works prisons," where his life at once becomes less monotonous. as long as his conduct merits advancement, he is passed through various stages, each more tolerable than the last; most of his work is now done in the open air and in the company of his fellows; and hope lightens his labour, for by constant industry and by an exact observance of the prison rules, he is allowed to earn a partial remission of his sentence, amounting to about a quarter[ ] of the whole term. our penal system may not yet be perfect; but during the late reign prison life underwent a marvellous metamorphosis. pest-houses have been transformed into sanatoriums where the patients have to submit to a healthy discipline beneficial to the mind as well as to the body; formerly gaol-fever, dirt, and bad food ruined the constitution, whilst evil communications corrupted the mind; now convicts leave their prison physically robust and often morally convalescent. this amelioration of the conditions to which prisoners are subjected has been accompanied, _pari passu_, by a steady decrease in the number of convicts in confinement. when queen victoria came to the throne, , [ ] of her subjects were convicts, at the present time they number less than ,[ ] and this in spite of the fact that during the interval the population of these islands has just about doubled itself. whilst the reform of the adult and hardened convict is of very high import, the welfare of society is even more profoundly influenced by the result of its efforts directed towards the prevention of crime in the first instance; and the value of prevention (which by common consent is at all times higher than that of the best possible cure) may be said to bear an inverse ratio to the age of the individuals who are saved from committing themselves to a career of crime. the surest method of permanently reducing the number of criminals lies in the comprehensive employment of agencies especially devoted to the prevention of juvenile delinquency. anti-social habits formed in childhood are in after years only eradicated with the greatest difficulty, the criminal child too often being the father of the criminal man. during the latter half of the eighteenth, and early in the nineteenth century, the manufacture of juvenile criminals went on apace. bow street runners on the look-out for blood-money were careful not to interfere with a promising youngster until he had actually committed a felony; parish constables would not trouble to pursue a culprit upon whose conviction only half expenses were allowed; and the reluctance of the general public to prosecute was especially pronounced when the offender was of tender years. meanwhile scoundrels of the fagin type, trading on the impunity enjoyed by child-thieves, grew rich on the plunder collected by their pupils, who, sooner or later, received the finishing touches to their criminal education in the public gaols at the public expense. the extent of the evils which resulted are incalculable; but competent experts were of opinion that nearly sixty per cent. of habitual offenders had been initiated into their dishonest career before they were fifteen years of age.[ ] private philanthropy interested itself on behalf of the children long before the government made any move in the matter. in the eighteenth century a marine society for sending lads to sea, and an agricultural school for teaching farming, had been formed at portsmouth and redhill respectively, with the object of befriending boys who otherwise were in danger of lapsing into crime; but for many years these were the only agencies of the sort. the ragged school movement, so warmly espoused by lord shaftesbury, took practical shape soon after the queen's accession, in schools in westminster, at old pye street, and at field lane. the first industrial feeding-school was opened at aberdeen in ; and it proved so successful that the idea was taken up throughout scotland. before long manchester and other english towns followed the example set by the granite city. excellent as were many of the schools established by private benevolence, they all laboured under two very formidable disadvantages:--they could not compel unwilling parents to send their children to be reformed, or to contribute anything towards their maintenance, and they could not legally detain their pupils any longer than they cared to stay. the first public institution for the detention of juvenile criminals was opened at parkhurst in . though called a reformatory, it was in effect a gaol, and hardly differed at all from other prisons except with regard to the age of its inmates. the exertions of lord shaftesbury and of mr adderley (lord norton) who strove to convince the nation of the fatal consequences of its apathy, were soon to be rewarded. a select committee of the house of lords which sat in , was followed by the juvenile offenders act of the same year; in and following years conferences, largely attended by people interested in the reformatory question, were held at birmingham, with the object of discovering some better method of dealing with youthful criminals than that in vogue, and the whole subject was investigated at some length by parliamentary committees appointed in and . the result of these deliberations took shape in the latter year when the "reformatory school act"[ ] was passed, giving magistrates the option of committing offenders under sixteen years of age to reformatories, for a term not exceeding five years, in lieu of sentencing them to imprisonment, penal servitude, or transportation. the expense of the new reformatories was met, partly by treasury contributions, partly by grants from the local authorities, and partly by compulsory subscriptions of not more than five shillings a week exacted from the parents or guardians of the offending children. the act of was amended and improved by subsequent acts passed in and , but these early enactments[ ] were open to the objection that they only applied to juveniles who had already been convicted of a serious offence, and left untouched a large class of children which, for one cause or another, always stands on the brink of criminality;--for no juvenile was eligible for admission into a reformatory unless he had previously been committed to prison for fourteen days. this omission was repaired by the "certified industrial school act" passed in ,[ ] and amended in ,[ ] which provided that certain young persons, who had not been in gaol, might be sent to industrial schools under a magistrate's warrant, to be detained therein until they should attain the age of sixteen. the class of children to whom this act applied were described as follows:--"any child apparently under the age of fourteen years, found begging or receiving alms ... any child ... found wandering, and not having any home or settled place of abode, or any visible means of subsistence ... or being an orphan, or whose only surviving parent is in prison ... or who frequents the company of reputed thieves ... or whose mother has twice been convicted of crime ... or whose parents represent that they are unable to control him, ... or any child apparently under the age of twelve years who, having committed an offence punishable by imprisonment or some less punishment, ought nevertheless, in the opinion of the justices, regard being had to his age, and to the circumstances of the case, to be sent to an industrial school, &c." in only twenty-nine children were sent to reformatories. since that date, the numbers so committed gradually increased until , in which year the maximum ( ) was reached. the decrease which has recently taken place may be chiefly attributed to the fact that magistrates now generally prefer the industrial to the reformatory school whenever possible, a method of dealing with youthful offenders the wisdom of which has been vindicated by an accompanying diminution in the tale of juvenile crime. the essential differences between reformatories and industrial schools are, that no stigma attaches to any boy on account of his having been educated at the latter, and that whilst the discipline enforced at the former institutions is sufficiently severe for them to be considered as places of punishment, industrial schools are intended only to take the place of that parental control and training which the child cannot obtain at home. the principle of giving another chance to unfortunates who are rather sinned against than sinning lies at the root of the industrial school movement; and there is no development of preventive police more in sympathy with the wisdom of the age than this. in recent years the same principle has, with excellent effect, been extended to embrace adult as well as juvenile offenders. the summary jurisdiction act of [ ] (_i.e._ so much of it as permits the infliction of a fine instead of imprisonment) and the probation of first offenders act of ,[ ] are both, it may be noted, conceived in the same wise and merciful spirit. the latter measure especially, which was introduced by sir howard vincent, has been instrumental in reclaiming to an honest life hundreds of prisoners "guilty of a first offence not the product of a criminal mind."[ ] the latest home office returns go to prove that, in the large majority of instances in which this humane policy has been applied, confidence has not been misplaced; for of the whole number of first offenders conditionally released upon recognizances,[ ] to come up for judgment when called upon, only about ten per cent. have shown themselves unworthy of the leniency extended to them by relapsing into crime. the tendency of recent penal legislation has been to discriminate as closely as possible between the casual and the habitual offender, reducing to the lowest limit, consistent with safety, the penalties exacted against the former, whilst placing every legitimate obstruction in the path of the latter, by making his punishments cumulative as long as he continues to offend, and by maintaining a vigilant supervision over his conduct whilst he is at large. this is one of the most important duties that modern police have to perform, and it is one which demands great tact combined with persistence from individual peace officers, as well as complete co-operation between all the allied police organizations throughout the country. under the parochial system both these necessary qualifications were conspicuously absent, and if transportation had suddenly come to an end before the police reforms described in previous chapters had been taken in hand, the unchecked excesses of habitual criminals might have endangered the very foundations of english society. it will be remembered that when the ticket-of-leave system was first introduced, considerable alarm was occasioned on account of the increase of crime; which, not altogether without reason, was generally attributed to the license-holders, who, unreformed by penal discipline, and consequently unfitted for unqualified liberty, were suddenly released in large numbers, without any adequate precautions being taken to control them. we have seen how the reorganization of the entire prison system gradually eliminated the causes which tended to make the ex-prisoner even more dangerous to society on the day of his discharge than he had been before conviction, and we have seen how by the introduction of an improved plan of giving marks for industry (which, however, were subject to forfeiture for ill-conduct), only those convicts were released before the expiration of their full sentence who had earned partial remission by virtue of consistent good behaviour. we now come to a consideration of the measures subsequently adopted for the proper supervision of these ticket-of-leave men. the conditions endorsed on every license have already been given, but as the police were expressly ordered to take no notice of liberated convicts, unless they were actually engaged in criminal pursuits, but little practical value attached to the wording of the ticket. in some important changes were introduced by the th section of the penal servitude act of that year, which requires that:-- i.--the holder shall preserve his license, and produce it when called upon to do so by a magistrate or police officer. ii.--he shall abstain from any violation of the law. iii.--he shall not habitually associate with notoriously bad characters, such as reputed thieves and prostitutes. iv.--he shall not lead an idle and dissolute life, nor be without visible means of obtaining an honest livelihood.[ ] the penalties for the non-observance of these requirements were as follows--(_a_) any ticket-of-leave man, convicted of an indictable offence, _ipso-facto_ forfeited his license, and this in addition to any punishment to which he might be sentenced upon indictment; (_b_) any ticket-of-leave man proved to have transgressed the conditions of his license by an act not of itself punishable either upon indictment or upon summary conviction, nevertheless rendered himself liable to be summarily punished by imprisonment not exceeding three months. in the "prevention of crimes act,"[ ] amending "the habitual criminals act" of , extended the principle of keeping notoriously bad characters under observation, by enacting that persons twice convicted of certain crimes may be subjected to police supervision for not more than seven years after the expiration of the sentence imposed, provided that a previous conviction for an offence in the same category is proved at the time of the second conviction. such persons are commonly called 'supervisees,' and they come under the same conditions as license-holders. these conditions have since been modified by acts of parliament passed in and , and they may now be summarized as follows. both ticket-of-leave men and supervisees are required to report themselves within forty-eight hours after their arrival in any police district to the chief-officer of police in that district, to report themselves once a month afterwards,[ ] and to notify any change of address to the same authority; they are also expected to satisfy the police that they are earning their living by honest means. a constable is justified in arresting without warrant any license-holder or supervisee whom he reasonably suspects of having committed an offence, or of having failed to comply with the above-mentioned conditions; and if it be found, after investigation by a competent magistrate, that such an offence has been committed or default made, the license-holder thereupon becomes liable to the forfeiture of his license, and the supervisee to imprisonment with or without hard labour for a period not exceeding one year, unless he can prove to the satisfaction of the proper authority "that being on a journey he tarried no longer ... than was reasonably necessary, or that he did his best to act in conformity with the law."[ ] in order that police supervision may be safe and effectual, it is of course necessary that the identification of habitual criminals should be certain and the registration of convicts complete. the present system would have been fraught with the gravest dangers to public liberty had it been attempted at the time when there was no possibility of any more reliable record than that founded upon the memories of policemen and prison-warders; but since the introduction of photography, and especially since the recent adoption of the system of anthropometry which is associated with the names of m. alphonse bertillon and mr francis galton, the chance of any miscarriage of justice, due to mistakes in identification, has been reduced to a minimum. photography was first adapted to police purposes in , when the governor of bristol gaol began to make daguerreotype pictures of the prisoners who passed through his hands; and gradually what was at first but the experimental hobby of an amateur developed into the officially recognised system. the "prevention of crimes" act ( ) had directed that registers of all persons convicted of crime in england should be kept at scotland yard, but it was soon found by experience that a less voluminous record would be of greater practical value. accordingly it was decided in that, in future, the registers (the compilation of which was at this time transferred from scotland yard to the home office) should contain only the descriptions of habitual criminals, officially so called. in a new department was opened at the head-quarters of the metropolitan police, called the convict supervision office, which was largely occupied with the classification of offenders by means of books containing the photographs of habituals. these albums, together with a register of distinctive marks, including a record of tattooed symbols and initials so universal amongst criminals, formed a regular rogues' gallery, and were instrumental in proving the identity of many inveterate delinquents who might otherwise have improperly participated in the leniency intended only for first offenders. some of the more energetic police forces in the provinces, also, prepared local registers; and something like a general scheme for tracing the antecedents of criminals was evolved by means of circular "route forms" (as descriptions of offenders whose identity was uncertain were technically called) which were forwarded in rotation from one police district to another, wherever the required information was likely to be forthcoming. the results obtained, however, hardly justified the expenditure of time and energy incurred in the process; accordingly in a parliamentary committee was appointed "to enquire into the best means available for identifying habitual criminals," and it was on the recommendation of this expert committee that the perfect anthropometric system of identification now employed was based. very briefly stated, the system is as follows. all persons convicted of crime against whom a previous criminal conviction has been proved, or who are subject to police supervision, are carefully measured before they are liberated, and the results tabulated on what are called card-registers. the parts of the body selected for measurement are those which in an adult are the least liable to alteration; the length and breadth of the head, and the length of the foot, for instance, being reliable indicia by means of which thousands of individuals may readily be classified. whilst m. bertillon's system of anthropometry is especially well adapted for purposes of classification, mr galton's finger-print method is preferable for purposes of identification. the minute lines which may be noticed on the skin covering the under side of the top joint of the human finger or thumb invariably display a well defined series of curved ridges, which, though never quite alike in different subjects, always approximate to one of four types, that is to say, they assume the form of an arch, a whorl, a right loop, or a left loop. the sum of the combinations which can be formed of these types and their modifications on the ten digits being a practically inexhaustible quantity, every human being carries on his finger-tips an infallible record of his personal identity. accordingly the criminal is required to make signature by pressing with his thumb, fore, and middle fingers of both hands (previously smeared with printer's ink) on the reverse side of the card-register; whilst to make assurance trebly sure, the exact location and measurement of any distinctive marks that may be found are noted, and his photograph, both full-face and in profile, is added. when completed, the card-registers are filed in cabinets on an ingenious plan which enables the searcher to lay his hand on any particular "dossier" in the space of a very few minutes.[ ] the immense importance of having a comprehensive and accessible record of this nature can hardly be over-rated, for without its help it would be impossible to combat (with any chance of success) what is unquestionably the most dangerous development of contemporary criminality. it has recently been pointed out by dr anderson, of the criminal investigation department, that despite the marked decrease of crime which we congratulate ourselves has been one of the most noteworthy features of the victorian era, "the professional criminal is developing and becoming a serious public danger."[ ] since the abolition of transportation the company of criminals who are criminal by deliberate choice has been steadily increasing, and every mitigation of the penal code, every alleviation of prison existence, has helped to bring recruits to the profession. frequent sentences of imprisonment will never deter the delinquent who is well acquainted with the inside of a gaol, as long as he can count on brief spells of exciting and luxurious liberty between whiles; moreover the tax on the police is excessive, for the habitual criminal may be trapped again and again, only to be released time after time to devise new and more elaborate attacks on a long-suffering society.[ ] a way will have to be discovered to eliminate this unexpected product of our penal system, and to this end various suggestions have been made. some advocate life sentences for persistent offenders; others would make the restitution of the plunder, or at any rate a confession implicating the receiver of the stolen property, the only condition of release in cases of theft; but although authorities differ as to the exact course which ought to be pursued, all agree that the character of the criminal rather than the enormity of his offence should chiefly determine the question of the punishment administered. whatever may be the nature of the plan of campaign eventually decided upon for the suppression of professional delinquency, the preliminary stage of the operations is necessarily the same, and consists in the preparation of a record containing an accurate and concise account of the antecedents and previous convictions of all habitual criminals. there was a time when "abjuration of the realm" was considered a complete expiation for crime however heinous; but as the outer world became more civilised, and foreign parts more accessible, voluntary expatriation ceased to be the recognised alternative to punishment. the first result of the introduction of railways in this country (as far as the relation of crime to police is concerned) was to benefit the fraternity of thieves whose trade is essentially one that thrives best under nomadic conditions; subsequently, with the development of modern conveniences for travel, the police were again placed at a disadvantage, this time by the facility with which criminals, who are generally able to obtain at least a few hours' start, could find a safe refuge from their pursuers in some haven oversea--the modern equivalent for the mediæval sanctuary. there has ever been, and always will be, a ding-dong contest between the lawbreaker and the policeman, wherein the fortunes of the day favour first one side and then the other; for if the advantage that attaches to the opening gambit belongs to the criminal, his adversary is soon ready with an answer. the telegraph[ ] beats the steamship, and the international system of police which now mutually provides for the surrender of fugitive offenders has restored the balance. the first extradition treaty in which great britain was interested was concluded with the united states of america in , and the extradition acts of and now regulate the conduct of the english government in its dealings with foreign powers in all that concerns this important department of police.[ ] in , a reform long agitated for was inaugurated by the tardy appointment of a public prosecutor, who became responsible that the cause of justice is not injured through the non-prosecution of persons guilty of serious offences. the intervention of the director of public prosecutions is seldom deemed necessary, but circumstances occasionally arise in which lack of funds, local sympathy with the criminal, or an attempt to compound a felony, may demand his active interference.[ ] the "prosecution of offences act"[ ] directs that chief officers of police shall notify to the director, that is to say to the solicitor for the treasury, such particulars of certain specified crimes committed within their districts as are described in the regulations[ ] issued for the guidance of all concerned. chapter xviii detective police and the right of public meeting it is popularly believed that the least efficient department of english police is that which is concerned with the detection of crime, and our detective service is often compared with corresponding agencies abroad in order to point the moral that we should do well to imitate the methods of our neighbours. it is certainly true that our detectives are proportionally less numerous than their continental confrères, true also, that extraordinary facilities for successful police action such as are granted in foreign countries are here denied; but the familiar accusation that we maintain a clumsy gang of amateurs who are deficient in the finesse necessary to cope with the skilful forger or the accomplished cracksman, is either spitefully or ignorantly advanced. the self-constituted censors who are so ready to lament the alleged incompetence of our detectives would be the foremost to complain should a measure of state protection, equal to that enjoyed by foreign police functionaries, be conferred on any such agent at home. the traditional love of liberty which, in this country, has always opposed espionage with so much resolution, is altogether admirable; but like everything else that is precious, it has to be purchased at a price, and in this case the price is the dangerous latitude conceded to "the powers that prey." before attempting to estimate the efficiency of the detective service, two considerations in particular ought to be weighed. one is that any institution which perforce must shun recognition and advertisement is little likely to be appraised at its true worth by the public. the other is that whilst the wealth of london attracts the best criminal talent of both hemispheres, its expanse renders the detection and pursuit of crime more than ordinarily difficult. in spite of this, and in spite also of the limitations imposed by national sentiment, the success achieved by the sleuth-hounds of the english police need not fear comparison, if fairly made, with that attained by any who are engaged in the same work elsewhere: it may be that tenacity of purpose and honesty of motive go a long way to compensate for any genius for artifice or power of disguise that the english detective lacks. it must be confessed, however, that honesty has not invariably distinguished our thief-takers. the bow street runners were often arrant humbugs besides being self-seeking knaves, nor were their successors always free from reproach. the small detective force established in was at first exclusively recruited from the uniform branch of the police, and generally speaking the custom then introduced has since been adhered to; for although theoretically any suitable person is eligible for employment as a detective, the few outsiders who have been given a trial have almost without exception proved failures. it cannot be held that the ordinary point and beat duty is the best possible training for a career which demands an exceptional astuteness of intellect, nor that the routine discipline of a constabulary force is calculated to develop the reasoning faculties to any great extent. but although the system which finds favour to-day is in all probability far from being the best that could be devised, it has nevertheless much to commend it; the responsibilities that belong to the detective, and the temptations which surround him, are so exceptional that it would be extremely dangerous to entrust an unknown man with the former or to expose an untried man to the latter. a second reason why the existing method of selection is desirable is because anything that tends to promote a good understanding and complete co-operation between the uniform and the plain-clothes branches of the police makes for efficiency. the perils to which society is exposed when clever criminals and dishonest police officers conspire together had been forcibly exemplified when the celebrated bank-frauds came to light early in the nineteenth century. but the point of elaboration to which so obvious a criminal manoeuvre could be carried was not fully realised until , when the details of what is commonly called the de goncourt case were published to the world. harry benson and his confederate kurr were a brace of criminals with a real genius for high-class swindling, such as, fortunately for gullible human nature, is rarely met with. after netting immense sums of money by means of bogus betting agencies and other nefarious schemes, benson conceived the idea of insuring his ill-gotten gains by approaching the very police-officers (meiklejohn and druscovitch) who were charged with the duty of tracking him down, and of corrupting them with subsidies until they became his creatures and confederates. once the proffered premium had been accepted, there was no limit to the audacity of the subsequent proceedings. telegrams from paris addressed to scotland yard were intercepted and handed to benson, who was forewarned by his pursuers of every move intended against him. when the partners were eventually arrested in holland, a forged telegram, purporting to come from the english headquarters of police, was addressed to the dutch authorities ordering the release of the prisoners; but the artifice failed and the culprits were escorted home, in the custody, strangely enough, of druscovitch, whose dishonesty was still unsuspected. convicted and committed to millbank, benson at once proceeded to "give away" the policemen he had suborned, with the result that four inspectors were arraigned on charges of conspiring to defeat the ends of justice, and of complicity with the frauds of their late employer: three out of the four were found guilty and sentenced to various terms of imprisonment, but the matter was not allowed to end there. in order to guard against any recurrence of such a scandalous breach of trust, the organization of the whole detective department was overhauled, and its administration placed in other hands. the task of reorganization was entrusted to mr howard vincent,[ ] who devoted his energies towards raising the tone of the then discredited detective service. in what was practically a new department was formed at scotland yard under the title of "the criminal investigation department," consisting of a chief superintendent and about thirty superior officers at headquarters, besides a local inspector assisted by from six to fifteen detectives in each of the town divisions--the whole under the control of the director of criminal investigations,[ ] who takes charge of all the criminal business of the metropolis, and whose assistance, sometimes indispensable, is often solicited by the chiefs of rural and urban constabularies throughout the country. the numerical strength of the detective force has been considerably augmented since its reorganization in (in it consisted of officers), and its rôle increasingly tends to grow in importance. in the newly established convict supervision office was brought into close association with the criminal investigation department, and the constant vigilance that has to be maintained over foreign anarchists domiciled in england, as well as the necessity for frequent correspondence with the american and continental police, preliminary to the extraditing of fugitive offenders, causes the department to wear the aspect of an international bureau for the unravelment of crime. the detective branch of the city of london police, on the other hand, makes a speciality of the investigation of commercial frauds, a vast field of possible enterprise, not the less extensive for the fact that the area policed by the city force is but a single square mile. it would have been worse than useless to have increased the detective staff unless at the same time care had been taken to safeguard the public from the risk of a repetition of abuses similar to those revealed in the course of the de goncourt case, and this made the problem of reform a difficult one. it is impossible to devise a method of selection by means of which every black sheep who may seek admission is infallibly recognised and excluded, nor is it easy adequately to supervise confidential agents without interfering with their work; but it may safely be said that since the reorganization of the department, a high standard of honesty has been found to be not incompatible with professional zeal and proficiency. no policeman who is thorough in his work can please all parties, and some thirteen or fourteen years ago a series of ill-natured attacks were directed against both branches of the metropolitan police. constables and detectives were accused of exceeding their authority and of levying black-mail, but the allegations, which were somewhat recklessly supported by prominent illwishers and busybodies, could not be substantiated when the charges came to be investigated by the proper authority.[ ] the intense hostility with which peel's reforms were at first greeted, besides being the cause of much inconvenience at the time, was also the parent of many posthumous difficulties, that continued to embarrass the police authorities long after the original quarrel was dead and buried. it will be remembered that the two main contentions, often repeated by the hostile party in and after, were to the effect that the liberty of the subject was in grave danger at the hands of an unconstitutional "gendarmerie," armed with mysterious powers of domiciliary espionage, and that the expense to the ratepayers of maintaining these tyrants would be ruinous. rather than give a handle to his adversaries, who were sure to acclaim every plain-clothes policeman as a government spy intriguing against innocent citizens, the author of modern police was forced to dispense with the invaluable assistance of a detective staff; and in order to disprove the forecasts of opponents who prophesied financial disaster, he was compelled to fix the constable's wage at a very low figure. enough has been said as to the manner in which the original lack of a detective department has gradually been remedied, and although space does not admit of anything like a full account being given of the various phases through which the financial problem has passed, a subject so vital to the well-being of police cannot be altogether ignored. police expenditure is of two kinds: there is the weekly wage-bill, and there are the working (including administrative) expenses. under the old system, although little was spent in actual pay, large sums were scandalously muddled away in rewards, fees and allowances; when the new constabularies superseded the old parochial bodies, much public money had to be sunk in the acquisition of sites, and in the erection of suitable station-houses, cells and offices; and the upkeep of these establishments, as well as the incidental working expenses connected with them, were on a generous scale. as, therefore, only a very limited income was available for the whole service, and as interest had to be paid on the original outlay, the balance that remained was only sufficient to permit of a low rate of remuneration for the rank and file. watchmen had been so miserably underpaid in the past that the increased wage offered to the first policemen appeared, when compared with the old tariff, to be considerable, if hardly dazzling. as a matter of fact, regard being had to the type of man required and to the responsibilities thrust upon him, the salary was far too small, and furthermore there was so little margin in hand after distribution that it was financially impossible to set aside any portion of the general income to form a pension fund for long and meritorious service. all available cash had to be devoted to the provision of a weekly wage to attract a sufficiency of recruits. the risks that a constable has to face, the long night work and the constant exposure to all weathers that are his lot, and which eventually impair even the strongest constitutions, make it especially incumbent on his employers to provide adequately for him when he is worn out. quite apart, however, from this moral obligation (which cannot honourably be evaded) the existence of a well-conceived and well-administered superannuation scheme has a most important bearing on the stability of any police force--deferred salary contingently due to his employées being a most valuable hostage, for the satisfactory completion of the contract undertaken by them, in the hands of the paymaster. moreover if a man has in prospect a respectable pension on retirement, he is not tempted improperly to devote himself to the acquisition of a sum of money for his future maintenance, nor, of course, has he any inducement to stay on in the service, blocking the promotion of those below him, after he is past his work. at first the percentage of resignations amongst young constables was extremely high: men of some few years' service, wearying of a life of discipline, or finding the duties they had to perform more irksome than they had anticipated, resigned without hesitation a position which they had no particular inducement to retain. this constant leakage was considerably reduced by the creation of a superannuation fund by act of parliament[ ] in , and since that year, policemen, whatever their grade, have contributed some two and a half per cent. of their salaries[ ] towards their retiring pensions. the money raised for this purpose was so lavishly spent that by the fund was insolvent, and seven years later it was bankrupt. this necessitated further legislation, and by a statute passed in [ ] authority was obtained to make good the deficiency out of the rates. thenceforward the administration of the fund was the reverse of generous; and in it was promulgated that pensions on the higher scale, for service of more than fifteen and less than twenty years, were not to be granted under any circumstances whatever, and that in order to qualify for the maximum pension policemen had to serve a full term of twenty-eight years, notwithstanding the fact that expert opinion had unanimously declared that twenty-five years spent in outdoor police work incapacitates the ordinary man. irritation at the financial legerdemain which obscured the true position of the superannuation fund, and dissatisfaction with the current rates of pay, caused widespread discontent that culminated in in an outbreak of insubordination amongst the metropolitan police, many of whom refused to go on duty until their grievances were redressed. the ringleaders of what was very nearly a mutiny were prosecuted, and others less guilty were dismissed the force; but investigation shewed that the hardships complained of were none the less real because certain ill-advised malcontents had adopted a suicidal policy in order to gain an immediate hearing. after the excitement caused by this unfortunate occurrence had subsided, a compromise was arrived at, removing some of the more pressing grievances; but it was only a compromise, and beneath the surface an undercurrent of justifiable discontent still remained. in the home secretary (sir w. harcourt), addressing a representative gathering of the metropolitan police, said he hoped that at an early period it would be his grateful office to add to their comfort and content "by supplying a defect which has long been felt, in placing on a fixed and satisfactory footing, not only in london, but throughout the country, the superannuation and pension of those who have spent the best days of their lives in the service of their countrymen."[ ] the hopes of the home secretary, like those of the constabulary, were however not yet to be realised; and it was not until that anything like a satisfactory solution of the vexed question of police superannuation was arrived at. by the "police act,"[ ] passed on the th of august of that year, policemen who have completed twenty-five years approved (_i.e._ diligent and faithful) service become entitled, without a medical certificate, to retire and receive a pension for life, whilst fair provision is made for those who at any time are certified as incapacitated for further service. the act also defines the conditions under which pensions or gratuities may be granted to the widows and children of deceased officers, deals with the forfeiture and suspension of pensions, directs how the fund is to be invested, and, in short, fully propounds the law which governs the whole field of police superannuation. although the police forces of england are now in possession of a charter which has enormously improved their prospects, and in spite of the further concessions recently granted, it cannot yet be said that they are well-content with their financial position; nor is their point of view unreasonable. they only ask that their work should be estimated on a present-day valuation, and paid for accordingly; they naturally object to be underpaid because their predecessors were half-starved. moreover, enforced residence in respectable quarters in some particular locality where rents may be high, regulations which debar policemen from earning extra money in their spare time, and other conditions peculiar to their calling, unite to form a strong case in favour of a more generous scale of remuneration being granted in the future than that considered necessary in the past. this is not the place to discuss the precise rate of wages that a constable should receive, nor to suggest any scheme by which funds might be raised to meet increased expenditure under this heading. but it may be remarked without impropriety, that the more the public take their share of the police duties which as good citizens they ought not to shirk, and the stronger the support, be it moral or physical, that they extend to their deputies, the less need will there be for the maintenance of an ever increasing army of constables, until the time arrives when, with a falling police rate, it becomes possible to forget precedent, and to remunerate our peace officers in accordance with their deserts. in one thousand men were added to the metropolitan force. there is little doubt that the expense entailed by this increase might have been saved if, after the west-end riots, the public had been politic enough to back its own side instead of playing into the hands of its enemies by adding to the difficulties that the police had to contend with already. the difficulties referred to arose out of the following circumstances. early in london was the scene of a sudden riotous outbreak as serious as it was unexpected. remarkable from many points of view, it is especially to be remembered on account of the utter failure of the police authorities to cope with it, and especially to be regretted because it was the first of a series of incidents which for many months disturbed the cordial good-will and co-operation between police and public that had been so carefully built up and encouraged through many a year. a meeting having been advertised to take place in trafalgar square on the th of february under the auspices of the london united workmen's committee, the organizers (who were a respectable body of men desirous only of ventilating their grievances in a legitimate and orderly manner), having reason to fear that certain of the social democrats were bent on creating a disturbance, approached the chief commissioner with a request that the police might assist them in their efforts to prevent a breach of the peace. under these circumstances sir edmund henderson decided to have a much larger force in reserve than was usual, and gave orders that whilst only sixty-six constables were to be detailed for duty in trafalgar square itself, a force of five hundred and sixty-three police of all ranks was to be held in reserve in the immediate neighbourhood. as soon as the crowd began to assemble it was remarked by some of the most experienced police officers present that a rougher element than usual predominated, but, on the whole, the proceedings in the square were not of an alarming character, and nothing worse than inflammatory speeches, accompanied by the usual horse-play, took place. shortly before four o'clock the meeting began to break up, and on this occasion, contrary to all police experience, which was to the effect that crowds invariably return by the same routes that they come by, a compact body some three thousand strong poured out of the square, and started off in a westerly direction. rapidly traversing pall mall, where several windows were broken, the mob proceeded up st james' street and down piccadilly, doing considerable damage by the way. on arriving at hyde park, the bulk of the crowd called a halt and speeches were made, but the smaller and more lawless section, finding that no police force offered any resistance to their disorderly career, continued along s. audley street into oxford street, smashing windows, looting shops, and insulting all whom they met. eventually, at about five o'clock, a small body of police (only sixteen in number) confronted the mob at the end of marlborough lane, and after several vigorous charges, succeeded in dispersing the rioters. it may well be asked how it came about that for the space of an hour a gang of roughs, which in the end was so easily disposed of, was permitted to riot with impunity through some of the richest thoroughfares of london, in defiance of the considerable force of constables on duty, and in spite of the fact that two regiments of cavalry were within ten minutes ride of the scene. the only possible explanation is to be found in the lamentable want of foresight exhibited on this occasion by the authorities responsible for the police arrangements, combined with the singular lack of initiative and resource shewn by the subordinate officers throughout the day. a cursory glance at the conditions prevailing in trafalgar square reveals in a moment the reasons for the defeat of the police; it is at once apparent that their failure must not be attributed to any physical cause whatever. the police force on duty was quite large enough, and the units of which it was composed were sufficiently well endowed with muscle, nerve and morale, to have kept in order a crowd twice as violent and many times more numerous than the one actually opposed to it; the collapse of authority was due to defects of organization, to bad strategy, and to tactical blundering. if a small body of mounted police had been present--if scouts had been instructed to watch the outskirts of the crowd to ascertain and report upon the routes of dispersal--if the officer in command had taken up a prominent position known beforehand to his subordinates--if a system of circulating information rapidly and with accuracy had been adopted--if a single one of these obvious precautions had been taken, the west end riots would not have occurred, and the crop of difficulties which blocked the path of the metropolitan police during the next two years would have been avoided. on the th february another assemblage of roughs took place in trafalgar square, and fears that further riots would ensue took possession of the west end; but the police were equal to the emergency, and the meeting was dispersed without difficulty. wednesday the th, however, was a day of serious apprehension; london was wrapped in a dense black fog, and the rumour gained credence that , desperate men from the riverside suburbs were concentrating prior to an organized attempt to loot the capital. the bank of england retained its military guard; the bond street jewellers and other shopkeepers suspended business and barricaded their windows. half london waited in hourly expectancy of hearing the shouts of the attacking columns through the fog. it was clearly the business of the police authorities to satisfy themselves as to the truth or falsity of these rumours, and in the latter case to do all in their power to restore confidence. the course they actually pursued was to send out notices broadcast advising householders to take all precautions necessary for their own safety. this action of the authorities only served to heighten the general alarm, people naturally assuming that it amounted to an official confirmation of the sensational stories that were everywhere current. the state of uncertainty and alarm continued through the night, but when, on the following morning, it became known that the whole story had had no foundation in fact, all the various emotions of the past three days gave place to a unanimous feeling of indignation against the police. the value of the property destroyed and stolen by the mob, whilst the machinery for keeping the peace was thus temporarily out of gear, was comparatively trivial, and probably fell short of the £ paid as compensation; a far more serious factor was the loss of prestige that befell the police. the importance of the trafalgar square riots of ' depends, not so much upon the damage done to club-house windows and tradesmen's shop-fronts, as upon the fact that this was the first occasion since the institution of the modern police that the mob had succeeded in getting the upper hand of any considerable body of constables. regrettable incidents had occurred in many of the tussles that had taken place since the first conflict at coldbath fields in ' ; but on every occasion victory had in the end decisively rested with the peace officers, so that it came to be generally believed that it was useless to resist them. this was the very lesson that the chiefs of the police had been at such pains to impress upon the disorderly section of the public ever since the commencement of the new establishment; and the success they had achieved in this direction had proved greatly to the advantage of the rate-payers, who had to support, in consequence, a much smaller force than would otherwise have been necessary. the policeman managing a hostile crowd, or keeping order in a slum peopled by thieves, is in much the same position as a solitary european holding his own amongst a swarm of asiatics. take away his prestige, and that same moment he ceases to be an object of respect, and becomes an object of contempt. the rough and the criminal do not fear the prowess of the individual policeman, they fear the organization behind him--take that away, and the constable becomes merely a big man armed with nothing more formidable than a wooden truncheon. the result of this temporary and partial breakdown of the organization was that the whole force suffered a double loss; the general public, no longer feeling the old confidence in the power of the police to protect them, withheld to some extent their moral support; whilst the criminal public, assuring themselves that their old belief in the invincibility of the police was groundless, began to threaten where they used to cringe. it was providential that the enemies of order and good government failed to take full advantage of a moment so auspicious for their designs. the weak places of the defence were exposed for an instant, but the breaches were rapidly repaired and strengthened: in allowing this opportunity to pass, the anarchists and revolutionists, who as a rule are not slow to advertise their existence, missed a chance that is not likely to be offered a second time. a good deal of inflammatory language was indulged in, but the attacks were ill-timed and unimportant. a large meeting of socialists, followed by riotous proceedings, took place at birmingham; but any serious consequences that might have resulted, were averted by a timely display of strength. london was allowed time to recover itself, and it was not until the st of february that a mass meeting held in hyde park, and attended by some , people, gave cause for alarm. fortunately the dangerous classes were not conspicuously represented, and the violently disposed minority was effectually controlled by the police, who, smarting perhaps, under their recent reverse, handled the crowd with some roughness. a week later, rioting of a more serious character broke out in manchester, to be repeated on a larger scale on march th; the local police, however, supported by soldiers, were successful in their efforts to restore order on both occasions. at the time of the west end riots parliament was not sitting, and the public indignation found expression in the columns of the newspapers, where a vigorous campaign was commenced, directed partly against the home office, and partly against the police authorities. this chorus of irresponsible criticism was to some extent silenced by the prompt action of the home secretary (mr childers), who immediately appointed a committee, on which he himself sat as chairman, to investigate the conduct of the police. the report, which was issued on the nd of feb. ' , impartially reviewed all the circumstances of the case, and pointed out the mistakes that had been made in the police arrangements. the committee found, amongst other defects, that the chain of responsibility in the force was very imperfect, and called attention to the remarkable fact that, although standing police orders to regulate the conduct of constables at peaceable public meetings had long been issued, no regulations for the management of unruly mobs had ever been published. the report, (upon the authority of which the foregoing remarks on the trafalgar square arrangements are based) concluded with a strong expression of opinion as to the desirability of investigating without delay the administration and organization of the metropolitan police force, and the home secretary promised to give immediate effect to the recommendations of the committee by instituting an exhaustive inquiry into the question, with a view to making the necessary changes. the resignation of sir edmund henderson, which took place on the th of february, was perhaps inevitable under the circumstances; but much regret was felt and expressed throughout the force when it became known that the chief, who for seventeen years had watched over the security of london, and under whose rule the police had earned a high reputation for efficiency, was about to leave scotland yard. during his tenure of office the peace had been so well maintained, and the police mechanism had worked so smoothly, that his experience had taught him to under-estimate the dangers that lurk below the surface in all large crowds, and to over-estimate the preparedness of the men under his command to deal with any possible outbreak. as he knew them, london crowds were well behaved, and london police were equal to any emergency. the place vacated by the resignation of sir edmund henderson was offered to sir charles warren, a well-known officer of engineers, whose talent for administration had been proved in bechuanaland and elsewhere, and who now relinquished the governorship of the red sea littoral to take up the chief commissionership of the metropolitan police. the task entrusted to the new chief was definite if not easy. before all things he had to restore the prestige which had suffered so severely on the day when the mob gained the upper hand, and he had to demonstrate, cost what it might, that the police could not again be defied with impunity. after the occurrences of february , there was a truce lasting some eighteen months during which the peace was successfully maintained in spite of the persistent hostility evinced by a large section of the public. but in the autumn of , disorderly assemblages of the unemployed, led by demagogues, encouraged by foolish agitators, and reinforced with the scum of london, became so frequent and intolerable,[ ] that sir charles warren had to make a bold move in the interests of order, by altogether forbidding the use of trafalgar square as a place of public meeting. his action was endorsed by the secretary of state, but only in such a half-hearted fashion that the forces of disorder, confident that they were the masters of the situation, determined to fight it out. accordingly both parties prepared for battle. on the one side some six or seven thousand special constables were sworn in, and a large military force was held in reserve; on the other, defiance was openly preached, and adherents were canvassed. when on sunday the th of november the mob began to assemble, they found that the square and its approaches were already held; but, undeterred by the force opposed to them, and in no mood to return quietly to their homes, the ring-leaders, after a short parley, tried to break through the police cordon. in the course of the protracted struggle which ensued, several minor casualties occurred on either side, and although the crowd resolutely returned to the attack time after time, in the end the police were successful all along the line; the square was cleared without loss of life or injury to property, and the ability of the police to carry out the orders of the government was satisfactorily demonstrated. subsequently other attempts were made to reopen the question; but the result was the same. the next phase was the repetition of the familiar and easily disproved charges as to the alleged violence of the constables, many persons, who had attacked the police for their failure in , now joining in the chorus anathematising their successes of the following year. the entire responsibility for the instructions upon which the police had acted, belonged, of course, to the government; and on the reopening of parliament the focus of the agitation was transferred to westminster, where the whole question as to the legal power of constabulary forces to prevent open-air meetings was debated at some length. in demanding an enquiry into the right of public meeting, sir charles russell insisted that such a right existed by virtue of long-sanctioned custom, and contended that the executive was not justified in vetoing any assembly that was not of itself illegal. the home secretary replied regretting the events of "bloody sunday," which he described as lamentable and distressing, but he denied that any right of public meeting, as such, was recognised by english law, and concluded by saying that "this series of meetings had exhausted the police, terrified the public, and made the veto necessary." sir henry james held that, whilst the purely legal side of the question was comparatively immaterial, the maintenance of the peace and considerations of the public safety were all-important; and urged that it was the duty of government to employ such police measures as might be found necessary to prevent the undoubted liberties of the many from being interfered with by the intolerable whims of the few, even if the latter happened to be legally within their rights.[ ] the common-sense point of view enunciated by sir henry james found general acceptance, both in the house of commons and throughout the country; sir charles russell's motion was rejected, and the public began to rally to the support of the police. chapter xix conclusion from the time when rural constabulary forces were instituted in , until the date of the creation of county councils fifty years later, the police authority throughout rural england had been the county justices of the peace in quarter sessions, to which body alone, in the several counties, was each chief-constable answerable, provided that he conformed to the general regulations laid down by the secretary of state. during this period various changes, in addition to those of a more important nature already mentioned, were brought about, having for their object the better management of the police, or the more convenient administration of justice. in county courts for the hearing of civil suits involving minor issues were established in the different shires; and, by the gradual enlargement of the jurisdiction exercised by these tribunals, the higher courts have, to a corresponding extent, been relieved of much petty business to the advantage of larger interests. in the office of high-constable was formally abolished, any powers that he had anciently exercised having long since dwindled almost to the vanishing point. at first the treasury contribution towards the expenses of the rural police had been strictly limited and quite inadequate in amount; but in the old limitation was suspended, first for one year, then for another, and finally indefinitely, until it became the rule for the public treasury to provide half the cost for pay and clothing of all provincial police forces that, at the end of each year, are returned as efficient by the home office on the recommendation of the government inspector of constabulary. following upon the municipal corporations act of ,[ ] some fifty acts of parliament, relating wholly or in part to municipal government, received the royal assent, and this at the rate of more than one a year; in august the mass of legislative amendments that resulted was consolidated and reduced to one statute.[ ] amongst other police enactments, the formation of a separate constabulary, distinct from the county force, in any borough containing less than twenty thousand inhabitants, was hereby prohibited; but the control of local police forces already established was for the present confirmed to the existing watch committees, whatever might be the population of the borough concerned, and at the same time authority to enforce certain sanitary laws (_e.g._ the public health acts of and ) was conferred on the town councils. six years later more important changes, affecting the police of counties as well as that of boroughs, were introduced by the local government act of ,[ ] which transferred the control of the rural police from the justices of the peace in quarter sessions to an annually appointed committee (called the standing joint committee) composed of a certain number of county councillors, selected by and from the members of the new councils, and of an equal number of justices chosen by quarter sessions. the effect of this statute was not simply to substitute one consultative body for another, for to the standing joint committee was also conveyed all that authority over the county police which had hitherto been enjoyed by justices out of session, the important proviso being added, however, that "nothing in this act shall affect the powers, duties, and liabilities of justices as conservators of the peace, or the obligation of the chief constable or other constables to obey their lawful orders given in that behalf."[ ] although local government in township, hundred and shire is as old as the constitution itself, the birthday of the modern county councils in is from the historian's point of view an event of the first importance, for it deprived the county magistracy of a prerogative which for more than five hundred years had been steadily growing in completeness, by suddenly transferring the destinies of the rural police to a body that owed the half of its authority to the popular vote of the shire. from the standpoint of the practical politician, on the other hand, the change has so far proved but an incident; and, for all the effect it has produced on the actual efficiency and on the daily routine of the police forces concerned, it has passed almost unnoticed. standing joint committees have accepted and carried on the traditions which they inherited; and the administration of the county police remains much the same to-day as it was when the entire control was vested in the county magistrates, who, no longer overweighted by a mass of general--as distinguished from judicial--business, are now free to devote themselves to their proper duties as conservators of the peace. by the first municipal corporations act, any borough so disposed was allowed a separate police force on the understanding that, in the case of towns containing less than five thousand inhabitants, all expense connected with the maintenance of such forces should be borne by the borough availing itself of the privilege. in , this power of choice was restricted, and all boroughs, which at the last census failed to show a population of , , were amalgamated for police purposes with the county to which they belonged; if, however, any borough entitled to have its own police prefers amalgamation, it is permitted to contract with the standing joint committee of the county in which it is situated for the establishment of a consolidated constabulary under the general disposition and government of the chief constable of that county, the powers of the watch committee remaining in abeyance as long as the contract lasts. a larger measure of autonomy was secured by the local government act to certain boroughs, called county-boroughs, being those which were either counties in themselves before the passing of the act, or had an estimated population of at least , on the st of june . as, however, the police of a county-borough is for all practical purposes on the same basis as one maintained by any other town, that controls a separate constabulary, it is unnecessary further to enlarge upon this part of the subject. it is sufficient to state that in one hundred and twenty-four english and welsh boroughs possessed independent police forces, and that out of this number sixty-one were county-boroughs. at the present time there are only two portions of the united kingdom that do not manage their own police. ireland is one and london is the other. ireland is not allowed the privilege for reasons with which we are not here concerned, but which have been succinctly put by a politician who is not ill-disposed towards that country, "if kerry was treated as northumberland," said he, "kerry must control her police, and if kerry controlled her police, there was an end of law and order."[ ] the case of london is altogether different: when the local government act readjusted the command exercised by the various local authorities over their county and borough police forces, the metropolitan area was especially exempted from provisions that applied elsewhere. a county of london, carved out of the counties of middlesex, surrey and kent, was called into being on the st of january , but its area did not coincide with the metropolitan police district, nor was the london county council given any voice in the management of london's constabulary. this anomalous position of the metropolitan police, governed as it is by a chief commissioner appointed by the home office and independent of municipal control, has ever since been a subject for controversy amongst local politicians. members of the progressive party have held that the control of the police ought to be transferred from the government to the london county council; and, in support of the desired change, argue that as the ratepayers find the money they should have a voice in its expenditure; they contend that it is an insult to london that she alone amongst the great towns of england is debarred from the management of her own constabulary. at first sight it would appear reasonable to extend to london the same measure of self-government in police matters that provincial towns enjoy; but the answer of those who are content with the present arrangement is that the metropolitan police is an imperial rather than a local force--provincial towns and districts have only provincial interests to guard, london has responsibilities as wide as the empire; and however public-spirited local authorities may be, the danger will always remain that they may be induced to prefer local to national interests. the houses of parliament, the british museum, public offices and foreign embassies happen to be in london, but they are not local institutions: the head-quarters of the criminal investigation department is no more inseparable from scotland yard than is parliament from westminster: london is the focus of crime and it is convenient that it should also be the head-quarters of the machinery for its prevention, but that is no reason why the principal detective agency of england should be subordinated to spring gardens influences. the inhabitants of canterbury might as well aspire to the control of the national church on the strength of their pride of see, as londoners insist that the metropolis must bear the responsibilities of the national police. it is repeated that the ratepayers of london pay for the metropolitan force; but this is only partly true. it would be more correct to say that they pay half the bill, and, in return, they obtain the protection they pay for, the imperial treasury providing the balance.[ ] it has been suggested that a fair compromise might be found in a division of the responsibility, by giving the london county council control over a moiety of the force for local purposes, and transferring to that body the authority to license hackney-carriages, pedlars and lodging houses together with the management of street traffic, &c., &c., whilst retaining a separate police establishment for imperial purposes; but there is little doubt that such a change would only lead to friction, and might conceivably bring about a recrudescence of that jealousy which was the bane of the old parochial system. the whole question is complicated by the independent position that the city of london has been allowed to retain. from many points of view it would be advantageous to concentrate the entire police of the metropolis under one and the same administration, and to some amalgamation seems desirable for the sake of uniformity, if for no better reason; but regularity in our institutions is not in itself a great end to strive for, and it would be prodigal of labour to tinker with our going concerns merely to eliminate deviations from the normal. against amalgamation much can be urged. the city wishes to retain its ancient privilege of policing itself, and as long as it maintains an efficient force entirely at its own expense, the government is not likely to interfere. the matter is largely one of finance. under the existing arrangements, three-quarters of the total cost of the city police is raised in the city by a local police rate, and the remaining quarter is subscribed by the corporation out of its revenue; if, however, the control was transferred to the chief commissioner of the metropolitan police, the city would only have to pay five-ninths of the total cost instead of the whole amount as at present--or putting it in another light, amalgamation would cost the imperial treasury more than fifty thousand pounds a year, which sum is the price that the city now pays for the privilege of managing its own police. a second objection to amalgamation is that the justice rooms at mansion house and guildhall are presided over by magistrates who are experts in commercial jurisdiction, and consequently the usefulness of these courts would be to some extent impaired if they became ordinary metropolitan police courts. modern police in the city of london dates from , in which year, it will be remembered, the corporation awoke to the necessity of reorganization, and so escaped the consolidating process that had already absorbed all the other independent and semi-independent police establishments within the square miles that surround charing cross. since then the advisability of fusing together the two london police forces has often been debated, and after the death of sir richard mayne in the threatened amalgamation would have become a _fait accompli_ had the government been ready to acquiesce in the suggestion made by the corporation that the city commissioner should be promoted to the command of the proposed combination. in the royal commission on the unification of london reported in favour of bringing the whole of the police of the metropolis under one administration; but its advice has not yet been acted upon, nor is there any immediate prospect of its recommendations being carried into effect. if, however, the city authorities should at any time fail to keep up the high standard of police that they have hitherto maintained they would certainly lose their historic privilege of police independence, and the knowledge of this fact contributes to the undoubted efficiency of the force they control. at the present day both the metropolitan and city forces rightly consider themselves _corps d'elite_, and a proper rivalry exists between them, which is at once creditable in itself and advantageous to the public interest. we have said that the ultimate authority over the city police rests with the corporation. it may however be remarked that the appointment of any person has to be ratified by the crown before he is confirmed in the commissionership, and that practically speaking the powers possessed by the corporation are exercised by proxy. to a police committee consisting of some eighty members selected by the common council is delegated everything that concerns the pay, allowances, and financial business of the force; whilst all questions touching the discipline and disposal of the men under his command are referred to the commissioner, who is thus supreme in his own department. one of the clauses in peel's act had disfranchised the new police by denying to constables the right to vote for the election of a member of parliament for the district comprised in the metropolitan police area: with the growth of other forces this disability was correspondingly extended, and all over the country policemen were debarred from taking their part in parliamentary elections. for the moment the prohibition was in all probability a wise one; elections were then very turbulent affairs, public opinion was already aflame with excitement over the impending parliamentary reforms, and men could only speculate upon the future behaviour of the as-yet-untried constabulary. even if it had been possible to guarantee that the police would maintain a perfectly correct attitude, prudence would still have counselled the advisability of dissociating the guardians of the peace from the factious interests of electioneering. the public were so suspicious, and peel's scheme had so many opponents, that in every political contest the losers would to a certainty have attributed the result to the sinister influence of the bogey-man in blue. when, however, both popular prejudice and popular excitement had subsided, there was no longer sufficient cause for the disfranchisement of a numerous and important class of public servants who had proved themselves worthy of all trust; but the original prohibition still held good, to the great disadvantage of the police service. this continued for nearly half a century, that is until , when the "police disabilities removal act" of that year for the first time gave the parliamentary suffrage to all properly qualified police officers who comply with certain regulations made for the joint convenience of police and public.[ ] six years later constables became entitled to vote, if qualified, at school board, municipal and other elections; but in no case are they allowed to canvass, any attempt to influence an elector rendering the offender liable to a penalty of £ . the wisdom of enfranchising the police has been amply proved by the result, for on no occasion since their admission to the suffrage has it been as much as suggested that they make an improper use of the privilege. although english police of the twentieth century is a very different thing from anglo-saxon police of the tenth century, there is a potent characteristic which is common to both; that is to say, the modern system rests, as the ancient one did, on the sure foundation of mutual reliance. we may rely upon it that the law-abiding character of the british nation is largely due to the rarity with which espionage as a method of control has been employed in these islands, just as the trustworthiness of our english constabularies is largely the outcome of the confidence that we repose in the wisdom and integrity of our peace-officers. we are well served by our police because we have wisely made them personally responsible for their actions. the constable suffers equally with the non-official citizen for any illegal action he may commit; the law protects him only in the performance of acts authorized by the law; nor can he divest himself of responsibility by pleading the orders of his superior officer, if those orders should chance to be illegal. this personal responsibility is not only a curb to excessive zeal, it is also a spur to legitimate activity. "when," says sir arthur helps, "a man can do anything well, and is entrusted to do it, he has generally an impulse to action which is as strong and abiding as can be found amongst human motives, and which will even surpass the love of gain." to teach the value of self-reliance is one of the most important duties that a chief-constable has to perform, and the efficiency of the force under his command will largely depend upon the manner in which he has imbued individual constables with the lesson. to this end the military model of organization and discipline must not be too closely followed; soldiers generally act in masses and but rarely on their own responsibility, whilst policemen do nine-tenths of their work as individuals. the main object of discipline in the army is to make a man obey orders from force of habit on occasions when his natural instinct would impel him to think only of his personal safety, advantage, or honour; the principal end to be attained in the education of the constable is that he should know his duty, and do it with circumspection and self-control, generally on his own initiative and frequently in opposition to the sympathies of the crowd. police discipline has been described by sir howard vincent as "the obedience and respect to lawful authority which distinguishes an organized body from a rabble"[ ] and sir henry hawkins (lord brampton) has insisted upon the necessity of absolute obedience being rendered by constables to all in authority over them, "such obedience and observance," he said, "i regard as essential to the existence of a police force."[ ] all who have had any experience of dealing with large bodies of men will endorse every word of these pronouncements. first obey orders and, if necessary, complain afterwards, is a rule upon the application of which depends the life and well-being of every properly-disciplined body; at the same time it should not be forgotten that the too-strict enforcement of a rigid type of discipline neither conduces to the value of a police force nor to the advantage of the public. periodically since alarmists have repeated the formula that "the era of dragooning has dawned"; on every occasion hitherto the cry has proved as groundless as that of the proverbial shepherd-boy, but, in order to make quite sure that the fable shall for us have no actual counterpart, it is politic to remember that a watchdog which is not kept under proper control may become as dangerous as any wolf. in continental europe this danger has not, as we think, been sufficiently guarded against: the police functionary is there entrusted with powers that render him to some extent independent of the ordinary law of the land, for he cannot be prosecuted for malfeasance unless special permission has first been obtained from the government, and this permission is only granted under very exceptional circumstances. occasion has already been taken to remark that the freedom enjoyed by the press of this country is an invaluable safeguard against police tyranny, that the public press in fact polices the constabulary. this, however, is only one of the many police functions that modern journalism performs. when a serious crime is committed the newspapers raise a hue and cry so far-reaching and persistent that soon every tavern discusses the news, every village harbours a potential detective. whenever a criminal is caught and convicted the deterrent value of the punishment served out to him is increased a thousand-fold by the publicity given by the press to the award of the judge. in former days capital punishment was publicly inflicted with the mistaken idea that in this way was the maximum deterrent effect of the death penalty assured[ ]; now, not only is what was a brutalizing spectacle decently veiled from the public gaze, but in place of the depraved thousands who formerly used to witness the "turning off" of each poor wretch, normal millions read, and it is to be hoped inwardly digest, the lesson that these tragedies are meant to convey. the press also acts most effectually as a modern substitute for the pillory. the knowledge that an account of his offence will figure in the morning's police intelligence for all his friends to read, is far more likely to prevent a man (who lays claim to even a shred of respectability) from committing himself, than is any fine that the police magistrate might impose. nor is the efficacy of the press as an auxiliary agent of police confined to its success as a deterrent--newspapers advertise the bankrupt's loss of credit, expose the tricks of the swindler, ruin the trade of the impostor, and chastise many an offender whom the law cannot reach. finally, a free press, being a guarantee for public liberty, acts as a seton for the escape of evil humours which, if confined, might become a source of danger to the commonwealth; for as bentham has said, "a people sure of its rights, enjoys them with moderation and tranquillity."[ ] in his introduction to the "criminal statistics for ," recently published by the home office, mr c. e. troup, of that department, says that the general conclusions to be drawn from a study of the comparative tables which form part of the statistical returns, may be summed up as follows--"that the actual number of crimes brought into the courts has diminished appreciably during the last thirty years; that, if the increase of population is taken into account, the decrease in crime becomes very marked; that, if we also take into account the increase of the police forces and the greater efficiency in the means of investigating and punishing crime, we may conclude that the decrease in crime is even greater than the figures shew; and finally, if we take into account the fact that habitual criminals are now for the most part imprisoned only for short periods and have much more frequent opportunities than formerly of committing offences, we must hold that the number of criminals has diminished in an even greater ratio than the number of crimes."[ ] it is of course impossible to estimate with any degree of accuracy to what extent this diminution of crime and this increased security of recent years are due to the exertions of our modern constabularies; enough has been said to make it abundantly clear that the amelioration is real, and that it is progressive in its tendency, but the difficulty is to apportion the credit justly between the various agencies that have contributed to the result. there is no doubt that the spread of education and the labours of religious and philanthropic bodies have done much to civilise the masses; it is certain also that an improved prison system and a reformed penal code have reacted beneficially on the criminal classes; but if we believe in the teachings of history we shall put our trust in no combination of influences directed towards the maintenance of the peace that does not at least include a good preventive police-force. if lombroso's theories are correct, even if some men are born criminal beyond all hope of human redemption, these are only reasons for redoubling our police precautions: the delinquent who is a delinquent from his cradle is the more dangerous on that account, and to the congenital criminal must be denied the opportunity for mischief. but such freaks are rare and the normal criminal is anything but a creature of impulse; his calculations may not be shrewd but they are undoubtedly deliberate. "abandon fait larron!" when poverty or the want of life's necessaries lead to theft, or where native cruelty and love of bloodshed give rise to deeds of violence, police, however efficient, can effect but little in the way of prevention; but it is the almost unanimous opinion of those best qualified to judge that the bulk of the offences committed in this country are perpetrated by those who enter upon a criminal career because it appears to them that it is easy and profitable, and because they think that it will enable them to obtain luxuries that lie beyond the reach of their industrious and honest companions. it is obvious, therefore, that an effective police, by making the profession of dishonesty difficult and precarious, can remove the principal incentive that makes men criminal. the circle of police employment is constantly widening, and many of the functions delegated to the constabulary by parliament and by local authorities have not been so much as touched upon in this book, which, in a small compass, has endeavoured to trace the main features of police development in england through a great number of years. it is to be hoped, however, that the tendency to load police officers with duties heavier and more diverse than they have to perform already will not go on increasing. it is difficult to fix the precise limits within which it is proper that they should act; but it is certain that by indefinitely multiplying their duties we run a twofold risk, viz., that of rendering the work of police constables so complex and varied that men of average talent and education will be unable to perform it thoroughly, and further of undermining the popularity of the force by exhibiting its members before the eyes of the people as universally interfering and censorious. it is, of course, right and proper that the policeman should endeavour to prevent the commission of any act that he knows to be illegal, at all times and in all places; but it is generally advisable to employ functionaries who do not belong to the police for purposes not closely connected with the maintenance of the peace, whenever the employment of outsiders is equally effectual: it is more convenient, for instance, that game-keepers should protect the rights of owners on sporting estates, and that custom-house officials should examine portmanteaux, than that such duties should be performed by constables. his majesty's coastguard, the inspectors of mines and factories, and other persons appointed by societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and for the suppression of mendicity, etc., relieve the police of much work by carrying out the various parts assigned to them by government or by private enterprise; it is worth considering whether it would not be more profitable to delegate to functionaries, other than constables; all duties connected with the inspection of weights and measures, the enforcement of sanitary laws, the protection of arsenals and dockyards, and with the maintenance of order on racecourses. a force specially devoted to the last mentioned object is desirable on many grounds. in the first place the knowledge that such a body would possess of the welshers, cardsharpers, and pickpockets who travel about from one race-meeting to another, and with whom the different local police forces are unable to cope, would put an end to a great deal of the crime which is at present unchecked and undetected; and in the second place, it would no longer be necessary to withdraw large bodies of police from their proper duties for the protection of race-goers. on the occasion of the riot at featherstone in , the calling out of the military, and the loss of life which followed, was largely attributable to the concentration at doncaster of all the available yorkshire constables, an unfortunate arrangement which bared the rest of the county of its regular protectors, and encouraged the rioters to proceed to lengths they would not otherwise have attempted. although it will hardly be denied that our police discharge their office conscientiously, courteously and courageously, the general public has shewn itself somewhat slow to acknowledge the debt which it owes to the men who undertake what is by common consent a thankless task; who armed with no extraordinary powers, and protected by no elaborate exemptions, perform arduous duties on behalf of their fellow-countrymen, for little reward, and at considerable personal risk. perhaps it may not be presumptuous to hope that the foregoing pages, by adding their quota to the scanty sources of information on the subject, may cause a corresponding increase in the tribute of public goodwill, that has been so well earned, and so long awaited, by the police forces of england. the end footnotes: [ ] _fraser's magazine_, no. xvi. p. . [ ] evidence of mr murray, a magistrate at union hall, before the parliamentary committee of . [ ] report of police commissioners, . [ ] see stubb's "constitutional history," end of para. . [ ] in the reign of edward vi. the well-known legal maxim, "the king never dies," was first enunciated; since which time it has been held that there can be no break in the continuity of kingship; that is to say, that the accession of each succeeding monarch and the decease of his predecessor are simultaneous. [ ] chron. ang. s., _ad ann._, . [ ] "thane" is here used in the loose and popular sense to signify the resident owner of considerable territorial possessions. [ ] headborough, borsholder, and chief-frankpledge are three words which describe the same functionary. the latter of norman, and the two former of saxon origin. borsholder = borhes-ealder--borhes (often written borough as in "headborough"), meaning pledge or surety. it is probable that the connection between borough signifying "town" and borough the correlative of plegium, is merely an accidental coincidence. [ ] it is difficult to avoid the confusion which arises from the use of the word "hundred." here the police-hundreds (probably introduced for the first time into england by edgar) are referred to. the statement does not necessarily imply that the grouping of families into tythings, and of tythings into hundreds took place before county areas were subdivided into smaller areas called hundreds. it may be remarked, however, that an uninhabited hundred (and there must have been many such if the whole kingdom was divided in this way) can have had no police significance. [ ] see note on the liability of the hundred, p. , chap. ix. post. [ ] burn i. p. . [ ] edgar, secular ordinance, c. . [ ] writing at the end of the eighteenth century jeremy bentham declared: "this is the great problem of penal legislation--(i.) to reduce all the _evil_ of offences, as far as possible, to that kind which can be cured by a pecuniary compensation. (ii.) to throw the expense of this cure upon the authors of the evil, or in their default, upon the public." [ ] in addition to the "trinoda necessitas" which besides compelling a man to serve in the militia, also claimed his services for the repair of bridges, and for the up-keep of the national fortifications. [ ] see "spelman's glossary," _sub verbo_ "fredus." [ ] _ll. aelf._ ; _ll. ethelb._ . [ ] the germ of trial by jury. [ ] gneist. "history of the english constitution." [ ] coke. instit. . [ ] bede h. e., ii. xvi. [ ] it is probable that the _scir-gerefa_ was originally elected by the freeholders in the folkmoot: the norman sheriff, on the other hand, was invariably appointed by the crown direct. [ ] this fine was called the "murdrum." [ ] bacon's "office of constables." [ ] (magna carta, section ). king john also promised as follows: "we will not make men justiciaries, constables, sheriffs or bailiffs, unless they understand the law of the land, and are well disposed to observe it." [ ] second great charter of henry iii. [ ] "chronicle of dunstable," vol. i. p. . [ ] _dictum de kenilworth_, sect. , stubb's "select charters." [ ] geo. ii. c. , and geo. iii. c. . [ ] edw. i., _statuta civitatis_ london. [ ] edw. iii., sect. i. c. . [ ] "commissioners' report," . [ ] from form of oath administered by hubert, archbishop of canterbury ("history of vagrants," by ribton turner). [ ] see chitty's "office and duties of constables": coke inst. , ; and hale p. c. . [ ] see "statute of northampton." [ ] edw. i. cap. . [ ] coroners are first heard of in the directions given to the itinerant justices by richard i. in , when four of these officers were assigned to each county. [ ] edw. i. stat. . [ ] "history of vagrants." [ ] fitzherbert, dalton, burn, etc. [ ] the edict of hubert walter. [ ] rot. pat. edw. i. m. . [ ] rot. pat. edw. i. m. . [ ] stephens' "hist. of the crim. law," i. . [ ] edw. iii., c. . [ ] rot. parl. edw. iii. [ ] edw. iii., c. i. [ ] edw. iii., c. . [ ] edw. iv., c. . see reeves' "hist." vol. iii. p. . [ ] burn's "justice," v. , th edition. [ ] see also in this connection carter's "english legal history," p. . [ ] i. hale's sum. . [ ] hist. ram. gale. vol. iii. , . [ ] extended to other towns in . by henry vi. c. justices are to discharge in counties the same duties as are performed in towns by mayors and bailiffs. [ ] hen. v. c. . [ ] hen. vii. c. . [ ] _cf._ koenig. [ ] viscount--"an arbitrary title of honour, without a shadow of office pertaining to it" (blackstone). [ ] coke viii. . [ ] & car. ii. c. . [ ] selden society, vol. vi. p. . [ ] secular dooms, cap. . [ ] all evil customs of forests and warrens, and of foresters and warreners, sheriffs and their officers, waterbanks and their keepers, shall immediately be inquired into by twelve knights of the same county, upon oath, who shall be chosen by the good men of the same county; and within forty days after the inquisition is made, they shall be quite destroyed by them, never to be restored.--_magna carta._ [ ] spelman's glossary _in verbo_ "foresta." [ ] manwood, "treatise of the forest laws," th ed., p. . [ ] vert included trees, underwood and turf; venison comprised the hart, the hind, the hare, the boar and the wolf, which were beasts of forest--the buck, the doe, the fox and the marten, which were beasts of chase--the rabbit, pheasant, partridge, quail, mallard, heron, etc., which were beasts or fowls of warren. so sacred was the stag that should one be found dead an inquest had to be held, and a verdict as to the cause of death taken. (see low and pulling's "dictionary of english history," under forests.) [ ] it was a universal principle of early english law that no defence was valid if the culprit was caught red-handed, he was _ipso facto_ convicted. (see carter's "english legal history," p. .) [ ] assisa et consuetudines forestae, anno , edward i. [ ] coke inst., iii., p. . this is according to coke, who derives "mayneer" from the latin _manus_. manwood, on the other hand, has the phrase "taken in the manner," using manner in the sense of "_maniére_." [ ] coke inst., iii. _seq._ [ ] coke inst., iii. . [ ] although the authenticity of this document is denied, there is good reason to suppose that, as far as the following enumeration of forest officers is concerned, its accuracy may be trusted. [ ] manwood, p. . [ ] manwood, p. . [ ] forest law, as once administered, was perhaps the worst example of class legislation ever known to the english constitution--it was a deliberate violation of the rights of the many for the gratification of the few--the same act which was venial in the gentleman became unpardonable when committed by the villein. for example, a common man who slew a deer was guilty of felony and might be capitally convicted, whereas a nobleman riding through the king's forest was allowed to kill a stag or two for his refreshment, on the understanding that he did so in the sight of a ranger, or if no ranger was present, provided that someone blew a horn for him, "that he seem not to steal the deer" ( henry iii.). [ ] dalton, cap. , fol. . [ ] "town life in the fifteenth century," mrs j. r. green, vol. i. chapter iv. [ ] "liber albus," p. . [ ] "liber albus," p. . [ ] hist. mss. com., ix. . [ ] hen. iii., stat. . [ ] edw. ii. c. . [ ] see final report of h. m. commissioners appointed to enquire into the operation and administration of the laws relating to the sale of intoxicating liquors, chap. xvi. p. . [ ] the king could tax foreign merchants resident in england without having to obtain the consent of parliament. [ ] the test was usually a verse out of the st psalm--commonly called the "neck verse." [ ] & geo. iv. c. ; and see carter's eng. leg. hist., pp. , . [ ] edw. i., c. . [ ] edw. iv. [ ] henry vii., c. . [ ] & hen. viii., c. (wales). [ ] "tables of population," says bentham, "in which are described the dwelling-place, the age, the sex, the profession, etc.... of individuals, are the first materials of a good police" (bentham's "principles of penal law," chap. xii.). [ ] the story of young edward amongst the vagabonds has recently been told with great charm and pathos by one of the most popular writers of the day. mark twain's "the prince and the pauper" may not be history, but that it presents a truthful picture of the sufferings of vagrants in the sixteenth century cannot be doubted. [ ] slaves might be bought, sold, or bequeathed by will, like any other chattel. [ ] edw. vi. [ ] & edw. vi., c. . [ ] the command of the militia was transferred from the lords-lieutenant of counties to the crown in the year ("the army book for the british empire," p. ). [ ] to this there was one exception, viz., that foreigners were not allowed to keep inns "unless they have report from the parts whence they come, or find safe pledges" (statute). [ ] & edw. vi., c. . [ ] elizabeth, private acts. [ ] ordinance, eliz. [ ] "the commonwealth of england," sir thomas smith, ed., , bk. ii. chap. . [ ] eliz., c. iv. sect. . [ ] see p. , chap. xv., post. [ ] eliz., c. v. sect. . [ ] and eliz., c. iv. [ ] eliz. c. . [ ] eliz. c. . [ ] elizabeth, c. . [ ] see the introduction to "prothero's select charters," sect. v. [ ] rymer's "foedera," xvi. p. . [ ] prothero's "select charters," p. . [ ] "measure for measure," act ii. scene . [ ] strype's "annals," , edn., vol. iv. p. . [ ] iii james . [ ] see somers' "tracts," edited by scott, vol. ii. p. . [ ] jac. i., cap. vii. sects. and . [ ] & jac. i., cap. iv. [ ] i. jac. i. cap. . [ ] this statute, which gave such extraordinary powers to constables, only remained in force for twelve months. (see article "the office of constable," by h. b. simpson, "english historical review," vol. x.) [ ] see proclamations, etc., of charles i. bodleian, z. i. jur. [ ] i. car. i. cap. . [ ] car. i. cap. . [ ] lib. albo, fol. , b, c, d, e; henry vi. [ ] "minshæi emendatio," ad ann. . [ ] see note on liability of the hundred, chap. ix. post. [ ] & phil. mary, cap. and . [ ] for a full and interesting account of _cromwell's major-generals_, see an article under that title by d. w. rannie in the "english historical review," no. . [ ] see professor gardiner's "history of the commonwealth and protectorate, - ," vol. iii. [ ] an excise duty on liquor had recently ( ) been introduced by the long parliament. [ ] scobell, part i. p. ; part ii. p. . [ ] d'argenson, lieutenant of police, declared that "there were more irregularities and debaucheries committed in paris during the easter fortnight, when the theatres were shut, than during the four months of the season during which they were open" ("memoirs de pollnitz," vol. iii.). [ ] macaulay's "history of england," edn., p. . [ ] and car. ii. c. . [ ] the number of such vehicles was strictly limited. in london no more than were allowed. [ ] car. ii. c. , sect. . the statute also provides for the appointment of special constables in times of emergency. [ ] car. ii. c. . [ ] from "the duty and office of high constable, &c." by w. brown, a clerk of the court of common pleas. lond. , pp. and . [ ] and car. ii. c. § . [ ] worthies of england, p. . [ ] car. ii. c. . [ ] william and mary, c. viii. [ ] geo. i., cap. , sect. . [ ] "le blanc's letters," vol. ii., . [ ] "the town rakes," brit. mus., ( --m-- )/ . [ ] geo. i., stat. , § . [ ] geo. ii. c. . [ ] geo. ii. c. . [ ] geo. ii. c. . [ ] ann reg., . [ ] see gent. mag., , p. ; , p. , and laurence's "life of fielding." [ ] of the several statutes dealing with police passed during the reign of george ii., the most valuable and important is the geo. ii., c. , which enacts that action cannot be brought against a constable for anything done by him in obedience to a justice's warrant, unless the justice who signed the warrant is made a joint-defendant with the constable; and which directs that if action is brought jointly against the justice and the constable, then the jury shall find for the latter, provided that they are satisfied that he acted strictly in accordance with the terms of the warrant that he pleads in justification. when making an arrest a constable should, if required, shew the warrant which is his authority, but he need not allow it to leave his hand. [ ] geo. ii., c. . [ ] geo. ii., c. . [ ] geo. iii. c. . [ ] wedderburn. [ ] this was the first occasion on which the word "police" was officially made use of in the british isles. [ ] irish statutes, geo. iii., c. . [ ] geo. iii., c. . [ ] by car. ii. c. , § it was enacted that no liability attached to the hundred if a man be robbed whilst travelling on a sunday--"for he should not travel on the lord's day, nor ought the hundred to watch on that day of rest." nevertheless it was ordained that hue and cry should be raised against a known offender, despite the non-liability of the hundred, in order that depredators should not take advantage of the omission. actions against the hundred had to be brought within three months from the date of the damage, and there was no liability for deeds done in the night-time--if, however, there was just sufficient light to see a man's face, liability might be proved, whatever the hour. no charge against the hundred held good for any robbery done in a man's house, "because every man's house is his castle, which he ought to defend; and if any one be robbed in his house it shall be esteemed his own fault" (dalton, c. ); and with regard to liability on account of murder and robbery committed in the daytime, see "year book of the exchequer," ( edward i.) [ ] geo. iii., c. . [ ] between and , the increase was about per cent. [ ] it has been calculated that at this time there were as many as fifty fraudulent mints in the metropolis alone. [ ] in the hope of suppressing the seditious spirit so rife at this period, six coercive measures generally known as the "six acts" were rushed through both houses of parliament in a special autumn session of . these acts sought to preserve the peace by placing restrictions on the press, by forbidding the training of unauthorized persons in the use of arms, by empowering justices of the peace to search for and confiscate weapons, and by other repressive measures of a similar nature. [ ] "the policy of a legislator who punishes every offence with death, is like the pusillanimous terror of a child who crushes the insect he dares not look at."--bentham, "principles of the penal code," part iv. cap. xxii. [ ] "the more the certainty of punishment can be augmented, the more it may be diminished in amount."--bentham, "principles of the penal code." rule viii. [ ] the ethical point of view is well put by henry fielding, who said, "nor in plain truth will the utmost severity to offenders be justifiable, unless we take every possible means of preventing the offence." [ ] in a letter addressed to _the times_ of november th, --charles dickens, himself an eye-witness of one of these brutalising exhibitions, wrote--"i am solemnly convinced that nothing that ingenuity could devise to be done in this city, in the same compass of time, could work such ruin as one public execution, and i stand astounded and appalled by the wickedness it exhibits." [ ] as early as , by an act passed in the th year of queen elizabeth's reign--quarter sessions were empowered to inflict transportation, but at first the law could not be enforced because there was no place to which convicts could be shipped. a number of royalists were transported to barbadoes after its capitulation in , but this was only a temporary measure. [ ] geo. i. c. . [ ] geo. iii. c. . [ ] escott's "england," edn., p. . [ ] & geo. iv., c. . [ ] it is impossible to say how far bentham was influenced by beccaria; the two men arrived at similar conclusions, but their methods were essentially different. beccaria's great work, "dei delitti e delle pene," was first published (anonymously) in , and bentham's "rationale of punishments and rewards" was written eleven years later. [ ] in six women were publicly flogged till the blood ran down their backs for hedge-pulling. [ ] geo. iv. c. . [ ] see "encyclopædia of the laws of england" under licensing acts. [ ] and geo. iv. c. . [ ] geo. iv. and will. iv. c. . [ ] "mysteries of police and crime," griffiths, p. . [ ] a river police office, with three justices assigned to it, was authorised by and geo. iii. c. . [ ] none of this applies to the "city of london" proper, which still retains its independent position, as far as its police is concerned. [ ] geo. iv. c. . [ ] geo. iv. c. . [ ] the official designation of the chiefs of the metropolitan police was changed from "justice" to "commissioner" in the year . the change was one of title only, and the police commissioners were still justices of the peace by virtue of their office. to prevent confusion the word "commissioner" is henceforward employed in this book. [ ] "sir robert peel," by c. s. parker. [ ] bentham defines the "lettre de cachet" as "an order to punish, without any proof, for a fact against which there is no law."--(principles of penal law, chap. xxi. part ). [ ] in the year the spanish government suppressed some of the leading newspapers for daring to adversely criticise the police of madrid, and at the same time it was currently believed in england that italian police officials employed the torture to procure evidence against persons suspected of political offences. [ ] hansard, vol. i. p. ; and see ann. reg. chron., p. . [ ] see article by sir c. warren, _murray's magazine_, nov. . [ ] see report of parliamentary committee, . [ ] geo. iv. c. . [ ] will. iv. c. . [ ] & will. iv. c. . [ ] peel wished to include the city of london in the metropolitan police area, but in a private letter to a friend frankly confessed that he dared not meddle with it.--("life of sir robert peel," c. s. parker). [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] see & vict. - & . [ ] see "the police of the metropolis," by sir c. warren--_murray's magazine_, nov. . on the th april , peel informed the house of commons that crime was then far more prevalent in the metropolis than in the country--one person out of every persons having, on the average, been committed in london, whilst in the provinces the proportion was only one in . [ ] st report constabulary commissioners, , page . [ ] & will. iv. c. . [ ] this "lighting and watching act" still remains the authority for the appointment of firemen, who may be "additional constables," and who, "shall, during the time they shall be on duty, use their utmost endeavours to prevent any mischief by fire." ( & will. iv. c. , s. .) [ ] & will. iv. c. . [ ] and car. ii. c. . [ ] and will. iv. c. . [ ] and will. iv. c. . [ ] and vic. c. . [ ] bicknell's "police manual," p. . [ ] & vict., c. . [ ] in the act was amended, and a separate police rate levied, by & vict., c. . [ ] in the year , the criminal jurisdiction of courts of quarter sessions, which hitherto had been competent to deal with all offences except treason, was limited by & vict. c. , which removes murder, capital felony and some other offences from the cognizance of the justices. in the metropolis, at the same time, much criminal business was transferred from justices of the peace to stipendiary magistrates. this was due rather to the increase of commitments consequent upon an improved police, than to any implied incompetence of the courts. in quarter sessions were again empowered to try burglary cases ( & vict. c. ), and a further extension, or rather restoration, of the powers exercised by justices in quarter sessions is understood to be now ( ) under consideration. [ ] & vic. c. --amended by & vic. c. . [ ] geo. iv. c. . [ ] see st report select committee, p. . [ ] those landowners who gave evidence before the select committee in were almost unanimous in their testimony that the value of property had increased in counties where rural police forces had been established.--see second report, committee, §§ , , and . [ ] see ante p. , chapter vi. [ ] see second report committee, pp. , . [ ] & vic., c. . [ ] & vict., c. . [ ] in the course of these riots £ , worth of damage was done. [ ] after these riots the general convention of chartists issued a proclamation declaring "that a flagrant, wanton, and unjust outrage has been made upon the people of birmingham, by a bloodthirsty and unconstitutional force from london, acting under the authority of men who wished to keep the people in degradation."--"annals of our times, ." see also "chronicles of crime," camden pelham. [ ] _quarterly review_, no. , . [ ] sir james fitzjames stephen's "a history of the criminal law of england," vol. i. chap. xiv. [ ] hale, sum. , --i hale, . [ ] from "the commonwealth of england," by sir thomas smith, edition. [ ] the county and borough police act of required rural police forces to furnish annual returns of all crimes committed, persons apprehended, and subsequent criminal proceedings in their respective districts, on forms of return supplied by sir george gray. from the materials thus supplied were the criminal statistics prepared until , when an improved method of compilation was introduced by the "police returns act" of that year--( and vict. c. ). [ ] there were eighty-two cases of garrotting in london between june and december ; nor was the increased prevalence of crime confined to the metropolis--most of the larger towns (especially liverpool) suffered in the same way. [ ] transportation to new south wales and s. australia ceased in , to van diemen's land in ; the last batch of convicts was sent to western australia in . [ ] the chatham mutiny occurred in , some years after the "penal servitude act" had become law, but it was due to very similar causes to those which had occasioned the earlier outbreaks. [ ] and vict. c. . [ ] select committee on transportation , para. . [ ] in the case of women convicts remission to the extent of one-third or thereabouts can be earned. [ ] , is nearer the mark. there were , in australasia alone. [ ] speech by sir h. fowler, _the times_, jan. , . [ ] see the article on reformatories by sir e. du cane in "chambers' encyclopædia." [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] & vict. c. , and & vict. c. . [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] "police code," pp. and . [ ] these recognizances may be with, or without, sureties; and the obligation "to keep the peace" and "to be of good behaviour" continues during such period as the court may direct. _cf._ p. , chapter iii. ante, with reference to the powers conferred on justices of the peace by edw. iii. c. . [ ] bicknell's police manual, p. . [ ] and vict. c. . [ ] female holders of licenses are not required to report themselves once a month. [ ] see bicknell's police manual, p. . [ ] a complete description of the system as employed in england may be found in a pamphlet entitled "the identification of habitual criminals," published by _the police review_. [ ] see "our absurd system of punishing crime," by dr robert anderson, in _the nineteenth century and after_ for february . [ ] see also a letter of mr justice wills on the same subject, in _the times_, st feb. . [ ] the electric telegraph was first adapted to police purposes in . [ ] see kirchner's "law and practice relative to fugitive offenders." [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] & vict. cap. . [ ] these regulations were revised by sir richard webster (lord alverstone), lord herschell, and the right hon. hugh childers in , and may be found on page of bicknell's police manual. [ ] now colonel sir howard vincent, m.p., the compiler of "the police code," and a well-known authority on police questions. [ ] in the office of director of criminal investigation was abolished, and the duties formerly appertaining to the office have since then been performed by an additional assistant-commissioner, appointed for the purpose; but the system remains practically the same as when it was first introduced in . [ ] see _the times_, th feb. . [ ] & vict. c. , s. . [ ] in addition to the authorized deductions made from the pay of constables, all monies arising from fines imposed on constables, or for assaults on constables, from the sale of old police clothing, from pedlars and chimney sweeps' certificates, from fines imposed by a court of summary jurisdiction, for offences under the licensing acts - , and from certain other sources, are now carried to the pension fund (see police act, & vict. c. ). [ ] & vict. c. , s. . [ ] see "the story of police pensions," by j. munro.--_new review_, vol. iii. [ ] and vict. c. (a). [ ] disorderly meetings took place on the th, th, th, and rd oct. ' ; on the last of these occasions some two thousand rioters were guilty of brawling in westminster abbey. [ ] there is an interesting article on the "right of public meeting," by professor dicey, in _the contemporary review_, april . see "annual register," . [ ] & will. iv. c. . [ ] & vict. c. . [ ] & vict. c. , &c. [ ] see l.g.a., section , para. . [ ] speech by mr morley at newcastle, st of june . [ ] see article in the _contemporary review_, vol. lv. (year ), by h. evans, who therein pointed out that "the treasury grant to the metropolitan police fund bears a higher proportion to the rateable value, than is the case with the contributions to the county and borough police." [ ] see section , vict. c. . [ ] police code, under "discipline." [ ] from "an address to police constables on their duties," by sir henry hawkins, printed in "the police code." [ ] contrasting public with private executions, henry fielding remarked in favour of the latter, that, "the criminal dies only in the presence of his enemies, without the cordial of public approval to flatter his ambition." [ ] j. bentham, "principles of the penal law," chapter xxi. [ ] "judicial statistics england and wales." part i.--introduction, page . index a aberdeen, abjuration of the realm, , admiralty, court of, agisters, alehouse act, the, alien act, the, alfred the great, , , alverstone, lord, amercements, america, , , , anderson, dr robert, anglesey, anglo-saxon police, , , , anthropometry, , appeal, assize of arms, the, , , australia, , , aylesbury, b bacon, lord, , , bail, , barbadoes, , barkstead, colonel, , bath, basket justices, beccaria, bedel, bedfordshire, , , benefit of clergy, , bentham, j., xiii., , , , , , , , , , , berkshire, , , , bermuda, bertillon, m. alphonse, birmingham, , , , , , , blackstone, , , blood-money, , bonaventors, bootless crimes, borsholder, bow street, , , , , bow street runners, , , , , , brampton, lord, bravadors, brecon, bristol riots, , , buckinghamshire, , , bullock-hunting, burleigh, lord, burn, , c camberwell, , cambridge, , cambridgeshire, , , canterbury, , canute, capital punishment, , , card registers, cardiganshire, carmarthenshire, carnarvonshire, carta de foresta, census returns, charles i., ---- ii., , , , , "charlies," , , , chartists, , chateaubriand, chatham, cheshire, , , , , chief constable, , , , , childers, mr, churchwardens, , city marshalls, city of london police, , , , , , , , , , civil war, , clarendon, assize of, clerks of the peace, coastguard, , coke, lord, , , colchester, coldbath fields, , , colquhoun, dr, vii., , , , , , , , colthrop, sir h., commissioners of police, , , , , , , commissioners of sewers, commitment returns, , commons, house of, , constable, the, , , , &c. conservators of the peace, , , convicts, convict supervision office, , , cornwall, earl of, cornwall, , , coroners, , , , council of the north, , county boroughs, county councils, , county courts, county, power of the, , courts, ecclesiastical, courts leet, , , , , , , , coventry, criminal investigation department, , , criminal statistics, , cromwell, oliver, , , cromwell, thomas, cumberland, , , curfew bell, , d dartmoor, decennary police, , , , decennier, de goncourt case, , denbigh, denville, sir gosselin, derbyshire, , detective police, , devonshire, , dickens, charles, dictum de kenilworth, director of public prosecutions, ---- criminal investigation, dorsetshire, , drawlatches, dublin police act, duelling, durham, , e edgar, , edward i., , , , , , ---- ii., ---- iii., , , , , , ---- iv., ---- vi., , , , ---- vii., essex, , , , , , expeditation, extradition acts, f fielding, henry, , , , , , , , fielding, sir john, , , , , fightwitt, flash-houses, flintshire, ford, sir richard, , foresters, forest law, , , , , frankpledge, , , , , , french revolution, the, frithbrec, g galton, mr francis, garrotting, george i., ---- ii., glamorganshire, gloucester, gloucestershire, gneist, gordon riots, , , , , graham, sir j., gray, sir g., griffiths, major, grithbryce, grosvenor, lord r., , gypsies, , , h habitual criminals act, habitual offenders, , , hampshire, , harcourt, sir w., headboroughs, , , , , helps, sir a., henderson, sir e., , , henry i., ---- ii., , , ---- iii., , , ---- iv., ---- v., ---- vii., , , ---- viii., , herefordshire, , , hertfordshire, , , hext, mr, high constable, , , , , , , , , high steward, , highwaymen, , , , home office, , , , , , howard, john, , hue and cry, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , hulks, the, hull, hundred, the, , , , ---- liability of, , , huntingdonshire, , , hyde park, , , , i identification of criminals, , , industrial schools, inhabitant watch, the, inlaugh, inspectors of constabulary, , ireland, , , , irish constabulary, royal, , j james i., ---- ii., james, sir h., john, king, , judicium pillorie, jury of annoyances, justice of assize, justices itinerant, justices of the peace, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , justices of the quorum, ---- gaol delivery, justice seat, court of the, , juvenile offenders act, , k kent, , , , , , , , , kerry, king's bench, court of, king's highway, the, king's peace, the, , , , l labourers, statute of, , lambard, , , , lancashire, , , , la reynie, leet. _see_ courts leicestershire, , , lepers, , lettre de cachet, lewes, liber albus, licensing acts, , , , lighting and watching act, lincoln, , lincolnshire, , , , little-goes, liverpool, , , , , livery companies, local government act, , , lombroso, london, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , london county council, , , london docks, lords-lieutenant, , lords-marchers, lords of the manor, , , lushington, sir f., lynch law, m mad parliament, the, maegbote, magna carta, , mainprise, major-generals, , , manbote, manchester, , , mansion-house, , , manwood, , marching watch, the, marine society, the, marlborough, statute of, martial law, ix., , mayne, sir r., , , , , , , , , mayneer, m'hardy, captain, , , melbourne, lord, , merioneth, metropolitan police, , , , , , , , , , , , metropolitan police area, , , , metropolitan police district, , middlesex, , , , , , , , , middlesex justices act, , , , , , militia, the, , , , , , , , millbank, , minsheu, , mohocks, , , monmouthshire, , , montgomery, more, sir thomas, , moss-troopers, , municipal corporations act, , , , , munro, mr, , murdrum, the, mutual security, , n "new police," the, newcastle, duke of, newgate, , , , , , new south wales, , norfolk, , , , norman police, northampton, assize of, , northamptonshire, , , northumberland, , , , , norton, lord, nottinghamshire, , , norwich, o obligatory act, the, , , ordeals, oxford plague regulations, oxford, provisions of, , oxford university, , oxfordshire, , , p parkhurst, parliamentary commissions, viii., , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , parochial system of police, , , , , , , passports, , patrol, foot, , , , ---- horse, , , , , , peace guilds, peace of the church, ---- of the sea, peace wardens, peel, sir r., , , , , , , , , , , "peine forte et dure," pembrokeshire, penal code, the, penal servitude act, , pennsylvania, pentonville, , permissive act, the, , , , , , "peterloo massacre," petty constable, oath of, photography, pie-poudre, court of, pillory, the, , , plague, the, , , , police act, the, ---- franchise, ---- disabilities removal act, ---- pensions, ---- returns act, ---- supervision, poor laws, popay, , , portland, portsmouth, , , posse comitatus, the, , , , , præpositus, the, , press, the, , press gang, the, presentment, , , prevention of crimes act, , primarii, prison act, the, prisons, , , probation of first offenders act, procurator fiscal, prosecution of offences act, public health acts, ---- meeting, right of, ---- offices, , ---- prosecutor, , ---- works prisons, purlieu, q quarter sessions, , , , , , , , , , , quarterors, queen anne, , , queen elizabeth, , , , , , queen victoria, vii., , r radnorshire, ragged schools, rainsforth, mr f., rangers, recognizances, reformatories, , , reformatory school act, regard, court of, , regarders, richard i., , ---- ii., , , , riot act, the, , , riotous assemblies, riots, ---- _see_ bristol ---- _see_ gordon ---- featherstone, ---- hyde park, ---- reform, ---- chartist, ---- sunday trading bill, ---- west end, , roaring boys, roberdsmen, robin redbreasts, romilly, sir s., , , , "route forms," "round-houses," rowan, colonel, , , , , , , royal society, the, rural police, , , , rural police act, , russell, sir c., rutland, , , s sanctuary, , sartines, sayer, john, , scavengers, scotland, , scotland yard, , , , , , , , searchers, , shaftesbury, lord, shakespeare, sheriffs, , , , , , , , , , shropshire, , , sidmouth, lord, , six acts, the, smith, sir t., , somersetshire, , , , southwark, , special constables, , , , , , staffordshire, , standing joint committees, , statistics, police, , stephen, sir j., stipendiary magistrates, ---- police, , stocks, the, , street-keepers, , stubbs, dr, , , suffield, lord, suffolk, , , summary jurisdiction act, ---- courts of, summons of the array, superannuation, superintending constables, supervisees, surety of the peace, ---- the good behaviour, surrey, , , , , sussex, , , swanimote, court of, , sydney, t tasmania, thames police, , , , , thane, , ticket-of-leave, , , tine-men, tourn, court of the, , , townsend, james, , , , , trade guilds, , "trading justices," , , trafalgar square, , , trained bands, the, , transportation, , , , , trinoda necessitas, troup, mr c. e., tumbril (_see_ pillory) tyburn, , , , tyburn-ticket, , tyler, wat, tything, the, , , , tythingmen, , , , , , u unification of london, v vaccination acts, vagrancy, , , , , , verderers, , vert, vicecomes, , , , vincent, sir howard, , , vine street station, , , w wales, , wapentakes, warren, sir c., , , , warwickshire, , , watch committees, , , , , watch and ward, , , , , , , , weights and measures, , , wellington, duke of, , , , westminster, , , , , , , , , , westminster, statute of, westmoreland, , , whitefriars, , wild, jonathan, , willford, sir t., william i., , ---- iii., ---- iv., , wiltshire, , , , winchester, statute of, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , wite, woodmote court, , worcestershire, wrecking, y yeomanry, "yoongmen," yorkshire, , , , turnbull and spears, printers, edinburgh. * * * * * transcriber's notes minor punctuation errors repaired. italic text is denoted by _underscores_ p. when property cansisted only of timber, replaced with when property consisted only of timber, file was produced from images generously made available by the bibliothèque nationale de france (bnf/gallica) [transcriber's note: this book was published in and contains some inconsistent spelling, capitalization, hyphenation, and punctuation typical of that era. these have been retained as they appear in the original, including the inconsistent use of a period after the pound symbol (e.g., £. and £ ). inconsistent italicizing of _l._, _s._, and _d._ has been normalized to italics. long-s has been normalized to s. the pointing hand symbol has been rendered as [-->]. printer errors have been resolved with reference to a later and apparently corrected printing of the same edition, available at the internet archive, http://www.archive.org/details/atreatiseonpoli colqgoog. unresolved printer errors have been noted with a [transcriber's note].] a treatise on the police of the metropolis; containing a detail of the various crimes and misdemeanors _by which public and private property and security are, at present, injured and endangered:_ and suggesting remedies for their prevention. the sixth edition, corrected and considerably enlarged. by p. colquhoun, ll.d. _acting as a magistrate for the counties of middlesex, surry, kent, and essex.--for the city and liberty of westminster, and for the liberty of the tower of london._ meminerint legum conditores, illas ad proximum hunc finem accommodare; scelera videlicet arcenda, refrænandaque vitia ac morum pravitatem. judices pariter leges illas cum vigore, æquitate, integritate, publicæque utilitatis amore curent exequi; ut justitia etvirtus omnes societatis ordines pervadant. industriaque simul et temperantia inertiæ locum assumant et prodigalitatis. _london:_ printed by h. baldwin and son, new bridge-street, blackfriars; for joseph mawman, in the poultry, successor to mr. dilly. m.dccc. to the sovereign, _who has graciously condescended to approve of the author's efforts "to establish a system of morality and good order in the metropolis:"_ and to his people; _in every part of the british dominions; whose favourable reception of these labours, for the good of their country, has contributed, in a considerable degree, to the progress which has been already made, towards the adoption of the remedies proposed for the prevention of crimes, the comfort of society, and the security of the peaceful subject:_ this improved and enlarged edition of the treatise on the police of the metropolis, _is humbly_ _and respectfully_ dedicated. london, jan. , . advertisement. occupied in a variety of laborious pursuits, which afford little time either for study or recreation, the author once more presents this work to the public with an unfeigned diffidence, arising from his consciousness, that under such circumstances it must require their indulgence. this, he trusts, will be granted when it is considered, that his employments are of a nature unfriendly to that critical accuracy and precision, the necessity of which is impressed on his mind, not less by a sense of his own personal character, than of his obligations to the long-experienced candour and liberality of his readers. in the present edition much new matter has been brought forward, and considerable improvements have been attempted by the introduction of official facts, and authentic details calculated to elucidate and explain the general system first placed by the author under the review of the public. their extensive approbation (although his only reward) is of a nature which can never be too highly estimated. that approbation has not only been confirmed by many of the first and most respectable characters in these kingdoms, not less conspicuous for talents and abilities than for that genuine patriotism which distinguishes the good subject, and the valuable member of society; but also by several foreigners eminent for learning and virtue. while we deplore the miserable condition of those numerous delinquents who have unfortunately multiplied with the same rapidity that the great wealth of the metropolis has increased: while their errors and their crimes are exposed only for the purpose of amendment: while the tear of pity is due to their forlorn state, a prospect happily opens through the medium of _the report of the_ select committee _of the_ house _of_ commons, for the adoption of those remedies which will unquestionably give a seasonable check to immorality and delinquency; so as by their prevention not only to protect the rights of innocence, but also increase the number of the useful members of the community, and render punishments less frequent and necessary. to witness the ultimate completion of legislative arrangements, operating so favourably to the immediate advantage and security of the metropolis, and extending also similar benefits to the country at large, will prove to the author of this work a very great and genuine source of happiness. to the public, therefore, in general, and to the legislature in particular, does he look forward with confidence for that singular gratification which, by giving effect to his well-meant endeavours for the prevention of crimes, will ultimately crown with success the exertions he has used in the course of a very intricate and laborious investigation, in which his only object has been the good of his country. london, _ st january_, . preface. police in this country may be considered as a _new science_; the properties of which consist not in the judicial powers which lead to _punishment_, and which belong to magistrates alone; but in the prevention and detection of crimes, and in those other functions which relate to internal regulations for the well ordering and comfort of civil society. the police of the metropolis, in every point of view, is a subject of great importance to be known and understood; since every innocent and useful member of the community has a particular interest in the correct administration of whatever relates to the morals of the people, and to the protection of the public against fraud and depredation. under the present circumstances of insecurity, with respect to property and even life itself, this is a subject which cannot fail to force itself upon the attention of all:--all are equally concerned in the information which this work conveys; the chief part of the details in which are entirely novel, not to be found in books, and never laid before the public through the medium of the press, previous to the first publication of this treatise. it may naturally be imagined, that such an accumulation of delinquency systematically detailed, and placed in so prominent a point of view, must excite a considerable degree of astonishment in the minds of those readers who have not been familiar with subjects of this nature; and hence a desire may be excited to investigate how far the amazing extent of the depredations upon the public here related, can be reconciled to reason and possibility. four years have, however, elapsed, since these details have been before the public, and they still stand on their original ground, without any attempt which has come to the author's knowledge, to question the magnitude or the extent of the evil.--on the contrary, new sources of fraud and depredation have been brought forward, tending greatly to increase the general mass of delinquency.[ ] [footnote : see mr. middleton's interesting report on the county of middlesex, and the extracts from thence in chapter iii. of this work.] in revising the present edition, the author felt a strong impulse to reduce his estimates; but after an attentive review of the whole, excepting in the instances of the depredations on commercial property, (which have been greatly diminished by the establishment of a _marine police_, applicable to that particular object,) he was unable to perceive any ground for materially altering his original calculations.--if some classes of theft, robbery, and depredation, have been reduced, others have been augmented; still leaving the aggregate nearly as before. the causes of these extensive and accumulated wrongs being fully explained, and accounted for, in various parts of the work; a very short recapitulation of them is, therefore, all that is necessary in this preface. the enlarged state of society, the vast extent of moving property, and the unexampled wealth of the metropolis, joined to the depraved habits and loose conduct of a great proportion of the lower classes of the people; and above all, the want of an appropriate police applicable to the object of prevention, will, after a careful perusal of this work, reconcile the attentive mind to a belief of the actual existence of evils which could not otherwise have been credited.--let it be remembered also, that this metropolis is unquestionably not only the greatest manufacturing and commercial city in the world, but also the general receptacle for the idle and depraved of almost every country; particularly from every quarter of the dominions of the crown--where the temptations and resources for criminal pleasures--gambling, fraud and depredation almost exceed imagination; since besides being the seat of government it is the centre of _fashion, amusements, dissipation and folly_. under such peculiar circumstances, while immorality, licentiousness and crimes are known to advance in proportion to the excessive accumulation of wealth, it cannot fail to be a matter of deep regret, that in the progressive increase of the latter the means of checking the rapid strides of the former have not been sooner discovered and effectually applied. it is, however, earnestly to be hoped that it is not yet too late.--patriots and philanthropists who love their country, and glory in its prosperity, will rejoice with the author in the prospect, that the great leading features of improvement suggested and matured in the present edition of this work will ultimately receive the sanction of the legislature. may the author be allowed to express his conviction that the former editions of this book tended in no small degree, to remove various misconceptions on the subject of police: and at the same time evidently excited in the public mind a desire to see such remedies applied as should contribute to the improvement of the morals of the people, and to the removal of the danger and insecurity which were universally felt to exist? an impression it is to be hoped is generally felt from the example of the roman government, when enveloped in riches and luxury, that national prosperity must be of short duration when public morals are too long neglected, and no effectual measures adopted for the purpose either of checking the alarming growth of depravity, or of guarding the rising generation against evil examples. it is by the general influence of good laws, aided by the regulations of an energetic police, that the blessings of true liberty, and the undisturbed enjoyment of property are secured. the sole object of the author in pointing out the accumulated wrongs which have tended in so great a degree to abridge this liberty, is to pave the way for the adoption of those practical remedies which he has suggested, in conformity with the spirit of the laws, and the constitution of the country, for the purpose of bettering the state of society, and improving the condition of human life. if in the accomplishment of this object the morals of the people shall undergo a favourable change, and that species of comfort and security be extended to the inhabitants of this great metropolis, which has not heretofore been experienced, while many evils are prevented, which in their consequences threaten to be productive of the most serious mischief, the author of this work will feel himself amply rewarded in the benefits which the system he has proposed shall be found to confer upon the capital of the british dominions, and on the nation at large. _preparing for the press, by the author of this work._ a treatise on _the commerce and police_ of the river thames: containing an historical view of _the trade of the port of london;_ the depredations committed on all property imported and exported there; the remedies hitherto applied; and the means of future prevention, by a complete system of _river-police;_ with an account of _the functions of the various magistrates and others_ exercising or claiming jurisdiction on the river; and of the _penal statutes against maritime offences_ of every description. [_the above will be published in the course of the spring, by_ jos. mawman, _in the poultry._] _contents._ chap. i. general view of existing evils. page _ineffective system of criminal jurisprudence.--facility of eluding justice.--severity and inequality of punishments.--necessity of revising our penal code.--certain dangerous offences not punishable.--receivers of stolen property.--extent of plunder in the metropolis, &c.--proposed restrictions on receivers.--coiners and utterers of base money; the extent of their crimes.--defects in the mode of prosecuting offenders.--pardons.--periodical discharges of prisoners.--summary of the causes of the present inefficacy of the police, under nine different heads._ chap. ii. on the system of punishments: theoretically considered. _the mode of ascertaining the degrees of punishment.--the object to be considered in inflicting punishments--amendment, example, and retribution.--in order to render criminal laws perfect, prevention ought to be the great object of the legislature.--general rules suggested for attaining this object.--reflections on the punishments authorised by the english laws, and their disproportion.--the necessity of enforcing the observance of religious and moral virtue.--the leading offences made capital by the laws of england considered, with the punishments allotted to each; compared with, and illustrated by, the custom of other countries; with reflections.--the code of the emperor_ joseph _the second, shortly detailed.--reflections thereon._ [transcriber's note: should be p. ] chap. iii. the cause and progress of small thefts. _the numerous receivers of stolen goods, under the denomination of dealers in rags, old iron, and other metals.--the great increase of these dealers of late years.--their evil tendency, and the absolute necessity of restraining them by law.--petty thefts in the country round the metropolis.--workhouses the causes of idleness.--commons.--cottagers.--gypsies.--labourers and servants.--thefts in fields and gardens.--frauds in the sale and adulteration of milk._ chap. iv. on burglaries and highway robberies. _these crimes more peculiar to england than to holland and flanders, &c.--a general view of the various classes of criminals engaged in these pursuits, and with those discharged from prisons and the hulks, without the means of support.--the necessity of some antidote previous to the return of peace.--observations on the stealing cattle, sheep, corn, &c.--receivers of stolen goods, the nourishers of every description of thieves.--remedies suggested, by means of detection and prevention._ chap. v. on cheats and swindlers. _a considerable check already given to the higher class of forgeries, by shutting out all hopes of royal mercy.--petty forgeries have, however, encreased.--the qualifications of a cheat, swindler and gambler.--the common and statute law applicable to offences of this nature, explained.--eighteen different classes of cheats and swindlers, and the various tricks and devices they pursue.--remedies proposed._ chap. vi. on gaming and the lottery. _the great anxiety of the legislature to suppress these evils, which are however encouraged by high sounding names, whose houses are opened for purposes odious and unlawful.--the civil magistrate called upon to suppress such mischiefs.--the danger arising from such seminaries.--the evil tendency of such examples to servants and others.--a particular statement of the proceedings of a confederacy of persons who have set up gaming-houses as regular partnership-concerns, and of the evils resulting therefrom.--of lottery insurers of the higher class.--of lottery offices opened for insurance.--proposed remedies.--three plans for drawing the lottery so as to prevent all insurance._ chap. vii. on the coinage of counterfeit money. _the causes of the enormous increase of this evil of late years.--the different kinds of false coin detailed.--the process in fabricating each species.--the immense profits arising therefrom.--the extensive trade in sending base coin to the country.--its universal circulation in the metropolis.--the great grievance arising from it to brewers, distillers, grocers, and all retail dealers, as well as to the labouring poor.--counterfeit foreign money extremely productive to the dealers.--a summary view of the causes of the mischief.--the defects in the present laws explained:--and a detail of the remedies proposed to be provided by the legislature._ chap. viii. on river plunder. _the magnitude of the plunder of merchandize and naval stores on the river thames.--the wonderful extent and value of the floating property, laden and unladen, in the port of london in the course of a year.--the modes heretofore pursued in committing depredations through the medium of various classes of criminals, denominated river pirates:--night plunderers:--light horsemen:--heavy horsemen:--game watermen:--game lightermen:--mudlarks:--game officers of the revenue:--and copemen, or receivers of stolen property.--the effects of the marine police institution in checking these depredations.--the advantages which have already resulted to trade and the revenue from this system partially tried.--the further benefits to be expected from legislative regulations, extending the system to the whole trade of the river._ chap. ix. on plunder in the dock-yards, &c. _reflections on the causes of this evil.--summary view of the means employed in its perpetration.--estimate of the public property exposed to hazard.--a statement of the laws at present in force for its protection:--proofs adduced of their deficiency.--remedies proposed and detailed, viz:-- st. a central board of police.-- d. a local police for the dock-yards.-- d. legislative regulations in aid thereof.-- th. regulations respecting the sale of old stores.-- th. the abolition of the perquisite of chips.-- th. the abolition of fees and perquisites, and liberal salaries in lieu thereof.-- th. an improved mode of keeping accounts.-- th. an annual inventory of stores in hand.--concluding observations._ chap. x. on the receivers of stolen goods. _receivers more mischievous than thieves.--the increase of their number to be attributed to the imperfection of the laws, and to the disjointed state of the police of the metropolis.--thieves in many instances, settle with receivers before they commit robberies--receivers always benefit more than thieves:--their profit immense:--they are divided into two classes:--the immediate receivers connected with thieves, and those who keep shops and purchase from pilferers in the way of trade:--the latter are extremely numerous.--the laws are insufficient effectually to reach either class.--the existing statutes against receivers examined and briefly detailed, with observations thereon.--amendments and improvements suggested with means to ensure their due execution._ chap. xi. on the origin of criminal offences. _the increase of crimes imputed to deficient laws and an ill-regulated police:--to the habits of the lower orders in feeding their families in alehouses:--to the bad education of apprentices:--to the want of industry:--to idle and profligate menial servants out of place:--to the lower orders of the jews, of the dutch and german synagogues; to the depraved morals of aquatic labourers:--to the dealers in old metals, furniture, clothes, &c.--to disreputable pawnbrokers:--and finally, to ill-regulated public houses.--concluding reflections._ chap. xii. the origin of crimes continued: female prostitution. _the pitiable condition of the unhappy females, who support themselves by prostitution:--the progress from innocence to profligacy.--the morals of youth corrupted by the multitude of prostitutes in the streets.--the impossibility of preventing the existence of prostitution in a great metropolis.--the propriety of lessening the evil, by stripping it of its indecency and much of its immoral tendency.--the advantages of the measure in reducing the mass of turpitude.--reasons offered why the interests of morality and religion will thus be promoted.--the example of holland, italy, and the east-indies quoted.--strictures on the offensive manners of the company who frequent public tea gardens:--these places under a proper police might be rendered beneficial to the state.--ballad-singers--immoral books and songs--necessity of responsibility for the execution of the laws attaching somewhere._ [transcriber's note: should be p. ] chap. xiii. the origin of crimes continued: state of the poor. _the system with respect to the casual poor erroneous.--the effect of indigence on the offspring of the sufferers.--estimate of the private and public benevolence amounting to , l. a year.--the deplorable state of the lower ranks, attributed to the present system of the poor laws.--an institution to inquire into the cause of mendicity in the metropolis explained.--a new system of relief proposed with respect to casual poor, and vagrants in the metropolis.--the distinction between poverty and indigence.--the poor divided into five classes, with suggestions applicable to each.--the evil examples in work-houses.--the stat. of eliz. considered.--the defective system of execution exposed.--a public institution recommended in the nature of a pauper police, under the direction of three commissioners:--their functions.--a proposition for raising a fund of l. from the parishes for the support of the institution, and to relieve them from the casual poor.--reasons why the experiment should be tried.--assistance which might be obtained from gentlemen who have considered this subject fully._ chap. xiv. on the detection of offenders. _the present state of the police on this subject explained.--the necessity of having recourse to known receivers.--the great utility of officers of justice.--the advantages of rendering them respectable in the opinion of the public.--their powers by the common and statute law.--rewards granted to officers in certain cases of conviction.--the statutes quoted, applicable to such rewards.--the utility of parochial constables, under a well-organized police.--a fund for this purpose might arise from the reduction of the expences of the police, by the diminution of crimes.--the necessity of a competent fund.--a new system for prevention and detection of crimes proposed.--the functions of the different classes of officers.--salaries necessary to all.--improvements in the system of rewards suggested.-- peace-officers in the metropolis and its vicinity, of whom only are stipendiary constables.--defects and abuses in the system of the watch explained.--a general plan of superintendance suggested.--a view of the magistracy of the metropolis.--the inconvenience of the present system._ chap. xv. on the prosecution of offenders. _the prevailing practice when offenders are brought before magistrates.--the duty of magistrates in such cases.--professed thieves seldom intimidated when put upon their trial, from the many chances they have of escaping.--these chances shortly detailed.--reflections on false humanity towards prisoners.--the delays and expences of prosecutions a great discouragement to prosecutors.--an account of the different courts of justice, for the trial of offences committed in the metropolis.--five inferior and two superior courts.--a statement of prisoners convicted and discharged in one year.--reflections thereon.--the advantage which would arise from the appointment of a public prosecutor, in remedying abuses in the trial of offenders.--from to persons committed for trial, by magistrates, in the course of a year.--the chief part afterwards returned upon society._ [transcriber's note: should be p. ] chap. xvi. on the system of punishments: considered practically. _the mode authorised by the ancient laws.--the period when transportation commenced.--the principal crimes enumerated which are punishable with death.--those punishable by transportation and imprisonment.--number of persons tried compared with those discharged.--the system of pardons examined; and regulations suggested.--an historical account of the rise and progress of transportation.--the system of the hulks; and the laws as to provincial and national penitentiary houses.--number of the convicts confined in the hulks for twenty-two years.--the enormous expence of maintenance and inadequate produce of their labour.--the impolicy of the system.--the system of transportation to new south wales examined, and improvements suggested.--erection of national penitentiary houses recommended.--the national penitentiary house (according to the proposal of_ jeremy bentham, _esq.) considered:--its peculiar advantages with respect to health, productive labour, and reformation of convicts.--general reflections on the means of rendering imprisonment useful._ [transcriber's note: should be p. ] chap. xvii. criminal police of the metropolis. _the police of the metropolis examined, and its organization explained.--the utility of the system, established in examined and explained.--its great deficiency from the want of funds to reward officers for the detection and punishment of offenders.--suggestions relative to stipendiary justices, and the benefits likely to result from their exertions in assisting the city magistrates.--the vast labour and weight of duty attached to the chief magistrate and aldermen in london.--the benefits to result from established police magistrates exemplified by the system already adopted under the act of .--the advantages which would arise from the various remedies proposed in the course of this work, only of a partial nature, for want of a centre-point and superintending establishment.--the ideas of foreigners on the police of the metropolis.--observations on the old police of paris, elucidated by anecdotes of the emperor_ joseph ii. _and mons. de_ sartine.--_a central board of commissioners for managing the police, peculiarly necessary on the return of peace.--this measure recommended by the finance committee._ chap. xviii. proposed system of criminal police. _a proposition to consolidate the two boards of hawkers and pedlars, and hackney coaches, into a board of police revenue.--the whole revenue of police from fees, penalties, and licence duties, to make a common fund.--accounts to be audited.--magistrates to distribute small rewards.--a power to the board to make bye laws.--a concurrent jurisdiction recommended.--the penitentiary house for reforming convicts.--measures proposed after the board is established--namely, a public prosecutor for the crown:--a register of lodging houses--the establishment of a police gazette--two leading objects: the prevention of crimes; and raising a revenue for police purposes.--the enumeration of the dealers, who are proposed to be licenced.--a general view of the annual expence of the present and proposed police system.--suggestions respecting a chain of connections with magistrates in the country.--the functions of the proposed central board of police.--specification of the trades to be regulated and licenced.--the advantages likely to result from the adoption of the plan._ [transcriber's note: should be p. ] chap. xix. municipal police of the metropolis. _extent and opulence of the city of london, its streets, lanes, allies, courts and squares estimated at .--churches, &c. .--seminaries for education .--the various institutions and societies for learning, for the fine arts, and for charitable and humane purposes.--the courts of law.--the prisons--suggestions as to improving the system of imprisonment for debt, particularly as relates to small debts: and as to dividing the judicial and ministerial labours among more officers.--the internal or municipal regulations established in the metropolis by several statutes; respecting paving--watching--sewers--hackney coaches--carts--watermen--and buildings.--necessity of rendering these laws uniform and coextensive, so as to consolidate the system of municipal police.--expence calculated at , , l. a year.--suggestions for reducing it.--the present epoch calls for improvements._ [transcriber's note: should be p. ] chap. xx. conclusion. _a summary view of the evils detailed in the preceding chapters.--arguments in favour of a more energetic police as the only means of remedying these evils.--a general view of the estimated depredations annually in the metropolis and its vicinity; amounting in all to two millions sterling.--a view of the remedies proposed-- st. with respect to the corruption of morals.-- d. the means of preventing crimes in general.-- d. offences committed on the river thames.-- th. offences in the public arsenals and ships of war.-- th. counterfeiting money and fabricating bank notes.-- th. punishments.-- th. further advantages of an improved system of police.--concluding reflections._ a treatise, &c. chapter i. _a general view of the evils existing in the metropolis, and the causes from which they arise.--necessity of a well-regulated police.--ineffective system of criminal jurisprudence.--facility of eluding justice. severity and inequality of punishments.--necessity of revising our penal code.--certain dangerous offences not punishable.--receivers of stolen property.--extent of plunder in the metropolis, &c.--proposed restrictions on receivers.--coiners and utterers of counterfeit money; the extent of their crimes.--defects in the mode of prosecuting offenders.--pardons.--periodical discharges of prisoners.--summary of the causes of the present inefficacy of the police, under nine different heads._ next to the blessings which a nation derives from an excellent constitution and system of general laws, are those advantages which result from a well-regulated and energetic plan of police, conducted and enforced with purity, activity, vigilance, and discretion. upon this depends, in so great a degree, the comfort, the happiness, and the true liberty and security of the people, that too much labour and attention cannot possibly be bestowed in rendering complete the domestic administration of justice in all cases of criminal delinquency. that much remains to be done in this respect no person will deny; all ranks must bear testimony to the dangers which both life and property are at present subjected to by the number of criminal people, who, from various causes (which it is the object of the writer of these pages to explain), are suffered with impunity to repeat acts of licentiousness and mischief, and to commit depredations upon individuals and the public. in vain do we boast of those liberties which are our birthright, if the vilest and most depraved part of the community are suffered to deprive us of the privilege of travelling upon the highways, or of approaching the capital in any direction after dark, without risk of being assaulted, and robbed; and perhaps wounded or murdered. in vain may we boast of the security which our laws afford us, if we cannot lie down to rest in our habitations, without the dread of a burglary being committed, our property invaded, and our lives exposed to imminent danger before the approach of morning. imperfect must be either the plan or the execution, or both, of our criminal code, if crimes are found to increase; if the moral principle ceases to be a check upon a vast proportion of the lower ranks of the people; and if small thefts are known to prevail in such a degree, as to affect almost all ranks of the community who have any property to lose, as often as opportunities occur, whereby pilfering in a little way can be effected without detection. if, in addition to this, the peace of society can, on every specious pretence, be disturbed by the licentious clamours or turbulent effusions arising from the ill-regulated passions of vulgar life, surely it becomes an interesting inquiry, worthy the attention of every intelligent member of the community, _from what source spring these numerous inconveniences; and where is a remedy to be found for so many accumulated evils_? in developing the causes which have produced that want of security, which it is believed prevails in no other civilised country in so great a degree as in england, it will be necessary to examine how far the system of criminal jurisprudence has been, hitherto, applicable to the prevention of crimes. if we look back to the measures pursued by our ancestors two centuries ago, and before that period, we shall find that many wholesome laws were made with a view to prevention, and to secure the good behaviour of persons likely to commit offences. since that æra in our history, a different plan has been pursued. few regulations have been established to restrain vice, or to render difficult the commission of crimes; while the statute books have been filled with numerous laws, in many instances doubtfully expressed, and whose leading feature has generally been severe punishment. these circumstances, aided by the false mercy of juries in cases of slight offences, have tended to let loose upon society a body of criminal individuals, who under a better police--an improved system of legislation, and milder punishments,--might, after a correction in penitentiary houses, or employment in out-door labour, under proper restraints, have been restored to society as useful members. as the laws are at present administered, it is a melancholy truth not to be contradicted, that the major part of the criminals who infest this metropolis, although committed by magistrates for trial on very satisfactory proof, are returned upon the public in vast numbers year after year; encouraged to renew their former practices, by the facility they experience in evading justice. but this is not all:--the adroit thief and receiver, availing themselves of their pecuniary resources, often escape, from their knowledge of the tricks and devices which are practised, through the medium of disreputable practitioners of the law; while the novices in delinquency generally suffer the punishment attached to conviction. if, as is the case in some other countries, evidence were allowed to be received of the general character of persons, put upon their trial for offences, and the means by which they obtain their subsistence, so as to distinguish the old reputed thief and receiver from the novice in crimes, the minds of jurymen would be often enlightened, to the furtherance of substantial justice; and a humane and proper distinction might be made between the young pupil of depravity, and the finished villain; as well in the measure of punishment, as in the distribution of mercy. the severity of the punishment, which at present attaches to crimes regarded by mankind as of an inferior nature, and which affect property in a trivial manner, is also deserving the most serious attention. it is only necessary to be acquainted with the modern history of the _criminal prosecutions, trials, acquittals, and pardons in this country_, in order to be completely convinced that the progressive increase of delinquents, and the evils experienced by society from the multitude of petty crimes, result in a great measure from this single circumstance. it will scarcely be credited by those, whose habits of life do not permit them to enter into discussions of this sort, that by the laws of england, there are above _one hundred and sixty_ different offences which subject the parties who are found guilty, to death without benefit of clergy. this multiplicity of capital punishments must, in the nature of things, defeat those ends, the attainment of which ought to be the object of all law, namely, _the prevention of crimes_. in consequence of this severity, (to use the words of an admired writer,) "the injured, through compassion, will often forbear to prosecute: juries, through compassion, will sometimes forget their oaths, and either acquit the guilty or mitigate the nature of the offence: and judges, through compassion, will respite one half the convicts, and recommend them to royal mercy."[ ] [footnote : blackstone's commentaries.] the roman empire never flourished so much as during the æra of the portian law, which abrogated the punishment of death for all offences whatsoever. when severe punishments and an incorrect police were afterwards revived, the empire fell. it is not meant, however, to be insinuated that this would be, altogether, a proper system of criminal jurisprudence to be adopted in modern times. in the present state of society it becomes indispensably necessary, that offences, which in their nature are highly injurious to the public, and where no mode of prevention can be established, should be punished by the forfeiture of life; but these dreadful examples should be exhibited as seldom as possible: for while on the one hand, such punishments often defeat the ends of justice, by their not being carried into execution; so on the other, by being often repeated, they lose their effect upon the minds of the people.[ ] [footnote : can that be thought a correct system of jurisprudence, which inflicts the penalty of death, for breaking down the mound of a fish-pond, whereby the fish may escape; or cutting down a fruit-tree in a garden or orchard; or stealing a handkerchief, or any trifle, privately from a person's pocket, above the value of d;--while a number of other crimes of much greater enormity, are only punished with transportation and imprisonment; and while the punishment of murder itself is, and can be, only death; with a few circumstances of additional ignominy?] however much we glory (and we ought to glory) in the general excellence of our criminal law, yet there is no truth more clear and obvious than this:--"that this code exhibits too much the appearance of a heterogeneous mass, concocted too often on the spur of the occasion (as lord bacon expresses it):--and frequently without that degree of accuracy which is the result of able and minute discussion, or a due attention to the revision of the existing laws; or how far their provisions bear upon new and accumulated statutes introduced into parliament; often without either consideration or knowledge, and without those precautions which are always necessary, when laws are to be made which may affect the property, the liberty, and perhaps even the lives of thousands." some steps have indeed, been taken in parliament, since this work first appeared, towards a general revision of our statute law;[ ] and which, it is hoped, will ere long be adopted. whenever the time shall arrive that the existing laws, which form the present criminal code, shall be referred to able and intelligent men effectually to revise, consolidate, and adjust the whole, in a manner best suited to the present state of society and manners, the investigation will unquestionably excite no little wonder and astonishment. [footnote : see the "report from the committee of the house of commons on temporary laws;" may , --and also the "report from the committee for promulgation of the statutes," december , ; and the "resolutions of a committee of the whole house," march , .] penal laws, which are either obsolete or absurd, or which have arisen from an adherence to rules of common law when the reasons have ceased upon which these rules are founded; and in short, all laws which appear not to be consonant to the dictates of truth and justice, the feelings of humanity, and the indelible rights of mankind should be abrogated and repealed.[ ] [footnote : blackstone.] but the deficiency of the criminal code does not arise solely from an erroneous and undigested scale of penalties and punishments. while on the one hand, we have to lament the number of these applicable to certain offences of a slight nature; we have equally to regret, that there exist crimes of considerable enormity, for the punishment of which the law has made no provision. among the most prominent of these crimes, may be ranked the receiving _cash or specie, bank-notes_ or _bills, knowing them to be stolen_. to this very high offence, in its nature so productive of mischief in a commercial country, no punishment at all attaches; inasmuch as _specie, notes and bills_, are not considered for this purpose to be _goods and chattels_; and the law only makes it a crime to receive property so described. if therefore a notorious receiver of stolen goods shall be convicted of purchasing a glass bottle or a pewter pot, he is liable to be punished severely; but if he receives ten or twenty thousand pounds in _cash_, _bank notes_, or _bills_, he escapes with impunity![ ] [footnote : it is said the same construction of the law has been made with respect to the offence of buying or receiving horses, knowing them to be stolen.] innumerable almost are the other instances which could be collected from reporters of criminal cases, shewing the deficiency of the criminal code; and in how many instances substantial justice is defeated, and public wrongs are suffered to go unpunished, through the objections and quibbles constantly raised in courts of justice; and which are allowed to prevail, principally, for want of that revision of our laws and those amendments which the present state of society and commerce requires. one of the chief nurseries of crimes is to be traced to the receivers of stolen property. without that easy encouragement which these receivers hold out, by administering immediately to the wants of criminals, and concealing what they purloin, a thief, a robber, or a burglar, could not in fact, carry on his trade. and yet, conclusive and obvious, as this remark must be, it is a sorrowful truth, that in the metropolis alone there are at present supposed to be upwards of three thousand receivers of various kinds of stolen goods; and an equal proportion all over the country, who keep open shop for the purpose of purchasing at an under-price--often for a mere trifle,--every kind of property brought to them; from a nail, or a glass bottle, up to the most valuable article either new or old; and this without asking a single question. it is supposed that the property, purloined and pilfered in a little way, from almost every family, and from every _house, stable, shop, warehouse, workshop, foundery, and other repository_, in and about the metropolis, may amount to about £. , in one year, exclusive of depredations on ships in the river thames, which, before the establishment of the marine police system in june , were estimated at half a million more, including the stores and materials!--when to this is also added the pillage of his majesty's stores, in ships of war, dock-yards, and other public repositories, the aggregate will be found in point of extent, almost to exceed credibility! it is a melancholy reflection to consider how many individuals, young and old, who are not of the class or description of common or even repeated thieves, are implicated in this system of depredation; who would probably have remained honest and industrious, had it not been for the easy mode of raising money, which these numerous receivers of stolen goods hold out in every bye-street and lane in the metropolis: in their houses, although a beggarly appearance of old iron, old rags, or second-hand clothes, is only exhibited, the back apartments are often filled with the most valuable articles of ship-stores, copper-bolts and nails, brass and other valuable metals, west-india produce, household goods and wearing apparel; purchased from artificers, labourers in the docks, lumpers, and others employed on the river thames, menial servants, apprentices, journeymen, porters, chimney-sweepers, itinerant jews, and others; who, thus encouraged and protected, go on with impunity, and without the least dread of detection, from the easiness of access, which their various employments give them, plundering every article not likely to be missed, in the houses or stables of men of property; or in the shops, ware-houses, founderies, or work-shops of manufacturers; or from new buildings; from ships in the river; nay even from his majesty's stores, and other repositories, so that in some instances, the same articles are said to be sold to the public boards three or four times over. thus the moral principle is totally destroyed among a vast body of the lower ranks of the people; for wherever prodigality, dissipation, or gaming, whether in the lottery or otherwise, occasions a want of money, every opportunity is sought to purloin public or private property; recourse is then had to all those tricks and devices, by which even children are enticed to steal before they know that it is a crime; and to raise money at the pawnbrokers, or the old iron or rag shops, to supply the unlawful desires of profligate parents. hence also, servants, apprentices, journeymen, and in short all classes of labourers and domestics, are led astray by the temptations to spend money, which occur in this metropolis; and by the facility afforded through the numerous receivers of stolen goods, who administer to their pecuniary wants, on every occasion, when they can furnish them with any article of their ill-gotten plunder. the necessity of adopting some effectual regulations respecting the numerous class of dealers in old metal, stores, and wearing apparel, is too obvious to require illustration; and the progressive accumulation of these pests of society is proved, by their having increased, from about to , in the course of the last twenty years, in the metropolis alone! similar regulations should also be extended to all the more latent receivers, who do not keep open shop; but secretly support the professed robbers and burglars, by purchasing their plunder the moment it is acquired: of which latter class there are some who are said to be extremely opulent. it would by no means be difficult to form such a plan of police as should establish many useful restrictions, for the purpose of checking and embarrassing these criminal people; so as to render it extremely difficult, if not impracticable for them, in many instances, to carry on their business without the greatest hazard of detection. but laws for this purpose must not be placed upon the statute-book as a kind of dead letter, only to be brought into action when accident may lead to the detection, perhaps of one in a thousand. if the evil is to be cured at all, it must be by the promotion and encouragement of an active principle, under proper superintendance, calculated to prevent every class of dealers, who are known to live partly or wholly by fraud, from pursuing those illegal practices; which nothing but a watchful police, aided by a correct system of restraints, can possibly effect. nor ought it to be argued, that the restraints, which may hereafter be proposed, will affect the liberty of the subject. they will assist and protect the honest and fair dealer; and it is perfectly consistent with the spirit of our ancient laws, to restrain persons from doing evil, who are likely to commit offences; the restrictions can affect only a very few, comparatively speaking; and those too whose criminal conduct has been the principal, if not the sole cause, of abridging the general liberty; while it subjected the great mass of the people to the risk of their life and property. whenever dealers, of any description, are known to encourage or to support crimes, or criminal or fraudulent persons, it becomes the indispensable interest of the state, and the duty of the legislators to prevent them from pursuing, at least, the mischievous part of their trade; and that provisions should be made for carrying the laws strictly and regularly into execution. while restraints of a much severer nature than those which are hereafter proposed, attach to all trades upon which a revenue is collected; can it be considered as any infringement of freedom, to extend a milder system to those who not only destroy liberty but invade property? the present state of society and manners calls aloud for the adoption of this principle of regulation, as the only practicable means of preserving the morals of a vast body of the community; and of preventing those numerous and increasing crimes and misdemeanors, which are ultimately attended with as much evil to the perpetrators as to the sufferers. if such a principle were once established, under circumstances which would insure a correct and regular execution; and if, added to this, certain other practicable arrangements should take place, (which will be discussed in their regular order in these pages,) we might soon congratulate ourselves on the immediate and obvious reduction of the number of thieves, robbers, burglars, and other criminals in this metropolis, being no longer able to exist, or to escape detection. without the aid, the concealment, and the opportunities, afforded at present by the multitude of receivers spread all over the capital, they would be compelled to abandon their evil pursuits, as no less unprofitable and hazardous, than they are destructive to the best interests of society. this indeed is very different from what is said to have once prevailed in the capital, when criminals were permitted to proceed from the first stage of depravity until they were worth forty pounds.--this is not the system which subjected the public to the intermediate depredations of every villain from his first starting, till he could be clearly convicted of a capital offence.--neither is it the system which encouraged public houses of rendezvous for thieves, for the purpose of knowing where to apprehend them, when they became ripe for the punishment of death. the system now suggested, is calculated to prevent, if possible, the seeds of villainy from being sown; or, if sown, to check their growth in the bud, and never permit them to ripen at all. it is proposed to extend this system of prevention to the coiners, dealers, and utterers of base money; and to every species of theft, robbery, fraud, and depredation. the vast increase, and the extensive circulation of counterfeit money, particularly of late years, is too obvious not to have attracted the notice of all ranks. it has become an enormous evil in the melancholy catalogue of crimes which the laws of the country are called upon to assist the police in suppressing.--its extent almost exceeds credibility; and the dexterity and ingenuity of these counterfeiters have, (after considerable practice,) enabled them to finish the different kinds of base money in so masterly a manner, that it has become extremely difficult for the common observer to distinguish their spurious manufacture from the worn-out silver of the mint.--so systematic, indeed, has this nefarious traffic become of late, that the great dealers, who, in most instances are the employers of the coiners, execute orders for the town and country, with the same regularity as manufacturers in fair branches of trade. scarcely a waggon or coach departs from the metropolis, which does not carry boxes and parcels of base coin to the camps, sea-ports, and manufacturing towns. in london, regular markets, in various public and private houses, are held by the principal dealers; where _hawkers, pedlars, fraudulent horse-dealers, unlicensed lottery-office-keepers, gamblers at fairs, itinerant jews, irish labourers, servants of toll-gatherers, and hackney-coach owners, fraudulent publicans, market-women, rabbit-sellers, fish-cryers, barrow-women_, and many who would not be suspected, are regularly supplied with counterfeit copper and silver, with the advantage of nearly £. _per cent._ in their favour; and thus it happens, that through these various channels, the country is deluged with immense quantities of base money, which get into circulation; while an evident diminution of the mint coinage is apparent to every common observer. it is impossible to reflect on the necessity to which all persons are thus reduced, of receiving and again uttering, money which is known to be false and counterfeit, without lamenting, that by thus familiarizing the mind to fraud and deception, the same laxity of conduct may be introduced into other transactions of life:--the barrier being broken down in one part, the principle of common honesty is infringed upon, and infinite mischief to the very best interests of society, is the result, in cases at first unthought of. to permit, therefore, the existence of an adulterated, and ill-regulated silver and copper coinage, is in fact to tolerate general fraud and deception, to the ultimate loss of many individuals; for the evil must terminate at some period, and then thousands must suffer; with this aggravation, that the longer it continues the greater will be the loss of property. nor has the mischief been confined to the counterfeiting the coin of the realm. the avarice and ingenuity of man is constantly finding out new sources of fraud; insomuch, that in london, and in birmingham, and its neighbourhood, louis d'ors, half johannas, french half crowns and shillings, as well as several coins of flanders and germany, and dollars of excellent workmanship, in exact imitation of the spanish dollars issued from the bank, in , have been from time to time counterfeited apparently without suspicion, that under the act of the th of elizabeth, (cap. ,) the offenders were guilty of misprision of high treason. these ingenious miscreants have also extended their iniquitous manufacture to the coins of india; and a coinage of the star pagoda of arcot was established in london for years by one person.--these counterfeits, being made wholly of blanched copper, tempered in such a manner as to exhibit, when stamped, the cracks in the edges, which are always to be found on the real pagoda, cost the maker only three half-pence each, after being double gilt.--when finished, they are generally sold to jews at five shillings a dozen, who disposed of them afterwards at _s._ _s._ or even _s._ each; and through this medium, they have been introduced by a variety of channels into india, where they were mixed with the real pagodas of the country, and passed at their full denominated value of eight shillings sterling. the sequins of turkey, another gold coin, worth about five or six shillings, have in like manner been counterfeited in london;--thus the national character is wounded, and the disgrace of the british name proclaimed in asia, and even in the most distant regions of india. nor can it be sufficiently lamented that persons who consider themselves as ranking in superior stations of life, with some pretensions to honour and integrity, have suffered their avarice so far to get the better of their honesty, as to be concerned in this iniquitous traffic. it has been recently discovered that there are at least persons in the metropolis and the country, employed principally in coining and selling base money; and this, independent of the numerous horde of utterers, who chiefly support themselves by passing it at its full value. it will scarcely be credited, that of criminals of this latter class who have either been detected, prosecuted, or convicted, within the last seven years, there stand upon the register of the solicitor to the mint, more than names!--and yet the mischief is not diminished. when the reader is informed, that two persons can finish from £. to £. (nominal value,) in base silver in _six days_; and that three people, within the same period, will stamp the like amount in copper, and takes into the calculation the number of known coiners, the aggregate amount in the course of a year will be found to be immense. the causes of this enormous evil are, however, easily developed.--the principal laws relative to counterfeit coin having been made a century ago, the tricks and devices of modern times are not sufficiently provided against;[ ] when it is considered also, that the offence of dealing in base money, (which is the main spring of the evil,) is only punishable by a slight imprisonment; that several offences of a similar nature are not punishable at all, by any existing statute; and that the detection of actual coiners, so as to obtain the proof necessary for conviction, required by law, is, in many instances, impracticable; it is not to be wondered at, where the profit is so immense, with so many chances of escaping punishment, that the coinage of, and traffic in, counterfeit money has attracted the attention of so many unprincipled and avaricious persons. [footnote : the partial remedy applied to some of these evils by statutes passed since the former edition of this work, shall be noticed in a subsequent chapter dedicated to the subject of coinage.] having thus stated many prominent abuses which appear to arise from the imperfections in our criminal code, as well as the benefits which an improved system would extend to the country; it now remains to elucidate the further evils arising to society, from the abuses practised in carrying the existing statutes into execution.--as the laws now stand, little or no energy enters into the system of detection, so as to give vigor and effect to that branch of police which relates to the apprehension of persons charged with offences; and no sooner does a magistrate commit a hacknied thief or receiver of stolen goods, a coiner, or dealer in base money, or a criminal charged with any other fraud or offence punishable by law, than recourse is immediately had to some disreputable attorney, whose mind is made up and prepared to practise every trick and device which can defeat the ends of substantial justice. depraved persons, frequently accomplices, are hired to swear an _alibi_; witnesses are cajoled, threatened, or bribed either to mutilate their evidence, or to speak doubtfully on the trial, although they swore positively before the committing magistrate. if bribes and persuasions will not do, the prosecutors are either intimidated by the expence,[ ] or softened down by appeals to their humanity; and under such circumstances, they neither employ counsel nor take the necessary steps to bring forward evidence: the result is, that the bill is either returned _ignoramus_ by the grand jury; or, if a trial takes place, under all the disadvantages of a deficient evidence, without a counsel for the prosecution, an advocate is heard for the prisoner, availing himself of every trifling inaccuracy which may screen his client from the punishment of the law, the hardened villain is acquitted and escapes justice: while, as we before noticed, the novice in crimes, unskilled in the deficiencies of the law, and unable, from the want of criminal connections, or that support which the professed thief receives from the buyers of stolen goods, to procure the aid of counsel to defend him, _is often convicted_! [footnote : no hardship can be so great as that of subjecting an individual, under any circumstance whatsoever, to the expence of a public prosecution, carried on in behalf of the king: besides adding, almost on every occasion, to the loss of the parties, it is productive of infinite mischief, in defeating the ends of justice.] the registers of the old bailey afford a lamentable proof of the evils arising from the present mode of trying criminals without a public prosecutor for the crown.--in the course of seven years, previous to the police establishment, no less than prisoners, who had been actually put upon their trial by the grand jury, were let loose upon the public by acquittals. since that period no material diminution has taken place, except what may be easily accounted for by the war; and when to this dreadful catalogue of human depravity, is to be added, the vast number of criminals who are periodically discharged from the different gaols by proclamation, and of cheats, swindlers, gamblers, and others, who have never yet been discovered or known, we may state with certainty that there are at this time _many thousand_ individuals, male and female, prowling about in this metropolis, who principally support themselves by various depredations on the public. nor does the evil rest here; for even convicted felons, in too many instances, find means to escape without punishment; and to join that phalanx of villains, who are constantly engaged in objects of depredation and mischief. no sooner does the punishment of the law attach on a criminal, than false humanity becomes his friend. pardons are applied for; and it is known that his majesty's great goodness and love of mercy has been frequently abused by the tricks, devices, and frauds, too commonly resorted to, by convicts and agents equally depraved as themselves; who while they have recourse to every species of falsehood and forgery, for the purpose of attaining the object in view, at the same time plunder the friends and relatives of the prisoner, of their last guinea, as the wages of villainy and misrepresentation. by such nefarious practices, it is much to be feared, that many a hardened villain has eluded the punishment of the law, without any previous reference to the committing magistrates, who may be supposed to have accurately examined into his character and connections; and what is still worse, without extending to the community those benefits which might arise from important discoveries useful to public justice; such as convicted felons are always capable of making, and which, in conjunction with transportation, it should seem, ought to be one indispensable condition, upon which pardons should be granted to capital convicts. instead of these precautions which appear to be absolutely requisite, it is to be lamented, that without reflecting that a common thief can seldom be restrained by military discipline, many of the worst class of convicts have received his majesty's gracious pardon, on the simple condition of going into the army or navy: this has been no sooner granted, than the royal mercy has been abused, either by desertion, or by obtaining a discharge, in consequence of some real or pretended incapacity, which was previously concealed. relieved in so easy a manner, from the heavy load of a capital punishment, the culprits return again to their old practices; and by this means, punishment not only ceases to operate as a prevention of crimes, by example, but becomes even an encouragement; while the labour of detection, and the expence of trial and conviction, are fruitlessly thrown on an injured individual, and their effect is wholly lost to the public. in addition to the enormous evil arising from the periodical discharge of so many criminals by proclamations, acquittals, and pardons; _the_ hulks also send forth, at stated times, a certain number of convicts; who having _no asylum_, _no home_, _no character_, and _no means of subsistence_, seem to have only the alternative of starving, or joining their companions in iniquity; thus adding strength to the body of criminals, by the accession of men, who, polluted and depraved by every human vice, rendered familiar to their minds in those seminaries of profligacy and wickedness from whence they have come, employ themselves constantly in planning and executing acts of violence, and depredation upon the public; and some of them, rendered desperate from an additional degree of depravity, feel no compunction in adding the crimes of murder to that of robbery, as has been too clearly manifested by many late instances. from what has been thus stated, is it not fair to conclude, that the want of security which the public experiences with regard to life and property, and the inefficacy of the police in preventing crimes, are to be attributed principally to the following causes? . _the imperfections in the criminal code; and in many instances, its deficiency, with respect to the mode of punishment; as well as to the want of many other regulations, provisions, and restraints, applicable to the present of society, for the purpose of preventing crimes._ . _the want of an active principle, calculated to concentrate and connect the whole police of the metropolis and the nation; and to reduce the general management to system and method, by the interposition of a superintending agency, composed of able, intelligent, and indefatigable men, acting under the direction and controul of his majesty's principal secretary of state for the home department.--on these persons, it is proposed, should devolve the subordinate care and direction of the general police of the metropolis; so as to obtain, by the introduction of order and arrangement, and by efforts of labour and exertion, a complete history of the connections, and pursuits of all or most of the criminal and fraudulent persons who resort to the metropolis; (either natives or foreigners;) forming, from such materials, a register of all known offenders, and thereby establishing a clue for their detection, as often as they are charged with committing depredations on the public--with power to reward officers of justice, and all other persons whose services are found to be useful in the discovery or detection of delinquents of every description.--to keep an account of property stolen, or procured by swindling or fraudulent transactions in the metropolis, as well as in other parts of great-britain:--to establish a correspondence with the magistrates in town and country, so as to be able more effectually to watch the motions of all suspected persons; with a view to quick and immediate detection; and to interpose such embarrassments in the way of every class of offenders, as may diminish crimes by increasing the risk of detection: all this, under circumstances where a_ centre-point would be formed, _and the general affairs of the police conducted with method and regularity:--where magistrates would find assistance and information; where the greater offences, such as the_ coinage of base money, _and_ lottery insurances, _would be traced to their source; the care and disposal of convicts, according to their different sentences, be minutely attended to; and the whole system conducted with that intelligence and benefit to the country, which must arise from the attention of men of business being directed solely to these objects, distinct from all other affairs of state; and their exertions being confined principally to the preservation of the morals of the people, and the prevention of crimes._ . _the want of an institution of police magistrates in the dock yards, and in all great commercial and manufacturing towns, where there are no corporations or funds for the administration of public justice._ . _the want of a public prosecutor for the crown, in all criminal cases, for the purpose of preventing fraud, delay and expence in the administration of justice._ . _the want of a more correct and regular system, for the purpose of obtaining the fullest and most authentic information, to avoid deceptions in the obtaining of pardons._ . _the deficiency of the system of the_ hulks. . _the want of an improved system with regard to the arrangements and disposal of convicts--destined for hard labour or for transportation._ . _the want of national_ penitentiary houses, _for the punishment and reformation of certain classes of convicts._ . _the want of a more solemn mode of conducting executions; whenever such dreadful examples are necessary for the furtherance of public justice._ having thus explained the general features of the actually existing _crimes_, and their probable causes, we shall in the next place proceed to some considerations on the present principles of _punishment_ in this country, as compared with those in other nations and ages. it will then be requisite to enter into particular and minute details on both these subjects; and to offer some suggestions for the introduction of new and applicable laws to be administered with purity under a correct and energetic system of police; which may be, in some degree, effectual in guarding the public against those increasing and multifarious injuries and dangers, which are universally felt and lamented. chap. ii. _of punishments in general.--the mode of ascertaining the degrees of punishment.--the objects to be considered in inflicting punishments--namely, amendment--example--and retribution.--the punishment of death has little effect on hardened offenders.--examples of convicts exhibited in servile employments would make a greater impression.--towards the rendering criminal laws perfect, prevention ought to be the great object of the legislature.--general rules suggested for attaining this object, with illustrations.--the severity of our laws with respect to punishments--not reconcileable to the principles of morality, and a free government--calculated in their operation to debase the human character.--general reflections on the punishments authorised by the english law.--the disproportion of punishments, exemplified in the case of an assault, opposed to a larceny.--in seduction and adultery, which are not punishable as criminal offences.--the laws severe in the extreme in political offences, while they are lax and defective with regard to moral crimes.--the necessity of enforcing the observance of religious and moral virtue by lesser punishments.--general reflections applicable to public and private crimes.--the dangers arising from the progress of immorality to the safety of the state.--the leading offences made capital by the laws of england considered, with the punishment allotted to each; compared with, and illustrated by, the custom of other countries, in similar cases, both ancient and modern: namely, high treason--petit treason:--felonies against life, viz. murder, manslaughter, misadventure, and self-defence:--against the body, comprehending sodomy, rape, forcible marriage, polygamy, and mayhem.--against goods or property, comprehending simple larceny, mixt larceny, and piracy,--and against the habitation, comprehending arson and burglary.--concluding reflections relative to the severity of the laws, and their imperfections with regard to punishment--the new code of the_ emperor joseph the second, _shortly detailed.--reflections thereon._ punishment, (says a learned and respectable author) _is an evil which a delinquent suffers, unwillingly, by the order of a judge or magistrate; on account of some act done which the law prohibits, or something omitted which the law enjoins._ all punishment should be proportioned to the nature of the offence committed; and the legislature, in adjusting punishment with a view to the public good, ought, according to the dictates of sound reason, to act on a comparison of the crime under consideration, with other offences injurious to society: and thus by comparing one offence with another, to form a scale, or gradation, of punishments, as nearly as possible consistent with the strict rules of distributive justice.[ ] [footnote : beccaria, or crimes and punishments, cap. .] it is the triumph of liberty, says the great montesquieu, when the criminal laws proportion punishments to the particular nature of each offence.--it may be further added, that when this is the case, it is also the triumph of reason. in order to ascertain in what degree the public is injured or endangered by any crime, it is necessary to weigh well and dispassionately the nature of the offence, as it affects the community.--it is through this medium, that treason and rebellion are discovered to be higher and more dangerous offences than breaches of the peace by riotous assemblies; as such riotous meetings are in like manner considered as more criminal than a private assault. in punishing delinquents, two objects ought to be invariably kept in view.-- . the amendment of the delinquent. . the example afforded to others. _to which may be added, in certain cases_, . retribution to the party injured. if we attend to reason, the _mistress of all law_, she will convince us that it is both unjust and injurious to society to inflict death, except for the highest offences, and in cases where the offender appears to be incorrigible. wherever the amendment of a delinquent is in view, it is clear that his punishment cannot extend to death: if expiating an offence by the loss of life is to be (as it certainly is at present) justified by the necessity of making examples for the purpose of preventing crimes, it is evident that the present system has not had that effect, since they are by no means diminished; and since even the dread of this punishment, has, under present circumstances, so little effect upon guilty associates, that it is no uncommon thing for these hardened offenders to be engaged in new acts of theft, at the very moment their companions in iniquity are launching in their very presence into eternity. the minds of offenders, long inured to the practice of criminal pursuits, are by no means beneficially affected by the punishment of death, which they are taught to consider as nothing but a momentary paroxysm which ends all their distress at once; nay even as a relief, which many of them, grown desperate, look upon with a species of indifference, bordering on a desire to meet that fate, which puts an end to the various distresses and anxieties attendant on a life of criminality. the effect of capital punishments, in the manner they are now conducted, therefore, as relates to example, appears to be much less than has been generally imagined. examples would probably have much greater force, even on those who at present appear dead to shame and the stigma of infamy, were convicts exhibited day after day, to their companions, occupied in mean and servile employments in penitentiary houses, or on the highways, canals, mines, or public works.--it is in this way only that there is the least chance of making retribution to the parties whom they have injured; or of reimbursing the state, for the unavoidable expence which their evil pursuits have occasioned. towards accomplishing the desirable object of perfection in a criminal code, every wise legislature will have it in contemplation rather to prevent than to punish crimes; that in the chastisement given, the delinquent may be restored to society as an useful member. this purpose may possibly be best effected by the adoption of the following general rules. . that the statute-laws should accurately explain the enormity of the offence forbidden: and that its provisions should be clear and explicit, resulting from a perfect knowledge of the subject; so that, justice may not be defeated in the execution. . that the punishments should be proportioned and adapted, as nearly as possible, to the different degrees of offences; with a proper attention also to the various shades of enormity which may attach to certain crimes. . that persons prosecuting, or compelled so to do, should not only be indemnified from expence; but also that reparation should be made, for losses sustained by the injured party, in all cases where it can be obtained from the labour, or property of the delinquent. . that satisfaction should be made to the state for the injury done to the community; by disturbing the peace, and violating the purity of society. political laws, which are repugnant to the law of nature and reason, ought not to be adopted. the objects above-mentioned seem to include all that can be necessary for the attention of law-givers. if on examination of the frame and tendency of our criminal laws, both with respect to the principles of reason and state policy, the author might be allowed to indulge a hope, that what he brings under the public eye on this important subject, would be of use in promoting the good of mankind, he should consider his labours as very amply rewarded. the severity of the criminal laws is not only an object of horror, but the disproportion of the punishments, as will be shewn in the course of this work, breathes too much the spirit of draco,[ ] who boasted _that he punished all crimes with death; because small crimes deserved it, and he could find no higher punishment for the greatest_. [footnote : he lived years before the christian æra.] though the ruling principle of our government is unquestionably, _liberty_, it is much to be feared that the rigour which the laws indiscriminately inflict on slight as well as more atrocious offences, can be ill reconciled to the true distinctions of morality, and strict notions of justice, which form the peculiar excellence of those states which are to be characterised as free. by punishing smaller offences with extraordinary severity, is there not a risque of inuring men to baseness; and of plunging them into the sink of infamy and despair, from whence they seldom fail to rise capital criminals; often to the destruction of their fellow-creatures, and always to their own inevitable perdition? to suffer the lower orders of the people to be ill educated--to be totally inattentive to those wise regulations of state policy which might serve to guard and improve their morals; and then to punish them for crimes which have originated in bad habits, has the appearance of a cruelty not less severe than any which is exercised under the most despotic governments. there are two circumstances which ought also to be minutely considered in apportioning the measure of punishment--_the immorality of the action; and its evil tendency_. nothing contributes in a greater degree to deprave the minds of the people, than the little regard which laws pay to morality; by inflicting more severe punishments on offenders who commit, what may be termed, _political crimes_, and crimes against property, than on those who violate religion and virtue. when we are taught, for instance, by the measure of punishment that it is considered by the law as a greater crime to coin a sixpence than to kill our father or mother, nature and reason revolt against the proposition. in offences which are considered by the legislature as merely personal, and not in the class of public wrongs, the disproportionate punishment is extremely shocking. if, for example, a personal assault is committed of the most cruel, aggravated, and violent nature, the offender is seldom punished in any other manner than by fine and imprisonment: but if a delinquent steals from his neighbour secretly more than the value of twelve-pence, the law dooms him to death. and he can suffer no greater punishment (except the ignominy exercised on his dead body,) if he robs and murders a whole family. some private wrongs of a flagrant nature are even passed over with impunity: the seduction of a married woman--the destruction of the peace and happiness of families, resulting from alienating a wife's affections, and defiling her person, is not an offence punishable by the criminal law; while it is death to rob the person, who has suffered this extensive injury, of a trifle exceeding a shilling. the crime of adultery was punished with great severity both by the grecian and the roman laws.--in england this offence is not to be found in the criminal code.--it may indeed be punished with fine and penance by the spiritual law; or indirectly in the courts of common law, by an action for damages, at the suit of the party injured. the former may now (perhaps fortunately) be considered as a dead letter; while the other remedy, being merely of a pecuniary nature, has little effect in restraining this species of delinquency. like unskilful artists, we seem to have begun at the wrong end; since it is clear that the distinction, which has been made in the punishments between public and private crimes, is subversive of the very foundation it would establish. private offences being the source of public crimes, the best method of guarding society against the latter is, to make proper provisions for checking the former.--a man of pure morals always makes the best subject of every state; and few have suffered punishment as public delinquents, who have not long remained unpunished as private offenders. the only means, therefore, of securing the peace of society, and of preventing more atrocious crimes, is, to enforce by lesser punishments, the observance of religious and moral duties: without this, laws are but weak guardians either of the state, or the persons or property of the subject. the people are to the legislature what a child is to a parent:--as the first care of the latter is to teach the love of virtue, and a dread of punishment; so ought it to be the duty of the former, to frame laws with an immediate view to the general improvement of morals. "that kingdom is happiest where there is most virtue," says an elegant writer.--it follows, of course, that those laws are the best which are most calculated to promote religion and morality; the operation of which in every state, is to produce a conduct intentionally directed towards the public good. it seems that by punishing what are called public crimes, with peculiar severity, we only provide against present and temporary mischiefs. that we direct the vengeance of the law against effects, which might have been prevented by obviating their causes:--and this may be assigned in part as the cause of civil wars and revolutions.--the laws are armed against the _powers_ of rebellion, but are not calculated to oppose its _principle_. few civil wars have been waged from considerations of public virtue, or even for the security of public liberty. these desperate undertakings are generally promoted and carried on by abandoned characters, who seek to better their fortunes in the general havoc and devastation of their country.--those men are easily seduced from their loyalty who are apostates from private virtue. to be secure therefore against those public calamities which, almost inevitably, lead to anarchy and confusion, it is far better to improve and confirm a nation in the true principles of natural justice, than to perplex them by political refinements. having thus taken a general view of the principles applicable to punishments in general, it may be necessary, for the purpose of more fully illustrating these reflections, briefly to consider the various leading offences, and their corresponding punishments according to the present state of our criminal law; and to examine how far they are proportioned to each other. high treason is the highest civil crime which can be committed by any member of the community.--after various alterations and amendments made and repealed in subsequent reigns, the definition of this offence was settled as it originally stood, by the act of the th of edward iii. stat. , cap. . and may be divided into seven different heads: . compassing or imagining the death of the king, queen, or heir apparent. . levying war against the king, in his realm. . adhering to the king's enemies, and giving them aid, in the realm or elsewhere.[ ] [footnote : it has been thought necessary, by the legislature, to explain and enlarge these clauses of the act _ed._ iii. as not extending, with sufficient explicitness, to modern treasonable attempts. it is therefore provided by the act _geo._ iii. _cap._ , "that if any person (during the life of his present majesty, and until the end of the session of parliament next after a demise of the crown) shall within the realm, or without, compass, imagine, invent, devise, or intend death or destruction, _or any bodily harm, tending to death or destruction, maim, or wounding, imprisonment, or restraint_ of the person of the king, his heirs, and successors, or to deprive or depose him or them from his stile, honour, or kingly name; or to levy war against the king within this realm, in order by force to compel him to change his measures; _or in order to put any force or constraint upon, or to intimidate or overawe_, both houses, or either house, of parliament; or to incite any foreigner to invade the dominions of the crown: and such compassings, &c., shall express, utter, or declare, _by publishing any printing, or writing_, or by _any other_ overt act or deed"--the offender shall be deemed _a traitor_, and punished accordingly.] . slaying the king's chancellor or judge in the execution of their offices. . violating the queen, the eldest daughter of the king, or the wife of the heir apparent, or eldest son. . counterfeiting the king's great seal, or privy seal. . counterfeiting the king's money, or bringing false money into the kingdom. this detail shews how much the dignity and security of the king's person is confounded with that of his officers, and even with his effigies imprest on his coin.--to assassinate the servant, or to counterfeit the type, is held as criminal as to destroy the sovereign. this indiscriminate blending of crimes, so different and disproportionate in their nature, under one common head, is certainly liable to great objections; seeing that the judgment in this offence is so extremely severe and terrible, _viz. that the offender be drawn to the gallows on the ground or pavement: that he be hanged by the neck, and then cut down alive: that his entrails be taken out and burned while he is yet alive: that his head be cut off: that his body be divided into four parts: and that his head and quarters be at the king's disposal_.--women, however, are only to be drawn and hanged:--though in all cases of treason, they were heretofore sentenced to be burned: a cruel punishment, which, after being alleviated by the custom of previous strangulation, was at length repealed, by the act geo. iii. _c._ . there are indeed some shades of difference with regard to coining money; where the offender is only drawn and hanged; and that part of the punishment which relates to being _drawn_ and _quartered_ is, to the honour of humanity, never practised. but even in cases of the most atrocious criminality, the execution of so horrid a sentence seems to answer no good political purpose.--nature shudders at the thought of imbruing our hands in blood, and mangling the smoaking entrails of our fellow-creatures. in most countries and in all ages, however, treason has been punished capitally.--under the roman laws, by the _cornelia lex_, of which sylla, the dictator, was the author, this offence was created.--it was also made a capital crime when the persian monarchy became despotic. by the laws of china, treason and rebellion are punished with a rigour even beyond the severity of our judgment, for the criminals are ordained to be cut in _ten thousand_ pieces. there is another species of treason, called _petty treason_, described by the statute of the th of edward the iii. to be the offence of _a servant killing his master, a wife killing her husband_, or a _secular or religious slaying his prelate_.--the punishment is somewhat more ignominious than in other capital offences, inasmuch as a _hurdle_ is used instead of a _cart_.--here again occurs a very strong instance of the inequality of punishments; for although the principle and essence of this crime is breach of duty and obedience due to a superior slain, yet if a child murder his parents (unless he serve them for wages) he is not within the statute; although it must seem evident to the meanest understanding that parricide is certainly a more atrocious and aggravated offence, than either of those specified in the statute. by the _lex pompeia_ of the romans, parricides were ordained to be sown [transcriber's note: sewn] in a sack with a _dog_, a _cock_, a _viper_, and an _ape_, and thrown into the sea, thus to perish by the most cruel of all tortures. the ancient laws of all civilized nations punished the crime of parricide by examples of the utmost severity.--the egyptians put the delinquents to death by the most cruel of all tortures--mangling the body and limbs, and afterwards laying it upon thorns to be burnt alive. by the jewish law it was death for children to curse, or strike their parents; and in china, this crime was considered as next in atrocity to treason and rebellion, and in like manner punished by cutting the delinquent in _one thousand_ pieces. the laws of england however make no distinction between this crime and common murder; while it is to be lamented that offences far less heinous, either morally or politically considered, are punished with the same degree of severity; and it is much to be feared, that this singular inequality is ill calculated to inspire that filial awe and reverence, to parents, which all human laws ought to inculcate. the offences next in enormity to treason, are by the laws of england, denominated felonies, and these may be considered as of two kinds, _public_ and _private_. under the head of _public felonies_ we shall class the following: having peculiar relation to the state. . felonies relative to the coin of the realm. . ----------------- to the king and his counsellors, &c. . ----------------- to soldiers and marines. . ----------------- to embezzling public property. . ----------------- to riot and sedition. . ----------------- to escape from prison. . ----------------- to revenue and trade, &c. we consider as comprehended under _private felonies_ the following crimes committed, . _against the life_, . _the body_, . _the goods_, . _the habitation of the subject_. against . by murder. life. . by man-slaughter. . by misadventure. . by necessity. against the . sodomy. body. . rape. . forcible marriage. . polygamy. . mayhem. against . simple larceny. goods. . mixt larceny. . piracy. against the . arson. dwelling or . burglary. habitation. those crimes which we have denominated _public felonies_ being merely of a political nature, it would seem that the ends of justice would be far better answered, than at present, and convictions oftener obtained, by different degrees of punishment short of death. with regard to _private felonies_, it may be necessary to make some specific observations---- the first, in point of enormity, is _murder_, which may be committed in two ways:--first, upon _one's self_, in which case the offender is denominated _felo de se_ or a _self-murderer_;--secondly, by killing another person. the athenian law ordained, that persons guilty of self-murder should have the hand cut off which did the murder, and buried in a place separate from the body; but this seems of little consequence.--when such a calamity happens, it is a deplorable misfortune; and there seems to be a great cruelty in adding to the distress of the wife, children, or nearest kin of the deceased, by the forfeiture of his whole property; which is at present confiscated by law. by the law of england, the judgment in case of murder is, that the person convicted shall suffer death and that his body shall be dissected. the laws of most civilized nations, both ancient and modern, have justly punished this atrocious offence with death. it was so by the laws of athens, and also by the jewish and roman laws.--by the persian law murderers were pressed to death between two stones; and in china, persons guilty of this offence are beheaded, except where a person kills his adversary in a duel, in which case he is strangled.--decapitation, by the laws of china, is considered the most dishonourable mode of execution. in the ruder ages of the world, and before the manners of mankind were softened by the arts of peace and civilization, murder was not a capital crime: hence it is that the barbarous nations which over-ran the western empire, either expiated this crime by private revenge, or by a pecuniary composition.--our saxon ancestors punished this high offence with a fine; and they too countenanced the exercise of that horrid principle of revenge, by which they added blood to blood.--but in the progress of civilization and society, the nature of this crime became better understood; private revenge was submitted to the power of the law; and the good king alfred first made murder a capital offence in england. in this case, as in that of self-murder, the property of the murderer goes to the state; without any regard to the unhappy circumstances of the families either of the murdered or the guilty person, who may be completely ruined by this fatal accident.--a provision which seems not well to accord with either the justice or mildness of our laws. man-slaughter is defined to be _the killing another without malice, either express or implied: which may be either, voluntarily, upon a sudden heat; or involuntarily, but in the commission of some unlawful act_. and the punishment is, _that the person convicted shall be burnt in the hand, and his goods forfeited_.--and offenders are usually detained in prison for a time not exceeding one year, under the statutes regulating the benefit of clergy. homicide by _misadventure_ is, when _one is doing a lawful act, without intent to hurt another_, and _death ensues_.--for this offence a pardon is allowed of course; but in strictness of law the property of the person convicted is forfeited; the rigour of which, however, is obviated by a writ of restitution of his goods, to which the party is now, by long usage, entitled of right; only paying for suing out the same. homicide _by necessity_ or in _self-defence_, is another shade of murder, upon which no punishment is inflicted: and in this is included what the law expresses by the word _chance-medley_: which is properly applied to such killing as happens in self-defence upon a sudden rencounter. yet, still by strictness of law, the goods and chattels of the person charged and convicted are forfeited to the crown; contrary, as it seems to many, to the principles of reason and justice. it should be recollected that in all cases where the homicide does not amount to murder or man-slaughter, the judges permit, nay even direct, a verdict of acquittal.--but it appears more consonant with the sound principles of justice, that the law itself should be precise, than that the property of a man should, in cases of _misadventure_, _chance-medley_, and _self-defence_ depend upon the construction of a judge, or the lenity of a jury: some alteration therefore, in the existing laws, seems called for in this particular. having thus briefly discussed what has occurred relative to the punishment of offences against life, we come next to make some observations on what we have denominated _private felonies against the body of the subject_. by the grecian, roman, and jewish laws, the abominable crime of _sodomy_ was punished with death.--in france, under the monarchy, the offenders suffered death by burning. the lombards were said to have brought this detestable vice into england, in the reign of edward the third.--in ancient times the men were hanged, and the women drowned: at length by the act th of henry the eighth, cap. , it was made felony without benefit of clergy.-- it has been doubted, however, whether the severity of the punishment of a crime so unnatural, as even to appear incredible, does not defeat the object of destroying it, by rendering it difficult to convict an offender. the same objection has been made with respect to the crime of committing _a rape_. a proper tenderness for life makes the law require a strong evidence, and of course the proof is nice and difficult; whereas, were the punishment more mild, it might be more efficacious in preventing the violation of chastity. by the law of egypt, rapes were punished by cutting off the offending parts;--the athenian laws compelled the ravisher of a virgin to marry her. it was long before this offence was punished capitally by the roman law: but at length the _lex julia_ inflicted the pains of death on the ravisher.--the jewish law also punished this crime with death; but if a virgin was deflowered without force, the offender was obliged to pay a fine, and marry the woman. by the th of elizabeth, cap. , this offence was made felony without benefit of clergy. it is certainly of a very heinous nature, and, if tolerated, would be subversive of all order and morality; yet it may still be questioned, how far it is either useful or politic to punish it with death; and is worth considering, whether, well knowing that it originates in the irregular and inordinate gratification of unruly appetite, the injury to society may not be repaired without destroying the offender. in most cases, this injury might be repaired by compelling (where it could be done with propriety,) the criminal to marry the injured party; and it would be well for society, if the same rule extended not only to all forcible violations of chastity, but even to instances of premeditated and systematic seduction. in cases, however, where marriage could not take place, on account of legal disability, or refusal on the part of the woman, the criminal ought to be severely punished, by pecuniary damages to the party injured, and by hard labour and confinement, or transportation for life. the offence considered as next in point of enormity to rape, is _forcible marriage_, or _defilement of women_: but it is somewhat remarkable, that by confining the punishment to offences against women of estate only, the moral principles are made to yield to political considerations; and the security of property in this instance, is deemed more essential, than the preservation of female chastity. in short, the property of the woman is the measure of the crime; the statutes of the d of henry the seventh, cap. . and the th of elizabeth, cap. , making it felony without benefit of clergy, to take away, _for lucre_, any woman having lands or goods, or being an heir apparent to an estate, by force, or against her will, and to marry or to defile her. the forcible marriage and defilement of a woman without an estate is not punished at all; although, according to every principle of morality and reason, it is as criminal as the other. it is indeed an offence not so likely to be committed. however, it seems in every point of view, impolitic to punish such offences with death; it might be enough, to expiate the crime by alienating the estate from the husband--vesting it in the wife alone, and confining him to hard labour; or by punishing the delinquent, in very atrocious cases, by transportation. polygamy stands next as an offence against the person:--it was first declared felony by the statute of james the first, cap. , but not excluded from the benefit of clergy, and therefore not subject to the punishment of death. though, in one view, the having a plurality of wives or husbands, appears only a political offence, yet it is undeniably a breach of religious and moral virtue, in a very high degree.--it is true, indeed, that in the early ages of the world, polygamy was tolerated both in greece and rome, even after the people had arrived at a high pitch of refinement.--but since the institution of matrimony under the present form, polygamy must be considered as highly criminal, since marriage is an engagement which cannot be violated without the greatest injury to society. the public interest, therefore, requires that it should be punished; and the act th george iii. cap. , which punishes this offence with transportation, is certainly not too severe. mayhem, or maiming, is the last in the catalogue of _offences against the person_. it was first made single felony by the th of henry the fourth, cap. .--it is defined to be _maiming, cutting the tongue, or putting out the eyes of any of the king's liege people_. the statute of the d and d of charles the second, cap. . extends the description of this offence to slitting the nose, cutting off a nose or lip, or cutting off or disabling any limb or member, by malice forethought, and by lying in wait with an intention to maim and disfigure:--and this statute made the offence felony, without benefit of clergy. to prove malice in this crime, it is sufficient that the act was voluntary, and of set purpose, though done on a sudden. mayhem, as explained in the above statutes, is certainly a very atrocious offence; and as the punishment is not followed by corruption of blood, or the forfeiture of the property of the offender, it is, according to the present system, perhaps not too severe. one particular sort of mayhem by cutting off the _ear_, is punishable by an act hen. viii. cap. . which directs that the offender shall forfeit treble damages to the party grieved, to be recovered by action of trespass; and £. by way of fine to the king. we next come to examine _private felonies_ against the _goods or property of the individual_, viz. _simple larceny_, _mixt larceny_, and _piracy_. simple larceny is divided into two sorts;-- st, grand larceny, and d, petit larceny.--the first is defined to be _the felonious taking and carrying away the mere personal property or goods of another, above the value of twelve pence_.--this offence is capital, and punished with death, and the forfeiture of property. petit larceny is where the goods, taken in the above manner, are under the value of twelve pence; in which case, the punishment (according to the circumstances of atrocity attending the offence,) is imprisonment, whipping, or transportation, with forfeiture of goods and chattels. thus it appears, that by the rigour of the law, stealing the least trifle above _d._ subjects the offender to the loss of life; a punishment apparently repugnant to reason, policy, or justice: more especially when it is considered, that at the time this _anglo saxon law_ was made, in the reign of _athelstan_, years ago, _one shilling_ was of more value, according to the price of labour, than _seventy-five shillings_ are at the present period: the life of man therefore may be justly said to be seventy-five times cheaper than it was when this mode of punishment was first established. by the athenian laws, the crime of theft was punished, by paying double the value of what was stolen, to the party robbed; and as much more to the public.--solon introduced a law, enjoining every person to state in writing, by what means he gained his livelihood; and if false information was given, or he gained his living in an unlawful way, he was punished with death.--a similar law prevailed among the egyptians. the _lex julia_ of the romans made theft punishable at discretion; and it was forbidden, that any person should suffer death, or even the loss of a member, for this crime.--the greatest punishment which appears to have been inflicted for this offence, in its most aggravated circumstances, was four-fold restitution. by the jewish law, theft was punished in the same manner: with the addition of a fine according to the nature of the offence; excepting in cases where _men_ were stolen, which was punished with death. in china, theft is punished by the bastinadoe, excepting in cases of a very atrocious nature, and then the culprit is condemned to the knoutage--a contrivance not unlike the pillory in this country. the ancient laws of this kingdom punished the crime of theft differently.--our saxon ancestors did not at first punish it capitally.--the laws of king ina[ ] inflicted the punishment of death, but allowed the thief to redeem his life, _capitis estimatione_, which was sixty shillings; but in case of an old offender, who had been often accused, the hand or foot was to be cut off. [footnote : king of the west saxons, anno .] after various changes which took place under different princes, in the rude and early periods of our history, it was at length settled in the th of henry the first, (a.d. ,) _that for theft and robbery, offenders should be hanged_; this has continued to be the law of the land ever since, excepting in the county palatine of chester; where the ancient custom of beheading felons was practised some time after the law of henry the first; and the justices of the peace of that county, received one shilling from the king, for every head that was cut off. montesquieu seems to be of opinion that as thieves are generally unable to make restitution, it may be just to make theft a capital crime.--but would not the offence be atoned for in a more rational manner, by compelling the delinquent to labour, first for the benefit of the party aggrieved, till recompence is made, and then for the state?[ ] [footnote : that acute reasoner, the marquis beccaria, who wrote after montesquieu, holds this last opinion.--"a punishment, (says this able writer) to be just should have only that degree of severity which is sufficient to deter others: perpetual labour will have this effect more than the punishment of death." becc. chap. .] according to the present system the offender loses his life, and they whom he has injured lose their property; while the state also suffers in being deprived of a member, whose labour, under proper controul, might have been made useful and productive. observations have already been made on one consequence of the severity of the punishment for this offence; that persons of tender feelings conscientiously scruple to prosecute delinquents for inconsiderable thefts. from this circumstance it is believed, that not one depredation in a hundred, of those actually committed, comes to the knowledge of magistrates. mixed or _compound larceny_ has a greater degree of guilt in it than simple larceny; and may be committed either by taking from a man, or from his house. if a person is previously put in fear or assaulted, the crime is denominated _robbery_. when a larceny is committed which does not put the party robbed in fear; it is done privately and without his knowledge, by picking his pocket, or cutting the purse, and stealing from thence above the value of twelve pence; or publicly, with the knowledge of the party, by stealing a hat or wig, and running away. with respect to _dwelling houses_ the common law has been altered by various acts of parliament; the multiplicity of which is apt to create confusion; but upon comparing them diligently, we may collect that the following domestic aggravations of larceny are punishable with death, without benefit of clergy. first, _larcenies above the value of twelve pence_; committed-- st. in a church or chapel, with or without violence or breaking the same; henry viii. cap. : edward vi. cap. .-- d. in a booth or tent, in a market or fair, in the day time or in the night, by violence or breaking the same; the owner or some of his family, being therein; and edward vi. cap. .-- d. by robbing a dwelling house in the day time, (which _robbing_ implies a _breaking_,) any person being therein: and william and mary, cap. .-- th. by the same act, (and see the act henry viii. cap. .) in a dwelling house, by day or by night; without breaking the same, any person being therein, and put in fear: which amounts in law to a robbery; and in both these last cases the _accessary before the fact_ is also excluded from the benefit of clergy. secondly; _larcenies to the value of five shillings_; committed-- st. by breaking any dwelling house, or any outhouse, shop, or warehouse thereunto belonging, in the day time; although no person be therein, which also now extends to aiders, abettors, and accessaries before the fact: elizabeth, cap. ; see also and william and mary, cap. .-- d. by privately stealing goods, wares, or merchandise in any shop, warehouse, coach-houses, or stable, by day or night: though the same be not broken open, and though no person be therein: which likewise extends to such as assist, hire, or command the offence to be committed: and william iii. cap. . lastly; _larcenies to the value of forty shillings_ from a dwelling house, or its outhouses, although the same be not broken, and whether any person be therein or not; unless committed against their masters, by apprentices, under age of fifteen; anne, stat. . cap. . piracy is felony against the goods of the subject by a robbery committed at sea.--it is a capital offence by the civil law, although by act of parliament, it may be heard and determined, according to the rules of the common law, as if the offence had been committed on land. the mode of trial is regulated by the th of henry viii. cap. ; and further by the acts and william iii. cap. . and george iii. cap. ; which also extend to other offences committed on the high seas. felonies _against the dwelling or habitation of a man are of two kinds; and are denounced_ arson _and_ burglary. _arson_ or _arsonry_ is a very atrocious offence--it is defined to be _the malicious burning of the house of another either by night or by day_. it is in this case a capital offence; but if a man burns his own house, without injuring any other, it is only a misdemeanor, punishable by fine, imprisonment, or the pillory. by the d of henry the eighth, cap. . the capital part of the offence is extended to persons, (whether principals or accessaries,) burning dwelling houses; or barns wherein corn is deposited; and by the d of elizabeth, cap. , burning barns or stacks of corn in the four northern counties, is also made felony without benefit of clergy. by the d and d of car. ii. cap. , it is made felony to set fire to any stack of corn, hay, or grain; or other outbuildings, or kilns, maliciously in the night time; punished with transportation for seven years. by the st george i. cap. , it is also made single felony to set fire to any wood, underwood, or coppice. other burnings are made punishable with death, without benefit of clergy; _viz._ setting fire to any house, barn, or outhouse, or to any hovel, cock, mow, or stack of corn, straw, hay, or wood: or the rescuing any such offender: george i. cap. .--setting fire to a coal-mine: george ii. cap. .--burning, or setting fire to any wind-mill, water-mill, or other mill: (as also pulling down the same:) george iii. cap. ; but the offender must be prosecuted within eighteen months.--burning any ship; to the prejudice of the owners, freighters, or underwriters: and charles ii. cap. ; anne, stat. . cap. ; george i. cap. .--burning the king's ships of war afloat, or building: or the dock-yards, or any of the buildings, arsenals, or stores therein: george iii. cap. .--and finally, _threatening_ by anonymous or fictitious letters to burn houses, barns, &c. is by the act george ii. cap. , also made felony without benefit of clergy. burglary is a felony at common law; it is described to be _when a person, by night, breaketh into the mansion of another, with an intent to commit a felony; whether the felonious intent be executed or not_. by the th of elizabeth, cap. , the benefit of clergy is taken away from _the offence_; and by the d and th william and mary, cap. , from _accessaries before the fact_.--by the th of anne, stat. , cap. , if any person shall enter into a mansion or dwelling house, by day or by night, without breaking into the same, with an intent to commit any felony; or being in such houses, shall commit any felony; and shall, in the night time, _break_ the said house _to get out_ of the same, he is declared guilty of the offence of burglary, and punished accordingly. it is, without doubt, highly expedient that this offence should be punished more severely than any other species of theft; since, besides the loss of property, there is something very terrific in the mode of perpetration, which is often productive of dreadful effects. the ancient laws made a marked distinction in the punishment, between this offence, which was called hamsokne, (and which name it retains at present in the northern parts of this kingdom) and robbing a house in the day time. there are many other felonies which have been made capital (particularly within the present century) which do not properly fall within the class above discussed;--for an account of these the reader is referred to the general catalogue of offences specified in a subsequent chapter. the number of these various capital offences upon which the judgment of death must be pronounced, if the party is found guilty, has been already stated to amount to above one _hundred and sixty_.--and yet if a full consideration shall be given to the subject, it is believed that (excepting in cases of _treason_, _murder_, _mayhem_, and some aggravated instances of arsonry) it would be found that the punishment of death is neither politic nor expedient. at any rate, it must be obvious to every reasoning mind, that such _indiscriminate rigour_, by punishing the petty pilferer with the same severity as the atrocious murderer, cannot easily be reconciled to the rights of nature or to the principles of morality. it is indeed true, in point of practice, that in most cases of a slight nature, the mercy of judges, of juries, or of the sovereign, saves the delinquent; but is not the exercise of this mercy rendered so necessary on every occasion, "_a tacit disapprobation of the laws_?"[ ] [footnote : beccaria. _see ante page_ .] cruelty, in punishment for slight offences, often induces offenders to pass on from the trifling to the most atrocious crime.--thus are these our miserable fellow-mortals rendered desperate; whilst the laws, which ought to soften the ferocity of obdurate minds, tend to corrupt and harden them. what education is to an individual, the laws are to society. wherever they are sanguinary, delinquents will be hard-hearted, desperate, and even barbarous. however much our ancestors were considered as behind us in civilization, yet their laws were infinitely milder, in many instances, than in the present age of refinement. the real good of the state, however, unquestionably requires that not only adequate punishments should be impartially inflicted, but that the injured should obtain a reparation for their wrongs. instead of such reparation, it has been already stated, and indeed it is much to be lamented, that many are induced to desist from prosecutions, and even to conceal injuries, because nothing but expence and trouble is to be their lot: as all the fruits of the conviction, where the criminal has any property, go to the state.--that the state should be the only immediate gainer by the fines and forfeitures of criminals, while the injured party suffers, seems not wholly consonant to the principles either of _justice_, _equity_, or _sound policy_. having said thus much on the subject of severe and sanguinary punishments, it may not be improper to mention a very recent and modern authority, for the total abolition of the punishment of death. this occurred in the imperial dominion, where a new code of criminal law was promulgated by the late emperor, joseph ii. and legalised by his edict in . this code, formed in an enlightened age, by princes, civilians, and men of learning, who sat down to the deliberation assisted by the wisdom and experience of former ages, and by all the information possible with regard to the practice of civilized modern nations; with an impression also upon their minds, that sanguinary punishments, by death, torture, or dismemberment are not necessary, and ought to be abolished; becomes an interesting circumstance in the annals of the world. "the emperor _in his edict signed at vienna the th of january, , declares his intention to have been to give a precise and invariable form to criminal judicature; to prevent arbitrary interpretations; to draw a due line between criminal and civil offences, and those against the state; to observe a just proportion between offences and punishments, and to determine the latter in such a manner as that they may make more than merely a transient impression.--having promulgated this new code, he abrogates, annuls, and declares void all the ancient laws which formerly existed in his dominions_.--forbidding at the same time every criminal judge to exercise the functions of his office, on any but those who shall be brought before him, accused of a criminal offence expressed in the new code." this system of criminal law is so concise as to be comprehended in less than one hundred octavo pages. it commences with laying down certain general principles, favourable in their nature both to humanity and public liberty.--in determining the punishments (which will hereafter be very shortly detailed) the following rules are laid down for the judges. "_the criminal judge should be intent on observing the just proportion between a criminal offence and the punishment assigned it, and carefully to compare every circumstance.--with respect to the_ offence, _his principal attention should be directed to the degree of malignity accompanying the bad action,--to the importance of the circumstance connected with the offence,--to the degree of damage which may result from it,--to the possibility or impossibility of the precautions which might have been made use of to prevent it.--with respect to the_ criminal, _the attention of the judge should be directed to his youth,--to the temptation or imprudence attending it,--to the punishment which has been inflicted for the same offence, and to the danger of a relapse_." those denominated . offences against the sovereign and the criminal offences, state; including high treason. _viz._ . offences against human life and bodily safety. . offences against honour and liberty. . offences against possessions and rights. those denominated . offences that endanger the life or health civil offences, of the citizens. _viz._ . offences that affect the fortunes or rights of the citizens. . offences that tend to the corruption of morals. the offences are divided into seven different classes. it is impossible, within the narrow compass of this work, to enter into a particular detail of the various subdivisions of the crimes and punishments explained in this code; which must be perused, in order to form a clear and comprehensive view of the subject. the following specification therefore contains merely the _heads_ or outlines of the system; which it is hoped may be found, from the mode of its arrangement, to convey to the reader both amusement and instruction. abstract of _the criminal code_ of the emperor joseph ii. * * * * * crimes. punishments. _high treason._ . laying violent hands on confiscation of property; the sovereign, whether injury imprisonment for not less than results from it or not. years; and branding on each cheek with the mark of a gallows[ ] if the prisoner is remarkably depraved. . attacking the sovereign imprisonment years, and not by speeches or writings. less than . . persons conspiring and confiscation of property and taking up arms, or entering years' imprisonment, with into alliance with an enemy, branding as above. &c. are guilty of _sedition and tumult_. * * * * * _criminal offences relative to the sovereign and the state._ . he who enters the house imprisonment, not less than or abode of another, and uses month, nor more than years, violence against his person, and condemnation to the public goods, or possession, is works. guilty of _open force_. . he who violently resists imprisonment not less than the authority of a judge, or month, nor more than years; officer of justice, although but where there is an injury and no wound result, is guilty of wounds, not exceeding nor _open violence_. less than . . breach of trust, in a imprisonment not less than , governor, or chargé des nor more than years, and affaires; neglecting the condemnation to the public works, interest of the state, or and in aggravated cases, the betraying his country, &c. pillory.[ ] . a judge, who from imprisonment not less than , nor corruption or passion is more than years, and guilty of an _abuse of condemnation to the public works, judicial authority_. and in aggravated cases, the pillory. . accomplices attempting imprisonment not less than to corrupt a judge. month, nor more than years; and condemnation to the public works. . forgery, by attempting to imprisonment not less than counterfeit public bills of years, and branding with a the state which circulate as hot iron. money. . falsifying a public bill, imprisonment not less than , by changing or altering it, nor more than years, and or imitating the signatures. condemnation to the public works. . coining false money, imprisonment not less than resembling the coin of the month, nor more than years, hereditary dominions, or with condemnation to the public foreign coin current by law; works. even though of equal weight and quality, or superior to the current coin. . coining false money, by imprisonment not less than , using a bad alloy; and by nor more than years, and fraud giving false money the condemnation to the public works. quality of good. . accomplices in imprisonment not less than , fabricating tools for nor more than years, and coining. condemnation to the public works. . assisting in the escape imprisonment not less than of a prisoner. month, nor more than years; and condemnation to the public works. . magistrates granting imprisonment not less than , indulgencies contrary to nor more than years; and law, &c. deprivation of authority. * * * * * _criminal offences against human life and bodily safety._ . _murder_,--by imprisonment not less than , wounding a man so that death nor more than years; the latter ensues, including all in cases of consanguinity.[ ] accomplices. . killing a man in imprisonment not less than self-defence, if the slayer month, nor more than years, and exceed the bounds of condemnation to the public works. necessity. . _murder_,--with an imprisonment not less than intention to rob or steal the years, with the hot iron; in property of the person, or cruel cases, to be closely other property intrusted to chained, with corporal his care. punishment[ ] every year. . assassination by condemnation to the chain,[ ] stratagem, arms, or poison. not less than years. . inducing another to commit imprisonment not less than , murder; by caresses, promises, nor more than years, and presents, or threats; whether condemnation to the public death is the result or not. works.--if murder is committed, the criminal shall suffer as a murderer. . _duelling_,--or if death ensues; condemnation to challenging another to combat the chain for years, where the with murderous weapons on survivor is the challenger. if whatever pretence the challenge the survivor be the party be grounded.--the person challenged, imprisonment, not accepting the challenge is more than , nor less than equally guilty, after agreeing years, and condemnation to the to combat with murderous weapons. public works. if neither fall, imprisonment to the challenger, not less than month, nor more than years; and hard labour in the public works. . accomplices acting as imprisonment not less than , assistants and seconds. nor more than years. . a woman with child using imprisonment not less than , means to procure abortion. nor more than years; and condemnation to the public works: augmented when married women. . accomplices advising and imprisonment not less than recommending abortion. month, nor more than years, and condemnation to the public works.--punishment increased when the accomplice is the father of the infant. . exposing a living infant, imprisonment not less than , in order to abandon it to danger nor more than years; to be and death; or to leave its increased under circumstances of deliverance to chance; whether aggravation. the infant, so exposed, suffers death or not. . maiming by malignant imprisonment not less than assault. month, nor more than years. . suicide or self-murder, the body to be thrown into without any sign of insanity. the earth by the executioner, and the name of the person and crime to be publicly notified and fixed on a gallows. * * * * * _criminal offences against honour and liberty._ . _calumny_--false imprisonment not less than accusation--injuring a man of month, nor more than years, his right, or robbing him of his and condemnation to the public good name unjustly and without works; with corporal punishment proof (see post. no. .) if the party receive injury. . _rape_,--or forcibly, imprisonment not less than by associates, threatnings, or years, nor more than , and shewing weapons, overpowering condemnation to the public works. and forcing a woman to submit, and shamefully abusing her by rendering her incapable of opposition. . accomplices aiding in the imprisonment not less than , commission of a rape. nor more than years; and condemnation to the public works. . _forcibly carrying a imprisonment not less than person out of the state_ years, nor more than years; without his will, or the augmented if the criminal is a consent of the magistrate, natural-born subject. enlisting men into foreign service, &c. . _forcibly, or by imprisonment not less than address, secretly carrying month, nor more than years; if away a minor_ past the years no injury result--otherwise of infancy, under the care of imprisonment, not less than , nor parents or guardians, &c. more than years, and condemnation to the public works. . _forcibly, and by imprisonment not less than address, getting possession of years, and not more than ; and any woman_ contrary to her condemnation to the public will, obtaining her consent to works. marriage, or shameful debauchery, and carrying her from her abode; whether the design is accomplished or not. . _forcibly carrying away imprisonment not less than a woman known to be bound by month, nor more than years, lawful marriage_, or under and condemnation to the public protection of parents, and works. without her consent. . accomplices aiding and the same. assisting. . _unlawful imprisonment_, imprisonment not less than or keeping a person in month, nor more than years; confinement against his will augmented in cases of damages. and of his own private authority. * * * * * _criminal offences against possessions and rights._ . _fraud._--obtaining the various, according to the degree property of another by of malignity--in general by stratagem, with an evil design imprisonment not less than , on his possessions, honour, nor more than years; and in or liberty; forging title smaller offences, not less than deeds or contracts, or nor more than ; and condemnation _altering_ the same. to the public works. _perjury_ in a court of the same. justice, assuming a false name, &c. &c. bearing false witness. . _theft_, or taking a imprisonment not less than moveable from the possession of month, nor more than years, if another by fraud, and without unaccompanied by aggravating his consent. (see post. no. circumstances: but in aggravated .) cases, imprisonment not less than nor more than ; or not less than , nor more than years. . _accomplices in imprisonment not less than theft_.--abettors and month nor more than years, and receivers, &c. condemnation to the public works. . _robbery_--committed imprisonment not less than alone or in company, by using years, nor more than ; if wounds violence, or forcing a person ensue, in consequence of the to discover effects, on which violence used. and if acts of the offender has felonious cruelty or wounds, occasioning views. death, then the punishment of the chain additional. . _incendiary_--where one imprisonment not less than undertakes an action from which nor more than years; and fire may ensue, or with intention condemnation to the public works: to prejudice, or cause damage, when the flames have been stifled. with a view to profit by the setting fire to a camp, magazine, disorder that takes place, he barn, timber-yard, &c. shall be considered as an from to years; according _incendiary_, whether to the circumstances of the case. damage ensues or not. . _bigamy_--where one imprisonment not less than bound by the tie of lawful nor more than years, or matrimony, concludes a second condemnation to the public works; marriage with another person, if the person with whom the single or married. offender contracts the second marriage was acquainted with the first.--if concealed, then imprisonment not exceeding nor less than years. * * * * * _civil offences that endanger the life or health of the citizen._ . _misadventure_--where imprisonment from month without any ill intention, by to a year, or condemnation to the means of poisonous merchandize, public works, if the offender has or apothecaries selling caused any immediate damage; adulterated drugs, any person but if the cause of damage be suffers danger or injury. remote, imprisonment from a day to month. . damage to man or child, imprisonment from day to occasioned by riding or driving a month; to be augmented, in carriages with too much speed; case death or wound should have or injury received by persons resulted from the accident. incapable of guarding against danger, occasioning a wound or death, which might have been prevented by due vigilance. . breaking quarantine, &c. by a military court of and fabricating false bills of justice. health. . actions prejudicial to condemnation to the public health, or nuisance, where the works, with or without fetters; necessary precautions prescribed either from day to a month, or by the laws of health are from month to a year. neglected in cases of dead animals, distempers among cattle, &c. &c. * * * * * _civil offences that affect the fortunes and rights of citizens._ . stealing to the value of confinement, corporal correction, crowns of any moveable, and the augmentation of when not accompanied with the punishment if requisite. aggravating circumstances: _stealing wood in a forest--poaching by an unqualified person--stealing fruit from trees--or earth from open fields_--though beyond the value of crowns. (see ante, no. , .) . using frauds in playing the pillory and condemnation at games allowed by law. to the public works, in atrocious cases; also imprisonment, from day to a month, and restitution.--in case of foreigners, the pillory and banishment. . _accomplices_ imprisonment from day to a co-operating in such frauds. month. . _playing at prohibited a fine of ducats, or games._ imprisonment. . _persons selling imprisonment from day to a merchandize_ at higher prices month, which may be augmented. than fixed by the police, or by false weight or measure. . _adultery._ corporal correction, or imprisonment from day to a month. . _contracting illegal imprisonment from day to a marriages._ (see ante, no. month, and condemnation to the .) public works. . _servants_ receiving corporal correction or earnest, and engaging to serve imprisonment from day to a more masters than one, or month. otherwise misbehaving. . _masters_ giving imprisonment from day to a servants a false character. month. . _libels_ on another by condemnation to the public writings or disgraceful prints works; reserving the right to or drawings, causing injury to recompence to the party wronged. another. (see ante, no. .) . distributing or publishing condemnation to the public libels. works; reserving the right of recompence to the party wronged. . _actions_ by which corporal correction. danger by fire may be occasioned; such as smoking tobacco in a stable, timber-yard, &c. . acts of hasty petulance, imprisonment various, or leading to quarrels, assaults, condemnation to the public works. and damages. * * * * * _civil offences that tend to the corruption of morals._ . wickedly insulting the detention in the hospital destined supreme being by words, deeds, for madmen; where the offender or actions, in a public place, is to be treated like a man or in the presence of another out of his senses, until his person. amendment be perfect and assured. . disturbing the exercise imprisonment from day to a of public worship, &c. month; to be augmented by fasting and corporal correction. . writing or preaching pillory and imprisonment, against the christian religion, from day to a month, or to a and catholick faith, &c. &c. year. heresies, &c. . committing indecencies imprisonment from day to a in any public street or place. month, augmented by fasting. . attempting to seduce or imprisonment from day to a insult women of reputation, by month. shameful debauchery, and using gestures, or discourses, tending to that purpose. . carnal commerce by corporal correction, and man with beast, or with a condemnation to the public works; person of the same and banishment from the place sex,--_sodomy_. where the offence has been publicly scandalous. . consenting to shameful condemnation to the public debauchery in his house; works, from month to year; keeping a _bawdy house_. to be augmented when an innocent person has been seduced; second offence, the pillory. . any person, man or woman, imprisonment from month making a business of to a year; second offence, prostitution, and deriving punishment double, and augmented profit from thence. by fasting and corporal correction. . dealing in books, pictures, imprisonment from day to or prints which represent month. indecent actions. . disguising in masks, and the same. obtaining admission into societies, and secret fraternities not notified to the magistrate. . harbouring in dwellings the same. persons not known to have an honest mean of living. . banished persons, from corporal correction, to be the whole of the austrian doubled at each successive return; dominions--returning, &c. and the offender to be banished from the hereditary dominions. [footnote : in cases where a criminal appears to be remarkably depraved, and that the apprehensions he may excite require such precautions, he shall be branded on each cheek with the mark of a gallows, so visibly and strongly impressed as not to be effaced either by time or any other means whatever.] [footnote : this punishment is different from the pillory in england. in the german language it signifies an exposure on the public theatre of shame. the criminal is chained and guarded on an elevated scaffold, and exposed an hour at a time, with a paper on his breast denoting his offence.] [footnote : when a criminal is condemned to severe imprisonment, he has no bed but the floor, no nourishment but bread and water, and all communication with relations, or even strangers, is refused him. when condemned to milder imprisonment, better nourishment is allowed; but he has nothing to drink but water.] [footnote : corporal punishment is inflicted with a whip, rod, or stick, publicly, on the criminal; the degree of punishment (within lashes or strokes at one time) depends on the sound prudence of the judge.] [footnote : the punishment of the chain is inflicted in the following manner. the criminal suffers severe imprisonment, and is so closely chained, that he has no more liberty than serves for the indispensable motion of his body.--chained criminals suffer a corporal punishment once a year, as an example to the public.] in contemplating the various component parts of this code, it is easy to discover that although some features of it may be worthy of imitation, upon the whole it is not suited either to the english constitution or the genius of our people. it is, however, a curious and interesting document, from which considerable information may be drawn; if ever that period shall arrive when a revision of our own criminal code (in many respects more excellent than this) shall become an object of consideration with the legislature.--at all events it strongly evinces the necessity of adapting the laws to the circumstances and situation of the government; and of the people whose vices are to be restrained. the total abolition of the punishment of death (excepting in military offences cognizable by courts martial) is a very prominent feature in this code; which appears to have been founded in a great measure on the principles laid down by the marquis beccaria, in his essay on crimes and punishments: that able writer establishes it as a maxim, which indeed will scarcely be controverted--"that the severity of punishment should just be sufficient to excite compassion in the spectators, as it is intended more for them than the criminal.--a punishment, to be just, should have only that degree of severity which is sufficient to deter others, and no more"--this authour further asserts, "that perpetual labour has in it all that is necessary to deter the most hardened and determined, as much as the punishment of death, _where every example supposes a new crime_:--perpetual labour on the other hand, affords a frequent and lasting example."[ ] [footnote : the punishment of death is not authorized by any right.--if it were so, how could it be reconciled to the maxim, that a man has no right to kill himself? the punishment of death is a war of a whole nation against a citizen, whose destruction is considered as necessary or useful to the public good.--if i can demonstrate that it is neither necessary nor useful, i shall have gained the cause of humanity.--if the experience of all ages be not sufficient to prove that the punishment of death has never prevented determined men from injuring society--if the example of the romans--if twenty years' reign of elizabeth, empress of russia, be not sufficient, let us consult human nature in proof of my assertion. the death of a criminal is a terrible, but momentary spectacle; and therefore a less efficacious method of deterring others, than the continued example of a man deprived of his liberty, and condemned to repair by his labour, the injury done to society. a condition so miserable is a much more powerful preventive than the fear of death, which men always behold in distant obscurity. beccaria, cap. .] doubtless, the fundamental principle of good legislation is, rather to prevent crimes than to punish.--if a mathematical expression may be made use of, relative to the good and evil of human life, it is the art of conducting men to the _maximum_ of happiness and the _minimum_ of misery. but in spite of all the efforts of human wisdom, aided by the lights of philosophy, and freed from the mist of prejudice or the bigotry of darker ages;--in spite of the best laws, and the most correct system of police which the most enlightened legislature can form: it will not be altogether possible, amid the various opposite attractions of pleasure and pain, to reduce the tumultuous activity of mankind to absolute regularity:--we can only hope for a considerable reduction of the evils that exist.--_let the laws be clear and simple;--let the entire force of the nation be united in their defence; let the laws be feared, and the laws only._ chap. iii. _the causes and progress of small thefts in london explained and traced to the numerous receivers of stolen goods, under the denominations of dealers in rags, old iron, and other metals.--the great increase of these dealers of late years.--their evil tendency, and the absolute necessity of regulations, to prevent the extensive mischiefs arising from the encouragements they hold out, to persons of every age and description, to become thieves, by the purchase of whatever is offered for sale.--a remedy suggested.--petty thefts in the country round the metropolis--workhouses the causes of idleness--commons--cottagers--gypsies--labourers and servants; their general bad character and propensity to thieving small articles from their masters, encouraged by receivers.--thefts in fields and gardens--their extent and amount throughout england--frauds in the sale and adulteration of milk in the metropolis._ in a preceding chapter the small thefts committed by persons not known to belong to the fraternity of thieves, are estimated to amount to the enormous sum of £. , a year. this discovery (except what relates to embezzled silk, cotton, and worsted) was originally made through the medium of a considerable dealer in rags and old iron, and other metals, who communicated to the author much interesting information, respecting receivers of stolen goods, confirmed afterwards through other channels, the substance of which has been already alluded to; and of which the following are more ample details: that there exists in this metropolis, (and also in all the towns where his majesty's dock-yards are established) a class of dealers, of late years become extremely numerous, who keep open shops for the purchase of _rags, old iron, and other metals_. "that these dealers are universally, almost without a single exception, the receivers of stolen goods of every denomination; from a nail, a skewer, a key, or a glass bottle, up to the most valuable article of portable household goods, merchandize, plate, or jewels, &c. &c. "that they are divided into two classes:--_wholesale_ and _retail dealers_. that the retail dealers are generally (with some exceptions) the immediate purchasers in the first instance, from the pilferers or their agents; and as soon as they collect a sufficient quantity of iron, copper, brass, lead, tin, pewter, or other metals, worthy the notice of a large dealer, they dispose of the same for ready money; by which they are enabled to continue the trade. "that the increase of these old iron, rag, and store shops has been astonishing within the last twenty years. "that, as the least trifle is received, the vigilance of the parties, from whom the articles are stolen, is generally eluded; by the prevailing practice of taking only a small quantity of any article at a time. "that the articles thus received are generally purchased at about one-third of the real value, and seldom at more than half;--glass bottles in particular, are bought at one penny each, and no question asked:--they are afterwards sold to dealers in this particular branch, who assort and wash them, and again re-sell them to inferior wine-dealers at nearly the full value:--this has become, of late, an extensive line of trade. "that further facilities are afforded by the dealers in old iron, in the collection of metals, rags, and other articles purloined and stolen in the country; which are conveyed to town by means of _single-horse carts_, kept by itinerant jews, and other doubtful characters; who travel to portsmouth, chatham, woolwich, deptford, and places in the vicinity of london, for the purpose of purchasing metals from persons who are in the habit of embezzling the king's stores, or from dealers on the spot, who are the first receivers; from them, _copper-bolts, nails, spikes, iron, brass, lead, pewter_, and other ship articles of considerable value are procured.--these single-horse carts have increased greatly of late years, and have become very profitable to the proprietors. "that some of these dealers in old metals, notoriously keep men employed in knocking the broad arrow, or king's mark, out of the copper-bolts, nails, and bar iron, whereon it is impressed, and also in cutting such bar iron into portable lengths, after which it is sold to the great dealers, who supply the public boards; and who are in some instances supposed by this means to sell the same article to these boards even _two_ or _three_ times over. "that the trade thus carried on, is exceedingly productive both to the retail and wholesale dealers; many of whom are become extremely opulent, and carry on business to the extent of from ten to thirty, and in some few instances, fifty thousand a year in old metals alone. "that the quantity of new nails, taken from the public repositories, and from private workshops, and disposed of at the old iron shops exceeds all credibility. "and finally, that the retail dealers in old iron, with some exceptions, are the principal purchasers of the pewter pots stolen from the publicans, which they instantly melt down (if not previously done) to elude detection." thus are the lower ranks of society assailed on all hands; and in a manner allured to be dishonest, by the ready means of disposing of property, unlawfully acquired, to satisfy _imaginary_ and too frequently _criminal_ wants, excited by the temptations which the amusements and dissipations of a great capital, and the delusion of the lottery, hold out. the rapid growth of this evil within the last twenty years, and the effect it has upon the morals of menial servants and others, who must in the nature of things have a certain trust committed to them, is a strong reason why some effectual remedy should be administered as speedily as possible. it seems, under all circumstances, that the regulation of these iron-shops, by licence, and by other restrictions connected with the public security, has become a matter of immediate necessity; for it is a dreadful thing to reflect that there should exist and grow up, in so short a period of time, such a body of criminal dealers, who are permitted to exercise all the mischievous part of the functions of pawnbrokers; enjoying equal benefits, without any of the restrictions which have already been extended to this last class of dealers; who themselves also require further regulations, which will be hereafter discussed. but beside the dealers in _old iron_, it will be necessary to extend the regulation proposed, to dealers in _second-hand wearing apparel_, whether _stationary_ or _itinerant_; for through this medium also, a vast quantity of bed and table linen, sheets, wearing apparel, and other articles, pilfered in private families, is disposed of; and money is obtained, without asking questions, with the same facility as at the iron shops. to prevent metals from being melted by receivers of stolen goods, and other persons keeping crucibles and melting vessels, by which means the most infamous frauds are committed, to the evasion of justice, by immediately melting plate, pewter pots, and every kind of metal that can be identified; it may be also necessary to regulate, by licence, all _founders of metal_, and also the horse and truck carts used for the purpose of conveying old metals from place to place: so as, upon the whole, to establish a _mild, but complete system of prevention_; by limiting the dealers in old metals and second-hand wearing apparel, to the honest and fair part of their trade, and by restraining them with regard to that which is fraudulent and mischievous. at present these respective dealers may truly be said to be complete pests of society.--they are not, like pawnbrokers, restrained, as to the hours of receiving or delivering goods.--their dealings are often in the night time, by which means they enjoy every opportunity of encouraging fraud and dishonesty. it is impossible to contemplate the consequences arising from the seduction of so many individuals, young and old, who must be implicated in the crimes which these abominable receptacles encourage, without wishing to see so complicate and growing a mischief engage the immediate attention of the legislature, that a remedy may be applied as early as possible.[ ] [footnote : this remedy as it respects receivers of stolen goods, is specifically explained at the close of a subsequent chapter which relates entirely to that subject, and to which the reader is particularly referred.] this system of petty thievery and general depredation is, however, by no means confined to the precincts of the metropolis: it is extended in a peculiar manner through the different counties in its vicinity.--the following particulars, extracted from mr. _middleton's_ view of the agriculture of _middlesex_, will enable the reader to form some judgment of the extent of the mischief, and the causes from which it originates; producing and increasing that band of plunderers, of which the metropolis itself has ultimately been at once the nurse and the victim. "the funds raised for supporting the _idle poor of this country_ (says this intelligent writer) are so numerous, efficient, and comfortable, as to operate against the general industry of the _labouring poor_. "lodging and diet in the workhouses, in every instance, are superior to what the industrious labourer can provide for his family. it is obvious that this must have an influence over their minds, and become most injurious to the interests of society; it holds out encouragement to prefer the workhouse to labour; and, by filling the poor houses with improper inhabitants, it reduces the amount of industry." the annual expence of each pauper is calculated by the same writer at about _fifteen guineas_; a stout healthy labourer in husbandry, with a wife and three children, earns only thirty for the support of five persons. "the want of prudence is increased, and general industry lessened, on the part of the poor, by the facility with which voluntary contributions are raised during every temporary inconvenience, such as a few weeks' frost, or an extraordinary advance in the price of provisions.[ ] and also by the constantly cloathing upwards of ten thousand children of the labouring poor in this country. [footnote : this observation can only apply to such voluntary contributions as are liable to abuses, and where the poor are permitted to dispose of the benevolence of the opulent in their own way.--the _soup-charities_ established in different parts of the metropolis are a peculiar exception, inasmuch as they contribute only to the relief of those that are really objects of distress, while no public charity heretofore instituted has been found to be liable to fewer abuses. in a great metropolis like london, it has been clearly established, that in spite of every regard to prudence and oeconomy, decent families will be suddenly broke down, while the habits of life peculiar to the lower orders, and their want of the knowledge of frugal cookery have proved a source of much real calamity; for where nothing is laid up, every pressure arising from sickness, child-birth, or death throws many hundreds upon the public, who have no legal parochial settlement, and who but for some relief must absolutely perish;--while the soup-charities hold out immediate and constant relief to many families, who might otherwise perish with hunger;--while this species of relief may be said to be accessible to every indigent family in the metropolis, no lure is held out to the idle or profligate. it cannot be disposed of, as bread, meat, and coals, for gin and other articles. there is therefore scarcely any risque of deception, more especially as the applicants pay down half the original cost on receiving it--thus establishing the means of discrimination between _real_ and _pretended distress_. about , families, composed chiefly of persons who had not the means of obtaining sufficient food to support nature, consisting of , men, women, and children, were relieved by the daily distribution of soups at _spital-fields_, _clerkenwell_, _st. george's fields_, and _westminster_, during the last winter, at an expence to the subscribers not exceeding one guinea for every meals of rich nourishing soup, which those poor people received. but this is not the only advantage which attends these institutions, since there is every reason to believe, that while the poor are thus frugally fed, they are taught by example, and by circulating among them printed friendly advices, what they never knew before--_the means of making a little go far_, by introducing the same beneficial mode of dressing food in their own houses. and from a minute attention to this object, the author has great satisfaction in stating, that from the eagerness shewn to obtain the soup, and the thankfulness almost universally expressed for the benefits it conferred, there is every reason to hope, that more good has arisen to the industrious poor from these establishments (which are now extending themselves in the villages and manufacturing towns) than by any plan which has ever been resorted to for relieving distress. among the various classes of benevolent individuals, to whom the public have been indebted for their pecuniary and personal aid in promoting this design the society of _the friends_ is peculiarly prominent. to the zeal and perseverance they have manifested, and the valuable time they have bestowed, in giving effect and utility to the system, is owing much of its success.] "every institution which tends to make the poor depend on any other support than their own industry does them great disservice, and is highly injurious to society, by diminishing the quantity of labour which annually produces consumable goods, the only wealth of a nation." although these suggestions may appear harsh, and some of them may admit of more extended discussion, yet they certainly deserve very serious consideration; as do also the following observations on the commons and waste lands with which this kingdom still abounds; and on the general character of servants and labourers; the latter of which afford but too melancholy a confirmation of many opinions which the author of this treatise has thought it his duty to bring forward to the public eye. "on estimating the value of the commons in middlesex, including every advantage that can be derived from them in pasturage, locality of situation, and the barbarous custom of turbary, it appears that _they do not produce to the community, in their present state, more than four shillings per acre_! on the other hand, they are, in many instances, of real injury to the public, by holding out a lure to the poor man; by affording him materials wherewith to build his cottage, and ground to erect it upon; together with firing, and the run of his poultry and pigs for nothing. this is, of course, temptation sufficient to induce a great number of poor persons to settle upon the borders of such commons. but the mischief does not end here; for having gained these trifling advantages, through the neglect or connivance of the lord of the manor, it unfortunately gives their minds an improper bias, and inculcates a desire to live, from that time forward, without labour, or at least with as little as possible. "the animals kept by this description of persons, it is soon discovered by their owners, are not likely to afford them much revenue, without better feed than the scanty herbage on a common; hence they are tempted to pilfer corn, &c. towards their support; and as they are still dependant on such a deceptious supply, to answer the demands of their consumption, they are in some measure constrained to resort to various dishonest means, so as to make up the deficiency. "it is a notorious fact, that in all cases cottages not having any ground belonging to them promote thieving to a great extent; as their inhabitants constantly rob the neighbouring farms and gardens of root and pulse sufficient for their own consumption, and which they would have no temptation to do, if they had the same articles growing of their own." hence mr. middleton suggests the evil admits of an easy remedy, namely, the allotting to each cottager a piece of ground. "another very serious evil which the public suffers from these commons is, that they are the constant rendezvous of gypsies, strollers, and other loose persons, living under tents which they carry with them from place to place, according to their conveniency. most of these persons have asses, many of them horses, nay, some of them have even covered carts, which answer the double purpose of a caravan for concealing and carrying off the property they have stolen, and also of a house for sleeping in at night. they usually stay a week or two at a place; and the cattle which they keep serve to transport their few articles of furniture from one place to another. these, during the stay of their owners, are turned adrift to procure what food they can find in the neighbourhood of their tents, and the deficiency is made up from the adjacent hay-stacks, barns and granaries. they are known never to buy any hay or corn, and yet their cattle are supplied with these articles of good quality. the women and children beg and pilfer, and the men commit greater acts of dishonesty. _in short, the commons of this country are well known to be the constant resort of footpads and highwaymen, and are literally and proverbially a public nuisance._"---- "_the labourers of this country are ruined in morals and constitution by the public houses._ it is a general rule, that the higher their wages, the less they carry home, and consequently the greater is the wretchedness of themselves and their families. comforts in a cottage are mostly found where the man's wages are low, at least so low as to require him to labour six days a week. for instance, a good workman at nine shillings per week, if advanced to twelve will spend a day in the week at the alehouse, which reduces his labour to five days, or ten shillings; and as he will spend two shillings in the public house, it leaves but eight for his family, which is one less than they had when he earned only nine shillings. "if by any means he be put into a situation of earning eighteen shillings in six days, he will get drunk sunday and monday, and go to his work stupid on tuesday; and should he be a mechanical journeyman of some genius, who by constant labour could earn twenty-four shillings or thirty shillings per week, as some of them can, he will be drunk half the week, insolent to his employer, and to every person about him. "if his master has business in hand that requires particular dispatch, he will then, more than at any other time, be absent from his work, and his wife and children will experience the extreme of hunger, rags and cold. "the low _inns on the road sides_ are, in general, receiving houses for the corn, hay, straw, poultry, eggs, &c. which the farmers' men pilfer from their masters. "_gentlemen's servants_ are mostly a bad set, and the great number kept in this county, is the means of the rural labourers acquiring a degree of idleness and insolence unknown in places more remote from the metropolis. "the poor children who are brought up on the borders of commons and copses, are accustomed to little labour, but too much idleness and pilfering. having grown up, and these latter qualities having become a part of their nature, they are then introduced to the farmers as servants or labourers; and very bad ones they make. "the children of small farmers, on the contrary, have the picture of industry, hard labour, and honesty, hourly before them, in the persons of their _parents_, and daily hear the complaints which _they_ make against idle and pilfering servants, and comparisons drawn highly in favour of honesty. in this manner honesty and industry become, as it were, a part of the nature of such young folks. the father's property is small, and his means few; he is therefore unable to hire and stock a farm for each of his children; they consequently become servants on large farms, or in gentlemen's families, and in either situation are the most faithful part of such establishments."---- "one great hindrance to comfort in a life of agriculture, and which drives liberal minded men, who are always the best friends to improvement, out of the profession, is the want of laws to put a total stop to the receivers of stolen goods. these are the wretches who encourage servants in agriculture, and others to pilfer, by holding out the lure of buying every article, which such servants can bring without asking them any questions. most things which are usually produced on a farm, from so small an article as an egg, to hay, straw and grain of all sorts are daily stolen,[ ] and sold on the sides of every principal road in this county. among the receivers are to be reckoned millers, cornchandlers, dealers in eggs, butter and poultry, and the keepers of chandlers' shops. [footnote : these thefts are committed by degrees in a small way, seldom exceeding a truss of hay or a bushel of corn by one man at one time; and are generally of smaller articles. in some places the stealing of gate-hooks and iron-fastnings is so common as to compel the farmer both to hang and fasten his gates with wood. _middleton._] "the drivers of gentlemen's carriages are intrusted to buy hay, straw, and corn, for their horses; in the doing which, they generally cheat their masters of _s._ in each load of hay, of _s._ _d._ in each load of straw, and _s._ in every quarter of corn. this gives them an interest in the consumption, makes them extremely wasteful, and brings on habits of dishonesty. "the ostlers at the inns on the sides of the roads, purchase stolen hay, straw, corn, eggs, and poultry. a person who kept a horse several weeks at one of these inns, in attending occasionally to see the animal, discovered him to be fed with wheat, barley and oats mixed together, which could only happen by the farmers' servants robbing their master, and selling the corn to the ostler."---- "the fields near london are never free from men strolling about in pilfering pursuits by day, and committing great crimes by night. the depredations every sunday are astonishingly great. there are not many gardens within five miles of london, that escape being visited in a marauding way, very early on a sunday morning, and the farmers' fields are plundered all day long of fruit, roots, cabbages, pulse and corn. even the ears of wheat are cut from the sheaves, and carried away in the most daring manner in open day, in various ways, but mostly in bags containing about half a bushel each. it has been moderately estimated, that , bushels of all the various sorts are thus carried off every sunday morning, and , more during the other six days of the week; or one million and a half of bushels in a year, which, if valued at so small a sum as sixpence each, would amount to £ , . "the occupiers of many thousand acres round london, lose annually in this manner to the amount of much more than _s._ an acre. "a miller near london being questioned as to small parcels of wheat brought to his mill to be ground, by a suspected person, soon after several barns had been robbed, answered, that any explanation on that head would put his mills in danger of being burnt. well may the _farmers_ say, 'their _property is not protected like that of other men_.'" mr. middleton calculates that the depredations committed on the landed interest probably amount to _s._ an acre per annum, on all the cultivated lands in england, or to eight millions of pounds sterling per annum: and including the injuries done by game and vermin, he supposes, that the farmers' property suffers to the amount of _s._ an acre, or nearly twenty millions annually. the following curious circumstances relative to the adulteration of _milk_ in the metropolis, ought to be added to the list of petty frauds, which not merely affect the pockets but the health of the inhabitants of london. the number of milch cows kept for the purpose of supplying the metropolis with this article, is stated by mr. _middleton_, after very diligent inquiry, at , ; and each cow is supposed to afford on an average nine quarts of milk per day.-- "when the families of fashion are in london for the winter season, the consumption, and consequent deterioration of milk are at the highest; during the summer months, when such families are for the most part in the country, the milk may probably be of rather a better quality. "the milk is always given in its genuine state to the retail dealers; and as it is sold to them by the cow-keepers after the rate of twopence and - th of a penny per quart, and is retailed by them at threepence halfpenny per quart, the profit is surely so large as ought to prevent even the smallest adulteration. but when it is considered how greatly it is reduced _by water_, and impregnated with _worse_ ingredients, it is much to be lamented that no method has yet been devised to put a stop to the many scandalous frauds and impositions in general practice, with regard to this very necessary article of human sustenance. "it is certainly an object well deserving the particular consideration of the legislature. it cannot be doubted, that many persons would be glad to make some addition to the price now paid for it (high as that price is) provided they could, for such increased price, procure so useful an article in domestic oeconomy perfectly genuine.[ ] [footnote : not satisfied with the profit here stated, which, considering the difference of measures, is above per cent. is a common practice with the retailers of this useful article to carry the milk first home to their own houses, where it is set up for half a day, when the cream is taken from it, at least all that comes up in that time, and it is then sold for new milk. by which means, what is delivered in the morning is no other than the milk of the preceding afternoon, deprived of the cream it throws up by standing during that time. by this means a farther considerable profit accrues to the retailers, and the milk is greatly reduced in point of strength and quality. this cream, poor as it is, they again mix with flour, chalk, and perhaps other more baneful ingredients, and yet it finds a ready market in the metropolis. _middleton._] "five or six men only are employed in attending near three hundred cows. as one woman cannot milk above eight or nine cows twice a day, that part of the business would necessarily be attended with considerable expence to the cow-keeper, were it not that the retailer agrees for the produce of a certain number of cows, and takes the labour and expence of milking on himself. "every cow-house is provided with a milk-room (where the milk is measured and served out by the cow-keeper) and this room is mostly furnished with _a pump_, to which the retail dealers apply in rotation; not secretly, but openly before any person that may be standing by, from which they pump water into the milk vessels at their discretion. the pump is placed there expressly for that purpose, and indeed is very seldom used for any other. a considerable cow-keeper in surrey has a pump of this kind, which goes, by the name of the _famous black cow_ (from the circumstance of its being painted black) _and is said to yield more than all the rest put together_. "where such a pump is not provided for them things are much worse, for in that case the retailers are not even careful to use _clean_ water. some of them have been seen to dip their pails in a common horse-trough. and what is still more disgusting, though equally true, one cow-house happens to stand close to the edge of a stream, into which runs much of the dung, and most of the urine of the cows, and even in this stream, so foully impregnated, they have been observed to dip their milk-pails. "a cow-keeper informs me, that the retail milk dealers are for the most part the refuse of other employments, possessing neither character, decency of manners, nor cleanliness. "no person could possibly drink of the milk, were they fully acquainted with the filthy manners of these dealers in it. "the same person suggests, _as a remedy for these abuses, that it would be highly proper for every retail milk dealer to be obliged to take out an annual licence from the magistrates_; which licence should be granted only to such as could produce a certificate of good conduct, signed by the cow-keeper and a certain number of their customers; and also on their being sworn to sell the milk pure and unadulterated." chap. iv. _general reflections arising from the perpetration of the higher and more atrocious crimes of burglary, highway robbery, &c.--these crimes more peculiar to england than to holland and flanders, &c.--the reason explained.--a general view of the various classes of criminals engaged in robberies and burglaries and of those discharged from prison and the hulks.--their miserable situation as outcasts of society, without the means of support.--the necessity of some antidote previous to the return of peace.--the means used at present by thieves in accomplishing their nefarious purposes.--observations on the stealing cattle, sheep, corn, &c.--receivers of stolen goods shewn to be the nourishers of every description of thieves.--remedies suggested, by means of detection and prevention._ it is impossible to reflect upon the outrages and acts of violence continually committed, more particularly in and near the metropolis by lawless ravagers of property, and destroyers of lives, in disturbing the peaceful mansion, _the castle of every englishman_, and also in abridging the liberty of travelling upon the public highways, without asking--_why are these enormities suffered in a country where the criminal laws are supposed to have arrived at a greater degree of perfection than any other?_ this is an important inquiry, interesting in the highest degree, to every member of the body politic. if, in pursuing such an inquiry, the situation of holland, flanders, and several of the northern states on the continent, be examined, it will be found that this terrific evil had (alluding to these states previous to the present war) there scarcely an existence: and, that the precaution of bolting doors and windows during the night, was even seldom used; although, in these countries, from the opulence of many of the inhabitants, there were great temptations to plunder property. this security did not proceed from _severer punishments_, for in very few countries are they more sanguinary than in england.--it is to be attributed to a more correct and energetic system of police, joined to an early and general attention to the employment, education, and morals of the lower orders of the people; a habit of industry and sobriety is thus acquired, which, universally imbibed in early life, "grows with their growth, and strengthens with their strength." idleness is a never-failing road to criminality. it originates generally in the inattention and the bad example of profligate parents.--and when it has unfortunately taken hold of the human mind, unnecessary wants and improper gratifications, not known or thought of by persons in a course of industry, are constantly generated: hence it is, that crimes are resorted to, and every kind of violence, hostile to the laws, and to peace and good order, is perpetrated. the criminal and unfortunate individuals, who compose the dismal catalogue of highwaymen, footpad-robbers, burglars, pick-pockets, and common thieves, in and about this metropolis, may be divided into the three following classes: . young men of some education, who having acquired idle habits by abandoning business, or by being bred to no profession, and having been seduced by this idleness to indulge in gambling and scenes of debauchery and dissipation, at length impoverished and unable to purchase their accustomed gratifications, have recourse to the highway to supply immediate wants. . tradesmen and others, who having ruined their fortunes and business by gaming and dissipation, sometimes as a desperate remedy, go upon the road. but these two classes are extremely few in number, and bear no proportion to the lower and more depraved part of the fraternity of thieves, who pursue the trade systematically; who conduct their depredations under such circumstances of caution, as to render detection extremely difficult; and whose knowledge of all the weak parts of the criminal law is generally so complete, as to enable them to elude justice, and obtain acquittals, when detected and put upon their trial:--_namely_-- . st. servants, ostlers, stable and post-boys out of place, who, preferring what they consider as idleness, have studied the profession of thieving.-- d. persons who being imprisoned for debts, assaults, or petty offences, have learned habits of idleness and profligacy in gaols.-- d. idle and disorderly mechanics and labourers, who having on this account lost the confidence of their masters or employers, resort to thieving, as a means of support; from all whom the notorious and hacknied thieves generally select the most trusty and daring to act as their associates.-- th. criminals tried and acquitted of offences charged against them, of which class a vast number is annually let loose upon society.-- th. convicts discharged from prison and the hulks, after suffering the sentence of the law: too often instructed by one another in all the arts and devices which attach to the most extreme degree of human depravity, and in the perfect knowledge of the means of perpetrating crimes, and of eluding justice. to form some judgment of the number of persons in this great metropolis who compose at least a part of the criminal phalanx engaged in depredations and acts of violence, it is only necessary to have recourse to the following statement of the number of prisoners discharged, during a period of four years, from the eight different gaols in the metropolis, and within the bills of mortality. . discharged by proclamation and gaol-deliveries; having been committed in consequence of being charged with various offences for which bills were not found by the grand jury, or where the prosecutors did not appear to maintain and support the charges . discharged by acquittals, in the different courts; (frequently from having availed themselves of the defects of the law,--from frauds in keeping back evidence, and other devices) . convicts discharged from the different gaols, after suffering the punishment of imprisonment, &c. inflicted on them for the several offences ----- total the following is a statement of the number of these discharges from the year to inclusive:-- . discharged by proclamations and gaol-deliveries . discharged by acquittals . discharged after punishment: or by being bailed or pardoned ------ total , ------ if to this deplorable catalogue shall be added the convicts which have been returned on the public from the hulks within the same period, namely, from to inclusive, either from pardons, escapes, or the expiration of their punishment, the numbers will stand thus: enlarged in ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ------ total from gaols and from the hulks , humanity shudders at the contemplation of this interesting part of the discussion, when it is considered, who these our miserable fellow-mortals are! and what is to be expected from the extreme depravity which attaches to the chief part of them! and here a prominent feature of the imperfect state of the police of the metropolis and the country is too evident to escape notice. _without friends, without character, and without the means of subsistence_, what are these unhappy mortals to do?--they are no sooner known or suspected, than they are avoided.--no person will employ them, even if they were disposed to return to the paths of honesty; unless they make use of fraud and deception, by concealing that they have been the inhabitants of a _prison_, or of the _hulks_. at large upon the world, without food or raiment, and with the constant calls of nature upon them for both, without a home or any asylum to shelter them from the inclemency of the weather, _what is to become of them_? the police of the country has provided no place of industry, in which those who were disposed to reform might find subsistence in return for voluntary labour; which, in their present situation, becomes useless to them, because no person will purchase it by employing them.[ ] under all these circumstances it is to be feared, indeed it is known, that many convicts, from dire necessity, return to their old courses.--and thus, through the medium of these miserable outcasts of society, crimes are increased and become a regular trade, because many of them can make no other election. [footnote : that man will deserve a statue to his memory who shall devise and carry into effect a plan for the employment of _discharged prisoners and convicts_, who may be desirous of labouring for their subsistence in an honest way.--it is only necessary for some men of weight and influence to make the attempt, in order to insure the assistance of the opulent and humane in so good and necessary a work. see a future chapter as to the present state of punishment and the remedies proposed.] it is indeed true, that during the first three years of the present war, many convicts and idle and disorderly persons were sent to the army and navy: but still a vast number remained behind, who could not be accepted on account of ruptures, fits, or some other disability or infirmity; which, although they incapacitate them from serving his majesty, do not prevent them from committing crimes. while it must be evident, that the resource afforded by the present war, gives employment, for a time only, to many depraved characters and mischievous members of the community; how necessary is it to be provided with antidotes, previous to the return of peace; when, to the multitude of thieves now at large, there will be added numbers of the same class, who may be discharged from the navy and army?--if some plan of employment is not speedily devised, to which all persons of this description may resort, who cannot otherwise subsist themselves in an honest way; and if the police of the metropolis is not greatly improved, by the introduction of more energy, and a greater degree of system and method in its administration; it is much to be feared, that no existing power will be able to keep them within bounds. it is in vain to say the laws are sufficient.--they are indeed abundantly voluminous, and in many respects very excellent, but they require to be revised, consolidated, modernized, and adapted in a greater degree to the prevention of existing evils, with such regulations as would ensure their due execution not only _in every part of the capital_, but also in all parts of the kingdom. the means these depredators at present use in accomplishing their nefarious purposes are complicated and various; and of late years have become as much diversified as it is possible for the ingenuity of men to devise, who frequently join good natural abilities to all the artifices of the finished villain. it is no uncommon thing for the more daring and strong-minded to form themselves into gangs or societies; to the exclusion of those of their fraternity whose hearts are likely to fail them, and who are supposed not to be sufficiently firm, so as to secure their accomplices against the hazard of discovery in case of detection. robbery and theft, as well in houses as on the roads, have long been reduced to a regular system. opportunities are watched, and intelligence procured, with a degree of vigilance similar to that which marks the conduct of a skilful general, eager to obtain an advantage over an enemy. houses, intended to be entered during the night, are previously reconnoitred and examined for days preceding. if one or more of the servants are not already associated with the gang, the most artful means are used to obtain their assistance; and when every previous arrangement is made, the mere operation of robbing a house becomes a matter of little difficulty. by the connivance and assistance of immediate, or former servants, they are led to the places where the most valuable, as well as the most portable, articles are deposited, and the object is speedily attained. in this manner do the principal burglars and house-breakers proceed: and let this information serve as a caution to every person in the choice both of their male and female servants; since the latter as well as the former are not seldom accomplices in very atrocious robberies. the same _generalship_ is manifested in the nocturnal expeditions of those criminal associates upon the highways. a perfect knowledge is obtained every evening of the different routes and situations of the patroles:--they are narrowly watched, and their vigilance (wherever they are vigilant) is in too many instances defeated. infinite pains are bestowed in procuring intelligence of persons travelling upon the road with money, bank-notes, or other valuable effects; and when discovered, the most masterly pains are concerted to waylay and rob them of their property: nor have the measures pursued by those atrocious villains, the footpads, exhibited less skill in the plans adopted; while their outrages are too often marked with those acts of cruelty and barbarity which justly render them objects of peculiar terror. the same adroitness also marks the conduct of those who turn their attention chiefly to picking of pockets, and other smaller robberies. it would almost fill a volume to detail the various artifices which are resorted to, in carrying on this species of thieving; by which even the most cautious, and those who are generally upon their guard, are not exempted from the ravages of these inferior pests of society. in addition to the injuries or losses arising from burglaries, highway-robberies and lesser thefts, it is to be lamented that extensive and increasing depredations are made upon horses, cattle and sheep, and also upon flour, corn, potatoes, provender, and poultry; stolen from the drovers, millers, corn-factors, and farmers in the vicinity of the metropolis. these have been stated more at large in a preceding chapter. it cannot be too often repeated that the great facility experienced, in the immediate disposal of every article obtained by dishonesty, is one of the chief encouragements to all the acts of outrage and depredation enumerated in the course of this work. it frequently happens that the burglars, the highwaymen, and footpad robbers, make their contracts with the receivers, on the evening before the plunder is obtained; so as to secure a ready admittance immediately afterwards, and before day-break, for the purpose of effectual concealment by melting plate, obliterating marks, and securing all other articles so as to place them out of the reach of discovery. this has long been reduced to a regular system which is understood and followed as a trade. nor do those thieves who steal horses,[ ] cattle and sheep experience more difficulty in finding purchasers immediately for whatever they can obtain:--they too, generally, make a previous bargain with the receivers, who are ready at an appointed hour to conceal the animals, to kill them immediately, and to destroy the skins for the purpose of eluding detection. [footnote : the frauds and felonies committed in the course of a year with respect to horses exceed all credibility. above thirty thousand of these useful animals are said to be flayed and boiled in the metropolis, at the seventeen licensed houses, annually, of which about one-fourth are brought there alive, supposed chiefly to be stolen horses. these establishments require many additional regulations to enforce and insure that purity of conduct, which the legislature had in view when the act of the geo. , cap. , was passed for licensing persons to slaughter horses. in the operation of this act is strongly evinced the inefficacy of the best laws, when measures are not pursued to insure an accurate and chaste execution. wherever the vigilance of a general police does not extend its influence in carrying into effect all regulations of a preventive nature, it is in vain to hope that the evil in the view of the legislature will be diminished.] it sometimes happens also, that the persons who perpetrate these robberies are journeymen-butchers, by trade; who kill whatever they steal, and often afterwards sell their plunder in the public markets. if, by wise regulations, it were possible to embarrass and disturb the extensive trade carried on by all the _concealed receivers_, who are the particular class having connection with the professed thieves, a very great check would be given to public depredations. in suggesting remedies, this of all other appears, at first view, to be the most difficult; because of the apparent impossibility of regulating any class of dealers who have no shop, or visible trade, and who transact all their business under concealment:--but still the object is to be obtained by a combination of different legislative regulations, carried into execution by a consolidated, vigilant and well-regulated police. the detail, however, of the means of detecting receivers will, of course, be discussed hereafter, in a subsequent chapter; at present the following hints will suffice. a register of lodging-houses and lodgers in every parish, liberty, hamlet, and precinct, where the rent does not exceed a certain sum (suppose ten shillings) weekly, would prove one great means of embarrassment to thieves of every class; and of course would tend, with other regulations, to the prevention of crimes. night-coaches also promote, in an eminent degree, the perpetration of burglaries and other felonies: bribed by a high reward, many hackney coachmen eagerly enter into the pay of nocturnal depredators, and wait in the neighbourhood until the robbery is completed, and then draw up, at the moment the watchmen are going their rounds, or off their stands, for the purpose of conveying the plunder to the house of the receiver, who is generally waiting the issue of the enterprise. above one half of the present hackney coachmen, in london, are said to be (in the cant phrase) _flashmen_ designed to assist thieves. it being certain that a vast deal of mischief is done which could not be effected, were it not for the assistance which night coaches afford to thieves of every description, it would seem, upon the whole, advantageous to the public, that no hackney coaches should be permitted to take fares after twelve o'clock at night; or, if this is impracticable, that the coach-hire for night service should be advanced, on condition that all coachmen going upon the stands after twelve o'clock, should be licensed by a board of police. by this means the night-coachmen, by being more select, would not be so open to improper influence; and they might even become useful to public justice in giving informations, and also in detecting burglars, and other thieves. watchmen and patroles, instead of being, as now, comparatively of little use, from their _age, infirmity, inability, inattention_, or _corrupt practices_, might almost at the present expence, by a proper selection, and a more correct mode of discipline, by means of a general superintendance over the whole to regulate their conduct, and keep them to their duty, be rendered of great utility in preventing crimes, and in detecting offenders.[ ] [footnote : the depredations which are committed almost every evening in cheapside, and the adjacent streets leading into it, affords strong proofs of the necessity of an improved system with regard to watchmen and patroles. allured to that particular part of the metropolis, from the extensive and valuable property in _piece goods_ and other portable articles which are constantly removing to and from the different shops and warehouses:--a multitude of thieves and pickpockets, exhibiting often in their dress and exterior, the appearance of gentlemen and men of business, assemble every evening in gangs, watching at the corners of every street, ready to _bustle_ and _rob_, or to _trip up the heels_ of the _warehouse-porters and the servants of shopkeepers carrying goods_; or at the doors of warehouses, at dusk and at the time they are locked, to be ready to seize loose parcels when unperceived; by all which means, aided by a number of other tricks and fraudulent pretences, they are but too successful in obtaining considerable booty. in short, there is no device or artifice to which these vigilant plunderers do not resort: of which an example appeared in an instance, where almost in the twinkling of an eye, while the servants of an eminent silk-dyer had crossed a narrow street, his horse and cart, containing raw silk to the value of _twelve hundred pounds_, were driven clear off. many of these atrocious villains, are also constantly in waiting at the inns, disguised in different ways, personating _travellers, coach-office clerks, porters and coachmen_, for the purpose of plundering every thing that is portable; which, with the assistance of two or three associates if necessary, is carried to a coach called for the purpose, and immediately conveyed to the receiver. the most adroit thieves in this line are generally _convicts from the hulks, or returned transports_, who under pretence of having some ostensible business, (while they carry on the trade of thieving) generally open a _chandler's shop_, set up a _green-stall_, or get into a _public-house_: some of these old offenders are known also to keep livery-stables for thieves, and horses for the use of highwaymen; thereby forming a connected chain by which these criminal people extend and facilitate their trade; _nourishing_, _accommodating_, and supporting one another.] at present the system of the nightly watch is without energy, disjointed, and governed by almost as many different acts of parliament, as there are parishes, hamlets, liberties, and precincts within the bills of mortality; and where the payment is as various, running from - / _d._ up to _s._ a night. the act of the th of george iiid. (_cap._ .) entituled, _an act for the better regulation of the nightly watch within the city and liberty of westminster, and parts adjacent_, contains many excellent regulations, but they do not extend to the eastern part of the metropolis; and for want of an active and superintending agency, superior to beadles, it is believed and felt that they are not, (even within the district included in the act,) correctly carried into execution: and that no small portion of those very men who are paid for protecting the public, are not only instruments of oppression in many instances, by extorting money most unwarrantably; but are frequently accessaries in aiding, abetting or concealing the commission of crimes, which it is their duty to detect and suppress. if as an improvement to the preventive system, and as a check upon the improper conduct of parochial watchmen, a body of honest, able, and active officers, in the character of police patroles, were attached to each public office, or to a general police system with a sufficient fund to defray the expences, to follow up informations for the detection of negligent servants of the public, and liberally to reward those who were active and useful in apprehending delinquents, and in making discoveries, tending either to the recovery of property stolen, or to the detection of the offenders, little doubt need be entertained, under the guidance of a central board and vigilant police, aided by zealous and active magistrates, that such a system would soon be established, as would go very far towards the prevention of many atrocious crimes. among the various advantages which may thus be expected to result to the community from the arrangements recommended in this work, would be _the suppression of highway robberies_. a desideratum impracticable in the present state of the police, although easy and certain under a police board; having a general superintendance competent to look at every point of danger, and with pecuniary resources equal to an object so interesting to the inhabitants of this metropolis.[ ] upon the adoption of this important measure, therefore, (a measure so strongly recommended by the select committee of the house of commons on finance[ ]) depends in a great degree, that security to travellers on the highways in the vicinity of the metropolis; the want of which, and of many other valuable regulations, for the prevention of crimes, has long been a reproach to the criminal jurisprudence, as well as the police, of the country. [footnote : hints have been submitted to the author for establishing a plan of _travelling police_, to extend miles round the metropolis; by means of patroles well armed and mounted, who should be on the road at all hours; the expence to be defrayed by the produce of a toll to be raised for the purpose. this scheme might in all probability be much improved under the sanction of a general police board, without the additional expence of the proposed toll.] [footnote : see the th report of that committee.] chap. v. _reasons assigned why forgeries and frauds must prevail in a certain degree, wherever the interchange of property is extensive.--a considerable check already given to the higher class of forgeries, by shutting out all hopes of royal mercy:--petty forgeries have however increased:--the reason assigned.--the qualifications of a cheat, swindler, and gambler explained.--this mischievous class of men extremely numerous in the metropolis.--the common and statute law applicable to offences of this nature explained.--the different classes of cheats and swindlers, and the various tricks and devices they pursue, to enable them to live in idleness, by their wits.--sharpers, cheats, and swindlers, divided into eighteen different classes-- st. sharpers who become pawnbrokers.-- d. sharpers who obtain licence as hawkers and pedlars.-- d. swindlers who open shops as auctioneers.-- th. swindlers who pretend to discount bills.-- th. itinerate jews.-- th. cheats who sell by false weights and measures.-- th. swindlers who defraud tradesmen of goods.-- th. cheats who take genteel lodgings with false names, &c.-- th. cheats who personate former masters to defraud their tradesmen.-- th. cheats who personate footmen, and order goods from tradesmen.-- th. cheats and sharpers who deceive persons from the country.-- th. cheats and sharpers who trick shopmen and boys out of parcels.-- th. sharpers who attend inns to pick up parcels by various tricks and devices.-- th. cheats who go from door to door, begging on false pretences.-- th. sharpers selling smuggled goods; known by the name of duffers.-- th. female sharpers, who attend court and public places.-- th. female bankers who lend money to barrow-women at d. a day for five shillings.-- th. cheats who pretend to tell fortunes.--various remedies suggested._ in a great metropolis, like london, where trade and commerce have arrived at such an astonishing height, and where from the extensive transactions in the funds, and the opulence of the people, the interchange of property is so expanded, it ceases to be a matter of wonder that forgeries and frauds should prevail, in a certain degree:--the question of difficulty is, _why the laws and the means of prevention, have not kept pace with the progressive advancement of the country; so as to check and keep within bounds those nefarious practices_? forgeries of the higher class, so dangerous in a commercial country, have by the wise policy of the executive government, in shutting out all hopes of the extension of the royal mercy to the guilty, received a most severe check: beneficial in the highest degree to the country, and clearly manifested by the records of the old bailey, where trial for offences of this nature certainly do not increase in number. but it is to be lamented, that, with regard to petty forgeries and frauds, this is by no means the case, for they seem to multiply and advance with the opulence and luxury of the country; and to branch out into innumerable different shades, varying as the fashions of the year, and as the resources for the perpetration of this species of fraud change their aspect. when those depraved people who (to use a vulgar phrase) _live entirely by their wits_--find that any tricks which they have practised for a certain length of time become stale, (such as _pricking the belt for a wager_, or _dropping the ring_) they abandon these; and have recourse to other devices more novel, and more likely to be effectual in cheating and defrauding the unwary. one of the most prevailing and successful of these, is the fraud practised upon shop-keepers, tradesmen, publicans, and others, by the circulation of forged copper-plate notes and bills for small sums, of £ . and £ . the latter purporting to be drawn, by bankers in the manufacturing and sea-port towns, on different banking-houses in london. this species of forgery has been carried to a considerable extent suggested no doubt by the confidence which is established from the extensive circulation of country bankers' notes and bills, now made payable in london; by which the deception is, in some degree, covered, and detection rendered more difficult. the great qualifications, or leading and indispensable attributes of a _sharper_, a _cheat_, a _swindler_, or a _gambler_, are, to possess a genteel exterior, a demeanor apparently artless, and a good address. like the more violent depredators upon the public, this class (who are extremely numerous) generally proceed upon a regular system, and study as a _trade_ all those infamous tricks and devices by which the thoughtless, the ignorant, and the honest are defrauded of their property. the common law has defined the offence of cheating--to be _a deceitful practice in defrauding, or endeavouring to defraud, another of his own right, by means of some artful device, contrary to the plain rules of common honesty_. the statute of the d of henry the eighth, _cap._ . entered into a more specific explanation of what might constitute such an offence, and fixed the mode of punishment; by declaring, "_that if any persons shall falsely or deceitfully obtain, or get into his hands or possession, any money, goods, &c. of any other person_, by colour or means of any false privy token, or counterfeit letter, _&c.--he shall, on conviction, be punished by imprisonment, the pillory, or whipping--saving to the party aggrieved the same power of recovering the property as he might have had at common law, &c._" from this remote period, until the th of george the second, the legislature does not appear to have seen the necessity of enacting any new law, applicable to this species of offence. in the progress however of society and commerce, joined to the consequent influx of riches, producing luxury and extravagance, a larger field opened for cheats and sharpers of every description; insomuch, that the evil became so great, and the existing laws were found so insufficient, as to render it necessary to provide a legislative remedy. in applying this remedy, it seems that the great increase of a new species of cheating, practised by persons known in modern times by the name of _swindlers_, had suggested the propriety of defining the offence, in a more applicable and specific manner, and of rendering the punishment more severe. by the act of geo. ii. _cap._ . it is declared, "_that all persons obtaining money, goods, wares, or merchandise_, by false pretences, _shall be deemed offenders against the law and the public peace; and the court, before whom any such offender shall be tried, shall on conviction, order them to be put in the pillory, or publicly whipped, or transported for seven years_." thus stand the laws at present with regard to swindlers.[ ] they ought certainly to embrace a wider field, so as to reach those artifices by which sharpers and persons of depraved minds, obtain money from the ignorant and unwary, by assuming false characters, taking genteel lodgings, and cheating innocent tradesmen, who lose large sums annually by such depredations. [footnote : there appears to be a deficiency in the act of th george the second, cap. . in omitting to add _bank notes_ after the word _money_, and also _horses, cattle, sheep, or other animals_, after goods, wares, and merchandise; since, (as has already been noticed, ante page ,) it has been held that bank notes are not money, nor are horses, cattle, &c. considered as goods, wares, or merchandise, according to the legal construction of any existing statute.--an amendment of the law with regard to these and other objects is the more necessary, as _bank notes_ and _horses_ are, perhaps, more the objects of swindling, than other species of property.] we shall next proceed to particularize the various classes of sharpers who thus prey upon the public: reserving all that relates to those more immediately connected with _gaming houses_ and _lottery insurances_ to the subsequent chapter. i. _sharpers who obtain licences to become pawnbrokers_,[ ] and bring disgrace upon the reputable part of the trade, by every species of fraud which can add to the distresses of those who are compelled to raise money in this way; for which purpose there are abundance of opportunities.--swindling pawnbrokers, of this class, are uniformly receivers of stolen goods; and under the cover of their licence do much mischief to the public. the evil arising from them might, in a great measure, be prevented by placing the power of granting licences in a general board of police; and rendering it necessary for all persons to produce a certificate of character, before they can obtain such licence; and also to enter into recognizance for good behaviour.[ ] [footnote : number of pawnbrokers within the bills of } persons £. mortality, paying a licence of £ . a year. } in the country, paying £ . a year. --- ---- total --- ----] [footnote : a regulation of this kind is of great importance; as the property of the poorest and most distressed part of the community, to the amount of nearly one million sterling, is constantly in the hands of pawnbrokers in the metropolis alone! and although it is of the utmost consequence that they, above all others, should be _honest, correct_ and even _humane_ characters, (and it is to be hoped many of them are of that description,) yet certain it is that any person, even the most notorious rogue or vagabond, who can raise ten pounds to pay for a licence, may at present set up the trade of pawnbroker; and it is even said that some have got licences who have actually been on board the hulks!--a thing unavoidable under the present circumstances.] ii. _sharpers and swindlers who obtain licences to be hawkers and pedlars_; under the cover of which every species of villainy is practised upon the country people, as well as upon the unwary in the metropolis, and all the great towns in the kingdom.--the artifices by which they succeed, are various, as for example;--by fraudulent raffles, where plated goods are exhibited as silver, and where the chances are exceedingly against the adventurers;--by selling and uttering base money, and frequently forged bank notes, which make one of the most profitable branches of their trade;--by dealing in smuggled goods, thereby promoting the sale of articles injurious to the revenue, besides cheating the ignorant with regard to the value;--by receiving stolen goods to be disposed of in the country, by which discoveries are prevented, and assistance afforded to common thieves and stationary receivers;--by purchasing stolen horses in one part of the country, and disposing of them in another, in the course of their journies; in accomplishing which, so as to elude detection, they have great opportunities;--by gambling with eo tables at fairs and horse-races. a number of other devices might be pointed out, which render this class of men great nuisances in society; and shew the necessity of either suppressing them totally, (for in fact they are of little use to the public;) or of limiting the licences only to men of good character; to be granted by a general board of police under whose controul they should be placed, while they enter at the same time into a recognizance in a certain sum, with one surety for good behaviour; by which the honest part would be retained, to the exclusion of the fraudulent. iii. _swindlers who take out licences as auctioneers_, and open shops in different parts of the metropolis, with persons at the doors, usually denominated _barkers_, inviting strangers to walk in. in these places, various articles of silver plate and household goods are exposed to sale, made up on a slight principle, and of little intrinsic value; associates, generally denominated _puffers_, are in waiting to bid up the article to a sum greatly beyond its value, when, upon the first bidding of the stranger, it is knocked down to him, and the money instantly demanded; the goods, however, on being carried home and examined, are generally found to be very different in reality, from what their appearance exhibited, and upon a close examination the fraud is discovered. neither the common law, nor the act of the th george ii. cap. , seem to be sufficiently _broad_ and explanatory to include this species of offence; and hence it is, that this mode of selling goods continues with impunity, and seems to increase. it is not, however, meant here to insinuate that all petty auctions are fraudulent.--it is to be hoped there may be some exceptions, although probably, they are not numerous. a licence from a general board of police, and to be subject to certain restrictions only burdensome to the dishonest, and obliging the parties to find security, would, in a great measure, regulate this kind of business, in a proper manner. iv. _swindlers who raise money, by pretending to be discounters of bills, and money brokers_; these chiefly prey upon young men of property, who have lost their money at play, or spent it in expensive amusements, and are obliged to raise more upon any terms, until their rents or incomes become payable; or who have fortunes in prospect, as being heirs apparent to estates, but who require assistance in the mean time. availing themselves of the credit, or the ultimate responsibility, of such thoughtless and giddy young men, in the eager pursuit of criminal pleasures, and under the influence of those allurements which the faro tables, and other places of fashionable resort hold out--these swindlers seldom fail to obtain from them securities and obligations for large sums; upon the credit of which they are enabled, perhaps, at usurious interest, to borrow money, or discount bills; and thus supply their unfortunate customers upon the most extravagant terms. another class, having some capital, advance money upon bonds, title-deeds, and other specialities, or upon the bond of the parties having estates in reversion: by these and other devices too tedious to detail, large sums of money are, most unwarrantably and illegally, wrested from the dissipated and thoughtless: and misery and distress are thus entailed upon them, as long as they live; or they are driven, by utter ruin, to acts of desperation or to crimes. a law seems absolutely necessary to be pointed at this particular mischief, which is certainly an increasing evil.--humanity pleads for it; and _policy_ points out the necessity of some effectual guard against those miseries which it generates; and which could not exist in so great a degree, were it not for the opportunities held out by these blood-suckers, in affording money to the young and inexperienced, to be expended in scenes of gambling and debauchery. v. _a class of cheats of the society of jews, who are to be found in every street, lane and alley in and near the metropolis, under the pretence of purchasing old clothes, and metals of different sorts_; their chief business really is to prowl about the houses and stables of men of rank and fortune, for the purpose of holding out temptations to the servants to pilfer and steal small articles, not likely to be missed, which these jews purchase at about one third of the real value.--it is supposed that upwards of fifteen hundred of these depraved people are employed in diurnal journies of this kind; by which, through the medium of bad money, and other fraudulent dealings, many of them acquire property, and then set up shops and become receivers of stolen goods. it is estimated that there are from fifteen to twenty thousand jews in the city of london, besides, perhaps, about five or six thousand more in the great provincial and sea-port towns; (where there are at least twenty synagogues, besides six in the metropolis;) most of the lower classes of those distinguished by the name of german or dutch jews, live chiefly by their wits, and establish a system of mischievous intercourse all over the country, the better to carry on their fraudulent designs in the circulation of base money,--the sale of stolen goods, and in the purchase of metals of various kinds; as well as other articles pilfered from the dock-yards, and stolen in the provincial towns, which they bring to the metropolis to elude detection,--and _vice versâ_. educated in idleness from their earliest infancy, they acquire every debauched and vicious principle which can fit them for the most complicated arts of fraud and deception; to which they seldom fail to add the crime of perjury, whenever it can be of use, in shielding themselves or their associates from the punishment of the law.--from the orange boy, and the retailer of seals, razors, glass, and other wares, in the public streets, to the shop-keeper, dealer in wearing apparel, or in silver and gold, the same principles of conduct too generally prevail. the itinerants utter base money to enable them, by selling cheap, to dispose of their goods; while those that are stationary, with very few exceptions, receive and purchase, at an under-price, whatever is brought them, without asking questions. vi. _cheats who sell provisions and other articles by means of false weights and measures._ nothing requires the assistance of the legislature in a greater degree than this evil; to shield the poor against the numerous tricks thus practised upon them, by low and inferior shop-keepers and itinerants. the ancient system of regulating this useful branch of police by the juries of the court-leet, having been found ineffectual, and in many respects inapplicable to the present state of society, an act passed the th of his present majesty, (_cap._ ,) to remedy the inconvenience with regard to fraudulent weights; but difficulties having occurred on account of the expence of carrying it into execution, certain amendments were made by another act, ( geo. iii. _c._ ,) and the magistrates in petty sessions have now power to appoint examiners of weights, and to authorize them to visit shops, seize false weights, &c. this plan, if pursued as steadily as that which already prevails in regulating bakers, promises to produce very valuable benefits to the lower ranks of people at a very small expence. vii. _cheats and swindlers who associate together, and enter into a conspiracy for the purpose of defrauding tradesmen of their goods._--one of these sharpers generally assumes the character of a merchant;--hires a genteel house, with a counting-house, and every appearance of business.--one or two associates take upon them the appearance of clerks, while others occasionally wear a livery: and sometimes a carriage is set up, in which the ladies of the party visit the shops, in the stile of persons of fashion, ordering goods to their apartments.--thus circumstanced, goods are obtained on credit, which are immediately pawned or sold, and the produce used as a means of deception to obtain more, and procure recommendations, by offering to pay ready money,--or discount bills. when confidence is once established in this way, notes and bills are fabricated by these conspirators, as if remitted from the country, or from foreign parts; and application is made to their newly acquired friends, the tradesmen, to assist in discounting them. sometimes money and bills upon one another are lodged at the bankers for the purpose of extending their credit, by referring to some respectable name for a character. after circulating notes to a considerable amount, and completing their system of fraud by possessing as much of the property of others as is possible, without risk of detection, they move off; assume new characters; and when the bills and notes are due, the parties are not to be found. offences of this sort, where an actual conspiracy cannot be proved, which is generally very difficult, are not easily punished; and it seems of importance that frauds and impositions of this sort, and others of the same nature, where the confidence of tradesmen and manufacturers is abused by misrepresentation and falsehood, should be defined, so as to render it difficult for the parties to escape punishment. viii. _cheats who take genteel lodgings, dress elegantly, assume false names_:--pretend to be related to persons of credit and fashion--produce letters familiarly written to prove an intimacy,--enter into conversation, and shew these letters to tradesmen and others, upon whom they have a design--get into their good graces, purchase wearing apparel and other articles, and disappear with the booty. this species of offence would be very difficult to reach by any existing law, and yet it is practised in various shapes in the metropolis, whereby tradesmen are defrauded to a very considerable extent.--some legislative guards would certainly be very desirable to define and punish these offences also. ix. _cheats, who have been formerly in the service of milliners, mantua-makers, taylors, and other traders, who have occasion to send to shop-keepers and warehousemen for goods_;--these, after being discharged from their service, getting into the company of sharpers and thieves, while out of place, teach them how to personate their former employers; in whose names they too frequently succeed in obtaining considerable quantities of goods before the fraud is discovered. it would certainly be a good rule at no time to deliver goods upon a verbal message; and it would be useful if all persons discharging servants, would give notice of it to every tradesmen with whom they deal. x. _cheats who personate gentlemen's footmen_; these order goods to be sent to a genteel lodging, where the associate is waiting, who draws upon some banker in a distant part of the town for the money; or, if the check is refused, a country bank-note (the gentleman just being arrived in town) is offered to be changed, which, although a forgery, often succeeds: if this should also fail, this mischievous class of people, from habit and close attention to the means of deception, are seldom at a loss in finding out some other expedient; and before the fraud is discovered, the parties are off; and the master transformed into the livery-servant, to practise in his turn the same trick upon some other person. xi. _cheats who associate systematically together, for the purpose of finding out and making a prey of every person from the country, or any ignorant person who is supposed to have money, or who has come to london for the purpose of selling goods._--it is usual in such cases for one of them to assume the character of a young 'squire, just come to his estate; to appear careless and prodigal, and to shew handfuls of bank-notes, all of which are false and fabricated for the purpose. another personates the guardian of the 'squire, while a part of the associates pretend to sit down to play, and having won money of the young spendthrift, who appears extremely ignorant and profuse, the stranger's avarice gets the better of his prudence, and he is induced at length to try his luck,--the result is that he is soon left without a penny. xii. _cheats who prowl about in all the streets and lanes of the trading part of the metropolis, where shopmen and boys are carrying parcels_: these, by means of various stratagems, find out where the parcels are going, and regulating their measures accordingly, seldom fail by some trick or other, (such as giving the lad a shilling to run and call a coach,) to get hold of the property.--porters and young men from the country should be particularly cautious never to quit any property intrusted to their care, until delivered (not at the door) but within the house to which it is directed. xiii. _cheats who attend inns, at the time that coaches and waggons are loading or unloading._ these by personating _porters_ with aprons and knots, or _clerks_ with pens stuck in their wigs or hair, and by having recourse to a variety of stratagems, according to the peculiar circumstances of the case, aided by their having previously noticed the address of several of the parcels, seldom fail of success, in the general hurry and confusion which prevails at such places. this proves how necessary it is at all times to have one or two intelligent officers of justice, who know the faces of thieves, in attendance, while goods are receiving and delivering. xiv. _cheats who go from door to door collecting money; under pretence of soliciting for a charitable establishment_, for the benefit of poor children, and other purposes. but the money, instead of being so applied, is generally spent in eating and drinking; and the most infamous imposition is thus practised upon the charitable and humane, who are the dupes of this species of fraud in too many instances. xv. _sharpers who are known by the name of duffers._ these go about from house to house, and attend public houses, inns, and fairs, pretending to sell smuggled goods, such as india handkerchiefs, waistcoat patterns, muslins, &c. by offering their goods for sale, they are enabled to discover the proper objects, who may be successfully practised upon in various ways; and if they do not succeed in promoting some gambling scheme, by which the party is plundered of his money, they seldom fail passing forged country bank notes, or base silver and copper in the course of their dealings. xvi. _female sharpers who dress elegantly, personate women of fashion, attend masquerades, and even go to st. james's._ these, from their effrontery, actually get into the circle; where their wits and hands are employed in obtaining diamonds, and whatever other articles of value, capable of being concealed, are found to be most accessible. the wife of a well-known sharper, lately upon the town, is said to have appeared at court, dressed in a stile of peculiar elegance: while the sharper himself is supposed to have gone in the dress of a clergyman.--according to the information of a noted receiver, they pilfered to the value of £ . on the king's birth-day ( ,) without discovery or suspicion. houses are kept where female cheats dress and undress for public places.--thirty or forty of these sharpers generally attend all masquerades, in different characters, where they seldom fail to get clear off with a considerable booty. xvii. _among the classes of cheats may be ranked a species of female bankers._ these accommodate barrow-women and others, who sell fish, fruit, vegetables, &c. in the streets, with five shillings a day; (the usual diurnal stock in trade in such cases;) for the use of which, for twelve hours, they obtain a premium of _six-pence_, when the money is returned in the evening, receiving thereby at this rate, about _seven pounds ten shillings a year_ for every five shillings they lend out! the author, in the course of his magisterial duty, having discovered this extraordinary species of fraud, attempted to explain to a barrow-woman on whom it was practised, that by saving up a single _five shillings_, and not laying any part of it out in gin, but keeping the whole, she would save £ . _s._ a year, which seemed to astonish her, and to stagger her belief.--it is to be feared, however, that it had no effect upon her future conduct, since it is evident that this improvident and dissolute class of females have no other idea than that of making the day and the way alike long.--their profits (which are often considerably augmented by dealing in base money, as well as fruit, vegetables, &c.) seldom last over the day, for they never fail to have a luxurious dinner and a hot supper, with abundance of gin and porter:--looking in general no farther than to keep whole the original stock, with the _six-pence_ interest, which is paid over to the female banker in the evening; and a new loan obtained on the following morning, of the same number of shillings again to go to market. in contemplating this curious system of banking, (trifling as it seems to be) it is impossible not to be forcibly struck with the immense profits that arise from it. it is only necessary for one of these female sharpers to possess a capital of _seventy shillings_, or three pounds ten shillings, with fourteen steady and regular customers, in order to realize an income of one hundred guineas a year! xviii. _cheats who pretend to tell fortunes._ these impose on the credulity of the public, by advertisements and cards; pretending a power, from their knowledge of astrology, to foretell future events, to discover stolen property, lucky numbers in the lottery, &c. the extent to which this mischief goes in the metropolis is almost beyond belief; particularly during the drawing of the lottery.--the folly and phrenzy which prevail in vulgar life, lead ignorant and deluded people into the snare of adding to the misfortunes which the lottery occasions, by additional advances of money (obtained generally by pawning goods or apparel) paid to pretended astrologers for suggesting _lucky numbers_, upon which they are advised to make insurances; and under the influence of this unaccountable delusion, they are too often induced to increase their risks, and ruin their families. one of these impostors who lived long in the curtain-road, shoreditch, is said, in conjunction with his associates, to have made near £ . a year by practising upon the credulity of the lower orders of the people.--he stiled himself (in his circulating cards) an _astronomer and astrologer_; and stated, _that he gave advice to gentlemen and ladies on business, trade, contracts, removals, journies by land or water, marriages, children, law-suits, absent friends, &c._ and further, that _he calculated nativities accurately_,--his fee was half-a-crown. an instance of mischievous credulity, occasioned by consulting this impostor, once fell under the review of the author. a person having property stolen from him, went to consult the conjuror respecting the thief; who having described something like the person of a man whom he suspected, his credulity and folly so far got the better of his reason and reflection, as to induce him upon the authority of this impostor _actually to charge his neighbour with a felony_, and to cause him to be apprehended. the magistrate settled the matter by discharging the prisoner; reprimanding the accuser severely, and ordering the conjuror to be taken into custody, according to law, _as a rogue and vagabond_. but the delusion with regard to fortune-tellers is not confined to vulgar life, since it is known, that ladies of rank, fashion, and fortune, contribute to the encouragement of this fraudulent profession in particular, by their visits to a pretended astrologer of their own sex in the neighbourhood of tottenham-court road: this woman, to the disgrace of her votaries, whose education ought to have taught them the folly and weakness of countenancing such gross impositions, found the practice of it extremely productive.[ ] [footnote : the encouragement which this impostor received from the weaker part of the females of rank and fortune in the metropolis, raised up others; who had the effrontery to insult the understanding of the public, by advertising in the news-papers.] the act of the th george the second, _cap._ , _punishes all persons pretending skill in any crafty science; or telling fortunes, or where stolen goods may be found; with a year's imprisonment, and standing four times in the pillory_ (once every quarter) _during the term of such imprisonment. the act called the vagrant act, made the th year of the same reign, (cap. ,) declares such persons to be rogues and vagabonds, and liable to be punished as such._ it is sincerely to be hoped that those at least who are convinced from having suffered by the gross imposition practised upon the credulity of the people by these pests of society, will enable the civil magistrate, by proper informations, to suppress so great an evil. innumerable almost are the other tricks and devices which are resorted to by the horde of cheats, swindlers, and sharpers, who infest the metropolis. the great increase of commerce, and the confidence resulting from an intercourse so wide and extended, frequently lays men of property and tradesmen open to a variety of frauds; credit is obtained by subterfuges and devices contrary to the plain rules of common honesty, against which, however, there is no remedy but by an action of common law. if it were possible to look accurately at the different evils arising from fraudulent and swindling practices, so as to frame a statute that would generally reach all the cases that occur, whenever the barrier of common honesty is broken down, it would certainly be productive of infinite benefit to the community; for, in spite of the laudable exertions of the society established for prosecuting swindlers, it is to be lamented that the evil has not diminished. on the contrary, it has certainly encreased, and must continue to do so, until the legislature, by applicable laws and an improved system of police, either directly or collaterally attaching to these offences, shall find the means of suppressing them. chap. vi. _the great anxiety of the legislature to suppress the evils of gaming:--the misery and wretchedness entailed on many respectable families from this fatal propensity:--often arising from the foolish vanity of mixing in what is stiled, genteel company; where faro is introduced.--games of chance, though stigmatized by the legislature, encouraged by high-sounding names, whose houses are opened for purposes odious and unlawful:--the civil magistrate called upon by his public duty, as well as by the feelings of humanity, to suppress such mischiefs.--the danger arising from such seminaries--no probability of any considerations of their illegality, or inhumanity, operating as a check, without the efforts of the magistracy.--the evil tendency of such examples to servants in fashionable families, who carry these vices into vulgar life; and many of whom, as well as persons of superior education, become sharpers, cheats, and swindlers, from the habits they acquire.--a particular statement of the proceedings of persons who have set up gaming houses as regular partnership-concerns; and of the evils resulting therefrom.--of lottery insurers of the higher class.--of lottery offices opened for insurance--proposed remedies.--three plans suggested to the author by correspondents._ gaming is the source from which has sprung up all that race of cheats, swindlers, and sharpers, some of whose nefarious practices have already been noticed, and the remainder of which it is the object of the author to develope in this chapter. such has been the anxiety of the legislature to suppress this evil, that so early as the reign of queen anne, this abandoned and mischievous race of men seems to have attracted its notice in a very particular degree; for the act of the th year of that reign (cap. . §§ , ,) after reciting, "_that divers lewd and dissolute persons live at great expences, having no visible estate, profession, or calling, to maintain themselves; but support these expences by gaming only_; enacts, _that any two justices may cause to be brought before them, all persons within their limits whom they shall have just cause to suspect to have no visible estate, profession, or calling, to maintain themselves by; but do for the most part support themselves by gaming; and if such persons shall not make it appear to such justices that the principal part of their expences is not maintained by gaming, they are to be bound to their good behaviour for a twelve-month; and in default of sufficient security, to be committed to prison, until they can find the same; and if security shall be given, it will be forfeited on their playing or betting at any one time, for more than the value of twenty shillings_." if, in conformity to the _spirit_ of this wise statute, sharpers of every denomination, who support themselves by a variety of cheating and swindling practices, without having any visible means of living, were in like manner to be called upon to find security for their good behaviour, in all cases where they cannot shew they have the means of subsisting themselves honestly, the number of these pests of society, under a general police and an active and zealous magistracy, would soon be diminished, if not totally annihilated. by the th of george the second, (cap. . § , ,) "_the games of faro, hazard, &c. are declared to be lotteries, subjecting the persons who keep them to a penalty of two hundred pounds, and those who play to fifty pounds_."--_one_ witness only is necessary to prove the offence before any justice of the peace; _and the justice forfeits ten pounds if he neglects to do his duty under the act_:--and under this act, which is connected with the statute th of george i. cap. , it seems that "_the keeper of a faro table may be prosecuted even for a penalty of five hundred pounds_." notwithstanding these salutary laws, to the reproach of the police of the metropolis, houses have been opened, even under the sanction of high-sounding names, where an indiscriminate mixture of all ranks was to be found, from the _finished sharper_ to the _raw inexperienced youth_. and where all those evils existed in full force, which it was the object of the legislature to remove. though it is hoped that this iniquitous system of plunder, has of late been somewhat restrained by the wholesome administration of the laws, under the excellent chief justice who presides in the high criminal department of the country, in consequence of the detection of criminals, through the meritorious vigilance and attention of the magistrates; to which the author of this work, by bringing the evil so prominently under the view of the public, may flatter himself in having been in some small degree instrumental: still it is much to be feared, that the time is not yet arrived which would induce him to withhold the following narrative. gaming, although at all times an object highly deserving attention, and calling for the exertions of magistrates, never appeared either to have assumed so alarming an aspect, or to have been conducted upon the methodized system of _partnership-concerns_, wherein pecuniary capitals were embarked, till about the years and , when the vast licence which was given to those abominable engines of fraud, eo tables, and the great length of time which elapsed before a check was given to them by the police, afforded a number of dissolute and abandoned characters, who resorted to these baneful subterfuges for support, an opportunity of acquiring property: this was afterwards increased in low gaming houses, and by following up the same system at newmarket, and other places of fashionable resort, and in the lottery; until at length, without any property at the outset, or any visible means of lawful support, a sum of money, little short of _one million sterling_, is said to have been acquired by a class of individuals originally (with some few exceptions) of the lowest and most depraved order of society. this enormous mass of wealth (acquired no doubt by entailing misery on many worthy and respectable families, and driving the unhappy victims to acts of desperation and suicide,) is said to have been afterwards engaged as a great and an efficient capital for carrying on various illegal establishments; particularly gaming-houses, and shops for fraudulent insurances in the lottery; together with such objects of dissipation as the races at newmarket and other places of _fashionable_ resort, held out: all which were employed as the means of increasing and improving the ill-gotten wealth of the parties engaged in these nefarious pursuits. a system, grown to such an enormous height, had, of course, its rise by progressive advances. several of those who now roll in their gaudy carriages, and associate with some men of high rank and fashion, may be found upon the registers of the old bailey; or traced to the vagrant pursuit of turning, with their own hands, eo tables in the open streets; these mischievous members of society, through the wealth obtained by a course of procedure diametrically opposite to law, are, by a strange perversion, sheltered from the operation of that justice, which every act of their lives has offended: they bask in the sun-shine of prosperity; while thousands, who owe their distress and ruin to the horrid designs thus _executed_, _invigorated_ and _extended_, are pining in misery and want. certain it is, that the mischiefs arising from the rapid increase, and from the vast extent of capital employed in these systems of ruin and depravity, have become great and alarming beyond calculation; as will be evinced by developing the nature of the very dangerous confederacy which systematically moves and directs this vast machine of destruction--composed in general of men who have been reared and educated under the influence of every species of depravity which can debase the human character. wherever interest or resentment suggests to their minds a line of conduct calculated to gratify any base or illegal propensity; it is immediately indulged. some are taken into this iniquitous partnership for their dexterity in securing the dice; or in dealing cards at faro.--informers are apprehended and imprisoned upon writs, obtained, by perjury, to deter others from similar attacks. witnesses are suborned--officers of justice are bribed, wherever it can be done, by large sums of money[ ]--ruffians and bludgeon-men are employed to resist the civil power, where pecuniary gratuities fail--and houses are barricadoed and guarded by armed men: thereby offering defiance to the common exertions of the laws, and opposing the regular authority of magistrates. [footnote : an affidavit, made not very long since in one of the superior courts of justice, illustrates this observation in a very striking degree. it is in these words--"that it is almost impossible to convict persons keeping gaming-houses before the magistrates, by reason of the enormous wealth generally applied to the corruption of unwilling evidence brought forward to support the charge--that on an information exhibited against one of the partners of a gaming-house, he got himself discharged by deterring some of the witnesses from appearing, and by the perjury of another partner who was examined as a witness, and for which he then stood indicted--that divers of these gaming-houses were kept by practising attornies, who, by threatening indictments for pretended conspiracies, and other infamous means, have deterred persons from prosecuting them."] it is impossible to contemplate a confederacy thus circumstanced, so powerful from its immense pecuniary resources, and so mischievous and oppressive from the depravity which directs these resources, without feeling an anxiety to see the strong arm of the law still further and unremittingly exerted for the purpose of effectually destroying it. whilst one part of the immense property by which this confederacy was so strongly fortified was employed in the establishment of _gaming-houses_, holding out the most fascinating allurements to giddy young _men of fortune_, and others, having access to money, by means of splendid entertainments,[ ] and regular suppers, with abundance of the choicest wines, so as to form a genteel lounge for the dissipated and unwary; another part of the capital was said to form the stock which composes the various faro-banks which were to be found at the routes of _ladies of fashion_: thus drawing into this vortex of iniquity and ruin, not only the _males_, but also the _females_ of the thoughtless and opulent part of society; who too easily became a prey to that idle vanity which frequently overpowers reason and reflection; and the delusion of which is seldom terminated till it is too late. [footnote : the expence of entertainments at a gaming-house of the highest class, during eight months, has been said to exceed _six thousand guineas_! what must the profits be to afford such a profusion?] evil example, when thus sanctioned by apparent respectability, and by the dazzling blandishment of rank and fashion, is so intoxicating to those who have either suddenly acquired riches, or who are young and inexperienced, that it almost ceases to be a matter of wonder that the fatal propensity to gaming should become universal; extending itself over all ranks in society in a degree scarcely to be credited, but by those who will attentively investigate the subject. at the commencement of the troubles in france, and before this country was visited by the hordes of emigrants of all descriptions, who fixed a temporary or permanent residence in this metropolis, the number of gaming-houses (exclusive of those that are select, and have long been established by subscription,) did not exceed above _four_ or _five_: in the year , not less than _thirty_ were said to be actually open; where, besides _faro_ and _hazard_, the foreign games of _roulet_, and _rouge et noir_, were introduced, and where there existed a regular gradation of establishment, accommodating to all ranks; from the man of fashion, down to the thief, the burglar, and the pick-pocket--where immense sums of money were played for every evening, for eight months in the year.[ ] [footnote : the latter part of the affidavit, already mentioned, also illustrates these assertions, and proves that they are but too well founded: it states--"that gaming-houses have increased to such a degree, that there were lately not less than six in one street near the hay-market, at all which persons stood at the door to entice passengers to play--that the generality of persons keeping these houses are _prize-fighters_, and persons of a desperate description, who threaten assassination to any person who will molest them."] in a commercial country, and in a great metropolis, where from the vast extent of its trade and manufactures, and from the periodical issue of above twenty millions annually, arising from dividends on funded security, there must be an immense circulation of property, the danger is not to be conceived, from the allurements which are thus held out to young men in business, having the command of money, as well as to the clerks of merchants, bankers, and others concerned in different branches of trade: in fact, it is well known, that too many of this class resort at present to these destructive scenes of vice, idleness, and misfortune.[ ] [footnote : the same affidavit further states--"that the principal gaming houses at the west end of the town have stated days on which they have luxurious dinners, (sunday being the chief day,) to which they contrive to get invited merchants' and bankers' clerks, and other persons intrusted with money; and that it has been calculated, (and the calculation was believed not to be over-rated,) that the expences attendant on such houses, amounted to £. , yearly, and that the keepers of such houses, by means of their enormous wealth, bid defiance to all prosecutions, some of them having acquired from to £. , each; considerable estates have been frequently won by them in the course of one sitting."] the mind shrinks with horror at the existence of a system in the metropolis, unknown to our ancestors, even in the worst periods of their dissipation; when a _ward_, a _waters_, and a _chartres_, insulted public morals by their vices and their crimes: for then no regular establishments--no systematic concerns for carrying on this nefarious trade, were known.--no partnerships in gaming-houses, were conducted with the regularity of commercial houses. but these partnerships have not been confined to gaming-houses alone. a considerable proportion of the immense capital which the conductors of the system possess, is employed periodically in the _two lotteries_, in _fraudulent insurances_, where, like the faro bank, the chances are so calculated as to yield about per cent. profit to the gambling proprietors; and from the extent to which these transactions have been, and we fear still are carried, no doubt can be entertained that the annual gains must be immense.--it has, indeed, been stated, with an appearance of truth, that a single individual acquired no less than £. , during one english lottery! although it is impossible to be perfectly accurate in any estimate which can be formed; for in this, as in all other cases where calculations are introduced in this work, accuracy to a point is not to be expected; yet when all circumstances are considered, there appear just grounds to suppose that the following statement, placing the whole in one connected point of view, may convey to the reader no very imperfect idea of the vast and unparalleled extent to which this horrid mischief had arrived; and to which, if not closely watched, it may yet rise once more. gaming. persons money yearly attached. played aggregate for lost and nightly. won. £. £. . subscription houses open one-third of the year, or nights _suppose_ , , . houses of a superior class one-third of the year, or nights ---- , , . houses of an inferior class one-half of the year, or nights ---- , , . ladies' gaming houses nights ---- , --------- , , fraudulent insurances in the lottery. insurance offices at _l._ a day average, during the days of the irish lottery , , insurance offices at _l._ a day average, during the days[ ] of the english lottery , , --------- , , ---------- total , , ---------- [footnote : the longer the lottery continues, the greater the evil. a lottery of , tickets is therefore a much greater evil than one of , : and that in a ratio more than proportionate to the numbers in each.] this aggregate is only to be considered as shewing the mere interchange of property from one hand to another; yet when it is recollected that the operation must progressively produce a certain loss, with not many exceptions, to all the innocent and unsuspecting adventurers either at pharo or the lottery, with an almost uniform gain to the proprietors; the result is shocking to reflect upon.--to individual families in easy circumstances where this unfortunate mania prevails, as well as to the mass of the people who are fascinated by the delusion of the lottery insurances, it is the worst of all misfortunes.--by seizing every opportunity to take advantage of this unhappy bias, it is no uncommon thing to see the pennyless miscreant of to-day become the opulent gambler of to-morrow: leaving the unhappy sufferers often no alternative but exile, beggary, or a prison; or perhaps, rendered desperate by reflecting on the folly of their conduct, to end their days by suicide,[ ] while wives, children, and dependants are suddenly reduced from affluence to the lowest abyss of misery. [footnote : the gambling and lottery transactions of one individual in this great metropolis, are said to be productive of from ten to fifteen suicides annually.] in contemplating these vast establishments of regular and systematic fraud and depredation upon the public, in all the hideous forms which they assume, nothing is so much to be lamented as the unconquerable spirit which draws such a multitude of the lower ranks of society into the vortex of the lottery. the agents in this iniquitous system, availing themselves of the existence of the delusion, spare no pains to keep it alive; so that the evil extends far and wide, and the mischiefs, distresses, and calamities resulting from it, were it possible to detail them, would form a catalogue of sufferings of which the opulent and luxurious have no conception. of how much importance therefore is it to the public at large, to see these evils suppressed; and above all, to have this novel system completely annihilated, by which gambling establishments have been formed upon commercial principles of methodical arrangements, with vast capitals employed for the most infamous and diabolical purposes. let those who have acquired wealth in this way be satisfied with what they have gotten, and with the misery their gains have occasioned to ruined thousands: let them abstain from employing it in channels calculated to extend these evils. the law is generally slow in its operations: but it seldom fails to overtake the guilty at last. to this confederacy, powerful in wealth, and unrestrained by those considerations of moral rectitude, which govern the conduct of other men engaged in the common pursuits of life, is to be attributed those vast additional hazards to which the young and inexperienced have been subjected--hazards, which not only did not exist before these establishments were matured and moulded into system; but which were considerably increased, from its becoming a part of the general arrangements to employ men of genteel exterior, (and it is to be feared too, in many instances of good connections) who, having been ruined by the delusion, descended as a means of subsistence, to accept the degrading office of seeking out those customers, whose access to money rendered them proper objects to be ensnared.--for such was the nature of this new system of destruction, that while a young man entering upon life, conceived himself honoured by the friendship and acquaintance of those who were considered to be men of fashion, and of good connections, he was deluded by splendid entertainments into the snare, which afterwards robbed him of his property and peace of mind. such were the arrangements of this alarming and mischievous confederacy, for the purpose of plundering the thoughtless and unwary.--the evidence given in the court of king's bench, in an action, tried for gaming, on the th november, , served pretty fully to develope the shocking system of fraud pursued, after the inexperienced and unwary were entrapped into these receptacles of ruin and destruction.[ ] [footnote : the following is the substance of the most striking parts of the evidence of john shepherd, in the action alluded to. "the witness saw hazard played at the gaming-house of the defendant, in leicester-street.--every person who was three times successful, paid the defendant a silver medal, which he purchased from him on entering the house, at eight for a guinea, and he received six or seven of these in the course of an hour for the box hands, as it was called. the people who frequented this house always played for a considerable sum. sometimes £. or £. depended on a single throw of the dice. the witness remembered being once at the defendant's gaming-house about three or four o'clock in the morning, when a gentleman came in very much in liquor.--he seemed to have a great deal of money about him.--the defendant said he had not intended to play, but now he would set to with this fellow.--he then scraped a little wax with his finger off one of the candles and put the dice together, so that they came seven every way. after doing this, he dropped them into the box and threw them out, and afterwards drew all the money away, saying he had won it.--_seven_ was the main, and he could not throw any thing but _seven_. the young gentleman said he had not given him time to _bar_.--a dispute arose between the defendant and him. it was referred to two or three persons who were round the table, and they gave it in favour of the defendant. the gentleman said he had lost upwards of £. . the defendant said, _we have cleared him_. the witness has seen a man pawn his watch and ring in several instances; and once he saw a man pawn his coat and go away without it. "after the gaming table was broken by the bow-street officers, the defendant said it was too good a thing to be given up, and instantly got another table, large enough for twenty or thirty people. the frequenters of this house used to play till day-light: and on one or two occasions, they played all the next day. this is what the defendant called, _sticking to it rarely_. the guests were furnished with wine and suppers gratis, from the funds of the partnership, in abundance. sunday was a grand day. the witness has seen more than forty people there at a time. the table not being sufficient for the whole, half-a-crown used on such occasions to be given for a seat, and those behind looked over the back of the others and betted." the person above-mentioned (whose name was smith) who pawned his coat, corroborated the above evidence; and added, that he had seen a person after he had lost all his money, throw off his coat and go away, losing it also.] while a vice, ruinous to the morals and to the fortunes of the younger part of the community who move in the middle and higher ranks of life is suffered to be pursued in direct opposition to _positive statutes_,--surely, blame must attach somewhere! the idle vanity of being introduced into what is generally, but erroneously, termed genteel society, where a fashionable name announces an intention of seeing company, has been productive of more _domestic misery_ and more _real distress_, _poverty_, and _wretchedness_ to _families_ in this great city (who but for their folly might have been easy and comfortable,) than many volumes could detail. a mistaken sense of what constitutes human happiness, fatally leads the mass of the people who have the means of moving in any degree above the middle ranks of life, into circles where faro tables and other games at hazard are introduced in private families:--where the least recommendation (and sharpers spare no pains to obtain recommendations) is a passport to all who can exhibit a genteel exterior; and where the young and the inexperienced are initiated in every propensity tending to debase human character; while they are taught to view with contempt every acquirement, connected with the duties which lead to domestic happiness, or to those qualifications which can render either sex respectable in the world. when such infamous practices are encouraged and sanctioned by high-sounding names,--when sharpers and black-legs find an easy introduction into the houses of persons of fashion, who assemble in multitudes together, for the purpose of playing at those most odious and detestable games of hazard, which the legislature has stigmatised with such marks of reprobation, it is time for the civil magistrate to step forward:--it is time for him to feel, that, in doing that duty which the laws of his country impose on him, he is perhaps saving hundreds of families from ruin and destruction; and preserving to the infants of thoughtless and deluded parents that property which is their birth-right: but which, for want of an energetic police in enforcing the laws made for their protection, is now too frequently squandered; and the mind is tortured with the sad reflection, that with the loss of fortune, all opportunities (in consequence of idle habits) are also lost, of fitting the unfortunate sufferer for any reputable pursuit in life, by which an honest livelihood could be obtained. in this situation, the transition from the plain gamester to the fraudulent one, and from that to every other species of criminality, is easily conceived: and it is by no means an unfair conclusion, that this has been the fate of not a few who have been early introduced into these haunts of idleness and vice; and who, but for such an education, might have become useful members of the state. the accumulated evils, arising from this source, are said to have been suffered to continue, from a prevailing idea, that persons of rank and their immediate associates were beyond the reach of being controlled, by laws made for the mass of the people; and that nothing but capital offences could attach to persons of this condition in life. if these evils were, in fact, merely confined to persons of rank and fortune, and did not extend beyond that barrier where no general injury could accrue to society, there might be a shadow of excuse (and it would be but a shadow) for not hazarding an attack upon the amusements of the great, where the energy of the laws to controul their oeconomy may be doubtful: but surely in the present case, where the mischief spreads _broad_ and _wide_, no good magistrate can or ought to be afraid to do his duty, because persons in high life may dare to sanction and promote offences of a nature the most mischievous to society at large, as well as to the peace, comfort, and happiness of families. if the exertions of the magistracy are to be suspended until the higher ranks see the frivolity, the shameful profligacy and the horrid waste of useful time, as well as the cruel destruction of decent and respectable families in that point of view which will operate as an antidote to the evil, it is much to be feared that it must, under such circumstances, become incurable. but there are other inducements, more nearly allied to the occurrences in humble life, which render it in a particular degree incumbent on magistrates to make trial, at least, whether there is not sufficient energy in the law to control the hurtful vices of the higher, as well as the middling, and inferior ranks of the people: the examples of the great and opulent, operate most powerfully among the tribe of _menial servants_ they employ; and these carry with them into the lower ranks that spirit of gambling and dissipation which they have practised in the course of their servitude; thus producing consequences of a most alarming nature to the general interests of the community. to the contagion of such examples, is owing in a great measure the number of persons attached to pursuits of this kind, who become the swindlers, sharpers, and cheats, of an inferior class, described in the preceding chapter: and from the same source spring up those pests of society, _the lottery insurers_, whose iniquitous proceedings we shall in the next place lay before the reader. these, with some exceptions, are composed of persons, in general very depraved or distressed: the depredations committed on the public by their means are so ruinous and extensive as to require a consideration peculiarly minute: in order to guard the ignorant and unwary, as much as possible, against the fatal effects of that fraud and delusion, which, if not soon checked, bid fair to destroy all remains of honesty and discretion.--these classes consist of _sharpers, who take lottery insurances_, by which means gambling, among the higher and middling ranks, is carried on, to an extent which exceeds all credibility; producing consequences to many private families, otherwise of great worth and respectability, of the most distressing nature; and implicating in this misery, the innocent and amiable branches of such families, whose sufferings, arising from this source, while they claim the tear of pity, would require many volumes to recount; but silence and shame throw a veil over the calamity: and, cherished by the hopes of retrieving former losses, or acquiring property, in an easy way, the evil goes on, and seems even yet to increase, in spite of every guard which the legislature has repeatedly endeavoured to establish. with a very few exceptions all who are or have been proprietors of the gambling houses are also concerned in the fraudulent insurance offices; and have a number of clerks employed during the drawing of the two lotteries, who conduct the business without risk in counting-houses, where no insurances are taken, but to which books are carried, not only from all the different offices in every part of the town, but also from the morocco-men; so called, from their going from door to door with a book covered with red leather for the purpose of taking insurances, and enticing the poor and the middle ranks to become adventurers. _several of the keepers of insurance offices, during the interval of the drawing of the english and irish lotteries_ have invented and set up private lotteries, or wheels, called by the nick-name of _little go's_, containing blanks and prizes, which are drawn for the purpose of establishing _a ground for insurance_; the fever in the minds of the lower order of the people is thus kept up, in some measure, all the year round, and produces incalculable mischiefs; and hence the spirit of gambling becomes so rooted from habit, that no domestic distress, no consideration, arising either with the frauds that are practised, or the number of chances that are against them, will operate as a check upon their minds. in spite of the high price of provisions, and of the care and attention of the legislature in establishing severe checks and punishments for the purpose of preventing the evil of lottery insurances, these criminal agents feel no want of customers; their houses and offices are not only extremely numerous all over the metropolis; but in general _high-rented_; exhibiting the appearance of considerable expence, and barricadoed in such a manner, with iron doors and other contrivances, as in many instances to defy the arm of the law to reach them. in tracing all the circumstances connected with this interesting subject, with a view to the discovery of the cause of the great encouragement which these lottery insurers receive, it appears that a considerable proportion of their emolument is derived from _menial servants_ in general, all over the metropolis; but particularly from the pampered male and female domestics in the houses of men of fashion and fortune; who are said, almost without a single exception, to be in the constant habit of insuring in the english and irish lotteries. this class of _menials_, being in many instances cloathed as well as fed by their masters, have not the same calls upon them as labourers and mechanics, who must appropriate at least a part of their earnings to the purpose of obtaining both food and raiment. with a spirit of gambling, rendered more ardent than prevails in vulgar life, from the example of their superiors, and from their idle and dissipated habits, these servants enter keenly into the lottery business; and when ill luck attends them, it is but too well known that many are led, step by step, to that point where they lose sight of all moral principle; impelled by a desire to recover what they have lost, they are induced to raise money for that purpose, by selling or pawning the property of their masters, wherever it can be pilfered in a little way, without detection; till at length this species of peculation, by being rendered familiar to their minds, generally terminates in more atrocious crimes. upon a supposition that one hundred thousand families in the metropolis keep two servants upon an average, and that one servant with another insures only to the extent of twenty-five shillings each, in the english, and the same in the irish lottery, the aggregate of the whole will amount to half a million sterling. astonishing as this may appear at first view, it is believed that those who will minutely examine into the lottery transactions of their servants, will find the calculation by no means exaggerated; and when to this are added the sums drawn from persons in the middle ranks of life, as well as from the numerous classes of labourers and artisans who have caught the mania; it ceases to be a matter of wonder, that so many sharpers, swindlers, and cheats, find encouragement in this particular department. if servants in general, who are under the control of masters, were prevented from following this abominable species of gambling; and if other expedients were adopted, which will be hereafter detailed, a large proportion of the present race of rogues and vagabonds who follow this infamous trade, would be compelled to become honest; and the poor would be shielded from the delusion which impels them to resort to this deceitful and fraudulent expedient; at the expence sometimes of pledging every article of household goods, as well as the last rag of their own, and their children's wearing apparel, not leaving even a single change of raiment! this view of a very prominent and alarming evil, known to exist from a variety of facts well established and evinced, among others, by the pawnbrokers' shops overflowing with the goods of the labouring poor, during the drawing of the three lotteries, ought to create a strong desire on the part of all masters of families, to exert their utmost endeavours to check this destructive propensity; and to prevent, as far as possible, those distresses and mischiefs which every person of humanity must deplore. the misery and loss of property which springs from this delusive source of iniquity, is certainly very far beyond any idea that can be formed of it by the common observer.[ ] [footnote : in consequence of a very accurate inquiry which has been made, and of information derived from different sources, it appears that fraudulent lottery insurances have not diminished. the offices are numerous all over the metropolis, and are supposed to exceed four hundred of all descriptions; to many of which there are persons attached, called _morocco men_, who go about from house to house among their former customers, and attend in the back parlours of public houses, where they are met by customers who make insurances. it is calculated that at these offices (exclusive of what is done at the _licensed_ offices) premiums for insurance are received to the amount of _eight hundred thousand pounds_, during the irish lottery, and above _one million_ during the english; upon which it is calculated that they make from to per cent. profit.--this infamous confederacy was estimated, during the english lottery of the year , to support about agents and clerks, and nearly morocco men, including a considerable number of hired _armed ruffians_ and _bludgeon men_: these were paid by a general association of the principal proprietors of these fraudulent establishments; who regularly met in committee, in a well-known public house in oxford market, twice or thrice a week, during the drawing of the lottery; for the purpose of concerting measures to defeat the exertions of the magistrates, by alarming and terrifying, and even forcibly resisting, the officers of justice in all instances where they could not be bribed by pecuniary gratuities;--to effect which last purpose, neither money nor pains were spared; and the wretched agents of these unprincipled miscreants were, in many cases, prepared to commit murder, had attempts been made to execute the warrants of magistrates; as can be proved by incontestable evidence. it is greatly to be feared that too much success attended these corrupt and fraudulent proceedings, in violation and defiance of the laws of the kingdom.] a general association, or perhaps an act of parliament, establishing proper regulations, applicable to this and other objects, with regard to menial servants, would be of great utility. if a legislative regulation could also be established, extending certain restrictions to the members of the different _friendly societies_ situated within the bills of mortality, with regard to fraudulent lottery insurances, above _seventy thousand families_ would be relieved from the consequences of this insinuating evil; which has been so fatal to the happiness and comfort of a vast number of tradesmen and artisans, as well as inferior classes of labourers.[ ] [footnote : the regulation proposed, is this--that every member belonging to a friendly society, should be _excluded_ or _expelled_, and deprived of all future benefits from the funds of that society, on proof of his having insured in any lottery whatsoever, contrary to law;--and that this rule should be general, wherever the acts of parliament, relative to friendly societies, have taken effect.] such prohibitions and restraints would have a wonderful effect in lessening the profits of the lottery-office keepers; which, perhaps, is the very best mode of suppressing the evil.--at present, the temptation to follow these fraudulent practices is so great, from the productive nature of the business, that unless some new expedient be resorted to, no well-grounded hope can be entertained of lessening the evil in any material degree. in addition, therefore, to what has already been suggested on the subject, other expedients have occurred to the author; and some have been suggested by persons well informed on this subject. the lottery in itself, if the poorer classes could be exempted from its mischiefs, has been considered by many good writers and reasoners as a fair resource of revenue; by taxing the vices or follies of the people, in a country where such a considerable proportion of the higher and middling ranks are possessed of large properties in money, and may be induced, through this medium to contribute to the assistance of the state, what would (probably to the same extent) be otherwise squandered and dissipated, in idle amusements. it is a means also of benefit to the nation, by drawing considerable sums of money annually from foreign countries, which are laid out in the purchase of tickets. in many respects therefore, it might be desirable to preserve this source of revenue if it can be confined to the purchase of tickets, and to persons of such opulence, as upon the abolition of the lottery could not probably be restrained from squandering their money in another way, from which the state would derive no benefit. the lottery, on the plan upon which it is at present conducted, has not yet ceased to be an evil of the utmost magnitude, and perhaps one of the greatest nurseries of crimes that ever existed in any country.--at the close of the english lottery drawn in , the civil power was trampled upon and put to defiance in a most alarming and shameful manner, disgraceful to the police of the metropolis. the means used for this purpose have been already fully detailed; _ante p. in the note_. the profits of these cheats and swindlers were said to be immense beyond all former example, during the lottery drawn in the spring both of and ; and of course, the poor were never in a greater degree plundered. in calculating the chances upon the whole numbers in the wheels, and the premiums which are paid, there is generally about - d per cent. in favour of the lottery insurers; but when it is considered that the lower ranks, from not being able to recollect or comprehend high numbers, always fix on low ones, the chance in favour of the insurer is greatly increased, and the deluded poor are plundered, to an extent which really exceeds all calculation. at no period is there ever so much occasion for the exertions of the magistracy, as during the drawing of the english and irish lotteries; but it is to be feared, that even by this energy, opposed as it always undoubtedly will be, by a system as well of corruption as of force unexampled in former times, no proper check can be given, until by new legislative regulations, some more effectual remedy is applied. the following expedients with the assistance of a superintending, energetic, and well-regulated police, it is to be hoped, might be the means of greatly abridging this enormous evil, and of securing to government the same annual revenue, which is at present obtained, or nearly so. " . that the numbers of the tickets to be placed in the lottery wheels shall not be _running numbers_, as heretofore used; but shall be _intermediate_ and _broken_; thereby preventing insurances from being made on specific numbers, from the impossibility of its being known, to any but the _holders of tickets, or the commissioners_, what particular ticket at anytime remains in the wheel. " . that all persons taking out licences to sell lottery tickets, shall (instead of the bond with two sureties for one thousand pounds, now entered into under the act of the d george . cap. ,) enter into a bond, with two sureties also, for £. , --which sum shall be forfeited, on due proof that any person, so licensed, shall have been, directly or indirectly, concerned in taking insurances contrary to law; or in setting up, or being connected in the profit or loss arising from any illegal insurance-office: or in employing itinerant clerks, to take insurances on account of persons so licensed. " . that besides the above-mentioned bond, all licensed lottery office keepers shall, previous to the drawing of each lottery, make oath before a magistrate, that they will not, in the course of the ensuing lottery, be concerned, either directly or indirectly, in setting up any illegal offices for the sale of tickets, or insurance of numbers, contrary to law: which affidavit shall be recorded, and a certificate thereof shall be indorsed on the licence without which it shall not be valid. and that the affidavit may be produced in evidence, against persons convicted of illegally insuring; who shall in that event be liable to the punishment attached to perjury, and of course, to the ignominy of the pillory and imprisonment. " . that all peace-officers, constables, headboroughs, or others, lawfully authorised to execute the warrants of magistrates, who shall receive any gratuity, or sum of money from illegal lottery insurers, or from any person or persons, in consideration of any expected services in screening such offenders from detection or punishment, shall, on conviction, be rendered infamous, and incapable of ever serving any public office; and be punished by fines, imprisonment, or the pillory, as the court, before whom the offence is tried, shall see proper. " . that all persons who shall be convicted of _paying money_ on any contract for the benefit arising from the drawing of any lottery ticket, insured upon any contingency (not being in possession of the original ticket, or a legal share thereof) shall forfeit £. for every offence, to be levied by distress, &c. " . that an abstract of the penalties inflicted by law on persons insuring, or taking illegal insurances in the lottery, shall be read every sunday, in all churches, chapels, meeting-houses, and other places of public worship, during the drawing of the irish and english lotteries respectively; with a short exhortation, warning the people of the consequences of offending against the law: and that a copy of the same shall be pasted up in different parts of guildhall, and constantly replaced during the drawing of the lottery; and also at all the licensed lottery offices within the metropolis. " . that a reward, not exceeding £. be paid to any person employed as a clerk or servant in any illegal lottery office, who shall be the means of convicting the actual or principal proprietor or proprietors of the said office, who shall not appear themselves in the management; also a sum not exceeding £. on conviction of a known and acting proprietor; and a sum not exceeding £. on conviction of any clerk or manager, not being partners. " . that the punishment to be inflicted on offenders shall be fine, imprisonment, or the pillory; according to the atrocity of the offence, in the discretion of the court before which such offenders shall be tried." the following plans have also been transmitted to the author by correspondents who appear to be well-wishers to society. they are here made public, in hopes that from the whole of the suggestions thus offered, some regulations may ultimately be adopted by the legislature towards effectually remedying this peculiarly dangerous and still-increasing evil. plan i. "it is proposed, that the _prizes only_ should be drawn, and that seven hours and a half per day should be the time of drawing, instead of five hours, by which means a lottery of the same number of tickets now drawn in thirty-five days, would be drawn in seven days and a half; and each adventurer would have exactly the same chance as he has by the present mode of drawing; since it is evidently of no consequence to him whether all the blanks remain in the number wheel undrawn, or an equal number of blanks are drawn from a blank and prize wheel; the chance of blank or prize on _each ticket_ being in either case exactly the same. "according to the usual mode of drawing, , tickets take about thirty-five days in drawing, which is , - / per day.--by increasing the time of each day's drawing, from five hours to seven and a half, , tickets would be drawn each day; but as the reading prizes above £. _thrice_, causes some little delay, i reckon only per day; at which rate , tickets, the usual proportion of prizes in a lottery of , tickets, would be drawn in seven days and a half. thus the _period_ of insurance would be nearly reduced to one-fifth part of its present duration, and the _daily_ insurance on _blanks_, and _blank and prize_, which opens the most extensive field for gambling, would be _entirely abolished_. reducing, therefore, the time of insurance to one-fifth, and the numbers drawn to less than one-third of what they have hitherto been, there could scarce remain in lotteries thus drawn, one-fifteenth part of the insurance as in former lotteries of an equal number of tickets.--it is also worthy of remark, that as all the late lotteries have been thirty-five days at least in drawing, the insurance offices had thirty-four to one in their favour the first day, by which circumstance they were enabled to tempt chiefly that class of people who can only gamble on the lowest terms, and to whom gambling is most extensively pernicious, with a very moderate premium, (_e.g._ about twelve shillings to return twenty pounds) which increases daily by almost imperceptible degrees, and thus insensibly leads them on to misery, desperation, and guilt. "but in the proposed plan, the insurance offices would have only six days and a half to one in their favour the first day; so that they must begin with a much higher premium than the generality of the common people can advance, which premium must each day be very considerably increased.--these considerations would undoubtedly operate as an absolute prohibition, on far the greatest part of lottery insurers; beside which, the great probability of numbers insured being drawn each day, would deter even the office keepers from venturing to insure so deeply, or extensively, as they have been accustomed to do. "should it be objected, that if insurance is thus abridged, or prohibited, tickets will not sell, and the lottery, as a source of revenue, must be abandoned: the following expedient may, it is apprehended, effectually obviate such an objection.-- "let tickets, which cannot now be legally divided below a sixteenth, be divisible down to a _sixty-fourth_ share, properly stamped; which regulation, while it would greatly benefit and encourage licensed offices, would equally discountenance illegal gamblers; and whilst it permitted to the lower orders of the community a fair chance of an adventure in the lottery on moderate terms, would co-operate with the restrictions on insurance to advance the intrinsic value, as well as the price of tickets, which every illegal _scheme_ evidently tends to depreciate." the preceding plan appeared in the appendix to the fifth edition of this treatise; in consequence of which the author received the following observations and which therefore he presents as-- plan ii. "the suggestions as far as they extend and relate to the shortening the duration of the drawing are highly useful, but they fall short of the object, and the plan, if executed, would nearly prevent the sale of tickets, and totally so that of shares, and consequently abolish lotteries altogether;--a consummation devoutly to be wished by every friend to the public, but under the pecuniary influences, which perhaps too much affect political considerations, little to be expected. "it will be necessary to exhibit only a plain statement of the proportionate chances in the wheel during the - / days of drawing on the scheme of , tickets, viz.-- _prizes._ _blanks._ st. day , to , - / to a prize d. --- , -- , d. --- , -- , th. --- , -- , th. --- , -- , th. --- , -- , th. --- , -- , last. --- , -- , to a prize. "hence it is evident, that on supposition the value of the prizes diminish by an equal ratio, every day of drawing, still the actual value of the prizes in proportion to the permanent number of the blanks will be diminished by the relative proportion increasing at the rate of about blanks every day after the first. consequently it must follow, that the premiums of insurance, as well as the price of shares and tickets, instead of acquiring in their value _a very considerable increase_, must be subject to a very considerable diminution. "to maintain the foregoing plan, no. i. which is a good ground-work for lessening the evil, i take the liberty (says my correspondent) of suggesting the following improvement. "after the prizes are drawn each day, let the proportion of the blanks, namely, be drawn also. let there be a suspension likewise of five or seven days between each drawing for the sale of tickets and shares, and to give time for insurance. it may be objected, that the time being thus prolonged the inconvenience will remain the same; to avoid which, the blank numbers so drawn, must be done secretly and sealed up by the commissioners, or, they may be drawn openly but not unfolded or declared, and if necessary, made public after the drawing; by which means the insurance against blanks or blank and prize will be equally abolished." plan iii. "the evils of a lottery are many.--the advantages might, if well regulated, be as numerous. according to the schemes that have hitherto prevailed the _principle_ has been wrong. since the bait held out has been the obtaining of an immense fortune, and the risk has been proportionably great--insurance has reigned unchecked by all penalties and punishments that could be devised to the ruin and misery of thousands. the price of tickets has been fluctuating, and fortunes have been won and lost on the chance of the great prizes keeping in the wheel: the £. prizes have always proved dissatisfactory, as though there are only - / prizes _on an average_ to a blank, yet such is the uncertainty, that many have scores of tickets without obtaining the proportionate advantage even from these low prizes. it is thought, therefore, that a scheme which should offer considerably more chances for prizes of and above £. , and which should ensure a return on all blanks, would be acceptable. if also it could be made to prevent insuring of tickets and capitals, it seems to be the grand desideratum in this branch of financeering. "the principle on which these benefits may be obtained is this. there should be a considerable number of moderate prizes, such as might be fortunes, if obtained by the inferior ranks, and of consequence sufficient to answer the risk of the rich. the tickets to be drawn each day should be previously specified which may be done by appropriating a certain share of the prizes to a certain number of tickets. all the tickets not drawn prizes of £. or upwards shall be entitled to a certain return, which would be superior to a chance for a £. prize. "scheme. _number of prizes._ _value of each._ _total value._ £. £. , , , , , , , ----- ------- , , , --£. returned on each. , ------ ------- , tickets. , "scheme of drawing. "let tickets from no. , to inclusive, (with number , ) be put into a wheel the first day, and proceed in the same manner numerically for days. in the other wheel, each day let there be put the following proportion of prizes, viz. £. £. ---- ------ , .--£. to be returned on each. ---- ------ tickets , "in lotteries where the lowest prizes have been of £. the blanks have been the proportion of - / to a prize. if therefore a person had seven tickets they were entitled to expect only two £. prizes or £. . in this, however, they were frequently disappointed, and their chance for a prize of £. or upwards has been as about to , . by the above scheme, if a person has seven tickets they are sure of a return of £. , and have the chance of to , or to , for a superior prize. the certainty of the numbers and the prizes to be drawn each day would prevent insurance on those events, and every ticket being a prize there could be no insurance against blanks. "in fact, the lottery might be drawn in one day,--thus: let there be twenty-five bags containing each numbers, either promiscuously chosen or of stated thousands. let there be also bags each containing the prizes above appropriated to each day's drawing. let the commissioners empty one bag of numbers and one of prizes into two wheels. let them draw numbers out of the number wheel, and the prizes out of the other. the remaining numbers to be entitled to £. each.--then let them proceed with other numbers in the same way." * * * * * at all events, whether these plans for reforming this enormous evil, are or are not superior to others which have been devised, it is clear to demonstration, that the present system is founded on a principle not less erroneous than mischievous; and, therefore, it cannot too soon be abandoned; especially since it would appear that the revenue it produces might be preserved, with the incalculable advantage to the nation of preserving, at the same time, the morals of the people, and turning into a course of industry and usefulness the labour of many thousand individuals, who, instead of being, as at present, pests in society, might be rendered useful members of the state. chap. vii. _the frauds arising from the manufacture and circulation of base money:--the causes of its enormous increase of late years.--the different kinds of false coin detailed:--the process in fabricating each species explained:--the immense profits arising therefrom:--the extensive trade in sending base coin to the country.--its universal circulation in the metropolis.--the great grievance arising from it to brewers, distillers, grocers, and retail dealers, in particular, as well as the labouring poor in general.--the principal channels through which it is uttered in the country and in the metropolis.--counterfeit foreign money extremely productive to the dealers.--a summary view of the causes of the mischief.--the defects in the present laws explained:--and a detail of the remedies proposed to be provided by the legislature._ the frauds committed by the fabrication of base money, and by the nefarious practices, in the introduction of almost every species of counterfeit coin into the circulation of the country, are next to be discussed. the great outlines of this enormous evil having been stated in the first chapter, it now remains to elucidate that part of the subject which is connected with _specific detail_. one of the greatest sources of these multiplied and increasing frauds is to be traced to the various ingenious improvements which have taken place of late years, at birmingham, and other manufacturing towns, in mixing metals, and in stamping and _colouring_ ornamental buttons. the same ingenious process is so easily applied to the coinage and colouring of false money, and also to the mixing of the metals of which it is composed, that it is not to be wondered at, that the avarice of man, urged by the prospect of immense profit, has occasioned that vast increase of counterfeit money of every description, with which the country is at present deluged. the false coinages which have been introduced into circulation, of late years, are _guineas, half-guineas and seven shilling pieces, crowns and half-crowns, shillings, sixpences, pence, halfpence, and farthings_, of the similitude of the coin of the realm: of foreign coin, _half johannas, louis d'ors, spanish dollars, french half-crowns, shillings and sixpences, sol pieces, prussian and danish silver money, and other continental coins_; to which may be added, _sequins of turkey, and pagodas of india_. these foreign coins except in the instance of the _spanish dollars_[ ] issued by the bank of england in , have generally been sold as articles of commerce for the purpose of being fraudulently circulated in the british colonies or in foreign countries. [footnote : the circulation of stamped spanish dollars, in , gave rise to a very extensive coinage of counterfeit money of the same species, which was generally executed in a very masterly manner, and before the fraud was discovered vast quantities were in the hands of many innocent members of the community. several detections, however, having checked the circulation, and silver bullion having fallen greatly in price, those who were in the habit of dealing in base money availing themselves of this circumstance, purchased dollars in great quantities at about _s._. _d._ which they instantly stamped and circulated at _s._ _d._ and by which species of villainy large sums of money were suddenly amassed.--one dealer in particular is said to have made above £. in six weeks. the laws attaching no punishment to this unforeseen offence, and the author representing the circumstances of the case to the bank directors, the whole were called in, leaving, however, in the hands of the dealers a large surplus of actual counterfeits,--which appears to have suggested to them the expedient of finding a market in the british american colonies and the united states, where, in general, frauds are less likely to be detected from the payments being made (particularly in the west india islands) in dollars put up in bags containing a certain value in each. however, they were fortunately defeated in this object by the timely notice given, by the author of this treatise, to his majesty's secretary of state, and the american minister, and through these respectable mediums commercial people were put upon their guard before the intended fraud could be carried into effect.] so dexterous and skilful have coiners now become, that by mixing a certain proportion of pure gold with a compound of base metal, they can fabricate guineas that shall be full weight, and of such perfect workmanship as to elude a discovery, except by persons of skill; while the intrinsic value does not exceed thirteen or fourteen shillings, and in some instances is not more than eight or nine. of this coinage considerable quantities were circulated some years since, bearing the impression of george the second: and another coinage of counterfeit guineas of the year , bearing the impression of his present majesty, has been for some years in circulation, finished in a masterly manner, and nearly full weight, although the intrinsic value is not above eight shillings: half guineas are also in circulation of the same coinage: and lately a good imitation of the seven-shilling pieces. but as the fabrication of such coin requires a greater degree of skill and ingenuity than generally prevails, and also a greater capital than most coiners are able to command, it is to be hoped it has gone to no great extent; for amidst all the abuses which have prevailed of late years, it is unquestionably true, that the guineas and half-guineas which have been counterfeited in a style to elude detection, have borne no proportion in point of extent to the coinage of base _silver_. of this latter there are _five_ different kinds at present counterfeited; and which we shall proceed to enumerate. _the first of these are denominated_ flats, from the circumstance of this species of money being cut out of flatted plates, composed of a mixture of silver and blanched copper. the proportion of silver runs from one-fourth to one-third, and in some instances to even one-half: the metals are mixed by a chemical preparation, and afterwards rolled by flatting mills, into the thickness of _shillings_, _half-crowns_, or _crowns_, according to the desire of the parties who bring the copper and silver, which last is generally stolen plate. it is not known that there are at present above one or two rolling mills in london, although there are several in the country, where all the dealers and coiners of this species of base money resort, for the purpose of having these plates prepared; from which, when finished, _blanks_ or round pieces are cut out, of the sizes of the money meant to be counterfeited. the artisans who stamp or coin these blanks into base money are seldom interested themselves. they generally work as mechanics for the large dealers who employ a capital in the trade;--and who furnish the plates, and pay about eight per cent. for the coinage, being at the rate of one penny for each shilling, and twopence-halfpenny for each half-crown. this operation consists first in turning the blanks in a lathe;--then stamping them, by means of a press, with dies of the exact impression of the coin intended to be imitated:--they are afterwards rubbed with sandpaper and cork; then put into aquafortis to bring the silver to the surface; then rubbed with common salt; then with cream of tartar; then warmed in a shovel or similar machine before the fire; and last of all rubbed with _blacking_, to give the money the appearance of having been in circulation. all these operations are so quickly performed, that two persons (a man and his wife for instance,) can completely finish to the nominal amount of fifty pounds in shillings and half-crowns in two days, by which they will earn each two guineas a day. a shilling of this species, which exhibits nearly the appearance of what has been usually called a birmingham shilling, is intrinsically worth from _twopence to fourpence_; and crowns and half-crowns are in the same proportion. the quantity made of this sort of counterfeit coinage is very considerable: it requires less ingenuity than any of the other methods of coining, though at the same time it is the most expensive, and of course the least profitable to the dealer; who for the most part disposes of it to the utterers, vulgarly called _smashers_, at from _s._ to _s._ for a guinea, according to the quality; while these _smashers_ generally manage to utter it again to the full import value. _the second species of counterfeit silver money_ passes among the dealers by the denomination of plated goods; from the circumstance of the shillings and half-crowns being made of copper of a reduced size, and afterwards plated with silver, so extended as to form a rim round the edge. this coin is afterwards stamped with dies so as to resemble the real coin; and, from the circumstance of the surface being pure silver, is not easily discovered except by ringing the money on a table: but as this species of base money requires a knowledge of _plating_ as well as a great deal of ingenuity, it is of course confined to few hands. it is however extremely profitable to those who carry it on, as it can generally be uttered, without detection, at its full import value. _the third species of base silver-money is called_ plain goods, and is totally confined to shillings. these are made of copper blanks turned in a lathe, of the exact size of a birmingham shilling, afterwards silvered over by a particular operation used in colouring metal buttons; they are then rubbed over with cream of tartar and blacking, after which they are fit for circulation. these shillings do not cost the makers above one halfpenny each: they are sold very low to the _smashers_ or _utterers_, who pass them where they can, at the full nominal value; and when the silver wears off, which is very soon the case, they are sold to the jews as bad shillings, who generally resell them at a small profit to customers, by whom they are recoloured, and thus soon brought again into circulation. the profit is immense, owing to the trifling value of the materials; but the circulation, on account of the danger of discovery, it is to be hoped is not yet very extensive. it is, however, to be remarked, that it is a species of coinage not of a long standing. _the fourth class_ of counterfeit silver-money is known by the name of castings or cast goods. this species of work requires great skill and ingenuity, and is therefore confined to few hands; for none but excellent artists can attempt it, with any prospect of great success. the process is to melt blanched copper, and to cast it in moulds, having the impression, and being of the size of a _crown_, a _half-crown_, a _shilling_, or a _sixpence_, as the case may be; after being removed from the moulds, the money thus formed is cleaned off, and afterwards neatly silvered over by an operation similar to that which takes place in the manufacture of buttons. the counterfeit money made in imitation of shillings by this process, is generally cast so as to have a _crooked appearance_; and the deception is so admirable, that although intrinsically not worth _one halfpenny_, by exhibiting the appearance of a _thick crooked shilling_, they enter into circulation without suspicion, and are seldom refused while the surface exhibits no part of the copper; and even after this the itinerant jews will purchase them at threepence each though six times their intrinsic value, well knowing that they can again be recoloured at the expence of half a farthing, so as to pass without difficulty for their nominal value of twelve pence.--a vast number of the sixpences now in circulation is of this species of coinage. the profit in every view, whether to the original maker, or to the subsequent purchasers (after having lost their colour,) is _immense_. in fabricating cast money, the workmen are always more secure than where presses and dies are used; because upon the least alarm, and before any officer of justice can have admission, the counterfeits are thrown into the crucible; the moulds are destroyed; and nothing is to be found that can convict, or even criminate the offender: on this account the present makers of cast money have reigned long, and were they careful and frugal, they might have become extremely rich; but prudence rarely falls to the lot of men who live by acts of criminality. the _fifth and last species_ of base coin made in imitation of silver-money of the realm is called figs or fig things. it is a very inferior sort of counterfeit money, of which composition, however, a great part of the sixpences now in circulation are made. the proportion of silver is not, generally speaking, of the value of one farthing in half a crown; although there are certainly some exceptions, as counterfeit sixpences have been lately discovered, some with a mixture, and some wholly silver; but even these did not yield the makers less than from to per cent. while the profit on the former is not less than from five hundred to one thousand per cent. and sometimes more. it is impossible to estimate the amount of this base money which has entered into the circulation of the country during the last twenty years; but it must be very great, since one of the principal coiners of stamped money, who some time since left off business, and made some important discoveries, acknowledged to the author, that he had coined to the extent of _two hundred thousand pounds_ sterling in counterfeit _half-crowns_, and other base silver money, in a period of seven years. this is the less surprising, as two persons can stamp and finish to the amount of from _l._ to _l._ a week.[ ] [footnote : a _liquid test_ has been discovered by mr. alston, an eminent manufacturer, in birmingham, of great worth and respectability, which cannot fail to be of the greatest use in detecting every species of counterfeit gold and silver money, whether _plated_ or _washed_. this discovery is mentioned with pleasure by the author, as it is likely to be productive of much benefit to the public, in protecting the fair dealers against the frauds daily practised upon them, in the circulation of base money.--the discovery is instantaneous by a single touch, and the expence of the liquid and apparatus is trifling.] of the copper money made in imitation of the current coin of the realm, there are many different sorts sold at various prices, according to the size and weight; but in general they may be divided into two kinds, namely, the stamped and the plain halfpence, of both which kind immense quantities have been made in london; and also in birmingham, wedgbury, bilston, and wolverhampton, &c.[ ] [footnote : a species of counterfeit halfpence made _wholly of lead_, has been circulated in considerable quantities, coloured in such a manner as even to deceive the best judges. they are generally of the reign of george ii. and have the exact appearance of old mint halfpence.] the plain halfpence are generally made at birmingham; and from their thickness, afford a wonderful deception. they are sold, however, by the coiners to the large dealers at about a farthing each, or per cent. profit in the tale or aggregate number. these dealers are not the _utterers_; but sell them again by retail in _pieces_, or _five-shilling papers_, at the rate of from _s._ to _s._ for a guinea; not only to the smashers, but also to persons in different trades, as well in the metropolis as in the country towns, who pass them in the course of their business at the full import value. farthings are also made in considerable quantities, chiefly in london, but so very thin that the profit upon this species of coinage is much greater than on the halfpence, though these counterfeits are not now, as formerly, made of base metal. the copper of which they are made is generally pure. the advantage lies in the weight alone, where the _coiners_, _sellers_, and _utterers_, do not obtain less than per cent. a well known coiner has been said to finish from sixty to eighty pounds sterling a week. of halfpence, two or three persons can stamp and finish to the nominal amount of at least two hundred pounds in six days. when it is considered that there are seldom less than between forty and fifty coinages or private mints, almost constantly employed in london and in different country towns; in stamping and fabricating base silver and copper money, the evil may justly be said to have arrived at an enormous height. it is indeed true that these people have been a good deal interrupted and embarrassed from time to time, by detections and convictions; but while the laws are so inapplicable to the new tricks and devices they have resorted to, these convictions are only _a drop in the bucket_: while such encouragements are held out the execution of one rogue only makes room for another to take up his customers; and indeed as the offence of selling is only a misdemeanor it is no unusual thing for the wife and family of a culprit, or convicted _seller_ of _base money_ to carry on the business, and to support him luxuriously in newgate, until the expiration of the _year_ and _day's_ imprisonment, which is generally the punishment inflicted for this species of offence. it has been already stated [_page_ , &c.] that trading in base money has now become as regular and systematic as any fair branch of trade.-- certain it is, that immense quantities have been regularly sent from london to the camps during the summer season; and to persons at the sea-ports and manufacturing towns, who again sell in retail to the different tradesmen and others who pass them at the full _import_ value. in this nefarious traffic a number of the lower order of the german jews in london assist the dealers in an eminent degree, particularly in the circulation of bad halfpence. it has not been an unusual thing for several of these dealers to hold a kind of market every morning, where from forty to fifty of these german jew boys are regularly supplied with counterfeit halfpence; which they dispose of in the course of the day in different streets and lanes of the metropolis, for _bad shillings_, at about _d._ each. care is always taken that the person who cries bad shillings shall have a companion near him who carries the halfpence, and takes charge of the purchased shillings (which are not cut:) so as to elude the detection of the officers of the police, in the event of being searched. the bad shillings thus purchased, are received in payment by the employers of the boys, for the bad halfpence supplied them, at the rate of four shillings a dozen; and are generally resold to _smashers_, at a profit of two shillings a dozen; who speedily re-colour them, and introduce them again into circulation, at their full nominal value. the boys will generally clear from five to seven shillings a day, by this fraudulent business; which they almost uniformly spend, during the evening, in riot and debauchery; returning pennyless in the morning to their old trade. thus it is that the frauds upon the public multiply beyond all possible conception, while the tradesman, who, unwarily at least if not improperly, sells his counterfeit shillings to jew boys at threepence each, little suspects that it is for the purpose of being returned upon him again at the rate of twelve-pence; or per cent. profit to the purchasers and utterers. but these are not the only criminal devices to which the coiners and dealers, as well as the utterers of base money, have had recourse, for answering their iniquitous purposes. previous to the act of the geo. . cap. , counterfeit french crowns, half-crowns, and shillings, of excellent workmanship, were introduced with a view to elude the punishment of the then deficient laws relative to foreign coin. fraudulent die-sinkers are to be found both in the metropolis and in birmingham, who are excellent artists; able and willing to copy the exact similitude of any coin, from the british guinea to the sequin of turkey, or to the star pagoda of arcot. the delinquents have therefore every opportunity and assistance they can wish for; while their accurate knowledge of the deficiency of the laws, (particularly relative to british coin) and where the point of danger lies, joined to the extreme difficulty of detection, operates as a great encouragement to this species of treason, felony, and fraud; and affords the most forcible reason why these pests of society still continue to afflict the honest part of the community. an opinion prevails, founded on information obtained through the medium of the most intelligent of these coiners and dealers, that of the counterfeit money now in circulation, not above one third part is of the species of _flats_ or _composition money_; which has been mentioned as the most intrinsically valuable of counterfeit silver, and contains from one fourth to one third silver; the remainder being blanched copper.--the other two thirds of the counterfeit money being _cast_ or _washed_, and intrinsically worth little or nothing, the imposition upon the public is obvious. taking the whole upon an average, the amount of the injury may be fairly calculated at within ten per cent. of a total loss upon the mass of the base silver money now in circulation; which, if a conclusion may be drawn from what passes under the review of any person who has occasion to receive silver in exchange, must considerably exceed _one million sterling_! to this we have the miserable prospect of an accession every year, until some effectual steps shall be taken to remedy the evil. of the copper coinage, the quantity of counterfeits at one time in circulation might be truly said to equal three fourth parts of the whole, and nothing is more certain than that a very great proportion of the actual counterfeits passed as mint halfpence, from their size and appearance, although they yielded the coiners a large profit. even at present the state both of the silver and copper coinage of this kingdom (the copper pence only excepted) deserves very particular attention, for at no time can any person minutely examine either the one coin or the other, which may come into his possession, without finding a considerable proportion counterfeit. until, therefore, a new coinage of halfpence and farthings takes place upon the excellent plan adopted by government, with respect to the pence now partially in circulation, what must be the situation of the retail dealers, the brewers, distillers, and many other classes of industrious traders, who in the course of their business, are compelled to receive depreciated counterfeit money?[ ] [footnote : it is a curious fact, that although the number of pence which have been supplied by that admirable artist, mr. boulton, of birmingham, and which have been actually circulated amounts to forty million of pieces, making £. , . _s._ _d._ sterling, and which is equal to _d._ for every inhabitant in this island, according to the largest computation: yet the quantity of halfpence (chiefly counterfeits) which are found in actual circulation, are at least in the proportion of forty to one. this must ever be the case until some expedient, such as is hereafter recommended, shall be adopted for calling them in, and substituting in their place a new coinage of the full standard weight: for it is evident that the dealers and tradesmen at present hoard up the penny pieces, and only circulate the counterfeit halfpence which they receive; the nuisance therefore remains, and the coiners are thus encouraged to continue their nefarious practices.] the burden is not only grievous beyond expression, to those who have no alternative but to take such base money in payment; but extends indirectly to _the poor_: in as much as the diminished value of such coin, arising from its reduced or base quality taken in connection with the quantities thrown into circulation, tends to enhance the price of the first articles of necessity. the labourer, the handicraftsman, and the working manufacturer, being generally paid their weekly wages, partly in copper money of depreciated value;--it is obvious that they must obtain less than they would otherwise receive, were the coin of a higher standard; for the retail dealers who furnish the poor with food, must shield themselves, at least in part, against the unavoidable losses arising from base money; by advancing the prices of their various commodities. nor are such advances made upon a principle which cannot be defended; since it is evident that the relative value _even of the old copper coin of the mint_ to gold or silver, is nearly _twice its intrinsic value_; and while such copper money cannot be paid into the receipt of his majesty's exchequer, or received in payment by the officers of the revenue, the burden and loss of a diminished coin fall entirely upon the traders, (who are compelled to receive such money,) and upon the labourers and mechanics through whose medium it is chiefly circulated. while the disproportion thus stated between the denominative value of copper and silver money is so very great, it is evident that the legal coinage of copper must produce an immense profit; as _one pound_ of copper estimated at _pence_[ ] will make as many halfpence, of the legal coinage, as pass for _two shillings_. [footnote : a few years ago sheet-copper was as low as - / _d._ a pound, and will probably be again at the same price on the return of peace. indeed it has been even lower, although it has recently very much advanced in price.] this fact plainly shews the vast temptation which is held out to those who carry on the counterfeit coinage, where the profit from the coiner to the dealers, and from these dealers to the utterers, at the full denominative value, must be in many instances from two to three hundred per cent. when to this circumstance is added the security which the deficiencies in the present laws hold out, the whole operates as a kind of bounty to these fraudulent people, who cannot resist the prosecution of a trade where the profit is so immense, and where a coinage equally _pure and heavy_ as the old mint standard would even be extremely productive.[ ] [footnote : this observation does not apply to mr. boulton's new copper coinage; for although some feeble attempts have been made to counterfeit it, these can never go to a great extent, from its not being a sufficient object of profit; besides the fraud is easily detected, since each penny weighs an exact ounce: of course the halfpence should weigh half an ounce, and the farthings one quarter of an ounce, when these last two denominations are brought into circulation; as it is expected they will be.] in every view the evil at present arising from base money of every denomination appears to be of the greatest magnitude--while its extent will scarce be credited by any but those who have turned their attention very minutely to the subject. the trade of dealing in counterfeit coin acquires its greatest vigour towards the end of march; for then the lotteries are over, when _swindlers_, _gamblers_, _pretended dealers in horses_, _travellers with eo tables_, and _hawkers_ and _pedlars_ go into the country, carrying with them considerable quantities of base silver and copper money; by which they are enabled, in a great degree, to extend the circulation, by cheating and defrauding ignorant country people. in the spring season too, the dealers in counterfeit coin begin to make up their orders for the different country towns; and it is supposed, upon good grounds, that there is now scarcely a place of any consequence all over the kingdom where they have not their correspondents; it is also a fact well established, that many of these correspondents come regularly to the _metropolis_, and also go to birmingham and the neighbouring towns once or twice a year for the purpose of purchasing base money, where the evil is said to be increasing even more than in london. it very seldom happens, on account of the great demand, (especially of late years) that the dealers have ever any considerable stock on hand. the base money is no sooner finished, than it is packed up and sent to customers in town and country; and with such rapidity has it been fabricated, on occasions of pressing emergency, that a single dealer has been known to procure from the coiners who worked for him, from £. to £. for country orders, in the course of the week! the lower ranks among the irish, and the german jews, are the chief supporters of the trade of circulating base money in london;--there is said to be scarce an irish labourer who does not exchange his week's wages for base money; taking a mixture of shillings, sixpences, and copper. the jews principally confine themselves to the coinage and circulation of copper; while the irish women are the chief utterers and colourers of base silver. a vast number of these low females have acquired the mischievous art of colouring the bad shillings and sixpences, which they purchase from the employers of jew-boys, who cry _bad shillings_. it is somewhat singular that among the jews, although many cases occur where they appear to be coiners of copper money and dealers to a great extent, yet scarce an instance can be adduced of their having any concern in the coinage of base silver: neither are they extensive dealers in any other base money than copper. the jews, however, deal largely in foreign coin, counterfeited in this country; having been the chief means by which _louis d'ors_, _half johannas_, as well as various silver coins, (particularly _dollars_) made of base metal, have been sent out of this country. it is through the same channel that the sequins of turkey have been exported; and also the pagodas of india.[ ] [footnote : see ante, p. , .] in contemplating and in developing the causes of the vast accumulation and increase of base money, which has thus deluged the country of late years, the evil will be found to have proceeded chiefly from the want of _a new coinage:--of laws, applicable to the new tricks and devices practised by the coiners:--of proper checks upon fraudulent circulation:--of rewards for the detection and apprehension of offenders;--and of a sufficient fund to ensure the prompt execution of the law; by a vigorous and energetic police_, directed not only to the execution of apposite laws in the detection and punishment of offenders, but also to the means of prevention. the vigour and energy requisite to put good and apposite laws in execution for the suppression of crimes of every kind, but particularly that of the coinage and circulation of base money, depend much on the zeal and activity of the magistrate: and on the affording an adequate pecuniary resource, to enable him to reward men who may undertake to risk their persons in the company of desperate and daring offenders, in order to obtain that species of evidence which will produce a conviction. without such pecuniary resource, the law, as well as the exertions of the magistrate, becomes a dead letter: and his efforts for the purpose of promoting the ends of public justice, are crippled and lost to the community. in suppressing great evils, strong and adequate powers must be applied, and nothing can give force and activity to these powers, but the ability to reward liberally all persons engaged in the public service, either as police officers, or as temporary agents for the purpose of detecting atrocious offenders. the following ideas are therefore suggested with a view to the important subject at present under discussion. the coinage laws (except those relating to copper money) which contain the most important regulations in the way of prevention, having been made a century ago, it is not to be wondered at, in consequence of the regular progress of the evil, and the new contrivances and artifices resorted to, in that period, that many obvious amendments have become necessary. a consolidation of the whole laws from the th of edward the third, to the th of his present majesty, would, perhaps, be the most desirable object; as it would afford a better opportunity of correcting every deficiency, and of rendering this branch of the criminal code, _concise_, _clear_, _explicit_,--applicable to the existing evils, and to the means of prevention. for the purpose, however, of more fully elucidating this proposition, it will be necessary to state the existing laws, and what are considered as the most apparent deficiencies therein. we will begin by giving a short _summary_ of the existing laws. edw. iii. _stat._ these acts make counterfeiting the , _cap._ . gold and silver coin of the mary, _stat._ , _c._ realm--counterfeiting foreign money, . current within the realm--knowingly & ph. & mary, bringing false money into the realm _cap._ . counterfeit to the money of england; eliz. _cap._ . or bringing in _any_ false and eliz. _cap._ . counterfeit money, current within eliz. _cap._ . the realm; in order to utter the same here;--diminishing or lightening any current (gold or silver) coin--_high treason_.--counterfeiting foreign money, not current in the kingdom--_misprision of treason_. & will. iii. these acts contain a detail of _cap._ (_made the principal offences and punishments, perpetual by_ upon which prosecutions anne, _c._ )-- are founded at present. & will. iii. _c._ . th of queen anne, allows _l._ a year for prosecuting _cap._ . offenders; increased by geo. ii. _c._ . § , to _l._ th of george ii. amends some of the above laws, and _cap._ . establishes new regulations relative to the copper coinage. th george iii. makes further regulations respecting _cap._ . the copper coinage; which, however, have not been at all effectual. since the last edition of this work the following additions have been made to the statute law on this subject. by geo. iii. _c._ , so much of geo. ii. _c._ , as relates to _halfpence and farthings_, and the statute geo. iii. _c._ , and all other acts relating to the copper money of this realm, are extended to all such copper money as shall be coined and issued, by the king's proclamation.--this was for the purpose of protecting the coinage of _penny_ and _twopenny_ pieces made for government by mr. boulton, of birmingham; and which it is believed have not yet been counterfeited, at least to any great extent. by the same statute, geo. iii. _c._ , persons counterfeiting any _foreign gold or silver coin_, tho' not current in this realm, are made guilty of felony, punishable by seven years' transportation; as are also persons bringing the same into the realm, with intent to utter it.--a penalty is imposed on persons tendering _such_ counterfeit coin in payment, _or exchange_; for the first offence, six months' imprisonment: for the second, two years; and on the third, they are declared guilty of felony without clergy.--persons having more than _five_ pieces of such counterfeit coin in their possession, shall forfeit the same, and also a penalty of not more than £. , nor less than _s._ for each piece; or suffer three months' imprisonment.--justices are impowered to grant warrants for searching suspected places, _for such counterfeit foreign coin_; which with the tools and materials may be seized and carried before a justice, who shall secure the same as evidence: to be afterwards destroyed. by statute geo. iii. _c._ , the act geo. iii. _c._ , prohibiting the importation of light silver coin of this realm, was revived and continued till june , .--and by statute geo. iii. _c._ , it was made perpetual. by statute geo. iii. _c._ , _copper coin_ not being the legal copper coin of this realm, and _all counterfeit gold or silver coin whatever_, exported, or shipped for exportation, to martinique or any of the british colonies in the west indies or america, is declared to be forfeited, and may be seized as under the laws respecting the customs.--and a penalty is imposed on persons exporting it, of £. and double the value of the coin. we next proceed to state the deficiencies which still remain unremedied. . the punishment inflicted on the different offences specified in the coinage laws, do not seem to be adequate to the degree of enormity, in some instances; while in others, from being too severe, the law is not always put in execution. the sale of base money (for instance) under the value it imports, is only punishable by a year's imprisonment; although in point of fact, it is well known, that the sellers are the _employers of the coiners_; that with them this high offence originates, and but for them it would not have been committed: while the actual coiners, who work for these dealers merely as journeymen, subject themselves to the punishment of death. . prosecutions under the stat. & w. iii. _c._ , are at present limited to commence within three months. this may often defeat justice, as offences committed in the country frequently cannot be tried in less than four, five, and in some cases nearly six months. [-->] _the limitation to twelve months would remove the difficulty._ [there is no such limitation in the statutes of & of geo. iii. just alluded to.] . the words _milled money_ seemed necessary, in the minds of the makers of the act of & william iii. _cap._ , to form the description of coin similar to the current coin of the realm; and that act declares it to be felony to take, receive, pay, or put off _counterfeit milled money_.--a considerable portion of counterfeit coin is _cast_, and _not milled_. [-->] _the words_ counterfeit money, milled _or_ not milled, _would remove the ambiguity._ . it does not appear that any provision is clearly made, or punishment inflicted, for the offence of _uttering base silver money in exchange_, as well as in payment: except under _stat._ and will. iii. _cap._ , where the expression of _counterfeited milled money_ is used, the ambiguity of which has already been noticed. the words in the _stat._ geo. ii. _c._ . are, "any person who shall utter or tender in payment," and it seems that the word _utter_ cannot be detached from the subsequent words, "in payment." [the partial remedy applied in this particular in the instance of counterfeit _foreign gold and silver coin_, under geo. iii. _c._ , should be extended to _all_ cases of counterfeit money.] . the laws peculiarly relating to the _copper coinage_, although more modern, have also been found to be extremely defective, and totally inadequate to their object. the act of the th of his present majesty, _cap._ , indeed, makes it felony to sell copper money of the similitude _of the current money of the realm_ at a less value than the denomination doth import; but the benefit of clergy not being taken away, and no specific punishment being mentioned, the offenders are generally subjected only to a year's inprisonment, which proves no check whatever, as their families carry on business in the mean time; and if they sell _plain or evasive halfpence_, or what are called _irish harps_, or mix them with _stamped half-pence_, similar to the current coin of the realm, so that the stamped coin does not exceed the value of what the denomination imports, it is doubtful whether the prosecution will not fail. [-->] it is submitted, that a statute ought to be framed, declaring it _felony_, punishable by seven years' transportation: st. for any person to make or manufacture any piece of copper or other metal, with or without any device whatsoever, with an intent that it shall pass as the _copper monies of the kingdoms of great britain or ireland_. nd. for any smith, engraver, founder, &c. or any person, except those employed in the mint, or authorized by the treasury, to make or mend, buy or sell, conceal or have in their possession, without a lawful excuse, any puncheon, stamp, die, mould, &c. on which shall be impressed, or with intent that there shall be impressed on the same, any resemblance whatever, in part or in the whole, of such _copper monies_. d. for any person to buy or sell, or offer to buy or sell, or to utter or tender in payment, or to give or offer to give in exchange, _thirty or more pieces of copper_ in any one day; such piece resembling or being intended to resemble, or passing or being intended to pass as the current copper money of the said kingdoms. that such proposed statute should also make it a misdemeanor (punishable by a fine of _s._ for the first offence, £ . for the second, and £ . for every subsequent offence) for any person to buy, sell, utter, &c. any number _less than thirty_ of such pieces of copper, resembling or intended to resemble or pass, &c. as such current copper money. the fines to be recoverable in a summary way before one magistrate. this would reach turnpike-men and others, who wilfully pass bad halfpence at one gate which are refused at another: and would generally check the circulation of base copper money, which has become an evil of great magnitude. . the laws, as they now stand, are silent regarding provincial copper coin, or what are called _tokens_, representing an halfpenny. it might perhaps be useful to legalize _tokens_ or _provincial coins_ on three conditions. [-->] _ . that the copper of which they are made shall be pure.-- . that this coin shall be at least per cent. heavier than mr. boulton's new coinage.-- . that the parties circulating such coin be responsible to the holders, for the value in gold or silver, when demanded: and shall stamp their names and an obligation to that purpose on the coins, tokens, or medals so issued by them._--it would be necessary under such circumstances that every person, issuing tokens or medals, should take out a licence for that purpose from the principal officers of the mint, as an authority for such coinage: giving security at the same time to observe the above conditions. it may, however, be worthy consideration, whether these tokens should not be wholly suppressed, and the offence of fabricating any copper pieces passing, or intended to pass "_as, for, or in lieu of_" the lawful copper coin, be made felony: and that such tokens should in all respects be considered as actual counterfeit coin, and treated accordingly: or, at all events, that persons issuing and circulating such tokens should be liable to a severe penalty; and bound to pay the holder, on demand, the full denominated value. . the mischievous agents of the dealers in base money, _the persons who keep flatting-mills, and other machinery, for preparing, and rolling their metals, for being coined into base money_, are not at present within the reach of punishment by any existing law. although by preparing the metal for the subsequent process of stamping, they are in fact parties concerned, without whose aid the coinage of what are called _flats_, or milled money, could not be carried on.--the chief difficulty is in punishing persons for producing an article which may be turned into coach and harness ornaments, buttons, and many purposes as well as base money. [-->] with respect to this whole tribe of dangerous manufacturers, whose trade and abilities are so liable to be perverted to iniquitous purposes, it has been under consideration to regulate them, by legislative measures, to the following effect: viz. "that no person, except those employed in the mints, shall erect, set up, or use, or knowingly have in possession any _cutting engine for cutting round blanks by the force of a screw out of fatted bars or sheets of copper, or other metal_; or any _stamping press, fly, rolling mill, flatting mill, or other instrument for stamping, flatting, or marking metals_, or _which, with the assistance of any matrix, stamp, or dye, will stamp or mark copper or other metals, or prepare the same for stamping or marking_, without first giving notice thereof in writing to persons authorized to keep an entry and registry thereof, containing the christian and surnames of the owners of such instruments, and describing the use thereof, and the house or other place in which the same is intended to be erected, set up, used or kept; and to give the like notice on any removal, under a certain penalty, recoverable as in the case of hair powder, and other revenue laws."--it is believed, on the best authority, that the licence here proposed (especially as it would subject the parties to no pecuniary burden) would meet the approbation of the principal manufacturers, on account of the facilities which it would afford in detecting and in embarrassing those who set up machinery for unlawful purposes. . no provision is made in any act against, and consequently no punishment is inflicted on, the offence of _buying base money to recolour it_--[-->] this is a modern device, and may be remedied, as it seems, by enacting--"that every person who shall buy, take or receive any blank or round piece of blanched copper, mixed metal, or metal of any sort whatsoever, for the purpose of colouring the same, or causing the same to be coloured, or with intent or knowledge that the same shall or will be coloured, or which shall have been coloured, so as to pass for the current gold or silver coins of great britain or ireland, shall be punishable by a fine of £. and one month's imprisonment; and that any person who shall buy or sell, or offer to buy or sell any piece of blanched copper, &c. which may formerly have passed as or for such current gold or silver coin, shall be punishable by a fine of _s._ recoverable in a summary way; or by one month's imprisonment."--this last penalty will reach the jew boys, who cry bad shillings, and will prove, it is hoped, an effectual check by means of a very mild punishment upon shopkeepers, tradesmen, and others, who inadvertently sell defaced counterfeit shillings without reflecting that although they obtain _d._ in this traffick for what is not intrinsically worth one farthing, that the same counterfeits are again coloured, and received by them at the full value of _d._ . no existing law gives any power to magistrates upon information on oath, to search for, or seize counterfeit coin of this realm in the custody or possession of _known dealers_ or _reputed utterers_; although these dealers and utterers are now the persons (and not the actual coiners) who keep the base money: neither is there any power to seize base money conveying in coaches or waggons going into the country. under this shelter the dealers are enabled to hold markets for sale in their houses, where they frequently keep large stocks; and base money is also sent into the country without the least hazard of detection or seizure. [-->] here again the partial remedy introduced by geo. iii. c. , should be extended and applied. . no power is directly given by any existing law, (not even by the modern act last mentioned) though upon the most pointed information, to search the houses or workshops of coiners _in the night time_. hence it is that _detection_ becomes so difficult, and the evil increases, because the law in some measure shields the offenders from discovery. since in lottery offences (which are certainly greatly inferior in their enormity to coining) a power is granted to break open houses in the night-time, surely no reason can be assigned why treasonable offences, in coining base money, should not in this respect be on the same footing. unless a positive power is given to search in the night, and suddenly to force open doors or windows, it will be impossible to detect the makers of cast money. . the act geo. iii. cap. . gives a power to magistrates to issue their warrants to search for tools and implements used in the _copper coinage_, (with regard to silver or gold coinage of this realm no such power is given); but, what is very singular, _no punishment whatever can be inflicted by any existing law_ on the owner or proprietor of such tools for making copper money, nor upon the person in whose house they are found; and if when such search is made, there should be found only _plain_ halfpence, or _irish harps_, or _evasive halfpence_ or _farthings, varying in the stamp_ in any degree from the current coin of the realm, so as not to be of the exact similitude, (a practice which has now for some time very much prevailed) the act in question is defeated; inasmuch as the crime of felony does not attach to offences short of coining _copper money of the similitude of the current coin of the realm_. the coinage of base copper therefore goes on with impunity; because it is owing to the carelessness of the parties themselves if ever they permit the law to reach them. . the laws now in being give no power to seize counterfeit halfpence; either in the hands of the dealers, who keep a kind of open market at their own houses every morning to supply jew boys, who cry bad shillings, or in those of many others in various trades, who become the channels of circulation to a vast extent without risk or inconvenience. neither does the statute law authorize the apprehension of jew boys, who go out every morning loaded with counterfeit copper, which they exchange for bad shillings. [-->] to remedy this part of the evil, it is proposed, "that on complaint made to any one justice of peace upon oath, that there is just cause to suspect that any person is concerned in making or using, or has in their custody any unlawful puncheon, stamp, die, mould, &c. made for the purpose, or which may be applied to the purpose, of counterfeiting the gold, silver, or copper coin of the kingdoms of great britain or ireland; or of making or manufacturing any pieces of metal intended to pass as such coin, or any cutting engine for cutting round blanks by means of force applied to a screw, or flatted bars of metal, &c. or any wash or material which will produce the colour of gold or silver, or copper, or any round blank of base metal or mixed metal, or of brass copper, or lead, so as to resemble such coin; or who hath been concerned in buying, selling, taking in exchange, receiving, or putting off any gold, silver, or copper money, not melted or cut, at a lower rate or value than the same doth import, such justice may, by a warrant under his hand, cause the house, out-house, and other places occupied by such suspected person to be searched, _either by night or by day_; and if any of the articles hereinbefore mentioned, or any counterfeit or pretended coin, blanks, or round pieces of metal be found, the parties to be seized, and, with the said articles, brought before a justice, and such articles may be afterwards used in evidence, and then broken, defaced, and disposed of as the court or justices shall direct. "that any constable, headborough, or beadle, and every watchman, while on duty, may apprehend and detain all and every person or persons who may be reasonably suspected of having and carrying, or any ways conveying for the purpose of selling or trafficking in the same, any counterfeited or forged gold, silver, or copper money, whether the same shall resemble or be intended to resemble, or shall pass or be intended to pass as and for the coin of the said kingdoms, or of any foreign country or state; or having in their possession, without lawful excuse, any round blanks of base metal or mixed metal, &c. or any pieces of gold, silver, brass, copper, or lead, of a fit size and figure to be coined, coloured, or converted into counterfeit money; with power also to seize and detain the said counterfeit money, blanks, &c. and convey the same, with the person or persons apprehended, before one or more justices; and if the party shall not give a satisfactory account how the same came into their possession, or shall not produce the party from whom it was received, he shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, punishable by fine and imprisonment in a summary manner." . the statute geo. iii. cap. . (see p. ) has restrained the evil pointed out in former editions of this treatise, respecting the counterfeiting of foreign gold and silver coin. it is to be wished, however, that the penalties imposed on the _exportation_ of such counterfeit coin by geo. iii. cap. , could be further extended and enforced. . it must here be repeated, that the great cause of the defect in the execution of the laws against coiners, is the want of a proper fund for prosecutions and rewards, and other expences for detecting offenders.--the acts anne, cap. , and geo. ii. cap. , allow only £. for the expence of prosecutions, which has never been increased for above half a century; although the offences, as well as the expence of detection and prosecutions, have increased, at least, six fold. . the reward of £. , given under the acts and william iii. cap. ; geo. ii. cap. , is construed to be limited only to the conviction of actual coiners and clippers of gold and silver; and is not allowed to extend to colouring and finishing, as well as a number of other offences connected with _making_, _counterfeiting_, and _uttering base_ money:--the reward for copper coin is by the said act of geo. ii. cap. , limited to £. , and is by no means a sufficient encouragement to officers to do their duty. _it would be a great improvement if a liberal sum were allowed by parliament for detections, prosecutions, and rewards; to be paid on the report of the judges who try the offenders, according to the merit and trouble of the apprehenders, prosecutors, and witnesses; whether there is a conviction or not._ the following rewards have been suggested as proper to make part of a bill now in a state of preparation, for the general regulation of the coinage: and which is meant to include all the remedies before hinted at and pointed out: a legislative measure which must do honour to the minister who will carry it into execution. to persons contributing to the conviction of _coiners of british or foreign coin, or persons plating with gold or silver_, or _persons colouring with wash_ or _materials to produce the colour of gold or silver_, any blanks or flats of metal, base or mixed, £. _s._ _d._ to resemble the said current coin convicting, &c. persons guilty of counterfeiting copper money of these kingdoms or of foreign states, or colouring such copper money to resemble the same convicting, &c. persons guilty of uttering counterfeit gold and silver coin, and selling it at a lower rate than it imports convicting, &c. persons guilty of buying or selling counterfeit copper money of foreign states at a lower rate than it imports to be paid without deduction or fee, within one month after such conviction, on tendering a certificate to the sheriff. it is also proposed that the treasury shall have power to issue out of the duties of customs a sufficient sum of money for prosecuting offenders against the mint laws. whatever might be the effect of these amendments in the mint laws, and necessary as they appear to be, it is still to be feared that until a new coinage of silver money and copper halfpence and farthings shall take place, no legislative restrictions, regulations, or punishments, can produce an effectual cure to this enormous evil; although, from the many deficiencies which have been detailed, it is evident a great deal of good may be done immediately in this way. a coinage of silver money is a great state question, which may require a fuller consideration; but no doubt can be entertained of the indispensable necessity of such a measure, as soon as circumstances will admit. if to a new coinage of _shillings_ and _sixpences_, should be added an extensive coinage of silver money of the value of _four pence_ and _three pence_, according to ancient usage, it would prove a great convenience to the public, and remedy much of the inconvenience which arises from the ponderous nature of copper money; while a smaller quantity would be required for circulation. no doubt can be entertained of the nation deriving considerable advantages from having increased the weight of copper coin, so as to bring it as near as possible to the _intrinsic_ value of the metal of which it is composed. this arrangement will, it is hoped, ultimately prove the means of effectually preventing counterfeits; and the copper, being a native article produced in the country, may in time, through the medium of _coined money_, become a profitable branch of commerce with foreign nations; where even an extensive circulation may be insured, in consequence of the _intrinsic_ and _denominative_ value being the same, or nearly so. this is exemplified in the policy of sweden, where the copper dollar being so heavy as to answer to sixpence sterling, has long been exported; and forms a considerable, and even a profitable branch of commerce to that nation. in russia the _three copee piece_ is very nearly of the weight of six english halfpence, yet its current value is only a small fraction above one penny sterling;--and thus by issuing no copper coin where the _denominative_ is not in proportion to the _intrinsic_ value, every class of dealers who vend the necessaries of life are shielded against loss; and every unnatural rise in the price of provisions for the subsistence of the poor is of course prevented. this principle seems to have been admitted by the legislature; for when the subject of copper money was under the consideration of the house of commons, at a period not very remote, the journals shew that an opinion then prevailed, "_that the most effectual means to secure the copper coin from being counterfeited, was, that the denominative value of such coin should bear as near a proportion as possible to the intrinsic_ value of the metal of which it was formed."[ ] [footnote : journal, house of commons, vol. xviii. p. .] in fine, it is a question worthy of attention, whether in order to prevent clamour, and to shut out at once all pretence for circulating any of the old copper money, _good or bad_, after the period when mr. boulton shall be able to furnish a sufficient quantity of halfpence and farthings for circulation, it might not be proper to consider how far it would be practicable as a measure of state policy, to introduce a clause into the proposed bill, empowering the treasury, within a given time, to receive all the old copper coin, good and bad, at a certain price per ton, allowing a _bonus_ to the honest holders of it of per cent. above the current price of copper.--this would at once clear the country of counterfeit halfpence and farthings, and would reconcile the holders to the loss; while the pecuniary sacrifice to government would be more than compensated an hundred-fold by a compleat and instant renovation of this species of coinage.--as the chief part of the bad halfpence are good copper, they could be recoined, or sold, as might appear most beneficial. it is earnestly to be hoped that the further regulations proposed will be adopted; and followed up, by an extensive coinage of silver money, so as to shield the honest part of the community against a system of fraud, rapid beyond all example in its growth, and unparalleled as to its extent.[ ] [footnote : it was suggested in a former edition of this work, that a coinage of _seven shilling_ pieces of _gold_ would be of great utility.--the expedient was adopted by government at the end of the year .] certain it is, that base money contributes more to the support as well as to the _increase_ of the number of those mischievous and abandoned members of the community, who exist _wholly_ by different kinds of fraud, than any other device which they pursue to enable them to live in their present state of idleness and debauchery, and to indulge in luxury and extravagance. the increase is certainly astonishing, since it is known that in london and the country, there were some time since fifty-four actual coiners, and fifty-six large dealers, besides, at least, ten die sinkers, whose _names_, _characters_, and pursuits, were perfectly known; but these bear no proportion to the horde of smaller dealers and utterers of base money in the metropolis, and in most of the commercial and manufacturing towns in the kingdom. their numbers must amount to several thousands. from being at present nuisances to society, in the constant habit of defrauding the public, they might be rendered (through the application of the remedies proposed) useful members of the state; by changing a life of idleness and crimes, for a course of useful labour and industry. chap. viii. _the magnitude of the plunder of merchandize and naval stores on the river thames.--the wonderful extent and value of the floating property, laden and unladen in the port of london in the course of a year.--reasons assigned for the rise and progress of the excessive pillage which had so long afflicted the trade of the river thames.--the modes pursued in committing depredations as the result of a regular system, which had been established through the medium of various classes of criminal delinquents, denominated--river pirates--night plunderers--light horsemen--heavy horsemen--game watermen--game lightermen--mudlarks--game officers of the revenue--and copemen, or receivers of stolen property.--the devices practised by each class in carrying on their criminal designs.--general observations on the extent of the plunder and number of individuals implicated in this species of criminality.--the effects of the marine police in checking these depredations.--the advantages which have resulted to trade and revenue from the partial experiment which has been made.--the further benefits to be expected when, by apposite legislative regulations, the system of protection is extended to the whole trade of the river.--general reflections arising from the subject._ the immense depredations committed on every species of commercial property in the river thames, but particularly on west india produce, had long been felt as a grievance of the greatest magnitude; exceedingly hurtful to the commerce and revenue of the port of london, and deeply affecting the interest of the colonial planters, as well as every description of merchants and ship-owners concerned in the trade of the river thames. the subject of this chapter will therefore be chiefly confined to a detail of the causes, which produced these extraordinary and extensive depredations, and the various means by which they were perpetrated; and also to the remedies which have been successfully applied since the publication of the preceding editions of this work, for the purpose of reducing within bounds, and keeping in check, this enormous and growing evil; for certain it is, that previous to the establishment of the marine police system, in the month of july , the increase had been regular and progressive, while the easy manner in which this species of property was obtained, generated an accession of plunderers every year. to those whose habits of life afford no opportunities of attending to subjects of this nature, the details which are now to be given will appear no less novel than extraordinary; and with respect to the extent of the mischief in some instances perhaps incredible. the west india planters alone have estimated their losses by depredations upon the river and in the warehouses at the enormous sum of £. , a year. it cannot be unreasonable then to suppose, that the extent of the plunder on the other branches of commerce, which form nearly - th parts of the whole value of imports and exports, could not be less than £. , more, making an aggregate upon the whole of half a million sterling![ ] [footnote : for a specific estimate of the plunder on all branches of trade carried on to and from the port of london, see "a treatise on the commerce and police of the river thames: with a summary view of the laws of shipping and navigation:" (now in the press) by the author of this work.] surprising as this may appear at first view, yet when, by a cool investigation of the subject, it comes to be measured by the scale of the astonishing commerce which centers in the port of london, (according to the annexed abstract) and the vast extent of floating property moving constantly upon the river thames, and the adjacent wharfs and quays subject to depredations; when by calculation it is also found, that the whole amount of the aggregate plunder, great and extensive as it appears to be, does not much exceed _three quarters per cent._ on the value of the whole property exposed to danger: the reader will be reconciled to an estimate, which from the elucidations contained in this chapter, will ultimately appear by no means to be exaggerated. abstract of the _imports_ into, and the _exports_ from, the _port of london_; _made up from the public accounts for one year, ending the th day of january, ; but differing with regard to the value, from those accounts; in which the price is estimated on data established many years ago, when the articles of commerce imported and exported were not rated at above half the sum they now fetch,_ exclusive _of duty._ _it is, therefore, to be understood that the following estimate of foreign articles is made up according to the_ present value, _as nearly as it has been possible to ascertain it, by the payment of the convoy-duties, under the act geo. . cap. --it exhibits a very astonishing picture of the immense opulence and extent of the commerce of the metropolis; and accounts in a very satisfactory manner for the vast resources of the country, which have been manifested in so eminent a degree in the course of the present and former wars._ from whence number of average value of goods value of goods total value of arrived. vessels tonnage. imported. exported. goods imported including and exported. repeated voyages. £. s. d. £. s. d. £. s. d. east indies , , , , , , , west indies , , , , , , , british continental colonies , , , , , , africa and cape of good hope , , , , southern fishery , , , greenland fishery , , , united states of america , , , , , , , mediterranean and turkey , , , , spain , , , , portugal , , , , france , , , , austrian flanders , , , , holland , , , , , , germany , , , , , , , prussia , , , , poland , , , , sweden , , , , denmark and norway , , , , russia , , , , , , foreign coasting (including repeated voyages.) guernsey, jersey and alderney , , , , ireland , , , , , , british coasting[ ] (including repeated voyages.) coal trade , , , , , , english coasting incl. wales , , , , , , , scotch coasting , , , , ------------------------------------------------------------------- , , , , , , , , , [footnote : no rule being established, whereby the british coasting trade can be valued, the estimate here given is grounded on the supposition, that the value of each cargo must amount to a certain moderate sum.--the aggregate of the whole is believed to exceed the estimate considerably.] recapitulation. ships and tonnage. vessels. foreign and coasting trade as stated in the foregoing table , , , value of merchandize imported £. , , value of merchandize exported , , ------------------ total imported and exported , , to which add the local trade within the limits of the port, in the upper and lower thames, and the river lea , _with a view to give the mind of the reader a competent idea of the whole of the property upon the river thames, which is exposed to hazard, the following estimate is added_, viz.-- . value of the hull, tackle, apparel and stores of british, and coasting vessels, trading to the port of london, without including, as above, the repeated voyages , , . value of the hull, tackle, and stores of lighters, barges, punts, hoys, sloops, &c. employed in the trade of the thames, river lea, &c. , . value of wherries, bumboats, and police boats employed on the river, &c. , ---------------- , , . value of goods, including coals, exposed in craft and upon the quays, to the risque of pillage on an average each day in the year; (exclusive of the public arsenals, ships of war, gunboats, transports, and hoys, for conveying navy, victualing, and ordnance stores, nearly equal to five millions more) , ---------------- general total , , ---------------- let the mind only contemplate this proud view of the commerce of a single river, unparalleled in point of extent and magnitude in the whole world; where , ships and vessels discharge and receive in the course of a year above three _millions of packages_, many of which contain very valuable articles of merchandize, greatly exposed to depredations, not only from the criminal habits of many of the aquatic labourers and others who are employed, but from the temptations to plunder, arising from the confusion unavoidable in a crowded port, and the facilities afforded in the disposal of stolen property.--it will then be easily conceived, that the plunder must have been excessive, especially where from its analogy to smuggling, at least in the conceptions of those who were implicated; and from its gradual increase, the culprits seldom were restrained by a sense of the moral turpitude of the offence; and where for want of a _marine police_ applicable to the object, no means existed whereby offenders could be detected on the river.[ ] [footnote : while every thing connected with the present state of europe, and the whole commercial world, appears favourable for the accomplishment of the aggrandisement of the port of london, by the establishment of docks (already in part adopted by the legislature) and by a general warehousing system, there is no opinion more erroneous and delusive than that which supposes that arrangements of this kind will supersede the necessity of a police for the protection of the trade, and for the preservation of the public peace within these extensive repositories. in what manner are from two to three thousand labourers, who must be frequently employed at the same time within these docks, (and those too of a class that have been accustomed to plunder, and are not restrained by any sense of the turpitude of the action) to be over-awed and controlled, if no police shall be conceived necessary? the risk would be immense to commercial property; and pillage, in spite of the gates, and every precaution which could be taken, would probably be as extensive as it has been from the warehouses, or from his majesty's dock yards, where the want of an appropriate police has been the cause of many abuses. police as recently exemplified, is quite a new science in political oeconomy, not yet perfectly understood; it operates as a restraint of the most powerful kind upon all delinquents who would be restrained by nothing else. to the system of vigilance which pervades the criminal actions of labourers upon the river, joined to the imminent danger of detection, is to be attributed the general success of the marine police, in preventing depredations. wherever a proper police attaches, good order and security will prevail; where it does not, confusion, irregularity, outrages, and crimes must be expected; wherever great bodies of aquatic labourers are collected together, risk of danger from turbulent behaviour, will be greater in proportion to the number of depraved characters, who, from being collected in one spot, may hatch mischief, and carry it into effect much easier in docks than on the river. a police only can counteract this; and to the same preventive system will the commerce of the port be indebted for securing both the docks and the pool against conflagration. in fine, under every circumstance where property is exposed, a preventive police must be resorted to, in order to be secure.] the fact is, that the system of river depredations grew, and ramified as the commerce of the port of london advanced, until at length it assumed the different forms, and was conducted by the various classes of delinquents, whose nefarious practices are now to be explained under their respective heads. st. _river pirates._--this class was generally composed of the most desperate and depraved characters, who followed aquatic pursuits. their attention was principally directed to ships, vessels, and craft in the night, which appeared to be unprotected; and well authenticated instances of their audacity are recounted, which strongly prove the necessity of a vigorous and energetic police. among many other nefarious exploits performed by these miscreants, the following may suffice to shew to what extent their daring and impudent conduct carried them. an american vessel lying at east-lane tier, was boarded in the night, while the captain and crew were asleep, by a gang of river pirates, who actually weighed the ship's anchor, and hoisted it into their boat with a complete new cable, with which they got clear off.--the captain hearing a noise, came upon deck at the moment the villains had secured their booty, with which they actually rowed away in his presence, impudently telling him, they had taken away his anchor and cable, and bidding him good morning. their resources afforded them means of immediate concealment. no police then existed upon the river, and his property was never recovered. a similar instance of atrocity occurred about the same time, where the bower anchor of a vessel from guernsey was weighed, and, with the cable, plundered and carried off in the same manner. although only these two instances of extraordinary audacity are specified, others equally bold and daring could be adduced if the limits of this work would admit of it. when vessels first arrive in the river, particularly those from the west indies, they are generally very much lumbered. ships in this situation were considered as the harvest of the river pirates, with whom it was a general practice to cut away bags of _cotton_, _cordage_, _spars_, _oars_, and other articles from the quarter of the vessels, and to get clear off, even in the day time as well as in the night. before a police existed upon the river all classes of aquatic labourers having been themselves more or less implicated in the same species of criminality, generally connived at the delinquency of each other, and hence it followed, that few or none were detected while afloat and the evil became so extensive. it was frequently the practice of these river pirates to go armed, and in sufficient force to resist, and even to act offensively if they met with opposition.--their depredations were extensive among craft wherever valuable goods were to be found; but they diminished in number after the commencement of the war; and now since the establishment of the marine police they have almost totally disappeared. on the return of peace, however, if a system of watchful energy is not maintained, these miscreants must be expected (as on former occasions on the termination of wars) to renew their iniquitous depredations in great force, as numbers of depraved characters may then be expected to be discharged from the army and navy. d. _night plunderers._--these were composed chiefly of the most depraved class of watermen, who associated together in gangs of four or five in number, for the purpose of committing depredations on the cargoes of lighters and other craft employed in conveying goods to the quays and wharfs. their practice was to associate themselves with one or more of the watchmen who were employed to guard these lighters while cargoes were on board, and by the connivance of these faithless guardians of the night, to convey away in lug boats every portable article of merchandize, to which, through this medium, they often had too easy access. these corrupt watchmen did not always permit the lighters under their own charge to be pillaged.--their general practice was, to point out to the leader of the gang those lighters that were without any guard, and lay near their own, and which, on this account, might be easily plundered. an hour was fixed on for effecting the object in view. the receiver (generally a man of some property) was applied to, to be in readiness at a certain hour before day-light to warehouse the goods. a lug boat was seized on for the purpose. the articles were removed into it out of the lighter, and conveyed to a landing-place nearest the warehouse of deposit. the watchmen in the streets leading to this warehouse were bribed to connive at the villainy, often under pretence that it was a smuggling transaction, and thus the object was effected. in this precise manner was a quantity of ashes and hemp conveyed in , to the house of an opulent receiver. several other cargoes of hemp, obtained in the same manner, were conveyed up the river, and afterwards carted in the day-time to the repositories of the purchaser, till by the vigilance of the police boats, a detection took place, and the whole scene of mischief was laid open. this species of depredation went to a great extent, and when it was considered that the very men who were appointed to guard property in this situation were themselves associates in the criminality, and participated in the profit arising from the booty; and that matters were so arranged as to secure the connivance of all those who were appointed to situations with a view to detect and apprehend delinquents; it ceases to be a matter of wonder, that the plunder in this particular line was excessive. in many instances where goods could not be plundered through the connivance of watchmen, it was no uncommon thing to cut lighters adrift, and to follow them to a situation calculated to elude discovery where the pillage commenced. in this manner have whole lighter loads even of coals been discharged at obscure landing places upon the river, and carted away during the night. even the article of tallow from russia, which, from the unwieldiness of the packages, appears little liable to be an object of plunder, has not escaped the notice of these offenders: large quantities have been stolen, and an instance has been stated to the author, where a lighter loaded with this article was cut from a ship in the pool, and found next morning with six large casks of tallow stolen, and two more broken open, and the chief part plundered and carried away. in short, while the river remained unprotected nothing escaped these marauders. d. _light-horsemen_, or nightly plunderers of west india ships.--this class of depredators for a long period of time had carried on their nefarious practices with impunity, and to an extent in point of value, that almost exceeds credibility; by which the west india planters and merchants sustained very serious and extensive losses. the practice seems to have originated in a connection which was formed between the mates of west india ships[ ] and the criminal receivers, residing near the river, who were accustomed to assail them under the pretence of purchasing what is called _sweepings_, or in other words, the spillings or drainings of sugars, which remained in the hold and between the decks after the cargo was discharged. these sweepings were claimed as a perquisite by a certain proportion of the mates, contrary to the repeated and express rules established by the committee of merchants, who early saw the evils to which such indulgences would lead, and in vain attempted to prevent it. the connivance, however, of the revenue officers became necessary to get these sweepings on shore, and the quantity of spillings were gradually increased year after year by fraudulent means, for the purpose of satisfying the rapacity of all whose assistance and collusion was found necessary to obtain the object in view. [footnote : it is not here meant to criminate all the mates of ships in this trade; for a large proportion are known to be men worthy of the trust reposed in them.] the connection thus formed, and the necessary facilities obtained, from the sale of sweepings, recourse was at length had to the disposal of as much of the cargo as could be obtained by a licence to nightly plunderers, composed of receivers, coopers, watermen, and aquatic labourers, who having made a previous agreement with the mate and revenue officers, were permitted, on paying from thirty to fifty guineas, to come on board in the night,--to open as many hogsheads of sugar as were accessible,--and to plunder without controul. for this purpose, a certain number of bags dyed black, and which went under the appellation of _black strap_, were provided.--the receivers, coopers, watermen, and lumpers, went on board at the appointed time, for all these classes were necessary. the hogsheads of sugar and packages of coffee, &c. were opened; the black bags were filled with the utmost expedition and carried to the receivers, and again returned to be refilled until daylight, or the approach of it, stopped the pillage for a few hours. on the succeeding night the depredations were again renewed; and thus, on many occasions, from fifteen to twenty hogsheads of sugar and a large quantity of coffee, and also in some instances rum (which was removed by means of a small pump called a jigger, and filled into bladders with nozzels,) were plundered in a single ship, in addition to the excessive depredations which were committed in the same ships by the lumpers or labourers who were employed during the day in the discharge of the cargo.--instances have been adduced, and judicially proved, of various specific ships having been plundered in an excessive degree in this manner; and it has been estimated upon credible authority, that previous to the establishment of the marine police, above one-fifth of the whole fleet suffered by nightly plunder.--the ships subject to this species of depredation were generally known from the characters of the mates or revenue officers who were on board, and were denominated _game ships_, where the aquatic labourers, called lumpers, would on every occasion agree to work without wages, and even solicit their employers to be preferred on these terms, trusting to a general licence to plunder for their remuneration. this nefarious traffic had long been reduced to a regular system. the mode of negociation necessary to obtain all the requisite advantages for carrying into execution these iniquitous designs, was not only perfectly understood, but in most cases, where new officers were to be practised upon, a plan of seduction was resorted to which seldom failed to succeed, when one or more of the old practitioners in this species of criminality happened to be stationed in the ship.--in this particular line of aquatic depredations, (which certainly was the most mischievous,) scenes of iniquity have been developed, which, from their extent and magnitude, could not have been credited had they stood on any other foundation than that of regular judicial proofs. th.--_heavy horsemen_, otherwise denominated lumpers of the most criminal class, who generally selected ships where plunder was most accessible, either from the criminal connivance of the mates and revenue officers, in permitting nightly plunder, or from the carelessness or inattention of these officers. this class, many of whom occasionally assisted in the depredations committed during the night, were exceedingly audacious and depraved. they generally went on board of west india ships, furnished with habiliments made on purpose to conceal sugar, coffee, cocoa, pimento, ginger, and other articles, which they conveyed on shore in great quantities, by means of an under waistcoat, containing pockets all round, denominated a _jemie_; and also by providing long bags, pouches, and socks, which were tied to their legs and thighs under their trowsers. it is a well-established fact, which does not admit even of the shadow of a doubt, that these miscreants, during the discharge of what they called a _game ship_, have been accustomed to divide from three to four guineas a-piece every night from the produce of their plunder, independent of the hush-money paid to officers and others, for conniving at their nefarious practices. long habituated to this species of depredation, they became at length so audacious, that it was found extremely difficult to controul them where a disposition existed to protect the cargo from pillage, and where no seduction had taken place.--and indeed, so adroit had this class of lumpers become, that no ship escaped plunder in a certain degree, wherever they were employed, in spite of the greatest vigilance and attention on the part of many of the shipmasters. th. _game watermen_, so denominated from the circumstance of their having been known to hang upon west india ships under discharge for the whole of the day, in readiness to receive and instantly convey on shore _bags of sugar_, _coffee_ and _other articles_, pillaged by the lumpers and others in the progress of the delivery of the cargo, by which they acquired a considerable booty; as they generally on such occasions were employed to dispose of the stolen articles, under pretence of their being a part of the private adventures of the crew, for which service they usually pocketed one moiety of the price obtained.--it was by such assistance that mates, boatswains, carpenters, seamen, and ship boys, have been seduced, and even taught to become plunderers and thieves, who would otherwise have remained honest and faithful to the trust reposed in them. many of the watermen of this class were accustomed to live in a style of expence by no means warranted, from the fair earnings of honest industry in the line of their profession.--an instance has been known of an apprentice lad in this line having kept both a mistress and a riding horse out of the profits of his delinquency. th. _game lightermen._--this class, which is composed of the working, or journeymen lightermen, who navigate the craft which convey west india produce and other merchandize from the ships to the quays, are, with some exceptions, extremely loose in their morals, and are ever ready to forward depredations by the purchase or concealment of articles of considerable value, until an opportunity offers of conveying the property on shore. many of these lightermen, previous to the establishment of the marine police, were in the constant habit of concealing in the lockers of their lighters, _sugar_, _coffee_, _pimento_, _ginger_, &c. which they received from mates, and other persons on board of west india ships.--these lockers are generally secured by a padlock; they are calculated to hold and conceal considerable quantities of goods, whether stolen or smuggled, which were seldom taken out until after the discharge of the lighter, unless in certain instances where skiffs attended them.--when completely unladen, the practice has been to remove to the road where empty craft usually lies a-breast of the custom-house quay, and then carry away the stolen or smuggled articles--and it has not seldom happened that many of these lightermen have, under pretence of watching their own lighters while laden at the quays, or in connivance with the watchmen selected by themselves, actually plundered the goods under their charge to a very considerable amount, without detection. nor does it appear that the nefarious practices of these lightermen have been confined to west indian produce alone. their criminal designs were directed to almost every species of merchandize placed under their charge; and the tricks and devices to which they were accustomed to resort, clearly evinced that their plans for obtaining pillage had long been systematized, and that they seldom permitted any opportunity whereby they could profit by making free with property under their charge to escape their attention. as a proof that this assertion is well grounded, the following authenticated case, among others which could be detailed, is stated as an instance of the extreme rapacity of this class of men.--a canada merchant, who had been accustomed to ship quantities of oil annually to the london market, finding (as indeed almost every merchant experiences) a constant and uniform deficiency in the quantity landed, greatly exceeding what could arise from common leakage, which his correspondents were quite unable to explain; having occasion to visit london, was resolved to see his cargo landed with his own eyes; so as, if possible, to develope a mystery heretofore inexplicable, and by which he had regularly lost a considerable sum for several years. determined therefore to look sharp after his property, he was in attendance at the wharf in anxious expectation of a lighter which had been laden with his oil on the preceding day; and which, for reasons that he could not comprehend, did not get up for many hours after the usual time. on her arrival at the wharf, the proprietor was confounded to find the whole of his casks stowed in the lighter with their bungs downwards. being convinced that this was the effect of design, he began now to discover one of the causes at least, of the great losses he had sustained; he therefore attended the discharge of the lighter until the whole of the casks were removed, when he perceived a great quantity of oil leaked out, and in the hold of the vessel, which the lightermen had the effrontery to insist was their perquisite. the proprietor ordered casks to be brought, and filled no less than nine of them with the oil that had thus leaked out. he then ordered the ceiling of the lighter to be pulled up, and found between her timbers as much as filled five casks more; thus recovering from a single lighter-load of his property, no less than fourteen casks of oil, that, but for his attendance, would have been appropriated to the use of the lightermen; who, after attempting to rob him of so valuable a property, complained very bitterly of his ill usage in taking it from them. th. _mud-larks_, so called from their being accustomed to prowl about, at low water, under the quarters, of west india ships; (or at least that class which were denominated _game_, these being mostly the objects of pillage;) under pretence of grubbing in the mud for _old ropes_, _iron_, and _coals_, &c. but whose chief object, when in such situations, was to receive and conceal small bags of sugar, coffee, pimento, ginger, and other articles, and sometimes bladders containing rum, which they conveyed to such houses as they were directed, and for which services they generally received a share of the booty.--these auxiliaries in this species of pillage were considered as the lowest cast of thieves; but from a general knowledge of the receivers in the vicinity, they frequently afforded considerable assistance to the lumpers, coopers and others, who collected plunder in the progress of the ships' delivery. th. _revenue officers._--notwithstanding the laudable severity of the commissioners of his majesty's customs and excise, in making examples of their inferior servants by immediate dismission, on proof made of any offence, or even neglect of duty; a certain class of these officers, who are denominated _game_, have found means to promote pillage to a very extensive degree, not only in west india ships, but also in ships from the east indies, and in every ship and vessel arriving and departing from the river thames, of which it is to be lamented, that too many proofs have been adduced. this class of officers generally make a point of at least having the appearance of being punctual and regular in their attendance upon their duty, and by never being found absent by their superior officers obtain preferences, where such can be given, with respect to those particular ships which afford the best harvest, either from being under the charge of mates or others, with whom they have had criminal transactions in former voyages, or from the cargo being of a nature calculated to afford a resource for plunder. they are also generally acquainted with the _copemen_ or receivers, with whom and the other officers, after seducing the mate, (if not already seduced) they negociate for the purchase of whatever can be plundered. in those seasons of the year, when the crouded state of the port renders it necessary to have recourse to _extra_ and _glut officers_, the general distress of this class of men, and the expectations most of them have formed of advantages by being placed on board ships of a certain description, render it an easy matter to seduce them; and by such means had every obstruction been removed to the perpetration of these excessive robberies, in all their ramifications, which had so long afflicted the port of london.[ ] [footnote : in the throng season of the year at least inferior customhouse officers, and about excisemen, are stationed on board of ships in the port of london, besides customhouse watermen and superior officers who do duty on the river thames. the fair allowance of the established tide officers may be from _l._ to _l._ a year. the preferable officers having _s._ _d._ a day only when employed, are supposed to receive wages for - ds. of the year; while the extra officers, who have only _s._ a day, are not supposed to be employed above half the year: and the glutmen not more than two months in the throngest part of the season. men in such situations having a trust committed to them of great magnitude and importance, in the protection of a revenue amounting to more than seven millions, and receiving wages inferior to common labourers, with pecuniary pressures upon them, arising from the wants in many instances of large families, assailed on all hands by temptations to connive at evil practices, as they relate both to the revenue and the individual--what can be expected from them?--humanity, policy, and even justice pleads for an increase of salary, as the best means of preserving their morals and increasing the revenue. other regulations through the medium of the police system might be established, whereby their purity might be secured, and the revenue eased of a considerable expence, by reducing the number employed at present, often in promoting mischievous instead of useful purposes.] th. _scuffle-hunters_--so denominated probably from their resorting in numbers to the quays and wharfs where goods are discharging, under pretence of finding employment as labourers upon the landing places and in the warehouses, and from the circumstance, of _disputes_ and _scuffles_ arising about who should secure most plunder from broken packages. this class of men, who may fairly be considered as the very scum of society, frequently prowl about with long aprons, not so much with a view to obtain employment, as for the purpose of availing themselves of the confusion which the crowded state of the quays often exhibits, and the opportunity of obtaining plunder; in which object they have too frequently been successful, particularly when admitted into the warehouses as labourers, where they have found means to pilfer and carry away considerable quantities of sugar and other articles, in which they were not a little countenanced, by similar offences committed by journeymen coopers and others, who, under the colour of sanctioned perquisites, abstract considerable quantities of sugar, thereby subjecting the proprietors to an accumulated loss: for, in addition to the first cost or price of the article, the duties which have been paid form no inconsiderable part of the ultimate value. it is only necessary to resort to the journals of the house of commons, and the appendix to the report of the dock committee in , in order to be satisfied, that the plunder in the warehouses has been excessive. and if credit is to be given to the evidence then brought forward, and also to the affidavits of persons, who have worked for many years in the sugar warehouses, the loss sustained on an importation of , [ ] casks of sugar has not fallen much short of £. , a year.[ ] [footnote : sugar and rum imported into the port of london, from the th of march to the th of march :-- casks, casks, islands. ships. sugar. rum. jamaica , , antigua , st. kitt's , barbadoes , granadoes , mountserat , nevis , dominica , st. vincent , tortola sundry places, } including captured } islands, &c. } , , --- ------- ------ , , --- ------- ------] [footnote : independent of the excessive pillage by the labourers in the warehouses, which has been rendered but too evident from the detections of offenders since the establishment of the marine police, the samples alone, which on an average are said to amount to _lb._ per hhd. (instead of - / _lb._ per hhd. in conformity to the regulations of the west india merchants, of the th of june ,) make a net aggregate of , , pounds of sugar, which at _d._ per pound amounts to , _l._ a year!] th. _copemen or receivers of stolen commercial property._--this mischievous class of men may be considered as the chief movers and supporters of the extensive scene of iniquity which has been developed and explained in the preceding pages of this chapter. they were heretofore extremely numerous, and divided into various classes.[ ] those denominated _copemen_ formed the junto of wholesale dealers, who were accustomed to visit ships on their arrival, for the purpose of entering into contract with such revenue officers or mates as they had formerly known or dealt with, and such others as they could by means of friendly officers seduce to their views. [footnote : see the "treatise on the commerce and police of the river thames," for a particular account of these classes.] their negociations were carried on in a language and in terms peculiar to themselves; and commenced by settling the price of _sand_ by which, in their cant language, was meant _sugar_. _beans_ or _coffee_. _pease_ -- _pimento_ or _pepper_. _vinegar_ -- _rum_ and _other liquors_. _malt_ -- _tea_. it was their custom to afford assistance wherever such articles were to be procured by providing _black straps_, (_i.e._, the long black bags already mentioned) to contain sugar, and calculated to stow easily in the bottom of boats, without being discovered on account of the colour. they also procured bladders with wooden nozels for the purpose of containing rum, brandy, geneva, and other liquors, and furnished boats to convey the plunder from the ships during the night. some of these receivers had acquired considerable sums of money by their nefarious traffic, and were able to tempt and seduce those who would permit them to plunder the cargo, by administering to their wants by considerable advances of money which, however, rarely amounted to a moiety of the value of the goods obtained, and frequently not - th part, particularly in the article of coffee. other classes of receivers purchased from the lumpers, coopers, &c. after the property was landed, and being generally engaged in business as small grocers or keepers of chandlers' shops, and old iron and junk warehouses, they were accustomed to protect it in its transit, from one criminal dealer to another, by means of false bills of parcels. it would fill a volume to recount the various ramifications of this nefarious traffic, and the devices used to defeat justice and elude the punishment of the law.[ ] [footnote : for the purpose of defraying the expence of prosecutions for criminal offences upon the river thames, and to raise a fund for suborning evidence, and employing counsel for higher crimes, and of paying the penalties under the act of the d geo. iii. cap. . commonly called the bumboat act; there existed a club composed of _river plunderers_, and _lumpers_, _coopers_, _watermen_, and _receivers_, (denominated _light-horsemen_, _heavy-horsemen_, and _copes_,) from the funds of which the law expences and the penalties incurred by members of the fraternity were paid. by these iniquitous means not a few notorious offenders escaped justice, while those who were convicted of penalties for misdemeanors escaped the punishment of imprisonment, and being thus screened from justice the culprits (previous to the establishment of the marine police system) returned to their evil practices without the least apprehension of any other inconvenience than the payment of a fine of _s._ defrayed by the club. the new system, however, affording means of detection in the ships where the offences were committed: what were formerly misdemeanors are now treated as larcenies, which has operated most powerfully in breaking up this atrocious confederacy, and in defeating all the nefarious designs of the criminal delinquents of which it was formed, some of whom, although apparently common labourers, resided in handsome houses furnished in a very superior style for the rank in life of the occupiers. as a proof, among many others, of the enormous extent of the river plunder, the convictions for misdemeanors under the act of the d geo. iii. cap. . from august to august , exceeded _two thousand two hundred_; of which number about culprits paid the penalty; partly from their own resources, but chiefly, it is believed, from the funds of the club, amounting in all to about _l._ in the course of seven years.] it extended to almost every article imported into, and exported from, the port of london. but the dealings in stolen west india produce were by far the most extensive; at the same time it appears from recent investigation, that the _east india company_ and the _russian_ and _american merchants_, as well as the importers of _timber_, _ashes_, _furs_, _skins_, _oil_, _provisions_ and _corn_, were also considerable sufferers. the coal merchants have likewise sustained losses to a great amount annually, while every species of goods imported have been more or less subject to depredations. nor has the export trade on the river thames been in any respect secured against the rapacity of this phalanx of plunderers. many well-authenticated cases have recently been developed, which prove that hamburgh vessels outward bound, have been plundered to a considerable amount,[ ] particularly those which were laden with sugar, coffee, and other west india produce. outward-bound ships to every part of the world have also been more or less objects of plunder, to the numerous herds of delinquents who were employed upon the river, aided by their associates in iniquity, the receivers. [footnote : a shipmaster in the trade a few months since was compelled to pay _l._ for deficient sugars plundered by lumpers and others, who assisted in lading his vessel, notwithstanding his utmost personal vigilance and attention while the sugars were taking on board. a single marine police officer would have prevented this. the effect of their power in overawing delinquents, from the nature of the system and the discipline peculiar to the institution, is not to be conceived.] to enter _into particulars_, or to detail specific instances, would far exceed the limits prescribed for this branch of the general catalogue of delinquency exhibited in this work. suffice it to say, that the most satisfactory evidence can be adduced, that the system of depredation which had so long prevailed, and which had advanced with the growing commerce of the port, had pervaded every species of merchandize laden or discharged, as well as the tackle, apparel and stores of almost every ship and vessel arriving in, and departing from, the river thames. nor can it be a matter of wonder, that such pervading mischiefs should have prevailed when it is known, that above individuals, employed in various stationary situations upon the river, have, with a very few exceptions, been nursed from early life in acts of delinquency of this nature. in a group so extensive there are unquestionably many different shades of turpitude; but certain it is, that long habit, and general example, had banished from the minds of the mass of the culprits implicated in these offences, that sense of the criminality of the action, which attaches to every other species of theft. * * * * * such was the situation of things in the port of london, in the month of july , when the marine police institution, a wise and salutary measure of government, arose from the meritorious exertions of the west india merchants. the object of this establishment was to counteract these mischievous proceedings, and by salutary arrangements _in the science of police_ to prevent in future a repetition of those crimes which had so long contaminated the morals of the people, and operated as an evil of no small weight and magnitude on the trade of the river thames. how far this system, _planned_ and adapted to the exigencies of the case, and carried into effort by the author of these pages, assisted by a very able and indefatigable magistrate, and by many zealous and active officers, has been productive of the benefits which were in contemplation, must be determined by an accurate examination of the state of delinquency, among the aquatic labourers and others, employed at present in ships and vessels in the river thames; compared with what existed previous to this establishment, as detailed in the preceding pages of this chapter. although much yet remains to be done to prevent the renewal of those criminal proceedings, which have by great exertions been happily in many instances suppressed.--although the marine police[ ] has been unquestionably crippled by the want of those apposite _legislative_ regulations, upon which its energy and utility, as a _permanent establishment_, must, in a great measure depend, yet the proofs of the advantages which have resulted from it, not only to the west india trade[ ] (for the protection of which it was originally instituted) but also to the whole commerce and navigation of the port of london, are so decided and irrefragable, that specific details are unnecessary, especially since deputations of the most respectable merchants from the whole commercial body, sensible of the benefits derived from the system have solicited the sanction of government, for the purpose of passing a bill to extend the design, so as to afford the same protection to the general trade of the port, which has been experienced by the west india planters and merchants;[ ] and requesting to be permitted to defray the expence by an annual assessment upon the trade. [footnote : for a particular account of this institution, see the "treatise on the commerce and police of the river thames," already alluded to.] [footnote : with respect to the advantages which have resulted in the aggregate, to the west india planters and merchants, from this new institution, it is impossible to form any decided opinion; but estimating the savings, on an average, at _lbs._ of sugar per hhd. (which is only one half of what the committee of west india merchants, in their report to a general meeting in , supposed the plunderage might have been formerly) it appears, upon this data, that the gain to the planters, merchants, and the revenue, on a very reduced estimate as to the actual importation may be thus stated.-- saving saving to the to the planters. revenue. total. on , casks of sugar, at _lbs._ per cask £. , £. , £. , , casks of rum, at three gallons each , , , coffee, pimento, and other articles, suppose , , , --------- -------- --------- totals £. , £. , £. , if credit is to be given to the general and specific proofs of the depredations which took place before the establishment of the marine police, and to the numerous documents which demonstrate the saving of property, which has been the effect of this system of prevention, the above estimate will not appear to be over-rated. in an importation amounting to above £. , , sterling a year, it is not too much to say that - / per cent. on this sum may have been saved under a system of such extreme vigilance, where every class of depredators were defeated in their iniquitous designs, and deprived in a great measure of the powers they formerly possessed, of doing mischief. the probability is, that it has amounted to more, though the fact never can be accurately ascertained.] [footnote : at a meeting of the committee of the west india merchants appointed to manage the general concerns of the trade, held on the th of january , it was "resolved, "that this committee are deeply impressed with a high sense of the singular advantages, which appear to have resulted to the commerce of the port of london in general, but particularly to the west india planters and merchants, in the protection afforded to their property by the exertions of _the marine police institution_, as well as by the general system established for the prevention of pillage and plunder arising out of the measures for detection pursued by the magistrates presiding at the marine police office, by which, in the opinion of this committee, great and extensive benefits have also resulted to his majesty's revenue."] it may only be necessary in this place to state, that under all the disadvantages and difficulties attending the execution of this design, it may truly be said to have worked wonders in reforming the shocking abuses which prevailed.--_the river pirates do not now exist in any shape.--the nightly plunderers, denominated light horsemen, have not dared in a single instance to pursue their criminal designs.--the working lumpers, denominated heavy horse, are no longer to be found loaded with plunder._--watermen are not now as _formerly to be recognized in clusters hanging upon the bows and quarters of west india ships under discharge to receive plunder_.--lightermen, _finding nothing to be procured by attending their craft, are accustomed to desert them until the period when they are completely laden.--journeymen coopers do not wilfully demolish casks and packages as heretofore, since no advantage is to be reaped from the spillings of sugar, coffee, or other articles.--the mud-larks find it no longer an object to prowl about ships at low water while under discharge, since the resource for that species of iniquitous employment, which they were accustomed to solicit, is no longer in existence.--the criminal class of revenue officers, who had long profited (in many instances to an enormous extent) by the nefarious practices which prevailed, have not been able to suppress their rage against the new police, by the vigilance of which they feel themselves deprived of the means of profiting by the system of plunder, which they had so perfectly organized, and which, in collusion with the revenue watermen, they were so well able to cover by availing themselves of their official situations, on many occasions, in protecting to the houses of the receivers articles which were both stolen and smuggled_. by means of a police guard upon the quays, which forms a collateral branch of the general system, _the scuffle-hunters and long-apron-men, who were accustomed to prowl about for the purpose of pillage, have in a great measure deserted the quays and landing-places; while the copemen and receivers, finding from several examples which have been made, that their former infamous pursuits cannot be continued without the most imminent hazard, have, in many instances, declined business, while not a few of these mischievous members of society have quitted their former residences, and disappeared_. such has been the effect of the remedy which has been applied towards the core of the enormous evil of river plunder. it is not, however, to be understood that this system has entirely eradicated the pillage which prevailed, a circumstance not to be expected, since the design was partial and limited in its nature, and only intended for the protection of west india property, although very extensive benefits have unquestionably arisen from its collateral influence, and its energy, in terrifying thieves of every description upon the river, and diminishing their depredations, which, but for the dread of detection by means of the police boats in the night, would unquestionably have been committed. but while it is readily admitted that amidst the opposite attractions of pleasure and pain, it is impossible to reduce the tumultuous activity of such a phalanx of individuals to absolute order and purity, who have been in many instances reared up in habits of delinquency. and while it is a vain hope to expect that crimes can be totally annihilated, where temptations assail the idle and the dissolute, and religion and morality, or even in many instances, the fear of punishment, does not operate as a restraint;--yet is it, notwithstanding, clear to demonstration, from the effects produced by the limited experiment which has been made, that the general police for the river thames which is in contemplation, aided by the apposite legislative regulations which experience has suggested to be necessary,[ ] must in its operation, under the guidance of an able and active magistracy, so far diminish and keep down the depredations which were committed, as to prove scarce a drop in the bucket, when compared to the extensive and enormous evils which it has been the object of the promoters of this new system to suppress. [footnote : for the specific provisions of _the marine police bill_, see the "treatise on the commerce navigation police of the river thames."--the object of this bill is rather to prevent crimes than to punish; and where punishments on conviction are to be inflicted, they are of a nature which, it is to be hoped, will operate sufficiently as an example to diminish the evil, without the exercise of any great degree of severity.] although in this arduous pursuit, the author of this work has experienced infinite difficulties and discouragements, yet is he rewarded by the consciousness that he was engaged in an undertaking in which the best interests of society were involved:--that independent of the pecuniary benefits derived by the state, and the proprietors of commercial property (which already have unquestionably been very extensive,) he has been instrumental in bringing forward a great preventive system, and by administering the laws in conjunction with a very zealous, able, and humane magistrate,[ ] in a manner rather calculated to _restrain_ than to _punish_,[ ] a multitude of individuals, together with a numerous offspring, are likely to be rendered useful members of the body politic, instead of nuisances in society.--the advantages thus gained (although his labours have been in other respects gratuitous,) will abundantly compensate the _dangers_, the _toils_, and the anxieties which have been experienced. in the accomplishment of this object, both the interests of _humanity_ and _morality_, have been in no small degree promoted: unquestionably, there cannot be a greater act of benevolence to mankind, in a course of _criminal delinquency_, than that which tends to _civilize their manners_;--_to teach them obedience to the_ laws;--_to screen themselves and their families from the evils and distress attendant on punishment, by preventing the commission of crimes_; and _to lead them into the paths of honest industry, as the only means of securing that real comfort and happiness which a life of criminality, however productive of occasional supplies of money, can never bestow_.--if it shall be considered (as it certainly is) a glorious atchievement to subdue a powerful army or navy, and thereby secure the tranquillity of a state--is not the triumph in some degree analogous, where a numerous army of delinquents, carrying on a species of warfare no less noxious, if not equally hostile, shall not only be subdued by a mild and systematic direction of the powers of the law; but that the conquered enemy shall be converted into an useful friend, adding strength instead of weakness to the government of the country? [footnote : john harriott, esq. the resident magistrate.] [footnote : so powerful was the effect of the preventive system, wherever it was permitted to be applied, that no instance has occurred in the course of more than fifteen months, since the marine police was established, of sufficient grounds for a criminal prosecution having taken place by the commission of any larceny or felony in ships or craft under the immediate protection of the institution.] such has been, at least, the result of the partial operations of the marine police; and such will unquestionably be the issue of the general measures which have been planned and arranged, when the _key-stone_ shall be finally laid to the fabric, by passing into a law the bill which has been prepared for the extension of this design to the protection of the whole trade of the port of london.[ ] [footnote : as a proof of the approbation of the whole body of the west india planters at the general meeting, not only of the system of the marine police, but also of the bill which has been prepared to extend its influence to the general trade of the river thames, the following extracts are inserted: _extract from the minutes of a meeting of a committee of the west india planters and merchants--london, june , ._ "resolved, "that this committee is fully convinced that considerable advantages have been derived from the institution of the marine police in checking the depredations on west india produce on board ships in the river thames; and consequently approves of the bill for constituting the said _marine police_, with powers enlarged and more effective, and on a more extended plan, provided the act for that purpose be in the first instance limited to the duration of three years, and that the whole expence of the institution does not exceed ten thousand pounds annually." _extract from the minutes of a general meeting of the west india planters, held by public advertisement at wright's coffee-house, soho-square, london, june , ._ the right honourable lord penrhyn in the chair. "resolved, "that this meeting confirms the report of its committee, and approves of the project of a bill for the purposes, and within the limitations stated in that report. "resolved, "that lord penrhyn be requested to present to the chancellor of the exchequer the report of a committee of this meeting, on the subject of the marine police institution, and the resolution of this meeting approving the said report. "resolved, "that lord penrhyn be requested to communicate the thanks of this meeting to mr. colquhoun for the zeal, ability, and perseverance with which he has endeavoured to form an effectual check to the system of depredation which prevailed on the river thames."] chap. ix. _reflections on the causes of the existence and continuance of the frauds, embezzlements, peculation, and plunder in his majesty's dock-yards and other public repositories, and in the naval department in general.--reasons why the evil has not been suppressed.--a summary view of the means employed in committing offences of this nature.--reasons assigned why the defalcation of this species of property must be extensive.--illustrated by the immense value, and by an estimate, and general view, of the public property exposed to hazard.--a summary view of the laws which relate to offences on public property; proofs adduced of their deficiency.--remedies proposed and detailed under the respective heads of-- st. a central board of police-- d. a local police for the dock-yards-- d. legislative regulations proposed in aid of the police system-- th. regulations respecting the sale of old stores-- th. the abolition of the perquisites of chips-- th. the abolition of fees and perquisites, and liberal salaries in lieu thereof-- th. an improved mode of keeping accounts-- th. an annual inventory of stores in hand--concluding observations._ under the pressure of those accumulated wrongs, which constitute the extensive frauds, embezzlements, pillage, and plunder, known and acknowledged to exist in the dock-yards and other public repositories, it is not easy, at first view, to assign a reason for that apparent supineness, on the part of men of known honour and integrity, who have heretofore presided, and who now preside at the public boards, in not using the means necessary to remedy so great an evil. this may possibly be accounted for, by the extreme difficulty which men, constantly occupied in a laborious business, find in pursuing inquiries, or forming arrangements, out of their particular sphere; more especially when such arrangements require those powers of business, and that species of legal and general information, which do not usually attach to men whose education and habits of life have run in a different channel. under such circumstances, it is scarcely to be wondered at, that greater efforts have not been used, (for great efforts are unquestionably necessary,) to correct those abuses, which have long existed; and which have been progressively increasing; by means of which, not only the property of the public suffers a vast annual diminution by frauds and embezzlements, but the foundation of all morals is sapped; and the most baneful practices extend even to men in the upper and middle ranks of society, who are too seldom restrained by any correct principle of rectitude in transactions, where the interest of government only is concerned; either in the supplying, or afterwards in the taking charge of the custody of public stores. when the object in view is to acquire money, the power of example, sanctioned by usage and custom, will reconcile men by degrees, to enormities and frauds which at first could not have been endured.--acting under this influence, it too often happens that a distinction is made, as regards moral rectitude, in the minds of many individuals, between _the property of the nation_, and _private property_.--while the most scrupulous attention to the rules of honour prevails in the latter case, principles, the most relaxed, are yielded to in the former. and thus it is, that in such situations, inferior agents also, induced by example, become insensibly reconciled to every species of fraud, embezzlement, and peculation. it is no inconsiderable source of the evil, that large gratuities are given, under the colour of fees,[ ] to those who can assist in promoting the views of the fraudulent, or in guarding them against detection.--what was at first considered as the wages of turpitude, at length assumes the form, and is viewed in the light of a fair perquisite of office. [footnote : since the publication of the last edition of this work, the select committee on finance in the house of commons, who have derived immortal honour from their various and useful reports, have recommended the abolition of fees; and the lords of the admiralty, and the commissioners of the subordinate boards, are entitled to the thanks of their country, from the exertions they are using to carry this measure into effect.] in this manner abuses multiply, and the ingenuity of man is ever fertile in finding some palliative.--custom and example sanction the greatest enormities: which at length become fortified by immemorial and progressive usage: it is no wonder, therefore, that the superior officers find it an herculean labour to cleanse the augean stable. a host of interested individuals opposes them. the task is irksome and ungracious. the research involves in it matter of deep concern, affecting the peace, comfort, and happiness of old servants of the crown or the public, and their families; who have not perhaps been sufficiently rewarded for their services; and who, but for such perquisites, could not have acquired property, or even supported themselves with decency. it is an invidious task to make inquiries, or to impose regulations which may ultimately affect the interest or the character of dependants, who have heretofore, perhaps, been regarded as objects of partiality or affection. those whose duty it is to superintend the departments, knowing their own purity, are unwilling to believe that the same principle of rectitude does not regulate the conduct of others in inferior situations: and matters, of apparently greater importance, constantly forcing themselves upon their attention, the consideration of such abuses is generally postponed: while those who detect or complain of their existence, seldom meet with much encouragement; unless some specific act of criminality is stated, and then it is referred, as a matter of course, to the proper law officers. these circumstances, however, only prove the necessity of some other and more effectual agency to remove an evil, which (if the assertions of those whose efficient situations give them access to the very best information as to its extent and enormity are correct) _is of the greatest magnitude_, and calls aloud for immediate attention. to understand how this is to be accomplished, it will be necessary in the first instance to develope the means which are employed to commit these _abuses_, _frauds_, and _embezzlements_.--then to take a general view of the property exposed to depredation, and afterwards to examine the nature and effect of the laws and regulations now in being for the purpose of preventing these evils; and last of all, to suggest remedies. the abuses, frauds, and embezzlements, are multifarious, and are perpetrated through the medium of a vast variety of agencies, which naturally divide themselves into two distinct branches. the first relates to frauds committed by the connivance and assistance of clerks, store-keepers, and inferior officers in the dock-yards, and other repositories, and in ships of war and transports; in _receiving and delivering naval, victualling, and ordnance stores;--in surveys;--in returns of unserviceable stores;--in_ what is called _solving off stores;--in fraudulent certificates;--in the sale of old stores_; and innumerable other devices; by which a number of individuals are enriched at the public expence; and a system of plunder is supported by fraudulent documents and vouchers of articles which have no existence but upon paper. the second branch relates to the actual pillage of _new and old cordage, bolts of canvas, sails, bunting, twine of all sorts, fearnought and kersey, leather and hides, old and new copper, locks, hinges and bolts, copper bolts and nails in immense quantities, bar-iron, old iron, lead and solder, ship's-plank, oars, timber of small sizes, blocks, quarterstuff, candles, tallow, oil, paint, pitch, tar, turpentine, varnish, rosin, beer and water casks, iron hoops, biscuit bags, beer, bread, wine, brandy, rum, oil, vinegar, butter, cheese, beef, pork, &c._--all these articles suffer a vast annual diminution, by means of that plunder which has become habitual to a number of the inferior servants of the crown, who have in their respective situations, access to such stores.[ ] [footnote : it is by no means to be inferred from what is here stated, that there are not, both among the furnishers and contractors for public stores, as well as the officers and clerks employed in the departments here alluded to, many individuals of great honour and integrity.--it is to be hoped, the fraudulent are the smallest in point of number, or that they will soon be so.] this species of plunder is much encouraged by the difficulty of detection: vast quantities are constantly provided, and the store-houses are generally full; it happens therefore as a matter of course, that the articles which were recently deposited are issued first; and hence many valuable stores, it is said, have remained untouched and unseen for forty or fifty years, until a number of articles perish or become unserviceable from length of time.--an annual inventory, upon the plan suggested at the close of this chapter, rendered practicable by more extensive store-houses, would remove this obvious inconvenience. all stores being delivered under the authority of warrants signed by the commissioners and proper officers, the clerks, or in their absence the foreman of the warehouses, where the articles stated in the warrants are deposited, deliver the stores; and, if opportunities offer, large additional quantities are said to be frequently sent out, by the connivance of the inferior officers; sometimes stores are even delivered two or three times over, under colour of the same warrant, without discovery. a similar system prevails with regard to stores sent to the public repositories from dismantled ships of war and transports. many vessels in the coasting trade, and even ships of foreign nations, it is said, touch at portsmouth and plymouth, merely for the purpose of purchasing _cheap stores_;--and it is well known, that many dealers in naval stores in the neighbourhood of the dock-yards are chiefly supplied in this way. the plan which prevails at present with regard to the sale of old stores, not only proves a kind of safeguard to these fraudulent dealers; but is also in itself subject to great abuses, from the delivery of larger quantities than are actually included in the public sales, by which the parties concerned are said frequently to pocket considerable sums of money.[ ] [footnote : see a plan for disposing of old stores with a view to remedy the evil, in a subsequent part of this chapter.] the artificers in the dock-yards, availing themselves of their perquisite of chips, not only commit great frauds, by often cutting up useful timber, and wasting time in doing so; but also in frequently concealing, within their bundles of chips, copper bolts, and other valuable articles, which are removed by their wives and children, (and, as has appeared in judicial evidence, by boys retained for the purpose) and afterwards sold to itinerant jews, or to the dealers in old iron and stores, who are always to be found in abundance wherever the dock-yards are situated.[ ] [footnote : it seems evident, that the abolition of the perquisite of chips would be a great improvement, and prove the means of correcting many gross abuses which at present prevail. in this suggestion the author is supported by the very able and decided evidence of brigadier-general bentham, before the select committee of the house of commons on finance, in . [_see the st report of that committee._] on a supposition that shipwrights are employed in the several dock-yards at the wages of _s._ _d._ with the privilege of one bundle of chips each day, which, though not worth more than _d._ to each shipwright, actually costs government _s._ _d._ because good and valuable timber is often cut down to make these chips.--the following estimate will elucidate what has been stated: and shew the benefits which government would probably derive from the abolition of this perquisite, even if the wages should be raised, which are perhaps too low at present. men, working days in a year, entitled to , bundles of chips at _s._ _d._ £. , time lost to government in making up these chips, equal to _d._ per day , articles purloined and stolen, by being concealed within these bundles, and by women and children, who resort to the yards on pretence of carrying them away, supposed , --------- £. , deduct _d._ a day additional wages in lieu of the perquisite of chips; which, it is understood, the shipwrights would consider as an ample remuneration , --------- presumed gain by this arrangement £. , ] the naval, victualing, and ordnance stores pillaged in the dock-yards and other public repositories, and also from ships of war, transports, and navy and victualing hoys, in the river thames, and medway, must amount to a very large sum annually. the detections, particularly in the victualing hoys and transports, since the establishment of the marine police, prove the existence of the evil, and the wide field which it embraces. the vicinity of the metropolis;--the assistance afforded by old iron and store shops on the spot;--by carts employed _in this trade alone_, constantly going and coming from and to the capital;--by the advantage of an easy and safe conveyance for ponderous and heavy articles, in lighters and other craft passing up and down the river; and the extensive chain of criminal connection, at every town and village on the thames and medway, which a course of many years has formed, joined to the ease with which frauds are committed, have combined to render this nefarious traffic a very serious and alarming evil. among the multitude of persons concerned in it, some are said to keep men constantly employed in untwisting the cordage, for the purpose of removing the king's mark, or coloured stran, which is introduced into it as a check against fraud; while others (as has been already noticed) are, in like manner, employed in knocking the broad arrow out of copper bolts, nails, bar iron, and other articles, on which it is impressed, so as to elude detection. it is scarcely to be credited, to what an extent the sale of the cordage, sail-cloth, and other naval articles, including victualing stores, thus plundered, is carried, in supplying coasting vessels and smaller craft upon the river thames, at a cheap rate.[ ] [footnote : when it is recollected, that coasting vessels, and also traders to foreign parts, enter and clear in the custom-house of london, in the course of a year, independent of small craft in the river; an inexhaustible resource for the sale of cheap cordage, sail-cloth, and every other material, must be obvious at first view.] if the actual value of stores deposited at the different dock-yards and public repositories in the course of a year, is to be considered as a rule whereby a judgment may be formed of the extent of the losses sustained by frauds, plunder, and embezzlement, it will be found to be very erroneous, since a large proportion of what forms the great aggregate loss sustained annually by government, does not arise from the actual stealing of stores, but from frauds committed in fabricating documents both at home and abroad. reasons have already been assigned, why many individuals reconcile their minds to devices, whereby they may be suddenly enriched at the public expence, who would be shocked at the idea of over-reaching an individual. for the purpose, therefore, of estimating truly the probable extent of the evil, a general view must not only be taken of the naval, victualing, ordnance, and other stores at all times deposited in the public arsenals, but also the stores and provisions on board of the numerous ships of war, and transports, constantly consuming and replacing in all quarters of the globe; and to measure the whole by the great annual expence, which is incurred in this necessary service, _the bulwark of britain, and the glory and pride of the nation_. looking at the subject in this point of view, where the ramifications are so extensive, and the opportunities so numerous, whereby in the hurry and confusion of carrying on a most important public service, frauds and embezzlements may be committed with impunity, the question is, whether measures are not practicable, whereby the public loss, by the rapacity of individuals, may not lie greatly diminished, and what system would be best adapted to the attainment of this object? to illustrate this proposition it may be necessary to form an estimate, in the first instance, of the stationary and floating property belonging to his majesty, in the different public arsenals and ships of war.--the following statement is hazarded with this particular view, not as an accurate detail of facts; for accuracy to a point under the present circumstances is neither practicable nor absolutely necessary. it is sufficient if it tends to elucidate and explain an important point, on the subject of the frauds and depredations committed on the public stores, which would not be otherwise intelligible or useful to the public, to the extent which the author contemplates.-- _estimate of floating naval, victualing and ordnance stores, in the different repositories and ships of war._ naval, victualing } and ordnance stores } at deptford and red house £. , , woolwich , sheerness , chatham , portsmouth , , plymouth , ireland, leith, and other parts , { in the arsenals at halifax, } { and the east and west indies } , gibraltar, minorca, &c. , { in ships of war and } { transports in commission } , , ----------- total £. , , ----------- the annual pecuniary supplies for the navy may be estimated at _thirteen millions a year_ during war; of which sum about _six millions_ may be applicable to the pay of the officers and seamen, and _seven millions_ to _ships-stores, provisions, &c._ the last two, namely, the stores and provisions being in a constant state of movement, both at home and abroad, furnish abundant resource for frauds and depredations, which may certainly be greatly diminished, though perhaps impracticable to be eradicated entirely. the object, therefore, is to devise means whereby this _diminution_ may be accomplished: and in pursuing this important inquiry, it will be necessary to precede it by the following general view of the laws now in being, which relate to offences committed in the naval and other public departments. the acts of the st of elizabeth, (cap. .) and the d of charles ii. (cap. .) made it felony, without benefit of clergy, to steal or embezzle any of his majesty's military or naval stores or provisions, above the value of twenty shillings. by the and of william iii. (cap. .) the receivers of embezzled stores, or such as should have the same in their custody, are subject to a penalty of £. . from this period, till the st of george the first, the attention of the legislature does not seem to have been directed to this object; when by the statute, st geo. i. stat. . cap. , the principal officers or commissioners of the navy were authorized to issue warrants to search for public property stolen or embezzled, and to punish the offenders by fine or imprisonment. a succeeding act, ( geo. i. cap. .) empowered the judges to mitigate the fine of £. imposed on persons having in their possession public stores, and to punish the offenders corporally, by causing them to be publicly whipped, or kept at hard labour for six months in the house of correction; which certainly was a great improvement. by the act geo. ii. c. . jurisdiction was given to the judges of assize, and the general quarter sessions, to try the offenders, and punish them by a fine not exceeding £. , imprisonment for three months, and other corporal punishment. the laws on this subject were further amended by the th of his present majesty, cap. ; by which the _treasurer, comptroller, surveyor, clerk of the acts_, or any commissioner of the navy, are empowered to act as justices, in causing offenders to be apprehended and prosecuted. these powers were given with a view to establish a greater degree of energy in detections; but experience has shewn that the purpose has not been answered. the last act which relates to the protection of the public stores, was made the th year of his present majesty's reign (cap. .) and related solely to burning ships, warehouses, and naval, military, or victualing stores, in any of the dominions of the crown; which offence is made felony without benefit of clergy. a very superficial view of the above laws will demonstrate their insufficiency to the object of _prevention_. and even if they were complete, the task imposed on the public officers, who are on every occasion to act as justices, has proved from experience to be a measure ill calculated to attain the object in view, namely, the detection of offenders; otherwise the evil would not have increased.--other _remedies_ must therefore be applied. it is not, however, by any single act of the legislature, that the enormous frauds and depredations in the navy and victualing departments of his majesty's service, which the commissioners and chief officers, under whose management they are placed, are so anxious to suppress,[ ] can be remedied: this important object must be obtained by a combination of various salutary measures, calculated to afford collateral aid to specific legislative regulations, and to secure their effectual execution, by means which are now to be explained under their respective heads.-- [footnote : much to the honour of the present commissioners, both of the navy and victualing, a most laudable zeal has been manifested to suppress the frauds, embezzlements and pillage, which have so long afflicted these departments of the public service. the following copy of a letter from the solicitor to the navy board to the author of this work, is a strong proof, not only of the sense they entertain of the evils which are felt to exist, but of the necessity of a speedy and effectual remedy being applied.-- "_norfolk street, may, ._ "sir, "the commissioners of the navy having an intention of applying to parliament, to extend and amend the laws, for preventing the embezzlement and stealing of his majesty's naval stores; and having directed me, in preparing the intended bill, to attend to the suggestions and recommendations on the subject, in your excellent and valuable publication, i shall consider myself much obliged to you, as i am sure the commissioners will, if you will, at your leisure, have the goodness to furnish me with any hints on the subject, which may have occurred to you, since the publication of your treatise, and which you think may be worthy the attention of the legislature. "i am, sir, with respect, "your most obedient humble servant, "cha. bicknell. "_p. colquhoun, esq._."] i. a general police system. by the establishment of a central board of police, on the plan strongly recommended by the select committee of the house of commons on finance, in their th report, ordered to be printed in june :--it is there proposed to bring under regulations by licences, all those classes of dealers in _old and second-hand ships' stores--old iron and other metals_, and several other dangerous and suspicious trades, the uncontrolled exercise of which, by persons of loose conduct, is known to contribute to the concealment and multiplication of crimes.--infinite embarrassments would, through this collateral medium, be placed in the way of those particular dealers, who reside in the vicinity of the dock-yards, and who, by a variety of criminal devices, while they are instrumental in doing much mischief, have been able, in many instances, to elude justice, and to carry on their nefarious practices with impunity. a board of police so organized, by means of licences and subordinate officers, as to keep the conduct of these classes of delinquents in view who, by giving facilities to the embezzlers and stealers of naval and other stores, are the chief sources from whence the evil springs; and with power to refuse licences to those who are known to have been guilty of criminal conduct; would operate very powerfully in limiting these classes of dealers to the honest part of their trade, by which infinite mischief would be prevented. ii. a local police for the dock-yards. salutary as the central board, recommended by the select committee on finance, must certainly be in controlling and checking the naval plunder, in common with the general delinquency of the whole country, it would seem indispensably necessary, under circumstances where the moving property is so extensive, and where there exists so many resources and temptations leading to the commission of crimes, to fix on some one person the responsibility of carrying the laws into effect, and of controlling and overawing the various classes of delinquents, whose attention is directed to the dock-yards, as a means of obtaining plunder: that for this purpose, one able and intelligent magistrate should preside in a police office, to be established by law, at or near the dock-yards, at _chatham_, _portsmouth_, and _plymouth_, with an establishment consisting of _one clerk, two house and four boat constables_, with _two police boats_ attached to each office. one magistrate would be sufficient at each office, as assistance from the neighbouring justices could always be procured in case of sickness, or absence, or where any judicial proceeding would require two magistrates. no establishment would be necessary for the dock-yards, and public arsenal, at deptford and woolwich, as the great civil force, and the number of boats attached to the marine police office at wapping, when strengthened, extended, and improved in the manner which is proposed, would be competent to carry into effect the laws now in being, and such as may hereafter be enacted, for the prevention and detection of offences in every part of the river thames, from london bridge to the hope point. the magistrate proposed to be established at chatham, could occasionally administer justice at sheerness, while the boat officers belonging to the institution, might be employed advantageously in traversing the river medway, and in keeping a watchful eye on the various receivers of stolen goods, who reside in the vicinity of that river, between the two dock-yards. at portsmouth and plymouth there would be regular employment for the respective magistrates, and the boat and other officers on these establishments. these three institutions may be conducted at an expence not exceeding one thousand pounds a year each, viz:-- £. _s._ _d._ to the responsible resident magistrate to his clerk to the constables, in number, _l._ each to house rent, coal, candles, stationary, tear and wear of boats, and rewards for meritorious services ------------- total towards defraying this expence, the fees which would be received, and the penalties inflicted for minor offences, under the legislative regulations hereafter to be proposed, would go a certain length in reducing the expences of the three police institutions. but considering the advantages likely to result from those establishments, were the expence to be incurred even _fifty times_ the amount of what is estimated, it would in all probability be much more than compensated by the savings to the public, which will result from the preservation of the public property, independent of the advantages which must arise from an improvement in the morals of a numerous class of delinquents, who have long been in a course of criminal turpitude. a police system thus organized under the direction of a magistrate in each situation, whose attention would be solely confined _to this one object_, could not fail to be productive of the greatest good, especially when aided by officers, well selected and encouraged to be _vigilant_ and _pure_ in their conduct, from the advantages they would derive from a moiety of the pecuniary penalties, when offenders were convicted, in addition to their salaries, thereby rendering their situations comfortable and desirable, and fortifying them against seduction and connivance with receivers and thieves, as too often has been discovered to take place, with respect to parochial constables resident near the dock-yards, by which public justice has been frequently defeated. the terror which such a system would excite, and the extensive evils a boat police are likely to prevent, can only be conceived by those who have witnessed the effect of the marine police on the river thames. but still apposite legislative regulations will be necessary to give full effect to this design, and the following heads are suggested as likely to be productive of infinite public advantage, when passed into a law. iii. legislative regulations proposed in aid of the general and local police system. st. that persons having possession of _new naval stores_; or _naval stores not more than one-third worn_, with the king's mark thereon, shall be deemed guilty of receiving goods, knowing them to have been stolen, and on conviction may be transported for years; with power, however, to the court to reduce it to seven years, or to impose a fine, or punish the offender corporally at its discretion. d. defacing the king's mark, on any of his majesty's stores, to be deemed felony, and punished by transportation for or years. d. the powers and provisions of the act of geo. . cap. . _commonly called, the bumboat act_; and also, the general powers and provisions of the thames police act, when it shall pass into a law, to be extended to all his majesty's dock-yards, and to the rivers and creeks leading thereto, within the distance of miles. th. in all cases where the crown or its agents shall decline to prosecute persons, in whose possession the king's stores shall be found, any one justice before whom the offender is carried, may proceed as for an offence under the _bumboat act_, or the _thames police act_ (by which maritime offences are to be more minutely explained) and if the party shall not give an account to the satisfaction of the justice, how the said goods came into his possession, to be convicted of a misdemeanor, and subject to a fine of _s._ or such other minor punishment as these acts direct. th. that all marine police constables (whether the _thames police_, the _medway police_, or the _police offices_ at portsmouth and plymouth) shall have power to board all hoys and craft in the service of his majesty, while employed in conveying stores, or in returning after such stores are delivered, for the purpose of searching the same; and in all cases, where stores are found which appear to have been abstracted from the cargo, or otherwise unlawfully obtained, to seize and convey the same, with the offender or offenders, (without prejudice to the service) before a justice; and in case the solicitor for the crown, (on due notice given, shall decline to prosecute for the major offence) the parties in whose custody the stores were found, not giving a satisfactory account of obtaining the same, shall be convicted of a misdemeanor, and punished by fine or imprisonment. th. the act of having _jiggers or small pumps, or bladders with or without nozzles, or casks for drawing off liquor in hoys or craft; of throwing goods over board when pursued to elude detection; of fabricating false bills of parcels, to cover suspected goods, and defeat the ends of justice; of having goods in possession, suspected to be king's stores, and not giving a good account of the same_; of refusing to assist marine police constables in the execution of their duty; of obstructing the said officers; of damaging police boats, to be punished as misdemeanors, under the authority of the said bumboat act, and the proposed thames police act; namely, by fine or imprisonment. th. _boats, craft, carts, carriages_, or _horses_, &c. from which stolen or embezzled king's stores shall be seized, to be forfeited, and disposed of as directed by the said marine police bill. th. in all cases where, in seizing stores, articles not having the king's mark shall be found intermixed with stores having such mark, the party in whose possession they are found shall be obliged to give an account, to the satisfaction of the justice, by what means he obtained the unmarked stores, otherwise the same to be forfeited, and sent to his majesty's repositories. th. power to be granted to the commissioners of the navy, or any one justice, to issue warrants, on proper information upon oath to peace officers, to search for king's stores, _without any proof of such stores being actually stolen, taken_, or _carried away_. the power of the commissioners in this case to extend to all counties in england. th. the laws relating to falsifying, erasing, or fabricating _documents, vouchers, books, accounts_, or _writings_, of any kind, with an intent to defraud his majesty, to be revised and amended, so as to apply more pointedly to offences of this nature. th. persons in his majesty's service in any of the dock-yards or public arsenals, having king's stores in their possession, to the amount of _l._ value, and not being authorised to keep such stores, to be conclusive evidence of embezzlement, and to be punished by transportation. th. as an encouragement to excite vigilance in officers of justice, it is humbly proposed, that the commissioners of his majesty's _navy, victualing, and other departments_, should be authorised, and required by law, to pay the following rewards for the conviction of offenders, on the certificate of judges and magistrates, before whom such convictions took place-- _l._ on conviction for any capital offence. _l._ on conviction for felony, punished--transportation, fine or imprisonment, or whipping, before a superior court. _l._ for misdemeanors, by indictment before the quarter or general sessions of the peace. _l._ for convictions before justices for minor offences. from such _legislative regulations_ infinite would be the advantages which might reasonably be expected, when by the establishment of a naval police system, their due and proper execution would be rendered certain; and also, in all cases, where the evidence against offenders, although perfectly conclusive as to the fact, may be deficient in some points of legal nicety, by putting the _onus probandi_ on the offender, and treating it as a minor offence: the ends of public justice will, in a great measure, be answered by inflicting some punishment on the offender, and however inferior it may be to what he deserves, it will still have an excellent effect, since it is not so much by severe punishments, as by the certainty of _some punishment_ being inflicted, and the obloquy of a conviction when offences are committed, that delinquents of this class are deterred from the commission of crimes. having thus traced the outlines of such remedies, for the protection of his majesty's _naval_, _victualing_, ordnance and other stores, as certainly require legislative regulations; it remains now to consider, what other measures may appear necessary, within the limits of the authority with which the lords commissioners of the admiralty are invested, for the purpose of rendering the preventive system complete. those which have occurred to the author of this work will be classed under the following heads: iv. _regulations respecting the sale of old stores._ v. _the abolition of the perquisite of chips._ vi. _the abolition of fees and perquisites of every description; to be recompensed by a liberal increase of salaries._ vii. _an improved mode of keeping accounts._ viii. _an annual inventory of stores on hand._ iv. old stores. the mode at present practised in disposing of unserviceable naval and victualing stores by auction, in the public arsenals and repositories, is productive of infinite evils, independent of the cover which is thereby afforded to many purchasers, of loose conduct, in protecting them, by means of the certificates they obtain against the penalties of the law, as receivers of stolen and embezzled goods of the same species and quality; thereby not only defeating the ends of public justice, but operating as an encouragement to these criminal dealers to extend the iniquitous part of their trade, by holding out facilities and incitements to those who have access to commit depredations on the public property, which possibly would never have otherwise taken place. the public sales at the dock-yards and other repositories, draw together men of loose and depraved morals; who, in order to obtain bargains, do not hesitate (wherever it can be done) to seduce, by means of pecuniary gratuities, the inferior officers and labourers into the evil practice of mixing superior stores with unserviceable articles, ordered to be made up in lots, so as to elude discovery. new and valuable cordage has been detected coiled within old cables,[ ] while frauds also are practised as to the weight, and in the delivery of greater quantities than are actually sold.--such practices have taken place in spite of the vigilance and attention of the superior officers, by which a two-fold mischief arises,--in the immediate loss which is sustained by the frauds thus practised, and in the cover which is thus afforded for the protection of additional stores purchased clandestinely; perhaps from the persons who have been thus corrupted.--an evil so prominent, in the view of a very able and penetrating judge now upon the bench, as to induce him to declare publicly in court, immediately after a trial, where a notorious offender (as many notorious offenders do) escaped justice, under the cover of his certificates: "that _government had better burn their old stores than suffer them to be the means of generating so many offences_"--or to the same effect. [footnote : an instance of this kind occurred about two years ago in one of the principal yards, where a large quantity of new and valuable cordage was found concealed within the coils of a large unserviceable cable; which composed one of the lots in the catalogue of the sale.--and thus a connection was discovered between the criminal purchaser and the labourers employed in making up the lots.] it is however humbly presumed that a remedy may be applied without the destruction of such valuable materials; and the following suggestions are offered with a view to this object. _plan for an improved mode of disposing of unserviceable naval and victualing stores._ st. that instead of selling those stores upon the spot where the criminal connections are formed, the naval articles shall be made up in assorted lots suitable to the _london, bristol, liverpool, whitehaven, glasgow, newcastle, and hull_ markets. that a responsible agent should be appointed to conduct the sales at each of these _ports_.--that they shall be men of the first respectability in the commercial line, who can give ample security for their fidelity in the execution of the trust reposed in them.--that they shall receive the stores at the yards or repositories where they are made up, and convey them to their respective warehouses at their own expence: on having an allowance of _ per cent. for freight-charges, warehouse-rent, insurance_ against _sea-risk and fire_, and all other expences; _and per cent. for commission on the amount of the sales_. that the said stores shall not on any pretence be sold to dealers, but only to the _actual consumers_, or rope spinners to convert into small cordage; _nor shall any certificate be granted to purchasers on any pretence whatsoever_. that accounts of sales shall be furnished monthly, and such sales shall be accompanied by _a full remittance for the amount_, it being always understood that no credit is to be allowed. that at the end of each year, an inventory shall be transmitted on a specific day to be fixed, of the whole stores on hand, and a general account current shall be then furnished; in which shall be exhibited, agreeable to a form to be prescribed, a complete view of the whole transactions which have occurred during the preceding year, with a full remittance for the balance due on the said account. d. that the _metalic stores_ which are deemed unserviceable shall be deposited in a commodious magazine in london, under the charge of a responsible agent, competent to such a trust.--that it shall be his duty to employ proper artificers to convert all that are capable of being converted into serviceable stores, and when so renovated, to be returned to deptford yard.--and such metalic stores as are incapable of being converted into useful purposes at a moderate expence, so as clearly to demonstrate a saving to government, shall be disposed of to founders and others, at the best price that can be obtained. the agent for metalic stores to be allowed per cent. on the value as ascertained, by the original invoice, founded on a survey and valuation upon oath, and this to be in full of _freight, carriage, warehouse-rent, insurance from fire, and all other expences, including commission for his trouble_, on all stores that are again converted to useful purposes; and - / per cent. on the value of such as are sold, in consequence of their being incapable of being rendered useful; so as to make it the interest of the agent to render as large a portion useful as possible. it is presumed that by an arrangement of this kind, an immense sum will be saved to the public annually; who would retain the contractor's profit in all cases where old stores are received back at the price of old metal, and again returned at the full contract price, after a small expence is incurred in converting them into serviceable stores. d. that in consequence of the superior resource for the consumption of _provisions, casks_, &c. in london, the whole of the unserviceable victualing stores (except such as from their small value and bulky nature will not defray the expences of conveyance) shall be collected in a large repository in london, under the charge of an able and intelligent agent, who shall give proper security for his faithful management; and conduct the sales upon the principles already explained _for ready money only_, rendering an account _and making his payments monthly_, and a final account and inventory at the end of the year; to be at the whole expence of removing the goods from the different repositories to the magazine in london; to be allowed per cent. commission on the sales, and per cent. in lieu of all charges. th. that the attention of the respective boards may not be diverted from other objects by attending to the details, which will arise in the management of those establishments, a superintending agent shall be appointed, who shall receive the directions of the different boards, and correspond with the local agents.--he shall moreover be the _receiver general of the monthly remittances_, and shall immediately pay the same as directed by the lords commissioners of the admiralty.--it will be his duty to arrange the shipping of old stores from the different yards, in conformity to the wants or demands of the respective agents, so as to keep up their several assortments, by conveying to each not only such articles, (as far as it can be done) as are most in demand, but also such as comparatively fetch the best price.--he shall receive the monthly and yearly accounts, and lay an abstract of the same before the lords of the admiralty, and the navy and victualing board respectively, as they apply to their different departments, and shall be the general medium of communication from the respective boards to the local agents.--the superintending agent shall transmit a regular invoice to the local agents of all goods shipped:--shall keep regular books and accounts of all transactions under his charge, and shall receive for his trouble _ per cent._ on the remittances or payments which he may make, under the directions of the lords of the admiralty. by this arrangement it will be the interest of all the parties concerned, to render the sale as productive as possible; and as the stores in question will constantly be exposed to sale, where the demand for such articles is most extensive, the probability is, that higher prices will be obtained than at present; and that upon the whole, after paying all expences, a larger aggregate sum will be received annually by government, since, as the sales are only to be made to the actual containers, the dealer's profit will make a part of the sale price, and will be thereby secured to the public. as men of the first character and respectability may be expected to solicit for such commissions, no doubt can be entertained, either of the purity of their conduct, or their exertions to sell to the best advantage. their credit and interest, and also the emulation between one agent and another, as to who shall make the best sales, will prove a powerful stimulus and a strong ground of security.--above all, the plan is easy and practicable:--it imposes no trouble upon the superior or inferior officers in the different naval departments, and no doubt can be entertained, that while it shuts up all the avenues to fraud and peculation, which at present operate so powerfully in facilitating the stealing and embezzling of naval and victualing stores, in the result it will prove highly beneficial to government. v. the perquisite of chips. the extensive evils arising from the permission granted to artificers in the dock-yards, to convert chips to their own use, and to remove them in bundles from the dock-yards, having already been noticed, it may only be necessary to add, that on the abolition of this perquisite, which the author has reason to believe is now in contemplation, a liberal increase of wages should be made to the artificers in lieu thereof; and that hereafter chips should not be sold in the yards by public auction, but removed to a place of deposit at some small distance, and disposed of, not to the highest bidder, but at such price as should be offered above the estimated value, and by no means by contract. by adopting this mode, the saving of _useful timber, time, and property_, which, through the medium of the existing practice, is _purloined, lost and stolen_, would probably exceed any estimate that has been formed from a view of the present abuses. this measure, while it forms an important link in the preventive chain, would appear to be easy and practicable. if necessary the superintending agent for unserviceable stores, whose functions have already been explained, could take upon him the sole management of the disposal of the chips at the different yards, by which a handsome sum might be obtained annually in aid of the resources of the state, perhaps more than would be sufficient to pay the additional wages of the artificers, while no existing arrangement in the yards would be disturbed, nor any trouble given to the officers, who at present fill the respective departments in those arsenals. vi. the abolition of fees and perquisites, and an increase of salaries. the total abolition of fees guarded by the severest penalties, is an important object in the preventive system: until this is effected, it will be in vain to expect purity of conduct. under this pretext, men of loose principles, in transactions with government, seldom fail to seduce from the strict line of their duty, _avaricious, extravagant, or indigent officers_, whose business it is to check and control the receipt and delivery of property, and to _arrange, settle, and adjust accounts_, or _to form public documents_. the delusion and seduction of these officers is not seldom effected by the supposed liberality of those whose business must pass through their hands; and they are not at all times perfectly aware of the injury that is done to the public. it has already been observed, and it is a circumstance much to be lamented, that in too many instances, where individuals have pecuniary transactions with any of the departments of government, a dereliction of principle is apparent which does not extend to the general intercourse of society, and hence arises the necessity of _stronger guards_, where the public interest is concerned; and nothing appears to be better calculated to counteract this baneful propensity in the human mind than _the total abolition of fees and perquisites_. it is said to be no uncommon thing to pay _l._ for a clerk's situation in the dock-yards, where the salary does not exceed _l._ or _l._ a year; and it is known that some who hold such situations live very expensively. it may be fairly asked, in what manner a person so situated is to reimburse himself? the conclusion is obvious, and the result has been already explained, which may perhaps be still farther elucidated by stating the following fact:-- an officer of justice having discovered some instances of pillage and peculation going forward in the course of the removal of old copper and other articles, from a dismantled ship of war, complained to the store-keeper in the dock-yard, whose province it was to have received those articles into his charge, which were conveyed elsewhere.--he replied thus: "d--n it, mind your own business.--such things have always been done, and will continue in spite of you and me; it will, at any rate, last our time." while the resources of government are fully commensurate to the liberal remuneration of its servants, so as to place them above all temptations to abuse the trust reposed in them: and while such remuneration is in itself no less politic than just, the object and view of the author of these pages differs widely from this faithless servant of the crown. the suggestions now offered, lead to measures, which he now trusts to the honour and credit of those respectable characters, at the head of the different departments, are in the best train of being adopted, by the total abolition of fees and perquisites, and a liberal increase of salary, in lieu of the reduction of income, which such an arrangement will occasion: such salaries as will secure to the nation those inestimable advantages, which always result from _rectitude of conduct_, _zeal_, _accuracy_, and _fidelity_, in the discharge of public trusts committed to subordinate officers. it is by this and other wise and practicable arrangements, that a confidence is to be established, "that the resources of the state _will not only last our time_," but extend to many generations; while the improvement of public morals will contribute, in an eminent degree, to the happiness and prosperity of the country. vii. an improved mode of keeping accounts. under an impression, that very few improvements have been introduced, since the establishment of the original system, for keeping the navy and victualing accounts, brought forward by king james ii. when duke of york; while the frauds which have been committed by various devices, prove some imperfections in the mode of accomptantship as now practised, since no means appear to exist, whereby deficiencies can be checked and discovered; it may be worthy of inquiry, whether many of the modern improvements, which the vast extent of our commerce has introduced, might not be rendered useful in establishing new checks, by means of a system of book-keeping, which would have the same effect in detecting frauds, and discovering inaccuracies, as prevails in arranging and closing the accounts of well-regulated commercial establishments; adopting at the same time in the general detail, particularly in the transit of stores, some of these excellent regulations, which have been found so salutary and useful in the system of the excise. of the practicability of improvements of this nature there can be little doubt, since it merely depends on the exercise of that _knowledge, attention_, and _assiduity_, which, when properly exerted, has generally accomplished objects, which have often appeared impracticable to minds uninformed, or not enlarged by an extensive intercourse with the world, or a knowledge of the general affairs of life:--but as this observation can in no respect apply to the respectable and intelligent individuals, who superintend the great public concerns, which have been subject to the various abuses, which they feel so anxious to remedy, sanguine hopes are entertained, that an improvement in the mode of keeping the official accounts may be speedily carried into effect. viii. an annual inventory of stores. supposing an accurate system of book-keeping to be adopted, and to be followed as a part of the proposed system of accuracy, indispensably necessary, _by an annual account of stores_; the advantages resulting from it are not to be estimated by the most sanguine mind. independent of the benefits which would arise from the general accuracy, which would thus incircle the whole oeconomy of the design, discoveries would be made wherever frauds or embezzlements took place, while the labour and expence, which such a task might impose, would be compensated one hundred fold, in the national advantages which it would produce. * * * * * thus has the author briefly gone over the whole ground, which he had assigned to himself, as comprehending every object on the subject of the depredations on his majesty's stores, which appeared likely to render his suggestions useful to his country, whether they relate to improved legislative regulations requiring the aid of parliament, or to measures competent for the lords commissioners of the admiralty to carry into effect. in the prosecution of this task he has been stimulated in a particular degree, by the laudable and patriotic disposition, which has been manifested to promote improvements in naval police, and the honourable proofs he has received of a desire to render his suggestions useful. if the period should indeed arrive (and it is to be hoped it may soon arrive) when these suggestions, or even a part of them, shall be acted upon, in a manner calculated to promote the national interest, the author of these pages will then feel himself gratified, and rewarded by the pleasing reflection, that his well-meant labours, in placing an important branch of the political oeconomy of the country in this particular point of view, have not been in vain. chap. x. _receivers of stolen goods more mischievous than thieves;--the latter could not exist without the assistance of the former:--the suppression therefore of receivers would restore to society, and to honest industry, a great number who at present live by crimes.--the increase of receivers of stolen goods to be attributed to the imperfection of the laws, and to the disjointed state of the police of the metropolis.--the number of common receivers does not exceed sixty; of whom not above ten are persons of property able to purchase valuable articles.--thieves, in many instances, settle with receivers before they commit robberies:--receivers always benefit more than thieves:--their profit immense:--they are divided into two classes.--the immediate receivers connected with thieves, and those who keep shops and purchase from pilferers in the way of trade:--the latter are extremely numerous.--the laws are insufficient effectually to reach either class.--the existing statutes examined and briefly detailed, namely, the d and th of william and mary, cap. ; the st anne, cap. ; the th of anne, cap. ; george i. cap. ; george ii. cap. ; george ii. cap. ; george iii. cap. ; george iii. cap. ; george iii. cap. ; george iii. cap. .--observations on these respective statutes.--amendments and improvements suggested.--means proposed to ensure the due execution of these improvements._ having in the preceding chapters completed the proposed explanation of the various depredations and frauds upon the public: it remains now, in the order of the plan, to examine and follow up the progress of this property, from the hands of _thieves_, _robbers_, _cheats_, and _swindlers_, to that of _receivers_, or first purchasers of goods stolen or fraudulently obtained. in contemplating the characters of all these different classes of delinquents, there can be little hesitation in pronouncing the _receivers_ to be the most _mischievous of the whole_; inasmuch as without the aid they afford, in purchasing and concealing every species of property stolen or fraudulently obtained, thieves, robbers, and swindlers, as has already been frequently observed, must quit the trade, as unproductive and hazardous in the extreme. nothing therefore can be more just than the old observation, "_that if there were no receivers there would be no thieves_."--deprive a thief of a sale and ready market for his goods, and he is undone. let the strong arm of the law, and the vigour and energy of the police be directed in a particular manner against _receivers_; and the chief part of those robberies and burglaries, which are so much dreaded, on account of the acts of violence which attend them, _would absolutely cease to exist_:--and the resource for plunder being thus narrowed in so great a degree, robberies on the highway would _alone_ seldom answer the purpose of the adventurer; where the risk would be so exceedingly multiplied, while the advantages were in the same proportion diminished;--the result therefore would be, that in _the suppression of the receivers_, the encouragement to become thieves and robbers would be taken away: and the present depredators upon the public must either return to honest labour as useful members of the state, or submit to be starved. obvious and desirable however as a measure of this sort would be, it has never hitherto been put in practice. this has proceeded from a variety of causes; one of the principal of which is the disjointed state of the police of the metropolis, occasioned by a number of jurisdictions clashing with each other, and preventing the full operation of a proper system of vigilance and energy; which, with the aid of apposite and improved laws and a superintending agency, could not fail, either to root out all the receivers of stolen goods of any consequence, or compel them to abandon their mischievous trade. these observations apply to that class of receivers alone, who are in immediate connection with the thieves, burglars, and highway robbers;--and who aid and assist them in the purchase and concealment of whatever is stolen.--from the best information that can be obtained, their number does not exceed _fifty_ or _sixty in all_; of whom not more than ten, (whose names and places of abode are well known) can be said to be persons of property who can raise money to purchase articles of considerable value. aided by a well-regulated and energetic system of police that might pervade the whole metropolis, how easy would it be, to compel these large dealers to abandon the trade? the measure of watching their houses day and night, would cost no great sum, and would embarrass the thieves and burglars, more than any other system that could be pursued. it rarely happens that thieves go upon the highway, or commit burglaries, until the money they have previously acquired is exhausted. having laid their plans for new depredations, negociation is frequently entered upon with the most favourite receiver, who (to use their own language) is likely to be _staunch_, and to keep their secrets.--the plan is explained.--some liquor is drunk to the good luck of the enterprize, and the hour fixed when they are to return with the booty: if plate is expected, the crucible is ready in a small furnace, built for the purpose, instantly to melt it, and arrangements are made for the immediate concealment of the other articles.--of the nature of these previous arrangements, something has already been said in chap. iv. on burglary and highway robbery. there are, however, exceptions to this rule, where the receivers are not trusted till the booty is acquired; and where it is in the first instance removed to the houses of the thieves, or to those of some of their friends; but it seldom remains longer than may be necessary to obliterate the marks: for money must be procured. most thieves are improvident; their wants are therefore pressing--they _must_ sell--the receiver knows this and makes his own terms;--and he of course enjoys by far the largest share of the profit. the plunder thus purchased, finds a ready vent through the extensive connections of the jew dealers, both in this country and upon the continent: and from the facts already stated in the course of this work, it may easily be conceived that the trade is not only extensive, but that the profit is immense, since it rarely happens (except in the articles of plate,) that thieves receive to the amount of above one-third; or one-fourth of the value of what is stolen. the mass of the receivers of stolen property in and near the metropolis, (exclusive of those more immediately concerned in river-plunder, as stated in chapter viii. on that subject,) may be classed in two divisions: " . the dealers already mentioned, as immediately connected with professed and notorious thieves, and who are their principal supporters, especially when apprehended and under prosecution. many of these have themselves been originally thieves upon the town, _acquitted, pardoned, or discharged from the hulks_: who prefer the trade of a receiver as less hazardous and more profitable, than that of a thief; and to conceal the fraud frequently set up _chandlers-shops_, _coal-sheds_, _potatoe-warehouses_, or _old iron-shops_, and not seldom become _masters of public houses_, that they may appear to have some _visible_ means of obtaining a livelihood. those who have not been originally thieves generally keep shops in different branches of trade, some of whom are very opulent. " . the dealers in _old iron and other metal--rags--old wearing apparel--buyers, refiners, and workers of gold and silver--dealers in second-hand furniture, and building materials, and that class of sharping pawnbrokers who have connections with criminal people_. "the dealers last mentioned are extremely numerous, and amount to several thousands in the metropolis alone, some of whom are _innocent receivers_, not aware that they are purchasing stolen articles;--others, _careless receivers_, asking no questions, and purchasing every thing that is offered:--but a large proportion of _criminal receivers_, who purchase every thing that is offered _in the way of trade_; well knowing, from the price and other circumstances, that the property was originally stolen." as the laws now stand, (numerous, and pointed as they appear to be) it has been found from experience, that neither of these classes can be easily reached; and hence it is that they have multiplied in so great a degree, (particularly the small receivers) within the last twenty years, and may even be said to have reigned with impunity. for the purpose of suggesting an effectual legislative remedy, it will be necessary to examine shortly the laws now in being, which are applicable to this peculiar offence.-- by the statute of the d and th of william and mary, cap. , it is enacted, "_that receivers of stolen goods, knowing them to be stolen, shall be deemed accessaries after the fact_." but this offence being dependent on the fate of the principal--a receiver, thus circumstanced, could not be tried till after the conviction of such principal; so that, however strong and conclusive the evidence might be, the receiver was still safe, unless the thief could be apprehended--and even if apprehended and put upon his trial, if acquitted through any defect of evidence, the receiver, (although he had actually confessed the crime, and the goods found in his possession, could be proved to have been stolen,) must be acquitted:--this offence also, even if completely proved, applied only to capital felonies, and _not to petty larceny_. these defects were discovered, and partly remedied by the statutes anne, cap. ; and anne, cap. , which enact, "_that buyers and receivers of stolen goods, knowing them to be stolen, may be prosecuted for a misdemeanor, and punished by fine and imprisonment; though the principal be not previously convicted of felony_." this act, anne, c. , also greatly improved the laws applicable to this species of offence by _empowering the court to substitute a corporal punishment instead of fine and imprisonment; and by declaring, that if the felony shall be proved against the thief, then the receiver shall be taken as accessary, and shall receive judgment of death; but the benefit of clergy is reserved_. the laws being still found insufficient, the statute of the fourth of george the first, cap. , enacted, "_that receivers of stolen goods, knowing them to be stolen, should, on conviction, be transported for fourteen years; and that buying at an under value should be presumptive evidence of such knowledge_:--and the same statute _makes it felony (according to the nature of the felony committed in stealing the goods) for any person directly or indirectly to take a reward for helping any person to stolen goods; unless such person bring the felon to his trial, and give evidence against him_." but these amendments also proving ineffectual, and not being found to apply immediately to persons receiving stolen _lead, iron, copper, brass, bell-metal or solder_ taken from buildings, or from ships, vessels, wharfs, or quays--it was enacted by the th of george the second, cap. , "_that every person who shall buy or receive such articles, knowing the same to be stolen, or who shall privately purchase these respective metals by suffering any door, window, or shutter, to be left open between sun-setting and sun-rising, or shall buy or receive any of the said metals in any clandestine manner, shall, on conviction, be transported for fourteen years, although the principal felon has not been convicted_." sec. . the same act _empowers one justice to grant a warrant to search in the day time for such metals suspected to be stolen, as by the oath of one witness may appear to be deposited or concealed in any house or place_; and if goods are found, the act goes so far as _to empower two justices to adjudge the person having the custody of the same, guilty of a misdemeanor, if he cannot produce the party from whom he purchased, or give a satisfactory account how they came into his possession; and the offender shall, for the first offence forfeit s. for the second l. and for every subsequent offence l._ sec. ; . this act also _empowers officers of justice (and watchmen while on duty) to apprehend all persons suspected of conveying any stolen metals, as already described, after sun-set or before sun-rise; and if such persons cannot give a good account of the manner in which they were obtained, two magistrates are in like manner authorized to adjudge them guilty of a misdemeanor, and they forfeit forty shillings, &c._ sec. ; . _the persons also to whom such articles are offered for sale or to be pawned, where there is reasonable ground to suppose they were stolen, are empowered to apprehend and secure the parties and the materials, to be dealt with according to law. and if it shall appear even on the evidence of the thief, corroborated by other testimony, that there was cause to suspect the goods were stolen, and that the person to whom they were offered, did not do his duty in apprehending the person offering the same, he shall be adjudged guilty of a misdemeanor, and forfeit twenty shillings for the first offence: forty shillings for the second, and four pounds for every subsequent offence_, sec. , . and so anxious has the legislature been to suppress the evil of stealing and receiving metals, that the th section _entitles the actual thief to a pardon, on the discovery and conviction of two or more of the receivers_. and the th section _screens from prosecution any person stealing such metals, who shall discover the receiver to whom the same were delivered, so as a conviction may follow_.--in spite, however, of these numerous and apparently effectual checks, it is to be lamented that the evil has continued to increase. in the following year it was provided by the act th of george the second, cap. , _that it shall be lawful for any pawnbroker, or any other dealer, their servants or agents, to whom any goods shall be offered to be pawned, exchanged, or sold, which shall be suspected to be stolen, to seize and detain the persons offering the same, for the purpose of being examined by a justice; who is empowered, if he sees any grounds to apprehend that the goods have been illegally obtained, to commit the persons, offering the same, to prison for a period not exceeding six days; and if on further examination, the justice shall be satisfied that the goods were stolen, he shall commit the offender to prison, to be dealt with according to law; and although it may, under such circumstances, afterwards appear that the goods in question were fairly obtained, yet the parties who seized the supposed offender shall be indemnified_.--sec. , . it would have been useful if the principles of the first of these excellent acts had extended to every kind of goods and chattels, _horses_, _cattle_, _money_, and _bank-notes_,[ ] as well as to the metals therein described. indeed it is to be lamented, that the system has not been to look at great features of abuse in _the gross_, so as to meet every existing evil at once. thus another partial statute was made, george iii. _c._ , extending the provisions of the th geo. ii. _c._ . to goods, stores, or materials taken from ships in the river thames, by enacting, "_that all persons purchasing such goods, knowing them to be stolen, or receiving the same in a concealed or clandestine manner between sun-setting and sun-rising, shall be transported for fourteen years, although the principal felon be not convicted_:" but by the wording of this act, it is doubtful if it applies to receiving goods stolen from vessels not afloat in the river.[ ] [footnote : vide page .] [footnote : it was held in the trial of moses pike, at the old bailey, in may, , that to steal from a barge aground in limehouse-dock, was not within the meaning of the act of th of george the second, cap. , which makes it felony to steal from any vessel or craft upon a navigable river, &c.] the next statute applicable to the receivers of stolen goods, is the th of george iii. cap. , by which it is enacted, "_that every person who shall buy or receive any jewels, gold, silver, plate or watches, knowing the same to be stolen, where such stealing was accompanied by a burglary or highway robbery, may be tried as well before as after the principal felon is convicted; and whether he be in, or out of custody; and if found guilty, shall be transported for fourteen years_." eleven years after passing of the above mentioned statute, the legislature, appearing to be impressed with the great extent of the depredations committed by persons stealing _pewter pots_, and desirous to punish the receivers, the statute of the st of george the third, cap. , enacts, "_that every person who shall buy or receive any pewter pot or other vessel, or any pewter in any form or shape whatsoever, knowing the same to be stolen, or who shall privately buy or receive stolen pewter, in a clandestine manner, between sun-setting and sun-rising, shall on conviction, be transported for seven years, or detained in the house of correction, at hard labour for a term not exceeding three years, nor less than one; and may be whipped not more than three times; although the principal felon has not been convicted_." in the following session of parliament, the statute george iii. c. . (said to have been framed by an able and experienced lawyer and magistrate),[ ] removed many of the imperfections of former statutes, and particularly that which respected petty larceny; by enacting, "_that where any goods (except lead, iron, copper, brass, bell-metal, or solder, the receivers of which are punishable under the_ th george ii. c. . _noticed before, p. .) have been stolen, whether the offence amount to grand larceny, or some greater offence, or to petty larceny only; (except where the offender_ has been convicted _of grand larceny, or some greater offence; when the receiver must be prosecuted as an accessary, and under the th_ george i. c. , _may be transported for fourteen years_; see page .)--_every person who shall buy or receive the same, knowing them to be stolen, shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and punished by fine, imprisonment, or whipping, as the quarter sessions, who are empowered to try offenders, or any other court before whom they shall be tried, shall think fit, although the principal be not convicted; and if the felony amounts to grand larceny, or some greater offence, and the person committing such felony has not been before convicted, such offender shall be exempted from being punished as accessary, if the principal shall be afterwards convicted_."--sect. . [footnote : mr. serjeant adair, then recorder of london.] this act also empowers _one justice to grant a warrant to search for stolen goods in the day time, on oath being made that there are just grounds of suspicion; and the person concealing the said goods, or in whose custody they are found, shall in like manner be guilty of a misdemeanor, and punished in the manner before-mentioned_.--sect. . the same act extended the powers granted by former acts relative to metals, _to any other kind of goods: by authorizing peace officers (and also watchmen while on duty) to apprehend all persons suspected of carrying stolen goods after sun-setting and before sun-rising, who shall, on conviction, be adjudged guilty of a misdemeanor, and imprisoned, not exceeding six, nor less than three months_.--sec. . power is also given by this act _to any person to whom goods, suspected to be stolen, shall be offered to be sold or pawned, to apprehend the person offering the same, and to carry him before a justice_.--sec. . and as an encouragement to young thieves to discover the receivers, the same act provides, _that if any person or persons being out of custody, or in custody, if under the age of years, upon any charge of felony, within benefit of clergy, shall have committed any felony, and shall discover two receivers, so as that they shall be convicted, such discoverer shall have pardon for all felonies by him committed before such discovery_. these various acts of parliament prove how very prominent the evil of receiving stolen goods has been in the view of the legislature.--it is to be lamented however, that a more general and comprehensive view has not been taken of the subject, by substituting, instead of the piece-meal system which has been from time to time adopted, on suggestions applicable only to particular cases, _one general law that should have embraced every object_, and remedied every defect in the existing statutes, on this important subject of criminal jurisprudence. that these laws, numerous as they are, and applicable as many of them appear to be, have not been in any degree effectual, is clearly manifested by the unquestionable increase of the evil, even to an extent beyond all calculation. under such circumstances, where the receiver is in reality the greatest offender, and even the source from whence most of the burglaries and highway robberies have their origin, the thief being not seldom his pupil--_why should not the receipt of stolen goods be made an original offence?[ ]--why should not the rewards for detection, and the punishment on conviction, be the same, in the case both of the receiver and the thief?_ [footnote : the general rule of the ancient law is this;--that accessaries shall suffer the same punishment as principals. if one be liable to death, the other is also liable. blackstone. in france, (before the revolution) the offence of receiving stolen goods was punished with death.] in contemplating the best means of preventing depredations upon the public, the simplest and perhaps the most effectual mode would be to _make a stand at this particular point_; by bending the attention _wholly_ to the means of destroying effectually _the trade of receiving stolen goods_; under the fullest conviction that by accomplishing so valuable a purpose, thieving and swindling in all its branches would also be, in a great measure, destroyed. it is believed, that this object (difficult as it may appear) is attainable, by well digested applicable laws, containing and enforcing such regulations as would ensure a full and energetic execution. the importance of a measure of this kind is so immense, that if even a considerable part of one session of parliament were employed in devising and legalizing a proper system, it would be time well and usefully spent for the benefit of the country. the obvious means of remedy seem to lie within a narrow compass. the first point to be obtained is the _licensing_ all those dealers (some of them already particularized in pages , ), whose various branches of trade are friendly to the encouragement of depredations; and the putting them under the control of the _central board of police_, in the manner stated more fully in the concluding part of this work.-- the next step must be to consolidate and improve the laws now in being, relative to _receivers of stolen goods_; by an arrangement which shall render the whole _clear_ and _explicit_, and applicable to all the evils which have been felt to exist. and lastly to make the following additions to these laws: " . to make the receiving stolen goods an _original offence_; punishable in the same manner, in all cases, as the principal felony is punishable by law. " . the offence of receiving _money, bank notes, horses, cattle, poultry_, or _any matter_ or thing whatsoever, to be the same as receiving goods and chattels. " . the persons committing any felony or larceny to be competent to give evidence against the receiver, and _vice versa_; provided that the testimony and evidence of such principal felon against the receiver, or the evidence of the receiver against the principal felon, shall not be of itself sufficient to convict, without other concurrent evidence: and that the offenders so giving evidence shall be entitled to his majesty's pardon, and also to a reward of from _l._ to _l._ as hereafter mentioned; unless they shall be found guilty of wilful and corrupt perjury.--_by this means the thief will be set against the receiver, and the receiver against the thief._ " . that rewards be paid for the detection and apprehension of receivers as well as thieves, in all cases whatsoever, according to the discretion of the judge; _whether there shall be a conviction or not_; which reward shall not be less than _ten_ and may extend to _fifty pounds_. " . that the various classes of dealers to be licensed shall enter into recognizance for their good behaviour: and that no licences be granted to persons having been convicted of felony or perjury, nor to any but such as can obtain and produce a certificate of good character. " . that all such licensed dealers, as also _publicans_, _pawnbrokers_, &c. shall be subject to a penalty for concealing any stolen goods which may come into their possession, after the same are advertised;--or punished with transportation, if it can be made appear that such goods were purchased at an under value, being known to be stolen. " . that all drivers of hackney-coaches, employed to take fares after twelve o'clock at night, shall be licensed by the magistrates of the division; and shall enter into recognizance for their good behaviour, themselves and one surety in _l._ at least; and that every such coachman shall be obliged, whenever he carries any goods or valuables, to make a report of the same, on the following morning, to the magistrate of his district, if no suspicion arises as to any improper or felonious intention; but in all cases where a felonious intention shall appear, the coachman to be authorized and required to call the assistance of the watchmen and patroles, and to seize and apprehend the parties, and lodge them and the goods in the nearest watch-house; there to be kept until brought before a justice, at the public-office of the district, on the following morning: and although it may ultimately appear that the coachman was mistaken and the parties innocent, yet where it shall be manifest to the justice that he hath acted _bona fide_, he shall not be liable to any prosecution:[ ] and if it shall appear that the goods so conveyed _were_ stolen property, then the coachman shall be entitled, whether a conviction shall follow or not, to a reward of _two guineas_; and in all cases where a prosecution shall follow, he shall be entitled to such further reward as the court shall think proper. [footnote : vide act geo. ii. cap. .] " . that all watchmen or patroles who shall appear upon proper proof to connive at the commission of felonies[ ] in the night time, or while they are on duty; or shall knowingly conceal any felonious removal of stolen goods, or goods suspected to be stolen, and conveying to receivers' houses, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and liable to be _imprisoned_, _whipt_, or _put in the pillory_.--and in _all cases_ where such watchmen or patroles shall observe any goods or other articles conveyed in hackney-coaches, or in any other manner, while they are upon duty, from one place to another, they shall report the same to the justices at the nearest public office, in the morning: but if they shall have good grounds to suspect a felonious intention, and that the property is stolen, the goods and all the parties concerned shall be conveyed to the nearest watch-house, for the purpose of being brought before a magistrate; and such watchmen (acting _bona fide_) shall not be liable to any prosecution in case of a mistake; and if a felony shall have been actually committed, they shall each be entitled to one guinea, besides their proportion of any future reward which may be ordered by the court who shall try the offenders.[ ]" [footnote : an officer of police who was watching the house of a noted receiver, in st. james's parish, being taken for a thief by the watchmen, the latter entered into conversation with him, and naming the receiver, he told the officer that he being very liberal and kind to them, they did not disturb any person going to his house; and if he had any thing to carry there, he would step out of sight, so as to be able to say he had seen nothing.] [footnote : vide act geo. ii. cap. .] in the formation of such a system, it is absolutely necessary that care should be taken to secure a _regular_ and perfect _execution_, by means of a proper superintendance and inspection:--without this, the best laws will remain a _dead letter_.--such has, in fact, been the case in a great measure with respect to several of the very excellent statutes, now in force, relative to receivers of stolen goods; and such also would be the case with regard to the laws relative to the _revenue_, if a system had not been established to secure their execution. if it be allowed that the prevention of crimes is at least of as much importance to society, as any consideration connected with partial revenue:--if experience has shewn that, after the skill and ingenuity of the ablest lawyers and the most profound thinkers have been exhausted in framing laws to meet offences, which are daily committed; these offences are progressively increasing:--is it not clear to demonstration, that some _active principle_ is wanting, which does not at present exist, for the purpose of rendering these laws effectual? this principle of activity is, (it is humbly apprehended,) only to be established by the introduction of such a system of _regulation_, as shall attach to all classes of dealers, who, in their intercourse with society, are in the train of encouraging either directly or collaterally, transactions of _an immoral_, _a fraudulent_, or a _mischievous nature_. the idea is not new in the system of jurisprudence of the country;--publicans have long been under regulations prescribed by magistrates; pawnbrokers also have been of late years regulated to a certain extent by statute.--let the same principle be extended to the other dealers alluded to; and let the legislature, profiting by that experience which has manifested the cause of the inefficacy of a vast number of penal statutes, establish such a system of _regulation_, _inspection_, and _superintendance_, as will insure to the public the full benefits arising from good laws, administered with activity, purity, and discretion. nothing can evince in a greater degree the necessity of _inspecting_ the execution of all _laws of regulation_ where the well-being of society is concerned, than the abuses which occur with regard to the two classes just mentioned, namely, public-houses and pawnbrokers.--many excellent rules are established by the legislature, and the magistrates; but while it is seldom the interest of the depraved or dishonest part of these two classes to adhere to such rules, by what means is the execution to be insured, so as to operate as a complete protection to the public?--surely not by the operation of the law through the medium of common informers; since independent of the invidious nature of the office, experience has shewn that the public good rarely enters into the consideration of persons of this description; who look merely to their own emolument, frequently holding up the penalties as a rod by which money is privately extorted, and the parties laid under contribution, for the purpose of allowing them to continue in the practice of those abuses, which the engine used for this nefarious purpose was meant to prevent. the system of inspection, thus strongly and repeatedly recommended, while it remedied these corrupt practices, by preventing the existence of the evil, could only be disagreeable to _fraudulent dealers_. the honest and fair tradesmen, as things are at present circumstanced, are by no means on an equal footing with men who carry on business by fraudulent devices.--such fair traders who have nothing to dread, would therefore rejoice at the system of inspection which is proposed, and would submit to it cheerfully; as having an immediate tendency to shield them from fraudulent competition, and to protect the public against knavery and dishonesty. chap. xi. _the prominent causes of the increase of crimes reviewed and considered:--imputable in the first instance to deficient laws and an ill-regulated police:--to the unfortunate habits of the lower orders of the people in feeding their families in ale-houses.--to the bad and immoral education of apprentices.--to the number of individuals broke down by misfortunes arising from want of industry.--to idle and profligate menial servants out of place.--to the deplorable state of the lower orders of the jews of the dutch and german synagogue.--to the depraved morals of aquatic labourers.--to the dealers in old metals--second-hand ships' stores--rags--old furniture--old building materials--old apparel: and cart-keepers for removing these articles.--to disreputable pawnbrokers.--and finally to ill-regulated public-houses, and to the superabundance of these receptacles of idleness and vice.--concluding reflections on the evils to the state and the individual, which arise from the excesses of the labouring people._ in contemplating the mass of turpitude which is developed in the preceding chapters, and which exhibit afflicted society, groaning under a pressure of evils and public wrongs, which, but for the different views which have been taken of the subject, could not have been conceived to exist; it may be truly affirmed in the first instance, that much is to be imputed to deficient and ill-executed laws, arising chiefly from the want of a proper system of police. offences of every description have their origin in the vicious and immoral habits of the people, and in the facilities which the state of manners and society, particularly in vulgar life, afford in generating vicious and bad habits. in tracing the progress of those habits which are peculiar to the lower orders of the community in this great metropolis, from infancy to the adult state, the cause will be at once discovered, why that _almost universal_ profligacy prevails, which, by being productive of so much evil to the unfortunate individuals as well as the community at large, cannot be sufficiently deplored. before a child is perhaps able to lisp a sentence, it is carried by its ill-fated mother to the tap-room of an ale-house;[ ] in which are assembled multitudes of low company, many of whom have been perhaps reared in the same manner. the vilest and most profane and polluted language, accompanied by oaths and imprecations, is uttered in these haunts of idleness and dissipation.--children follow their parents during their progress to maturity, and are almost the constant witnesses of their besotted courses.--reduced, from their unfortunate habits, to the necessity of occupying a miserable half furnished lodging from week to week, there is no comfort at home.--no knowledge of frugal cookery exists, by which a nourishing and palatable meal can be provided, and frequently a sufficiency of fuel for that purpose is not accessible.--a succedaneum is found in the ale-house at three times the expence.--a common fire is provided for the guests, calculated to convey that warmth which could not be obtained at home; and food[ ] and liquor is furnished at an expence which too seldom leaves any part of the weekly earning for cloathing, and none at all for education.--in this manner is a large proportion of what may be denominated the lowest classes of the people reared in the metropolis;[ ] and the result is, that while many of the adults are lost to the state by premature death, from sottishness and irregularity, not a few of their offspring are never raised to manhood: but this is not all:--when by means of strong constitutions, they survive the shocks which nature has sustained in its progress to maturity under the influence of habits so exceedingly depraved, they are restrained by no principle of morality or religion,[ ] (for they know nothing of either,) and only wait for opportunities, to plunge into every excess and every crime. [footnote : it is even a practice with not a few of the labouring families in the eastern part of the town, to take lodgings in ale-houses.] [footnote : such is the thoughtless improvidence of this class of the labouring people, that they are generally the first who indulge themselves by eating oysters, lobsters, and pickled salmon, &c. when first in season, and long before these luxuries are considered as accessible to the middle ranks of the community; whose manners are generally as virtuous as the others are depraved.] [footnote : it is not to be inferred from this statement, that there are not to be found even among the lower classes of the labouring people in the metropolis, many instances of honest and virtuous poor, whose distresses are to be attributed to the calamity of a failure of employment, bad health, death of parents or children, and other causes which human prudence cannot prevent; and particularly where the want of opulent inhabitants in several of the eastern parishes, renders it necessary to assess _indigence_ for the support of _poverty_.--to these parishes and hamlets the poor resort, both from the nature of their employments, and the impossibility of finding habitations any where else.--they have perhaps no legal settlement where they reside, or the funds of the parish can afford but a very scanty and inadequate relief. depressed with sickness, and broke down and dispirited by extreme poverty, the little furniture and apparel of man, woman, and child, is carried to the pawn-broker's to obtain a scanty pittance for the immediate support of life, until at length there does not remain what is sufficient to cover nakedness.--in these miserable mansions the author has himself frequently witnessed scenes of distress, which would rend the heart of the most unfeeling of the human species.--a temporary and partial expedient has through the benevolence of the publick, been administered in the excellent institutions of _soup-houses_: but until the funds of the different parishes can be made _one common purse_, and an intelligent management substituted in the place of an ignorant and incompetent superintendance, the evil will not diminish.--to the opulent part of the community the burden would never be felt.--at present, where the most indigent are assessed, the rates are double and treble those in the rich parishes.--it is principally to this cause, that poverty is no where to be found in so great a degree, cloathed in the garb of the extremest misery and wretchedness, as in the metropolis.--and it is to this cause also, joined to various others explained in this chapter, _that above twenty thousand miserable individuals of various classes, rise up every morning without knowing how, or by what means they are to be supported, during the passing day; or where, in many instances, they are to lodge on the succeeding night_.] [footnote : the author has often had occasion to witness the extreme ignorance of the younger part of this class, when called upon to give evidence in judicial proceedings.--of the nature of an oath they had not the least conception,--nor even of the existence of a supreme being.] profligate and depraved as the lower orders of the people appear to have been for several centuries in this great metropolis, it would seem that the practice of married females resorting to public-houses, and mixing generally in tap-rooms with the idle and dissolute, is an evil habit of a very modern date; for the period is not even too remote to be recollected, since it was considered as disgraceful for females who pretended to any degree of modesty to be seen in a public-house.--it is however now to be lamented that the obloquy of thus exposing themselves has as little influence, as the rude and obscene language they uniformly hear uttered. _another cause_ of the increase of crimes, may be traced to the bad and immoral education of apprentices to mechanical employments. although many of their masters may not be, and certainly are not, composed of the class whose manners have just been depicted, yet their habits lead them too generally to public-houses, where no inconsiderable proportion of their earnings are expended;--where low gaming is introduced, producing ruin and distress to many families even among the inferior ranks, who might otherwise have moved through life with credit and reputation. the force of such an example on young minds is obvious.--no sooner does an apprentice advance towards the last year of his time than he thinks it incumbent upon him to follow the example of his master, by learning to _smoke_.--this accomplishment acquired (according to his conception), he is a fit associate for those who frequent public-houses. he resorts at first to those of a lower class, to avoid his master or his relations.--there he meets with depraved company; while he conceives he is following only the example of those whose manners and habits he has been taught, by example, to imitate, he is insensibly ensnared.--having arrived at the age of puberty, and meeting profligate females in those haunts of idleness, his passions become inflamed.--the force of evil example overpowers him.--he too becomes depraved.--money must be procured to administer to the new wants which are generated by depravity.--aided by the facilities held out by old iron shops, he pilfers from his master to supply those wants, or associates himself with thieves, whose acquaintance he made in progress of his seduction.[ ] [footnote : in the course of the author's investigations, in his official situation as a magistrate, he actually discovered that clubs of apprentice-boys were harboured in public-houses, for the purpose of supporting their fellow-apprentices who ran away from their masters. the means of thus indulging themselves in lewdness and debauchery was obtained by pilfering from their masters, and disposing of the property at old iron shops.] under the circumstances thus stated, where so many temptations assail the young and inexperienced, the transition from innocence to guilt is easy to be conceived.--and in a metropolis where there are seldom fewer than , apprentices bound to mechanical employments, the crimes which spring from this source must be very extensive.--that there are, however, many good and virtuous young men among the class of apprentices, who, from a better education, or being under the control of reputable masters, and attentive parents, escape the snare, or resist these temptations, is _certain_; and fortunate too for the best interests of society. it is to be lamented, however, that the major part, and particularly parish apprentices, have not always these advantages; and hence it is that so many become disorderly, and require the interference of legal authority and punishment for the purpose of compelling obedience and good conduct.[ ] [footnote : it is to be feared that much evil arises from the want of attention on the part of masters among the superior classes of tradesmen with respect to their apprentices, who too seldom consider the morals of their apprentices as a matter in which they have any concern.--it is even the practice to allow apprentices a certain sum of money weekly, for the purpose of enabling them to provide themselves out of doors, and to prevent the trouble of boarding them in the house. if it were possible for a master, after exerting all his ingenuity, to invent one mode more likely than another to ruin his apprentices, it is by adopting this plan. if he means to subject himself to great risques with respect to the security of his property, he will permit his apprentice, at the age of puberty when open to seduction, to be at large in this great town, where he is liable to be assailed by swindlers, cheats, and sharpers, who, availing themselves of the inexperience of youth, may corrupt the mind, and give it a wrong bias. the dangers arising from allowing apprentices to victual out of doors, extend much farther than masters are generally aware of: and they who suffer it do great injury to themselves, and even great injustice to their apprentices, whose morals they are virtually, at least, bound to preserve pure. this is not to be expected where apprentices are not under the eye of the master at meal-times. their sundays, in such cases, are their own, which they waste in idleness, not seldom in water-parties on the river, where they are introduced into low and bad company, which gives frequently a taint to their manners of the most injurious nature. the result is, that their master, without reflecting that he himself was the cause of their idleness, withdraws his confidence, and turns them adrift after their time expires, if not before; and in the end ruin, as might well be expected, inevitably ensues.] _another cause_ of the increase of crimes, arises from the number of individuals in various occupations among the lower and middling ranks of life, (and which must naturally be expected in a large metropolis) who, from their own mismanagement and want of industry, or attention to their business, are suddenly broke down, and in some degree excluded from the regular intercourse with society. unable to find employment, from want of character, or want of friends, with constant demands upon them for the means of subsistence to themselves and families, they resort to public-houses, under the influence of despondency, or to kill time which hangs heavy upon them. in these haunts of depravity they meet persons who perhaps have been in the like circumstances; but who have resorted to illegal lottery insurances, and other swindling devices for subsistence, under whose banners they inlist; and thus strengthen the phalanx of low gamblers, swindlers, and cheats, whose various pursuits have been developed in this work.--from one vice to another the transition is easy when the mind becomes depraved, and the pursuits which are ultimately followed, depend in a considerable degree on the persons with whom this class of men associate.--if at the low gaming-houses, to which from idle habits they are led to resort, they meet with highwaymen and footpads, they are easily persuaded to become associates in their iniquitous pursuits; or if in the wide range of their acquaintance, by living chiefly in public-houses, they become acquainted with venders of base money, they enter with equal facility into their views, as a means of supplying their pecuniary wants. in cases where they have been bred to ingenious mechanical employments, they embrace, wherever a proper opportunity offers, such propositions as may be made them, to become forgers of bank bills and notes, and coiners of counterfeit money. such is the lamentable progress of vice in the human mind, that by degrees it embraces eagerly what could not have been indured at the commencement of the career. _another cause_ of the increase of crimes in the metropolis and its environs, may be traced to the situation of idle and profligate menial servants out of place, and destitute of the means of obtaining situations from the loss of character.--these too, seek for resources in public-houses, where they soon become the associates of thieves, pickpockets, burglars, and highwaymen; and it is believed to be chiefly from this class, particularly _riding footmen_, and _postillions_, that the corps of highway robbers is constantly recruited.--while others less skilled in horsemanship become footpads, burglars, and pickpockets. with the major part of this class the transition is easy--depravity had previously taken hold of their minds--every other resource has failed them, and to this they resort, as soon as they can find means, to enlist in any gang that will receive them, where, to those who confine themselves chiefly to burglaries, their knowledge of the interior of the houses of their former masters, and their probable acquaintance with some of the female servants, will be a considerable recommendation, and even a ground of seduction. _another cause_, and no inconsiderable one, of the progress and increase of crimes may be developed, by contemplating the deplorable state and condition of the lower order of the jews in the metropolis, who are of the society of the dutch synagogue.[ ]--totally without education, and very seldom trained to any trade or occupation by which they can earn their livelihood by manual labour:--their youths excluded from becoming apprentices, and their females from hiring themselves generally as servants, on account of the superstitious adherence to the mere ceremonial of their persuasion, as it respects meat not killed by jews, nothing can exceed their melancholy condition, both with regard to themselves and society. thus excluded from these resources, which other classes of the community possess, they seem to have no alternative but to resort to those tricks and devices, which ingenuity suggests, to enable persons without an honest means of subsistence to live in idleness. [footnote : another class of jews which belong to the portuguese synagogue are generally opulent and respectable, and hold no community with the others; they use a different liturgy and their language is even different; their number does not exceed three thousand; they never intermarry with the jews of the dutch synagogue.--they generally pride themselves on their ancestry, and give their children the best education which can be obtained in the countries where they reside.--while the dutch jews (or rather _the german dutch jews_) get no education at all. even the most affluent of them are said to be generally unable either to read or write the language of the country which gave them birth.--they confine themselves to a bastard or vulgar hebrew which has little analogy to the original. the portuguese synagogue has been established in england ever since the usurpation.--their place of worship is in bevis marks.--the members of it being mostly wealthy are extremely attentive to their poor, among whom there is said not to be a single beggar or itinerant.--the brokers upon the exchange of the jewish persuasion, are all or chiefly of the portuguese synagogue. their number is limited to _twelve_ by a particular act of parliament.--originally this privilege was given gratis by the lord mayor, but afterwards _l._ was required, which has gradually increased to _one thousand guineas for each broker_. the schism between the two classes of jews prevail all over the world, though the rational jews treat the distinction as absurd. the german dutch jews, who may amount to from twelve to fifteen thousand have six synagogues, the principal of which are in _duke's place, leadenhall street_, and _church row, fenchurch street_. they observe the particular ritual of the german synagogue, and also include the _polish_, _russian_, and _turkish jews_, established in london.--with the exception of three or four wealthy individuals, and as many families who are in trade on the royal exchange, they are in general a very indigent class of people, through whose medium crimes are generated to a considerable extent.--their community is too poor to afford them adequate relief, whence they have resorted to the expedient of lending them small sums of money at interest to trade upon, which is required to be repaid monthly or weekly, as the case may be. otherwise they forfeit all claim to this aid.--the reproach arising from their evil practices and idleness, is said to have engaged the attention of the respectable part of both synagogues with a view to a remedy, but all their attempts have been heretofore unsuccessful.] the habits they thus acquire are the most mischievous and noxious to the community that can be conceived.--having connexions wherever the dock-yards are situated, as well as in several other large trading towns in the kingdom, they become in many respects the medium through which stolen goods are conveyed to and from the metropolis; and as their existence depends on this nefarious traffick, they keep alive a system of fraud and depredation which, perhaps, is generated in a greater degree by their peculiar situation in respect to society, than by any actual disposition on their parts to pursue these nefarious practices. even the system of supporting the poor of this community, by lending them small sums of money by which they may support themselves by a species of petty traffick, contributes in no small degree to the commission of crimes; since in order to render it productive to an extent equal to the wants of families who do not acquire any material aid by manual labour, they are induced to resort to unlawful means by dealing in stolen goods and in counterfeit money, by which they become public nuisances in the countries where they receive an asylum. as there appears in reality to be no distinction made by the rational part of the jewish persuasion, between the portuguese and the dutch synagogues, it is earnestly to be hoped that the opulent and respectable of the former community will lend a helping hand in devising some means of rescuing this part of the nation of the jews who reside in england, from the reproach, which it is to be feared, has been too justly cast upon them. policy dictates the measure, while humanity ardently pleads for it.--in so good a work every man of feeling, be his religious persuasion what it may, will join in promoting and carrying into effect a measure so beneficial to the community at large, by devising some means to render their labour productive; since it is clear to demonstration that to the idle habits of this numerous class of people, is to be ascribed a considerable proportion of the petty crimes, as well as some of the more atrocious offences by which the metropolis and the country is afflicted. _another cause_ of the increase and multiplication of crimes has arisen from the depraved morals of the aquatic labourers and others, employed on the wharfs and quays, and in ships, vessels, and craft, upon the river thames; and from the want, _until lately_, of an appropriate preventive system to check these depredations. the analogy between actual pillage and smuggling in the conception of nautical labourers, and the uncontrolled habit of plunder which too long existed, trained up myriads of delinquents who affixed in their minds no degree of moral turpitude to the offence; which of course extended itself both with respect to commercial and public property beyond all bounds, until a remedy was imperiously called for, and at length applied by means of an experimental system of police applicable to that object. _another cause, and certainly none of the least_, which has tended to facilitate the commission of crimes, has been the want of a proper control over persons of loose conduct and dishonest habits, who have opened shops for the purchase and sale of _old iron_, and _other metals--old stores--rags--old furniture--old building materials, and second-hand wearing apparel, and other goods_;--and _also cart-keepers_ for the collection and removal of these articles from place to place. the easy and concealed mode of disposing of pilfered articles, through the medium of these receptacles, has tended more to the corruption of the morals of youth, and to the multiplication of crimes, than it is possible to conceive; nor has the mode of licensing _pawnbrokers_, without a due regard to character and a more effectual control, been in many respects less mischievous to the community.--to the reputable part of this class of dealers it is degrading and even cruel that the reproach and stigma, arising from the nefarious practices of the fraudulent, should unavoidably in the public mind, attach upon those that are blameless, and fair in their dealings.--while the law admits of no power of discrimination, and no means of excluding improper characters exist, the evil must continue; and while it remains on the present footing, it must also be considered as no inconsiderable medium, by which both petty and more atrocious crimes are produced. _but perhaps the greatest source of delinquency and crimes is to be ascribed to ill-regulated public houses_, conducted by men of loose conduct and depraved morals--since it is in these receptacles that the corruption of morals originates.--it is here that the minds of youth are contaminated, and the conspiracies for the purpose of committing frauds and depredations on the public formed and facilitated. a disorderly and ill-regulated public-house, therefore, is one of the greatest nuisances that can exist in civil society.--innumerable are the temptations which are to be found in these haunts of idleness to seduce the innocent, and to increase the resources of the evil-disposed to do mischief. whatever tends to promote vice and dissipation, whether arising from low gaming, by means of cards, dice, dominós, shuffleboard, and other sedentary games; or fraudulent insurances in the lottery, calculated to fascinate and seduce the unwary, and to poison the minds of all ranks in the humble walks of vulgar life, is here to be found; in spite of every laudable precaution, exercised by magistrates, under the present system of police applicable to this object.--even prostitutes of the lowest cast are not seldom introduced, where the gains of the landlord are thereby to be promoted. it is in these receptacles that thieves and robbers of every description hold their orgies, and concert and mature their plans of depredation on the peaceful subject; and here too it not unfrequently happens, that their booty is deposited and concealed. it is here also that markets are held for the sale of base money, where every facility is afforded for the purpose of concealment, and assistance in escaping justice. in fact, there is scarce any moral evil by which _society is afflicted--the mind debauched--the virtuous parent_ and _master distressed_, and the _ruin of families and individuals affected_, which is not generated in public-houses. at present, in the metropolis and its environs, there are at least five thousand of these receptacles, of which it is computed that about one thousand change tenants from once to three times a year.--hence it follows that not less than two thousand individuals are in a floating state, either from one public-house to another, or perhaps, more frequently, from the alehouse to a gaol. when a depraved character loses his licence in one division of the metropolis, he generally finds means to obtain admission in another where he is not known. the separation of jurisdictions without a centre point, and the numerous changes which are constantly taking place, preclude the possibility of detection; while the facility, with which the worst characters obtain the certificates required by law, (which are too often signed, without the least previous inquiry, by the clergyman and parish officers as a matter of course,) enable them to effect their purpose; and such houses being generally of the inferior class in point of trade, every species of disorder is permitted for the purpose of obtaining custom. this is soon discovered by those who have criminal objects in view; and to such houses they generally resort, where it has sometimes been discovered that the landlord himself belongs to the gang; _and_ that he has become a publican the better to facilitate its designs. that the ale-houses are yet by far too numerous, is incontestibly proved by the frequent changes which take place in so large a proportion in the course of a year, while the irregularities which prevail render it equally clear that a more general control is necessary to prevent the mischiefs which have been detailed. it is chiefly in houses where the trade is inadequate to the support of the establishment that the greatest disorders prevail, as in such cases every lure is held out to invite customers, and to entice them to expend money.--and in return for this, where the landlord is not himself of the fraternity of thieves or receivers, he is induced at least to afford them his assistance, as a medium of concealment. if a plan could be devised, with equal advantage to the revenue, by the introduction of more innocent and less noxious gratifications, whereby the lower ranks of the people could be gradually led into better habits, much benefit would arise to the state, both with respect to health and morals. the quantity of beer, porter, gin, and compounds, which is sold in public-houses in the metropolis and its environs, has been estimated, after bestowing considerable pains in forming a calculation, at nearly , , _l._ a year.[ ] [footnote : in a tract entitled 'observations and facts relative to public-houses,' by the author of this work, the mode of conducting ale-houses in the metropolis, and the evils arising from this source of iniquity and idleness is very fully explained. by this publication it is discovered, after much investigation, that there is consumed and sold in the public-houses in and round the metropolis: , , pots of porter, ale, and twopenny £. , , gin and compounds from the distillers and rectifiers , ----------------- , , to which add pipes, tobacco, &c. at least , ----------------- total £. , , ] this immense sum, equal to double the revenue of some of the kingdoms and states of europe, independent of other evil consequences in producing indigence and promoting crimes, must in a certain degree debilitate manhood--in lessening the powers of animal life, and in shortening its duration long before the period arrives, when an adult ceases to contribute by his labours to the resources of the state. in this point of view, independent of considerations of a moral tendency, and of all the other train of evils which have been detailed, it would seem of importance, as a political measure, to check the growing propensity to consume a greater quantity of porter, beer, and ardent spirits, than is necessary to health.--to the state, indeed, it creates a revenue; but it is a revenue too dearly purchased if it wastes the human species--if it deprives the nation, prematurely, of the benefit of their labour, and occasions infinitely greater pecuniary pressures in the support of an indigent and helpless offspring, who must be reared again to manhood at the expence of the public; not to speak of the grain, labour, fuel, &c. unnecessarily consumed in creating this poison to the health, the morals, and comforts of the poor.[ ]--however unpopular it may appear in the view of those who have not fully considered the subject, it may be clearly demonstrated that a triple duty on malt spirits, and a much higher duty on strong beer and porter would be an act of the greatest humanity on the part of the legislature.--the present revenue might thus be secured, while that which is even of more importance to a state than any other consideration would be preserved--_the health and morals of the labouring people_. it is a mistaken notion, that a very large quantity of malt liquor is necessary to support labourers of any description.--after a certain moderate quantity is drank, it enervates the body, and stupefies the senses.--a coal-heaver who drinks from to pots of porter in the course of a day, would receive more real nourishment, and perform his labour with more ease and a greater portion of athletic strength, if only one-third of the quantity were consumed. he would also enjoy better health, and be fitter for his labour the following day. on a supposition that the excesses in which perhaps , of the labouring people in the metropolis _indulge_, shortens the natural period of their existence only five years each on an average, the labour of one million of years is lost in the lives of this class of men, after the expence is incurred in rearing them to maturity, which, during a period of years of adult labour, at _l._ a year, establishes a deficiency to the community of _twenty-five millions sterling_: independent of the numerous other train of evils, which arise to a nation from idle, dissolute and immoral habits, by which the rising generation is contaminated, and great inconvenience imposed on the innocent and peaceful subject, from the increase of crimes which are generated through this medium. [footnote : it is a curious and important fact, that during the period when distilleries were stopped in and , although bread, and every necessary of life was considerably higher than during the preceding year, the poor in that quarter of the town where the chief part reside were apparently more comfortable, paid their rents more regularly, and were better fed than at any period for some years before;--even although they had not the benefit of the extensive charities which were distributed in . this can only be accounted for by their being denied the indulgence of gin, which had become in a great measure inaccessible from its very high price. it may fairly be concluded, that the money formerly spent in this imprudent manner had been applied in the purchase of provisions and other necessaries to the amount of some hundred thousand pounds.--the effects of their being deprived of this baneful liquor was also evident in their more orderly conduct.--quarrels and assaults were less frequent, and they resorted seldomer to the pawnbrokers' shops: and yet during the chief part of this period bread was _d._ the quartern loaf, and meat higher than the preceding year, particularly pork, which arose in part from the stoppage of the distilleries; but chiefly from the scarcity of grain.] it is to be lamented, that in pursuing this subject, new sources giving origin and progress to crimes press upon the mind in the course of the inquiry. to the catalogue already detailed may be added, _gaming-houses_ of every description, particularly _houses of the lower cast_; but as this subject has been very fully handled in a preceding chapter, it will be unnecessary to do more than place it in the general list of causes, which have contributed exceedingly to the evils, which have afflicted society in this metropolis, and which can only be remedied by a _responsible police_, attaching particularly upon this baneful propensity by appropriate regulations. next to gaming, illicit trade or smuggling may be mentioned as a very productive source of criminality. the vast extent of the trade and revenues of the country; its insular situation, and the temptations arising from the magnitude of the duties, contribute exceedingly to the corruption of morals, not only of these engaged in illicit pursuits, but it is to be lamented also of the inferior officers themselves, whose duty it is to prevent this evil. severe and pointed as the laws unquestionably are with an immediate view to the prevention of this evil, experience proves how ineffectual they have been, since every idle and profligate character becomes a smuggler. but it is not merely the offence of smuggling as it relates to the revenue, which is to be deplored as a grievance to the public, since those on the sea coasts of the kingdom, concerned in such pursuits, are generally of ferocious habits, which produce such excesses and depredations upon the unfortunate, when suffering the calamity of shipwreck, as would disgrace the rudest savages. with contaminated minds, depraved hearts, men given up to such warfare upon helpless humanity, become fit instruments for every species of criminality.--_vagabonds by trade_, the transition from one offence to another is easy, and hence through this medium many culprits are added to the general catalogue of delinquency, which nothing can check or prevent but a system of police, attaching responsibility _some-where instead of no-where as at present_. crimes are also generated in no inconsiderable degree, by the evil examples exhibited in _prisons_, and by the length of time persons charged with offences are suffered to remain in gaols previous to their trial, particularly in the counties adjoining the metropolis, where they frequently are in confinement five and six months before the assizes.--if they were novices in villainy before, the education they receive in these seminaries, in the event of their escaping justice, returns them upon society, completely proselyted and instructed in the arts of mischief and depredation. nor have the unequal scale of punishments, and the ultimate unconditional pardons, dictated no doubt by the purest motives of humanity, a less tendency to generate new crimes. encouraged by the chances of escaping free, _even after conviction_, many delinquents pursue their evil courses, trusting ultimately to this resource, if other devices shall fail. to shew mankind that crimes are sometimes wholly pardoned, and that punishment is not the necessary consequence, is to nourish the flattering hope of impunity, and is the cause of their considering every punishment which is actually inflicted, as an act of injustice and oppression. let the legislator be _tender_, _indulgent_, and _humane_; but let the executors of the laws be inexorable in punishing;--at least to a certain extent. chap. xii. _the consideration of the causes of the progress and increase of crimes pursued.--the condition of the unhappy females, who support themselves by prostitution--their pitiable case.--the progress from innocence to profligacy explained.--the morals of youth corrupted by the multitudes of prostitutes in the streets.--these temptations excite desires which suggest undue means of obtaining money.--apprentices and clerks are seduced--masters are robbed--parents are afflicted.--the miserable consequences of prostitution explained.--the impossibility of preventing its existence in a great metropolis.--the propriety of lessening the evil:--by stripping it of its indecency and much of its immoral tendency.--the shocking indecency which has lately been suffered by prostitutes at the theatres.--the number of prostitutes in the metropolis estimated--suggestions for rendering the consequences arising from female prostitution less noxious to society.--the advantages of the measure in reducing the mass of turpitude.--reasons offered why the interests of morality and religion will be promoted by prescribing rules with respect to prostitutes.--the example of holland, italy, and the east indies quoted.--strictures on the offensive manners of the company who frequent public gardens:--imputable to the want of a proper police.--tea gardens under a proper police might be rendered beneficial to the state.--the ballad singers might also be rendered instruments in giving a right turn to the minds of the vulgar.--crimes generated by immoral books and songs.--responsibility as it relates to the execution of the laws rests no where at present.--the nature and advantages of the police system explained._ in addition to the prominent causes, which contribute to the origin and the increase of crimes, which have been developed in the preceding chapter, there are other sources of a minor nature still to be traced, from which infinite evils to the community spring. among these the most important is, the state and condition of the unhappy females, who support themselves by prostitution in this great metropolis. in contemplating their case, it is impossible to avoid dropping a tear of pity.--many of them perhaps originally seduced from a state of innocence, while they were the joy and comfort of their unhappy parents. many of them born and educated to expect a better fate, until deceived by falsehood and villainy, they see their error when it is too late to recede. in this situation, abandoned by their relations and friends; deserted by their seducers, and at large upon the world; loathed and avoided by those who formerly held them in estimation, what are they to do? in the present unhappy state of things they seem to have no alternative, but to become the miserable instruments of promoting and practising that species of seduction and immorality, of which they themselves were the victims.[ ] and what is the result?--it is pitiable to relate.--they are compelled of necessity to mingle with the abandoned herd, who have long been practised in the walks of infamy, and they too become speedily polluted and depraved.--oaths, imprecations, and obscene language, by degrees, become familiar to their ears, and necessity compels them to indure, and at length to imitate, and practise in their turn, upon the unwary youth, who too easily falls into the snare. [footnote : it is in the first stage of seduction, before the female mind becomes vitiated and depraved, that asylums are most useful. if persons in this unhappy situation had it in their power to resort to a medium, whereby they might be reconciled to their relations, while uncontaminated by the vices attached to _general prostitution_, numbers, who are now lost, might be saved to society.] thus it is from the multitudes of those unhappy females, that assemble now in all parts of the town, that the morals of the youth are corrupted. that unnecessary expences are incurred; and undue, and too often criminal, means are resorted to, for the purpose of gratifying passions, which but for these temptations, which constantly assail them in almost every street in the metropolis, would not have been thought of. through this medium _apprentices, clerks and other persons in trust_ are seduced from the paths of honesty--masters are plundered, and parents are afflicted; while many a youth, who might have become the pride of his family--a comfort to the declining years of his parents, and an ornament to society, exchanges a life of virtue and industry, for the pursuits of the gambler, the swindler, and the vagabond. nor is the lot of these poor deluded females less deplorable. although some few of them may obtain settlements, while others bask for a while in the temporary sun-shine of ease and splendour, the major part end a short life in misery and wretchedness. what has become of the multitudes of unfortunate females, elegant in their persons, and sumptuous in their attire, who were seen in the streets of the metropolis, and at places of public amusement twenty years ago? alas! could their progress be developed, and their ultimate situations or exit from the world disclosed, it would lay open a catalogue of sufferings and affliction, beyond what the most romantic fancy could depict or exhibit to the feeling mind. exposed to the rude insults of the inebriated and the vulgar:--the impositions of brutal officers and watchmen, and to the chilling blasts of the night, during the most inclement weather, in thin apparel, partly in compliance with the fashion of the day, but more frequently from the pawnbroker's shop rendering their necessary garments inaccessible--diseases, where their unhappy vocation does not produce them, are generated. no pitying hand appears to help them in such situations. the feeling parent or relation is far off. an abandoned monster of the same sex, inured in the practice of infamy and seduction, instead of the consolation which sickness requires, threatens to turn the unhappy victim out of doors, when the means of subsistence are cut off, and the premium for shelter is no longer forth-coming; or perhaps the unfeeling landlord of a miserable half-furnished lodging afflicts the poor unhappy female, by declarations equally hostile to the feelings of humanity, till at length turned out into the streets, she languishes and ends her miserable days in an hospital or a workhouse, or perhaps perishes in some inhospitable hovel alone, without a friend to console her, or a fellow-mortal to close her eyes in the pangs of dissolution. if no other argument could be adduced in favour of some arrangements, calculated to stop the progress of female prostitution, compassion for the sufferings of the unhappy victims would be sufficient; but other reasons occur equally powerful, why this evil should be controlled. to prevent its existence, even to a considerable extent, in so great a metropolis as london, is as impossible as to resist the torrent of the tides. it is an evil therefore which must be endured while human passions exist: but it is at the same time an evil which may not only be lessened, but rendered less noxious and dangerous to the peace and good order of society: it may be stript of its indecency, and also of a considerable portion of the danger attached to it, to the youth of both sexes. the lures for the seduction of youth passing along the streets in the course of their ordinary business, may be prevented by a police, applicable to this object, without either infringing upon the feelings of humanity or insulting distress; and still more is it practicable to remove the noxious irregularities, which are occasioned by the indiscreet conduct, and the shocking behaviour of women of the town, and their still more blameable paramours, in openly insulting public morals; and rendering the situation of modest women at once irksome and unsafe, either in places of public entertainment, or while passing along the most public streets of the metropolis, particularly in the evening. this unrestrained licence given to males and females, in the walks of prostitution, was not known in former times at places of public resort, where there was at least an affectation of decency. to the disgrace, however, of the police the evil has been suffered to increase; and the boxes of the theatres often exhibit scenes, which are certainly extremely offensive to modesty, and contrary to that decorum which ought to be maintained, and that protection to which the respectable part of the community are entitled, against indecency and indecorum, when their families, often, composed of young females, visit places of public resort. in this instance, the induring such impropriety of conduct, so contrary to good morals, marks strongly the growing depravity of the age. to familiarize the eyes and ears of the innocent part of the sex to the scenes which are often exhibited in the theatres, is tantamount to carrying them to a school of vice and debauchery-- vice is a monster of such frightful mien, that to be hated needs but to be seen; yet seen too oft--familiar with her face, we first endure--then pity--then embrace. for the purpose of understanding more clearly, by what means it is possible to lessen the evils arising from female prostitution in the metropolis, it may be necessary to view it in all its ramifications. in point of extent it certainly exceeds credibility: but although there are many exceptions,--the great mass, (whatever their exterior may be,) are mostly composed of women who have been in a state of menial servitude, and of whom not a few, from the love of idleness and dress, with (in this case) _the misfortune of good looks_, have partly from inclination, not seldom from previous seduction and loss of character, resorted to prostitution as a livelihood. they are still, however, objects of compassion, although under the circumstances incident to their situation they cannot be supposed to experience those poignant feelings of distress, which are peculiar to women who have moved in a higher sphere and who have been better educated.-- _the whole may be estimated as follows:_ . of the class of well educated women it is earnestly hoped the number does not exceed , . of the class composed of persons above the rank of menial servants perhaps , . of the class who may have been employed as menial servants, or seduced in very early life, it is conjectured in all parts of the town, including wapping, and the streets adjoining the river, there may not be less, who live wholly by prostitution, than , ------ , . of those in different ranks in society, who live partly by prostitution, including the multitudes of low females, who cohabit with labourers and others without matrimony, there may be in all, in the metropolis, about , ------ total , when a general survey is taken of the metropolis--the great numbers among the higher and middle classes of life, who live unmarried--the multitudes of young men yearly arriving at the age of puberty--the strangers who resort to the metropolis--the seamen and nautical labourers employed in the trade of the river thames, who amount at least to , --and the profligate state of society in vulgar life, the intelligent mind will soon be reconciled to the statement, which at first view would seem to excite doubts, and require investigation. but whether the numbers of these truly unfortunate women are a few thousands less or more is of no consequence in the present discussion, since it is beyond all doubt, that the evil is of a magnitude that is excessive, and imperiously calls for a remedy.--not certainly a remedy against the possibility of female prostitution, for it has already been stated, that it is a misfortune that must be endured in large societies.--all that can be attempted is, to divest it of the faculty of extending its noxious influence beyond certain bounds, and restrain those excesses and indecencies which have already been shewn to be so extremely noxious to society, and unavoidably productive of depravity and crimes. the author is well aware, that he treads on tender ground, when in suggesting any measure, however salutary it may be in lessening the calendars of delinquency, _it_ shall have the appearance of giving a public sanction to female prostitution. under the influence of strong prejudices long rooted in the human mind, it may be in vain to plead _plus apud me ratio valebit quàm vulgi opinio_. if however the political maxim be true--_qui non vetat peccare, cum possit, jubet_--it certainly follows, that by suffering an evil to continue, when we have it in our power, in a great measure, to lessen or prevent it, we do _violence to reason_ and _to humanity_.--that a prudent and discreet regulation of prostitutes in this great metropolis, would operate powerfully, not only in gradually diminishing their numbers, but also in securing public morals against the insults to which they are exposed, both in the open streets and at places of public entertainment, cannot be denied. that young men in pursuit of their lawful business in the streets of this metropolis, would be secured against that ruin and infamy, which temptations thus calculated to inflame the passions, have brought upon many, who might otherwise have passed through life as useful and respectable members of society, is equally true:--while _frauds_, _peculations_ and _robbery_, often perpetrated for the purpose of supporting those unhappy women, with whom connections have been at first formed in the public streets (and in which they themselves are not seldom the chief instruments) would be prevented. were such proper regulations once adopted, the ears and eyes of the wives and daughters of the modest and unoffending citizens, who cannot afford to travel in carriages, would no longer be insulted by gross and polluted language, and great indecency of behaviour, while walking the streets. indeed it is to be feared, that the force of evil example, in unavoidably witnessing such scenes, may have debauched many females, who might otherwise have lived a virtuous and useful life. whatever consequences might be derived from a total removal of prostitutes (if such a measure could be conceived practicable) with respect to the wives and daughters, who compose the decent and respectable families in the metropolis, this apprehension is allayed by the proposed measure. while virtue is secured against seduction, the misery of these unhappy females will also be lessened. their numbers will be decreased, and a check will be given, not only to female seduction by the force of evil example, but to the extreme degree of depravity, which arises from the unbounded latitude which is at present permitted to take place, from the unavailing application of the laws, made for the purpose of checking this evil. if it were either politic or humane to carry them into effect, the state of society where such members are congregated together render it impossible. although by the arrangement proposed, a kind of sanction would, in appearance, be given to the existence of prostitution, no ground of alarm ought to be excited, if it shall be proved, that it is to lessen the mass of turpitude which exists; that it is to produce a solid and substantial good to the community, which it is not possible to obtain by any other means. what therefore can rationally be opposed to such an arrangement? not surely religion, for it will tend to advance it: not morality, for the effect of the measure will increase and promote it; not that it will sanction and encourage what will prove offensive and noxious in society, since all that is noxious and offensive is by this arrangement to be removed.--where then lies the objection?--_in vulgar prejudice only._--by those of inferior education, whose peculiar habits and pursuits have generated strong prejudices, this excuse may be pleaded; but by the intelligent and well-informed it will be viewed through a more correct medium. ingenuous minds are ever open to conviction; and it is the true characteristic of virtuous minds, where they cannot overcome or destroy, to lessen as much as possible the evils of human life. to the numerous unhappy females in the metropolis who live by prostitution, this observation peculiarly applies.--the evil is such as must be endured to a certain extent--because by no human power can it be overcome; but it can certainly be very much diminished--perhaps only in one way--namely, _by prescribing rules_--"thus far shall you go, and no farther"--the rules of decorum shall be strictly preserved in the streets and in public places. in such situations women of the town shall no longer become instruments of seduction and debauchery. it may be asked, will not all this promote the cause of religion and morality:--admitted; but could not this be done without giving the sanction of the legislature to pursuits of infamy. the answer is obvious:--the legislature has done every thing already short of this, to effect the object; but instead of promoting good, the evil has increased; and it is to be lamented _that it is daily increasing_.--instead of the walks of prostitutes being confined as formerly, to one or two leading streets in westminster, they are now to be found in every part of the metropolis--even within the jurisdiction of the city of london; where the dangers arising from seduction are the greatest, they abound the most of all of late years. in adopting the proposed measure, the example of holland may be quoted, where, under its former government, the morals of the people in general were supposed the purest of any in europe, while the police system was considered as among the best. italy has also long shown an example, where prostitutes were actually licensed, with a view to secure chastity against the inroads of violence, and to prevent the public eye from being insulted by scenes of lewdness and indecorum. female chastity, which is highly regarded by the natives of india, is preserved by rearing up a certain class of females, who are under the conduct of discreet matrons, in every town and village; and with whom, under certain circumstances, an indiscriminate intercourse is permitted--a measure of political necessity. their morals, however, in other respects are strictly guarded, and their minds are not susceptible of that degree of depravity which prevails in europe. they are taught the accomplishments of singing and dancing--they exhibit at public entertainments, and are even called upon to assist at religious ceremonies. the unrestrained latitude which is permitted to unfortunate females in this metropolis, is certainly an inlet to many crimes. the places of resort in summer, and particularly the public gardens, which were formerly an innocent relaxation to sober and discreet families, can now no longer be attended with comfort or satisfaction, from the offensive manners of the company who frequent such places. it is not that the gardens are in themselves a nuisance, or that to the inferior exhibitions any blame is to be imputed; for both might be rendered the medium of that rational recreation so necessary both for the health and comfort of the middling or lower ranks of the people, to whom _policy_ and _reason_ must admit occasional amusements are necessary.--if so, what can be more innocent, or better calculated for health and occasional recreation than the assemblage of decent people in a tea garden?-- many of them, however, have been shut up, and this recreation denied to the people, because prostitutes resorted to those places; insulted public morals,--promoted lewdness and debauchery, and banished modest and decent families. this, if the true cause was developed, is not to be imputed to the place, which in itself was favourable to the innocent amusement of the people, but to a deficiency in the police system.--it was not the gardens nor their keepers that offended.--the evil arose from the want of proper regulations, to restrain these excesses and to keep them within bounds. such places of resort under appropriate police regulations, might be rendered a considerable source of revenue to the state, while they added greatly to the comfort and innocent recreation of the people.--by shutting up the gardens the people are driven to the ale-houses, where both air and exercise, so necessary to health, are denied them, and where the same excesses often prevail, tending in a still greater degree, to the corruption of morals. wherever multitudes of people are collected together, as in a great metropolis like london, amusements become indispensably necessary.--and it is no inconsiderable feature in the science of police to encourage, protect, and controul such as tend to innocent recreation, to preserve the good humour of the public, and to give the minds of the people a right bias. this is only attainable through the medium of a well-regulated police.--it is perfectly practicable to render public gardens as innocent and decorous as a private assembly: although under the present deficient system they are the greatest of all nuisances.--decent and respectable families are compelled to deny themselves the privilege of visiting them, because no restraint is put upon indecency, and vice reigns triumphant. it is because things are either done by halves, or nothing is done at all to secure the privileges of innocence, that the sober and harmless part of the community are compelled to forego those recreations which contributed to their comfort: while the young and thoughtless, heedless of the consequences and inexperienced as to the effect, rush into the vortex of dissipation, and unable to discriminate, become victims to the licentiousness which is suffered to prevail. since recreation is necessary to civilized society, all public exhibitions should be rendered subservient to the improvement of morals, and to the means of infusing into the mind a love of the constitution, and a reverence and respect for the laws.--how easy would it be under the guidance of an appropriate police, to give a right bias through the medium of public amusements to the dispositions of the people.--how superior this to the odious practice of besotting themselves in ale-houses, hatching seditious and treasonable designs, or engaged in pursuits of the vilest profligacy, destructive to health and morals. even the common ballad-singers in the streets might be rendered instruments useful under the controul of a well-regulated police, in giving a better turn to the minds of the lowest classes of the people.--they too must be amused, and why not, if they can be amused innocently.--if through this medium they can be taught loyalty to the sovereign, love to their country, and obedience to the laws, would it not be wise and politic to sanction it? if in addition to this, moral lessons could occasionally be conveyed, shewing in language familiar to their habits, the advantages of _industry and frugality_--the pleasure of living independent of the pawnbroker and the publican--the disgrace and ruin attached to drunkenness and dishonesty, and the glory and happiness of a _good husband_, a _good father_, and _an honest man_, might it not reasonably be expected, that in a religious as well as a moral point of view, advantages would be gained, while the people were both instructed and amused? crimes have been generated in a considerable degree both by immoral and seditious books and songs.--it is true the laws are open to punishment. the road however to justice, with respect to the former, is circuitous and difficult, while in the latter case their execution is felt to be _harsh_, _severe_, and _ultimately ineffectual_: hence licentious and mischievous publications prevail, and ballad-singers are suffered often to insult decency, and to disseminate poison in every street in the metropolis. like many other evils they remain in spite of the statutes made to prevent them.--they were evils suffered centuries ago where the laws proved equally unavailing: but the state of society and manners rendered them less dangerous. in the machine of government there are many component parts where responsibility attaches;--_but with respect to objects of police, it would seem at present to rest no where_, and hence is explained at once, the want of energy in the execution of our laws, and why so many excellent statutes remain a dead letter.--to live encircled by _fears_ arising from uncontrolled excesses of the human passions, either leading to turpitude or terminating in the commission of crimes, _is to live in misery_.--police is an improved state of society, which counteracts these excesses by giving energy and effect to the law. it is like the mechanical power applied to an useful machine, devoid of which, it remains without motion, or action, and without benefit. "government," _says the benevolent hanway_, "originates from the love of order.--watered by police it grows up to maturity, and in course of time spreads a luxuriant comfort and security.--cut off its branches, and the mere trunk, however strong it may appear, can afford no shelter." chap. xiii. _indigence a cause of the increase of crimes.--the system with respect to the casual poor erroneous.--the miserable condition of many who seek for an asylum in the metropolis.--the unhappy state of broken-down families, who have seen better days.--the effect of indigence on the offspring of the sufferers.--the discovery of the children of unfortunate families applying for soup at the establishments.--the unparalleled philanthropy of the opulent part of the community.--estimate of the private and public benevolence amounting to , l. a year.--the noble munificence of the merchants.--an appeal to the exalted virtue of the opulent, who have come forward in acts of humanity.--the deplorable state of the lower ranks attributed to the present system of the poor laws.--an institution to inquire into the causes of mendicity in the metropolis explained.--the state of the casual poor resumed.--the abuses and inefficacy of the relief received.--a new system proposed with respect to them and vagrants in the metropolis.--its advantages explained.--the distinction between poverty and indigence explained.--the poor divided into five classes, with suggestions applicable to each.--the evil examples in workhouses a great cause of the corruption of morals.--the statute of elizabeth considered.--the defective system of execution exposed--confirmed by the opinion of lord hale.--a partial remedy proposed in respect to vagrant and casual poor.--a public institution recommended for the care of this class of poor, under the direction of three commissioners.--their functions explained.--a proposition for raising a fund of l. from the parishes for the support of the institution, and to relieve them from the casual poor.--reasons why the experiment should be tried.--the assistance of sir frederick eden, and other gentlemen of talents, who have turned their thoughts to the poor, attainable.--the advantages which would result to the community, from the united efforts of men of investigation and judgment, previous to any final legislative regulation.--conclusion._ indigence, in the present state of society, may be considered as a principal cause of the increase of crimes. the system which prevails in the metropolis, with respect to these unfortunate individuals who are denominated the _casual poor_, will be found on minute inquiry to be none of the least considerable of the causes, which lead to the corruption of morals, and to the multiplication of minor offences in particular. the number of persons, who with their families, find their way to the metropolis, from the most remote quarters of great britain and ireland, is inconceivable. in hopes of finding employment they incur an immediate and constant expence, for lodging and subsistence, until at length their little all is in the pawnbrokers' shops, or sold to raise money for the necessaries of life. if they have been virtuously brought up in the country, despondency seizes upon their minds, in consequence of the disappointments and hardships, their adventurous or incautious conduct has doomed them to suffer; which as it applies to the most deserving of this class, who will not steal, and are ashamed to beg, often exceeds any thing that the human mind can conceive. their parochial settlements are either at a great distance, or perhaps as natives of scotland or ireland, they are without even this resource. the expence of removing, as the law directs, is too serious a charge to be incurred by the parish where accident has fixed them. they are treated with neglect and contumely by the parochial officers; and even occasionally driven to despair. willing to labour, but bereft of any channel or medium through which the means of subsistence might be procured. it is assigned to no person to hear their mournful tale, who might be able to place them in a situation, where they might gain a subsistence; and under such circumstances it is much to be feared, that not a few of them either actually perish for want, or contract diseases which ultimately terminate in premature death. such is frequently the situation of the more decent and virtuous class of the labouring people, who come to seek employment in the metropolis. the more profligate who pursue the same course have generally other resources. where honest labour is not to be procured, they connect themselves with those who live by petty or more atrocious offences, and contribute in no small degree to the increase of the general phalanx of delinquents. the young female part of such families too often become prostitutes, while the males pursue acts of depredation upon the public, by availing themselves of the various resources, which the defects in the police system allow. in addition to the families who thus resort to the capital, young men frequently wander up who have become liable to the penalties of the laws, in consequence of being unable to find security for the support of a natural child in their own parish; or who perhaps have incurred the punishment due to some other offence.--without money, without recommendations, and bereft of friends, and perhaps afraid of being known, they resort to low public houses, where they meet with thieves and rogues, who not unfrequently in this way recruit their gangs, as often as the arm of justice diminishes their numbers. but it is to be lamented, that in contemplating the mass of indigence, which, in its various ramifications, produces distresses more extensive and more poignant than perhaps in any other spot in the world, (paris excepted) its origin is to be traced in almost every rank of society; and though sometimes the result of unavoidable misfortune, is perhaps more frequently generated by idleness, inattention to business, and indiscretion. but at all events, the tear of pity is due to the helpless and forlorn offspring of the criminal or indolent, who become objects of compassion, not only as it relates to their immediate subsistence; but much more with respect to their future situations in life. it is in the progress to the adult state, that the infants of parents, broken down by misfortunes, almost unavoidably learn, from the pressure of extreme poverty, to resort to devices which early corrupt their morals, and mar their future success and utility in life. under the influence of these sad examples, and their necessary consequences, do many females become prostitutes, who in other circumstances, might have been an ornament to their sex, while the males, by contracting early in life habits that are pernicious, become, in many instances, no less noxious to society. familiarized in infancy to the pawnbroker's shop, and to other even less reputable means of obtaining temporary subsistence, they too soon become adepts in falsehood and deceit. imperious necessity has given an early spring to their ingenuity. they are generally full of resource, which in good pursuits might render them useful and valuable members of the community: but unhappily their minds have acquired a wrong bias, and they are reared insensibly in the walks of vice, without knowing, in many instances, that they are at all engaged in evil pursuits. in all these points of view, from indigence is to be traced the great origin and the progress of crimes. in attending the different _soup establishments_ (where , indigent families, at the expence of one halfpenny per head, have a meal furnished every day during the winter)[ ] the author has observed, with a mixture of pain and satisfaction, particularly at one of them, the children of unfortunate and reduced families, who, from their appearance, have moved in a higher sphere, the humble suitors for this frugal and nourishing aliment. [footnote : see page and for an account of this charity.] to have contributed in any degree to the relief of distress rendered painful in the extreme from the recollection of better days, is an ample reward to those benevolent individuals, who have joined in the support and conduct of an undertaking, of all others the most beneficial that perhaps was ever devised, for the purpose of assisting and relieving suffering humanity. while the wretchedness, misery and crimes, which have been developed, and detailed in this work, cannot be sufficiently deplored, it is a matter of no little exultation, that in no country or nation in the world, and certainly in no other metropolis, does there exist among the higher and middle ranks of society, an equal portion of philanthropy and benevolence.--here are to be discovered the extremes of vice and virtue, strongly marked by the existing turpitude on one hand, and the noble instances of charitable munificence, displayed by the opulent part of the community, on the other. nothing can place this in a stronger point of view, and perhaps nothing will astonish strangers more than the following summary estimate of the various institutions, supported chiefly by voluntary contributions, in addition to the legal assessments, all tending to ameliorate and better the condition of human life, under the afflicting circumstances of indigence and disease.[ ] [footnote : for a specific account of these institutions, see the chapter on municipal police.] estimate. . asylums for the relief of objects of charity £. and humanity , . asylums and hospitals, for the sick, lame, and diseased , . institutions for benevolent, charitable, and humane purposes , . private charities , . charity schools for educating the poor , . to which add the annual assessments for the poor rates, paid by the inhabitants of the metropolis and its environs , total estimated amount of the annual sums paid for the support and benefit of the poor in the --------- metropolis, &c. £. , . besides the endowed establishments, for which the poor are chiefly indebted to our ancestors , --------- total £. , in addition to this, it is highly proper to mention the noble benevolence, which has been displayed by the opulent of all ranks, but particularly the merchants, in the very large sums which have been, at various times, subscribed for the relief of the brave men, who have been maimed and wounded, and for the support of the widows, orphans, and relations of those who have meritoriously lost their lives in fighting the battles of their country. such exalted examples of unbounded munificence the history of no other nation records. it is to this source of elevated virtue, and nobleness of mind, that an appeal is made, on the present occasion, in behalf of those unhappy fellow-mortals; who, in spite of the unexampled liberality which has been displayed, still require the fostering hand of philanthropy. the cause of these distresses has been explained; and also the evils which such a condition in human life entails upon society. it is not pecuniary aid that will heal this _gangrene_: this _corruption of morals_. there must be the application of a correct system of police, calculated to reach the root and origin of the evil.--without _system_, _intelligence_, _talents_, and _industry_, united in all that relates to the affairs of the poor, millions may be wasted as millions have already been wasted, without bettering their condition. in all the branches of the science of political oeconomy, there is none which requires so much skill and knowledge of men and manners, as that which relates to this particular object: and yet, important as it is to the best interests of the community, the management of a concern, in which the very foundation of the national prosperity is involved, is suffered to remain, as in the rude ages, when society had not assumed the bold features of the present period,--in the hands of changeable, and in many instances, unlettered agents; wholly incompetent to a task at all times nice and difficult in the execution, and often irksome and inconvenient. one great feature of this evil, on which it is deplorable to reflect, is, that nearly one million of the inhabitants of a country, the utmost population of which is supposed to be short of nine millions, should be supported in part or in whole by the remaining eight. in spite of all the ingenious arguments which have been used in favour of a system admitted to be wisely conceived in its origin, the effects it has produced incontestably prove, that with respect to the mass of the poor, there is something radically wrong in the execution. if it were not so, it is impossible that there could exist in the metropolis such an inconceivable portion of human misery, amidst examples of munificence and benevolence unparalleled in any age or country in the world. impressed with these sentiments, so far as they apply to the state of indigence in the metropolis, a design has been sanctioned by the _benevolent society for bettering the condition of the poor_, the object of which is to establish a department for inquiring into the history, life, and the causes of the distress of every person who asks relief in any part of the metropolis: not with a view to support these unfortunate persons in idleness and vice; but to use those means which talents, attention, and humanity can accomplish--(means which are beyond the reach of parochial officers), for the purpose of enabling them to assist themselves.[ ] [footnote : an office has for some time past been instituted under the direction of _mathew martin, esq._ assisted by one or two philanthropic individuals, for inquiring into cases and causes of distress.--the generality of the poor persons have been invited to the office by the distribution of tickets, directing them when and where they are to apply. on such occasions a small relief has been afforded, arising from a fund constituted by private benevolence;--but the chief advantage which these poor people have derived has been from the consolatory advice given them, and still more from the assistance afforded by the indefatigable industry, and laudable zeal of mr. martin, in getting those into workhouses who have parochial settlements in the metropolis, or assisting in procuring the means of passing them to their parishes, where such settlements are in the country. seasonable pecuniary relief has been also extended in certain cases, and small loans of money, made to enable those who are able to work to redeem their apparel, and tools to rescue them from despondence, and to help themselves by their own labour, in such employments as they could either themselves obtain, or as could be procured for them. from the beginning of the year to the end of the year , mr. martin investigated the cases of poor persons, who attended him in consequence of the tickets which were distributed.--of these were men; the greater part maimed or disabled by age or sickness, only two of whom had any legal settlement in london.--of the women, in number, were widows, about one-third were aged--some crippled, and others distressed for want of work, while many were embarrassed by ignorance of the mode of obtaining parochial relief, or by the fear of applying for it--of the wives, in most cases, the difficulty arose from want of work or incapacity of doing it, on account of a child in arms. there were cases of very great distress. above half had two or more children. some of them infants, and the chief part too young to work. of the women claimed settlements in london and westminster-- in different parts of england-- belonged to scotland and ireland, and the remaining said they could give no account of their place of settlement. in most instances by an application to their parishes, and in some to their friends, mr. martin was enabled to obtain effectual relief to all of them; the gift of a little food, and hearing their melancholy story, afforded some comfort; and had a small fund been appropriated to this object, it might have been possible to have enabled those who were in health to have earned a livelihood. see th report of the _society for bettering the condition of the poor_.] in the metropolis the magistrates interfere very little in parochial relief, except when appeals are made to them in particular cases, or when called upon to sign orders of removal, which is generally done as a matter of course. hence it is that the poor are left almost entirely to the management of the parochial officers for the time being, who frequently act under the influence of ignorance or caprice, or are irritated by the impudent importunity of the profligate gin-drinking poor. these officers also, it is to be remembered, have private affairs which necessarily engage the chief part of their attention, and are frequently no less incapable than unwilling to enter on those investigations which might enable them to make the proper discriminations: the modest and shame-faced poor are thus frequently shut out from relief, while the vociferous and idle succeed in obtaining pecuniary assistance, which is soon improvidently dissipated. the distress which is thus shewn to prevail, by no means arises from the want of competent funds:--the misfortune is, that from the nature of the present mode of management it is not possible to apply these funds beneficially for the proper relief of those for whom they were intended. a much more moderate assessment, under a regular and proper management, would remove great part of the evil. the expence of the class of persons denominated _casual poor_, who have no settlement in any parish in the metropolis, amounts to a large sum annually.--in the united parishes of st. giles in the fields, and st. george, bloomsbury, this expence amounted to _l._ in the year . it arose from the support of about poor natives of ireland, who but for this aid must have become vagrants. the shocking abuse of the vagrant passes previous to the year , produced the act of the geo. iii. cap. . which requires that rogues and vagabonds should be first publicly whipt, or confined seven days in the house of correction, (females to be imprisoned only, and in no case whipped) before they are passed, as directed by the act of the geo. ii. c. . hence it is that so many who are either on the brink of vagrancy or have actually received alms, are permitted to remain a burden on the parishes; the magistrates being loth to incur the charge of inhumanity, by strictly following the letter of the act, in whipping or imprisoning poor miserable wretches, whose indigence have rendered relief necessary. in all the parishes within and without the walls, including the bills of mortality, &c. it is not improbable that the casual charity given in this way may amount to , _l._ a year. the loose manner in which it is given, and the impossibility either of a proper discrimination, or of finding in the distributing these resources, that time for investigation which might lead to the solid benefit of the pauper, by restoring him to a capacity of earning his own livelihood, makes it highly probable that instead of being useful, this large sum is perhaps hurtful, to the major part of the poor who receive it. the trifle they receive, from being injudiciously given, and frequently to get rid of the clamour and importunity of the most profligate, is too often spent immediately in the gin-shop.--no inquiry is made into the circumstances of the family--no measures are pursued to redeem the apparel locked up in the pawnbrokers' shop, although a small sum would frequently recover the habiliments of a naked and starving family--no questions are asked respecting the means they employ to subsist themselves by labour; and no efforts are used to procure employment for those who are willing to labour, but have not the means of obtaining work. hence it is that poverty, under such circumstances, contributes in no small degree to the multiplication of crimes. the profligate thus partly supported, too often resorts to pilfering pursuits to fill up the chasm, and habits of idleness being once obtained, labour soon becomes irksome. why should not the whole nation, but particularly the metropolis, be considered, so far at least as regards the vagrant and casual poor, as one family, and be placed under the review of certain persons who might be considered as worthy of the trust, and might devote their time sedulously to that object?--were such an establishment, instituted, and supported in the first instance by a sum from each parish, equal to the casual relief they have each given on an average of the five preceding years, with power to employ this fund in establishing houses of industry, or work-rooms, in various parts of the metropolis, where the poor should receive the whole of their earnings and a comfortable meal besides:--it is highly probable that while the expence to the parishes would gradually diminish, beggary would be annihilated in the metropolis--the modest and deserving poor would be discovered and relieved, while the idle and profligate, who resorted to begging as a trade, would be compelled to apply to honest labour for their subsistence. this is a point in the political oeconomy of the nation highly important, whether it relates to the cause of humanity or to the morals of the people, upon which all good governments are founded.--that such an institution is practicable is already proved from the partial experiments that have been made. that the advantages resulting from it would be great beyond all calculation, is too obvious to require elucidation. while it operated beneficially to the lower classes of the people and to the state, it would relieve parochial officers of a very irksome and laborious task, perhaps the most disagreeable that is attached to the office of an overseer in the metropolis. to give this branch of police vigor and effect, the aid of the legislature would be necessary; which would be easily obtained when the measure itself was once thoroughly understood, and it could not then fail to be as popular as it would unquestionably be useful. they who from their habits of life have few opportunities of considering the state of the poor, are apt to form very erroneous opinions on the subject. by _the poor_ we are not to understand the whole mass of the people who support themselves by labour; for those whose necessity compels them to exercise their industry, become by their poverty the actual pillars of the state. labour is absolutely requisite to the existence of all governments; and as it is from the poor only that labour can be expected, so far from being an evil they become, under proper regulations, an advantage to every country, and highly deserve the fostering care of every government. it is not _poverty_ therefore, that is in itself an evil, while health, strength, and inclination, afford the means of subsistence, and while work is to be had by all who seek it.--the evil is to be found only in _indigence_, where the strength fails, where disease, age, or infancy, deprives the individual of the means of subsistence, or where he knows not how to find employment when willing and able to work. in this view _the poor_ may be divided into five classes:-- _the first class_ comprehends what may be denominated _the useful poor_, who are able and willing to work--who have already been represented as the pillars of the state, and who merit the utmost attention of all governments, with a direct and immediate view of preventing their _poverty_ from descending unnecessarily into _indigence_. as often as this evil is permitted to happen, the state not only loses an useful subject, but the expence of his maintenance must be borne by the public.--the great art, therefore, in managing the affairs of the poor, is to establish systems whereby the poor man, verging upon indigence, may be propped up and kept in his station. whenever this can be effected, it is done upon an average at one-tenth of the expence at most that must be incurred by permitting a family to retrograde into a state of indigence, where they must be wholly maintained by the public, and where their own exertions cease in a great measure to be useful to the country. _the second class_ comprehends the _vagrant poor_, who are able but not willing to work, or who cannot obtain employment in consequence of their bad character. this class may be said to have descended from poverty into beggary, in which state they become objects of peculiar attention, since the state suffers not only the loss of their labour, but also of the money which they obtain by the present ill-judged mode of giving charity. many of them, however, having become mendicants, more from necessity than choice, deserve commiseration and attention, and nothing can promote in a greater degree the cause of humanity, and the real interest of the metropolis, than an establishment for the employment of this class of indigent poor, who may be said at present to be in a very deplorable state, those only excepted who make begging a profession. it is only by a plan, such as has been recommended, that the real indigent can be discovered from the vagrant, and in no other way is it possible to have that distinct and collected view of the whole class of beggars in the metropolis, or to provide the means of rendering their labour (where they are able to labour) productive to themselves and the state.--and it may be further added with great truth, that in no other way is it possible to prevent the offspring of such mendicants from becoming _prostitutes_ and _thieves_. if, therefore, it is of importance to diminish crimes, and to obstruct the progress of immorality, this part of the community ought to be the peculiar objects of a branch of the national police, where responsibility would secure an accurate execution of the system. this measure ought to begin in the metropolis as an experiment, and when fully matured might be extended with every advantage to the country. _the third class_ may be considered under the denomination of the _indigent poor_, who from want of employment, _sickness, losses_, insanity or disease, are unable to maintain themselves. in attending to this description of poor, the first consideration ought to be to select those who are in a state to re-occupy their former station among the labouring poor; and to restore them to the first class as soon as possible, by such relief as should enable them to resume their former employments, and to help themselves and families. where insanity, or temporary disease, or infirmity actually exist, such a course must then be pursued as will enable such weak and indigent persons, while they are supported at the expence of the public, to perform such species of labour, as may be suited to their peculiar situations, without operating as a hardship, but rather as an amusement. in this manner it is wonderful how productive the exertions of even the most infirm might be rendered.--but it must be accomplished under a management very different, indeed, from any thing which prevails at present. _the fourth class_ comprehends the _aged and infirm_, who are entirely past labour, and have no means of support.--where an honest industrious man has wasted his strength in labour and endeavours to rear a family, he is well entitled to an asylum to render the evening of his life comfortable. for this class the gratitude and the humanity of the community ought to provide a retreat separate from the profligate and vagrant poor. but, alas! the present system admits of no such blessing.--the most deserving most submit to an indiscriminate intercourse in workhouses with the most worthless: whose polluted language and irregular conduct, render not a few of those asylums as great a punishment to the decent part of the indigent and infirm as a common prison. _the fifth class_ comprises the _infant poor_, who from extreme indigence, or the death of parents, are cast upon the public for nurture. one fifth part of the gross number in a london workhouse is generally composed of this class. their moral and religious education is of the last importance to the community. they are the children of the public, and if not introduced into life, under circumstances favourable to the interest of the state, the error in the system becomes flagrant.--profligate or distressed parents may educate their children ill; but when those under the charge of public institutions are suffered to become depraved in their progress to maturity, it is a dreadful reproach on the police of the country.--and yet what is to be expected from children reared in workhouses, with the evil examples before them of the multitudes of depraved characters who are constantly admitted into those receptacles? young minds are generally more susceptible of evil than of good impressions; and hence it is that the rising generation enter upon life with those wicked and dangerous propensities, which are visible to the attentive observer in all the walks of vulgar life in this great metropolis. the limits of this treatise will not permit the author to attempt more than a mere outline on the general subject of the poor; a system of all others the most difficult to manage and arrange with advantage to the community; but which is at present unhappily entrusted to the care of those least competent to the task. the principle of the statute of the d of elizabeth is certainly unobjectionable; but the execution, it must be repeated, is defective. in short, no part of it has been effectually executed, but that which relates to raising the assessments. it is easy to make statutes; but omnipotent as parliament is said to be, it cannot give _knowledge_, _education_, _public spirit_, _integrity_ and _time_, to those changeable agents whom it has charged with the execution of the poor laws. in the management of the affairs of the state, the sovereign wisely selects men eminent for their talents and integrity:--were the choice to be made on the principle established by the poor laws, the nation could not exist even a single year. in the private affairs of life, the success of every difficult undertaking depends on the degree of abilities employed in the management. in the affairs of the poor, the most arduous and intricate that it is possible to conceive, and where the greatest talents and knowledge is required, the least portion of either is supplied. how then can we expect success?--the error is not in the original design, which is wise and judicious. the d of elizabeth authorizes an assessment to be made for three purposes. st. to purchase raw materials to set the poor to work, who could not otherwise dispose of their labour. d. to usher into the world, advantageously, the children of poor people, by binding them apprentices to some useful employment. d. to provide for the lame, impotent and blind, and others, being poor and not able to work. nothing can be better imagined than the measures in the view of the very able framers of this act: but they did not discover that to execute such a design required powers diametrically opposite to those which the law provided. the last two centuries have afforded a series of proof of the total inefficacy of the application of these powers, not only by the effects which this erroneous superintendence has produced; but also from the testimony of the most enlightened men who have written on the subject, from the venerable lord hale to the patriotic and indefatigable sir frederick eden. but the strongest evidence of the mischiefs arising from this defective execution of a valuable system, is to be found in the statute books themselves.[ ] [footnote : in the preamble of the statute on & _william_ and _mary_ _cap._ . and particularly § of that act, in which the sense entertained by parliament, of the shocking abuses of the statute of elizabeth, "through the unlimited power of parish officers," is very forcibly expressed--the truths there stated are found to have full force, even at the distance of more than a century.] "the want of a due provision," says lord hale, "for the relief and education of the poor in the way of _industry_, is what fills the gaols with malefactors, the country with idle and unprofitable persons, that consume the stock of the kingdom without improving it; and that will daily increase even to a desolation in time--and this error, in the first concoction, is never remediable but by gibbets and whipping." that this will continue to be the case under any species of changeable management, however apparently correct in theory the system may be, must appear self-evident to every man of business and observation, whose attention has been practically directed to the general operation of the present mode in various parishes, and who has reflected deeply on the subject. but to return to the immediate object of inquiry, namely, the means of more effectually preventing the numerous evils which arise from indigence and mendicity in the metropolis, whether excited by idleness or extreme and unforeseen pressures: under every circumstance it would seem impracticable without any burthen upon the public, to provide for all such at least as are denominated casual poor (from whom the greatest part of this calamity springs) by adopting the following or some similar plan, under the sanction of government, and the authority of the legislature. that a public institution shall be established in the metropolis, with _three chief officers_, who shall be charged with the execution of that branch of the police, which relates to street beggars, and those classes of poor who have no legal settlements in the metropolis, and who now receive casual relief from the different parishes, where they have fixed their residence for the time;--and that these principal officers, (who may be stiled _commissioners for inquiring into the cases and causes of the distress of the poor in the metropolis_) should exercise the following functions:-- st. to charge themselves with the relief and management of the whole of the _casual poor_, who at present receive temporary aid from the different parishes, or who ask alms in any part of the metropolis or its suburbs. d. to provide work-rooms in various central and convenient situations in the metropolis, where persons destitute of employment may receive a temporary subsistence for labour. to superintend these work-houses, and become responsible for the proper management. d. to be empowered to give temporary relief to prop up sinking families, and to prevent their descending from poverty to indigence, by arresting the influence of despondency, and keeping the spirit of industry alive. th. to assist in binding out the children of the poor, or the unfortunate, who have seen better days, and preventing the females from the danger of becoming prostitutes, or the males from contracting loose and immoral habits, so as if possible to save them to their parents, and to the state. th. to open offices of inquiry in different parts of the metropolis, where all classes of indigent persons, who are not entitled to parochial relief, will be invited to resort, for the purpose of being examined, and relieved according to the peculiar circumstances of the case. th. to exercise the legal powers, through the medium of constables, for the purpose of compelling all mendicants, and idle destitute boys and girls who appear in the streets, to come before the commissioners for examination; that those whose industry cannot be made productive, or who cannot be put in a way to support themselves without alms, may be passed to their parishes, while means are employed to bind out destitute children to some useful occupation. th. to keep a distinct register of the cases of all mendicants or distressed individuals, who may seek advice and assistance, and to employ such means for alleviating misery, as the peculiar circumstances may suggest--never losing sight of indigence, until an asylum is provided for the helpless and infirm, and also until the indigent, who are able to labour, are placed in a situation to render it productive. th. that these commissioners shall report their proceedings annually, to his majesty in council, and to parliament; with abstracts, shewing the numbers who have been examined--how disposed of--the earning of the persons at the different work-rooms--the annual expence of the establishment; together with a general view of the advantages resulting from it; with the proofs of these advantages. towards defraying the whole expence of this establishment it is proposed, that (in lieu of the casual charity, paid at present by all the parishes in the metropolis, which under this system will cease, together with the immense trouble attached to it,) each parish in the metropolis shall pay into the hands of the receiver of the funds of this _pauper police institution_, a sum equal to what was formerly disbursed in casual relief, which for the purpose of elucidation, is estimated as follows:-- £. _s._ _d._ parishes within the walls, average _l._ each parishes without the walls, in london and southwark, average _l._ each --------------- £. , out-parishes in middlesex and surry, average _l._ each , parishes in westminster, average _l._ each , --- --------------- £. , --- this sum (which is supposed to be not much above one half of the average annual disbursements of the parishes above-mentioned; especially since it has been shewn, that the expence in st. giles' and st. george bloomsbury alone, has been _l._ in one year) will probably, with oeconomy and good management, be found sufficient for all the relief that is required; more especially as the object is not to maintain the indigent, but to put them in a way of supporting themselves by occasional pecuniary aids well and judiciously applied. the experiment is certainly worth trying. in its execution some of the most respectable and intelligent individuals in the metropolis, would gratuitously assist the commissioners, who as taking responsibility upon them, in the direction of a most important branch of police, ought undoubtedly to be remunerated by government, especially as it is scarcely possible to conceive any mode in which the public money could be applied, that would be productive of such benefit to the state. if that utility resulted from the design, which may reasonably be expected, it would of course extend to other great towns, as the private _soup establishments_ have done, and the condition of the poor would undergo a rapid change. the destitute and forlorn would then have some means of communicating their distress, while information and facts of the greatest importance, to the best interests of society, would spring from this source. with respect to the general affairs of the poor, much good would arise from consolidating the funds of all the parishes in the metropolis. the poor for instance, who are supported from the parochial funds of bethnal green, and other distressed parishes in the eastern parts of the metropolis, are the labourers of the citizens and inhabitants of the parishes within the walls, who, although opulent pay little or nothing to the poor, since the city affords no cottages to lodge them. why, therefore, should not the inhabitants of the rich parishes contribute to the relief of the distresses of those who waste their strength in contributing to their _ease_, _comfort_, and _profit_? in several of the most populous parishes and hamlets in the eastern part of the town, the poor may actually be said to be assessed to support the indigent. in the very populous hamlet of mile-end new town, where there is scarcely an inhabitant who does not derive his subsistence from some kind of labour, the rates are treble the assessments in mary-le-bone, where opulence abounds. nothing can exceed the inequality of the weight for the support of the poor in the metropolis; since where the demand is greatest, the means of supply are always most deficient and inadequate. certain it is that the whole system admits of much improvement, and perhaps at no period, since the poor laws have attracted attention, did there exist so many able and intelligent individuals as at present, who have been excited by motives of patriotism and philanthropy, to devote their time to the subject. at the head of this most respectable group stands sir frederick eden; a gentleman, whose entrance into life, has been marked by a display of the most useful talents, manifested by an extent of labour and perseverance, in his elaborate work on the poor, which may be said to be unparalleled in point of information, while it unquestionably exhibits the respectable author as a character in whose patriotism and abilities the state will find a considerable resource, in whatever tends to assist his country, or to improve the condition of human life. to the lord bishop of durham, the earl of winchelsea, count rumford, sir william young, thos. ruggles, esq. william morton pitt, esq. jeremy bentham, esq. robert saunders, esq. thomas bernard, esq. william wilberforce, esq. rowland burdon, esq. the rev. dr. glasse, the rev. thomas gisburn, the rev. mr. howlet, mr. davis, mr. townsend, arthur young, esq. and william sabatier, esq. as well as several other respectable living characters, who have particularly turned their thoughts to the subject of the poor, the public are not only already much indebted, but from this prolific resource of judgment, talents, and knowledge, much good might be expected, if ever the period shall arrive when the revision of the poor laws shall engage the attention of the legislature. the measure is too complicated to be adjusted by men, who have not opportunities or leisure to contemplate its infinite ramifications. it is a task which can only be executed with accuracy by those, who completely understand the subject as well in practice as in theory, and who can bestow the time requisite for those laborious investigations, which must be absolutely necessary to form a final opinion, and to report to parliament what is most expedient, under all circumstances, to be done in this important national concern. happy is it for the country, that a resource exists for the attainment of this object, than which nothing can contribute, in a greater degree, to the prevention of crimes, and to the general improvement of civil society. chap. xiv. _the state of the police, with regard to the detection of different classes of offenders, explained.--the necessity, under the present circumstances, of having recourse to the known receivers of stolen goods, for the purpose of discovering offenders, as well as the property stolen.--the great utility of officers of justice as safeguards of the community.--the advantages to be derived from rendering them respectable in the opinion of the public. their powers, by the common and statute law, are extensive.--the great antiquity of the office of constable, exemplified by different ancient statutes.--the authority of officers and others explained, in apprehending persons accused of felony.--rewards granted in certain cases as encouragements to officers to lie vigilant:--the statutes quoted, applicable to such rewards, shewing that they apply to ten different offences.--the utility of parochial constables, under a well-organized police, explained.--a fund for this purpose would arise from the reduction of the expences of the police by the diminution of crimes.--the necessity of a competent fund explained.--the deficiency of the present system exemplified in the effect of the presentments by constables to the grand inquest.--a new system proposed.--the functions of the different classes of officers, explained.--salaries necessary to all.--the system of rewards, as now established, shewn to be radically deficient; exemplified by the circumstance, that in prisoners, charged at the old bailey in one year, with different offences, only offences entitled the apprehenders to any gratuity:--improvements suggested for the greater encouragement of officers of justice.-- peace officers in the metropolis and its vicinity, of whom only are stipendiary constables.--little assistance to be expected from parochial officers, while there exists no fund for rewarding extraordinary services.--great advantages likely to result from rewarding all officers for useful services actually performed.--the utility of extending the same gratuities to watchmen and patroles.--defects and abuses in the system of the watch explained.--the number of watchmen and patroles in the metropolis estimated at :--a general system of superintendance suggested.--a view of the magistracy of the metropolis.--the efficient duty shewn to rest with the city and police magistrates.--the inconvenience of the present system.--concluding observations._ as it must be admitted, that the evils arising from the multiplied crimes detailed in the preceding chapters, render a correct and energetic system of police with regard to the _detection_, _discovery_, and _apprehension_ of offenders, indispensably necessary for the safety and well-being of society; it follows of course, in the order of this work, to explain _how this branch of the public service is conducted at present, the defects which are apparent,--and the means of improving the system_. when robberies or burglaries have been committed in or near the metropolis, where the property is of considerable value, the usual method at present, is to apply to the city magistrates, if in london; or otherwise, to the justices at one of the public offices,[ ] and to publish an advertisement offering a reward on the recovery of the articles stolen, and the conviction of the offenders.[ ] [footnote : it is a well-known fact, that many persons who suffer by means of small robberies, afraid of the trouble and expence of a prosecution, submit to the loss without inquiry; while others from being strangers to the laws, and to the proper mode of application, fall into the same mistake; this, by proving a great encouragement to thieves of every class, is of course an injury to the public.--in all cases where robberies are committed, the parties sustaining the loss have only to inquire for the nearest public office, and apply there, and state the case to the sitting magistrates, who will point out the proper mode of detection; every assistance through the medium of constables, will then be given for the purpose of recovering the property and apprehending the offenders.--the same assistance will be afforded by the lord mayor and aldermen, sitting at the mansion-house and guildhall, whenever the offence is committed within the limits of the city of london.] [footnote : it had been usual for many years previous to , when robberies were committed, to make a composition of the felony, by advertising a reward to any person who would bring the property stolen, to be paid without asking any questions; but the pernicious consequences of recovering goods in this way from the encouragement such advertisements held out to thieves and robbers of every description, became so glaring and obvious, that an act passed the th year of george ii. cap. . _inflicting a penalty of l. on any person_ (including the printer and publisher) _who shall publicly advertise a reward for the return of stolen goods with "no questions asked," without seizing the person producing the goods stolen:--or who shall offer to return to any pawnbroker, or other person, the money lent thereon, or any other reward for the return of the articles stolen_.] in many cases of importance, to the reproach of the police, recourse is had to noted and known receivers of stolen goods for their assistance in discovering such offenders, and of pointing out the means by which the property may be recovered: this has on many occasions been productive of success to the parties who have been robbed; as well as to the ends of public justice; for however lamentable it is to think that magistrates are compelled to have recourse to such expedients, yet while the present system continues, and while robberies and burglaries are so frequent, without the means of prevention, there is no alternative on many occasions _but to employ a thief to catch a thief_. it is indeed so far fortunate, that when the influence of magistrates is judiciously and zealously employed in this way, it is productive in many instances of considerable success, not only in the recovery of property stolen, but also in the detection and punishment of atrocious offenders. wherever activity and zeal are manifested on the part of the magistrates, the peace officers, under their immediate direction, seldom fail to exhibit a similar desire to promote the ends of public justice. and when it is considered that these officers, while they conduct themselves with purity, are truly _the safeguards of the community_, destined to protect the public against the outrages and lawless depredations of a set of miscreants, who are the declared enemies of the state, by making war upon all ranks of the body politic, who have property to lose;--they have a fair claim, while they act properly, to be esteemed as "_the civil defenders of the lives and properties of the people_." every thing that can heighten in any degree the respectability of the office of _constable_, adds to the security of the state, and the safety of the life and property of every individual. under such circumstances, it cannot be sufficiently regretted that these useful constitutional officers, destined for the protection of the public, have been (with a very few exceptions) so little regarded, so carelessly selected, and so ill supported and rewarded for the imminent risques which they run, and the services they perform in the execution of their duty. the common law, as well as the ancient statutes of the kingdom, having placed extensive powers in the hands of _constables_ and _peace officers_;--they are, in this point of view, to be considered as _respectable_;--and it is the interest of the community, that they should support that rank and character in society, which corresponds with the authority with which they are invested.--if this were attended to, men of credit and discretion would not be so averse to fill such situations; and those pernicious prejudices, which have prevailed in vulgar life, and in some degree among the higher ranks in society, with regard to _thief-takers_, would no longer operate; for it is plain to demonstration, "_that the best laws that ever were made can avail nothing, if the public mind is impressed with an idea, that it is a matter of infamy, to become the casual or professional agents to carry them into execution_." this absurd prejudice against the office of constable, and the small encouragement which the major part receive, is one of the chief reasons why unworthy characters have filled such situations; and why the public interest has suffered by the increase of crimes. the office of constable is as old as the monarchy of england;--and certainly existed in the time of the saxons.[ ]--the law requires that he should be _idoneus homo_: or in other words, _to have honesty to execute the office without malice, affection, or partiality; knowledge to understand what he ought to do; and ability, as well in substance or estate, as in body_, to enable him to conduct himself with utility to the public. [footnote : fineux.] the statute of winchester, made in the th year of edward the first (anno ) appoints two constables to be chosen in every hundred; and such seems to have been the attention of the legislature to the police of the country at that early period of our history, "_that suspicious night-walkers are ordered to be arrested and detained by the watch_."[ ] [footnote : winton, chap. .] the statute of edward iii. _cap._ , (anno ) empowers constables "_to arrest persons suspected of man-slaughter, felonies, and robberies, and to deliver them to the sheriff, to be kept in prison till the coming of the justices_:" and another act of the th of the same reign, _cap._ , (made anno ,) empowers justices, (_inter alia_) "_to inquire after wanderers, to arrest and imprison suspicious persons, and to oblige persons of evil fame to give security for good behaviour; so that the people may not be troubled by rioters, nor the peace blemished; nor merchants and others travelling on the highways be disturbed or put in peril by such offenders_." by the common law, every person committing a felony may be arrested by any person whomsoever present at the fact, who may secure the prisoner in gaol, or carry him before a magistrate,[ ]--and if a prisoner thus circumstanced, resists and refuses to yield, those who arrest will be justified in the beating him,[ ] or, in case of absolute necessity, even killing him.[ ] [footnote : hale.] [footnote : pult. , a.] [footnote : hale.] in arresting persons on suspicion of a felony, actually committed, _common fame_ has been adjudged to be a reasonable cause.[ ] [footnote : dalton.] there are four methods, known in law, by which officers of justice, as well as private individuals, may arrest persons charged with felony.-- . _by the warrant of a magistrate._-- . _by an officer without a warrant._-- . _by a private person without a warrant._--and . _by hue-and-cry._[ ] [footnote : blackstone.] when a warrant is received by an officer, he is bound to execute it, so far as the jurisdiction of the magistrate and himself extends.--but the _constable_ having great original and inherent authority, may, _without warrant_, apprehend any person for a breach of the peace: and in case of felony, _actually committed_, he may, on probable suspicion, arrest the felon: and for that purpose (as upon the warrant of a magistrate,) he is authorised to break open doors, and even justified in killing the felon, if he cannot otherwise be taken.[ ] [footnote : blackstone.] all persons present, when a felony is committed, are bound to arrest the felon, on pain of fine and imprisonment, if he escapes through negligence of the by-standers; who will (the same as a constable) in such case be justified in breaking open doors, to follow such felon, and even to kill him if he cannot be taken otherwise.[ ] [footnote : blackstone.] the other species of arrest is called _hue-and-cry_, which is an _alarm raised in the country_ upon any felony being committed. this was an ancient practice in use as far back as the reign of edward the first, ( ) by which, in the then infant state of society, it became easy to discover criminal persons flying from justice. however doubtful the utility of this ancient method of detecting offenders may be, in a great metropolis, in the present extended state of society, it is plain, that it has been considered as an important regulation of police so late as the th george ii. ( ;) since it was enacted in that year, (stat. , george ii. cap. .) that the constable who neglects making _hue-and-cry_, shall forfeit five pounds; and even the district is liable to be fined (according to the law of alfred) if the felony be committed therein, and the felon escapes.[ ] this, however, applies more particularly to the country, and where the practice cannot fail to be useful in a certain degree. [footnote : blackstone.] when a _hue-and-cry_ is raised, every person, by command of the constable, must pursue the felon, on pain of fine and imprisonment. in this pursuit also, constables may search suspected houses if the doors be open: _but unless the felon is actually in the house_, it will not be justifiable to use force; nor even then, except where admittance has been demanded and refused. a constable, even without any warrant, may break open a door for the purpose of apprehending a felon; but to justify this measure, he must not only shew that the felon was in the house, but also that access was denied after giving notice that he was a constable, and demanding admittance in that capacity.[ ] in the execution of the warrant of a magistrate, the officer is certainly authorized to break open the doors of the felon, or of the house of any person where he is concealed.--the first is lawful under all circumstances; but forcibly entering the house of a stranger may be considered as a trespass, if the felon should not be there.[ ] [footnote : hale.] [footnote : hale.] such are the powers with which constables are invested,--and which are, in many instances, enforced by penalties; that public justice may not be defeated.[ ] [footnote : it may not be improper in this place to hint, that there is a deficiency in the present state of the law, which calls aloud for a remedy. none can be arrested on a sunday, but for felony or breach of the peace (except in certain cases, where their guilt has been previously decided on, as in _escape_, &c.) by this means lottery-vagrants, gamblers, sharpers, and swindlers, bid defiance to the civil power on that day; while a person guilty of pushing or striking another in an accidental squabble, may be arrested and confined.] in addition to this, the wisdom of the legislature, as an encouragement to officers and others to do their duty in apprehending and prosecuting offenders, has granted rewards in certain cases; _namely_, will. & mary, . for apprehending, and prosecuting £. c. ; and to conviction, every robber, on the geo. i. c. . highway, including the streets of the metropolis, and all other towns, a reward of _l._ besides the _horse_, _furniture_, _arms_, and _money_, of the said robber, if not stolen property: to be paid to the person apprehending, or if killed in the endeavour, to his executors. and the stat. geo. ii. c. . superadds _l._ to be paid by the hundred indemnified by such taking. & will. and . for apprehending, and prosecuting mary, c. ; to conviction every person who and & shall have counterfeited, clipped, washed,[ ] geo. ii. c. . filed, or diminished the current coin; or who shall gild silver to make it pass as gold, or copper, as silver,--or who shall utter false money, (being the third offence) or after being once convicted of being a common utterer, &c. a reward of . for apprehending, and prosecuting to conviction, every person counterfeiting copper money, a reward of and will. . for apprehending, and prosecuting iii. c. . to conviction, every person privately stealing to the value of _s._ from any _shop_, _warehouse_, or _stable_, a tyburn ticket,[ ] average value, about & will. . for apprehending, and prosecuting iii. c. . to conviction, every person charged ann. c. . with a burglary, a reward of _l._ (to the apprehender, or if killed, to his executors) in money, and a tyburn ticket, _l._ . for apprehending, and prosecuting to conviction, every person charged with house-breaking in the day-time, _l._ in money, and a tyburn ticket . for apprehending, and prosecuting to conviction, any person charged with horse-stealing, a tyburn ticket geo. i. . for apprehending, and prosecuting c. . with effect, a person charged with the offence of compounding a felony, by taking money to help a person to stolen goods, without prosecuting and giving evidence against the felon geo. ii. . for apprehending, and prosecuting c. . with effect, a person charged with geo. ii. stealing, or killing to steal, any sheep, c. . lamb, bull, cow, ox, steer, bullock, heifer, or calf geo. ii. . for apprehending, and prosecuting c. . with effect, persons returning from geo. iii. transportation c. . [footnote : in consequence of some doubts which have been started relative to washed money, the reward in this case is not paid; it is confined entirely to the conviction of _coiners_.] [footnote : this is a certificate which may be assigned _once_, exempting the person who receives it, or his immediate assignee, from all offices within the parish or ward where the felony was committed. in some parishes it will sell from _l._ to _l._ in others it is not worth above _l._ to _l._ according to local situation.] these rewards apply to ten different offences, and ought, no doubt, to be a considerable spur to officers to do their duty; but it may be doubted whether this measure has not, in some degree, tended to the increase of a multitude of smaller crimes which are pregnant with the greatest mischiefs to society.--it is by deterring men from the commission of _smaller_ crimes (says the marquis beccaria) that _greater_ ones are prevented. if small rewards were given in cases of _grand larceny_, (now very numerous,) as well as of several other felonies, frauds, and misdemeanors, a species of activity would enter into the system of detection, which has not heretofore been experienced. while rewards are limited to higher offences, and conviction _is the indispensable condition upon which they are granted_, it is much to be feared that lesser crimes are overlooked; and the public subjected, in many instances, to the intermediate depredations of a rogue, from his first starting upon the town until he shall be worth _l._ this system of giving high rewards only on conviction, also tends to weaken evidence: since it is obvious that the counsel for all prisoners, whose offences entitle the prosecutors and officers to a reward, generally endeavour to impress upon the minds of the jury an idea, that witnesses, who have a pecuniary interest in the conviction of any offender standing upon trial, are not, on all occasions, deserving of full credit, unless strongly corroborated by other evidence; and thus many notorious offenders often escape justice. by altering the system entirely, and leaving it in the breast of the judge who tries the offence, to determine what reward shall be allowed, with a power to _grant_ or _withhold_, or to _limit_ and _increase the same_, according to circumstances connected with the trouble and risk of the parties, _whether there is a conviction or not_, a fairer measure of recompence would be dealt out;--the public money would be more beneficially distributed,[ ] so as to excite general activity in checking every species of criminality;--and the objections, now urged against officers and prosecutors as interested witnesses, would, by this arrangement, be completely obviated. [footnote : the expence to the public for rewards paid by the sheriffs of the different counties for years, from to inclusive, appears from the appendix of the th report of the select committee on finance, page , to stand thus: £. , , , , , , -------- £. , £. , , , , , , -------- £. , -------- total in years, £. , .] for the purpose of elucidating these suggestions, it may be useful to examine the different offences which constitute the aggregate of the charges made against criminals arraigned at the old bailey, in the course of a year. with this view the following statement is offered to the consideration of the reader.--it refers to a period of profound peace (as most likely to exhibit a true average) and contains a register of the trials, published by authority, including eight sessions from september to . from this it appears that prisoners were tried for different offences in that year, and that were _discharged_! and yet, striking as this may appear, it may be asserted on good grounds, that the following melancholy catalogue (extensive as it seems to be) does not probably contain even _one-tenth part_ of the offences which are actually committed! for treason in making false money £. _a reward in money on conviction amounting for each to_ highway robberies _a reward (besides the highwayman's property) for each_ burglaries _a reward l. besides a tyburn ticket worth l._ house breaking in the day time _a reward l. besides a tyburn ticket worth l._ stealing goods to the value of _s._ from a shop, &c. _a tyburn ticket value as above, average_ coining copper money _a reward in money_ horse stealing _a reward in a tyburn ticket, average value_ for stealing cattle and sheep _a reward in money_ returning from transportation _a reward in money_ --- prisoners tried for offences entitling the apprehenders to --- rewards on conviction; and also tried, for which no rewards are allowed, _viz._ for murders arson forgeries piracies rapes grand larcenies[ ] stealing privately from persons shop-lifting under _s._ ripping and stealing lead stealing pewter pots stealing from furnished lodgings stealing letters stealing a child receiving stolen goods for dealing in and uttering base money sodomy bigamy perjuries conspiracies fraudulent bankrupts frauds misdemeanors assaulting, and cutting clothes smuggling obstructing revenue officers wounding a horse maliciously assaults --- , total. for which rewards were paid. prisoners from the late sheriffs. --- aggregate number [footnote : grand larceny is defined to be a felonious and fraudulent taking away by any person, of the mere personal goods of another, above the value of _twelve pence_.-- _hawk. p.c._ _c._ . § .] _disposed of as follows, viz._ executed died sent to the hulks transported removed to other prisons transferred to the new sheriffs discharged upon the town ---- thus it appears that murders, as well as several other very atrocious crimes, are committed, where officers of justice are not entitled to any reward for their trouble and risque in apprehending the offenders. receivers of stolen goods in particular, who, as has been repeatedly stated, are _the nourishers and supporters of thieves_, and who, of all other offenders, are of that class where the greatest benefit to the public is to arise from their discovery and apprehension, seem to be totally overlooked. if it should be thought too loose a system to allow rewards _not exceeding a certain sum in any one case_, to be distributed according to the discretion of the judges who try the offence; perhaps it might be possible _to form a scale of premiums_ from _one guinea up to fifty pounds_, which, by holding out certain encouragement _in all cases whatsoever_, might not only excite a desire on the part of men of some property and respectability to become officers of justice: but would create that species of _constant vigilance and attention_ to the means of apprehending every class of offenders, which cannot be expected at present, while the rewards are so limited. the _officers of justice_, (parochial and stipendiary) who are appointed to watch over the police of the metropolis and its environs, in keeping the peace, and in detecting and apprehending offenders, amount at present (as near as possible) to individuals, under five separate jurisdictions, _and are arranged as follows_: officers, &c. _london, st._ { the city of london in } city marshals { wards, exclusive of } marshals' men { bridge without. } beadles { principals parochial constables { substitutes { --- { extra officers --- _westminster, { the city and liberty } high constable d._ { of westminster, } { parishes and } parochial { precincts } constables --- _middlesex, { the division of } high constable d._ { holborn, in middlesex, } parochial { joining the metropolis, } constables & { in parishes, } headboroughs { liberties, and manors } -- { { the division of } high constable { finsbury, in middlesex, } parochial { joining the metropolis } constables & { parishes and } headboroughs { liberty } -- { { the division called } high constable { the tower hamlets, } parochial { including the eastern } constables & { part of the metropolis, } headboroughs { and comprehending } --- { parishes, hamlets, } { liberty, and } { precincts } _tower liberty, { the liberty of the } high constable th._ { tower of london, } constables & { being a separate } headboroughs { jurisdiction } -- the division of } high constable kensington, chelsea, &c. } parochial comprehending parishes } constables & and hamlets } headboroughs --- _surry, th._ { the borough of } high constable { southwark, &c. } constables { comprehending } -- { parishes. } --- total parochial officers to which are to be added the stated officers of police, specially appointed for the purpose of preventing crimes, and of detecting and apprehending offenders. . the establishment at bow-street, under the direction of the three magistrates presiding at that office, viz. constables and (under the direction of sir w. addington, knt.) patroles for the road -- . the establishment of seven public offices by the act of the d of his present majesty, cap. , under the direction of three magistrates at each office, viz. constables at the public office, queen-square marlborough-st. hatton garden -- constables at the public office, worship-street whitechapel shadwell union hall, southw. -- --- total civil force in the metropolis to which add the civil force of the thames police establishment;[ ] established in july , under the sanction of government ---- total [footnote : the thames police establishment fluctuates according to the season of the year, and the number of west india ships on the river.-- the permanent force in house constables, boat surveyors, and water officers, &c. is the fluctuating civil force in { ship constables { quay guards --- total civil force of the marine police establishment when the west-india fleets are in port ] of these officers the reader will observe, that only (exclusive of the thirty-two extra officers in the city of london; and the sixty-eight patroles at bow-street; making in the whole no more than ,) _are stipendiary officers_, particularly pledged to devote their whole time to the service of the public:--and hence a question arises, whether so small a number are sufficient for the purpose of watching and detecting the hordes of villains who infest the metropolis, and who must be considerably increased on the return of peace? little assistance can be expected under the present system from parochial officers; who, depending on their daily labour principally for their support, can afford to devote no more time than is absolutely necessary for their indispensable duties, during the months they are in office: and more especially since magistrates have no power, or funds, to remunerate such parochial officers for extraordinary exertions in the public service, however meritorious they may be;--hence it is, that their zeal and activity are checked in many instances; when under proper regulations (such as are hereafter suggested) and subject to a certain degree of control and discipline, and properly remunerated for their services they might be rendered extremely useful. these facts, joined to the further elucidation of this particular branch of the subject, it is earnestly to be hoped, may produce an arrangement of more _energy_ and _effect_ than exists under the present system. officers of justice, who are subjected not only to considerable risks, but also to want of rest, and to the inconvenience of being exposed much in the night-time, ought certainly to be liberally paid; so as to make it an object to _good_ and _able men_ even to look up to such situations. it having been thus shewn that the stipendiary constables are so inconsiderable in point of numbers, and their duty confined to particular objects, it follows that on the parochial officers the public ought, in a considerable degree, to depend for the general prevention of offences, and particularly for defeating the crafty and iniquitous devices which are resorted to for the purpose of evading the operation of justice.--these men also from their local knowledge are, or ought to be, best qualified to procure accurate information, and to supply what may be necessary to enable magistrates to discharge their duty with advantage to the community, and by this means they might be rendered useful auxiliaries to the existing police. it would seem, therefore, of the highest importance that arrangements should be formed, calculated to give to these constitutional safe-guards of the peaceful subject, that utility, energy, and effect, which originally resulted from the exercise of their functions,--which the present state of society imperiously calls for, and without which the preventive system of police can never be effectual. on looking accurately into the nature and effect of the institution of constables, it will be found that the vigor and efficacy of the civil power, the security of innocence,--the preservation of good order, and the attainment of justice, depend in a great measure on the accuracy of the system, with respect to these officers assigned to keep the peace in the respective parishes of the metropolis; and it is because the original spirit of the design has been, in so many instances, abandoned that crimes have multiplied, and that the public are so insecure. the evil, however, admits of practicable remedies, which the superintending board of police, recommended by the select committee of the house of commons, might considerably facilitate, by methodizing the general design, and giving strength, intelligence, and uniformity to the whole. preparatory to this object, however, the system in the respective parishes must be greatly improved, before a co-operation can be expected that will prove extensively beneficial to the public. the first step to be pursued, is to establish a fund for the remuneration of constables of every description. it will not be difficult to demonstrate that a resource may be found for this purpose, which will not impose any new burden on the country, provided these officers do their duty. the enormous expence at present incurred, and which is either defrayed from the county rates, or the general revenue of the country, arises chiefly after offenders are detected and punished. out of , _l._ a year stated by the committee on finance, to be the annual amount of the police expences, only , _l._ is incurred previous to detection.--by diminishing crimes, therefore, the chief part of the burden upon the country will be taken away; and hence in this saving will be established a resource for the remuneration of those who may contribute to so important an object. the present expenditure of the county rates for criminal offences, is estimated to amount to , _l._ a year. in proportion as offences diminish, through the medium of a well-organized and energetic police, will this burden upon the poor rates also be diminished. independent, therefore, of the policy of improving the system with respect to parochial constables, by attaching a greater degree of responsibility to their situation, and introducing that discipline and systematic activity, which can alone render their services effectual--the plan may even be recommended as a proper arrangement in point of oeconomy. it is in vain to expect energy or attention in the execution of any public duty, unless there be that personal responsibility which is not to be obtained without emolument. to render officers of justice, therefore, useful to the public, they must be stimulated by interest:--they must, in fact, be paid for devoting a portion of their time to the comfort and security of others. the law may inflict, and, indeed, has inflicted, penalties for the neglect of specific duties; but this will not establish that sort of police which the present state of society requires.--this is strongly exemplified in what may not be improperly called the _mockery of police_, which is exhibited in the periodical presentments by constables, of public grievances and nuisances, before the grand inquest, four times a year at westminster-hall, and twice before the magistrates of the sessions held at guildhall in the city of westminster. these presentments, although in themselves of the highest importance, have degenerated into what may now be considered as an useless and burdensome formality; at best it is a tedious, expensive, and circuitous, mode of removing nuisances and inconveniences, and so ill-suited to the present state of society, that several modern parochial acts have given relief in a summary way before magistrates. the fact is, that in a great majority of instances where presentments are made, the evils they describe, though often highly prejudicial, are suffered to accumulate with increasing malignity, at the same time frequently generating other mischiefs and pressures of a tendency equally pernicious to the community. it is admitted, that the proper officer of the crown notifies to the parties implicated in the presentment, the determination of the inquest; but a prosecution seldom ensues. the constable has neither money nor time to follow it up; and the matter is discharged when the customary term expires, on the payment of a fee of _s._ _d._ or more, according to the length of the presentment; and thus the business terminates in the emolument of an individual, and in the continuance of the abuse. the same system prevails at the sessions at westminster. when juries make presentments of nuisances or evils in their respective districts, the constables have general orders to prosecute, which is not done; and, indeed, to compel an officer serving gratuitously, to incur an expence for the public interest which he cannot afford, would be an act of manifest injustice; and unless a fund be provided in numerous cases, he must be under the necessity of declining such prosecutions. but would it not be far better to bring such minor offences at once under the cognizance of magistrates, with the power of appeal to the quarter sessions?--this is already the case in spitalfields, under a parochial act, where nuisances and annoyances are in consequence instantly removed. matters of much greater importance are submitted to the same authority. the advantage in this case would be, that justice would be promptly administered at a small expence, and the evil would be put an end to, instead of remaining as at present a reproach to the police, arming at the same time every noxious and bad member of society, with a kind of licence to do offensive acts to the neighbourhood, and the public at large, with impunity. to render parochial constables useful, rules must be established to compel every qualified person to serve in his turn, or pay a fine. no person should be empowered to offer a substitute.--it is of the highest importance that an office invested with so much power should be executed by reputable men, if possible of pure morals, and not with hands open to receive bribes.--this important office in the metropolis at least, has too long been degraded by the introduction, in many instances, of men of loose principles, undeserving of public confidence. the reason is obvious:--a man in the more reputable classes on whom the lot may fall, surrenders his functions to a substitute who probably makes the office a trade;--performs the service of the year for four or five guineas, trusting to other emoluments, many of which are obtained by corruption, to enable him to subsist. to render this branch of police pure and efficient, an act of parliament should enforce the following or similar regulations: st. to assign a competent number of local constables to each parish, in proportion to the number of inhabited houses; to be chosen by the whole number of qualified inhabitants paying parish rates--to be presented to the court leet, or to the magistrates of the division, according to a prescribed rule, which shall preclude the possibility of exemptions or preferences; for which purposes the qualifications shall be clearly defined in the act.--thus might the abuses which at present prevail, in the selection and choice of constables, cease to be felt and complained of: an equal distribution of the burden would take place, and the duty be confined to men sufficiently respectable, to establish in the public mind a confidence that it would be executed with fidelity, and an attention to the public interest. d. that with a view to that necessary discipline, and knowledge of the duty to be performed, without which officers of justice can be of little use, and may often be converted into instruments of oppression by an abuse of power; the high-constable of the division shall become _a responsible permanent officer_, with a competent salary; and shall have under his direction certain subordinate officers, not exceeding _one for a large parish_, and _one for every_ _constables in any number of smaller parishes, hamlets, precincts, and liberties_, who shall be stiled _the parochial chief constable_, whose situation shall also _be permanent_, with a moderate salary, and who shall each be _responsible_ for the execution of the regular duty which may be assigned to the petty constables, either by the act of parliament, or by the commissioners of police, having powers for that purpose granted by law.--that a certain stipend or gratuity for trouble, shall also be paid to each of the petty constables, in consideration of the ordinary duty they are bound to perform, besides _s._ a day for all extraordinary duty. that among other things it shall be the business of the parochial chief constable to instruct the petty constables in their duty--to attend them in their perambulations, and to marshal them on receiving a precept from the high-constable, or an order from two magistrates, in case of any tumult or disorder requiring their interference--to impress upon their minds the necessity of purity, vigilance, and attention to orders--and of being humane, prudent and vigorous, in the execution of such duties as belong to their functions.--that they shall instantly assemble on any alarm of fire.--that the public-houses, in the parish or district, shall be visited regularly; and also the watchmen while upon duty, and regular returns made to the police magistrates of the district, stating the occurrences of the night. that wherever suspicious characters reside in the parish, who have no visible means of supporting themselves, the utmost vigilance shall be exercised in watching their conduct, to prevent as much as possible the commission of crimes, and to preserve peace and good order in the parish; and wherever the execution of any specific law depends on constables, the utmost attention to be manifested in giving it effect, and preventing it from remaining a dead letter.--that care be taken to make regular, impartial, and accurate returns of jurors; and of persons eligible to serve in the militia;--and that immediate cognizance be also taken of all nuisances and annoyances, and timely notice given to magistrates of all occurrences threatening to disturb the public peace, or to overturn the established government of the country. d. that the different high constables should return to the commissioners of police annually, after a change of officers has taken place, a list of the number of persons who compose the civil force, under their direction in their respective divisions; and regularly, every quarter, a list of the publicans, with such facts as have occurred, respecting their orderly or disorderly conduct in the management of their houses.--the state of the division with respect to prostitutes--to the situation of the poor for the preceding quarter, and their resource for employment.--the number and nature of the offences committed in the district during the preceding quarter, and the detections of the delinquents, shewing how many offenders have been discovered, and how many have escaped justice, and stating the means used and using to detect such as are at large, charged with specific offences within the division: so as to bring under the review of the central board a clear statement of the criminal police in every part of the metropolis on the first day of each quarter, with such other information as the commissioners may require. th. it is humbly suggested, that the salaries and allowances to be paid to the _high constables_ and _parochial chief constables_ should be paid out of the general police fund, under the management of the board, and the gratuities and allowances to the petty constables out of the county rate. it might be expedient that the stipend of the petty constables should be very moderate, and that their remunerations should, partly at least, arise from _premiums_ and _gratuities_, granted by the judges and magistrates, for meritorious services to the public, _actually performed_; for which there would so many opportunities occur, that no fit man, acting as a constable under such a system, and doing his duty conscientiously, need be under any apprehension of obtaining a very comfortable livelihood. the invariable rule of rewarding, in every case where it can be made appear that any useful public service has been performed, would have a most wonderful effect in preventing crimes: the expence, if judiciously and oeconomically managed, need not exceed, in any material degree, _the present aggregate_ of what is disbursed in different ways, in all the branches of the police and criminal establishment; it might, in fact, be defrayed, as well as every other charge, _by the police itself_, under the direction of the _central board_, hereafter more particularly alluded to, from the produce of the _licences_ proposed to be granted for regulating particular classes of dealers, by whose aid and assistance, in supporting thieves and pilferers, such a system is rendered necessary. nor should the rewards be wholly confined to officers of justice, either _parochial or stipendiary_. the public good requires, that they should extend also to watchmen and patroles, who should have every reasonable encouragement held out to them to be honest and vigilant, by small premiums paid down immediately, for every service they may render the public; either in detecting or apprehending persons who are guilty of felonies, or other offences against the public peace. at present, the watchmen destined to guard the lives and properties of the inhabitants residing in near _eight thousand_ streets, lanes, courts, and alleys, and about , houses, composing the whole of the metropolis and its environs, are under the direction of no less than above seventy different trusts; regulated by perhaps double the number of local acts of parliament, (varying in many particulars from one another,) under which the _directors_, _guardians_, _governors_, _trustees_, or _vestries_, according to the title they assume, are authorised to act,--each attending only to their own particular _ward_, _parish_, _hamlet_, _liberty_, or _precinct_; and varying the payment according to local circumstances, and the opulence of the particular district, from - / _d._ up to _s._ each night.[ ] [footnote : there is, in some respect, an exception to this rule, with regard _to the city and liberty of westminster_, and the parishes of _st. clement danes_,--_st. mary le strand_,--_the savoy_, the united parishes of _st. giles_ and _st. george, bloomsbury_,--the united parishes of _st. andrew, holborn above the bars_, and _st. george the martyr_, and the liberty of _saffron hill_, _hatton garden_, and _ely rents_.--the act of the th george iii. cap. , contains regulations applicable to the whole of these parishes and liberties, fixing the _minimum_ of watchmen at , and patroles at men, for the _whole_; but leaving the management still to the inhabitants of each respective parish or liberty. the same act fixes the _minimum_ of wages at _s._ a night, and patroles _d._ in the city of london, the salaries given to watchmen vary in each ward, from _l._ to _l._ _l._ _l._ _l._ _s._ _l._ _s._ up to _l._ and patroles are allowed from _l._ to _l._ and _l._ a year.] the encouragement being, in many instances, so small, few candidates appear for such situations, who are really, in point of character and age, fit for the duty which ought to be performed; the managers have therefore no alternative but to accept of such aged, and often superannuated, men, living in their respective districts, as may offer their services; this they are frequently induced to do from motives of humanity, to assist old inhabitants who are unable to labour at any mechanical employment, or perhaps with a view to keep them out of the workhouse, and to save the expence of maintaining them. thus circumstanced, and thus encouraged, what can be expected from such watchmen?-- aged in general;--often feeble:--and almost, on every occasion, half starved, from the limited allowance they receive; without any claim upon the public, or the least hope of reward held out, even if they perform any meritorious service, by the _detection of thieves and receivers of stolen goods_, or idle and disorderly persons: and above all, _making so many separate parts of an immense system, without any general superintendance, disjointed from the nature of its organization_, it is only a matter of wonder, that the protection afforded is what _it really is_.[ ]--not only is there small encouragement offered for the purpose of insuring fidelity, but as has been already shewn innumerable temptations are held out to dishonesty, by receivers of stolen goods, to the watchmen and patroles in their vicinity; as well as by thieves and housebreakers in all situations where they contemplate the commission of a burglary. [footnote : this proves how highly meritorious the conduct of the _managers_ and _trustees_ of this branch of the police of the metropolis must, in many instances, be. there can indeed be no manner of doubt, but that great advantages arise from dividing the labour, where all the benefits of local knowledge enter into the system.--so far as this goes, it ought not to be disturbed. but it is also necessary to consider the metropolis as a _great whole_, and to combine the organs of police which at present exist, in such a manner, by a general superintendance, as to give equal encouragement, and to instil one principle of universal energy into all its parts.] money is also received from disorderly persons in the night, to permit them to escape from the just punishment of the laws; while on the other hand, unfortunate females are often cruelly oppressed and laid under contribution, for permission to infringe the very laws, which it is the duty of these nocturnal guardians of the police to put in execution. excepting in the city of london, under the jurisdiction of the lord mayor and aldermen, (where there are, in the wards, watchmen, and patroles) and the parishes and liberties combined by the act of the th geo. iii. cap. , it will not be easy to ascertain the exact number of watchmen, &c. employed by the great variety of different trusts, in every part of the metropolis; more especially, as in several instances they vary in their numbers according to the season of the year, and other circumstances; but the following statement is believed to be very near truth:-- _beadles, watchmen, and patroles._ wards in the city of london parishes, &c. in the city and liberty of westminster parishes, &c. in the division of holborn parishes, &c. in that part of the division of finsbury which joins the metropolis parishes, &c. in the division of the tower hamlets liberty of the tower of london parishes and hamlets, being part of the division of kensington, near the metropolis parishes in the borough of southwark ---- total beadles, watchmen, and patroles [ ] ---- [footnote : watch-houses are now placed at convenient distances all over the metropolis; where a parochial constable attends, in rotation, every night, to receive disorderly and criminal persons, and to carry them before a magistrate next morning.--in each watch-house also (in case of fire) the names of the turn-cocks, and the places where engines are kept, are to be found. this circumstance is mentioned for the information of strangers unacquainted with the police of the metropolis; to whom it is recommended, in case of fire, or any accident or disturbance requiring the assistance of the civil power, to apply immediately to the officer of the night, at the nearest watch-house, or to the watchmen on the beat.] nothing can certainly be better calculated for _complete protection_ against acts of violence in the streets, than _the system of a well-regulated stationary watch_; composed of fit and able-bodied men, properly controlled and superintended: and from the number of persons already employed, independent of private watchmen, it would seem only to be necessary to lay down apposite legislative rules, with respect to _age or ability_, _character_, _wages_, _rewards for useful services_, and _general superintendance_, in order to establish that species of additional security, which would operate as a more effectual means of preventing crimes within the metropolis. let the same system of moderate rewards also be extended to beadles,[ ] for useful public service _actually performed_, as is proposed with regard to officers of justice, watchmen, and patroles; and much good will arise to the community, without any great additional expence. [footnote : beadles are, in many instances, employed at present as local superintendants of the watch, within their respective parishes.] it is in vain to expect that the public can be well served, unless the emolument becomes an object to good and able men; but these extraordinary rewards (as has already been observed) should always depend upon the vigilance and exertion of the parties themselves, in detecting offenders of every description: and should be paid, on its appearing to the magistrate, that no _impropriety_ or _indiscretion_ has marked their conduct. if, on the contrary, they should be proved to have acted oppressively or improperly, a power of immediate dismission and punishment should, in all instances, be lodged in justices of the peace, to be exercised according to the nature of the offence. having thus stated the civil force of the metropolis, in peace-officers, watchmen and patroles, making an aggregate of men--it may be necessary and useful to give such information relative to the magistracy, as may tend to shew the present state of the police, and to illustrate what remains to be further suggested on the subject of its improvement; for the preservation of the public peace, and the _detection_ and _apprehension_ of every class of offenders. * * * * * there exist at present no less than _five_ separate jurisdictions within the limits of the metropolis--namely,-- _magistrates._ . the city of london, where there are, including the lord mayor, aldermen, who have an exclusive jurisdiction within the ancient limits . the city and liberty of westminster--where there are upwards of justices of the peace, who have jurisdiction only in that particular district; but where the magistrates of the county of middlesex have an equal jurisdiction.--the number resident, of those who are not magistrates of middlesex, is supposed to be about . that part of the metropolis, which is situated in the county of middlesex, where there are about justices, including the princes of the royal family--many of the nobility--great officers of state--members of parliament--and other gentlemen of respectability;--of those in the commission about have qualified; and of these who have taken out their _dedimus potestatum_, only about reside in or near the metropolis . that district of the metropolis lying near, or particularly belonging anciently to the tower of london, comprehending about houses--where the magistrates ( in number) have an exclusive jurisdiction, and hold separate sessions of the peace.--the number who are not magistrates in middlesex, is . the borough of southwark, and that part of the metropolis adjoining thereto, within the bills of mortality--where the city magistrates have jurisdiction, besides the whole of the magistrates of the county of surry--namely-- , but of whom not more than reside in southwark, and in london, &c. (in all) --- total about --- but, notwithstanding the great number of respectable names, which are in the different commissions in and near the metropolis; and although all who have qualified have equal jurisdiction with the police justices, within their respective districts; yet the efficient duty for the whole of the metropolis, so far as it relates to the detection of offenders, is principally limited to two classes of magistrates--namely,-- . the aldermen of london, whose jurisdiction is confined to the ancient limits of the city, comprehending wards, in which are , houses on the london side, and bridge ward without, in the borough . the established magistrates, three of whom preside at each of the seven public offices, appointed by the act of the d of his present majesty, cap. . viz.-- . public office, queen's-square, westminster . public office, marlborough-street . public office, hatton-garden . public office, worship-street, shoreditch . public office, whitechapel . public office, shadwell . public office, union-street, southwark -- . existing (previous to the act) at the public office, bow-street -- . the thames police institution at wapping, for the river only -- total efficient magistrates who sit in rotation, -- daily, in the metropolis the jurisdiction of the magistrates presiding at the seven public offices, not only extends to westminster and middlesex; (and, in most instances, lately, to the liberty of the tower:) but also to the counties of surry, kent, and essex, from which considerable advantages in the prompt detection and apprehension of offenders have accrued to the public: the only difficulty that now remains to be removed, with respect to the clashing of jurisdictions, is that which regards the city of london; where, from its contiguity, and immediate and close connection with every other part of the metropolis, considerable inconveniences and injuries to the public are felt, not only from the circumstance of the jurisdiction of the city magistrates not being extended over the _whole_ of the metropolis, as well as the four adjoining counties; but also from the police magistrates having no authority quickly to follow up informations, by issuing warrants to search for property, and to apprehend persons charged with offences in the city. the whole difficulty resolves itself into a mere matter of _punctilio_, founded perhaps on ill-grounded jealousy, or misapprehension, which a little explanation would probably remove. where the object is to do good;--and where not even the shadow of harm can arise, no limits should be set to local jurisdictions; especially where privileges are proposed to be given; (as in this case, to the city of london;)--and where none are to be taken away. for the purpose of establishing a complete and well-connected system of _detection_, some means ought certainly to be adopted, more closely to unite the city and police magistrates,[ ] that they may, in a greater degree, go hand in hand in all matters regarding the general interest of the metropolis and its environs; making the suppression of crimes one common cause, and permitting no punctilio, regarding jurisdiction, to prevent the operation of their united energy in the prompt detection of offenders; this, from the extended state of commerce and society, and the great increase of property, is now rendered a measure in which the inhabitants of the whole metropolis, as well as the adjacent villages, have a common interest. it is an evil, which affects all ranks, and calls aloud for the speedy adoption of some effectual remedy. [footnote : the select committee of the house of commons, in their th report, , on finance, have strongly recommended a concurrent jurisdiction; and also, that two police offices should be established in london, upon the plan of the others, with magistrates to be appointed by the lord mayor and aldermen.] chap. xv. _the prevailing practice explained, when offenders are brought before magistrates.--the necessary caution, as well as the duty of magistrates in such cases explained.--professed thieves seldom intimidated when put upon their trial, from the many chances they have of escaping.--these chances shortly detailed.--reflections on the false humanity exercised by prosecutors towards prisoners.--their rudeness and cruelty, when engaged in acts of criminality.--the delays and expences of prosecutions, a great discouragement, inducing sufferers to put up with their loss, in silence.--how the inconvenience may be remedied.--an account of the different courts of justice, appointed for the trial of offences committed in the metropolis.--five inferior and two superior courts.--a statement, shewing the number of prisoners convicted and discharged during the last year.--reflections on this sad catalogue of depravity.--a radical defect somewhere.--the great purity of the judges of england.--the propriety of a co-operation with them, in whatever shall tend to promote the ends of public justice.--this object to be attained, in the greatest possible degree, by means of an authorised public prosecutor.--the advantages of such an institution, in remedying many abuses which prevail in the trial of offenders.--from to persons committed for trial, by magistrates, in the metropolis, in the course of a year.--the chief part afterwards returned upon society._ arriving at that _point_ in the progress of this work, where persons accused of offences are detected and brought before magistrates for examination, ultimately to be committed for trial, if the evidence shall be sufficient:--it is proper to explain the prevailing practice under such circumstances. the task, in this case imposed upon the magistrate, is arduous and important; requiring not only great purity of conduct, a profound knowledge of mankind, and of the common affairs of life; but in a more peculiar manner those powers of discrimination which may enable him to discover how far criminality attaches to the party accused; and whether there are grounds sufficient to abridge for a time, or ultimately to deprive the prisoner of his liberty, until a jury of his country shall decide upon his fate. it frequently happens that persons accused of crimes are apprehended under circumstances where no doubt can rest on the mind of the magistrates as to the guilt of the prisoner; but where the legal evidence is nevertheless insufficient to authorize an immediate commitment for trial. in these instances, (while he commits _pro tempore_,) he is called upon in a particular manner to exert the whole powers of his mind, by adopting such judicious measures as shall be the means of detecting the offenders; by discovering the goods or property stolen, or by admitting such evidence for the crown as may, with other corroborating testimony, prevent the ends of justice from being defeated. where a magistrate proceeds with indefatigable zeal and attention, and at the same time exercises good judgment, he will seldom fail of success; for in this case a similar spirit will animate the officers under his controul, whose activity and industry are generally in proportion to that manifested by their superiors. much as every active magistrate must regret that deficiency of pecuniary resource, which, under the present system, prevents him from rewarding those who must occasionally be employed to detect notorious offenders, this circumstance ought not to abate this zeal in any respect; since by perseverance it generally happens, that every good and proper arrangement for the immediate advantage of the public, may be ultimately obtained. the magistrate having done his duty by committing an offender for trial, satisfied of his guilt and the sufficiency of the evidence to convict him: and having also bound over the prosecutor and the witnesses as the law directs, to attend the grand jury, and (if a bill be found) to prosecute and give evidence upon the indictment; it might appear to the common observer, that the culprit's case becomes hopeless and forlorn. this, however, is by no means a stage in the progress that intimidates a professed thief; he feels and knows that, although guilty of the crime laid to his charge, he has many chances of escaping; and these chances unquestionably operate as encouragements to the commission of crimes. his first hope is, that he shall intimidate the prosecutor and witnesses, by the threatenings of the gang with whom he is connected;--his next that he may compound the matter; or bribe or frighten material witnesses, so as to keep back evidence; or induce them to speak doubtfully at the trial, though positive evidence was given before the magistrate; or if all should fail, recourse is had to perjury, by bringing the receiver, or some other associate, to swear an _alibi_. various other considerations also operate in strengthening the hopes of acquittal; partly arising from the vast numbers who are discharged or acquitted at every session of gaol-delivery; and partly from the carelessness and inattention of prosecutors, who are either unable or unwilling to sustain the expence of counsel to oppose the arguments and objections which will be offered in behalf of the prisoner: or are soured by loss of valuable time, experienced, perhaps in former prosecutions;[ ]--or ultimately from a dread entertained by timid persons, who foolishly and weakly consider themselves as taking away the life of a fellow-creature, merely because they prosecute or give evidence; not reflecting that it is the _law_ only that can punish offenders, and _not_ the individual prosecutor or witnesses. [footnote : it is true, that by the acts of th geo. ii. cap. , and th geo. iii. cap. , the expences of the prosecutors and witnesses are to be paid; and also (if the parties shall appear to be in poor circumstances) a reasonable allowance made for trouble and loss of time; but this is connected with the regulations of the justices, confirmed by one of the judges of assize, which vary according to local circumstances, and it is also necessary to plead poverty in order to be remunerated for loss of time: _but as the poor seldom suffer by thieves_, these acts appear to have had little effect in encouraging prosecutors to come forward; and it is believed few applications are made excepting in cases of real poverty.--in the county of middlesex there is an exception; where witnesses are directed to be paid by the overseers of the poor of the parish, where the person was apprehended; but this mode of payment is seldom if ever adopted.--the fund, however, which the legislature has thus provided, if oeconomically and judiciously applied by a public prosecutor, would remove many difficulties, without any material addition to the county rates.] false humanity, exercised in this manner, is always cruelty to the public, and not seldom to the prisoners themselves.--all depredations upon property are _public wrongs_, in the suppression and punishment of which it is the duty of every good man to lend his assistance; a duty more particularly incumbent upon those who are the immediate sufferers: through their means only can public justice operate in punishing those miscreants, by whom the innocent are _put in fear, alarmed and threatened with horrid imprecations--with loss of life by means of loaded pistols_; or bodily injury, from being hacked with cutlasses, or beaten with bludgeons--under circumstances where neither age nor sex is spared.-- yet experience has shewn that these arguments, powerful as they are, are insufficient to awaken in the mind of men that species of public spirit which shall induce sufferers in general, by robberies of different kinds, to become willing prosecutors, under the various trying delays of courts of justice; and frequently with the trouble of bringing a number of witnesses from the country, who are kept in attendance on the court perhaps several days together, at a very considerable expence. such a burden imposed upon the subject, in addition to the losses already sustained, in a case too where the offence is of a public nature, is certainly not easily reconcileable with that spirit of justice, and attention to the rights of individuals, which forms so strong a general feature in the jurisprudence of the country. from all these circumstances it happens that innumerable felonies are concealed, and the loss is suffered in silence as the least of two evils; by which means thieves are allowed to reign with impunity, undisturbed, and encouraged to persevere in their evil practices. nothing, it is to be feared, can cure this evil, and establish a general system of protection, but a vigorous police; strengthened and improved by the appointment of deputy-prosecutors for the crown, acting under the attorney-general for the time being. an establishment of this sort, even at a very small salary, would be considered as an honourable _entré_ to many young counsel; who, in protecting the public against the frauds, tricks, and devices of old and professed thieves, by which at present they escape punishment, might keep the stream of justice pure, and yet allow no advantage to be taken of the prisoner.[ ] [footnote : the propriety of this suggestion is sanctioned by the recommendation of the finance committee of the house of commons in their th and th report; and forms part of that system of general controul and arrangement for the prevention of crimes, stated more at large in a subsequent chapter.] as it must be admitted on all hands, that it is the interest of the public that no guilty offender should escape punishment;--it seems to be a position equally clear and incontrovertible, that wherever, from a defect in the system of prosecutions, or any other cause, a prisoner escapes the punishment due to his crimes, substantial justice is wounded, and public wrongs are increased. it has been already stated in the preceding chapter, that there are five separate jurisdictions in the metropolis, where magistrates exercise limited authority.--of course, there are five inferior courts of justice, where lesser offences, committed in london and its vicinity, are tried by justices of the peace. . the general and quarter sessions of the peace; held eight times a year, by the lord mayor and aldermen, at guildhall--_for the trial of small offences committed in london_. . the quarter sessions of the peace; held four times a year at guildhall, westminster, by the justices acting for that city and liberty--_for the trial of small offences committed in westminster only_. . the general and quarter sessions of the peace; held eight times a year, at the new sessions house on clerkenwell-green, (commonly called hicks's hall) by the justices only of the county of middlesex--_for the trial of small offences committed in middlesex and westminster_. . the general quarter sessions of the peace; held in the sessions-house in well-close-square, by the justices for the liberty of the tower of london--_for the trial of small offences committed within the royalty_. . the quarter sessions of the peace; held by the justices for the county of surry, at the new sessions house at newington, surry, in january;--at reigate, in april;--at guildhall, in july;--and kingston-upon-thames, in october, each year;--_where small offences committed in southwark and the neighbourhood are tried_. these five inferior courts of justice take cognizance of _petty larcenies, frauds, assaults, misdemeanors, and other offences punishable by fine, imprisonment, whipping, and the pillory_:--and in certain cases, the power of the justices extends to transportation. the higher and more atrocious offences committed in london and middlesex, are tried at the justice-hall, in the old bailey; by a special commission of oyer and terminer to the lord mayor, and a certain number of the judges, with the recorder and common serjeant of the city of london. offences of this latter degree of atrocity, perpetrated in that part of the metropolis which is situated in the borough of southwark and county of surry, are tried at the assizes, held twice a year at _kingston-upon-thames_, _croydon_, or _guildford_.[ ] [footnote : considerable inconvenience arises (and, indeed, great hardship, where prisoners are innocent) from the length of time which must elapse, where offences have been committed in southwark, before they can be brought to trial; either for inferior or more atrocious crimes. in the former case, prisoners must remain till the quarter sessions, (there being no intermediate general sessions of the peace) and in the latter case till the assizes, held only twice a year; this occasions a confinement, previous to trial, lengthened out, in some instances, to three, four, five, and even nearly to six months.] thus it appears, that five inferior and two superior tribunals of justice are established for trying the different crimes committed in the metropolis. as it may be useful, for the purpose of elucidating the suggestions already offered upon this branch of the subject, that a connected view of the result of these _trials_ should make a part of this work;--the following abstract, (including the discharges of prisoners by magistrates) has been made up for this immediate purpose: from authentic documents obtained from the keepers of the eight different prisons and houses of correction in the city of london, and in the counties of middlesex and surry. it applies to the period, from september, , till september, , which is chosen as a sort of medium between peace and war. it is impossible to contemplate this collected aggregate of the prisoners annually discharged upon the public, without feeling a strong anxiety to remedy an evil rendered extremely alarming, from the number which composes the dismal catalogue of human depravity. every inquiry in the progress of this work proves a radical defect somewhere. while the public tribunals are filled with judges, the purity of whose conduct adds lustre to their own and the national character, why should not every subordinate part of the criminal jurisprudence of the country be so organized, as to co-operate, in the greatest possible degree, with the efforts of those higher orders of the magistracy in accomplishing the purposes of substantial justice? nothing could tend more to promote this object, than the appointment already proposed of a public prosecutor for the crown. an institution of this kind would terrify the hordes of miscreants now at open war with the peaceable and useful part of the community, in a greater degree than any one measure that could possibly be adopted. it would be the means of destroying those hopes and chances which encourage criminal people to persevere in their depredations upon the public. a summary view of the prisoners _committed_, _tried_, _punished_, _disposed of_, and _discharged_ in the metropolis, in _one year_, ending in october, . _number of prisoners, punished and disposed of._ +-----------+--------------------------------------------------- |names of |died |prisons | |capitally convicted[a] | | | |sentenced to transportation[b] | | | | |imprisoned in newgate | | | | | |imprisoned in bridewell hospital | | | | | | |imprisoned in the house of | | | | | | |correction of middlesex | | | | | | | |imprisoned in tothil-fields | | | | | | | |bridewell | | | | | | | | |imprisoned in surry goals | | | | | | | | | |sent to the philanthropic | | | | | | | | | |and marine societies | | | | | | | | | | |sent to serve his | | | | | | | | | | |majesty in the navy | | | | | | | | | | |and army | | | | | | | | | | | |passed to | | | | | | | | | | | |parishes | | | | | | | | | | | | |sent to | | | | | | | | | | | | |hospitals | | | | | | | | | | | | | |total +-----------+--+--+---+--+---+--+--+--+--+---+----+---+--------- +-- | | | | | | | | | | | | | |newgate | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | l|poultry | | | | | | | | | | | | | o|compter | | | | | | | | | | | | | n| | | | | | | | | | | | | | d|giltspur | | | | | | | | | | | | | o|compter | | | | | | | | | | | | | n| | | | | | | | | | | | | | |bridewell | | | | | | | | | | | | | |hospital | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |new prison | | | | | | | | | | | | | m|clerkenwell| | | | | | | | | | | | | i| | | | | | | | | | | | | | d|house of | | | | | | | | | | | | | d|correction | | | | | | | | | | | | | l|in cold | | | | | | | | | | | | | e|bath | | | | | | | | | | | | | s|fields | | | | | | | | | | | | | e| | | | | | | | | | | | | | x|tothil- | | | | | | | | | | | | | |fields | | | | | | | | | | | | | |bridewell | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | | | | s| | | | | | | | | | | | | | u| | | | | | | | | | | | | | r|new goal, | | | | | | | | | | | | | r|southwark | | | | | | | | | | | | | y| | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +--+--+---+--+---+--+--+--+--+---+----+---+--------- | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +--+--+---+--+---+--+--+--+--+---+----+---+--------- [footnote a: executed] [footnote b: transported] _number of prisoners discharged by the magistrates, and from the eight gaols, in one year._ +-----------+------------------------------------------------- |names of |discharged by magistrates for want of proof |prisons | |discharged by proclamation and gaol delivery | | | |discharged by acquitals [transcriber's note: acquittals] | | | | |discharged after being whipt | | | | | |discharged after being fined | | | | | | |discharged after suffering | | | | | | |imprisonment | | | | | | | |apprentices discharged | | | | | | | | |offenders bailed out | | | | | | | | |of prison | | | | | | | | | |discharged | | | | | | | | | |by pardon | | | | | | | | | | |total | | | | | | | | | | |discharged +-----------+----+---+---+--+--+---+---+---+---+-------------- +-- | | | | | | | | | | |newgate | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | l|poultry | | | | | | | | | | o|compter | | | | | | | | | | n| | | | | | | | | | | d|giltspur | | | | | | | | | | o|compter | | | | | | | | | | n| | | | | | | | | | | |bridewell | | | | | | | | | | |hospital | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |new prison | | | | | | | | | | m|clerkenwell| | | | | | | | | | i| | | | | | | | | | | d|house of | | | | | | | | | | d|correction | | | | | | | | | | l|in cold | | | | | | | | | | e|bath | | | | | | | | | | s|fields | | | | | | | | | | e| | | | | | | | | | | x|tothil- | | | | | | | | | | |fields | | | | | | | | | | |bridewell | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | s| | | | | | | | | | | u| | | | | | | | | | | r|new goal, | | | | | | | | | | r|southwark | | | | | | | | | | y| | | | | | | | | | | +-- | | | | | | | | | | | +----+---+---+--+--+---+---+---+---+-------------- | | | | | | | | | | | | +----+---+---+--+--+---+---+---+---+-------------- n.b. although the author has been at infinite pains to render this summary as exact as possible, yet from the different modes adopted in keeping the accounts of prisons, he is not thoroughly satisfied in his own mind that the view he has here given is accurate, to a point.--he is, however, convinced that it will be found sufficiently so for the purpose. [to face page .] it would not only remove that aversion which prosecutors manifest on many occasions, to come forward, for the purpose of promoting the ends of public justice; but it would prevent, in a great measure, the possibility of compounding felonies, or of suborning witnesses.[ ] [footnote : notwithstanding the severity of the law, the composition of felonies and misdemeanors is carried to a much greater height than it is almost possible to believe; and various artifices are resorted to, to elude the penalties.--an instance occurred in august ; where a jew was ordered to take his trial for a rape, committed on a married woman.--the offence appeared, on examination, to be extremely aggravated.--the grand jury however did not find a bill; which was thought a very singular circumstance, as the proof had been so clear before the magistrate. the reasons were afterwards sufficiently explained; which show, what corrupt practices, artifices, and frauds will be used to defeat the ends of justice:--in consequence of a previous undertaking between the jew and the husband of the woman who had been so grossly abused, a sum of £. was left in the hands of a publican, which the prosecutor was to receive if the bill was not found. in this confidence the woman gave a different evidence from that which she had given before the magistrate. the jew, however, cheated both the husband and the wife; for he no sooner discovered that he was safe, than he demanded the money of the publican and laughed at the prosecutor.] it would also be the means of counteracting the various tricks and devices of old thieves; and occasion an equal measure of justice to be dealt out to them, as to the novices in crimes:--it would do more,--it would protect real innocence,--for in such cases the public prosecutor would never fail to act as the friend of the prisoner. the prevailing practice in criminal trials, in the true spirit of mildness and humanity, induces the judge to act in some degree as counsel for the prisoner.--without a prosecutor for the crown, therefore, every trifling inaccuracy in the indictment is allowed to become a fatal obstacle to conviction;[ ] circumstances which would frequently throw great light upon the charges, are not brought under the review of the jury, and thus public justice is defeated. [footnote : in criminal cases, a defective indictment is not aided by the verdict of a jury, as defective pleadings are in civil cases. indeed wherever life is concerned, great strictness has been at all times observed. that able and humane judge, sir matthew hale, complained above a century ago,[c] "_that this strictness has grown to be a blemish and inconvenience in the law and the administration thereof; for that more offenders escape by the over-easy ear given to exceptions in indictments, than by their own innocence: and many times gross murders, burglaries, robberies, and other heinous and crying offences remain unpunished, by those unseemly niceties; to the reproach of the law, to the shame of the government, to the encouragement of villainy, and to the dishonour of god_."[d]] [footnote c: he died .] [footnote d: hale, p.c. .] upon an average, the magistrates of the metropolis commit annually, (out of many times that number who are equally objects of punishment,) from about to persons, male and female, for trial, at the seven different courts of justice in and near the metropolis; charged with a variety of felonies, misdemeanors, and other petty offences. but after fully convincing their own minds, from a careful, and in many instances, a most laborious investigation, that the parties are guilty, they are obliged, from experience, to prepare themselves for the mortification of seeing their labour and exertions in a great measure lost to the community: the major part of these criminals being returned upon society, without any effectual steps adopted for their reformation, or any means used for the prevention of a repetition of their crimes. a considerable proportion of this wretched number may have suffered perhaps a slight punishment for their demerits; but which produces no effect that is not ultimately mischievous to the community; since it serves merely to initiate them, in a greater degree, in the knowledge and means of committing new acts of fraud and villainy. to establish a system calculated to prevent criminals from returning to their evil practices after punishment is the very essence of good police; but notwithstanding its importance to the community, no measures have ever yet been adopted, calculated to attain so desirable an object.--it is however ardently to be hoped, that the period is fast approaching, when this great desideratum will be in a certain degree obtained; and that the suggestions offered in the subsequent chapters, may tend to accelerate the renovation of this forlorn and miserable class of outcasts, by means of an appropriate _penitentiary system_. chap. xvi. _on punishments.--the mode authorized by the ancient laws.--the period when transportation commenced.--the principal crimes enumerated which are punishable by death.--those punishable by transportation and imprisonment.--the courts appointed to try different degrees of crimes.--capital punishments, extending to so many offences of an inferior nature, defeat the ends of justice.--the system of pardons examined:--their evil tendency.--new regulations suggested with regard to pardons and executions.--an historical account of the rise and progress of transportation.--the expedients resorted to, after the american war put a stop to that mode of punishment.--the system of the hulks then adopted.--salutary laws also made for the erection of provincial and national penitentiary houses.--the nature and principle of these laws briefly explained.--an account of the convicts confined in the hulks for twenty-two years.--the enormous expence of maintenance and inadequate produce of their labour.--the impolicy of the system exposed by the committee on finance.--the system of transportation to new south wales examined.--great expence of this mode of punishment.--improvements suggested, calculated to reduce the expence in future.--erection of one or more national penitentiary houses recommended.--a general view of the county penitentiary houses and prisons:--their inefficacy in reforming convicts.--the labour obtained uncertain, while the expence is enormous.--the national penitentiary house (according to the proposal of jeremy bentham, esq.) considered.--its peculiar advantages over all others which have been suggested, with respect to health, productive labour, and reformation of convicts.--general reflections on the means of rendering imprisonment useful in reforming convicts.--concluding observations._ imperfect in many respects as the criminal law appears, from what has been detailed and stated in the preceding chapters, and much as the great increase of capital offences, created during the last and present century, is to be lamented:--it cannot be denied that several changes have taken place in the progress of society, favourable to the cause of humanity, and more consonant to reason and justice, in the appropriation and the mode of inflicting punishments. the benefit of clergy, which for a long period exempted clerical people only, from the punishment of death in cases of felony, was by several statutes[ ] extended to _peers_, _women_, and all persons _able to read_; who, pleading their clergy, suffered only a corporal punishment, or a year's imprisonment; and those men who _could not read_, if under the degree of peerage, were hanged.[ ] [footnote : edward vi. cap. : jac. i. cap. : and william and mary, cap. : and william and mary, cap. .] [footnote : blackstone.] this unaccountable distinction was actually not removed until the th of queen anne, cap. , which extended the benefit of clergy to all who were intitled to ask it, _whether they could read or not_.[ ] [footnote : the benefit of clergy originated in injustice and inhumanity, and can only be palliated by the rude state of society, when so disgraceful a privilege was legalized and interwoven in the criminal code.--it partakes of the nature of a compromise with villainy.--it perplexes the system of criminal jurisprudence; and since its sting is taken away it would be an improvement to discontinue it totally.] in the course of the present century, several of the old sanguinary modes of punishment have been either, very properly, abolished by acts of parliament, or allowed, to the honour of humanity, to fall into disuse:--such as _burning alive (particularly women) cutting off hands or ears, slitting nostrils, or branding in the hand or face_; and among lesser punishments, fallen into disuse, may be mentioned _the ducking-stool_. the punishment of death for felony (as has already been observed) has existed since the reign of henry i. nearly years.--transportation is commonly understood to have been first introduced, anno , by the act of the th george i. cap. ; and afterwards enlarged by the act th of george i. c. , which allowed the court a discretionary power to order felons who were by law entitled to their clergy, to be transported to the american plantations for seven or fourteen years, according to circumstances.[ ] [footnote : it is said that exile was first introduced as a punishment by the legislature in the th year of queen elizabeth, when a statute ( _eliz._ _c._ .) enacted that such rogues as were dangerous to the inferior people should be banished the realm, _barr. ant. stat._ : and that the first statute in which the word transportation is used is the th of _charles_ ii. _c._ . which gives power to judges at their discretion either to execute or transport to america _for life_ the moss-troopers of _cumberland_ and _northumberland_; a law which was made perpetual by the act _geo._ ii. _c._ . woodd. .] since that period the mode of punishment has undergone several other alterations; and many crimes which were formerly considered of an inferior rank, have been rendered capital: which will be best elucidated by the following catalogue of offences, divided into six classes according to the laws now in force. * * * * * . crimes _punishable by the_ deprivation of life; _and where, upon the conviction of the offenders the sentence of death must be pronounced by the judge.--of these, it has been stated, the whole, on the authority of sir william blackstone, including all the various shades of the same offence, is about in number._ _the principal are the following:_ treason, and petty treason; _see page_ , &c. under the former of these is included the offence of counterfeiting the gold and silver coin, _see page_ - . murder, _see page_ , &c. arson, or wilfully and maliciously burning a house, barns with corn, &c. _see page_ . rape, or the forcible violation of chastity, &c. _see page_ . stealing an heiress, _see page_ . sodomy, a crime against nature, committed either with man or beast, _see page_ . piracy, or robbing ships and vessels at sea: under which is included, the offences of sailors forcibly hindering their captains from fighting, _see page_ , . forgery of deeds, bonds, bills, notes, public securities, &c. &c. clerks of the bank embezzling notes, altering dividend warrants: paper makers, unauthorised, using moulds for notes, &c. destroying ships, or setting them on fire, _see page_ . bankrupts not surrendering, or concealing their effects burglary, or house breaking in the night time, _see page_ . highway robbery house breaking in the day time, _see page_ , . privately stealing or picking pockets above one shilling shop lifting above five shillings, _see page_ . stealing bonds, bills, or bank notes stealing bank notes, or bills from letters stealing above _s._ in any house, _see page_ . stealing above _s._ on a river stealing linen, &c. from bleaching grounds, &c. or destroying linen therein maiming or killing cattle maliciously. _see_ the black act, geo. i. cap. . stealing horses, cattle or sheep shooting at a revenue officer; or at any other person, _see_ the black act pulling down houses, churches, &c. breaking down the head of a fish-pond, whereby fish may be lost, (_black act_)[ ] [footnote : the unwillingness which it must be expected a jury would have to convict a man capitally for _this offence_, might be adduced among many other instances, to show to what extent public justice is defeated, merely from the severity of the laws, and the want of a scale of punishments proportioned to the offences.] cutting down trees in an avenue, garden, &c. cutting down river or sea banks. cutting hop binds setting fire to coal mines taking a reward for helping another to stolen goods, in certain cases, _see page_ returning from transportation; or being at large in the kingdom after sentence stabbing a person unarmed, or not having a weapon drawn, if he die in six months concealing the death of a bastard child maliciously maiming or disfiguring any person, &c. lying in wait for the purpose, _see page_ . sending threatening letters (black act) riots by twelve or more, and not dispersing in an hour after proclamation being accessaries to felonies deemed capital stealing woollen cloth from tenter grounds stealing from a ship in distress government stores, embezzling, burning or destroying in dock-yards; in certain cases, _see pages_ - challenging jurors above in capital felonies; or standing mute cottons selling with forged stamps deer-stealing, second offence; or even first offence, under black act, not usually enforced uttering counterfeit money, third offence prisoners under insolvent acts guilty of perjury destroying silk or velvet in the loom; or the tools for manufacturing thereof; or destroying woollen goods, racks or tools, or entering a house for that purpose servants purloining their masters' goods, value _s._ personating bail; or acknowledging fines or judgments in another's name escape by breaking prison, in certain cases attempting to kill privy counsellors, &c. sacrilege smuggling by persons armed; or assembling armed for that purpose robbery of the mail destroying turnpikes or bridges, gates, weighing engines, locks, sluices, engines for draining marshes, &c. mutiny, desertion, &c. by the martial and statute law soldiers or sailors enlisting into foreign service * * * * * . crimes _denominated_ single felonies; _punishable by transportation, whipping, imprisonment, the pillory, and hard labour in houses of correction, according to the nature of the offence._ _the principal of which are the following:_ grand larceny, which comprehends every species of theft above the value of one shilling, not otherwise distinguished receiving or buying stolen goods, jewels and plate. _see page_ ripping and stealing lead, iron, copper, &c. or buying or receiving, _see page_ stealing (or receiving when stolen) ore from black lead mines stealing from furnished lodgings setting fire to underwood stealing letters, or destroying a letter or packet, advancing the postage, and secreting the money embezzling naval stores, in certain cases, _see pages_ - petty larcenies, or thefts under one shilling assaulting with an intent to rob aliens returning after being ordered out of the kingdom stealing fish from a pond or river--fishing in inclosed ponds, and buying stolen fish stealing roots, trees, or plants, of the value of _s._ or destroying them stealing children with their apparel bigamy, or marrying more wives or husbands than one (now punishable with transportation) assaulting and cutting, or burning clothes counterfeiting the copper coin, &c.--_see page_ - marriage, solemnizing clandestinely manslaughter, or killing another without malice, &c. _see page_ cutting or stealing timber trees, &c. &c. &c. stealing a shroud out of a grave watermen carrying too many passengers in the thames, if any drowned * * * * * . offences _denominated_ misdemeanors, _punishable by fine, imprisonment, whipping, and the pillory._ _the principal of which are the following:_ perjury, or taking a false oath in a judicial proceeding, &c. frauds, by cheating, swindling contrary to the rules of common honesty, &c. &c. conspiracies, for the purpose of injuring or defrauding others assaults by striking or beating another person, &c. stealing dead bodies stealing cabbages, turnips, &c. growing cutting and stealing wood and trees robbing orchards and gardens stealing deer from forests stealing dogs setting fire to a house to defraud the insurance office making and selling fire-works and squibs throwing the same when on fire about the streets uttering base money selling base money under its denominated value embezzlement in the woollen, silk, and other manufactures offences by artificers and servants in various trades combinations and conspiracies for raising the price of wages, &c. (_see stat._ _geo._ iii. _c._ ) smuggling run goods, and other frauds relative to the excise and customs keeping bawdy houses and other disorderly houses * * * * * . idle and disorderly persons _described by the act of the th geo. ii. cap. . and subsequent acts_; punishable with one month's imprisonment--_namely_, . persons threatening to run away and leave their wives and children on the parish . persons who tipple in ale houses, and neglect their families, &c. as described in the d geo. iii. cap. . persons who shall unlawfully return to the parish or place from which they have been legally removed, without bringing a certificate . persons, who not having wherewithal to maintain themselves, live idly without employment, and refuse to work for the usual wages . persons begging in the streets, highways, &c. * * * * * th. rogues and vagabonds _described by the said act of the th geo. ii. cap. . and subsequent acts_; punishable by six months' imprisonment--namely, . persons going about as patent gatherers or gatherers of alms, under pretence of loss by fire, or other casualty. . fencers, bearwards, strolling players of interludes, or other entertainments . minstrels, (except those licensed by the lord dutton in cheshire) . persons pretending to be, and wandering in the habit of, gypseys . fortune-tellers, pretending skill in physiognomy, palmistry, &c. or using any subtle craft to deceive and impose on others . persons playing or betting at any unlawful games or plays . persons who run away, and leave their wives and children upon the parish . petty chapmen and pedlars wandering abroad without a licence . persons wandering abroad, and lodging in ale-houses, out-houses, or the open air, and not giving a good account of themselves . persons wandering abroad, and pretending to be soldiers or sailors, without proper certificates from their officers, or testimonials from magistrates . persons wandering abroad, pretending to go to work in harvest, without a proper certificate from the parish . persons having implements of house-breaking or offensive weapons, with a felonious intent . persons concerned in illegal lottery transactions, as described in the lottery acts, th, d, th, and th geo. iii. * * * * * th. incorrigible rogues, _punishable with two years' imprisonment and whipping, or transportation for seven years, if they break out of prison--namely_, . persons stiled end-gatherers, buying, collecting, or receiving ends of yarn in the woollen branch, against the stat. geo. i. cap. . . persons, who being rogues and vagabonds, have escaped after being apprehended, or who shall refuse to be examined by a magistrate, or who shall give a false account of themselves after being warned of their punishment . persons who shall escape out of any house of correction before the period of their imprisonment empires . persons, who being once punished as rogues and vagabonds, shall again commit the same offence. [-->] _there are a great many other trivial offences denominated misdemeanors, subject to pecuniary fines, which it is not easy to enumerate. since almost every statute, whether public or private, which passes in the course of a session of parliament, creates new offences--the shades vary as society advances, and their number is scarcely within the reach of calculation._ the crimes mentioned in the first and second classes of the foregoing enumeration (except petty larceny) are always tried by the superior courts:--the offences specified in the third class, as also petty larceny, and every species of misdemeanor and vagrancy, are generally tried, (with some few exceptions) by the justices in their general and quarter sessions, where, in certain cases in middlesex, they act under a commission of oyer and terminer. the magistrates in petty sessions, and in several instances a _single magistrate_, have also the power of convicting in a summary way, for a variety of small misdemeanors, and acts of vagrancy: and of punishing the delinquents with fine and imprisonment. it generally happens in the metropolis, that out of from to prisoners who are tried for different crimes, in the various courts of justice, above - th parts are for larcenies, acts of vagrancy, and smaller offences; where the benefit of clergy, either attaches, or does not apply at all. the major part are, of course, returned upon society, after a short imprisonment, or some corporal punishment, too frequently to renew their depredations on the public.--but a vast proportion (as has already been shewn) are always acquitted.[ ] [footnote : all endeavours towards the prevention of crimes will ever be attended with unconquerable difficulty, until some general house of industry can be established in the metropolis: where persons discharged for petty offences, as well as strangers and others out of work, may have an opportunity of finding, at least a temporary employment, sufficient to maintain them. an institution of this sort would be a work of great charity and humanity; and it is earnestly to be hoped, that the view of the subject given in this work may induce the legislature to form a police establishment, calculated to promote such a multitude of good and useful objects;[e] more especially as with proper management it would very soon pay itself.] [footnote e: vide _page_ _n._] in order to form a judgment of the proportion of the more atrocious offenders tried at the old bailey: the number acquitted; and the specific punishments inflicted on the different offences in case of conviction, one year has been selected; a year in which it was natural to expect from the immense, and indeed, unparalleled bounties which were given for seamen and soldiers, that the number of thieves and criminals would be greatly reduced,--namely--_from the month of april_, , _to the month of april_, ,--including eight sessions at the old bailey-- the following table shews in what manner prisoners, put on their trials during that period, were disposed of.[ ] [footnote : in the year , prisoners were tried at the old bailey, and the different assizes in the country, exclusive of a much greater number at the general and quarter sessions of the peace, in the different counties. these trials in the superior courts of judicature, produced the following results:-- assizes london. in the total. country. received sentence of death " " " transportation imprisoned and whipt judgment respited to serve his majesty acquitted discharged for want of prosecutors --- ---- ---- ] the crimes for which the different offenders were tried, were these following: murder felony manslaughter arson larceny bigamy burglary receiving beastiality robbery stolen goods rape horse and cattle frauds and perjury stealing misdemeanors sedition forgery rogues and --- coining vagabonds --- ---- --- --- ---- _a_ table, _shewing the prisoners tried at the old bailey, from april , to march , inclusive._ -------------+------------------------------------------------------ |persons committed for trial. | |of whom, acquitted and discharged. | | |prisoners convicted, and their punishments. | | |death. | | | |transported for years. london, | | | | |transported for years. middlesex, | | | | | |whipt & imprisoned. and | | | | | | |imprisoned months and westminster. | | | | | | |upwards. | | | | | | | |imprisoned months | | | | | | | |& otherwise disposed of. | | | | | | | | |sent to serve | | | | | | | | |the king. | | | | | | | | | |judgment | | | | | | | | | |respited | | | | | | | | | | |total | | | | | | | | | | |punished. -------------+----+-----+--+-+---+--+--+--+--+--+------------------- london | | | | | | | | | | | sessions | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | middlesex and| | | | | | | | | | | westminster | | | | | | | | | | | +----+-----+--+-+---+--+--+--+--+--+------------------- | | | | | | | | | | | | |[ ]| | | | | | | | | -------------+----+-----+--+-+---+--+--+--+--+--+------------------- [footnote : the acquittals will generally be found to attach mostly to small offences which are punishable with death: where juries do not consider the crime deserving so severe a punishment, the delinquent receives no punishment at all. if all were convicted who were really guilty of these small offences, the number of victims to the severity of the law would be greatly increased.] thus it appears, that in london only, of prisoners, tried in the course of a year, only were punished; of whom , after a temporary confinement, would return upon the public, with little prospect of being better disposed to be useful to society, than before.--it may be estimated that in all england, including those offenders who are tried at the county sessions, upwards of five thousand individuals, charged with criminal offences, are thrown back upon society every year.-- but this is not all,--for according to the present system, out of about _two hundred_ and upwards who are, upon an average every year, doomed to suffer the punishment of death, _four-fifths_ or more are generally pardoned[ ] either on condition of being transported, or of going into his majesty's service, and not seldom without any condition at all. [footnote : as punishments became more mild, clemency and pardons became less necessary.--clemency is a virtue that ought to shine in the code, and not in the private judgment.--the prince in pardoning gives up the public security in favour of an individual; and by the exercise of this species of benevolence proclaims a public act of impunity.--let the executors of the laws be inexorable; but let the legislature be tender, indulgent and humane. beccaria, cap. .] hence it is, that, calculating on all the different chances, encouragements to commit crimes actually arise out of the system intended for their prevention:--_first, from the hope of avoiding detection and apprehension;--secondly, of escaping conviction, from the means used to vitiate and suborn the evidence;--thirdly, from the mercy of the jury, in considering the punishment too severe;--and fourthly, from the interest of persons of rank or consideration, applying (under circumstances where humanity becomes the friend of every person doomed to die), for the interference of royal mercy, by pardons_. god forbid that the author of these pages should do so much violence to his own feelings, as to convey an idea hostile to the extension of that amiable prerogative vested in the sovereign; and which his majesty has exercised with a benevolent regard to the feelings of humanity, and a merciful disposition truly characteristic of the mind of a great and good king. these animadversions are by no means pointed against the exercise of a privilege so benign, and even so necessary, in the present state of the criminal law;--they regard only the impositions which have been practised upon so many well-intentioned, respectable, and amiable characters, who have, from motives of humanity, interested themselves in obtaining _free pardons for convicts_, or _pardons on condition of going into the army or navy_. if these humane individuals, who exert themselves in applications of this sort, were to be made acquainted with one half of the gross impositions practised upon their credulity, or the evil consequences arising to society from such pardons, (particularly unconditional pardons) they would shudder at the extent of the cruelty exercised towards the public, and even, in many instances, to the convicts themselves, by this false humanity. in a country, where, from the great caution which mingles in that part of the criminal jurisprudence which relates to the trial of offenders,--it is scarcely possible that an honest or an innocent person can be convicted of a capital offence.[ ]--it would seem to be a good criterion, that the royal mercy should only be extended on two indispensable conditions. [footnote : it is not here meant to say there have not been some instances, and even one of a recent date, where an innocent man may be convicted; but they are certainly very rare, and when discovered, the royal mercy, of course, relieves the unfortunate person.] . _that the convict under sentence of death should, for the sake of public justice, (and to deter others from the commission of crimes) discover all his accomplices, and the robberies, or other crimes he has committed._ . _that he should be transported; or make retribution to the parties he has injured by being kept at hard labour for life; or until ample security shall be given for good behaviour after such retribution is made._ the precaution not having been used of knowing _for certain_, before pardons were granted, whether the parties were fit for his majesty's service or not; the convicts themselves carefully concealing every kind of bodily infirmity;--and the pardons containing no eventual condition of ultimate transportation, in case the persons should be found unfit for the army or navy;--the result has been, that many convicts, who have been since actually thieves upon the town, were almost instantly thrown back upon the public.--some, even before they were attested by the magistrate, in consequence of the discovery of bodily incapacity; and others, in a very short time after they had gone into his majesty's service, from the like unfitness being discovered; from some artful device practised to procure a discharge--or from desertion.--a professed thief is never deficient in that species of artifice and resource which is necessary to rid him of any incumbrance. this, however, is seldom taken into the calculation when humanity urges philanthropic characters to interest themselves in behalf of criminals; nor could it perhaps otherwise have been known, or believed, that so many of these outcasts of society have found means again to mingle with the mass of the people. what impression must these facts make on the intelligent mind!--will they not warrant the following conclusion? . that every individual, restored to society in this way, is the means of affording a species of encouragement, peculiarly calculated to bring others into the same dreadful situation, from which the unhappy convict is thus rescued. . that for this reason every pardon granted, without some lesser punishment, or removing the convicts from society, is a link broken in the chain of justice, by annihilating that united strength which binds the whole together. . that by removing the terror of punishments by frequent pardons, the design of the law is rendered in a great measure ineffectual; the lives of persons _executed_ are thrown away, being sacrificed rather to the vengeance of the law than to the good of the public; and no other advantage is received than by getting rid of one thief, whose place, (under present circumstances,) will speedily be supplied by another.[ ] [footnote : that able and excellent magistrate, the late henry fielding, esq. (to whose zeal and exertions in the exercise of the duties of a justice of the peace, in the metropolis, the public were under infinite obligations)--manifested, half a century ago, how much he was impressed with the injuries arising from frequent pardons.--those who will contemplate the character and conduct of this valuable man, as well as that of his brother, the late sir john fielding, will sincerely lament that their excellent ideas, and accurate and extensive knowledge upon every subject connected with the police of the metropolis, and of the means of preventing crimes, were not rendered more useful to the public. it is to be hoped, however, that it is not yet too late, since the state of society, and the progress and increase of crimes, call loudly for the establishment of a responsible preventive system.] nothing can sanction the punishment of death for crimes short of murder, _but the terror of the example operating as the means of prevention_.--it is upon this principle alone that one man is sacrificed to the preservation of thousands.--executions, therefore, being exhibited as seldom as a regard to the public interest really required, ought to be rendered as _terrific_ and _solemn_ to the eyes of the people as possible. the punishment now in use, considered in point of law to be next to that of deprivation of life, is _transportation_. it has been already mentioned that parliament authorized this species of punishment in the year --when the general plan of sending convicts to the american plantations was first adopted. this system continued for years; during which period, and until the commencement of the american war in , great numbers of felons were sent chiefly to the province of maryland. the rigid discipline which the colonial laws authorized the masters[ ] to exercise over servants, joined to the prospects which agricultural pursuits, after some experience was acquired, afforded to these _outcasts_, tended to reform the chief part; and after the expiration of their servitude, they mingled in the society of the country, under circumstances highly beneficial to themselves and even to the colony. possessed in general (as every adroit thief must be) of good natural abilities, they availed themselves of the habits of industry they acquired in the years of their servitude--became farmers and planters on their own account; and many of them, succeeding in these pursuits, not only acquired that degree of respectability which is attached to property and industry; but also in their turn became masters, and purchased the servitude of future transports sent out for sale.[ ] [footnote : by the acts george i. c. , and george i. c. , the persons contracting for the transportation of convicts to the colonies, or their assigns, had an interest in the service of each, for seven or fourteen years, according to the term of transportation.] [footnote : for some years previous to the commencement of the american war, the adjudged services of convicts became so valuable in maryland, that contracts were made to convey them without any expence whatsoever to government, who had formerly allowed _l._ a head; for the reasons already assigned, they generally were more adroit, and had better abilities than those who voluntarily engaged themselves to go to america.] the convicts having accumulated greatly in the year , and the intercourse with america being shut up, it became indispensably necessary to resort to some other expedient; and in the choice of difficulties the system of the _hulks_ was suggested, and first adopted under the authority of an act of the th of his present majesty. the legislature, uncertain with regard to the success of this new species of punishment, and wishing to make other experiments, by an act of the same session,[ ] empowered the justices of every county in england to prepare houses of correction for the reception of convicts under sentence of death, to whom his majesty should extend his royal mercy, to be kept at hard labour for a term not exceeding ten years. [footnote : george iii. cap. , sect. st, d, and th.] the same act, among many other excellent regulations, ordered the convicts to be kept separate, and not allowed to mix with any offenders convicted of crimes less than larceny--and that they should be fed with coarse inferior food, water, and small beer, without permission to have any other food, drink, or cloathing, than that allowed by the act, under certain penalties:--they were to be clothed at the public expence. and as an encouragement to these delinquents, while such as refused to work were to receive corporal punishment, those who behaved well had not only the prospect held out of shortening the period of their confinement, but also were to receive decent clothes, and a sum of money not less than _forty shillings_, nor more than _five pounds_, when discharged. this well-intentioned act[ ] (which certainly admits of many improvements), was followed up, three years afterwards, by another statute, ( geo. iii. cap. ,) which had two very important objects in view. [footnote : an enormous expence has been incurred in building penitentiary-houses in various counties, and many philanthropic individuals have exerted their best endeavours to carry this act into execution; but it is to be lamented, that crimes have been by no means diminished. the fact is, that the system is erroneous--responsibility is no where established.--no uniformity of system prevails, and no general superintendance or center point exists.--like the poor laws, the only part of the act which is rigidly carried into execution is raising a fund, which, without imputing blame to magistrates (for the error is in the system), has increased the expence of this branch of the police of the country very far beyond what could have been conceived--and it now becomes a heavy burden upon many of the counties.--the reform began at the wrong end.--the same expence applied in establishing a system of preventive police, ought to render numerous penitentiary houses in a great measure unnecessary.] the first was to erect, in some convenient common or waste ground, in either of the counties of _middlesex_, _essex_, _kent_, or _surry_, _two large penitentiary houses_, the one to hold _male_, and the other _female convicts_, with proper _storehouses_, _workhouses_, and _lodging-rooms_; an _infirmary_, _chapel_, and _burying-ground_; a _prison_, _kitchen_, _garden_, and _air-grounds_: with proper _offices_, and other _necessary apartments_. the expence of these grounds and erections was to be paid out of the treasury; and his majesty was empowered to appoint three persons as a committee of management for regulating the establishment; under the controul of the justices of the peace of the county, and judges of assize, with power to appoint a _clerk_, _governor_, _chaplain_, _surgeon_, or _apothecary_, _store-keepers_, and _task-masters_; and also a _matron_ for the females;--and to allow salaries to each, which were to be paid out of the profits of the work, to be performed by the convicts. as soon as the buildings should be completed, the court, before whom any person was convicted for a transportable offence, might, in lieu thereof, order the prisoner to be punished by confinement, in any of these penitentiary houses, there to be kept to hard labour in the proportion of _years_ instead of _years' transportation_, and not exceeding years in lieu of _years' transportation_; limiting at the same time the number of convicts to be sent annually from the circuits in the country, and from the different sessions in the metropolis. this act lays down various specific rules for the government of the establishment, and for the employment of the prisoners; and the following works, as being of the most servile kind and least liable to be spoiled by ignorance, neglect, or obstinacy, are selected, namely-- . treading in a wheel for moving machinery. . drawing in a capstan, for turning a mill or engine. . sawing stone . polishing marble . beating hemp . rasping logwood . chopping rags . making cordage . picking oakum . weaving sacks . knitting nets, &c. &c. the food of the different offenders, as in the former act, was limited to bread and any coarse meat, with water and small beer; and the prisoners were to be cloathed in uniform apparel, with badges affixed, agreeable to the institution. certain other rules were established for the discipline of the house, under the direction of the committee to be appointed by his majesty; who were to attend every fortnight, and to have power to reward such offenders as should appear most diligent and meritorious, by giving them a part of their earnings, to be applied for the use of themselves end families. and when an offender should be discharged, decent clothing was to be delivered to him; with a sum of money for present subsistence, not less than _twenty shillings_, nor more than _three pounds_. the second purpose of this act (and which is the only part of it which was ever carried into effect), regards _the continuation of the system of the hulks_. it declares that for the more effectual punishment of atrocious male offenders liable to be transported, the court may order such convicts as are of proper age, and free from bodily infirmity, to be punished by being kept on board ships or vessels; and employed in hard labour in raising sand, soil, and gravel, and cleansing the river thames, or any other river, or port, approved by the privy council; or in any other works upon the banks or shores of the same, under the direction of superintendants approved of by the justices, for a term not less than _one_ year, nor more than _five_; except an offender be liable to transportation for years, in which case his punishment may be commuted for years on board the hulks. the mode of feeding is the same as already explained, and the clothing is to be at the discretion of the superintendant. a similar discipline, varied only by local circumstances, is also established; and on the discharge of any of the convicts, they are to receive for present subsistence from _s._ to _l._ according to circumstances. the concluding part of the act obliges the governors and superintendants of the two establishments to make annual returns to the court of king's bench: and also authorizes his majesty _to appoint an inspector of the two penitentiary houses, of the several vessels or hulks on the river thames, and of all the other gaols and places of criminal confinement within the city of london and county of middlesex_; these inspectors are personally to visit every such place of confinement at least once a quarter, to examine into the particulars of each, and to make a return to the court of king's bench, of the _state of the buildings--the conduct of the officers--treatment of the prisoners--state of their earnings and expences_--and to follow up this by a report to both houses of parliament, at the beginning of each session. it is much to be lamented that neither of these two salutary acts, so far as regarded _national penitentiary houses_, which seemed to hold out so fair a prospect of employing convicts, in pursuits connected with _productive labour_, _industry_, and ultimate _reformation_, without sending them out of the kingdom, have been carried into execution. in the year , the system of transportation was again revived, by the act of the th geo. iii. stat. . cap. ; "which empowers the court, before whom a male felon shall be convicted, to order the prisoner to be transported beyond seas, either within his majesty's dominions or elsewhere; and his service to be assigned to the contractor who shall undertake such transportation." the same act continues the system of the hulks for a further length of time; by directing the removal of convicts, under sentence of death, and reprieved by his majesty, and also such as are under sentence of transportation (being free from infectious disorders) to other places of confinement, either inland, or on board of any ship or vessel in the river thames, or any other navigable river; and to continue them so confined until transported according to law, or until the expiration of the term of the sentence should otherwise entitle them to their liberty. this plan of transportation, through the medium of contractors, although some felons were sent to africa,[ ] does not appear to have answered; from the great difficulty of finding any situation, since the revolution in america, where the service of convicts could be rendered productive or profitable to merchants, who would undertake to transport them; and hence arose the idea of making an establishment for these outcasts of society in the infant colony of new south wales, to which remote region it was at length determined to transport atrocious offenders.--accordingly, in the year , an act passed, ( geo. iii. cap. ,) authorizing the establishment of a court of judicature for the trial of offenders who should be transported to new south wales. [footnote : in , george moore, esq. received for transporting convicts £. , john kirby for expences , john kirby; further expences anthony calvert for transportation thomas cotton, esq. cloathing, &c. ------------ £. , [f]] [footnote f: see appendix (l. i.) to the th report of select committee on finance.] another act of the following year, ( geo. iii. cap. ,) empowered his majesty, under his royal sign manual, to authorize any person to make contracts for the transportation of offenders, and to direct to whom security should be given for the due performance of the contract. by the act of george iii. cap. , the governor of the settlement may remit the punishment of offenders there: and on a certificate from him their names shall be inserted in the next general pardon. under these various legislative regulations, the two systems of punishment, namely, the _hulks_ and _transportation_ to new south wales, have been authorized and carried into execution. the system of the hulks commenced on the th day of july, in the year ; and from that time until the th of december , comprehending a period of nineteen years, convicts were ordered to be punished by hard labour on the river thames, and langston and portsmouth harbours, which are accounted for in the following manner: . convicts ordered to hard labour on the river thames, from th july , to the th january, . convicts, _under sentence of transportation_, put on board the hulks on the river thames, from th january, , to th december, . _deduct_, under sentence of transportation, put on board the hulks in langston and portsmouth harbours, received from the hulks at woolwich, on the th of june, ---- additional convicts sent from different prisons to portsmouth and langston from , to st december, to which, add those from woolwich as above ---- ---- total of the above convicts there have been discharged pardoned escaped ---- removed to other gaols transported to new south wales died[ ] ---- and there remain in the hulks on the thames and at langston harbour ---- total as above [footnote : a malignant fever, at one period, carried off a vast number, in spite of every effort to prevent it.] by a subsequent account laid before the select committee of the house of commons on finance, and stated in appendix, m. of their th report, dated the th of june, , it appears that the number of convicts stood thus: in the hulks on the thames, at woolwich at portsmouth ---- total besides under sentence of transportation in the different gaols, making in all . from the same authentic documents, (pages , ,) it appears, that of these convicts, the following numbers will be discharged upon society in the succeeding years:[ ] portsmouth. woolwich. in --- --- for life [footnote : see page of this volume, for an account of the convicts enlarged the preceding eight years, in all to be discharged as above ---- total ] recapitulation. convicts discharged from the hulks, from to inclusive (_see page of this treatise_) to be discharged from the hulks at langston chiefly in years from woolwich, chiefly within the same period ---- total in the same authentic documents, namely the appendix (l. & ) page of the th report of the select committee on finance, a statement is given of the expence which has been incurred by government, "for or in respect of the conviction, confinement, and maintenance of convicts, from the st january, , to the year ending the st december, ," of which the following is an abstract: jan. to jan. paid at the exchequer £. , -- -- -- , -- -- -- , -- -- -- , -- -- -- , - / -- -- -- , - / -- -- -- , -- -- -- , -- -- -- , -- -- -- , -- -- -- , -- to march -- , to december , , , , , , , , , - / , - / , } { , } { , --------------- total expence of convicts in the } hulks, from the commencement } £. , of the system to january } the contractors for the convicts at woolwich and langston harbour, (as appear from documents laid before the house of commons) entered into an agreement with the lords of the treasury obliging themselves for _the consideration of s. d. per day_, (being _l._ _s._ _d._ a year _for each convict_,) to provide at their own cost or charge, _one_ or more _hulks_, to keep the same in proper repair, to provide proper ship's companies for the safe custody of such convicts; and sufficient _meat_, _drink_, _clothing_ and _medical assistance_, for the convicts; as also to sustain all other charges (excepting the expence of the _chaplain_, _coroner_, and bounties to discharged convicts;[ ]) obeying, at the same time, all the orders of his majesty's principal secretary of state for the home department, respecting the convicts. a subsequent contract was made at - / _d._ which reduced the expence to _l._ _s._ - / _d._ per man: and which is the allowance made to the present contractors. [footnote : this expence, by an account laid before the house of commons, for one year, ending the th feb. , appears to be-- expence of chaplain, coroner, and bounties for convicts at woolwich £. at langston and portsmouth harbours --------- total £. ] the terms of these contracts appear to be as favourable for government as could reasonably be expected, under all circumstances; and it would appear, that some advantages are reaped by the public, as the documents laid before the house of commons in and , shew that the labour performed by the convicts is productive in a certain degree.--the following statements explain how their labour is valued:-- from the st of january to the st of january , it appears that , days' work had been performed at langston harbour, portsmouth, and woolwich warren; which being estimated at _d._ a day, is £. , and from the st of january to the st of january , it also appears that , days' work had been performed at the dock yard at woolwich; which being partly performed by artificers in a more productive species of labour, is estimated at _s._ a day , ------------- total value of convicts' labour in years £. , it appears from the th report of the select committee on finance, appendix, no. and -- that the work done by convicts confined on board the hulks in langston harbour, during the year , was performed by about convicts upon a daily average, and computing the labour of each artificer at _l._ _s._ _d._ per annum, and each labourer at _l._ _s._ _d._ it will amount to £. , the work performed in the same year by about convicts, confined on board the hulks at portsmouth, computed as above will amount to , -------------- , from which is to be deducted, to make the amount correspond with the valuation made by the ordnance board , -------------- £. , the work done by convicts, confined on board the _prudentia_ and _stanislaus_ hulks at woolwich dock-yards and warren, performed by convicts, rated at _s._ and _s._ _d._ for labourers, and _s._ _d._ per day for artificers, is calculated to amount to , --------------- £. , deduct allowances made, and articles supplied, by the board of ordnance , - / ------------------- total estimate of the value of the labour of convicts in £. , - / ------------------- upon this last statement the select committee on finance (whose various elaborate reports on the state of the nation, do them immortal honour as patriots and legislators) very justly observe, that it is extremely difficult to calculate the value of labour, performed under such circumstances, with any degree of accuracy; and after several views of the subject a conclusion is drawn, that the net expence to the public, for the maintenance of convicts in , after deducting the estimated value of labour, amounted to , _l._ _s._ - / _d._ being at the rate of _l._ _s._ - / _d._ per man. it appears, however, that out of the whole number of maintained in , only were actually employed. the labour of the remaining was, therefore, in a great measure, lost to the community. at any rate, the value of this species of labour must be precarious, and the advantages resulting from it problematical. since the mere "possession of so many idle hands will sometimes be a temptation to engage in works, which but for this inducement, would not recommend themselves by their intrinsic utility."[ ] [footnote : see th report of finance committee, page .] while it is admitted, that considerable improvements have been made with regard to the reduction of the expence; that provision has also been made for religious and moral instruction, by established salaries to chaplains;--and that the contractors have honourably performed their part of the undertaking; it is much to be lamented, that this experiment has not been attended with more beneficial consequences to the public; not only in rendering the labour of the convicts productive in a greater degree, so as at least to be equal to the expence; but also in amending the morals of these miserable out-casts; so that on their return to society, they might, in some respect, atone for the errors of their former lives, by a course of honest industry, useful to themselves and to their country. on the contrary, experience has shewn, that although an expence exceeding , _l._ has been incurred by government in the course of years, most of them, instead of profitting by the punishment they have suffered (forgetting they were under sentence of death, and undismayed by the dangers they have escaped) immediately rush into the same course of depredation and warfare upon the public: nay, so hardened and determined in this respect have some of them been, as even to make proposals to their old friends, the receivers, previous to the period of their discharge, to purchase their newly acquired plunder. it has already been shewn, that those few also, who are less depraved, and perhaps disposed to amend their conduct, can find no resource for labour; and are thus, too frequently, compelled, by dire necessity, to herd with their former associates in iniquity, and it is much to be feared, that the chief part of the multitudes, who have been periodically discharged, have either suffered for new offences, or are actually at present afflicting society by reiterated depredations.[ ] [footnote : see the examination of the author before the select committee of the house of commons.] after maturely considering the enormous expence, and the total inefficacy of the system of the hulks, aided by the new lights which have been thrown upon the subject by the important documents called for by the select committee on finance, it appears clear to demonstration, that it would be for the interest of the country to abandon the present system; and the author heartily joins in the opinion expressed by those respectable members of the legislature,--"_that our principal places of confinement, and modes of punishment, so far from the conversion and reformation of the criminal, tend to send him forth at the expiration of the period of his imprisonment more confirmed in vice; and that the general tendency of our oeconomical arrangements upon this subject, is ill calculated to meet the accumulating burdens, which are the infallible result of so much error in the system of police_." having thus explained the nature and effect of the punishment inflicted on convicts, through the medium of the hulks, and also the expence attending these establishments; it will be necessary in the next place, to examine the authentic documents, as they relate to the transportation of felons to new south wales. from the appendix, page , of the th report of the select committee on finance, printed the th of june , it appears that the number of convicts sent to new south wales and norfolk island[ ] from the year to the year inclusive, stood thus:-- men and women. children. total. ---- -- ---- [footnote : norfolk island is a small fertile spot, containing about , acres of land, situated about miles distant from sydney cove in new south wales, where the seat of government is fixed.] it appears also from another document in the same report (being the last return of convicts in the two settlements) that their numbers stood as stated in the following table,-- convicts |convicts |convicts |total |total |victualled|emancipated| |men | | | |and men women|men women|men women|men women|women ----------+----------+-----------+----------+----- in new south } | | | | wales on the } | | | | aug. } | | | | | | | | in norfolk } | | | | island on the} | | | | oct. .} | | | | ---- ---| --- -| -- --|---- ---|----- | | | | to which add the convicts sent in and , including children ---- total the diminution of convicts from to is to be accounted for, by a certain proportion leaving the settlement after the expiration of their time, and also by deaths,[ ] which in the natural course of things must be expected. [footnote : in months after the arrival of the first convicts in may , there were deaths and births in the whole settlement.] in resorting to this mode of disposing of convicts, which at the time must be considered as a choice of difficulties, a very large sum of money has been expended.--certainly much more than could have been foreseen at the commencement: since it appears from the th report of the select committee on finance, who certainly have bestowed infinite pains in the investigation, that the total amount exceeds _one million sterling_, as will be seen from the following statement, extracted from page of that th report, viz: disbursed for convicts including children, transported to new south wales £. _s._ _d._ in , -- , - / -- , -- , -- , - / -- , - / -- , - / -- , - / -- , - / -- , - / -- , -- , - / to which add the total naval expences , ------------------------ total expences in years £. , , - / specification of the heads of expences above stated-- expences of the first establishment of the settlement and transportation of convicts , expences of victualing convicts and the settlement from hence , - / expences of cloathing, tools, and sundry articles , bills drawn for the purchase of provisions, &c. for the use of the colony , - / expence of the civil establishment , - / expence of the military establishment , expence of the marine establishment , - / naval expences as above , ---------------------- total £. , , - / ---------------------- thus it appears, that in executing the sentence of the law on convicts more than one million sterling has been expended, nearly equal to _l._ for each convict, exclusive of the expence incurred by the counties, and by government in the maintenance at home; and without taking into the account the very considerable charge, which must have been borne by the private prosecutors in bringing these offenders to justice. the select committee in their laborious investigation of the effects of this system, very justly observe, "that the numbers of the convicts do not appear to have kept pace with the increase of the expence."--they proceed to state (page of the report) "that after a trial of twelve years, it seems not too early to inquire whether the peculiar advantages likely to arise from this plan are such as may be considered as compensating for its probable expence. the security held out by the difficulty of return on the part of the convicts is the only advantage that strikes the eye: but the nature of this advantage, the amount of it, and the certainty of it, seem not altogether undeserving of inquiry; nor whether a security of the same sort more at command, and more to be depended on, might not be purchased on less exceptionable terms. it may be also worthy of inquiry (add the committee) whether the advantages looked for, from this establishment may not be dependent on its weakness? and whether as it grows less disadvantageous in point of finance, it will not be apt to grow less advantageous in the character of an instrument of police? the more thriving the settlement the more frequented: the more frequented the less difficulty of return.--the more thriving too the less terrible. to persons in some circumstances;--to persons who otherwise would have been disposed to emigrate, it may loose [transcriber's note: lose] its terrors altogether, especially if by money or other means the servitude be avoidable. this inconvenience had already become sensible in the instance of the comparatively old planted colonies. many, though innocent, went thither voluntarily, even at the price of servitude, while others under the notion of punishment, were sent thither for their crimes; so that while to some the emigration remains a punishment, to others it may become an adventure; but a punishment should be the same thing to all persons, and at all times." contingencies, the committee remark, may diminish the utility of the establishment, or may increase the expence. "bad seasons, and the destruction of the vegetable part of the stock of food: mortality among the as yet scanty stock of cattle.[ ] mischief from the natives,--from insurrection among the convicts, or from the enemy. [footnote : an account of the live stock in the possession of, and land in cultivation by, government, and the officers civil and military, st september , extracted from page , of the above report of the select committee on finance. civil and military government. officers. settlers. total. mares and horses cows and cow calves bulls and bull calves oxen sheep goats hogs ---- ---- ---- ---- [g] ---- ---- ---- ---- [footnote g: in addition to the above stock head of cattle were discovered in the year , about miles s.w. of the town of sydney, which must have been produced from three cows which strayed from the settlement in . this proves that at least one of the cows at the time must have been big with a bull calf, and also gives the data for calculating the rate of the increase.] land in cultivation, viz:-- acres. government civil and military officers settlers ---- the above acres were unemployed in , on account of the want of public labourers, and the many buildings required--about - th parts of the acres were sown with wheat--much timber cut, but not burnt off, on the acres belonging to the settlers.] "here, as at sierra leone, malice may produce an expedition of devastation. the illusions to which the spirit of rapine is so much exposed may give birth to an enterprize of depredation; apprehensions of any such event entertained here would necessarily give birth to preparations of defence. the apprehensions may be well or ill grounded--the measures taken for defence successful or unsuccessful; but the expence in the mean time is incurred. the distance is unexampled, and all danger as well as all expence swells in proportion to the distance: these topics appear to merit consideration. "another circumstance is, that the labour of the whole number of persons sent to these colonies, whether as convicts or settlers, _is entirely lost to the country_, nor can any return, to compensate such a loss, be expected till that very distant day, when the improved state of the colony may, by possibility, begin to repay a part of the advance, by the benefits of its trade. "supposing abundance established, and remaining for ever without disturbance, it may be deserving of consideration, in what shape and in what degree, and with what degree of assurance, government, in point of finance, is likely to profit by the abundance: for the stock of the individuals, which each individual will consume, lay up or sell, is on his own account; is not the stock of government. the saving to government depends upon the probity and zeal, and intelligence of the bailiffs in husbandry, acting without personal interest in the concern at that immense distance." after opinions so decided, the result of an inquiry, aided by extensive information, and conducted by men of talents and judgment, it would ill become the author of this work to offer (if he could suggest,) additional arguments to prove the disadvantages which have attended, and which are likely to attend the transportation of convicts to new south wales. although with regard to mere _subsistence_, there may be a prospect (and it is yet a distant one), of the colony becoming independent of supplies from this country; yet with respect to most other articles its wants will experience no diminution, and having once engaged in the project, humanity requires that the settlement should be supplied at the expence of the nation. when the measure of establishing this colony was adopted, a hope was probably entertained that while the great difficulty and expence of the passage home, joined to the fertility of the soil and the salubrity of the climate, might induce convicts to remain after the expiration of the period specified in their sentence, so as not to become offensive again to their native country; the removal to an unknown region, inhabited by savages, and situated at such a remote distance from great britain would exhibit this species of punishment in so terrific a light as to operate powerfully in preventing crimes. experience, however, has shewn that this salutary effect has not been produced, and that crimes are not to be diminished by the dread of punishment in any shape. this great desideratum is only to be attained by a well-regulated police, calculated to destroy the sources from whence evil propensities spring, and to remove the facilities by which criminality is nourished and assisted. under the present circumstances, where the mind continues depraved, and where the harvest is so prolific, it ceases to be a matter of wonder that a considerable proportion of the convicts transported to new south wales, have found their way back to their native country;--and that not a few of them have again afflicted society by renewing their depredations on the public.--it is, indeed, lamentable to reflect, that after the extreme labour which has been bestowed, and the unparalleled expence which has been incurred, no effect whatsoever favourable to the interest of the community, or to the security of innocence, has been produced. looking back to the period when government was relieved of the expence of convicts, almost of every description under sentence of transportation, and reflecting on the enormous expence which has been incurred since the channel of disposal, through the medium of the late american colonies, has been shut up; considering that within the short period of twenty-five years no less a sum than , , _l._[ ] has been expended in transporting and maintaining about , convicts, which would have cost nothing under the old system;--it cannot be sufficiently lamented, that so liberal a provision had not been employed in establishing systems of prevention. one fourth part of this enormous sum expended in a proper establishment of preventive police, would probably have rendered transportation and punishment in a considerable degree unnecessary, while the country would have benefitted by the industry of a large proportion of these outcasts, who would then have been compelled to earn an honest livelihood by their labour. [footnote : expence of maintaining about convicts in the hulks, from january , , to january , £. , expence of transporting convicts in and , expence of transporting and maintaining convicts from to , new south wales , , ----------- total £. , , ] deploring the mass of turpitude which has drawn from the resources of the country so enormous a portion of wealth, it is no little consolation to be able to look forward to a measure recommended by the select committee, and in the train of being adopted by government, which holds out so fair a prospect not only of gradually diminishing this expence in future, but also of rendering the labour of convicts productive, and of securing the public against the repetition of those depredations which have been rather increased than prevented, by the system of punishments which have been heretofore adopted. the advantages in contemplation are to be attained by carrying into effect a _proposal for a new and less expensive mode of employing and reforming convicts_, which has been offered to the consideration of government by jeremy bentham, esq. and which appears to have been fully investigated by the finance committee, who state it (p. , of report ,) "to be no small recommendation to the plan, that the contractor proposes to employ the prisoners on his own account, receiving a proportionally smaller sum from the public for their maintenance.--that the great and important advantages which distinguish that plan from any other which has been hitherto suggested, consist in the certain employment and industrious livelihood which it insures to those whose terms of confinement are expired. in the responsibility which the contractor proposes to take upon himself, for the future good behaviour of criminals entrusted to his care, even when they shall be no longer under his control: in the publicity which is meant to be given to the whole conduct and effect of the establishment, _moral_, _medical_, and _oeconomical_, as well by an annual report of the state and proceedings, as by the constant facility of inspection, which will in an unusual manner be afforded by the very form and construction of the building, upon which the prompt and easy exercise of the superintending power of the governor himself principally depends." these advantages appear to the committee of more importance, when the periods of the enlargement of the several convicts now on board the hulks are taken into consideration. the pernicious effects produced upon the unfortunate persons confined in these seminaries of vice; and the circumstance of destined to be enlarged in the course of years, to afflict the society from which they have been separated--the committee consider as deserving of very serious consideration: and they conclude their view of the subject by expressing, an uncommon degree of solicitude, that no delay should take place in the execution of the contract with mr. bentham, "because it would deprive the public for a longer time of the benefits of a plan, which they cannot but look to as likely to be productive of the most essential advantage, both in point of oeconomy and police." the object in view is by the aid of ingenious machinery, to render the labour of every class of convicts so productive to the contractor, as to admit of their being maintained at per cent. less than the expence incurred on board the hulks; while a rational prospect is held out of reforming these convicts and returning them upon society, not only with purer morals, but with the knowledge of some trade or occupation by which they may afterwards earn their bread;--but this is not all.--the proposer of this important design insures to the convicts, after the expiration of their time, the means of obtaining a _livelihood_; by setting up a _subsidiary establishment_, into which all who found themselves otherwise destitute of employment would be admitted, and where they would be continued in the exercise of the trades in which they were employed during their confinement. it is, however, impossible to do justice to the merit of this _proposal_, without laying it wholly before the public. it seems to embrace every object calculated to remove the errors and difficulties of the present system, while it promises in a short time to relieve the finances of the country from the enormous and unparalleled expence which is incurred by the establishment of the hulks, and by transportation to new south wales. * * * * * proposal for a new and less expensive mode of _employing_ and _reforming convicts_. the author, having turned his thoughts to the penitentiary system from its first origin, and having lately contrived a building in which any number of persons may be kept within the reach of being inspected during every moment of their lives, and having made out, as he flatters himself, to demonstration, that the only eligible mode of managing an establishment of such a nature, in a building of such a construction, would be by _contract_, has been induced to make public the following proposal for maintaining and employing convicts in general, or such of them as would otherwise be confined on board the hulks, for per cent. less than it costs government to maintain them there at present; deducting also the average value of the work at present performed by them for the public: upon the terms of his receiving the produce of their labour, _taking on himself the whole expence of the_ building, _fitting up and stocking_,[ ] without any advance to be made by government for that purpose, requiring only that the abatement and deduction above-mentioned shall be suspended for the first year. [footnote : all these articles taken into the account, the originally-intended penitentiary houses on the late mr. blackburne's plan, would not have cost so little as £. per man:--for prisoners, £. , : exclusive of the whole _annual_ expence of maintenance, &c. to an unliquidated amount.] upon the above-mentioned terms, he would engage as follows: i. to furnish the prisoners with a constant supply of wholesome _food_, not limited in quantity, but adequate to each man's desires. ii. to keep them _clad_ in a state of tightness and neatness, superior to what is usual even in the improved prisons. iii. to keep them supplied with _separate beds_ and bedding, competent to their situations, and in a state of cleanliness scarcely any where conjoined with liberty. iv. to insure to them a sufficient supply of artificial _warmth_ and _light_, whenever the season renders it necessary: and thereby save the necessity of taking them prematurely from their work, at such seasons (as in other places) as well as preserve them from suffering by the inclemency of the weather. v. to keep constantly from them, in conformity to the practice so happily received, every kind of _strong_ and spirituous liquor; unless where ordered in the way of medicine. vi. to maintain them in a state of inviolable, though mitigated seclusion, in _assorted_ companies, without any of those opportunities of promiscuous association, which in other places, disturb, if not destroy, whatever good effect can have been expected from occasional solitude. vii. to give them an interest in their work, by allowing them a share in the produce. viii. to convert the prison into a _school_, and, by an extended application of the principle of _the sunday schools_, to return its inhabitants into the world instructed, at least as well as in ordinary schools, in the most useful branches of vulgar learning, as well as in some trade or occupation, whereby they may afterwards earn their livelihood. extraordinary culture of extraordinary talents is not, in this point of view, worth mentioning: it would be for his own advantage to give them every instruction by which the value of their labour may be increased. ix. to pay a penal sum for every _escape_, with or without any default of his, irresistible violence from without excepted; and this without employing _irons_ on any occasion, or in any shape. x. to provide them with _spiritual_ and _medical_ assistants, constantly living in the midst of them, and incessantly keeping them in view. xi. to pay a sum of money for every one who _dies_ under his care, taking thereby upon him the insurance of their lives for an ordinary premium: and that at a rate grounded on an average of the number of deaths, not among imprisoned felons, but among persons of the same ages in a state of liberty within the bills of mortality. xii. to lay for them the foundation-stone of a _provision for old age_, upon the plan of the _annuity societies_. xiii. to insure to them a _livelihood_, at the expiration of their terms, by setting up a _subsidiary establishment_, into which all such as thought proper, should be admitted, and in which they would be continued in the exercise of the trades in which they were employed during their confinement, without any further expence to government. xiv. to make himself personally responsible for the reformatory efficacy of his management, and even make amends, in most instances, for any accident of its failure, by paying a sum of money for every prisoner convicted of a felony after his discharge, at a rate, increasing according to the number of years he had been under the proposer's care, viz. a sum not exceeding _l._ if the prisoner had been in the penitentiary panopticon _one_ year: not exceeding _l._ if _two_ years; not exceeding _l._ if _three_ years; not exceeding _l._ if _four_ years; not exceeding _l._ if _five_ years or upwards: such sum to be paid immediately on conviction, and to be applied to the indemnification of the persons injured by such subsequent offence, and to be equal in amount to the value of the injury, so long as it did not exceed the sums respectively above specified. xv. to present to the court of king's bench, on a certain day of every term, and afterwards print and publish, at his own expence, a report, exhibiting, in detail, the state, not only moral and medical, but economical, of the establishment; showing the whole profits, if any, and in what manner they arise; and then and there, as well as on any other day, upon summons from the court, to make answer to all such questions as shall be put to him in relation thereto, not only on the part of the court or officer of the crown, but, by leave of the court, on the part of any person whatsoever; questions, the answer to which might tend to subject him to conviction, though it were for a capital crime, not excepted: treading under foot a maxim, invented by the guilty for the benefit of the guilty, and from which none but the guilty ever derived any advantage. xvi. by neatness and cleanliness, by diversity of employment, by variety of contrivance, and above all, by that peculiarity of construction, which, without any unpleasant or hazardous vicinity, enables the whole establishment to be inspected at a view, from a commodious and insulated room in the centre, the prisoners remaining unconscious of their being thus observed, it should be his study to render it a spectacle such as persons of all classes would, in the way of amusement, be curious to partake of: and that, not only on sundays, at the time of divine service, but on ordinary days, at meal-times, or times of work: providing thereby a _system of superintendance, universal, unchargeable and uninterrupted_, the most effectual and _indestructible_ of all securities against abuse. such are the methods that have occurred to him for accomplishing that identification of "_interest with duty_," the effectuating of which, in the person of the governour, is declared to be one of the leading objects of the penitentiary act.--[ geo. iii. ch. .] the station of gaoler is not in common account a very elevated one: the addition of contractor has not much tendency to raise it. he little dreamt, when he first launched into the subject, that he was to become a suitor, and perhaps in vain, for such an office. but inventions unpractised might be in want of the inventor: and a situation, thus clipped of emoluments, while it was loaded with obligations, might be in want of candidates. penetrated, therefore, with the importance of the end, he would not suffer himself to see any thing unpleasant or discreditable in the means. * * * * * _outline of the plan of construction alluded to in the above proposal._ the building _circular_--about the size of _ranelagh_--the prisoners in their cells, occupying the circumference--the officers, (governor, chaplain, surgeon, &c.) the centre. by _blinds_, and other contrivances, the inspectors concealed (except in as far as they think fit to show themselves) from the observation of the prisoners: hence the sentiment of a sort of invisible omnipresence.--the whole circuit reviewable with little, or, if necessary, without any change of place. _one_ station in the inspection-part affording the most perfect view of every cell, and every part of every cell, unless where a screen is thought fit occasionally and purposely to be interposed. against _fire_ (if, under a system of constant and universal inspection, any such accident could be to be apprehended,) a pipe, terminating in a flexible hose, for bringing the water down into the central inspection-room, from a cistern, of a height sufficient to force it up again by its own pressure, on the mere turning of a cock, and spread it thus over any part within the building. for _visitors_, at the time of divine service, an _annular gallery_, rising from a floor laid immediately on the cieling of the central inspection-room, and disclosed to view, by the descent of a central _dome_, the superior surface of which serves, after descent, for the reception of ministers, clerk, and a select part of the auditory: the prisoners all round, brought forward, within perfect view and hearing of the ministers, to the front of their respective cells. _solitude_, or _limited seclusion_, _ad libitum_.--but, unless for punishment, limited seclusion in assorted companies is preferred: an arrangement, upon this plan alone, exempt from danger. the degree of _seclusion_ fixed upon may be preserved, in all places, and at all times, _inviolate_. hitherto, where solitude has been aimed at, some of its chief purposes have been frustrated by occasional associations. the _approach_, _one_ only--_gates_ opening into a walled _avenue_ cut through the area. hence, no strangers near the building without _leave_, nor without being _surveyed_ from it as they pass, nor without being known to come _on purpose_. the gates, of _open_ work, to _expose hostile_ mobs: on the other side of the road, a wall with a branch of the road behind, to _shelter peaceable_ passengers from the fire of the building. a mode of fortification like this, if practicable, in a city, would have saved the _london prisons_, and prevented the unpopular accidents in _st. george's fields_. the _surrounding wall_, itself surrounded by an open palisade, which serves as a fence to the grounds on the other side.--except on the side of the approach _no public path_ by that fence.--a _centinel's walk_ between; on which no one else can set foot, without forcing the fence, and declaring himself a trespasser at least, if not an enemy. to the four walls, four such walks _flanking_ and _crossing_ each other at the ends.--thus each centinel has two to check him. in contemplating the whole of this important design, it is impossible to avoid congratulating the public on the prospect which now opens by a recent vote of parliament,[ ] for the purpose of carrying it speedily into effect. [footnote : at the close of the session in june , the house of commons voted _l._ to mr. bentham, toward the expence of carrying his plan into execution. see the appropriation act, geo. iii. c. .] it comprizes in its structure every thing humanity can dictate, or which a mind full of resource, and a judgment matured by great depth of thought could suggest, for the purpose of relieving society from a dreadful and oppressive evil. it is even to extend comforts to offenders in the course of punishment; and they are to be returned to society after the period expires, not as at present, polluted and depraved beyond what the human mind can conceive; but impressed with the force of religious and moral instructions, with an abhorrence of their former course of life, and with a resource for obtaining an honest livelihood by the trade or occupation which they were taught during their confinement.--and if employment should fail, when at liberty to make their own election, an asylum is provided, into which they will be admitted, and where they may continue to exercise the trades in which they were employed during their confinement, with certain advantages to themselves. these convicts are, moreover, while in confinement, to have an interest in the work they perform, by being allowed a share of the produce, which may be either partly or wholly applied in laying the foundation-stone of a provision for old age, upon the plan of the annuity societies, which is to form one of the oeconomical arrangements of this excellent establishment. among many other advantages calculated to improve the morals of delinquents, and to render them useful to society, it will possess, after a certain period, the singular faculty of extending to the public these incalculable benefits, _perhaps without any expence whatsoever_; since it may be reasonably expected, that by training both sexes to productive labour, extended and rendered valuable by the proposed introduction of ingenious machinery, it will hereafter become an object of advantage to new contractors, (after the system is fully matured, and the profits arising from it clearly ascertained), to take upon them the conduct of the design, without stipulating for any annuity or assistance whatsoever from government. nay, the certainty of this profit, and its magnitude arising from labour alone, may, perhaps, ultimately even create a competition of contractors, who, instead of _receiving_, will be induced to _offer_ a premium to government for the appointment to the situation; the value of which will be evidenced by the increasing annual profits. it is, indeed, highly probable, that as the institution advances to maturity, under a plan so admirably adapted to render labour productive in the greatest possible degree; in the same manner will the profits gradually increase year after year until they shall be rendered obvious and certain, and not as at present depending on speculative opinions. the proposed annual report to the court of king's bench, through which medium the progressive profits will be generally promulgated, will create notoriety, and excite attention; and it is by no means improbable, that when the contract becomes open, by the decease of the two gentlemen to whom the public are to be indebted for this invention, that it will acquire _a precise value_, like any other saleable commodity. this was exemplified in the instance of convicts sent to america, which for a great length of time cost government a large sum annually, until a discovery of the profits, arising from the disposal of the services of felons, created a competition, which eased the public of every expence whatsoever on account of their transportation. but these are not the only advantages which the country will derive from this new penitentiary system. its success will rapidly change the oeconomy of the many unproductive houses of correction, which have been erected at an enormous expence to the different counties, under the act of the th of geo. iii. cap. . those in the management of these respective establishments will gladly follow an example which mingles in so great a degree--_humanity with reform and profit_, thereby holding out a prospect both of diminishing crimes, and reducing the county rates, now estimated by the finance committee at _fifty thousand pounds a year_ for prisons, and criminal police alone. such are some of the benefits which may be reasonably expected to arise from the proposed penitentiary system. if they shall be realized to the extent which is contemplated, so as to render transportation, as well as the hulks, unnecessary, the pecuniary saving to government in twenty years will be immense. this may be ascertained by referring to a preceding page, where the disbursements in the criminal department are inserted, which have taken place since the commencement of the american war, which rendered a new system necessary. if to this sum is added the expences incurred by the counties, it will probably be found to have exceeded _two millions sterling in all_. but still further advantages may be contemplated in addition to those of a pecuniary nature.--by retaining delinquents in the country, and rendering their labour profitable to the state, a new source of wealth is opened which never existed at any former period, since the labour of convicts transported, whether to america or new south wales, has been totally unproductive to the country. the success of such a design, once clearly manifested, would give a new and favourable turn to the system of punishments. labour would be exacted in almost every case, not more for the benefit of the state than the advantage of the prisoner, since labour and reform generally go hand in hand.--without the aid of labour, it is in vain to expect an improvement in the morals or habits of delinquents--without an asylum to which discharged prisoners can resort for employment, their punishment produces no advantage. on the contrary, the vices of a gaol send them forth more hardened in iniquity, and greater adepts in the trade of thieving than before. nothing, therefore, can be more hostile to the diminution of crimes than the present mode of punishment for small offences, by a short imprisonment, without being employed in useful and productive labour. under this defective system the different gaols in the metropolis and the kingdom, are periodically vomiting forth hordes of minor delinquents, who serve as recruits to the more desperate gangs, and remain in a course of turpitude until cut off by the commission of higher offences. some exceptions, doubtless, there are; but while the resource for honest labour is so effectually shut out, many who have totally lost character, and are without friends, seem to have no other resource. to all who may be confined in the proposed penitentiary establishment, this difficulty will be removed.--a difficulty in the present state of things, the magnitude of which cannot be estimated, since it generates most of those evils to which are to be attributed the extensive corruption of morals, and the increase and multiplication of crimes. upon the whole, it would be expedient to give full effect to the new penitentiary system as soon as possible; which, to use the language of the select committee, (p. .) "seems to bid fairer than any other that was ever yet offered to the public, to diminish the public expenditure in this branch, and to produce a salutary reform in the objects of the proposed institution." at the same time for the purpose of rendering the system of punishments useful in the greatest possible degree to the community, and that they may operate, in the fullest extent, as an example, tending to the prevention of crimes, it would seem that the following general principles should be adopted. st. that examples of punishment by death, (except, perhaps, in cases of murder), should only take place twice a year: and that the impression upon the public mind may be stronger from the less frequency of such painful exhibitions, they ought on all occasions to be conducted with a degree of solemnity suited to the object in the view of the legislature, when the life of a fellow-creature is sacrificed, that it may really prove useful in deterring others; and not be contemplated with indifference, as is too often the case at present, without making the least impression, or being in any degree beneficial to the great ends of public justice. d. that the system of the hulks should be at once wholly abandoned, as a source of great expence, producing in the result infinitely more evil than good, and thereby exhausting the finances of the country without any one beneficial consequence. d. that transportation to new south wales and norfolk island, should be limited to a few of the most depraved, incorrigible, and irreclaimable convicts, whose vicious and ungovernable conduct, while under the discipline of a penitentiary house, rendered their reform hopeless.--that shipments should only take place once in three years, and that the civil and military establishment of the colony should be gradually reduced, so as to bring the national expenditure on this branch of police within moderate bounds. th. that every thing should be done to accelerate the erection of national penitentiary houses.--that their capacity, including appendages, should be equal to the accommodation of , convicts of all descriptions, so as to admit of different degrees of treatment and labour, according to the _age, sex, and state of health of the convicts_. th. that the local penitentiary houses in the different counties, destined for the punishment of persons convicted of larcenies, and other minor offences, should be conducted, as nearly as possible, upon the plan of the national establishments; and also by contract, under circumstances where the labour of the convicts may, by the resources of the contractor, be rendered (without hardship) equal, or nearly equal, to the expence; a measure conceived to be almost, in every instance, practicable, where knowledge of business, stimulated by interest, shall form an ingredient in the executive management. th. that there should be attached to each county penitentiary house, a subsidiary establishment, into which all discharged prisoners should be admitted who choose it, and where they might be continued in the exercise of the trades in which they were employed during their confinement, and for which they should receive wages in proportion to their earnings, until they could otherwise find a settled employment through an honest medium: thus giving those who are desirous of reforming an opportunity of sheltering themselves from the dangers of relapse, which arise from being afloat upon the public--idle, and without the means of subsistence. in carrying the penitentiary system into effect, it ought not to escape notice, that the hardship imposed on convicts, with respect to manual labour, would be no more than every honest artisan who works industriously for his family, must, during the whole course of his life, impose upon himself. the condition of a convict would, even in some respects, be superior, inasmuch as he would enjoy medical assistance, and other advantages tending to the preservation of health, which do not attach to the lower classes of the people, whose irregularities not being restrained, while their pursuits and labours are seldom directed by good judgment and intelligence, often produce bad health, and extreme indigence and distress. the difficulty which has heretofore been experienced with respect to productive labour in the provincial houses of correction will vanish, when the system shall be exemplified in the national penitentiary establishment. to conduct a plan of this nature with advantage to the public and to the individual, an assemblage of _qualities_, _dispositions_, and _endowments_, which rarely meet in one man, will be necessary--namely, _education, habits of business, a knowledge of the common affairs of life--an active and discriminating mind--indefatigable industry--the purest morals, and a philanthropic disposition, totally divested of those hurtful propensities which lead to idle amusements_. such men are to be found, and would come forward, as contractors, with ample security as often as opportunities offered, after the system became matured. it is only by the uncontrolled energy of talents, where duty and interest go hand in hand, that labour is to be obtained from convicts.--no fluctuating management, nor any superintendance whatsoever, where a spring is not given to exertion by motives of interest, can perfect any penitentiary design; or, indeed, any design where profit is to be derived from labour. hence the ill success of almost all the well meant establishments with respect to the poor, and to most of the local penitentiary houses. in some instances a few establishments at first hold out prospects of success; but at length they dwindle and decay, and in the result they have mostly all been unprofitable. the death or removal of an active or philanthropic magistrate produces a languor, which terminates often in the ruin or the abandonment of the design. the national penitentiary system is guarded against this contingency; and until the local establishments can enjoy equal advantages, success in any degree is scarcely to be expected, and _permanent success_ is altogether hopeless. the object to be attained is of great magnitude.--let an appeal be, therefore, made to the good sense of the country, and to the feelings of humanity in behalf of an unfortunate and noxious class of individuals. let the effects of the present system be candidly examined, in opposition to the benefits which may result from that which is proposed, and let the decision be speedy, that society may no longer be tormented by the evils which arise from this branch of the police of the country. the suggestions which are thus hazarded on the subject of punishments, are by no means the refinements of speculation doubtful and uncertain in their issue. the system accords either with what has been already enacted by the legislature or recommended by the finance committee. and the whole has been admitted to be practicable under an able and permanent superintendence. a hope may, therefore, be indulged, that where the interest of society and the cause of humanity is so deeply concerned, a design which holds out so many advantages, will experience that general support which it unquestionably merits; since its object is not only to reclaim the out-casts of the present generation, but also to rescue thousands yet unborn from misery and destruction. chap. xvii. _the police of the metropolis examined--its organization explained, with regard to that branch which relates to the prevention and suppression of crimes.--the utility of the new system, established in , examined and explained.--reasons assigned why this system has not tended, in a greater degree, to the suppression and prevention of atrocious crimes--its great deficiency from the want of funds, by which magistrates are crippled in their exertions, with regard to the detection and punishment of offenders.--reasons in favour of a new system.--the police of the city of london (as now constituted) explained and examined.--suggestions relative to established justices, and the benefits likely to result from their exertions in assisting the city magistrates: from whose other engagements and pursuits, that close and laborious attention cannot be expected which the public interest requires.--the magistrates of london the most respectable, perhaps, in the world.--the vast labour and weight of duty attached to the chief magistrate.--the aldermen have certain duties assigned them, which ought not, in justice to be augmented, as they act gratuitously.--the benefits which result to the community from established police magistrates, considered in different points of view; and exemplified in the advantages which have arisen from the system under the act of .--general reflections on the advantages which would arise from the various remedies which have been proposed in the course of this work.--these benefits, however, only of a partial nature, inadequate to the object of complete protection, for want of a centre-point and superintending establishment, under the controul of the first minister of police.--reasons assigned in favour of such a system.--the advantages that would result from its adoption.--the ideas of enlightened foreigners on the police of the metropolis explained.--reflections suggested by those ideas.--observations on the police of paris previous to the revolution in france: elucidated by anecdotes of the emperor joseph the second and mons. de sartine.--the danger of an inundation of foreign sharpers and villains on the return of peace.--the situation of europe requires, and the necessity of a well-regulated police points out the utility of, a central board of commissioners for managing the police.--this measure recommended by the select committee of finance, since the publication of the last edition of this work._ having in the preceding chapters endeavoured to bring under the review of the reader, not only those prominent causes which have occasioned that great increase of public wrongs, which every good man must deplore, but also the _various classes of delinquents_ which compose the melancholy catalogue of human depravity; having also stated such observations and facts, relative to _detection_, _trials_, and _punishments_, as seemed to be necessary for the purpose of elucidating a subject of great importance to be understood; it remains now to explain and develope the _system_ hitherto established for the purpose of protecting the public against those enormities; and from which is to be expected that energy, and those exertions, which have been shewn to be so indispensably necessary, for the suppression and prevention of crimes. the police _of this great metropolis_ is undoubtedly a system highly interesting to be understood, although heretofore (as far as the author has had access to know) it has never been, at any period, fully explained through the medium of the press;--and hence it is, that a vast proportion of those who reside in the capital, as well as the multitude of strangers who resort to it, have no accurate idea of the principles of organization, which move so complicated a machine. it has been already stated in a preceding chapter, that twenty-six magistrates, forming that respectable body, comprehending the lord-mayor and aldermen,[ ] sit in rotation every forenoon, at the mansion-house, and at guildhall, and take cognizance of all matters of police within the ancient jurisdiction of the city of london; while twenty-six established magistrates appointed for every other part of the metropolis,[ ] including the river police, having particular offices or courts of justice assigned them at convenient distances in westminster, middlesex, and surry, sit every day (sunday excepted) both in the morning and evening, for the purpose of executing all the multifarious duties, connected with the office of a justice of the peace, which unavoidably occur in large societies.[ ] [footnote : the following are the names of the aldermen at present in the magistracy of the city; arranged according to their seniority. right hon. thos. harley, bridge ward without sir watkin lewis, knt. lime-street sir william plomer, knt. bassishaw nathaniel newnham, esq. vintry john boydell, esq. cheap paul le mesurier, esq. dowgate brock watson, esq. cordwainers thomas skinner, esq. queenhithe william curtis, esq. tower william newnham, esq. farringdon within g.m. macauley, esq. coleman-street j.w. andersen, esq. aldersgate-street harvey c. combe, esq. aldgate sir richard carr glyn, knt. bishopsgate-street william staines, esq. cripplegate sir john eamer, knt. langborne sir william herne, knt. castle-baynard robert williams, esq. cornhill charles hamerton, esq. bread-street charles price, esq. farringdon without peter perchard, esq. candlewick thomas cadell, esq. walbrook george hibbert, esq. bridge within james shaw, esq. portsoken john perring, esq. broad-street william leighton, esq. billingsgate sir john william rose, knt. recorder of london, a magistrate, holding rank above the aldermen who have not served the office of lord mayor.--he assists at the general and quarter sessions of the peace, and in the principal affairs of the city; but does not sit in rotation. richard clark, esq. chamberlain, acting judicially with respect to apprentices. mr. newman, clerk to the lord-mayor, or sitting alderman at the mansion-house. mr. whittle, clerk to the sitting alderman at guildhall.] [footnote : the following are the public offices in the metropolis; (exclusive of the city of london;) and the respective magistrates who _preside_, and the clerks who _officiate_ at each. westminster. bow-street, sir william addington, knt. } covent garden. nicholas bond, esq. } _magistrates_. richard ford, esq. } mess. lavender and davies, _clerks_. the following seven public offices were established by the act geo. iii. cap. . and continued for years by geo. iii. cap. . queen's square, cranley thomas kerby, esq. } st. margaret's henry james pye, esq. } _magistrates_. westminster. patrick colquhoun, esq. } mess. arthur gliddon and j. jones, _clerks_. great marl- nathaniel conant, esq. } borough-street, john scott, esq. } _magistrates_. oxford road. phillip neave, esq. } mess. h.p. butler and j. thornton, _clerks_. middlesex. hatton garden william bleamire, esq. } holborn. aaron graham, esq. } _magistrates_. robert baker, esq. } mess. a. todd and w. upton, _clerks_. worship-street, john floud, esq. } finsbury-squ. william brodie, esq. } _magistrates_. john nares, esq. } mess. chas. lush and j. chalmers, _clerks_. lambeth-street, rice davies, esq. } whitechapel. henry reynett, d.d. } _magistrates_. daniel williams, esq. } mess. john smith and j. bailey, _clerks_. high-street, george storie, esq. } shadwell. john staples, esq. } _magistrates_. rupert clarke, esq. } mess. j. rowswell and g. skeen, _clerks_. surrey. union-street, gideon fournier, esq. } southwark. benjamin robinson, esq. } _magistrates_. richard carpenter smith, esq. } mess. d. campbell and j.a. jallicoe, _clerks_. marine police, p. colquhoun, esq. superintending magistrate, wapping new gratis stairs. john harriot, esq. resident magistrate henry lang, esq. chief clerk william brooke, cashier three junior clerks, and ten surveyors, &c. n.b. the whole fees and penalties taken and received at the seven offices, established by geo. iii. cap. . are paid into the _receiver_ on account of the public, and the whole expences of the establishments are defrayed from the funds placed in his hands for that purpose.] [footnote : the marine police magistrates, on account of the extent of the establishment, and the number of river officers under their control, never leave the office from the time that business commences in the morning until a late hour in the evening.] this institution of established justices (except with regard to the three magistrates at bow-street, and the justices at the marine police office,) was suggested to the legislature, in consequence of the pressure felt by the public, from the want of some regular and properly-constituted tribunals for the distribution of justice; where the system should be uniform; and where the purity of the magistrates, and their regular attendance, might insure to the people, the adjustment of their differences, at the least possible expence; and the assistance of gratuitous advice in every difficulty; as well as official aid, in all cases within the sphere of the magistrates in their respective districts. the duty of these established magistrates, (in conjunction with other justices of the peace, who find it convenient to give their assistance,) extends also to several important judicial proceedings; where, in a great variety of instances, they are empowered and required to _hear_ and _determine_, in a summary way; particularly in cases relative to the _customs, excise, and stamps--the game laws--hawkers and pedlars--pawn-brokers--friendly societies--highways--hackney coaches, carts, and other carriages--quakers and others refusing to pay tythes--appeals of defaulters in parochial rates--misdemeanors committed by persons unlawfully pawning property not their own--bakers for short weight, &c.--journeymen leaving their services in different trades--labourers not complying with their agreements--disorderly apprentices--alehouse keepers keeping disorderly houses--nuisances by different acts of parliament--acts of vagrancy by fraudulent lottery insurers--fortune-tellers; or persons of evil fame found in avenues to public places, with an intent to rob--as well as a multitude of other offences, in which justices have power to proceed to conviction and punishment, either by fine or imprisonment_. the duty of the magistrates also extends to a vast number of other objects, such as _licencing public houses_, and establishing rules and orders for publicans,[ ] _watching over the conduct of publicans--swearing in, charging and instructing parochial constables and headboroughs from year to year, with regard to their duty--issuing warrants for privy searches; and in considering the cases of persons charged with being disorderly persons, or rogues and vagabonds, liable to be punished under the act of the th of george ii. cap. , and subsequent acts of parliament--in making orders to parish officers, beadles, and constables, in a variety of cases--in parish removals--in billeting soldiers--in considering the cases of poor persons applying for assistance, or admission to workhouses--in granting certificates and orders to the wives of persons serving in the militia_, and also _in attesting recruits, for the army--in attending the general and quarter sessions of the peace, and in visiting the workhouses, bride-wells, and prisons_.[ ] [footnote : see tract on public houses, by the author of this treatise.] [footnote : the magistrates at the marine police confine their attention almost wholly to the cognizance of offences, either committed on the river, or connected with maritime affairs, and his majesty's stores in the public arsenals.] in addition to these various duties, many criminal cases occur in the course of a year, which are examined for the purpose, if necessary, of being sent to superior tribunals for trials:--such as charges of _treason, murder, coining, and uttering base money, arson, manslaughter, forgery, burglary, larceny, sedition, felonies of various descriptions, conspiracies, frauds, riots, assaults, and misdemeanors of different kinds_:--all which unavoidably impose upon every official magistrate, a weight of business requiring great exertion, and an unremitting attention to the public interest, in the due execution of this very important trust. when the police system was first established in the year , the public mind became impressed with an idea that the chief, if not the only, object of the institution was to prevent _robberies_, _burglaries_, and other _atrocious offences_; and that the suppression of those crimes, which bore hardest upon society, and were most dreaded by the public at large, was to be the result. these expectations shewed, that neither the powers nor authorities granted by the act of parliament, nor the other duties imposed upon the magistracy of the police, were understood. for this statute (useful as it certainly is in a very high degree in many other respects,) does not contain even a single regulation applicable to the prevention of crimes; except that which relates to the apprehension of suspected characters, found in the avenues to public places, with intent to commit felony; who are liable to be punished as rogues and vagabonds,--and even this provision does not extend to the city of london. but this is not all--an establishment has been created, without the most necessary of all engines to give vigour and effect to the exertions of the magistrates; namely, a pecuniary fund to defray the expences of detecting criminals, and of rewarding those who bring informations useful to public justice. the expence of each public office being restricted to _two thousand pounds_ a year, and the establishment in _salaries_, _rents_, _taxes_, and other _contingencies_ exhausting that sum, nothing remains for one of the most necessary purposes of the institution--the _prevention_ and the _suppression of crimes_.[ ] [footnote : it is by no means to be understood, that this deficiency arose from any want of real attention or public spirit on the part of the respectable individuals who framed and promoted this act. it was perhaps as much as could reasonably be expected at the time, until the public mind could be more fully informed. it was by the operation of this act, that a correct view of the improvements necessary to complete the system, were to be obtained. this first step was, therefore, of great importance; and it is but justice to state, that to the authors of this act the public will be indebted for every subsequent arrangement, which may be adopted for perfecting the police of the metropolis.] it is in vain to expect that either vigour or energy can enter into that part of the system, where a great deal of _both_ is necessary, _without funds_. if criminals, at war with the community, are to be detected--if risks are to be run to effect this purpose--if it is to be done, (as it must frequently be) at the hazard of the loss of health, and _even of life_, by watching desperadoes in the night time--if accurate informations are necessary, either to discover where stolen property is deposited, or where the delinquents are to be found; a fund must be provided, or the public cannot be protected. those, whose province it is to watch over the police must not expect that men, capable of giving them useful information, will return a second time, if they have not some adequate reward bestowed upon them for their labour, risk, and trouble. without such power of granting small rewards, (so far as that part of his duty which relates to the discovery of property plundered, and the detection of the offenders is of importance to the public,) a magistrate is placed in the situation of a person pledged to work, _without tools or implements of labour_, by which he can in any respect accomplish his purpose. and hence it is, that among the numerous causes assigned in the course of this work, for the increase of crimes,--this is none of the least. not that it is meant that any additional burthen on the public, by an extensive expenditure of money, would be necessary--a very moderate sum judiciously and oeconomically laid out, would bring to commissioners of the police, or to the _disbursing magistrates_, through some medium or other, an early account of most of the depredations committed upon the public, as well as every circumstance relative to coiners and sellers of base money.--this would lead to the detection and apprehension of most of the offenders; and thereby strike such an universal terror, as (assisted by the other salutary regulations proposed in this work) would soon reduce the number of thieves, coiners, and other delinquents; and thus, of course, diminish the ultimate and great additional expence which follows conviction, in all cases where felons are in the course of punishment. in this view of the subject, it would prove a regulation calculated greatly to reduce the aggregate expence; for surely, if _a few guineas_ judiciously laid out, in the first instance, would save _fifty_ afterwards to the state, it must be a wise and a good arrangement; and in this way it would probably operate. but this would not be the only saving to the nation: by preventing crimes, all those concerned in projects of mischief must, instead of preying upon the industry of others, assist the state, by contributing their share to the national stock of labour. next to the want of a sufficient pecuniary fund, the most obvious deficiency in the present system of executive police in the metropolis, is that which regards the magistracy of the city of london; _where the case is precisely reversed_; for _there_ the funds for the detection and discovery of offenders, may be made as ample as the corporation shall think fit; but the want of a _stipendiary establishment_ must prevent the operation of that system of vigour and energy, which the increase of criminals and the present state of society demand. the magistrates of the city of london form a body, perhaps the most _respectable_, and _independent_ of any in the world; but besides the unavoidable, important, and multiplied affairs of the corporation, in attending the various courts of the lord-mayor--aldermen--common council--common hall--wardmotes--conservancy--courts of requests--court of orphans--and general and quarter sessions of the peace, and justice hall at the old bailey, they have avocations and engagements in business, which must necessarily occupy their minds. it cannot, therefore, reasonably be expected, that they should forego their own important private interests, and bestow upon the business of the public that attention which their situation as magistrates seems to require.[ ] [footnote : the author having had occasion to represent to a late chief magistrate, of great talents and respectability, the enormous evil arising from _base coin_:--he very judiciously observed, that to do any good in protecting the public against this species of offence, _it would require the mind of a magistrate to be given up to that object alone_. this pointed and accurate remark is sufficient to elucidate, in an eminent degree, the necessity of magistrates with salaries, in all large communities.] the chief magistrate cannot, in the nature of things, while the immense load of municipal affairs, joined to his own private concerns, presses constantly upon his mind, bestow either time or attention in considering the cases of delinquents brought before him; or in following up informations, and devising plans necessary to detect offenders; and yet this detail of duty, even from the pass-vagrant to the most atrocious villain, is imposed on him, by ancient immemorial custom and usage; at the very moment when he is overpowered with other official business, of great magnitude and importance; which can be transacted by no other person. hurried with constant engagements, inseparable from the functions and dignity attached to his high office, and the general government of the city, a lord-mayor is just beginning to understand the duties attached to the chief magistracy, at the period when he must lay it down. the other magistrates of the city having had a precise line of duty anciently chalked out, when commerce and society had made less progress, the same system continues; nor would it be proper to expect an augmentation of labour, or a greater proportion of time, from magistrates who serve the public gratuitously.--the unremitting attendance and indefatigable industry, which the public interest requires, it would be vain and unjust to expect, from any but magistrates selected for that purpose, and that only.[ ] [footnote : the select committee of the house of commons on finance, in their th report (already repeatedly quoted), appear to be very strongly impressed with the necessity of police magistrates, and a concurrent jurisdiction for the city of london.--they express themselves in the following words: "it is further to be stated, that a considerable defect is felt in the police of the metropolis, from the limited jurisdiction of the present magistrates in every part of it, and from the want of an institution similar to that of the police offices to be established in the city of london, as was originally intended and proposed: that the delay which necessarily takes place in obtaining the sanction of the local magistracy in either case, to the warrants of those presiding in other districts, operates in all cases to the advantage of offenders against the laws, and to the obstruction of public justice: add to which, that the numerous and important avocations, both public and private, of the truly respectable magistracy of the city, is too often inconsistent with that constant and unremitting attention which the due preservation of the police of the metropolis requires. that it would be unfortunate indeed if any local jealousy founded upon no just grounds, though entertained by honourable minds, should continue to deprive even the inhabitants of the city itself, as well as those of the rest of the metropolis, of that security which a more permanent attendance, and a perfect intercommunity of jurisdiction in criminal matters between the magistrates of every part of the metropolis, and of the five adjoining counties, could not fail to produce."--see p. , th report, th of june, .] with the increase of those blessings which are supposed to arise from a course of prosperity and wealth, there is generally an increase also of _evils_ and _inconveniences_; and hence it is that while an influx of riches preponderates in _one scale_, an augmentation of crimes acts as a counterbalance in the _other_:--thus requiring the constant and progressive application of such antidotes and remedies as will preserve the _good_, while the _evil_ is diminished or kept within bounds. it seems that the metropolis is now in that situation where the active and unceasing attention of magistrates with salaries, has become necessary to promote a vigorous and energetic execution of the law, for the general protection of property, and the safety of individuals.[ ] [footnote : if this were the case, neither the bank, nor the avenues to every part of cheapside, &c.[h] would be beset with gangs of rogues and sharpers, both men and women, who support themselves principally by the resource which the vast amount of moving property, in money and portable goods, affords them, in this part of the metropolis; where, it appears, capital offenders are rarely detected; since, at the old bailey, those convicted in the course of a year, from the city and county, run in the proportion of about - th part for london, and - th parts for middlesex.[i]] [footnote h: see p. .] [footnote i: vide table, p. .] contemplating the various existing evils detailed in this work, and which form so many prominent features of police, requiring the constant and watchful eye of the magistrate, it seems clear to demonstration, that unless official duties become the sole business and pursuit of the parties engaged in them, the public interest must suffer; and (although imperceptible in their progress), crimes will increase and multiply; at a time when the comfort, happiness and security of society, require that they should be diminished. in consequence also of the great accumulation of the statute laws, requiring the attention of justices in a vast number of instances, which did not occur a century ago, their duty has so multiplied as to require the _whole time_ of magistrates acting in all great societies; an observation which applies not merely to the metropolis, but to many large provincial towns. it follows, therefore, almost as a matter of course, that stipendiary justices have become indispensably necessary.[ ] [footnote : in the measures finally proposed by the finance committee, in the th article (page ), they recommend it to parliament, "that two additional offices of police should be established in the city, consisting each of three magistrates, to sit at the mansion-house, and at guildhall, for the purpose of assisting the lord-mayor and the court of aldermen: such magistrates to be named by the lord-mayor and court of aldermen; and paid out of the general funds arising from the proposed regulations; to sit permanently, as at the other offices, with commissions from the crown, extending over the whole metropolis, and the counties of middlesex, kent, essex, and surry."] if men of business, integrity, and talents, could once be prevailed on to accept of such employments, and execute the trust reposed in them with zeal and attention to the public interest, and with firm and independent minds, attached to no party, infinite advantages must result to the community from their services.[ ] [footnote : a police magistrate has nothing to do with the politics of the country; and he is incapable, and unworthy of the trust reposed in him, if he permits any bias, or influence, but that which is immediately connected with a correct and chaste execution of the laws, to take hold of his mind.--it is only by this line of conduct, that he can either render himself useful or respectable.] where men of this description pledge themselves, as they must necessarily do, to give up every other pursuit, assiduously and constantly to execute the laborious duties of a police magistrate; justice also requires that the reward should be commensurate to the sacrifices which are made. it is the interest of the community that it should be so: for in the present extended state of commerce and society, no gratuitous system can ever be expected to answer any purpose of real utility. while the higher order of magistrates receive the just reward of their useful labour, bestowed in the exercise of their functions in promoting the public good--where can be the impropriety of extending the same species of remuneration to inferior magistrates; who must devote even a greater portion of time and attention to the multifarious duties assigned them? the office of _assistant magistrates_ in the city might be assigned to six active and honourable men, who would give _their whole attention to_ the criminal department of the police. the proceedings of these magistrates should be sanctioned by the presence of the aldermen, as often as one or more could conveniently attend; on which occasions they would necessarily preside, as holding within their own district, the highest rank in the magistracy. the difference in point of benefit to the community between a _mind_ constantly occupied in objects of public utility, and that which is only occasionally employed, is great beyond all possible calculation.--nor is the measure without precedent, even in the city of london, since the recorder may, in his high office, be fairly considered in the light of a magistrate with a salary. ready on every occasion at their sittings in the morning and evening, to offer their advice or assistance to the labouring people, as well as all ranks of the community, who apply for it--to adjust their differences, and to protect them against wrongs and oppressions: prepared also, as a matter of business, to receive and follow up informations where crimes have been committed, and never to lose sight of the object while it is practicable to attain it; these assistant magistrates would afford incalculable advantages to the city: which would be still farther increased, if a system of co-operation of the other police magistrates were established, upon a plan which would unite their energy, and render their jurisdiction co-extensive. (see _ante_ pages , ). it is a well-known fact, that since the establishment of police magistrates for westminster, and the parts of middlesex and surry, contiguous to the city of london, great benefits have been experienced from the assistance and advice which have been afforded to the indigent, and the ignorant. many quarrels and little law-suits have been prevented, and innumerable differences immediately reconciled without any expence. it is in this manner that magistrates, acting up to the spirit of their public duty, and bestowing their _whole_ attention upon whatever relates to that duty, confer those obligations upon the community which no moderate remuneration can repay. the office of a police magistrate is not like other public situations:--for the business is multifarious, seldom admits of any recess or a vacation.--it is, or ought to be, _constant_, _laborious_, and without _intermission_.[ ] [footnote : in the month of october, , a respectable committee, representing the great body of the manufacturers in spitalfields, waited on his majesty's principal secretary of state for the home department, with an address of thanks for the establishment of the police system; the substance of which is as follows: "that it is the opinion of this society, that great benefits have arisen, with regard to the security of property, from the correct and regular manner in which the judicial business has been conducted by the magistrates of police; in consequence of whose vigilance and attention, an effectual check has been given to a system of depredation which heretofore occasioned a loss of many thousands per annum to the silk manufacturers:"--and it was resolved,--"that the thanks of this society are due to the right honourable henry dundas, one of his majesty's principal secretaries of state; and also to mr. burton, and the other members of parliament, who proposed and supported the police system, for the share they had in the establishment of a judicial tribunal, which has been found to extend, to the silk manufacturers, many advantages in a just and proper execution of the laws which were not heretofore experienced."] but with all these advantages, even improved by competent funds appropriated to the different public offices, still a _centre-point_ is wanted to connect the whole together, so as to invigorate and strengthen every part, by a superintending establishment, under the immediate controul of the secretary of state for the home department: there, indeed, the constitutional superintendence of the police of the metropolis, as well as of the whole country, rests at present; but from the vast weight and increase of other public business, connected with the general affairs of the state, foreign, colonial, and domestic, it has been found impracticable to pursue that particular system which has now become, more than ever, necessary for the detection of criminals. it seems then, that in executing a task so complicated and multifarious, a delegation of subordinate _responsible management_ to a _central board of police_ should be resorted to: as the only means of giving strength, vigour, and energy to a system, heretofore only partially useful; and which, in its present disjointed state, is incapable of extending that protection and security, which has been shewn in the course of this work, to be so much wanted, and so indispensably necessary. to understand the police of the metropolis to that extent which is necessary to direct and superintend its general operations, it must be acted upon _practically_; and those who undertake the _superintendence_ and _management_ alluded to, must be men _able_, _intelligent_, _prudent_, and _indefatigable_: devoting their whole attention to this object alone. clerks might be continually employed with great advantage in entering and posting up under the proper heads, such new information as should be obtained from day to day; and hours should be appointed for receiving such intelligence from all proper and well-informed persons, who might choose to offer the same; so far as such information related to public wrongs, and offences against the peace, safety, and well-being of society. under such a system, with a proper power of remunerating officers and others, scarcely a _robbery_, _burglary_, _larceny_, or _fraudulent transaction_, could be committed, where the perpetrators would not be very speedily detected and brought to justice; for then the magistrates, in their respective districts, would be enabled to act with confidence, vigour, and energy, in the discovery and apprehension of offenders;--and the effect would be to excite a general terror in the minds of every class of delinquents; which could not fail to operate strongly as a means of preventing crimes, and improving the morals and the happiness of the lower orders of the people. in addition to this these responsible commissioners of police might, with great propriety, and with no little public utility, have committed to them the superintendence of _all receipts and disbursements of the accounts_, and of _all monies applicable to objects of police_: these they should lay annually before parliament, if required, accompanied by a general report; that the legislature, as well as the public at large, might see in what manner the funds had been applied; and what progress had been made in the prevention of crimes, and in restoring among the labouring people that sense of morality, which never, perhaps, was at a lower ebb than at present. the most enlightened foreigners who have visited this metropolis, and contemplated the nature and organization of our police system, join in one general remark upon it; viz.--"_that we have some shadow of police, for apprehending delinquents, after crimes are actually committed; but none for the purpose of preventing them_."--this certainly is, in one sense, literally true;--and from this source, combined with the imperfection of the criminal code, have arisen all those enormities and inconveniences already so amply detailed. attached to the laws and government of his country, even to a degree of enthusiasm, the author of this work will not be too prone to seek for greater perfection in other nations: or to quote them as examples to be imitated in the metropolis of the british empire; and still less if such examples should tend, in the slightest degree, to abridge that freedom which is the birth-right of every briton. but as all true liberty depends on those fences which are established in every country, for the protection of the persons and property of the people, against every attack whatsoever: and as prejudices ought to be banished from the mind in all discussions tending to promote the general weal, we ought not to be ashamed of borrowing good systems from other nations; wherever such can be adopted, consistent with the constitution of the country, and the liberty of the subject. in france, under the old government, how much soever many parts of the system of that country were justly reprobated, by all who were acquainted with the blessings of freedom, yet, in the management and regulation of what was denominated _the police_, there existed that kind of establishment, with regard to personal security, and protection against the depredations of the most depraved part of the community, which englishmen have certainly never enjoyed; who, on the contrary, have suffered manifold inconveniences from an idea, (surely a very erroneous one,) "that we must endure these public wrongs, and expose our property and lives to the attack of murderers, robbers, and highwaymen, as the price of _liberty_." when difficulties are felt, it is our duty to look at them dispassionately; to face them with fortitude, and to discuss them with intelligence--divested of all prejudices generated merely by habit and education. by pursuing this mode of investigation, it will be discovered that in other governments there may be some establishments worthy of imitation; and which, perhaps, might in part be adopted, not only in perfect consistency with the freedom of the subject; but with the advantage of extending to the mass of the people, who are not in a course of delinquency, more real liberty than they at present enjoy.-- at the commencement of the troubles in france, it is a curious fact, that the lieutenant-general of the national police, as well as that of the metropolis, had upon his registers the names of not less than twenty thousand suspected and depraved characters, whose pursuits were known to be of a criminal nature; yet, by making this part of police the immediate object of the close and uniform attention of one branch of the executive government, crimes were much less frequent than in england; and the security extended to the public, with regard to the protection of life and property against lawless depredation, was infinitely greater.--to elucidate this assertion, and to shew to what a wonderful height the system had advanced, the reader is referred to the following anecdotes; which were mentioned to the author by a foreign minister of great intelligence and information, who resided some years at the court of france. "a merchant of high respectability in bourdeaux had occasion to visit the metropolis upon commercial business, carrying with him bills and money to a very large amount. "on his arrival at the gates of paris, a genteel looking man opened the door of his carriage, and addressed him to this effect:--_sir, i have been waiting for you some time; according to my notes, you were to arrive at this hour; and your person, your carriage, and your portmanteau, exactly answering the description i hold in my hand, you will permit me to have the honour of conducting you to monsieur de sartine._ "the gentleman, astonished and alarmed at this interruption, and still more so at hearing the name of the lieutenant of the police mentioned, demanded to know what _monsieur de sartine_ wanted with him; adding, at the same time, that he never had committed any offence against the laws, and that he could have no right to interrupt or detain him. "the messenger declared himself perfectly ignorant of the cause of the detention; stating, at the same time, that when he had conducted him to _monsieur de sartine_, he should have executed his orders, which were merely ministerial. "after some further explanations, the gentleman permitted the officer to conduct him accordingly. _monsieur de sartine_ received him, with great politeness; and after requesting him to be seated, to his great astonishment, he described his portmanteau; and told him the exact sum in bills and specie which he had brought with him to paris, and where he was to lodge, his usual time of going to bed, and a number of other circumstances, which the gentleman had conceived could only be known to himself.--_monsieur de sartine_ having thus excited attention, put this extraordinary question to him--_sir, are you a man of courage?_--the gentleman, still more astonished at the singularity of such an interrogatory, demanded the reason why he put such a strange question, adding, at the same time, that no man ever doubted his courage. _monsieur de sartine_ replied,--_sir, you are to be robbed and murdered this night!--if you are a man of courage, you must go to your hotel, and retire to rest at the usual hour: but be careful that you do not fall asleep; neither will it be proper for you to look under the bed, or into any of the closets which are in your bed-chamber_; (which he accurately described);--_you must place your portmanteau in its usual situation, near your bed, and discover no suspicion:--leave what remains to me.--if, however, you do not feel your courage sufficient to bear you out, i will procure a person who shall personate you, and go to bed in your stead._ "the gentleman being convinced, in the course of the conversation, that _monsieur de sartine's_ intelligence was accurate in every particular, he refused to be personated, and formed an immediate resolution, literally, to follow the directions he had received: he accordingly went to bed at his usual hour, which was eleven o'clock.--at half past twelve (the time mentioned by _monsieur de sartine_), the door of the bed-chamber burst open, and three men entered with a _dark lantern_, _daggers_ and _pistols_.--the gentleman, who of course was awake, perceived one of them to be his own servant.--they rifled his portmanteau, undisturbed, and settled the plan of putting him to death.--the gentleman, hearing all this, and not knowing by what means he was to be rescued, it may naturally be supposed, was under great perturbation of mind during such an awful interval of suspense; when, at the moment the villains were preparing to commit the horrid deed, four police officers, acting under _mons. de sartine's_ orders, who were concealed under the bed, and in the closet, rushed out and seized the offenders with the property in their possession, and in the act of preparing to commit the murder. "the consequence was, that the perpetration of the atrocious deed was prevented, and sufficient evidence obtained to convict the offenders.--_monsieur de sartine's_ intelligence enabled him to _prevent_ this horrid offence of robbery and murder; which, but for the accuracy of the system, would probably have been carried into execution." another anecdote, was mentioned to the author by the same minister, relative to the emperor joseph the second: "that monarch, having, in the year , formed and promulgated a new code of laws relative to criminal and civil offences;[ ] and having also established what he conceived to be the best system of police in europe, he could scarcely ever forgive the french nation, in consequence of the accuracy and intelligence of _mons. de sartine_ having been found so much superior to his own; notwithstanding the immense pains he had bestowed upon that department of his government. [footnote : vide page & _seq._ of this volume.] "a very notorious offender, who was a subject of the emperor, and who committed many atrocious acts of violence and depredation at vienna, was traced to paris by the police established by his majesty, who ordered his ambassador at the court of france to demand that this delinquent should be delivered up to public justice. "_mons. de sartine_ acknowledged to the imperial ambassador, that the person he inquired after had been in paris;--that, if it would be any satisfaction, he could inform him where he had lodged, and the different gaming-tables, and other places of infamous resort, which he frequented while there;--but that he was now gone.-- "the ambassador, after stating the accuracy and correct mode by which the police of vienna was conducted, insisted that this offender must still be in paris; otherwise the emperor would not have commanded him to make such an application. "_monsieur de sartine_ smiled at the incredulity of the imperial minister, and made a reply to the following effect:-- "_do me the honour, sir, to inform the emperor, your master, that the person he looks for left paris on the th day of the last month; and is now lodged in a back room looking into a garden in the third story of a house, number , in ---- street, in his own capital of vienna; where his majesty will, by sending to the spot, be sure to find him._-- "it was literally as the french minister of police had stated.--the emperor, to his astonishment, found the delinquent in the house and apartment described; but he was greatly mortified at this proof of the accuracy of the french police; which, in this instance, in point of intelligence _even in vienna_, was discovered to be so much superior to his own."-- the fact is, that the french system had arrived at the greatest degree of perfection; and though not necessary, nor even proper, to be copied as _a pattern_, might, nevertheless, furnish many useful hints, calculated to improve the police of this metropolis, consistent with the existing laws; and even to extend and increase the liberty of subject without taking one privilege away; or interfering in the pursuits of any one class of individuals; except those employed in purposes of _mischief_, _fraud_, and _criminality_. the situation of this country, (indeed of every country in europe,) has changed materially since the dissolution of the ancient government of france.--the horde of sharpers and villains, who heretofore resorted to paris from every part of europe, will now consider london as their general and most productive theatre of action; for two obvious reasons:-- st. paris being exhausted of riches, its nobility banished, and the principal part of the active property there annihilated, the former resources for the support of criminal and depraved characters no longer exist; while that metropolis holds out no allurements similar to what were formerly experienced. dly. the ignorance of the english language (a circumstance which formerly afforded us some protection), will no longer be a bar to the resort of the continental sharpers to the metropolis of this kingdom. at no period was it ever so generally understood by foreigners; or the french language so universally spoken, by at least the younger part of the people of this country.-- the spirit of gaming and dissipation which prevails in london, promoted already in no inconsiderable degree by profligate characters from the continent, the opulence of the people, and the great mass of active property in circulation, will afford a wide field for the exercise of the invention and wits of that description of men, both foreigners and natives, who infested paris under the old government, and which rendered a more than ordinary attention to its police indispensably necessary.-- the termination of the present war will probably throw into this country a vast number of idle, profligate, and depraved characters, natives of this, as well as of other nations, who will require to be narrowly watched by a vigilant and well-regulated police. the probability of such an accession to the numbers already engaged in acts of delinquency, serves to establish new and incontrovertible arguments in favour of the proposed _board of responsible commissioners_, for managing the affairs of the police of the metropolis; to form a _centre-point_, and to bind the system together. to be well prepared against every possible evil, is one great step towards prevention; and among the many advantages already detailed, as likely to result from a _board of police revenue_, this would be none of the least. in every view in which the subject can be considered, such a system, strengthened by good and apposite laws, could not fail to be productive of vast benefits to the community. _petty thefts_ affecting all ranks who have any property to lose, and destroying the moral principle, would be greatly abridged:--as would also the plunder from vessels in the river thames, as well as from the public arsenals, dock-yards, and ships of war. the more atrocious crimes of burglary and highway robbery, would suffer a severe check, in the embarrassments which would arise from the system of detections and rewards--from the restrictions proposed to be laid upon receivers of stolen goods; upon night coaches,--and from other regulations applicable to those particular offences. a large proportion of the _coiners_, _dealers_, and _utterers of base money_, feeling the risk of detection, as well as of punishment, greatly extended and increased, would probably abandon the business as hazardous and destructive. the completion of the general system would also, either collaterally or immediately, reach the tribe of cheats, swindlers, and lottery offenders, in such a manner as to occasion a considerable reduction of their number, by narrowing the ground, and destroying the resources by which they at present flourish. the establishment of such a system would be an immediate benefit to every man of property, as an individual, independent of the public at large; but even in another point of view, it is doubly necessary at this juncture, when new events are daily occurring, of a nature truly interesting to the peace and well-being of society, and to the tranquillity of the state; rendering it more than ever necessary to establish a system of unremitting vigilance. it is a fact well established, that it was principally through the medium, and by the assistance, of many of the twenty thousand miscreants who were registered, previous to the anarchy of france, on the books of the lieutenant of police, that the contending factions in that distracted country, were enabled to perpetrate those horrid massacres and acts of atrocity, which have been beheld with detestation, abhorrence, and astonishment, by every civilized nation in the world. let it be recollected, at the same time, that mankind, in a state of depravity, arising from a long course of criminal turpitude, are nearly alike in every country; and that it becomes us to look with a jealous eye on the several thousand miscreants of the same description which now infest london; for they too, upon any fatal emergency, (which god forbid!) would be equally ready as their brethren in iniquity were, in paris, to repeat the same atrocities, if any opportunity offered. as the effectuating such an object has become so great a desideratum;--and as it is to confer those blessings which spring from a well-regulated police, calculated to extend a species of protection[ ] to the inhabitants of this great metropolis, which has never been heretofore experienced:--it can scarcely fail to be a matter of general satisfaction to know that the select committee of the house of commons on finance, have strongly recommended to parliament a system of police, similar to that which had been submitted to the consideration of the public in the former editions of this work. [footnote : in mentioning what regards the protection of the metropolis, with the inefficiency of the existing civil force in constables, it is impossible to overlook those eminent advantages which have arisen from the excellent institutions of the honourable artillery company, the light horse volunteers, and the other associated corps, who have so nobly stood forth in the hour of danger to support the deficient police of the country. to these patriotic individuals, the inhabitants of the metropolis are under infinite obligations. regardless of their own _ease_, _convenience_, _interest_, or _personal safety_, the members of these public-spirited associations have ever stood forward in the hour of tumult and disorder gratuitously, and at their own expence, for the protection of their fellow-citizens, and for the preservation of the public peace. the assistance they have, on every occasion, afforded the civil power, and the sacrifices of valuable time which they have made, at the risk of health, and under circumstances where they were compelled to forego that ease and comfort, which, in many instances, from their opulence and rank in life, are attached to their particular situations--it is to be hoped will never be forgotten by a grateful public.] in order that improvements, sanctioned by such high authority, and the adoption of which are so important to the best interests of society, may be fully explained and elucidated; a detail of the measures, which have been recommended, with general observations on the proposed system, are reserved for the ensuing chapter. chap. xviii. _the system of police recommended by the select committee on finance explained.--a proposition to consolidate the two boards of hawkers and pedlars, and hackney coaches, into a board of police revenue.--the whole revenues of police from fees, penalties, and licence duties, to make a common fund.--accounts to be audited.--magistrates to distribute small rewards.--a power to the board to make bye-laws.--a concurrent jurisdiction recommended--also the penitentiary house for reforming convicts.--other measures proposed after the board is established--namely, a public prosecutor for the crown--a register of lodging houses--the establishment of a police gazette.--two leading objects to be attained--the prevention of crimes: and raising a revenue for police purposes.--the enumeration of the dealers who are proposed to be licenced.--a general view of the annual expence of the present police system. observations on the effect of the system recommended by the finance committee, with respect to the morals and finances of the country.--suggestions respecting a chain of connection with magistrates in the country, and the mode of effecting it.--licences to be granted by select magistrates in the country, and by the central board in london and the neighbourhood.--the functions of the proposed board explained.--specifications of the trades to be regulated and licenced.--general reflections on the advantages likely to result from the adoption of the plan recommended by the finance committee.--concluding observations._ impressed with a deep sense of the utility of investigating the nature of the police system, the select committee of the house of commons on finance turned their attention to this, among many other important objects in the session of the year ; and, after a laborious investigation which occupied several months, (during which period the author of this treatise underwent several examinations),[ ] they made their _final report_--in which, after stating it as their opinion, "that the general tendency of our oeconomical arrangements upon this subject is ill calculated to meet the accumulating burdens, which are the infallible result of so much error in our system of police"--they recommended it to parliament to reduce or consolidate "the two offices of hawkers and pedlars, and hackney coaches, into a board of police revenue, under the direction of a competent number of commissioners, with such salaries as should bid fair to engage talents adequate to the situation, and as should be sufficient to command the whole exertion of those talents.--that the receiver of the police offices, should be the receiver-general of the funds proposed to be collected by this board.--that the superintendence of aliens should form a part of its business.--that the fees and penalties received at the several offices of police, together with the licence-duties and penalties, if any, which shall be in the collection of this consolidated board, shall make one common fund, out of which all salaries and expences of the several offices of police should be defrayed, as well as all those of the consolidated board, and that all payments whatever should be made by the receiver, under the sanction of this board, subject to the approbation of the lords commissioners of his majesty's treasury.--that the accounts of the receiver should be audited and signed by the board before being delivered to the treasury, or the office for auditing accounts.--that the balances in the hands of the receiver, after retaining what may be sufficient for current expences, should be paid into the exchequer at frequent and fixed periods.--that magistrates of police should be impowered to distribute small rewards to constables or others, for meritorious services, to be paid by the revenue, after receiving the sanction of the board: and further, that the board should have power to make bye-laws, for the regulation of such minor objects of police as relate to the objects of their superintendence, and to the control of all coaches, chairs, carts, barrows, and the conduct of all coachmen, chairmen, carters, &c. and the removal and prevention of annoyances, and the correction of all offences against the cleanliness, the quiet, and the free passage of the streets of the metropolis, similar to the powers now possessed by the commissioners of hackney coaches, and subject in like manner to the approbation of the superior judges in the courts in westminster-hall."--the committee further recommend that two additional police offices should be established in the city of london, consisting each of three magistrates, to be named by the lord mayor and aldermen, and paid out of the general funds, and to have commissions from the crown, extending over the whole metropolis, and the counties of middlesex, kent, essex, and surry; and that the commissions of the magistrates of the other eight offices should extend in like manner over the whole metropolis, and the four above-mentioned counties.[ ] and finally, the committee recommend that no time should be lost in carrying into effect the plan and proposal of jeremiah bentham, esq. for employing and reforming convicts, as a measure which bids fairer than any other that was offered to the public, to diminish the public expenditure in this branch, and to produce a salutary reform in the object of the proposed institution. [footnote : see appendix to the th report of the committee.] [footnote : it is not proposed in the bill, now in preparation, hereafter stated, to introduce any thing respecting the city of london, unless the consent of the lord-mayor, aldermen, and common-council, shall be previously obtained.] other measures are stated by this committee as well calculated to facilitate the means of detection and conviction of offenders, and to reduce the expence which is now borne by the public, or sustained by private individuals, in the maintenance of a very inefficient police; while they seem calculated to lessen the growing calendars of delinquency, but which may be better matured after the consolidation of the offices here proposed shall have taken place.--"such as the appointment of counsel for the crown, with moderate salaries, to conduct all criminal prosecutions, and rendering the solicitor to the board useful, either in such prosecutions as any of the public officers might find it necessary to institute; or in such criminal prosecutions at the suit of individuals, as the public justice of the country should render expedient.--such as a register of lodging-houses in the metropolis.--such as the establishment of a police gazette, to be circulated at a low price, and furnished gratis to all persons under the superintendence of the board; who shall pay a licence duty to a certain amount: and such also as an annual report of the state of the police of the country." in considering this report in general, it is no slight gratification to the author of this treatise, to discover that all the great features of his original design for giving to police its genuine character, unmixed with those judicial powers which lead to punishment, and properly belong to magistracy alone, have been sanctioned by such high authority. in taking a general view not only of what is specifically recommended by the select committee of the house of commons; but also of the report itself, two leading objects appear to be in contemplation, namely-- st. the prevention of crimes and misdemeanors, by bringing under regulations a variety of dangerous and suspicious trades;[ ] the uncontrolled exercise of which by persons of loose conduct, is known to contribute in a very high degree to the concealment, and by that means to the encouragement and multiplication of crimes. [footnote : the trades alluded to are these following,--vide appendix (c) th report of select committee of the house of commons on finance, page , , and . _new revenues._ . wholesale and retail dealers in old naval stores, hand-stuff, and rags. . dealers in second-hand wearing apparel, stationary and itinerant. . dealers in old iron and other metals, &c. . founders and others using crucibles. . persons using draught and truck carts for conveying stores, rags, and metals. . persons licenced to slaughter horses. . persons keeping livery stables, and letting horses for hire. . auctioneers, who hold periodical or diurnal sales. _existing revenues proposed to be transferred with a view to a more effectual control, and to an improved finance._ . hackney coaches and chairs. . hawkers and pedlars. . pawn brokers. . dealers in horses. n.b. the new revenues are estimated to yield £. , the increase of the existing revenues is stated at , -------- £. , --------] d. to raise a moderate revenue for police purposes from the persons who shall be thus controlled, by means of licence duties, and otherwise so modified as not to operate as a material burden; while a confident hope is entertained, that the amount of this revenue will go a considerable length in relieving the finances of the country, of the expences at present incurred for objects of police, and that, in the effect of the general system, a considerable saving will arise, in consequence of the expected diminution of crimes, particularly as the chief part of the expence appears to arise after delinquents are convicted.[ ] [footnote : the amount of the general expence of the criminal police of the kingdom as stated by the committee on finance in their th report is as follows: st. the annual average of the total expence of the seven public offices in the metropolis, from the institution in august to the end of the year , being a period of - / years £. , d. the total expence of the office at bow-street, in the year , including remunerations to the magistrates in lieu of fees, perquisites, and special services, and the expence of the patrole of persons , ------------- total expence for the metropolis , d. the money paid to the several sheriffs for the conviction of felons in , th. the expence of maintaining convicts on board the hulks, (exclusive of under sentence of transportation in the different gaols), amounted in to £. , th. the expences incurred in the employment of convicts by the navy and ordnance boards, probably amounting to not less than from _l._ to _l._ per man per annum, were by computation , - / th. the annual average of cloathing, victualling, and transporting convicts, and of the civil, military, and marine departments of new south wales, and norfolk island, from to , - / ---------------- , - / ----------------- , - / to which add the farther sums annually charged on the county rates, or incurred in places having peculiar jurisdiction in england , borne by the sheriffs in england , , ----------------- ----------------- total for all england , - / ] by the consolidation of the two boards of hackney coaches, and hawkers and pedlars, the functions of the commissioners will become very extensive and laborious, since in addition to the inspection and control of the different suspicious trades proposed to be licenced, it will be useful to the public, and, indeed, the system will be incomplete, unless they not only keep constantly in their view the general calendar of delinquency; but also carry into effect such plans as, on mature deliberation, and (many will unquestionably be found practicable), shall, in a great measure, prevent the terror--dangers--losses and inconveniences which arise from foot-pad and highway robberies, burglaries, and other atrocious offences, which are so prevalent in and near the metropolis at present.--this duty will naturally attach to the central board, and which the commissioners, (from the accurate information their situation will enable them to procure, and the civil force they may have at their disposal,) will be well qualified to execute with advantage to the community; and while competent pecuniary resources will arise from the licence duties imposed, aided by legislative regulations, applicable to this, and other objects tending to the general prevention of crimes, blame may fairly be imputed wherever a considerable degree of success is not manifest, by the gradual diminution of the more atrocious, as well as the minor offences. the select committee of the house of commons having stated it as their opinion, that the principle upon which the plan which has been brought under their review is founded, "_if liable to no error; and that supposing it faithfully executed it gives the fairest prospect of success_:" the public will naturally become anxious for an enjoyment of the benefits which may be expected to result from its adoption. as its leading feature is the security of the _rights of the innocent_, with respect to their life, property, and convenience, the measures of this board must, in a peculiar degree, be directed with prudence and discretion to this particular object. this will be effected not only by increasing the difficulty of perpetrating offences, through a control over those trades by which they are facilitated and promoted, but also by adding to the risk of detection, by a more prompt and certain mode of discovery wherever crimes are committed. thus must the idle and profligate be compelled to assist the state, by resorting to habits of industry, while the more incorrigible delinquents will be intimidated and deterred from pursuing a course of turpitude and criminality, which the energy of the police will render too hazardous and unprofitable to be followed up as a trade; and the regular accession of numbers to recruit and strengthen the hordes of criminal delinquents, who at present afflict society, will be in a great measure prevented. these objects (in the opinion of the select committee) are to be attained by the establishment of a _central board of police revenue_; the views of the members of which should be directed to the means of adding "security to the person and property of the peaceful subject; the morals of the people, and the general finances of the country; by those powers of action which are likely to operate most beneficially towards the prevention of crimes." to accomplish these purposes it would seem, (after mature deliberation), to be necessary not only to extend the licensing system over the whole kingdom; but also to form _a chain of connection_ between the central board, and every district of the country, with a view as well to a more effectual control ever those suspicious traders, who are to become immediate objects of attention on the part of the police, as to establish a more correct and certain mode of collecting the proposed revenue. this chain of connection would appear to be only attainable through the medium of select local magistrates,[ ] to whom a certain degree of responsibility would attach, and who by means of stationary surveyors, (being constables), appointed by themselves, and under their immediate control, would be enabled to superintend the collection of the licence duties, and in a particular manner to inspect into, and regulate the general police of the district, while in conjunction with other justices in the division, they granted the annual licences to the different dealers upon the same plan which is at present pursued with respect to alehouses. [footnote : it is presumed, that the distinction of _select magistrates_, joined to the patronage arising from the appointment of inferior officers of police in the respective districts of the country, (as surveyors and collectors of licence duties), would be considered as a sufficient inducement to men of property, talents, and respectability, to undertake this very honourable trust: to which it may reasonably be hoped, that many would be stimulated, in a particular degree, by the impulses of patriotism, and a desire to introduce a correct and improved system of police in their respective districts.] from this general rule, however, on account of the peculiar situation of the metropolis, a deviation might be necessary and useful to the public. it would, therefore, seem that the dealers resident within a certain distance round the metropolis, should receive their licences from the central board, and be immediately under its control.--the advantages resulting from this arrangement are obvious.--the chief part of the receivers, and criminal dealers, who contribute in so great a degree to the increase and concealment of the numerous offences, which are committed in and near the metropolis, require that the superintendance should not be divided, but that it should be confined entirely to the board, where all intelligence is supposed to center; and whose peculiar duty it will be to watch the progress of crimes in all their ramifications, and to adopt measures for preventing the growing corruption of morals, by which every species of delinquency is generated. for the purpose therefore of compassing this and every other object in the view of the select committee, it is suggested that the proposed board should be authorized to exercise the following functions: i. to manage that branch of the police which relates to hackney coaches and chairs.--to enforce strictly the laws now in being for the better ordering this system so necessary to the comfort and convenience of the metropolis.--to obtain new powers (where wanting) to compel a greater degree of cleanliness and security, with respect to these vehicles.--to banish, if possible, from the fraternity those criminal characters denominated _flash coachmen_, and to secure civility, and prevent imposition.--for this last purpose a department should be continued, as at present, (a part of the institution,) having a concurrent jurisdiction with other magistrates, for the purpose of hearing and determining disputes between coachmen and the public. ii. to execute the laws relative to hawkers and pedlars.--to regulate and improve the system respecting this suspicious class of dealers, and more effectually to extend the control over them by means of the select magistrates in each district of the country where they travel, for the purpose of more narrowly watching their conduct. iii. to grant licenses in the town district (_i.e._ within the limits of the penny-post, while the select and other justices grant similar licences in the country;) under the authority of the proposed general police bill, to the following traders, and others,[ ] viz. [footnote : nothing can exceed the pains and labour which have been bestowed in settling the description of the persons, proposed to be licenced, with a view to an accurate system of legislation. a regard to this accuracy made it necessary to abandon [transcriber's note: blank in original; probably 'two'] classes recommended by the proposer to the select committee; because on attempting to frame a bill, it was found impracticable in one case, and impolitic in another, to apply legislative rules that would not either be defeated or invade the privileges of innocence.[j]] [footnote j: persons keeping crucibles, and auctioneers.] st. purchasers of second-hand, and other household goods, for sale. d. wholesale purchasers of rags, and unserviceable cordage, for sale to paper-makers. d. retail purchasers of rags, and unserviceable cordage, for sale to paper-makers. th. purchasers of second-hand apparel, made-up piece-goods, and remnants for sale. th. walking or itinerant purchasers of second-hand apparel, made-up piece-goods, and remnants for sale. th. purchasers of second-hand naval stores, for sale. th. wholesale purchasers of second-hand metals, for sale. th. retail purchasers of second-hand metals, of persons in general, for working up. th. every worker of second-hand metals purchasing the same, from persons in general, and not from licensed dealers. th. purchasers of second-hand building materials for sale. th. persons keeping draught-carts for second-hand goods, purchased for sale. th. persons keeping hand or truck carts for second-hand goods, purchased for sale. th. sellers of unredeemed pledges, otherwise than by auction: and also to control and inspect the conduct of these dealers, so as if possible to confine them to the innocent part of their trades; and to collect and receive the respective licence duties.[ ] [footnote : if twine spinners and rope spinners of a certain class could be brought under similar regulations, it would prove extremely beneficial, inasmuch as the small manufacturers in this line are known to give considerable facilities to the stealers of hemp on the river thames.--a number of small rope and twine manufacturers have undersold the fair trader, by working up stolen hemp, purchased at half price; and it is but too evident from discoveries which have recently been made, that this evil has gone to a very great extent, and that considerable benefits would be derived to the public, by placing _twine and white rope spinners_ under the control of the police, at least within the proposed district of the metropolis.] iv. to grant licences also in like manner to other traders, which are already under some degree of legislative regulations; (but which require a more efficient control), provided it shall be thought expedient by the legislature to transfer these branches to the proposed board, as requiring in a particular degree the superintendance of the policy system, viz. st. pawnbrokers in town and country. d. persons keeping slaughtering-houses for horses, and other animals, not for the food of man. d. dealers in horses, and persons hiring, keeping at livery, and transferring horses from hand to hand, with a view to establish a check against highway robberies, and to defeat those subtle tricks which prevail in the sale of horses. and also to collect the licence and other duties, (which might, in respect to the transfer of horses, be rendered extremely productive without being felt as a burden), and to inspect the conduct of these classes with a view to the prevention of frauds, and other offences. v. to grant licences in like manner to all persons (except those employed in his majesty's mints), who shall erect or set up any cutting engine for cutting round blanks by the force of a screw; or any stamping press, fly, rolling mill, or other instrument for stamping, flatting, or marking metals, or bank notes; or which, with the assistance of any matrix, stamp, die, or plate, will stamp coins or notes--so as to prevent the enormous evils constantly experienced by the coinage of base money, and the counterfeiting of bank notes:--a system whereby the criminal part of ingenious artists could be kept under the immediate view of the police, is so obvious in a commercial country, as to require no elucidation. and the measure is the more desirable, as the reputable part of the artists and manufacturers who have occasion to keep presses for innocent and useful purposes, have no objection to such regulations.[ ] [footnote : see the chapter on the subject of base coin, in this _treatise_; and the remedies ultimately proposed for suppressing this enormous evil.--the author has great satisfaction in stating that a bill is now nearly prepared, grounded chiefly on his suggestions, for improving the coinage laws; and that sanguine hopes are entertained of its passing during the present session of parliament.--the proposition now made of bringing this feature of police, so far as relates to _presses_, and other _machinery_, under the inspection of the proposed _central board_, will certainly have a powerful effect in deterring evil-minded persons from following the trade of coiners of base money, or engravers and stampers of forged bank notes.--in this kind of control, the police revenue board would have an advantage arising from the nature of the system, which may be considered as _invaluable in a national point of view_, since no part of the country, however remote, could be said to be out of their reach, as officers, under their immediate direction, would be found every where.] vi. these commissioners, after deducting the necessary expences, should pay into the exchequer weekly, through the medium of a receiver, the whole revenues collected by them for police purposes; and it is to be hoped, notwithstanding the very low rates of the licence duties proposed, that, _including the horse police_, the aggregate collection would go very far towards easing the resources of the country of the expence of what the select committee of the house of commons denominate, _a very inefficient system of police_.[ ] [footnote : from an estimate which has been made, the three classes mentioned in division iv. might be made to produce above , _l._ for police purposes, in addition to what is received at present from pawnbrokers, and horse dealers.--the chief part would arise from the transfer of horses.] vii. it would be the duty of the commissioners to superintend, with great strictness, the conduct of their subordinate officers, both in the town and country districts, and to be careful that those who were entrusted with the collection of the licence duties gave proper security;[ ] and that in their conduct, in surveying and watching the movements of the different dealers, they manifested the greatest degree of vigilance, prudence, and discretion.--above all, that they were regular in their payments, and remittances, so as not to incur the penalties inflicted by the proposed act on defaulters. [footnote : the most oeconomical mode would, apparently, be to consolidate in one person the office of _constable_ and _collector of the licence duties_ in the respective districts; having it understood that the poundage received on the money paid to the board, should not only be considered as a remuneration for the collection, but also as a reward for occasional services in the general police department.--by such an arrangement, a chain of select and reputable officers may be established all over the country, without being felt as a burden of any kind on the community; while those services under the general arrangements of the board, could not fail to be productive of infinite benefits in the well-ordering of society.] viii. to correspond with the select magistrates in every district in the kingdom, and not only to receive from them useful information, relative to offences which have been committed, and all other matters within the scope of the functions of these select magistrates; but also to give them their advice and assistance in every case where it is found necessary, for the purpose of the preservation of peace and good order, and the due administration of the laws; and particularly as it may apply to those select magistrates who reside near the sea-coasts of the kingdom, that in all cases of shipwreck, measures may be pursued, and the laws enforced, to prevent those horrid barbarities, pillage and spoliation, which have, to the disgrace of civilized society, prevailed on such melancholy occasions.[ ] [footnote : the registers of our courts of record, and other well-attested accounts, have developed scenes of unfeeling cruelty and rapacity, in cases of shipwrecks, which would have disgraced the rudest and most ferocious savages, and would lead a stranger to suppose that we have no laws for the prevention of such outrages.] ix. to make arrangements with the select magistrates in the country, relative to the due execution of the proposed general police act, with respect to the control over the persons licenced, and all other duties which may be required under such a legislative system. x. to obtain accurate information, by means of regular returns from clerks of assize, clerks of the peace, keepers of prisons, houses of correction, penitentiary houses, and other places of confinement; and to have constantly in view the state of delinquency in the metropolis, and in every part of the country; preserving such accounts in registers for the purpose of reference, as occasions might arise to render them useful to public justice.--to assist the acting magistrates in town and country by conveying all useful information applicable to their local situations, respecting the commission of crimes, and the detection of offenders, and which might tend to the prevention of disorders, or offences meditated against the laws. xi. to watch the proceedings of the herds of criminal delinquents who generally leave town every year in the month of march, after the drawing of the english lottery, for the purpose of attending _fairs_, _races_, and other places of amusement and dissipation in the country, carrying with them quantities of _base money, and eo tables_, with a view to commit frauds on the unwary--and to give notice to the select local magistrates, that they and their officers may be upon their guard in defeating the nefarious designs of these miscreants, who are often disguised as farmers and labourers, the better to enable them to effect their purposes, by cheating and stealing, particularly _horses_, to the great loss and injury of the country. xii. it is recommended by the select committee of the house of commons, that the commissioners of this central board should have it in their power to distribute rewards to constables or others for meritorious services, through the medium of the magistrates of police, and to use such other means as should best promote the ends of justice, and the general utility of the institution to the community. xiii. under the direction of the principal secretary of state for the home department, these commissioners should avail themselves of the knowledge their situation would afford them of the degree of depravity and danger attached to the character of the different convicts; to select such as they thought proper objects for transportation to new south wales; and to follow any other instructions they may receive for oeconomizing this branch of the criminal police of the nation, so as, if possible, to reduce the annual expence. xiv. these commissioners being authorized by the lords of the treasury, might take under their management all matters relative to the lottery; not only with a view to a more oeconomical mode of drawing the same, but also for the purpose of rendering the revenue productive to the state, without the evil consequences which at present arise from it to the morals of the lower orders of the people, and the distresses and miseries to which its fascinating delusions subject them. xv. it would be the duty of the board, availing itself of the practical knowledge which may be obtained by means of a system of general superintendence in the police department, to attend closely to the operation of the whole of the present code of penal laws, with respect to its efficacy and utility; and where imperfections are discovered, to suggest from time to time such improvements as may appear useful and beneficial to the police, and to the revenue. xvi. the select committee in their report recommend, that the proposed board should have power "to make bye-laws for the regulation of such minor objects of police as relate to the objects of their superintendence, and to the control of all coaches, chairs, carts, barrows, and the conduct of all coachmen and chairmen, carters, &c. and the removal and prevention of all annoyances, and the correction of all offences against the cleanliness and quiet, and the free passage of the streets of the metropolis, in like manner as is now possessed, by the commissioners of hackney coaches, and subject to the approbation of the superior judges." xvii. to superintend the general receipts and disbursements of the establishment, and to report the same quarterly to the treasury, and to the principal secretary of state for the home department. xviii. to receive and execute the instructions of the treasury in all matters respecting finance and revenue; and the instructions and directions of his majesty's secretary of state for the home department in all matters of police. xix. to establish a more correct system through the medium of the select magistrates, whereby the laws for the prevention and punishment of offences may be more effectually and universally carried into execution, and not in many instances remain a dead letter, as at present, to the great injury of the community; or be partially carried into effect in particular parts of the country, against a few individuals, or for mere temporary purposes. xx. finally, it will be the duty of the board to report to his majesty in council, and to parliament (if required) the state of the metropolis and the country, with respect to criminal _police_ in all its branches, so as to bring under the review of the executive government _the whole criminality of the country_, at a given period each year, where it will be accurately discovered whether it increases or diminishes. such are the functions apparently necessary to be assigned to the proposed board of commissioners, for the purpose of accomplishing the objects of improvement in the police system, which have been recommended to parliament by the select committee. these objects are of too much importance to the public, to the security of the state, and to the peace and good order of society, to be lost sight of, even for one moment. while the morals and habits of the lower ranks in society are growing progressively worse and worse--while the innocent and useful part of the community are daily suffering evils and inconveniences originating from this source--while crimes multiply in all instances under the existing systems, (the thames police only excepted[ ]) it becomes of importance to apply a remedy. in legislating with this view, the same disadvantages and difficulties do not present themselves as in many other cases, since much previous labour and investigation has been bestowed in forming a ground-work for the proposed general police system. [footnote : nothing can be offered as a more irrefragable proof of the utility of a police institution, such as has been recommended by the select committee on finance, than the effect of the marine police establishment upon the river thames; where, in spite of a crippled system, and deficient laws, the energy of the superintendence, and the strength of the civil force, has, at a very trifling expence, applied with strict oeconomy, worked such a change in the port of london, both with respect to the security of commercial property, and the revenue, as would scarcely have been conceived possible. for an account of this system, see the th chapter of this work: but for a more enlarged and comprehensive view of the nature and effect of the design, recourse must be had to the author's _treatise on the commerce and police of the river thames, &c._ now in the press; in which the whole plan is developed, together with the legislative system necessary to give permanent effect to the design.] under the sanction of his majesty's principal secretary of state for the home department, a bill has been prepared, in which, while every attention has been paid to the means of accomplishing the views of the select committee, nothing can exceed the pains which have been bestowed _in preserving the rights of innocence, and in divesting power of the faculty of abuse_. a line has been carefully drawn between the _noxious_ and the _blameless_ and useful part of the community; and while the injuries arising from the pursuits of the former are checked and restrained, the privileges of the latter are extended and enlarged. this, when properly contemplated, will be found to be the _true essence of good police_--and this explains in the shortest compass that is possible, the _ultimate object of the design_. the bill comprehends five divisions:--the _first_ authorizes _the imposition of licence duties on certain classes of dealers already enumerated_:--the _second_ establishes a _board of police revenue, and explains its powers and functions_:--the _third_ explains _the powers and regulations which apply to the licensing system_:--the _fourth_ relates to _penalties_ and _procedure_: and the _fifth_ transfers the functions of _the commissioners of hackney coaches and chairs, and hawkers and pedlars, to the new establishment, and makes provision for such officers as may cease to be employed_.--while the proposed duties, although light upon the individuals, promise to be productive to a certain extent; the licensing system is likely "to purge the occupations placed under control from the imputations which are now but too deservedly cast upon them; and to make them by gradual steps the instruments of detection, instead of the means of concealment, of every species of fraud and violence."[ ] [footnote : see the th report of the select committee, page .] the functions of the board, by comprehending whatever relates to the delinquency of the country, will establish a general responsibility which does not now exist, and which never has existed, with respect to the evils arising from the multiplication of crimes, while their diminution will depend on the zeal, ability, and discretion to be manifested by those to whom this important duty may be assigned. by this establishment of a general police system, will it become the duty of one class of men to watch over the general delinquency of the metropolis, and the country;--to check its progress by lessening the resources of the evil disposed to do injuries, and to commit acts of violence on the peaceful subject; and gradually to lead the _criminal_, _the idle_, and _the dissolute_ members of the community into the paths of innocence and industry. the collateral aids to be derived from this system of control over dealers and others of loose conduct, in pursuit of evil courses, will give considerable strength to the legislative measures which are in contemplation, with respect to the _police of the river thames_: _the frauds and plunder in the naval and other public departments_:--_the coinage of base money_, and the _fabrication of counterfeit bank notes_.--whatever has been contemplated for the purpose of checking and preventing these evils cannot be complete or effectual, until the proposed board is established, and the licensing system in full action. the control of this board is absolutely necessary to contribute to the success of the measures proposed, and to the security of public and private property against the present extensive depredations. in fact the whole system is linked together, and its energy and success will depend on the passing of the respective laws applicable to each object of which the police board may not improperly be denominated _the key-stone_. it is this responsible superintendance which is to give _life_, _vigour_, and _effect_, not only to the laws which are in contemplation, but to many other excellent statutes which remain at present as _a dead letter_.--let it once become the duty of one body of men to charge themselves with the execution of the laws for the prevention of crimes, and the detection of offences--let them be armed with proper and apposite powers for that purpose, and the state of society will speedily become ameliorated and improved; a greater degree of security will be extended to the peaceful subject, and the blessings of civil liberty will be enlarged. a new æra in the world seems to have commenced, which imperiously calls for the adoption of such measures; not only in this country, but all over europe. the evil propensities incident to human nature appear no longer restrained by the force of religion, or the influence of the moral principle.--on these barriers powerful attacks have been made, which have hitherto operated as curbs to the unruly passions peculiar to vulgar life: they must therefore be strengthened by supports more immediately applicable to the object of preserving peace and good order. the period is approaching when to the phalanx of delinquents who at present prey upon society, will be added multitudes of idle and depraved characters discharged from the army and navy on the return of peace.--policy and humanity require that an adequate remedy should be provided for such a contingency.--_qui non vetat peccare cum possit, jubet._ where the powers of a state are not employed to avert apparent and threatened evils, a tacit assent is given to the commission of crimes. on the contrary, where means are used to check the progress of turpitude and vice, and to compel obedience to the laws, the comfort of society is promoted, and the privileges of innocence are secured. if in the accomplishment of the design which has been recommended by the highest authority, these objects shall be gradually attained--if it shall operate in preventing acts of violence and fraud from being committed upon the peaceful subject; while means are discovered through the medium of a well-regulated police, whereby the unfortunate, and even the idle and the dissolute, may possess a resource for subsistence by honest industry, without having any pretended plea of necessity for resorting to crimes; great, indeed, would be the benefits which would result to the public. this would be at once the triumph both of reason and humanity. the first step is, to attend to the morals and the habits of the rising generation; to adapt the laws more particularly to the manners of the people, by minutely examining the state of society, so as to lead the inferior orders, as it were, insensibly into better habits, by gentle restraints upon those propensities which terminate in idleness and debauchery;--to remove temptations, in their nature productive of evil, and to establish incitements to good and useful pursuits. among a variety of other functions which would devolve on the proposed commissioners, perhaps one might be to offer suggestions to the executive government, with respect to such useful regulations as might arise from the extensive knowledge which they must necessarily acquire as to the condition and pursuits of the labouring people; and hence would result one of the greatest means of preventing crimes, and improving the condition of human life. but while it is acknowledged to be a vain hope to reduce the tumultuous passions of men to absolute regularity, so as to render the commission of offences impracticable; it is equally clear (and it is even proved by the state of society, where public morals have been more effectually guarded,) that it is possible to diminish the evil very considerably. by the establishment of a well-conducted board of police, a confident hope is entertained that this purpose is attainable; and in this view (although it is to take nothing from the present resources of the state), it is a blessing to the nation, which could scarce be too dearly purchased at any price. chap. xix. _the unparalleled extent and opulence of the metropolis, manifested in the number of streets, lanes, alleys, courts, and squares, estimated at above ;--containing above churches and places for religious worship,--more than seminaries of education;--several institutions for promoting religion and morality;-- societies for promoting learning, and the useful and the fine arts;--a great number of charitable asylums for the indigent and forlorn;--hospitals and dispensaries for the lame, sick, and diseased;--and above institutions of various other kinds for charitable and humane purposes.--a detail of the courts of law, and other establishments connected with the distribution of justice.--the public prisons in the metropolis.--a view of the number of persons employed in the different departments of the law, estimated in all at about .--suggestions for improving the civil jurisprudence in the metropolis, so far as relates to the recovery of small debts.--the evils arising from the present system, exemplified in the multiplicity of actions for trivial sums in the course of a year; the enormous expence, and the ill effects of the severity of the punishment in such cases; debasing the mind, and proving the destruction of many families, in their morals; and injuring the state.--the necessity of an alteration of the system, farther enforced by the propriety of relieving the supreme judges from a weight of labour unreasonable in the vast increase of business, which the extensive and growing intercourse of commerce occasions.--the same observations extended to the great officers of state; and the necessity and utility of a division of labour, in proportion to the increase of public duty, explained; as a means of preventing inconveniences.--a view of the municipal regulations which have been established in the metropolis for the accommodation and convenience of the inhabitants; grounded on various acts of the legislature, passed at different periods, during the last and the present century.--each district of the metropolis a separate municipality; where the power of assessing the inhabitants for the purposes of paving, watching, lighting, cleansing, and removing nuisances, is placed in the hands of trustees, under a great number of local acts of parliament.--these regulations mostly founded on laws made in the last and in the present reign.--the principal public acts detailed, viz:--the general act of the d william and mary, cap. , for paving the metropolis;--the th geo. ii. cap. , for watching the city of london; th geo. iii. cap. , for removing signs, and establishing a complete system of municipal police.--the acts relative to westminster and southwark for similar purposes.--the statutes relative to common sewers detailed; their origin, and the great advantages resulting from them.--the laws relative to hackney coaches and chairs--also to carts and other carriages.--the acts relative to watermen on the thames.--the law for restraining bullock-hunting. and finally, the regulations by the th geo. iii. cap. , relative to the mode of building houses, and the rules laid down for extinguishing fires. concluding observations, on the advantages which would result to the metropolis at large from these numerous acts of parliament being rendered uniform, and conformable to the excellent regulations established for the city of london.--the advantages of simplifying the system.--the burden upon the inhabitants equal to one million a year for the expence of municipal police.--suggestions for improving the system and reducing this expence.--concluding reflections.--the present epoch, more than any other, presses for arrangements calculated to amend the morals of the people, by improving the laws of the country._ it cannot fail to prove an interesting inquiry, not only to the inhabitants of the metropolis, but also to strangers, by what means that department of its oeconomy and government, which may be denominated _municipal police_, is regulated; so as to convey the comforts, and procure the various accommodations and conveniences which, with some few exceptions, are felt to exist in every part of the capital and its environs. when it is known that this great city, (unparalleled, as will be hereafter shewn, in extent and opulence, through the whole habitable globe,) comprehends, besides _london_, _westminster_, and _southwark_, no less than forty-five villages, now exceedingly inlarged, independent of a vast accession of buildings upon the open fields in the vicinity; it becomes less a matter of surprize, to learn, that it extends to nearly eight miles in length,--is three miles at least in breadth, and not less than twenty-six in circumference; containing above eight thousand streets, lanes, alleys, and courts, and sixty-five different squares; in which are more than one hundred and sixty thousand houses, warehouses, and other buildings; besides _churches_ and _chapels_ for religious worship, of which the following enumeration is imagined not to be very distant from truth:-- for religious instruction. of the established cathedral, dedicated to st. paul. religion. abbey church of st. peter, westminster. parish churches. chapels, and chapels of ease. --- meeting-houses for { consisting of chapels for methodist dissenters. { nonconformists, presbyterians, { independents, anabaptists, { quakers, and english roman { catholicks. { consisting of chapels for french, { german, dutch, swedish, danish, chapels and { and helvetic protestants, meeting-houses for { for foreign roman catholics, foreigners. { and those of the russian or { greek church. synagogues for the jewish religion. --- _total about_ _places of public worship._ the number of inhabitants of this great metropolis, occupying these various houses and buildings, may, under all circumstances, be rationally estimated at one million at least; for whose accommodation, convenience, and security, the following institutions have been formed, _namely_,-- st. _for education_;-- d. _for promoting good morals_;-- d. _for useful and fine arts_;-- th. _for objects of charity and humanity_;-- th. _for distributing justice_;--and th. _for punishing offenders_. education. st. for education. inns of court and chancery, for educating students to the profession of the law, &c. &c. colleges--viz. one for the improvement of the clergy, london wall; one for divinity and astronomy, called gresham college; one for physicians, warwick lane; one for the study of civil law, doctors-commons; and the heralds college. schools, or public seminaries; the principal of which are westminster school, blue-coat school or christ's hospital, st. paul's, merchant taylors, charter-house, st. martin's school, &c. &c. &c. where about young persons are educated. schools belonging to the different parishes; where about male and female children are educated in reading, writing, and accompts. private schools, for all the various branches of male and female education; including some for deaf and dumb. ---- seminaries of education. _the following schools seem to deserve particular enumeration; though probably there are many others which might equally deserve notice:--_ for education. asylum for poor friendless, deserted girls, under twelve years of age, vauxhall road orphan working-school, for children of dissenters, city road. philanthropic society, st. george's fields, for children of criminal parents, and young delinquents. freemasons' school, for female orphans, st. george's fields marine society, for educating poor destitute boys to the sea, in bishopsgate-street british or welsh charity school, gray's inn lane french charity school, windmill-street, tottenham court-road school for soldiers' girls, at chelsea, supported by ladies neal's mathematical school, for teaching navigation, &c. to poor children, king's head court, gough-square, fleet-street school for children of the clergy; the boys at _thirsk_, yorkshire, the girls at _lisson-green_, paddington.--secretary, j. topham, esq. no. , gray's inn square day-school of industry, for boys and girls, paradise-street, mary-le-bone another, no. , edgware-road, for girls ladies' charity school, king-street, snow hill walworth female charity school. saint anne's society, hitherto at lavenham, suffolk, about to be removed to camberwell, for boys and girls, (extended in and ) grey coat hospital, artillery ground, westminster. green coat hospital, ditto. religion and morals. . for promoting religion and good morals. the society for giving effect to his majesty's proclamation against vice and immorality the society for promoting christian knowledge, bartlett's buildings, holborn the society for propagation of the gospel in foreign parts, dean's yard, westminster the society for promoting religious knowledge, by distributing books among the poor.--secretary, mr. watts, founder's hall, lothbury the society for promoting charity schools in ireland, merchant seaman's office. the society for religious instruction to the negroes in the west indies the society for preventing crimes, by prosecuting swindlers, sharpers, and cheats; gough-square, fleet-street british society for the encouragement of servants, no. , hay-market society for giving bibles to soldiers and sailors, no. , oxford-street dr. bray's charity for providing parochial libraries, no. , ave-maria lane. society for relief of poor pious clergymen queen anne's bounty for the augmentation of small livings of clergymen.--secretary, r. burn, esq. duke-street, westminster sunday schools, in various parishes. sunday school society, for giving bibles, &c. and otherwise furthering the purposes of sunday schools.--sec. mr. prestill, no. , cornhill the arts. . for learning, and the useful and fine arts. royal society, incorporated for promoting useful knowledge;--_instituted_ antiquarian society, somerset place society or trustees of the british museum society of artists of great britain, strand royal academy of arts, somerset place society for the encouragement of learning, crane-court, fleet-street. society for encouragement of arts, manufactures, and commerce, adelphi buildings. medical society of london, bolt-court, fleet-street society for the improvement of naval architecture. veterinary college, near st. pancras church. royal institution for applying the arts to the common purposes of life . asylum for the indigent and helpless. alms-houses endowed at different periods, where old men and women are supported; the principal of these houses are,--_the trinity alms-houses_, for decayed ship masters, in mile end; _bancroft's alms-houses_, mile end, for poor men; _fishmongers' alms-houses_, newington butts; _haberdashers' alms-houses_, in hoxton; _jeffries' alms-houses_, kingsland road; _sir john morden's college_, for decayed merchants, at blackheath; _emanuel_, or _lady dacre's hospital_, tothilfields, westminster. london workhouse, bishopsgate-street, for decayed old men.[ ] bridewell hospital, an asylum for apprentices to different trades, bridge-street, blackfriars. charter-house hospital, an asylum for indigent persons, in charter-house square, _founded_ scottish hospital for decayed natives of scotland, in crane-court, fleet-street. welsh hospital, for decayed natives of wales, in gray's inn lane. french hospital, for decayed frenchmen, in st. luke's, middlesex foundling hospital, for deserted infants, lamb's-conduit-street magdalen hospital, for the admission of seduced females, st. george's fields lock asylum, for penitent female patients, cured in the lock hospital chelsea hospital, for worn-out and disabled soldiers greenwich hospital, for worn-out and disabled seamen --- --- [footnote : london workhouse is a large building, which might, with great advantage, be turned into a house of industry, or penitentiary house for petty offenders, for which purpose it was used in ancient times. although it is said to be sufficient to lodge about people, it is now used only as an asylum for a few old persons; and is a sinecure for the keepers and officers, who live comfortably as the servants of the community without doing any good. this house is amply endowed by a power of levying contributions on all the parishes for its support.] asylums for sick, lame, diseased, and for poor pregnant women. hospitals for sick, lame, and diseased, and pregnant women. . st. bartholomew's hospital, in west smithfield, for the reception of afflicted and diseased persons . st. thomas's hospital, southwark, for the reception of sick and lame, especially sailors . guy's hospital, southwark, for sick and impotent persons; and lunatics . london hospital, whitechapel road, for the reception of all persons meeting with accidents . st. george's hospital, hyde park corner, for the reception of sick and lame . westminster general infirmary, james-street, westminster, for sick and diseased persons . middlesex hospital, charles street, near oxford-street, for sick and lame, and pregnant women . lock hospital, hyde park turnpike, for persons afflicted with the venereal disorder . hospital misericordia, goodman's-fields, for the same purpose . small-pox hospital, st. pancras, for inoculation of poor persons . london lying-in hospital, aldersgate-street, for poor _married_ women . city of london lying-in hospital, old-street, city road, _idem._ . british lying-in hospital, brownlow-street, long-acre, _id._ . westminster lying-in hospital, surry road, westminster bridge, for poor pregnant women _generally_. . queen's lying-in hospital, bayswater hall, oxford road, _id._ . lying-in hospital, store-street, tottenham court road, _id._ . lying-in charity, for delivering pregnant women at their own houses; _w. manning_, esq. governor; physician, dr. _sims_, blackfriars . society for delivering married women in their own habitations, by whom midwives are employed, no. , strand . bethlem hospital, for lunatics, moorfields . st. luke's hospital for lunatics, old-street road . samaritan society for relieving persons discharged from hospitals . society for visiting and relieving the sick in their own houses. dispensaries for sick, lame, and diseased. eastern dispensary, whitechapel western dispensary, charles-street, westminster middlesex dispensary, great ailiff-street london dispensary, primrose-street, bishopsgate-street city dispensary, bevis marks new finsbury dispensary, st. john-street, clerkenwell finsbury dispensary, st. john's square, clerkenwell general dispensary, aldersgate-street public dispensary, cary-street, lincoln's inn fields infant poor dispensary, soho-square st. james's dispensary, berwick-street, soho westminster dispensary, gerard-street, soho mary-le-bone dispensary, well-street, oxford-street ossulston dispensary, bow-street, bloomsbury surry dispensary, union-street, borough royal universal dispensary, featherstone buildings, holborn institutions for charitable and humane purposes. humane society, for the recovery of drowned and suffocated persons, spital-square and london coffee-house society for the relief of clergymen's widows, paper buildings, temple society for the relief of widows and orphans of medical men, founded by dr. squires and mr. chamberlaine laudable society, for the benefit of widows, crane-court, fleet-street society for the support of widows, surry-street, strand society for the support of poor artists, and their widows, strand three societies for the support of decayed musicians, their widows and children society for the relief of decayed actors abc-darian society, for the relief of decayed school-masters society for the relief of authors in distress society for the relief of officers, their widows, children, mothers, and sisters society for annuities to widows, old fish-street, st. paul's, no. society for the relief of sick and maimed seamen in the merchant's service society for the relief of poor widows and children of clergymen, instituted by charter rayne's hospital for girls, who receive _l._ portion on their marriage society called the feast of the sons of the clergy, for apprenticing their indigent children, no. , gray's inn square freemason's charity society for the relief of persons confined for small debts, craven-street, strand society for bettering the condition, and increasing the comforts of the poor society for improving the condition of chimney-sweepers five soup societies workhouses private asylums for lunatics public companies in the city of london, who give in charity above £. , a year stock's blind charity, distributed by the painters-stainers' company hetherington's blind charity, payable at christ's hospital asylum for deaf and dumb poor, grange road, bermondsey charitable society for industrious poor, school house, hatton garden society for charitable purposes, wardour-street, soho friendly societies in the metropolis and its vicinity, of which about have enrolled themselves under the act of parliament, geo. iii. cap. . they are composed of mechanics and labouring people, who distribute to sick members, and for funerals, sums raised by monthly payments, amounting on an average to _s._ _d._ a month, or _s._ a year, and consisting of about , members, who thus raise annually , _l._ reflecting on the foregoing list of various laudable institutions, which it cannot be expected should be altogether perfect, but which may be said to be unparalleled in point of extent, as well as munificence, and conferring the highest honour on the national character for charity and humanity; the mind is lost in astonishment, that greater and more extensive benefits have not arisen to the inhabitants of the metropolis; not only in improving their morals, but in preventing the lowest orders of the people from suffering that extreme misery and wretchedness, which has already been stated to exist in so great a degree in london. when it is also recollected, that large sums are annually expended by societies instituted for promoting religion, virtue, and good morals, it must be evident, as human misery does not appear to be alleviated, and the morals of the people grow worse--that there must be some cause to produce effects so opposite to what might have been expected from such unparalleled philanthropy; the cause, indeed, may easily be traced to that evident deficiency in the general system of police, which has so often been mentioned in the course of this work.[ ] [footnote : but particularly that branch of it, which relates to the management of the poor, than which nothing in a greater degree requires immediate improvement; since it is unquestionably true, and has, indeed, been already shewn, that from this source incalculable evils have arisen, which must proportionately increase, until some effectual remedy is applied.--see chapter th, where a remedy is proposed.] in the next place, it may be useful, and certainly cannot be improper, in a treatise on the police, to insert a brief detail of the different courts of law, and public prisons, established in the metropolis; for the distribution of justice, and the punishment of delinquents, for civil as well as criminal offences; together with the number of professional men attached to these various law establishments. courts of justice in the _metropolis_. supreme courts. the high court of parliament. the house of lords; being the appeal in the last resort in all causes criminal and civil. the court of exchequer chamber, before which writs of error are brought on judgments in the court of king's bench and other courts; it is composed, in certain cases, of all the twelve judges, and the lord chancellor; but sometimes of a smaller number. the high court of chancery--at westminster hall--and lincoln's inn hall. the court of king's bench, held in westminster hall. the court of common pleas, held in westminster hall. the court of exchequer--a court of law, equity and revenue; held at westminster hall and serjeant's inn. the court of appeals in colonial and prize causes; before the lords of his majesty's privy council at whitehall. the high court of admiralty, for prizes, &c. at doctor's commons; and in criminal cases, twice a year, at the old bailey. four ecclesiastical courts. doctors' commons. prerogative court, for wills and administrations court of arches, for appeals from inferior ecclesiastical courts in the province of canterbury; the court of peculiars is a branch of this court. faculty court, to grant dispensations to marry, &c. court of delegates for ecclesiastical affairs. the court of oyer and terminer and gaol-delivery for trying criminals at the justice hall, old bailey held by his majesty's commission to the lord-mayor, judges, recorder and common serjeant, &c. seventeen courts in the city of london. court of hustings the supreme court of the city for pleas of land and common pleas the lord-mayor's court for actions of debt and trespass, and for appeals from inferior courts and for foreign attachments; giving decisions in all cases whatsoever, in days, at an expence not exceeding thirty shillings; held in the king's bench, guildhall, by the lord-mayor, recorder, and aldermen. court of requests held by two aldermen and four members of the common council, appointed by the lord-mayor and aldermen; three of whom form a court for the recovery of small debts under _s._ at the expence of _d._ chamberlain's court held every day to determine differences between masters and apprentices; and to admit those qualified to the freedom of the city. sheriff's court held every wednesday, thursday, friday, and saturday, at guildhall; where actions of debt and trespass, &c. are tried by the sheriff, and his deputy, who are judges of the court. court of orphans held before the lord-mayor and aldermen, as guardians of the children of deceased freemen under twenty-one years of age, &c. pie poudre court held by the lord-mayor and stewards, for administering instantaneous justice between buyers and sellers at bartholomew fair, to redress all such disorders as may arise there. court of conservancy held by the lord mayor and aldermen four times a year, in middlesex, essex, kent, and surry; who inquire by a jury, into abuses relative to the fishing on the river thames, and redress the same; from staines _west_, to yenfleet _east_. court of lord-mayor, and aldermen.--court of common council.--court of common hall.--court of wardmotes these relate to setting the assize on bread and salt--to the municipal officers of the city--to the elections of lord-mayor, sheriffs, and officers of the city--and to the management of the public property of the city, and removing nuisances. the wardmotes are held chiefly for the election of aldermen & common councilmen. general and quarter sessions of the peace, held by the lord-mayor and aldermen, eight times a year. petty sessions for small offences, &c. held at the mansion house by the lord-mayor and one alderman: and at guildhall by two aldermen in rotation daily, in the forenoon coroners' court to inquire into the causes of sudden deaths, when they arise. court of the tower of london held within the verge of the city by a stewart appointed by the constable of the tower, before whom are tried actions of debt, trespasses, and covenants. courts of justice within the city and liberty of westminster. court of the duchy of lancaster a supreme court of record, held in somerset place, for deciding by the chancellor of the said duchy, all matters of law or equity belonging to the county palatine of lancaster quarter sessions of the peace a court of record, held by the justices of the city and liberty of westminster, four times a year, at the guildhall, westminster, for all trespasses, petty larcenies, and other small offences, committed within the city and liberty westminster court or court leet, held by the dean of westminster or his steward, for choosing parochial officers, preventing and removing nuisances, &c. court of requests, castle-street, leicester-square held by commissioners (being respectable housekeepers) for deciding without appeal, all pleas for debts under forty shillings. for the parishes of st. margaret, st. john, st. martin, st. paul covent garden, st. clement danes, st. mary le strand, and that part of the dutchy of lancaster which joins westminster court of requests, vinestreet, piccadilly held in the same manner, and for the same purposes; for the parishes of st. anne, st. george hanover-square, and st. james, westminster petty sessions, or police court, held at bow-street a court of petty sessions, held by two magistrates every day, (sunday excepted) morning and evening, for matters of police, and various offences, and misdemeanors, &c. police court or petty sessions, held at queen-sq. westminster a court of petty sessions established by act of parliament, held every day, morning & evening, (sunday excepted) by two magistrates, for matters of police, and various offences, misdemeanors, &c. police court, or petty sessions, held at great marlborough-str. the same. courts of justice in that part of the metropolis, which lies within the county of middlesex. st. martins-le-grand court _a court of record_, subject to the dean and chapter of westminster, held every wednesday, for the trial of all personal actions. the process is by a capias against the body, or an attachment against the goods in this particular liberty east smithfield court a court leet and court baron, held for this liberty, to inquire into nuisances, &c.--in the court baron pleas are held to the amount of forty shillings finsbury court a court leet held once a year, by a steward of the lord-mayor, as lord of the manor of finsbury, for inquiring into those nuisances competent for leet juries, by ancient usage, and swearing in constables for the manor st. catherine's court two courts are competent to be held within this small precinct, for actions of debt and trespass, at st. catherine's near the tower whitechapel court a court held by the steward of the manor of stepney, by whom, and a jury, are tried actions of debt for _l._ and under, &c. &c. sheriff's court for the county of middlesex, for actions of debt, trespasses, assaults, &c. quarter and general sessions of the peace, and sessions of oyer and terminer held by the justices of the county of middlesex, eight times a year, at the new sessions house, clerkenwell green, for all trespasses, petty larcenies, misdemeanors, and other offences, &c. and for roads, bridges, and other county affairs petty sessions or police court, established by act of parliament a court of petty sessions, held every morning and evening, (sunday excepted) by two magistrates, at the public office, in hatton garden, for matters of police and various offences, misdemeanors, &c. petty session, or police court at the public office, worship-street, near finsbury-square, by two justices, for objects of police, &c. _idem_ at the public office, lambeth-street, whitechapel _idem_ at the public office, high-street, shadwell two coroner's courts for inquiring into causes of sudden death court of requests small debts under _s._ without appeal, held in fulwood's rents, holborn, for the division of finsbury court of requests for small debts under _s._ without appeal, held in osborn-street, whitechapel, by commissioners, under the act of parliament, chosen annually by the several parishes in the tower hamlets general and quarter sessions of the peace for the liberty of the tower of london. held by the justices of that liberty, times a year for petty larcenies, trespasses, felonies, and misdemeanors, &c. within that particular district courts of justice in the borough of southwark, surry. court of record held at st. margaret's hill, southwark, by the lord-mayor's steward, for actions of small debts, damages, trespass, &c. court of record for the clink liberty, held near bankside, in southwark, by the bishop of winchester's steward, for actions of debt, trespass, &c. within that liberty marshalsea court a court of record (or the court of the royal palace) having jurisdiction miles round whitehall (exclusive of the city of london) for actions of debts, damages, trespasses, &c. and subject to be removed to a higher court of law, when above _l._ court of requests for the recovery of small debts under _s._ without appeal, held at st. margaret's hill, by commissioners chosen under the act of parliament, by the different parishes coroners' court to inquire into causes of sudden death--in southwark, &c. quarter sessions of the peace held by the lord-mayor and aldermen, at st. margaret's hill, for the borough of southwark quarter sessions of the peace for the county of surry held at the new sessions house in southwark, by the magistrates of the county of surry petty sessions, or police court, established by act of parliament a court held every morning and evening by two justices, at the public office, union hall, union-street, southwark, for objects of police, &c. prisons _in the_ metropolis. . king's bench prison, for debtors on process or execution in the king's bench, &c. st. george's fields . fleet prison, for debtors on process, &c. in the common pleas, &c. fleet market for the city of london. . ludgate prison, bishopsgate-street . poultry compter, in the poultry . giltspur-street compter, giltspur-street . newgate, or city and county gaol, old bailey . new prison, clerkenwell--gaol for the county of middlesex . prison for the liberty of the tower of london, well-close-square . whitechapel prison for debtors in the five pound court . savoy prison for deserters and military delinquents houses of correction. . city bridewell--bridewell, bridge-street, blackfriars . tothill fields bridewell--tothill fields . spa fields penitentiary house . new bridewell in the borough of southwark . county gaol for surry in the borough of southwark . clink gaol, in ditto . marshalsea gaol, in the borough, for pirates, &c. . new gaol, in the borough. nothing, perhaps, can manifest, in a greater degree, the increased commerce and population of the metropolis of the empire, than the following summary detail of the different classes of professional men connected with the various departments of the law. it appears from the preceding statements, that there are in the metropolis supreme courts; to which are attached officers[ ] ecclesiastical courts do. inferior courts for small debts do. court of oyer and terminer, and gaol delivery do. courts of general and quarter sessions of the peace do. courts and petty sessions for purposes of police do. coroners' courts do. --- king's serjeants, attorney and solicitor general, and king's advocate serjeants at law doctors of law king's counsel masters in chancery barristers at law special pleaders proctors in doctors' commons conveyancers attorneys at law in the different courts , clerks, assistants, and others, estimated at , notaries public ----- total about , [footnote : see for some further particulars the th report of the finance committee.] it is impossible to contemplate this view of a very interesting subject, without being forcibly struck with the vast extent of the wealth and commercial intercourse of the country, which furnish advantageous employment for such a multitude of individuals in one particular profession. every good man, and every lover of his country, must anxiously wish that the advantages may be reciprocal; and that men of talents, integrity, and ability, in the profession of the law, while they extend their aid to the removal of those evils which are a reproach to the criminal jurisprudence of the country, would also assist in procuring the removal of the inconveniences at present felt in the recovery of small debts. this is peculiarly irksome to every well-disposed person, who, in the course of business, having transactions with the mass of mankind, cannot avoid frequently meeting with bad or litigious characters, by whom disputes are unavoidably generated. according to the prevailing system, if the debt exceeds _s._ the action may be brought in a superior court, where, if contested or defended, the expence, at the lowest computation, must be upwards of fifty pounds. prudent men, under such circumstances, will forego a just claim upon another, or make up a false one upon themselves, as by far the least of two evils, in all cases where they come in contact with designing and bad people; and hence it is, that the worthless part of mankind, availing themselves in _civil_ as others do in _criminal cases_, of the imperfections of the law, forge these defects into a rod of oppression, either to defraud the honest part of the community of a just right, or to create fraudulent demands, where no right attaches; merely because those miscreants know that an action at law, even for _l._ cannot either be prosecuted or defended, without sinking three times the amount in law expences; besides the loss of time, which is still more valuable to men in business. to convince the reader that this observation is not hazarded on weak grounds, and that the evil is so great as to cry aloud for a remedy, it is only necessary to state, that in the county of middlesex alone, in the year , the number of bailable writs and executions, for debts from _ten_ to _twenty_ pounds, amounted to no less than , , and the aggregate amount of the debts sued for was the sum of £. , . it will scarcely be credited, _although it is most unquestionably true_, that the mere costs of these actions, although made up, and not defended at all, would amount to , _l._--and if defended, the aggregate expence to recover , _l._ must be--(_strange and incredible as it may appear_), no less than , _l._! being considerably more than three times the amount of the debts sued for. the mind is lost in astonishment at the contemplation of a circumstance, marking, in so strong a degree, the deficiency of this important branch of the jurisprudence of the country. through this new medium we discover one of the many causes of the increase of crimes.--and hence that caution which men in business are compelled to exercise (especially in the metropolis), to avoid transactions with those who are supposed to be devoid of principle. whenever the laws cannot be promptly executed, at an expence, that will not restrain the worthy and useful part of the community from the following up their just rights, bad men will multiply. the morals of the people will become more and more corrupted, and the best interests of the state will be endangered. in a political as well as in a moral point of view, it is an evil that should not be suffered to exist; especially when it can be demonstrated, that a remedy may be applied, without affecting the pecuniary interest of the more reputable part of the profession of the law, while it would unquestionably produce a more general diffusion of emolument. if, instead of the various inferior courts for the recovery of debts, (exclusive of the courts of conscience) which have been mentioned in this chapter, and which are of very limited use on account of appeals lying in all actions above _l._--the justices, in general sessions of the peace, _specially commissioned_, were to be empowered to hear and determine _finally, by a jury_, all actions of debt under _l._ and to tax the costs _in proportion to the amount of the verdict_, great benefits would result to the public. _at present, the rule is to allow the same cost for forty shillings as for ten thousand pounds!_[ ]--it depends only on the length of the pleadings, and not on the value of the action. [footnote : the following authentic table, divided into four classes, will shew in forcible colours, the evils which arise from there being no distinction between the amount of the sum to be recovered in one action and another, in settling the costs. in the county of middlesex, in the year , the actions for recovering debts stood thus: classes. | |number of writs. | | |of which bailable. | | | |executions. | | | | |costs of actions | | | | |undefended at _l._ each. | | | | | |costs of actions | | | | | |defended at _l._ | | | | | |each. | | | | | | |net amount | | | | | | |of debts | | | | | | |sued for | | | | |£. |£. |£. |from to _l._| , | , | | , | , | , | to _l._| , | , | | , | , | , | to _l._| , | , | , | , | , | , | £. & upw. | , | , | | , | , | , , | +------+------+-----+-------+-------+--------- | | , | , | , | , | , | , , thus it appears, that upwards of one million of money, in the th class, is recovered at considerably less than half the expence of , _l._ in the st class.] humanity, justice, and policy, plead for an improvement of the system; more particularly when it is recollected that, between _six_ and _seven thousand_ unfortunate persons are arrested annually on _mesne process_ in middlesex alone, one half of whom are for debts _under twenty pounds_. in the kingdom at large, the number is not less than _forty thousand_ for trifling debts in the course of a year!--the unavoidable expence, therefore, at the lowest computation, is a most grievous burden, which on many occasions, sends both the plaintiff and defendant to a gaol, for the attorney's bills, to the total ruin of themselves, and often to the destruction of their families. the evil, in this view, is exceedingly prominent.--it involves in it consequences which trench upon the best interests of the country. the mischief increases, unperceived by the people at large, and remedies are not applied; because few men will subject themselves to investigations of great labour, without which facts are not to be obtained; and without facts it is impossible to reason with accuracy, or to draw just conclusions upon any subject. it will be found upon inquiry, that the miseries of a gaol, by which the inferior orders of the people are often punished, do not so frequently attach to the worthless and profligate part of the community, as to those who have been useful members of the state--like the adroit thief, encouraged to proceed by many escapes, knaves are seldom victims to the severity of the law.--the innocent, and often the industrious, unskilled in the tricks and artifices which bad men pursue to rid themselves of incumbrances, (for which there is abundant resource in the chicane of the law;) are generally the sufferers. to incarcerate one member of the body politic, whose misfortunes and losses may have arisen from giving credit to another, who is relieved by a commission of bankrupt,[ ] because his debts amounted to more than _l._ seems not well to accord with justice, humanity, or state policy. it debases the minds of thousands whose conduct never deserved such a fate--who were from the nature of their dealings, _although small_, entitled upon the principle adopted by the legislature, to the same relief which is extended to the higher classes by whom they often suffer--and sometimes too by the most worthless and depraved.--while no good can arise from their confinement, it is thus rendered infinitely more severe than that, which is, in many instances, inflicted on criminal offenders.--their labour is lost to the community.--their families are neglected--and perhaps reared up in vice and idleness to become nuisances in that society, of which they might have been virtuous and useful members. [footnote : it is to be observed, that the debtors comprised, in the first three classes mentioned in the foregoing note, page , are generally the objects of imprisonment; while the bankrupt-laws relieve the fourth, the insolvency of which class generally produces the distress of the other; who must languish in a gaol and suffer a severe punishment, although it is clear to demonstration, that the debtor for _ninety-nine_ pounds is equally an object of commiseration as another whose debt amounts to _one hundred_; and almost in the same degree subject to accident and misfortune. under a system so contrary to reason, and so shocking to humanity, too much praise cannot be bestowed on the founders and supporters of the excellent institution for the relief of honest, industrious persons imprisoned for small debts. the immense number relieved by this benevolent society, who have appeared upon inquiry not to have brought misfortunes upon themselves by imprudence, is one of the strongest proofs that can be adduced of the imperfection of the laws; which are tacitly acknowledged to be erroneous, in the case of every person who is discharged by the bounty of the public.] this, therefore, is a most important branch of what may be called _civil police_, highly deserving the attention of the legislature; because it is not only contrary to reason, but pregnant with evils which tend to the increase of crimes in a greater degree than is generally supposed. the extensive and growing intercourse in commercial dealings, and the diffused state of property must, of course, progressively, increase the number of appeals to courts of justice, even under the present system; till at length the duty of the judges (infinitely more extensive than their predecessors experienced, and increasing every day,) will so multiply, as to render it an act of great cruelty and injustice, not to ease them of the unreasonable labour arising from small law-suits. the same reasoning applies to the members of the executive government. as we advance in riches, population, and crimes, the management of the country becomes more complicated. the labour attached to the higher departments of the state of all descriptions is infinitely greater than a century ago; and yet there is no increase in the number of the first executive responsible officers.--this, (although it has not heretofore attracted notice), when duly considered, will be found to be a very serious misfortune. the mind, however active or enlightened, can only compass certain objects. it requires relaxation; it cannot always be upon the stretch.--there is a point beyond which human exertion cannot go--and hence the necessity of the division of labour, in proportion to the increase of responsible public duty. wherever this does not take place, the country suffers; an unreasonable burden attaches, by which means matters of great consequence to the community must be overlooked, because it is impossible to compass every thing. having thus briefly explained that branch of the police of the capital which is connected with the department of the law, together with some of the most prominent features of abuse, which have grown out of the present system; as well as the remedies which have occurred, as apparently best calculated to remove these accumulating evils. it remains now to bring under the review of the reader, the various _municipal regulations_, which have been established for the comfort, accommodation, and convenience of the inhabitants; and the means used in carrying them into execution. the metropolis of the empire having been extended so far beyond its ancient limits;--every parish, hamlet, liberty, or precinct, now contiguous to the cities of _london_ and _westminster_, may be considered as a separate municipality, where the inhabitants regulate the police of their respective districts, under the authority of a great variety of different acts of parliament; enabling them to raise money for paving the streets, and to assess the householders for the interest thereof, as well as for the annual expence of _watching, cleansing, and removing nuisances and annoyances_. these funds, as well as the execution of the powers of the different acts, (excepting where the interference of magistrates is necessary) are placed in the hands of trustees, of whom in many instances, the church wardens, or parish officers for the time being, are members _ex officio_; and by these different bodies, all matters relative to the immediate safety, comfort and convenience of the inhabitants are managed and regulated. these regulations, however, are mostly founded upon statutes made in the last and present reign. the act of the d of william and mary, cap. , for paving, cleansing, &c. within the city and liberties of _westminster_, and the bills of mortality, not having been found applicable to modern improvements, new regulations became necessary; and an incredible number of private statutes applicable to the different parishes, hamlets, and liberties, composing the metropolis, have been passed within the last years. the act of the th george ii. cap. , established a system for paving and lighting, cleansing, and watching the city of london: but the statute which removed _signs and sign-posts_, _balconies_, _spouts_, _gutters_, and those other _encroachments_ and _annoyances_, which were felt as grievances, by the inhabitants, did not pass till the year .--the th of geo. iii. cap. , contains a complete and masterly system of that branch of the police which is connected with municipal regulations, and may be considered as a model for every large city in the empire. this excellent act extends to every obstruction by carts and carriages, and provides a remedy for all nuisances, which can prove, in any respect, offensive to the inhabitants; and special commissioners, called _commissioners of sewers_, are appointed to ensure a regular execution. it is further improved by the d of his present majesty, cap. , by which the power of the commissioners is increased, and some nuisances arising from butchers, dustmen, &c. further provided against. in the city and liberty of westminster also, many useful municipal regulations have been made within the present century. the acts of the th of elizabeth, and the th of charles i. (private acts) divided the city and liberties into wards, and appointed burgesses to regulate the police of each ward; who, with the dean, or high steward of westminster, were authorised to govern this district of the metropolis. the act of the th of george ii. cap. , enabled the dean, or his high steward, to choose constables in a court leet: and the same act authorised the appointment of an annoyance-jury of inhabitants, to examine weights and measures; and to make presentments of every public nuisance, either in the city or liberty.--the acts of the st of george ii. cap. and , improved the former statute, and allowed a free market to be held in westminster.--the act of the d of george iii. cap. , extended and improved the system for _paving, cleansing, lighting and watching_ the city and liberty, by including six other adjoining parishes and liberties in middlesex: this act was afterwards amended by the d of his present majesty, cap. .--the acts th geo. iii. caps. , ; th geo. iii. cap. ; and particularly th geo. iii. cap. , for regulating the nightly watch and constables, made further improvements in the general system by which those branches of police in westminster are at present regulated. in the borough of southwark also the same system has been pursued; the acts th geo. ii. cap. ; and th geo. iii. cap. , having established a system of municipal regulations, applicable to this district of the metropolis; relative to _markets_, _hackney-coach stands_, _paving_, _cleansing_, _lighting_, _watching_, _marking streets_, and _numbering houses_, and placing the whole under the management of commissioners. in contemplating the great leading features of municipal regulation, nothing places england in a situation so superior to most other countries, with regard to cleanliness, as the _system of the sewers_, under the management of special commissioners, in different parts of the kingdom; introduced so early as by the act th henry vi. cap. , and regulated by the acts th henry viii. cap. ; d henry viii. cap. ; and th henry viii. cap. .--afterwards improved by the d and th edward vi. cap. ; st mary, stat. , cap. ; th elizabeth, cap. ; d james i. cap. ; and th anne, cap. . sewers being so early introduced into the metropolis, as well as into other cities and towns, in consequence of the general system, every offensive nuisance was removed through this medium, and the inhabitants early accustomed to the advantages and comforts of cleanliness. another feature, strongly marking the wisdom and attention of our ancestors, was the introduction of _water_, for the supply of the metropolis, in the reign of james i. in . the improvements which have been since made for the convenience of the inhabitants, in extending the supplies by means of the new river, and also by the accession of the thames water, through the medium of the london bridge, chelsea, york buildings, shadwell, and other water-works, it is not necessary to detail. the act th anne, cap. , first established the regulations with regard to _hackney coaches_ and _chairs_, which have been improved and extended by several subsequent statutes, _viz._ anne, cap. ; anne, stat. , cap. ; geo. i. cap. ; geo. i. cap. ; geo. ii. cap. ; geo. iii. cap. ; geo. iii. cap. ; geo. iii. cap. ; geo. iii. caps. , ; geo. iii. cap. ; geo. iii. stat. . cap. ; geo. iii. cap. ; geo. iii. cap. ; geo. iii. cap. . these acts authorize _one thousand coaches_, and _four hundred hackney chairs_, to be licensed for the accommodation of the inhabitants of the metropolis; and magistrates, as well as the commissioners, are empowered to decide, in a summary way, upon all complaints arising between coachmen or chairmen, and the inhabitants, who may have occasion to employ them. carts and other carriages have also been regulated by several different acts, _viz._ geo. i. stat. . cap. ; geo. ii. cap. ; geo. ii. cap. ; geo. ii. cap. ; geo. iii. cap. ; and geo. iii. cap. . the statutes contain a very complete system, relative to this branch of police; by virtue of which all complaints arising from offences under these acts, are also cognizable by the magistrates, in a summary way. the act of the th of george iii. cap. , established an improved system, with regard to _watermen plying on the river thames_.--the lord mayor and aldermen are empowered to make rules and orders for their government;[ ] and, with the recorder and the justices of the peace of the respective counties, and places next adjoining to the thames, have equal jurisdiction in all situations between gravesend and windsor, to put in execution not only the _laws_, but also the rules and orders relative to such watermen, which shall be sent to the several public offices in the metropolis, and to the clerks of the peace of the counties joining the thames, within days after such rules are made or altered. the magistrates have power given them to fine watermen for extortion and misbehaviour: and, persons refusing to pay the fares authorised by law, may be compelled to do so, with all charges, or be imprisoned for one month; and whoever shall give a waterman a fictitious name or place of abode, forfeits _l._ [footnote : no rules or orders have yet been published, although nearly six years have elapsed since the passing of this act. the public are, therefore, without the means of punishing or controlling watermen, which is felt as a serious misfortune.] offences relative to the driving of cattle improperly, usually termed _bullock hunting_, are also determined by the magistrates, in the same summary way, under the authority of an act st geo. iii. cap. ; by which every person is authorised to seize delinquents guilty of this very dangerous offence. the last great feature of useful municipal police which the author will mention, consists in the excellent regulations relative to _buildings_, _projections_, and _fires_; first adopted after the fire of london in , and extended and improved by several acts of parliament passed, from that time, down to the th of his present majesty. the act of the th of george iii. cap. , which repeals the former acts, besides regulating the mode of building houses in future, so as to render them _ornamental_, _commodious_, and _secure_ against the accidents of fire, established other useful rules for the prevention of this dreadful calamity; by rendering it incumbent on churchwardens to provide one or more engines in every parish, to be in readiness, on the shortest notice, to extinguish fires, and also ladders to favour escapes; and, that every facility might be afforded with regard to water, it is also incumbent on the churchwardens to fix stop-blocks and fire-plugs at convenient distances, upon all the main pipes within the parish; and to place a mark in the street where they are to be found, and to have an instrument or key ready to open such fire-plugs, so that the water may be accessible on the shortest possible notice. that every thing also might be done to ensure dispatch, the person bringing the first parish engine to any fire is entitled to _s._ the second to _s._ and third to _s._ paid by the parish; excepting in cases where chimnies are on fire, and then the expence ultimately falls upon the person inhabiting the house or place where it originated. this excellent statute, so salutary in its effects with regard to many important regulations of police, also obliges all beadles and constables, on the breaking out of any fire, to repair immediately to the spot, with their long staves, and to protect the sufferers from the depredation of thieves; and to assist in removing effects, and in extinguishing the flames. these outlines will explain, in some measure, by what means the system of the police, in most of its great features, is conducted in the metropolis--to which it may be necessary to add, that the beadles of each parish, are the proper persons to whom application may be made, in the first instance, in case of any inconvenience or nuisance. the city and police magistrates, in their respective courts, if not immediately authorized to remedy the wrong that is suffered, will point out how it may be effected. it is, however, earnestly to be wished, that (like the building-act just mentioned), one general law, comprehending the whole of the excellent regulations made for the city of london, so far as they will apply, could be extended to every part of the metropolis, and its suburbs; that a perfect uniformity might prevail, in the penalties and punishments to be inflicted for the several offences against the comfort or convenience of the inhabitants.--at present it often happens, that an offence in one parish, is no act of delinquency in another. the great object is to simplify every system as much as possible;--complicated establishments are always more expensive than is necessary, and constantly liable to abuses. the annual expence to the inhabitants, in consequence of all those municipal regulations just detailed, is, perhaps, higher than in any other city in the world.--including the poor's-rate, it amounts, on an average, to full per cent. on the gross rental of the metropolis; and is supposed to exceed one million sterling a year! a superintending police would, in many instances, correct the want of intelligence, which is apparent, and enlighten the local managers in such a manner, as not only to promote objects of oeconomy, calculated to abridge and keep within bounds an enormous and growing expence, but also to suggest improvements by which it might be reduced, and many solid advantages be acquired by the community. it is impossible to examine, with the mind of a man of business, the various establishments which have become necessary for promoting the comfort and convenience of great societies, without lamenting, in many instances, the unnecessary waste that prevails, and the confusion and irregularity which often ensue, merely for want of system, judgment, and knowledge of the subject. various, indeed, are the evils and disorders which time engenders, in every thing connected with the affairs of civil society, requiring a constant and uniform attention, _increasing, as the pressures increase_, for the purpose of keeping them within bounds; that as much happiness and comfort may be extended to the people as can possibly arise from a well-regulated and energetic police, conducted with purity, zeal, and intelligence. we are arrived at an epoch full of difficulties and dangers, producing wonderful events, and still pregnant with consequences, in their nature, stretching beyond the usual course of human conjecture, where it is impossible to judge of the ultimate issue. under such circumstances, it becomes, more than ever, necessary to make prudent arrangements for the general safety, for amending the morals, and promoting the happiness of the people; by improved laws, extending protection to all, and correcting those evils, which are felt as a burden upon the community. chap. xx. _a summary view of the evils detailed in the preceding chapters.--the great opulence and extensive trade of the metropolis assigned as a cause of the increase and multiplication of crimes, and of the great extent of the depredations which are committed.--arguments in favour of a more energetic police as the only means of remedying those evils.--a wide field opened to men of virtue and talents to do good.--a general view of the estimated depredations annually in the metropolis and its vicinity, amounting in all to two millions sterling.--general observations and reflections an the strong features of degraded humanity, which this summary of turpitude exhibits.--observations on the further evils arising from the deficiency of the system with respect to officers of justice.--the want of a prosecutor for the crown, and the inadequacy of punishments.--a view of the remedies proposed-- st. with respect to the corruption of morals.-- d. the means of preventing crimes in general.-- d. offences committed on the river thames.-- th. offences in the public arsenals and ships of war.-- th. counterfeiting money and fabricating bank notes; th. punishments.-- th. further advantages of an improved system of police.--concluding reflections._ in taking a summary view of the various evils and remedies, which have been detailed in this work, it may be right, previously to apprize the reader, that in contemplating the extent and magnitude of the aggregate depredations, which are presumed to be committed in the course of a year, it is necessary to measure them _by a scale proportioned to the unparalleled amount of moving property exposed in transit in this great metropolis_, as well as the vast and unexampled increase of this property, within the last half century; during which period there has certainly been an accumulation of not less than two-thirds, in commerce as well as in manufactures. it has not, perhaps, generally attracted notice, that, besides being the seat of the _government_--_of the law_,--_learning_, and the _fine arts_,--the resort of the nobility and the opulent from every part of the british empire, however distant; london, from being a great _depôt_ for all the manufactures of the country, and also the goods of foreign nations as well as east india and colonial produce, is not only the first commercial city at present existing, but is also one of the greatest and most extensive manufacturing towns, perhaps in the world; combining in one spot every attribute that can occasion an assemblage of moving property, unparalleled in point of extent, magnitude, and value in the whole globe.--from the abstract of imports and exports in _page_ of this work, it appears that above , vessels,[ ] including their repeated voyages, arrive at, and depart from, the port of london, with merchandize, in the course of a year; besides a vast number of river craft, employed in the trade of the interior country, bringing and carrying away property, estimated at above _seventy millions sterling_.[ ] [footnote : see table in page .] [footnote : see page .] in addition to this, it is calculated, that above , waggons and other carriages, including their repeated journies, arrive and depart laden, in both instances, with articles of domestic, colonial, east india and foreign merchandize; occasioning a transit of perhaps (when cattle, grain, and provisions sent for the consumption of the inhabitants, are included) _fifty millions more_. if we take into the account the vast quantity of merchandize and moveable property of every species deposited in the various _maritime magazines_, _timber-yards_, _piece-goods' warehouses_, _shops_, _manufactories_, _store-houses_, _public markets_, _dwelling-houses_, _inns_, _new buildings_, and _other repositories_, and which pass from one place to another, it will establish a foundation for supposing that, in this way, property to the amount of _fifty millions_ more at least, is annually exposed to depredation; making a sum of _one hundred and seventy millions_; independent of the moving articles in ships of war and transports, and in the different arsenals, dock-yards, and repositories in the tower of london, and at deptford, woolwich, sheerness, and various smaller magazines, in the daily course of being received and sent away, supposed to amount to _thirty millions_ more; making in the whole an aggregate sum of _two hundred millions_. thus an immense property becomes exceedingly exposed, in all the various ways already explained in the course of this work; and the _estimated_ amount of the _annual depredations_ hereafter enumerated under these respective heads will cease to be a matter of surprise, if measured by the enormous scale of property above particularized. although it is supposed to amount to about _two millions_ sterling, it sinks to a trifle, in contemplating the magnitude of the capital, _scarcely reaching one per cent. on the value of property passing in transit in the course of a year_. it is not, therefore, so much the actual loss that is sustained (great as it certainly is) which is to be deplored _as the mischief which arises from the destruction of the morals of so numerous a body of people; who must be directly or collaterally engaged in perpetrating smaller offences, and in fraudulent and criminal pursuits_. this, in a political point of view, is a consideration of a very serious and alarming nature, infinitely worse in its consequences than even those depredations which arise from acts of violence committed by more atrocious offenders; the numbers of which latter have been shewn to be small, in comparison with other delinquents, and not to have increased in any material degree for the last years; while _inferior thefts, river-plunder, pillage, embezzlement, and frauds, in respect to public property, coining base money, forgeries under various ramifications, cheating by means of swindling and other criminal practices, and purchasing and dealing in stolen goods_, have advanced in a degree, commensurate to the great and rapid influx of wealth, which has arisen from the vast increase of the commerce and manufactures of the country, and the general accumulation of property by british subjects in the east and west indies, and in foreign countries. the evils, therefore, are the more prominent, as they have become so exceedingly diffused; and implicate in criminality numerous individuals, of whom a very large proportion were formerly untainted with any of that species of delinquency, which now renders them, (for their own sakes--for the benefit of their families--and for the interest of public morals,) objects of peculiar attention on the part of the legislature, as well as the police of the country. the habits they have acquired are, doubtless, very alarming, as in the destruction of their own morals, they also destroy those of the rising generation; and still more so, as the existing laws, and the present system of police, have been found so totally inadequate to the object of prevention. indeed it is but too evident, that nothing useful can be effected without a variety of regulations, such as have been suggested in different parts of this work. it is not, however, by the adoption of any one _remedy_ singly applied, or applied by piece-meal, but by a combination of the whole legislative _powers_, _regulations_, _establishments_, and _superintending agencies_ already suggested, (and particularly by those recommended by the select committee of the house of commons _which may be considered as the ground work_) that crimes are, in any degree, to be prevented, or kept in check. and it is not to be expected, that such remedies can be either complete or effectual, unless there be a sufficient fund appropriated for the purpose of giving vigour and energy to the general system. the object is of such astonishing magnitude, and the abuses which are meant to be corrected, are of so much consequence to the _state_, as well as to the _individual_, and the danger of a progressive increase is so evidently well established by experience, that it is impossible to look at that subject with indifference, when once it is developed and understood. it opens a wide field for doing good, to men of virtue, talents, and abilities, who love their country, and glory in its prosperity. such men will speedily perceive, that this prosperity can only be of short duration,--if public morals are neglected,--if no check is given to the growing depravity which prevails, and if measures are not adopted to guard the rising generation against the evil examples to which they are exposed. philanthropists will also, in this volume, find abundant scope for the exercise of that benevolence, and those efforts in the cause of humanity, which occupy their attention, and constitute their chief pleasure.--it is earnestly to be hoped, that it may produce an universal desire to attain those objects, which are shewn to be so immediately connected with the public good. for the purpose of elucidating, in some degree, the dreadful effect of the profligacy and wickedness, which have been opened to the view of the reader, and occasioned the perpetration of crimes and offences of every species and denomination, the following estimate has been made up from information derived through a variety of different channels.--it exhibits at one view, the supposed aggregate amount of the various depredations committed in the metropolis and its environs, in the course of a year. the intelligent reader will perceive at once, that in the nature of things, such a calculation cannot be perfectly accurate; because there are no precise data upon which it may be formed; but if it approaches in any degree near the truth, (and the author has discovered nothing in the course of four years to alter the opinion he originally formed in any material degree,) it will fully answer the purpose intended; by affording many useful and important hints favourable to those improvements which are felt to be necessary by all; though till of late, understood by very few. it is introduced also (merely as a calculation) for the purpose of arresting the attention of the public, in a greater degree, and of directing it not only to inquiries similar to those upon which the author has formed his conjectures; but also to the means of procuring those improvements in the laws, and in the system of the police, which have become so indispensably necessary for the security of every individual possessing property in this great metropolis. * * * * * an estimate _of the annual amount and value of the depredations committed on public and private property in the metropolis and its vicinity_, in one year. _specifying the nature of such depredations under six different heads, viz:--_ . _small thefts_, committed in a little way by _menial servants, chimney-sweepers, dustmen, porters, apprentices, journeymen, stable boys, itinerant jews, and others_, from _dwelling-houses, stables, out-houses, warehouses, shops, founderies, workshops, new buildings, public houses_, and in short every other place where property is deposited; which may be specifically estimated and subdivided as follows: _tons._ £. articles new and old, of iron and steel , brass , copper , lead , pewter, solder, and tin , pewter pots, stolen from publicans , [ ] small articles of plate, china, glass ware, sadlery, harness, and other portable articles of house and table furniture, books, tea, sugar, soap, candles, liquors, &c. &c. &c. , piece-goods from shops and warehouses, by servants, porters, &c. , wearing apparel, bed and table linen, &c. , silk, cotton, and worsted yarn, embezzled by winders and others in spitalfields, &c. formerly , _l._ a year, now supposed to be , ------ £. , . _thefts upon the river and quays_, committed in a little way on board ships in the river thames, whilst discharging their cargoes; and afterwards upon the wharfs, quays, and warehouses, when the same are landing, weighing, and storing; by glutmen, lumpers, jobbers, labourers, porters, lightermen, boys called mudlarks, and others employed, or lurking about for plunder, _viz._ raw sugars, rum, coffee, chocolate, pimento, ginger, cotton, dying woods, and every other article of west-india produce, estimated at the commencement of the marine police establishment at , _l._ a year; but now reduced to , east-india goods, and merchandize from africa, the mediterranean, america, the baltic, the continent of europe, coasting trade, &c. &c. , _l._ now reduced by the marine police institution to , ship stores and tackling, including cordage, sails, tar, pitch, tallow, provisions, &c. taken from above , different vessels, estimated at , _l._ but now reduced since the establishment of the marine police, according to estimate, to , ------- £. , . _thefts and frauds_ committed in his majesty's dock-yards and other public repositories, situated on the river thames; including the plunder, pillage, and frauds, by which public property (exclusive of metals) is embezzled in the said stores, and from ships of war. (besides the frauds, plunder and pillage, in the dock-yards, and from ships of war at chatham, portsmouth, plymouth, &c. at all times enormous, but especially in time of war; when public property is unavoidably most exposed, equal at least to , _l._ a year more:) making in all, one million sterling, at least; but reduced by the marine police from , _l._ to , . _depredations_ committed by means of burglaries, highway robberies, and other more atrocious thefts, viz. . burglaries by housebreakers, in plate, and other articles , . highway robberies, in money, watches, bank-notes, &c. , . private stealing, and picking of pockets, &c. , . stealing horses, cattle, sheep, poultry, corn, provender, potatoes, turnips, vegetables, fruit, &c. in london and the vicinity , ------- £. , . _frauds_ by the coinage and recolouring of base money, counterfeited of the similitude of the current gold, silver and copper coin of the realm , . _frauds_ by counterfeiting bank notes, public securities, powers of attorney, bonds, bills, and notes; by swindling, cheating and obtaining money and goods by false pretences, &c. &c. , ----------- £. , , [footnote : the publicans in their petition to the house of commons ( ) estimated their loss at , _l._ but there is some reason to suppose this was exaggerated.] recapitulation. . small thefts £. , . thefts upon the rivers and quays , . thefts in the dock-yards, &c. in the thames , . burglaries, highway-robberies, &c. &c. , . coining base money , . forging bills, swindling, &c. , ----------- total £. , , [ ] ----------- [footnote : this sum will, no doubt, astonish the reader at first view; and may even go very far to stagger his belief: but when the vast extent of the trade and commerce of london is considered, the great quantity of money, bank notes, and stationary or fixed property of a portable nature, as well as moving effects, all which has been estimated, exclusive of horses, cattle, corn, provender, fruit, vegetables, &c. at two hundred millions sterling, (_see p._ .) it will cease to be a matter of surprise, that under an incorrect system of police and deficient laws, the depredations are estimated so high. it would have equally attracted attention with a view to an improvement in the police, and of course have answered the author's purpose full as well to have reduced the estimate to _one half the present sum_: but being solicitous to approach as nearly to the truth as possible, he considered himself bound to offer it in its present form, which after being four years under the view of the public, not only stands unimpeached; but altho' the author himself, after the additional experience he has acquired, has attempted a new modification; and although the river plunder is greatly reduced, the aggregate remains nearly as before.] the foregoing estimate, grounded on the best information that can be procured, exhibits a melancholy picture of the general depravity which prevails; and which is heightened in a considerable degree by the reflection, that among the perpetrators of the crimes there particularized, are to be numbered persons, who from their rank and situation in life would scarcely be suspected of either committing or conniving at frauds, for the purpose of enriching themselves at the expence of the nation. avarice is ever an eager, though not always a clear sighted passion; and when gratified at the price of violating the soundest principles of honesty and justice, a sting must remain behind, which no affluence can banish,--no pecuniary gratification alleviate. in contemplating these strong features of degraded humanity, it cannot escape the observant reader, how small a part of the annual depredations upon public and private property is to be placed to the account of those criminals who alone attract notice, from the force and violence they use; and to whose charge the whole of the inconveniences felt by the public, is generally laid, namely, _common thieves and pick-pockets; highway-men and foot-pad robbers_.--but for this estimate, it could not have been believed how large a share of the property annually plundered, stolen, embezzled, or acquired in a thousand different ways, by means _unlawful_, _unjust_, and _immoral_, in this great metropolis, is acquired by criminals of other descriptions; whose extensive ravages on property are the more dangerous, in proportion to the secrecy with which they are conducted. next to the evils which are experienced by the general corruption of morals, and by the actual depredations upon public and private property as now brought under the review of the reader, by means of a summary detail, it has been shewn, in the course of this work, that many pressures arise from the defects in the laws relative to the detection, trial, and conviction of offenders, from the want of an improved system respecting constables, and particularly from the deficiency of jurisdiction in the city and police magistrates,--the want of funds to remunerate officers of justice, and to reward watchmen, patroles, and beadles, who may act meritoriously in apprehending delinquents; and lastly, in the trial of criminals, for want of a general _prosecutor for the crown_, to attend to the public interest, and to prevent those frauds (in suborning evidence, and in compounding felonies,) whereby many of the most abandoned are let loose upon society, while those who are novices in crimes are often punished. the next stated in the class of evils is, that which arises from the laws as they now stand, relative to _punishments_.--their extreme severity, in rendering such a multitude of crimes capital, which juries can never be made to believe are of that nature, in point of actual atrocity, has proved a very serious misfortune to the country, in the administration of criminal justice.--because the punishment is too severe, it frequently happens that the delinquent is sent back upon society, encouraged to renew his depredations upon the public by his having escaped (although guilty) without any chastisement at all. it is unquestionably true, and little doubt will be entertained by any who attentively examine this work, that the dread of severe punishment, in the manner the law is executed at present, has not the least effect in deterring hardened offenders from the commission of crimes. an opinion seems to have been formed, that crimes were to be prevented by the severity of the punishment. that this opinion has been erroneous seems to be proved by incontestable evidence adduced in various parts of this work; and elucidated by a variety of reasoning, which it is hoped cannot fail to bring conviction to the mind of every reader, who will bestow time in the investigation of a subject of so much importance to society. last, in the enumeration of the evils detailed, are those deficiencies and imperfections, which arise from the _police system_; as explained in the th and th chapters.--a variety of inconveniences, it appears, originate from this source; and reasons are adduced to demonstrate that the national security, and prosperity, are more dependant on a well-regulated and correct system of police, than has been generally supposed; and that the adoption of the plan of police, explained in the th chapter, and recommended by the select committee on finance, would prove an inestimable blessing to the country. having thus briefly glanced at the evils, detailed in this work, it now becomes necessary to lay before the reader a similar collected view of the remedies. in accomplishing this object, while the author ventures to indulge a hope that these which have been suggested, or at least a part of them, may be brought in due time, under the consideration of the legislature, for the purpose of being enacted into laws, or otherwise carried into effect; they are now presented to the reader under the following heads, _viz._ i. the prevention of the present corruption of morals; as originating from ill-regulated public houses, tea gardens, theatres, and other places of public amusement; indecent publications; ballad-singers--female prostitution--servants out of place--the lottery; gaming--indigence, and various other causes. ii. the prevention of offences; and first of those denominated _misdemeanors_; such as cheating and swindling; robbing orchards; petty assaults, and perjury.--next of counterfeit coinage; river plunder; plunder in dock-yards, &c. lastly, of the prevention of crimes in general, under _twelve_ different heads, specifying the remedies proposed on this subject in the course of the work. iii. amendment of the existing laws; respecting the obtaining _goods_ and _chattles_ under false pretences--pawnbrokers--forgeries--receiving stolen goods--arson--lodgers--registering lodging houses--plunder on houses--gypsies--milk--speedy trial of offences committed within five miles of the metropolis--imprisonment for debt, and recovery of debts under _l._ concluding observations. summary view of the _remedies proposed._ the first step to all improvements in civil society is that which relates to the _morals of the people_.--while in the higher and middle ranks of life a vast portion of virtue and philanthropy is manifested, perhaps in a greater degree than is to be found in any country or nation in the world, it is much to be lamented, that among the lower classes a species of profligacy and improvidence prevails, which as it applies to the metropolis of the empire, is certainly not exceeded in any other capital in europe.--to this source may be traced the great extent and increasing multiplication of crimes, insensibly generating evils calculated, ultimately, to sap the foundation of the state. the grand object, therefore, must be to devise means for the purpose of checking, and gradually preventing the evils arising from the corruption of morals. to effect so valuable a purpose to the community at large--to render the labour of the lower orders of the people more productive to themselves, and more beneficial to the nation, recourse must be had to that superintending system of _preventive police_ which has been recommended generally by the select committee of the house of commons, and which has been particularly detailed in the th chapter of this treatise. it is thus by giving police its true and genuine character, and divesting it of those judicial functions which are the province of magistrates alone, that a proper line will be drawn between _prevention_, and those proceedings which lead to _punishment_ after an offence is actually committed. it is through this medium also that a change is to be effected in the morals of the people, calculated to abridge the number of acts of delinquency, and to lead the perpetrators gradually into the walks of innocence, sobriety, and industry.--one of the first steps towards the attainment of these objects will be a systematic attention to public-houses. in the eleventh chapter of this work, the progress of the corruption of morals through this medium, from the infant to the adult, is brought under the review of the reader; and it is considered as of the highest importance that general and apposite rules for the proper conduct of those houses, now the haunts of vice and profligacy, should be formed and recommended by a board of police to the magistrates acting in all the licensing divisions of the country. the benefits arising from an uniform and well-digested system might thus be extended throughout the country: and an accurate and permanent administration of this branch of police secured, thro' the medium of a general _center_, where responsibility should rest, and from which the licensing magistrates should receive _information_, _assistance_, and _support_, in whatever related to the proper regulation of alehouses, particularly in the metropolis and the surrounding counties. regular reports of the number of these alehouses in each licensing district in proportion to the extent of population; and details of the effects produced by an adherence to the general rules which may be prescribed, would lead to new and useful suggestions which must ultimately give a favourable turn to the manners of the lower classes of the people, not only with respect to the diminution of crimes, but also with regard to their domestic comforts.--they would be rendered more independent of parochial aid; and above all, the education and habits of the rising generation would be easily improved--_apprentices_ thus secured against the evil examples of which young minds are but too susceptible, would enter upon life with dispositions differently formed, and with that sort of bias which stimulates to industry and virtue, instead of idleness, profligacy, and vice.--in this, as in many other instances, the happiness and virtue of the individual are intimately combined with the best interests of the state. such prudent and discreet regulations would have a general tendency to make public-houses what they were originally intended to be by the legislature--_places of mere refreshment_, and not haunts of idleness as at present.--the resource now afforded by them to actual _thieves_, _burglars_, _pickpockets_, _highwaymen_, _swindlers_, _cheats_, _gamblers_, and _dealers_ in _counterfeit money_, would not only be cut off, but those who have been accustomed to resort to these houses from the temporary want of employment:--such as persons broke down by misfortune and indiscretion--servants out of place, and strangers resorting to the metropolis, would no longer be assailed by those temptations which contribute in so great a degree to recruit the gangs of criminal depredators. nothing but a well-regulated police, under a proper system of controul, can remedy those evils arising from public-houses, and it is earnestly to be hoped, that the functions proposed to be exercised by the central board of police would effect this valuable purpose. public gardens. the corruption of morals has been in a considerable degree promoted, not only by the assemblage of lewd and debauched company who have of late years crowded to public gardens; but also by the unrestrained licence which has been permitted in these places of amusement.--this circumstance has not only called upon the magistrates to refuse the renewal of the licenses to several of the occupiers, lessees, and proprietors, but it has precluded the more decent and respectable part of the public in the middle walks of life, from what might, under proper regulations, be considered as an innocent and a desirable recreation for the inhabitants of an overgrown metropolis.--most of the remaining public gardens have of late years fallen into disrepute, to the injury of the proprietors, who, under the present deficient system of police, have no means of protecting themselves against the consequences of those irregularities which operate powerfully in diminishing the number of visitors, upon which their emolument depends. while profligate and debauched characters of both sexes find not only an easy access to these places of amusement, but also have permission to insult public morals, by doing violence to the rules of decency and decorum; it is evident that they must gradually cease to be desirable as a recreation to the virtuous part of the community; and there appears to be no remedy but by means of _police regulations_, prescribing proper rules, with officers appointed by the central board, for the purpose of carrying them into effect.[ ] indeed, if such places of resort were licensed only by the proposed central board, it might be productive of the greatest advantages; and they might be a fair source of revenue for police purposes, to a certain moderate extent. [footnote : see pages , , and .] places of public amusement licensed by magistrates. the general concourse of loose and immoral characters of both sexes who frequent the summer exhibitions, and the irregularities which are unavoidable under such circumstances, tend in no small degree to the corruption of morals; and while it is admitted that such amusements are necessary in great communities, it is of the utmost importance that they should not only be regulated by the police, with respect to the nature of the _spectacle_ or _exhibition_, so as clearly to ascertain that it has no immoral tendency[ ], but also that the utmost decorum should be preserved by means of proper officers acting under the proposed central board.--this becomes the more important, as a large proportion of the frequenters of these places of amusement are of the middle and inferior ranks of life, and many of them very young and susceptible of loose impressions, which renders it highly necessary that authority should be vested only in the responsible board of police, to grant or to refuse licenses: to which a moderate revenue might be attached to defray the expence of a regulating system. [footnote : see page .] the theatres. without entering upon a discussion how far many of the theatrical exhibitions which are brought forward tend to improve, or to injure the morals of the people--it is, at least, evident that the unrestrained license which is permitted to males and females in the walks of prostitution in the lobbies, and even in the boxes of the playhouses, and the indecent behaviour and unbecoming language which is frequently uttered in the view and hearing of the respectable part of the community who frequent these places of resort, with the younger branches of their families, must tend in no inconsiderable degree to the corruption of morals.[ ] it is, therefore, suggested that a police, applicable to this object, should be formed by the proposed central board; and also for the purpose of effectually securing the public against the attacks and depredations of the hordes of pickpockets who infest the avenues of the theatres, and have long been a reproach to the police of the metropolis. [footnote : see page .] immoral and indecent publications, and prints. nothing can exhibit in a stronger point of view the deficiency of the police system than the number of immoral books which are published and circulated, and the indecent prints which are exhibited and sold in the various streets of the metropolis, all tending in no inconsiderable degree to the corruption of morals.--let it once become a part of the functions of the proposed board of police to take cognizance of these abuses, and they will soon cease to convey that poison to young minds, which ultimately leads to dissolute manners and loose conduct in the general intercourse of life. ballad-singers. since it has never been possible, under the existing laws, to suppress the herd of ballad-singers which are to be found in such multitudes in every part of the metropolis, and, indeed, in all the large towns in the kingdom: and which at present are under the controul of a very feeble police, which does not, and indeed cannot, restrain effectually the immoral, and often seditious tendency of the songs sung to the listening multitude--why might not this lowest cast of amusement be turned to good purposes, tending to counteract and prevent the corruption of morals, which are at present generated through this medium? under a responsible board of police such an object is certainly attainable[ ] and the present state of things points out the policy and necessity of carrying it into effect. [footnote : see page .] female seduction. in contemplating the excessive evils, and the dreadful consequences which result from female seduction, whether it applies to married or single women,[ ] it would seem to be a matter of astonishment that no punishment has been inflicted by the criminal law, by which the destroyers of innocence, and of the peace of families, could be held up as public examples of infamy.--a corporal punishment, accompanied with circumstances of obloquy and disgrace, is certainly not too severe where a delinquent plunges a female (whether married or single) into a situation, in most instances, worse than death itself; since when abandoned by her seducer, she is not only exposed to the reproach and contumely of the world, but subjected to herd with the phalanx of prostitutes who contribute so much to the corruption of morals, and where the miserable victim may be said to die, perhaps, _a thousand deaths_ before her actual dissolution.--surely an offence producing such dreadful consequences should, as a mean of prevention, be marked not only as an object of _criminal punishment_, but of _pecuniary retribution_ to _the injured party_.--were such a law in force, the numerous instances of female seduction would be greatly diminished; while the injured woman, under such unhappy circumstances, might, after the conviction of a jury, have a fair prospect of being again restored to her friends, and, perhaps, to society. [footnote : see pages , and .] female prostitution. in the th chapter of this treatise,[ ] a general view is given of the shocking corruption of morals, which is generated by the vast increase of common prostitutes in the metropolis.--it now becomes necessary to explain the specific remedies which the author had in view for the purpose of lessening this enormous and afflicting evil. [footnote : see pages to .] its magnitude, and the wrongs that result from it, are too vast and extensive to admit of any common remedy.--the excellent institution of the magdalen hospital in the course of years, has only been able to reform or reconcile to their friends , , out of , who have been actually admitted within that period--and even some of these have relapsed into their former errors: though others, who have been discharged at their own request, have behaved well. but when a survey is taken of the aggregate number of unhappy women who have entered the walks of prostitution within the last years in the metropolis, succeeding one another perhaps, every years upon an average, it is probable that from to , have passed through a miserable life, the irreclaimable victims to this debasing turpitude, without the means of rescuing themselves from a situation so pitiable and calamitous. the fact is, that the evil is of too great a magnitude to admit of a cure through the medium of private benevolence.--relief without _reform_, and _reputable employment_, or reconciliation to relations, will do nothing towards a diminution of the evil.--it will require an extensive system and a corresponding expence, which can only be compassed by a police applicable to this particular object, aided by appropriate regulations. after the maturest consideration of the subject, the author ventures to offer the following propositions as the most likely, in the first instance, to excite a desire in many of those unhappy women to alter their degrading course of life, and to facilitate their introduction into situations, where, through the medium of a reconciliation with their friends, or otherwise, at least a considerable part might be restored to society who are lost at present; while, under the regulations hereafter proposed, the streets of the metropolis will no longer hold out allurements to vice and debauchery, ruinous to the morals of youth, and disgraceful to the police of the metropolis. st. it is proposed, with a view to prevent common prostitutes from walking the streets to assail passengers, and promote the seduction of youth, that a select body of discreet officers should be appointed, under the direction of the central board, who should apprehend all who can be clearly ascertained to be in pursuit of objects of prostitution.--that each should be conveyed to their respective homes, and when the landlord's name, or the person to whom they pay rent or lodging, is by that means ascertained; that such person's name and place of abode, and the names of his or her lodgers be registered, and a penalty of _s._ for the first, and an advance of _s._ more for every additional offence, be inflicted on each hirer of board or lodgings for every female apprehended in the streets, upon proper proof of an overt-act leading to prostitution. in all cases where prostitutes refuse to discover their real place of abode, they shall be detained in a house to be provided for their reception until such discovery be made. d. that every male person who shall be proved to have made, or to have accepted, overtures from any female walking the streets, shall in like manner be apprehended, and shall give security for his appearance before a magistrate next day, or be detained in the watch-house, and shall, on conviction, forfeit and pay a penalty of _twenty shillings_. d. that for the purpose of holding out encouragement to that class of unfortunate females who have been abandoned by their seducers, and whose minds are not yet debased by an indiscriminate intercourse of prostitution; and also such others as may have friends likely to assist them, _twelve_ or more _sensible and discreet matrons_ shall be appointed, under the board of police, with a moderate salary, and residing (with proper accommodation) in different parts of the town, on whom it shall be incumbent to receive into their houses, and to provide a temporary residence for every unfortunate female who may apply, for the purpose of stating her case, with a view to a reconciliation with her friends, and to the exposure of her seducer, as a check upon such acts of villainy hereafter.--that it shall be the duty of the matron, after being mistress of the whole case, to open a negociation with the nearest relations or friends of the unfortunate female, and to use every means to effect a reconciliation; or where that is found impracticable, to endeavour to procure her some reputable employment. and as an encouragement to such matrons, to use all diligence in promoting the object in view, they shall be entituled to a certain premium from the police funds, (independent of what private societies of benevolent individuals may be induced to bestow,) for every unfortunate female who shall be thus rescued from the walks of prostitution: to be paid at the end of months, in case such female shall then be in society with her relations, or in some reputable employment, and shall not have relapsed into her former course of life.--that these matrons shall be distinguished for talents and humanity, and shall be capable of exercising such powers as could, in other instances, be employed to promote reconciliation with relations and friends; and also to devise employments by which the unfortunate persons, _ad interim_, under their care should be able to subsist, by taking in _military shirts_, _slop-work_, and other branches of female labour; to procure which, it is not doubted, but societies of benevolent individuals would contribute their aid, so as to secure, at all times, the means of full employment for all the various applicants in succession. in so noble a work of humanity, especially when it is understood that the labour of the matrons would be remunerated by such a moderate salary, as might be an object to many deserving well-educated women, little doubt can be entertained of there being many candidates for such situations, who, from having no family, would be perfectly competent to the execution of so benevolent a design. th. that with a view to the reformation of prostitutes who have no relations or friends, or in cases where a reconciliation is hopeless, and who may be disposed to abandon their evil courses, _houses of industry_ shall be provided in different parts of the town, with large kitchens for the purpose of preparing wholesome and nourishing food at a cheap rate, into which all who apply for an asylum will be received; on condition that a true and faithful account of the various circumstances of their lives shall be given, and that they agree not only to submit to the discipline of the establishment, but also to perform such labour as shall be assigned them for their subsistence, lodging and apparel. that these _houses of industry_ shall also be superintended by _discreet matrons_, who shall receive a moderate salary, and a certain portion of the profit, arising from the work done, and a premium for every female restored to society, or to their friends by their means; and in honest employment or living with relations, for the space of months, in addition to such other premiums as benevolent societies of individuals may choose to bestow, in consequence of the impression made on their minds of the utility of such establishments, and the success which may appear to attend them. th. that all the laws now in being against prostitution, and against the keepers of brothels, shall remain in full force; with this alteration only, that instead of proceeding against offenders in the latter case, by the difficult, expensive, and circuitous mode of presentment and indictment, which has heretofore proved so ineffectual, the proceedings shall be _summary_ before two magistrates, as in lottery and other offences, and the delinquents if convicted shall be subject to immediate punishment. these are the regulations which the author would humbly propose, as a mean [transcriber's note: means] of preventing the disasters and miseries which arise from seduction, and of diminishing the number of prostitutes in this great metropolis.--perhaps, after the experiment is tried of the house of industry, it might be expedient to convert the whole into a large penitentiary house, where only unfortunate women should be admitted.--the suggestions which are now offered, appear to be not only easy with respect to their execution, but likely to be compassed at a moderate expence.--they are, however, to be considered as mere outlines of a practicable design, which should certainly precede the removal of the unfortunate females from the streets, as humanity points out the necessity of offering them asylums: since by suddenly abridging their present resources, however iniquitous and reprehensible they may be, without such asylums, it would certainly be the means of many of them perishing for want. the object to be attained is of vast importance; but it is too unwieldy for the efforts of private benevolence, and certainly cannot be accomplished through any other medium than that of _public institutions_, under the protection of a superintending police. menial servants. among the various evils, which, in the present state of society, tend to the corruption of morals, the state and condition of menial servants, male and female, are none of the least; particularly those who are out of place, and who swarm in multitudes, idle and unemployed, at all times in this great metropolis.--this is chiefly to be attributed to the want of those legal restraints and punishments for improper behaviour, which apply to other classes of labourers. such regulations, independent of infinite advantages which must, in other respects, arise to the community, would be _an act of great humanity to the individuals_ who compose this class; since they would check, or in most instances prevent, those indiscretions which are the result of being under no controul, and by restraining the influence of ungovernable and ill-regulated passions, would produce that degree of steadiness which is the characteristic of a good servant; and of course the constant disposition to shift about would not be felt, while they would be rescued from the vices which are generated at those intervals of idleness, when servants, male and female, out of place, are exposed to every species of seduction, till at length, by loss of character, they too frequently become thieves and prostitutes.[ ] [footnote : it is calculated that there are seldom less than ten thousand servants of both sexes, at all times out of place in the metropolis. this shews, in strong colours, the importance of the regulations which are proposed.] it would certainly promote in an eminent degree the cause of morality, if the whole laws respecting servants of every description were revised, and accommodated in a greater degree to the present state of society. some of them might perhaps be stript of their severity; while the penalties or breaches of moral duty, and a refusal to fulfil a civil contract, or conspiracies and associations for mischievious purposes, ought certainly to apply to menial servants, in the same manner as to servants in husbandry, handicrafts and labourers. a general exclusive register of servants out of place, under the inspection of an appropriate branch of the general police system, would also have an excellent effect in bringing to light the evil pursuits of bad servants; while it operated favourably to those who were deserving of confidence. much might be done through this medium, favourable both to the interest of the master and servants; and this with many other benefits are to be attained, by means of a superintending system of police. in no other way can it be effected.[ ] [footnote : see page .] the lottery. in spite of the persevering efforts of government, who incur a great annual expence[ ] for the purpose of restraining the baneful effects of illegal insurances among the lower classes of the people, the evil still continues; _its consequences are lamentable_, for the delusion of this infatuation tends, in a very eminent degree, to the corruption of morals, producing scenes of distress, by which thousands suddenly descend from a state of comfort to extreme indigence.--in the th chapter of this treatise, a general view is given of the effects of this contagion, and various remedies are proposed, which, under the conduct of a board of police, would certainly be effectual; while the revenue drawn from the sale of tickets might certainly be preserved. in the mean time, the following are suggested as useful expedients:-- st. that in every parish and district in the metropolis, masters, and heads of families, should sign and publish an engagement to discharge all servants who shall be concerned in insurances in the lottery; to be printed and hung up in every servants' hall and kitchen, that none might pretend ignorance. d. that all members of friendly societies, should, by a regulation of their own, and enforced by parliament, be excluded from the benefits of such societies, on being convicted of any concern whatever in such insurances.[ ] [footnote : said to be above two thousand pounds a year.] [footnote : see page to .] gaming. the magnitude and extent of the pernicious propensity to gaming have at all times proved a prolific source from whence has sprung an extensive corruption of morals. the reader is referred to the th chapter of this work for details, which will fully elucidate the baneful effects of this evil, in generating _cheats, swindlers and sharpers of every description_. for the purpose of more effectually checking this mania, and the consequences which flow from it, it might be expedient to extend the laws now in being respecting lottery vagrants, _to the proprietors or keepers of gaming-houses, and also to the waiters, servants and assistants, who, on being apprehended, should, on proper proof, be punished as rogues and vagabonds_.--it is, however, by the operation of the general police system, that this and other evils are to be checked or remedied. the lower classes of the jews. nothing would be more desirable than the adoption of some effectual plan, through the medium of the opulent and respectable individuals of the jewish persuasion, whether of the dutch or portuguese synagogues, by which the lower classes, particularly of the german jews, might be regularly trained to some useful employment, since their present pursuits not only tend, in an eminent degree, to the corruption of morals, but also to the commission of crimes; and under circumstances, where the necessity of the case imperiously calls for a remedy, legislative regulations might be resorted to; which might not only better the condition of this miserable class of the community, by compelling parents to bind their children to some employment, but also render them useful, instead of being too generally noxious members of the body politic,[ ] from the idle and useless pursuits in which they are engaged. [footnote : see pages to , chap. th.] indigence and beggary. the various causes which produce indigence in the metropolis, discoverable through the medium of beggary or idleness, tend, in an eminent degree, to the corruption of morals, and the consequent increase of crimes.--in the th chapter of this treatise this subject is examined, and _a remedy proposed_, through the medium of a _pauper police_, for the purpose of examining into the circumstances of the numerous class of individuals who have no parochial settlements in the metropolis, or perhaps in any part of england, and are, from that circumstance, denominated _casual poor_.--there could not be a greater act of humanity to these often afflicted, and sometimes oppressed individuals, or of greater utility to the public at large, than the establishment of a system whereby the most deserving could be propt up, rescued from despondency, and enabled to help themselves; while by discriminating between the _virtuous_ and _vicious_ poor, a proper line might be drawn, and the streets of the metropolis freed from the multitude of beggars, without doing violence to humanity.[ ] [footnote : see pages to .] various other causes might be assigned for the general corruption of morals, which has in so great a degree increased the calendars of delinquency.--among these might be mentioned _smuggling_, or illicit trade; the evil examples arising from an indiscriminate _mixture in workhouses_ and prisons; the profligate examples of parents, and the want of religious and moral education, so universal among the children of the labouring people.--and the too frequent cohabitation without marriage among the lowest classes of the community. these, like other evils, which have been more particularly detailed, are objects to which the proposed police system would gradually attach, and through which preventive medium the public are to expect those ameliorating designs, which are to secure the privileges of innocence, and better the condition of society. prevention of offences. _misdemeanors_. cheating and swindling. the th chapter of this treatise developes the extensive mischiefs and evils which arise from the phalanx of cheats and swindlers who infest the metropolis.--there appear to be two remedies, namely-- st. to look accurately at the evil in all its branches, and then to improve the two statutes now in being[ ] by framing an act of parliament that would include all the various cases which have been shown to have occurred, where the barrier of common honesty is broken down.--these cases are detailed from page to . [footnote : henry viii. cap. . and geo. ii. cap. .] d. the establishment of a board of police on the plan detailed in the th chapter of this work, with functions calculated to check and prevent this evil, by giving to police the full energy of the law. stealing fruit from orchards, &c. this offence is only punishable by the act of eliz. c. . by compelling the party to refund the value of the fruit stolen, or in default suffer the punishment of whipping, which never takes place, as the small value of the fruit detected is always paid. it is probable at that early period fruit was not a species of property of much consequence.--the case is, however, different at the present time, and surely it would not be thought too severe to place this offence on the same footing as stealing cabbages, turnips, &c. assault and battery. it would seem to be a great improvement in the police, if magistrates in petty sessions had a power finally to determine on offences denominated assaults--subject, however, to an appeal to the quarter sessions.--it would even be an act of humanity to the labouring people, who are often imprisoned from the time of the charge till the sessions, when a confinement of a shorter duration might atone for the offence.--it would likewise save much trouble and expences to the parties, and the time and attention of courts and juries would not be wasted by matters extremely frivolous; but by which a certain expence is incurred, and a loss of valuable time to the parties, who are not seldom both in the wrong. perjury. this shocking offence, particularly prevalent among the inferior ranks in society, is to be attributed in no small degree to the want of proper _solemnity_ and previous explanation on the administration of oaths.--nothing can exceed the unimpressive and careless manner which is in practice in calling upon witnesses to make _this solemn appeal to the supreme being_.--it would seem highly necessary that all oaths should be administered in the most impressive manner by the judge, and that a form should be devised, calculated in the greatest possible degree, to impress upon the mind of the party a high sense of the obligation he or she has come under to speak the truth. on the whole, it may be asserted that nothing could tend to improve the police of the country and the metropolis more than a general revision of the laws respecting misdemeanors, and particularly the act of the geo. ii. cap. . and subsequent acts respecting vagrants, and rogues and vagabonds; so as to assimilate them in a greater degree to the present state of society, and to render their execution more certain and beneficial to the community. prevention of the coinage of base money. in the th chapter of this work, the various modes in practice, by which the public is defrauded by the coining, fabricating, and colouring of base money are fully developed, and specific remedies proposed from page to , to which the reader is referred. a confident hope is entertained, that those remedies will speedily be brought under the consideration of parliament, in the form of a bill.--if this should be passed into a law, and accompanied by a new coinage of silver, and aided by the energy of an appropriate police, little doubt can be entertained of the measure being effectual in securing the public against the enormous evil of counterfeit coin. prevention of pillage and plunder on the river thames. the th chapter of this treatise displays not only the immense importance of controlling the evil habits of aquatic labourers and others on the river thames and in the warehouses adjacent; but also the advantages to be expected _from a general police system_; reasoning on the extensive success which has attended the partial experiment on the same principle _of vigilance_ applied to this object. the extensive benefits which are known and acknowledged to have been derived from the _marine police_ (even under all the disadvantages of a _crippled system_ and _deficient powers_) joined to a review of the state of the river _before_ and _since_ this important measure was adopted, afford the best proof that can be adduced of its utility; and also of the indispensable necessity, not only of immediately perfecting a system, by which the commerce and revenue of the port of london have been in so great a degree secured; but also of extending the same beneficial designs, wherever the state of things require a similar antidote. it remains only for the legislature to pass a bill which has been prepared, grounded on more than a year's experience of the powers and regulations requisite for the purpose of giving full effect and permanency to this important establishment, in order to secure to the commerce and revenue of the river thames, those advantages which will arise from the preservation of property against the numerous and unexampled depredations to which it was exposed; and the revenue of the crown from many frauds which arose not only from the loss of the duties of customs and excise on goods plundered, but also from an extensive illicit trade, which has been controlled and prevented by the known vigilance of the river guards, particularly during the night. if to those advantages shall be added an increase of salaries to the inferior officers of the customs and excise employed on the river, the renovated morals and improved habits of multitudes heretofore deeply implicated in a species of turpitude, hurtful in the extreme to the public interest, will become no less a matter of triumph than advantage to the government of the country. every individual concerned in the commerce of the port, will rejoice to see so useful an institution supported and rendered permanent by that legislative aid, upon which its ultimate success must in a great measure depend. an evil of unexampled magnitude existed, for which an effectual remedy has been found:--not in _speculation_, but proved in _practice_ to answer the purposes of _future security_. let the legislature, therefore, avail itself of the measures which are proposed, by which incalculable benefits will be extended both to the _commerce_, _revenue_, and _police_ of the port of london, especially when strengthened and invigorated by a central board. prevention of plunder of public stores: in ships of war, dock-yards, &c. the collateral influence of the marine police system, in checking in an eminent degree, the embezzlements and pillage of his majesty's stores in ships and public arsenals, within the limits of its jurisdiction, is the strongest proof which can be adduced of what may be expected by applying a similar system to all the dock-yards in the kingdom. in the th chapter of this treatise, the _evils_ and the _remedies_ are so minutely detailed as to render a reference only necessary to pages to .--if the measures there suggested shall be adopted by the legislature and the lords of the admiralty, little doubt can be entertained of complete success in securing the public property (_unparalleled in point of extent in any nation in the world_)[ ] against those frauds and depredations to which it has heretofore been exposed to a very large amount annually. [footnote : the floating public property is estimated, including ships of war, naval, victualing, ordnance and military stores, in time of war at upwards of forty millions sterling.] prevention of crimes in general. it has been demonstrated in the course of this work, that the more atrocious offences of highway and footpad robberies, burglaries, and other acts of felony[ ] may be greatly diminished, if not nearly annihilated by improved laws and a responsible agency, through the medium of a well-regulated board of police to carry those laws into effect. [footnote : see chapters iii. and iv.] it must, however, be obvious to the reader, from what has been repeatedly stated, that it is not by any _single regulation_, nor by any portion of civil strength, however well it may be systematized, that this desirable object is to be effected. success in any material degree is only to be expected from a _combination of the various controlling regulations which have been proposed, with a vigorous and energetic civil force_, and a correct and pointed execution of the laws and regulations, upon which the preventive system is founded.--these _regulations_ may be summed up under the following heads: st. the adoption of eight propositions contained in the th chapter, pages to , relative to _the receivers of stolen goods, &c._ d. an improved mode of granting rewards to officers of justice and others, for meritorious services, in the detection and conviction of offenders--as elucidated and explained in chapter xiv. pages to . d. an improved and modernized system, with respect to parochial constables, so as to restore to the community the original efficacy of this useful institution--as explained in chapter xiv. pages to . th. an improved system also, with respect to watchmen and patroles--with a view to render this branch of the police _efficient_, and to insure to the public, that vigilance and protection to which the expence they incur justly intitles them. th. an extension of the jurisdiction of the city magistrates, over the whole of the metropolis and the four adjoining counties, and a power to police magistrates to issue search warrants, and to follow and apprehend persons charged with offences, who take shelter within the limits of the city of london--as explained in chapter xiv. pages to . th. the appointment of a prosecutor for the crown to obviate the difficulties which occur at present in bringing offenders to justice; and which is elucidated and explained in the th chapter, particularly in pages to . th. the establishment of certain general rules and conditions, according to which the royal mercy might be extended to offenders, on terms beneficial to themselves and to the community--as explained in the th chapter, pages to . th. an improved system with respect to the punishment of convicts, by means of penitentiary establishments, calculated to insure the reformation of felons, and to render this class useful afterwards to the community--as explained in the th chapter, pages to , and to . th. general rules laid down with respect to different modes of punishment, under six heads, page to , with an immediate view to render them more useful in the prevention of crimes. th. an improved system of police, aided by competent funds, and an extension of the police establishments, under the geo. iii. ( ) to the city of london--as explained in chap. xvii. pages and to . th. by the adoption of the general system of police, recommended by the select committee of the house of commons, and explained in chapter xviii.--by licensing and regulating certain dangerous and suspicious trades therein specified; and by raising a revenue for police purposes, from persons who shall be thus controlled.--see pages to . th. by the establishment of a board of police revenue, who shall exercise the specific functions detailed and explained in chapter xviii. pages to : and finally, by an act of parliament, authorising such a system, the heads of which and the elucidating observations are also specified in pages to . let these measures only be adopted by the legislature, not by _piece-meal_, but _in the gross_; and little doubt need be entertained of the most beneficial effects being experienced by the innocent part of the community, whose privileges will be extended, in proportion as the licence which an imperfect police afforded to robberies, burglaries, and other acts of violence on the person and property of the peaceful subject is abridged. the general police, and the powers of making it effectual, will then be a charge committed to responsible agents; whose duty it will be to penetrate into all its mazes, and to accomplish its purposes by a variety of regulations, all tending to embarrass, and to render difficult and hazardous, the pursuits and operations of criminals.--experience will suggest modifications, which, aided by competent funds, must in a short time attain that point which shall establish _security_.--but this is not all--without taking large sums (as at present) from the revenue of the country, the effect of the system will unquestionably be, to add to its resources in the diminution of the enormous expence now incurred in the punishment of convicts;[ ] and which still must continue a burden on the finances of the country, until the general police system is fully (not partially) in activity. [footnote : see chapter vi. page , where it is stated, that in years about , convicts have cost the nation no less than , , _l._] it will collaterally extend to every thing that can improve the morals of the people, and better the condition of human life.--its influence will be felt by giving vigour to the systems proposed for checking all misdemeanors, for securing commercial property, and also the public stores, from embezzlement and depredation; while the offences against the mint laws, under the new regulations which are suggested, will tend much to the prevention of that enormous evil. amendment of the existing laws. when in addition to the adoption of the foregoing measures, further improvements shall be made in the laws now in force, or perhaps a general consolidation of the whole criminal code be effected, so as to render the system more simple, and in a greater degree applicable to the attainment of the ends of public justice, great indeed will be the blessings conferred on the metropolis, and on the nation at large. the celebrated lord bacon denominated them almost two centuries ago, when they were much less voluminous, and infinitely more simple than at the present day-- "an heterogeneous mass, concocted too often on the spur of the occasion, and frequently without that degree of accuracy, which is the result of able and minute discussion, or a due attention to the revision of the existing laws." but voluminous as they certainly are, many omissions are apparent, partly arising from the causes assigned by the able lawyer whose strictures have been just quoted, and more particularly from the rapid changes, which commerce and property have made in the state of society. among these, the following have occurred to the author as highly deserving attention.-- st. the act of the geo. ii. cap. . makes it a transportable misdemeanor, to obtain _goods_ or _chattels_ by false pretences.--but as _horses_, _cattle_, _poultry_, _bank notes_, _bills of exchange_, or _notes of hand_, although equally objects of fraud, are not deemed in law to be _goods_ or _chattels_, offences of equal, if not of greater magnitude, are not within the meaning of the statute, and hence appears the necessity of an amendment. d. the present act relative to pawnbrokers is extremely deficient, and not only in several important points ambiguous; but also inapplicable in a variety of instances to the general views of the legislature, as they regard the security and interest of the poor, while in others, perhaps unnecessary and useless restrictions are imposed on the pawnbrokers themselves. d. as the laws respecting forgeries now stand--the act of forging the firm of a commercial house, and obtaining goods on the credit of such firm, is only punishable as a misdemeanor; although in this case this offence is of a tendency _the most dangerous that can be conceived_, in a commercial country, where (from the unbounded confidence which prevails) it is so easy to obtain credit. a case occurred and came under the cognizance of the author in , where a swindler assuming the firm of a respectable house in bristol, ordered goods from manchester to be sent to portsmouth, where the person (committing the forgery) stated, that one of the partners meant to go to meet them.--two parcels of goods were obtained by this device, and immediately sold at half the value by the sharpers, which led to a discovery, and enabled the author to guard the unsuspecting manufacturers in york and lancashire, against the injuries they were likely to sustain, by the operation of a very complicated and artful conspiracy to rob them of their property to a great amount. th. the receiving of _cash or specie, bank notes, bills of exchange, or notes of hand, knowing the same to be stolen_, is not at present a criminal offence: in a commercial country where such offences may be productive of much evil to society, why should not the law extend to every species of property in the same manner as to goods and chattels? th. although arson is considered (and justly so) as a high criminal offence, yet the offence of a person setting fire to his own house, with a view to defraud the insurers, is considered only _a simple misdemeanor_, and punished as such; and where a house at a distance from others is set on fire so as to occasion no danger to the neighbourhood, _it is not an offence known in the criminal code_, even although it may appear to have been done for the purpose of defrauding the insurers. with a view to the prevention of this very atrocious crime (of which there have been but too many instances of late years) it would seem right that it should be _clearly defined_; and that it would not be too severe to punish offenders by transportation; since in all cases, where the fire extends to a neighbouring house the offence of arson is committed, and the punishment is death. th. much inconvenience is at present experienced from the circuitous and expensive process of law, which must be resorted to for the purpose of removing bad and profligate _lodgers_.--in cases of small concern, where the rent does not exceed a few shillings a week, it would be an act of great humanity to empower magistrates to decide in a summary way.--it would check that spirit of litigation, which is the destruction of the labouring people. th. as a means of controlling many offences, which are generated by an assemblage of loose and immoral characters, who are constantly afloat in the metropolis, _a general register of lodging-houses_, would certainly be attended with very beneficial effects: and to use the language of the select committee of the house of commons in their th report, page ,--would also "be a regulation, which, if discreetly used, might probably afford the means of materially assisting both the police and the revenue."[ ] [footnote : see pages and in this work.] th. the extensive plunder committed on the farmers round the metropolis, under the pretence of _gleaning in harvest_ is a very serious evil, and calls aloud for a remedy.--the practice is pernicious and ruinous to the morals of the families of the labouring people in every part of the country, since through this medium children learn pilfering habits, before they know that it is a crime. a slight punishment on all who gleaned in any case previous to a complete removal of the corn or vegetables, and on every occasion, without first obtaining leave of the proprietor, would prove a very salutary regulation--for it appears that every thief charged with stealing corn pretends it was obtained by _gleaning_. th. the existing laws being found ineffectual in controlling the habits, and in turning into a course of useful industry the labour of the herds of gypsies, who surround the metropolis, and commit depredations in every part of the country, it would be exceedingly desirable,[ ] both with respect to policy and humanity, to provide some effectual legislative remedy, since the idle, vagrant, and miserable life of this profligate community can be as little desirable to themselves as it is hurtful to the public.--compelling a residence which shall be _stationary_, and obliging them to bind out their children apprentices at a certain age, so as to incorporate them with the mass of the people, would certainly prove a very salutary regulation. [footnote : see pages , .] th. the frauds and adulterations in the article of _milk_ sold in the metropolis, as detailed in the d chapter of this work, pages to , seem to justify the interference of parliament for the purpose of placing _milk dealers_ under the inspection and controul of the police: here the injury is not merely confined to the frauds thus practised on the public, but the healths of the consumers are in some measure endangered from the infamous devices which are practised. th. for the purpose of saving much unnecessary expence, and also to remove the inconvenience arising from the length of time, which frequently elapses before persons charged with offences, in southwark, greenwich, and the villages surrounding the metropolis, make it lawful to try offences committed in surry, kent, and essex, within five miles of the three bridges, at the justice hall of the old bailey, which may be done before a jury of the vicinage, with great advantages to public justice, and without touching on the rights of the accused.[ ] [footnote : see pages and .] th. to establish certain legislative regulations, for the purpose of preserving the morals of unfortunate unoffending families, by restoring to them such parents whose misfortunes and not their crimes, have doomed them to the horrors of perpetual imprisonment.--and to establish arrangements for the improvement of what may be denominated _civil police_, by adopting inferior tribunals for distributing justice in all actions of debt under _l._ for the purpose of reducing the present enormous expence, and extending relief to traders in general.[ ] [footnote : see pages to .] * * * * * thus has the author of this work endeavoured to develope that infinite variety of crimes and misfortunes, which have been long felt and deplored as a pressure upon the innocent part of the community. in travelling over so extensive a field, where almost every step is stained with turpitude and depravity, no little consolation is derived from being able thus to place upon record _practicable remedies_, applicable to the chief part of the evils, which have been brought under the review of the reader. nor is it less a matter of gratification to the writer of the preceding pages, than it must be satisfactory to the public at large, to discover that the leading features of the whole improvements which he suggested in the preceding editions of this work, _have attracted the notice, and received the sanction of the select committee of the house of commons_. the conclusion which may naturally be drawn is, that the laborious efforts of the author in bringing a new and interesting subject under the review of the public have not been in vain; and that a confident hope may now be entertained that his humble endeavours, for the good of his country, will ultimately produce arrangements _in the new science of police_, calculated to secure and protect the peaceful subject against injury, and to ameliorate the state and condition of civil society, particularly in this great metropolis, by the adoption of such measures _as shall be conducive to the more effectual prevention of crimes:--by lessening the demand for punishments:--by diminishing the expence and alleviating the burden of prosecutions:--by turning the hearts and arresting the hands of evil doers: by forewarning the unwary, and preserving the untainted in purity_; thus attaching to police its genuine preventive character, unmixed with those judicial powers which lead to punishment, and properly belong to magistracy alone. finis. [_printed by h. baldwin and son, new bridge-street, london._] _index._ [transcriber's note: the original index resembles a table of contents, with page numbers at the right margin; and for sequential page numbers, only the last digit or two is given, e.g., , . for clarity in this e-book, the page numbers immediately follow the entries, separated by a comma, and for sequential page numbers the full number is given.] a. _abstract_ of the annual imports into, and exports from the port of london (_table_), , ---- of persons committed, and discharged from prisons in one year, an extraordinary document (_table_), _account_ of pawnbrokers in the metropolis, and the vast property in their houses belonging to the poor, ---- of various descriptions of cheats, , , , , ---- of the number of streets, lanes, houses and families in the metropolis, ---- of the previous plans and arrangements of thieves when a robbery or burglary is contemplated, ---- of the usual mode of proceeding to recover stolen property, ---- of the number of persons engaged in fraudulent lotteries, ---- of the trials at the old bailey in and , , ---- of ditto in and , - ---- of the officers of justice in the metropolis, ---- of the watchmen and patroles there, ---- of the magistrates there, , ---- of the criminal courts there, ---- of the specific criminals punishable by law, - ---- of the convicts in the hulks, ---- of the names of the city and police magistrates, , ---- of the churches and other places of worship in the metropolis, ---- of the seminaries of education in the metropolis, , ---- of the societies for promoting religion and morality, , ---- of the societies for promoting the arts, ---- of the asylums for the indigent and helpless, ---- of the hospitals for the sick and for pregnant women in the metropolis, ---- of the institutions for charitable and humane purposes, , ---- of the charity annually distributed in the metropolis estimated at £ , a year, , ---- of the courts for civil and criminal justice in the metropolis, - ---- of the prisons in the metropolis, _ibid._ ---- of the different classes of professional men connected with the departments of the law, about in all, ---- of the number of writs issued in middlesex in , with an extraordinary statement of the expences on small law-suits, , , _acquittals_, _see_ prisoners. _actions_ at law for small debts, , expence enormous beyond all credibility, _ibid._ acts of parliament referred to in this work. geo. . _c._ . for preventing frauds by persons navigating bum-boats on the river thames, , _n._, elizabeth, _c._ } charles d. _c._ } & william d. _c._ } george st. _stat._ . _c._ } relative to the george st. _c._ } protection of geo. d. _c._ } his majesty's geo. d. _c._ } stores, - geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ , for regulating the westminster watch, &c., edward d. _stat._ . _c._ } mary, _stat._ . _c._ } & p. & m. _c._ } eliz. _c._ } eliz. _c._ } eliz. _c._ } william d. _c._ } relative to the & william d. _c._ } coinage and & william d. _c._ } disposal of anne, _c._ , } base money, , , & geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ - } geo. d. _c._ } henry th. _c._ } relative to cheats geo. d. _c._ } and swindlers, , anne, _c._ } geo. st. _c._ } relative to geo. d. _c._ } gaming, , geo. d. _c._ . relative to fortune-tellers being punished by standing four times in the pillory, & william d. _c._ } anne, _c._ } anne, _c._ } geo. st. _c._ } relative to geo. d. _c._ } receivers of geo. d. _c._ } stolen goods, - geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } edw. d. _c._ } relative to the office & edw. d. _c._ } power of constables, geo. d. _c._ . relative to hue and cry, william & mary, _c._ } & william & mary, _c._ } & william d. _c._ } anne, _c._ } geo. st. _c._ } relative to rewards geo. d. _c._ } for apprehending geo. d. _c._ } different classes geo. d. _c._ } of offenders, - & geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } edward d. stat. . _c._ ; geo. d. _c._ , relative to _high treason_, , henry th. _c._ . sodomy made capital, eliz. _c._ , rape made capital, , henry th. _c._ } forcible marriage and eliz. _c._ } defilement made capital, henry th. _c._ } mayhem or maiming & charles d. _c._ } made capital, george d. _c._ , polygamy punished by transportation, _ibid._ king athelstan's law (anno ) punished theft with death, if above the value of one shilling, henry st. punished theft with death (anno ), henry th. _c._ } edw. th. _c._ } & edw. . _c._ } as to felonies in eliz. _c._ } dwelling-houses, , & william & mary, _c._ } & william d. _c._ } anne, _stat._ _c._ } henry th. _c._ } relative to arson and eliz. _c._ } burning houses, & charles d. _c._ , } barns, corn, underwood, geo. st. _c._ } ships, &c., , george st. _c._ } ---- st. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } eliz. _c._ } & william & mary, _c._ } relative to anne, _stat._ . _c._ } burglary, edw. th. _c._ } jac. st. _c._ } relative to the & . william & mary, _c._ } benefit of clergy, & william and mary, _c._ } anne, _c._ } geo. . _c._ ; geo. st. _c._ , legalizing transportation to the colonies, , the same statute appropriated the services of convicts, geo. d. first legalized the system of the hulks, geo. d. _c._ , legalized penitentiary houses in counties, _ibid._ geo. d. _c._ , legalized two national penitentiary houses, geo. d. _stat._ . _c._ , relative to transportation and the hulks, geo. d. _c._ ; geo. d. _c._ , relative to new south wales, geo. d. _c._ , contracts for convicts, _ibid._ will. & mary, _c._ , relative to paving the metropolis, geo. d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ } relative to the geo. d. _c._ } police of the city geo. d. _c._ } of london, - geo. d. _c._ --(_watermen_),} elizabeth } divided the city } chars. st. } into wards } george d. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } relative to the ---- d. _c._ } police of london ---- d. _c._ } and westminster, , ---- d. _c._ & } ---- d. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } relative to the police ---- d. _c._ } of southwark, henry th. _c._ } ---- th. _c._ } relative to the system ---- th. _c._ } of the sewers, , ---- th. _c._ } & edw. th. _c._ } mary, _stat._ . _c._ } eliz. _c._ } james, _c._ } anne, _c._ } anne, _c._ } ---- _c._ } ---- _stat._ . _c._ } geo. st. _c._ } ---- st. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } relative to hackney ---- _c._ } coaches and chairs, ---- _c._ } ---- _c._ , } ---- _c._ } ---- _stat._ . _c._ } ---- _c._ } ---- _c._ } ---- _c._ } geo. st. _c._ } ---- d. _c._ } relative to carts and ---- d. _c._ } other carriages in ---- d. _c._ } the metropolis, ---- d. _c._ } geo. d. _c._ , relative to bullock-hunting, geo. d. _c._ , as to slaughtering horses, , _n._ _adultery_, not in the criminal code, _advertising_ bill-discounters and money lenders to be regulated, , _alehouses_, a great source of crimes and nuisances when ill-regulated, , , &c. , &c. in alehouses within the bills of mortality upwards of £ , , a year spent in beer, spirits, &c., profligate characters entrusted with licences a source of much mischief, , _alfred_, his laws relative to murder, _alton's_ liquid test to detect counterfeit gold and silver coin, _ancestors._ their laws had an immediate reference to the prevention of crimes, _anecdotes_--of an american vessel plundered in the thames in an extraordinary manner, ---- of a guinea vessel plundered, _ibid._ ---- of the plunder and imposition on a canada merchant, ---- of an officer of justice, who discovered an instance of pillage in one of the dock-yards, ---- respecting the lottery, the astonishing number of persons supported by fraudulent insurances, , _n._ ---- of the jews in london, the extraordinary depravity of the lowest orders, - ---- of the different classes of cheats, ---- of a robbery in the drawing-room at st. james's, ---- of a female money-lender to barrow women, _ibid._ ---- of a fortune-teller, ---- of a police officer watching the house of a receiver of stolen goods, , _n._ ---- of a jew who had committed a rape, , _n._ ---- of sir matthew hale, , _n._ ---- of the justices of chester, a singular circumstance, , ---- of a respectable magistrate of the city, , _n._ ---- of monsieur de sartine minister of the police of paris, an extraordinary circumstance, - ---- of the emperor joseph the second, , , _apprentices_ corrupted by receivers of stolen goods, &c., ---- harboured in public-houses, in clubs for purposes of lewdness and debauchery, , _n._ ---- their immoral education, one cause of the origin of crimes, - ---- neglect of superior tradesmen in boarding apprentices out of their houses, , , _n._ _arrests_ for felony, four modes practised, ---- deficiency in the law protecting lottery vagrants and others from being arrested on sundays, _arson_, punished capitally, _asylums_, an establishment recommended for discharged convicts, , ---- for the indigent in the metropolis, ---- for sick, lame, and diseased, _athelstan's_ laws relating to death, _athenian_ laws relative to murder, _auctioneers_ called _diurnal_, with puffers, b. _bacon_, lord--suggested a revision of the criminal code, _ballad singers_--might, from an evil, be made an advantage to society, _bank notes_ and bills received, knowing the same to be stolen--not an offence by any existing law, , _n._ _barkers_ at auctions, _beadles_ ought to be rewarded for useful public services, ---- the proper persons to apply to when nuisances are to be removed, _beccaria_, marquis, his opinion of punishments, , _n._ ---- his maxim relative to pardons, , _n._ _beggars_, _see_ poor. _benefit of clergy_ extended to all ranks, _bentham_ (jeremy, esq.) his proposal for a penitentiary house for convicts, and remarks thereon, - _bill discounters_, or advertising money-lenders, , _board of police_, _see_ police. _bolton_, matthew, esq. of birmingham, number of penny pieces supplied by him, , _n._ _botany bay_, _see_ convicts, new south wales. _brokers_, in pawns, to be registered, , _building materials_, dealers in, to be licenced, _bullock-hunting_, the laws relative to it, _burglary_, not so frequent on the continent as in england, ---- by what classes of men committed, , ---- systematically planned and executed, , ---- remedies proposed, ---- definition of burglary and how punished, ---- called hamsockne in the north of england, c. _carts_ and other carriages, the laws relative to them, , _casual poor_, _see_ poor. _chance medley_, how punished, _charities_ in the metropolis: parish schools for education, societies for promoting religion and morality, asylums for the helpless and indigent, hospitals for the sick and pregnant women, dispensaries for the poor, institutions for charitable purposes (_see poor_), _ibid._ _cheapside_, a general rendezvous for thieves, and the reason, , _cheats_, the offence of cheating defined by law, the different classes of cheats explained; who are more or less engaged in acts of fraud, in the metropolis, , , &c. _china_, its laws, and punishment for high-treason, parricide, murder, theft, _chips_, _see_ dock-yards. _churches_ and places of worship in the metropolis, _coaches and chairs_ in the metropolis (_and see hackney coaches; night coaches_), , _coasting vessels_, &c. purchase embezzled stores, _coin_ counterfeited, and coiners: extensive circulation of base coin, , the evils attending it, , foreign coin fabricated in england, _ibid._ _coiners_, discovered, vast amount of coin counterfeited, different coins fabricated, the process used in making the different kinds of base money, , the period when the trade of dealing in base money acquires its greatest vigour, deficiencies of the present laws, remedies proposed, - _colleges_, five in london, _commons and waste lands_, the source of evil by encouraging the idle poor, _constables_, in the metropolis, in london, westminster, middlesex, the tower liberty and southwark, , , their power by the common law extensive, explained, rewards necessary to excite attention, rewards to constables, and persons apprehending various classes of criminals, propositions for rendering them more useful and respectable, - _convicts_ discharged from the hulks from to , number sent to the hulks from the commencement of the establishment, to december , , , expence of the support of convicts transported in the hulks, , - , _n._ general statements, shewing the periods of their discharge, and the number pardoned, escaped and discharged, - a statement of their earnings at woolwich and langston harbour, , the inefficacy of this mode of punishment, , transported to new south wales--accounts of the number and expence, - opinion of the finance committee on the inefficacy of the whole system, , &c. proposals for employment of convicts in penitentiary houses by jeremy bentham, esq., - further regulations in the penitentiary system suggested, , _copper_ money, _see_ coiners. _corn_, and provender stolen in the country, how disposed of in the metropolis, _courts_ of justice in the metropolis: courts for the trials of crimes, misdemeanors, trespasses, &c. _two_ superior and _five_ inferior, supreme courts in the metropolis, ecclesiastical courts, doctors commons, _ib._ courts of justice in the city of london, , courts of justice in westminster, , courts of justice in that part of middlesex which joins the metropolis, , courts of justice in southwark, , _crimes_, specification of some not punishable by law, , , the cause of their increases, &c., , should be prevented rather than punished, , punishable with death--a list of them, , , punishable with transportation, , punishable with fine and imprisonment, punishments on rogues and vagabonds, the encouragements to crimes held out by the present system, increased by the imperfections of the law, relative to small debts, , _see_ offenders: thieves. _criminal_ code, a revision of proposed, , ---- its imperfections, , ---- its great severity, , _see_ emperor joseph's criminal code. _criminal_ people, their boldness and many chances of escaping, , ---- many thousands in the metropolis who subsist illegally, ---- likely to be increased, ---- although unfit for the navy and army from diseases, ruptures, &c. are yet capable of committing crimes, , ---- the measures used to effect their purposes, , ---- they make contracts with receivers, ---- increase by means of base money, _custom_-house officers, called glut-men, connive at pillage and plunder, d. _dead horses_, and other animals, dealers in, to be regulated, _dealers_ in old metals and stores, their great increase, ---- their mischievous tendency, , ---- regulations proposed, , , , , _death_, the number of crimes punishable with death by the english law, , ---- abrogated in the roman empire, by the portian law, ---- inadequate to the ends of justice, ---- impropriety of inflicting death, except for the highest offences, , , ---- jewish law relative to death, ---- athenian law, _ib._ ---- roman ditto, _ib._ ---- chinese ditto, ---- persian ditto, ---- saxon ditto, ---- alfred's ditto, _ib._ ---- athelstan's ditto, ---- abolished in the imperial dominions of joseph ii. anno , ---- theft first punished by death by henry i. nearly years ago, ---- a specification of the several offences punishable with death by the laws of england, , , _debts_, the difficulty and expence of recovering small sums, , , , ---- an astonishing document, proving the vast extent of the injury, , _n._ ---- a remedy proposed, , _depredations_ on the public, in the river and dock-yards, chap. viii. , &c. ix. , &c. ---- on sugar and west india produce, , ---- from sugar samples, upwards of , _l._ a year, , _n._ ---- does not much exceed _s._ per cent. on the moving property, _detection_ of offenders: ---- the deficiency of the law in this respect, , , , - ---- further elucidated and explained, , , _die sinkers_ for base money, the number employed, _directions_, and cautions to avoid being cheated, , , , , &c. ---- as to the mode of proceeding in case of fraud or robbery, , _n._ _dispensaries_, in london, _distresses_ of the poor arising from the delusion of the lottery (see _lottery_), , _docks_ in the river will not supersede the necessity of a river police, , _n._ _dock-yards_, on the plunder and peculation therein, - ---- fees to officers one source of the evil, ---- frauds in receiving, detaining, and selling stores, - ---- the perquisite of chips, , , _n._ ---- the amount of public property in navy, victualing and ordnance stores, estimated at , , _l._, ---- laws now existing for protecting of this property, - ---- their deficiency, and remedies proposed through the means of the legislature, by a general police system, ---- a local police for the dock-yards, ---- legislative regulations in aid of these systems, ---- through the admiralty, by regulating the sale of old stores, - ---- abolishing the perquisite of chips, ---- ---- of fees, and increasing salaries, ---- improving the mode of keeping accounts, ---- making an annual inventory of stores, _dollars_, counterfeited, ---- (stamped) the iniquities practised in counterfeiting and exporting, detected by the author of this work, , , _n._ _draco_, his sanguinary boast, e. _education_, the great inattention to in the lower ranks one cause of crimes, , ---- seminaries for, in the metropolis, estimated at , _egyptians_, their laws for the punishment of certain offences, _embezzlement_ of public stores. see _river plunder--dock-yards_. _emperor_ joseph the second abolished the punishment of death, ---- his edict on promulgating his new criminal code, ---- abstract of his new code, ---- a singular anecdote concerning this prince, , _estimates_, that receivers of stolen goods have increased from to in the metropolis, , ---- of moving property on the river thames (_table_), ---- ---- arriving, departing, and circulating in the port of london, , ---- ---- belonging to the public, naval, and warlike stores, &c., ---- of chips in dock-yards, , , _n._ ---- of streets, houses, and families in london, , _n._ ---- of public houses, ---- of persons employed in fraudulent lotteries, , _n._ ---- of the number of members of friendly societies, ---- of the number of jews, , ---- of the officers of justice, beadles, watchmen, and patroles , , ---- of magistrates, acting in the metropolis, , , ---- of convicts, and others discharged from prisons, , _n._, ---- of prisoners tried in and , ---- of the produce of labour of convicts in the hulks (see _convicts: police_), _exports_ from the river thames in one year , , _l._ (_table_), , f. _farmers_, petty depredations on them, , _faro tables_ and games of chance, their evil tendency, , ---- particularly in private houses of persons of rank, _felo de se_, how punished by different laws, , _felonies_, public and private defined, ---- a specific detail of the different felonies, distinguishing the punishments, , , , , _female prostitution._ _see_ prostitutes. _fielding_, henry } excellent magistrates, &c., , _n._ _fielding_, sir john } _finance committee_ of the house of commons, their useful labours and opinions on various subjects (see _police_), , _n._, , , , , , , , _n._ _fires_ in london, the laws relative to them, , _forcible marriage_, how punished by different laws, _foreign coin_ counterfeited in england, , , , _foreigners_, their opinion of the english system of police, ---- the insecurity likely to arise from so many of them acquiring a knowledge of the english language, _fortune-tellers_, their evil tendency, &c., , _founders_ of metals, an object of regulation as a means of preventing crimes, , , _n._ _france_, its laws relative to receivers of stolen goods, , _n._ ---- ---- to sodomy, ---- its former police, curious anecdotes of, _frauds_ on the public in the metropolis: ---- in the naval department of two sorts, , ---- and forgeries specifically detailed, , , &c. _french language_, the inconvenience and insecurity from its being so generally spoken, _friendly societies_, an estimate of the number of members, ---- a proposition to guard them against the evils of the lottery, g. _gaming_, among the lower ranks in public houses, a vast source of crimes, ---- the law relative to, and penalties, , ---- the systematic confederacy of certain gaming establishments fully developed, - ---- estimated amount of the money annually lost and won by gaming, ---- the evil consequences of gaming, and dreadful effects to many respectable families, ---- the bad example to menial servants of persons of fashion, , _gin_, the astonishing quantity drank in london, , _n._ ---- the advantages arising from a high price, , _n._ _grecian law_ relative to sodomy, ---- ---- to polygamy, h. _hackney coaches_, to be regulated by the police, (and see _night coaches_), , , , , ---- laws relative to them, _hale_, sir matthew, his opinion of criminal indictments, , _n._ _hawkers and pedlars_, to be licensed by magistrates, , ---- their fraudulent practices, , &c. _high treason_, see _treason_. _highway robberies_, by what classes committed, ---- systematically planned and executed, , ---- suggestions for preventing them by means of a travelling police, , _n._ _homicide_, , _horse patroles_ proposed, , _n._ _horses stolen_, receiving them as such no crime, , _n._ ---- how to be remedied, , ---- frauds and felonies respecting, immense, , _n._, , _n._ _hospitals_ in the metropolis, _houses_ in the metropolis , , and upwards, _houses of correction_, authorized in different counties, ---- regulations, , _hue and cry_, a particular means of arresting criminals, , _hulks_, the depravity of the convicts confined in them, ---- first instituted in , ---- regulations by parliament (see _convicts_), i. & j. _idle poor_, the funds appropriated for their support a public evil, , , &c. _jews_, (dutch) their mode of education a national injury, as it promotes idleness and profligacy among the lower ranks, , ---- objects of regulation as dealers in old metals and apparel, ---- the principal utterers of base coin, , ---- the deplorable state of the lower orders belonging to the dutch synagogues, and the difficulties in making them useful, , , &c. ---- they are generally the medium by which stolen goods are concealed and sold, _jewish synagogues_ in london, _jewish laws_ relative to murder, ---- ---- sodomy, ---- ---- rape, ---- ----theft, _immorality_ of worse consequence than political crimes, ---- striking proofs adduced, , _imports and exports_ to and from the port of london, abstract of (_table_), , ---- of sugar and rum for a year to march , , , _n._ _imprisonment for debt_, its impolicy and evil consequences in producing moral crimes, , , &c. _indigence_, one cause of crimes (see _poor_), _inhabitants_ of london, number estimated at one million at least, _inns of court_ and chancery in london, _ib._ _institutions_ for useful, charitable, and humane purposes in the metropolis, , _irish_, the lower ranks great utterers of base money, _iron shops_, great receptacles of stolen goods, _judges of england_, their great purity adds lustre to their own and the national character, ---- the extreme labour attached to their situations, a proposition for the reducing it, k. king, his majesty's goodness and love of mercy exemplified in pardon to convicts, _king's stores_, men employed to remove the _broad arrow_ from public stores, ---- abuses and evils from the sale of old stores, ---- stolen, embezzled, &c. in the thames, l. _landed interest_, depredations on by petty thefts calculated at _s._ per acre per annum, _larceny_, the definition of this offence, and the punishment, ---- grand larceny defined, , _law_, the different classes of professional men in the metropolis, _laws_ of england, (_criminal_) deficient with regard to the prevention of crimes, abridging liberty, and rendering property insecure, and in some instances even life itself, , , ---- punishments, from their severity, defeat the ends of justice, , ---- above offences punishable with death, ---- when incompatible with justice law should be repealed, , ---- some offences, injurious to society, not punished at all, , , , , ---- criminal law explained, with respect to various offences: high treason, public felonies against the state, private felonies specifically considered, viz: murder, , manslaughter, , homicide by misadventure, chance medley, _ib._ self-defence, _ib._ rape, , forcible marriage, polygamy, mayhem, _ib._ grand larceny, petty larceny, , mixed larceny, , offences punishable by the laws of england; a list of, , &c. _law-suits_, see _writs_, _debts_. _lewdness_ and debauchery prevail in all ill-regulated public houses (see _alehouses_), _liberty_ of the subject abridged by thieves and robbers, , ---- not by salutary regulations to prevent robbery, , , , , _licences_ proposed on milk dealers, ---- on various trades connected with the receivers of stolen goods (see _police_), , _n._, , _lightermen_ on the thames assist in pillage and plunder, _lighting_, &c. the metropolis, _little goes_, a private lottery, a contrivance of a recent date, brought forward by the lottery cheats to keep alive the delusion and fever on the minds of the poor all the year round, _livery stable keepers_, proposed to be regulated (see _horses_), , _lodgers_, and lodging houses, proposed to be registered, , _london_, comprehending the metropolis. its commerce (see _river plunder_) ---- the magistrates, a list of; also public offices, , ---- houses, streets, families, and inhabitants, ---- its prodigious extent and opulence, ---- places of religious worship, ---- seminaries for education, ---- institutions for promoting morality, ---- for the arts, ---- asylums for the indigent and helpless, ---- for the sick, lame, &c., ---- dispensaries, ---- charitable institutions, ---- courts of justice, , , , , , ---- prisons, ---- municipal regulations of the metropolis, relative to watching, lighting, fires, &c. &c., _london_, so called, (the city): ---- the utility of a closer connection between the aldermen and police justices, ---- the great respectability of the magistrates of london, ---- the vast labour of their official situation, ---- magistrates with salaries proposed, to ease them of that part of the labour which relates to criminal offences, ---- the great labour attached to the office of lord mayor, ---- reasons assigned in favour of an improvement of the police of the city, by means of assisting justices, _ib._ ---- the advantages which would result from such a system, _lottery_, a great means of corrupting the morals of the lower orders of the people, ---- lottery insurers cheats of the worst class, - ---- their evil practices explained, and their devises to carry them on in despite of the law, , ---- menial servants contribute considerably to their support, , ---- the astonishing extent of their transactions, , ---- the misery attendant on the lottery delusion to the poor, who fill the pawnbrokers' shops during the drawing of it, ---- the amazing amount of the premiums for insurances yearly, , , _n._ ---- estimated amount of fraudulent insurances per annum , , _l._, ---- the astonishing number of lottery insurers, with their appendages, consisting of _clerks_, _morocco-men_, _bludgeon-men_, and _ruffians_, employed during the drawing of the two lotteries each year, , _n._ ---- the lottery might be rendered useful to the state if the poorer classes could be shielded from its mischief, , ---- the evils attending on its present plan, and the audacious conduct of the miscreants engaged in fraudulent insurances in resisting the civil power, explained, , _n._, , ---- their profits said to be immense during the english lottery , ---- the exertions of the magistrates rendered more peculiarly necessary to check this evil during the time of drawing the lotteries, ---- expedients proposed for guarding the poor against the mischiefs, of future lotteries, digested under eight different heads, , , ---- three plans for drawing the lottery in such a manner as to prevent insurance, , _louis d'ors_, coined in england, , _loyal military associations_, the country much indebted to them, , _n._ _lumpers_ or labourers on the river (see _river plunder_), m. _magistrates_, their duty with regard to public houses (see _alehouses_.) ---- their great utility when their power and influence are prudently and judiciously employed, , , ---- the number of magistrates in the metropolis, ---- the number who sit daily in rotation, , ---- the number of persons committed annually for trial to , , ---- the mortification experienced by the magistrates in seeing their labour lost in consequence of the chief of these prisoners thrown back on society without punishment, , ---- a list of the city magistrates, ---- ---- the police magistrates, ---- their duty explained, ---- their labours cramped for want of pecuniary funds, , ---- magistrates with salaries necessary in every part of the metropolis, and benefits arising from them, ---- avocations of the city magistrates explained, _manslaughter_ defined, how punished, . _marine police institution_, origin and progress of, , [transcriber's note: should be p. ] ---- annual advantages resulting therefrom to the west india planters and the revenue estimated at , _l._ and upwards, , , _n._, , _n._ ---- the effect in restraining river plunderers, , ---- necessity of its being sanctioned by legislative regulations, , &c. ---- testimonies to the utility of the system, and the benefits it has already produced, , _n._, , , _n._, , _n._ ---- the number employed in this establishment, , _n._, _marriage_, the evil consequence of the prevailing practice of cohabitation without it, _martin_, matthew, esq. his benevolent exertions for relieving the poor, , , _n._ _mayhem_, laws relative to it, _menial servants_, their morals corrupted, how, , _metals_, dealers in proposed to be regulated, , , _metropolis_, vide _london_. _milk_, curious particulars as to the adulteration of, , , &c. _misadventure_, homicide by, defined, ---- how punished, , _misdemeanors_, a list of them punishable by law, _money_ counterfeit, vide _coin_. _montesquieu_, baron, his opinion relative to thefts, &c., , _morals_, the moral principles destroyed among the lower ranks, , , &c. ---- can only be preserved by preventing crimes, ---- bad education and bad habits destroy morals, and are the chief causes of atrocious crimes, , , , , , &c. ---- the deficiency of the system for guarding the morals of the lower orders one great cause of the corruption of manners, ---- _other causes_, the temptations of a great capital, ---- the habit of living improvidently and luxuriously, ---- the temptation of fraudulent lotteries, , , ---- the facilities held our by pawnbrokers, old iron shops, and other receivers of stolen goods, enabling persons to raise money on pilfered articles in an easy way, , ---- the bad examples in ill-regulated public houses one great cause of the corruption of morals, - ---- the habit recently practised of men, women and children spending their time in the tap-rooms of alehouses, where all sorts of profligacy prevails, exhibited in language and conduct, , , ---- the profligate characters intrusted with licences to keep alehouses (see _alehouses_), , ---- the immoral or careless education of apprentices, ---- the failure in business by mismanagement, idleness, &c., ---- servants out of place, ---- the mode of education and superstition of the jews, which prevent them from being apprenticed to mechanical employments, ---- the vast temptations to plunder, which are held out to lumpers, scuffle-hunters, mudlarks, scullers, lightermen, &c. on the thames, from the want of proper guards, and a proper system for protecting property (see _river plunder--dock-yards_), ---- the temptations held out to fraud from the shocking state of the silver and copper coinage, and the imperfection of the mint laws, , ---- the temptations held out in a great metropolis from the resource which the influx of wealth affords to commit acts of criminality, giving so many opportunities to live in idleness, , ---- the deficiency of the laws in not taking cognizance of moral crimes, , ---- morals of public depredators, _morality_--men of pure morals make the best subjects, ---- against its principle to punish small offences with death, ---- societies for promoting it, _mudlarks_, _see_ river plunder, _murder_, laws relative to it, in this and other countries, , n. _naval_ embezzlements and plunder, &c. reasons why not heretofore corrected, gratuities given, a great evil, the depredations enormous (_see river plunder--dock-yards_), _new south wales_, transportation there when first legalized (_see convicts_), , _night coaches_, a great means of promoting burglaries, ---- propositions for regulating them, , , , , o. _offences_, punishable with death, some not punishable by the laws, , , a general list of the various classes of offences, , &c. _see_ further _punishments_. _officers of justice_--their zeal always proportioned to that shewn by the magistrates under whom they act, the importance of choosing men of respectability, _ibid._ the absurd prejudices against officers of justice, the antiquity and power of the officers of justice, number of them in the metropolis, , , _n._ officers subjected to considerable risks, ought to be rewarded--vide _rewards_. _old bailey_--its registers shew the necessity of a prosecutor for the crown, trials anno and , eight sessions, , , idem and convicts and , _old iron shops_, owners for the most part, generally receivers--(see _receivers_), _origin of crimes_, traced to alehouses--bad education of apprentices--servants out of place--jews--receivers--pawnbrokers--low gaming-houses--smuggling--prisons, chap. xi. - ---- female prostitution (see _prostitutes_), ch. xii. - ---- tea gardens, , ---- ballad singers, , ---- state of the poor (see _poor_), chap. xiii. - p. _pagoda_, of arcot, counterfeited in london, , , _pardons_--the devices used to obtain them, granted to four-fifths of those found guilty of death, marquis beccaria's opinion of pardons, , _n._ impositions practised to obtain them, _ibid._ conditions under which they ought to be granted, the evil consequences of free pardons, , a tacit disapprobation of the law, (_beccaria_), _parents_, their profligacy and inattention to the education of their children, , &c. _parochial_ officers in the metropolis, , , ---- of little use to the police in the metropolis, why, _parricides_, their punishment by the roman law, by the chinese and egyptian laws, _ibid._ _patroles and watchmen_, their number, ---- frequently conspire with thieves, , _pawnbrokers_ hold out many temptations to the poor, ---- a proposition for regulating them, , ---- to give security for good behaviour, ---- the number in london and the country, , _n._ ---- the immense amount of the goods of the poor at all times in their hands, , _n._ _peace_, an epoch when much danger is to be apprehended in the return of criminals, , , _peace-officers_--safeguards of the community, , ---- the ill effects of the absurd prejudice against them, ---- the number in the metropolis, , , _penitentiary houses._ two national ones authorised, but never erected, , , an inspector of penitentiary houses should be appointed, (see _convicts_), _penny-pieces_, millions of them coined by mr. bolton of birmingham, , _n._ ---- why not likely to be much counterfeited, , _n._ _petty larceny_, how punished, , _pewter pots_ and pewter, purchased by dealers in old iron--protected by act geo. d. _c._ , _piracy_ a capital offence, _pirates_ on the river, their audacious conduct, (see _river plunder_). _plunder on the river, and dock-yards_ (see those titles). police--the advantages resulting from it when well regulated, , the insecurity from a deficient police no where so great as in england, , one cause for the increase of criminals is the insufficiency of the police, , the specific causes of the deficiency explained, and the means of improvement, , , the disjointed state of the police one of the causes of the increase of stolen goods, the establishment of an active principle strongly enforced, the expences of the police might be defrayed by itself, under an improved system, no place of industry provided by the police for discharged prisoners, (see _convicts_), police of the metropolis explained, city and police magistrates now acting, their names, , their duty explained, , inconveniences arising from want of funds, robberies and burglaries not prevented, from this among other causes, , police magistrates should have power to give small rewards for useful services, , police magistrates necessary in all large societies, police magistrates have nothing to do with politics, , _n._ police system approved by the manufacturers of spital fields, , , _n._ the great deficiency of the system for want of a centre point, constitutional superintendence of police rests with the secretary of state for the home department, , the increase of state business, and the increase of crimes, renders a delegation of subordinate management necessary, the utility and absolute necessity of such a system explained, , the opinion of foreigners of the police of london, _ibid._ the police of france under the old government, observations upon it illustrated by two anecdotes of m. de sartine, , , &c. the situation of this as well as every country in europe makes a correct system of police necessary, on account of the profligate characters who will infest the metropolis on the return of peace, , _a board of police_ proposed as the only means of binding together a disjointed system, and of giving it that energy which the interest of the country requires, the new system of central police recommended by the finance-committee fully detailed and explained, chap. xviii., reasons suggested by the committee, - the leading object the prevention of crimes, and the raising a revenue by licence duties, , trades proposed to be licensed, , _n._, , expence of the police of the kingdom near £ , , , a central board of police revenue to be formed by the consolidation of the two boards of hackney coaches, & hawkers, &c., - the licensing system to be extended over the kingdom under the controul of this board, - functions of the commissioners of this central board of police amply detailed under heads, - outline of the bill proposed to be brought into parliament for establishing this central board of police, , &c. _polygamy_, an improved mode of punishment for, _poor_, their distresses, , , _n._ ---- particularly from the lottery delusion, , ---- state of, cap. xiii., - ---- casual, the erroneous system respecting them one great cause of the increase of crimes, estimate of voluntary contributions for their relief, £ , _per ann._, present expence of the casual poor not less than £ , _per ann._, , this relief ill applied, _ibid._ propriety of consolidating and superintending this relief, poverty not an evil if it does not degenerate into indigence, , the poor divided into five classes: the useful and industrious, vagrant, indigent, aged and infirm, infants, _ibid._ the statute elizabeth unexceptionable in its principle, but its execution deficient, , , proposals for a _pauper police_, to regulate street beggars and casual poor, - expence thereof £ , to be defrayed by contributions from the parishes proportioned to the sums now paid by them for casual relief, _ibid._ benefit of consolidating the funds of all the parishes in the metropolis, , the system should be perfected by the joint efforts of well-informed individuals, _ibid._ _prisoners._ an asylum proposed for those that are discharged, to prevent their returning to evil practices for want of work, (see _convicts_), , , _n._, ---- abstracts of the number committed and discharged in the metropolis in the course of a year, ending oct. (_table_), ---- number discharged from the eight gaols in the metropolis in a period of four years: ---- ---- st. by proclamation , ---- ---- d. acquittals , ---- ---- d. after punishment , ------ , , , ---- discharged from to : ---- ---- . , } ---- ---- . , } , , ---- ---- . , } ---- ---- from the hulks, ditto , [transcriber's note: this figure should be , ] ______ , , ---- tried at the old bailey from sept. to , ---- tried at the old bailey from april to , ---- tried in the year , their crimes and sentences, , ---- committed annually for trial in the metropolis from , , to , , _prisons_ in the metropolis, , _prosecutor for the crown_--the utility of such an establishment, , the injury occasioned by the want of it in defeating justice, , a severe burden on the subject to prosecute, further reasons in favour of the proposition, , , _prostitutes_--their unhappy situation, and the dreadful consequences of it, cap. xii., the evil cannot be prevented, but may be alleviated, number of prostitutes of various classes estimated at , , proposals for regulating them not inconsistent either with religion or morality, the example of holland and india quoted, _public houses_, vide _alehouses_. _punishments_--defeat their ends by too much severity, death should be inflicted as seldom as possible, _ibid._ disproportionate to the offences, , _n._, a definition of punishments, should be proportioned to the offence, &c., , the objects of inflicting punishments, _ibid._ general rules relative to punishments, , the severity of punishments exposed, , , , punishments examined as they apply to the various offences known in the english law, , , &c. punishments by the new code of the emperor joseph, , marquis beccaria's opinion and maxims, , _n._ the system of punishments fully considered, cap. xvi., - punishments inflicted on various offences by the english law, , , , &c. &c. punishments as now regulated tend to increase crimes, (see _convicts_), - q. _quarter_ sessions of the peace: ---- and general sessions of middlesex, in certain cases, act under a commission of oyer and terminer, ---- held in london, eight times a year, ---- in westminster, four times a year, _ibid._ ---- in middlesex, eight times a year, _ibid._ ---- in tower liberty, eight times a year, _ibid._ ---- in surry, four times a year, _ibid._ _quays_--plunder committed upon--see _river plunder_. r. _rape_, laws relative, to it in england, death by eliz. _c._ , the egyptian law relative to this crime, _ib._ the athenian ditto, _ib._ the roman ditto, _ib._ the jewish ditto, _ib._ _receivers_ of stolen property: receivers of cash, or bank notes, not punishable, nor of horses and cattle, , _n._ estimated to be in the metropolis, the greatest encouragers of thieves, their wonderful increase in the last years, restraints upon them a public benefit, , , make previous contracts with thieves, , hostlers at watering houses often receivers of corn, &c., journeymen butchers receive cattle, receivers considered separately, cap. viii., , , &c. the chief cause of public depredation, the different classes detailed, , by and william and mary, _c._ . made accessaries after the fact, by geo. i. _c._ . punishable by transportation for fourteen years, , the laws enumerated relative to receivers, and their defects pointed out, , a proposition to make the receiving stolen goods an original offence, remedies proposed under eight different heads by regulating certain classes of dealers, , a system of inspection recommended, applied to for their assistance in recovering valuable property which is stolen, _religion_, places of public worship in the metropolis, _register_ of delinquency proposed to be kept by the central board of police, _remedies for evils mentioned in this work_: to remove the imperfections in the criminal code, to improve the system of the hulks, to improve also the mode of transportation, and the employment of convicts, , &c. to establish national penitentiary houses, , to improve the system in granting licences to public houses--see _alehouses_. to regulate dealers in old iron, metals, stores, old wearing apparel, founders of metals, &c. by licence, to improve the laws relative to the prevention of pillage and plunder in the river thames--see _river plunder_. to improve the laws relative to the prevention of frauds, embezzlements, pillage and plunder in ships of war, and transports, and in the naval and other public arsenals (see _dock-yards_), , , , , , , to prevent highway robberies and burglaries, to prevent the coinage of base money, and the sale and circulation of the same, , to prevent the evil effects of the devices of cheats, swindlers, gamblers and fraudulent persons, viz. swindlers in general, , fraudulent pawnbrokers, hawkers and pedlars, puffing diurnal auctioneers, puffing money lenders, illegal lottery insurers, , itinerant jews, , various classes of cheats and swindlers, &c. with cautions to tradesmen and others to beware of them, a general remedy proposed, , to prevent the evil of receiving stolen goods, and through this medium the commission of robberies, burglaries, thefts, larcenies, embezzlements, frauds and swindling, &c. under eight different heads, , , , &c. to prevent justice from being defeated in the apprehension of offenders, by rewards to officers and others apprehending them (see _rewards_), , to prevent frauds in the trial of offenders by appointing a prosecutor for the crown, , to proportion all punishments to the nature of the offence, and to abolish sanguinary and severe punishments, , , , to improve the system with regard to pardons--(see _pardons_), to improve the system of police for the metropolis, by establishing a fund for rewards, , to establish a concurrent jurisdiction over the whole of the metropolis, , to establish police magistrates in london, , _n._ to establish a board of police as a centre point, where a responsible superintending agency, under the secretary of state for the home department, should be pledged to attend to the great outlines of the police of the metropolis--(see police), , a system for the more easy recovery of small debts, , , , to improve the municipal police, by extending the same laws, penalties and punishments to every part of the metropolis, , &c. general view of all the remedies proposed in this work, against the existing evils which at present infest the metropolis, ch. xx. p. , &c. _restraints_ imposed on criminal people cannot affect the liberty of the subject, those already established to obtain revenue, severer, _revenue_ of the customs greatly injured by river plunder, , _n._ _rewards_--to be given by magistrates in order to enable them to detect offenders--the utility explained, - rewards necessary to all classes of public officers of justice, for the purpose of exciting vigilance, , rewards granted at present for ten specific offences, detailed, , amount paid by sheriffs from to , £. , , , _n._ rewards paid on prosecutions at the old bailey from sept. to , , small rewards recommended for detecting inferior offences, , the quantum of the reward to be left to the discretion of the judge, and allowed according to the merit of the parties, whether there is a conviction or not, , rewards proposed for the detection of coiners and utterers of base money, for the detection of plunderers in the dock-yards, _river plunder_, its amazing extent, probably not less than _half a million per annum_, cap. viii., , , , yet not exceeding _s._ per cent. on the value of the property exposed, , , & _table_ , vessels and more discharge and receive three millions of packages annually in the river, various classes of river plunderers. [transcriber's note: reference missing in original] _river pirates_, (particular instances of their audacious depredations), , _night plunderers_, , _light horsemen_, or nightly plunderers of west india ships, , _heavy horsemen_, or lumpers, , _game watermen_, _ibid._ _game lightermen_, , _mud-larks_, _revenue officers_, , _scuffle-hunters_, , _copemen_, or receivers, , see further _marine police_. _robberies and burglaries_--not prevented by the police system of , and the reason why, chiefly for want of giving small rewards, _robbery_, defined, _roman laws_, relative to murder, theft, , s. _salaries_, proposed to be increased to the servants of the crown, on the abolition of perquisites, _sartine, m. de_, minister of police in paris, two singular anecdotes of, , , &c. _saxon laws_ relative to murder, _schools_ in the metropolis, _scuffle-hunters_, a class of labourers who hunt after work when ships are discharging, chiefly with a view to plunder, , _sequin_ of turkey, counterfeited in london, , , _servants_--corrupted by the temptations of the metropolis, particularly by the lottery, , _sewers_, their origin and great utility, the acts relative to them, _sharpers_, an account of noted females concerned in different kinds of frauds, , _sharpers and swindlers_, their various devices to defraud the public, , ---- ought to find security for their good behaviour, _ships_, in the river thames, the loss and inconvenience arising from the present mode of discharging, (see _river plunder_) _silk manufacturers_ of spital-fields, their address of thanks for the establishment of the police system in , , , _n._ _societies_ in london for morals, arts, &c., , _society_ for the relief of persons imprisoned for small debts, an excellent institution, _sodomy_, the laws relative to it, and the punishment, ---- introduced into england by the lombards, _ibid._ _soup charities_, their peculiar excellence in relieving the poor, , , _n._, _southwark_, the acts relative to its police, _spirituous liquors_, the astonishing consumption of, &c., , _n._ _statutes_, see _acts of parliament_. _statute law_--necessity of its revisal, and the steps taken for that purpose, , _n._, _stolen goods_, see _receivers_. _stores_, government, see _embezzlement_; _naval embezzlements_; _acts_, _streets_ in the metropolis, estimated at , _sugars_, the plunder of, estimated at £. , a year, lost by the planters and merchants, and £. , by the revenue, , _n._ ---- annual losses by samples, £. , and upwards, , _n._ _suicide_, the effect of gambling in the lottery, , _n._ _summary view_ of the causes of the insufficiency of the police, under nine different heads, , , , ---- of prisoners committed in one year, _superstition_ of the jews, see _jews_. _swindlers_, see _sharpers_. t. _tea gardens_, public evils, ---- proposals for regulating them, _thames_ (river) see _river plunder--marine police_. _thefts_ (_petty_) causes and progress of, cap. iii., , & _seq._ ---- by persons not belonging to the fraternity of thieves, estimated at £. , , ---- from ships in the river and upon the wharfs, see _river plunder_. ---- from dock-yards, ships of war, &c. see _dock-yards_. ---- burglaries, highway robberies, &c., , , _theft._ first punished with death by henry i. , the laws relative to theft in this and other nations, _thieves._ professed thieves not intimidated when put on their trial; reasons assigned, , , , , the different classes of persons who resort to thieving and robbing, , many thieves taken off by the war, but many remain behind on account of ruptures and other disabilities, which, however, do not prevent their committing crimes, , the means used by them to accomplish their purposes, , , _tokens_, provincial coins, respecting which regulations are proposed, _transportation_, when first introduced as a punishment, offences punishable in this way detailed, expence of the transportation of convicts to new south wales, and their confinement in the hulks, , _travelling police_, a plan of hinted at, , _n._ _treason_, the laws relative to it explained, viz: of high treason, , , the great inaccuracy of the act of edward iii. in blending together crimes disproportionate in their nature, the laws of china relative to high treason, petty treason, how punished, _twenty thousand_ rise every morning in the metropolis, without knowing how they are to be subsisted through the day, , _n._ _tyburn ticket_, a premium given for apprehending and prosecuting burglars, house-breakers and horse-stealers, explained, , _n._ u. _useful cautions_, to tradesmen and others against the devices of cheats and swindlers, and to prevent frauds and impositions, , v. _vagrants and vagrancy._ a specification of what constitutes this offence: ---- idle and disorderly persons, how punished, , &c. ---- rogues and vagabonds, ---- incorrigible rogues, _ib._ _vessels_, trading to the river thames, nearly , in the course of a year, - _volunteers_, see loyal military associations. w. _war_, the means of employing criminals, , ---- civil wars seldom waged from considerations of virtue or the security of liberty, _watch-houses_ in the metropolis, , _n._ _watching_ the metropolis, the laws relating thereto, , _watchmen_ and patroles to be placed under the control of the police, , ---- their miserable establishment from - / _d._ to _s._ a night, ---- how appointed and paid, , , [transcriber's note: sic], _n._ ---- their general unfitness, , ---- the abuses which arise from this source, _ib._ ---- the number in the metropolis, ---- rewards proposed to excite vigilance, , _watchmakers_ to be registered, _water_ and waterworks, _watermen_ on the thames, act geo. iii. regulating their fares, &c., _west india produce_ pilfered in a year, , , _n._ _westminster_, the acts of parliament relative to its police, , _n._, , _n._ _women and children_ of late years regularly frequent the tap rooms of public houses a proof of the corruption of morals, - _writs._ an extraordinary statement of the astonishing expence of small law-suits, exemplified by an authentic table of the number of writs issued in middlesex in the course of a year, the subject further explained, , _finis._ [_printed by h. baldwin and son, new bridge-street, london._] generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/bessieherfriends math bessie and her friends * * * * * * _books by joanna h. mathews._ i. the bessie books. vols. in a box. $ . . ii. the flowerets. a series of stories on the commandments. vols. in a box. $ . . iii. little sunbeams. vols. in a box. $ . . iv. kitty and lulu books. vols. in a box. $ . . v. miss ashton's girls. vols. in a neat box. $ . . vi. haps and mishaps. vols. $ . . _by julia a. mathews._ i. dare to do right series. vols. in a box. $ . . ii. drayton hall stories. illustrative of the beatitudes. vols. in a box. $ . . iii. the golden ladder series. stories illustrative of the lord's prayer. vols. $ . . robert carter and brothers, _new york_. * * * * * * [illustration: bessie's friends. frontis.] [illustration: decoration] bessie and her friends. by joanna h. mathews, author of "bessie at the seaside," "bessie in the city," &c. "_speak not evil one of another._" "_bear ye one another's burdens._" new york: robert carter & brothers, broadway. entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by robert carter and brothers, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the southern district of new york. to _my sister bella_, whose loving consideration _has lightened the "burden" of many an otherwise weary hour_. _contents._ page _i. jennie's home_ _ii. the police-sergeant's story_ _iii. little pitchers_ _iv. papa's story_ _v. light through the clouds_ _vi. uncle ruthven_ _vii. an unexpected visitor_ _viii. franky_ _ix. bear ye one another's burdens_ _x. two surprises_ _xi. blind willie_ _xii. maggie's book_ _xiii. disappointment_ _xiv. aunt patty_ _xv. willie's visit_ _xvi. willie's recovery_ [illustration: beginning of book] _bessie and her friends_. i. _jennie's home._ "morher," said little jennie richards, "isn't it 'most time for farher to be home?" "almost time, jennie," answered mrs. richards, looking up from the face of the baby upon her lap to the clock upon the mantel-piece. a very pale, tiny face it was; so tiny that sergeant richards used to say he had to look twice to be sure there was any face there; and that of the mother which bent above it was almost as pale,--sick, anxious, and worn; but it brightened, as she answered jennie. "it is five minutes before six; he will be here very soon now." away ran jennie to the corner, where stood a cane-seated rocking-chair, and after a good deal of pushing and pulling, succeeded in drawing it up in front of the stove; then to a closet, from which she brought a pair of carpet slippers, which were placed before the chair. "i wish i was big enough to reach farher's coat and put it over his chair, like you used to, morher." "that will come by and by, jennie." "but long before i am so big, you'll be quite well, morher." "i hope so, dear, if god pleases. it's a long, long while to sit here helpless, able to do nothing but tend poor baby, and see my dear little daughter at the work her mother ought to do." "oh, morher, just as if i did not like to work! i don't like 'e reason why i have to do it, but it's right nice to work for you and farher. and i wouldn't like to be lazy, so i hope i will always have plenty to do." "dear child," said mrs. richards, with a sigh, "you're like enough to see that wish granted." "'at's good," said jennie, cheerfully, taking her mother's words in quite a different spirit from that in which they were spoken; "it's so nice to be busy." and indeed it would appear that this small maiden--small even for her six years--did think so; for as she talked she was trotting about the room, busying herself with arranging half a dozen trifles, which her quick eye spied out, and which, according to her way of thinking, were not just in proper order. first, the hearth, on which no spot or speck was to be seen, must be brushed up anew; next, the corner of the table-cloth was to be twitched into place, and a knife laid more exactly into straight line; then a ball, belonging to one of the younger children, was picked up and put in the toy-basket, with the reminder to little tommy that father was coming, and the room must be kept in good order. one would have thought it was already as neat as hands could make it. plain enough it was, certainly, but thoroughly comfortable. the carpet, though somewhat worn, and pieced in more than one place, was well swept and tidy, and the stove and the kettle which sang merrily upon its top were polished till they shone. the table in the centre of the room was ready set for tea, and, though it held no silver or cut glass, the most dainty lady or gentleman in the land need not have hesitated to take a meal from its white cloth and spotless delf ware. the only pieces of furniture which looked as if they had ever cost much were a large mahogany table with carved feet, which stood between the windows, and a bookcase of the same wood at the side of the fireplace; but both of these were old-fashioned, and although they might be worth much to their owners, would have brought little if offered for sale. not a speck of dust, however, was to be seen upon them or the rest of the furniture, which was of stained pine; while at the side of mrs. richards' arm-chair stood the baby's wicker cradle, covered with a gay patchwork spread. and that tiny quilt was the pride and delight of jennie's heart; for had she not put it all together with her own small fingers? after which, good mrs. granby, who lived up-stairs, had quilted and lined it for her. on the other side of the mother, sat, in a low chair, a boy about nine years old. his hands were folded helplessly together, and his pale face wore a sad, patient, waiting look, as if something were coming upon him which he knew he must bear without a struggle. one looking closer into his eyes might notice a dull film overspreading them, for willie richards was nearly blind, would be quite blind in a few weeks, the doctors said. between jennie and the baby came three little boys, sturdy, healthy children, always clamoring for bread and butter, and frequent calls for bread and butter were becoming a serious matter in the policeman's household; for provisions were high, and it was not as easy to feed eight mouths as it had been to feed four. this year, too, there had been severe sickness in the family, bringing great expenses with it, and how the wants of the coming winter were to be provided for, sergeant richards could hardly tell. with the early spring had come scarlet fever. the younger children had gone through it lightly, jennie escaping altogether; but poor willie had been nigh to death, and the terrible disease had left its mark in the blindness which was creeping upon him. then, watching her boy at night, mrs. richards had taken cold which had settled in her limbs, and all through the summer months she had lain helpless, unable even to lift her hand. and what a faithful little nurse jennie had been to her! then two months ago the baby sister was born, whose coming jennie had hailed with such delight, but whose short life had so far been all pain and suffering. the mother was better now, able to sit all day in the cushioned chair, where the strong arms of her husband would place her in the morning. but there she remained a prisoner, unable to move a step or even to stand, though she could so far use her hands as to tend her baby. but mrs. richards had not felt quite discouraged until to-day. now a fresh trouble had come, and she felt as if it were the last drop in the cup already too full. the children knew nothing of this, however, and if mother's face was sadder than usual, they thought it was the old racking pain in her bones. the three little boys were at the window, their chubby faces pressed against the glass, peering out into the darkness for the first glimpse of father. his duty had kept him from home all day, and wife and children were more than usually impatient for his coming. it was a small, two-story, wooden house, standing back from the street, with a courtyard in front, in the corner of which grew an old butternut tree. it bore but few nuts in these latter days, to be sure, but it gave a fine shade in the summer, and the young occupants of the house took great pride and comfort in it. the branches were almost bare now, however, and the wind, which now and then came sighing up the street, would strip off some of the leaves which still remained, and scatter them over the porch or fling them against the window. "you couldn't do wi'out me very well; could you, morher?" said jennie, as she straightened the corner of the rug, "even if good mrs. granby does come and do all the washing and hard work." "indeed, i could not," answered mrs. richards. "my jennie has been hands and feet to her mother for the last six months." "and now she's eyes to willie," said the blind boy. "and eyes to willie," repeated his mother, tenderly laying her hand on his head. "and tongue to tommy," added willie, with a smile. jennie laughed merrily; but as she was about to answer, the click of the gate was heard, and with shouts of "he's coming!" from charlie, "poppy, poppy!" from the younger boy, and a confused jargon from tommy, which no one but jennie could understand, the whole three tumbled down from the window and rushed to the door. a moment later it opened, and a tall, straight figure in a policeman's uniform appeared. "halloa, you chaps!" said a cheery voice. "suppose two or three dozen of you get out of the way and let me shut the door; it won't do to keep a draught on mother." he contrived to close the door, but as for getting farther with three pair of fat arms clasping his legs, that was quite impossible. the father laughed, threw his cap upon a chair, and catching up first one and then another of his captors, tossed them by turns in the air, gave each a hearty kiss, and set him on his feet again. "there, gentlemen, now let me get to mother, if you please. well, mary, how has it gone to-day? poorly, eh?" as he saw that in spite of the smile which welcomed him, her cheek was paler and her eye sadder than they had been when he left her in the morning. "the pain is no worse, dear,--rather better maybe," she answered; but her lip quivered as she spoke. "then that monstrous baby of yours has been worrying you. i am just going to sell her to the first man who will give sixpence for her." "no, no, no!" rose from a chorus of young voices, with, "she didn't worry scarcely any to-day, farher," from jennie, as she lifted her face for his kiss. willie's turn came next, as rising from his chair with his hand outstretched, he made a step forward and reached his father's side. one eye was quite dark, but through the thick mist which was over the other, he could faintly distinguish the tall, square figure, though, except for the voice and the sounds of welcome, he could not have told if it were his father or a stranger standing there. then began the grand amusement of the evening. mr. richards pulled down the covering of the cradle, turned over the pillow, looked under the table, peeped into the sugar-bowl, pepper-pot, and stove, and at last pretended to be much astonished to discover the baby upon its mother's lap, after which the hunt was carried on in search of a place big enough to kiss. this performance was gone through with every night, but never lost its relish, being always considered a capital joke, and was received with shouts of laughter and great clapping of hands. "father," said jennie, when mr. richards was seated in the rocking-chair, with a boy on each knee, "we have a great surprise for your supper to-night." if jennie did not resemble her father in size, she certainly did in feature. in both there were the same clear, honest gray eyes, the same crisp, short curls, the same ruddy cheeks and full red lips, the same look of kindly good-nature, with something of a spirit of fun and mischief sparkling through it. "you have; have you?" he answered. "well, i suppose you know it takes a deal to surprise a member of police. we see too many queer folks and queer doings to be easy surprised. if you were to tell me you were going to turn a bad, lazy girl, i might be surprised, but i don't know as much short of that would do it." jennie shook her head with a very knowing look at her mother, and just then the door opened again and a head was put within. "oh, you're home, be you, sergeant richards?" said the owner of the head. "all right; your supper will be ready in a jiffy. come along, jennie." with this the head disappeared, and jennie, obeying orders, followed. in five minutes they both returned, the head this time bringing the rest of the person with it, carrying a tray. jennie held in her hands a covered dish, which she set upon the edge of the table with an air of great triumph. she was not tall enough to put it in the proper spot before her father's place; but she would by no means suffer him to help her, although he offered to do so. no, it must wait till mrs. granby had emptied the tray, and could take it from her hands. what the policeman's family would have done at this time without mrs. granby would be hard to tell. although a neighbor, she had been almost a stranger to them till the time of willie's illness, when she had come in to assist in the nursing. from that day she had been a kind and faithful friend. she was a seamstress, and went out to work by the day; but night and morning she came in to see mrs. richards and do what she could to help her, until one evening she had asked mr. richards if she might have a talk with him. the policeman said, "certainly," though he was rather surprised, for mrs. granby generally talked without waiting for permission. "i guess things ain't going just right with you; be they, sergeant richards?" she began. richards shook his head sadly. "i suppose if it wasn't right, it wouldn't be, mrs. granby; but it's hard to think it with mary lying there, bound hand and foot, my boy growing blind, and the poor little baby more dead than alive; with me away the best part of the day, and nobody but that green irish girl to do a hand's turn for them all, unless yourself or some other kind body looks in. jennie's a wonderful smart child, to be sure; but there's another sore cross, to see her working her young life out, when she ought to be thinking of nothing but her play. and then, how we're going to make both ends meet this year, i don't know." "so i thought," answered mrs. granby; "and it's the same with me about the ends meetin'. now just supposin' we helped one another along a bit. you see they've raised my rent on me, and i can't afford it no way; besides that, my eyes is givin' out,--won't stand sewin' all day like they used to; so i'm not goin' out by the day no more, but just goin' to take in a bit of work and do it as i can. that biddy of yours ain't no good,--a dirty thing that's as like as not to sweep with the wrong end of the broom, and to carry the baby with its head down and heels up. she just worries your wife's life out; and every time she goes lumberin' over the floor, mary is ready to screech with the jar. now you just send her packin', give me the little room up-stairs rent free for this winter, and the use of your fire for my bits of meals, and i'll do all she does and more too,--washin', scrubbin', cookin', and nussin'. you won't have no wages to pay, and though they mayn't come to much, every little tells; and mary and the babies will be a sight more comfortable, and you, too, maybe, if i oughtn't to say it. you're just right, too, about jennie. it goes to my heart to see her begin to put her hand to everything; she's more willin' than she's able. pity everybody wasn't the same; it would make another sort of a world, i guess. what do you say to it? will it do?" do! the policeman thought so indeed, and was only too thankful. but it was a one-sided kind of a bargain, he said, all on their side, and mrs. granby must take some pay for her services. this she refused; she was not going to give them all her time, only part of it, and the room rent free was pay enough. but at last she consented to take her meals with them, though somehow she contrived to add more to the rather slender table than she took from it. now she had a chicken or tender steak for mrs. richards, "it was so cheap she couldn't help buying it, and she had a fancy for a bit herself," but it was always a very small bit that satisfied her; now a few cakes for the children, now a pound of extra nice tea or coffee. "sergeant richards needed something good and hot when he came in from duty, and he never took nothin' stronger, so he ought to have it." from the time that she came to them, mrs. richards began to improve; there was no longer any need to worry over her disorderly house, neglected children, or the loss of comfort to her husband. the baby ceased its endless wailing, and with jennie to keep things trim after they had once been put in order, the whole household put on its old air of cosy neatness. truly she had proved "a friend in need," this cheerful, bustling, kind-hearted little woman. "now you may uncover the dish, farher," said jennie, as having brought a little stand and placed it at her mother's side, she led willie to the table. mr. richards did so. "broiled ham and eggs!" he exclaimed. "why, the breath is 'most taken out of me! i know where the ham came from well enough, for i bought it myself, but i'd like to know who has been buying fresh eggs at eight cents apiece." "no, sergeant richards, you needn't look at me that way," said mrs. granby, holding up the tea-pot in one hand; "i ain't been doin' no such expenses. i brought them home, to be sure; but they was a present, not to me neither, but to your wife here. here's another of 'em for her, boiled to a turn too. fried eggs ain't good for sick folks. 'twasn't my doin' that you got some with your ham neither; i wanted to keep 'em for her eatin', but she said you was so fond of 'em, and she coaxed me into it. she does set such a heap by you, she thinks nothin' ain't too good for you. not that i blame her. i often says there ain't a better husband and father to be found than sergeant richards, look the city through; and you do deserve the best, that's a fact, if it was gold and diamonds; not that you wouldn't have a better use for them than to eat 'em; diamonds fetches a heap, they tell me, but never havin' had none of my own, i can't rightly tell of my own showin'. come, eat while it's hot. i'll see to your wife. no, thank you, none for me. i couldn't eat a mouthful if you was to pay me for it. don't give the little ones none, 'taint good for 'em goin' to bed. jennie might have a bit, she's been stirrin' round so all day, and willie, too, dear boy." mrs. granby's voice always took a tenderer tone when she spoke of willie. "well, i'll just tell you how i come by them eggs. this afternoon i took home some work to an old lady, a new customer mrs. howard recommended me to. when i was let in, there she stood in the hall, talkin' to a woman what had been sellin' fresh eggs to her. there they was, two or three dozen of 'em, piled up, lookin' so fresh and white and nice, enough to make your mouth water when you looked at 'em and thought what a deal of nourishment was in 'em. so when the lady was through with the woman, says i, 'if you'll excuse the liberty, ma'am, in your house and your presence, i'd just like to take a couple of eggs from this woman before she goes.' "'certainly,' says the lady, but the woman says, 'i can't spare no more, there's only a dozen left, and i've promised them to another lady;' and off she goes. well, me and the old lady settles about the work, and she tells me she'll have more in a month's time, and then she says, 'you was disappointed about the eggs?' "'yes, ma'am,' says i. "so, thinkin', i s'pose, 'twasn't for a poor seamstress like me to be so extravagant, she says, 'eggs are high this season,--eight cents apiece.' "i didn't want to be settin' myself up, but i wasn't goin' to have her take no false notions about me, so i says, 'yes, ma'am, but when a body's sick, and ain't no appetite to eat only what one forces one's self to, i don't think it no sin to spend a bit for a nice nourishin' mouthful.' "and she says, very gentle, 'are you sick?' "'not i, ma'am,' says i, 'but a friend of mine. bad with the rheumatics these six months, and she's a mite of an ailin' baby, and don't fancy nothin' to eat unless it's somethin' delicate and fancy, so i just took a notion i'd get a couple of them eggs for her.' "and she says, 'i see you have a basket there, just let me give you half a dozen of these for your friend.' i never thought of such a thing, and i was took all aback, and i said would she please take it out of the work. i couldn't think of takin' it in the way of charity, and she says, 'if i were ill, and you had any little dainty you thought i might like, would you think it charity to offer it to me?' "'no, ma'am,' says i; 'but then there's a difference.' "'i see none in that way,' she said; 'we are all god's children. to one he gives more than to another, but he means that we shall help each other as we find opportunity, and i wish you to take this little gift for your friend as readily as you would offer it to me if i were in like need.' now wasn't that pretty? a real lady, every inch of her. and with her own hands she laid half a dozen eggs in the basket. she was askin' some more questions about my sick friend, when somebody pulls the door-bell as furious, and when it was opened, there was a servant-gal lookin' as scared as anything, and she tells the old lady her little granddaughter was lost, and couldn't be found nowhere, and was she here, and did they know anything about her? well, they didn't know nothin', and the old lady said she'd be round right away, and she herself looked scared ready to drop, and i see she hadn't no more thought for me nor my belongin's, nor couldn't be expected to, so i just takes my leave. and when i come home and shows mary the eggs, nothin' would do but you must have a couple cooked with your ham for supper." all the time mrs. granby had been telling her story, she was pouring out tea, waiting on mrs. richards, spreading bread and butter for the children, and now having talked herself out of breath, she paused. at the last part of the story, the police-sergeant laid down his knife and fork, and looked up at her. "what is your lady's name?" he asked. "mrs. stanton," answered mrs. granby. "and who is the child that was lost?" "i don't know, only a granddaughter; i don't know if it's the same name. why, have you seen the child?" "i can't tell if it's the same," answered richards, "but i've got a story for you to-night. i have been thinking all the afternoon i had a treat for jennie." "is it a duty story, farher?" asked his little daughter. "yes, it is a duty story." "oh, that's good!" whenever her father had a story to tell of anything which had happened to him during his daily duties, jennie always called it a "duty story," and she was very eager for such anecdotes. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] ii. _the police-sergeant's story._ tea was over, the dishes neatly washed and put away by mrs. granby and jennie, the three little boys snugly tucked in their cribs up-stairs, the baby lying quiet in its cradle, and mrs. granby seated at the corner of the table with her sewing. jennie sat upon her father's knee, and willie in his usual seat at his mother's side, and the policeman began his story. "it might have been about two o'clock when, as i was at my desk, making out a report, policeman neal came in with a lost child in his arms, as pretty a little thing as ever i saw, for all she did look as if she had been having rather a hard time of it,--a gentleman's child and a mother's darling, used to be well cared for, as was easy to be seen by her nice white frock with blue ribbons, and her dainty shoes and stockings. but i think her mother's heart would have ached if she had seen her then. she had lost her hat, and the wind had tossed up her curls, her cheeks were pale and streaked with tears, and her big brown eyes had a pitiful look in them that would have softened a tiger, let alone a man that had half a dozen little ones of his own at home; while every now and then the great heavy sighs came struggling up, as if she had almost cried her heart out. "when neal brought her in, she looked round as if she expected to see some one, and so it seems she did; for he put her on thinking she'd find some of her own folks waiting for her. and when she saw there was no one there, such a disappointed look as came over her face, and her lip shook, and she clasped both little hands over her throat, as if to keep back the sobs from breaking out again. a many lost children i've seen, but never one who touched me like her. "well, neal told where he'd found her, and a good way she'd wandered from her home, as we found afterwards, and how she said her name was brightfort, which was as near as he'd come to it; for she had a crooked little tongue, though a sweet one. i looked in the directory, but no name like that could i find. then neal was going to put her down and go back to his beat, but she clung fast to him and began to cry again. you see, she'd kind of made friends with him, and she didn't fancy being left with strange faces again. so i just took her from him, and coaxed her up a bit, and told her i'd show her the telegraph sending off a message how she was there. i put her on the desk, close to me, while i set the wires to work; and as sure as you live, what did i hear that minute but her saying a bit of a prayer. she didn't mean any one to hear but him she was speaking to, but i caught every word; for you see my head was bent over near to hers. and i'll never forget it, not if i live to be a hundred, no, nor the way it made me feel. 'dear father in heaven,' she said, 'please let my own home father come and find me very soon, 'cause i'm so tired, and i want my own mamma; and don't let those naughty boys hurt my flossy, but let papa find him too.' i hadn't felt so chirk as i might all day, and it just went to the soft place in my heart; and it gave me a lesson, too, that i sha'n't forget in a hurry." mr. richards stopped and cleared his throat, and his wife took up the corner of her shawl and wiped her eyes. "bless her!" said mrs. granby, winking hers very hard. "ay, bless her, i say, too," continued the policeman. "it was as pretty a bit of faith and trust as ever i saw; and after it she seemed some comforted, and sat quiet, watching the working of the wires, as if she was quite sure the one she'd looked to would bring her help. well, i carried her round and showed her all there was to see, which wasn't much, and then i set her to talking, to see if i could find out where she belonged. i saw she'd been confused and worried before neal brought her in, and i thought like enough she'd forgotten. so, after some coaxing and letting her tell her story in her own way,--how her dog ran away and she ran after him, and so got lost, she suddenly remembered the name and number of the street where she lived. with that she broke down again, and began to cry and sob out, she did want to go home so much. "i was just sending out to see if she was right, when up dashes a carriage to the door, and out gets a gentleman on crutches. the moment the little one set eyes on him, she screams out as joyful as you please, 'oh, it's my soldier, it's my soldier!' "talk of an april day! you never saw anything like the way the sunlight broke through the clouds on her face. the moment he was inside the door, she fairly flung herself out of my arms on to his neck; and it was just the prettiest thing in the world to see her joy and love, and how she kissed and hugged him. as for him, he dropped one crutch, and held fast to her, as if for dear life. i knew who he was well enough, for i had seen him before, and found out about him, being in the way of duty. he's an english colonel that lives at the ---- hotel; and they tell wonderful stories about him,--how brave he is, and what a lot of battles he's fought, and how, with just a handful of soldiers, he defended a hospital full of sick men against a great force of them murdering sepoys, and brought every man of them safe off. all sorts of fine things are told about him; and i'm bound they're true; for you can tell by the look of him he's a hero of the right sort. i didn't think the less of him, either, that i saw his eyes mighty shiny as he and the baby held fast to each other. she wasn't his child, though, but mr. bradford's up in ---- street, whom i know all about; and if that crooked little tongue of hers could have said 'r,' which it couldn't, i might have taken her home at once. well, she was all right then, and he carried her off; but first she walked round and made her manners to every man there as polite as you please, looking the daintiest little lady that ever walked on two feet; and when i put her into the carriage, didn't she thank me for letting her into the station, and being kind to her, as if it was a favor i'd been doing, and not my duty; and as if a man could help it that once looked at her. so she was driven away, and i was sorry to lose sight of her, for i don't know as i ever took so to a child that didn't belong to me." "is that all?" asked jennie, as her father paused. "that's all." "how old was she, farher?" "five years old, she said, but she didn't look it. it seemed to me when i first saw her as if she was about your size; but you're bigger than she, though you don't make much show for your six years." "how funny she can't say 'r' when she's five years old!" said jennie. "yes, almost as funny as that my girl of six can't say 'th,'" laughed the sergeant. jennie smiled, colored, and hung her head. "and you thought maybe your lost child was mrs. stanton's granddaughter; did you?" asked mrs. granby. "well, i thought it might be. two children in that way of life ain't likely to be lost the same day in the same neighborhood; and we had no notice of any other but my little friend. you don't know if mrs. stanton has any relations of the name of bradford?" "no; she's 'most a stranger to me, and the scared girl didn't mention no names, only said little bessie was missin'." "that's her then. little bradford's name was bessie; so putting two and two together, i think they're one and the same." they talked a while longer of little bessie and her pretty ways and her friend, the colonel; and then mrs. granby carried willie and jennie off to bed. "now, mary," said richards, going to his wife's side the moment the children were out of hearing, "i know your poor heart has been aching all day to know what the eye-doctor said; but the boy sticks so close to you, and his ears are so quick, that i couldn't do more than whisper 'yes' when i came in, just to let you know it could be done. i was bringing willie home when i met jarvis with a message that i was to go up to the chief on special business, so, as i hadn't a minute to spare, i just had to hand the poor little man over to jarvis, who promised to see him safely in your care. dr. dawson says, mary, that he thinks willie can be cured; but we must wait a while, and he thinks it best that he should not be told until the time comes. the operation cannot be performed till the boy is stronger; and it is best not to attempt it till the blindness is total,--till both eyes are quite dark. meanwhile, he must be fed upon good nourishing food. if we can do this, he thinks in three months, or perhaps four, the child may be able to bear the operation. after that he says we must still be very careful of him, and see that his strength does not run down; and when the spring opens, we must send him away from town, up among the mountains. and that's what your doctor says of you, too, mary; that you won't get well of this dreadful rheumatism till you have a change of air; and that next summer i ought to send you where you will have mountain air. dr. dawson's charge," richards went on more slowly, "will be a hundred dollars,--he says to rich folks it would be three hundred, maybe more. but five thousand is easier come at by a good many people than a hundred is by us. so now we know what the doctor can do, we must make out what we can do. i'm free to say i think willie stands a better chance with dr. dawson than he does elsewhere; but i don't see how we are to raise the money. i'd live on bread and water, or worse, lie on the bare boards and work like a slave, to bring our boy's sight back; but i can't see you suffer; and we have the rest of the flock to think of as well as willie. and i suppose it must bring a deal of expense on us, both before and after the operation; at least, if we follow out the doctor's directions, and he says if we don't, the money and trouble will be worse than thrown away. "the first thing i have to do is to see dr. schwitz, and find out how much we owe him for attending you and the children, off and on, these six months. i've asked him half a dozen times for his bill, but he always said 'no hurry' and he 'could wait;' and since he was so kind, and other things were so pressing, i've just let it go by." when he had spoken of the doctor's hope of curing willie, his wife's pale face had brightened; but as he went on to say what it would cost, her head drooped; and now as he spoke of the other doctor's bill, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears and sobs. "why, mary, what is it, dear?" [illustration: bessie's friends. p. ] "oh, tom! tom!" she broke forth, "dr. schwitz sent his bill this morning. a rough-looking man brought it, and he says the doctor must have it the first of the year, and--and--" she could get no farther. the poor woman! it was no wonder; she was sick and weak, and this unlooked-for trouble had quite broken her down. "now, don't, mary, don't be so cast down," said her husband. "we'll see our way out of this yet. the lord hasn't forsaken us." "i don't know," she answered between her sobs, "it 'most seems like it;" and taking up a book which lay upon the table, she drew from between its leaves a folded paper and handed it to him. he was a strong, sturdy man, this police-sergeant, used to terrible sights, and not easily startled or surprised, as he had told his little daughter; but when he opened the paper and looked at it, all the color left his ruddy cheeks, and he sat gazing at it as if he were stunned. there was a moment's silence; then the baby set up its pitiful little cry. mrs. richards lifted it from the cradle. "oh, tom," she said, "if it would please the lord to take baby and me, it would be far better for you. i've been only a burden to you these six months past, and i'm likely to be no better for six months to come, for they say i can't get well till the warm weather comes again. you'd be better without us dear, and it's me that's brought this on you." then the policeman roused himself. "that's the hardest word you've spoken to me these ten years we've been married, mary, woman," he said. "no, i thank the lord again and again that that trouble hasn't come to me yet. what would i do without you, mary, dear? how could i bear it to come home and not find you here,--never again to see you smile when i come in; never to hear you say, 'i'm so glad you've come, tom;' never to get the kiss that puts heart into me after a hard day's work? and the babies,--would you wish them motherless? to be sure, you can't do for them what you once did, but that will all come right yet; and there's the mother's eye to overlook and see that things don't go too far wrong; here's the mother voice and the mother smile for them to turn to. no, no; don't you think you're laid aside for useless yet, dear. as for this wee dolly,"--and the father laid his great hand tenderly on the tiny bundle in its mother's arms,--"why, i think i've come to love her all the more for that she's so feeble and such a care. and what would our jennie do without the little sister that she has such a pride in and lays so many plans for? why, it would break her heart to lose her. no, no, mary, i can bear all things short of that you've spoken of; and do you just pray the lord that he'll not take you at your word, and never hurt me by saying a thing like that again." trying to cheer his wife, the brave-hearted fellow had almost talked himself into cheerfulness again; and mrs. richards looked up through her tears. "and what are we to do, tom?" she asked. "i can't just rightly see my way clear yet," he answered, thoughtfully, rubbing his forehead with his finger; "but one thing is certain, we've got to look all our troubles straight in the face, and to see what we can do. what we _can_ do for ourselves we _must_, then trust the lord for the rest. as i told you, that little soul that was brought up to the station this afternoon gave me a lesson i don't mean to forget in a hurry. there she was, the innocent thing, in the worst trouble i suppose that could come to such a baby,--far from her home and friends, feeling as if she'd lost all she had in the world,--all strange faces about her, and in what was to her a terrible place, and not knowing how she was to get out of it. well, what does she do, the pretty creature, but just catch herself up in the midst of her grieving and say that bit of a prayer? and then she rested quiet and waited. it gave me a sharp prick, i can tell you, and one that i needed. says i to myself, 'tom richards, you haven't half the faith or the courage of this baby.' there had i been all day fretting myself and quarrelling with the lord's doings, because he had brought me into a place where i could not see my way out. i had asked for help, too, or thought i had, and yet there i was, faithless and unbelieving, not willing to wait his time and way to bring it to me. but she, baby as she was, knew in whom she had trusted, and could leave herself in his hands after she had once done all she knew how. it's not the first teaching i've had from a little child, mary, and i don't expect it will be the last; but nothing ever brought me up as straight as that did. thinks i, the lord forgive me, and grant me such a share of trust and patience as is given to this his little one; and then i took heart, and i don't think i've lost it again, if i have had a hard blow i did not look for. i own i was a bit stunned at first; but see you, mary, i am sure this bill is not fair. dr. schwitz has overcharged us for certain; and i don't believe it will stand in law." "but we can't afford to go to law, tom, any more than to pay this sum. four hundred dollars!" "i would not wonder if mr. ray would see me through this," said richards. "he's a good friend to me. i'll see him, anyhow. i never thought dr. schwitz would serve me like this; it's just revenge." "have you offended him?" asked mrs. richards, in surprise. "yes," answered the policeman. "yesterday i had to arrest a nephew of his for robbing his employer. schwitz came to me and begged i'd let him off and pretend he was not to be found, saying he would make it worthwhile to me. i took offence at his trying to bribe me, which was but natural, you will allow, mary, and spoke up pretty sharp. he swore he'd make me pay for it if i touched the lad; but i never thought he would go this far. and to think i have had the handling of so many rogues, and didn't know one when i saw him!" "and willie?" said the poor mother. "ah! that's the worst," answered richards. "i'm afraid we sha'n't be able to have much done for willie this next year; for even if dr. dawson will wait for his pay, there's all the expense that's to come before and after the operation; and i don't see how we are going to manage it." long the good policeman and his wife sat and talked over their troubles; and when kind mrs. granby came back, she was told of them, and her advice asked; but three heads were no better than two in making one dollar do the needful work of ten. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] iii. _little pitchers._ three young ladies sat talking over their work in the pleasant bow-window of mrs. stanton's sitting-room, while at a short distance from them two little curly heads bent over the great picture-book which lay upon the table. the eyes in the curly heads were busy with the pictures, the tongues in the curly heads were silent, save when now and then one whispered, "shall i turn over?" or "is not that pretty?" but the ears in the curly heads were wide open to all that was passing in the bow-window; while the three young ladies, thinking that the curly heads were heeding nothing but their own affairs, went on chattering as if those attentive ears were miles away. "annie," said miss carrie hall, "i am sorry to hear of the severe affliction likely to befall your sister, mrs. bradford." "what is that?" asked annie stanton, looking up surprised. "i heard that mrs. lawrence, mr. bradford's aunt patty, was coming to make her a visit." "ah, poor margaret!" said annie stanton, but she laughed as she spoke. "it is indeed a trial, but my sister receives it with becoming submission." "why does mrs. bradford invite her when she always makes herself so disagreeable?" asked miss ellis. "she comes self-invited," replied annie. "margaret did not ask her." "i should think not, considering the circumstances under which they last parted," said carrie hall. "oh, margaret has long since forgotten and forgiven all that," said annie, "and she and mr. bradford have several times endeavored to bring about a reconciliation, inviting aunt patty to visit them, or sending kind messages and other tokens of good-will. the old lady, however, was not to be appeased, and for the last three or four years has held no intercourse with my brother's family. now she suddenly writes, saying she intends to make them a visit." "i should decline it if i were in the place of mr. and mrs. bradford," said carrie. "i fear i should do the same," replied annie, "but margaret and mr. bradford are more forgiving. i am quite sure though that they look upon this visit as a duty to be endured, not a pleasure to be enjoyed, especially as the children are now older, and she will be the more likely to make trouble with them." "i suppose they have quite forgotten her," said carrie. "harry and fred may remember her," answered annie, "but the others were too young to recollect her at this distance of time. bessie was a baby, maggie scarcely three years old." "shall you ever forget the day we stopped at your sister's house on our way home from school, and found mrs. lawrence and nurse having a battle royal over maggie?" asked the laughing carrie. "no, indeed! nurse, with maggie on one arm and bessie on the other, fairly dancing about the room in her efforts to save the former from aunt patty's clutches, both terrified babies screaming at the top of their voices, both old women scolding at the top of theirs; while fred, the monkey, young as he was, stood by, clapping his hands and setting them at each other as if they had been two cats." "and your sister," said carrie, "coming home to be frightened half out of her senses at finding such an uproar in her well-ordered nursery, and poor little maggie stretching out her arms to her with 'patty vip me, patty vip me!'" "and margaret quite unable to quell the storm until brother henry came in and with a few determined words separated the combatants by sending nurse from the room," continued annie, with increasing merriment. "poor mammy! she knew her master's word was not to be disputed, and dared not disobey; but i think she has never quite forgiven him for that, and still looks upon it as hard that when, as she said, she had a chance 'to speak her mind to mrs. lawrence,' she was not allowed to do it." "but what caused the trouble?" asked laura ellis. "oh, some trifling mischief of maggie's, for which auntie undertook to punish her severely. nurse interfered, and where the battle would have stopped, had not henry and margaret arrived, it is difficult to tell." "but surely she did not leave your brother's house in anger for such a little thing as that!" said laura. "indeed, she did; at least, she insisted that maggie should be punished and nurse dismissed. dear old mammy, who nursed every one of us, from ruthven down to myself, and whom mother gave to margaret as a treasure past all price when harry was born,--poor mammy, who considers herself quite as much one of the family as any stanton, duncan, or bradford among us all,--to talk of dismissing her! but nothing less would satisfy aunt patty; and margaret gently claiming the right to correct her own children and govern her own household as she saw fit, and henry firmly upholding his wife, aunt patty departed that very afternoon in a tremendous passion, and has never entered the house since." "greatly to your sister's relief, i should think," said laura. "why, what a very disagreeable inmate she must be, annie! i am sure i pity mrs. bradford and all her family, if they are to undergo another visit from her now." "yes," said annie. "some sudden freak has taken her, and she has written to say that she will be here next month. you may well pity them. such another exacting, meddling, ill-tempered old woman it would be difficult to find. she has long since quarrelled with all her relations; indeed, it was quite wonderful to every one how margaret and her husband bore with her as long as they did. i do not know how the poor children will get on with her. she and fred will clash before she has been in the house a day, while the little ones will be frightened out of their senses by one look of those cold, stern eyes. do you remember, carrie, how, during that last unfortunate visit, maggie used to run and hide her head in her mother's dress the moment she heard aunt patty's step?" "yes, indeed," said carrie. "i suppose she will be here at christmas time too. poor little things! she will destroy half their pleasure." all this and much more to the same purpose fell upon those attentive ears, filling the hearts of the little listeners with astonishment and dismay. it was long since maggie's hand had turned a leaf of the scrap-book, long since she or bessie had given a look or thought to the pictures. there they both sat, motionless, gazing at one another, and drinking in all the foolish talk of those thoughtless young ladies. they meant no harm, these gay girls. not one of them but would have been shocked at the thought that she was poisoning the minds of the dear little children whom they all loved towards the aged relative whom they were bound to reverence and respect. they had not imagined that maggie and bessie were attending to their conversation, and they were only amusing themselves; it was but idle talk. ah, idle talk, idle words, of which each one of us must give account at the last great day! so they sat and chatted away, not thinking of the mischief they might be doing, until, at a question from miss carrie, annie stanton dropped her voice as she answered. still now and then a few words would reach the little ones. "shocking temper"--"poor margaret so uncomfortable"--"mr bradford very much displeased"--"patience quite worn out" until bessie said,-- "aunt annie, if you don't mean us to know what you say, we do hear a little." aunt annie started and colored, then said, hastily "oh, i had almost forgotten you were there. would you not like to go down-stairs, pets, and ask old dinah to bake a little cake for each of you? run then, and if you heard what we were saying, do not think of it. it is nothing for you to trouble your small heads about. i am afraid we have been rather imprudent," she continued uneasily when her little nieces had left the room. "margaret is so particular that her children shall hear nothing like gossip or evil speaking, and i think we have been indulging in both. if maggie and bessie have been listening to what we were saying, they will not have a very pleasant impression of mrs. lawrence. well, there is no use in fretting about it now. what is said cannot be unsaid; and they will soon find out for themselves what the old lady is." yes, what is said cannot be unsaid. each little word, as it is spoken, goes forth on its errand of good or evil, and can never be recalled. perhaps aunt annie would have regretted her thoughtlessness still more if she had seen and heard the little girls as they stood together in the hall. they had no thought of old dinah and the cakes with this important matter to talk over. not think of what they heard, indeed! that was a curious thing for aunt annie to say. she had been right in believing that maggie must have forgotten mrs. lawrence. maggie had done so, but now this conversation had brought the whole scene of the quarrel with nurse to her mind. it all came back to her; but in recollection it appeared far worse than the reality. aunt patty's loud, angry voice seemed sounding in her ears, uttering the most violent threats, and she thought of the old lady herself almost as if she had been some terrible monster, ready to tear in pieces her own poor frightened little self, clinging about nurse's neck. and was it possible that this dreadful old woman was really coming again to their house to make a visit? how could papa and mamma think it best to allow it? such mischief had already been done by idle talk! "maggie," said bessie, "do you remember about that patty woman?" "yes," answered maggie, "i did not remember about her till aunt annie and miss carrie said that, but i do now; and oh, bessie, she's _awful_! i wish, i wish mamma would not let her come. she's the shockingest person you ever saw." "aunt annie said mamma did not want her herself; but she let her come because she thought it was right," said bessie. "i wonder why mamma thinks it is right when she is so cross and tempered," said maggie, with a long sigh. "why, she used to scold even papa and mamma! oh, i remember her so well now. i wish i didn't; i don't like to think about it;" and maggie looked very much distressed. bessie was almost as much troubled, but she put her arm about her sister and said, "never matter, dear maggie, papa and mamma won't let her do anything to us." "but suppose papa and mamma both had to go out and leave us, as they did that day she behaved so," said maggie. "nursey has so many to take care of now, and maybe she'd meddle again,--aunt annie said she was very meddling too,--and try to punish me when i did not do any blame." "jane would help nurse _pertect_ us," said bessie, "and if she couldn't, we'd yun away and hide till papa and mamma came." "she shouldn't do anything to you, bessie. i wouldn't let her do that, anyhow," said maggie, shaking her head, and looking very determined. "how could you help it if she wanted to, maggie?" "i'd say, 'beware, woman!'" said maggie, drawing her eyebrows into a frown, and extending her hand with the forefinger raised in a threatening manner. "oh!" said bessie, "what does that mean?" "i don't quite know," said maggie, slowly, "but it frightens people very much." "it don't frighten me a bit when you say it." "'cause you don't have a guilty conscience; but if you had, you'd be, oh, so afraid!" "how do you know i would?" "i'll tell you," said maggie. "uncle john had a picture paper the other day, and in it was a picture of a woman coming in at the door, and she had her hands up so, and she looked as frightened, as frightened, and a man was standing behind the curtain doing so, and under the picture was 'beware, woman!' i asked uncle john what it meant, and he said that was a wicked woman who was going to steal some papers so she could get some money, and when she came in, she heard somebody say, 'beware, woman,' and she was so frightened she ran away and was never seen again. i asked him to tell me more about it, but he said, 'no, it was a foolish story, not fit for little people.' then i asked him if foolish stories were only fit for big people, but he just laughed and pinched my cheek. but i coaxed him to tell me why the woman was so frightened when the man did nothing but say those two words, and he said it was because she had a guilty conscience, for wicked people feared what good and innocent people did not mind at all. so if that old mrs. patty--i sha'n't call her aunt--don't behave herself to you, bessie, i'll just try it." "do you think she has a guilty conscience, maggie?" "course she has; how could she help it?" "and will she yun away and never be seen again?" "i guess so," said maggie; "anyhow, i hope she will." "i wonder why mamma did not tell us she was coming," said bessie. "we'll ask her to-morrow. we can't do it to-night because it will be so late before she comes home from riverside and we'll be asleep, but we'll do it in the morning. and now, don't let's think about that shocking person any more. we'll go and ask dinah about the cakes." but although they resolved to try to forget aunt patty for the present, they could not help thinking of her a good deal and talking of her also, for their young hearts had been filled with dread of the old lady and her intended visit. the reason that mr. and mrs. bradford had not spoken to their children of mrs. lawrence's coming was that it was not yet a settled thing; and as there was not much that was pleasant to tell, they did not think it best to speak of her unless it was necessary. it was long since her name had been mentioned in the family, _so_ long that, as mrs. bradford had hoped and supposed, all recollection of her had passed from maggie's mind, until the conversation she had just heard had brought it back. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] iv. _papa's story._ the next morning while they were at breakfast, the postman brought three letters for papa and mamma. "margaret," said mr. bradford, looking up from one of his, "this is from aunt patty to say that she will put off her visit until spring." maggie and bessie both looked up. "oh!" said mrs. bradford, in a tone as if she were rather more glad than sorry to hear that aunt patty was not coming at present. papa glanced at her with a smile which did not seem as if he were very much disappointed either. probably the children would not have noticed tone or smile had they not been thinking of what they heard yesterday. "holloa!" said fred, in a voice of dismay, "aunt patty is not coming here again; is she? you'll have to look out and mind your p's and q's, midget and bess, if that is the case. we'll all have to for that matter. whew-ee, can't she scold though! i remember her tongue if it is four years since i heard it." "fred, fred!" said his father. "it's true, papa; is it not?" "if it is," replied his father, "it does not make it proper for you to speak in that way of one so much older than yourself, my boy. aunt patty is not coming at present; when she does come, i hope we shall all be ready to receive her kindly and respectfully." "i see you expect to find it difficult, papa," said the rogue, with a mischievous twinkle of his eye. before mr. bradford had time to answer, mrs. bradford, who had been reading her letter, exclaimed joyfully,-- "dear elizabeth rush says she will come to us at new year, and make us a long visit. i wish she could have come at christmas, as i begged her to do, but she says she has promised to remain in baltimore with her sister until after the holidays." "mamma," said bessie, "do you mean aunt bessie is coming to stay with us?" "yes, darling. are you not glad?" "indeed, i am, mamma; i do love aunt bessie, and the colonel will be glad too." "that's jolly!" exclaimed fred; and a chorus of voices about the table told that aunt bessie's coming was looked forward to with very different feelings from those which aunt patty's excited. "mamma," said maggie suddenly, as they were about leaving the table, "don't you wish you had forty children?" "forty!" exclaimed mrs. bradford, laughing. "no, that would be rather too large a family, maggie." "but, mamma, if you had forty children, the house would be so full there would never be room for aunt patty." the boys laughed, but mamma was grave in a moment. "do you remember aunt patty, my darling?" she asked, looking rather anxiously at maggie. "oh, yes, mamma, i remember her ever so well," answered poor maggie, coloring all over her face and neck, and looking as if the remembrance of aunt patty were a great distress. "i thought you had quite forgotten her, dear," said her mother. "i had, mamma, but yesterday aunt annie and miss carrie were talking about her, and then i remembered her, oh! so well, and how fierce she looked and what a loud voice she had, and how she scolded, mamma, and how angry she used to be, and oh! mamma, she's such a dreadful old person, and if you only wouldn't let her come to our house." "and, mamma," said bessie, "aunt annie said nobody had any peace from the time she came into the house until she went out, and you know we're used to peace, so we can't do without it." by this time maggie was crying, and bessie very near it. their mamma scarcely knew how to comfort them, for whatever they might have heard from annie and her friends was probably only too true; and both she and papa had too much reason to fear with bessie that the usual "peace" of their happy household would be sadly disturbed when aunt patty should come there again. for though the old lady was not so terrible as the little girls imagined her to be, her unhappy temper always made much trouble wherever she went. all that mrs. bradford could do was to tell them that they must be kind and respectful to mrs. lawrence, and so give her no cause of offence; and that in no case would she be allowed to punish or harm them. but the thing which gave them the most comfort was that aunt patty's visit was not to take place for some months, possibly not at all. then she talked of miss rush, and made pleasant plans for the time when she should be with them, and so tried to take their thoughts from aunt patty. "and uncle ruthven is coming home," said maggie. "grandmamma had a letter from him last night, and she said he promised to come before the winter was over; and _won't_ we all be happy then?" mamma kissed her little daughter's april face, on which the tears were not dry before smiles were dancing in their place, and in happy talk of uncle ruthven, aunt patty was for the time forgotten. uncle ruthven was mamma's only brother, and a famous hero in the eyes of all the children. none of them save harry had ever seen him, and he had been such a very little boy when his uncle went away ten years ago, that he could not recollect him. but his letters and the stories of his travels and adventures had always been a great delight to his young nieces and nephews; and now that he talked of coming home, they looked forward to seeing him with almost as much pleasure as if they had known him all their lives. as for the mother and the sisters who had been parted from him for so long, no words could tell how glad they were. a sad rover was uncle ruthven; it was easier to say where he had not been than where he had. he had climbed to the tops of high mountains and gone down into mines which lay far below the surface of the earth; had peeped into volcanoes and been shut up among icebergs, at one time had slung his hammock under the trees of a tropical forest, at another had rolled himself in his blankets in the frozen huts of the esquimaux; had hunted whales, bears, lions, and tigers; had passed through all manner of adventures and dangers by land and by sea; and at last was really coming home, "tired of his wanderings, to settle down beside his dear old mother and spend the rest of his days with her." so he had said in the letter which came last night, and grandmamma had read it over many times, smiled over it, cried over it, and talked of the writer, until, if maggie and bessie had doubted the fact before, they must then have been quite convinced that no other children ever possessed such a wonderful uncle as this uncle ruthven of theirs. when he would come was not quite certain,--perhaps in two months, perhaps not in three or four, while he might be here by christmas or even sooner. and now came faithful old nurse to hear the good news and to have her share in the general family joy at the return of her first nursling, her beloved "master ruthven." "and will your aunt patty be here when he comes, my dear lady?" she asked. "i think not," said mrs. bradford, at which mammy looked well pleased, though she said no more; but maggie and bessie understood the look quite well. mrs. bradford had intended by and by to talk to her children of mrs. lawrence and to tell them that she was rather odd and different from most of the people to whom they were accustomed, but that they must be patient and bear with her if she was sometimes a little provoking and cross. but now she found that they already knew quite too much, and she was greatly disturbed when she thought that it would be of little use to try and make them feel kindly towards the old lady. but the mischief had spread even farther than she had imagined. that afternoon maggie and bessie with little franky were all in their mamma's room, seated side by side upon the floor, amusing themselves with a picture-book. this book belonged to harry, who had made it himself by taking the cuts from magazines and papers and putting them in a large blank book. it was thought by all the children to be something very fine, and now maggie sat with it upon her lap while she turned over the leaves, explaining such pictures as she knew, and inventing meanings and stories for those which were new to her. presently she came to one which quite puzzled her. on the front of the picture was the figure of a woman with an eagle upon her shoulder, intended to represent america or liberty; while farther back stood a man with a gun in his hand and a lion at his side, who was meant for john bull of england. miss america had her arm raised, and appeared to be scolding mr. england in the most terrible manner. maggie could not tell the meaning of it, though she knew that the woman was america, but franky thought that he understood it very well. now master franky had a good pair of ears, and knew how to make a good use of them. he had, also, some funny ideas of his own, and like many other little children, did not always know when it was best to keep them to himself. he had heard a good deal that morning of some person named patty, who was said to scold very much; he had also heard of his uncle ruthven, and he knew that this famous uncle had hunted lions in far-away africa. the picture of the angry woman and the lion brought all this to his mind, and now he suddenly exclaimed,-- "oh, my, my! dere's a patty wis her chitten, and she stolds uncle 'utven wis his lion." this was too much for maggie. pushing the book from her knees, she threw herself back upon the carpet and rolled over, screaming with laughter at the joke of america with her eagle being mistaken for aunt patty with a chicken; bessie joined in, and franky, thinking he had said something very fine, clapped his hands and stamped his feet upon the floor in great glee. mrs. bradford herself could not help smiling, partly at the droll idea, partly at maggie's amusement; but the next moment she sighed to think how the young minds of her children had been filled with fear and dislike of their father's aunt, and how much trouble all this was likely to make. "children," said mr. bradford, that evening, "who would like to hear a true story?" papa found he was not likely to want for listeners, as three or four eager voices answered. "wait a moment, dear," he said, as bessie came to take her usual place upon his knee, and rising, he unlocked a cabinet secretary which stood at the side of the fireplace in his library. this secretary was an object of great interest to all the children, not because it held papa's private papers,--those were trifles of very little account in their eyes,--but because it contained many a relic and treasure, remembrances of bygone days, or which were in themselves odd and curious. to almost all of these belonged some interesting and true story,--things which had happened when papa was a boy, or even farther back than that time,--tales of travel and adventure in other lands, or perhaps of good and great people. so they were pleased to see their father go to his secretary when he had promised "a true story," knowing that they were sure of a treat. mr. bradford came back with a small, rather worn, red morocco case, and as soon as they were all quietly settled, he opened it. it held a miniature of a very lovely lady. her bright eyes were so sparkling with fun and mischief that they looked as if they would almost dance out of the picture, and the mouth was so smiling and lifelike that it seemed as if the rosy lips must part the next moment with a joyous, ringing laugh. her hair was knotted loosely back with a ribbon, from which it fell in just such dark, glossy ringlets as clustered about maggie's neck and shoulders. it was a very beautiful likeness of a very beautiful woman. "oh, how sweet, how lovely! what a pretty lady!" exclaimed the children, as they looked at it. "why, she looks like our maggie!" said harry. "only don't flatter yourself you are such a beauty as that, midget," said fred, mischievously. "oh, fred," said bessie, "my maggie is a great deal prettier, and i don't believe that lady was so good as maggie either." "she may have been very good," said harry, "but i don't believe she had half as sweet a temper as our midge. i'll answer for it that those eyes could flash with something besides fun; could they not, papa?" "was she a relation of yours, papa?" asked fred. "yes," answered mr. bradford, "and i am going to tell you a story about her." "one summer, a good many years ago, two boys were staying on their uncle's farm in the country. their father and mother were travelling in europe, and had left them in this uncle's care while they should be absent. it was a pleasant home, and the boys, accustomed to a city life, enjoyed it more than i can tell you. one afternoon, their uncle and aunt went out to visit some friends, giving the boys permission to amuse themselves out of doors as long as they pleased. all the servants about the place, except the old cook, had been allowed to go to a fair which was held in a village two or three miles away, so that the house and farm seemed to be quite deserted. only one other member of the family was at home, and this was an aunt whom the boys did not love at all, and they were only anxious to keep out of her way." "papa," said fred, eagerly, "what were the names of these boys and their aunt?" "ahem," said mr. bradford, with a twinkle in his eye, as he saw fred's knowing look. "well, i will call the oldest boy by my own name, henry, and the youngest we will call aleck." "oh," said fred, "and the aunt's name was, i suppose--" "henrietta," said his father, quickly; "and if you have any remarks to make, fred, please keep them until my story is done." "very well, sir," said fred, with another roguish look at harry, and his father went on. "henry was a strong, healthy boy, who had never known a day's sickness; but aleck was a weak, delicate, nervous little fellow, who could bear no excitement nor fatigue. different as they were, however, the affection between them was very great. gentle little aleck looked up to his elder and stronger brother with a love and confidence which were beautiful to see, while the chief purpose of henry's life at this time was to fulfil the charge which his mother had given him to care for aleck, and keep him as far as he could from all trouble and harm, looking upon it as a sacred trust. "there was a large old barn standing at some distance from the house, used only for the storing of hay; and as they found the sun too warm for play in the open air, henry proposed they should go there and make some boats which later they might sail in the brook. aleck was ready enough, and they were soon comfortably settled in the hayloft with their knives and bits of wood. but while they were happily working away, and just as henry was in the midst of some marvellous story, they heard a voice calling them. "'oh, dear,' said little aleck, 'there's aunt henrietta! now she'll make us go in the house, and she'll give me my supper early and send me to bed, though aunt mary said i might sit up and have tea with the rest, even if they came home late. let us hide, henry.' "no sooner said than done. the knives and chips were whisked out of sight, aleck hidden beneath the hay. henry, scrambling into an old corn-bin, covered himself with the corn-husks with which it was half filled, while the voice and its owner came nearer and nearer. "'you'd better take care; she'll hear you,' said henry, as he heard aleck's stifled laughter; and the next moment, through a crack in the bin, he saw his aunt's head appearing above the stairs. any stranger might have wondered why the boys were so much afraid of her. she was a tall, handsome lady, not old, though the hair beneath her widow's cap was white as snow. she stood a moment and cast her sharp, bright eyes around the hayloft; then, satisfied that the boys were not there, went down again, saying quite loud enough for them to hear,-- "'if i find them, i shall send henry to bed early, too; he's always leading dear little aleck into mischief. such nonsense in mary to tell that sick baby he should sit up until she came home!' "now it was a great mistake for auntie to say this of henry. he did many wrong things, but i do not think he ever led his little brother into mischief; on the contrary, his love for aleck often kept him from harm. so his aunt's words made him very angry, and as soon as he and aleck had come out of their hiding-places, he said many things he should not have said, setting a bad example to aleck, who was also displeased at being called 'a sick baby.' "'let's shut ourselves up in dan's cubby-hole,' said henry; 'she'll never think of looking for us there, if she comes back.' "dan's cubby-hole was a small room shut off from the rest of the hayloft, where one of the farm hands kept his tools; and here the boys went, shutting and bolting the door behind them. they worked away for more than an hour, when aleck asked his brother if he did not smell smoke. "'not i,' said henry; 'that little nose of yours is always smelling something, aleck.' "aleck laughed, but a few moments after declared again that he really did smell smoke and felt it too. "'they are burning stubble in the fields; it is that you notice,' said henry. but presently he sprang up, for the smell became stronger, and he saw a little wreath of smoke curling itself beneath the door. 'there is something wrong,' he said, and hastily drawing the bolt, he opened the door. what a sight he saw! heavy clouds of smoke were pouring up the stairway from the lower floor of the barn, while forked flames darted through them, showing that a fierce fire was raging below. henry sprang forward to see if the stairs were burning; but the flames, fanned by the draught that came through the door he had opened, rushed up with greater fury, and drove him back. how could he save aleck? the fire was plainly at the foot of the stairs, even if they were not already burning, while those stifling clouds of smoke rolled between them and the doors of the haymow, and were now pouring up through every chink and cranny of the floor on which he stood. not a moment was to be lost. henry ran back, and closing the door, said to his terrified brother,-- "'aleck, you must stay here one moment until i bring the ladder. i can let myself down from this little window, but cannot carry you. stand close to it, dear boy, and do not be frightened.' "stretching out from the window, he contrived to reach an old worn-out leader which would scarcely bear his weight, and to slide thence to the ground. raising the cry of 'fire!' he ran for the ladder, which should have been in its place on the other side of the barn. it was not there. frantic with terror, as he saw what headway the fire was making, he rushed from place to place in search of the missing ladder; but all in vain; it could not be found. meanwhile his cries had brought his aunt and the old cook from the house. henry ran back beneath the window of the little room where he had left aleck, and called to him to jump down into his arms, as it was the only chance of safety left. but, alas, there was no answer; the poor little boy had fainted from fright. back to the door at the foot of the stairs, which were now all in a blaze, through which he was about to rush, when his aunt's hand held him back. "'live for your father and mother. _i_ have _none_ to live for.' "with these words, she threw her dress over her head, and dashing up the burning stairs, was the next moment lost to sight. two minutes later, her voice was heard at the window. in her arms she held the senseless aleck, and when henry and the old cook stood beneath, she called to them to catch him in their arms. it was done; aleck was safe. and then letting herself from the window by her hands, she fell upon the ground beside him scarcely a moment before the flames burst upward through the floor. aleck was quite unhurt, but his aunt was badly burned on one hand and arm. she insisted, however, upon sitting up and watching him, as he was feverish and ill from fright. late in the night henry awoke, and, opening his eyes, saw his aunt kneeling by the side of the bed, and heard her thanking god that he had given her this child's life, beseeching him, oh, so earnestly, that it might be the means of turning his young heart towards her, that there might be some one in the world to love her. will you wonder if after this henry felt as if he could never be patient or forbearing enough with this poor unhappy lady?" "but what made her so unhappy, papa, and why were the boys so afraid of her?" asked maggie. "well, dear, i must say that it was her violent temper, and her wish to control every one about her, which made her so much feared not only by the boys, but by all who lived with her. but perhaps when i tell you a little more, you will think with me that there was much excuse for her. "she was the only daughter and youngest child in a large family of boys. her mother died when she was a very little baby, so that she was left to grow up without that tenderest and wisest of all care. her father and brothers loved her dearly; but i am afraid they indulged and spoiled her too much. she had a warm, generous, loving heart, but she was very passionate, and would sometimes give way to the most violent fits of temper. the poor child had no one to tell her how foolish and sinful this was, or to warn her that she was laying up trouble for herself and her friends, for her father would never suffer her to be contradicted or corrected." "papa," said bessie, as her father paused for a moment, "do you mean the story of this passionate child for a lesson to me?" "no, darling," said her father; "for i think my bessie is learning, with god's help, to control her quick temper so well that we may hope it will not give her much trouble when she is older. it is not for you more than for your brothers and sister. but i have a reason for wishing you all to see that it was more the misfortune than the fault of the little henrietta that she grew up with an ungoverned will and violent temper. whatever she wanted was given without any thought for the rights or wishes of others; so it was not strange if she soon came to consider that her will was law and that she must have her own way in all things. perhaps those who had the care of her did not know the harm they were doing; but certain it is, that this poor child was suffered to grow up into a most self-willed woman." "i am very sorry for her," said bessie, "'cause she did not have such wise people as mine to tell her what was yight." "yes, she was much to be pitied. but you must not think that this little girl was always naughty; it was not so by any means. and in spite of the faults which were never checked, she was generally very bright, engaging, and sweet. as she grew older, she became more reasonable, and as every one around her lived only for her pleasure, and she had all she desired, it was not difficult for her to keep her temper under control. it is easy to be good when one is happy. "this picture, which shows you how very lovely she was, was taken for her father about the time of her marriage, and was said to be an excellent likeness. soon after this, she went to europe with her husband and father. there she passed several delightful months, travelling from place to place, with these two whom she loved so dearly. "but now trouble, such as she had never dreamed of, came to this poor girl. they were in switzerland, and one bright, sunny day, when no one thought of a storm, her husband and father went out in a small boat on the lake of geneva. there sometimes arises over this lake a terrible north-east wind, which comes up very suddenly and blows with great violence, causing the waves to rise to a height which would be thought almost impossible by one who had not seen it. for some reason henrietta had not gone with the two gentlemen, but when she knew it was time for them to be coming in, she went down to the shore to meet them. she soon saw the boat skimming along, and could almost distinguish the faces of the two dear ones for whom she was watching, when this terrible wind came sweeping down over the water. she saw them as they struggled against it, trying with all their strength to reach the shore; but in vain. wave after wave rolled into the little boat, and before many minutes it sank. henrietta stood upon the shore, and as she stretched out her helpless hands toward them, saw her husband and father drown. do you wonder that the sight drove her frantic? that those who stood beside her could scarcely prevent her from throwing herself into those waters which covered all she loved best? then came a long and terrible illness, during which that dark hair changed to snowy white." "papa," said bessie, whose tender little heart could not bear to hear of trouble or distress which she could not comfort,--"papa, i don't like this story; it is too mournful." "i have almost done with this part of it, dear," said her father, "and i tell it to you that you may know how much need this poor woman had that others should be kind and patient with her, and how much excuse there was for her when all this sorrow and trouble made her irritable and impatient. "her brother came for her and took her home, but not one of her friends could make her happy or contented; for this poor lady did not know where to turn for the best of all comfort, and she had no strength of her own to lean upon. so the faults of temper and disposition, which had been passed over when she was young and happy, now grew worse and worse, making her so irritable and cross, so self-willed and determined, that it was almost impossible to live with her. then for years she was a great sufferer, and besides all this, other troubles came upon her,--the loss of a great part of her fortune through one whom she had trusted, and various other trials. so by degrees she drove one after another of her friends from her, until she seemed to stand quite alone in the world, and to be, as she said, 'without any one to care for her.'" "did not aleck love her after the fire?" asked bessie. "i think he was very grateful to her, dear, but i am afraid he never became very fond of her. he was a gentle, timid little fellow, and though his aunt was never harsh to him, it used to frighten him to see her severity with other people." "i'd have loved her, even if she was cross," said maggie, looking again at the picture. "i'd have been so good to her that she couldn't be unkind to me, and if she had scolded me a little, i wouldn't have minded, because i'd have been so sorry for her." "oh, midget," said harry, "you would have been frightened out of your wits at her first cross word." "no, i wouldn't, harry; and i would try to be patient, even if she scolded me like--like aunt patty." "and what if she was aunt patty?" said fred. "but then she wasn't, you know." "but she was," said papa, smiling. maggie and bessie opened their eyes very wide at this astonishing news. "you said her name was henrietta, papa," said maggie. "aunt patty's name is also henrietta," replied mr. bradford, "and when she was young, she was generally called so." "and henry was this henry, our own papa," said fred, laying his hand on his father's shoulder. "and aleck was uncle alexander, who died so long ago, before any of us were born. i guessed it at the beginning." "well, now," said mr. bradford, "if aunt patty comes to us by and by, and is not always as gentle as she might be, will my little children remember how much she has had to try her, and how much there is in her which is really good and unselfish?" the boys promised readily enough, and bessie said doubtfully that she would try, but when papa turned to maggie, she looked as shy and frightened as if aunt patty herself had asked the question. "what is my rosebud afraid of?" said mr. bradford. "papa," said maggie, "i'm so sorry for that pretty lady, but i can't be sorry for aunt patty,--and oh, papa, i--i--do wish--aunt patty wasn't"--and poor maggie broke down in a desperate fit of crying. mr. bradford feared that his story had been almost in vain so far as his little girls were concerned, and indeed it was so. they could not make the pretty lady in the picture, the poor young wife whose husband and father had been drowned before her very eyes, or the brave, generous woman who had saved little aleck, one and the same with the dreaded aunt patty. the mischief which words had done words could not so easily undo. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] v. _light through the clouds._ christmas with all its pleasures had come and gone, enjoyed perhaps as much by the policeman's children as it was by the little bradfords in their wealthier home. for though the former had not the means of the latter with which to make merry, they had contented spirits and grateful hearts, and these go far to make people happy. their tall christmas-tree and beautiful greens were not more splendid in the eyes of maggie and bessie than were the scanty wreath and two foot high cedar branch, which a good-natured market-woman had given mrs. granby, were in those of little jennie richards. to be sure, the apology for a tree was not dressed with glittering balls, rich bonbons, or rows of tapers; its branches bore no expensive toys, rare books, or lovely pictures; but the owner and the little ones for whose delight she dressed it, were quite satisfied, and only pitied those who had no tree at all. had not good mrs. granby made the most extraordinary flowers of red flannel and gilt paper,--flowers whose likeness never grew in gardens or greenhouses of any known land; had she not baked sugar cakes which were intended to represent men and women, pigs, horses, and cows? were not the branches looped with gay ribbons? did they not bear rosy-cheeked apples, an orange for each child, some cheap but much prized toys, and, better than all, several useful and greatly needed articles, which had been the gift of mrs. bradford? what did it matter if one could scarcely tell the pigs from the men? perhaps you may like to know how mrs. bradford became interested in the policeman's family. one morning, a day or two before christmas, maggie and bessie were playing baby-house in their own little room, when they heard a knock at mamma's door. maggie ran to open it. there stood a woman who looked rather poor, but neat and respectable. maggie was a little startled by the unexpected sight of a strange face, and stood holding the door without speaking. "your ma sent me up here," said the woman. "she is busy below, and she told me to come up and wait for her here." so maggie allowed the stranger to pass her, and she took a chair which stood near the door. maggie saw that she looked very cold, but had not the courage to ask her to come nearer the fire. after a moment, the woman smiled pleasantly. maggie did not return the smile, though she looked as if she had half a mind to do so; but she did not like to see the woman looking so uncomfortable, and pushing a chair close to the fire, she said, "there." the woman did not move; perhaps she, too, felt a little shy in a strange place. maggie was rather vexed that she did not understand her without more words, but summing up all her courage, she said,-- "i think if you took this seat by the fire, you'd be warmer." the woman thanked her, and took the chair, looking quite pleased. "are you the little lady who was lost a couple of months ago?" she asked. "no," said maggie, at once interested, "that was our bessie; but we found her again." "oh, yes, i know that. i heard all about her from policeman richards, who looked after her when she was up to the station." "bessie, bessie!" called maggie, "here's a woman that knows your station policeman. come and look at her." at this, bessie came running from the inner room. "well," said the woman, laughing heartily, "it is nice to be looked at for the sake of one's friends when one is not much to look at for one's self." "i think you're pretty much to look at," said bessie. "i think you have a nice, pleasant face. how is my policeman?" "he's well," said the stranger. "and so you call him your policeman; do you? well, i shall just tell him that; i've a notion it will tickle him a bit." "he's one of my policemen," said bessie. "i have three,--one who helps us over the crossing; the one who found me when i came lost; and the one who was so good to me in his station-house." "and that is my friend, sergeant richards. well, he's a mighty nice fellow." "yes, he is," said bessie, "and i'd like to see him again. are you his wife, ma'am?" "bless you, no!" said the woman; "i am nothing but mrs. granby, who lives in his house. your grandmother, mrs. stanton, sent me to your ma, who, she said, had work to give me. his poor wife, she can scarce creep about the room, let alone walking this far. not but that she's better than she was a spell back, and she'd be spryer yet, i think, but for the trouble that's weighin' on her all the time, and hinders her getting well." "does she have a great deal of trouble?" asked maggie, who by this time felt quite sociable. "doesn't she though!" answered mrs. granby. "trouble enough; and she's awful bad herself with the rheumatics, and a sickly baby, and a blind boy, and debts to pay, and that scandal of a doctor, and no way of laying up much; for the children must be fed and warmed, bless their hearts! and a police-sergeant's pay ain't no great; yes, yes, honey, lots of trouble and no help for it as i see. not that i tell them so; i just try to keep up their hearts." "why don't they tell jesus about their troubles, and ask him to help them?" asked bessie, gently. "so they do," answered mrs. granby; "but he hasn't seen best to send them help yet. i suppose he'll just take his own time and his own way to do it; at least, that's what sergeant richards says. he'll trust the lord, and wait on him, he says; but it's sore waiting sometimes. maybe all this trouble is sent to try his faith, and i can say it don't fail him, so far as i can see. but, honey, i guess you sometimes pray yourself; so to-night, when you go to bed, do you say a bit of a prayer for your friend, sergeant richards. i believe a heap in the prayers of the young and innocent; and you just ask the lord to help him out of this trouble. maybe he'll hear you; anyway, it won't do no harm; prayer never hurt nobody." "oh, mamma!" exclaimed bessie, as her mother just then entered the room, "what do you think? this very nice woman lives with my station policeman, who was so kind to me, and his name is yichards, and he has a lame baby and a sick wife and a blind boy, and no doctor to pay, and the children must be fed, and a great deal of trouble, and she don't get well because of it, and he does have trust in the lord, but he hasn't helped him yet--" "and my bessie's tongue has run away with her ideas," said mamma, laughing. "what is all this about, little one?" "about bessie's policeman," said maggie, almost as eager as her sister. "let this woman tell you. she knows him very well." "i beg pardon, ma'am," said mrs. granby. "i don't know but it was my tongue ran away with me, and i can't say it's not apt to do so; but when your little daughter was lost, it was my friend, sergeant richards, that saw to her when she was up to the station, and he's talked a deal about her, for he was mighty taken with her." "bessie told me how kind he was to her," said mrs. bradford. "yes, ma'am; there isn't a living thing that he wouldn't be kind to, and it does pass me to know what folks like him are so afflicted for. however, it's the lord's work, and i've no call to question his doings. but the little ladies were just asking me about sergeant richards, ma'am, and so i came to tell them what a peck of troubles he was in." "what are they, if you are at liberty to speak of them?" asked mrs. bradford. "any one who has been kind to my children has a special claim on me." so mrs. granby told the story, not at all with the idea of asking aid for her friends,--that she knew the good policeman and his wife would not like,--but, as she afterwards told them, because she could not help it. "the dear lady looked so sweet, and spoke so sweet, now and then asking a question, not prying like, but as if she took a real interest, not listening as if it were a duty or because she was ashamed to interrupt. and she wasn't of the kind to tell you there was others worse off than you, or that your troubles might be greater than they were. if there's a thing that aggravates me, it's that," continued mrs. granby. "i know i ought to be thankful, and so i mostly am, that i and my friends ain't no worse off than we are, and i know it's no good to be frettin' and worryin' about your trials, and settin' yourself against the lord's will; but i do say if i fall down and break my arm, there ain't a grain of comfort in hearin' that my next-door neighbor has broken both his. quite contrary; i think mine pains worse for thinkin' how his must hurt him. and now that i can't do the fine work i used to, it don't make it no easier for me to get my livin' to have it said, as a lady did to me this morning, that it would be far worse if i was blind. so it would, i don't gainsay that, but it don't help my seeing, to have it thrown up to me by people that has the full use of their eyes. mrs. bradford aint none of that sort, though, not she; and the children, bless their hearts, stood listenin' with all their ears, and i'd scarce done when the little one broke out with,-- "'oh, do help them! mamma, couldn't you help them?' "but i could see the mother was a bit backward about offerin' help, thinkin', i s'pose, that you and mary wasn't used to charity, and not knowin' how you'd take it; so she puts it on the plea of its bein' christmas time." and here mrs. granby paused, having at last talked herself out of breath. all this was true. mrs. bradford had felt rather delicate about offering assistance to the policeman's family, not knowing but that it might give offence. but when she had arranged with mrs. granby about the work, she said,-- "since your friends are so pressed just now, i suppose they have not been able to make much preparation for christmas." "precious little, ma'am," answered mrs. granby; "for sergeant richards don't think it right to spend a penny he can help when he's owin' others. but we couldn't let the children quite forget it was christmas, so i'm just goin' to make them a few cakes, and get up some small trifles that will please them. i'd have done more, only this last week, when i hadn't much work, i was fixin' up some of the children's clothes, for mrs. richards, poor soul, can't set a stitch with her cramped fingers, and there was a good deal of lettin' out and patchin' to be done." "and how are the children off for clothes?" asked mrs. bradford. "pretty tolerable, the boys, ma'am, for i've just made willie a suit out of an old uniform of his father's, and the little ones' clothes get handed down from one to another, though they don't look too fine neither. but jennie, poor child, has taken a start to grow these last few months, and i couldn't fix a thing for her she wore last winter. so she's wearin' her summer calicoes yet, and even them are very short as to the skirts, and squeezed as to the waists, which ain't good for a growin' child." "no," said mrs. bradford, smiling. "i have here a couple of merino dresses of maggie's, and a warm sack, which she has outgrown. they are too good to give to any one who would not take care of them, and i laid them aside until i should find some one to whom they would be of use. do you think mrs. richards would be hurt if i offered them to her? they will at least save some stitches." "indeed, ma'am," said mrs. granby, her eyes dancing, "you needn't be afraid; she'll be only too glad and thankful, and it was only this mornin' she was frettin' about jennie's dress. she ain't quite as cheery as her husband, poor soul; 'taint to be expected she should be, and she always had a pride in jennie's looks, but there didn't seem no way to get a new thing for one of the children this winter." "and here is a cap of franky's, and some little flannel shirts, which i will roll up in the bundle," said mrs. bradford. "they may, also, be of use." away rushed maggie when she heard this to her own room, coming back with a china dog and a small doll, which she thrust into mrs. granby's hands, begging her to take them to jennie, but to be sure not to give them to her before christmas morning. "what shall we do for the blind boy?" asked bessie. "we want to make him happy." "perhaps he would like a book," said mamma. "but he couldn't see to read it, mamma." "oh, i dare say some one would read it to him," said mrs. bradford. "does he not like that?" she asked of mrs. granby. "yes, ma'am. his mother reads to him mostly all the time when the baby is quiet. it's about all she can do, and it's his greatest pleasure, dear boy, to have her read out the books he and jennie get at sunday-school every sunday." "can he go to sunday-school when he's blind?" asked maggie. "why, yes, honey. every sunday mornin' there's a big boy that goes to the same school stops for willie and jennie, and totes them with him; and if their father or me can't go to church, he just totes them back after service. and when willie comes in with his libr'y book and his 'child's paper' and scripture text, he's as rich as a king, and a heap more contented, i guess." while mrs. granby was talking, mrs. bradford was looking over a parcel which contained some new books, and now she gave her one for blind willie's christmas gift, saying she hoped things would be ordered so that before another christmas he would be able to see. there is no need to tell mrs. granby's delight, or the thanks which she poured out. if mrs. bradford had given her a most magnificent present for herself, it would not have pleased her half so much as did these trifles for the policeman's children. that evening, after the little ones were all in bed, mrs. granby told mr. richards and his wife of all that had happened at mrs. bradford's. mrs. richards was by no means too proud to accept the lady's kindness; so pleased was she to think that she should see jennie warm and neat once more that she had no room in her heart for anything but gratitude. mrs. granby was just putting away the treasures she had been showing, when there came a rap from the old-fashioned knocker on the front-door. "sit you still, sergeant richards," she said. "i'm on my feet, and i'll just open the door." which she did, and saw a tall gentleman standing there, who asked if mr. richards was in. "he is, sir," she answered, and then saying to herself, "i hope he's got special business for him that he'll pay him well for," threw open the door of the sitting-room, and asked the gentleman in. but the police-sergeant had already done the "special business," for which the gentleman came to make return. mr. richards knew him by sight, though he had never spoken to him. "mr. bradford, i believe, sir?" he said, coming forward. "you know me then?" said the gentleman. "yes, sir," answered richards, placing a chair for his visitor. "you see i know many as don't know me. can i be of any service to you, sir?" "i came to have a talk with you, if you are at leisure," said mr. bradford. "perhaps you may think i am taking a liberty, but my wife heard to-day, through your friend, that you were in some trouble with a doctor who has attended your family, and that you have been disappointed in obtaining the services of mr. ray, who has gone to europe. i am a lawyer, you know, and if you do not object to consider me as a friend in his place, perhaps you will let me know what your difficulties are, and i may be able to help you." the policeman looked gratefully into the frank, noble face before him. "thank you, sir," he said; "you are very good, and this is not the first time that i have heard of your kindness to those in trouble. it's rather a long story, that of our difficulties, but if it won't tire you, i'll be thankful to tell it." he began far back, telling how they had done well, and been very comfortable, having even a little laid by, until about a year since, when mrs. richards' father and mother, who lived with them, had died within a month of each other. "and i couldn't bear, sir," he said, "that the old folks shouldn't have a decent burying. so that used up what we had put by for a rainy day. maybe i was foolish, but you see they were mary's people, and we had feeling about it. but sure enough, no sooner was the money gone than the rainy day came, and stormy enough it has been ever since." he went on, telling how sickness had come, one thing following another; how dr. schwitz had promised that his charges should be small, but how he never would give in his bill, the policeman and his wife thinking all the while that it was kindness which kept him from doing so; how it had taken every cent of his salary to pay the other expenses of illness, and keep the family barely warmed and fed; of the disappointment of their hopes for willie for, at least, some time to come; and finally of the terrible bill which dr. schwitz had sent through revenge, the police-sergeant thought, and upon the prompt payment of which he was now insisting. "he's hard on me, sir, after all his fair promises," said richards, as he handed mr. bradford the bill; "and you see he has me, for i made no agreement with him, and i don't know as i can rightly say that the law would not allow it to him; so, for that reason, i don't dare to dispute it. but i thought mr. ray might be able to make some arrangement with him, and i _can't_ pay it all at once, nor this long time yet, that's settled. if he would wait, i might clear it off in a year or two though how then we are to get bread to put into the children's mouths i don't see. and there is the rent to pay, you know. we have tucked the children and mrs. granby all into one room, and let out the other two up-stairs; so that's a little help. and mary was talking of selling that mahogany table and bookcase that are as dear to her as if they were gold, for they were her mother's; but they won't fetch nothing worth speaking of. the english colonel that came after your little daughter, when she was up at the station that day, was so good as to hand me a ten dollar bill, and we laid that by for a beginning; but think what a drop in the bucket that is, and it's precious little that we've added to it. i don't see my way out of this; that's just a fact, sir, and my only hope is that the lord knows all." "you say dr. schwitz tried to bribe you by saying he would send in no bill, if you allowed his nephew to escape?" said mr. bradford. "yes, sir, and i suppose i might use that for a handle against him; but i don't like to, for i can't say but that the man was real kind to me and mine before that. if he presses me too hard, i may have to; but i can't bear to do it." "will you put the matter in my hands, and let me see this dr. schwitz?" asked mr. bradford. richards was only too thankful, and after asking a little more about blind willie, the gentleman took his leave. there is no need to tell what he said to dr. schwitz, but a few days after he saw the police-sergeant again, and gave him a new bill, which was just half as much as the former one, with the promise that the doctor would wait and allow richards to pay it by degrees, on condition that it was done within the year. this, by great pinching and saving, the policeman thought he would be able to do. the good gentleman did not tell that it was only by paying part of the sum himself that he had been able to make this arrangement. "i don't know what claim i have upon you for such kindness, sir," said richards, "but if you knew what a load you have taken from me, i am sure you would feel repaid." "i am repaid, more than repaid," said mr. bradford, with a smile; "for i feel that i am only paying a debt." the policeman looked surprised. "you were very kind to my little girl when she was in trouble," said the gentleman. "oh, that, sir? who could help it? and that was a very tiny seed to bring forth such a harvest as this." "it was 'bread cast upon the waters,'" said mr. bradford, "and to those who give in the lord's name, he gives again 'good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over.'" but the policeman had not even yet gathered in the whole of his harvest. [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] vi. _uncle ruthven._ christmas brought no uncle ruthven, but christmas week brought miss elizabeth rush, the sweet "aunt bessie" whom all the children loved so dearly. and it was no wonder they were fond of her, for she was almost as gentle and patient with them as mamma herself; and, like her brother, the colonel, had a most wonderful gift of story-telling, which she was always ready to put in use for them. maggie and bessie were more than ever sure that there were never such delightful people as their own, or two such happy children as themselves. "i think we're the completest family that ever lived," said maggie, looking around the room with great satisfaction, one evening when colonel and mrs. rush were present. "yes," said bessie; "i wonder somebody don't write a book about us." "and call it 'the happy family,'" said fred, mischievously, "after those celebrated bears and dogs and cats and mice who live together in the most peaceable manner so long as they have no teeth and claws, but who immediately fall to and eat one another up as soon as these are allowed to grow." "if there is a bear among us, it must be yourself, sir," said the colonel, playfully pinching fred's ear. "i don't know," said fred, rubbing the ear; "judging from your claws, i should say you were playing that character, colonel; while i shall have to take that of the unlucky puppy who has fallen into your clutches." "i am glad you understand yourself so well, any way," returned colonel rush, drily. fred and the colonel were very fond of joking and sparring in this fashion, but bessie always looked very sober while it was going on; for she could not bear anything that sounded like disputing, even in play; and perhaps she was about right. but all this had put a new idea into that busy little brain of maggie's. "bessie," she said, the next morning, "i have a secret to tell you, and you must not tell any one else." "not mamma?" asked bessie. "no, we'll tell mamma we have a secret, and we'll let her know by and by; but i want her to be very much surprised as well as the rest of the people. bessie, i'm going to write a book, and you may help me, if you like." "oh!" said bessie. "and what will it be about, maggie?" "about ourselves. you put it in my head to do it, bessie. but then i sha'n't put in our real names, 'cause i don't want people to know it is us. i made up a name last night. i shall call my people the happys." "and shall you call the book 'the happy family'?" asked bessie. "no; i think we will call it 'the complete family,'" said maggie. "that sounds nicer and more booky; don't you think so?" "yes," said bessie, looking at her sister with great admiration. "and when are you going to begin it?" "to-day," said maggie. "i'll ask mamma for some paper, and i'll write some every day till it's done; and then i'll ask papa to take it to the bookmaker; and when the book is made, we'll sell it, and give the money to the poor. i'll tell you what, bessie, if policeman richards' blind boy is not cured by then, we'll give it to him to pay his doctor." "you dear maggie!" said bessie. "will you yite a piece that i make up about yourself?" "i don't know," said maggie; "i'll see what you say. i wouldn't like people to know it was me." the book was begun that very day, but it had gone little farther than the title and chapter first, before they found they should be obliged to take mamma into the secret at once. there were so many long words which they wished to use, but which they did not know how to spell, that they saw they would have to be running to her all the time. to their great delight, mamma gave maggie a new copy-book to write in, and they began again. as this was a stormy day, they could not go out, so they were busy a long while over their book. when, at last, maggie's fingers were tired, and it was put away, it contained this satisfactory beginning:-- "the complete family. "a tale of history. "chapter i. "once upon a time, there lived a family named happy; only that was not their real name, and you wish you had known them, and they are alive yet, because none of them have died. this was the most interesting and happiest family that ever lived. and god was so very good to them that they ought to have been the best family; but they were not except only the father and mother; and sometimes they were naughty, but 'most always afterwards they repented, so god forgave them. "this family were very much acquainted with some very great friends of theirs, and the colonel was very brave, and his leg was cut off; but now he is going to get a new leg, only it is a make believe." this was all that was done the first day; and that evening a very wonderful and delightful thing occurred, which maggie thought would make her book more interesting than ever. there had been quite a family party at dinner, for it was aunt bessie's birthday, and the colonel and mrs. rush were always considered as belonging to the family now. besides these, there were grandmamma and aunt annie, grandpapa duncan, uncle john, and aunt helen, all assembled to do honor to aunt bessie. dinner was over, and all, from grandpapa to baby, were gathered in the parlor, when there came a quick, hard pull at the door-bell. two moments later, the parlor door was thrown open, and there stood a tall, broad figure in a great fur overcoat, which, as well as his long, curly beard, was thickly powdered with snow. at the first glance, he looked, except in size, not unlike the figure which a few weeks since had crowned their christmas-tree; and in the moment of astonished silence which followed, franky, throwing back his head and clapping his hands, shouted, "santy caus, santy caus!" but it was no santa claus, and in spite of the muffling furs and the heavy beard, in spite of all the changes which ten long years of absence had made, the mother's heart, and the mother's eye knew her son, and rising from her seat with a low cry of joy, mrs. stanton stretched her hands towards the stranger, exclaiming, "my boy! ruthven, my boy!" and the next moment she was sobbing in his arms. then his sisters were clinging about him, and afterwards followed such a kissing and hand-shaking! it was an evening of great joy and excitement, and although it was long past the usual time when maggie and bessie went to bed, they could not go to sleep. at another time nurse would have ordered them to shut their eyes and not speak another word; but to-night she seemed to think it quite right and natural that they should be so very wide awake, and not only gave them an extra amount of petting and kissing, but told them stories of uncle ruthven's pranks when he was a boy, and of his wonderful sayings and doings, till mamma, coming up and finding this going on, was half inclined to find fault with the old woman herself. nurse had quite forgotten that, in those days, she told uncle ruthven, as she now told fred, that he was "the plague of her life," and that he "worried her heart out." perhaps she did not really mean it with the one more than with the other. [illustration: bessie's friends. p. .] "and to think of him," she said, wiping the tears of joy from her eyes,--"to think of him asking for his old mammy 'most before he had done with his greetings to the gentlefolks! and him putting his arm about me and giving me a kiss as hearty as he used when he was a boy; and him been all over the world seein' all sorts of sights and doin's. the lord bless him! he's got just the same noble, loving heart, if he has got all that hair about his face." uncle ruthven's tremendous beard was a subject of great astonishment to all the children. fred saucily asked him if he had come home to set up an upholsterer's shop, knowing he could himself furnish plenty of stuffing for mattresses and sofas. to which his uncle replied that when he did have his beard cut, it should be to furnish a rope to bind fred's hands and feet with. maggie was very eager to write down the account of uncle ruthven's home-coming in her history of "the complete family," and as mamma's time was more taken up than usual just now, she could not run to her so often for help in her spelling. so the next two days a few mistakes went down, and the story ran after this fashion:-- "the happys had a very happy thing happen to them witch delited them very much. they had a travelling uncle who came home to them at last; but he staid away ten years and did not come home even to see his mother, and i think he ort to don't you? but now he is come and has brought so many trunks and boxes with such lots and lots of things and kurositys in them that he is 'most like a norz' ark only better, and his gret coat and cap are made of the bears' skins he shot and he tells us about the tigers and lions and i don't like it and fred and harry do and bessie don't too. and he is so nice and he brought presents for every boddy and nurse a shawl that she's going to keep in her will till she dies for harry's wife, and he has not any and says he won't because uncle ruthven has no wife. that is all to-day my fingers are krampd." strange to say, maggie was at home with the new uncle much sooner than bessie. little bessie was not quite sure that she altogether approved of uncle ruthven, or that it was quite proper for this stranger to come walking into the house and up-stairs at all hours of the day, kissing mamma, teasing nurse, and playing and joking with the children, just as if he had been at home there all his life. neither would she romp with him as the other children did, looking gravely on from some quiet corner at their merry frolics, as if she half-disapproved of it all. so uncle ruthven nicknamed her the "princess," and always called her "your highness" and "your grace," at which bessie did not know whether to be pleased or displeased. she even looked half-doubtfully at the wonderful stories he told, though she never lost a chance of hearing one. uncle ruthven was very fond of children, though he was not much accustomed to them, and he greatly enjoyed having them with him, telling mrs. bradford that he did not know which he liked best,--bessie with her dainty, quiet, ladylike little ways, or maggie with her half-shy, half-roguish manner, and love of fun and mischief. maggie and all the boys were half wild about him, and as for baby, if she could have spoken, she would have said that never was there such an uncle for jumping and tossing. the moment she heard his voice, her hands and feet began to dance, and took no rest till he had her in his arms; while mamma sometimes feared the soft little head and the ceiling might come to too close an acquaintance. "princess," said mr. stanton, one evening, when he had been home about a fortnight, catching up bessie, as she ran past him, and seating her upon the table, "what is that name your highness calls me?" "i don't call you anything but uncle yuthven," answered bessie, gravely. "that is it," said her uncle. "what becomes of all your r's? say ruthven." "er--er--er--yuthven," said bessie, trying very hard at the r. mr. stanton shook his head and laughed. "i can talk plainer than i used to," said bessie. "i used to call aunt bessie's name very crooked, but i don't now." "what did you use to call it?" "i used to say _libasus_; but now i can say it plain, _lisabus_." "a vast improvement, certainly," said mr. stanton, "but you can't manage the r's yet, hey? well, they will come one of these days, i suppose." "they'd better," said fred, who was hanging over his uncle's shoulder, "or it will be a nice thing when she is a young lady for her to go turning all her r's into y's. people will call her crooked-tongued miss bradford." "you don't make a very pleasant prospect for me to be in," said bessie, looking from brother to uncle with grave displeasure, "and if a little boy like you, fred, says that to me when i am a big lady, i shall say, 'my dear, you are very impertinent.'" "and quite right, too," said uncle ruthven. "if all the little boys do not treat you with proper respect, princess, just bring them to me, and i will teach them good manners." bessie made no answer, for she felt rather angry, and, fearing she might say something naughty, she wisely held her tongue; and slipping from her uncle's hold, she slid to his knee, and from that to the floor, running away to aunt bessie for refuge. after the children had gone to bed, uncle ruthven went up to mrs. bradford's room, that he might have a quiet talk with this his favorite sister. mrs. bradford was rocking her baby to sleep, which business was rather a serious one, for not the least talking or moving about could go on in the room but this very young lady must have a share in it. the long lashes were just drooping upon the round, dimpled cheek when uncle ruthven's step was heard. "ah-oo-oo," said the little wide-awake, starting up with a crow of welcome to the playfellow she liked so well. mamma laid the little head down again, and held up a warning finger to uncle ruthven, who stole softly to a corner, where he was out of miss baby's sight and hearing, to wait till she should be fairly off to dreamland. this brought him near the door of maggie's and bessie's room, where, without intending it, he heard them talking. not hearing his voice, they thought he had gone away again, and presently maggie said in a low tone, that she might not rouse baby, "bessie, have you objections to uncle ruthven?" "yes," answered bessie, slowly,--"yes, maggie, i think i have. i try not to, but i'm 'fraid i do have a little objections to him." "but why?" asked maggie. "_i_ think he is lovely." "i don't know," said bessie. "but, maggie, don't you think he makes pretty intimate?" "why, yes," said maggie; "but then he's our uncle, you know. i guess he has a right if he has a mind to." "but he makes more intimate than uncle john, and we've known him ever so long, and uncle yuthven only a little while. why, maggie, he kisses mamma!" "well, he is her own brother," said maggie, "and uncle john is only her step-brother,--no, that's not it--her brother-of-law--that's it." "what does that mean, maggie?" "it means when somebody goes and marries your sister. if somebody married me, he'd be your brother-of-law." "he sha'n't!" said bessie, quite excited. "he's a horrid old thing, and he sha'n't do it!" "who sha'n't do what?" asked maggie, rather puzzled. "that person, that brother-of-law; he sha'n't marry you; you are my own maggie." "well, he needn't if you don't want him to," said maggie, quite as well contented to settle it one way as the other. "and you needn't feel so bad, and sit up in bed about it, bessie, 'cause you'll take cold, and mamma forbid it." "so she did," said bessie, lying down again with a sigh. "maggie, i'm 'fraid i'm naughty to-night. i forgot what mamma told me, and i was naughty to uncle yuthven." "what did you say?" "i didn't _say_ anything, but i felt very passionate, and i thought naughty things,--how i'd like to give him a good slap when he teased me, and, maggie, for a moment i 'most thought i wished he did not come home. i am going to tell him i'm sorry, the next time he comes." "i wouldn't," said maggie, who was never as ready as bessie to acknowledge that she had been wrong; "not if i didn't do or say anything." "i would," said bessie. "it is naughty to feel so; and you know there's no 'scuse for me to be passionate like there was for aunt patty, 'cause my people are so very wise, and teach me better. and it grieves jesus when we feel naughty, and he saw my naughty heart to-night." "then ask him to forgive you," said maggie. "so i did; but i think he'll know i want to be better if i ask uncle yuthven too." "well," said maggie, "maybe he will. but, bessie, why do you speak about yourself as if you are like aunt patty. you're not a bit like her." "but i might be, if i wasn't teached better," said bessie, "and if jesus didn't help me. poor aunt patty! papa said she was to be pitied." "i sha'n't pity her, i know," said maggie. "but, maggie, mamma said we ought to try and feel kind to her, and to be patient and good to her when she came here, 'cause she's getting very old, and there's nobody to love her, or take care of her. i am 'fraid of her, but i am sorry for her." "if she has nobody to take care of her, let her go to the orphan asylum," said maggie. "i just hope papa will send her there, 'cause we don't want to be bothered with her." "and don't you feel a bit sorry for her, maggie?" "no, not a bit; and i'm not going to, either. she is quite a disgrace to herself, and so she'd better stay at her house up in the mountains." maggie, in her turn, was growing quite excited, as she always did when she talked or thought of aunt patty. it was some time since the children had done either, for christmas, aunt bessie, and uncle ruthven had given them so much else to think about, that they had almost forgotten there was such a person. and now mamma, who had laid baby in her cradle, coming in to stop the talking, was sorry to hear her little girls speaking on the old, disagreeable subject. she told them they must be still, and go to sleep. the first command was obeyed at once, but maggie did not find the second quite so easy; and she lay awake for some time imagining all kinds of possible and impossible quarrels with aunt patty, and inventing a chapter about her for "the complete family." while little maggie was thinking thus of aunt patty, the old lady, in her far-away home, was wondering how she might best contrive to gain the hearts of her young nieces and nephews, for she was not the same woman she had been four years ago. during the last few months a new knowledge and a new life had come to her, making her wish to live in peace and love with every one. but she did not know how to set about this; for the poor lady had grown old in the indulgence of a bad temper, a proud spirit, and a habit of desiring to rule all about her; and now it was not easy to change all this. she had humbled herself at the feet of her lord and saviour, but it was hard work to do it before her fellow-men. she could not quite resolve to say to those whom she had grieved and offended by her violence and self-will, "i have done wrong, but now i see my sin, and wish, with god's help, to lead a new life." still, she longed for the love and friendship she had once cast from her, and her lonely heart craved for some care and affection. she well knew that mr. and mrs. bradford would be only too ready to forgive and forget all that was disagreeable in the past, and she also felt that they would do nothing to prejudice the minds of their children against her. she thought she would go to them, and try to be gentle and loving, and so perhaps she should win back their hearts, and gain those of their little ones. but old habit and the old pride were still strong within her, and so, when she wrote to mr. bradford to say she was coming to make them a visit, she gave no sign that she was sorry for the past, and would like to make amends. but shortly before the time she had fixed for the visit, something happened which caused her to change her purpose, and she chose to say nothing of her reasons for this, only sending word that she could not come before spring, perhaps not then. now, again she had altered her plans, and this time she chose to take them all by surprise, and to go to mr. bradford's without warning. "margaret," said mr. stanton softly, as his sister came from the bedside of her little girls, and they went to the other side of the room, "what a sensitive conscience your darling little bessie has! it seems i vexed her to-night, though i had no thought of doing so. i saw she was displeased, but the feeling seemed to pass in a moment. now i find that she is so penitent for indulging in even a wrong feeling that she cannot rest satisfied without asking pardon, not only of her heavenly father, but also of me." and he told mrs. bradford of all he had heard the children say, with some amusement, as he repeated the conversation about himself. "yes," said mrs. bradford, "my dear little bessie's quick temper gives her some trouble. i am often touched to see her silent struggles with herself when something tries it, how she forces back each angry word and look, and faithfully asks for the help which she knows will never fail her. but with that tender conscience, and her simple trust in him who has redeemed her, i believe all the strength she needs will be granted. god only knows how thankful i am that he has thus early led my precious child to see the sin and evil of a passionate and unchecked temper, and so spared her and hers the misery which i have seen it cause to others." uncle ruthven came in the next morning, and, as usual, "making intimate," ran up to mamma's room. she was not there; but maggie and bessie were, busy over "the complete family." but maggie did not look at all as if she belonged to the happys just then. she had composed, what she thought, a very interesting chapter about aunt patty, and commenced it in this way: "there came to the happys a very great aflekshun." but when she had written this last word, she had her doubts about the spelling, and carried the book to mamma to see if it were right. mamma inquired what the affliction was, and finding, as she supposed, that it was aunt patty, she told maggie she did not wish her to write about her. maggie was very much disappointed, and even pouted a little, and she had not quite recovered when her uncle came in. in his hand he carried a little basket of flowers, which the children supposed was for mamma, and which he stood upon the table. bessie loved flowers dearly, and in a moment she was hanging over them, and enjoying their sweetness. uncle ruthven asked what they were about, and to bessie's surprise, maggie took him at once into the secret, telling him all about "the complete family" and her present trouble. uncle ruthven quite agreed with mamma that it was not wisest and best to write anything unkind of aunt patty, and told maggie of some very pleasant things she might relate, so that presently she was smiling and good-natured again. then mr. stanton took bessie up in his arms. "bessie," he said, "did i vex you a little last night?" bessie colored all over, but looking her uncle steadily in the eyes, answered, "yes, sir; and i am sorry i felt so naughty." "nay," said uncle ruthven, smiling, "if i teased you, although i did not intend it, i am the one to beg pardon." "but i was pretty mad, uncle, and i felt as if i wanted to be naughty. i think i ought to be sorry." "as you please then, darling; we will forgive one another. and now would you like this little peace-offering from uncle ruthven?" and he took up the basket of flowers. "is that for me?" asked bessie, her eyes sparkling. "yes. i thought perhaps i had hurt your feelings last night, and so i brought it to you that you might see _i_ was sorry." "but i could believe you without that." bessie felt reproached that she had told maggie she had "objections to uncle ruthven," and now she felt as if they had all flown away. "perhaps you could," said uncle ruthven, smiling as he kissed her; "but the flowers are your own to do with as you please. and now you must remember that i am not much accustomed to little girls, and do not always know what they like and what they do not like; so you must take pity on the poor traveller, if he makes a mistake now and then, and believe he always wishes to please you and make you love him as far as he knows how." [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] vii. _an unexpected visitor._ uncle ruthven had brought home with him two servants, the elder of whom was a swede, and did not interest the children much, being, as maggie said, such a "very broken englishman" that they could scarcely understand him. but the other was a little persian boy about twelve years old, whom a sad, or rather a happy accident, had thrown into mr. stanton's hands. riding one day through the streets of a persian town, as he turned a corner, this boy ran beneath his horse's feet, was thrown down and badly hurt. mr. stanton took him up and had him kindly cared for, and finding that the boy was an orphan, with no one to love him, he went often to see him, and soon became much interested in the grateful, affectionate little fellow; while hafed learned to love dearly the only face which looked kindly upon him. when the time came for mr. stanton to go away, hafed's grief was terrible to see, and he clung so to this new friend, that the gentleman could not find it in his heart to leave him. it was not difficult to persuade those who had the care of him to give him up; they were only too glad to be rid of the charge. so, at some trouble to himself, mr. stanton had brought him away. but if he needed payment, he found it in hafed's happy face and tireless devotion to himself. he was less of a servant than a pet; but his master did not mean him to grow up in idleness and ignorance, and as soon as he knew a little english, he was to go to school to learn to read and write; but at present he was allowed time to become accustomed to his new home. the children thought him a great curiosity, partly because of his foreign dress, and that he had come from such a far-off country; partly because he could speak only half a dozen english words. hafed took a great fancy to the little girls, and was never happier than when his master took him to mr. bradford's house, and left him to play with them for a while. maggie and bessie liked him also, and they immediately set about teaching him english. as yet, he knew only four or five words, one of which was "missy," by which name he called every one who wore skirts, not excepting franky, who considered it a great insult. maggie was very eager to have him learn new words, and was constantly showing him something and repeating the name over and over till he could say it. but though he took great pains, and was an apt scholar, he did not learn fast enough to satisfy maggie. "hafed," she said to him one day, holding up her doll, "say 'doll.'" "_dole_," repeated hafed, in his soft, musical tones. "doll," said maggie, not at all satisfied with his pronunciation, and speaking in a louder voice, as if hafed could understand the better for that. "dole," said hafed again, with a contented smile. "d-o-o-ll," shrieked maggie, in the ear of her patient pupil, with no better success on his part. miss rush was sitting by, and she called maggie to her. "maggie, dear," she said, "you must not be impatient with hafed. i am sure he tries his best; but you must remember it is hard work for that little foreign tongue of his to twist itself to our english words. he will learn to pronounce them in time." "but, aunt bessie," said maggie, "mamma said it was always best to learn to do a thing well at first, and then one will not have to break one's self of bad habits." "and so it is, dear; but then we cannot always do that at once. when mamma teaches you french, you cannot always pronounce the words as she does; can you?" "no; ma'am; but those are hard french words, and we are trying to teach hafed english, and that is so easy." "easy to you, dear, who are accustomed to it, but not to him. it is even harder for him to frame the english words than it is for you to repeat the french; and you should be gentle and patient with him, as mamma is with you." the little persian felt the cold very much, and delighted to hang about the fires and registers. he had a way of going down on his knees before the fire, and holding up both hands with the palms towards the blaze. the first time nurse saw him do this, she was quite shocked. "the poor little heathen," she said. "well, i've often heard of them fire-worshippers, but i never expected to see one, at least, in this house. i shall just make so bold as to tell mr. ruthven he ought to teach him better." but hafed was no fire-worshipper, for he had been taught better, and thanks to his kind master, did not bow down to that or any other false god. it was only his delight in the roaring blaze which had brought him down in front of it, not, as nurse thought, the wish to pray to it. "let's teach him about jesus," said bessie to her sister. "first, we'll teach him to say it, and then he'll want to know who he is." so kneeling down beside the little stranger, she took his hand in hers, and pointing upwards said, "jesus." the boy's face lighted up immediately, and to bessie's great delight, he repeated jesus in a tone so clear and distinct as to show it was no new word to him. he had a pretty way when he wished to say he loved a person, of touching his fingers to his lips, laying them on his own heart, and then on that of the one for whom he wished to express his affection. now, at the sound of the name, which he, as well as bessie, had learned to love, he tried, by a change in the pretty sign, to express his meaning. touching first bessie's lips and then her heart with the tips of his fingers, he softly blew upon them, as if he wished to waft to heaven the love he could not utter in words, saying, "missy--jesus?" bessie understood him. she knew he wished to ask if she loved jesus, and with a sunny face, she answered him with a nod, asking, in her turn, "do you, hafed,--do you love jesus?" the boy went through the same sign with his own heart and lips, saying, "hafed--jesus," and bessie turned joyfully to her sister. "he knows him, maggie. we won't have to teach him; he knows our jesus, and he loves him too. oh, i'm so glad!" "now the good shepherd, that has called ye to be his lambs, bless you both," said old nurse, with the tears starting to her eyes. "that's as cheering a sight as i want to see; and there was me a misjudging of my boy. i might have known him better than to think he'd let one as belonged to him go on in darkness and heathendom." nurse always called mr. stanton her "boy" when she was particularly pleased with him. from this time hafed was almost as great a favorite with nurse as he was with the children, and seeing how gentle and thoughtful he was, she would even sometimes leave them for a few moments in his care. one morning mamma and aunt bessie were out, and jane, who was sick, had gone to bed. hafed was in the nursery playing with the children, when the chamber-maid came in to ask nurse to go to jane. nurse hesitated at first about leaving her charge, but they all said they would be good, and hafed should take care of them. nurse knew that this was a safe promise from maggie and bessie, but she feared that, with every intention of being good, mischievous franky would have himself or the others in trouble if she stayed away five minutes. "see here," she said, "i'll put ye all into the crib, and there ye may play omnibus till i come back. that will keep ye out of harm's way, franky, my man, for if there's a chance for you to get into mischief, ye'll find it." this was a great treat, for playing in the cribs and beds was not allowed without special permission, and franky, being provided with a pair of reins, and a chair turned upside down for a horse, took his post as driver, in great glee; while the three little girls were packed in as passengers, maggie holding the baby. hafed was rather too large for the crib, so he remained outside, though he, too, enjoyed the fun, even if he did not quite understand all it meant. then, having with many pointings and shakings of her head made hafed understand that he was not to go near the fire or windows, or to let the children fall out of the crib, mammy departed. they were all playing and singing as happy as birds, when the nursery-door opened, and a stranger stood before them. in a moment every voice was mute, and all five children looked at her in utter astonishment. she was an old lady, with hair as white as snow, tall and handsome; but there was something about her which made every one of the little ones feel rather shy. they gazed at her in silence while she looked from one to another of them, and then about the room, as if those grave, stern eyes were taking notice of the smallest thing there. "well!" exclaimed the old lady, after a moment's pause, "this is a pretty thing!" by this time bessie's politeness had gained the better of her astonishment, and scrambling to her feet, she stood upright in the crib. as the stranger's eyes were fixed upon hafed as she spoke, the little girl supposed the "pretty thing" meant the dress of the young persian, which the children thought very elegant; and she answered, "yes, ma'am, but he is not to wear it much longer, 'cause the boys yun after him in the street, so uncle yuthven is having some english clothes made for him." "where is your mother?" asked the old lady, without other notice of bessie's speech. "gone out with aunt bessie, ma'am." "and is there nobody left to take care of you?" "oh, yes, ma'am," answered bessie. "maggie and i are taking care of the children, and hafed is taking care of us." "humph!" said the old lady, as if she did not think this at all a proper arrangement. "i shall give margaret a piece of my mind about this." bessie now opened her eyes very wide. "papa don't allow it," she said, gravely. "don't allow what?" asked the stranger, rather sharply. "don't allow mamma to be scolded." "and who said i was going to scold her?" "you said you were going to give her a piece of your mind, and pieces of mind mean scoldings, and we never have mamma scolded, 'cause she never deserves it." "oh!" said the old lady, with a half-smile, "then she is better than most people." "yes, ma'am," answered bessie, innocently, "she is better than anybody, and so is papa." "just as well _you_ should think so," said the lady, now smiling outright. "and you are maggie--no--bessie, i suppose." "yes, ma'am. i am bessie, and this is maggie, and this is baby, and this is franky, and this is hafed," said the child, pointing in turn to each of her playmates. "and is there no one but this little mountebank to look after you?" asked the old lady. "where is your nurse?" "she is coming back in a few minutes," answered bessie. "and hafed is not a--a--that thing you called him, ma'am. he is only a little persian whom uncle yuthven brought from far away over the sea, and he's a very good boy. he does not know a great many of our words, but he tries to learn them, and he knows about our jesus, and tries to be a good little boy." dear bessie wished to say all she could in praise of hafed, whom she thought the old lady looked at with displeasure. perhaps hafed thought so, also, for he seemed very much as if he would like to hide away from her gaze. meanwhile maggie sat perfectly silent. when the old lady had first spoken, she started violently, and, clasping her arms tightly about the baby, looked more and more frightened each instant; while baby, who was not usually shy, nestled her little head timidly against her sister's shoulder, and stared at the stranger with eyes of grave infant wonder. "and so you are maggie," said the lady, coming closer to the crib. poor maggie gave a kind of gasp by way of answer. "do you not know me, maggie?" asked the old lady, in a voice which she intended to be coaxing. to bessie's dismay, maggie burst into one of those sudden and violent fits of crying, to which she would sometimes give way when much frightened or distressed. "why, why!" said the stranger, as the baby, startled by maggie's sobs, and the way in which she clutched her, raised her voice also in a loud cry. "why, why! what is all this about? do you not know your aunt patty?" aunt patty! was it possible? at this astounding and alarming news, bessie plumped down again in the bed beside maggie, amazed at herself for having dared to speak so boldly to that terrible person. and yet she had not seemed so terrible, nor had she felt much afraid of her till she found out who she was. but now mrs. lawrence was losing patience. certainly she had not had a very pleasant reception. coming cold and tired from a long journey, she had found her host and hostess out, and no one but the servants to receive her. this was her own fault, of course, since she had not told mr. and mrs. bradford to expect her; but that did not make it the less annoying to her. it is not always the easier to bear a thing because we ourselves are to blame for it. however, she had made up her mind not to be vexed about it, and at once went to the nursery to make acquaintance with the children. but the greeting she received was not of a kind to please any one, least of all a person of aunt patty's temper. and there was worse still to come. "what is the meaning of all this?" asked mrs. lawrence, in an angry tone. "here, maggie, give me that child, and stop crying at once." as she spoke, she tried to take the baby, but poor maggie, now in utter despair, shrieked aloud for nurse, and held her little sister closer than before. aunt patty was determined, however, and much stronger than maggie, and in another minute the baby was screaming in her arms. "oh, maggie, why don't somebody come?" cried bessie. "oh, do say those words to her?" maggie had quite forgotten how she had intended to alarm aunt patty if she interfered with them; but when bessie spoke, it came to her mind, and the sight of her baby sister in the old lady's arms was too much for her. springing upon her feet, she raised her arm after the manner of the woman in the picture, and gasped out, "beware, woman!" for a moment aunt patty took no notice of her, being occupied with trying to soothe the baby. "beware, woman!" cried maggie, in a louder tone, and stamping her foot. mrs. lawrence turned and looked at her. "beware, woman!" shrieked maggie, and bessie, thinking it time for her to come to her sister's aid, joined in the cry, "beware, woman!" while franky, always ready to take part in any disturbance, struck at aunt patty with his whip, and shouted, "'ware, woman!" and hafed, knowing nothing but that this old lady had alarmed and distressed his young charge, and that it was his duty to protect them, raised his voice in a whoop of defiance, and snatching up the hearth-brush, brandished it in a threatening manner as he danced wildly about her. nor was this all, for flossy, who had also been taken into the crib as a passenger, commenced a furious barking, adding greatly to the uproar. [illustration: bessie's friends. p. .] it would be difficult to say which was the greatest, aunt patty's astonishment or her anger; and there is no knowing what she would have done or said, for at this moment the door opened, and uncle ruthven appeared. for a moment he stood perfectly motionless with surprise. it was indeed a curious scene upon which he looked. in the centre of the room stood an old lady who was a stranger to him, holding in her arms the screaming baby; while around her danced his own little servant-boy, looking as if he might be one of the wild dervishes of his own country; and in the crib stood his young nieces and franky, all shouting, "beware, woman!" over and over again. but aunt patty had not the least idea of "running away, never to be seen again," and if her conscience were "guilty," it certainly did not seem to be at all alarmed by anything maggie or bessie could do. nevertheless, mr. stanton's appearance was a great relief to her. baby ceased her loud cries, and stretched out her dimpled arms to her uncle, with a beseeching whimper; hafed paused in his antics, and stood like a statue at sight of his master; and the three other children all turned to him with exclamations of "oh, uncle ruthven; we're so glad!" and "please don't leave us," from maggie and bessie; and "make dat patty be off wiz herself," from franky. mr. stanton recovered himself in a moment, and bowing politely to mrs. lawrence, said, with a smile sparkling in his eye, "i fear you are in some trouble, madam; can i help you?" "help me?" repeated the old lady; "i fear you will want help yourself. why, it must need half a dozen keepers to hold these little bedlamites in any kind of order." "they are usually orderly enough," answered mr. stanton as he took baby from aunt patty, who was only too glad to give her up; "but i do not understand this. what is the matter, maggie, and where is nurse?" but maggie only answered by a new burst of sobs, and bessie spoke for her. "she's aunt patty, uncle yuthven; she says she is." "well," said uncle ruthven, more puzzled than ever, for he knew little of mrs. lawrence, save that she was mr. bradford's aunt, "and do you welcome her with such an uproar as this? tell me where nurse is, bessie." as he spoke, nurse herself came in, answering his question with, "here i am, sir, and--" nurse, in her turn, was so astonished by the unexpected sight of aunt patty that she stood quite still, gazing at her old enemy. but, as she afterwards said, she presently "recollected her manners," and dropping a stiff courtesy to mrs. lawrence, she took the baby from mr. stanton, and in a few words explained the cause of her ten minutes' absence. the tearful faces of her nurslings, and that of aunt patty, flushed and angry, gave nurse a pretty good guess how things had been going while she had been away, but she saw fit to ask no questions. "my lady is out, ma'am," she said, with a grim sort of politeness to mrs. lawrence, "and i think she was not looking for you just now, or she would have been at home." then mr. stanton introduced himself, and asking mrs. lawrence if she would let him play the part of host till his sister came home, he offered the old lady his arm, and led her away. poor aunt patty! she scarcely knew what to do. the old angry, jealous temper and the new spirit which had lately come to dwell in her heart were doing hard battle, each striving for the victory. she thought, and not without reason, that her nephew's little children must have been taught to fear and dislike her, when they could receive her in such a manner; and the evil spirit said, "go, do not remain in a house where you have been treated so. leave it, and never come back to it. you have been insulted! do not bear it! tell these people what you think of their unkindness, and never see them again." but the better angel, the spirit of the meek and lowly master, of whom she was striving to learn, said, "no, stay, and try to overcome evil with good. this is all your own fault, the consequence of your own ungoverned and violent temper. your very name has become a name of fear to these innocent children; but you must bear it, and let them find they have no longer cause to dread you. and do not be too proud to let their parents see that you are sorry for the past, and wish it to be forgotten. if this is hard, and not what you would have expected, remember how much they have borne from you in former days; how patient and gentle and forbearing they were." then, as her anger cooled down, she began to think how very unlikely it was that mr. or mrs. bradford had said or done anything which could cause their children to act in the way maggie and bessie had done that morning. this was probably the work of others who remembered how perverse and trying she had been during her last visit. and aunt patty was forced to acknowledge to herself that it was no more than she deserved, or might have looked for. and so, trying to reason herself into better humor, as she thought the matter over, she began to see its droll side (for aunt patty had a quick sense of fun) and to find some amusement mingling with her vexation at the singular conduct of the children. meanwhile, mr. stanton, who saw that the poor lady had been greatly annoyed, and who wondered much at all the commotion he had seen in the nursery, though, like nurse, he thought it wisest to ask no questions, was doing his best to make her forget it; and so well did he succeed, that presently mrs. lawrence found herself, she scarcely knew how, laughing heartily with him as she related the story of maggie's strange attack upon her. mr. stanton understood it no better than she did, perhaps not so well; but he was very much amused; and as he thought these young nieces and nephews of his were very wonderful little beings, he told aunt patty many of their droll sayings and doings, making himself so agreeable and entertaining, that by the time his sister came in, the old lady had almost forgotten that she had cause to be offended, and was not only quite ready to meet mrs. bradford in a pleasant manner, but actually went so far as to apologize for taking them all by surprise. this was a great deal to come from aunt patty. she would not have spoken so four years ago; but mrs. bradford was not more surprised by this than she was at the difference in look and manner which now showed itself in the old lady. surely, some great change must have come to her; and her friends, seeing how much more patient and gentle she was than in former days, could not but think it was the one blessed change which must come to the hearts of those who seek for love and peace by the true way. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] viii. _franky._ but although such a great and delightful alteration had taken place in mrs. lawrence, and although mrs. bradford and miss rush did all they could to make the children feel kindly towards her, it was some days before things went at all smoothly between the old lady and the little ones, and annie stanton, seeing the consequence of her thoughtlessness, had more than once reason to regret it, and to take to herself a lesson to refrain from evil speaking. maggie and bessie, it is true, were too old and too well behaved to speak their fear and their dislike openly, by word or action, but it was plainly to be seen in their looks and manners. poor aunt patty! she heard the sweet, childish voices prattling about the house, ringing out so freely and joyfully in peals of merry laughter, or singing to simple music the pretty hymns and songs their dear mother and mrs. rush had taught them; but the moment she appeared, sweet song, innocent talk, and gay laugh were hushed; the little ones were either silent, or whispered to one another in subdued, timid tones. little feet would come pattering, or skipping along the hall, a small, curly head peep within the door, and then vanish at sight of her, while a whisper of "she's there; let's run," told the cause of its sudden disappearance. she saw them clinging around their other friends and relations with loving confidence, climbing upon their knees, clasping their necks, pressing sweet kisses on their cheeks and lips, asking freely for all the interest, sympathy, and affection they needed. father and mother, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, colonel and mrs. rush, the very servants, who had been long in the house, all came in for a share of childish love and trust. but for her they had nothing but shy, downcast looks, timid, half-whispered answers; they shrank from the touch of her hand, ran from her presence. yes, poor aunt patty! the punishment was a severe one, and, apart from the pain it gave her, it was hard for a proud spirit such as hers to bear. but she said nothing, did not even complain to mrs. bradford of the reception she had met with from maggie and bessie, and it was only by uncle ruthven's account and the confession of the little girls that their mamma knew what had occurred. on the morning after mrs. lawrence's arrival, maggie, as usual, brought the "complete family" to her mother to have the spelling corrected, and mrs. bradford found written, "'beware, woman!' is not a bit of use. it don't frighten people a bit; not even gilty conshuns, and uncle john just teased me i know. it is real mean." mamma asked the meaning of this, and, in a very aggrieved manner, maggie told her of uncle john's explanation of the picture, and how she thought she would try the experiment on aunt patty when she had insisted on taking the baby. "but it was all of no purpose, mamma," said maggie, in a very injured tone; "she did not care at all, but just stood there, looking madder and madder." mamma could scarcely wonder that aunt patty had looked "madder and madder," and she told maggie that she thought her aunt wished to be kind and good since she had not uttered one word of complaint at the rude reception she had met with. but the little girl did not see it with her mother's eyes, and could not be persuaded to think less hardly of aunt patty. but that rogue, franky, was not afraid to show his feelings. he was a bold little monkey, full of life and spirits, and always in mischief; and now he seemed to have set himself purposely to defy and brave mrs. lawrence, acting as if he wished to see how far he could go without meeting punishment at her hands. this sad behavior of franky's was particularly unfortunate, because the old lady had taken a special love for the little boy, fancying he looked like the dear father who so many years ago had been drowned beneath the blue waters of the swiss lake. a day or two after aunt patty came, she, with mrs. bradford and miss rush, was in the parlor with three or four morning visitors. franky had just learned to open the nursery door for himself, and this piece of knowledge he made the most of, watching his chance and slipping out the moment nurse's eye was turned from him. finding one of these opportunities for which he was so eager, he ran out and went softly down-stairs, fearing to hear nurse calling him back. but nurse did not miss him at first, and he reached the parlor in triumph. here the door stood partly open, and putting in his head, he looked around the room. no one noticed the roguish little face, with its mischievous, dancing eyes, for all the ladies were listening to aunt patty, as she told them some very interesting anecdote. suddenly there came from the door, in clear, childish tones, "ladies, ladies, does patty stold oo? oo better wun away, she stolds very dreadful." after which master franky ran away himself as fast as his feet could carry him, laughing and chuckling as he mounted the stairs, as if he had done something very fine. mrs. lawrence went straight on with her story, not pausing for an instant, though that she heard quite as plainly as any one else was to be seen by the flush of color on her cheek, and the uplifting of the already upright head. as for poor mrs. bradford, it was very mortifying for her; but what was to be done? nothing, just nothing, as far as aunt patty was concerned. it was not a thing for which pardon could well be asked or an apology made, and mrs. bradford thought the best way was to pass it over in silence. she talked very seriously to franky, but it seemed impossible to make the little boy understand that he had done wrong; and, although nothing quite as bad as this occurred again for several days, he still seemed determined to make war upon aunt patty whenever he could find a chance of doing so. and yet, strange to say, this unruly young gentleman was the first one of the children to make friends with his old auntie; and it came about in this way:-- aunt bessie had brought as her christmas gift to franky a tiny pair of embroidered slippers, which were, as her namesake said, "perferly cunning," and in which the little boy took great pride. nurse, also, thought a great deal of these slippers, and was very choice of them, allowing franky to wear them only while she was dressing or undressing him. but one day when she brought him in from his walk, she found his feet very cold, and taking off his walking-shoes, she put on the slippers, and planted him in front of the fire, telling him to "toast his toes." no sooner did the little toes begin to feel at all comfortable than franky looked around for some way of putting them to what he considered their proper use; namely, trotting about. that tempting nursery-door stood ajar, nurse's eyes were turned another way, and in half a minute he was off again. mammy missed him very soon, and sent jane to look for him. she met him coming up-stairs, and brought him back to the nursery with a look in his eye which nurse knew meant that he had been in mischief. and was it possible? he was in his stocking feet! the precious slippers were missing. in vain did the old woman question him; he would give her no answer, only looking at her with roguishness dancing in every dimple on his chubby face; and in vain did jane search the halls and staircase. so at last nurse took him to his mother, and very unwilling he was to go, knowing right well that he had been naughty, and that now he would be obliged to confess it. "where are your slippers, franky?" asked mrs. bradford, when nurse had told her story. franky hung his head and put his finger into his mouth, then lifted his face coaxingly to his mother for a kiss. "mamma cannot kiss you till you are a good boy," said mrs. bradford, and repeated her question, "where are your slippers?" "in patty's pottet," said franky, seeing that his mother would have an answer, and thinking he had best have it out. "and how came they in aunt patty's pocket?" "she put dem dere hersef," answered the child. "did she take them off your feet, franky?" "no, mamma," answered franky, liking these questions still less than he had done the others. "how did they come off then?" "me trow dem at patty," said franky. at last, after much more questioning and some whimpering from the child, he was brought to confess that he had gone to the library, where he found aunt patty. defying her as usual, and trying how far he could go, without punishment, he had called her "bad old sing," and many other naughty names; but finding this did not bring the expected scolding, he had pulled off first one and then the other of his slippers and thrown them at the old lady. these mrs. lawrence had picked up and put in her pocket, still without speaking. little franky could not tell how sorrow and anger were both struggling in her heart beneath that grave silence. when mrs. bradford had found out all franky could or would tell, she told him he was a very naughty little boy, and since he had behaved so badly to aunt patty, he must go at once and ask her pardon. this franky had no mind to do. he liked very well to brave aunt patty from a safe distance; but he did not care to trust himself within reach of the punishment he knew he so justly deserved. besides, he was in a naughty, obstinate mood, and would not obey his mother as readily as usual. but mamma was determined, as it was right she should be, and after rather a hard battle with her little son, she carried him down-stairs, still sobbing, but subdued and penitent, to beg aunt patty's forgiveness. "me sorry, me do so any more," said franky, meaning he would do so no more. to his surprise, and also somewhat to his mother's, the old lady caught him in her arms, and covered his face with kisses, while a tear or two shone in her eye. "don't ky; me dood now," lisped franky, forgetting all his fear, and putting up his hand to wipe away her tears; and from this minute aunt patty and franky were the best of friends. indeed, so indulgent did she become to him, that papa and mamma were quite afraid he would be spoiled; for the little gentleman, finding out his power, lorded it over her pretty well. mrs. bradford, coming in unexpectedly one day, actually found the old lady on her hands and knees, in a corner, playing the part of a horse eating hay from a manger; while franky, clothes-brush in hand, was, much to his own satisfaction, pretending to rub her down, making the hissing noise used by coachmen when they curry a horse, and positively refusing to allow his patient playfellow to rise. but maggie and bessie could not be persuaded to be at all friendly or sociable with aunt patty. true, after their first dread of her wore off, and they found she was by no means so terrible as they had imagined, they no longer scampered off at the least sound of her voice or glimpse of her skirts, as they had done at first; and bessie even found courage to speak to her now and then, always looking however, as if she thought she was running a great risk, and could not tell what would be the consequence of such boldness. for after all they had heard, our little girls found it impossible to believe that such a great change had taken place in aunt patty, and were always watching for some outbreak of temper. unhappily there was one thing which stood much in aunt patty's way, not only with the children, but perhaps with some grown people also, and that was her old way of meddling and finding fault with things which did not concern her. this she did, almost without knowing it; for so it is, where we have long indulged in a habit, it becomes, as it were, a part of ourselves, and the older we grow, the harder it is to rid ourselves of it. and there are few things which sooner rouse the evil passions and dislike of others than this trick of fault-finding where we have no right or need to do so, or of meddling with that which does not concern us. so mrs. lawrence, without intending it, was constantly fretting and aggravating those around her while maggie and bessie, who thought that all their mamma did or said was quite perfect, were amazed and indignant when they heard her rules and wishes questioned and found fault with, and sometimes even set aside by aunt patty, if she thought another way better. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] ix. "_bear ye one another's burdens._" one sunday when mrs. lawrence had been with them about two weeks, maggie and bessie, on going as usual to their class at mrs. rush's, found that they two were to make up her whole class that morning; for gracie howard was sick, and lily norris gone on a visit to her grandfather who lived in the country. mrs. rush was not very sorry to have her favorite scholars by themselves, for she wished to give them a little lesson which it was not necessary that the others should hear. and maggie gave her the opportunity for which she wished by asking colonel rush for the story of benito. "for," said the little girl, "if we were away and lily and gracie here, and you told them a new story, we should be very disappointed not to hear it; so bessie and i made agreement to ask for an old one, and we like benito better than any." "very well; it shall be as you say," replied the colonel, who, provided his pets were satisfied, was so himself, and after the children had gone, he said to his wife, "certainly there are few things in which our sweet little maggie does not act up to the golden rule, of which she is so fond. she does not repeat it in a parrot-like way, as many do, but she understands what it means, and practises it too, with her whole heart." so when the lessons were over, the colonel told the story of benito, which never seemed to lose its freshness with these little listeners. when he came to the part where benito helped the old dame with her burden, mrs. rush said, "children, what do you think that burden was?" "we don't know," said bessie. "what?" "neither do i _know_," answered mrs. rush. "i was only thinking what it _might_ be. perhaps it was pain and sickness; perhaps the loss of friends; perhaps some old, troublesome sin, sorely repented of, long struggled with, but which still returned again and again, to weary and almost discourage her as she toiled along in the road which led to the father's house. perhaps it was all of them; but what ever it was, benito did not pause to ask; he only thought of his lord's command, 'bear ye one another's burdens;' and so put his hand to the load, and eased the old dame's pain and weariness. was it not so?" she asked of her husband. "i think so," he answered. "but a little child could not help grown persons to bear their sins, or to cure them," said bessie; "they must go to jesus for that." "yes, we must go to jesus; but the very love and help and pity we have from him teach us to show all we can to our fellow-creatures, whether they are young or old. one of the good men whom jesus left on earth to do his work and preach his word tells us that christ was 'touched with the feeling of our infirmities, because he was in all points tempted like as we are.' this means that, good and pure and holy as he was, yet he allowed himself to suffer all the trials and struggles and temptations which can come to poor, weak man, so that he might know just what we feel as we pass through them, and just what help we need. yet, sorely tempted as he was, he never fell into sin, but returned to his father's heaven pure and stainless as he left it. since then christ feels for all the pains and struggles through which we go for his sake, since he can make allowance for all our weakness and failures; and as he is so ready to give us help in our temptations, so much the more ought we who are not only tempted, but too apt, in spite of our best efforts, to fall into sin, to show to others all the kindness and sympathy we may at any time need for ourselves. so may we try to copy our saviour, 'bearing one another's burdens,' even as he has borne ours, by giving love and pity and sympathy where we can give nothing else. benito was a very young child, scarcely able to walk on the narrow road without the help of some older and wiser hand, and his weak shoulders could not carry any part of the old dame's load; but he put his baby hands beneath it, and gave her loving smiles and gentle words, and these brought her help and comfort, so that she went on her way, strengthened for the rest of the journey. and, as we know, benito met his reward as he came to the gates of his father's house. so much may the youngest do for the oldest; and i think _we_ know of an old dame whose 'burden' our little pilgrims, maggie and bessie, might help to bear, if they would." "i just believe you mean aunt patty!" exclaimed bessie, in such a tone as showed she was not very well pleased with the idea. "and," said maggie, with just the least little pout, "i don't believe she is a dame pilgrim, and i don't believe she is in the narrow path, not a bit!" "there i think you are mistaken, maggie, for, so far as we can judge, there is reason to think aunt patty is walking in the safe and narrow road which leads to the father's house; and, since she has not been brought to it by paths quite so easy and pleasant as some of us have known, there is all the more reason that we happier travellers should give her a helping hand. it may be very little that we can give; a word, a look, a smile, a kind offer to go for some little trifle that is needed, will often cheer and gladden a heart that is heavy with its secret burden. and if we now and then get a knock, or even a rather hard scratch from those corners of our neighbor's load, which are made up of little faults and odd tempers, we must try not to mind it, but think only of how tired those poor, weary shoulders must be of the weight they carry." "but, mrs. rush," said maggie, "aunt patty's corners scratch very hard, and hurt very much." "but the corners are not half as sharp as they were once; are they, dear?" asked mrs. rush, smiling. "well," said maggie, slowly, as if she were considering, "maybe her temper corner is not so sharp as it used to be, but her meddling corner is very bad,--yes, very bad indeed; and it scratches like everything. why, you don't know how she meddles, and what things she says, even when she is not a bit mad. she is all the time telling mamma how she had better manage; just as if mamma did not know a great deal better than she does about her own children and her own house, and about everything! and she dismanages franky herself very much; and she said dear aunt bessie deserved to have such a bad sore throat 'cause she would go out riding with uncle ruthven, when she told her it was too cold; and she said the colonel"-- "there, there, that will do," said mrs. rush, gently. "do not let us think of what aunt patty does to vex us, but see if we do not sometimes grieve her a little." "oh! she don't think you do anything," said maggie; "she says you are a very lovely young woman." "well," said the colonel, laughing, "neither you nor i shall quarrel with her for that; shall we? there is one good mark for aunt patty; let us see how many more we can find." "she was very good to patrick when he hurt his hand so the other day," said bessie. "she washed it, and put a yag on it, and made it feel a great deal better." "and she likes uncle ruthven very much," said maggie. "that is right," said mrs. rush, "think of all the good you can. when we think kindly of a person, we soon begin to act kindly towards them, and i am quite sure that a little love and kindness from you would do much to lighten aunt patty's burden. and if the sharp corners fret and worry you a little, remember that perhaps it is only the weight of the rest of the burden which presses these into sight, and then you will not feel them half as much. will you try if you can be like benito, and so receive the blessing of him who says the cup of cold water given in his name shall meet its reward?" "we'll try," said maggie, "but i don't think we'll succeed." "and if at first you don't succeed, what then?" "then try, try, try again," said maggie, cheerfully, for she was already trying to think what she might do to make aunt patty's burden more easy; "but--" "but what, dear?" "i hope she won't shed tears of joy upon my bosom," said maggie, growing grave again at the thought of such a possibility; "i wouldn't quite like _that_." "and what does bessie say?" asked the colonel. "i was thinking how precious it is," said the little girl, turning upon the colonel's face those serious brown eyes which had been gazing so thoughtfully into the fire. "how precious what is, my darling?" "to think jesus knows how our temptations feel, 'cause he felt them himself, and so knows just how to help us and be sorry for us." colonel rush had his answer to both questions. that same sunday evening, the children were all with their father and mother in the library. mrs. lawrence sat in an arm-chair by the parlor fire, alone, or nearly so, for miss rush and mr. stanton in the window at the farther side of the room were not much company to any one but themselves. certainly the poor old lady felt lonely enough, as, with her clasped hands lying upon her lap, her chin sunk upon her breast, and her eyes fixed upon the fire, she thought of the long, long ago, when she, too, was young, bright, and happy; when those around lived only for her happiness. ah! how different it all was now! they were all gone,--the youth, the love, the happiness; gone, also, were the wasted years which she might have spent in the service of the master whom she had sought so late; gone all the opportunities which he had given her of gaining the love and friendship of her fellow-creatures. and now how little she could do, old and feeble and helpless as she was. and what hard work it was to struggle with the evil tempers and passions to which she had so long given way; how difficult, when some trifle vexed her, to keep back the sharp and angry word, to put down the wish to bend everything to her own will, to learn of him who was meek and lowly in heart! and there was no one to know, no one to sympathize, no one to give her a helping hand in this weary, up-hill work, to guess how heavily the burden of past and present sin bore upon the poor, aching shoulders. in her longing for the human love and sympathy she had once cast from her, and which she could not now bring herself to ask, the poor old lady almost forgot that there was one eye to see the struggles made for jesus' sake, one hand outstretched to save and to help, one voice to whisper, "be of good courage." true, mr. and mrs. bradford were always kind and thoughtful, and all treated her with due respect and consideration; but that was not all she wanted. if the children would but love and trust her. there would be such comfort in that; but in spite of all her efforts, they were still shy and shrinking,--all, save that little tyrant, franky. even fearless fred was quiet and almost dumb in her presence. so aunt patty sat, and sadly thought, unconscious of the wistful pair of eyes which watched her from the other room, until by and by a gentle footstep came stealing round her chair, a soft little hand timidly slipped itself into her own, and she turned to see bessie's sweet face looking at her, half in pity, half in wonder. "well, dear," she asked, after a moment's surprised silence, "what is it?" truly, bessie scarcely knew herself what it was. she had been watching aunt patty as she sat looking so sad and lonely, and thinking of mrs. rush's lesson of the morning, till her tender little heart could bear it no longer, and she had come to the old lady's side, not thinking of anything particular she would do or say, but just with the wish to put a loving hand to the burden. "do you want anything, bessie?" asked mrs. lawrence again. "no, ma'am, but"--bessie did not quite like to speak of aunt patty's troubles, so she said, "_i_ have a little burden, too, aunt patty." aunt patty half smiled to herself as she looked into the earnest, wistful eyes. she, this innocent little one, the darling and pet of all around her, what burden could she have to bear? she did not know the meaning of the word. then came a vexed, suspicious thought. "who told you that i had any burden to bear, child?" she asked, sharply. "every one has; haven't they?" said bessie, rather frightened; then, strong in her loving, holy purpose, she went on. "everybody has some burden; don't they, aunt patty? if our father makes them very happy, still they have their faults, like i do. and if he don't make them very happy, the faults are a great deal harder to bear; are they not?" "and what burden have you, dearie?" asked the old lady, quite softened. "my tempers," said the child, gravely. "i used to be in passions very often, aunt patty, till jesus helped me so much, and very often now i have passions in myself when some one makes me offended; but if i ask him quite quick to help me, he always does. but it is pretty hard sometimes, and i think that is my burden. maybe it's only a little one, though, and i oughtn't to speak about it." aunt patty was surprised, no less at the child's innocent freedom in speaking to her than at what she said, for she had never suspected that gentle little bessie had a passionate temper. she looked at her for a moment, and then said, "then thank god every day of your life, bessie, that he has saved you from the misery of growing up with a self-willed, ungoverned temper. thank him that his grace has been sufficient to help you to battle with it while you are young, that age and long habit have not strengthened it till it seems like a giant you cannot overcome. you will never know what misery it becomes then, with what force the tempter comes again and again; _no one_ knows, _no one_ knows!" perhaps mrs. lawrence was talking more to herself than to bessie; but the child understood her, and answered her. "jesus knows," she said, softly, and with that tender, lingering tone with which she always spoke the saviour's name. "jesus knows," repeated the old lady, almost as if the thought came to her for the first time. "yes, jesus knows," said bessie, putting up her small fingers with a little caressing touch to aunt patty's cheek; "and is it not sweet and precious, aunt patty, to think he had temptations too, and so can know just how hard we have to try not to grieve him? mrs. rush told us about it to-day, and i love to think about it all the time. and she told us how he helped every one to bear their burdens; and now we ought to help each other too, 'cause that was what he wanted us to do. but if sometimes we cannot help each other, 'cause we don't know about their burdens, jesus can always help us, 'cause he always knows; don't he?" "bessie, come and sing," called mamma from the other room, and away ran the little comforter to join her voice with the others in the sabbath evening hymn. yes, she had brought comfort to the worn and weary heart; she had put her hand to aunt patty's burden and eased the aching pain. "jesus knows." again and again the words came back to her, bringing peace and rest and strength for all days to come. she had heard it often before; she knew it well. "jesus knows;" but the precious words had never come home to her before as they did when they were spoken by the sweet, trustful, childish voice,--"jesus knows." there is no need to tell that they were friendly after this, these two pilgrims on the heavenward way,--the old woman and the little child, she who had begun to tread in her master's footsteps so early in life's bright morning, and she who had not sought to follow him until the eleventh hour, when her day was almost ended. for they were both clinging to one faith, both looking to one hope, and the hand of the younger had drawn the feet of the elder to a firmer and surer foothold upon the rock of ages, on which both were resting. and how was it with our maggie? it was far harder work for her to be sociable with aunt patty than it was for bessie; for besides her fear of the old lady, there was her natural shyness to be struggled with. as for speaking to her, unless it was to give a timid "yes" or "no" when spoken to, that was, at first, by no means possible; but remembering that mrs. rush had said that a look or a smile might show good-will or kindness, she took to looking and smiling with all her might. she would plant herself at a short distance from aunt patty, and stare at the old lady till she looked up and noticed her, when she would put on the broadest of smiles, and immediately run away, frightened at her own boldness. mrs. lawrence was at first displeased, thinking maggie meant this for impertinence or mockery; but mrs. bradford, having once or twice caught maggie at this extraordinary performance, asked what it meant, and was told by her little daughter that she was only "trying to bear aunt patty's burden." then followed an account of what mrs. rush had taught the children on sunday. "but, indeed, indeed, mamma," said poor maggie, piteously, "i don't think i can do any better. i do feel so frightened when she looks at me, and she don't look as if she liked me to smile at her, and this morning she said, 'what are you about, child?' _so_ crossly!" mamma praised and encouraged her, and afterwards explained to aunt patty that maggie only meant to be friendly, but that her bashfulness and her friendliness were sadly in each other's way. so mrs. lawrence was no longer displeased, but like the rest of maggie's friends, rather amused, when she saw her desperate efforts to be sociable; and after a time even maggie's shyness wore away. before this came about, however, she and bessie had made a discovery or two which amazed them very much. surely, it might be said of each of these little ones, "she hath done what she could." [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] x. _two surprises._ some time after this aunt patty bought a magnificent toy menagerie, not for a present to any of her young nieces and nephews, but to keep as an attraction to her own room when she wished for their company. even maggie could not hold out against such delightful toys, and after some coaxing from bessie, and a good deal of peeping through the crack of the door at these wonderful animals, she ventured into aunt patty's room. the two little girls, with franky, were there one morning while mamma and aunt patty sat at their work. the animals had been put through a great number of performances, after which it was found necessary to put the menagerie in thorough order. for this purpose the wild beasts were all taken from their cages, and tied with chains of mamma's bright-colored worsteds to the legs of the chairs and tables, while the cages were rubbed and dusted; after which they were to be escorted home again. this proved a very troublesome business, for the animals, as was quite natural, preferred the fields, which were represented by the green spots in the carpet, to the cages, where they were so closely shut up, and did not wish to be carried back. at least, so maggie said when mamma asked the cause of all the growling and roaring which was going on. "you see, mamma," she said, "they want to run away to their own forests, and they tried to devour their keepers, till some very kind giants, that's bessie and franky and me, came to help the keepers." but now flossy, who had been lying quietly on the rug, watching his chance for a bit of mischief, thought he had better help the giants, and rushing at an elephant with which franky was having a great deal of trouble, tossed it over with his nose, and sent it whirling against the side of the room, where it lay with a broken leg and trunk. alas, for the poor elephant! it was the first one of the toys that had been broken, and great was the mourning over its sad condition, while flossy was sent into the corner in disgrace. of course, it was not possible for the elephant to walk home; he must ride. "patty," said franky, "do down-'tairs and det my water-tart; it's in de lib'ry." "franky, franky!" said mamma, "is that the way to speak to aunt patty?" "please," said franky. "aunt patty has a bone in her foot," said mrs. lawrence. franky put his head on one side, and looking quizzically at the old lady, said, "oo went down-'tairs for oo bastet wis a bone in oo foot, so oo tan do for my tart wis a bone in oo foot." maggie and bessie knew that this was saucy, and expected that aunt patty would be angry; but, to their surprise, she laughed, and would even have gone for the cart if mamma had not begged her not to. "franky," said mamma, as the little girls, seeing aunt patty was not displeased, began to chuckle over their brother's cute speech, "you must not ask aunt patty to run about for you. it is not pretty for little boys to do so." "but me want my tart to wide dis poor efelant," said franky, coaxingly. bessie said she would go for the cart, and ran away down-stairs. she went through the parlor, and reaching the library-door, which stood ajar, pushed it open. aunt bessie and uncle ruthven were there; and what did she see? was it possible? "oh!" she exclaimed. at this the two culprits turned, and seeing bessie's shocked and astonished face, uncle ruthven laughed outright, his own hearty, ringing laugh. "come here, princess," he said. but bessie was off, the cart quite forgotten. through the hall and up the stairs, as fast as the little feet could patter, never pausing till she reached mamma's room, where she buried her face in one of the sofa cushions; and there her mother found her some moments later. "why, bessie, my darling, what is it?" asked mamma. "what has happened to you?" bessie raised her flushed and troubled face, but she was not crying, as her mother had supposed, though she looked quite ready to do so. "oh, mamma!" she said, as mrs. bradford sat down and lifted her up on her lap. "what has troubled you, dearest?" "oh, mamma, such a shocking thing! i don't know how to tell you." "have you been in any mischief, dear? if you have, do not be afraid to tell your own mamma." "oh! it was not me, mamma, but it was a dreadful, dreadful mischief." "well, darling, if any of the others have been in mischief, of which i should know, i do not think you will speak of it unless it is necessary!" "but you ought to know it, mamma, so you can see about it; it was so very unproper. but it was not any of us children; it was big people--it was--it was--uncle yuthven and aunt bessie; and i'm afraid they won't tell you themselves." "well," said mrs. bradford, trying to keep a grave face, as she imagined she began to see into the cause of the trouble. she need not have tried to hide her smiles. her little daughter buried her face on her bosom, as she whispered the, to her, shocking secret, and never once looked up at her mother. "mamma,--he--he--_kissed_ her!--he did--and she never scolded him, not a bit." still the disturbed little face was hidden, and mamma waited a moment till she could compose her own, and steady her voice. "my darling," she said, "i have a pleasant secret to tell you. you love dear aunt bessie very much; do you not?" "yes, mamma, dearly, dearly; and, mamma, she's very much mine,--is she not?--'cause i'm her namesake; and uncle yuthven ought not to do it. he had no yight. mamma, don't you think papa had better ask him to go back to africa for a little while?" bessie's voice was rather angry now. mamma had once or twice lately seen signs of a little jealous feeling toward uncle ruthven. she, bessie the younger, thought it very strange that bessie the elder should go out walking or driving so often with uncle ruthven, or that they should have so many long talks together. uncle ruthven took up quite too much of aunt bessie's time, according to little bessie's thinking. she had borne it pretty well, however, until now; but that uncle ruthven should "make so intimate" as to kiss aunt bessie, was the last drop in the cup, and she was displeased as well as distressed. "and if papa had the power," said mrs. bradford, "would my bessie wish uncle ruthven sent away again, and so grieve dear grandmamma, who is so glad to have him at home once more, to say nothing of his other friends? i hope my dear little daughter is not giving way to that ugly, hateful feeling, jealousy." "oh! i hope not, mamma," said bessie. "i would not like to be so naughty. and if you think it's being jealous not to like uncle yuthven to--to do that, i'll try not to mind it so much;" and here a great sob escaped her, and a tear or two dropped on mamma's hand. mrs. bradford thought it best to make haste and tell her the secret. "my darling," she said, "you know, though you are so fond of dear aunt bessie, she is not related to you,--not really your aunt." "yes'm, but then i love her just as much as if she was my very, very own. i have to love her for so many yeasons; 'cause she is her own self and i can't help it, and 'cause i'm her namesake, and 'cause she's my dear soldier's own sister. mamma, don't you think that is plenty of yeasons to be fond of her for?" "yes, dear, but you must be willing to have others fond of her too. and do you not think it would be very pleasant to have her for your own aunt, and to keep her always with us for our very own?" "oh, yes, mamma! but then that could not be; could it?" "well, yes," said mrs. bradford; "if uncle ruthven marries her, she will really be your aunt, and then she will live at grandmamma's, where you may see her almost every day, and feel she is quite one of the family." "and is he going to, mamma?" asked bessie, raising her head, and with the utmost surprise and pleasure breaking over her face; "is uncle yuthven going to marry her, and make her our true aunt?" "yes, i believe so," answered her mother; "it was all settled a few days ago. we did not mean to tell you just yet, but now i thought it better. but, bessie, if you send poor uncle ruthven away to africa again, i fear you will lose aunt bessie too, for she will go with him." "i was naughty to say that, dear mamma," said bessie, her whole face in a glow of delight, "and i am so sorry i felt cross to uncle yuthven just when he was doing us such a great, great favor. oh, he was so very kind to think of it! he has been trying to give us pleasure ever since he came home, and now he has done the very best thing of all. he knew just what we would like; did he not, mamma?" mamma laughed. "i rather think he knew we would all be pleased, bessie." "i must thank him very much indeed,--must i not, mamma?--and tell him how very obliging i think he is." "you may thank him just as much as you please, dear," said mamma, merrily. "here comes maggie to see what has become of us. she must hear this delightful secret too." so maggie was told, and went capering round the room in frantic delight at the news, inventing, as usual, so many plans and pleasures that might fit in with this new arrangement, that bessie was better satisfied than ever, and even forgave uncle ruthven the kiss. and here was a second joy at hand; for in came a message from mrs. rush, asking that the little girls might come over to the hotel and spend the rest of the day with her and the colonel. they were always ready enough for this, and in a short time they were dressed and on their way with starr, the colonel's man, who had come for them. starr was a soldier, straight, stiff, and very grave and respectful in his manner; and now, as he walked along, leading a little girl in each hand, they wondered to see how very smiling he looked. "starr," said bessie, peeping up in his face, "have you some good news?" "i've no bad news, miss," said starr, with a broader smile than before. "you look so very pleased," said bessie; to which starr only replied, "it's likely, miss," and became silent again. when they reached the long crossing, who should be standing on the corner but sergeant richards. bessie saw him at once, and went directly up to him. "how do you do, mr. station policeman?" she said, politely, and holding out her morsel of a hand to him. "this is my maggie." "well, now, but i'm glad to see you, and your maggie too," said the police-sergeant. "and how have you been this long time?" "pretty well," answered bessie. "how are your blind boy and your lame wife and your sick baby, and all your troubles?" "why, the wife is able to move round a little," said richards, "and the baby is mending a bit too." "and willie?" asked bessie. a shadow came over the policeman's honest face. "willie is drooping," he said, with a sigh. "i think it's the loss of the sight of his mother's face and of the blessed sunlight that's ailing him. his eyes are quite blind now,--no more light to them than if he was in a pitch-dark cell." "but i thought the doctor could cure him when his eyes were all blind," said bessie. "not just now, dear. next year, maybe, if all goes well. that's the best we can hope for, i believe. but here i am standing and talking to you, when i've business on hand that can't be put off." so saying, he shook hands again with bessie and walked rapidly away. "i s'pose he means he can't afford to pay the doctor now," said bessie, as she and maggie went on again with starr. "mrs. granby said they were pretty poor, and she was 'fraid they couldn't do it this year. it's so long for willie to wait. i wonder if papa wouldn't pay the doctor." "there's the mistress watching for the little ladies," said starr, and, looking up, the children saw mrs. rush standing at the window of her room and nodding to them. in two minutes more they were at the door, which she opened for them with even a brighter face than usual; and, after kissing them, stood aside to let them see the colonel, who was coming forward to meet them. yes, there he came, and--no wonder mrs. rush looked bright and happy, no wonder starr was smiling--without his crutches; moving slowly, to be sure, and leaning on a cane, but walking on two feet! if colonel rush imagined he was about to give his little friends a pleasant surprise, he found he was not mistaken. "oh!" exclaimed bessie, but it was in a very different tone from that in which she had uttered it once before that day. maggie gave a little shriek of delight which would almost have startled any one who had not known maggie's ways, or seen her sparkling face. "oh! goody! goody! goody!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands and hopping about in a kind of ecstasy. "how lovely! how splendid! how--how--superfluous!" maggie had been trying to find the longest "grown-up" word she could think of, and as she had that morning heard her father say that something was "altogether superfluous," she now used the word without a proper idea of its meaning. but the colonel was quite content to take the word as she meant it, and thanked her for her joyous sympathy. he knew that bessie felt none the less because she was more quiet. she walked round and round him, looking at him as if she could not believe it, and then going up to him, took his hand in both hers, and laid her smooth, soft cheek upon it in a pretty, tender way which said more than words. "do let's see you walk a little more," said maggie. "it's so nice; it's just like a fairy tale, when a good fairy comes and mends all the people that have been chopped to pieces, and makes them just as good as ever; only this is true and that is not." "who put it on?" asked bessie, meaning the new leg. "starr put it on," answered the colonel. "and did you make it, too, starr?" asked bessie. "no, indeed, miss;" said starr, who still stood at the door with his hat in his hand, and his head on one side, looking at his master much as a proud nurse might look at her baby who was trying its first steps,--"no, indeed, miss; that was beyond me." "starr would have given me one of his own, if he could have done so, i believe," said the colonel, smiling. "so would i," said maggie, "if mine would have fitted. i think i could do very well with one foot; i hop a good deal, any way. see, i could do this way;" and she began hopping round the table again. "and you run and skip a good deal," said mrs. rush, "and how could you do all that on one foot?" maggie considered a moment. "but i am very attached to the colonel," she said, "and i think i could give up one foot if it would be of use to him." "i believe you would, my generous little girl," said the colonel; and mrs. rush stooped and kissed maggie very affectionately. "will that new foot walk in the street?" asked maggie. "yes, it will walk anywhere when i'm accustomed to it. but i am a little awkward just yet, and must practise some before i venture on it in the street." it seemed almost too good to be true, that the colonel should be sitting there with two feet, which certainly looked quite as well as papa's or uncle ruthven's, or those of any other gentleman; and it was long before his affectionate little friends tired of looking at him and expressing their pleasure. "we have some very good news for you," said bessie; "mamma said we might tell you." "let us have it then," said the colonel; and the grand secret about uncle ruthven and aunt bessie was told. "i just believe you knew it before," said maggie, who thought colonel and mrs. rush did not seem as much surprised as was to be expected. "i am afraid we did, maggie," said the colonel, smiling; "but we are none the less pleased to hear bessie tell of it." "but if uncle yuthven did it for a favor to us, why did he not tell us first?" said bessie, rather puzzled. "well," said the colonel, with a little twinkle in his eye, "it is just possible that your uncle ruthven took some other people into consideration,--myself and marion, for instance. can you not imagine that he thought it would be very pleasant for us to be related to you?" "will you be our yelations when uncle yuthven marries aunt bessie?" asked bessie. "i think we shall have to put in some claim of that sort," said the colonel. "aunt bessie is my sister, and if she becomes your own aunt, i think my wife and i must also consider ourselves as belonging to the family. what should you say to uncle horace and aunt may?"--may was the colonel's pet name for his wife. it was not likely that either of our little girls would find fault with this arrangement; and now it was impossible to say too much in praise of uncle ruthven and his very kind plan. the children spent a most delightful day. mrs. rush had ordered an early dinner for them; after which the carriage came, and all four--the colonel and his wife and maggie and bessie--went for a drive in the central park. it was a lovely afternoon, the air so soft and sweet with that strange, delicious scent in it which tells of the coming spring, and here and there, in some sunny nooks, the children were delighted to see little patches of green grass. sparrows and chickadees, and other birds which make their home with us during the winter, were hopping merrily over the leafless branches, and twittering ceaselessly to one another, as if they were telling of the happy time near at hand, when the warm south winds would blow, and the trees and bushes be covered with their beautiful green summer dress. presently starr, turning round from his seat on the box beside the coachman, pointed out a robin, the first robin; and then maggie's quick eyes discovered a second. yes, there were a pair of them, perking up their heads and tails, with a saucy, jaunty air, which seemed to say, "look at me; here i am to tell you spring is coming. are you not glad to see me?" and as the carriage drove slowly by, that the children might watch the birds, one of them threw back his head and broke into the sweetest, merriest song, which told the same pleasant story. yes, spring was in the air, and the birdies knew it, though earth as yet showed but few signs of it. "he sings just as if he was so glad he couldn't help it," said maggie, "and i feel just like him." when they drove back to the city, the children were rather surprised to find they were taken again to the hotel instead of going home at once; but mrs. rush said, that as the weather was so mild and pleasant, mamma had promised they might stay till after dark. this was a suitable ending to such a very happy day, especially as it was arranged for them to take their supper while their friends dined. mrs. rush thought nothing too much trouble which could give pleasure to these two dear little girls. they were listening to one of the colonel's delightful stories when mr. stanton and miss rush came in, with the double purpose of paying a short visit to the colonel and his wife and of taking home their young visitors. scarcely were they seated when bessie walked up to mr. stanton with "uncle er-er-er-yuthven,"--bessie was trying very hard for the r's in these days, especially when she spoke to her uncle,--"we do thank you so very much. we think you are the most obliging gentleman we ever saw." "really," said uncle ruthven, gravely, "this is very pleasant to hear. may i ask who are the 'we' who have such a very high opinion of me?" "why, mamma and the colonel and mrs. yush and maggie and i; and i s'pose all the fam'ly who know what a very great favor you are going to do for us." "and what is this wonderful favor?" asked mr. stanton. "to marry aunt bessie, so she will be quite our very own," answered the little girl. "and then you see that makes my soldier and mrs. yush our own too. they are uncle horace and aunt may now, for the colonel said we might as well begin at once. we are all very, very pleased, uncle yuthven, and maggie and i think you are the kindest uncle that ever lived." "i am glad you have found that out at last," said uncle ruthven. "here i have been living for your happiness ever since i came home, and if i had made this last sacrifice without your finding out that i am the best and most generous uncle in the world, it would have been terrible indeed." "i don't believe you think it is a sacrifice," said maggie. "i guess you like it 'most as well as bessie and i do." "_does_ he, aunt bessie?" asked little bessie, in a tone as if this could not be; at which uncle ruthven's gravity gave way, and the older people all laughed heartily, though the children could not see why. if bessie had known how to express her feelings, she would have said that it was uncle ruthven's manner when he was joking which caused her to "have objections" to him. when uncle john was joking, he had such a merry face that it was quite easy to see what he meant; but uncle ruthven always kept such a sober face and tone that it was hard to tell whether he were in earnest or no. and now, when he caught her up in his arms, and stood her upon the mantel-piece, she felt as if she still only half approved of him; but it was not in her heart to find fault with him just now, and she readily put up her lips for the kiss which she knew he would claim before he let her go. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] xi. _blind willie._ "maggie and bessie," said mrs. bradford, one day soon after this, "i am going to send jane over with some work to mrs. granby. would you like to go with her and see the policeman's children?" bessie answered "yes," readily enough, but though maggie would have liked the long walk on this lovely day, she was rather doubtful of the pleasure of calling on those who were entire strangers to her. but after some little coaxing from bessie, who said she would not go without her, she was at last persuaded, and they set out with jane, taking flossy with them. the children had their hooples, which they trundled merrily before them and flossy went capering joyously along, sometimes running ahead, for a short distance, and then rushing back to his little mistresses, and if any rough boys made their appearance, keeping very close at their side till all danger was past. for since flossy was stolen, he had been very careful as to the company he kept, and looked with a very suspicious eye upon any one who wore a ragged coat, which was not very just of flossy, since a ragged coat may cover as true and honest a heart as ever beat; but as the poor puppy knew no better, and had received some hard treatment at the hands of those whose miserable garments covered hard and cruel hearts, he must be excused for thinking that the one was a sign of the other. flossy had turned out quite as pretty a little dog as he had promised to be. his coat was long, soft, and silky, and beautifully marked in brown and white; his drooping ears hung gracefully on each side of his head, while his great black eyes were so knowing and affectionate that it was hard to believe no soul looked out of them. it was no wonder that almost every child they passed turned to take a second look, and to wish that they, too, had such a pretty merry pet. flossy was in great favor that day on account of a droll trick which he had played, much to the amusement of the children. harry and fred were very anxious to teach him all manner of things, such as standing on his head, pretending to be dead, and so forth; but maggie and bessie declared he was too young to be taught anything except "to be good and polite," and would not have him teased. beside, he had funny tricks and ways of his own which they thought much better than those, and was as full of play and mischief as a petted doggie could be. harry had a weak ankle, which in his boyish frolics he was constantly hurting, and now, having given it a slight sprain, he was laid up on the sofa. on the day before this, his dinner had been sent to him, but as it did not exactly suit him, he called flossy, and writing on a piece of paper what he desired, gave it to the dog, and told him to take it to mamma. he was half doubtful if the creature would understand; but flossy ran directly to the dining-room with the paper in his mouth, and gave it to mrs. bradford. as a reward for doing his errand so well, she gave him a piece of cake, although it was against her rules that he should be fed from the table. on this day, harry had been able to come down-stairs; and while the children were at their dinner, flossy was heard whining at the door. patrick opened it, and in he ran with a crumpled piece of paper, on which franky had been scribbling, in his mouth, and going to mrs. bradford held it up to her, wagging his tail with an air which said quite plainly, "here is your paper, now give me my cake." "poor little doggie! he did not know why one piece of paper was not as good as another, and mrs. bradford could not refuse him, while all the children were quite delighted with his wisdom, and could not make enough of him for the remainder of the day." maggie and bessie were rather surprised at the appearance of the policeman's house. it was so different from those which stood around it, or from any which they were accustomed to see in the city; but it looked very pleasant to them with its green shutters, old-fashioned porch, and the little courtyard and great butternut tree in front. the small plot of grass behind the white palings was quite green now, and some of the buds on the hardier bushes were beginning to unfold their young leaves. altogether it looked very nice and homelike, none the less so that jennie richards and her three younger brothers were playing around, and digging up the fresh moist earth, with the fancy that they were making a garden. but their digging was forgotten when they saw jane with her little charge. "does mrs. granby live here?" asked jane, unlatching the gate. "yes, ma'am," answered jennie. "will you please to walk in?" and opening the doors, jennie showed the visitors into the sitting-room. mrs. richards sat sewing, with willie, as usual, beside her, rocking ceaselessly back and forth in his little chair; while good mrs. granby, who had been seated close by the window, and had seen jane and the children come in, was bustling about, placing chairs for them. on willie's knee was a maltese kitten purring away contentedly; but the moment she caught sight of flossy, she sprang from her resting-place, and, scampering into a corner, put up her back, and began spitting and hissing in a very impolite manner. if miss pussy had been civil, flossy would probably have taken no notice of her; but when she drew attention upon herself by this very rude behavior, he began to bark and jump about her, more with a love of teasing than with any idea of hurting her. it was quite a moment or two before these enemies could be quieted, and then it was only done by maggie catching up flossy in her arms, and mrs. granby thrusting the kitten into a bureau drawer with a cuff on its ear. the commotion being over, with the exception of an occasional spit from the drawer, as if kitty were still conscious of the presence of her foe, bessie walked up to mrs. richards, and politely holding out her hand, said, "we came to see you and your fam'ly, ma'am, and we're sorry to make such a 'sturbance." "well," said mrs. richards, smiling at what she afterwards called bessie's old-fashioned ways,--"well, i think it was the kitten was to blame for the disturbance, not you, nor your pretty dog there; and i'm sure we're all glad to see you, dear. are you the little girl that was lost and taken up to the station?" "yes, i am," said bessie; "but i was not taken up 'cause i was naughty, but 'cause i could not find my way home. is my policeman pretty well?" "he's very well, thank you, dear; but he'll be mighty sorry to hear you've been here, and he not home to see you." "mother," said willie, "what a sweet voice that little girl has! will she let me touch her?" "would you, dear?" asked mrs. richards; "you see it's the only way he has now of finding what anybody is like." "oh! he may touch me as much as he likes," said bessie, and coming close to the blind boy, she put her hand in his, and waited patiently while he passed his fingers up her arm and shoulder, then over her curls, cheek, and chin; for willie richards was already gaining that quick sense of touch which god gives to the blind. the mother's heart was full as she watched the two children, and saw the tender, pitying gaze bessie bent upon her boy. "poor willie!" said the little girl, putting her arm about his neck, "i am so sorry for you. but perhaps our father will let you see again some day." "i don't know," said willie, sadly; "they used to say i would be better when the spring came, but the spring is here now, and it is no lighter. oh, it is so very, very dark!" bessie's lip quivered, and the tears gathered in her eyes as she raised them to mrs. richards. but mrs. richards turned away her head. she sometimes thought that willie had guessed that the doctor had had hopes of curing them in the spring, but she had not the courage to ask him. nor could she and his father bear to excite hopes which might again be disappointed, by telling him to wait with patience till next year. but bessie did not know what made mrs. richards silent, and wondering that she did not speak, she felt as if she must herself say something to comfort him. "but maybe next spring you will see, willie," she said. "maybe so," said willie, piteously, "but it is so long to wait." bessie was silent for a moment, not quite knowing what to say; then she spoke again. "wouldn't you like to come out and feel the spring, willie? it is nice out to-day and the wind is so pleasant and warm." "no," answered willie, almost impatiently, "i only want to stay here with mother. i know it feels nice out; but the children come and say, '_see_ the sky, how blue it is!' and '_look_ at this flower,' when i can't see them, and it makes me feel so bad, so bad. i know the grass is green and the sky is blue, and the crocuses and violets are coming out just as they used to when i could see, but i don't want them to tell me of it all the time; and they forget, and it makes me feel worse. but i wouldn't mind the rest so much if i could only see mother's face just a little while every day, then i would be good and patient all the time. oh! if i only could see her, just a moment!" "don't, don't, sonny," said his mother, laying her hand lovingly on his head. it was the ceaseless burden of his plaintive song,--"if i only could see mother's face! if i only could see mother's face!" "and maybe you will some day, willie," said bessie; "so try to think about that, and how she loves you just the same even if you don't see her. and don't you like to know the blue sky is there, and that jesus is behind it, looking at you and feeling sorry for you? none of us can see jesus, but we know he sees us and loves us all the same; don't we? couldn't you feel a little that way about your mother, willie?" "i'll try," said willie, with the old patient smile coming back again. poor willie! it was not usual for him to be impatient or fretful. but he had been sadly tried that day in the way he had spoken of, and the longing for his lost sight was almost too great to be borne. but now mrs. granby, suspecting something of what was going on on that side of the room, came bustling up to willie and bessie, bringing maggie with her. maggie had been making acquaintance with jennie while bessie was talking with the blind boy. "willie," said mrs. granby, "here's just the prettiest little dog that ever lived, and he is as tame and gentle as can be. if miss maggie don't object, maybe he'd lie a bit on your knee, and let you feel his nice long ears and silken hair." "yes, take him," said maggie, putting her dog into willie's arms. flossy was not usually very willing to go to strangers; but now, perhaps, his doggish instinct told him that this poor boy had need of pity and kindness. however that was, he lay quietly in willie's clasp, and looking wistfully into his sightless eyes, licked his hands and face. maggie and bessie were delighted, and began to tell willie of flossy's cunning ways. the other children gathered about to listen and admire too, and presently willie laughed outright as they told of his cute trick with the crumpled paper. and now, whether miss kitty saw through the crack of the drawer that her young master was fondling a new pet, or whether she only guessed at it, or whether she thought it hard that fun should be going on in which she had no share, cannot be told; but just then there came from her prison-place such a hissing and sputtering and scratching that every one of the children set up a shout of laughter. not since his blindness came upon him had his mother heard willie's voice sound so gleeful, and now in her heart she blessed the dear little girl who she felt had done him good. then as the children begged for her, kitty was released; but as she still showed much ill-temper, mrs. granby was obliged to put her in the other room. soon after this our little girls, with their nurse, took leave, having presented willie with a new book, and his mother with some useful things mamma had sent, and giving willie and jennie an invitation to come and see them. they did not go back as joyfully as they had come. somehow, in spite of the good laugh they had had, the thought of blind willie made them feel sad, and giving jane their hooples to carry, they walked quietly by her side, hand in hand. bessie was half heart-broken as she told her mamma of the blind boy's longing to see his mother's face, and neither she nor maggie quite recovered their usual spirits for the remainder of the day. mamma was almost sorry she had allowed them to go. "and what makes my princess so sad this evening?" asked uncle ruthven, lifting bessie upon his knee. "don't you think you'd be very sad, sir, if you were blind?" "doubtless i should, dear. i think, of all my senses, my sight is the one i prize most, and for which i am most thankful. but you are not going to lose your sight; are you, bessie?" "no," said bessie; "but willie richards has lost his. he is quite, quite blind, uncle, and can't see his mother's face; and they can't let the doctor cure him, 'cause they are too poor. maggie and i wished to help them very much, and we wanted to ask them to take all the glove-money we have,--that is what mamma lets us have to do charity with,--but mamma says it would not be much help, and she thinks we had better keep it to buy some little thing willie may need. and we are very grieved for him." "poor little princess!" said mr. stanton. "and why did you not come to me for help? what is the good of having an old uncle with plenty of money in his pockets, if you do not make him 'do charity' for you? let me see. how comes on the history of the 'complete family,' maggie?" "oh! it's 'most finished," said maggie. "at least, that book is; but we are going to have another volume. mamma likes us to write it. she says it is good practice, and will make it easy for us to write compositions by and by." "very sensible of mamma," said mr. stanton. "but i think you said you wished to sell it when it was finished, so that you might help the poor." "yes, sir." "well, you know i am going away to-morrow morning,--going to take aunt bessie to baltimore to see her sister. we shall be gone about a week. if your book is finished when we come home, i shall see if i cannot find a purchaser for it. and you might use the money for the blind boy if you like." just at this moment nurse put her head in at the door with "come along, my honeys. your mamma is waiting up-stairs for you, and it's your bed-time." "in one instant, mammy," said mr. stanton. "is it a bargain, little ones? if i find a man to buy your book, will you have it ready, and trust it to me, when i come back?" the children were willing enough to agree to this; and maggie only wished that it was not bed-time, so that she might finish the book that very night. uncle ruthven said they would talk more about it when he returned, and bade them "good-night." "my darlings," said mamma, when they went up-stairs, "i do not want you to distress yourselves about blind willie. when the time comes for the doctor to perform the operation on his eyes, i think the means will be found to pay him. but you are not to say anything about it at present. i only tell you because i do not like to see you unhappy." "are you or papa going to do it, mamma?" asked bessie. "we shall see," said mrs. bradford, with a smile. "perhaps we can help you a little," said maggie, joyfully; and she told her mother of her uncle's proposal about the book. [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] xii. _maggie's book._ uncle ruthven and aunt bessie went away the next morning, and were gone nearly a week, and very much did the children miss them, especially as the week proved one of storm and rain, and they were shut up in the house. during all this stormy weather aunt patty seemed very anxious to go out, watching for the first glimpse of sunshine. but none came, and at last, one morning when there was a fine, drizzling rain, she came down dressed for a walk. mrs. bradford was much astonished, for mrs. lawrence was subject to rheumatism, and it was very imprudent for her to go out in the damp. in vain did mrs. bradford offer to send a servant on any errand she might wish to have done. aunt patty would not listen to it for a moment, nor would she allow a carriage to be sent for, nor tell where she was going. she stayed a long time, and when the boys ran home from school in the midst of a hard shower, they were surprised to meet her just getting out of a carriage which had drawn up around the corner. aunt patty did not seem at all pleased to see them, and in answer to their astonished inquiries, "why, aunt patty! where have you been?" and "why don't you let the carriage leave you at the house?" answered, sharply, "when i was young, old people could mind their own affairs without help from school-boys." "not without help from school-_girls_, when _she_ was around, i guess," whispered fred to his brother, as they fell behind, and let the old lady march on. nor was she more satisfactory when she reached home, and seemed only desirous to avoid mrs. bradford's kind inquiries and anxiety lest she should have taken cold. this was rather strange, for it was not aunt patty's way to be mysterious, and she was generally quite ready to let her actions be seen by the whole world. but certainly no one would have guessed from her manner that she had that morning been about her master's work. uncle ruthven and aunt bessie came home that afternoon, and found no reason to doubt their welcome. "we're very glad to see you, uncle er-er _r_uthven," said bessie, bringing out the _r_ quite clearly. "hallo!" said her uncle, "so you have come to it at last; have you? you have been learning to talk english while i was away. pretty well for my princess! what reward shall i give you for that _r_uthven?" "i don't want a reward," said the little princess, gayly. "i tried to learn it 'cause i thought you wanted me to; and you are so kind to us i wanted to please you. besides, i am growing pretty old, and i ought to learn to talk plain. why, uncle ruthven, i'll be six years old when i have a birthday in may, and the other day we saw a little girl,--she was blind willie's sister,--and she couldn't say _th_, though she is 'most seven; and i thought it sounded pretty foolish; and then i thought maybe it sounded just as foolish for me not to say _r_, so i tried and tried, and maggie helped me." "uncle ruthven," said maggie, coming to his side, and putting her arm about his neck, she whispered in his ear, "did you ever find a man to buy my book?" "to be sure," said mr. stanton, "a first-rate fellow, who promised to take it at once. he would like to know how much you want for it?" "i don't know," said maggie; "how much can he afford?" "ah! you answer my question by another. well, he is pretty well off, that fellow, and i think he will give you sufficient to help along that blind friend of yours a little. we will not talk of that just now, however, but when you go up-stairs, i will come up and see you, and we will settle it all then." "here is a prize," said mr. stanton, coming into the parlor some hours later, when the children had all gone; and he held up maggie's history of the "complete family." "what is that?" asked colonel rush, who with his wife had come to welcome his sister. mr. stanton told the story of the book. "but how came it into your hands?" asked mr. bradford. "oh, maggie and i struck a bargain to-night," said mr. stanton, laughing, "and the book is mine to do as i please with." "oh, ruthven, ruthven!" said his sister, coming in as he spoke, and passing her hand affectionately through his thick, curly locks, "you have made two happy hearts to-night. nor will the stream of joy you have set flowing stop with my little ones. that poor blind child and his parents--" "there, there, that will do," said mr. stanton, playfully putting his hand on mrs. bradford's lips. "sit down here, margaret. i shall give you all some passages from maggie's book. if i am not mistaken, it will be a rich treat." poor little maggie! she did not dream, as she lay happy and contented on her pillow, how merry they were all making over her "complete family," as uncle ruthven read aloud from it such passages as these. "the happy father and mother brought up their children in the way they should go, but sometimes the children went out of it, which was not the blame of their kind parents, for they knew better, and they ought to be ashamed of themselves, and it is a great blessing for children to have parents. "the colonel had a new leg, not a skin one, but a man made it, but you would not know it, it looks so real, and he can walk with it and need not take his crutches, and the souls of m. and b. happy were very glad because this was a great rejoicing, and it is not a blessing to be lame, but to have two legs is, and when people have a great many blessings, they ought to 'praise god from whom all blessings flow;' but they don't always, which is very wicked. "this very complete family grew completer and completer, for the travelling uncle married aunt bessie, i mean he is going to marry her, so she will be our own aunt and not just a make b'lieve, and all the family are very glad and are very much obliged to him for being so kind, but i don't think he is a great sacrifice. "m. and b. happy went to see the policeman's children. blind willie was sorrowful and can't see his mother, or anything, which is no consequence, if he could see his mother's face, for if m. happy and b. happy could not see dear mamma's face they would cry all the time. i mean m. would, but bessie is better than me so maybe she would not, and willie is very patient, and the cat was very abominable, and if flossy did so, bessie and i would be disgraced of him. she humped up her back and was cross, so mrs. granby put her in the drawer, but she put a paw out of the crack and spit and scratched and did 'most everything. oh! such a bad cat!!!!!! jennie she cannot say th, and afterwards i laughed about it, but bessie said i ought not, because she cannot say r and that was 'most the same. and she is going to try and say uncle ruthven's name quite plain and hard, he is so very good to us, and he promised to find a man to buy this book, and we hope the man will give five dollars to be a great help for blind willie's doctor. i suppose he will ask everybody in the cars if they want to buy a book to print, that somebody of his wrote, but he is not going to tell our name because i asked him not to." the book ended in this way:-- "these are not all the acts of the complete family, but there will be another book with some more. adieu. and if you don't know french, that means good-by. the end of the book!" "pretty well for seven years old, i think," said mr. bradford. "mamma, did you lend a helping hand?" "only to correct the spelling," said mrs. bradford; "the composition and ideas are entirely maggie's own, with a little help from bessie. i have not interfered save once or twice when she has chosen some subject i did not think it best she should write on. both she and bessie have taken so much pleasure in it that i think it would have been a real trial to part with the book except for some such object as they have gained." "and what is that?" asked colonel rush. "the sum dr. dawson asks for the cure of willie richards," answered mrs. bradford, "which sum this dear brother of mine is allowing to pass through the hands of these babies of mine, as their gift to the blind child." "aunt patty," said bessie at the breakfast-table the next morning,--"aunt patty, did you hear what uncle ruthven did for us?" "yes, i heard," said the old lady, shortly. "and don't you feel very happy with us?" asked the little darling, who was anxious that every one should rejoice with herself and maggie; but she spoke more timidly than she had done at first, and something of her old fear of aunt patty seemed to come over her. "i do not think it at all proper that children should be allowed to have such large sums of money," said mrs. lawrence, speaking not to bessie, but to mrs. bradford. "i thought your brother a more sensible man, margaret. such an ill-judged thing!" mrs. bradford was vexed, as she saw the bright face of her little daughter become overcast, still she tried to speak pleasantly. something had evidently gone wrong with aunt patty. "i do not think you will find ruthven wanting in sense or judgment, aunt patty," she said, gently. "and the sum you speak of is for a settled purpose. it only passes through my children's hands, and is not theirs to waste or spend as they may please." "and if it was, we would rather give it to blind willie, mamma," said bessie, in a grieved and half-angry voice. "i am sure of it, my darling," said mamma, with a nod and smile which brought comfort to the disappointed little heart. ah, the dear mamma! they were all sure of sympathy from her whether in joy or sorrow. aunt patty's want of it had been particularly hard on bessie, for the dear child saw the old lady did not look half pleased that morning, and she had spoken as much from a wish to cheer her as for her own sake and maggie's. "it is all wrong, decidedly wrong!" continued mrs. lawrence. "in my young days things were very different. children were not then allowed to take the lead in every way, and to think they could do it as well or better than their elders. the proper thing for you to do, margaret, is to put by that money till your children are older and better able to judge what they are doing." "i think they understand that now, aunt patty," said mrs. bradford, quietly, but firmly; "and if they should not, i suppose you will allow that their parents are able to judge for them. henry and i understand all the merits of the present case." aunt patty was not to be convinced, and she talked for some time, growing more and more vexed as she saw her words had no effect. mr. and mrs. bradford were silent, for they knew it was of no use to argue with the old lady when she was in one of these moods; but they wished that the meal was at an end, and the children were out of hearing. and there sat miss rush, too, wondering and indignant, and only kept from replying to aunt patty by mrs. bradford's beseeching look. but at last mr. bradford's patience was at an end, and in a firm, decided manner, he requested the old lady to say nothing more on the subject, but to leave it to be settled by his wife and himself. if there was any person in the world of whom mrs. lawrence stood in awe, it was her nephew; and she knew when he spoke in that tone, he meant to be obeyed. therefore, she was silent, but sat through the remainder of breakfast with a dark and angry face. "papa," said maggie, as her father rose from the table, "do you think there is the least, least hope that it will clear to-day?" "well, i see some signs of it, dear; but these april days are very uncertain. of one thing be sure, if the weather be at all fit, i will come home and take you where you want to go." "are you tired of being shut up in the house so long, dear midget?" asked aunt bessie, putting her arm about maggie, and drawing her to her side. "yes, pretty tired, aunt bessie; but that is not the reason why bessie and i wish so very much to have it clear. papa told us, if the weather was pleasant, he would take us to the policeman's, and let us give the money ourselves. but he says, if it keeps on raining, he thinks it would be better to send it, because it is not kind to keep them waiting when they feel so badly about willie, and this will make them so glad. i suppose it is not very kind, but we want very much to take it, and see mrs. richards how pleased she will be." "we will hope for the best," said mr. bradford, cheerfully; "and i think it may turn out a pleasant day. but my little daughters must not be too much disappointed if the rain keeps on. and now that i may be ready for clear skies and dry pavements, i must go down town at once." no sooner had the door closed after mr. bradford than aunt patty broke forth again. "margaret," she said, severely, "it is not possible that you mean to add to your folly by letting your children go to that low place, after such weather as we have had! you don't know what you may expose them to, especially that delicate child, whom you can never expect to be strong while you are so shamefully careless of her;" and she looked at bessie, who felt very angry. "that will be as their father thinks best," answered mrs. bradford, quietly. "he will not take them unless the weather is suitable; and the policeman's house is neat and comfortable, and in a decent neighborhood. the children will come to no harm there." "and it is certainly going to clear," said harry. "see there, mamma, how it is brightening overhead." "it will not clear for some hours at least," persisted the old lady; "and then the ground will be extremely damp after this week of rain, especially among those narrow streets. do be persuaded, margaret, and say, at least, that the children must wait till to-morrow." "bessie shall not go unless it is quite safe for her," answered mrs. bradford, "and she will not ask it unless mamma thinks it best; will you, my darling?" bessie only replied with a smile, and a very feeble smile at that; and her mother saw by the crimson spot in each cheek, and the little hand pressed tightly upon her lips, how hard the dear child was struggling with herself. it was so. bessie was hurt at what she thought aunt patty's unkindness in trying to deprive her of the pleasure on which she counted, and she had hard work to keep down the rising passion. aunt patty argued, persisted, and persuaded; but she could gain from mrs. bradford nothing more than she had said before, and at last she left the room in high displeasure. "mamma," said harry, indignantly, "what do you stand it for? how dare she talk so to you? your folly, indeed! i wish papa had been here!" "i wish you'd let me hush her up," said fred. "it's rather hard for a fellow to stand by and have his mother spoken to that way. now is she not a meddling, aggravating old coon, aunt bessie? no, you need not shake your head in that grave, reproving way. i know you think so; and you, too, you dear, patient little mamma;" and here fred gave his mother such a squeeze and kiss as would have made any one else cry out for mercy. "i sha'n't try to bear aunt patty's burden this day, i know," said maggie. "she is _too_ mean not to want blind willie cured, and it is not any of hers to talk about, either. her corners are awful to-day! just trying to make mamma say bessie couldn't go to the policeman's house!" bessie said nothing, but her mamma saw she was trying to keep down her angry feelings. "i suppose she is tired of the 'new leaf' she pretended to have turned over, and don't mean to play good girl any more," said fred. "she has been worrying papa too," said harry. "there is never any knowing what she'll be at. there was a grove which used to belong to her father, and which had been sold by one of her brothers after he died. it was a favorite place with our great-grandfather, and aunt patty wanted it back very much, but she never could persuade the man who had bought it to give it up. a few years ago he died, and his son offered to sell it to her. she could not afford it then, for she had lost a great deal of property, and the mean chap asked a very large sum for it because he knew she wanted it so much. but she was determined to have it, and for several years she has been putting by little by little till she should have enough. she told fred and me all about it, one evening when papa and mamma were out, and we felt so sorry for her when she told how her father had loved the place, and how she could die contented if she only had it back once more after all these years, that we asked papa if he could not help her. papa said he would willingly do so, but she would not be pleased if he offered, though she had so set her heart on it that she was denying herself everything she could possibly do without; for she is not well off now, and is too proud to let her friends help her well, it seems she had enough laid by at last,--a thousand dollars,--and she asked papa to settle it all for her. he wrote to the man, and had a lot of fuss and bother with him; but it was all fixed at last, and the papers drawn up, when what does she do a week ago, but tell papa she had changed her mind, and should not buy the grove at present." "harry, my boy," said mrs. bradford, "this is all so, but how do you happen to know so much about it?" "why, she talked to me several times about it, mamma. she was quite chipper with fred and me now and then, when no grown people were around, and used to tell us stories of things which happened at the old homestead by the hour. the other day when you were out, and mag and bess had gone to the policeman's, she told me it was all settled that she was to have the grove; and she seemed so happy over it. but only two days after, when i said something about it, she took me up quite short, and told me that affair was all over, and no more to be said. i didn't dare to ask any more questions of her, but i thought it no harm to ask papa, and he told me he knew no more than i did, for aunt patty would give him no reason. he was dreadfully annoyed by it, i could see, although he did not say much; he never does, you know, when he is vexed." "quite true," said his mother; "and let him be an example to the rest of us. we have all forgotten ourselves a little in the vexations of the morning. you have been saying that which was better left unsaid, and your mother has done wrong in listening to you." "no, indeed, you have not," said fred, again clutching his mother violently about the neck; "you never do wrong, you dear, precious mamma, and i'll stand up for you against all the cross old aunt pattys in creation." "my dear boy," gasped his mother, "if you could leave my head on, it would be a greater convenience than fighting on my account with aunt patty. and your mother must be very much on her guard, fred, if a thing is to be judged right by you because she does it. but, dearest children, did we not all determine not to allow ourselves to be irritated and vexed by such things as have taken place this morning? this is almost the first trial of the kind we have had. let us be patient and forgiving, and try to think no more of it." but it was in vain that mrs. bradford coaxed and persuaded, and even reproved. her children obeyed, and were silent when she forbade any more to be said on the subject; but she could not do away with the impression which aunt patty's ill-temper and interference had made. poor aunt patty! she had practised a great piece of self-denial, had given up a long-cherished hope, that she might have the means of doing a very kind action; but she did not choose to have it known by her friends. and having made up her mind to this, and given up so much to bring it about, it did seem hard that her arrangements should be interfered with, as they seemed likely to be by this new plan which had come to her ears the night before. but now as she stood alone in her own room, taking herself to task for the ill-temper she had just shown, she felt that it would be still harder for the children; she could not allow them to be disappointed if it were still possible to prevent it; that would be too cruel now that she saw so plainly how much they had set their hearts upon this thing. at first it had seemed to her, as she said, much better that they should put by the money until they were older, but now she saw it was the desire to carry out her own will which had led her to think this. but aunt patty was learning to give up her own will, slowly and with difficulty it might be, with many a struggle, many a failure, as had been shown this morning; but still, thanks to the whispers of the better spirit by whose teachings she had lately been led, she was taking to heart the lesson so hard to learn because so late begun. and now how was she to undo what she had done, so that maggie and bessie might still keep this matter in their own hands? for aunt patty, hearing the little ones talk so much of the blind boy and his parents, had become quite interested in the policeman's family. she did not know them, it was true, had never seen one of them, but the children's sympathy had awakened hers, and she felt a wish to do something to help them; but to do this to much purpose was not very easy for mrs. lawrence. she was not rich, and what she gave to others she must take from her own comforts and pleasures. what a good thing it would be to pay dr. dawson and free the policeman from debt! what happiness this would bring to those poor people! what pleasure it would give little maggie and bessie! but how could she do it? she had not the means at present, unless, indeed, she put off the purchase of the grove for a year or two, and took part of the sum she had so carefully laid by for that purpose, and if she did so, she might never have back the grove. she was very old, had not probably many years to live, and she might pass away before the wished-for prize was her own. and these people were nothing to her; why should she make such a sacrifice for them? so thought aunt patty, and then said to herself, if she had but a short time upon earth, was there not more reason that she should spend it in doing all she could for her master's service, in helping those of his children on whom he had laid pain and sorrows? she had been wishing that she might be able to prove her love and gratitude for the great mercy that had been shown to her, that she might yet redeem the wasted years, the misspent life which lay behind her, and now when the lord had given her the opportunity for which she had been longing, should she turn her back upon it, should she shut her ear to the cry of the needy, because to answer it would cost a sacrifice of her own wishes? should she bear the burdens of others only when they did not weigh heavily on herself? and so the old lady had gone to dr. dawson and paid him the sum he asked for curing willie's eyes. what more she had done will be shown hereafter. if the children had known this, perhaps they could have guessed why she would not buy the grove after all papa's trouble. there were several reasons why mrs. lawrence had chosen to keep all this a secret; partly from a really honest desire not to parade her generosity in the eyes of men, partly because she thought that mr. bradford might oppose it, and fearing the strength of her own resolution, she did not care to have it shaken by any persuasions to the contrary, and partly because she had always rather prided herself on carrying out her own plans without help or advice from others. this fear that she might be tempted to change her purpose had also made aunt patty so anxious to bring it to an end at once, and had taken her out in the rain on the day before this. and now it seemed that her trouble so far as regarded dr. dawson was all thrown away. but the question was, how should she get the money back from the doctor without betraying herself to him or some of the family? for this aunt patty was quite determined not to do. it was not a pleasant task to ask him to return the money she had once given, and that without offering any reason save that she had changed her mind. every limb was aching with the cold taken from her exposure of yesterday, and now if she was to be in time, she must go out again in the damp. true, it was not raining now, but there was another heavy cloud coming up in the south; she should surely be caught in a fresh shower. if she could have persuaded mrs. bradford to keep the children at home until the next day, she could go to dr. dawson that afternoon if the weather were clear, and so escape another wetting. for the doctor had told her he did not think he could see the policeman before the evening of that day. but margaret was "obstinate," said the old lady, forgetting that she herself was a little obstinate in keeping all this a secret. so there was nothing for it but to go at once. poor old lady! perhaps it was not to be wondered at that, as she moved about the room, making ready to go out, she should again feel irritable and out of humor. she was in much pain. the plans which had cost her so much, and which she had thought would give such satisfaction, were all disarranged. she was vexed at being misjudged by those from whom she had so carefully concealed what she had done, for she saw plainly enough that they all thought her opposition of the morning was owing to the spirit of contradiction she had so often shown. she was vexed at herself, vexed with mrs. bradford, vexed even with the little ones whom she could not allow to be disappointed, and just for the moment she could not make up her mind to be reasonable and look at things in their right light. nor were her troubles yet at an end. as she left the room, she met mrs. bradford, who, seeing that she was going out again, once more tried to dissuade her from such imprudence, but all to no purpose. aunt patty was very determined and rather short, and went on her way down-stairs. as mrs. bradford entered her nursery, mammy, who had heard all that had passed, said, with the freedom of an old and privileged servant,-- "eh, my dear, but she's contrary. she's just hunting up a fit of rheumatics, that you may have the trouble of nursing her through it." mrs. lawrence heard the old woman's improper speech, but did not hear mrs. bradford's gently spoken reproof, and we may be sure the first did not help to restore her good-humor. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] xiii. _disappointment._ bessie's high spirits had all flown away. the scene with aunt patty, and the fear that the weather would not allow maggie and herself to carry uncle ruthven's gift to blind willie, on which pleasure, in spite of her father's warning, she had quite set her mind, were enough to sadden that sensitive little heart. more than this, she was very much hurt at what aunt patty had said of her mother. _she_, that dear, precious mamma, always so tender and devoted, so careful of her by night and day, to be so spoken of! no one else had ever dared to speak so to mamma in her hearing, and she did not feel as if she could forgive it. poor little soul! she was very indignant, but she kept down her anger, and all she had allowed herself to say had been, "she would not like to be blind herself a whole year; but she has not a bit of _symphethy_." at which long word mamma could not help smiling; but as she looked at the grieved face, she felt as if she could scarcely keep her own patience. "come here, bessie," said miss rush, who was sitting by the window, "i have something to show you; see there," as bessie climbed upon her lap. "a few moments since i saw a break in the clouds, and a bit of blue sky peeping out. i did not call you right away, lest you should be disappointed again; but the blue is spreading and spreading, so i think we may hope for a fine day, after all. and see, there is the sun struggling through. ah, i think you will have your walk with papa." yes, there came the sun shining quite brightly now, and the pools of water on the sidewalk began to dance in his beams as if they were saying, "how do you do, mr. sun? we are glad to see you after a week's absence, even though you do mean to make us disappear beneath your warm rays." bessie watched for a few moments, and then ran to find maggie, who had gone up-stairs with mamma for a new story-book which aunt bessie had promised to read for them. "maggie, maggie!" she called from the foot of the stairs, "come and see how the blue sky is coming out and how the sun is shining;" and as she spoke, maggie ran along the upper hall, and came down, saying, dolefully,-- "oh, bessie! i saw it up-stairs, and i went to the window to look, and there's a great cloud coming over the sun. there, see! he's all gone now. i just believe it is going to rain again." it was too true, and as the little girls ran to the front-door, and maggie drew aside the lace which covered the large panes of glass in the upper part, so that they might peep out, they saw that the blue sky had disappeared, and a moment later, down splashed the heavy drops of rain. bessie felt a great choking in her throat, and maggie said, impatiently, "it is _never_ going to clear up; i know it. it just rains this way to provoke poor children who want to go out." "maggie, darling, who sends the rain?" came in aunt bessie's gentle tone through the open parlor-door, and at the same moment a stern voice behind the children said,-- "you are very naughty, child. do you remember that god hears you when you say such wicked words?" both children turned with a start to see mrs. lawrence in hat and cloak, and with an enormous umbrella in her hand. "no," she said, severely, as poor frightened maggie shrank before the glance of her eye, "you will not go out to-day, nor do you deserve it." then bessie's anger broke forth. "you are bad, you're cruel!" she said, stamping her foot, and with her face crimson with passion. "you want poor willie to be blind all his life. you don't want him to be well, even when our father--" what more she would have said will never be known, save by him who reads all hearts; for as these last two words passed her lips, she checked herself, and rushing to aunt bessie, who had gone to the parlor-door at the sound of mrs. lawrence's voice, buried her face in the folds of her dress. "our father!" was she his little child now when in her fury and passion she had forgotten that his holy eye rested upon her, when she was grieving and offending him? such was the thought that had stopped her, even as she poured forth those angry words. for one moment she stood with her face hidden, sending up a silent, hurried prayer to the great helper, then turning to aunt patty, she said, with a touching meekness,-- "please forgive me, aunt patty. i didn't try hard enough that time; but i'll try not to do so again. the wicked passion came so quick;" and then she hid her face once more against miss rush. yes, the passion had come quickly, but it had been quickly conquered, and as aunt patty looked at her, these words came to her mind: "greater is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city;" and she stood humbled before this little child. turning away without a word, she opened the front-door and passed out, while miss rush led the children back to the parlor. aunt bessie's own eyes glistened as she lifted the sobbing child upon her lap, while maggie stood beside her, holding bessie's hand in one of her own, and with her pocket-handkerchief wiping the tears that streamed from her little sister's eyes. "oh, it has been such a bad day, and we thought it was going to be such a nice one, didn't we?" said bessie. "we were so very glad when we woke up this morning, and we have had such very _misable_ times all day, and now i was so naughty. and i did ask for help to be good, too, this morning. aunt bessie, why didn't it come?" "i think it did come, darling," said aunt bessie. "if it had not, you could not have conquered yourself as you did the moment you remembered you were displeasing your heavenly father. if you forgot for a moment, and your temper overcame you, i think he knew how you had struggled with it this morning, and so pitied and forgave, sending the grace and strength you needed as soon as you saw your own want of it." "it's all aunt patty's fault, anyhow," said maggie. "she provoked us, hateful old thing! i know i ought not to say that about the rain, aunt bessie, 'cause it's god's rain, and he can send it if he chooses; but it was not her business to meddle about, and i am a great deal more sorry for your speaking so kind than for all the scolding. i just wish--i wish--" "i would not wish any bad wishes for aunt patty, dear," said miss rush. "that will not help any of us to feel better." "i don't know about that," said maggie, gravely shaking her head. "i think i'd feel more comfortable in my mind if i wished something about her. i think i'll have to do it, aunt bessie." "then wish only that she were a little more amiable, or did not speak quite so sharply," said miss rush, smiling at maggie's earnestness. "oh, pooh! that's no good," said maggie. "she never will learn to behave herself. i'll tell you, i just wish she was a lot's wife." "lot's wife?" said miss rush. "i mean lot's wife after she 'came a pillar of salt, and then maybe she'd be all soaked away in this pouring rain, and no more left of her to come back again and bother us." there was never any telling where maggie's ideas would carry her, and at the thought of the droll fate she had imagined for aunt patty, miss rush fairly laughed outright, and even bessie smiled, after which she said she would go up-stairs and talk a little to her mother, which always did her good when she was in trouble. this shower proved the last of the rain for that day, and by twelve o'clock the clouds had all rolled away and the pavements were drying rapidly, giving fresh hope to maggie and bessie that they would be able to go over to the policeman's house; but before that aunt patty had returned. she was very silent, almost sad, and the many troubled looks she cast towards the little girls made mrs. bradford think that she was sorry for her unkindness of the morning. this was so, but there was more than that to trouble the old lady, for her errand to dr. dawson had been fruitless. when she reached his house, he was out, but she sat down to wait for him. he soon came in and without waiting for her to speak, told her that, having an hour to spare, he had just been up to the police-station to give richards the good news. so it was too late after all, for now that the policeman knew of her gift, mrs. lawrence could not make up her mind to ask it back. then the doctor asked her if she had any further business with him, to which she answered "no," and walked away, leaving him to think what a very odd old lady she was, and to say indignantly that he believed "she had not trusted him, and had come to see that he kept faith with her." "bradford," said mr. stanton, as he stood in his brother-in-law's office that morning, "those dear little girls of yours have put me to shame with their lively, earnest desire to do good to others. here have i been leading this lazy, useless life ever since i came home, looking only to my own comfort and happiness; and in my want of thought for others scarcely deserving the overflowing share of both which has fallen to me. your little ones have given me a lesson in their innocent wish to extend to others the benefits which god has heaped upon them; now cannot you help me to put it into practice? i am still so much of a stranger in my own city that i should scarcely know where to begin the task of carrying help to those who need it; but you were always a hand to know the claims and deserts of the poor. i have, thank god, the means and the time; can you show me where i can best spend them?" "doubtless, my dear fellow," answered mr. bradford. "i think you are rather hard upon yourself; but i can show you where both time and money can be laid out with a certainty of doing good and bringing happiness to those who deserve them. just now--but how far do your benevolent intentions go?" "tell me the necessities of your _protegée_ or _protegées_," said mr. stanton, smiling, "and i will tell you how far i am inclined to satisfy them. i had not thought much about it, having just been roused to a sense that it was time i was doing somewhat for the welfare of those who are not as well off as myself." "i was about to say," continued mr. bradford, "that at present i know of no more worthy case than that of the father of the blind boy in whom my children are so much interested. if an honest, god-fearing heart, a trusting, cheerful, yet submissive spirit, can give him a claim upon our help and sympathy, he certainly possesses it. i have watched him and talked to him during the last few months with considerable interest, and i honestly believe his troubles have not arisen through any fault of his own, but through the dealings of providence. he has been sorely tried, poor fellow, and i should like to see him set right once more with the world, free from the pressure of debt, and able to save his earnings for the comfort of his family. i had intended to undertake the payment of dr. dawson for the treatment of willie's eyes, but since you have done this, i shall hand to richards the sum i had intended for that purpose. whatever you may choose to add to this, will be so much towards relieving him from his debt to this schwitz." "and how much is that?" asked mr. stanton. mr. bradford named the sum, and after hearing all the circumstances, mr. stanton drew a check for the amount needed to pay the rest of the debt to dr. schwitz, and gave it to his brother-in-law, asking him to hand it to the policeman with his own gift. "you had better come with us this afternoon, and see for yourself," said mr. bradford. "it is going to be fine, and i have promised those dear little things that they shall carry their prize to the blind boy's home. i believe we are likely to find richards there about three o'clock, and i should like you to know him." so mr. stanton was persuaded; and as maggie and bessie were watching eagerly from the window for the first glimpse of papa, they saw him coming up the street with uncle ruthven. when they were ready to go, those three precious notes, the price of willie's sight, were brought by maggie to her father, with many prayers that he would take the best of care of them. she was not satisfied till she had seen them in his pocket-book, where she herself squeezed them into the smallest possible corner, next thrusting the pocket-book into the very depths of his pockets, and ramming in his handkerchief on top of that, "to be sure to keep it all safe." but there was a sore disappointment in store for these poor children. as they were leaving the house, and before mr. bradford had closed the door behind them, who should appear at the foot of the steps but sergeant richards himself, with his broad, honest face in a glow of happiness and content. "ah! richards, how are you?" said mr. bradford. "at your service, sir," answered the policeman, politely touching his cap. "i just came round to say a word to you, but i see you are going out. i sha'n't detain you two moments, though, if you could spare me that." "willingly," said mr. bradford. "we were on our way to your house, but our errand will keep;" and he led the way back to the parlor, followed by the whole party. mrs. bradford and miss rush were there also, just ready to go out; while aunt patty sat in the library, where every word that passed in the front room must reach her ears. "no, i'll not sit down, thank you, sir," said the policeman, "and i'll not keep you long. you have been so kind to me, and taken such an interest in all my difficulties, that i felt as if i must come right up and tell you of the good fortune, or, i should say, the kind providence, which has fallen to me. i have been furnished with the means to pay my debt to dr. schwitz; and more, thank god! more than this, dr. dawson has received the amount of his charge for the operation on willie's eyes. i shall be able to hold up my head once more, and that with the chance of my boy having his sight again." "and how has this come about?" asked mr. bradford. "i cannot say, sir. some unknown friend has done it all; but who, i know no more than yourself, perhaps not so much;" and the policeman looked searchingly into mr. bradford's face. "and i know absolutely nothing," said the gentleman, smiling. "i see, richards, you thought i had some hand in it, and expected to find me out; but i assure you, it is not my doing. these little girls of mine had, through the kindness of their uncle, hoped to place in your hands the sum needed for dr. dawson, and it was for this purpose that we were on our way to your house; but you say some one has been beforehand with us." "that's so, sir," said richards; "but none the less am i most grateful to you and the little ladies and this kind gentleman for your generous intentions. i am sure i don't know what i have done that the lord should raise me up such friends. but it is most strange as to who could have done this, sir, and about that old lady." "what old lady?" asked mr. bradford. "why, sir, she who either has done this or has been sent by some one else. if i don't keep you too long, i should just like to tell you what i know." "not at all," said mr. bradford. "let us have the story." "yesterday morning," said the policeman, "mrs. granby was sitting by the window, when she saw an old lady going to 'most all the houses, and seeming to be asking her way or inquiring for some one. so mrs. granby puts out her head and asks if she was looking for any one. 'i want mrs. richards, the policeman's wife,' says the old lady. mrs. granby told her that was the place and opens the door for her. well, she walked in, but a stranger she was, to be sure; neither my wife nor mrs. granby ever set eyes on her before, and they did not know what to make of her. all sorts of questions she asked, and in a way mary did not like at all, never telling who she was or what she came for. well, after a while she went away, but never letting on what she had come for, and mrs. granby and mary set it down that it was only for spying and meddling. but last night when i took up the bible to read a chapter before we went to bed, out drops a sealed packet with my name printed on it. i opened it, and there, will you believe it, sir, were two one hundred dollar bills, and around them a slip of paper with the words, printed, too, 'pay your debts.' no more, no less. you may know if we were astonished, and as for my wife, she was even a bit frightened. after talking it over, we were sure it could have been no one but the old lady that had put it there. but who was she, and how did she know so much of my affairs? mrs. granby said she remembered to have seen her fussing with the leaves of the bible, sort of careless like, as it lay upon the table, and she must have slipped it in then. but whether it was her own gift, or whether she was sent by some one else, who does not care to be seen in the matter, i don't know. the women will have it that it was the last, and that she did not like her errand, and so eased her mind by a bit of fault-finding and meddling, and i must say it looks like it." "and you have no possible clew to who this person was, richards?" asked mr. bradford. "none, sir. i might track her easy, i suppose, but since she didn't seem to wish it to be known who she was or where she came from, i wouldn't feel it was showing my gratitude for the obligations she's laid me under, and you see by the printing she don't wish to be tracked even by her handwriting. nor was this all. early this morning, round comes dr. dawson to the station, asking for me; and he told me that an old lady had been to his house yesterday, and after asking a lot of questions, had paid him a hundred and fifty dollars for undertaking the operation on willie's eyes, and took a receipted bill from him. by all accounts, she must be the same person who was at my place yesterday, and if ever a man was as mad as a hornet, he's the one. when he asked if he might take the liberty of inquiring what interest she had in my family, she asked if it was necessary to willie's cure that he should know that; and when he said, 'no, of course not,' she said it _was_ a great liberty, and as good as told him to mind his own affairs. he quite agrees with my wife and mrs. granby that she was only a messenger from some unknown friend, and that she was not pleased with the business she had in hand. the doctor is very much occupied just now, and told her he could not well see me before this evening; but he found he could make time to run over and tell me this morning, and kindly did so. so, you see, sir, i do not rightly know what to do, joyful and grateful as i feel; and i thought i would just run over and tell you the story at once, and ask if you thought i might safely use this money without fear of getting into any difficulty. you see it's such a strange and mysterious way of doing things that i won't say but i would think it odd myself if i heard another person had come by such a sum in such a way." "i see no possible objection to your using the money," said mr. bradford. "it certainly has been intended for you, however singular the way in which it has been conveyed to you, or however disagreeable the manner of the messenger. it has probably been the work of some eccentric, but kind-hearted person who does not choose to have his good deeds known." "i can't say but i would feel better to know whom it came from, mr. bradford, grateful from my very soul as i am. i shouldn't have been too proud to take such a favor from one who i knew was a friend to me, with the hope, maybe, of one day making it up, but it's not so comfortable to have it done in this secret sort of way, and as if it were something to be ashamed of." "do not look at it in that way, richards, but believe that your friend has only acted thus from a wish that his left hand should not know what his right hand has done. look at it as a gift from the lord, and use it with an easy heart and a clear conscience, as i am sure your benefactor intended." "well, may god bless and prosper him, whoever he is," said the policeman. "i only wish he knew what a load is lifted from my heart. and thank you too, sir, for your advice and for all your interest in me." while the policeman had been telling his story, maggie and bessie had stood listening eagerly to him. at first they looked pleased as well as interested, but when it was made plain to them that some stranger had done the very thing on which they had set their hearts, a look of blank dismay and disappointment overspread their faces. by the time he had finished, bessie, with her head pressed against her mother's shoulder, was choking back the tears, and maggie, with crimson cheeks and wide-open eyes, was standing, the very picture of indignation. "papa," she exclaimed, as mr. richards said the last words, "does he really mean that woman went and paid that money for blind willie to be cured?" "yes, my darling," said her father, with a feeling of real pity for the disappointment of his two little daughters, "but i think--" "it's too bad," said maggie, without waiting for her father to finish his sentence; "it's as mean, as mean as--oh! i never heard of anything so mean; the horrid old thing! something ought to be done to her. i know she just did it to make a disappointment to bessie and me. oh, dear! it's too bad!" she finished with a burst of tears. "my dear little girl," said her father, "i know this is a great disappointment to you; but you must not let it make you unreasonable. this person is probably an entire stranger to you; and any way, she could know nothing of your purpose." "you will find plenty of uses for the money," said uncle ruthven, catching bessie up in his arms. "put it away till you find another blind boy, or lame girl, or some old sick body, who would be glad of a little help. papa will find you ways enough to spend it." "but," said bessie, mournfully, as she wiped her eyes, "we wanted to use it for willie, and we thought so much about it, and we were so glad when we thought how pleased he would be! oh! we are very much _trialed_; are we not, maggie?" "now the lord love you for your thought of my boy," said the policeman, "and i'm sure i wish, for your sake, that the old lady had stopped short of dr. dawson's door, keeping her money for some other folks that had need of it, and leaving it to you two dear little ones to do this kind turn for my child. but willie will think just as much, as i do, of your meaning to do it, as if you'd done it out and out; and if you'll allow it, madam,"--here he turned to mrs. bradford, "i'd like to bring him over, that he may say so." mrs. bradford said she would be very glad to see willie, and asked mr. richards to bring him and jennie over the next day, and let them spend an hour or two with the children. this she did, thinking it would be a pleasure to her little girls to see the blind boy and his sister, and wishing to do all she could to console them for their disappointment. the policeman promised to do this, and then, once more thanking mr. bradford and his family for all their kindness, he went away. [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] xiv. _aunt patty._ but maggie and bessie, especially the former, were quite determined not to be consoled. they thought such a terrible disappointment deserved to be sorrowed over for some time to come, and sat with tearful faces and a very mournful manner, quite unable to do anything but grieve. "i hope i shall have strength to bear it, but i don't know," said maggie, with her pocket-handkerchief to her eyes. mamma told her that the way to bear a trial was not to sit fretting over it and thinking how bad it was, but to look at its bright side, and see what good we or others might gain from it. "but _this_ has no bright side; has it, mamma?" asked bessie. "i think so," replied her mother. "this unknown friend has done much more for the policeman and his family than you could have done, and she has not only given the money for dr. dawson, but has, also, paid the debt to dr. schwitz; while your uncle is kind enough to allow you to keep your money for some one else who may need it." "but, mamma," said maggie, with her eyes still covered, "uncle ruthven was going to pay the debt himself; papa told us so. so it would have been just as good for the policeman." "i declare," said mr. stanton, "i had quite forgotten that i was disappointed too! well, well;" and he leaned his head on his hand, and put on a very doleful air. "bradford," he continued, in the most mournful tones, "since we are not to go over to the policeman's this afternoon, i had thought we might have some other little frolic; but of course, none of us are in spirits for the visit to the menagerie i had intended to propose." at this, maggie's handkerchief came down, and bessie raised her head from her mother's shoulder. "i do not know but i might go, if i could make up a pleasant, happy party to take with me," said mr. stanton. "_you_ could not think of it, i suppose, maggie?" "i don't know," said maggie, half unwilling to be so soon comforted, and yet too much pleased at the thought of this unexpected treat to be able to refuse it. "perhaps i might. i think maybe it would do me good to see the animals." but she still sat with the air of a little martyr, hoping that uncle ruthven would press her very much, so that she might not seem to yield too easily. "i thought perhaps it might bring _me_ a little comfort to see the monkeys eat peanuts, and then make faces at me, while they pelted me with the shells," said mr. stanton, in the same despairing tone. at this bessie broke into a little low laugh, and the dimples showed themselves at the corners of maggie's mouth, though she pursed up her lips, and drew down her eyebrows in her determination not to smile. but it was all useless, and in two moments more uncle ruthven had them both as merry as crickets over this new pleasure. mamma and aunt bessie were coaxed to give up their shopping and go with them, and the three boys, harry, fred, and franky, being added to the party, they all set off in good spirits. the blind boy and the terrible disappointment were not forgotten, but the children had made up their minds to take mamma's advice,--bear it bravely, and look on the bright side. aunt patty saw them go, and was glad to be left to herself, although her own thoughts were not very pleasant company. she had done a kind and generous action in an ungracious way, causing those whom she had benefited to feel that they would rather have received the favor from another hand, bringing a real trial upon these dear children, and vexation and regret to herself. she could not look upon her work or its consequences with any satisfaction. what though she had done a good deed, she had not done it quite in the right spirit, and so it seemed it had not brought a blessing. self-will and temper had been suffered to overcome her once more. bessie had shamed her by the self-control which she, an old woman, had not shown, and she had been outdone by both these little ones in patience and submission. the policeman's family would have been quite as well off as they were now, and she might still have had the long-desired grove, the object of so many thoughts and wishes, had she never taken up the matter, or had she even allowed her intentions to be known. she had really had an honest desire to keep her generous self-sacrifice a secret, that it should not be published abroad to all the world; but there was, also, an obstinate little corner in her heart which made her determine to keep it from her nephew, lest he should oppose it. "for i want none of his advice or interference," she said, to herself; it being generally the case that those who deal most largely in those articles themselves are the most unwilling to receive them from others. so the poor old lady sadly thought, taking shame and repentance to herself for all the peevishness and ill-temper of the last two days, seeing where she had acted wrongly and unwisely, and making new resolutions for the future. ah, the old besetting sin, strengthened by long habit and indulgence, what a tyrant it had become, and how hard she had to struggle with it, how often was she overcome! yes, well might little bessie be thankful that wise and tender teachers had taught her to control that passionate temper, which later might have proved such a misery to herself and her friends. then came back to her the dear child's trusting words, "jesus knows," bringing with them a comforting sense of his near love and presence, and a feeling that his help and forgiveness were still open to her, though she had again so sadly given way. oh, that she had little bessie's simple faith! that this feeling of the saviour's nearness, this constant looking to him for help and guidance, which were shown by this little one, were hers also! she bethought herself of a hymn, which she had heard mrs. bradford teaching to her children during the last week, and which they had all sung together on sunday evening. she could not recollect the exact words, but it seemed to her that it was the very thing she needed now. she searched for it through all the hymn-books and tune-books on which she could lay her hands, but in vain; and, as was aunt patty's way, the more she could not find it, the more she seemed to want it. should she ask the children for it when they came home? to do so, would be the same as confessing that she had done wrong, and that was the hardest thing in the world for the proud old lady to do. but yes, she would do it! nay, more, she would no longer be outdone by a little child in generosity and humility. she would tell the children that she was sorry for her unkindness of the morning. it did aunt patty no harm, but a great deal of good, that long afternoon's musing in the silent house, where no patter of children's feet, nor any sound of young voices was heard; for baby had gone to her grandmamma, so that even her soft coo and joyous crow were missing for some hours. meanwhile the children were enjoying themselves amazingly; for a visit to the menagerie with uncle ruthven, who knew so much of the wild beasts and their habits, and who told of them in such an interesting way, was no common treat. the day had been as april-like within as without, clouds and sunshine by turns, ending at last in settled brightness; and no one who had seen the happy faces of our maggie and bessie would have thought that they could have worn such woeful looks but a few hours since. after reaching home, they were passing through the upper hall on their way down to the parlor, where they had left papa and uncle ruthven, when aunt patty's door opened, and she called them. they stood still and hesitated. "come in," said mrs. lawrence again, in a gentle tone; "aunt patty wants to speak to you." maggie and bessie obeyed, but slowly and unwillingly, as the old lady grieved to see, the former with drooping head and downcast eyes, while bessie peeped shyly up at her aunt from under her eyelashes. "aunt patty was cross, and vexed you this morning," said mrs. lawrence; "but she is sorry now. come, kiss her and be friends." in a moment bessie's rosebud of a mouth was put up for the desired kiss, but maggie still held back. it was not that she was unforgiving, but this meekness from aunt patty was something so new, and so contrary to all the ideas she had formed of her, that she did not know how to believe in it, or to understand it. "kiss her," whispered bessie; "it is not 'bearing her burden' if you don't." so maggie's face was lifted also, and as her aunt bent down and kissed her, she was astonished to see how gentle and kind, although sad, she looked. the "corners" were all out of sight just now, and maggie even began to feel sorry that she had wished aunt patty to be "a pillar of salt which might be soaked away in the rain." mrs. lawrence asked them if they had enjoyed themselves, and put a question or two about the menagerie in a pleasant, gentle tone, which showed that her ill-temper was all gone. then there was a moment's silence, the children wishing, yet not exactly knowing how, to run away; at the end of which, mrs. lawrence said, in rather an embarrassed voice, as if she were half ashamed of what she was doing, "bessie, where did you find that little hymn, 'listen, oh, listen, our father all holy'?" "oh, it is in our dear little 'chapel gems,'" said the child. "is it not pretty, aunt patty? mamma found it, and i asked her to teach it to us, 'cause it was so sweet to say when any of us had been naughty. when we sing it, i think it's just like a little prayer in music." "can you find the book for me?" asked the old lady. "mamma lent it to mrs. rush. she wanted to have the music, so we might have it for one of our sunday-school hymns. i'll ask mamma to let you have it as soon as aunt may sends it back." "it is of no consequence," said mrs. lawrence, in a tone in which bessie fancied there was some disappointment. "do not let me keep you if you want to go." both children turned toward the door, but before they reached it, bessie lingered, also detaining maggie, who held her hand. "aunt patty," she said, sweetly, "i think it is of consequence if you want it. and--and--i know 'our father all holy.' if you would like, i can say it to you." "come, then, darling," answered the old lady, and standing at her knee with aunt patty's hand resting on her curls, bessie repeated, slowly and correctly, this beautiful hymn:-- "listen, oh, listen, our father all holy! humble and sorrowful, owning my sin, hear me confess, in my penitence lowly, how in my weakness temptation came in. "pity me now, for, my father, no sorrow ever can be like the pain that i know; when i remember that all through to-morrow, missing the light of thy love, i may go. "for thy forgiveness, the gift i am seeking, nothing, oh, nothing, i offer to thee! thou to my sinful and sad spirit speaking, giving forgiveness, giv'st all things to me. "keep me, my father, oh, keep me from falling! i had not sinned, had i felt thou wert nigh; speak, when the voice of the tempter is calling so that temptation before thee may fly. "thoughts of my sin much more humble shall make me, for thy forgiveness i'll love thee the more; so keep me humble until thou shall take me where sin and sorrow forever are o'er."[a] "'i had not sinned, had i felt thou wert nigh,'" she said again, after she was through with the last line. "i wish we could always remember our father is nigh; don't you, aunt patty? we know it, but sometimes we forget it a little, and then the naughtiness comes, and so we grieve him. but is not that a sweet hymn to say when we are sorry for our sin, and want him to help and forgive us again? i felt it was yesterday when i had been angry and spoken so naughty to you." "oh, child, child!" was all the answer mrs. lawrence gave. her heart had been softened before, now it was quite melted, and putting her arm about bessie, she drew her to her and kissed her on both cheeks; while maggie stood by wondering as she heard the tremor of aunt patty's voice and saw something very like a tear in her eye. "out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, thou hast perfected praise," murmured the old lady to herself, when the door had closed behind the children. "lord, make me even like unto this little child, granting me such faith, such grace, such patience, such an earnest desire to do thy will, to live only to thy glory." yes, such were the lessons learned even by an old woman like aunt patty from this little lamb of jesus, this little follower of her blessed lord and master. "even a child is known by his doings." "who is for a summer among the mountains?" asked mr. bradford as the family sat around the table after dinner. "i am, and i, and i!" came from a chorus of young voices, for from papa's look it was plainly to be seen that the question was addressed to the children, and that the grown people had had their say before. even baby, who was learning to imitate everything, made a sound which might be interpreted into an "i;" but one little voice was silent. "and has my bessie nothing to say?" asked papa. "is the sea at the mountains, papa?" said bessie, answering his question by another. "no, dear," said her father, smiling, "but among the mountains to which we think of going, there is a very beautiful lake, on the border of which stands the house in which we shall stay." "i am very fond of the sea, papa," answered bessie, "and i think i would prefer to go to quam beach again,--i mean if the others liked it too." "i do not doubt we should all enjoy ourselves at quam," said mr. bradford, "for we spent a very pleasant summer there last year. but grandmamma does not think the sea-side good for aunt annie's throat, and wishes to take her up among the mountains. the colonel's doctor has also advised him to go there, so we shall not have the same delightful party we had last summer if we go to quam. about four miles from the old homestead, and higher up in the chalecoo mountains, is this very lovely lake set deep among the rocks and woods. here lives a man named porter,--you remember him, aunt patty?" "certainly," answered mrs. lawrence, "he has been adding to and refitting his house, with the intention of taking boarders, i believe. do you think of going there?" "yes. i remember even in former days it was an airy, comfortable old place, and with the improvements which i hear porter has made, i think it will just suit our party. what do you say, bessie? would you not like to go there with all the dear friends, rather than to quam without them?" "oh, yes," said bessie; "i like my people better than i do the sea; but then i do wish there was just a little bit of sea there, papa." papa smiled at bessie's regret for the grand old ocean, which she loved so dearly; but as he told her of the many new pleasures she might find among the mountains, she began to think they might prove almost as delightful as those of the last summer at quam beach. so the plan was talked over with pleasure by all. papa and uncle ruthven were to start the next morning to go up to the lake, see the house, and, if it suited, to make all the necessary arrangements. the party was a large one to be accommodated,--grandmamma and aunt annie, uncle ruthven and aunt bessie, colonel and mrs. rush, and mr. and mrs. bradford with all their family; and as soon as it was found to be doubtful if this could be done, all the children, even bessie, were in a flutter of anxiety lest they should be disappointed. this was of no use, however, for the matter could not be decided till papa and uncle ruthven returned. "i have a little private business with maggie and bessie," said papa, as they rose from the table. "young ladies, may i request the honor of your company in my room for a few moments?" wondering what could be coming now, but sure from papa's face that it was something very pleasant, the little girls went skipping and dancing before him to the library, where, sitting down, papa lifted bessie to his knee, and maggie upon the arm of the chair, holding her there with his arm about her waist. when they were all settled, mr. bradford said, "uncle ruthven and i have a plan which we thought might please you, but if you do not like it, you are to say so." "papa," said maggie, "if it's any plan about that money, i think we'll have to consider it a little first. you see it seems to us as if it was very much willie's money, and we will have to be a little accustomed to think it must do good to some one else." this was said with a very grave, businesslike air, which sat rather drolly upon our merry, careless maggie, and her father smiled. "i shall tell you," he said, "and then you may have the next two days, till uncle ruthven and i come back, to consider it. dr. dawson thinks it necessary for willie richards to have change of air as soon as he is able to travel. of course his mother must go with him, to take care of him; and, indeed, it is needful for the poor woman herself to have mountain air. i have thought that we might find some quiet farmhouse at or near chalecoo, where willie and his mother could go for two or three months at a small cost; but i do not believe it is possible for the policeman to afford even this, without very great discomfort and even suffering to himself and his family. now, how would you like to use the money uncle ruthven gave you to pay the board of willie and his mother, and so still spend it for his good and comfort? as i said, you may take two days to think over this plan, and if it does not suit you, you can say so." ah! this was quite unnecessary, as papa probably knew. _this_ needed no consideration. why, it was almost as good as paying dr. dawson,--rather better, maggie thought. but bessie could not quite agree to this last. "i am very satisfied, papa," she said, "but then it would have been so nice to think our money helped to make blind willie see his mother's face." "maggie, have you forgiven that old woman yet?" asked fred, when his father and little sisters had joined the rest of the family in the other room. "oh, yes!" said maggie. "i think she is lovely! she has made things a great deal better for us, though she did not know it, and blind willie is to go to the country. but you are not to talk about it, fred, for he is not to be told till it is all fixed, and papa has found the place; and we are to pay the board, and i'm so sorry i said bad things about her, even if she was only the messenger, and some one sent her." "hallo!" said fred, "anything more?" "i am so full of gladness, i don't know what to do with it," said maggie, who very often found herself in this state; "but i am so very tired i can't hop much to-night." [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] xv. _willie's visit._ "there," said mrs. granby, holding willie richards at arm's length from her, and gazing at him with pride and admiration,--"there, i'd like to see the fellow, be he man, woman, or child, that will dare to say my boy is not fit to stand beside any gentleman's son in the land." certainly mrs. granby had no need to be ashamed of the object of her affectionate care. his shoes, though well worn and patched, had been blacked and polished till they looked quite respectable; the suit made from his father's old uniform was still neat and whole, for willie's present quiet life was a great saving to his clothes, if that were any comfort; his white collar was turned back and neatly tied with a black ribbon, and mrs. granby had just combed back the straight locks from his pale, fair forehead in a jaunty fashion which she thought highly becoming to him. there was a look of hope and peace on his delicate face which and not been there for many a long day, for last night his father had told him that the doctor had an almost sure hope of restoring his sight, if he were good and patient, and that the operation was to take place the next week. the news had put fresh heart and life into the poor boy, and now, as mrs. granby said this, he laughed aloud, and throwing both arms about her neck, and pressing his cheek to hers, said,-- "thank you, dear auntie granby. i know i am nice when you fix me up. pretty soon i shall _see_ how nice you make me look." "come now, jennie, bring along that mop of yours," said mrs. granby, brandishing a comb at jennie, and, half laughing, half shrinking, the little girl submitted to put her head into mrs. granby's hands. but, as had been the case very often before, it was soon given up as a hopeless task. jennie's short, crisp curls defied both comb and brush, and would twist themselves into close, round rings, lying one over another after their own will and fashion. "i don't care," said jennie, when mrs. granby pretended to be very angry at the rebellious hair,--"i don't care if it won't be smoothed; it is just like father's, mother says so; and anything like him is good enough for me." "well, i won't say no to that," said mrs. granby, putting down the brush and throwing jennie's dress over her head. "the more you're like him in all ways, the better you'll be, jennie richards, you mind that." "i do mind it," said jennie. "i know he's the best father ever lived. isn't he, willie?" "s'pose that's what all young ones says of their fathers and mothers," answered mrs. granby, "even s'posin' the fathers and mothers ain't much to boast of. but you're nearer the truth, jennie, than some of them, and it's all right and nat'ral that every child should think its own folks the best. there's little miss bradfords, what you're goin' up to see, they'd be ready to say the same about their pa." "and good reason, too," chimed in mrs. richards. "he's as true and noble a gentleman as ever walked, and a good friend to us." "that's so," answered mrs. granby, "i'll not gainsay you there neither. and that's come all along of your man just speaking a kind word or two to that stray lamb of his. and if i'd a mind to contradick you, which i haint, there's sergeant richards himself to back your words. the bairns is 'most ready, sergeant; and me and mary was just sayin' how strange it seemed that such a friend as mr. bradford was raised up for you just along of a bit of pettin' you give that lost child. it's as the gentleman says,--'bread cast upon the waters;' but who'd ha' thought to see it come back the way it does? it beats all how things do come around." "under god's guidance," said the policeman, softly. "the lord's ways are past finding out." "i'll agree to that too," answered mrs. granby, "bein' in an accommodatin' humor this afternoon. there, now, jennie, you're ready. mind your manners now, and behave pretty, and don't let willie go to falling down them long stairs at mrs. bradford's. there, kiss your mother, both of you, and go away with your father. i s'pose he ain't got no time to spare. i'll go over after them in an hour or so, sergeant richards." here tommy began very eagerly with his confused jargon which no one pretended to understand but jennie. "what does he say, jennie?" asked the father. "he says, 'nice little girl, come some more. bring her doggie,'" said jennie; then turning to her mother, she asked, "mother, do you b'lieve you can understand tommy till i come back?" "i'll try," said her mother, smiling; "if i cannot, tommy and i must be patient. run now, father is waiting." mrs. granby followed them to the door, and even to the gate, where she stood and watched them till they were out of sight, for, as she told mrs. richards, "it did her a heap of good to see the poor things goin' off for a bit of a holiday." the policeman and his children kept steadily on till they reached the park near which mr. bradford lived, where they turned in. "how nice it is!" said willie as the fresh, sweet air blew across his face, bringing the scent of the new grass and budding trees. "it seems a little like the country here. don't you wish we lived in the country, father?" "i would like it, willie, more for your sake than for anything else, and i wish from my heart i could send you and mother off to the country this summer, my boy. but you see it can't be managed. but i guess somehow father will contrive to send you now and then up to central park, or for a sail down the bay or up the river. and you and jennie can come over here every day and play about awhile, and that will put a bit of strength in you, if you can't get out into the country." "and then i shall see; sha'n't i, father? i hear the birds. are they hopping about like they used to, over the trees, so tame and nice?" "yes," answered his father, "and here we are by the water, where's a whole heap of 'em come down for a drink." in his new hope, willie took a fresh interest in all about him. "oh, i hear 'em!" said willie, eagerly, "and soon i'll see 'em. will it be next week, father?" and he clasped tightly the hand he held. "i don't know about next week, sonny. i believe your eyes have to be bandaged for a while, lest the light would be too bright for them, while they're still weak, but you will have patience for that; won't you, willie?" willie promised, for it seemed to him that he could have patience and courage for anything now. "oh!" said jennie, as they reached mr. bradford's house, and went up the steps, "don't i wish i lived in a house like this!" "don't be wishing that," said her father. "you'll see a good many things here such as you never saw before, but you mustn't go to wishing for them or fretting after the same. we've too much to be thankful for, my lassie, to be hankering for things which are not likely ever to be ours." "'tis no harm to wish for them; is it, father?" asked jennie, as they waited for the door to be opened. "it's not best even to wish for what's beyond our reach," said her father, "lest we should get to covet our neighbors' goods, or to be discontented with our own lot; and certainly we have no call to do that." richards asked for mrs. bradford, and she presently came down, bringing maggie and bessie with her. jennie felt a little strange and frightened at first when her father left her. making acquaintance with maggie and bessie in her own home was a different thing from coming to visit them in their large, handsome house, and they scarcely seemed to her like the same little girls. but when maggie took her up-stairs, and showed her the baby-house and dolls, she forgot everything else, and looked at them, quite lost in admiration. willie was not asked to look at anything. the little sisters had thought of what he had said the day they went to see him, and agreed that bessie was to take care of him while maggie entertained jennie. he asked after flossy, and the dog was called, and behaved quite as well as he had done when he saw willie before, lying quiet in his arms as long as the blind boy chose to hold him, and putting his cold nose against his face in an affectionate way which delighted willie highly. there was no difficulty in amusing jennie, who had eyes for all that was to be seen, and who thought she could never be tired of handling and looking at such beautiful toys and books. but perhaps the children would hardly have known how to entertain willie for any length of time, if a new pleasure had not accidentally been furnished for him. maggie and bessie had just taken him and his sister into the nursery to visit the baby, the canary bird, and other wonders there, when there came sweet sounds from below. willie instantly turned to the door and stood listening. "who's making that music?" he asked presently in a whisper, as if he were afraid to lose a note. "mamma and aunt bessie," said maggie. "would you and jennie like to go down to the parlor and hear it?" asked bessie. willie said "yes," very eagerly, but jennie did not care to go where the grown ladies were, and said she would rather stay up-stairs if maggie did not mind. maggie consented, and bessie went off, leading the blind boy by the hand. it was both amusing and touching to see the watch she kept over this child who was twice her own size, guiding his steps with a motherly sort of care, looking up at him with wistful pity and tenderness, and speaking to him in a soft, coaxing voice such as one would use to an infant. they were going down-stairs when they met aunt patty coming up. she passed them at the landing, then suddenly turning, said, in the short, quick way to which bessie was by this time somewhat accustomed, "children! bessie! this is very dangerous! you should not be leading that poor boy down-stairs. where are your nurses, that they do not see after you? take care, take care! look where you are going now! carefully, carefully!" now if aunt patty had considered the matter, she would have known she was taking the very way to bring about the thing she dreaded. willie had been going on fearlessly, listening to his gentle little guide; but at the sound of the lady's voice he started, and as she kept repeating her cautions, he grew nervous and uneasy; while bessie, instead of watching his steps and taking heed to her own, kept glancing up at her aunt with an uncomfortable sense of being watched by those sharp eyes. however, they both reached the lower hall in safety, where bessie led her charge to the parlor-door. "mamma," she said, "willie likes music very much. i suppose you would just as lief he would listen to you and aunt bessie." "certainly," said mamma. "bring him in." but before they went in, willie paused and turned to bessie. "who was that on the stairs?" he asked in a whisper. "oh! that was only aunt patty," answered the little girl. "you need not be afraid of her. she don't mean to be so cross as she is; but she is old, and had a great deal of trouble, and not very wise people to teach her better when she was little. so she can't help it sometimes." "no," said willie, slowly, as if he were trying to recollect something, "i am not afraid; but then i thought i had heard that voice before." "oh, i guess not," said bessie; and then she took him in and seated him in her own little arm-chair, close to the piano. no one who had noticed the way in which the blind boy listened to the music, or seen the look of perfect enjoyment on his pale, patient face, could have doubted his love for the sweet sounds. while mrs. bradford and miss rush played or sang, he sat motionless, not moving a finger, hardly seeming to breathe, lest he should lose one note. "so you are very fond of music; are you, willie?" said mrs. bradford, when at length they paused. "yes, ma'am, very," said he, modestly; "but i never heard music like that before. it seems 'most as if it was alive." "so it does," said bessie, while the ladies smiled at the boy's innocent admiration. "i think there's a many nice things in this house," continued willie, who, in his very helplessness and unconsciousness of the many new objects which surrounded him, was more at his ease than his sister. "and mamma is the nicest of all," said bessie. "you can't think how precious she is, willie!" mrs. bradford laughed as she put back her little daughter's curls, and kissed her forehead. "i guess she must be, when she is your mother," said willie. "you must all be very kind and good people here; and i wish, oh, i wish it was you and your sister who gave the money for dr. dawson. but never mind; i thank you and love you all the same as if you had done it, only i would like to think it all came through you. and father says"-- here willie started, and turned his sightless eyes towards the open door, through which was again heard mrs. lawrence's voice, as she gave directions to patrick respecting a parcel she was about to send home. "what is the matter, willie?" asked mrs. bradford. "nothing, ma'am;" answered the child, as a flush came into his pale cheeks, and rising from his chair, he stood with his head bent forward, listening intently, till the sound of aunt patty's voice ceased, and the opening and closing of the front-door showed that she had gone out, when he sat down again with a puzzled expression on his face. "does anything trouble you?" asked mrs. bradford. "no, ma'am; but--but--i _know_ i've heard it before." "heard what?" "that voice, ma'am; miss bessie said it was her aunt's." "but you couldn't have heard it, you know, willie," said bessie, "'cause you never came to this house before, and aunt patty never went to yours." these last words brought it all back to the blind boy. he knew now. "but she _did_," he said, eagerly,--"she did come to our house. that's the one; that's the voice that scolded mother and auntie granby and jennie, and that put the money into the bible when we didn't know it!" mrs. bradford and miss rush looked at one another with quick, surprised glances; but bessie said, "oh! you must be mistaken, willie. it's quite _un_possible. aunt patty does not know you or your house, and she never went there. besides, she does not"--"does not like you to have the money," she was about to say, when she thought that this would be neither kind nor polite, and checked herself. but willie was quite as positive as she was, and with a little shake of his head, he said, "ever since i was blind, i always knew a voice when i heard it once. i wish jennie or mrs. granby had seen her, they could tell you; but i know that's the voice. it was _you_ sent her, after all, ma'am; was it not?" and he turned his face toward mrs. bradford. "no, willie, i did not send her," answered the lady, with another look at miss rush, "nor did any one in this house." but in spite of this, and all bessie's persuasions and assurances that the thing was quite impossible, willie was not to be convinced that the voice he had twice heard was not that of the old lady who had left the money in the bible; and he did not cease regretting that jennie had not seen her. but to have jennie or mrs. granby see her was just what mrs. lawrence did not choose, and to avoid this, she had gone out, not being able to shut herself up in her own room, which was undergoing a sweeping and dusting. she had not been afraid of the sightless eyes of the little boy when she met him on the stairs, never thinking that he might recognize her voice; but she had taken good care not to meet those of jennie, so quick and bright, and which she felt would be sure to know her in an instant. but secure as aunt patty thought herself, when she was once out of the house, that treacherous voice of hers had betrayed her, not only to willie's sensitive ears, but to that very pair of eyes which she thought she had escaped. for, as the loud tones had reached maggie and jennie at their play, the latter had dropped the toy she held, and exclaimed, in a manner as startled as willie's, "there's that woman!" "what woman?" asked maggie. "the old woman who brought the money to our house. i know it is her." "oh, no, it is not," said maggie; "that's aunt patty, and she's an old lady, not an old woman, and she wouldn't do it if she could. she is real mean, jennie, and i think that person who took you the money was real good and kind, even if we did feel a little bad about it at first. aunt patty would never do it, i know. bessie and i try to like her, and just as we begin to do it a little scrap, she goes and does something that makes us mad again, so it's no use to try." "but she does talk just like the lady who came to our house," persisted jennie. "you can see her if you have a mind to," said maggie, "and then you'll know it is not her. come and look over the balusters, but don't let her see you, or else she'll say, 'what are you staring at, child?'" they both ran to the head of the stairs, where jennie peeped over the balusters. "it _is_ her!" she whispered to maggie. "i am just as sure, as sure. she is all dressed up nice to-day, and the other day she had on an old water-proof cloak, and a great big umbrella, and she didn't look so nice. but she's the very same." "let's go down and tell mamma, and see what she says," said maggie, as the front-door closed after aunt patty. away they both rushed to the parlor; but when jennie saw the ladies, she was rather abashed and hung back a little, while maggie broke forth with, "mamma, i have the greatest piece of astonishment to tell you, you ever heard. jennie says she is quite sure aunt patty is the woman who put the money in the bible and paid dr. dawson. but, mamma, it can't be; can it? aunt patty is quite too dog-in-the-mangery; is she not?" "maggie, dear," said her mother, "that is not a proper way for you to speak of your aunt, nor do i think it is just as you say. what do you mean by that?" "why, mamma, you know the dog in the manger could not eat the hay himself, and would not let the oxen eat it; and aunt patty would not buy the grove, or tell papa what was the reason; so was she not like the dog in the manger?" "not at all," said mrs. bradford, smiling at maggie's reasoning. "the two cases are not at all alike. as you say, the dog would not let the hungry oxen eat the hay he could not use himself, but because aunt patty did not choose to buy the grove, we have no right to suppose she would not make, or has not made some other good use of her money, and if she chooses to keep that a secret, she has a right to do so. no, i do not think we can call her like the dog in the manger, maggie." "but do you believe she gave up the grove for that, mamma? she would not be so good and generous; would she?" "yes, dear, i think she would. aunt patty is a very generous-hearted woman, although her way of doing things may be very different from that of some other people. mind, i did not say that she _did_ do this, but willie and jennie both seem to be quite positive that she is the old lady who was at their house, and i think it is not at all unlikely." "and shall you ask her, mamma?" "no. if it was aunt patty who has been so kind, she has shown very plainly that she did not wish to be questioned, and i shall say nothing, nor must you. we will not talk about it any more now. we will wind up the musical box, and let willie see if he likes it as well as the piano." very soon after this, mrs. granby came for willie and jennie, and no sooner were they outside of the door than they told of the wonderful discovery they had made. mrs. granby said she was not at all astonished, "one might have been sure such a good turn came out of _that_ house, somehow." [illustration: decoration, end of chap. ] [illustration: title decoration, chap. ] xvi. _willie's recovery._ willie seemed amazingly cheered up and amused by his visit, and told eagerly of all he had heard and noticed, with a gay ring in his voice which delighted his mother. it was not so with jennie, although she had come home with her hands full of toys and picture-books, the gifts of the kind little girls she had been to see. she seemed dull, and her mother thought she was tired of play and the excitement of seeing so much that was new and strange to her. but mrs. richards soon found it was worse than this. "i don't see why i can't keep this frock on," said jennie, fretfully, as mrs. granby began to unfasten her dress, which was kept for sundays and holidays. "surely, you don't want to go knocking round here, playing and working in your best frock!" said mrs. granby. "what would it look like?" "the other one is torn," answered jennie, pouting, and twisting herself out of mrs. granby's hold. "didn't i mend it as nice as a new pin?" said mrs. granby, showing a patch nicely put in during jennie's absence. "it's all faded and ugly," grumbled jennie. "i don't see why i can't be dressed as nice as other folks." "that means you want to be dressed like little miss bradfords," answered mrs. granby. "and the reason why you ain't is because your folks can't afford it, my dearie. don't you think your mother and me would like to see you rigged out like them, if we had the way to do it? to be sure we would. but you see we can't do more than keep you clean and whole; so there's no use wishin'." jennie said no more, but submitted to have the old dress put on; but the pleasant look did not come back to her face. anything like sulkiness or ill-temper from jennie was so unusual that the other children listened in surprise; but her mother saw very plainly what was the matter, and hoping it would wear off, thought it best to take no notice of it at present. the dress fastened, jennie went slowly and unwillingly about her task of putting away her own and her brother's clothes; not doing so in her usual neat and orderly manner but folding them carelessly and tumbling them into the drawers in a very heedless fashion. mrs. granby saw this, but she, too, let it pass, thinking she would put things to rights when jennie was in bed. pretty soon tommy came to mrs. granby with some long story told in the curious jargon of which she could not understand one word. "what does he say, jennie?" she asked. "i don't know," answered jennie, crossly. "i sha'n't be troubled to talk for him all the time. he is big enough to talk for himself, and he just may do it." "jennie, jennie," said her mother, in a grieved tone. jennie began to cry. "come here," said mrs. richards, thinking a little soothing would be better than fault-finding. "the baby is asleep; come and fix the cradle so i can put her in it." the cradle was jennie's especial charge, and she never suffered any one else to arrange it; but now she pulled the clothes and pillows about as if they had done something to offend her. "our baby is just as good as mrs. bradford's," she muttered, as her mother laid the infant in the cradle. "i guess we think she is the nicest baby going," said mrs. richards, cheerfully; "and it's likely mrs. bradford thinks the same of hers." "i don't see why mrs. bradford's baby has to have a better cradle than ours," muttered jennie. "hers is all white muslin and pink, fixed up so pretty, and ours is old and shabby." "and i don't believe mrs. bradford's baby has a quilt made for her by her own little sister," answered the mother. "and it has such pretty frocks, all work and tucks and nice ribbons," said jennie, determined not to be coaxed out of her envy and ill-humor, "and our baby has to do with just a plain old slip with not a bit of trimming. 'taint fair; it's real mean!" "jennie, jennie," said her mother again, "i am sorry i let you go, if it was only to come home envious and jealous after the pretty things you've seen." "but haven't we just as good a right to have them as anybody else?" sobbed jennie, with her head in her mother's lap. "not since the lord has not seen fit to give them to us," answered mrs. richards. "we haven't a right to anything. all he gives us is of his goodness; nor have we a _right_ to fret because he has made other folks better off than us. all the good things and riches are his to do with as he sees best; and if one has a larger portion than another, he has his own reasons for it, which is not for us to quarrel with. and of all others, i wouldn't have you envious of mrs. bradford's family that have done so much for us." "yes," put in mrs. granby, with her cheery voice; "them's the ones that ought to be rich that don't spend all their money on themselves, that makes it do for the comfort of others that's not as well off, and for the glory of him that gives it. now, if it had been you or me, jennie, that had so much given to us, maybe we'd have been selfish and stingy like; so the lord saw it wasn't best for us." "i don't think anything could have made you selfish or stingy, janet granby," said mrs. richards, looking gratefully at her friend. "it is a small share of this world's goods that has fallen to you, but your neighbors get the best of what does come to you." "then there's some other reason why it wouldn't be good for me," said mrs. granby; "i'm safe in believin' that, and it ain't goin' to do for us to be frettin' and pinin' after what we haven't got, when the almighty has just been heapin' so much on us. and talkin' of that, jennie, you wipe your eyes, honey, and come along to the kitchen with me; there's a basket mrs. bradford gave me to unpack. she said it had some few things for willie, to strengthen him up a bit before his eyes were done. and don't let the father come in and find you in the dumps; that would never do. so cheer up and come along till we see what we can find." jennie raised her head, wiped her eyes, and followed mrs. granby, who, good, trusting soul, soon talked her into good-humor and content again. meanwhile, maggie and bessie were very full of the wonderful discovery of the afternoon, and could scarcely be satisfied without asking aunt patty if it could really be she who had been to the policeman's house and carried the money to pay his debts; also, paid dr. dawson for the operation on willie's eyes. but as mamma had forbidden this, and told them that they were not to speak of it to others, they were obliged to be content with talking of it between themselves. if it were actually aunt patty who had done this, they should look upon her with very new feelings. they had heard from others that she could do very generous and noble actions; but it was one thing to hear of them, as if they were some half-forgotten story of the past, and another to see them done before their very eyes. aunt patty was not rich. what she gave to others, she must deny to herself, and they knew this must have cost her a great deal. she had given up the grove, on which she had set her heart, that she might be able to help the family in whom they were so interested,--people of whom she knew nothing but what she had heard from them. if she had really been so generous, so self-sacrificing, they thought they could forgive almost any amount of crossness and meddling. "for, after all, they're only the corners," said maggie, "and maybe when she tried to bear the policeman's burden, and felt bad about the grove, that made her burden heavier, and so squeezed out her corners a little more, and they scratched her neighbors, who ought not to mind if that was the reason. but i do wish we could really know; don't you, bessie?" putting all things together, there did not seem much reason to doubt it. the policeman's children were positive that mrs. lawrence was the very lady who had been to their house, and aunt patty had been out on two successive days at such hours as answered to the time when the mysterious old lady had visited first them, and then dr. dawson. papa and uncle ruthven came home on the evening of the next day, having made arrangements that satisfied every one for the summer among the mountains. porter's house, with its addition and new conveniences, was just the place for the party, and would even afford two or three extra rooms, in case their friends from riverside wished to join them. the children were delighted as their father spoke of the wide, roomy old hall, where they might play on a rainy day, of the spacious, comfortable rooms and long piazza; as he told how beautiful the lake looked even in this early spring weather, and of the grand old rocks and thick woods which would soon be covered with their green summer dress. still bessie gave a little sigh after her beloved sea. the old homestead and aunt patty's cottage were about four miles from the lake, just a pleasant afternoon's drive; and at the homestead itself, where lived mr. bradford's cousin, the two gentlemen had passed the night. cousin alexander had been very glad to hear that his relations were coming to pass the summer at chalecoo lake, and his four boys promised themselves all manner of pleasure in showing their city cousins the wonders of the neighborhood. "it all looks just as it used to when i was a boy," said mr. bradford. "there is no change in the place, only in the people." he said it with a half-sigh, but the children did not notice it as they pleased themselves with the thought of going over the old place where papa had lived when he was a boy. "i went to the spot where the old barn was burned down, aunt patty," he said. "no signs of the ruins are to be seen, as you know; but as i stood there, the whole scene came back to me as freshly as if it had happened yesterday;" and he extended his hand to aunt patty as he spoke. the old lady laid her own within his, and the grasp he gave it told her that years and change had not done away with the grateful memory of her long past services. she was pleased and touched, and being in such a mood, did not hesitate to express the pleasure she, too, felt at the thought of having them all near her for some months. about half-way between the homestead and the lake house, mr. bradford and mr. stanton had found board for mrs. richards and her boy. it was at the house of an old farmer who well remembered mr. bradford, and who said he was pleased to do anything to oblige him, though the gentlemen thought that the old man was quite as well satisfied with the idea of the eight dollars a week he had promised in payment. and this was to come from maggie's and bessie's store, which had been carefully left in mamma's hand till such time as it should be needed. all this was most satisfactory to our little girls; and when it should be known that the operation on willie's eyes had been successful, they were to go to mrs. richards and tell her what had been done for her boy's farther good. mrs. bradford told her husband that night of all that had taken place during his absence, and he quite agreed with her that it was without doubt aunt patty herself who had been the policeman's benefactor. "i am not at all surprised," he said, "though i own that this did not occur to me, even when richards described the old lady. it is just like aunt patty to do a thing in this way; and her very secrecy and her unwillingness to confess why she would not have the grove, or what she intended to do with the money, convinced me that she was sacrificing herself for the good of some other person or persons." then mr. bradford told his wife that aunt patty meant to go home in about ten days, and should willie's sight be restored before she went, he hoped to be able to persuade her to confess that she had had a share in bringing about this great happiness. he was very anxious that his children should be quite certain of this, as he thought it would go far to destroy their old prejudice, and to cause kind feelings and respect to take the place of their former fear and dislike. mrs. bradford said that good had been done already by the thought that it was probably aunt patty who had been so generous, and that the little ones were now quite as ready to believe all that was kind and pleasant of the old lady as they had been to believe all that was bad but two days since. she told how they had come to her that morning, maggie saying, "mamma, bessie and i wish to give aunt patty something to show we have more approval of her than we used to have; so i am going to make a needle-book and bessie a pin-cushion, and put them in her work-basket without saying anything about them." they had been very busy all the morning contriving and putting together their little gifts without any help from older people, and when they were finished, had placed them in aunt patty's basket, hanging around in order to enjoy her surprise and pleasure when she should find them there. but the poor little things were disappointed, they could scarcely tell why. if it had been mamma or aunt bessie who had received their presents, there would have been a great time when they were discovered. there would have been exclamations of admiration and delight and much wondering as to who could have placed them there,--"some good fairy perhaps who knew that these were the very things that were wanted," and such speeches, all of which maggie and bessie would have enjoyed highly, and at last it would be asked if they could possibly have made them, and then would have come thanks and kisses. but nothing of this kind came from aunt patty. she could not enter into other people's feelings so easily as those who had been unselfish and thoughtful for others all their lives; and though she was much gratified by these little tokens from the children, she did not show half the pleasure she felt; perhaps she really did not know how. true she thanked them, and said she should keep the needle-book and pin-cushion as long as she lived; but she expressed no surprise, and did not praise the work with which they had taken so much pains. "what is this trash in my basket?" she said, when she discovered them. "children, here are some of your baby-rags." "aunt patty," said mrs. bradford, quickly, "they are intended for you; the children have been at work over them all the morning." "oh!" said mrs. lawrence, changing her tone. "i did not understand. i am sure i thank you very much, my dears; and when you come to see me this summer, i shall show you how to do far better than this. i have a quantity of scraps and trimmings of all kinds, of which you can make very pretty things." this was intended to be kind; but the promise for the future did not make up for the disappointment of the present; and the children turned from her with a feeling that their pains had been almost thrown away. "mamma," bessie had said afterwards, "do you think aunt patty was very grateful for our presents?" "yes, dear, i think she was," said mamma, "and i think she meant to show it in her own way." "but, mamma, do you think that was a nice way? you would not have said that to any one, and i felt as if i wanted to cry a little." mamma had seen that her darlings were both hurt, and she felt very sorry for them, but she thought it best to make light of it, so said, cheerfully, "i am quite sure aunt patty was gratified, pussy, and that whenever she looks at your presents, she will think with pleasure of the kind little hands that made them." "when i am big, and some one gives me something i have pleasure in, i'll try to show the pleasure in a nice way," said maggie. "then you must not forget to do it while you are young," said mamma. "let this show you how necessary it is to learn pleasant habits of speaking and acting while you are young." "yes," said maggie, with a long sigh, "and aunt patty ought to be excused. i suppose, since she was not brought up in the way she should go when she was young, she ought to be expected to depart from it when she is old. we must just make the best of it when she don't know any better, and take example of her." "yes," said mamma, rather amused at the way in which maggie had put into words the very thought that was in her own mind; "let us make the best of everything, and be always ready to believe the best of those about us." all this mrs. bradford told to her husband, and agreed with him that it was better not to endeavor to find out anything more till the trial on willie's eyes was over. maggie's new volume of "the complete family" was begun the next day in these words: "once there was a man who lived in his home in the mountains, and who always listened very modestly to everything that was said to him, so his wife used to say a great deal to him. and one day she said, 'my dear, mr. and mrs. happy, with all their family, and a great lot of their best friends, are coming to live with us this summer, and they are used to having a very nice time, so we must do all we can to make them comfortable, or maybe they will say, "pooh, this is not a nice place at all. let us go to the sea again. these are very horrid people!"' and the man said, 'by all means, my dear; and we will give them all they want, and let them look at the mountains just as much as they choose. but i do not think they will say unkind words even if you are a little disagreeable, but will make the best of you, and think you can't help it.' which was quite true, for m. happy and b. happy had a good lesson the man did not know about, and had made a mistake; and sometimes when people seem dreadfully hateful, they are very nice,--i mean very good,--so it's not of great consequence if they are not so nice as some people, and they ought not to be judged, for maybe they have a burden. and m. happy made two mistakes; one about mrs. jones, and the other about that other one mamma don't want me to write about. so this book will be about how they went to the mountains and had a lovely time. i guess we will." rather more than a week had gone by. willie richards lay on his bed in a darkened room, languid and weak, his eyes bandaged, his face paler than ever, but still cheerful and patient. it was five days since the operation had been performed, but willie had not yet seen the light, nor was it certain that he would ever do so, though the doctor hoped and believed that all had gone well. they had given the boy chloroform at the time, and then bound his eyes before he had recovered his senses. but on this day the bandage was to be taken off for the first, and then they should know. his mother sat beside him holding his thin, worn hand in hers. "willie," she said, "the doctor is to be here presently, and he will take the bandage from your eyes." "and will i see then, mother?" "if god pleases, dear. but, willie, if he does not see fit to give you back your sight, could you bear it, and try to think that it is his will, and he knows best?" willie drew a long, heavy breath, and was silent a moment, grasping his mother's fingers till the pressure almost pained her; then he said, low, and with a quiver in his voice, "i would try, mother; but it would be 'most too hard after all. if it could be just for a little while, just so i could see your dear face for a few moments, then i would try to say, 'thy will be done.'" "however it is, we must say that, my boy; but, please the lord, we shall yet praise him for his great goodness in giving you back your poor, dear eyes." as she spoke, the door opened, and her husband put his head in. "here's the doctor, mary," he said, with a voice that shook, in spite of his efforts to keep it steady; and then he came in, followed by the doctor and mrs. granby. the latter, by the doctor's orders, opened the window so as to let in a little softened light, and after a few cheerful words the doctor unfastened the bandage, and uncovered the long sightless eyes. willie was resting in his mother's arms with his head back against her shoulder, and she knew that he had turned it so that her face might be the first object his eyes rested on. it was done; and, with a little glad cry, the boy threw up his arms about his mother's neck. "what is it, willie?" asked his father, scarcely daring to trust his voice to speak. "i saw it! i saw it!" said the boy. "saw what, sonny?" asked his father, wishing to be sure that the child could really distinguish objects. "i saw mother's face, her dear, dear face; and i see you, too, father. oh, god is so good! i will be such a good boy all my life. oh, will i never have to fret to see mother's face again?" "ahem!" said the doctor, turning to a table and beginning to measure some drops into a glass, while mrs. granby stood crying for joy at the other end of the room. "if you're not to, you must keep more quiet than this, my boy; it will not do for you to grow excited. here, take this." "who's that?" asked willie, as the strange face met his gaze. "ho, ho!" said the doctor. "are you going to lose your ears now you have found your eyes? i thought you knew all our voices, my fine fellow." "oh, yes," said willie, "i know now; it's the doctor. doctor, was i just as patient as you wanted me to be?" "first-rate," answered the doctor; "but you must have a little more patience yet. i'll leave the bandage off, but we will not have quite so much light just now, mrs. granby." willie begged for one look at auntie granby, and then jennie was called, that he might have a peep at her, after which he was content to take the medicine and lie down, still holding his mother's hand, and now and then putting up his fingers with a wistful smile to touch the dearly loved face he could still see bending over him in the dim light. that evening the policeman went up to mr. bradford's. he was asked to walk into the parlor, where sat mr. bradford and aunt patty, while old nurse was just taking maggie and bessie off to bed. "oh, here is our policeman!" said bessie; and she ran up to him, holding out her hand. "how is your willie?" "that's just what i came to tell you, dear. i made bold to step up and let you know about willie, sir," he said, turning to mr. bradford. "and what is the news?" asked the gentleman. "the best, sir. the lord has crowned all his mercies to us by giving us back our boy's sight." "and has willie seen his mother's face?" asked bessie, eagerly. "yes, that he has. he took care that should be the first thing his eyes opened on; and it just seems as if he could not get his full of looking at it. he always was a mother boy, my willie, but more than ever so since his blindness." "how is he?" asked mr. bradford. "doing nicely, sir. rather weakish yet; but when he can bear the light, and get out into the fresh air, it will do him good; and i hope he'll come round after a spell, now that his mind is at ease, and he's had a sight of that he'd set his heart on, even if we can't just follow out the doctor's orders." bessie felt as if she could keep her secret no longer. "may i, papa,--may i?" she asked. papa understood her, and nodded assent. "but you _can_ follow the doctor's orders," said she, turning again to the policeman, "and willie can have all the fresh air he needs,--fresh mountain air, he and his mother. and maggie and i are to pay it out of the money that uncle ruthven gave us for the eye doctor whom the"--here bessie looked half doubtfully towards aunt patty--"the old lady paid. and now, you see, it's a great deal nicer, 'cause if she hadn't, then, maybe, willie couldn't go to the country." bessie talked so fast that richards did not understand at first, and her father had to explain. the man was quite overcome. "it's too much, sir, it's too much," he said, in a husky voice, twisting his cap round and round in his hands. "it was the last thing was wanting, and i feel as if i had nothing to say. there ain't no words to tell what i feel. i can only say may the lord bless you and yours, and grant you all your desires in such measure as he has done to me." mr. bradford then told what arrangements had been made, in order to give richards time to recover himself. the policeman thought all these delightful, and said he knew his wife and boy would feel that they could never be thankful and happy enough. "and to think that all this has come out of that little one being brought up to the station that day, sir; it's past belief almost," he said. "so good has been brought out of evil," said mr. bradford. as soon as the policeman had gone, maggie and bessie ran up-stairs to tell their mother the good news, leaving papa and aunt patty alone together. mr. bradford then turned to the old lady, and laying his hand gently on her shoulder, said,-- "aunt patty, you have laid up your treasure where moth and rust do not corrupt; but surely it is bearing interest on earth." "how? why? what do you mean, henry?" said mrs. lawrence, with a little start. "come, confess, aunt patty," he said; "acknowledge that it is to you this good fellow who has just left us owes his freedom from debt, his child's eyesight, his release from cares which were almost too much even for his hopeful spirit; acknowledge that you have generously sacrificed a long-cherished desire, given up the fruits of much saving and self-denial, to make those happy in whom you could have had no interest save as creatures and children of one common father. we all know it. the policeman's children recognized you, and told my little ones. why will you not openly share with us the pleasure we must all feel at the blind boy's restoration to sight? did you not see dear bessie's wistful look at you as she bade you good-night? these little ones cannot understand why there should be any reason to hide such kindness as you have shown to these people, or why you should refuse to show an interest you really feel. it is true that we are told not to let our left hand, know that which is done by our right hand; but are we not also commanded so to let our light shine before men that they may see our good works and glorify our father in heaven? and can we do so, or truly show our love to him, if we hide the services rendered for his sake behind a mask of coldness and reserve? my dear aunt, for his sake, for your own, for the sake of the affection and confidence which i wish my children to feel for you, and which i believe you wish to gain, let me satisfy them that it was really you who did this thing." the old lady hesitated for a moment longer, and then she broke down in a burst of humility and penitence such as mr. bradford had never expected to see from her. she told him how she had heard them all talking of the policeman and his troubles, and how much she had wished that she was able to help him; how she had thought that the desire to have the grove was only a fancy, right in itself perhaps, but not to be indulged if she could better spend the money for the good of others; and how, without taking much time to consider the matter, she had decided to give it up. then she had half regretted it, but would not confess to herself or others that she did so, and so, feeling irritable and not at ease with herself, had been impatient and angry at the least thing which seemed to oppose her plans. the children, she said, had shamed her by their greater patience and submission under the disappointment she had so unintentionally brought upon them, and now she felt that the ill-temper she had shown had brought reproach on the master whom she really wished to serve, and destroyed the little influence she had been able to gain with the children. mr. bradford told her he thought she was mistaken here, and if the children could only be quite certain that it was she who had proved such a good friend to the policeman's family, they would forget all else in their pleasure at her kindness and sympathy. so mrs. lawrence told him to do as he thought best; and she found it was as he said; for when maggie and bessie came down in the morning, full of joy at the happiness which had come to willie and his parents, they ran at once to aunt patty, and bessie, putting her little arms about her neck, whispered,-- "dear aunt patty, we're so much obliged to you about willie, and if we had only known it was you, we wouldn't have felt so bad about it. now we only feel glad, and don't you feel glad, too, when you know how happy they all are?" then maggie sidled up, and slipping her hand into aunt patty's, said,-- "aunt patty, please to forgive me for saying naughty things about you when i didn't know you was the queer old lady." aunt patty was quite ready to exchange forgiveness; and for the two remaining days of her stay, it seemed as if her little nieces could not do enough to show how pleased and grateful they were; and when she left them, they could tell her with truth how glad they were that they were to see her soon again in her own home. and if you are not tired of maggie and bessie, you may some time learn how they spent their summer among the mountains. footnotes: [a] "chapel gems." the mistress of bonaventure by harold bindloss author of "alton of somasco," "the dust of conflict," "the cattle-baron's daughter," etc. _only authorized edition_ [illustration] new york frederick a. stokes company publishers contents chapter page i. the sweetwater ford ii. bonaventure ranch iii. a midnight visitor iv. the tightening of the net v. a surprise party vi. a holocaust vii. a bitter awakening viii. how redmond came home ix. a prairie study x. a temptation xi. in peril of the waters xii. the selling of gaspard's trail xiii. an unfortunate promise xiv. the burning of gaspard's trail xv. beauty in disguise xvi. the defense of crane valley xvii. the raising of the siege xviii. the vigil-keeper xix. the work of an enemy xx. leaden-footed justice xxi. against time xxii. bad tidings xxiii. liberty xxiv. a secret tribunal xxv. a change of tactics xxvi. the turning of the tide xxvii. illumination xxviii. the enemy capitulates xxix. the exit of lane xxx. the last toast the mistress of bonaventure chapter i the sweetwater ford after relaxing its iron grip a little so that we hoped for spring, winter had once more closed down on the broad canadian prairie, and the lonely outpost was swept by icy draughts, when, one bitter night, sergeant mackay, laying down his pipe, thrust fresh billets into the crackling stove. it already glowed with a dull redness, and the light that beat out through its opened front glinted upon the carbines, belts, and stirrups hung about the rough log walls. "'tis for the rebuking of evildoers an' the keeping of the peace we're sent here to patrol the wilderness, an' if we're frozen stiff in the saddle 'tis no more than our duty," said the sergeant, while his eyes twinkled whimsically. "but a man with lands an' cattle shows a distressful want o' judgment by sleeping in a snow bank when he might be sitting snug in a club at montreal. 'tis a matter o' wonder to me that ye are whiles so deficient in common sense, rancher ormesby. still, i'm no' denying ye showed a little when ye brought that whisky. 'tis allowable to interpret the regulations with discretion in bitter weather--an' here's a safe ride to ye!" a brighter beam that shot out called up the speaker's rugged face and gaunt figure from the shadows. although his lean, hard fingers closed somewhat affectionately on a flask instead of on the bridle or carbine they were used to, his profession was stamped on him, for allan mackay was as fine a sample of non-commissioned cavalry officer as ever patrolled the desolate marches of western canada--which implies a good deal to those who know the northwest troopers. he was also, as i knew, a man acquainted with sorrow, who united the shrewdness of solomon with a childish simplicity and hid beneath his grim exterior a vein of eccentric chivalry which on occasion led him into trouble. the blaze further touched the face of a young english lad sitting in a corner of the room. "some of us were sent here for our sins, and some came for our health when the temperature of our birthplaces grew a trifle high," he said. "i don't know that anybody except rancher ormesby ever rode with us for pleasure. yet i'm open to admit the life has its compensations; and sergeant mackay has given me many as good a run as i ever had with--that is, i mean any man who must earn his bread might well find work he would take less kindly to." the lad's momentary embarrassment was not lost on his officer, who chuckled somewhat dryly as he glanced at him. "i'm asking no questions, an' ye are not called on to testify against yourself," he said. "maybe ye rode fox-hunting on a hundred-guinea horse, an' maybe ye did not; but ye showed a bit knowledge o' a beast, an' that was enough for me. meantime ye're trooper cotton, an' i'll see ye do your duty. to some, the old country--god bless her--is a hard stepmother, an' ye're no' the first she has turned the cold shoulder on and sent out to me." the worthy sergeant was apt to grow tiresome when he launched out into his reminiscences, and, seeing that trooper cotton did not appreciate the turn the conversation was taking, i broke in: "but you're forgetting the outlaw, mackay; and i'm not here for either health or pleasure. i want to recover the mare i gave five hundred dollars for, and that ought to excuse my company. what has the fellow who borrowed her done?" "fired on a mortgage money-lender down in assiniboia," was the answer. "maybe he was badly treated, for ye'll mind that the man who takes blood money, as yon lane has done, is first cousin to judas iscariot; but that's no' my business. it is not allowable to shoot one's creditors in the canadian dominion. what i'm wondering is where he is now; an' that will be either striking north for the barrens or west for british columbia. it will be boot and saddle when pete comes in, and meantime we'll consider what routes would best fit him!" mackay knew every bluff and ravine seaming a hundred miles of prairie; and another silent man, rising from his bunk, stood beside myself and cotton as the sergeant traced lines across the table. each represented an alternative route the fugitive might take, and the places where the hard forefinger paused marked a risky ford or lake on which the ice was yielding. mackay spent some time over it, as much for his own edification as for ours, but i was interested, for i greatly desired to recover the blood mare stolen from me. i was then five-and-twenty, fairly stalwart and tall of stature, and seldom regretted that after a good education in england i had gone out to western canada to assist a relative in raising cattle. the old man was slow and cautious, but he taught me my business well before he died suddenly and left me his possessions. adding my small patrimony, i made larger profits by taking heavier risks, and, for fortune had favored me, and youth is no handicap in the colonies, my homestead was one of the finest in that section of the country. save for occasional risks of frost-bite and wild rides through blinding snow, the life had been toilsome rather than eventful; but the day which, while we talked in the outpost, was speeding westward across the pines of quebec and the lakes of ontario to gild the rockies' peaks was to mark a turning-point in my history. suddenly a beat of hoofs rose out of the night, there was a jingle outside, and the cold set me shivering, when a man, who held a smoking horse's bridle, stood by the open door. "your man tried to buy a horse from the reservation crees, and, when they wouldn't trade, doubled on his tracks, heading west for the bitter lakes. i've nearly killed my beast to bring you word," he said. horses stood ready in the sod stable behind the dwelling, and in less than three minutes we were in the saddle and flitting in single file across the prairie. it was about five o'clock in the morning, and, though winter should have been over, it was very bitter. the steam from the horses hung about us, our breath froze on our furs, but a chinook wind had swept the prairie clear of snow, and, though in the barer places the ground rang like iron beneath us, the carpet of matted grasses made moderately fast traveling possible. no word was spoken, and, when the silent figures about me faded as they spread out to left and right and only a faint jingle of steel or dull thud of hoofs betokened their presence, i seemed to have ridden out of all touch with warmth and life. the frost bit keen, the heavens were black with the presage of coming storm, and the utter silence seemed the hush of death. beast and bird had long fled south, and i started when once the ghostly howl of a coyote rose eerily and faintly from the rim of the prairie. by daylight we had left long leagues behind us, and i was the better pleased that the fugitive's trail, of which we found signs, led back towards my own homestead. for a brief five minutes the rockies, seen very far off across the levels, flushed crimson against the sky. then the line of spectral peaks faded suddenly, and we were left, four tiny crawling specks, in the center of a limitless gray circle whose circumference receded steadily as the hours went by. but the trail grew plainer to the sergeant's practiced eyes, and, when we had crossed the bitter lakes on rotten and but partially refrozen ice, he predicted that we should come up with the fugitive by nightfall if our horses held out. mine was the best in the party, and, though not equal to the stolen mare, the latter had already traveled fast and far. it was a depressing journey. no ray of sunlight touched the widespread levels, and there was neither smoke trail nor sign of human life in all that great desolation. hands and feet lost sense of feeling, the cold numbed one's very brain; but the wardens of the prairie, used alike to sleep in a snow trench or swim an icy ford, care little for adverse weather, and mackay held on with a slow tenacity that boded ill for the man he was pursuing. the light showed signs of failing when trooper cotton shouted, and we caught sight of our quarry, a shadowy blur on the crest of a low rise that seamed the prairie. "ye may save your breath, for ye'll need it," said mackay. "it's a league from yon rise to the sweetwater, an' there's neither ice-bridge nor safe ford now. if he's across before we are we'll no' grip him the night, i'm thinking--and there's ill weather brewing." whip and heel were plied, and the worn-out beasts responded as best they might. the man who had taught me stock and horse breeding knew his business, and when my beast raced across the edge of the rise the troopers were at least two hundred yards behind. then the exultation of the chase took hold of me, and my frozen blood commenced to stir as the staunch beast beneath me swept faster and faster down the long gray incline. at every stride i was coming up with the horse thief. a dusky ridge of birches loomed ahead, shutting off the steep dip to the river. beyond this, there were thicker trees; and the light was failing; but while all this promised safety for the pursued, i was gaining fast and the troopers were dropping further behind. the fugitive had just reached the timber when a light wagon lurched out from it, and i yelled to the man who drove it to hold clear of my path. there was a hoarse shout away to the left, and, when no answer came back, the crack of a carbine. a repeating rifle banged against my back, and, feeling that its sling lay within easy reach, i drove my heels home as i raced past the wagon. there was scarcely time for a side glance, but the one i risked set my heart beating. two feminine figures wrapped in furs sat within it, and one smiled at me as i passed. the face that looked out from beneath the fur cap was worth remembering, though it was several years since i had last seen it in england. haldane had brought his daughters with him when he came out from montreal to visit his western possessions, it seemed; but my horse was over the brink of the declivity before i could return the greeting, and, bending low to clear the branches, i drove him reeling and blundering down and down through willow undergrowth and scattered birches on the track of the fugitive. i was but a plain rancher, and it seemed presumptuous folly to neglect my lawful business for a smile from beatrice haldane. it was growing dark among the birches, and flakes of feathery snow sliding down between the branches filled my eyes, but i could see that the distance between us was shortening more rapidly and that the man in front of me reeled in his saddle when a branch smote him. the mare also stumbled, and i gained several lengths. the drumming of hoofs and the moan of an icy wind which had sprung up seemed to fill all the hollow. white mist that slid athwart the birches hung over the sweetwater in the rift beneath, and--for the river had lately burst its chains of ice--i felt sure that the man i followed would never make the crossing. yet it appeared certain that he meant to attempt it, for he rode straight at the screen of willows that fringed the water's edge, vanished among them, and i heard a crackling as his weary beast smashed through the shoreward fringe of honeycombed ice. then i saw nothing, for rattling branches closed about me as the horse feebly launched himself at the leap, while a denser whiteness thickened the mist. so far fortune had favored me throughout the reckless ride; but it is not wise to tempt fate too hardly, and the beast pitched forward when his hoofs descended upon bare frozen ground. had i worn boots my neck might have paid the penalty, but the soft moccasins slipped free of the stirrups in time, and when i came down the horse rolled over several yards clear of me. he was up next moment, but moved stiffly, and stood still, trembling, when i grasped the bridle. the saddle had slipped sideways, as though a girth buckle had yielded, and i felt faint and dizzy, for the fall had shaken me. nevertheless, i unslung the rifle mechanically, when a hail reached me, and, turning, i saw the man we had followed sitting still in his saddle, some twoscore yards away, with the steam frothing white to his horse's knees. the daylight had almost gone, the snow was commencing in earnest, but i could make out that he was bareheaded and his face smeared with crimson, perhaps from a wound the branch had made. it looked drawn and ghastly as he sat stiffly erect against a background of hurrying water and falling snow, with one hand on his hip and the other raised as though to command attention. "you are rancher ormesby, whose horse i borrowed, i presume?" he said. "well, if you are wise you will give up the chase before worse befalls you. i am armed, and i give you fair warning that i do not mean to be taken. go home to your stove and comforts. you have no quarrel with me." the clean english accent surprised me, and the rifle lay still in the hollow of my left arm as i answered him: "do you forget you are sitting on the best mare i possess? the loss of several hundred dollars is more than i can put up with; and your warning sounds rather empty when i could hardly fail to pick you off with this rifle." i listened for the troopers' coming, but could hear only the fret of the river and the moaning of the blast, for the wind was rising rapidly. it was evident that the beast whose bridle i held was in no fit state to attempt the crossing, and yet, though the stranger's cool assurance was exasperating, i began to be conscious of a certain admiration and pity for him. the man was fearless. he had been hunted like a wolf; and now, left, worn out, wounded, and doubtless faint from want of food, to face the wild night in the open, he had, it seemed, risked his last chance of escape to warn me when he might have taken me at a disadvantage. he laughed recklessly. "still, i hardly think you will. the mare is done, and i pledge my word i'll turn her loose as soon as i'm clear of the troopers. i have no grudge against you, but if you are wise you will take no further chances with a desperate man. go home, and be thankful you have a place to shelter you." there would have been no great difficulty in bringing the man down at that range, even in a bad light, and it is probable that nobody would have blamed me; but, though i should willingly have ridden him down in fair chase, i could not fire on him as he sat there at my mercy, for if he was armed it must have been with a pistol--a very poor weapon against a rifle. i might also have shot the horse; but one hesitates to sacrifice a costly beast, even in the service of the state, and, strange to say, i felt inclined to trust his promise. accordingly, i did neither; and when a great ice cake came driving down, and, raising his hand again as though in recognition of my forbearance, he wheeled the mare and vanished into a thicker rush of snow, i stood motionless and let him go. then, feeling more shaken and dizzy than before, i seized the bridle and led the horse into the whirling whiteness that drove down the slope. darkness came suddenly. i could scarcely see the trees, and it was by accident i stumbled upon the troopers dismounted and picking their way. "have ye seen him?" asked an object which looked like a polar bear and proved to be the sergeant. "yes," i answered shortly, deciding that it would not be well to fully explain how i had let our quarry slip through my fingers. "if he has not drowned himself in the river he has got away. i was close upon him when my horse fell and threw me badly. are you going to try the crossing, too?" there are few bolder riders than the northwest troopers, but mackay shook his head. "i'm thinking it would be a useless waste of government property an' maybe of a trooper's life," he said. "no man could find him in this snow, and if he lives through the night, which is doubtful, we'll find his trail plain in the morning. we'll just seek shelter with haldane at bonaventure." i do not know how we managed to find the bonaventure ranch. the wind had suddenly freshened almost to a gale, and, once clear of the river hollow, we met the full force of it. the snow that whirled across the desolate waste filled our eyes and nostrils, rendering breathing difficult and sight almost impossible; but it may be that the instinct of the horses helped us, for, making no effort at guidance, i trudged on, clinging to the bridle of my limping beast, while half-seen spectral objects floundered through the white haze on each side. nevertheless, the pain which followed the impact of the flakes on one side of my half-frozen face showed that we were at least progressing in a constant direction, and at last trooper cotton raised a hoarse halloo as a faint ray of light pierced the obscurity. then shadowy buildings loomed ahead, and, blundering up against a wire fence, we staggered, whitened all over, to the door of bonaventure. it was flung wide open at our knock, banged to again, and while a trooper went off with the horses to the stable the rest of us, partly stupefied by the change of temperature, stood in the lamp-lit hall shaking the white flakes from us. a man of middle age, attired in a fashion more common in the cities than in the west, stretched out his hand to me. "i am glad to see you, ormesby; and, of course, you and your companions will spend the night here," he said cordially. "my girls told me they had met you, and we were partly expecting your company. apparently the malefactor got away, sergeant mackay?" "we did not bring him with us, but he'll not win far this weather," was the somewhat rueful answer. the master of bonaventure smiled a little. "he deserves to escape if he can live through such a night; and i'm inclined to be sorry for the poor devil," he said. "however, you have barely time to get into dry things before supper will be ready. we expect you all to join us, prairie fashion." the welcome was characteristic of carson haldane, who could win the goodwill of most men, either on the prairie or in the exclusive circles of ottawa and montreal. it was also characteristic that he called the evening meal, as we did, supper; though when he was present a state of luxury, wholly unusual on the prairie, reigned at bonaventure. chapter ii bonaventure ranch "we are waiting for you," said haldane, smiling, as he stood in the doorway of the room where, with some misgivings, and by the aid of borrowed sundries, we had made the best toilets we could. "you are not a stranger, ormesby, and must help to see your comrades made comfortable. sergeant, my younger daughter is enthusiastic about the prairie, and you will have a busy time if you answer all her questions, though i fear she will be disappointed to discover that nobody has ever scalped you." mackay drew himself up stiffly, as if for his inspection parade, and a white streak on his forehead showed the graze a bullet had made. young cotton smiled wryly as he glanced at his uniform, for it was probably under very different auspices he had last appeared in the society of ladies; and i was uneasily conscious of the fact that the black leather tunic which a german teamster had given me was much more comfortable than becoming. i might have felt even more dissatisfied had i known that my fall had badly split the tunic up the back. that, however, did not account for the curious mingling of hesitation and expectancy with which i followed our host. during a brief visit to england some years ago i had met miss haldane at the house of a relative, and the memory had haunted me during long winter evenings spent in dreamy meditation beside the twinkling stove and in many a lonely camp when the stars shone down on the waste of whitened grass through the blue transparency of the summer night. the interval had been a time of strenuous effort with me, but through all the stress and struggle, in stinging snowdrift and blinding dust of alkali, i had never lost the remembrance of the maiden who whiled away the sunny afternoons with me under the english elms. indeed, the recollection of the serene, delicately cut face and the wealth of dusky hair grew sharper as the months went by, until it became an abstract type of all that was desirable in womanhood, rather than a prosaic reality. now i was to meet its owner once more in the concrete flesh. it may have been merely a young man's fancy, born of a life bare of romance, but i think that idealization was good for me. haldane held a door open, saying something that i did not catch; but young cotton, whose bronzed color deepened for a moment, made a courtly bow, and the big grizzled sergeant smiled at me across the table as he took his place beside a laughing girl, while i presently found myself drawing a chair back for beatrice haldane, who showed genuine pleasure as she greeted me. her beauty had increased during the long interval. the clustering dark hair and the dark eyes were those i remembered well, and if her face was a trifle colorless and cold i did not notice it. she had grown a little more full in outline and more stately in bearing, but the quiet graciousness which had so impressed me still remained. "it is a long time since we met, and you have changed since then," she said pleasantly. "when you raced past our wagon i hardly recognized you. that, however, was perhaps only to be expected; but one might wonder whether you have changed otherwise, too. i recollect you were refreshingly sanguine when i last saw you." this was gratifying. that i should have treasured the remembrance of beatrice haldane was only natural; but it was very pleasant to hear from her own lips that she had not forgotten me. her intention was doubtless kindly, and it was inherited courtesy, for haldane did most things graciously. "the light was dim, and this life sets its stamp on most of us," i said. "may one compliment you on your powers of memory? needless to say, i recognized you the moment i saw you." miss haldane smiled a little. "a good memory is useful; but do you wish me to return the compliment?" "no," and i looked at her steadily. "but there is a difference. in your world men and events follow each other in kaleidoscopic succession, and each change of the combinations must dim the memory of the rest. with us it is different. you will see how we live--but, no; i hardly think you will--for bonaventure is not a typical homestead, and the control of it can be only a pastime with your father." "and yet it is said that whatever carson haldane touches yields him dividends; but proceed," interposed miss haldane. "with us each day is spent in hurried labor; and it is probably well that it is, for otherwise the loneliness and monotony might overpower any man with leisure to brood and think. heat, frost, and fatigue are our lot; and an interlude resembling the one in which i met you means, as a glimpse of a wholly different life, so much to us. we dream of it long afterwards, and wonder if ever the enchanted gates will open to us again. now, please don't smile. this is really not exaggeration!" "which gates? you are not precise," said my companion, and laughed pleasantly when, smiling, too, i answered, "one might almost say--of paradise!" "it must be the moslem's paradise, then," she said. "still, i hardly fancy a stalwart prairie rancher would pose well as the peri, and, by way of consolation, you can remember that there are disappointments within those gates, and those who have acquired knowledge beyond them sometimes envy the illusions of those without. no, you have not changed much in some respects, mr. ormesby. you must talk to my sister lucille--she will agree with you." her manner was very gracious, in spite of the badinage; but there was a faint trace of weariness and sardonic humor in her merriment which chilled me. the dark-haired girl i remembered had displayed a power of sympathy and quick enthusiasm which had apparently vanished from my present companion. "i am curious to hear if you have verified the optimistic views you once professed," she added languidly. i laughed a little dryly. being younger then, and led on by a very winsome maiden's interest, i had talked with perhaps a little less than becoming modesty of the possibilities open to a resolute man in the new lands of the west, and laid it down as an axiom that determination was a sure password to success. "you should be merciful. that was in my callow days," i said. "nevertheless, with a few more reservations, i believe it is possible for those who can hope and hold on to realize their ambition in this country, whether it be the evolution of a prosperous homestead from a strip of government land and a sod hovel--or more desirable things. the belief is excusable, because one may see the proof of it almost every day. i even fancied, when in england, that you agreed with me." there was a faint mischievous sparkle in miss haldane's eyes, but she answered with becoming gravity: "wisdom, as you seem to intimate, comes with age, and it is allowable to change one's opinions. now it seems to me that all things happen, more often against our will than as the result of it, when the invisible powers behind us decree. for instance, who could have anticipated yesterday that we two should meet to-night at table, or who could say whether this assembly, brought about by a blizzard, may not be the first scene of either a tragedy or a comedy?" i was more at home when haldane turned the conversation upon practical matters, such as wheat and cattle, than when discussing abstract possibilities; but i afterwards remembered that my fair companion's speech was prophetic, and, as i glanced about, it struck me that there were dramatic possibilities in the situation. we were a strangely assorted company, and to one who had spent eight years in the wilderness the surroundings were striking. tall wax candles in silver standards, flickering a little when the impact of the snow-laden gale shook the lonely dwelling, lighted the table. the rest of the long room was wrapped in shadow, save when the blaze from the great open hearth flung forth its uncertain radiance. the light flashed upon cut glass and polished silver, and forced up against the dusky background the faces of those who sat together. carson haldane, owner of bonaventure, which he occasionally visited, sat at the head of the table, a clean-shaven, dark-haired man of little more than middle age, whose slightly ascetic appearance concealed a very genial disposition. he was a man of mark, a daring speculator in mills and lands and mines, and supposed to be singularly successful. why he bought bonaventure ranch, or what he meant to do with it, nobody seemed to know; but he acted in accordance with the customs of the place in which he found himself, and because the distinctions of caste and wealth are not greatly recognized on the prairie there was nothing incongruous in his present company. sergeant mackay--lean, bronzed, and saturnine when the humor seized him--now bent his grizzled head with keen gray eyes that twinkled as he chatted to the fresh-faced girl in the simple dress beside him. i knew this was lucille haldane, but had hardly glanced at her. cotton had evidently forgotten that he was a police trooper, and, when he could, broke in with some boyish jest or english story told in a different idiom from that which he generally adopted. he seemed unconscious that he was recklessly betraying himself. "you must not turn my daughter's head with your reminiscences, sergeant. she is inclined to be over-romantic already," haldane said, with a kindly glance at the girl. "possibly, however, one may excuse her to-night, for you gentlemen live the stories she delights in. by the way, i do not quite understand how you allowed the evildoer to escape, ormesby." being forced to an explanation, i described the scene by the river as best i could, looking at the sergeant a trifle defiantly until, at the conclusion, he said: "i cannot compliment ye, rancher ormesby." i was about to retort, when a clear young voice, with a trace of mischief in its tone, asked: "what would you have done had you been there, and why were you so far behind, sergeant?" "we do not ride pedigree horses," said mackay, a trifle grimly. "i should have shot his beast, an' so made sure of him in the first place." then there was a sudden silence, when the girl, who turned upon him with a gesture of indignation, said: "it would have been cruel, and i am glad he got away. i saw his face when he passed us, and it was so drawn and haggard that i can hardly forget it; but it was not that of a bad man. what crime had he committed that he should be hunted so pitilessly?" young cotton colored almost guiltily under his tan as the girl's indignant gaze fell upon him, and for the first time i glanced at her with interest. she was by no means to be compared with her sister, but she had a brave young face, slightly flushed with carmine and relieved by bright eyes that now shone with pity. in contrast to beatrice's dark tresses the light of the candles called up bronze-gold gleams in her hair, and her eyes were hazel, while the voice had a vibration in it that seemed to awaken an answering thrill. lucille haldane reminded me of what her sister had been, but there was a difference. slighter in physique, she was characterized by a suggestion of nervous energy instead of beatrice's queenly serenity. the latter moved her shoulders almost imperceptibly, but i fancied the movement expressed subdued impatience, and her face a slightly contemptuous apology, while her father laughed a little. "you must be careful, sergeant. my younger daughter is mistress of bonaventure, and rules us all somewhat autocratically; but, as far as i can gather, your perceptions were tolerably correct in this instance, lucille," he said. "the man fell into the grip of the usurer, who, as usual, drained his blood; but, while what he did may have been ethical justice, he broke the laws of this country, and perhaps hardly deserves your sympathy." "no?" said lucille haldane, and her eyes glistened. "i wish you had not told us what took place at the river, mr. ormesby. here we sit, warm and sheltered, while that man, who has, perhaps, suffered so much already, wanders, hungry, faint, and bleeding, through this awful cold and snow. just listen a moment!" in the brief silence that followed i could hear the windows rattle under the impact of the driving snow and the eerie scream of the blast. i shivered a little, having more than once barely escaped with my life when caught far from shelter under such conditions, and it was borne in upon me that the outlaw might well be summoned before a higher tribunal than an earthly court by morning. it was beatrice haldane, who, with, i noticed, a warning glance at her sister, turned the conversation into a more cheerful channel, and i was well content when some time later she took her place near me beside the hearth, while lucille opened the piano at her father's request. possibly neither her voice nor her execution might have pleased a critic; but as a break in our monotonous daily drudgery the music enchanted us, and the grizzled sergeant straightened himself very erect, while a steely glint came into his eyes as, perhaps to atone for her speech at dinner, the girl sang, with fire and pathos, a jacobite ballad of his own country. its effect may have been enhanced by the novelty; but there was a power in lucille haldane which is held only by the innocent in spirit whose generous enthusiasms are still unblunted, and it seemed to me that the words and chords rang alternately with a deathless devotion and the clank of the clansmen's steel. "i cannot thank ye. it was just grand," said mackay, shaken into unusual eloquence, when the girl turned and half-shyly asked if he liked the song, though, as the soft candle light touched it, her face was slightly flushed. "ye made one see them--the poor lads with the claymores, who came out of the mist with a faith that was not bought with silver to die for their king. loyal? oh, ay! starving, ill-led, unpaid, they were loyal to the death! there's a pattern for ye, trooper cotton, who, if ye'll mind what he tells ye, will hold her majesty's commission some day when sergeant mackay's gone. ye'll excuse me, miss haldane, but the music made me speak." i noticed that trooper cotton seemed to flinch a moment at the mention of a commission, as though it recalled unpleasant memories, and that the worthy sergeant appeared slightly ashamed of his outbreak, while beatrice haldane showed a quiet amusement at his caledonian weakness for improving the occasion. lucille, however, smiled at him again. "i think that is the prettiest compliment i have ever had paid my poor singing," she said naïvely. "but i have done my duty. i wonder if you would sing if we asked you, mr. cotton?" "lucille is at an impressionable age," beatrice haldane said to me. "later she may find much that she now delights in obsolete and old-fashioned. we have grown very materialistic in these modern days." "god forbid!" i answered. "and i think the sergeant could tell you true stories of modern loyalty." "for instance?" and i answered doggedly. "you can find instances for yourself if you try to see beneath the surface. there are some very plain men on this prairie who could furnish them, i think. did you ever hear of rancher dane, who stripped himself of all his possessions to advance the career of a now popular singer? she married another man when fame came to her, and it is said he knew she would never be more than a friend to him from the beginning." "i have," and the speaker's eyes rested on me with a faint and yet kindly twinkle in them. "he was a very foolish person, although it is refreshing to hear of such men. even if disappointment follow consummation, aspiration is good for one. it is more blessed to give than to receive, you know." here, to the astonishment of his superior officer, cotton, who played his own accompaniment, broke into song, and he not only sang passably well, but made a special effort to do his best, i think; while i remember reflecting, as i glanced at the lad in uniform and the rich man's daughter, who sat close by, watching him, how strange all this would have seemed to anyone unused to the customs of the prairie. ours, however, is a new land, wide enough to take in not only the upright and the strong of hand, but the broken in spirit and the outcast whom the older country thrusts outside her gates; and, much more often than one might expect, convert them into sturdy citizens. the past history of any man is no concern of ours. he begins afresh on his merits, and by right of bold enterprise or industry meets as an equal whatever substitute for the older world's dignitaries may be found among us. how it is one cannot tell, but the brand of servitude, with the coarseness or cringing it engenders, fades from sight on the broad prairie. beatrice haldane presently bade me go talk to her sister, and though i did so somewhat reluctantly, the girl interested me. i do not remember all we said, and probably it would not justify the effort to recall it; but she was pleasantly vivacious of speech, and genuinely interested in the answers to her numerous questions. at length, however, she asked, with a half-nervous laugh: "did you ever feel, mr. ormesby, that somebody you could not see was watching you?" "no," i answered lightly. "in my case it would not be worth while for anybody to do so, you see." and lucille haldane first blushed prettily and then shivered, for no apparent reason. "it must be a fancy, but i--felt--that somebody was crouching outside there in the snow. perhaps it is because the thought of that hunted man troubles me still," said she. "he would never venture near the house, but rather try to find shelter in the depths of the ravine--however, to reassure you. i wonder whether it is snowing as hard as ever, sergeant," i said, turning towards mackay as i concluded. the casements were double and sunk in a recess of the thick log walls, over which red curtains were not wholly drawn. i flung one behind my shoulder, and when the heavy folds shut out the light inside i could see for some little distance the ghostly glimmer of the snow. then, returning to my companion, i said quietly: "there is nobody outside, and i should have seen footprints if there had been." presently the two girls withdrew to attend to some household duties, and haldane, who handed a cigar box around, said to me: "did you do well last season, ormesby, and what are your ideas concerning the prospects down here?" "i was partly fortunate and partly the reverse," i answered. "as perhaps you heard, i put less into stock and sowed grain largely. it is my opinion that, as has happened elsewhere, the plow furrows will presently displace many of the unfenced cattle-runs. it is hardly wise to put all one's eggs into the same basket; but my plowing was not wholly successful, sir." "it is a long way to laurentian tide-water, and, assisted by winnipeg mills, the manitoba men would beat you," said haldane, with a shrewd glance at me. "for the east they certainly would, sir," i answered. "but i see no reason why, if we get the promised railroad, we should not have our own mills; and we lie near the gates of a good market in british columbia." haldane nodded approval, and i was gratified. he was not a practical farmer, but it was said that he rarely made a mistake concerning the financial aspect of any industrial enterprise. "you may be right. i wish i had taken in the next ranch when i bought bonaventure. but, from what i gather, you have extended your operations somewhat rapidly. is it permissible to ask how you managed in respect to capital?" the speaker's tone was friendly, and i did not resent the question. "i borrowed on interest, sir; after three good seasons i paid off one loan, and, seeing an opportunity, borrowed again. as it happened, i lost a number of my stock; but this year should leave me with much more plowland broken and liabilities considerably reduced." "you borrowed from a bank?" asked haldane, and looked a little graver when i answered, "no." it was, as transpired later, a great pity he spoke again before i told him where i had obtained the money; but fate would have it so. "i have grown gray at the game you are commencing; but, unless you have a gift for it, it is a dangerous one, and the facilities for obtaining credit are the bane of this country," he said. "i don't wish to check any man's enterprise, but i knew the man who started you, and promised him in his last sickness to keep an eye on you. take it as an axiom that if you can't get an honest partner you should deal only with the banks. otherwise the mortgage speculator comes uppermost in the end. he'll carry you over, almost against your wishes, when times are good, but when a few adverse seasons run in succession, he will take you by the throat when you least expect it. your neighbors are panic-stricken; nobody with money will look at your property, and the blood-sucker seizes his opportunity." "but if he sold one up under such circumstances he could not recover his loan, much less charges and interest," i interposed; and haldane laughed. "a man of the class i'm describing would not wish to recover in that way. he is not short of money, and knows bad seasons don't last forever, so he sells off your property for, say, half its value, recovers most of what he lent, and still--remember the oppressive interest--holds you fast for the balance. he also puts up a dummy to buy the place--at depression value--pays a foreman to run it, and when times improve sells the property on which you spent the borrowed money for twice as much." haldane nodded to emphasize his remarks as he leaned forward towards me. "the man you were hunting was handled in a similar fashion, and it naturally made him savage. we are neighbors, ormesby, and if ever you don't quite see your way out of a difficulty you might do worse than consult me." he moved towards the others when i thanked him, and left me slightly troubled. i knew his offer was genuine, but being obstinately proud, there were reasons why he would be the last man i should care to ask for assistance in a difficulty. that i should ever have anything worth offering beatrice haldane appeared at one time a chimerical fancy; but though her father's words left their impression, i had made some progress along the road to prosperity. ever since the brief days i spent in her company in england a vague purpose had been growing into definite shape; but that night i had discovered, with a shock, that if the difference in wealth between us had been lessened, she was far removed by experience, as well as culture, from a plain stock-raiser. chapter iii a midnight visitor the snow had thinned a little, though it still blew hard, when, before retiring, i borrowed a lantern and made a dash for the stable. the horse which had fallen was a valuable one, and, remembering how stiffly he had moved, i was anxious about him. winter should have been over, and this was its last effort, but the cold struck through me, and i knew by the depth of the snow that a horse would be a useless incumbrance to the fugitive, who could not have made a league in any direction. he was probably hiding in the ravine, and it appeared certain that he would be captured on the morrow. i was therefore the less surprised when the stolen mare shuffled towards me. the man had at least kept his promise to release her when useless; but i was still slightly puzzled as to how the beast had found her own way to bonaventure. this meant work for me, and i spent some time in the long, sod-protected building, which was redolent of peppermint in the prairie hay, before returning to the dwelling. my moccasins made no sound as i came softly through the hall, but it was not my fault that, when i halted to turn out and hang up the lantern, voices reached me through an open door. "you are in charge here, and will see that the lamps and stoves are safe, lucille," one of them said. "what did you think about our guests?" "i liked them immensely; the sergeant was simply splendid," answered another voice. "the young trooper was very nice, too. i did not see much of mr. ormesby. he talked a good deal to you." there was no mistaking beatrice haldane's rippling laugh. "rancher ormesby is amusing for a change. one grows to long for something original after the stereotyped products of the cities. contact with primitive men and fashions acts, for a time, as a tonic, although too much of it might serve as, say, an emetic." it was a pity it had not occurred to me to rattle the lantern earlier, for though women do not always mean what they say, this last observation was not particularly gratifying. neither was it quite what i had expected from beatrice haldane. whether the fair speaker guessed that she had been overheard or not, i never knew; but because a ripple of subdued laughter reached me as a door swung to, i surmised that her sister had found cause for merriment. tired as i was, i did not feel immediately disposed for sleep, and, as haldane had bidden us do just what best pleased us, i looked into the troopers' quarters and found mackay and one of his subordinates, who had preferred to spend the evening with the hired hands, asleep, and cotton cleaning his carbine. "we'll be off before daybreak, and i had not a chance earlier. i would not have missed a minute of this evening for promotion to-morrow. of course, i'll pay for it later; but that's the usual rule, and partly why i'm serving the nation as trooper cotton now," he said, with a mirthless smile. "you are getting as bad as the sergeant," i answered impatiently. "come along when you have finished, if you're not overtired, and we'll smoke one of our host's cigars together. he left the box for us beside the big hearth in the hall." "i'll be there in ten minutes. mackay's so confoundedly particular about the arms," said cotton. the fire was burning redly in the hall, though the lamps were out, when i ensconced myself in a deep chair behind a deerhide screen quaintly embroidered by indian women. the cigar was a good one, and i had much to think about; so it was not until a shaft of light streamed athwart the screen that, looking round it, i noticed that lucille haldane, carrying a candle, had entered the long room. she set it down on a table, and stood still, glancing about her, while i effaced myself behind the screen. the girl had cast her hair loose, and it rippled in glossy masses from her shoulders to the delicate inward curve of her waist, setting forth the lithe shapeliness of her figure. concluding that she would withdraw as soon as she was satisfied that all was safe, i decided it would be better if she remained unaware of my presence, and hoped that cotton would delay his coming. to judge by the soft footsteps, she was returning, when a sudden coldness chilled the room. the light grew uncertain, as though the candle flickered in a draught, and a door i had not previously noticed opened noiselessly. wondering what this might mean, i sat very still, and then stared blankly, as a snow-whitened object came softly into the room. for a few seconds i could almost have fancied it was a supernatural visitant rather than a creature of flesh and blood, for the man's face was ghastly, and he brought the chill of the grave with him. he was bareheaded, his cheeks ashy gray, and clotted brown patches streaked the rag bound round his forehead, while the snow was in his hair; but as he moved forward i had no difficulty in recognizing him. i heard lucille haldane draw in her breath with a gasp, and it was that which roused me to action, but the intruder broke the silence first. "please don't cry out. you are perfectly safe--and my life is in your hands," he said. "not exactly!" i broke in, and, flinging the screen sideways, stepped between him and the girl. the stranger's hand dropped instinctively to the holster at his waist, then he let it fall to his side. "you here, rancher ormesby! i freed your horse, and you have no further cause for hunting me down," he said, with a composure which astonished me. "i am sorry to alarm you, miss haldane, but it was the truth i told you. i will not be taken, and it rests with you either to call the troopers or to turn me out to freeze in the snow." in spite of his terrifying appearance, it was clear that the man was not a ruffian. he spoke with deference, and his voice betrayed consideration for the girl; and again a sense of compassion came upon me. still, there was my host's daughter to consider, and i turned towards her. "will you go away and leave him to me?" i said. lucille haldane, glancing from one of us to the other, shook her head; and i think we must have formed a striking tableau as we stood where the candle-light flickered athwart one small portion of the long shadowy room. the girl's face was pale, but a sudden wave of color swept across it when, with a sinuous movement of her neck, she flung back the lustrous masses of her hair. she was dressed as i had last seen her, except that the lace collar was missing, and her full white throat gleamed like ivory. yet, though her voice trembled a little, she showed small sign of fear. "will you tell me how you came here?" she asked, and as the question applied to either, we both answered it. "i have been here some little time, and feared to surprise you; but am very glad it happened so," i said, and the stranger followed me. "rancher ormesby is unjustified in his inference. i came in by the ante-room window. earlier in the evening i lay outside in the lee of the building watching you, and i felt that i might risk trusting you, so i waited for an opportunity. i knew the troopers were here; but i was freezing in the snow, and i wondered whether, out of charity, you would give me a little food and let me hide in an outbuilding until the blizzard blows over?" lucille haldane's fear, if it ever lasted more than a moment, had vanished, and her eyes glistened with womanly pity, for the man's strength was clearly spent; but she drew herself up a little. "what have you done to come to this?" said she. "i am afraid i should tire you, and somebody might surprise us, before i told you half," he answered logically. "you must take my word that all i did was to resist by force the last effort of an extortioner to complete my ruin. he lent me money, and after i had paid it back nearly twice over he tried to seize the little that remained between me and destitution. there was a fracas and he was shot--though the wound was only trifling." i believed the terse story, and saw that lucille haldane did also. then i grew anxious lest cotton should come in before she had made her decision. "there is not a minute to lose. your father at least should know. had you not better tell him while i stay here?" i said. "i don't think so. he has told me that i am mistress at bonaventure, and i might rouse the troopers in calling him," the girl answered steadily, turning from me to the intruder. "i think i can believe you, and you will find sleigh-robes in the harness-room at the end of the long stable. slip up the ladder and crawl in among the hay. the sergeant would never suspect your presence there." "and rancher ormesby?" asked the other, with a glance at me. "will accept the mistress of bonaventure's decision," i answered dryly. "but i am expecting one of the troopers, and you are risking your liberty every second you stay." "he is starving," said lucille haldane. "there is brandy in that sideboard, mr. ormesby, and i can find cold food in the kitchen. ah!----" i had forgotten, while i strained my ears, that cotton's moccasins would give no warning as he came down the passage, and i hurried forward, at the girl's exclamation, a second too late to bolt the door. he came in before i reached it, and halted at sight of the outlaw, gripping the edge of the table as suddenly as though struck by a bullet. he was a lad of spirit, and i saw there was some special cause for his consternation, and that he was also apparently oblivious of the presence of two of the party. "good lord! is it you, boone, we have been chasing all day?" he said. i seized a chair-back and measured the distance between myself and the fugitive as i noticed the venomous pistol glint in his hand. but he lowered the muzzle when he saw cotton clearly, and, with a glance in miss haldane's direction, let the weapon fall out of sight behind his thigh. "it is," he answered steadily. "what in heaven's name brought--you--to canada, charlie cotton, and thrust you in my way? it was in a very different character from your present one that i last saw you." both apparently forgot the spectators in their mutual surprise, though lucille haldane stared at them wide-eyed, which was small wonder, considering that she was a romantic girl forced for the first time to play a part in what threatened to prove an unpleasantly realistic tragedy. it was hardly possible for her not to guess that these two had been friends in very different circumstances. cotton leaned heavily on the table, and, i fancied, groaned; then straightened himself and answered in a strained voice that sounded very bitter: "it would be useless to return the compliment, though the contrast is more marked in your case. i didn't see your face, and the name on our warrant suggested nothing. this is her majesty's uniform, at least--though i would give ten years' pay if it weren't. can't you see that i'm trooper cotton, and must skulk away a deserter unless i arrest you?" "there does not seem to be much choice," boone said grimly. "heaven knows how little there is to attract any man in the life i have been leading; but there is one good cause why i should not be quixotic enough to give myself up to oblige you. no! stand back, charlie cotton--i don't want to hurt you." the pistol barrel glinted as it rose into sight again, and, though no one had spoken in more than a hoarse whisper before, a heavy silence settled upon the room, through which i thought i could hear the girl catch at her breath. i stood between her and the two men, but i was at my wits' end as to what should be done. by this time my sympathies were enlisted on the side of the unfortunate rancher; but the girl's presence complicated the affair. it seemed imperative that she should be safely out of the way before either an alarm was given or a struggle ensued. yet she had refused to vacate the position, and i realized that she meant it. meantime, cotton's face was a study of indecision and disgust. the lad was brave enough, but it seemed as though the mental struggle had partly crippled his physical faculties. with a gesture of dismay he turned suddenly to me. "it's a horrible combination, ormesby. of course, i can't tell anybody all, but i knew this man well, and was indebted to him in the old country. now he has somehow broken the laws of the dominion, and i'm bound by my oath of service to arrest him. there is no other course possible. boone, i can't help it. will you surrender quietly?" "no!" was the answer. "my liberty is precious because i have work to do. move or call out at your peril, charlie!" the climax was evidently approaching, and still i could do nothing for fear of jeopardizing lucille haldane's safety if i precipitated it. the young lad, unarmed as he was, stiffened himself as for a spring, and i wondered whether i could reach his opponent's pistol arm with the chair-leg in time when the trooper moved or shouted. then, because feminine wits are often quicker than our own, i saw the girl's eyes were fixed on me, as, unnoticed by the others, she pointed towards the candle. another second passed before i understood her; then, for the light stood on the corner of the table nearest me, i swept one arm out, and there was sudden darkness as i hurled it sideways across the room. the door into the main passage swung to, and cotton fell over something as he groped his way towards it, while, though strung up in a state of tension, i smiled, hearing--what he did not--somebody brush through the other door, which it was evident had escaped his notice. next, feeling that the girl was mistress of the position, i stirred the sinking fire until a faint brightness shone out from the hearth. it just sufficed to reveal lucille haldane standing with her back to the door the fugitive had not passed through. this quick-witted maneuver sufficed to deceive the bewildered representative of the law. "you cannot pass, trooper cotton," she said. the lad positively groaned. "do you know that you are disgracing me forever, miss haldane?" he said, in a hoarse appeal. "you must let me pass!" the girl resolutely shook her head, and the dying light showed me her slender fingers tightly clenched on the handle of the door. "i will see that you do not suffer; but i am mistress of this house, and i think you are an english gentleman, trooper cotton," she said. then, with an air of desperation, the lad turned to me. "won't you try to persuade her, ormesby?" "no," i said dryly. "i am miss haldane's guest, and not a police officer. i am sorry for you, cotton, but you have done your best, and even if you forget your own traditions i'll certainly see you show her due respect. it is not your fault that i have twice your strength, but it will be if, while miss haldane remains here, you summon your comrades by a shout." "confound you! you never thought----" he broke out; but, ceasing abruptly, he left the sentence incomplete; and, feeling that there were two sides to the question, i stood aside while he commenced a circuit of the room, which he might have done earlier. still, lucille haldane did not move, for each moment gained might be valuable, until, with an ejaculation, he discovered and sprang through the other door. then, hurrying to her side, i laid my hand reassuringly on the girl's arm and found she was trembling like a leaf as i drew the door open. "you must not lose a moment, and i think you should tell your father; but you can trust me to manage cotton and keep what has passed a secret," i said. there was a faint "thank you"; while hardly had she flitted down the passage than a shout rang out, and hurrying as for my life, i found cotton pounding on the inner door of the ante-room. noticing that the window was shut, i seized his shoulder and gripped it hard. "pull yourself together, and remember, that whatever tale you tell, miss haldane does not figure in it," i said. "a horse would be no use to him; but i'll make sure by a run to the stable while you acquaint the sergeant." it was still snowing, and the drifts were deep, but i managed to plunge my feet into the hollows left by somebody who had preceded me, and there was a bottle of brandy in my pocket. i returned, floundering as heavily as possible along my outward tracks--for one learns a good deal when trailing wandering steers or stalking antelope--and met cotton, who now carried his carbine. it was evident that he was bent on discharging his duty thoroughly, for when i announced that no horses were missing, he answered shortly: "thanks; but i'm going myself to see. mackay and mr. haldane are waiting for you." i smiled to myself. trooper cotton had acquired small proficiency in the art of tracking, and i knew that my footprints would not only deceive him, but that, following them, he would obliterate evidence that might have been conclusive to the sergeant's practiced eyes. all the male inmates of bonaventure had gathered, half-dressed, in the hall, and sergeant mackay, who was asking questions, turned to me. "ye were here when he came in, rancher ormesby?" "i was," i answered. "i didn't hear him until he was in the room; but he seemed starving, and presumably ran the risk in the hope of obtaining food." "why did ye not seize him or raise the alarm?" asked the sergeant; and i shrugged my shoulders. "i was wholly unarmed, and he is a desperate man with a pistol. you may remember mentioning that his capture was not my business." "i mind that i have seen ye take as heavy risks when, for a five-dollar wager, ye drove a loaded sledge over the rotten ice," said the sergeant, with a searching glance at me. "while ye did nothing trooper cotton came in to help ye?" "just so! he had no weapon either, but appeared quite willing to face the outlaw's pistol, when the candle went out, and the man must have slipped out by the second door in the dark. i made for the stables at once, but all the horses were safe. my own, i discovered earlier, had come back by itself." "ye showed little sense," said mackay; while haldane glanced curiously at me. "what would he do with a horse in two foot of snow? there are points i'm no' clear about; but there'll be time for questions later. ah! found ye anything, trooper cotton?" "no," said the lad. "nothing but the footprints made by ormesby; and i can only presume that, there being no lee on that side, the wind would fill the horse-thief's track with snow. he would never risk trying the outbuildings when he knew that we were here." "no," was the sergeant's answer. "he'll be for the ravine. we'll take our leave, mr. haldane, with thanks for your hospitality, leaving the horses in the meantime. it is a regret to me we have brought this disturbance upon ye." two minutes later the police had vanished into the snow, and in another ten bonaventure was almost silent again. i went back to my couch and slept soundly, being too wearied to wonder whether i had done well or ill. next morning haldane called me into a room of his own. "my daughter has told me what took place last night, and while, in one sense, i'm indebted to you, ormesby, i really can't decide whether you showed a lamentable lack of judgment in abetting her," he said. "she is a brave little soul, but does not always spare time to think. frankly, i wish this thing had not come about as it did." he spoke seriously, but there was a kindliness in his eyes, and it was easy to see that carson haldane's younger daughter was his idol, which slightly puzzled me. there were those who heaped abuse upon his head, and it is possible his financial operations did not benefit everybody, for when men grow rich by speculation somebody must lose. there are, however, many sides to every nature, and i always found him an upright, kindly gentleman, while only those who knew him best could guess that he was faithful to a memory, and that the gracious influence of one he had lost still swayed him. "i am sorry if i acted indiscreetly, sir; but i could think of no other course at the time," i said. "do you know where the man is now?" "it is sometimes unwise to ask questions, and i have not inquired too closely," and haldane laid his hand on my shoulder. "it must be our secret, ormesby, and i should prefer that miss haldane did not share it; this--i suppose one must call it an escapade--might trouble her. i presume you could rely on that lad's discretion. he was evidently not brought up for a police trooper." "i think you could depend on him, sir; and, as you know, a good many others in this country follow vocations they were never intended for." "well, we will say no more on that subject," he answered. "the doctors tell me i have been working under too great a strain, and as they recommend quiet and relaxation, i decided to try six months' practical ranching. my partner will no doubt arrange that other folks pay the bill; but this is hardly a peaceful beginning." haldane laughed before he added, significantly: "in one respect i'm duly grateful, ormesby, and--in confidence--here is a proof of it. you are staking high on the future of this region. well, the railroad will be built, which will naturally make a great difference in the value of adjacent land. you will, however, remember that, in accordance with medical advice, i am now ranching for my health." i remembered it was said that carson haldane could anticipate long before anybody else what the powers at ottawa would sanction or veto, and that a hint from him was valuable. "it is good news, and i presume that bonaventure will have extended its boundaries by the time you recover, sir," i said. that evening sergeant mackay returned to requisition provisions, and departed again. he was alone, and very much disgusted, having no news of the fugitive. he did not revisit bonaventure during the next day i remained there, and presumably the man he sought slipped away when the coast was clear. perhaps the fact that the whirling drifts would obliterate his tracks had deceived the sergeant, and we supposed the contrabandists who dealt in prohibited liquor had smuggled him across the american frontier. the night before i took my leave beatrice haldane looked across at her sister, who sat sewing near the stove, and then at me. "since you recovered your horse i am not altogether sorry the hunted man got away," she said. "there are, however, two things about the affair which puzzle me--how the candlestick my sister carried when she made the rounds reached the table in the hall where it is never left; and why i should find the candle it contained under the sideboard in the room the intruder entered! can you suggest any solution, mr. ormesby?" i felt uncomfortable, knowing that beatrice haldane was not only clever herself, but the daughter of a very shrewd man, while her eyes were fixed steadily on me. lucille's head bent lower over her sewing, and, though i would have given much to answer frankly, i felt that she trusted me. so i said, as indifferently as i could: "there might be several, and the correct one very simple. somebody must have knocked the candlestick over in his hurry and forgotten about it. have you been studying detective literature latterly?" beatrice haldane said nothing further; but i realized that i had incurred her displeasure, and was not greatly comforted by the grateful glance her sister flashed at me. chapter iv the tightening of the net it was a hot morning of early summer when i rode up the low rise to my house at gaspard's trail. a few willows straggled behind one side of it, but otherwise it rose unsheltered from the wind-swept plain, which, after a transitory flush of greenness, had grown dusty white again. i had been in the saddle since sunrise, when the dewy freshness had infused cheerfulness and vigor into my blood, but now it was with a feeling of dejection i reined in my horse and sat still, looking about me. the air was as clear as crystal, so that the birches far off on the western horizon cut sharply against the blue. all around the rest of the circle ran an almost unbroken sweep of white and gray, streaked in one place by the dust of alkali rolling up from a strip of bitter water, which flashed like polished steel. long plow-furrows stretched across the foreground, but even these had been baked by pitiless sunshine to the same monotony of color, and it was well i had not sown the whole of them, for sparse, sickly blades rose in the wake of the harrows where tall wheat should have been. behind these stood the square log dwelling and straggling outbuildings of logs and sod, all of a depressing ugliness, while two shapeless yellow mounds, blazing under the sunshine, represented the strawpile granaries. there was no touch of verdure in all the picture, for it had been a dry season, which boded ill for me. presently a horse and a rider, whose uniform was whitened by the fibrous dust, swung out of a shallow ravine--or _coulée_, as we called them--and trooper cotton cantered towards me. "hotter than ever, and i suppose that accounts for your downcast appearance," he said. "i've never seen weather like it. even the gophers are dead." "it grows sickening; but you are wrong in one respect," i answered ruefully. "all the gophers in the country have collected around my grain and wells. as they fall in after every hearty meal of wheat, we have been drinking them. you are just in time for breakfast, and i'll be glad of your company. one overlooks a good deal when things are going well, but the sordid monotony of these surroundings palls on one now and then." "you are not the only man who feels it," said the trooper, while a temporary shadow crossed his face. "you have been to bonaventure too often, ormesby. of course, it's delightful to get into touch with things one has almost forgotten, but i don't know that it's wise for a poor man, which is, perhaps, why i allowed haldane to take me in last night. you, however, hardly come into the same category." "i shall soon, unless there's a change in the weather," i answered with a frown. "but come in, and tell me what haldane--or his daughters--said to you." "i didn't see much of miss haldane," said cotton, as we rode on together. "of course, she's the embodiment of all a woman of that kind should be; but i can't help feeling it's a hospitable duty when she talks to me. you see i've forgotten most of the little i used to know, and she is, with all respect, uncomfortably superior to an average individual." i was not pleased with trooper cotton, but did not tell him so. "presumably you find miss lucille understands you better?" i answered, with a trace of ill-humor. the lad looked straight at me. "i'm not responsible for the weather, ormesby," he said, a trifle stiffly. "still, since you have put it so, it's my opinion that miss lucille haldane would understand anybody. she has the gift of making you feel it also. to change the subject, however, i was over warning bryan about his fireguard furrows, and yours hardly seem in accordance with the order." i laughed, and said nothing further until a man in a big straw hat appeared in the doorway. "who's that?" asked cotton, drawing his bridle. "foster lane," i answered. "he came over yesterday." "ah!" said the trooper, pulling out his watch. "on reflection, perhaps i had better not come in. i am due at the cree reserve by ten, and, as my horse is a little lame, i don't want to press him. this time you will excuse me." his excuse was certainly lame, as i could see little the matter with the horse; and, being short of temper that morning, i answered sharply: "i won't press you; but is it a coincidence that you remember this only when you recognize lane?" trooper cotton, who was frank by nature and a poor diplomatist, looked uneasy. "i don't want to offend you, ormesby, but one must draw the line somewhere, and i will not sit down with that man," he said. "i know he's your guest, but you would not let me back out gracefully, and, if it's not impertinent, i'll add that i'm sorry he is." "i congratulate you on being able to draw lines, but just now i myself cannot afford to be particular," i answered dryly; and when, with a feeble apology, cotton rode away, it cost me an effort to greet the other man civilly. as breakfast was ready, he took his place at the table, and glanced at me whimsically. foster lane was neither very prepossessing nor distinctly the reverse in appearance. he was stout, and somewhat flabby in face, with straw-colored hair and a thick-lipped mouth; but while his little eyes had a humorous twinkle, there was a suggestion of force as well as cunning about him. he was of middle age, and besides representing a so-styled "development company" was, by profession, land agent, farmers' financier, and mortgage jobber, and, as naturally follows, a usurer. "say, i'm not deaf yet, ormesby," he commenced, with coarse good-humor. "particular kind of trooper that one, isn't he? is he another broken-up british baronet's youngest son, or--because they only raise his kind in the old country--what has the fellow done?" "he's a friend of mine," i answered. "i never inquired of him. still, i'm sorry you overheard him." "that's all right," was the answer. "my hide is a pretty thick one; and one needs such a protection in my business. give a dog a bad name and you may as well hang him, rancher ormesby, although i flatter myself i'm a necessity in a new country. how many struggling ranchers would go under in a dry season but for my assistance; and how many fertile acres now growing the finest wheat would lie waste but for me? yet, when i ask enough to live on, in return, every loafer without energy or foresight abuses me. it's a very ungrateful world, ormesby." lane chuckled as he wiped his greasy forehead, and paused before he continued: "i've been thinking all night about carrying over the loan you mentioned, and though money's scarce just now, this is my suggestion. i'll let you have three-fourths of its present appraised value on crane valley, and you can then clear gaspard's trail, and handle a working balance. i'd sooner do that than carry over--see?" i set down my coffee cup because i did not see. i had expected he would have exacted increased interest on the loan due for repayment, and interest in western canada is always very high; but it seemed curious that he should wish to change one mortgage for another. it also struck me that if, in case i failed to make repayment, crane valley would be valuable to him, it should be worth at least as much to me. "that would not suit me," i said. "no?" and lane spoke slowly, rather as one asking a question than with a hint of menace. "feel more like letting me foreclose on you?" "you could not do that, because i should pay you off," i said. "i could do it, though there's no use denying that it would cripple me just now. as of course you know, whatever i could realize on at present, when everybody is short of money and trade at a standstill, should bring twice as much next season. that is why i wish the loan to run on." "well!" and lane helped himself before he answered. "in that case, i'll have to tax you an extra ten per cent. it seems high, but no bank would look at encumbered property or a half-developed place like crane valley. take it, or leave it, at six months' date. that would give you time to sell your fat stock and realize on your harvest." i fancied there was a covert sneer in the last words, because i had faint hope of any harvest, and answered accordingly. "it seems extortionate, but even so, should pay me better than sacrificing now." "money's scarce," said lane suavely. "i'm going on to lawrence's, and will send you in the papers. lend me as good a horse as you have for a day or two." i did not like the man's tone, and the request was too much like an order; but i made no further comment; though a load seemed lifted from me when he rode away, and i started with my foreman to haul home prairie hay. it was fiercely hot, and thick dust rolled about our light wagon, while each low rise, cut off as it were from the bare levels, floated against the horizon. the glare tired one's vision, and, half-closing my aching eyes, i sank into a reverie. for eight long years i had toiled late and early, taxing the strength of mind and body to the utmost. i had also prospered, and lured on by a dream, first dreamed in england, i grew more ambitious, breaking new land and extending my herds with borrowed capital. that had also paid me until a bad season came, and when both grain and cattle failed, lane became a menace to my prosperity. it was a bare life i and my foreman lived, for every dollar hardly won was entrusted in some shape to the kindly earth again, and no cent wasted on comforts, much less luxuries; but i had seldom time to miss either of them, and it was not until haldane brought his daughters to bonaventure that i saw what a man with means and leisure might make of his life. then came the reaction, and there were days when i grew sick of the drudgery and heavy physical strain; but still, spurred on alternately by hope and fear, i relaxed no effort. now, artificial grasses are seldom sown on the prairie where usually the natural product grows only a few inches high, and as building logs are scarce, implements are often kept just where they last were used. it was therefore necessary to seek hay worth cutting in a dried-out slough, or swamp, and next to find the mower, which might lie anywhere within a radius of four miles or so. we came upon them both together, the mower lying on its side, red with rust, amid a stretch of waist-high grass. the latter was harsh and wiry, heavy-scented with wild peppermint, and made ready for us by the sun. there were, however, preliminary difficulties, and i had worked myself into a state of exasperation before the rusty machine could be induced to run. after a vigorous hammering and the reckless use of oil the pair of horses were at last just able to haul it, groaning vehemently, through the dried-up swamp. i was stripped almost to the skin by this time, the dust that rose in clouds turned to mire upon my dripping cheeks and about my eyes, while bloodthirsty winged creatures hovered round my head. "this," said foreman thorn, as he wiped the red specks from his face and hands, "is going to be a great country. we can raise the finest insects on the wide earth already. the last time i was down to traverse a man came along from somewhere with a gospel tent, and from what he said there wasn't much chance for anyone to raise cattle. he'd socked it to us tolerable for half-an-hour at least, when tompson's charlie gets up and asks him: 'did you ever break half-thawn sod with oxen?' 'no, my man; but this interruption is unseemly,' says he. 'it's not a conundrum,' says charlie. 'did you ever sleep in a mosquito muskeg or cut hay in a dried-out slough?' and the preacher seeing we all wanted an answer, shakes his head. 'then you start in and try, and find out that there are times when a man must talk or bust, before you worry us,' says charlie. but who's coming along now?" i had been too busy to pay much attention to the narrative or to notice a rattle of wheels, and i looked up only when a wagon was drawn up beside the slough. a smooth-shaven man, with something familiar about his face, sat on the driving-seat smiling down at me. "good-morning, rancher ormesby. wanting any little pictures of yourself to send home to friends in the old country?" he said, pointing to what looked like the lens of a camera projecting through the canvas behind him. "i'll take you for half-a-dollar, as you are, if you'll give me the right to sell enlargements as a prairie study." the accent was hardly what one might have expected from one of the traveling adventurers who at intervals wandered across the country, and i looked at the speaker with a puzzled air. "i have no time to spare for fooling, and don't generally parade half-naked before either the public or my civilized friends," i said. "some people look best that way," answered the other, regarding me critically; whereupon thorn turned round and grinned. "the team and tall grass would make an effective background. stand by inside there, edmond. it's really not a bad model of a bare throat and torso, and as i don't know that your face is the best of you, the profile with a shadow on it would do--just so! say, i wonder did you know those old canvas overalls drawn in by the leggings are picturesque and become you? there--i'm much obliged to you." a faint click roused me from the state of motionless astonishment his sheer impudence produced, and when i strode forward thorn's grin of amusement changed to one of expectancy. "you don't want any hair-restorer, apparently, though i've some of the best in the dominion at a dollar the bottle; but i could give you a salve for the complexion," continued the traveler, and i stopped suddenly when about to demand the destruction of the negative or demolish his camera. "good heavens, boone! is it you; and what is the meaning of this mummery?" i asked, staring at him more amazed than ever. "just now i'm called adams, if you please," said the other, holding out his hand. "i hadn't an opportunity for thanking you for your forbearance when we met at bonaventure, but i shall not readily forget it. this is not exactly mummery. it provides me with a living, and suits my purpose. i could not resist the temptation of trying to discover whether you recognized me, or whether i was playing my part artistically." "are you not taking a big risk, and why don't you exploit a safer district?" i asked; and the man smiled as he answered: "i don't think there's a settler around here who would betray me even if he guessed my identity, and the troopers never got a good look at me. i live two or three hundred miles east, you see, and the loss of a beard and mustache alters any man's appearance considerably. i also have a little business down this way. have you seen anything of foster lane during the last week or two?" "yes," i said. "he has just ridden over from my place to lawrence's, in crane valley." "you have land there, too," said boone, as though aware of it already; and when i nodded, added: "then if you are wise you will see that devil does not get his claws on it. i presume you are not above taking a hint from me?" i looked straight at him. "i know very little of you except that there is a warrant out for your arrest, and i am not addicted to taking advice from strangers." boone returned my gaze steadily without resentment, and i had time to take note of him. he was a tall, spare, sinewy man, deeply bronzed like most of us; but now that he had, as it were, cast off all pertaining to the traveling pedlar, there was an indefinite something in his speech and manner which could hardly have been acquired on the prairie. he did not look much over thirty, but his forehead was seamed, and from other signs one might have fancied he was a man with a painful history. then he flicked the dust off his jean garments with the whip, and laughed a little. "i am an englishman, rancher ormesby, and, needless to say, so are you. we are not a superfluously civil people, and certain national characteristics betray you. i fancy we shall be better acquainted, and, that being so, feel prompted to tell you a story which, after what passed at bonaventure, you perhaps have a right to know. you will stop a while for lunch, anyway, and if you have no objections i will take mine along with you." i could see no reasonable objection to this, and presently we sat together under the wagon for the sake of coolness, while, when the mower ceased its rattle, the dust once more settled down upon the slough. it was almost too hot to eat; there was no breath of wind, and the glare of the sun-scorched prairie grew blinding. "i should not wonder if you took most kindly to indirect advice, and there is a moral to this story," said boone, when i lit my pipe. "some years ago a disappointed man, who knew a little about land and horses, came out from the old country to farm on the prairie, bringing with him a woman used hitherto to the smoother side of life. he saw it was a good land and took hold with energy, believing the luck had turned at last, while the woman helped him gallantly. for a time all went well with them, but the loneliness and hardship proved too much for the woman, whose strength was of the spirit and not of the body, and she commenced to droop and pine. she made no complaint, but her eyes lost their brightness, and she grew worn and thin, while the man grew troubled. she had already given up very much for him. he saw his neighbors prospering on borrowed capital, and, for the times were good, determined to risk sowing a double acreage. that meant comfort instead of privation if all went well, and, toiling late and early, he sowed hope for a brighter future along with the grain. so far it is not an uncommon story." i nodded, when the speaker, pausing, stared somberly towards the horizon, for since that english visit i also had staked all i hoped for in the future on the chances of the seasons. "the luck went against him," the narrator continued. "harvest frost, drought, and summer hail followed in succession, and when the borrowed money melted the man who held the mortgage foreclosed. he was within his rights in this, but he went further, for while there were men in that district who would, out of kindliness or as a speculation, have bought up the settler's possessions at fair prices, the usurer had his grasp also on them, and when a hint was sent them they did nothing. therefore the auction was a fraud and robbery, and all was bought up by a confederate for much less than its value. there was enough to pay the loan off--although the interest had almost done so already--but not enough to meet the iniquitous additions; and the farmer went out ruined on to government land with a few head of stock a richer man he had once done a service to gave him; but the woman sickened in the sod hovel he built. there was no doctor within a hundred miles, and the farmer had scarcely a dollar to buy her necessaries. even then the usurer had not done with him. he entered proceedings to claim the few head of cattle for balance of the twice-paid debt. the farmer could not defend himself; somebody took money for willful perjury to evade a clause of the homestead exemptions, and the usurer got his order. the woman lay very ill when he came with a band of desperadoes to seize the cattle. they threatened violence; a fracas followed, and the farmer's hands were, for once, unsteady on the rifle he did not mean to use, for when a drunken cowboy would have ransacked his dwelling the trigger yielded prematurely, and the usurer was carried off with a bullet through his leg. the woman died, and was buried on a lonely rise of the prairie; and the man rode out with hatred in his heart and a price upon his head. you should know the rest of the story--but the sequel is to follow. it was not without an effort or a motive i told it you." i stretched out my hand impulsively towards the speaker. "it is appreciated. i need not ask one name, but the other----" "is foster lane; and in due time he shall pay in full for all." boone's voice, which had grown a trifle husky, sank with the last words to a deeper tone, and the sinewy right hand he raised for a moment fell heavily, tight-clenched, upon his knee. he said nothing further for a while, but i felt that if ever the day of reckoning came one might be sorry for foster lane. presently he shrugged his shoulders and rose abruptly. "i have a case of pomade to sell the swedes over yonder, and if my luck is good, some photographs to take," he said, resuming his former manner. "i presume you wouldn't care to decorate your house with tin-framed oleographs of german manufacture. i have a selection, all of the usual ugliness. whatever happens, one must eat, you know. well, lane's gone into crane valley, and it happens i'm going that way, too. this, i hope, is the beginning of an acquaintance, ormesby." he sold thorn a bottle of some infallible elixir before he climbed into his tented wagon, and left me troubled as he jolted away across the prairie. one thing, however, i was resolved upon, and that was to pay off foster lane at the earliest opportunity. by parting with my best stock at a heavy sacrifice it seemed just possible to accomplish it. chapter v a surprise party except when the snow lies deep one has scanty leisure on the prairie, and when adams departed thorn and i hurriedly recommenced our task. we had lost time to make up, and vied with each other; for i had discovered that, even in a country where all work hard, much more is done for the master who can work himself. pitching heavy trusses into a wagon is not child's play at that temperature, but just then the exertion brought relief, and i was almost sorry when thorn went off with the lurching vehicle, leaving me to the mower and my thoughts. the latter were not overpleasant just then. still, the machine needed attention, and the horses needed both restraint and encouragement, for at times they seemed disposed to lie down, and at others, maddened by the insects, inclined to kick the rusty implement into fragments, and i grew hoarse with shouting, while the perspiration dripped from me. it was towards six o'clock, and the slanting sunrays beat pitilessly into my face, which was thick with fibrous grime, when, with thorn lagging behind, i tramped stiffly beside the wagon towards my house. my blue shirt was rent in places; the frayed jean jacket, being minus its buttons, refused to meet across it; and nobody new to the prairie would have taken me for the owner of such a homestead as gaspard's trail. thick dust, through which mounted figures flitted, rolled about the dwelling, and a confused bellowing mingled with the human shouts that rose from behind the long outbuildings. "it's henderson's boys bringing shipping stock along. somebody's been squeezing him for money or he wouldn't sell at present," said thorn, who rejoined me. "they'll camp here to-night and clean up the larder. i guess most everybody knows how henderson feeds them." there are disadvantages attached to the prairie custom of free hospitality, and i surmised that henderson's stock riders might have pushed on to the next homestead if they had not known that we kept a good table at gaspard's trail. nevertheless, i was thankful that no stranger need ever leave my homestead hungry, and only wondered whether my cook's comments would be unduly sulphurous. when i reached the wire-fenced corral, which was filled with circling cattle and an intolerable dust, a horseman flung his hand up in salute. "we're bound for the indian spring bottom with an h triangle draft," he said. "the grass is just frizzled on the blackfeet run, and we figured we'd camp right here with you to-night." "that's all right; but couldn't you have fetched carson's by dusk without breaking anybody's neck; and yonder beasts aren't branded triangle h," i said. the horseman laughed silently in prairie fashion. "well, we might and we mightn't; but carson's a close man, and i've no great use for stale flapjacks and glucose drips. no, sir, i'm not greedy, and we'll just let carson keep them for himself. those beasts marked dash circle are the best of the lot. lane's put the screw on redmond, and forced him to part. redmond's down on his luck. he's crawling round here somewhere, cussing lane tremendous." "lane seems to own all this country," i answered irritably. "has he got a hold on your master, too? i told him and redmond i was saving that strip of sweet prairie for myself." "he will own all the country, if you bosses don't kick in time," was the dry answer. "i don't know how ours is fixed, but he's mighty short in temper, and you've no monopoly of unrecorded prairie. say, it might save your boys a journey if we took your stock along with us and gave them a chance before this draft cleans all the sweet grass up. redmond told me to mention it." the offer was opportune, and i accepted it; then hurried towards the galvanized iron shed which served as summer quarters for the general utility man who acted as cook. he was a genius at his business, though he had learned it on board a sailing ship. he was using fiery language as he banged his pans about. "it's a nice state of things when a cattle-whacking loafer can walk right in and tell me what he wants for his supper," he commenced. "general jackson! it's bad enough when a blame cowboy outfit comes down on one like the locusts and cleans everything up, but it's worse just when i'm trying to fix a special high-grade meal." "i'm not particular. what is good enough for a cowboy is good enough for a rancher any time," i said; and the cook, who was despotic master of his own domain, jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the house. "guess it mightn't be to-night. get out, and give me a fair show. you're blocking up the light." i went on towards the house, wondering what he could mean, but halted on the threshold of our common room, a moment too late. we had worked night and day during spring and early summer, and the sparely-furnished room was inches deep in dust. guns, harness i had no time to mend, and worn-out garments lay strewn about it, save where, in a futile attempt to restore order, i had hurled a pile of sundries into one corner. neither was i in exactly a condition suitable for feminine society, and beatrice haldane, who had by some means preserved her dainty white dress immaculate, leaned back in an ox-hide chair regarding me with quiet amusement. her father lounged smoking in the window seat, and it was his younger daughter who, when i was about to retreat, came forward and mischievously greeted me. "i believe you were ready to run away, mr. ormesby, and you really don't seem as much pleased to see us as you ought to be," she said. "you know you often asked us to visit you, so you have brought this surprise party on your own head." "i hope you will not suffer for your rashness, but you see those men out there. they generally leave famine behind them when they come," i said. the girl nodded. "they are splendid. i have been talking to them, and made one sit still while i drew him. please don't trouble about supper. i have seen cookie, and he's going to make the very things i like." miss haldane's eyebrows came down just a trifle, and i grew uneasy, wondering whether it was the general state of chaos or my own appearance which had displeased her; but haldane laughed heartily before he broke in: "lucille is all canadian. she has not been to europe yet, and i am not sure that i shall send her. she has examined the whole place already, and decided that you must be a very----" the girl's lips twitched with suppressed merriment, but she also reddened a little; and i interposed: "a very busy man, was it not? now you must give me ten minutes in which to make myself presentable." i was glad to escape, and, for reasons, withdrew sideways in crab fashion, while what suspiciously resembled smothered laughter followed me. by good luck, and after upsetting the contents of two bureaus upon the floor, i was able to find garments preserved for an occasional visit to the cities, and, flinging the window open, i hailed a man below to bring me a big pail of water. he returned in ten minutes with a very small one, and with the irate cook expostulating behind him, while i feared his comments would be audible all over the building. "cook says the well's playing out, and washing's foolishness this weather. the other pail's got dead gophers in it, and jardine allows he caught cookie fishing more of them out of the water he used for the tea." "fling them out, and for heaven's sake let me have the thing. i'm getting used to gophers, and dead ones can't bite you," i said, fearing that if the indignant cook got to close quarters the precious fluid might be spilled. then while i completed my toilet cotton came in. "perhaps i was hardly civil this morning," he commenced. "i'm out for four days' fire-guard inspecting, and thought i'd come round and tell you----" "that you saw the bonaventure wagon heading in this direction," i interposed. "well, you're always welcome at gaspard's trail, and i presume you won't feel tempted to draw the line at my present guests." cotton dropped into my one sound chair. "i suppose i deserve it, ormesby. we shall not get such opportunities much longer, and one can't help making the most of them," he said. we went down together; and there was no doubt that the cook had done his best, while haldane laughed and his younger daughter looked very demure when, as we sat down at table, i stared about my room. it had lost its bare appearance, the thick dust had gone, and there was an air of comfort about it i had never noticed before. "you see what a woman's hand can do. lucille couldn't resist the temptation of straightening things for you," observed the owner of bonaventure. "she said the place resembled a----" the girl blushed a little, and shook her head warningly at her father, while, as she did so, her bright hair caught a shaft of light from the window and shimmered like burnished gold. for a moment it struck me that she equaled her sister in beauty; and she was wholly bewitching with the mischief shining in her eyes. there was, however, a depth of kindliness beneath the mischief, and i had seen the winsome face grow proud with a high courage one night when the snows whirled about bonaventure. nevertheless, i straightway forgot it when beatrice haldane set to work among the teacups at the head of the table, for her presence transfigured the room. i had often, as i sat there through the bitter winter nights, pictured her taking a foremost place in some scene of brightness in london or montreal, but never presiding at my poor table or handling my dilapidated crockery with her dainty fingers. she did it, as she did everything, very graciously; while, to heighten the contrast, the lowing of cattle and the hoarse shouts of those who drove them, mingled with whipcracks and the groaning of jolting wagons, came in through the open windows. for a time the meal progressed satisfactorily. haldane was excellent company, and i had almost forgotten my fears that some untoward accident might happen, when his younger daughter asked: "what is a gopher, mr. cotton? i have heard of them, but never saw one." i projected a foot in his direction under the table, regretting i had discarded my working boots, and haldane, dropping his fork, looked up sharply. "a little beast between a rat and a squirrel, which lives in a hole in the ground. there are supposed to be more of them round gaspard's trail than anywhere in canada," answered the trooper, incautiously. "that's quite correct, ormesby. you cannot contradict me." i did not answer, but grew uneasy, seeing that he could not take a hint; and the girl continued: "are they fond of swimming?" "i don't think so," answered cotton, with a slightly puzzled air; and then added, with an infantile attempt at humor, for which i longed to choke him: "i'm not a natural historian, but ormesby ought to know. i found him not long ago in a very bad temper fishing dozens of dead ones out of his well. perhaps they swam too long, and were too tired to climb out, you know." lucille haldane, who had been thirsty, gave a little gasp and laid her hand on the cup cotton would have passed on for replenishing. her sister glanced at her with some surprise, and then quietly set down her own, while i grew hot all over and felt savagely satisfied by the way he winced that this time i had got my heel well down on cotton's toe. then there was an awkward silence until haldane, leaning back in his chair, laughed boisterously when the lad, attempting to retrieve one blunder, committed another. "i am afraid there are a good many at bonaventure, and it is not ormesby's fault, you see. it is almost impossible for anybody to keep them out of the wells in dry weather; but nobody minds a few gophers in this country." haldane had saved the situation; but his elder daughter filled no more teacups, and both my fair guests seemed to lose their appetite, while i was almost glad when the meal i had longed might last all night was over and lucille and her father went out to inspect the cattle. i, however, detained cotton, who was following them with alacrity. "your jokes will lead you into trouble some day, and it's a pity you couldn't have displayed your genius in any other direction," i said. "you need not get so savage over a trifle," he answered apologetically. "i really didn't mean to upset things--it was an inspiration. no man with any taste could be held responsible for his answers when a girl with eyes like hers cross-questions him. you really ought to cultivate a better temper, ormesby." i let him go, and joined beatrice haldane, who had remained behind the rest. she did not seem to care about horses and cattle, and appeared grateful when i found her a snug resting-place beneath the strawpile granary. "you are to be complimented, since you have realized at least part of your aspirations," she said, as she swept a glance round my possessions. "is it fair to ask, are you satisfied with--this?" i followed her eyes with a certain thrill of pride. wheat land, many of the dusty cattle, broad stretch of prairie, barns, and buildings were mine, and the sinewy statuesque horsemen, who came up across the levels behind further bunches of dappled hide and tossing horns, moved at my bidding. by physical strain and mental anxiety i had steadily extended the boundaries of gaspard's trail, and, had i been free from lane, would in one respect have been almost satisfied. then i looked up at my companion, whose pale-tinted draperies and queenly head with its clustering dark locks were outlined against the golden straw, and a boldness, as well as a great longing, came upon me. "it is a hard life, but a good one," i said. "there is no slackening of anxiety and little time for rest, but the result is encouraging. when i took hold, with a few hundred pounds capital, gaspard's trail was sod-built and its acreage less than half what it is at present; but this is only the beginning, and i am not content. bad seasons do not last forever, and in spite of obstacles i hope the extension will continue until it is the largest holding on all this prairie; but even that consummation will be valuable only as the means to an end." beatrice haldane looked at me with perfect composure. "is it all worth while, and how long have you been so ambitious?" she asked, with a smile, the meaning of which i could not fathom. "since a summer spent in england showed me possibilities undreamed of before," i said; and while it is possible that the vibration in my voice betrayed me, the listener's face remained a mask. beatrice haldane was already a woman of experience. "one might envy your singleness of purpose, but there are things which neither success nor money can buy," she said. "probably you have no time to carefully analyze your motives, but it is not always wise to take too much for granted. even if you secured all you believe prosperity could give you you might be disappointed. wiser men have found themselves mistaken, rancher ormesby." "you are right in the first case," i answered. "but in regard to the other, would not the effort be proof enough? would any man spend the best years of his life striving for what he did not want?" "some have spent the whole of it, which was perhaps better than having the longer time for disappointment," answered the girl, with a curious smile. "but are we not drifting, as we have done before, into a profitless discussion of subjects neither of us knows much about? besides, the sun is swinging farther west and the glare hurts my eyes, while father and lucille appear interested yonder." beatrice haldane always expressed herself quietly, but few men would have ventured to disregard her implied wishes, and i took the hint, fearing i had already said too much. gaspard's trail was not yet the finest homestead on the prairie, and the time to speak had not arrived. when we joined haldane it was a somewhat stirring sight we looked upon. a draft of my own cattle came up towards the corral at a run, mounted men shouting as they cantered on each flank, while one, swinging a whip twice, raced at a gallop around the mass of tossing horns when the herd would have wheeled and broken away from the fence in a stampede. the earth vibrated to the beat of hoofs; human yells and a tumultuous bellowing came out of the dust; and i sighed with satisfaction when, cleverly turned by a rider, who would have lost his life had his horse's speed or his own nerve failed him, the beasts surged pell-mell into the enclosure. much as i regretted to part with them, their sale should set me free of debt. then the flutter of a white dress caught my eye, and i saw lucille haldane, who, it seemed, had already pressed the foreman into her service, applauding when thorn, cleverly roping a beast, reined in his horse, and, jerking it to a standstill, held it for her inspection. it no doubt pleased him to display his skill, but i saw it was with thorn, as it had been with the sergeant, a privilege to interest the girl. she walked close up to the untamed creature, which, with heaving sides and spume dripping from its nostrils, seemed to glare less angrily at her, while thorn appeared puzzled as he answered her rapid questions, and haldane leaned on the rails with his face curiously tender as he watched her. trooper cotton, coming up, appropriated miss haldane with boyish assurance, and her father turned to me. "my girl has almost run me off my feet, and now that she has taken possession of your foreman, i should be content to sit down to a quiet smoke," he said. "will you walk back to the house with me?" i could only agree, but i stopped on the way to speak to one of the men who had brought in the cattle. he was a struggling rancher, without enterprise or ability, and generally spoken of with semi-contemptuous pity. "i'm obliged to you, redmond, for suggesting that you would take my draft along; but why didn't you come in and take supper with the rest? this sort of banquet strikes me as the reverse of neighborly," i said. the man fidgeted as he glanced at the dirty handkerchief containing eatables beside him. "i figured you had quite enough without me, and i don't feel in much humor for company just now," he said. "this season has hit me mighty hard." "something more than the season has hit him," commented haldane, as we proceeded. "if ever i saw a weak man badly ashamed of himself, that was one. you can't think of any underhand trick he might have played you lately?" "no," i answered lightly. "he is a harmless creature, and has no possible reason for injuring me." "quite sure?" asked haldane, with a glance over his shoulder as we entered the door. "i've seen men of his kind grow venomous when driven into a corner. however, it's cool and free from dust in here. sit down and try this tobacco." haldane was said to be a shrewd judge of his fellowmen, but i could see no cause why redmond should cherish a grudge against me, and knew he had spoken the truth when he said the seasons had hit him hardly. it was currently reported that he was heavily in debt, and the stock-rider had suggested that lane was pressing him. when haldane had lighted a cigar he took a roll of paper off the table and tossed it across to me, saying, "is that your work, ormesby?" "no. i never saw it before," i answered, when a glance showed me that the paper contained a cleverly drawn map of our vicinity, and haldane nodded. "to tell the truth, i hardly expected it was. some of your recent visitors must have dropped it, and as my daughter found it among the litter during the course of her improvements, and asked whether it should be preserved, i could not well help seeing what it was. look at the thing again, and tell me what you conclude from it." "that whoever made it had a good eye for the most valuable locations in this district," i answered, thoughtfully. "he has also shaded with the same tint part of my possessions in crane valley." "exactly!" and haldane gazed intently into the blue cigar smoke. "does it strike you that the man who made the map intended to acquire those locations, and that, considering the possible route of the railway, he showed a commendable judgment?" "it certainly does so now," i answered; and haldane favored me with a searching glance. "then when you discover who it is, keep your eyes on him, and especially beware of giving him any hold on you." i suspected that lane had made the map, and it is a pity i did not take haldane into my full confidence; but misguided pride forbade it, and we smoked in silence until the opportunity was lost, for he rose, saying: "no peace for the wicked; the girls are returning. great heavens! i thought the child had broken her neck!" while thorn went round by the slip-rails, a slender, white-robed figure on a big gray horse sailed over the tall fence and came up towards the house at a gallop, followed by the startled foreman. haldane, whose unshakable calm was famous in eastern markets, quivered nervously, and i felt relieved that there had been no accident, for it was a daring leap. then, while cotton and beatrice haldane followed, lucille came in flushed and exultant. "we have had a delightful time, father, and you must leave me in charge of bonaventure when you go east," she said. "but where did you get the lady's saddle, mr. ormesby?" "it is not mine," i answered, smiling. "it belongs to my neighbor's sister, sally steel. she rode a horse over here for thorn to doctor." i regretted the explanation too late. steel was a good neighbor, but common report stigmatized his sister as a reckless coquette, and by the momentary contraction of beatrice haldane's forehead i feared that she had heard the gossip. if this were so, however, she showed no other sign of it. when a delicious coolness preceded the dusk it was suggested that cotton should sing to us, and he did so, fingering an old banjo of mine with no mean skill. i managed to find a place by beatrice haldane's side, and when the pale moon came out and the air had the quality of snow-cooled wine, her sister sang in turn to the trooper's accompaniment. i remember only that it was a song free from weak sentimentality, with an heroic undertone; but it stirred me, and a murmur of voices rose from the shadows outside. then foreman thorn stood broad hat in hand, in the doorway. "if it wouldn't be a liberty, miss, the boys would take it as an honor if you would sing that, or something else, over again. they've never heard nothing like it, even down to winnipeg," he said. the girl blushed a little, and looked at me. "they were kind to me. do you really think it would please them?" she asked. "if it doesn't they will be abominably ungrateful; but although we are not conventional, the request strikes me as a liberty," i said, noticing that her sister did not seem wholly pleased. "tell them i will do my best," was the answer, and, after a conference with cotton, lucille haldane walked towards the open door. there was no trace of vanity or self-consciousness in her bearing. it was pure kindliness which prompted her, and when she stood outside the building, with the star-strewn vault above her, and the prairie silver-gray at her feet, bareheaded, slight, and willowy in her thin white dress, it seemed small wonder that the dusty men who clustered about the wire fence swung down their broad hats to do her homage. perfect stillness succeeded, save for sounds made by the restless cattle; then the banjo tinkled, and a clear voice rang out through the soft transparency of the summer night: "all day long the reapers!" there was a deep murmur when the last tinkle of the banjo sank into silence, a confused hum of thanks, and teamster and stock-rider melted away, and lucille haldane, returning, glanced almost apologetically at me. "i just felt i had to please them," she said. "even if you older people smile, i am proud of this great country, and it seems to me that these are the men who are making it what it will some day be. don't you think that we who live idly in the cities owe a good deal to them?" haldane laid his hand caressingly on his daughter's arm. "impulsive as ever--but perhaps you are right," he said. "in any case, it will be after midnight before we get home, and you might ask for our team, ormesby." every man about gaspard's trail helped to haul up the wagon and harness the spirited team, while, in spite of cotton's efforts, thorn insisted on handing my youngest guest into the vehicle; and it was with some difficulty i exchanged parting civilities with the rest as the vehicle rolled away amid the stockmen's cheers. chapter vi a holocaust it was late one sultry night when i sat moodily beside an open window in my house at gaspard's trail. i had risen before the sun that morning, but, though tired with a long day's ride, i felt restless and ill-disposed to sleep. thomas steel, whose homestead stood some leagues away, lounged close by with his unlighted pipe on his knee and his coarse sun-faded shirt flung open showing his bronzed neck and the paler color of his ample chest. he was about my own age and possessed the frame of a gladiator, but there was limp dejection in his attitude. "it's just awful weather, but there's a change at hand," he said. "it will be too late for some of us when it comes." i merely nodded, and glanced out through the window. thick darkness brooded over the prairie, though at intervals a flicker of sheet lightning blazed along the horizon and called up clumps of straggling birches out of the obscurity. a fitful breeze which eddied about the building set the grasses sighing, but it was without coolness, and laden with the smell of burning. far-off streaks of crimson shone against the sky in token that grass-fires were moving down-wind across the prairie. they would, however, so far as we could see, hurt nobody. steel fidgeted nervously until i began to wonder what was the matter with him, and when he thrust his chair backwards i said irritably: "for heaven's sake sit still. you look as ill at ease as if you had been told off to murder somebody." the stalwart farmer's face darkened. "i feel 'most as bad, and have been waiting all evening to get the trouble out," he said. "fact is, i'm borrowing money, and if you could let me have a few hundred dollars it would mean salvation." i laughed harshly to hide my dismay. the prairie settlers stand by one another in time of adversity, and in earlier days steel had been a good friend to me; but the request was singularly inopportune. two bad seasons had followed each other, when the whole dominion labored under a commercial depression; and though my estate was worth at ordinary values a considerable sum, it was only by sacrificing my best stock i could raise money enough to carry it on. "if i get anything worth mentioning for the beasts i'll do my utmost, and by emptying the treasury perhaps i can scrape up two or three hundred now. what do you want with it?" i said. "i thought you would help me," answered steel, with a gasp of relief. "i've been played for the fool i am. i got a nice little book from the ---- company, and it showed how any man with enterprise could get ahead by the aid of borrowed capital. then its representative--very affable man--came along and talked considerable. i was a bit hard pressed, and the end was that he lent me money. there were a blame lot of charges, and the money seemed to melt away, while now, if i don't pay up, he'll foreclose on me." i clenched my right hand viciously, for the man who had trapped poor steel had also a hold on me, and i began to cherish a growing fear of the genial lane. "it's getting a common story around here," i said. "that man seems bent on absorbing all this country, but if only for that very reason we're bound to help each other to beat him. it will be a hard pull, but, though it all depends on what the stock fetch, i'll do the best i can." steel was profuse in his thanks, and i lapsed into a by no means overpleasant reverie. so some time passed until a glare of red and yellow showed up against the sky where none had been before. "looks like a mighty big fire. there's long grass feeding it, and it has just rolled over a ridge," said steel. "seems to me somewhere near the indian spring bottom, but redmond and the other fellow would drive the stock well clear." flinging my chair back i snatched a small compass from a shelf, laid it on the window-ledge, and, kneeling behind it, with a knife blade held across the card i took the bearings of the flame. "it's coming right down on the bottom, and though by this time the stock is probably well clear, i'm a little uneasy about it. we'll ride over and make quite sure," i said. "of course!" steel answered, and seemed about to add something, but thought better of it and followed me towards the stable. thorn, who was prompt of action, had also seen the fire, for he was already busy with the horses; and inside of five minutes we were sweeping at a gallop across the prairie. save for the intermittent play of lightning the darkness was egyptian; and the grass was seamed by hollows and deadly badger-holes; but the broad blaze streamed higher for a beacon, and, risking a broken neck, i urged on the mettled beast beneath me. grass fires are common, and generally are harmless enough in our country; but that one seemed unusually fierce, and an indefinite dread gained on me as the miles rolled behind us. "it's the worst i've seen for several seasons. whole ridge is blazing," panted steel, as, with a great crackling, we swept neck and neck together through the tall grass of a slough in the midst of which thorn's horse blundered horribly. then we dipped into a ravine, reeling down the slope and splashing through caked mire where a little water had been. every moment might be precious, and turning aside for nothing, we rode straight across the prairie, while at last i pressed the horse fiercely as a long rise shut out the blaze. once we gained its crest the actual conflagration would be visible. the horse was white with lather, and i was almost blinded with sweat and dust when we gained the summit. drawing bridle, i caught at my breath. the sweetwater ran blood red beneath us, and the whole mile-wide hollow through which it flowed was filled with fire, while some distance down stream on the farther side a dusky mass was discernible through the rolling smoke which blew in long wisps in that direction. it seemed as though a cold hand had suddenly been laid on my heart, for the mass moved, and was evidently composed of close-packed and panic-stricken beasts. "it's the gaspard draft held up by the wing fence!" a voice behind me rose in a breathless yell. i smote the horse, and we shot down the declivity. how the beast kept its footing i do not know, for there were thickets of wild berries and here and there thin willows to be smashed through; but we went down at a mad gallop, the clods whirling behind us and the wind screaming past, until we plunged into the sweetwater through a cloud of spray. in places soft mire clogged the sinking hoofs, in others slippery shingle rolled beneath them, while the stream seethed whitely to the girth; but steaming, panting, dripping, we came through, and i dashed, half-blinded, into the smoke. a confused bellowing came out of the drifting wreaths ahead, and there was a mad beat of hoofs behind, but i could see little save the odd shafts of brightness which leaped out of the vapor as i raced towards the fire. then somebody cried in warning, and the horse reared almost upright as--while i wrenched upon the bridle--a running man staggered out of the smoke. a red blaze tossed suddenly aloft behind him, and as he turned the brightness smote upon his blackened face. it was set and savage, and the hair was singed upon his forehead. "it's blue ruin. the green birches are burning, and all your beasts are corraled in the fence wings," he gasped. "fire came over the rise without warning, in redmond's watch. somehow he got the rest clear, but your lot stampeded and the wire brought them up. i'm off to the shanty for an ax--but no living man could get them out." thorn pulled up his plunging horse as the other spoke, and for a few seconds i struggled with the limpness of dismay. then i said hoarsely: "if the flame hasn't lapped the wings yet, we'll try." by this time the horses were almost in a state of panic, and thorn's nearly unseated him, but we urged them into the vapor towards the fence. fences were scarce in our district then, but after a dispute as to the grazing i had shared the cost of that one with another man, partly because it would be useful when sheep washing was forward and would serve as a corral when we cut out shipping stock. it consisted of only two wings at right angles--a long one towards the summit of the rise, and another parallel to the river, which flowed deep beneath that rotten bank; but the beasts on each side would seldom leave the rich grass in the hollow to wander round the unclosed end, and if driven into the angle two riders could hold the open mouth. now i could see that the simple contrivance might prove a veritable death-trap to every beast within it. it was with difficulty we reached the crest of the rise, but we passed the wing before the fire, which now broke through the driving vapor, a wavy wall of crimson, apparently two fathoms high, closing in across the full breadth of the hollow at no great pace, but with a relentless regularity. then i rode fiercely towards the angle or junction of the wires where the beasts were bunched together as in the pocket of a net. thorn and steel came up a few seconds later. the outside cattle were circling round and jostling each other, thrusting upon those before them; the inside of the mass was as compact as if rammed together by hydraulic pressure, and, to judge by the bellowing, those against the fence were being rent by the barbs or slowly crushed to death. our cattle wander at large across the prairie and exhibit few characteristics of domestic beasts. indeed, they are at times almost dangerous to handle, and when stampeded in a panic a squadron of cavalry would hardly turn them. yet the loss of this draft boded ruin to me, and it was just possible that if we could separate one or two animals from the rest and drive them towards the end of the fence the others might follow. the mouth of the net might remain open for a few minutes yet. "i guess it's hopeless, but we've just got to try," said thorn, who understood what was in my mind. "start in with that big one. there's not a second to lose." steel, leaning down from the saddle, drove his knife-point into the rump of one beast, and when it wheeled i thrust my horse between it and the herd and smote it upon the nostrils with my clenched fist, uselessly. the terrified creature headed round again, jamming me against its companions, and when my horse backed clear, one of my legs felt as though it were broken. this, however, was no time to trouble about minor injuries or be particular on the score of humanity; and while thorn endeavored to effect a diversion by twisting one beast's tail i pricked another savagely. it wheeled when it felt the pain, and when it turned again with gleaming horns and lowered head steel pushed recklessly into the opening. then a thick wisp of smoke filled my eyes, and i did not see how it happened, but man and horse had gone down together when the vapor thinned, and the victorious animal was once more adding its weight to the pressure on the rear of the surging mass. steel was up next moment, struggling with his horse, which, with bared teeth, was backing away from him at full length of its bridle; but, answering my shout, he said breathlessly: "i don't know whether half my bones are cracked or not, but they feel very much like it. it's no good, ormesby. we'll have to cut the fence from the other side, and if we fool here any longer we'll lose the horses, too." i saw there was truth in this, and almost doubted if we could clear the fence wing now. it was at least certain that nothing we could do there would extricate the terrified beasts; and when steel got himself into the saddle we started again at a gallop. there was less smoke, and what there was towered vertically in a lull of the breeze; but the crackling flame tossed higher and higher. for a moment i fancied it had cut us off within the fence, which would have made a dangerous leap; but though the terrified horses were almost beyond guidance, fear lent them speed, and with very little room to spare steel and i shot round the end of the wire. "look out for the setting-up post nearest the corner, and slack the turn-screws until the wire goes down, while i try to cut the strand close in to the herd!" i roared "is thorn behind you?" "no," the answer came back. "good lord! we've left him inside the fence!" i managed to pull my horse up, when a glance showed me the foreman's stalwart figure silhouetted against the crimson flame as he strove to master his plunging horse. it was evident that the horse had refused to face the fire, which now rolled right up the wings of the fence. "come down and let him go! you can either climb the wires or crawl under them!" i shouted, wondering whether the crackling of the flame drowned my husky voice. "this horse is worth three hundred dollars, and he's either going through or over," the answer came back; and i shouted in warning, for it appeared impossible to clear that fence, though the beast, which was not of common bronco stock, had good imported blood in him. then there was a yell from the foreman as he recklessly shot forward straight at the fence. the horse was ready to face anything so long as he could keep the fire behind him, and i held my breath as he rose at the wire. our horses are not good jumpers, and the result seemed certain. his knees struck the topmost wire; there was a heavy crash; and the man, shooting forward as from a catapult, alighted with a sickening thud, while the poor brute rolled over and lay still on the wrong side of the fence. thorn rose, but very shakily, and i was thankful i had lost only some three hundred dollars, which i could very badly spare. "nothing given out this trip," he spluttered. "i've dropped my knife, though. go on and try the cutting. i'll follow when i can." in another few moments i dismounted abreast of the angle, and hitched the bridle round a strand of the wire, knowing that the possibility of getting away almost instantaneously when my work was done might make all the difference between life and death. the fence was tall, built of stout barbed wire strained to a few screw standards and stapled to thick birch posts. i had neither ax nor nippers, only a long-bladed knife, and densely packed beasts were wedging themselves tighter and tighter against the other side of the barrier. already some had fallen and been trampled out of existence, while others seemed horribly mangled and torn. the man who had gone for an ax had not reappeared, and i regretted i had not bidden him take one of our horses, for the shanty was some distance away. slashing through the laces i dragged off one boot. its heel was heavy and might serve for a mallet, and holding the blade of my knife on the top strand close against a post, i smote it furiously. the wire was not nicked half through when it burst beneath the pressure, and a barb on its flying end scored my face so that the blood trickled into my mouth and eyes; but the next wire was of treble twist, and as i struck and choked i regretted the thoroughness with which we had built the fence. the knife chipped under the blows i rained upon it, and when i shortened the blade its end snapped off. in a fit of desperation i seized the lacerating wires with my naked fingers and tore at them frenziedly, but what the pressure on the other side failed to accomplish the strength of twenty men might not do, so when in a few seconds reason returned to me i picked up what remained of the knife and set to work again. there was still no sign of thorn, and as the wires did not slacken it was plain that steel had failed to loose the straining screws without convenient tools. three slender cords of steel alone pent in the stock that were to set me free of debt, but i had no implements with which to break them, so they also held me fast to be dragged down helpless to beggary. at last the wire i struck at bent outward further, and when i next brought the boot heel down there was a metallic ringing as one strand parted, and i shouted in breathless triumph, knowing the other must follow. the fire was close behind the pent-up herd now, and i guessed that very shortly my life would depend on my horse's speed. just then steel dashed up, mounted, shouting: "into the saddle with you. the fence is going!" i saw him unhitch my horse's bridle and struggle to hold the beast ready between himself and me, but i meant to make quite certain of my part, so i brought the boot heel down thrice again. then i leaped backward, clutched at the bridle, and scrambled to the saddle as a black mass rolled out of the gap where the wire flew back. i remember desperately endeavoring to head the horse clear of it along the fence, and wondering how many of the cattle would fall over the remaining wires and be crushed before their carcasses formed a causeway for the rest; but the horse was past all guidance; and now that the fence had lost its continuity more fathoms of it went down and the dusky mass poured over it. then something struck me with a heavy shock, the horse stumbled as i slipped my feet out of the stirrups, and we went down together. i saw nothing further, though i could feel the earth tremble beneath me; then this sensation faded, and i was conscious of only a numbing pain beneath my neck and my left arm causing me agony. after this there followed a space of empty blackness. when i partly recovered my faculties the pain was less intense, though my left arm, which was tied to my side, felt hot and heavy, and the jolting motion convinced me that i lay in the bottom of a wagon. "did you get the stock clear?" i gasped, striving to raise my head from the hay truss in which it was almost buried; and somebody who stooped down held a bottle to my lips. "don't you tell him," a subdued voice said, and the man, who i think was steel, came near choking me as he poured more spirit than i could swallow down my throat and also down my neck. "that's all right. don't worry. we're mighty thankful we got you," he said. then the empty blackness closed in on me again, and i lay still, wondering whether i were dead and buried, and if so, why the pricking between shoulder and breast should continue so pitilessly; until that ceased in turn, and i had a hazy idea that someone was carrying me through an interminable cavern; after which there succeeded complete oblivion. chapter vii a bitter awakening the first day on which my attendants would treat me as a rational being was a memorable one to me. it must have been late in the morning when i opened my eyes, for the sun had risen above the level of the open window, and i lay still blinking out across the prairie with, at first, a curious satisfaction. i had cheated death and been called back out of the darkness to sunlight and life, it seemed. then i began to remember, and the pain in the arm bound fast to my side helped to remind me that life implied a struggle. raising my head, i noticed that there had been changes made in my room, and a young woman standing by the window frowned at me. "i guess all men are worrying, but you're about the worst i ever struck, rancher ormesby. just you lie back till i fix you, or i'll call the boys in to tie you fast with a girth." she was a tall, fair, well-favored damsel, with a ruddy countenance and somewhat bold eyes; but i was disappointed when i saw her clearly, even though her laugh was heartsome when i answered humbly: "i will try not to trouble you if you don't mean to starve me." miss sally steel, for it was my neighbor's sister, shouted to somebody through the window, and then turned to the man who rose from a corner. "you just stay right where you are. when i call cookie i'll see he comes. i've been running this place as it ought to be run, and you won't know gaspard's when you get about, rancher ormesby." the man laughed, and i saw it was thorn, though i did not know then that after doing my work and his own during the day he had watched the greater part of every night beside me. "feeling pretty fit this morning?" he asked. "comparatively so," i answered. "i should feel better if i knew just what happened to me and to the stock. you might tell me, beginning from the time the fence went down." "if he does there'll be trouble," broke in miss steel, who, i soon discovered, had constituted herself autocratic mistress of gaspard's trail. "he must wait until you have had breakfast, anyway." and i saw the cook stroll very leisurely towards the window carrying a tray. "was anybody calling?" he commenced, with the exasperating slowness he could at times assume; and then, catching sight of me, would have clambered in over the low window-sill but that miss steel stopped him. "anybody calling! i should think there was--and when i want people they'll come right along," she said. "no; you can stop out there--isn't all the prairie big enough for you? there'll be some tone about this place before i'm through," and the cook grinned broadly as he caught my eye. miss steel's voice was not unpleasant, though it had a strident ring, and her face was gentle as she raised me on a heap of folded blankets with no great effort, though i was never a very light weight, after which, between my desire to please her and a returning appetite, i made a creditable meal. "that's a long way better," she said approvingly. "tom brought a fool doctor over from calgary, who said you'd got your brain mixed and a concussion of the head. 'fix up his bones and don't worry about anything else,' i said. 'it would take a steam hammer to make any concussion worth talking of on rancher ormesby's head.'" "thorn has not answered my question," i interrupted; and miss steel flashed a glance at the foreman, who seemed to hesitate before he answered. "it happened this way: you were a trifle late lighting out when you'd cut the fence. steel said one of the beasts charged you, and after that more of them stampeded right over you. the horse must have kept some of them off, for he was stamped out pretty flat, and it was a relief to hear you growling at something when we got you out." "how did you get me out?" i asked, and thorn fidgeted before he answered: "it wasn't worth mentioning, but between us steel and i managed to split the rush, and the beasts went by on each side of us." "at the risk of being stamped flat, too! i might have expected it of you and steel," i said; and the girl's eyes sparkled as she turned to the foreman. "then steel went back for the wagon after we found you had an arm and a collarbone broken. i rode in to the railroad and wired for a doctor. sally came over to nurse you, and a pretty tough time she has had of it. you had fever mighty bad." "there's no use in saying i'm obliged to both of you, because you know it well," i made shift to answer; and sally steel stroked the hair back from my forehead in sisterly fashion as she smiled at thorn. "but what about the stock? did they all get through?" thorn's honest face clouded, and sally steel laid her plump hand on my mouth. "you're not going to worry about that. a herd of cattle stampeded over you and you're still alive. isn't that good enough for you?" i moved my head aside. "i shall worry until i know the truth. all the beasts could not have got out. how many did?" i asked. thorn looked at sally, then sideways at me, and i held my breath until the girl said softly: "you had better tell him." "very few," said the foreman; and i hoped that my face was as expressionless as i tried to make it when i heard the count. "some of those near the fence got clear, and some didn't. steel had grubbed up a post, and when the wires slacked part of the rest got tangled up and went down, choking the gap. it was worse than a chicago slaughter-house when the fire rolled up." "the horses, too? how long have i been ill, and has any rain fallen?" i asked, with the strange steadiness that sometimes follows a crushing blow, and thorn moodily shook his head. "both horses done for. you've been ill 'bout two weeks, i think. no rain worth mentioning--and the crop is clean wiped out." there was silence for some minutes, and sally steel patted my uninjured shoulder sympathetically. then i pointed to a litter of papers on the table, and inquired if there were any letters in lane's writing. thorn handed me one reluctantly, and it was hard to refrain from fierce exclamation as i read the laconic missive. lane regretted to hear of my accident, but the scarcity of money rendered it necessary to advise me that as i had not formally accepted his terms, repayment of the loan was overdue, and he would be obliged to realize unless i were willing to pledge crane valley or renew the arrangement at an extra five per cent. on the terms last mentioned. "bad news?" said sally. "then i guess thorn sha'n't worry you any more; but it's just when things look worst the turn comes. that team will be bolting soon, thorn. i'll sit right back in the corner, and until you want to talk to me you can forget i'm there." the high-pitched voice sank to a gentler tone, and i felt grateful to sally steel. her reckless vagaries often formed a theme for laughter when the inhabitants of the prairie foregathered at settlement or store; but there was a depth of good-nature, as well as an overdaring love of mischief in her, and not infrequently a blessing accompanied the jest. thorn was moving towards the door when, recollecting another point, i beckoned him. "how was it that when they had, or should have had, time enough, henderson's man and redmond did not stop the cattle bunching in the fence? it's very unlike our ways if they made no effort to save my beasts as well as their own masters' property," i said. foreman thorn looked troubled, and i saw that sally was watching him keenly. "i don't understand it rightly, and i guess no man ever will," he said. "of course, we struck henderson's jo with just that question, and this is what he made of it. he and redmond were camping in torkill's deserted sod-house, and when they saw the fires were bad that night, redmond said he'd ride round the cattle. their own lot was pretty well out of harm's way, east of the fence, but jo told him to take a look at yours. redmond started, and, as jo knew that he'd be called if he were wanted, he went off to sleep." "that does not explain much," i interjected, when thorn halted, rubbing his head as though in search of inspiration. "there isn't an explanation. jo, waking later, saw the fire coming right down the hollow and started on foot for the fence. there was no sign of redmond anywhere. jo couldn't get the stock out, and he couldn't cut the fence, and he was going back for an ax when we met him. you know all the rest--'cept this. steel and i were standing over you, and the fire was roasting the beasts mixed up in the fence, when redmond comes along. the way he stood, the flame shone right on his face. it seemed twisted, and the man looked like a ghost. he stood there blinking at the beasts--and it wasn't a pretty sight--then shook all over as he stooped down and looked at you. there was a good deal of blood about you from the horse. "'what the devil's wrong with you? stiffen yourself up!' says steel; and redmond's voice cracked in the middle as he answered him: 'i'm feeling mighty sick. is he dead?' "'looks pretty near it. if you'd seen those beasts clear he mightn't have come to this. here, take a drink. we'll want you presently,' says steel, and went on strapping you together with a girth and bridle, while i watched redmond with one eye. as you know, there was never much grit in the creature, and he had another shivering fit. "'get out until you're feeling better. that kind of thing's catching, and we've lots to do,' i said; and he laughs with a cackle like an hysterical woman, and blinks straight past me. steel and i figured he'd got hold of some smuggled whisky and been drinking bad, but afterwards henderson's jo said no. "'it's murder. my god! it's horrible--an' he never done anyone no harm,' he says, and falls to cussing somebody quietly. i can talk pretty straight when i'm hot myself, but that was ice-cold swearing with venom in it, and when he got on to judas, with the devil in his eyes, i ripped up a big sod and plugged him on the head with it. "'if you don't let up or quit i'll pound the life out of you,' says steel. "well, we got you fixed so you couldn't make the damage worse, and when steel went for the wagon and i looked around for redmond he was gone. don't know what to think of it, anyway, 'cept his troubles or bad whisky had turned his head. you see he was never far from crazy." "why didn't one of you get hold of him and make him talk next day?" i asked; and thorn looked at me curiously. "because he'd gone. lit out to nobody knows where and stopped there. i don't know just what to think, myself." sally took thorn by the shoulders and thrust him out, but he left me with sufficient, and unpleasant, food for reflection. the stock i had counted on were gone. also, when it was above all things desirable that i should be up and doing, i must lie still for weeks, useless as a log. one thing at least i saw clearly, and that was the usurer's purpose to absorb my property; and as i lay with throbbing forehead and tight-clenched fingers, which had grown strangely white, i determined that he should have cause to remember the struggle before he accomplished it. that redmond had been driven by him into shameful treachery appeared too probable, though there was no definite proof of it, and the thought stiffened my resolution. my scattered neighbors, patient as they were, were ill to coerce and would doubtless join me in an effort before the schemer's machinations left us homeless. then i could hardly check a groan as i remembered all that the brief glimpses of a brighter life at bonaventure had suggested. a few months earlier it had appeared possible that with one or two more good seasons i might even have attained to it; but since then a gulf had opened between beatrice haldane and me, and the best i could hope for was a resumption of what now seemed hopeless drudgery. it was a bitter awakening, and i almost regretted that steel and foreman thorn had not been a few seconds later when the fence went down. an hour passed, and sally steel, bringing a chair over to my side, offered to read to me what she said was a real smart shadowing story. i glanced at the invincible detective standing amid a scene of bloodshed, depicted on the cover of the journal she held up, and declined with due civility. "i am afraid my nerves are not good enough. i should sooner you talked to me, sally," i said. she laughed coquettishly, and there was no doubt that steel's sister was handsome, as women on that part of the prairie go. sun and wind had ripened the color in her face, her teeth were white as ivory, her lips full and red, and perhaps most men would have found pleasure watching the sparkle of mischief that danced in her eyes as she answered demurely: "that would be just too nice. what shall we talk about?" "you might tell me who was the first to come ask about me," i said. the girl stretched out one plump arm with a comprehensive gesture. "they all came, bringing things along, most of them. even the little icelander; he loaded up his wagon with a keg of herrings--said they were best raw--and lumps of grindstone bread. oh, yes; they all came, and i was glad to see them, 'cept when some of their wives came with them." "they are kind people in this country; but how could the women worry you? in any case, i think you would be equal to them," i commented; and, somewhat to my surprise, the girl first blushed, and then looked positively wicked. "they--well, they would ask questions, and said things, when they found tom was down to brandon," she answered enigmatically. "still, i guess i was equal to most of them. 'rancher ormesby's not sending the hat round yet, and that truck is not fit for any sick man to eat when it's just about half-cooked,' i said. 'you can either take it back or leave it for thorn to worry with. fresh rocks wouldn't hurt his digestion. just now i'm way too busy to answer conundrums.'" sally seemed glad to abandon that topic, and did not look quite pleased when i hazarded another question, with suppressed interest, but as carelessly as i could: "did anybody else drive over?" the girl laughed a trifle maliciously, and yet with a certain enjoyment. "oh, yes. one day, when i was too busy for anything, the people from bonaventure drove over, and wanted to take you back. i don't know why, but the way haldane's elder daughter looked about the place just got my back up. 'you can't have him. this is where he belongs,' i said. "'but he is ill, and this place is hardly fit for him. there are no comforts, and we could take better care of him,' said the younger one, and i turned round to her. "'that's just where you're wrong. rancher ormesby has lived here for eight years, and when he's sick he has plenty friends of his own kind to take care of him. i'm one of them, and we don't dump our sick people on to strangers,' i said. "the elder one she straightens herself a little, as though she didn't like my talk. 'he could not be as comfortable as he would be at bonaventure, which is the most important thing. we will ask the doctor; and have you any right to place obstacles in the way of mr. ormesby's recovery?' says she, and that was enough for me. "'i've all the right i want,' i answered. 'i'm running gaspard's trail, and if you can find a man about the place who won't jump when i want him, you needn't believe me. that makes me a busy woman--see?--so i'll not keep you. go back to bonaventure, and don't come worrying the people he belongs to about rancher ormesby.'" i groaned inwardly, and only by an effort concealed my blank consternation. "what did they say next?" i asked. "nothing much. the younger one--and i was half sorry i'd spoken straight to her--opened her eyes wide. the elder one she looks at me in a way that made me feel fit to choke her, while haldane made a little bow. 'i have no doubt he is in capable hands, and we need not trouble you further. no, i don't think you need mention that we called,' says he." sally tossed her head with an air of triumph as she concluded, and i lay very still, for it was too late to pray for deliverance from my friends, though of all the rude succession this was about the most cruel blow. what mischievous fiend had prompted the quick-tempered girl to turn upon the haldanes i could never surmise, but jealousy might have had something to do with it, for trooper cotton had once been a favorite of hers. in any case, the result appeared disastrous, for, while i believed her no more than thoughtless, there was no disguising the fact that some of the settlers' less-favored daughters spoke evil of sally steel, and i feared their stories had reached bonaventure. when five minutes or so had passed she looked at me somewhat shyly. "you're not mad?" she said. "i could hardly be vexed with you, whatever happened, after all you have done for me. i was only thinking," i made shift to answer. "still, you might have been a little more civil, sally." for a moment or two the girl appeared almost penitent; then she bent her head towards my own, and again the mischief crept into her eyes. "i'd have brought them in to a banquet, if i had only guessed," she said; and with a thrill of laughter she slipped out of the room. it was with sincere relief i saw her go, for i was in no mood for the somewhat pointed prairie banter, and felt that, in spite of her manifold kindnesses, i could almost have shaken sally steel. then i turned my head from the light, remembering i was not only a ruined man without even power to move, but had left a discordant memory with the friends whose good opinion i most valued, and whom now i might never again meet on the old terms. chapter viii how redmond came home the weather continued pitilessly hot and dry, when, one afternoon, trooper cotton, returning from a tour of fireguard inspection, sat near the window-seat in which i lay at gaspard's trail. i was glad of his company, because the sight of the parched prairie and bare strip of plowland was depressing. barns and granary alike were empty, for the earth had failed to redeem her promise that season, and an unnatural silence brooded over gaspard's trail. "i don't know what has come over this country," the trooper said. "one used to get a cheery word everywhere, but now farmer and stockman can hardly answer a question civilly, and the last fellow i spoke to about his fireguards seemed inclined to assault me. presumably it's the bad times, and i'll be thankful when they improve. it might put some of you into a more pleasant humor." "if you had said bad men you might have been nearer the mark," i answered dryly. "we are a peaceable people, but there's an oppression worse than any governmental tyranny, and from the rumors in the air it's not impossible some of us may try to find our own remedy if we are pushed too far." "that's a little indefinite," said cotton, with a laugh. "if you mean taking the law into your own hands, there would be very unpleasant work for me. still, i'm sorry for all of you, especially those whom that flabby scoundrel lane seems to be squeezing. he's been driving to and from the railroad a good deal of late, and it's curious that twice when i struck his trail two traveling photographers turned up soon after him. one was a most amusing rascal, but i did not see the other, who was busy inside the wagon tent, and who apparently managed the camera. i'll show you a really tolerable picture of me he insisted on taking." it struck me that boone, or adams, had twice run a serious risk; but i said nothing, and cotton, fumbling inside his tunic, tossed a litter of papers on the table. these were mostly official, but there were odd letters among them, for the trooper was not remarkable for preciseness, and i noticed a crest upon some of the envelopes, while, after shuffling them, he flung me a small card, back uppermost. i was surprised when, turning it over, the face of lucille haldane met my gaze. "it is a charming picture; but that is only natural, considering the original. how did you get this, cotton?" i said. the trooper snatched it from me, and a darker color mantled his forehead. "confound it! i never meant to show you that," he said. "so i surmised," i answered dryly; and the lad frowned as he thrust the picture out of sight. "you will understand, ormesby, that miss haldane did not give me this. i--well--i discovered it." "wasn't it foolish of you?" i asked quietly; and the trooper, who, strange to say, did not seem to find my tone of paternal admonition ludicrous, answered impulsively: "i don't know why i should strip for your inspection, ormesby, or why i should not favor you with a well-known reply; but it is perhaps best that you should not misunderstand the position. i know what you are thinking, but i haven't forgotten i'm trooper cotton--nor am i likely to. it's a strange life, ormesby, and the men who live it go under occasionally. this--god bless her--is merely something to hold on by." i made no answer, for there was nothing appropriate i could find to say; but it occurred to me that lucille haldane might never receive a higher compliment than this lad's unexpectant homage. "here is the right one, and you will obliterate the other from your memory," he said, passing me a second photograph. "the fellow who took it knows how to handle a camera." it was evident he did; and, knowing who he was, the irony of the circumstances impressed me as i examined the picture. "he has an artistic taste and an eye for an effective pose. are you going to send any copies to your people in england, cotton?" i said. "no," answered the lad quietly; "they might not be pleased with it. well, i dare say, you have guessed long ago that i am one of the legion. most of my people were soldiers, which was why, when i had two dollars left, i offered the nation my services at regina; but i am the first of them to wear a police private's uniform." i nodded sympathetically, and the trooper, who looked away from me out of the window, said: "talk of the devil! all men, it is said, are equal in this country, but i fancy there's a grade between most of us and your acquaintance, foster lane. the fellow has passed the corral, and i can't get out without meeting him." i nodded with a certain grim sense of anticipation, for i had determined to speak very plainly to foster lane, and knew that cotton could, on occasion, display a refined insolence that was signally exasperating. the next moment lane came in, red-faced and perspiring, and greeted me with his usual affability. "i'm on the way to recovery, but unable to ride far, which explains my request for a visit," i said; and lane waved his large hands deprecatingly. "business is business, and you need not apologize, because although i have come two hundred miles you will find first-class expenses charged for in the bill. i can't smoke on horseback. will you and the trooper try one of these?" "no, thanks," said cotton, with an inflection in his voice and a look in his half-closed eyes that would have warned a more sensitive person; but lane, still holding out the cigar-case, added with mild surprise: "by the price i paid for them they ought to be good." "i don't doubt it," drawled cotton, glancing languidly at the speaker. "but a few of what you would call british prejudices still cling to me, and i take cigars and things only from my friends--you see?" the stout man laughed a little, though there was malice in his eye. "and we are not likely to be acquainted? you are, one might presume, a scion of the english aristocracy, come out to recruit your health or wait until it's a little less sultry in the old country." "i would hardly go so far!"--and cotton drawled out the words, as he turned upon his heel. "more unlikely things have happened. at present i have the honor of serving her majesty as--a police trooper." lane handed me his cigar-case when the lad strolled out of the door, but i was in no mood to assume an unfelt cordiality. "i am not inclined for smoking. hadn't we better come straight to business?" i said. lane struck a match, and stretched his legs along the window-seat, though he closed the case with a snap. "why, certainly! you are ready to redeem the mortgage on gaspard's trail?" he spoke pleasantly, though there was a sneer in his eyes, and he had both lighted his cigar, in spite of my hint, and laid his dusty boots on the cushions with a cool assurance that made me long to personally chastise him. "you probably know that i am not," i said. "i did hear you had lost some cattle," he answered indifferently. "well, in that case, i wait your proposition." "i am open to renew the loan at the original interest until this time next year, when, no matter what i may have to part with, it will be paid off. you have already had a very fair return on your money," i said. "it can't be done," and lane looked thoughtfully at his cigar. "i'll carry you on that long at double interest, or make you a bid outright for crane valley." "there is no reason in your first offer; you asked only fifty per cent. increase last time, which was enough in all conscience. what do you want with crane valley?" lane smiled benignly. "you didn't accept that offer formally. crane valley's a pretty location, and i've taken a fancy to it." i took time to answer, and set my brain to work. the advantage lay with the enemy, but, while it appeared certain that he would dispossess me of gaspard's trail, i determined to hold on to crane valley. "you can't have it, and i will not pay the extortionate interest. that, i think, is plain enough," i said. the financier shrugged his shoulders. "i hope you won't be sorry. i haven't quite decided on my program, but you will hear what it is when i'm ready. have you got your own fixed?" "i will have soon," i answered, my indignation gaining the mastery. "there is no advantage to be gained by further circumlocution, and you may as well know that i will give you as much trouble as possible before you plunder me. in the first place, if we find redmond, i shall try to strike you for conspiracy." "do you know where redmond is?" and there was a curious note in the speaker's voice, though i stolidly refrained from any sign of either negation or assent. "neither do i; but i have my suspicions that he won't be much use to you if you do find him. the man is half-crazy, anyway. did you ever hear about the fool bullfrog and the ox, rancher ormesby?" he leaned back against the logs, and chuckled so complacently at his own conceit that it was hard to believe this easy-tempered creature was draining half my neighbors' blood; but i was filled with a great loathing for him. "your simile isn't a good one, even if it fits the case. an ox is a hard-working, honest, and useful kind of beast; but there's no use bandying words," i said. "just so!" and lane rose lazily. "it's rather a pity you sent for me, because you have not had much for your money. being rather pressed just now, i won't stay." i had no intention of requesting him to do so, for the air seemed clearer without him, and presently cotton returned. for the first time, i told him all my suspicions concerning redmond, and he looked grave as he listened. "it would have saved some people sorrow if i could only have run that horse-leach in," he commented, gazing regretfully after the diminishing figure of the rider. "yes; it's curious about redmond. lane was over at his place a little while before your accident, and i believe afterwards as well, and since then nobody has seen redmond. i'll have a talk with mackay, and put some of our men on his trail. if he's still on top of the prairie they'll find him." cotton rode away; and late that evening steel returned from his own holding with a very grim face, while the eyes of his sister were suspiciously red. "i'm to be sold up, and am turned out now," he said. "lane, who won't wait any longer, is foreclosing, and he'll fix things so there will be no balance left. god knows what's to become of sally and me." "you need not trouble about sally," the girl said, with a flash in her eyes. "we'll worry along somehow, and we'll live to see that devil sorry." practical counsel seemed the best sympathy, and after asking a few questions, i said: "this is going to be a grain-producing country, and there are plenty acres ready for breaking and horses idle at crane valley. when lane seizes gaspard's trail, as he probably will, we must see what can be done with them on the share arrangement; and meantime, since i paid two hired men off, there is plenty for you to do here helping me." steel eventually agreed, and as soon as i was fit for the saddle i rode over to mackay's quarters; but, though he stated that if redmond were anywhere in the territories he would sooner or later be found, nothing had so far resulted from his inquiries. it was some weeks later, and towards the close of a sultry afternoon, when i rode homewards with cotton and steel towards the sweetwater. we had much thunder that season, and though there had been a heavy storm the night before, a stagnant, oppressive atmosphere still hung over the prairie. it suited the somber mood of two of the party, while even cotton seemed unusually subdued. steel's possessions had been sold off that day, and bought up at ridiculously inadequate prices by two strangers, who we all suspected had been financed by lane. few of us had a dollar to spare, and the auctioneer, who was also probably under the money-lender's thumb, demanded proof of ability to make the purchase when one or two neighbors attempted to force up the bidding. steel rode with slack bridle and his head bent, and i was heavy of heart, for i held gaspard's trail only on sufferance, and the same fate must soon overtake me. the prairie stretched before us a desolate waste, fading on the horizon into gray obscurity, and, together with the gloom of the heavens above, its forlorn aspect increased my depression. so we came moodily to the dip to the sweetwater, and i saw mackay standing beside a deeper pool below. a rapid flowed into the head of it, and the lines of froth shone with a strange lividness. the time was then perhaps an hour before sunset. when we dismounted to water and rest the horses, mackay turned sharply and glanced at cotton. "all went off quietly?" and the trooper nodded. "yes," i said. "we have a long patience, sergeant; but there were signs on some of the faces that things may go differently some day." "ay?" said the sergeant, fixing his keen eyes on me as he stood, a lean, bronze-skinned statue beside the river. "what were ye meaning, rancher ormesby?" "i was merely giving you a hint," i said. "we have paid all demanded from us and kept the law, but now, when the powers that rule us stand by and watch us ground out of existence to enrich a few unprincipled schemers, it is hard to say what might not happen." "ye did well," was the dry answer. "it will be my business to see ye keep it still; but in this country any man has liberty to talk just as foolishly as it pleases him. can the law change the seasons for ye, or protect the careless from their own improvidence? but let be. i'm older than most o' ye, and have seen that there's a measure set on oppression." he concluded with a curious assurance which approached solemnity; but steel added, with a western expletive, that he had already let be until he was ruined. then i broke in: "if i can find redmond and wring the truth from him i hope to prove that the limit has been reached; and i purpose, in the first place, to see what the law will do for me. have you any word of him?" "no," and the sergeant's tone was very significant. "if he were still above the prairie-sod we should have found him. but there was a bit freshet last night--and i am expecting him." steel, i fancied, shivered, and though the speaker might well be mistaken, anything that served to divert our thoughts was a relief, and for a while we lay among the grasses, smoking silently. the sky was heavily overcast, there was no breath of air astir, and the slow gurgle of the river drifted mournfully down the hollow. for some reason, i felt strangely restless and expectant, as though something unusual would shortly happen. a faint drumming of hoofs rose up from somewhere far off across the prairie, as well as a sound which might have been made by an approaching wagon. "that's lane striking south for the railroad with a few of the boys behind him," steel said listlessly. "there'll be thunder before he reaches it, and lardeau's team is wild, but there's no use hoping they'll bolt and break lane's neck for him. accidents do not happen to that kind of man." a little time had passed, and the beat of horses' feet broke in a rhythmic measure through the heavy stillness, when cotton, who had followed his sergeant along the bank, raised a shout, and i leaped to my feet, for something that circled with the current was drifting down stream. we ran our hardest, and, for i was not strong yet, the others were standing very silent, with tense faces and staring eyes, when i rejoined them. "yon's redmond," said sergeant mackay. "i was expecting him." the object he pointed to slid slowly by abreast of us, and i felt a shock of physical nausea as i stared at it. at that distance it was without human semblance, a mere shapeless mass of sodden clothing, save for the faint white glimmer of a face; but the shock gave place to a fit of sullen fury. heaven knows i cherished no anger against the unfortunate man. indeed, from the beginning, i had regarded him as a mere helpless tool; but death had robbed me of my only weapon, and i remembered lane's prediction that redmond would be of little use to me if i found him. "if one of ye has a lariat ye had better bring it," said sergeant mackay. we followed the object down stream. it floated slowly, now half-submerged, now rising more buoyantly, with the blanched countenance turned towards the murky heavens, out of which the light was fading, until steel, poising himself upon the bank, deftly flung a coupled lariat. the noose upon its end took hold, and i shrank backwards when we drew what it held ashore, for redmond's face was ill to look upon, and seemed to mock me with its staring eyes. "stan' clear!" said the sergeant, perhaps feeling speech of any kind would be a relief, for nobody showed the least desire to crowd upon him. "if it had not been for the regulations a drop of whisky would have been acceptable, seeing that it's my painful duty to find out how he came by his end." the words were excusable, but there was no whisky forthcoming; and though, perhaps, only one man in a hundred would have undertaken that gruesome task, the sergeant went through it with the grim thoroughness which characterized all his actions. "there's no sign of a blow or bullet that i can find, and i'm thinking only the almighty knows whether he drowned himself or it was accidental death. ye can identify him, all of ye?" we thought we could, but had been so intent that nobody noticed the trampling of horses' hoofs until a wagon was drawn up close by, and several riders reined in their beasts. "here's a man who ought to," said steel. "come down and swear to your partner, lane." turning, i saw my enemy start as he looked over the side of the wagon at what lay before him. every eye was fixed upon him, and steel stood quietly determined by the wheel. "i'm in a hurry, and don't fill the post of coroner," the former said. "will you come down?" steel added; and there was a low growl from the assembly, while lane shrank back from that side of the vehicle. "i guess it's certain this man was the last to see redmond alive." "drive on!" said lane to the teamster; but the man hesitated, while, when his employer snatched up the reins, there was another murmur deeper than before, and mounted men closed about the wagon, their figures cutting blackly against the fading light. why they were journeying homewards in such company i did not learn, but, overtaking it, they had perhaps ridden beside the wagon for the purpose of expressing their frank opinion of its occupant. "ye cannot pass until ye have answered my questions," said sergeant mackay. "if he does not dismount ye have authority to help him, steel. ye will hold the horses, trooper cotton." lane slowly climbed down the wheel, and neither mackay nor cotton interfered when, as he showed signs of remaining at the foot of it, steel's hand closed firmly on his neck and forced him forwards, apparently much against his wishes. then the ruined farmer held him, protesting savagely, beside the body of his victim. it was, in its own way, an impressive scene--the erect, soldierly figures of the uniformed troopers, the circle of silent mounted men, who moved only to sooth their uneasy horses, and the white-faced man who shivered visibly as he looked down at the sodden heap at his feet. there was also, even had the two been strangers, ample excuse for him. "while protesting that this is an outrage, i am ready to answer your questions," he said huskily. "who is this man? did ye know him?" asked the sergeant, whose face remained woodenly impassive. "rancher redmond, by his clothing," was the answer. "yes; if necessary, i think i could swear to him." and the sergeant asked again: "when and where did ye last see him?" "in the birch _coulée_, at dusk, three weeks past tuesday. that would make it----" but the financier seemed unable to work out the simple sum, and concluded: "you can figure the date for yourself." "what business had ye with him?" and the sergeant smiled dryly at the answer: "that does not concern you." "maybe no. if ye have good reasons for not telling i will not press ye, though ye may be called upon to speak plainly. do ye know how he came into the river?" "no," said lane, a trifle too vehemently. "do ye know of any reason why he should have drowned himself?" and lane turned upon the questioner savagely: "i'll make you all suffer for your inference! why should i know? i challenge the right of anyone but a coroner to detain me." "i'll let ye see my authority at the station if i find it necessary to take ye there," said the sergeant grimly. "noo will ye answer? do ye know why this man ye had dealings with should wish to destroy himself?" "you're presuming a good deal," was the answer; and lane's face grew malevolent as he glanced at steel and me. "how do you know he did destroy himself, anyway; and if he did, i guess it's an open secret he had trouble with ormesby and steel." i sprang forward, but cotton laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and there was a threatening ejaculation from one of the bystanders. "well, to satisfy you, i solemnly declare i am in no way connected with what has befallen the deceased rancher, and know of no reason why he should have attempted his life. this isn't a court; but because i'm in a hurry, and to stop chattering tongues, i call heaven to witness it is the truth." i believed that, after a villainous attempt to divert suspicion to me, the man was deliberately perjuring himself, and several of the bystanders must have believed it, too. most of them were not wholly free from superstition, and their faces were almost expectant as they stood strung up and intent about the dead man under the deepening gloom. then a flicker of pale lightning filled the hollow. each face was lit up for a second, and lane's was livid; and, when the flash faded, the dusk seemed to deepen suddenly, and a boom of distant thunder rolled from swelling level to level across the prairie. thunder had been very frequent during the last few weeks, but the listeners seemed to find the coincidence significant. "ye can pass," said the sergeant, whose voice seemed a trifle unsteady. "but it will be on horseback, and we may want ye later. lardeau--it's a charity--ye will lend redmond the wagon." "you can't have it," said lane. "i have a long journey before me and a rheumatic thigh. if you take the wagon i hired what am i to do?" "you can ride with redmond. his house is on your way, and you can't hurt him, anyway. the poor devil's beyond you now," said a stern voice; and lane, who allowed the teamster to help him onto one of the horses which was replaced, departed hurriedly. "i congratulate ye," said sergeant mackay significantly. "he was a fellow-creature, boys. who'll help me lift him in? we will e'en need the same service ourselves some day." i shuddered, but took my place with steel among the rest; and when the task was accomplished, the latter expressed both our feelings as he said: "i wouldn't for five hundred dollars do that again; but it seemed the poor devil's due after what we said about him. i guess he wasn't quite responsible, and was driven to it; but, when it comes to the reckoning, god help the man who drove him." it was dark when we gained the level and followed the creaking wagon that jolted before us across the prairie. few words were spoken. a low rumbling of thunder rolled across the great emptiness, while now and then a pale blue flash fell athwart the lathered horses and set faces of the men. "the beasts," said one big farmer, "know considerably more than they can tell. look at the near one sweating! i guess they find redmond or the load he's carrying mighty heavy." "then," added another voice, which broke harshly through the thuds of hoofs, "ten teams wouldn't move the man who rode away." the ways of the prairie dwellers are in some respects modern and crudely new; but the highland servants of the hudson's bay company and the french half-breed _voyageur_ have between them left us a dowry of quaint belief and superstition; and the growl of the thunder and the black darkness made a due impression on most of those who brought redmond home. for my part i was thankful when a lonely log-house loomed up ahead and the wagon came to a standstill. four men, improvising a stretcher, took up their burden, and halted as sergeant mackay and another, neither of whom seemed to care about his errand, knocked on the door. a young woman opened it, holding aloft a lamp, and under its uncertain light her face showed drawn and pale. i breathed harder, and heard some of those about me murmur compassionately, for she looked very frail and young to bear what must follow. the sergeant's words did not reach us, but a swift glare of blue flame, that left us dazzled, broke in upon them. the whole space about the building was flooded with temporary brilliancy, and redmond's daughter must have seen us standing about the wagon and the bearers waiting, for she dropped the lantern (which mackay seized in time), and caught at the logs which framed the door as if for support. a minute must have passed before the slight form once more stood erect upon the threshold. "mackay thinks of everything," steel said in my ear. "he sent gordon off to bring his wife along. there's only the half-breed here, and she'll need a white woman with her to-night, poor soul." "bring him in," said a low voice; and before the sergeant could prevent her, the speaker, snatching up the lantern, moved forward to meet the bearers. it was no sight for young eyes, and i saw steel shudder; but there was wild erse blood in the girl, and, holding one arm up, she stood erect, facing us again. "this was my father, and he was a kind man to me," she said, with a choking gasp that was not a sob, and from which her voice broke high and shrill. "for the sake of a few acres and cattle he was driven to his death, and may black sorrow follow the man who ruined him. sorrow and bitterness, with the fear that will drive sleep from him and waste him blood and bone until he takes the curse of the widow and orphan with him into the flame of hell!" then the eerie voice sank again, and it was with a strange dignity she concluded: "i thank you, neighbors. you can bring him in." another paler flash lit up the prairie as they carried redmond in, and, when a wagon came bouncing up to the fence, steel said: "here's mrs. gordon; they have lost no time. are you coming back, ormesby? i've had about enough of this." i had no wish to linger, and when we rode homewards through the deluge that now thrashed our faces, the sergeant, who overtook us, said: "man, i feel creepy! she's no' quite canny, and yon was awesome." "it was impressive; but you can't attach much importance to that poor girl's half-distracted raving," i said, partly to convince myself. "maybe no," said sergeant mackay. "superstition, ye say; but i'm thinking there's a judgment here as well as hereafter, and i'd no' care to carry yon curse about with me." chapter ix a prairie study so redmond came home, and we buried him the following night by torchlight on a desolate ridge of the prairie. it was his daughter who ordered this; and if some of those who held aloft the flaming tow guessed his secret they kept it for the sake of the girl who stood with a stony, tearless face beside the open grave. he had doubtless yielded to strong compulsion when driven into a corner from which, for one of his nature, there was no escape, and now that he was dead, i had transferred my score against him to the debit of the usurer. as we rode home after the funeral i said something of the kind to steel, who agreed with me. "if you concluded to try it, thorn and jo and i, taking our affidavits as to what we saw that night, might make out a case for you; but i don't know that we could fix it on lane, and it strikes me as mean to drag a dead man into the fuss for nothing," he said. "redmond has gone to a place where he can't testify, but he has left his daughter, and she already has about all she can stand." "strikes me that way, too; and lane's too smart to be corraled," added thorn. "we'll get even somehow without redmond, and to that end you two will have to run gaspard's trail," i said. "i'm going down to montreal with carolan's cattle." a project had for some little time been shaping itself in my mind. i had a small reversionary interest in some english property, and though it would be long before a penny of it could accrue to me, it seemed just possible to raise a little money on it. considering western rates of interest, nobody in winnipeg would trouble with such an investment, but i had a distant and prosperous kinsman in montreal who might find some speculator willing. montreal was, however, at least two thousand miles away, and traveling expensive; but the carolan brothers had promptly accepted my offer to take charge of their cattle destined for europe, which implied free passes both ways. it was not the mode of traveling one would have expected a prosperous rancher to adopt, but i needed every available dollar for the approaching struggle, and was well content when, after the untamed stock had nearly wrecked the railroad depot, we got them on board the cars. the only time i ever saw sergeant mackay thoroughly disconcerted was that morning. we came up out of the empty prairie riding on the flanks of the herd. the beasts had suffered from the scarcity of water and were in an uncertain temper, while, as luck would have it, just as they surged close-packed between the bare frame houses, mackay and a trooper came riding down the unpaved street of the little prairie town. there was no opening either to right or to left, and the more prudent storekeepers put up their shutters. "look as if they owned the universe, them police," said the man who cantered up beside me. "sure, it would take the starch out of them if anything did start the cattle." mackay pulled up his horse and looked dubiously at the mass of tossing horns rolling towards him. "'tis not in accordance with regulations to turn a big draft loose on a peaceful town. why did ye not split them up?" he said. "ye could be held responsible if there's damage done." "i'm afraid these beasts don't understand regulations, and i had to bring them as best i could," i answered; and my assistant shouted, "get out of the daylight, sergeant, dear, while your shoes are good." mackay seemed to resent this familiarity, and sat still, with one hand on his hip, an incarnation of official dignity, though he kept his eyes upon the fast advancing herd until the big freight locomotive which was awaiting us set up a discordant shrieking, and backed a row of clanging cars across the switches. that was sufficient for the untamed cattle. with a thunder of pounding hoofs they poured tumultuously down the rutted street, and i caught a brief glimpse of the sergeant hurriedly wheeling his horse before everything was blotted out by the stirred-up dust. the streets of a prairie town are inches deep in powdered loam all summer and in bottomless sloughs all spring. a wild shout of "faugh-a-ballagh!" rang out; and i found myself riding faster than was prudent along the crazy plank sidewalk to pass and, if possible, swing the stampeding herd into the railroad corral. how my horse gained the three-foot elevation and avoided falling over the dry-goods bales and flour bags which lay littered everywhere, i do not remember; but my chief assistant, dennis, who, yelling his hardest, charged recklessly down the opposite one, afterwards declared that his beast climbed up the steps like a kitten. then, as i drew a little ahead, mackay became dimly visible, riding bareheaded, as though for his life, with the horns, that showed through the tossed-up grit, a few yards behind him. fortunately the stockyard gates were open wide, and dennis came up at a gallop in time to head the herd off from a charge across the prairie, while a second man and i turned their opposite wing. mackay did his best to wheel his horse clear of the gates, but the beast was evidently bent on getting as far as possible from the oncoming mass, and resisted bit and spur. then there was a great roar of laughter from loungers and stockyard hands as the dust swept up towards heaven and the drove thundered through the opening. "where's the sergeant?" i shouted; and dennis, who chuckled so that his speech was thick, made answer: "sure, he's in the corral. the beasts have run him in, but it's mighty tough beef they'd find him in the old country." dennis was right, for when the haze thinned the sergeant appeared, as white as a miller, flattened up against the rails, while a playful steer curveted in the vicinity, as though considering where to charge him. he was extricated by pulling down the rails, and accepted my apologies stiffly. "this," he said, disregarding the offer of a lounger to wash him under the locomotive tank, "is not just what i would have expected of ye, rancher ormesby." while the stock were being transferred to the cars amid an almost indescribable tumult, i met miss redmond on the little sod platform. "i am glad i have met you, because i am going to winnipeg, and may never see you again," she said. "there is much i do not understand, but i feel you have been wronged, and want to thank you for your consideration." redmond's daughter had received some training in an eastern convent, it was said, and i found it hard to believe that the very pale, quietly-spoken girl was the one who had called down the curses upon foster lane. still, i knew there was a strain of something akin to insanity in that family, and that, in addition, she was of the changeful nature which accompanies pure celtic blood. "you should not indulge in morbid fancies, and you have very little cause for gratitude. we were sincerely sorry for you, and tried to do what we could," i said. ailin redmond fixed her black eyes intently upon me, and i grew uneasy, seeing what suggested a smoldering fire in them. "you are not clever enough to deceive a woman," she said, with a disconcerting composure. "i do not know all, but perhaps i shall some day, and then, whatever it costs me, you and another person shall see justice done. it may not be for a long time, but i can wait; and i am going away from the prairie. still, i should like to ask you one question--how did your cattle get inside the fence?" "the fire drove them; but instead of fretting over such things, you must try to forget the last two months as soon as possible," i answered as stoutly as i could, seeking meanwhile an excuse for flight, which was not lacking. "those beasts will kill somebody if i neglect them any longer." ailin redmond held out her hand to me, saying very quietly: "i shall never forget, and--it is no use protesting--a time will come when i shall understand it all clearly. until then may the good saints protect you from all further evil, rancher ormesby." as i hurried away a tented wagon lurched into the station, and when i last saw redmond's daughter she stood near the lonely end of the platform talking earnestly with the traveling photographer. dennis had not recovered from his merriment when, much to the satisfaction of those we left behind, the long cars rolled out of the station, while many agents remembered our visit to the stations which succeeded. blinding dust and fragments of ballast whirled about the cars as the huge locomotive hauled them rocking over the limitless levels. from sunrise to sunset the gaunt telegraph poles reeled up from the receding horizon, growing from the size of matches to towering spars as they came, and then slowly diminishing far down the straight-ruled line again. for hours we lay on side-tracks waiting until one of the great inter-ocean expresses, running their portion of the race round half the globe, thundered past, white with the dust of a fifteen-hundred-mile journey, and then, with cars and cattle complaining, we lurched on our way again. at times we led the beasts out in detachments to water at wayside stations, and there was usually much profanity and destruction of property before we got them back again, and left the agent to assess the damage to his feelings, besides splintered gangways and broken rails. it was at portage or brandon, i think, that one showed me a warning received by wire. "through freight full of wild beasts coming along. there'll be nothing left of your station if you let the lunatics in charge of them turn their menagerie out." the beasts had, however, grown more subdued before the cars rolled slowly into winnipeg, and gave us little trouble when, leaving the prairie behind, we sped, eastwards ever, past broad lake and foaming river, into the muskegs of ontario; so that i had time for reflection when the great locomotive, panting on the grades, hauled us, poised giddily between crag face and deep blue water, along the superior shore. the haldanes were in montreal, and i wondered, in case chance threw me in their way, how they would greet me, and what i should say. i was apparently a prosperous rancher when they last spoke with me, and a tender of other men's cattle now, while it might well happen that in their eyes a further cloud rested upon me. the long and weary journey came to an end at last, and when the big engines ceased their panting beside the broad st. lawrence i left dennis and his companions to divert themselves in montreal after the fashion of their kind, and, arraying myself in civilized fashion, proceeded to my relative's offices. a clerk said that mr. leyland, who was absent, desired me to follow him to his autumn retreat, but i first set about the business which had brought me, unassisted. nobody, however, would entertain the species of investment i had to propose, and it was with a heavy heart i boarded the cars again some days later. leyland and his wife appeared unaffectedly glad to see me at their pretty summer-house, which stood above the smooth white shingle fringing a wide lake, and at sunset that evening i lay smoking among the boulders of a point, while his son and heir sat close by interrogating me. part of the lake still reflected the afterglow, and after the monotonous levels of the prairie it rested my eyes to see the climbing pines tower above it in shadowy majesty. their drowsy scent was soothing, and through the dusk that crept towards me from their feet, blinking lights cast trembling reflections across the glassy water. several prosperous citizens retired at times to spend their leisure in what they termed camping on the islets of that lake. "air you poor and wicked?" asked the urchin, inspecting me critically. "very poor, and about up to the average for iniquity," i said; and the diminutive questioner rubbed his curly locks as though puzzled. "well, you don't quite look neither," he commented. "poor men don't wear new store clothes. the last one i saw had big holes in his pants, and hadn't eaten nothing for three weeks, he said. pop, he spanked me good 'cos i gave him four dollars off'n the bureau to buy some dinner with. say, how long was it since you had a square meal, anyway? you did mighty well at supper. i was watching you." "it is about two months since i had a meal like that and then it was because a friend of mine gave it to me," i answered truthfully; and leyland junior rubbed his head again. "no--you don't look very low down, but you must be," he repeated. "pop was talking 'bout you, and he said: 'you'll do your best to see the poor devil has a good time, 'twoinette. from what i gather he needs it pretty bad.'" i laughed, perhaps somewhat hollowly, for the child commented: "won't you do that again? it's just like a loon. there's one lives over yonder, and he might answer. ma, she says people should never make a noise when they laugh; but when i sent ted on the roof to get my ball, and he fell into the rain-butt, she just laughed worse than you, and her teeth came out." "your mother would probably spank you for telling that to strangers. but who is ted?" i said, remembering that a loon is a water-bird that sets up an unearthly shrieking in the stillness of the night; and the urchin rebuked me with the cheerful disrespect for his seniors which characterizes the colonial born. "say, was you forgotten when brains were given out? he's just ted caryl, and i think he's bad. pop says his firm's meaner than road agents. he comes round evenings and swops business lies with pop, 'specially when bee is here, but he can't be clever. ma says he don't even know enough to be sure which girl he wants. they is two of them, and i like lou best." "why?" i asked, because the urchin seemed to expect some comment; and he proceeded to convince me. "they is both pretty, but lou is nicest. i found it out one day i'd been eating corduroy candy, and bee she just dropped me when i got up on her knee. she didn't say anything, but she looked considerable. then i went to lou, and she picked me up and gave me nicer candies out of a gilt-edge box. ma says she must have been an angel, because her dress was all sticky, and i think she is. there was one just like her with silver wings in the church at sault chaudiere. one night ma and them was talking 'bout you, and bee sits quite still as if she didn't care, but she was listening. lou, she says: 'poor----' i don't think it was poor devil." "do you know where little boys who tell all they hear go to?" i asked; and leyland junior pointed to a dusky sail that showed up behind the island before he answered wearily: "you make me tired. i've been asked that one before. here's ted and the others coming. i'm off to see what they have brought for me." he vanished among the boulders, and, filling my pipe again, i kept still, feeling no great inclination to take part in the casual chatter of people with whose customs i had almost lost touch. i was struck by the resemblance of the names the child mentioned to those of haldane's daughters, but both were tolerably common, and it did not please me that mrs. leyland should make a story of my struggles for the amusement of strangers. so some time had passed before i entered the veranda of the little wooden house, and, as it was only partially lighted by a shaded lamp, managed to find a place almost unobserved in a corner. thus i had time to recover from my surprise at the sight of beatrice and lucille haldane seated at a little table beneath the lamp. two men i did not know leaned against the balustrade close at hand, and several more were partly distinguishable in the shadows. from where i sat some of the figures were projected blackly against a field of azure and silver, for the moon now hung above the lake. beatrice haldane was examining what appeared to be a bound collection of photographic reproductions. "yes. as mrs. leyland mentions, i have met the original of this picture, and it is a good one, though it owes something to the retoucher," she said; and i saw my hostess smile wickedly at her husband when somebody said: "tell us about him. how interesting!" beatrice haldane answered lightly: "there is not much to tell. the allegorical title explains itself, if it refers to the edict that it is by the sweat of his brow man shall earn his bread, which most of our acquaintances seem to have evaded. the west is a hard, bare country, and its inhabitants, though not wholly uncivilized, hard men. i should like to send some of our amateur athletes to march or work with them. this one is merely a characteristic specimen." i wondered what the subject of the picture was, but waited an opportunity to approach the speaker, while, as i did so, a young man said: "i should rather like to take up your sister's challenge. pulling the big catboat across here inside an hour without an air of wind was not exactly play; but can you tell us anything more about these tireless westerners, miss lucille?" the younger girl, who sat quietly, with her hands in her lap, looked up. "it is the fashion never to grow enthusiastic; but i am going to tell you, ted. those men were always in real earnest, and that is why they interested me; but i shouldn't take up the challenge if i were you. we call this camping. they lie down to sleep on many a journey in a snow trench under the arctic frost, ride as carelessly through blinding blizzard as summer heat, and, i concluded, generally work all day and half the night. they are not hard in any other sense, but very generous, though they sometimes speak, as they live, very plainly." some of the listeners appeared amused, others half-inclined to applaud the girl, and there was a little laughter when miss haldane interposed: "this is my sister's hobby. some of them, you may remember, seem to live upon gophers, lucille." lucille haldane did not appear pleased at this interruption; but the flush of animation and luster in her eyes wonderfully became her. "i do not know that even gophers would be worse than the canned goose livers and other disgusting things we import for their weight in silver," she said. "all i saw in the west pleased me, and, because i am a canadian first and last, i don't mind being smiled at for admitting that i am very glad i have seen the men who live there at their work. they are doing a great deal for our country." "they could not have a stancher or prettier champion, my dear," said a gray-haired man who sat near me. "it would be hard to grow equally enthusiastic about your profession, ted." "it is miss haldane's genius which makes the most of everybody's good points," answered a young man with a frank face and stalwart appearance, turning towards me. "i am afraid the rest of us would see only a tired and dusty farmer who looked as though twelve hours' sleep would be good for him. what's your idea of the west? if i remember mrs. leyland correctly, you come from the land of promise, don't you?" "we certainly work tolerably hard out there, but it is no great credit to us when we have to choose between that and starvation; and the west is the land of disappointment as well as promise," i answered dryly. the rest glanced around in our direction, and mrs. leyland laughed mischievously. "if any of you are really interested, my friend here, who came in so quietly, would, i dare say, answer your questions. let me present you, rancher ormesby." i bowed as, endeavoring to remember the names that followed, i moved towards the chair beside her when she beckoned. it lay full in the light, and i noticed blank surprise in the faces turned towards me. beatrice haldane dropped the album, and for some reason the clear rose color surged upwards from her sister's neck. i stooped to recover the book, which lay open, and then stared at it with astonishment and indignation, for the face of the man standing beside a weary team, waist-deep in the tall grass of a slough, was unmistakably my own. i had forgotten the click of the camera shutter that hot morning. "it was hardly fair of my hostess not to warn me, and this print was published without my knowledge or consent," i said. "still, it shows how we earn a living in my country, and i can really tell you little more. we resemble most other people in that we chiefly exert ourselves under pressure of necessity--and one would prefer to forget that fact during a brief holiday." the listeners either smiled or nodded good-humoredly and it was lucille haldane who held out her hand to me, while her elder sister returned my salutation with a civility which was distinct from cordiality. how mrs. leyland changed the situation i do not remember, nor how, when some of the party were inspecting fire-flies in the grasses by the lake, i found myself beside beatrice haldane at the end of the veranda. i had schooled myself in preparation for a possible meeting, but she looked so beautiful with the moonlight on her that i spoke rashly. "we parted good friends--but no one could have hoped you felt the slightest pleasure at the present meeting." "frankness is sometimes irksome to both speaker and listener," said the girl, turning her dark eyes upon me steadily. "can you not be satisfied with the possibility of your being mistaken?" "no," i answered doggedly, and she smiled. "then suppose one admitted you had surmised correctly?" "i should ask the cause," and beatrice haldane, saying nothing, looked a warning, which, being filled with an insane bitterness, i would not take. "it would hurt me to conclude that those you honored with your friendship on the prairie would be less welcome here." she raised her head a little with the haldane's pride, which, though never paraded, was unmistakable. "you should have learned to know us better. neither your prosperity nor the reverse would have made any difference." "then is there no explanation?" i asked, forgetting everything under the strain of the moment; and it was evident that beatrice haldane shared her sister's courage, for, though there was a darker spot in the center of her cheek she answered steadily: "there is. we are disappointed in you, rancher ormesby." then, without another word, she turned away, and presently the rattle of oars and a gleam of moonlit canvas told that the catboat was returning across the lake. "i hope you have enjoyed the meeting with your friends," said mrs. leyland, presently. "very much, i assure you," i answered, with an effort which i hope will be forgiven me. chapter x a temptation leyland had a weakness for what he termed hardening himself by occasional feats of endurance, from which it resulted that i spent several days in his company wandering, with a wholly unnecessary load of camp gear upon my back, through a desolation of uncomfortably wooded hills. now it is not easy for a business man of domesticated habits to emulate a pack mule and enjoy the proceeding, and when mrs. leyland, after burdening her husband with everything she could think of, desired to add a small tin bath, there was little difficulty in predicting that our journey would not be extensive. having a load of fifty pounds already, i ignored the suggestion that i might carry the bath, and hurried leyland off before his spouse could further hamper us. one thick blanket, a kettle, and a few pounds of provisions would have amply sufficed, so a large-sized tent seemed to be distinctly superfluous, to say nothing of the bag filled with hair-brushes, towels, and scented soap. leyland commenced the march with enthusiasm, and certainly presented a picturesque appearance as he plodded along in leather jacket and fringed leggings, with the folded tent upon his shoulders and a collection of tin utensils jingling about him. i was somewhat similarly caparisoned, and, because it would have hurt his feelings, i overcame the temptation to fling half my load into a creek we crossed, though this would have greatly pleased me. a fourth of the weight would have sufficed for a two-hundred-mile journey in the west. "there is nothing like judicious exercise for bracing one's whole system," panted my companion, when we had covered the first league in two hours or so. "how a wide prospect like this rests the vision. say, can't we sit down and enjoy it a little?" i nodded agreement, and we spent most of that day in sitting down and smoking, while, as it happened, a sudden breeze blew the tent over upon us at midnight, and anybody who has crawled clear of the thrashing canvas in such circumstances can guess what followed. leyland, as generally happens, wriggled headforemost into what might be termed the pocket of the net, and it cost me some trouble to extricate him. next morning he awoke with a toothache and general shortness of temper, as a result of trying to sleep in the rain, and appeared much less certain about the benefits to be derived from such excursions. "if you will let me pick out the few things we really want and throw the rest away, i'll engage that you will enjoy the remainder of the march," i said. "i wish i could, but it can't be done," and leyland, staring ruefully at his load, shook his head. "'twoinette's so--so blamed systematic, and if one of those brushes was missing she'd have to start in from the beginning with a whole new toilet outfit. of course, you don't understand these things yet, but you will some day. a wife with cultured tastes requires to be considered accordingly." i was resting on one elbow gazing up between the pine branches at the blue of the sky, with the clean-scented needles crackling under me, and made no answer. nevertheless, it struck me that i might find too much culture irksome, especially if it implied that i must carry half my household sundries upon my back whenever i started on an expedition. hitherto i had not considered this side of the question when indulging in certain roseate visions, but as leyland spoke there opened up unpleasant possibilities of having to stand by, a mere director, clear of the heat and dust of effort, and pay others to do the work i found pleasure in. then as i reflected that there was small need to trouble about such eventualities, a face, that was not beatrice haldane's, rose up before my fancy. it was forceful as well as pretty, quick to express sympathy and enthusiasm; and i decided that the man who won lucille haldane would have a helpmate who would encourage instead of restrain his energies, and, if need be, take her place beside him in the struggle. then i dismissed the subject as having nothing to do with me. leyland seemed loath to resume his rambles, and on the following morning, after he had, i fancy, lain awake abusing the mosquitoes all night, his patience broke down. "i'm getting too old to enjoy this description of picnic as i used to," he said. "the fact is, if i mule this confounded bric-à-brac around much longer i shall drop in my tracks." "shall we turn back?" i asked him. the tired man shook his head. "we'll strike for water, and if we can't find a canoe anywhere you can build a raft. i wouldn't crawl through any more of those muskegs for a thousand dollars." i had no objections, and leyland's comments became venomous during the march, for the lake was distant, and the pine woods thick. he fell into thickets, and shed his burden broadcast across the face of each steeper descent, so that it cost us many minutes to collect it again, and once we spent an hour in the mire of a muskeg on hands and knees in search of a vine-pattern mustard spoon. leyland, who became profane during the proceedings, said his wife might consider that its loss would destroy the harmony of a whole dinner service. at last, however--my comrade, panting heavily, and progressing with a crab-like gait, because he had wrenched one knee and blistered a heel--the broad lake showed up beneath the blazing maple leaves ahead. they were donning their full glories of gold and crimson before the coming of the frost. "thank heaven!" said leyland with fervent sincerity. "i'll sit here forever unless you can find something that will float me home." he limped on until we were clear of the trees, and then flung himself down among the boulders with a gasp of relief, for fortune had treated him kindly. there was a fresh breeze blowing, and the broad stretch of water was streaked by lines of frothy white; but we had come out upon a sheltered bay, and a big catboat lay moored beneath a ledge. a group of figures rose from about a crackling fire, there was a shout of recognition, and the young man i had been introduced to as ted caryl came forward to greet us. "just in time! the kettle's boiling; but have you been practicing for a strong-man circus, leyland?" he said. my companion, still retaining his recumbent position, answered dryly: "i have been taking exercise and diverting myself." "so one might have fancied from your exhilarated appearance," commented caryl. "we can give you a passage home by water if you have had enough of it." "i'll go no other way if i have to swim," said leyland grimly. then the younger man turned to me: "do you happen to know anything about seamanship?" "i spent all my spare time as a youngster helping to sail small craft on the english coast, and was considered a fair helmsman for my age," i said; and caryl patted my shoulder approvingly. "it's a mercy, because i know just next to nothing. put up as a yacht club member, and bought this craft--she's a daisy--for five hundred dollars to give the girls a sail. brought them down, with a light fair wind, smart enough, but though it's gone round, the thing don't steer the way she ought to in a breeze. so i've been getting mighty anxious as to how i'm to take them home again, and feel too scared to say so." i looked at the craft, which was a half-decked boat, evidently fitted with a center-board, of the broad-beamed shallow type common on the american coast. she carried no bowsprit, her lofty mast was stepped almost in her bows, and the combination of heavy spars, short body, and wide, flat stern, presaged difficulties for an unskilled helmsman when running before any strength of breeze. "i think you have some reason for your misgivings," i said. "if the wind freshens much i should almost recommend you to camp here all night." we had by this time approached the fire, and i noticed, with a slight inward hesitation, that haldane's daughter and an elderly lady were busy preparing tea. perhaps it was this which prevented beatrice from noticing me, but lucille came forward and greeted us. "you have arrived at an opportune moment. supper is just about ready, and if it is not so good as the one you gave us at gaspard's trail, we will try to do our best for you," she said. "have you not forgotten that evening yet?" i asked. a transitory expression i did not quite comprehend became visible in the girl's face when she answered my smile. it was pleasant to think she recalled the evening of which i had not forgotten the smallest incident. "it was something so new to me, and you were all so kind," she said. there was dismay when caryl announced my opinion, though the rest decided to postpone a decision in the hope that the weather might improve, and it seemed useless to inform them that the reverse appeared more probable. a pine forest rolled down to the water's edge, and when the meal had been dispatched i lounged with my back against a tree, when leyland came up. "you look uncommonly lazy--more played out than i. we want you to enjoy your stay with us, and i hope i have not tired you," he said. i laughed a little, because leyland was hardly likely to tire any man fresh from the arduous life of the prairie. "it's an oasis in the desert, and you have made me so comfortable that i shall almost shrink from going back," i said, truthfully enough; for, before i left, the strain at gaspard's trail had grown acute. "then what do you want to go back for, anyway?" asked leyland, who during the afternoon had made several pertinent inquiries concerning my affairs. "there are chances for a live man in the cities--in fact i know of one or two. no doubt for a time it's experience, but it strikes me that this cattle roasting and losing of grain crops must mean a big loss of opportunities as well as grow monotonous." leyland, i fancied, had not previously noticed that miss haldane was seated on a fallen log close beside us, and in the circumstances i was by no means pleased when he turned to her. "don't you think everybody should make the most of all that's in them?" he asked. somewhat to my surprise the girl looked straight at me as she answered: "considering the question in the abstract, i agree with you. it seems to me the duty of every man with talents to take the place he was meant for among his peers instead of frittering them away." there was an unusual earnestness in what she said, which both surprised me and reminded me of the days in england; for beatrice haldane's conversation had latterly been marked by a somewhat cynical languidness. nevertheless, the inference nettled me. "talent is a somewhat vague term; but suppose any unprofessional person possessed it, what career among the thick of his fellows would you recommend--the acquisition of money on the markets, or politics? both are closed to the poor man," i said. it may have been fancy, but a faint angry sparkle seemed to creep into miss haldane's eyes as she answered: "are there no others? it seems to me the place for such a person is where civilization moves fastest in the cities. whether we progress towards good or evil you cannot move back the times, and it is force of intellect, or successful scheming if you will, which commands the best the world can offer now. as an outside observer, it seems to me that, considering the tendency towards centralization and combinations of capital, the individual who, refusing to accept the altered conditions, insists on remaining an independent unit, must soon go under or take a helot's place. don't you think so, mr. leyland?" "that's what i mean, but you have put it more clearly," said leyland approvingly. "i was hoping ormesby might see it that way." understanding my host's manner i guessed that if i hinted at acquiescence this would lead up to a definite offer, and it appeared that both, in their own way, were bent on persuading me. the temptation was alluring, when disaster appeared imminent, and i afterwards wondered how it was i did not yield. wounded pride or sheer obstinacy may, however, have restrained me, for one of the most bitter things is to own one's self beaten; but even then i felt that my place was on the prairie. on the one hand there was only the prospect of grinding care and often brutal labor, which wore the body to exhaustion and blunted the mental faculties; on the other, at least some rest and leisure, contact with culture and refinement, and perhaps even yet a vague possibility of drawing nearer to the woman beside me. at that moment, however, lucille haldane halted in front of us, and the trifling incident helped to turn the scale. young as she was, her views were mine, and for some unfathomable reason i shook off what seemed a weak tendency to yield when i met her gaze. "it will be a bad day for the dominion when what is happening across the frontier becomes general here," i said. "it is the number of independent units which makes for the real prosperity of this country, and the suggestion that there is only scope for intellect and force of will in the cities can hardly pass unchallenged. the smallest wheat grower has to use the same foresight in his degree as a railroad financier, and it probably requires more stamina to hold out against bad seasons and the oppression of scheming land-grabbers than is requisite, say, in engineering a grain corner against adverse markets. then, if one gets back to principles, does it not appear that the poorest breaker of virgin land who calls wheat up out of the idle sod is of more use to the community than the gambler in his produce who creates nothing?" "there is no use arguing with any man who thinks that way," said leyland solemnly, and beatrice haldane laughed; but whether at his comment or at my opinion did not appear. "here is an ally for you. you are looking very wise, lucille," she said languidly. "i did not hear all you said, but i think mr. ormesby is partly right," was the frank answer. "i just stopped on my way to the boat to get some wrappings. it soon grows chilly." the girl refused our offers of assistance. somebody called leyland away, and i was left alone, possibly against both our wishes, in beatrice haldane's company. still, it was an opportunity that might not occur again, and i determined to turn it to good account. "although you expressed strong disapproval not long ago, one could have fancied you were not speaking from a wholly impersonal standpoint and meant to give me good advice," i said. the spirit which had carried haldane triumphantly through commercial panic was not lacking in either of his daughters, and the elder one quietly took up the challenge. "perhaps the other could not be thrust aside, and i have wondered whether you are wise in staking all your future on the chances of success on the prairie. there are greater possibilities in the busy world that lies before you now, but presently habit and the force of associations will bind you to the soil, and you must remain a raiser of cattle and sower of grain. is it not possible for the monotony and drudgery to drag one down to a steadily sinking level?" the words stung me. i had done my best in my vocation, and it seemed had failed therein. neither was it impossible that the last sentence possessed a definite meaning, and suppressed longing and resentment against the pressure of circumstances held me silent after i had managed to check the rash answer that rose to my lips. then a shout broke through the pause which followed, and beatrice haldane sprang to her feet. "lucille has set the boat adrift! go and help her if you can!" she said. a glance showed me the catboat sliding out towards open water before the angry white ripples that crisped the little bay, for here the wind, deflected by a hollow, blew freshly off-shore. a slight white-clad figure stood on the fore deck, and i shouted: "jump down and fling the anchor over!" "there is no anchor!" the answer reached me faintly; and i set off across a strip of shingle and boulders at a floundering run. the rest of the company were gathered in dismay upon a rocky ledge when i came up, and caryl tore off his jacket. leyland turned to me, with consternation in his face, as he said: "ted must have tied some fool knot and she's blowing right out across the lake. none of us can swim." "it's my fault, and i'm going to try, anyway. the water cannot be deep inside here," gasped the valiant caryl. i saw that, for inland waters, a tolerable sea was running where the true wind blew straight down the lake, sufficient to endanger the catboat if she drifted without control athwart it. there was evidently no time to lose, and i turned angrily upon caryl. "if you jump in here you will certainly drown, and that will help nobody," i said. then, seeing some feet of water below the ledge, i launched myself out headforemost. the ripples ran white behind me when i rose, and there was no great difficulty in swimming down-wind, even when cumbered by clothing; but the boat's side and mast exposed considerable surface to the blast, and she had blown some distance to leeward before i overtook her. it also cost me time and labor to crawl on board--an operation difficult in deep water--but it was accomplished, and, turning to the girl, i said cheerfully: "you need not be frightened. we shall beat back in a few minutes if you will help me." lucille haldane showed the courage she had showed one snowy night at bonaventure, for there was confidence in her face as she answered: "i will do whatever you tell me, and i'm not in the least afraid." chapter xi in peril of the waters again i hazarded a glance about me. the shallow-draughted craft had already drifted a distance off-shore, and was listing over under the pressure of the wind upon her lofty mast. the white ripples had grown to short angry surges, and because darkness was approaching and the narrow bay difficult to work into, it was evident we must lose no time in getting back again. there was no anchor on board, and if i reefed the sail (or rolled up the foot of it to reduce the area) the boat would meanwhile increase her distance from the beach. it therefore seemed necessary to attempt to thrash back under the whole mainsail. "will you shove the centerboard down by the iron handle, and then take hold of the tiller, miss haldane?" i said. the girl, stooping, thrust at the handle projecting from the trunk containing the drawn-up center keel. the iron plate should have dropped at a touch, but did not, and i sprang to her side when she said: "something must be holding it fast." she was right. caryl had either bent the plate by striking a rock or a piece of driftwood had jammed into the opening, for, do what i would, the iron refused to fall more than a third of its proper distance, and it was with a slight shock of dismay i relinquished the struggle. a sailing craft of any description will only work to windward in zigzags diagonally to the breeze, and then only provided there is enough of her under water to provide lateral resistance, which the deep center keel should have supplied. as it was, i must attempt to remedy the deficiency by press of canvas at the risk of a capsize. fortunately my companion was quick-witted and cool, and, standing at the helm, followed my instructions promptly, while i dragged at the halliards, and the loose folds of sailcloth rose thrashing overhead. i was breathless when the sail was set, but sprang aft to the helm, lifted the girl to the weather deck, and perched myself as high on that side as i could, with the mainsheet round my left wrist and my right hand on the tiller, wondering if the mast would bear the strain. the boat swayed down until her leeward deck was buried in a rush of foam and her bending mast slanted half way to the horizontal. little clouds of spray shot up from her weather bow as, gathering way, she swept ahead, and then they gave place to sheets of water, which lashed our faces, and, sluicing deep along the decks, poured over the coaming ledge into the open well. still, we were in comparatively smooth water where one could risk a little, and while the straining mainsheet, which i dare not make fast, sawed into my wrist, i glanced at my companion. her hat was sodden--already her hair clung in soaked clusters to her forehead, and her wet face showed white against the dark water which raced past us. yet it was still confident, and her voice was level as she said: "let me help you. that rope is cutting your wrist." i could have smiled at the thought of those slender fingers sharing that strain; but thinking it would be well to keep her attention occupied, nodded, and was a trifle surprised at the relief when the girl seized the hard wet hemp. "if i say--let go--lift your hands at once," i said. we were now tearing through the water at such pace that the boat flung a good deal of what she displaced all over her, but a glance at the dark pines ashore showed that she was making very little to windward, while, when i looked over my shoulder at the boiling wake astern, it was too plainly evident that, owing to the loss of the centerboard, we were driving bodily sideways as well as ahead. also the snowy froth which lapped higher up the lee deck was perilously near the coaming protecting the open well. still, our expectant friends stood clustered among the boulders fringing one horn of the bay, and i saw that caryl held a rope in his hand. we might just pass within reach of it on the next tack. "we must come round. slip down, and climb up on the opposite side as the sail swings over," i said, carefully shoving the tiller down. there was a thrashing of canvas as the boat came round, and i breathed more easily as, gathering way on the opposite tack, she headed well up for the boulder point where caryl was somewhat awkwardly swinging the coil of rope. the point drew nearer and nearer, and i could see beatrice haldane standing rigidly still against the somber pines, when, as ill-luck would have it, the dark branches set up a roaring as a wild gust swept down. the boat swayed further over. most of her forward was buried in a rush of foam, and the water poured steadily into the well; but i still held fast the sheet which would have loosed the sail, for we might reach the rope in another two minutes. the gust increased in violence. foam and water poured over the coamings in cataracts, and, seeing that otherwise a capsize was inevitable, i released the sheet. the canvas rattled furiously, the craft swayed upright and commenced to blow away sternforemost like a feather, while i dropped into the bottom of her, ankle deep in water. "there is no help for it--we must reef. take the tiller, and hold it--so," i said. it was not without an effort i tied the tack, or forward corner of the mainsail, down; then, floundering aft, hauled the afterside of it down to the boom. that accomplished and the sail thus reduced by some two feet all along its foot, there remained to be tied the row of short lines, or reef points, which would hold the discarded portion when rolled up; and when part of these were knotted it was with misgivings i leaped up on the after-deck. the long, jerking boom projected a fathom beyond the stern, and i must hold on by my toes while leaning out over the water as i pulled the reef points at that end together. "i am going to trust you with the safety of both of us, miss haldane," i said. "when you see the boom swing inwards pull the tiller towards you before it flings me off." the girl had grown a little paler, and her hands trembled on the helm, but she answered without hesitation: "don't be longer than you can help--but i understand." she showed a fine intelligence and a perfect self-command, or our voyage might have ended abruptly; so the reefing was accomplished, and i resumed the helm. meanwhile, however, we had drifted well out into the lake, and a few minutes of sailing proved that under her reduced canvas the boat would not beat back to the windward shore. the figures among the boulders had faded into the deepening gloom, but, assuming a cheerfulness i did not feel, i said: "it is quite impossible to return, and as it is growing too late to look for a safe landing or path through the bush, we must head for home and send back horses for the others. it will be a fair wind." "i was afraid so," said the girl with a shiver. "but i hope we shall not be very long on the way. we spent five hours coming." i knew we should travel at a pace approaching a steamer's, provided the craft could be kept from filling; but, enlarging upon the former point, i tried to conceal the latter possibility, as i put the helm up; and the craft, rising upright, but commencing to roll horribly, raced away down-wind towards open water. once out of the point's shelter, short but angry waves raced white behind her, for one may find sufficient turmoil of waters when a fresh gale sweeps the canadian lakes. the rolling grew wilder, the long boom splashed heavily into the white upheavals that surged by on each side, and our progress became a series of upward rushes and swoops, until at times i feared the craft would run her bows under and go down bodily. once i caught my companion glancing over the stern, and, knowing how ugly oncoming waves appear when they heave up behind a running vessel, i laid a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her head aside. "there! you must look only that way, and tell me if you see any islands across our course," i said. it was practically dark now, but i could distinguish the whiteness of her wet face, and see her shiver violently. my jacket was spongy, i had nothing to wrap her in, but she looked so wet and pitiful that i drew her towards me and slipped a dripping arm protectingly about her. lucille haldane made no demur. the wild rolling, the flying spray, and the rush of short tumbling ridges must have been sufficiently terrifying, and perhaps she found the contact reassuring. one hand was all i needed. there was now nothing any unassisted man could do except keep the craft straight before wind and sea, but it was quite sufficient for one who had lost much of his dexterity with the tiller, and at times the boat twisted on a white crest in imminent peril of rolling over. worse than all, the waves that smote the flat stern commenced to splash on board, and the water inside the boat rose rapidly. already the floorings were floating, and i dare not for a second loose the tiller. it was lucille haldane who solved the difficulty. "is not all that water getting dangerous?" she asked, with chattering teeth; and, knowing her keenness, i saw there was no use attempting to hide the fact. "why did you not tell me so earlier?" she continued. "it is only right that i should do my share, and i can at least throw some of it out." "you are not fit for such work, and must sit still. at this pace we shall see the lights of leyland's house soon," i said, tightening my hold on her; but the girl shook off my grasp. "i am not so helpless that i cannot make an effort to do what is so necessary," she said. "let me go, mr. ormesby, or i shall never forgive you. where is the bailer?" i pointed to it, and even in face of the necessity it hurt me to see her alternately kneeling in the water that surged to and fro and trying to hold herself upright while she raised and emptied the heavy bucket. often she upset its contents over herself or me, and several times a lurch flung her cruelly against the coaming; but she persevered with undiminished courage until she stumbled in a savage roll and struck her head. then she clung to the coaming, the water draining from her, and, not daring to move from the tiller, i could do nothing but growl anathemas upon the boat's owner, until the girl sank down in the stern sheets beside me. "i must rest a little," she said. "but what were you saying, mr. ormesby?" "only that i should like to hang the man who invented this unhandy rig, and caryl for tempting you on board such a craft," i answered, hoping she had not heard the whole of my remarks. "you poor child, it is shameful that you should have to do such work; and, whatever happens, you shall not try again." her tresses, released from whatever bound them, streamed in the wind about her, and she seemed to shrink a little from me as she struggled with them. "it is not caryl's fault. i clumsily let the rope go when i was pulling the boat in, and as it is some little time since i was a child, i do not care to be treated as one. have i not done my best?" she asked. "you have done gallantly; more than many men unused to seamanship--caryl, for instance--could. all this is due to his stupidity," i answered; and fancied there was a trace of resentment in her voice as she said: "poor ted! he is brave enough, at least. i know he cannot swim, and yet he was about to plunge into deep water when you stopped him." it appeared wholly ridiculous, but, even then, lucille haldane's defense of caryl irritated me. "he is responsible for all you are suffering, and i can't forgive him for it. was that not rather the action of a lunatic?" i answered shortly. a wave, which, breaking upon the flat stern, deluged my shoulders and drenched my companion afresh, cut short the colloquy; but i caught sight of a faint twinkle ahead, and restrained her with a wet hand when she would have resumed the bailing. it was also by gentle force, for this time she resisted, that i drew her down beside me so that i partly shielded her from the spray, and the water came in as it willed as we drove onwards through thick obscurity. still, the light rose higher ahead, and i strained my eyes to catch the first loom of leyland's island. large boulders studded the approach to it, and we might come to grief if we struck one of them. it was now blowing viciously hard, the boat, half-buried in a white smother, would scarcely steer, and the bright light from a window ahead beat into my eyes, bewildering my vision. i could, however, dimly make out pines looming behind it, and the beat of yeasty surges, which warned me it would be risky to attempt a landing on that beach. there would be shelter on the leeward side of the island, but a glance at the balloon-like curves of the lifting mainsail showed that we could not clear its end upon the course we were sailing. we must jibe, or swing the mainsail over, which might result in a capsize. "i want your help, miss haldane. go forward and loose the rope you will find on your right-hand side near the mast," i said; and as the girl obeyed, the light shone more fully upon the dripping boat. i had a momentary vision of several dark figures on the veranda, and then, while i held my breath, saw only the slight form of the girl, with draggled dress and wet hair streaming, swung out above the whiteness of rushing foam as she wrenched at the halliard, which had fouled. then the head of the sail swung down, and as she came back panting, the steering demanded all my attention. "hold fast to the coaming here," i said, as, dragging with might and main at the sheet, i put the tiller up. the craft twisted upon her heel, the sail swung aloft, and then, while the sheet rasped through my fingers, chafing the skin from them, there was a heavy crash as the boom lurched over. the boat swayed wildly under its impetus, buried one side deep, and a shout, which might have been a cry of consternation, reached me faintly. then she shook herself free, and reeled away into the blackness on a different course. the head of the island swept by, and we shot into smoother water with a spit of shingle ahead, on which i ran the craft ashore, and it was with sincere relief i felt the shock of her keel upon the bottom. lucille haldane said something i did not hear while she lay limp and wet and silent in my arms, as, floundering nearly waist-deep, i carried her ashore and then towards a path which led to the house. the night was black, the way uneven, but perhaps because i was partly dazed i did not set down my burden. she had helped me bravely, and it was only now, when the peril had passed, i knew how very fearful i had been for her safety. indeed, it was hard to realize she was yet free from danger, and in obedience to some unreasoning instinct i still held her fast, until she slipped from my grasp. a few minutes later a light twinkled among the trees, voices reached us, and haldane, followed by several others, came up with a lantern. he stooped and kissed his daughter, then, turning, held out his hand to me. "thank god!--but where is beatrice?" he said. i told him, my teeth rattling as i spoke, and without further words we went on towards the house. nevertheless, the fervent handclasp and quiver in haldane's voice were sufficiently eloquent. when we entered the house, where mrs. leyland took charge of lucille, haldane, asking very few questions, looked hard at me. "i shall not forget this service," he said quietly. "in the meantime get into some of leyland's things as quickly as you can. we are going to pull the boat ashore under shelter of the island and requisition a wagon at rideau's farm. i believe we can reach the others by an old lumbermen's trail." it was in vain i offered my services as guide. haldane would not accept them, and set out with the assistants whom, fearing some accident, he had brought with him, while i had changed into dry clothing when his daughter came in. what she had put on i do not know, but it was probably something of mrs. leyland's intended for evening wear; and, in contrast to her usual almost girlish attire, it became her. she had suddenly changed, as it were, into a woman. her dark lashes were demurely lowered, but her eyes were shining. "you are none the worse," i said, drawing out a chair for her; and she laughed a little. "none; and i even ventured to appear in this fashion lest you should think so. i also wanted to thank you for taking care of me." lucille haldane's voice was low and very pleasant to listen to, but i wondered why i should feel such a thrill of pleasure as i heard it. "shouldn't it be the reverse? you deserve the thanks for the way you helped me, though i am sorry it was necessary you should do what you did. let me see your hands," i said. she tried to slip them out of sight, but i was too quick and, seizing one, held it fast, feeling ashamed and sorry as i looked down at it. the hard ropes had torn the soft white skin, and the rim of the bucket or the coaming had left dark bruises. admiration, mingled with pity, forced me to add: "it was very cruel. i called you child. you are the bravest woman i ever met!" the damask tinge deepened a little in her cheeks, and she strove to draw the hand away, but i held it fast, continuing: "no man could have behaved more pluckily; but--out of curiosity--were you not just a little frightened?" the lashes fell lower, and i was not sure of the smile beneath them. "i was, at first, very much so; but not afterwards. i thought i could trust you to take care of me." "i am afraid i seemed very brutal; but i would have given my life to keep you safe," i said. "that, however, would have been very little after all. it is not worth much just now to anybody." i was ashamed of the speech afterwards, especially the latter part of it, but it was wholly involuntary, and the events of the past few hours had drawn, as it were, a bond of close comradeship between my companion in peril and myself. "i think you are wrong, but i am glad you have spoken, because i wanted to express my sympathy, and feared to intrude," she said. "we heard that bad times had overtaken you and your neighbors, and were very sorry. still, they cannot last forever, and you will not be beaten. you must not be, to justify the belief father and i have in you." the words were very simple, but there was a naïve sincerity about them which made them strangely comforting, while i noticed that mrs. leyland, who came in just then, looked at us curiously. i sat out upon the veranda until late that night, filled with a contentment i could not quite understand. to have rendered some assistance to beatrice haldane's sister and won her father's goodwill seemed, however, sufficient ground for satisfaction, and i decided that this must be the cause of it. the rest of the party returned overland next day, and during the afternoon haldane said to me: "i may as well admit that i have heard a little about your difficulties, and leyland has been talking to me. if you don't mind the plain speaking, one might conclude that you are somewhat hardly pressed. well, it seems to me that certain incidents have given me a right to advise or help you, and if you are disposed to let the mortgaged property go, i don't think there would be any great difficulty in finding an opening for you. there are big homesteads in your region financed by eastern capital." he spoke with sincerity and evident goodwill; but unfortunately haldane was almost the last person from whom i could accept a favor. "i am, while grateful, not wholly defeated, and mean to hold on," i said. "would you, for instance, quietly back out of a conflict with some wealthy combine and leave your opponents a free hand to collect the plunder?" haldane smiled dryly. "it would depend on circumstances; but in a general way i hardly think i should," he said. "you will, however, remember advice was mentioned, and i believe there are men who would value my counsel." i shook my head. "heaven knows what the end will be; but i must worry through this trouble my own way," i said. haldane was not offended, and did not seem surprised. "you may be wrong, or you may be right; but if you and your neighbors are as hard to plunder as you are slow to take a favor, the other gentlemen will probably earn all they get," he said. "i presume you have no objections to my wishing you good luck?" it was the next evening when i met beatrice haldane beside the lake. "and so you are going back to-morrow to your cattle?" she said. "yes," i answered. "it is the one course open to me, and the only work for which i am fitted." and miss haldane showed a faint trace of impatience. "if you are sure that is so, you are wise," she said. before i could answer she moved away to greet mrs. leyland, and some time elapsed before we met again, for i bade leyland farewell next morning. chapter xii the selling of gaspard's trail the surroundings were depressing when, one evening, steel and i rode home for the last time to gaspard's trail. the still, clear weather, with white frost in the mornings and mellow sunshine all day long, which follows the harvest, had gone, and the prairie lay bleak and gray under a threatening sky waiting for the snow. crescents and wedges of wild fowl streaked the lowering heavens overhead as they fled southward in endless processions before the frost. the air throbbed with the beat of their pinions which, at that season, emphasizes the human shrinking from the winter, while the cold wind that shook the grasses sighed most mournfully. there was nothing cheering in the prospect for a man who badly needed encouragement, and i smiled sardonically when steel, who pushed his horse alongside me, said: "there's a good deal in the weather, and this mean kind has just melted the grit right out of me. i'll be mighty thankful to get in out of it, and curl up where it's warm and snug beside the stove. sally will have all fixed up good and cheerful, and the west room's a cozy place to come into out of the cold." "you must make the most of it to-night, then, for we'll be camping on straw or bare earth to-morrow," i said. "confound you, steel! isn't it a little unnecessary to remind me of all that i have lost?" "i didn't mean it that way," said the other, with some confusion. "i felt i had to say something cheerful to rouse you up, and that was the best i could make of it. anyway, we'll both feel better after supper, and i'm hoping we'll yet see the man who turned you out in a tight place." "you have certainly succeeded," i answered dryly. "when a man is forced to stand by and watch a rascal cheat him out of the result of years of labor, you can't blame him for being a trifle short in temper, and, if it were not for the last expectation you mention, i'd turn my back to-morrow on this poverty-stricken country. as it is----" "we'll stop right here until our turn comes some day. then there'll be big trouble for somebody," said steel. "but you've got to lie low, ormesby, and give him no chances. that man takes everyone he gets, and, if one might say it, you're just a little hot in the head." "one's friends can say a good deal, and generally do," i answered testily. "how long have you set up as a model of discretion, steel? still, though there is rather more sense than usual in your advice, doesn't it strike you as a little superfluous, considering that lane has left us no other possible course?" steel said nothing further, and i was in no mood for conversation. gaspard's trail was to be sold on the morrow, and lane had carefully chosen his time. the commercial depression was keener than ever, and there is seldom any speculation in western lands at that time of the year. it was evidently his purpose to buy in my possessions. a cheerful red glow beat out through the windows of my dwelling when we topped the last rise, but the sight of it rather increased my moodiness, and it was in silence, and slowly, we rode up to the door of gaspard's trail. sally steel met us there, and her eyelids were slightly red; but there was a vindictive ring in her voice as she said: "supper's ready, and i'm mighty glad you've come. this place seems lonesome. besides, i'm 'most played out with talking, and i've done my best to-day. those auctioneering fellows have fixed up everything, but it isn't my fault if they don't know how mean they are. they finished with the house in a hurry, and one of them said: 'i can't stand any more of that she-devil.'" "he did! where are they now?" asked steel, dropping his horse's bridle and staring about him angrily; but, after a glance at sally, who answered my unspoken question with a nod, i seized him by the shoulder. "steady! who is hot-headed now?" i said. steel strove to shake off my grasp until his sister, who laughed a little, turned towards him. "i just took it for a compliment, and there's no use in your interfering," she said. "i guess neither of them feels proud of himself to-night, and a cheerful row with somebody would spoil all the good i've done. they're camping yonder in the stable, but you'll tie up the horses in the empty barn." sally steel was a stanch partisan, and, knowing what i did of her command of language, i felt almost sorry for the men who had been exposed to it a whole day in what was, after all, only the execution of their duty. before steel returned, one of them came out of the stable and approached me, but, catching sight of sally, stopped abruptly, and then, as though mustering his courage, came on again. "i guess you're mr. ormesby, and i'm auctioneer's assistant," he said. "one could understand that you were a bit sore, but i can't see that it's my fault, anyway; and from what we heard, you don't usually turn strangers into the stable." the man spoke civilly enough, and i did not approve of his location; but the rising color in sally's face would have convinced anybody who knew her that non-interference was the wisest policy. "it is about the first time we have done so, but this lady manages my house, and, if you don't like your quarters, you must talk to her," i said. the man cast such a glance of genuine pity upon me that it stirred me to faint amusement, rather than resentment, while the snap, as we called it on the prairie, which crept into sally's eyes usually presaged an explosion. "if that's so, i guess i prefer to stop just where i am," he said. we ate our supper almost in silence, and little was spoken afterwards. sally did her best to rouse us, but even her conversation had lost its usual bite and sparkle, and presently she abandoned the attempt. i lounged in a hide chair beside the stove, and each object my eyes rested on stirred up memories that were painful now. the cluster of splendid wheat ears above the window had been the first sheared from a bounteous harvest which had raised great hopes. i had made the table with my own fingers, and brought out the chairs, with the crockery on the varnished shelf, from winnipeg, one winter, when the preceding season's operations had warranted such reckless expenditure. the dusty elevator warrant pinned to the wall recalled the famous yield of grain which--because cattle had previously been our mainstay--had promised a new way to prosperity, and now, as i glanced at it, led me back through a sequence of failure to the brink of poverty. also, bare and plain as it was, that room appeared palatial in comparison with the elongated sod hovel which must henceforward shelter us at crane valley. the memories grew too bitter, and at last i went out into the darkness of a starless night, to find little solace there. i had planned and helped to build the barns and stables which loomed about me--denied myself of even necessities that the work might be better done; and now, when, after years of effort and sordid economy, any prairie settler might be proud of them, all must pass into a stranger's hands, for very much less than their value. tempted by a dazzling possibility, i had staked too heavily and had lost, and there was little courage left in me to recommence again at the beginning, when the hope which had hitherto nerved me was taken away. steel and his sister had retired before i returned to the dwelling, and i was not sorry. the next day broke gloomily, with a threat of coming storm, but, as it drew on, all the male inhabitants of that district foregathered at gaspard's trail. they came in light wagons and buggies and on horseback, and i was touched by their sympathy. they did not all express it neatly. indeed, the very silence of some was most eloquent; but there was no mistaking the significance of the deep murmur that went up when lane and two men drove up in a light wagon. the former was dressed in city fashion in a great fur-trimmed coat, and his laugh grated on me, as he made some comment to the auctioneer beside him. then the wagon was pulled up beside the rank of vehicles, and the spectators ceased their talking as, dismounting, he stood, jaunty, genial, and _débonnaire_, face to face with the assembly. even now the whole scene rises up before me--the threatening low-hung heavens, the desolate sweep of prairie, the confused jumble of buildings, the rows of wagons, and the intent, bronzed faces of the men in well-worn jean. all were unusually somber, but, while a number expressed only aversion, something which might have been fear, mingled with hatred, stamped those of the rest. every eye was fixed on the little portly man in the fur coat who stood beside the wagon looking about him with much apparent good-humor. lane was not timid, or he would never have ventured there at all; but his smile faded as he met that concentrated gaze. those who stared at him were for the most part determined men, and even with the power of the law behind him, and two troopers in the background, some slight embarrassment was not inexcusable. "good-morning to you, boys. glad to see so many of you, and i hope you'll pick up bargains to-day," he said; and then twisted one end of his mustache with a nervous movement; when again a growl went up. it was neither loud nor wholly articulate, though a few vivid epithets broke through it, and the rest was clearly not a blessing. several of the nearest men turned their backs on the speaker with as much parade as possible. "don't seem quite pleased at something," he said to me. "well, it don't greatly matter whether they're pleased or not. may as well get on to business. you've had your papers, and didn't find anything to kick against, ormesby?" "it is hardly worth while to ask, considering your experience in such affairs. the sooner you begin and finish, the better i'll be pleased," i said. the auctioneer's table had been set up in the open with the ticketed implements arranged behind it and the stock and horses in the wire-fenced corral close beside. he was of good repute in his business, and i felt assured of fair play from him, at least, though i could see lane's purpose in bringing him out from winnipeg. the latter was too clever to spoil a well-laid scheme by any superfluous petty trickery, and with that man to conduct it nobody could question the legitimacy of the sale. there was an expectant silence when he stood up behind his table. "what is one man's gain is another man's loss, and i feel quite certain, from what i know of the prairie, that none of you would try to buy a neighbor's things way under their cost," he commenced. "it's mighty hard to make a fortune in times like these, you know, but anybody with sound judgment, and the money handy, has his opportunity right now. you're going to grow wheat and raise beef enough down here to feed the world some day. it's a great country, and the best bit in it you'll find scheduled with its rights and acreage as the first lot i have to offer you--the gaspard's trail holding with the buildings thereon. the soil, as you all know, will grow most anything you want, if you scratch it, and the climate----" "needs a constitution of cast iron to withstand it," interjected a young and sickly englishman, who had benefited less than he expected from a sojourn on the prairie. his comment was followed by a query from another disappointed individual: "say, what about the gophers?" "i'm not selling you any climate," was the ready answer. "even the gopher has its uses, for without some small disadvantages the fame of your prosperity would bring out all europe here. now, gentlemen, i'm offering you one of the finest homesteads on the prairie. soil of unequaled fertility, the best grass between winnipeg and calgary, with the practical certainty of a railroad bringing the stock cars to its door, and the building of mills and elevators within a mile from this corral." here lane, standing close to the table, whispered something--unobserved, he doubtless thought--to the auctioneer, whose genial face contracted into a frown. lane had, perhaps, forgotten the latter was not one of the impecunious smaller fry who, it was suggested, occasionally accepted more than hints from him. "the holder of the mortgage evidently considers that the railroad will not be built, and it is very good of him to say so--in the circumstances; but we all know what a disinterested person he is," continued the auctioneer; and the honest salesman had, at least, secured the crowd's goodwill. a roar of derisive laughter and appreciation of the quick-witted manner in which he had punished unjustified interference followed the sally. "that, after all, is one person's opinion only; and i heard from ottawa that the road would be built. i want your best bids for the land and buildings, with the stock cars thrown in. you'll never get a better chance; but not all at once, gentlemen." during the brief interval which followed i was conscious of quivering a little under the suspense. the property, if realized at normal value, should produce sufficient to discharge my liabilities several times over; but i dreaded greatly that, under existing conditions, a balance of debt would be left sufficient to give lane a hold on me when all was sold. the auctioneer's last request was superfluous, for at first nobody appeared to have any intention of bidding at all, and there was an impressive hush while two men from the cities, who stood apart among the few strangers, whispered together. meanwhile i edged close in to the table so that i might watch every move of my adversary. "lane wasn't wise when he tried to play that man the way he did," said steel, who stood beside me, but i scarcely heeded him, for carson haldane, who must have reached bonaventure very recently, nodded to me as he took his seat in a chair thorn brought him. then one of the strangers named a ridiculously small sum, which steel, amid a burst of laughter from all those who knew the state of his finances, immediately doubled, whereupon the bidder advanced his offer by a hundred dollars. "another five hundred on to that!" cried steel; and when my foreman, thorn, followed his cue with a shout of, "i'll go three hundred better," the merriment grew boisterous. the spectators were strung up and uncertain in their mood. very little, i could see, would rouse them to fierce anger, and, perhaps, for that reason any opening for mirth came as a relief to them. i had now drawn up close behind the table which formed the common center for every man's attention, and, scanning the faces about it, saw lane's darken when the stranger called out excitedly, "i'll raise him two hundred and fifty." lane rewarded thorn with a vicious glance, and growled under his breath. next he whispered something to the auctioneer, who disregarded it, while a few minutes later the bidder, holding his hand up for attention, said: "i withdraw my last offer. i came here to do solid business and not fool away my time competing with irresponsible parties who couldn't put up enough money to buy the chicken-house. is this a square sale, mr. auctioneer, or is anybody without the means to purchase to be allowed to force up genuine buyers for the benefit of the vendor?" "that's lane's dummy, and i'm going to do some talking now," said steel. i was inclined to fancy that the usurer, perhaps believing there was no such thing as commercial honesty, had badly mistaken his man, or that the auctioneer, guided by his own quick wits, saw through his scheme, for he smote upon the table for attention. "this is a square sale, so square that i can see by the vendor's looks he would sooner realize half-value than countenance anything irregular. i took it for granted that these gentlemen had the means to purchase, as i did in your own case. no doubt you can all prove your financial ability." "one of them is still in debt," added the bidder. i had moved close behind lane, and fancied i heard him say softly to himself: "i'll fix you so you'll be sorry for your little jokes by-and-by." a diversion followed. goodwill to myself, hatred of the usurer, and excitement, may perhaps have prompted them equally, for after the would-be purchaser's challenge those of my neighbors who had escaped better than the rest clustered about steel, who had hard work to record the rolls of paper money thrust upon him. hardly had his rival laid down a capacious wallet upon the table than steel deposited the whole beside it. "i guess that ought to cover my call, and now i want to see the man who called me irresponsible," he said. "that's enough to raise me, but to hint that any honest man would back up the thief of a mortgage holder is an insult to the prairie." a roar of laughter and approval followed, but the laughter had an ominous ring in it; and i saw sergeant mackay, who had been sitting still as an equine statue in his saddle on the outskirts of the crowd, push his horse through the thickest of the shouting men. he called some by name, and bantered the rest; but there was a veiled warning behind his jest, and two other troopers, following him, managed to further separate the groups. the hint was unmistakable, and the shouting died away, while, as the auctioneer looked at the money before him, the man who had been bidding glanced covertly at lane. "if you are satisfied with the good faith of these gentlemen, i'll let my offer stand," he said. "it doesn't count for much whether he does or not," said haldane languidly. "i'll raise him two hundred and fifty." "i'm not satisfied with his," broke in the irrepressible steel. "i can't leave my money lying round right under that man's hand, mr. auctioneer. no, sir; i won't feel easy until i've put it where it's safer. besides, he called me a friend of the mortgage holder, and i'm waiting for an apology." the stranger from the cities grew very red in face, and a fresh laugh, which was not all good-humor, went up from the crowd; but, as the auctioneer prepared to grapple with this new phase of affairs, a man in uniform reined in a gray horse beside the speaker, and looked down at him. there was a faint twinkle in his eyes, though the rest of his countenance was grim, and he laid a hard hand on the other's shoulder. "ye'll just wait a while longer, charlie steel," he said. "i'm thinking ye will at least be held fully responsible for anything calculated to cause a breach of the peace." thereafter the bidding proceeded without interruption, haldane and his rival advancing by fifties or hundreds of dollars, while, when the prairie syndicate's united treasury was exhausted, which happened very soon, a few other strangers joined in. meanwhile, the suspense had grown almost insupportable to me. that i must lose disastrously was certain now, but i clung to the hope that i might still start at crane valley clear of debt. haldane was bidding with manifest indifference, and at last he stopped. the auctioneer, calling the price out, looked at him, but carson haldane shook his head, and said, with unusual distinctness: "the other gentlemen may have it. i have gone further than i consider justifiable already." i saw lane glance at him with a puzzled expression, and next moment try to signal the stranger, who was clearly in league with him, and fail in the attempt to attract his attention. then i held my breath, for, after two more reluctant bids, there was only silence when the auctioneer repeated the last offer. "is there anyone willing to exceed this ridiculous figure? it's your last chance, gentlemen. going, going----" and my hopes died out as he dropped the hammer. "nothing left but to make the best of it," said steel; which was very poor consolation, for i could see nothing good at all in the whole affair. there was much brisker bidding for the implements, working oxen, and remnant of the stock, which were within the limits of my neighbors, and who did their best; but the prices realized were by comparison merely a drop in the bucket, and i turned away disconsolate, knowing that the worst i feared had come to pass. all the borrowed money had been sunk in the improvement of that property, and now the mortgage holder, who had even before the sale been almost repaid, owned the whole of it, land and improvements, and still held a lien on me for a balance of the debt. haldane met me presently, and his tone was cordial as he said: "where are you thinking of spending the night?" "at crane valley with the others," i answered shortly. "steel and my foreman are going to help me to restart there." "i want you to come over to bonaventure for a few days instead," he said. "a little rest and change will brace you for the new campaign, and i am all alone, except for my younger daughter." i looked him squarely in the face, seeing that frankness was best. "my wits are not very keen to-day, and i am a little surprised," i said. "may i ask why you bid at all for my recent property? you must have known it was worth much more than your apparent limit." haldane smiled good-humoredly; but, in spite of this, his face was inscrutable. "'when i might at least have run the price up,' you wish to add. well, i had to redeem a promise made somewhat against my better judgment, and i stopped--when it seemed advisable. this, as you may discover, ormesby, is not the end of the affair, and, if i could have helped you judiciously, you may be sure that i would. in the meantime, are you coming back to bonaventure with me?" he had told me practically nothing, and yet i trusted him, while the knowledge that his daughter had bidden him take measures on my behalf was very soothing. after all, beatrice haldane had not forgotten me. "it is very kind of you, and i should be glad to do so, sir," i said. i found lane at the table as soon as the sale was over, and he held out a sheet of paper. "you can verify the totals at leisure, but you will see it leaves a balance due me," he said. "it is rather a pity, but the new purchaser requires immediate possession, though he might allow you to use the house to-night. ah! here he is to speak for himself." the stranger, who indorsed the statement, looked first at lane and then at me in sidelong fashion. there was nothing remarkable about him except that he had hardly the appearance of a practical farmer, but the malicious enjoyment his master's eyes expressed, and something in his voice, set my blood on fire. indeed, i was in a humor to turn on my best friend just then. "nothing would induce me to enter a house which belonged to--you," i said, turning to lane. "so far you have won hands down; but neither you nor your tool has quite consummated your victory. i shall see both of you sorry you ever laid your grasping hands on this property." "you may be right in one way," answered lane. "you'll remember what happened to the fool bullfrog, and you're looking tolerably healthy yet." i had hardly spoken before i regretted it. the words were useless and puerile; but my indignation demanded some outlet. in any case, lane shrugged his shoulders and the other man grinned, while i had clearly spoken more loudly than i intended, for several bystanders applauded, and when i moved away sergeant mackay overtook me. "i'm surprised at ye, rancher ormesby," he said. "ye have not shown your usual discretion." "i would not change it for yours," i answered. "it is evidently insufficient to warn you that there are times when preaching becomes an impertinence." mackay only shook his head. he wheeled his horse, and, with two troopers behind him, rode towards the wagon which lane was mounting. a deep growl of execration went up, and the farewell might have been warmer but for the troopers' presence. as it was, he turned and ironically saluted the sullenly wrathful crowd as the light wagon lurched away across the prairie. then i was left homeless, and was glad to feel haldane's touch on my arm. "light this cigar and jump in. the team are getting impatient, and lucille will be wondering what has kept us so long," he said. chapter xiii an unfortunate promise haldane could command any man's attention when he chose to exert himself, and, i fancied, made a special effort on my behalf during his homeward journey. as a result of this i almost forgot that i was a homeless and practically ruined man as i listened to his shrewd predictions concerning the future of that region, or occasionally ventured to point out improbabilities in some of them. the depression, however, returned with double force when we came into sight of bonaventure soon after dusk, and with it a curious reluctance to face the young mistress of the homestead. lucille haldane was my junior by several years. indeed, on our first meeting i had considered her little more than a girl, but since then a respect for her opinions, and a desire to retain her approval, had been growing upon me. perhaps it was because her opinions more or less coincided with my own, but this fact would not account for the undeniable thrill of pleasure which had followed her naïve announcement that she believed in me. hitherto, with one exception, i had figured before her as a successful man, and i positively shrank from appearing as one badly beaten and brought down by his own overconfident folly. i remembered how she once said: "you must not disappoint us." this seemed wholly absurd, but the worst bitterness i had yet experienced made itself felt when haldane pulled up his team, and, pointing to a figure on the threshold of his homestead, said: "lucille must have been getting impatient. she is watching for us." i allowed him to precede me by as long a space as possible, while i lingered to assist the hired man with a refractory buckle, and then it was with an effort i braced myself for the interview. haldane had vanished into the house, but the slight, graceful figure still waited upon the threshold, and i wondered, with a strange anxiety, what his daughter would say to me. the question was promptly answered, for, as i entered the hall, feeling horribly ashamed and with doubtless a very wooden face, lucille haldane held out both hands to me. her manner was half-shy, wholly compassionate, and i stood quite still a while comforted by the touch of the little soft fingers which i held fast within my own. then she said very simply: "i am so sorry, but you will have better fortune yet." a lamp hung close above us, and it was, perhaps, as well that it did, for the relief which followed the quiet words that vibrated with sincerity was more inimical to rational behavior than the previous causeless hesitation. lucille haldane looked more girlish than ever and most bewitchingly pretty as, glancing up at me, partly startled by my fervent grasp, she drew her hands away. she seemed the incarnation of innocence, freshness, and gentle sympathy, and, perhaps as a result of the strain lately undergone, there came upon me an insane desire to stoop and kiss her as, or so at least it seemed, a brother might have done. she may have grown suspicious, for feminine perceptions are keen, and, though the movement was graceful and not precipitate, a distance of several feet divided us next moment, and we stood silent, looking at each other, while my heart beat at what appeared double its usual rate. "you have given me new hope, and those were the kindest words i have ever heard," i said. "i think you meant them." lucille haldane's manner changed. the change was indefinite, but it existed, and it was with a smile she answered me. "of course i did. one does not generally trouble to deceive one's friends; and we are friends, are we not, mr. ormesby?" "no one could desire a better, and i hope we shall always remain so," i answered, with an attempt at a bow; and the girl, turning, preceded me into the big central hall. "what kept you so long, ormesby? one could almost have fancied you had become possessed of an unusual bashfulness," said haldane, when we came in; and i glanced apologetically at his daughter before i answered him. "something of the kind happened, and my excuse is that i had very little cause for self-confidence. now, however, i am only ashamed of the hesitation." "you deserve to be," said haldane, with a mock severity which veiled a certain pride. "fortunately, the young mistress of bonaventure atones for her father's shortcomings, and so long as she rules there will always be a welcome for anybody in adversity here, as well as the best we can give to harassed friends. it is a convenient arrangement, for while, according to my unsuccessful rivals, i grow rich by paralyzing industries and unscrupulous gambling upon the markets, lucille assists me to run up a counter score by proxy." the girl's face flushed a little, and it was pleasant to see the quick indignation sparkle in her eyes. "you never did anything unscrupulous; and i do not think we are very rich," she said. one might have fancied that haldane was gratified, though he smiled whimsically and turned in my direction as he answered: "the last assertion, at least, is true if it proves anything, for it is tolerably hard to acquire even a competence nowadays by strictly honest means, isn't it, ormesby? you, however, do not know the inconvenience of having an uncomfortably elevated standard fixed for one to live up to, and i am seriously contemplating a reckless attack on some national industry to prove its impossibility." the girl's confidence in her father was supreme, for, though this time she laughed, it was evident she did not believe a word of this. "it is well you are known by your actions and not your speeches," she said. "there are commercial combinations which deserve to be attacked. why"--and her tone grew serious enough--"do you not crush the man or men who are doing so much mischief in our vicinity?" haldane looked at his daughter, and then across at me, and, while slightly ironical good-humor was stamped on his face, it was a mask. there was more than one side to his character, and, when it pleased him to be so, there was nobody more inscrutable. "it is a rather extensive order, and men of that stamp are generally hard to crush," he said. "still, if those mistaken doctors should conspire to forbid me more profitable employment, i might, perhaps, make the attempt some day." this was vague enough, but i felt that haldane had intended the hint for me. there was no further reference to anything financial, for henceforward both my host and his daughter laid themselves out to help me to forget my troubles, and were so successful in this that i even wondered at myself. the troubles were certainly not far away, but the financier's anecdotes and his daughter's comments proved so entertaining that they diminished and melted into a somber background. when lucille left us haldane sat chatting with me over his cigar, and at last he said abruptly: "i dare say you wondered at my half-hearted action to-day?" "i did, sir," i answered; and the financier nodded good-humoredly. "there is nothing to equal plain speaking, ormesby. when a man knows just what he wants and asks for it he stands the best chance of obtaining it, though i don't always act in accordance with the maxim myself. well, i made a few bids somewhat against my better judgment because i had promised to, and then ceased because it seemed best to me that, since you could not hold it, lane should acquire the property." "i don't quite see the reason, sir. on the other hand, a stiff advance in prices would have meant a good deal to me," i said. haldane answered oracularly: "that gentleman's funds are not inexhaustible, and he already holds what one might call foreclosure options on a good deal of property. i should not be sorry to see him take hold of further land so long as it did not lie west of gaspard's trail. it is possible that he has, as we say in the vernacular, bitten off more than he can chew--considering the present scarcity of money. i should take heart if i were you, and hold on to crane valley whatever it costs you." "can't you speak a little more directly?" i asked. haldane shook his head. "i am not in a position to do so yet; but, if surmises turn into certainties, i will some day. meanwhile, are you open to train some of the bonaventure colts, and look after my surplus stock on a profit-division basis? i have more than my staff can handle." "i should be very glad to do so," i answered, seeing that while the offer was prompted by kindness it had also its commercial aspect. "but, if there is anything going on, say, some plan for the exploitation of this district in opposition to lane, can i not take my part in it?" "i have heard of no such scheme; and, if i had, you could help it most by driving new straight furrows and raising further cattle," said haldane, with an enigmatical smile. "there are games which require a lifelong experience from the men who would succeed in them; and, because rome was not built in a day, perhaps you were wiser to stick to your plowing, ormesby. one gets used to the excitement of the other life, but the strain remains, and that is one reason why you see me at bonaventure again." my host's words encouraged me. it was true he had said very little, but that was always haldane's way; and, seeing that he now desired to change the subject, i followed his lead. "i hope your health is not failing you again, sir?" i said. "save for one weakness, my general health is good enough," was the quiet answer. "still, the weakness is there, and for the second time this year physicians have ordered an interval of quietness and leisure. one has to pay the penalty for even partial success, you know, and i am not so young or vigorous as i used to be." "then, if i may ask the question, why not abandon altogether an occupation which tries you, sir?" haldane smiled over his cigar, but a shadow crossed his face. "we are what the almighty made us, ormesby, and i suppose the restless gaming instinct was born in me. even in my enforced leisure down here it is almost too strong for me, and i indulge in it on a minor scale by way of recreation. i can't sit down and quietly rust into useless inactivity. further, while handling a good deal of money, my private share is smaller than many folks suppose it, and i have my daughters' future to ensure. both have been brought up to consider a certain amount of luxury as necessary." i do not think the last words were intended as a hint, for had haldane considered the latter necessary it is hardly likely i should have been welcomed so often at bonaventure. in any case it would have been superfluous, for i had already faced the worst, and decided that beatrice haldane must remain what she had always been to me--an ideal to be worshiped in the abstract and at a distance. strangest of all, once the knowledge was forced on me, i found it possible to accept the position with some degree of resignation. all this flashed through my mind as i looked into the wreaths of smoke, and then haldane spoke: "have you come across that photographer fellow lately?" "not for some time. do you wish to see him?" i answered, with a slightly puzzled air. "i think i should like to"--and haldane's voice changed from its reflective tone. "do you know who he is, ormesby?" "i should hardly care to say without consulting him, sir," i answered; and haldane laughed. "you need not trouble, because i do. if you chance upon him tell him what i said. getting late, isn't it? good-night to you!" he left me equally relieved and mystified, and that i should feel any relief at all formed part of the mystery. whatever was the cause of it, i was neither utterly cast down nor desperate when i sought my couch, and i managed to sleep soundly. that was the first of several visits to bonaventure. the acreage of crane valley was ample, but the house a mere elongated sod hovel, of which miss steel monopolized the greater portion, although i reflected grimly that in existing circumstances it was quite good enough for me. our life there was dreary enough, and, at times, i grew tired of sally's alternate blandishments and railleries; so, when the frost bound fast the sod and but little could be done for land and cattle, it was very pleasant to spend a few days amid the refinement and comfort which ruled at bonaventure. during one of my journeys there i met cotton, and rode some distance with him across the prairie. i could see there was something he wished to say, but his usually ample confidence seemed to fail him, and finally he bade me farewell with visible hesitation where our ways parted. i had, however, scarcely resumed my journey before he hailed me, and when i checked my horse he rode back in my direction with resolve and irresolution mingled in his face. "you are in a great hurry. there was something i wanted to ask," he commenced. "do you think this frost will hold, ormesby?" "you have a barometer in the station, haven't you?" i answered, regarding him ironically. "cotton, you have something on your mind to-day, and it is not the frost. out with it, man. i'm in no way dangerous." "i have," he answered, with a slight darkening of the bronze in his face. "it is not a great thing, but your paternal advice and cheap witticisms pall on me now and then. curious way to ask a favor, isn't it? but that is just what i'm going to do." "we'll omit the compliments. come to the point," i said; and the trooper made the plunge he had so much hesitated over. "i want you to ride out on wednesday night and meet freighter walker coming in from the rail. as you know, he generally travels all night by the bitter lakes trail. ask him for a packet with my name on the label, then tear that label off and give mail-carrier steve the packet addressed to miss haldane. those confounded people at the rail post office chatter so about every trifle, and steve is too thick in the head to notice anything. my rounds make it quite impossible for me to go myself, and that fool of a freighter would certainly lose or smash the thing before he passed our way on his return journey. it is not asking too much, is it?" "no," i said readily, seeing the eagerness in the trooper's eyes, though that statement implied a long, cold night's ride. "miss haldane is, however, in ottawa." "i don't care where she is," said cotton. "confound--of course, i mean it's very good of you; but there's no use in assuming stupidity. it is miss lucille haldane i mean, you know." "i might certainly have guessed it," i said dryly. "it is no business of mine, cotton, but in return for your compliments i can't help asking, do you think haldane would appreciate it?" cotton straightened himself in his saddle, and i was sorry for him. he looked very young with that light in his eyes and the hot blood showing through his tan; also, i fancied, very chivalrous. "don't be under any misapprehension, ormesby," he said quietly. "that packet merely contains an article i heard miss haldane lamenting that she could not obtain. it is of no value, only useful; but thursday is her birthday, and i think she would be pleased to have it. being trooper cotton, i should never have presumed to send a costly present, and you do not for a moment suppose miss lucille would appreciate the trifle for anything beyond its intrinsic utility. this is the second time you have forced me to point out the absurdity of your conclusions." i was angry with him both for his infatuation and obtuseness, for it struck me that in the circumstances the simple gift was made in a dangerously graceful fashion, and calculated to appeal to a young woman's sympathies. "i can't offer you advice?" i said. "no," was the answer. "one might surmise that you needed all your abilities in that direction for yourself. still, to prevent your drawing any unwarranted inference, i may repeat that it would be quite unnecessary." "i understand," i said somberly, feeling that there were two of us in the same position. "very glad to oblige you. the times are out of joint for all of us just now, cotton. good-night--and, on consideration, i think the frost will hold." we rode in different directions, and because i had made that unfortunate promise it was late on wednesday night when i prepared to leave bonaventure quietly. haldane had journeyed to the railroad and could not return before midnight at earliest. lucille informed me that she would be busy with some household affairs, and, as i could be back by morning, it seemed possible that neither would miss me. having promised the trooper secrecy, i did not wish to answer questions or name excuses. as ill-luck would have it, the last person i desired to meet chanced upon me, as, well wrapped in furs, i was slipping towards the door, and i must have looked confused when lucille haldane said: "where are you going, mr. ormesby?" "a little ride," i answered. "i have--i have some business to do, and after two idle days begin to long for exercise." the girl looked hard at me, and i saw she recognized that the excuse was very lame. "there is nobody living within reach of a short ride. will you return to-night?" she asked. it was most unfortunate, for i did not wish to anticipate the trooper's gift. "i hardly think so," i answered. "now, i will make a bargain with you. if you will keep my departure a secret, you will discover what my errand is very shortly." "very well," said lucille haldane; though she still seemed curious. "a safe journey to you, but i don't envy you the exercise." i afterwards had cause to abuse trooper cotton and his errand, but i swung myself into the saddle, and, when i reached the bitter lakes trail, i patrolled it for two long hours under the nipping frost. no lumbering ox-team, however, crawled up out of the white prairie, though as yet the moon was in the sky; and i decided that the freighter had, as he sometimes did, taken another trail. it then, fortunately, occurred to me that i had promised to inspect some horses with a small rancher living four or five leagues away, and so determined to do so in the morning. a deserted sod-house stood at no great distance, which the scattered settlers kept supplied with fuel. it served as a convenient half-way shelter for those who must break their long journey to the railroad settlement, and i set out for it at a canter. as i did so the moon dipped, and darkness settled on the prairie. chapter xiv the burning of gaspard's trail the hole in the roof of the sod-house had been insufficiently stopped, the green birch billets stored in a corner burned sulkily in the rusty stove, so that the earth-floored room was bitterly cold. still, after tying my horse at one end of it, and partly burying myself in a heap of prairie hay, i managed to sink into a light slumber. i awakened feeling numbed all through, with the pain at the joints which results from sleeping insufficiently protected in a low temperature, and looked about me shivering. there was not a spark in the stove, the horse was stamping impatiently, and, when a sputtering match had shown me that it was after two in the morning, i rose stiffly. anything appeared better than slowly freezing there, and i strode out into the night, leading the horse by the bridle. a cold wind swept the prairie, and it was very dark; but, when we had covered a league or so, and the exercise had warmed me, a dull red glare appeared on the horizon. a grass fire was out of the question at that season, and it was evident that somebody's homestead was burning. i was in the saddle the next moment and riding fast towards the distant blaze. the frozen sod was rough, the night very black, and haste distinctly imprudent; but i pressed on recklessly, haunted by a fear that the scene of the conflagration was bonaventure. reaching the edge of a rise, i pulled the horse up with a sense of vast relief, for a struggling birch bluff gave me my bearings and made it plain that neither haldane's homestead nor his daughter could be in peril. then it dawned on me that the fire was at gaspard's trail and i sat still a minute, irresolute. i had no doubt that the recent purchaser was merely acting for lane, and i felt tempted to resume my journey; but curiosity, or the instinct which calls out each prairie settler when his neighbor's possessions are in jeopardy, was too strong for me, and i rode towards the blaze, but much more slowly. it was one thing to risk a broken limb when danger appeared to threaten bonaventure, but quite another to do so for the sake of an unscrupulous adversary. it would have been well for me had i obeyed the first impulse which prompted me--and turned my back upon the fire. an hour had passed before i reached the house which had once been mine, and, after tethering the horse in shelter of an unthreatened granary, i proceeded to look about me. gaspard's trail was clearly doomed. one end of the dwelling had fallen in. the logs, dried by the fierce summer, were blazing like a furnace, and a column of fire roared aloft into the blackness of the night. showers of sparks drove down-wind, barns and stables were wrapped in smoke; but, although the blaze lighted up the space about them, there was nobody visible. this was in one respect not surprising, because the nearest homestead stood a long distance away, but, as the new owner had an assistant living with him, i wondered what had become of them. from the position of the doors and windows they could have had no difficulty in escaping, so, deciding that if the ostensible proprietor had deserted his property i was not called on to burn myself, i proceeded to prowl about the buildings in case he should be sheltering inside one of them. finally i ran up against him carrying an armful of tools out of a shed, and he dropped them at sight of me. "hallo! where did you spring from? blamed hard luck, isn't it?" said he. niven, for that was his name, did not appear greatly disconcerted, or was able to face his loss with enviable tranquillity. he was a lanky, thin-faced man, with cunning eyes, and i did not like the way he looked at me. "i was out on the prairie and saw the blaze. where's your hired man; and is there nothing better worth saving than these?" i asked. "i haven't seen wilkins since he woke me up," was the answer. "he shouted that the place was burning, and he'd run the horses out of the stable and on to the prairie, while i hunted up odd valuables and dressed myself. he must have done it and ridden off to the nearest ranch for help, for i haven't seen him since. the fire had got too good a hold for us to put it out." if i had hitherto entertained any doubts as to the ownership of gaspard's trail, the speaker's manner would have dissipated them. no man would, in the circumstances, have wasted time in speech had his own property been in danger; and the sight of the homestead, which i had spent the best years of my life in building, now burning without an effort being made to save it, filled me with indignation. "you're the man who used to own this place, aren't you?" asked niven, with a sidelong glance. "should have thought you would have had enough of it; but you might as well help heave these things out, now you're here." the question was innocent, if unnecessary, for i had spoken to him at the sale; but the manner in which he put it made me long to assault him, and i answered wrathfully: "i'll see you and your master burned before i move a hand!" "i'm my own master, worse luck!" said the other coolly, before he commenced to gather up his load; and then turned again as another man came up breathless. "is that you, ormesby. come to see the last of it?" he said; and i saw that the newcomer was boone, or adams, the photographer. "i don't quite know what i came for," i answered. "probably out of curiosity. it's too late to save anything, even if there were more water in the well than there used to be." boone nodded as he glanced towards the house. it was burning more fiercely than ever. the straw roof of the stable, which stood not far away, was also well alight, and we could scarcely hear each other's voices through the crackling of blazing logs and the roaring of the flame. it was moodily i watched it toss and tower, now straight aloft, now hurled earthwards by the wind in bewildering magnificence. after many a hard day's toil i had robbed myself of much needed sleep to fashion what the pitiless fire devoured, and it seemed as though i had given my blood to feed the flame, and that the hopes which had nerved me had dissipated like its smoke. "i can guess what you're feeling, but a bad failure is sometimes the best way to success. you will get over it," said boone. i was grateful, but i did not answer him, for just then a rattle of wheels broke through the roar of the conflagration, and two jolting wagons lurched into the glare. black figures on horseback followed, and a breathless man ran up. "trooper came round and warned us, and there's more behind. looks as if we'd come too late," he said. we formed the center of an excited group in a few more minutes, for niven had joined us, and, when he had answered some of the many questions, he asked one in turn. "it was my man wilkins warned you?" "i guess not," was the answer. "trooper chapleau saw the blaze on his rounds"; and, when the others had stated how the news had been passed on to them, the new owner said: "then where in the name of thunder has the fool gone?" a swift suspicion flashed upon me, and i glanced at adams; but his face was serene enough, and, when the question remained unanswered, another thought struck me. "did you see him lead the horses out?" i asked. "no," was the answer. "he was good at handling beasts, and i was way too busy to worry about him. must have done it long ago. i made sure he'd lit out to ask for assistance, when i saw the door had swung to." i twisted round on my heel. "who's coming with me to the stable, boys?" i asked. the men looked at me and then at the fire. the stable was built of the stoutest logs obtainable, packed with sod, and its roof of branches, sod, and straw piled several feet thick to keep out the frost. a wind-driven blaze eddied about one end of it, but the rest of the low edifice appeared uninjured as far as we could see it through the smoke. the glare beat upon the weather-darkened faces of the spectators, which glowed like burnished copper under it; but, if devoid of malicious satisfaction, i thought i could read a resolve not to interfere stamped on most of them. "there's nothing of yours inside, and this fellow says the teams are clear," said one. "a bigger fire wouldn't stop us if the place was ormesby's; but when the man who allows he owns it does nothing i'll not stir a finger to pull out a few forks and pails for that black thief lane." his comrades nodded, and another man said: "it's justice. boys, you'll remember the night we brought redmond home?" i knew the first speaker's statement was true enough. one and all would have freely risked their lives to assist even a stranger who had dealt fairly with them; but they were stubborn men, unused to oppression, and recent events had roused all the slow vindictiveness that lurked within them. i felt very much as they did; but, remembering something, i was not quite certain that the teams were out of the stable, and the dumb beasts had served me well. before i could speak a police trooper came up at a gallop. "hallo! what are you gaping at? can't you stir around and pull anything clear of harm's way, boys?" he shouted. "we're not a montreal fire brigade, and i forgot my big helmet," said one. "not a stir," interjected another. "we'd pull the very sod up off the corral if you'd run lane in for wholesale robbery," added a third; and it was not until the hoarse laugh which followed died away that i found my opportunity. "i'm afraid the horses are inside there, boys," i said. "it's not their fault they belong to lane, and whether you come along or not, i'm going to liberate them." there was a change in a moment. i never saw even the most unfortunate settler ill-use his beast, though all young plow oxen and half-broken broncos, besides a good many old ones, are sufficiently exasperating. "ormesby's talking now," said somebody; and there was an approving chorus. "get the poor brutes clear, anyway. coming right along!" then i started for the stable at a run, with the rest of the company hard behind me. thick smoke rolled between us and the door, and when we halted just clear of the worst of it a bright blaze shot up from the thatch. the heat scorched our faces, and one or two fell back with heads averted; but the sound of a confused trampling reached us from the building. "we've got to get in before the poor brutes are roasted, and do it mighty smartly," said somebody. that at least was evident; but the question how it was to be accomplished remained, for i recoiled, blinded and choking, at the first attempt, before i even reached the door. i had framed it, with my own hands, of stout tenoned logs, so that it would fit tightly to keep out the frost. one of the posts loosened by the fire had settled, apparently since the last person entered the building. another man went with me the second time, but though we managed to reach the handle the door remained immovable, and once more we reeled back beaten, when a strip of blazing thatch fell almost on our heads. because the roof fed it, the fire was mostly on the outside of the building. "solid as a rock," gasped my companion. "say, somebody find a lariat and we'll heave her out by the roots." a rope was found and with difficulty hitched about the handle, after which a dozen strong men grasped the slack of it. a glance at their faces, illumined by the glare, showed that the thought of the suffering beasts had roused them, and they were in earnest now. there was a heave of brawny shoulders, a straining of sinewy limbs, and the line of bodies swayed backwards as one, when a voice rose: "all together! heave your best!" i felt the straining hemp contract within my grasp. trampling feet clawed for a firmer hold on the frozen sod, and i could hear the men behind me panting heavily. the door remained fast, however, and again a breathless voice encouraged us: "this time does it! out she comes!" the rope creaked, the trampling increased, and a man behind kicked me cruelly on the ankle during his efforts; but instead of the jammed door, its handle came out, and the next moment we went down together in one struggling heap. "there was a good birch log by the granary. we'll use it for a ram," i gasped. two men brought the log, which was unusually long and heavy for that region, where the stoutest trees are small, and boone and i staggered with the butt of it into the smoke. the rest grasped the thinner end, swung it back, and drove the other forward with all the impetus they could furnish. the door creaked, but the most manifest result was the fall of a further strip of burning thatch on us. "we must manage this time," spluttered boone. "if we once let go it will be too late before anyone else takes hold again." once more the door defied us. the heat was almost stifling, the smoke thicker than ever; but, choking, panting, and dripping with perspiration, we managed to swing and guide the end of the log until the battered frame went down with a crash, and we two reeled over it into the building. the fire which traveled along the roof had eaten a portion out, but though one strip of the interior was flooded with lurid light, the smoke of a burning hay pile rolled about the rest. a horse was squealing in agony; one stall partition had been wrenched away, and another kicked to pieces; while two panic-stricken brutes blundered about the building. the rest were plunging and straining at their tethers, and there was a curious look in boone's face as he turned to me. "somebody will risk being kicked to death before we get them out. i wish we could give their owner the first chance," he said. several of the agonized beasts had been in times of loneliness almost as human friends to me. others had, in their own dumb faithful way, helped me to realize my first ambitions, and the sight of their suffering turned me savage. "do you know anything of this?" i asked. boone wheeled around on me with a menace in his eyes, but apparently mastering his temper with an effort, laughed unpleasantly. "no. take care you are not asked the same question. are you disposed to let the horses roast while we quarrel?" the latter, at least, was out of the question, and i had only paused to gather breath and consider a plan of operations, for it is by no means easy to extricate frantic beasts from a burning building. the others in the meantime were gathering around, and we set about it as best we could. at times thick smoke wreaths blew into our eyes, the heat grew insupportable, and the first horse i freed would have seized me with its teeth but that i smote it hard upon the nostrils. two men were knocked down and trampled on, another badly kicked, but amid an indescribable confusion the task was accomplished, until only one badly burned horse, and another with a broken leg, remained inside the building. "we can't leave them to grill," i said. "thorn used to keep an old shotgun inside the chop-chest lid." it was boone who brought me the weapon, and the burned horse was quickly put out of its misery; but a portion of the roof fell in as i ran towards the other. this one lay still, and, i saw, recognized me. it had carried me gallantly on many a weary ride, and was the one on which lucille haldane had leaped across the fence. i felt like a murderer when it turned its eyes on me with an almost human appeal, for all that i could do was to press the deadly muzzle against its head. the shock of the detonation shook down a shower of blazing fragments, and i had turned away with a horrible sense of guilt, when somebody shouted, "there's a man in the end stall!" the stall was hidden by the smoke, but, now that the emptied stable was quieter, a voice reached us faintly through the vapor: "won't anyone take me out of this?" several of us made a rush in that direction; but, so far as memory serves, only boone and i reached the stall, and, groping around it blindly, came upon something which resembled a human form. we lifted it between us, and the man both groaned and swore; then, staggering through the vapor, we came, blackened, burned a little, and half-asphyxiated, into the open. the rest were already outside, and, when we laid down our burden, they stood about him, panting. "you've nearly killed me between you, boys, but it wasn't your fault," he gasped. "horse fell over me when i tried to turn him loose." the half-articulate words which followed suspiciously suggested that the sufferer was cursing somebody, and i caught the name of lane before he lapsed into semi-consciousness. "it's pretty simple," one of the onlookers said. "the way ormesby fixed that door, it shut itself. he got some bones smashed, and was turned half-silly by the shock. couldn't make us hear him even if he had sense enough. my place is the nearest, and i'll take him along." i heard my name called softly, and saw boone standing apart from the rest. "i want to ask why you spoke as you did a little while ago?" he said. "i did not stop to reflect just then, but i'll hear your explanation if you care to volunteer one before i apologize," i said. "i was camped under a bluff with the wagon when i saw the blaze, and as the distance was not great, i came in on foot," was the answer. "that is the simple truth. do you believe it?" "yes," i said, for his manner impressed me. "in turn, you also hinted something." "i was giving you a warning," said boone. "you are dealing with a dangerous man, and can't you see that if there is any doubt concerning the fire's origin a charge might be worked up against you? be careful what you say; but as i see the sergeant yonder, you need not mention my presence unless it is necessary." i alluded to haldane's desire to see him, and, when he vanished, followed the rest into the presence of sergeant mackay, who, ubiquitous as usual, had mysteriously appeared. he sat motionless in his saddle, with slightly compressed lips, though his keen eyes moved along the encircling faces. it was evident that he was making an official inquiry, and the owner of the homestead was speaking. "my name is niven, late of the brandon district, and i purchased this property recently," he said. "any partners?" asked the sergeant; and i noticed a gleam of what appeared malicious satisfaction in the other's face as he answered: "no. you will find my name recorded as sole owner. all was right when i turned in about ten o'clock, but i didn't notice the time when my hired man wilkins roused me to say the house was burning. had too much to think about. can't suggest any cause for the fire, and it doesn't count much, anyway, for the result is certain. house and stable burned out--and all uninsured." "had ye any other hired man than wilkins?" interposed the sergeant; and niven answered: "no. stable didn't seem to be burning when i first got up, but wilkins said it was swept by sparks and he'd get the horses out. one of them must have knocked him down, and he was only found at the last minute." "who was the first man ye met when ye went out?" asked the sergeant. "my predecessor--ormesby," said niven. mackay appeared to meditate before he spoke again: "where did ye meet him, and what did he say?" "slipping around the corner of a shed, and he said he'd see me burnt before he stirred a hand to help," was the prompt answer. then mackay questioned several others before he turned to me. "how did ye happen to come to gaspard's trail, henry ormesby?" "i was riding out from bonaventure to intercept the freighter and saw the blaze," i answered indignantly. "i certainly refused to help niven at first, for i had little cause for goodwill towards him or the man behind him; but afterwards i saved most of his working beasts." there was a murmur of assent from the bystanders, but the sergeant, disregarding it, spoke again: "did ye meet the freighter?" "no," i said bluntly. mackay smiled. "ye did not. i passed him an hour gone by on the buffalo trail. what was your business with him?" "to ask him for a package." "all that should be easily corroborated," was the answer; and i was glad that the examination was over, for, remembering boone's warning, it appeared that my answers might give rise to unpleasant suspicions. it also struck me that, in the hurry and confusion, nobody had noticed him or remembered it if they had done so, while, somewhat strange to say, after the last brief interview i had full confidence in his statement that he knew nothing about the origin of the fire. "i'm thinking that will do in the meantime. chapleau, ye'll ride in to the depot and wire for a surgeon. now, boys, are any of ye willing to take niven home?" asked mackay. apparently none of them were willing, though at last two offers were reluctantly made. it was the only time i ever saw the prairie settlers deficient in hospitality; but the man's conduct had confirmed their suspicions as to his connection with lane, which was sufficient to prejudice the most generous. "maybe he would be comfortable if i took him along with me," mackay said dryly. thereupon the assembly broke up, and i rode back to bonaventure, reaching it with the first of the daylight, blackened and singed, while, as it happened, lucille haldane was the first person i met. "where have you been? your clothes are all burned!" she said. "gaspard's trail is burned down and i helped to save some of the horses," i answered wearily; and i never forgot the girl's first startled look. she appeared struck with a sudden consternation. it vanished in a moment, and, though she looked almost guilty, her answer was reassuring. "of course; that is just what you would do. but you are tired and must rest before you tell me about it." i was very tired, and slept until noon, when i told my story to haldane and his daughter together. the former made very few comments, but presently i came upon lucille alone, and laid my hand on her shoulder as i said: "do you know that somebody suggested it was i who burned gaspard's trail?" the girl's color came and went under my gaze; then she lifted her head and met it directly. "i--i was afraid you might be suspected, and for just a moment or two, when you first came in looking like a ghost, i did not know what to think," she said. "but it was only because you startled me so." "i would not like to think that you could believe evil against me," i said; and lucille drew herself up a little. "do not be ungenerous. as soon as i could reason clearly i knew it was quite--quite impossible." "i hope any work of that kind is," i said; and lucille haldane, turning suddenly, left me. chapter xv beauty in disguise winter passed very monotonously with us in the sod-house at crane valley. when the season's work is over and the prairie bound fast by iron frost, the man whom it has prospered spends his well-earned leisure visiting his neighbors or lounging contentedly beside the stove; but those oppressed by anxieties find the compulsory idleness irksome, and i counted the days until we could commence again in the spring. the goodwill of my neighbors made this possible, for one promised seed-wheat, to be paid for when harvest was gathered in; another placed surplus stock under my charge on an agreement to share the resultant profit, while haldane sent a large draft of young horses and cattle he had hardly hands enough to care for, under a similar arrangement. i accepted these offers the more readily because, while prompted by kindness, the advantages were tolerably equal to all concerned. so the future looked slightly brighter, and i hoped that better times would come, if we could hold out sufficiently long. the debt i still owed lane, however, hung as a menace over me, while although--doubtless because it suited him--he did not press me for payment, the extortionate interest was adding to it constantly. some of my neighbors were in similar circumstances, and at times we conferred together as to the best means of mutual protection. in the meantime the fire at gaspard's trail was almost forgotten--or so, at least, it seemed. haldane, much against his wishes, spent most of the winter at bonaventure; but his elder daughter remained in montreal. boone, the photographer, appeared but once, and spent the night with us. he looked less like the average englishman than ever, for frost and snow-blink had darkened his skin to an indian's color, and when supper was over i watched him languidly as we lounged smoking about the stove. sally steel had managed to render the sod-house not only habitable but comfortable in a homely way, and though she ruled us all in a somewhat tyrannical fashion, she said it was for our good. "there's a little favor i want to ask of you, ormesby, but i suppose you are all in one another's confidence?" said boone. "yes," i answered. "we are all, in one sense, partners, with a capital of about ten dollars, and are further united by the fear of a common enemy." boone laughed silently, though his face was a trifle sardonic. "that is as it should be, and you may have an opportunity for proving the strength of the combination before very long. i have, as i once told you, a weakness for horses and cattle, and i couldn't resist purchasing some at a bargain a little while ago. i want you to take charge of them for me. here are particulars, and my idea of an equitable agreement." he laid a paper on the table, and i glanced through it. the conditions were those usual in arrangements of the kind, which were not then uncommon, but though cattle and horses were lamentably cheap, they could not be obtained for nothing, and the total value surprised me. "we are as honest as most people down this way, and we take one another's word without any use for spilling ink," observed the irrepressible sally. "i once heard of a grasping storekeeper being badly beaten over a deal in butter by a clever young lady," said boone; and steel laughed, while his sister frowned. "he deserved it, but you seem to know just everything," she said. "some people are born clever, and some handsome; but it is really not my fault," said boone, with a smile at sally. "for instance, i know what ormesby is thinking. he is wondering where i got the money to pay for those beasts." the laugh was against me, but i answered frankly: "that was in my thoughts; but i also wondered what i had done to merit the trouble you have taken to do me a kindness." "don't flatter yourself," said boone. "it is a matter of business, and equally possible that i wished to do some other person the opposite. you must decide to-night, because i have a new assortment of beautifiers and cosmetics in my wagon which i must set about vending to-morrow. they would not, of course, be of any use to miss sally, but i am going on to the swedish settlement where the poor people need them." it was not delicate flattery, but boone was quick at judging his listener's capacity, and it pleased miss steel--the more so because a certain scandinavian damsel was her principal rival in the question of comeliness. she drew herself up a little, while boone smiled whimsically. "you know it is true," he said. the man had always interested me. he was at home anywhere, and his tongue equally adept at broad prairie raillery or finely modulated english. yet one could see that there was a shadow upon him. "you need have no compunction, ormesby. i really made only one successful attempt at housebreaking in my life," he said. "do you accept the offer?" "yes, with many thanks; though i don't quite see why you make it in writing," i said. "there are, however, a good many other things i don't comprehend just now, and sometimes i feel that i am being moved here and there blindly to suit other persons' unknown purposes. the position does not please me." boone laughed. "there is something in the fancy. you are the king's bishop, and i'm not sure that as yet even the players quite know their own game. of course you are aware that lane holds a power of attachment against you?" "at present there is nothing but the prairie sod to attach, though i don't see why he does not at once grab as much as he is entitled to of that," i said. "if i get enough time i may be able to pay him off after harvest." "i hope you will," was boone's answer; and, changing the topic, he entertained us with the quaintest anecdotes. some time had passed since that evening, and spring had come suddenly, when i commenced my plowing. hitherto little wheat had been grown so far west, but the soil was good, and i knew that sooner or later there would be grain elevators in crane valley. though the sub-soil was still frozen, the black clods that curled in long waves from the mold-board's side were steaming under the april sun; and as i tramped down the quarter-mile furrow my spirits rose with the freshness of the spring. it was good to be up and doing again, and the coming months of strain and effort would help me to forget. thorn and steel, who were also plowing, shouted jests as they passed, and it was with a contentment long strange to us we rested at noon. some distance divided the breaking from the house, and we lay on the warm grasses, basking in the radiance of the cloudless sun over our simple meal. the whole prairie was flooded with it, the air sweet and warm, and we recommenced our task with pulses which throbbed in unison with that of reawakening nature. the long months of darkness and deathlike cold had gone, green blades presaging the golden ears would soon shoot upwards from every furrow, and one drank in the essence of hope eternal in every breath of air. anxiety faded into insignificance, and one rejoiced in the mere possession of physical strength, while the tender greenness checkering the frost-nipped sod testified again that seed time and harvest should not fail so long as the world rolled onward from darkness into light. we came home more cheerful than we had been for months, but i felt an instinctive foreboding when i saw cotton talking to sally beside the corral fence. she was apparently bantering him, but there was satisfaction in his face, as, after some jests of hers, he glanced at the stripes on his sleeve. "i guess he's much too proud to look at you. they've made him a corporal!" said sally. there was a contrast between us. spring plowing is not cleanly work, and the mire which clung about our leggings had also freely spattered our old jean overalls. cotton was immaculate in new uniform, and sat, a trim, soldierly figure, on his freshly caparisoned horse. "here is a note for you from bonaventure," he said. "i was riding in to the railroad with some dispatches and to bring out our pay when miss haldane asked me to give it to you." i saw a faint sparkle in sally's eyes at the mention of bonaventure, as i said: "it was very good of you to ride so far round. your superiors are punctilious, are they not?" "with the exception of mackay, who's away, they don't leave one much discretion," said the corporal. "still, i have time to spare, and don't suppose anybody will be much the wiser. in any case, miss haldane said the note was urgent, and--though having to call at the reservation i might have passed this way on my homeward journey--i came at once." the missive brought a frown to my face. "our hired men are busy, and corporal cotton will kindly take you this," it ran. "father, who went east for a day or two, writes me to let you know immediately that lane is coming over shortly to attach your horses and cattle." i saw at once that if the money-lender seized our working beasts in the midst of plowing, when nobody had a team to spare, our prospects of a harvest would be ruined. however, i reflected with grim satisfaction that the beasts were not mine, and that every man is entitled to protect the property entrusted to him. "read that," i said, passing it to thorn. "you had better start after supper and let the south-side boys know. i'll warn the others, and it strikes me that lane will have his work cut out to drive off a single head." we had forgotten the bearer of the message, though once or twice i heard sally's voice and cotton's laugh; but on turning towards the house i saw he had backed his horse away from the corral and was somewhat dubiously regarding the fence. sally leaned against it watching him with an assumption of ironical admiration. "i'll see that you keep your promise if i win," he said; and the girl laughed mockingly. "if you don't i'll try not to cry over you," she retorted; and i guessed the madcap had made some wager with him that he could not leap the fence. sally afterwards declared penitently that she never fancied he would attempt it; but i could see by the lad's face he meant to take the risk. "your horse is not fresh enough, and you'll certainly break your neck!" i shouted. cotton glanced over his shoulder, then gathered up his bridle, while, as i ran towards him, sally's heart must have failed her, for she called out: "don't! i'll pay forfeit!" we were both too late. the corporal had touched the beast with the spurs, and man and horse were flying towards the tall and well-braced fence. i held my breath as i watched, for i had nailed the birch poles home securely, and had not much faith in the beast's leaping powers. it launched itself into the air, then there was a crash, and the top rail flew into splinters, while horse and rider parted company. the former, after rolling over, scrambled to its feet, but the uniformed figure smote the ground with a distressful thud and lay very still. sally screamed, and must have climbed the fence, for when we had run around by the slip rails she was bending over the limp figure stretched upon the sod. her eyes were wide with terror. "he is dead, and i have killed him," she said. i bent down with misgivings, for cotton did not move, and there was something peculiar about his eyes. "can you hear us? are you badly hurt?" i asked. "what's that?" he answered drowsily; and i gathered courage, remembering symptoms noticeable in similar cases; but thorn had administered a dose of prohibited whisky before he became intelligible. i was not wholly sorry for sally, but seeing that she had been sufficiently punished, i said: "there are no bones broken, and his pulse is regaining strength." cotton's scattered senses were evidently returning, for he looked up, saying: "i'm only shaken, miss steel, and i won the bet. don't be in a hurry, ormesby; i hardly fancy i could get up just yet." we waited several minutes, then, forcibly refusing miss steel's assistance, carried him into the house and laid him on a makeshift couch in our general-room. his color was returning, but his face was awry with pain, and, so he expressed it, something had given way inside his back. it was a dismal termination to an inspiriting day, and the old depression returned with double force as i glanced at the untasted meal on the table, at lucille haldane's note, and around the disordered room. sally looked badly frightened, steel very grim, and cotton seemed to be suffering. "it will pass presently, and you had better get your supper," he said. "i must try to eat a morsel, for i have a long way to ride to-night." "you are not going to move off that couch until morning at least," i said. but the corporal answered: "i simply must. is the horse all right?" "doesn't seem much the worse," said steel; and sally held a teacup to the corporal's lips, and afterwards coaxed him very prettily to eat a little. seeing this, the rest of us attacked the cold supper, for we had duties that must be attended to. returning to the house some little time later, i found that sally had disappeared and cotton was standing upright. he moved a few paces, and then halted, leaning heavily on the table, while his face grew gray with pain. "lie down at once. you are not fit to move," i said. "it means degradation and heaven knows what besides unless i can reach the depot to-night," he said. "mackay is away, and the other man's a cast-iron martinet, while i have just got my stripes and a hint of something better. you see we are not supposed to undertake private errands when under definite orders, and there are special reports and a receipt for the pay in my wallet." he made another attempt to reach the door, then staggered, and, grasping his arm, i settled him with some difficulty once more on the couch. "you are right. there's nothing left but to face the inevitable," he said, trying to check a groan. i forgot my own anxieties in my regret. "i am very sorry this should have happened," i said. "you were far too generous; but can't one of us take in the papers and get the money?" cotton tried to smile, though his fingers twitched. "miss haldane asked me; and it would be no use. they wouldn't give you the money, and if they did, how would that get over the fact that i'm lying here helpless? why couldn't it have happened on the return journey?" "did you tell miss haldane you were running a risk?" i asked. "would one naturally do so when she asked a favor?" he answered, with a trace of indignation. it was of course absurd of corporal cotton, but i felt very sorry for him when he laid his head down with a groan, and i subsequently surmised that sally had overheard part, at least, of the conversation, for when the lad, who had perhaps not wholly recovered from the weakness of the shock, sank into sleep, she called me. "it's all my fault, and i'll never forgive myself; but i never guessed he'd rush the fence," she said. "they couldn't put him in prison?" "they might turn him out of the service, which, in his eyes, would be worse," i answered dryly. "it should be a lesson to you, sally. you can't help being pretty, but that is no reason why you should so often lead some unfortunate man into difficulties." sally's penitent expression vanished, and there was a flash in her eyes. "you are so foolish, all of you, and i guess you needn't look wise, harry ormesby. he is perhaps a little worse than the rest--and that's why one likes him. when he wakes, you and charlie have just got to take those tight things off him and put him in your berth. if anybody wants him the next day or two they'll have to tackle me." we did so presently, and, after seeing that our patient was comfortable, sally returned, wearing his uniform tunic. "how does this fit me?" she asked. steel looked angry, and i grew thoughtful. nobody who knew her was, as a rule, astonished at sally's actions, but she asked the question soberly, with no trace of mischief. "do you wish me to say that you would look well in anything?" i asked. "i don't. you can tell lies enough when you trade horses," she answered tartly. "it's a plain question--how does this thing fit me?" "tolerably well," and i surveyed her critically. "it is a trifle large, but if you don't draw it in too much at the waist it wouldn't fit you badly. are you going to turn police trooper, sally?" miss steel was not generally bashful, but she looked a trifle confused as she answered: "don't ask any more fool questions." i went out soon afterwards to overhaul a plow under a shed, and had spent considerable time over it, when steel approached with a lantern. "have you seen anything of sally?" he asked. "no," i answered carelessly. "what mischief has she been contriving now?" "that's just what i'm anxious to know; that, and where the corporal's horse is," he said. "they're both missing, and cotton's fast asleep. i"--and steel used a few illegal expletives before he continued--"i can't find his uniform either." "it must be somewhere. you can't have looked properly," i said; and steel restrained himself with an effort. "you can try yourself, and i'd give a hundred dollars, if i had it, to see you find it," he said. i hurriedly left the plow, but though we hunted everywhere could discover no trace of the missing uniform. "i didn't think we would," said the harassed brother, with a groan of dismay. "she's--well, the lord only knows what sally would do if she took the notion, and there's no shirking the trouble. i've got to find out if she has the whole blame outfit on." "i'll leave you to settle that point," i said; and hearing the locked door of sally's portion of the house wrenched open and garments being hurled about, i surmised that steel was prosecuting his inquiries. he flung the split door to with a crash when he came out, leaving, as i saw by a brief glimpse, ruin behind him, and he grew very red in the face as he looked at me. "it will be a mighty relief when she marries somebody," he said gloomily. "the only comfort is that you're a sensible man, and one could trust you, ormesby. you will never breathe a word of this. there's no use trying to catch her, for she can get as much out of a beast as any man." i pledged myself willingly, smothering a wild desire to laugh; and, as it happened, it was i who met the truant riding home very wearily two days later. her mount was a chestnut, while cotton's horse was gray, and there was a bundle strapped before her. still, except for a spattering of mire, she was dressed in a manner befitting a young lady, and actually blushed crimson when i accosted her. "where have you been, sally, and where did you get the horse?" "in to the railroad; and i borrowed him from carsley's wife. they'll send the corporal's over," she said. "i'm very tired, harry ormesby. won't you get me supper instead of worrying me?" silence seemed best, and i could not resist the appeal, and so hurried back to set about the supper; while what passed between brother and sister i do not know, though when they came in together sally appeared triumphant and steel in a very bad humor. "i'm going to see whether you have let the patient starve. you'll come along with me," she said, when she came out of her own quarters, with no trace of the journey about her. we entered the lean-to shed, which steel and i occupied together, and found cotton better in health, though as depressed as he had been all day. sally held out a bag and a handful of documents towards him. "there are your papers and money. now all you have to do is to get well again," she said demurely. there was no mistaking the relief in the corporal's face, and he positively clutched at the articles she handed him. "you don't know what this has saved me from. but how did you get them?" a flush of tell-tale color crept into sally's cheeks, and i noticed that her voice was not quite steady as she answered him. "you must solemnly promise never to ask that again, or to tell anyone you were not at the depot yourself. nobody will ask you, we fixed it up so well. now promise, before i take them back again." the lad did so, and sally glanced at me. "if harry ormesby ever tells you i'll poison him." i do not think corporal cotton ever discovered sally's part, or who personated him, though he apparently suspected both steel and myself; but when we went out together i turned to the girl: "just one question, and then we'll forget it. how did you manage at the depot, sally?" miss steel avoided my glance, but she laughed. "it was very dark, there was only a half-trimmed lamp, and the agent was 'most asleep. it's pretty easy, anyway, to fool a man," she said. chapter xvi the defense of crane valley it was two days before cotton could be sent to the police outpost in a wagon, but, so far as we could gather, the officer temporarily in charge took it for granted he had been injured on his homeward ride around by the indian reserve which would have led him through crane valley. some time, however, passed before he was fit for the saddle. meanwhile steel and i discussed lane's latest move, and the best means of counteracting it. "if we knew just what he wanted it would give us a better show, but we don't, and lane doesn't tell anybody," my comrade observed gloomily. "it's tolerably clear that he wants crane valley," said i. and steel proceeded: "then why doesn't he sail in and take all he's entitled to?" "a part would not satisfy him when he wants it all," i said. "if he seizes the working beasts and breeding stock now we shall be left helpless for the season. he will take just enough to cripple me, and leave me still in debt, while it would be useless to try to raise money to pay him off until the question of the railroad is settled." "will it ever be built?" asked steel. "it must be, some day; but whether that will be before we are ruined or buried, heaven only knows," i said. "haldane seems to think the time will not be long, and judging by his tactics, lane agrees with him. still, the newspapers take an opposite view." "if it isn't"--and steel frowned at the harness he was mending--"what will we poor fools do?" "stand lane off as long as possible, and then strike for the mines in british columbia. that, however, concerns the future, and we have first to decide what we will do if lane arrives to-morrow." steel's face grew somber, but he waited until i added: "then, because they're not my beasts as yet, if he can take them by main force--and i almost hope he'll try--he is welcome to do so." "now you're talking," and steel smote a dilapidated saddle until the dust leaped forth from it. "the law on debt liens is mighty mixed, but i figure that the man who can keep hold has the best of it. jacques, gordon, and the rest will stand by us solid, and i'd work two years for nothing to get a fair chance at lane." we both determined on resistance; but it struck me that ours was a very forlorn hope, and that the odds were heavily against two plain farmers, equally devoid of legal knowledge and of capital, who had pitted themselves against a clever, unscrupulous man with the command of apparently an unlimited amount of money. lane did not come next day, nor the following one. indeed, a number passed without bringing any word of him, and because idleness meant disaster, we perforce relaxed our vigilance and resumed our plowing. i had just yoked a pair of oxen to a double plow one morning, when boone's wagon came lurching up as fast as two whitened horses could haul it across the prairie. "lane came in with a hard-looking band of rascals by the pacific mail last night," he said. "they had got whisky somewhere, and smashed the hotel windows because imrie wouldn't get them supper in the middle of the night. he would start as soon as they were partly sober. are you prepared to protect your property, ormesby?" "i am ready to protect other people's, which will suit me a good deal better in this instance," i said, with a certain satisfaction that the time for open resistance had come at last, though lane had cunningly chosen a season when every man's presence was necessary at his own homestead. "don't count too much on that," said boone. "if you have no documentary evidence, even the actual owners might have difficulty in substantiating your claim. now you see why i demanded a written agreement. it strikes me that in this case possession is everything." "if i can keep whole in body until sundown, possession will remain with us," i said. "but there is no time to spare for talking. it will take hours to bring my neighbors up." "of course you arranged with haldane to send you assistance?" said boone; and hurled out an expletive when i answered stolidly: "that is just what i did not do. i do not even know whether he is at home. it is not necessary to drag all one's friends into a private quarrel." "goodness knows why you are so unwarrantably proud, and it is not worth while wasting time over that question now," said boone. "roll up your thick-headed stockmen. i'm going on to bonaventure for the one man whose presence would be worth a hundred of them." he lashed his horses as he spoke, and i roused myself to action, while long before his wagon dipped over the rim of the prairie thorn had set out at a gallop to bring our neighbors in. a neighbor may dwell from one to ten leagues away in that country. this left only steel and me to hold crane valley, with the exception of sally. the girl absolutely refused to leave us, and it may not have been by accident that several heavy-handled brushes lay convenient beside the stove. the stock were driven off as far as we dare follow them across the prairie, and we hoped they would remain unseen in a hollow; the working horses were made fast in the stable; and when a few head of pedigree cattle had been secured in the corral, we could only sit down and wait the siege. i spent several hours perched most uncomfortably on the roof with a pair of glasses; but though the day was clear, nothing appeared above the rim of the prairie. it spread all around the horizon in low rolling rises, empty and desolate. my eyes grew dazzled, the continued use of the glasses produced a distressful headache; but still nothing moved on either rise or level, and it was a relief when at last sally hailed me: "come down and get your dinner; scenery won't feed anybody." i had forgotten there was such a thing as food, and my throat and lips were dry; but on descending i was surprised to find myself capable of making an excellent meal. "you'll feel considerably better after that," said sally, who watched our efforts with much approval. "i guess you have forgotten you had no breakfast, either of you." "that's so," assented her brother. "it's the first time i ever forgot it in my life. say, what are you going to do with that big hasp-bar, sally?" miss steel's movements were perhaps a little nervous, but she was evidently not troubled by timidity. "i figured if anybody wanted to come poking in here it might keep them out--if it was nicely warmed," she said. "you must do nothing rash; and you must keep out of harm's way, sally," i said sternly. "they would be justified in seizing my household property." "there's mighty little of it." and miss steel glanced around the room with contempt. "do you figure lane would come out hundreds of miles for your old crockery? anything that's pretty round this place is mine, and i'm anxious to see the man who's going to take it from me." i looked at the excited girl and then at her brother, who shook his head in signal that further remonstrance would be useless. my ideas respecting women had changed of late, and i somewhat resented the fact that they would not be content to sit still and be worshiped, but must insist on playing an active, and often a leading, part in all that happened. "when sally has made up her mind there's no use for anybody to talk," said steel. i had hardly mounted to the roof again before a line of diminutive objects straggled up above the horizon, and i called down: "they're coming!" "which way?" was the eager question; and steel stamped when i answered moodily: "from the south." "lane's outfit. can't you see the others?" he shouted. i swept the glasses around the circumference of the prairie, and my voice was thick with disappointment as i answered: "no." "then you and i will have all we can do; and i wish to the lord sally were anywhere else," said steel. the diminutive figures rapidly resolved themselves into mounted men, with a wagon behind them, but still all the rest of the prairie was empty, and each time steel asked the question: "can't you see them yet?" i grew more doggedly savage as i answered: "no." at last, when the money-lender's party were close at hand, i called out that three horsemen were just visible in the north. "that's gordon; jacques and the rest can't be here for a long while. it's time to come down," said steel. i came down, guessing that lane, being on a lower level, could not see our allies, and waited with steel, apparently unarmed, though we had weapons handy, in the space between the house and the stable. sally had disappeared inside the dwelling, and i trusted that she would remain there. presently, amid a rattle of gear and a confused trampling, a band of men rode up to the homestead and ranged themselves in rude order on each side of a wagon, some of them yelling in imitation of the american cowboy as they wheeled. they were unkempt, dirty, and dissolute in appearance, and i was not altogether surprised to see that most of them were english or americans. one finds very little errant rascality on the canadian prairie, perhaps because our money is very hardly earned, and there are few people worth exploiting there; but odd specimens exported from the great republic and from the old country by disgusted friends gravitate towards the smaller western cities when they find life in the waste too hard, and lane had evidently collected some of the worst of them. he sat in the wagon, smoking, and actually smiled at me. "kind of surprise party, isn't it, ormesby?" he said. "i've come round to collect what i can in accordance with the notice served on you. here's a wallet full of papers, and this gentleman represents legal authority. he had a partner, but we lost him. now, i've no personal feeling against you, and won't give you any trouble if it can be avoided." strange to say, i believed he spoke no more than the truth, and regarded us dispassionately as merely a source from which a little profit might be wrung. neither steel nor i, however, could look at the matter with equal calmness. we were standing for our rights, and ready to strike for shelter and daily bread, while the memory of former wrongs and a fierce revolt against the rich man's oppression fired our blood. nevertheless, i remembered that it was necessary to gain time, and answered as coolly as i could: "in the first place, the stock and horses belong to my neighbors, and in the second, you will be overstepping limits if you violently break into any part of my homestead. neither does the law allow any private individual to gather a band of ruffians and forcibly seize his debtor's property." lane probed his cigar with slow deliberateness. "you are growing quite smart, ormesby; but isn't it a pity you didn't display your acumen earlier? i don't know that a stable can be considered a dwelling under the homestead regulations, and there's nothing to prevent any man from hiring assistance to drive home sequestrated cattle. it is this gentleman's business to seize them, not mine. neither is it clear how far a proved agreement to feed another person's stock frees them of a lien for debt. have you got any in writing?" it was evident that, in homely parlance, my adversary held the best end of the stick. the administration of justice is necessarily somewhat rough-and-ready in the west, and i saw that the representative of legal authority was at least two-thirds drunk. i also had little doubt that lane's mercenaries would act independently of him; while if they exceeded legal limits there would be only our testimony to prove it against a dozen witnesses. possession was evidently everything. lane had possibly guessed my thoughts, for he said: "don't be mad enough to start a circus, ormesby. we have come a long way for the beasts, and mean to get them. can't you see that we could beat you if it came to testimony? and i don't mind admitting that these rascals are not particular." his tranquillity enraged me, but i managed to answer him: "if you drive a hoof off you will have to defend your action against richer men than i." "well, i'll take my chances. it would cost them piles of money, and they would gain nothing then," he said. "say, officer, hadn't you better begin?" "gotsh any papersh to prove objection?" demanded that individual, turning to me. and i took no pains to hide my disgust as i answered: "if i had i should not trouble to show them to you." steel, however, broke in: "we have. i'll show you a receipt for so many beasts to be fattened for roland adams." "whersh you keep them?" demanded the other. "where you won't find them; 'way back on the prairie," steel answered triumphantly. it was a blunder, for the other, who had a little shrewdness left, straightened himself. "then all the beastsh heah belong to someone else," he said, with a tipsy leer, and waved his hand to the rest. "no papersh worth a shent. whasher foolin' for? we'll just walk into the stable." several men sprang from their saddles, but steel reached the door ahead of them, and stood with his back against it, swinging a great birch staff. "nobody comes in here," he said. i was at his side the next moment with a keen hay-fork, and the men halted in a semi-circle at the sight of our grim faces. "these points will reach anybody within six feet," i said. "better quit fooling while your hide's whole. there's 'most a dozen of us," said one, while another criticised my personal appearance in uncomplimentary terms. one or two in the background advised their comrades as to how we might best be maimed, but stood fast themselves, for steel was big and brawny, and looked coolly murderous as he balanced the heavy staff; while whoever looked at me did so over the twin points of steel. the interlude lasted at least a minute, and i listened with strained attention for the thud of hoofs. gordon could not be far off, but he remained invisible behind a low rise, even if the buildings had not obscured our view. then a newcomer shoved his way through the rest, and i saw that he was the genuine article as he stood before me in montana cattle-rider's dress. "it's a mighty poor show you're making, boys," he said contemptuously. "stand out of my way. you can pick up the pieces when i've done with them." he danced up and down a few paces and yelled, either to bewilder or to impress us, and i was conscious of a grim amusement, while steel watched him narrowly. then, for the man had spirit enough, he leaped at steel like a panther, with something in his hand that twinkled. he was, however, a second too late, for the birch staff met him in the center of his face, and, falling like a log, he lay where he fell. steel deliberately snapped the knife beneath his heel, and lane shouted something as my comrade said: "the next man i down at that trick will get his skull smashed in." there was a wrathful cry from the others, which convinced me that if we took our eyes off them for an instant the rush would come; but they hesitated, and steel, standing poised with one foot forward and baleful eyes, made the staff whistle round his head. "you're a mighty long time beginning. who's next--or maybe you only brought one man along?" he said. "where's that blamed officer? i guess this is his job," said one; but the worthy mentioned drew further back from the edge of the group. "deputsh you my authority. thish not a house. only beastsh live in stables," he explained. "better get it over. sail in!" said one of the biggest, and there was a shout of "look out!" from steel. four or five men made a rush upon us, and, not wishing to inflict lethal injuries unless my life were threatened, i had barely time to reverse the fork before they were within striking distance. another reeled backwards headlong beneath the staff, and, knowing that a thrust is more effective and harder to evade than a blow, i used the long-hafted fork, blunt-end foremost, as a pike with considerable success. the struggle continued for perhaps a minute, and was sharp while it lasted. several times a panting man got within my guard, and steel brought him down; but i was struck heavily, and had only a blurred vision of waving arms, scowling faces, and the whirling staff, while the air seemed filled with discordant shouts of encouragement from those outside. either by sheer force of desperation, or by the power of better weapons, we wore them out, and the group broke up. one or two limped badly as they straggled back, some swore, and there was blood on the faces and garments of the rest. "one fellow got me badly on the chest," said steel, who breathed heavily, and i was conscious of several painful spots; and when i had recovered breath i saw that lane had drawn his wagon back some distance, and was apparently upbraiding his bodyguard in no measured terms. "jump clear!" cried steel presently, and i sprang aside a moment too late, for an exultant shout went up when a heavy billet struck me on the head. i felt the blood trickle warm and sticky into one eye, and i fell against the door feeling faint and sick, then stiffened myself again, with the fork held points foremost this time. lane, it seemed, had lost control of his followers, and would doubtless rely on hard swearing to protect himself from unfortunate consequences, for i now suspected there would be bloodshed unless help arrived very shortly. "they're going for the house, and sally's inside there," cried steel; and for the first time i remembered that the dwelling was unprotected, and feared that the girl had not slipped away, as she might have done by a rear window. one of lane's men reached the threshold before we did, and three or four others followed hard upon his heels. the door was wide open, and i sincerely trusted that sally had made her escape. she had not, however, for the handle of a long brush swung out, and the first ruffian who rushed at the entrance staggered backwards against the comrade behind him. steel flung him headlong the next moment; the rest yielded passage before the tines of the fork, and we sprang into the house, while our enemy's reinforcements came up at a run. so far we had succeeded better than might have been expected, but our adversaries were growing furious, and the defense of our property no longer appeared the main question. the girl had dropped the brush and grasped a red-ended iron bar. "give it to me, and reach down that rifle, sally," i gasped, and while steel dragged up furniture for a barricade, the rest, not knowing its magazine was empty, recoiled before the winchester muzzle. "i'll be through in another minute. keep them out," steel said. a brief respite followed, for the iron was glowing still, and our enemies' supply of missiles was evidently exhausted; but as we waited, wondering what would happen next, i heard a beat of hoofs, and sally cried out triumphantly as three well-mounted men swept up at a gallop. "ride over them!" shouted somebody. warning cries went up, there was a scattering of lane's ruffians, and the leading horseman pulled up his beast just outside the door. he was dripping with perspiration, bespattered all over, and his horse was white with lather. "couldn't get through earlier. jacques' boys are away, but we sent a man to look for them, and he'll bring them along," he said. we were very glad to see rancher gordon and his sturdy followers, though it was bad news he brought. further reinforcements could hardly arrive in time to be of service, and where we had expected more than a dozen we must be content with three. meanwhile, lane's men had mounted and were trotting off across the prairie. "they have probably gone in search of the loose stock. come in. we have got to talk over our next step," i said. the newcomers did so, and we were all glad of a breathing space. my head was somewhat badly cut, several purple bruises adorned my comrade's countenance, and the rest had ridden a long way in furious haste. at first the conference was conducted in half-breathless gasps, then the voices deepened into a sonorous ring, and i can recall the intent bronzed faces turned towards me, the thoughtful pauses when each speaker had aired his views, and how the slanting sunlight beat into the partly shadowed room. last of all rancher gordon spoke: "we are waiting to hear your notions, ormesby." "the stable and corral must be held at any cost," i said, smearing my hands as i tried to clear my eye, while red drops splashed from them on to the table. "while that ought to be possible, we are hardly strong enough to force a fight in the open unless it is necessary. lane's rascals may not find the stock, and may only be trying to draw us off, so my decision is to remain here. if they are successful we can see them from the roof, and must run the risk of taking their plunder from them. should we fail we could follow them when our friends turn up." "that's about my notion. we'll see you through with it," said gordon quietly. we had waited a considerable time before steel hailed us from the roof that he could see our enemies riding south behind a bunch of cattle, and we mounted forthwith. there were now three rifles among us, but we had agreed these were not to be used unless somebody fired upon us. riders and cattle dipped into a hollow, and we had covered several miles before we sighted them again. lane and the representative of authority no longer accompanied them. the whole body wheeled around and halted when we came up. there was sweet grass in the hollow, so the cattle halted too, and for a space we sat silent, looking at one another. i dare not risk a blunder in face of such odds, though i determined to make an effort to recover the stock. "you make us tired," said the american, whose face was partly covered by a dirty rag. "go to perdition, before we make you!" he waved his arm around the horizon, as though to indicate where the place in question lay, and i edged my horse a little nearer to him. he was the leading spirit, and it seemed possible that we might perhaps disperse the rest if i could dismount him. the man had evidently recovered from steel's blow. "we are not going away without the cattle, and you can see there are more of us now, while two proved too many for you before," i said, still decreasing the distance between us; but my adversary perhaps divined my intention, for a short barrel glinted in his hand when he raised it. "it's going to be different this time. keep back while you're safe," he said. there was apparently no help for it, and i was not quite certain he would shoot, so balancing the long fork, lance fashion, i tightened my grip on the bridle, when gordon drove his horse against me and gripped it violently. "hold on; the boys are coming!" he said. friends and foes alike had been too intent to notice anything beyond each other during the past few minutes; but now a drumming of hoofs rose from behind the rise which shut in the hollow. then a drawn-out line of mounted men came flying down the slope, and steel flung his hat up with a triumphant yell. "it's the bonaventure boys," he said. "there's adams and miss haldane leading them." the american looked in my direction, and raised his hand in ironical salute. "i'm sorry to miss a clinch with you. it would have been a good one, but i can't stay," he said. "get on, you skulking coyotes. unless you're smart in lighting out those cow drivers won't leave much of you." his subordinates took the hint, and bolted down the hollow as hard as they could ride, while i drew a deep breath and turned towards the rescue party. chapter xvii the raising of the siege they were splendid horsemen who rode to our assistance, and their beasts as fine; but a slight figure led them a clear length ahead. in another minute gordon's men copied their leader, who trotted forward with his broad hat at his knee, and i rode bareheaded with--though i had forgotten this--an ensanguined face, to greet the mistress of bonaventure. she was glowing with excitement, and i had never seen anything equal the fine damask in her cheeks. she started at the sight of me, and then impulsively held out a well-gloved hand. "i hope you are not badly hurt?" she said. "only cut a trifle," i answered, gripping the little hand fervently. "you have done a great deal for us, and no doubt prevented serious bloodshed. it was wonderfully----" "don't. it was not in any way wonderful. my father was absent when mr. boone brought me the news, and, as you know, i am responsible for the prosperity of bonaventure in his absence. our cattle were in jeopardy." she ceased abruptly, and grew pale, while i felt ashamed when i saw the cause of it. my hands had been reddened from clearing my eyes, and glove and wrist were foul with crimson stains. courageous as she was, the girl had sickened at the sight of them. "i can't excuse myself. you must try to forgive me," i said. "please don't look at it." lucille haldane promptly recovered from the shock of repulsion. "how could you help it--and you were hurt protecting our cattle. i can see the brand on some," she said. "it was very foolish of me to show such weakness." "you must come back to the house with me at once and rest," i said. "i'm indebted to you, boys, but the best way you could help me would be to drive those cattle into the corral. then, for you are probably tired and hungry, come up and see what sally steel can find for you." the newcomers hesitated, and inquired whether they might not pursue and chastise our adversaries instead, but lucille haldane rebuked them. "you will do just what rancher ormesby tells you," she said; and, turning towards me, added: "i am ready to go with you." lucille was still a trifle pale, and wondering, because i could not see myself, that one with so much spirit should be affected by such a small thing, i presently dismounted and led her horse by the bridle. i had torn off the offending glove, and when we halted by the corral would have removed the stains from the wrist with a handkerchief. "no," said lucile, snatching her hand away just too late, with a gesture of dismay, "do not touch it with that, please." then i remembered that the handkerchief had last been used to rub out the fouled breach of a gun. the girl looked at the blur of red and black which resulted from my efforts, and frowned, then broke out into a rippling laugh. "beatrice said your ways were refreshingly primitive, and i think she was right," she said. the laugh put heart into me, but i still held the bridle with an ensanguined hand close beside the little smeared one; and so, followed by as fine an escort as a princess could desire, we came to my door side by side. however, when i helped lucille haldane from the saddle i had misgivings concerning the reception steel's sister might accord her. sally's loyalty to her friends was worthy of her name; but she was stanchly democratic, more than a little jealous, and not addicted to concealing her prejudices. the fears were groundless. sally was waiting in the doorway she had defended, and while i hoped for the best, the two stood a moment face to face. they were both worthy of inspection, though the contrast between them was marked. haldane's daughter was slight and slender, with grace and refinement stamped equally on every line of her delicately chiseled face and on the curve of her dainty figure down to the little feet beneath the riding skirt. sally was round and ruddy of countenance, stalwart in frame, with the carriage of an amazon, and, i think, could have crushed lucille with a grip of her arms; but both had an ample portion of the spirit of their race. then steel's sister, stepping forward, took both the girl's hands within her own, stooped a little, and kissed her on each cheek, after which she drew her into the house, leaving her brother and myself equally astonished. he looked at me whimsically, and though i tried, i could not frown. "that's about the last thing i expected. how does it strike you?" he said. "afraid of committing yourself? well, i don't mind allowing i expected most anything else. all women are curious, but there's no understanding sally." we were not left long to wonder, for miss steel reappeared in the doorway. "you two still standing there as if there were nothing to do! get a big fire on in the outside stove and kill about half the chickens. you're not to come in, harry ormesby, until i've fixed you so you're fit to be seen." i feared that lucille heard her, and wondered what she thought. our mode of life was widely different from that at bonaventure and from what would have been for me possible had i not fallen into the hands of lane. we slew the chickens with the assistance of the newcomers, and sat down on the grass to pluck them, a fowl for every guest, although i was slightly uncertain whether that would be sufficient. there is a similarity between the very old and the very new, and ancient poets perhaps best portray the primitive, sometimes heroic, life of effort the modern stockrider and plowman lead on the prairie. "why did you bring miss haldane, boone? you should have known better than to allow her to run the slightest risk," i said, on opportunity; and the photographer smiled enigmatically. "miss haldane did not ask my permission, and i am doubtful whether anybody could have prevented her. she said she was mistress of bonaventure, and the way the men stirred when she told them was proof enough that one could believe her." presently sally came out with a roll of sticking-plaster, and, while every bachelor present offered assistance and advice, she proceeded to "fix me," as she expressed it. then, amid a burst of laughter, she stood back a little to survey her work with pride. "i guess you can come in. you look too nice for anything. gordon and adams, you'll walk in, too. the rest will find all you want in the cook shed, and it will be your own fault if you don't help yourselves." i was a little astonished when, with a cloth bound round my head, i entered the house, for miss steel was in some respects a genius. there was no trace of disorder. sally was immaculately neat; lucille haldane might never have passed the door of bonaventure; and the two had apparently become good friends, while a table had been set out with sally's pretty crockery, and, as i noticed, an absolutely spotless cloth, which was something of a rarity. i was glad of the presence of boone, for gordon was a big, gaunt, silent man, and the events of the day had driven any conversational gifts we possessed out of both steel and myself. when it pleased him, adams, by which name alone he was known to the rest, could entertain anybody, and that, too, in their own particular idiom. there was no trace of the pedlar about him now, and his english was the best spoken in the old country. i noticed lucille haldane looked hard at him when she took her place at the table. "it is curious, but i have been haunted by a feeling that we have met before to-day," she said. "if i am mistaken, it must have been somebody who strongly resembles you." for just a moment boone looked uneasy, but he answered with a smile: "i don't monopolize all the good looks on the prairie." the girl flashed a swift sidelong glance at me, and i feared my countenance was too wooden to be natural. "i am sure of the resemblance now, though there is a change. it was one evening at bonaventure, was it not?" she said. "have you forgotten me?" "that would be impossible," and boone bent his head a little as he made the best of it. "i see that, if necessary i could rely on miss haldane's kindness a second time." lucille looked thoughtful, sally inquisitive, and i feared the latter might complicate circumstances by attempting to probe the mystery. neither gordon nor steel noticed anything, but boone was a judge of character and lucille keen of wit. he asked nothing further, but i saw a question in his eyes. "i think you could do so," she said. "you seem to have trusty friends, rancher ormesby; though that is not surprising on the prairie." the words were simply spoken, and wholly unstudied; but lucille haldane had a very graceful way, and there was that in her eyes which brought a sparkle into those of sally, and i saw had made the silent gordon her slave. her gift of fascination was part of her birthright, and she used it naturally without taint of artifice. "could anybody doubt it after to-day?" i said. then boone smiled dryly. "i suppose it devolves upon me to acknowledge the compliment, and i am afraid that some of his friends are better than he deserves," he said. "at least, i am willing to testify that rancher ormesby does not importune them, for i never met any man slower to accept either good advice or well-meant assistance. have you not found it so, miss steel?" "all you men are foolish, and most of you slow," sally answered archly. "i had to convince one with a big hard brush to-day." this commenced the relation of reminiscences, mostly humorous, of the affray, for we could afford to laugh, and all joined in the burst of merriment which rose from outside when several horsemen came up at a gallop across the prairie. a stockrider of caledonian extraction had borrowed my banjo to amuse his comrades, and they appreciated his irony when he played the new arrivals in to the tune of "the campbells are coming." then he took off his hat to the uniformed figure which led the advance. "ye're surely lang in comin', sergeant, dear," he said. there was another roar of laughter, and i heard mackay's voice. "it was no' my fault, and ye should ken what kind of horses ye sell the government; but now i'm here i'm tempted to arrest the whole of ye for unlawful rioting!" he halted in the doorway with displeasure in his face, and, disregarding my invitation, waited until miss haldane bade him be seated, while before commencing an attack upon a fowl, he said dryly: "maybe i had better begin my business first. it would be a poor return to eat your supper and than arrest ye, ormesby." "you had better make sure of the supper, and if you can take me out of the hands of my allies you are welcome to," i said. boone's lips twitched once or twice as though in enjoyment of a hidden joke as he discoursed with the sergeant upon the handling of mounted men and horses. he showed, i fancied, a curious knowledge of cavalry equipment and maneuvers, and mackay was evidently struck with his opinions. i also saw lucille haldane smile when the sergeant said: "if ever ye pass my station come in and see me. it's a matter o' regret to me i had not already met ye." "thanks," said boone, just moving his eyebrows as he looked across at me. "i narrowly missed spending some time in your company a little while ago." "and now to business," said mackay, with a last regretful glance at the skeletonized chicken. "from what i gather ye are all of ye implicated. i would like an account from mr. adams and miss haldane first." "how did you come here instead of gardiner; and how do you know there is anything for you to trouble about?" i asked, and the sergeant showed a trace of impatience. "gardiner goes back to-morrow. ye are my own particular sheep, and it would take a new man ten years to learn the contrariness of ye. i heard some talk at the railroad and came on in a hurry. do ye usually nail your stable or cut your own head open, rancher ormesby?" each in turn furnished an account of the affray, i last of all; and mackay expressed no opinion until lucille haldane asked him: "was it not justifiable for me to take measures to protect my father's cattle?" "supposing the bonaventure brand had not been on that draft, and lane's men retained possession, what would ye have done?" was the shrewd rejoinder; and lucille smiled as she looked steadily at the speaker. "i really think, sergeant, that i should have ridden over them." mackay seemed to struggle with some natural feeling; but the silent rancher smote the table. "by the lord, you would, and i'd have given five hundred dollars to go through beside you!" he said. "ye are quite old enough to ken better," said mackay sententiously; and the rancher squared his shoulders as he answered: "i'm as good as any two of your troopers yet, and was never run into a cattle corral. when i'm old enough to be useless i'll join the police." "what were ye meaning?" asked the sergeant. gordon laughed. "just that, for a tired man, it's a nice soft berth. you take your money and as much care as you can that you never turn up until the trouble's over!" before mackay could retort, lucille, smiling, raised her hand. "i think you should both know better, and i want you to tell me, sergeant, what will be the end of this. surely nobody has any right to drive off cattle and horses that don't belong to him?" mackay looked somewhat troubled, and one could guess that while eager to please the fair questioner, he shrank with official caution from committing himself. "it's not my part to express an opinion on points that puzzle some lawyers," he said. "still, i might tell ye that it will cost one man his position. human nature's aye deceitful, miss haldane, and if rancher ormesby prosecuted them it would be just two or three men's word against a dozen. forby, they might make out illegal resistance against him!" "sergeant," said lucille haldane, looking at him severely, "dare you tell me that you would not take the word of three ranchers against the oath of a dozen such men as lane?" mackay smiled, though he answered dryly: "they're both hard to manage, and ungrateful for their benefits; but maybe i would. still, i am, ye see, neither judge nor jury. would ye prefer a charge against them, ormesby?" i was willing enough to do so, but had already reflected. every moment of my time was needed, the nearest seat of justice was far away, and it would be only helping lane if i wasted days attempting to substantiate a charge. i also surmised by his prompt disappearance when the fracas became serious that it would be very difficult to implicate my enemy, even if he did not turn the tables on me. boone, when i looked at him, made a just perceptible negative movement with his head. "i must leave this affair to the discretion of the police," i said. "several of lane's friends have good cause to be sorry for themselves already, and it is hardly likely his action will be repeated." mackay said nothing further, and shortly afterwards lucille said she must take her departure. sally stood smiling in the doorway while the riders of bonaventure did her homage, and those whose compliments did not please her suffered for their clumsiness. when i rode out with lucille haldane there was a lifting of wide hats, and the sergeant, sitting upright in his saddle, saluted her as we passed with several splendid horsemen riding on each side. i afterwards heard that sally said to him mischievously: "i guess you men don't quite know everything. how long did it take you to break your troopers in? yonder's a slip of a girl who knows nothing of discipline or drill, and there's not a man in all that outfit wouldn't ride right into the place where bad policemen go if she told him to. as good as your troopers, aren't they? what are you thinking now?" the sergeant followed her pointing hand, and, as it happened, lucille and i were just passing beyond the rise riding close together side by side. mackay looked steadily after us, and doubtless noticed that lucille rode very well. "i would not blame them. i'm just thinking i'm sorry for corporal cotton," he said. sally looked away across the prairie, and, turning, saw a faint smile fade out of the sergeant's face. "what do you mean? can't you ever talk straight like a sensible man?" she asked. "the corporal's young, an' needs considerable convincing," was the dry answer. when we dipped beyond the rise i turned to lucille haldane. "what did you think of sally? she is a stanch ally, but not always effusive to strangers," i said. i could not at the moment understand lucille haldane's expression. the question was very simple, but the girl showed a trace of confusion, and was apparently troubled as to how she should frame the answer. this did not, however, last long, and when she raised her eyes to mine there was in them the same look of confidence there had been when she said, "i believe in you." it was very pleasant to see. "i think a great deal of her, and must repeat what i said already. you have very loyal friends. miss steel told me at length how kind you had been to her and her brother, and i think they will fully repay you." my wits must have been sharpened, for i understood, and blessed both sally and the speaker. if lucille haldane, being slow to think evil, had faith in those she knew, it was possible she was glad of proof to justify the confidence, and sally must have furnished it. "they have done so already," i said. there was always something very winning about my companion, but she had never appeared so desirable as she did just then. the day was drawing towards its close, and the light in the west called up the warm coloring that the wind and sun had brought into her face and showed each grace of the slight figure silhouetted against it. the former was, perhaps, not striking at first sight, though, with its setting of ruddy gold, and its hazel eyes filled with swift changes, it was pretty enough; but its charm grew upon one, and i noticed that when she patted the horse's neck the dumb beast moved as though it loved her. there was nothing of the amazon about its rider except her courage. "i have heard a good deal about your enemy and yourself of late, but there are several points that puzzle me, and, though i know you have his sympathies, father is not communicative," she said. "for instance, if you do not resent the allusion, he could with so little trouble have made a difference in the result of your sale." "how could that be?" i asked, merely to see how far the speaker's interest in my affairs had carried her, and she answered: "even if there had been nothing we needed at bonaventure he could have made the others pay fair prices for all they bought. i cannot understand why he said it was better not to do so." i also failed to understand; but a light broke in upon me. "did you suggest that he should?" i asked, and the girl answered with some reluctance: "yes; was it not natural that i should?" "no one who knew you could doubt it," i said; and lucille haldane presently dismissed me. i sat still and watched her and her escort diminish across the long levels, and then rode slowly back towards crane valley. remembering haldane's mention of a promise, the news that it was his younger daughter who sent him to my assistance brought at first a shock of disappointment. i had already convinced myself that beatrice haldane must remain very far beyond my reach, but the thought that she had remembered me and sent what help she could had been comforting, nevertheless. now it seemed that she had forgotten, and that that consolation must be abandoned, too. and yet the disappointment was not so crushing but that i could bear it with the rest. what might have been had passed beyond the limits of possibility, and there was nothing in the future to look forward to except a struggle against poverty and the wiles of my enemy. steel took my horse when i rode up to the house, and it was a coincidence that his first remark should be: "we beat him badly this time and he'll lie low a while. then i guess you'll want both eyes open when he tries his luck again." chapter xviii the vigil-keeper it was a clear starlit night when i rode across a tract of the assiniboian prairie, some two hundred miles east of crane valley. a half-moon hung in the cloudless ether, and the endless levels, lying very silent under its pale radiance, seemed to roll away into infinity. they had no boundary, for the blueness above them melted imperceptibly through neutral gradations into the earth below, which, gathering strength of tone, stretched back again to the center of the lower circle a vast sweep of silvery gray. there was absolute stillness, not even a grass blade moved; but the air was filled with the presage of summer, and the softness of the carpet, which returned no sound beneath the horse's feet, had its significance. that sod had been bleached by wind-packed snow and bound into iron hardness by months of arctic frost. bird and beast had left it, and the waste had lain empty under the coldness of death; but life had once more conquered, and the earth was green again. even among the almost unlettered born upon it there are few men impervious to the influence of the prairie on such a night; and in days not long gone by the half-breed _voyageurs_ told strange stories of visions seen on it during the lonely journeys they made for the great fur-trading company. its vastness and its emptiness impresses the human atom who becomes conscious of an indefinite awe or is uplifted by an exaltation which vanishes with the dawn, for there are times when, through the silence of measureless spaces, man's spirit rises into partial touch with the greater things unseen. my errand was prosaic enough--merely to buy cattle for haldane and others on a sliding-scale arrangement. i could see a possibility of some small financial benefit, and that being so had reluctantly left crane valley, where i was badly needed, because the need of money was even greater. also, as time was precious, i had decided to travel all night instead of spending it as a guest of the last farmer with whom i bargained. i was at that time neither very imaginative nor oversentimental; but the spell of the prairie was stronger than my will, and, yielding to it, i rode dreamily, so it seemed, beyond the reach of petty troubles and the clamor of our sordid strife into a shadowy land of peace which, defying the centuries, had retained unchanged its solemn stillness. the stars alone sufficed to call up the fancy, for there being neither visible heavens nor palpable atmosphere, only a blue transparency, the eye could follow the twinkling points of flame far backwards from one to another through the unknown spaces beyond our little globe. nothing seemed impossible on such a night, and only the touch of the bridle and the faint jingle of metal material. it was in this mood that i became conscious of a shadow object near the foot of a rise. it did not seem a natural portion of the prairie, and when i had covered some distance it resolved itself into a horse and a dismounted man. his broad hat hung low in his hand, his head was bent, and he stood so intent that i had almost ridden up to him before he turned and noticed me. then, as i checked my horse, i saw that it was boone. "what has brought you here?" i asked. "that i cannot exactly tell you when we know so little of the influences about us on such a night as this. it is at least one stage of a pilgrimage i must make," he said. had this answer been given me in the sunlight i should have doubted the speaker's mental balance, but one sets up a new standard of sanity on the starlit prairie on a night of spring, and i saw only that the spell was also upon him. he held a great bunch of lilies (which do not grow on the bare western levels) in one hand, and his face was changed. even in boone's reckless humor there had been a sardonic vein which sometimes added a sting to the jest, and i knew what the shadow was that accounted for his fits of silent grimness. now he seemed strangely calm, but rather reverent than sad. "i cannot understand you," i said. "no?" he answered quietly. "how soon you have forgotten; but you helped me once. come, and i will show you." he tethered his horse to an iron peg, beckoned me to do the same, and then, moving forward until we stood on the highest of the rise, pointed to something that rose darkly from the grass. then i remembered, and swung my hat to my knee, as my eyes rested on a little wooden cross. following the hand he stretched out, i could read the rude letters cut on it--"helen boone." he stooped, and, i fancied with some surprise, lifted a glass vessel from beneath a handful of withered stalks. he shook them out gently, laid the fresh blossoms in their place, and a faint fragrance rose like incense through the coolness of the dew. then he turned, and i followed him to where we had left the horses. "there are still kind souls on this earth, and one of them placed that vessel under the last flowers i left. you have a partial answer to your question now." i bent my head, and seeing that he was not averse to speech, said quietly: "you come here sometimes? it is a long journey." "yes," was the answer; and boone's voice vibrated. "she who sleeps there gave up a life of luxury for me; and is a three-hundred-mile journey too much to make, or a summer night too long to watch beside her? i am drawn here, and there are times when one wonders if it is possible for us to rise into partial communion with those who have passed into the darkness before us." "it is all," i answered gravely, "a mystery to me. can you conceive such a possibility?" "not in any tangible shape to such as i, but this at least i know. in spite of the destruction of the mortal clay, when i can see my way no further, and lose courage in my task, fresh strength comes to me after a night spent here." "your task?" i said. "i guessed that there was a motive behind your wanderings." "there is one," and boone's voice rose to its natural level. "the wagon journeys suit it well. had lane ruined me alone i should have tried to pay my forfeit for inexperience and the risk i took gracefully; but when i saw the woman, who had lain down so much for me, fading day by day that he might add to his power of oppressing others the money which would have saved her life, the case was different. the last part he played in the pitiful drama was that of murderer, and the loss he inflicted on me one that could never be forgiven." "and you are waiting revenge?" i asked. "no." boone looked back towards the crest of the rise. "at first i did so, but it is justice that prompts me now. i have a full share of human passions, and once i lay in wait for him with a rifle--my throat parched and a fire of torment in my heart; but when he passed at midnight within ten paces i held my hand and let him go. perhaps it was because i could not take the life of even that venomous creature in cold blood, and feared he would not face me. perhaps another will was stronger than my own, for, with every purpose strained against what seemed weakness, it was borne in on me that i could not force him to stand with a weapon, and that i dare not kill him groveling. then the power went out of me, and i let him go. yet i have twice lain long hours in hot sand under a deadly rifle fire, ormesby. there are many mysteries, and as yet it is very little that we know." "but you are following him still, are you not?" i asked. and boone continued: "as i said, it is for justice, and it was here i learned the difference. i would not take the reptile's life unless he met me armed in the daylight, which he would never do; but for the sake of others--you and the rest, whose toil and blood he fattens on--i am waiting and working for the time when, without a crime, it may be possible to end his career of evil." we were both silent for a few minutes, and i felt that boone's task, self-imposed or otherwise, was a worthy one. lane was a man without either anger or compassion--an incarnation of cunning and avarice more terrible to human welfare than any legendary monster of the olden time. it was no figure of speech to declare that he fattened on poor men's blood and agony, and his overthrow could not be anything but a blessing. still, it was in prosaic speech that, considering the practical aspect of the question, i said: "i wish you luck, but you will need a long patience, besides time and money." "i have them," was the answer. "the first was the hardest to acquire. time--i could wait ages if i knew the end was certain; and, as to money, when it came too late to save her, someone died in the old country, and part of the property fell to me. well, you can guess my purpose--using all means short of bloodshed and perjury to take him in his own net. she who sleeps there was pitiful and gentle, but she hated oppression and cruelty, and i feel that if she knows--and i think it is so--she would smile on me." boone's face was plain before me under the moon. it was quietly confident, calm, and yet stamped with a solemn purpose. he had, it seemed, mastered his passions, and would perhaps be the more dangerous because he followed tirelessly, with brain unclouded by hatred or impatience. i felt that there was much i should say in the shape of encouragement and sympathy, but the only words that rose to my lips were: "he has fiendish cunning." "and i was once a careless fool!" said boone. "still, the most cunning forget, and blunder at times. i, however, can never forget, and when he does, it will be ill for lane. i have--i don't know why--spoken to you, ormesby, as i have spoken to no man in the dominion before, and i feel i need ask no promise of you. i am going east with the sunrise, but i must be alone now." i left him to keep his vigil with his dead, and camped in a hollow some distance away. that is to say, i tethered the horse, rolled a thick brown blanket round me, and used the saddle for a pillow. there was no hardship in this. the grasses, if a trifle damp, were soft and springy, the night still and warm; and many a better man has slept on a worse bed in the western dominion. slumber did not, however, come at first, and i lay watching the stars, neither asleep nor wholly awake, until they grew indistinct, and a woman's figure, impalpable as the moonlight, gathered shape upon a rise of the prairie. it was borne in on me that this was helen boone risen from her sleep; for she was ethereal, and her face with its passionless calmness not that of a mortal, while no shadow touched the grasses when she passed, and, fading, gave place or changed into one i knew. haldane's elder daughter looked down at me from the rise, but she, too, seemed of another world, wearing a cold serenity and a beauty that was not of this earth. she also changed with a marvelous swiftness before my bewildered vision, and it was now lucille haldane who moved across the prairie with soft words of pity on her lips and yet anger in her eyes. she, at least, appeared not transcendental, but a living, breathing creature of flesh and blood subject to human weaknesses, and i raised myself on one elbow to speak to her. the prairie was empty. nothing moved on it; even the horse stood still, while, when i sank back again, moonlight and starlight went out together; and perhaps it was as well, for, sleeping or waking, a plain stock-raiser has no business with such fancies, and next morning i convinced myself that i had dreamed it all. i had doubtless done so, and the explanation was simple. the influence of the night, or the words of boone, had galvanized into abnormal activity some tiny convolution of the brain; but, even that once granted, it formed the beginning, not the end, of the question, and boone had, it seemed, supplied the best solution when he said we know so little as yet. the sun was lifting above the prairie when i set out in search of boone with my horse's bridle over my arm. i met him swinging across the springy sod in long elastic strides, but there was nothing about him which suggested one preyed upon by morbid fancies or the visionary. his eyes were a little heavy, but that was all, for with both of us the dreams of the night had melted before the rising sun. the air had been freshened by the dew, and the breeze, which dried the grasses, roused one to a sense of human necessities and the knowledge that there was a day's work to be done. i was also conscious of an unfanciful and very prosaic emptiness. "i wonder where we could get anything to eat. i have a long ride before me," said boone, when he greeted me. "it can hardly be safe for you to be seen anywhere in this neighborhood," i said; and boone smiled. "i walked openly into the railroad depot and asked for a package yesterday. you forget that i partly changed my appearance, while, so far as memory serves, only two police troopers occasionally saw me. the others?--you should know your own kind better, ormesby. do you think any settler in this region would take money--and lane offered a round sum--for betraying me?" "no," i answered with a certain pride; "that is to say, not unless he were a nominee of the man you name." no proof of this was needed, but one was supplied us. a man who presently strode out of a hollow stopped and stared at boone. he was, to judge from his appearance, one of the stolid bushmen who come out west from the forests of northern ontario--tireless men with ax and plow, but with little knowledge of anything else. "i'm kind of good at remembering faces, and i've seen you before," he said. "you are the man who used to own my place." "how often have you seen me?" asked boone. "once in clear daylight, twice back there at night," answered the stranger. "did you know that you could have earned a good many dollars by telling the police as much?" asked boone; and the other regarded him with a frown. "i'm a peaceable man when people will let me be; but i don't take that kind of talk from anybody." "i was sure, or i shouldn't have asked you," said boone. "they don't raise mean canadians yonder in the country you came from among the rocks and trees. you're not overrich, either, are you? to judge from my own experience, for i put more money into the land than i ever took out of it. however, that doesn't concern the main thing. just now i'm a hungry man." the big axman's face relaxed, and he laughed the deep, almost silent, laugh which those like him learn in the shadow of the northern pines. there is as little mirth in it as there is in most of their hard lives, but one can generally trust them with soul and body. "breakfast will be ready soon's i get home. you just come along," he said. we followed him to the log-house which had risen beside boone's dilapidated dwelling. a neatly-dressed, dark-haired woman was busy about the stove, and our host presented us very simply. "here's the man who shot the money-lender, and a partner, lou." the woman, who laid down the pan she held, cast a quick glance of interest at my companion. "we have seen you, and wondered why you never looked in," she said. "did you twice do a great kindness for me?" asked boone. the woman's black eyes softened. "sure, that was a little thing, and don't count for much. the posies were so pretty, and i figured they'd keep fresh a little longer," she said. "it was one of the little things which count the most," said boone. thereupon the woman's olive-tinted face flushed into warmer color, while her long-limbed spouse observed: "she's of the french habitant stock, and their ways of showing they haven't forgotten aren't the same as ours." breakfast was set before us, and i think boone had made firm friends of our hosts before we finished the meal. he had abilities in this direction. they, on their part, were very simple people, the man silent for the most part, rugged in face, and abrupt when he spoke, but shrewd in his own way it seemed withal, and probably as generous as he was hard at a bargain. his wife was of the more emotional latin stock, quick in her movements, and one might surmise equally quick in sympathy. "you are not the man who bought the place at the sale," said boone, at length. "i can remember him tolerably well, and, if i couldn't, one would hardly figure you were likely to work under lane." "no!" and the farmer laughed his curious laugh again. "no. i shouldn't say. we never worked for any master since my grandfather got fired for wanting his own way by the hudson's bay, and i guess neither lane nor the devil could handle the rest of us. he once came round to try." "how?" i asked, and the gaunt farmer sighed a little as he filled his pipe. "this way. he was open to finance me to buy up a poor devil's place, and if i'd had a little less temper and a little more sense i might have obliged him, and landed a good pile of money, too." "he's just talking. don't you believe him," broke in the woman, with an indignant glance at her spouse. i fancied boone saw the drift of this, which was more than i did, and the farmer nodded oracularly in his direction when i asked: "what did you do instead?" "just reached for a big ox-goad, and walked up to him like a blame millionaire or a hot-headed fool. them negotiations broke right off, and he lit out across the prairie talking 'bout assaults and violences at twenty mile an hour. some other man will know better, and that's just how lane will get badly left some day." the woman laughed immoderately. "it was way better'n a circus," she said. "he didn't tell you he rammed the ox-goad into the skittish horse, and lane he just hugged the beast." the picture of the full-fledged lane, who made a very poor figure in the saddle at any time, careering panic stricken across the prairie with his arms about the neck of a bolting horse appealed to me; but as to the possibility of the usurer's future discomfiture i was still in the dark, and asked for enlightenment. "it's easy," said the farmer. "lane he squeezes somebody until he can't hold on to his property, then he puts up the money and another man buys the place dirt-cheap for him, in his own name. suppose that man goes back on lane? 'this place is my own,' says he. well, he's recorded owner, isn't he? and i figure lane wouldn't be mighty keen on dragging that kind of case into the courts." "but he wouldn't put any man in unless he had him by the throat," said i; and the farmer grinned. "juss so! he'll choke some fellow with grit in him a bit too much some day, and when the wrong breed of scoundrel is jammed right up between the devil and the sea, it's quite likely he'll go for the devil before he starts swimming." "i"--and boone regarded the farmer fixedly--"quite agree with you. do you mind telling me what you gave for this place?" our host named the sum without hesitation, adding that he would be glad to show us over it; and boone's face grew somber as he said: "it is more than twice what it was sold for when it was stolen from me." we walked around the plowed land, inspected the stock, stables, and barns, and when, after a cordial parting with our hosts, we rode away, boone turned to me: "it was an ordeal, and harrowing to see what might have been but for an insatiable man's cunning and my poverty. another half-hour of the memories would have been too much for me. well, we can let that pass. they were kind souls, and this last lesson may have been necessary. strange, isn't it, that the simple are sometimes shrewder than the wise?" "for instance?" i said; and boone smiled significantly. "yonder very plain farmer has hit upon a weak spot in lane's armor which the keenest brain on this prairie--i don't mean my own, of course--has hitherto failed to see." soon afterwards we separated, each going his different way. chapter xix the work of an enemy whatever action the police took concerning lane's descent upon crane valley was not apparent, and thorn may have been justified in deciding that they took none at all. however that may have been, lane left us in peace for a while, and it was not by his own hands that the next bolt was launched against me. he preferred, as a rule, to strike through another person's agency, and usually contrived it so that when trouble resulted the agent bore the brunt of it. i was tramping behind the seeder one fine morning, alternately watching the somewhat unruly team and the trickle of golden grain into the good black loam, when two horsemen appeared on the prairie. they headed for the homestead, and living in a state of expectancy, as we then did, i shared the misgivings of thorn. "they're coming our way in a hurry, sure; and the sight of anyone whose business i don't know worries me just now," he said. "if it's bad news we'll learn it soon enough," i said. "go on to the end of the harrowing. that we'll have a frost-nipped harvest if we're not through with the sowing shortly is the one thing certain." the two horsemen drew nearer, and it appeared that both wore uniform, while i caught the glint of carbines. this in itself was significant, and i wondered whether mackay had discovered the identity of boone. shortly i recognized the sergeant and cotton, who a little later drew bridle beside the seeder. mackay's face was expressionless, but cotton looked distinctly unhappy, and once more i felt sorry for boone. "i have a word for ye. will ye walk to the house with me?" said the former. i glanced at cotton, who, stooping, pretended to examine his carbine. thorn appeared suspicious, for he dropped the lines he held, and his eyes grew keen. "i'm sorry that is the one thing i can't do just now, when every moment of this weather is precious," i said. "if you can't wait until we stop at noon, there's no apparent reason why you shouldn't state your business here." "ye had better come," said mackay, looking very wooden. "forby, i'm thinking ye will sow no more to-day." "i'm not in the humor for joking, and intend to continue sowing until it is too dark to see," i answered shortly. "have you any authority to prevent me?" "i have," said the sergeant. "well, if ye will have it--authority to arrest ye on a charge of unlawfully burning the homestead of gaspard's trail." astonishment, dismay, and anger held me dumb between them for a few moments. then, as the power of speech returned, i said: "confound you, mackay! you don't think i could possibly have had any hand in that?" "it's no' my business to think," was the dry answer; "i'm here to carry out orders. what was it ye were observing, foreman thorn?" "only that niven or lane was a mighty long time finding this thing out; and that, while nobody expects too much from the police, we never figured they were clean, stark, raging lunatics," said thorn. "i'm no' expecting compliments," said mackay. "ye will do your duty, corporal cotton." "you can put that thing back. i'm not a wild beast, and have sense enough to see that i must wait for satisfaction until some of your chiefs at headquarters hear of your smartness," i said. then cotton positively hung his head as he let the carbine slip back into its holster, while mackay stared after the departing thorn, who made for the homestead as fast as he could run. "what is his business?" he said. "his own!" i answered shortly. "unless you have also a warrant for his arrest, it would be injudicious of you to stop him. thorn has an ugly temper, and would be justified in resenting the interference. what is your program?" "to ride in to the railroad whenever ye are ready, and deliver ye safely in empress city." "i suppose one can only make the best of it; but considering that you were probably consulted before a warrant was issued, i can't help feeling astonished," i said. "however, there is no use in wasting words, and an hour will suffice me to get ready in." i left the team standing before the seeder, careless as to what became of them, for, even if acquitted, i felt that my career was closed at last. no forced labor could make up for time lost now, and, because justice in the west is slow, it was perfectly clear why the charge had been made. there was a scene with sally when we reached the homestead, and cotton fled before her biting comments on police sagacity. even mackay winced under certain allusions, and when i asked him: "am i permitted to talk to my housekeeper alone?" assented readily. "ye may," he said, "and welcome; i do not envy ye." if sally's tongue could be venomous, her brain was keen, and, as steel was absent, it was with confidence i left instructions with her. thorn had vanished completely, and the girl only looked mysterious when questioned concerning him. at length all was ready, and turning in the saddle as we rode away, i waved my hat to sally, who stood in the doorway of the homestead with eyes suspiciously dim. i wondered, with a strange lack of interest, whether i should ever see either it or her again. cotton also saluted her, and the girl suddenly moved forward a pace, holding up her hand. "make sure of your prisoner, sergeant," she said. "what's the use of talking justice to the poor man when he's ground down by the thief with capital? we're getting tired--we have waited for that justice so long--and i give you and the fools or rogues behind you warning that if you jail ormesby, the boys will come for him with rifles a hundred strong." mackay touched his beast with the spurs, and as we passed out of earshot, said to me: "if the boys have her spirit i'm thinking it's not impossible. your friends are not judicious, henry ormesby." "they are stanch, at least, and above being bought," i said; and mackay stiffened. "what were ye meaning?" "i think my meaning was plain enough," i answered him. many leagues divided us from the railroad, and the way seemed very long. the dejection that settled upon me brought a physical lassitude with it, and i rode wearily, jolting in the saddle before the journey was half done. since the memorable night at bonaventure, when i first met boone, trouble after trouble had crowded on me, and, supported by mere obstinacy when hope had gone, i still held on. now it seemed the end had come, and, at the best, i must retire beaten to earn a daily wage by the labor of my hands if i escaped conviction as a felon. lane would absorb crane valley, as he had done gaspard's trail. as if in mockery the prairie had donned its gayest robe of green, and lay flooded with cloudless sunshine. mackay made no further advances since my last repulse, but rode silently on my right hand, cotton on my left, holding back a little so that i could not see him, and so birch bluff, willows, and emerald levels rolled up before us and slid back to the prairie's rim until, towards dusk on the second day, cubes of wooden houses and a line of gaunt telegraph poles loomed up ahead. "i'm glad," said corporal cotton, breaking into speech at last. "i don't know if you'll believe it, ormesby, but this has been a sickening day to me. i'm tired of the confounded service--i'm tired of everything." "ye're young and tender on the bit, and without the sense to go canny when it galls ye. what ails ye at the service anyway?" interposed the sergeant. "i'll say nothing about some of the duties. they're a part of the contract," answered cotton. "still, i never bargained to arrest my best friends when i became a policeman." "friends!" said mackay. "who were ye meaning?" and cotton turned in my direction with the face of one who had narrowly escaped a blunder. "aren't you asking useless questions? i mean rancher ormesby." "i observed ye used the plural," said mackay. cotton answered shortly: "when one is going through a disgusting duty to the best of his ability, he may be forgiven a trifling lapse in grammar." the light was failing as we rode up to the station some time before the train was due, and looking back, i saw several diminutive objects on the edge of the prairie. they were, i surmised, mounted settlers coming in for letters or news, but except that the blaze of crimson behind them forced them up, it would have been hard to recognize the shapes of men and beasts. round the other half of the circle the waste was fading into the dimness that crept up from the east, and feeling that i had probably done with the prairie, and closed another chapter of my life, i turned my eyes towards the string of giant poles and the little railroad station ahead. there were fewer loungers than usual about it, but when we dismounted, cotton started as two feminine figures strolled side by side down the platform, and said something softly under his breath. "what has surprised you?" i asked, and he pointed towards the pair. "those are haldane's daughters, by all that is unfortunate!" there was no avoiding the meeting. darkness had not settled yet, and mackay, who failed to recognize the ladies, was regarding us impatiently. "i'll do my best, and they may not notice anything suspicious," the corporal said. we moved forward, mackay towards the office, cotton hanging behind me, but, as ill-luck would have it, both ladies saw us when we reached the track, and before i could recover from my dismay, i stood face to face with beatrice haldane. she was, it seemed to me, more beautiful than ever, but i longed that the earth might open beneath me. "it is some time since i have seen you, and you do not look well," she said. "you once described the western winters as invigorating; but one could almost fancy the last had been too much for you." "i cannot say the same thing, and if we had nothing more than the weather to contend with, we might preserve our health," i said. "i did not know you were at bonaventure, or i should have ridden over to pay my respects to you." beatrice haldane did not say whether this would have given her pleasure or otherwise. indeed, her manner, if slightly cordial, was nothing more, and i found it desirable to study a rail fastening when i saw her sister watching me. "i arrived from the east only a few days ago, and we are now awaiting my father, who had some business down the line. are you going out with the train?" "i am going to empress," i said; and lucille haldane interposed: "that is a long way; and the last time he met you, you told father you were too busy to visit bonaventure. who will see to your sowing--and will you stay there long?" i heard corporal cotton grind his heel viciously into the plank beneath him; and i answered, in desperation: "i do not know. i am afraid so." perhaps the girl noticed by my voice that all was not well. indeed, beatrice also commenced to regard the corporal and myself curiously. "what has happened, mr. ormesby? you look positively haggard?" the younger sister said. "why are you keeping in the background, corporal cotton? have you done anything to be ashamed of?" then she ceased with a gasp of pained surprise, and i read consternation in her eyes. "you have guessed aright. i am not making this journey of my own will," i said. beatrice haldane turned with a swift movement, which brought us once more fully face to face, and, unlike her sister, she was strangely cold and grave. "is it permissible to ask any questions?" she said, and her even tone stung me to the quick. one whisper against the speaker would have roused me to fury. "everybody will know to-morrow or the next day, and i may as well tell you now," i said, in a voice which sounded, even in my own ears, hoarse with bitterness. "i am to be tried for burning down the homestead of gaspard's trail." beatrice haldane certainly showed surprise, but she seemed more thoughtful than indignant, and still fixed me with her eyes. they were clear and very beautiful, but i had begun to wonder if a spark of human passion would ever burn within them. "it is absurd--preposterous. come here at once, sergeant!" a clear young voice with a thrill of unmistakable anger in it said; but mackay seemed desirous of backing into the station agent's office instead. "i want you," added lucille haldane. "come at once, and tell me why you have done this." the sergeant's courage was evidently unequal to the task, for with a brief, "i will try to satisfy ye when i have transacted my business," he disappeared into the office, and i turned again to beatrice haldane. "you see it is unfortunately true; but you do not appear astonished," i said. beatrice haldane looked at me sharply, but without indignation, for she was always mistress of herself, and before she could speak her sister broke in: "do you wish to make us angry, when we are only sorry for you, mr. ormesby? everybody knows that neither you nor any rancher in this district could be guilty. corporal cotton, will you inquire if your superior has finished his business, and tell him that i am waiting?" "the old heathen deserves it!" said cotton aside to me, as, with unfeigned relief, he hurried away, and it was only by an effort i refrained from following him. the interview was growing painful in the extreme. still, i was respited, for beatrice haldane turned from us suddenly. "what can this mean? there is a troop of horsemen riding as for their lives towards the station," she said. it was growing dark, but not too dark to see a band of mounted men converge at a gallop upon the station, and for the first time i noticed how the loungers stared at them, and heard the jingle of harness and thud of drumming hoofs. none of them shouted or spoke. they came on in ominous silence, the spume flakes flying from the lathered beasts, the clods whirling up, until a voice cried: "two of you stand by to hold up the train! the rest will come along with me!" amid a musical jingling, the horses were pulled up close beside the track, and men in embroidered deerskin with broad white hats and men in old blue-jean leaped hurriedly down. several carried rifles, while, guessing their purpose, i pointed towards the frame houses across the unfenced track. "you must go at once, miss haldane. there may be a tumult," i said. lucille seemed reluctant, beatrice by no means hurried, and i do not remember whether i bade either of them farewell, for as the newcomers came swiftly into the station a gaunt commanding figure holding a carbine barred their way, and corporal cotton leaped out from the office. the station agent, holding a revolver, also placed himself between them and me. "what are ye wanting, boys?" a steady voice asked; and the men halted within a few paces of the carbine's muzzle. i could just see that they were my friends and neighbors, and i noticed that one who rode up and down the track seemed inclined to civilly prevent the ladies from retiring to the wooden settlement. perhaps he feared they intended to raise its inhabitants. "we want harry ormesby," answered a voice i recognized as belonging to steel. "stand out of the daylight, sergeant. we have no call to hurt you." "i'm thinking that's true," said mackay; and i admired his coolness as he stood alone, save for the young corporal, grimly eying the crowd. "it will, however, be my distressful duty to damage the first of ye who moves a foot nearer my prisoner. noo will ye hear reason, boys, or will i wire for a squadron to convince ye? ormesby ye cannot have, and will ye shame your own credit and me?" there was a murmur of consultation, but no disorderly clamor. the men whom thorn had raised to rescue me were neither habitual brawlers nor desperadoes, but sturdy stock-riders and tillers of the soil, smarting under a sense of oppression. they were all fearless, and would, i knew, have faced a cavalry brigade to uphold what appeared their rights, but they were equally averse to any bloodshed or violence that was not necessary. "there's no use talking, sergeant," somebody said. "we don't go back without our man, and it will be better for all of us if you release him. you know as well as we do there's nothing against him." meanwhile, i could not well interfere without precipitating a crisis. the station agent, who stated that mackay had deputed him authority, stood beside me with the pistol in his hand. neither was i certain what my part would be, for, stung to white heat by beatrice haldane's coldness, which suggested suspicion, and came as a climax to a series of injuries, i wondered whether it might not be better to make a dash for liberty and leave the old hard life behind me. there might be better fortune beyond the rockies, and i felt that lane would not have instigated the charge of arson unless he saw his way to substantiate it. nevertheless, i could watch the others with a strange and almost impersonal curiosity--the group of men standing with hard hands on the rifle barrels ready for a rush; the grim figure of the sergeant, and the young corporal poised with head held high, left foot flung forward, and carbine at hip, in front of them. "we'll give you two minutes in which to make up your mind. then, if you can't climb down, and anything unpleasant happens, it will be on your head. can't you see you haven't the ghost of a show?" said one. turning my eyes a moment, i noticed a fan-shaped flicker swinging like a comet across the dusky waste far down the straight-ruled track, and when a man i knew held up his watch beneath a lamp, i had almost come to a decision. if the sergeant had shown any sign of weakness it is perhaps possible that decision might have been reversed; but mackay stood as though cast in iron, and equally unyielding. i would at least have no blood shed on my account, and would not leave my friends to bear the consequences of their unthinking generosity. meanwhile, stock-rider and teamster were waiting in strained attention, and there was still almost a minute left to pass when a light hand touched my shoulder, and lucille haldane, appearing from behind me, said: "you must do something. go forward and speak to them immediately." she was trembling with eagerness, but the station agent stood on my other side, and he was woodenly stolid. "put down that weapon. i will speak to them," i said. "you're healthier here," was the suspicious answer; and chiefly conscious of the appeal and anxiety in lucille haldane's eyes, i turned upon him. "stand out of my way--confound you!" i shouted. the man fingered the pistol uncertainly, and i could have laughed at his surmise that the sight of it would have held me then. before, even if he wished it, his finger could close on the trigger, i had him by the wrist, and the weapon fell with a clash. then i lifted him bodily and flung him upon the track, while, as amid a shouting, cotton sprang forward, mackay roared: "bide ye, let him go!" the shouting ceased suddenly when i stood between my friends and the sergeant with hands held up. "i'll never forget what you have done, boys; but it is no use," i said; and paused to gather breath, amid murmurs of surprise and consternation. "in the first place, i can't drag you into this trouble." "we'll take the chances willing," a voice said, and there was a grim chorus of approval. "we've borne enough, and it's time we did something." "can't you see that if i bolted now it would suit nobody better than lane? boys, you know i'm innocent----" again a clamor broke out, and somebody cried: "it was lane's own man who did it, if anybody fired gaspard's trail!" "he may not be able to convict me, and if instead of rushing the sergeant you will go home and help thorn with the sowing, we may beat him yet," i continued. "even if i am convicted, i'll come back again, and stay right here until lane is broken, or one of us is dead." the hoot of a whistle cut me short, the brightening blaze of a great headlamp beat into our faces, and further speech was out of the question, as with brakes groaning the lighted cars clanged in. "be quick, sergeant, before they change their minds!" i shouted, and mackay and cotton scrambled after me on to a car platform. no train that ever entered that station had, i think, so prompt dispatch, for cotton had hardly opened the door of the vestibule than the bell clanged and the huge locomotive snorted as the cars rolled out. i had a momentary vision of the agent, who seemed partly dazed, scowling in my direction, a group of dark figures swinging broad-brimmed hats, and lucille haldane standing on the edge of the platform waving her hand to me. then the lights faded behind us, and we swept out, faster and faster, across the prairie. chapter xx leaden-footed justice i had spent a number of weary days awaiting trial, when a visitor was announced, and a young, smooth-shaven man shown into my quarters. he nodded to me pleasantly, seated himself on the edge of the table, and commenced: "your friends sent me along. i hope to see you through this trouble, rancher, and want you to tell me exactly how your difficulties began. think of all the little things that didn't strike you as quite usual." "i should like to hear in the first place who you are. i know your name is dixon, but that does not convey very much," i said. the stranger laughed good-humoredly. "and such is fame! now i had fancied everybody who read the papers knew my name, and that i had won some small reputation down at winnipeg. anyway, i'm generally sent for in cases with a financial origin." then i remembered, and looked hard at the speaker. the last sentence was justified, but he differed greatly from one's idea of the typical lawyer. he was not even neatly dressed, and his manner singularly lacked the preciseness of the legal practitioner. "i must apologize, for i certainly have read about you," i said. "it was perhaps natural that as i did not send for you i should be surprised at your taking an interest in my case. i am, however, afraid i cannot retain you, for the simple reason that i don't know where to raise sufficient money to recompense any capable man's services." "aren't you a little premature? my clients don't usually plead poverty until i send in my bill," was the answer. "you own a tolerably extensive holding in crane valley, don't you?" "i do; but nobody, except one man with whom i would not deal, would buy a foot of it just now," i answered. then, acceding to the other's request, i supported the statement by a brief account of my circumstances. "all this is quite beside the question," i concluded. "no!" said dixon. "as a matter of fact, i find it interesting. won't you go on and bring the story down to the present?" i did so, and the man's face had changed, growing intent and keen before i concluded. "i should rather like to manage this affair for you," he said. "my fees!--well, from what one or two people said about you, i can, if necessary, wait for them." "you will probably never be paid. who was it sent for you?" "charles steel, who was, however, not quite so frank about finances as you seem to be," was the answer. "it was also curious, or otherwise, that i was requested to see what could be done by two other gentlemen who offered to guarantee expenses. that is about as much as i may tell you. you are not the only person with an interest in the future of the crane valley district." "i seem to be used as a stalking-horse by friends and enemies alike, and get the benefit of the charges each time they miss their aim. the part grows irksome," i said dryly. "however, if you are willing to take the risks, i need capable assistance badly enough." dixon seemed quite willing, and asked further questions. "you seem a little bitter against the sergeant. what kind of man is he?" he said. "i mean, has he a tolerably level head, or is he one of the discipline-made machines who can comprehend nothing not included in their code of rules?" "i used to think him singularly shrewd, but recent events have changed my opinion, and you had better place him in the latter category," i said; and dixon chuckled over something. "very natural! i must see him. from what you said already, he doesn't strike me as a fool. well, i don't think you need worry too much, mr. ormesby." dixon had resumed his careless manner before he left me, and, for no particular reason, i felt comforted. we had several more interviews before the trial began, and i can vividly remember the morning i was summoned into court. it was packed to suffocation, and the brilliant sunshine that beat in through the long windows fell upon faces that i knew. their owners were mostly poor men, and i surmised had covered the long distance on horseback, sleeping on the prairie, to encourage me. there was, indeed, when i took my stand a suppressed demonstration that brought a quicker throb to my pulses and a glow into my face. it was comforting to know that i had their approbation and sympathy. if the life i had caught brief glimpses of at bonaventure was not for me, these hard-handed, tireless men were my equals and friends--and i was proud of them. so it was in a clear, defiant voice i pleaded "not guilty!" and presently composed myself to listen while sergeant mackay detailed my arrest. bronzed faces were turned anxiously upon him when he was asked: "did the prisoner volunteer any statement, or offer resistance?" mackay looked down at the men before him, and there was a significant silence in the body of the court. then, with a faint twinkle in his eyes, he answered: "there was a bit demonstration at the station in the prisoner's favor, but he assisted us in maintaining order. the charge, he said, was ridiculous." this i considered a liberal view to take of what had passed and my own comments, and, though i knew that mackay was never addicted to unfairly making the most of an advantage, i remembered dixon's opinion. if he were actuated by any ulterior motive, i had, however, no inkling of what it might be. nothing of much further importance passed until the man who had preferred the charge against me took his stand; when, watching him intently, i was puzzled by his attitude. he appeared irresolute, though i felt tolerably certain that his indecision was quite untinged with compunction on my account. he had also a sullen look, which suggested one driven against his will, and, twice before he spoke, made a slight swift movement, as though under the impulse of a changed resolution. "i am the owner of the lands and remains of the homestead known as gaspard's trail," he said. "i bought them at public auction when sold by the gentleman who held the prisoner's mortgage. twice that day the latter threatened both of us, and his friends raised a hostile demonstration. he told me to take care of myself and the property, for he would live to see me sorry; but i didn't count much on that. thought he was only talking when naturally a little mad. have had cause to change my opinions since. i turned in early on the night of the fire and slept well, i and my hired man, wilkins, being the only people in the house. wilkins wakened me about two in the morning. 'get up at once! somebody has fired the place!' he said. "i got up--in a mighty hurry--and got out my valuables. one end of the house was 'most red-hot. there wasn't much furniture in it. the prisoner had cleared out 'most everything, whether it was in the mortgage schedule or whether it was not; but there was enough to keep me busy while wilkins lit out to save the horses. wind blew the sparks right on to the stable. i went out when i'd saved what i could, and as wilkins had been gone a long time, concluded he'd made sure of the horses. met the prisoner when i was carrying tools out of a threatened shed. asked him to help me. 'i'll see you burned before i stir a hand,' he said. noticed he was skulking round the corner of a shed, and seemed kind of startled at the sight of me, but was too rattled to think of much just then. didn't ask him anything more, but seeing the fire had taken hold good, sat down and watched it. yes, sir, i told somebody it wasn't insured. "by-and-by the prisoner came back with a dozen ranchers. didn't seem friendly, or even civil, most of them, and there was nothing i could do. then i got worried about wilkins, for he'd been gone a long time, and the stable was burning bad. one of the ranchers said he'd make sure there were no beasts inside it, and the prisoner and the rest went along. they found wilkins with some bones broken, and got him and the horses out between them. then, when the place was burnt out, sergeant mackay rode up. i was homeless; but none of the ranchers would take me in. somebody said he wasn't sorry, and i'd got my deserts. believe it was the prisoner; but can't be certain. that's all i know except that before i turned in i saw all the lamps out and fixed up the stove. am certain the fire didn't start from them. "i was hunting among the ruins with wilkins a little while ago when i found a flattened coal-oil-tin under some fallen beams in the kitchen. i never used that oil, but heard at the railroad store that the prisoner did. mightn't have taken the trouble to inquire, but that i found close beside it a silver match-box. it was pretty well worn, but anyone who will look at it close can read that it was given to h. ormesby. considering the prisoner must have dropped it there, i handed both to the police." when niven mentioned the match-box i started as though struck by a bullet. it was mine, undoubtedly, and most of my neighbors had seen it. that it was damning evidence in conjunction with the oil-tin, and had been deliberately placed there for my undoing, i felt certain. there was a half-audible murmur in the court while the judge examined the articles, and i read traces of bewilderment and doubt in the faces turned towards me. that these men should grow suspicious roused me to a sense of unbearable injury, and i sent my voice ringing through the court. "it is an infamous lie! i lost the match-box, or it was stolen from me with a purpose, a month after the fire." the judge dropped his note-book, the prosecutor smiled significantly; but i saw that the men from the prairie believed me, and that was very comforting. something resembling a subdued cheer arose from various parts of the building. "silence!" said the judge sternly. "an interruption is neither admissible nor seemly, prisoner. you will be called on in turn." "we need not trouble about the prisoner's denial, which was perhaps natural, if useless, because the witness' statement will be fully borne out by the man who was present when he found the match-box," said the lawyer for the crown. "i will now call sergeant mackay again." mackay's terse testimony was damaging, and aroused my further indignation. i had not expected that he would either conceal or enlarge upon anything that would tell against me; but had anticipated some trace of reluctance, or that he would wait longer for questions between his admissions. instead, he stood rigidly erect, and reeled off his injurious testimony more like a speaking automaton than a human being. "a trooper warned me that he had seen a reflected blaze in the sky," he said. "we mounted and rode over to gaspard's trail. arriving there i found a number of men, including the owner, niven, and the prisoner. niven said the place was not insured. they were unable to do anything. i see no need to describe the fire. the house was past saving; but the ranchers, with the prisoner among them, broke into the burning stable to bring out the horses, which had been overlooked, and found the hired man, wilkins, partly suffocated in a stall. he was badly injured, but bore out the owner's statement that lamps and stove were safe when they retired. "i proceeded to question the spectators. knew them all as men of good character, and as they had newly ridden in, saw no reason to suspect more than one in case the fire was not accidental. asked niven whom he first met, and he said it was the prisoner, shortly after the fire broke out. stated he met him slipping through the shadow of a shed, and the prisoner refused to assist him. was not surprised at this, knowing the prisoner bore niven little goodwill since the latter bought his property. had heard him threaten him and another man supposed to be connected with him in the purchase of gaspard's trail." "what reason have you to infer that any other man was concerned in the purchase of gaspard's trail?" asked the prosecutor; and mackay answered indifferently: "it was just popular opinion that he was finding niven the money." "we need not trouble about popular opinion," said the lawyer somewhat hurriedly. "we will now proceed to the testimony of the hired man, thomas wilkins." thomas wilkins was called for several times, but failed to present himself, and a trooper who hurried out of court came back with the tidings that he had borrowed a horse at the hotel and ridden out on the prairie an hour ago. since then nobody had seen him. the crown prosecutor fidgeted, the judge frowned, and there was a whispering in the court, until the former rose up: "as wilkins is one of my principal witnesses, i must suggest an adjournment." it cost me an effort to repress an exclamation. i had already been kept long enough in suspense, and suspecting that wilkins did not mean to return, knew that a lengthened adjournment would be almost equally as disastrous as a sentence. "have you no information whatever as to why he has absented himself?" asked the judge. receiving a negative answer, he turned towards the trooper: "exactly what did you hear at the hotel?" "very little, sir," was the answer. "he didn't tell anybody where he was going, but just rode out. the hotelkeeper said he guessed wilkins had something on his mind by the way he kicked things about last night." "it will be the business of the police to find him as speedily as possible. in the meantime, i can only adjourn the case until they do, unless the prisoner's representative proceeds with the examination of witnesses," said the judge. dixon was on his feet in a moment. "with the exception of sergeant mackay and the witness niven, who will be further required by my legal friend, i do not purpose to trouble the witnesses," he said. "while i can urge no reasonable objection to the adjournment, it is necessary to point out that it will inflict a grievous injury on one whom i have every hope of showing is a wholly innocent man. it is well known that this is the one time of the year when the prairie rancher's energies are taxed to the utmost, and the loss of even a few days now may entail the loss of the harvest or the ruin of the stock. my client has also suffered considerably from being brought here to answer what i cannot help describing as an unwarranted charge, and it is only reasonable that bail should be allowed." "is anyone willing to offer security?" asked the judge. there was a few moments' silence, and then a hum of subdued voices as a man rose up; while i could scarcely believe my eyes when i saw it was boone. in spite of the slight change in his appearance, he must have been aware that he was running a serious risk, for his former holding lay almost within a day's journey. i could also see that some of the spectators started as they recognized him. "i shall be glad to offer security for the prisoner's reappearance, so far as my means will serve," he said. "you are a citizen of this place, or have some local standing?" asked the judge. boone answered carelessly: "i can hardly claim so much; but a good many people know me further west, and i am prepared to submit my bank-book as a guarantee." he had scarcely finished, when another man i had not noticed earlier stood up in turn. "i am authorized by carson haldane, of bonaventure, to offer bail to any extent desired." the judge beckoned both of them to sit down again, and called up a commissioned police officer and sergeant mackay. then i felt slightly hopeful, guessing that a good deal depended on mackay's opinion. the others drew aside, and my heart throbbed fast with the suspense until the judge announced his decision. "as the charge is a serious one, and the police hope to find the missing witness very shortly, i must, in the meantime, refuse to allow bail." i had grown used to the crushing disappointment which follows short-lived hope; but the shock was hard to meet. it seemed only too probable that lane or his emissaries had spirited wilkins away, and would not produce him until it was too late to save my crop. still, there was no help for it, and i followed the officer who led me back to my quarters with the best air of stolidity i could assume. "what did you think of it?" asked dixon, who came in presently with a smile on his face; and i answered ruefully: "the less said the better. it strikes me as the beginning of the final catastrophe, and if wilkins substantiates the finding of the match-box, conviction must follow. what is the usual term of detention for such offenses?" "you needn't worry about that," was the cheerful answer. "things are going just about as well as they could. there'll be a second adjournment, and then perhaps another." "and i must lie here indefinitely while my crops and cattle go to ruin! that is hardly my idea of things going well; and if you are jesting, it is precious poor humor," i broke in. dixon laughed. "i am not jesting in the least. you seem to be one of those people, ormesby, who believe everything will go to ruin unless they hold control themselves. now, it would not surprise me, if, on your return, you found your crops and cattle flourishing. further, the prosecution hold a poor case, and i expect, when my turn comes, to see it collapse. there isn't so much as you might fancy in the match-box incident. the men who burn down places don't generally leave such things about. i have had a talk with the sergeant, and, though he's closer than an oyster, i begin to catch a glimmering of his intentions." "why can't you explain them then? i'm growing tired of hints, and feel tempted to tell my mysterious well-wishers to go to the devil together, and leave me in peace," i said. "a little ill-humor is perhaps excusable," was the tranquil answer. "it is wisest not to prophesy until one is sure, you know. now, i'm open, as i said, to do my best for you; but in that case you have just got to let me set about it independently. usual or otherwise, it is my way." "then i suppose i'll have to let you. your reputation should be a guarantee," i answered moodily, and dixon lifted his hat from the table. "thanks!" he said dryly. "it is, in fact, the only sensible thing you can do." chapter xxi against time dixon's prediction proved correct. when i was brought into court a second time there was still no news of wilkins, and after further testimony of no importance the case was again adjourned. this time, however, bail was allowed, and boone and rancher gordon stood surety for me. the latter was by no means rich, and had, like the rest of us, suffered severe losses of late. dixon was the first to greet me when i went forth, somewhat moodily, a free man for the time being. "you don't look either so cheerful or grateful as you ought to be," he said. "you are wrong in one respect. i am at least sincerely grateful for your efforts." dixon, in defiance of traditions, smote me on the shoulder. "then what's the matter with the cheerfulness?" "it is not exactly pleasant to have a charge of this description hanging over one indefinitely, and i have already lost time that can never be made up," i said. "lane will no doubt produce his witness when he considers it opportune, and there is small encouragement to work in the prospect of spending a lengthy time in jail while one's possessions go to ruin." "you think lane had a hand in his disappearance?" dixon asked thoughtfully; and when i nodded, commented: "i can't quite say i do. my reasons are not conclusive, and human nature's curious, anyway; but i'm not sure that wilkins will, if he can help it, turn up at all. however, in the meantime, the dinner we're both invited to will put heart into you." he slipped his arm through mine, and led me into the leading hotel, where, as it was drawing near the time for the six o'clock supper, every man turned to stare at us as we passed through the crowded bar and vestibule. i was making for the general dining-room when dixon said: "go straight ahead. it was not easy to manage, but our hosts were determined to do the thing in style." he flung a door open, and boone and gordon greeted me in turn, while i had never seen a menu in a western hostelry to compare with that of the following meal. perhaps gordon noticed my surprise, for he said: "it was adams who fixed up all this, and came near having a scrimmage with the hotelkeeper about the wine. 'this comes from california, and i prefer it grown in france. those labels aren't much use to any man with a sense of taste,' says he. this brand, wherever they grew it, is quite good enough for me, but i'm wondering where adams learned the difference." boone smiled at me. "i have," he said, "a good memory, and learned a number of useful things during a somewhat varied experience." the meal was over and the blue cigar smoke curled about us, when i turned to gordon: "there are two things i should like to ask you. first, and because i know what losses you have had to face, how you raised the money to liberate me in the generous way you did; and, second, how many acres are left unsown at crane valley?" the gaunt rancher fidgeted before he answered: "you have said 'thank you' once, and i guess that's enough. you're so blame thin in the hide, and touchy, ormesby; and it wasn't i who did it--at least not much of it." dixon appeared to be amused, and when gordon glanced appealingly at boone the latter only smiled and shook his head; seeing which, i said quietly: "in short, you sent round the hat?" there was no doubt that the chance shot had told, for gordon rose, very red in face, to his feet. "that's just what i didn't. don't you know us yet? send round the hat when the boys knew you were innocent and just how i was fixed! no, sir. they came right in, each bringing his roll of bills with him, and if i'd wanted twice as much they'd have raised it. and now i've given them away--just what they made me promise not to." i had anticipated the answer, but it stirred me, nevertheless, and while gordon stared at me half angry, half ashamed of his own vehemence, i filled a wine-glass to the brim. "here's to the finest men and stanchest comrades on god's green earth," i said, looking steadily at him. it was dixon who brought us down to our normal level, for, setting his glass down empty, he commented: "you're not overmodest, ormesby, considering that you are one of them. still, i think you're right. people in the east are expecting a good deal from you and the good country that has been given you." gordon joined in the lawyer's laugh, but i broke in: "you have not answered my second question." "well!" and the rancher smiled mischievously. "you're so mighty particular that i don't know what to say. still, things looked pretty tolerable last time i was down to crane valley." dixon accompanied us to the station when it was time to catch the train, and as he stood on the car platform said to me: "it's probably no use to tell you not to worry, but i'd sit tight in my saddle and think as little as possible about this trouble if i were you." he dropped lightly from the platform, cigar in hand, as the train pulled out, and, though most unlike the traditional lawyer in speech or agility, left me with a reassuring confidence in his skill. it was early morning when i rode alone towards crane valley, feeling, in spite of dixon's good advice, distinctly anxious. it is true that thorn and steel were both energetic, but no man can drive two teams at once, and it was my impression that, having more at stake, i could do considerably more in person than either of them. i had small comfort in the reflection that, after all, the question how much had been accomplished was immaterial, because there was little use in sowing where, while i lay in jail, an enemy might reap, and i urged my horse when i drew near the hollow in which the homestead lay, and then pulled him up with a jerk. gordon had said things had been going tolerably well, but this proved a very inadequate description. the plowed land had all been harrowed and sown, and beyond it lay the shattered clods of fresh breaking, where i guessed oats had been sown under the sod newly torn from the virgin prairie. ten men of greater endurance could not have accomplished so much, and i sat still, humbled and very grateful, with eyes that grew momentarily dim, fixed on the wide stretch of black soil steaming under the morning sun. it seemed as though a beneficent genie had been working for my deliverance while i lay, almost despairing, in the grip of the law. then steel, springing out from the door of the sod-house, came up at a run, with thorn behind him. it was strangely pleasant to see the elation in their honest faces, and steel's shout of delight sent a thrill through me. "this is the best sight i've seen since you left us," he panted, wringing my hand. "thorn's that full up with satisfaction he can't even run. we knew dixon and adams would see you through between them." "has dixon been down here?" i asked, for the lawyer had not told me so; and thorn, who came up, gasped: "oh, yes; and a winnipeg man he sent down went round with adams 'most everywhere. say, did you strike niven for compensation?" "no," i answered, a trifle ruefully. "i am only free on bail, and not acquitted yet." steel's jaw dropped, and his dismay would have been ludicrous had it not betrayed his whole-hearted friendship, while thorn's burst of sulphurous language was an even more convincing testimony. again i felt a curious humility, and something enlarged in my throat as i looked down at them. "if i can't stand lane off with you two and the rest behind me i shall deserve all i get, and we must hope for the best," i said. "but if you could handle three teams each you could not have done all this." thorn, who was not usually vociferous in expressing his sentiments, appeared glad of this diversion, and, after a glance at the plowed land, strove to smile humorously. "think you could have done it any better yourself?" "it's a fair hit," i answered. "you know exactly how much i can do. let me down easily. how did you manage it?" "we didn't manage anything," said thorn. "no, sir. the boys, they did it all. everybody came or sent a hired man, and blame quaint plowing some of them cow-chasers done. put up a dollar sweepstake and ran races with the harrows, they did, and steel talked himself purple before he stopped them. they've busted the gang-plow, and one said he ought to have been a dentist by the way he pulled out the cultivator teeth." "and where did you come in?" i asked, and duly noted the effort it cost steel to follow his comrade's lead. "we just lay back and turned the good advice on," he said. "tom, he led the prayer meeting when, after supper, they turned loose on lane. oh, yes, we rode in and out for provisions. sally, she would have the best in the settlement, and sat up all night cooking. don't know how you'll feel when you see the grocery bill." "i can tell you now," i said. "i feel that there's nothing in the whole dominion too good for them--or you--and i'd be glad, if necessary, to sell my shirt to pay the bill." we went on to the house together, and sally, hiding her disappointment, plunged with very kindly intentions into a spirited description of her visitors' feats. "that's a testimonial," she said, pointing through the window to an appalling pile of empty tins. "i just had to get them when some of the boys brought their own provisions in. i set one of them peeling potatoes all night to convince him." "peeling potatoes?" i interpolated; and steel, smiling wickedly, furnished the explanation. "sally was busy in the shed when he came along, and wanted to help her considerable. 'feel like peeling half a sackful?' says sally; and when the fool stockman allowed he'd like it better than anything, says she, 'then, as i'm tired, you can.' she just left him with it, while she talked to the other man; but there was grit in him, and he peeled away until morning. wanted to marry her, too, he did." sally's glance foreboded future tribulation for the speaker, and thorn frowned; but steel, disregarding it, concluded gravely: "dessay he might have done it, but he heard sally turn loose on me one day, and took warning." in spite of the shadow hanging over me, it was good to be at home, and perhaps the very uncertainty as to its duration made the somewhat sordid struggle of our life at crane valley almost attractive. lane, it seemed only too probable, would crush us in the end, but there was satisfaction in the thought that every hour's work well done would help us to prolong our resistance. so the days of effort slipped by until i received a notice to present myself at court on a specified date, and, there being much to do, i delayed my departure until the last day. steel insisted on accompanying me to the railroad, but protested against the time of starting. "one might fancy you were fond of jail by the hurry you're in to get back to it," he said. "we could catch the cars if we left hours later." "it's as well to be on the right side," i said; for i had been in a state of nervous impatience all day. wilkins had been found, and now that a decision appeared certain, i grew feverishly anxious to learn the best--or the worst. it was a day in early summer when we set out and pushed on at a good pace, though already the sun shone hot. steel, indeed, suggested there was no need for haste, but after checking my beast a little, i shot ahead again. "it might be your wedding you were going to!" he said. we had covered part of the distance left to traverse on the second day when a freighter's lumbering ox-team crawled out of a ravine, and steel pulled up beside him. "i don't know if you're mailing anything east, but you're late if you are," said the teamster. "then there's something wrong with the sun," said steel. "if he's keeping his time bill we're most two hours too soon." "you would have been last week," answered the other; while a sudden chill struck through me as i remembered the promised acceleration of the transcontinental express. "they've improved the track in the selkirks sooner than they expected, and they're rushing the atlantic hummer through on the new schedule this month instead of next." before he concluded i had snatched out my watch and simultaneously touched the beast with the spurs. the next moment the timepiece was swinging against my belt, and, with eyes fixed on the willows before me, i was plunging at a reckless gallop down the side of the ravine. the horse was young and resented the punishment, but i had no desire to hold him, and the further he felt inclined to bolt the better it would please me. so we smashed through the thinner willows, and somehow reeled down an almost precipitous slope, reckless of the fact that there was a creek at the bottom, while the trail wound round towards a bridge, until the hoofs sank into the soft ground, and we came floundering towards the tall growth by the water's edge. there the spurs went in again, and the beast, which knew nothing of jumping, rather rushed than launched itself at the creek. there was a splash and a flounder, a fountain of mire and water shot up, and green withes parted before me as we charged through the willows on the farther bank. the slope was soft and steep beneath the climbing birches, and by the time we were half way up the beast had relinquished all desire to bolt; but my watch showed me that go he must, and it was without pity i drove him at the declivity. meantime, a thud of hoofs followed us, and when, racing south across the levels, we had left the ravine two miles behind, steel came up breathless. "can you do it, harry?" he panted. "i'm afraid not," i shouted. "still, if i kill the horse under me, i'm going to try. he's carrying a good many poor men's money." a hurried calculation had proved conclusively that if the train were punctual i should miss it by more than an hour, and there was, of course, not another until the following day. still, it was a long climb from vancouver city up through the mountains of british columbia to the kicking horse pass in the rockies, and there then remained a wide breadth of prairie for the mammoth locomotives to traverse. sometimes, when the load was heavy, they lost an hour or two on the wild up-grade through the cañons. i was ignorant of legal procedure, but greatly feared that my non-appearance in the court would entail the forfeiture of the sureties, and, as the session was near an end, postpone the trial indefinitely. therefore the train must be caught if it were in the power of horseflesh to accomplish it, and i settled myself to ride as for my life. "wouldn't the port arthur freight do?" shouted steel. "no," i answered. "it's the atlantic express or nothing! you can pick those things up on your homeward journey." without checking the beast i managed to loosen the valise strapped before me, and hurled it down upon the prairie. it contained all i possessed in the shape of civilized apparel except what i rode in, and that was mired all over from the flounder through the creek; but the horse already carried weight enough. it was now blazing noon, and in the prairie summer the sun is fiercely hot. here and there the bitter dust of alkali rolled across the waste, crusting our dripping faces and the coats of the lathered beasts. my eyelashes grew foul and heavy, blurring my vision, so that it was but dimly i saw the endless levels crawl up from the far horizon. a speck far down in the distance grew into the altitude of a garden plant, and, knowing what it must be, i pressed my heels home fiercely, waiting for what seemed hours until it should increase into a wind-dwarfed tree. it passed. there was nothing but the dancing heat to break the great monotony of grass, while the gray streak where it cut the sky-line rolled steadily back in mockery of our efforts to reach it. yet i was soaked in perspiration, and steel was alkali white. there was a steady trickle into my eyes, and the taste of salt in my mouth, while the drumming of hoofs rose with a staccato thud-thud, like distant rifle fire, and the springy rush of the beasts beneath us showed how fast we were traveling. steel shook his head as we raced up a rise which had tantalized me long, stirrup to stirrup and neck to neck, while the clots from the dripping bits drove past like flakes of wind-whirled snow. "if you want to get there, ormesby, this won't do," he said. "you'd break the heart of the toughest beast inside another hour." "the need would justify a worse loss," i panted, snatching out my watch. "we have pulled up thirty minutes, but are horribly behind still. men who can't afford to lose it have put up the stakes i am riding for." steel made a gesture of comprehension, but once more shook his head. "my beast's the better, and he's carrying a lighter weight, but he'll never last at the pace we're making. save your own a little, and when he's dead beat i'll let up and change with you. i'll hang on in the meantime in case one of them comes to grief over a badger-hole. it's your one chance if you're bent on getting through." i would at that moment have gladly sold the rest of my life for the certainty of catching the train. to give my enemy no advantage was a great thing, and i felt that absence when my name was called would prejudice the most confiding against me. but that was, after all, a trifle compared with what i owed the men who had probably stripped themselves of necessities to help me, and i felt that if i failed them a shame which could never be dissipated would follow me. nevertheless, steel's advice was sound, and i tightened my grip on the bridle with a smothered imprecation. then my heart grew heavier, for the horse needed no pulling, and responded with an ominous alacrity. we were still leagues from the railroad, and the miles of grasses flitted towards us ever more slowly. the last clump of birches took half an hour to raise, and the willows which fled behind us had been five long minutes taking the shape of trees. my watch was clenched in one hand, and, while bluff and ravine crawled, its fingers raced around the dial with an agonizing rapidity in testimony of the feebleness of flesh and blood when pitted against steel and steam. the clanging cars had swept clear of the foothills long ago, and the track ran straight and level across the prairie, a smooth empty road for the accelerated to save time on in its race between the pacific and the laurentian waterway. when the prairie grew blurred before us, as it sometimes did, i could see instead the two huge locomotives veiled in dust and smoke thundering with a pitiless swiftness down the long converging rails, while the drumming of hoofs changed into the roar of wheels whose speed would brand me with dishonor. yet we were doing all that man or beast could do, and at last a faint ray of hope and a new dismay came upon me. the difference in time had further lessened, but my horse was failing. "go on as you're going," shouted steel, edging his whitened beast nearer. "i'm riding a stone lighter, and this beast has another hour's work left in him." i went on, the horse growing more and more feeble and blundering in his stride, until at last, when it was a case of dismount or do murder, i dropped stiffly from the saddle. steel was down in a second, and in another my jacket and vest were off, and i laid my foot to the stirrup in white shirt and trousers, with a handkerchief knotted around my waist. "you'll startle the folks in empress, and you can't strip off much more," said steel. "i'd ride into the depot naked sooner than rob the boys," i said; and was mounted before my comrade could reopen his mouth. when he did so his "good luck!" sounded already faint and far away. steel's horse had more life left in him--one could feel it in his stride; but now that there was some hope of success i rode with more caution, sparing him up the low rises, and trying, so far as one might guess it, to keep within a very small margin of his utmost strength. so we pressed on until all the prairie grew dim to me, and my only distinct sensation was the rush of the cool wind. then a flitting birch bluff roused me once more to watch, and minute by minute i strained my eyes for the first glimpse of the tall poles heralding the railroad track. at last a row of what looked like matches streaked the horizon, and grew in size until something that rose and fell with the heave of the prairie sea became visible beneath. then, as we topped one of its grassy waves, a cluster of distant cubes loomed up, and a glance at the watch's racing fingers warned me that i was already behind the time that the train was due to reach the settlement. it might have passed; and a new torture was added until, when in an agony of suspense, i strained my eyes towards the west, a streak of whiteness crept out of the horizon. the run of the accelerated was at that time regarded as a national exploit, forming, as it did, part of a new link binding japan and london--the east and the west; and i knew the conductor would hardly have waited for one of his own directors. the white streak rapidly grew larger; something sparkled beneath it, and there was flash of twinkling glass through the dust and steam. i fixed my eyes on the station, and taxed every aching sinew in hand and heel, for the weakening beast must bring me there in time or die. a smoke cloud, with bright patches beneath it, rolled up to the station when i was nearly half a mile away. the horse was reeling under me, the power had gone out of the leaden hands on switch and bridle, and--for the tension had produced a vertigo--my sight was almost gone. hearing, however, still remained, and shouts of encouragement reached me, while i could dimly see the station close ahead, and shapeless figures apparently waving hats and arms. the clang of a big bell rang in my ears, the twin locomotives snorted, and i fell from the saddle, sprang towards the track, and clutched at the sliding rails of a car platform. i missed them; the car, swaying giddily, so it seemed, rolled past, and i hurled myself bodily at the next platform. somebody clutched my shoulder and dragged me up, and i fell with a heavy crash against the door of a vestibule. "just in time," said a man in uniform. "say, are you doing this for a wager, or are some mad cow-chasers after you?" chapter xxii bad tidings the dust was rolling about the cars and the gaunt poles whirled past before i could recover breath to answer the astonished conductor. then it was with a gasp i said: "won't you get me a little water?" the man vanished, and i sat still vacantly noticing how the prairie reeled behind me until the door slid open and he returned with a tin vessel and a group of curious passengers behind him. a piece of ice floated in the former, and a man held out a flask. "i guess it won't hurt him, adulterated some," he said. never before had i tasted so delicious a draught. hours of anxiety and effort under a blazing sun had parched and fouled my lips, and my throat was dry as unslaked lime. the tin vessel was empty when i handed it back, and the railroad official looked astonished as he turned it upside down for the spectators' information. "i guess a locomotive tank would hardly quench that thirst of yours," he said. "thanks. i'll get up. it was not for amusement i boarded your train as i did," i said, and the rest opened a passage for me into the long colonist car. there was a mirror above the basins in the vestibule, and a glance into it explained their curiosity. the white shirt had burst in places; the grime of alkali had caked on my face, leaving only paler circles about the eyes. hardened mire crusted the rest of my apparel, and each movement made it evident to me that portions of the epidermis had been abraded from me. "it's not my business how passengers board these cars, so long as they're tolerably decent, and can pay their fare," observed the conductor. "still, although we're not particular, we've got to dress you a little between us; and it mightn't be too much to ask what brought you here in such an outfit?" it was evident that the others were waiting to ask the same question, and i answered diplomatically: "i have money enough to take me to empress at colonist fare, and was half way to the depot to catch the cars on the old schedule before i discovered you had commenced the accelerated service. then i flung off every ounce of weight that might lose me the race." "you must have had mighty important business," somebody said; and the door at the opposite end opened as i answered dryly: "i certainly had." "hallo! great columbus! is that you, ormesby?" a voice which seemed familiar said; and, turning angrily, i saw a storekeeper with whom i had dealt staring at me in bewilderment. "ormesby!" the name was repeated by several passengers, and i read sudden suspicion in some of the faces, and sympathy in the rest, while one of them, with western frankness, asked: "you're the rancher ormesby we've been reading about?" "yes," i answered, making a virtue of necessity. "i am on my way to surrender for trial, and redeem my bail. now you can understand my hurry." several of the passengers nodded, and the dealer said: "it's tolerably plain you can't go like that; they're that proud of themselves in empress they'd lock you up. so i'll try to find you something in my gripsack. still, while i concluded you never done the thing, i'd like to hear you say straight off you know nothing about the burning of gaspard's trail." "then listen a second," i answered. "you have my word for it, that i know no more what caused the fire than you do. you will be able to read my defense in the papers, and i need not go into it here." "that's enough for me," was the answer. "now, gentlemen, if you have got anything you can lend my friend here in your valises, i'll guarantee they're either replaced or returned. some of you know me, and here's my business card." it may be curious, but i saw that most of those present, and they were all apparently from parts of the prairie, fully credited my statement, and one voiced the sentiments of the rest when he said: "i'll do the best i can. if mr. ormesby had played the fire-bug, he wouldn't be so mighty anxious to get back to court again." the position was humiliating, but no choice was left me. i must either accept the willing offers or enter empress half naked, and accordingly i made a hasty selection among the garments thrust upon me. twenty minutes spent in the lavatory, with the colored porter's assistance, produced a comforting change, and when i returned to the car, one of the most generous lenders surveyed me with pride as well as approval. "you do us credit, rancher, and you needn't worry about the thanks. we've no use for them," he said. "hope you'll get off; but if you are sent up for burning down that place, i'll be proud of having helped to outfit a famous man." perhaps my face was ludicrous with its mingled expressions of gratitude and disgust at this naïve announcement, for a general laugh went up which i finally joined in, and that hoarse merriment gave me the freedom of the colonist car. rude burlesque is interspersed amid many a tragedy, and i had seen much worse situations saved by the grace of even coarse humor. thereafter no personal questions were asked, and most of my fellow-travelers treated me with a delicacy of consideration which is much less uncommon than one might suppose among the plain, hard-handed men who wrest a living out of the prairie. night had closed in some time earlier when i strolled out across the platform of the car and leaned upon the rails of the first-class before it. tired physically as i was, the nervous restlessness which followed the mental strain would, i think, have held me wakeful, even if there had been anything more than a bare shelf of polished maple, which finds out every aching bone, to sleep on. this, however, was not the case, for those who travel colonist must bring their own bedding, or do without it. it was a glorious summer night, still and soft and effulgent with the radiance of the full moon which hung low above the prairie, while the sensation of the swift travel was bracing. there was no doubt that the accelerated was making up lost time; and the lurching, clanking, pounding, roar of flying wheels, and panting of mammoth engines both soothed and exhilarated me. they were in one sense prosaic and commonplace sounds, but--so it seemed to me that night--in another a testimony to man's dominion over not only plant and beast upon the face of the earth, but also the primeval forces which move the universe. further, the diapason of the great drivers and titanic snorting, rising and falling rhythmically amid the pulsating din, broke through the prairie's silence as it were a triumphant hymn of struggle and effort, and toil all-conquering, as dropping the leagues behind it the long train roared on. i knew something of the cost, paid in the sweat of tremendous effort, and part in blood and agony, of the smooth road along which the great machines raced across the continent. perhaps i was overstrung, and accordingly fanciful; but i gathered fresh courage, which was, indeed, badly needed, and i had grown partly reassured and tranquil, when the door creaked behind me and there was a light step on the platform. then, turning suddenly, i found myself within a foot of lucille haldane. she was bareheaded. the moon shone on her face, which, as i had dreamed of it, looked at once ethereal and very human under the silvery light. this, at least, was not a fancy born of overtaxed nerves, for while given to heartsome merriment, daring, and occasionally imperious, there was a large share of the spiritual in the character of the girl. shrewd, she certainly was, yet wholly fresh and innocent, and at times i had seen depths of pity and sympathy which it seemed were not wholly earthly in her eyes. when one can name and number all the mysterious forces that rule the heart or brain of man, it may be possible to tell why, when beatrice haldane's idealized image was ever before me, i would have done more for her sister than for any living woman. we were both a little surprised at the encounter, and i fancied i had seen a momentary shrinking from me in the eyes of the girl. this at once furnished cause for wonder, and hurt me. she had shown no shrinking at our last meeting. "i did not expect to meet you when i came out for the sake of coolness. are you going east?" i said. lucille haldane was usually frank in speech, but she now appeared to be perplexed by, and almost to resent, the question. "yes. i have some business which cannot be neglected in that direction," she said. "is miss haldane or your father on board the train?" i asked, and lucille seemed to hesitate before she answered: "no. my father is in winnipeg, and beatrice has gone to montreal; but mrs. hansen, our housekeeper, is here with me." i was partly, but not altogether, relieved by this information. it was no doubt foolish, but i had been at first afraid that every one of my friends from bonaventure had seen in what manner i boarded the train. i would have given a good deal to discover whether lucille had witnessed the spectacle, but i did not quite see how to acquire the knowledge. "it must be important business which takes you east alone," i said idly--to gain time in which to frame a more leading question; but the words had a somewhat startling effect. a trace of indignation or confusion became visible in the girl's face as she answered: "i have already told you it is business which cannot be neglected; and if you desire any further information i fear i cannot give it to you. now, suppose we reverse the positions. what has made you so unusually inquisitive to-night, mr. ormesby?" the positions were reversed with a vengeance, somewhat to my disgust. i had neither right nor desire to pry into lucille haldane's affairs, and yet felt feverishly anxious to discover how much or how little she had seen at the station. it was no use to reason with myself that this was of no importance, for the fact remained. "i must apologize if i seemed inquisitive," i said. "it would have been impertinence, but i will make a bargain with you. if you will tell me whether you boarded the cars immediately the train came in, and what seat you took, i will tell you the cause of it." this struck me as a clever maneuver, for if, as i hoped, she had seen nothing, the story would certainly reach bonaventure, and it seemed much better that she should hear it first, and carefully toned down, from my own lips. lucille haldane's face cleared instantaneously, and there was a note of relief in her laugh. "must you always make a bargain? you remember the last," but here she broke off suddenly and favored me with a wholly sympathetic glance. "i did not mean to recall that unfortunate night. you should come to the point always, for you are not brilliant in diplomacy, and shall have without a price the information you so evidently desire. i was standing on the car platform when you rode up to the station." we are only mortal, and i fear i ground one heel, perhaps audibly, but certainly viciously, into the boards beneath me. still, i am certain that my lips did not open. nevertheless, i was puzzled by the sparkle in lucille haldane's eyes which the radiant moonlight emphasized. there was more than mischief in it, but what the more consisted of i could not tell. "have you forgotten the virtues of civilized self-restraint?" she asked demurely. i could see no cause for these swift changes, which would probably have bewildered any ordinary man, and i made answer: "it may be so; but on this occasion, at least, i said nothing." lucille haldane laughed, and laid her hand lightly on my arm as the cars jolted. "then you certainly looked it; but i am not blaming you. i saw you ride into the station, and i hardly grasp the reason for so much modesty. i do not know what delayed you, but i know you were trying to redeem the trust your neighbors placed in you." i was apparently a prey to all disordered fancies that night, for it seemed a desecration that the little white hand should even bear the touch of another man's jacket, and i lifted it gently into my own hard palm. also, i think i came desperately near stooping and touching it with my lips. be that as it may, in another second the opportunity was lacking, for lucille grasped the rails with it some distance away from me, and leaned out over them to watch the sliding prairie, her light dress streaming about her in the whistling draught. "the cars were very stuffy, and i am glad i came out. it is a perfectly glorious night," she said. the remark seemed very disconnected, but she was right. the prairie there was dead-level, a vast, rippling silver sea overhung by a spangled vault of softest indigo. in spite of the rattling ballast and puffs of whirled-up dust the lash of cool wind was grateful, and the rush of the clanking cars stirred one's blood. still, in contrast to their bulk and speed, the slight figure in the fluttering white dress seemed very frail and insecure as it leaned forth from the rails, and i set my teeth when, with a sudden swing and a giddy slanting, we roared across a curving bridge. before the dark creek whirled behind us i had flung my arm partly around the girl's waist and clenched the rails in front of her. "i am quite safe," she said calmly, after a curious glance at me. "you look positively startled." "i was so," i answered, speaking no more than the truth, for the fright had turned me cold; and she once more looked down at the whirling prairie. "that was very unreasonable. you are not responsible for me." perhaps the fright had rendered me temporarily light-headed, for i answered, on impulse: "no; on the other hand, you are responsible for me." "i?" the girl said quietly, with a demureness which was not all mockery. "how could that be? such a responsibility would be too onerous for me." "why it should be i cannot tell you; but it is the truth," i said. "twice, when a crisis had to be faced, it was your opinions that turned the scale for me; and i think that, growing hopeless, i should have allowed lane to rob me and gone elsewhere in search of better fortune had it not been for the courage you infused into me. once or twice also you pointed the way out of a difficulty, and the clearness of your views was almost startling. the most curious thing is that you are so much younger than i." i had spoken no more than the truth, and was conscious of a passing annoyance when lucille haldane laughed. "there is no overcoming masculine vanity; and i once heard my father say you were in some respects very young for your age," she said. "i am afraid it was presumption, but i don't mind admitting i am glad if any chance word of mine nerved you to continue your resistance." her voice changed a little as she added: "of course, that is because your enemy's work is evil, and i think you will triumph yet." neither of us spoke again for a time, and i remember reflecting that whoever won lucille haldane would have a helpmate to be proud of in this world and perhaps, by virtue of what she could teach him, follow into the next. i could think so the more dispassionately because now both she and her sister were far above me, though, knowing my own kind, i wondered where either could find any man worthy. so the minutes slipped by while the great express raced on, and blue heavens and silver prairie unrolled themselves before us in an apparently unending panorama. there had been times when i considered such a prospect dreary enough, but it appeared surcharged with a strange glamour that moonlit night. "will miss haldane return to bonaventure?" i asked, at length. "i hardly think so," said the girl. "we have very different tastes, you know; and as father will not keep more than one of us with him, we can both gratify them. beatrice will leave for england soon, and in all probability will not visit bonaventure again." she looked at me with a strange expression as she spoke, and when her meaning dawned on me i was conscious of a heavy shock. i had braced myself to face the inevitable already, but the knowledge was painful nevertheless, and my voice was not quite steady when i said: "you imply that miss haldane is to be married shortly?" "it is not an impossible contingency." lucille spoke gravely, and i wondered whether she had guessed the full significance of the intimation. perhaps my face had grown a little harder, or the tightening of my fingers on the rail betrayed me, for she looked up very sympathetically. "i thought it would be better that you should know." there was such kindness stamped on her face that my heart went out to her, and it was almost huskily i said: "i thank you. you have keen perceptions." lucille smiled gravely. "one could see that you thought much of beatrice--and i was sorry that it should be so." her tone seemed to challenge further speech, and presently i found words again: "it was an impossible dream, almost from the beginning; but i awakened to the reality long ago. still, nothing can rob me of the satisfaction of having known your sister and you, and your influence has been good for me. one can at least cherish the memory; and even a wholly impossible fancy has its benefits." the girl colored, and said quietly: "it is not our fault that you overrate us, and one finds the standard others set up for one irksome. and yet you cannot be easily influenced, from what i know." "heaven knows how weak and unstable i have been at times, but i learned much that was good for me at bonaventure, and should, whatever happens, desire to keep your good opinion," i said. "i think you will always do that," said the girl, moving towards the door. "it is growing late, but before i go i want to ask you to go to your trial to-morrow with a good courage, and not to be astonished at anything you hear or see. if you are, you must try to remember that we canadians actually are, as our orators tell us, a free people, and that the prairie farmers do not monopolize all our love of justice." she brushed lightly past me, and the prairie grew dim and desolate as the door clicked to. i had long dreaded the news just given me, but such expectations do not greatly lessen one's sense of loss. still, it may have been that my senses were too dulled to feel the worst pain, and i sat down on the top step of the platform with my arm through the railing in a state of utter weariness and dejection, which mercifully acted as an anesthetic. how long i watched the moonlit waste sweep past the humming wheels i do not know; but tired nature must have had her way, for it was early morning when a brakeman fell over me, and by the time the resultant altercation was concluded, the clustered roofs of empress rose out of the prairie. chapter xxiii liberty sleep had brought me a brief forgetfulness, but the awakening was not pleasant when i painfully straightened my limbs on the jolting platform, while the twin whistles shrieked ahead. every joint ached from the previous day's exertions, my borrowed garments were clammy with dew, and i shivered in the cold draught that swept past the slowing cars. the sun had not cleared the grayness which veiled the east, and, frowned down upon by huge elevators which rose higher and higher against a lowering sky, the straggling town loomed up depressingly out of the surrounding desolation. the pace grew slower, a thicket of willows choked with empty cans and garbage slid by, then the rails of the stockyards closed in on each hand, and we jolted over the switches into the station, which was built, as usual, not in, but facing, the prairie town. there was no sign of life in its ill-paved streets, down which the dust wisps danced; bare squares of wooden buildings, devoid of all ornamentation, save for glaring advertisements which emphasized their ugliness, walled them in, and the whole place seemed stamped with the dreariness which characterizes most prairie towns when seen early on a gloomy morning by anybody not in the best of spirits. my fellow-passengers were apparently asleep, but i was the better pleased, having no desire for speech, and i dropped from the platform as soon as the locomotive stopped. hurrying out of the station, i did not turn around until a row of empty farm wagons hid the track, which action was not without results. one hotel door stood open, but knowing that its tariff was not in accordance with my finances, i passed it by and patrolled the empty streets until the others, or a dry goods store, should make ready for business. one of the latter did so first, and when i entered a mirror showed that the decision was not unnecessary. the borrowed jacket was far too small, the vest as much too large, while somebody's collar cut chokingly into my sunburnt neck. still, the prices the sleepy clerk mentioned were prohibitive, and after wasting a little time in somewhat pointed argument--of which he had the better--i strode out of the store, struggling with an inclination to assault him. western storekeepers are seldom characterized by superfluous civility, and there are disadvantages attached to a life in a country so free that, according to one of its sayings, any man who cannot purchase boots may always walk barefooted. "i don't know what the outfit you've got on cost you, and shouldn't wonder, by the way it fits, if you got it cheap," he said. "we don't turn out our customers like scarecrows, anyway, and if you'd had the money we would have tried to make a decent show of you." i was nevertheless able, after almost emptying my purse, to replace at least the vest and jacket at a rival establishment, whose proprietor promised to forward the borrowed articles to their legitimate owners. i afterwards discovered that they never received them. "you look smart as a city drummer, the top half of you, but it makes the rest look kind of mean. you want to live up to that coat," he said, after a critical survey. "i can't do it at the price, unless you will take your chances of getting paid when the stock go east," i said; and the dealer shook his head sorrowfully. "we don't trade that way with strangers, and i don't know you." i was in a reckless mood, and some puerile impulse prompted me to astonish him. "my name is henry ormesby!" the man positively gasped, and then, with western keenness, prepared to profit by the opportunity. "i'll fit you out all for nothing if you'll walk round to the photographer's and give me your picture with a notice to stick in the window that you think my things the best in town," he said. "it would be worth money every time the prairie boys come in, and i don't mind throwing a little of it into the bargain." this was exasperating, but i could not restrain a mirthless laugh; and, leaving the enterprising dealer astonished that any man should refuse such an offer, i hurried out of the store; but by the time the breakfast hour arrived all trace of even sardonic humor had left me. it was with difficulty i had raised sufficient ready money for the journey, and there now remained but two or three silver coins in my pocket, while, remembering that the dealer had been justified in pointing out the desirability of a complete renovation, i reflected gloomily that it would be useless, because, in all probability, the nation would shortly feed and clothe me. i also remembered how i had seen men with heavy chains on their ankles road-making before the public gaze in a british columbian town. meanwhile i was very hungry, and presently sat down to a simple breakfast in a crowded room. while waiting a few minutes my eyes fell on a commercial article in a newspaper, which, while noting a revival of trade, deplored the probable abandonment of much needed railroad extension. the writer appeared well posted, and mentioned the road we hoped so much from as one of the works which would not be undertaken. i laid down the journal with a sigh, and noticed that the men about me were discussing the coming trial. "i expect they'll send ormesby up," said one man, between his rapid gulps. "don't know whether he done it, but he threatened the other fellow, and said he'd see him roasted before he helped; while that match-box would fix most anybody up." "well, i don't know," observed a neighbor. "the match-box looks bad; but i guess if i'd been burning a place up i shouldn't have forgotten it. still, it might be fatal unless he could disown it. as to the other thing, i don't count much on what he said. a real fire-bug would have kept his mouth shut and helped all he was worth instead of saying anything." "i'm offering five to one he goes up. any takers?" said the first speaker; and it was significant that, although most westerners are keen at a bet, nobody offered. "i'd do it for less, 'cept for the match-box," said one. i managed to finish my breakfast, feeling thankful that--because (so their appearance suggested) those who sat at meat had driven in from the prairie to enjoy the spectacle--none of them recognized me. the odds, in their opinion, were more than five to one against me, and i agreed with them. slipping out i found dixon, and reported my presence to the police; and, after what seemed an endless waiting at the court, it was early afternoon when dixon said to me: "they'll be ready in five minutes, and i want you to keep a tight rein on your temper, ormesby. i can do all the fancy talking that is necessary. you can keep your heart up, too. there are going to be surprises for everyone to-day." i was called in a few minutes, and if the court had been thronged on previous occasions, it was packed to suffocation now. it was a bare, ugly, wood-built room, even dirtier than it was dingy. neither is there anything impressive, save, perhaps, to the culprit, about the administration of western justice, and i was thankful for a lethargy which helped me to bear the suspense with outward indifference. nothing striking marked the first part of the proceedings, and i sat listening to the drawl of voices like one in a dream. some of the spectators yawned, and some fidgeted, until there was a sudden stir of interest as the name "thomas wilkins" rang through the court. "i guess that's the prosecution's trump ace," said a man beneath me. i became suddenly intent as this witness took his stand. he was of the usual type of canadian-born farm hand, bronzed and wiry, but not heavily built, and hazarded what i fancied was a meaning glance at me. i could not understand it, for he seemed at once ashamed and exultant. "i was hired by rancher niven to help him at gaspard's trail, and remember the night of the fire well. guess anybody who'd been trod on by a horse and left with broken bones to roast would," he said; and proceeded to confirm niven's testimony. this was nothing new, and the interest slackened, but revived again when the witness approached the essential part of his story, and i could hear my own heart thumping more plainly than the slow drawling voice. "i was round at the wreck of the homestead some time after the fire. don't know the date, but niven made a note of it. kind of precise man he was. the place wasn't all burnt to the ground, and niven he crawls in under some fallen logs into what had been the kitchen. the door opened right on to the prairie, and anybody could slip in if they wanted to. niven grabbed at something on the floor. 'come along and take a look at this,' says he; and i saw it was a silver match-box he held up. there was 'h. ormesby' not quite worn off it. niven he prospects some more, and finds a flattened coal-oil tin. yes, sir, those you are holding up are the very things. 'we don't use that brand of oil, and buy ours in bigger cans,' says he." i could see by the spectators' faces it was damaging testimony, and dixon's serene appearance was incomprehensible, while, for the benefit of those ignorant of western customs, it may be explained that kerosene is sold in large square tins for the settler's convenience in several parts of the dominion. "i went over to the store with niven next day," continued the witness. "the man who kept it allowed that rancher ormesby was about the only man he sold that brand to in small cans." there were signs of subdued sensation, and wilkins continued: "we gave them both to sergeant mackay, and by-and-by i was summoned to come here and testify. i came right along; then it struck me it was mean to help in sending up the man who'd saved my life. so i just lit out and hid myself until the police trailed me." it was news to hear that lane had no hand in the witness's disappearance; and again he flashed an apparently wholly unwarranted, reassuring glance in my direction. then, while i wondered hopelessly whether dixon could shake his testimony, the latter stood up. "i purpose to ask thomas wilkins a few questions later, and will not trouble him about the match-box, being perfectly satisfied as to the accuracy of the facts he states," he said. i could see the spectators stare at him in surprise, and, wondering if he had lost his senses, settled myself to listen as the storekeeper deposed to selling me oil of the description mentioned, adding reluctantly that very few others took the same size of can. this, and a lengthy speech, closed the prosecutor's case, and it seemed, when he had finished, that nothing short of a miracle could save me. the audience was also evidently of the same opinion. dixon commenced feebly by submitting evidence as to my uprightness of character, which his opponent allowed to pass unchallenged with a somewhat contemptuous indifference. then he said: "it will be remembered that in his evidence sergeant mackay deposed that the witness niven told him the burning homestead was not insured, and i will call the western agent of a famous fire office." the evidence of the gentleman in question was brief and to the point. "i have heard the statement that gaspard's trail was not insured, and can't understand it. the witness niven took out a policy three months before the fire, and sent in his claim straight off to me. the company declined to meet it until this case was settled. am i quite certain, or can i offer any explanation? well, here's our premium receipt foil and record of the policy. can't suggest any explanation, except that somebody is lying." this was received with some sensation, and dixon smiled at me as if there were more in store. "you will observe that the witness niven cannot be considered a very truthful person. i will recall thomas wilkins," he said. wilkins had lost his shamefacedness when he reappeared. "i said the prisoner saved my life, and meant just that," he said, answering a question. "it was he who took me out of the fire, and i had sense enough to see he was leading the boys who saved all niven's horses. it's my opinion--you don't want opinions? well, i'll try to pitch in the solid facts." "your master went east for a few days before the fire and brought a case of groceries home with him," said dixon. "will you tell us if you opened that case?" "i did," was the answer. "he sent me into the station for it with the check. said our storekeeper was a robber, and he'd saved money by buying down east. it was a blame heavy case, so i started to open it in the wagon, and had just pulled the top off when niven came along." "did you see anything except groceries in it?" asked dixon; and there was a stirring in the court when wilkins answered: "i did. i had lit on to the top of three coal-oil tins when the boss came in." "did he look pleased at your diligence?" "no, sir. he looked real mad. 'if you'll do what you're asked to without mixing up my private things it will be good enough for me. get your horses fixed right now,' he said." "you are sure about the oil tins? were they large or small--and did you ever see them or the groceries again?" "dead sure," was the answer. "i stowed the groceries in the kitchen, but never saw the oil. it was a smaller size than we used, any way. didn't think much about it until i read a paper about this trial not long ago. begin to think a good deal now." i drew in a deep breath, and the movements of expectant listeners grew more audible when, reminded that his impressions were not asked for, wilkins stepped down. hope was beginning to dawn, for i could see that dixon was on the trail of a conspiracy. everybody seemed eager, the prosecutor as much so as the rest, and there was a deep silence when dixon folded up the paper on which he had been making notes. "my next witness is miss lucille haldane, of bonaventure," he said. there was a low murmur, every head was turned in the same direction, and i grew hot with shame and indignation when haldane's younger daughter walked into the witness stand. it seemed to me a desecration that she should be dragged forward into an atmosphere of crime as part of the spectacle before a sea of curious faces, and i had never felt the enforced restraint so horribly oppressive as when i read admiration in some of them. had it been possible to wither up dixon with a glance it is hardly likely that he would ever have handled a case again. the girl looked very young and pretty as, with a patch of almost hectic color in each cheek, and a brightness in her eyes, she took her place. she wore no veil, and held herself proudly as, without sign of weakness, she looked down at the assembly. while she did so there was, without articulate sound, something that suggested wonder and approval in the universal movement, and i heard a man beneath me say: "she's a daisy. now we're coming right into the business end of the play." "you know the prisoner, ormesby?" asked dixon; and though her voice was low, its clear distinctness seemed to permeate the building as she answered: "i do. he is a friend of my father's, and visited us at bonaventure occasionally." "did you ever see a silver match-box in his possession, and, if so, could you describe it?" "i did, on several occasions. he wore it hooked on to his watch-chain, and once handed it to me to light a lamp with. it had an oak-leaf engraving with a partly obliterated inscription--'from ---- to h. ormesby.'" "i think that is an accurate description," said dixon; and when the judge, who held up a little silver object and passed it on to the jury, signified assent, i glanced in savage bewilderment at the speaker. it had appeared shameful cruelty to hale that delicate girl into a crowded court; now it also appeared sheer madness. she never once glanced in my direction, but stood with head erect, one hand resting on the rails, where the pitiless sunlight beat full upon her, with eyes fixed only on the judge; but in spite of her courage i could see that her lips trembled, while the little gloved fingers tightened spasmodically on the rails. then i hung my head for very shame that i had been the unwitting cause of such an ordeal, feeling that i would prefer to suffer ten convictions rather than that she should become a subject for discussion in every saloon, and the free commentary of the western press, even if she could have saved me. "when did you last see the match-box?" asked dixon. "on the morning of the wednesday in the third week after the fire. i am sure of the day, because the visit of some friends from montreal impressed it on my memory. henry ormesby had stayed all night at bonaventure and left early in the morning. a maid brought me the match-box, which she had found on the bureau, with one or two articles of clothing; and as he did not return i told her to slip the match-box inside the packet and forward them. i forgot the incident until the trial recalled it." as lucille ceased it flashed upon me that i had wondered how the match-box had made its way into a pocket in which i never carried it. then i was borne down by a great wave of gratitude to the girl who, it seemed, had saved me. she was rigorously cross-examined, and, while i do not know whether the prosecutor exceeded due limits in his efforts to shake her evidence, i grew murderously inclined towards him as i noticed how his victim's color came and went, and the effort it cost her not to shrink under the questions. but her courage rose with the emergency, and when the indignation crept into her eyes there was several times subdued applause as her answer to some innuendo carried a rebuke with it. at last the approbation was no more subdued, but swelled into a hoarse murmur which filled all the court when she drew herself up at the question: "and it was because you were a firm friend of the prisoner's you recollected all this so opportunely, and, in spite of the diffidence any lady in your position would feel, volunteered to give evidence?" the damask patch had spread to lucille haldane's forehead, but instead of being downcast her eyes were filled with light. "no," she said; and the vibration in her voice had a steely ring. "it was because i am a canadian, and accordingly desired to see justice done to an innocent man. can you consider such a desire either uncommon or surprising?" a full minute had elapsed before the case proceeded, during which an excitable juryman rose and seemed on the point of haranguing the assembly until a comrade dragged him down. then laughter broke through the murmurs as he gesticulated wildly amid shouts of "order." a scandinavian domestic quaintly corroborated her mistress's statement, and there was no doubt that the scale was turned; but dixon did not leave his work half-completed, and the next witness confirmed this evidence. "i keep the railroad hotel. it's not a saloon, but a hotel, with a big h," he said. "know harry ormesby well. saw him about three weeks after the fire lighting a cigar i gave him from a silver match-box. oh, yes, i'm quite sure about the box; had several times seen the thing before. was pretty busy when the boys started smoking round the stove after supper, and forgot to pick up something bright beneath ormesby's chair. was going to tell him he'd dropped his box, when somebody called me. the boys cleared out when the cars came in, and i saw niven among them. knew him as a customer--don't want to as a friend. got too much of the coyote about him. my chinaman was turning out the lights when i saw somebody slip back quietly. he grabbed at something by the chair, and went out by the other door. there was only a light in the passage left, and i didn't quite recognize him. could swear it wasn't ormesby, and think he was more like niven. asked niven about it afterwards, and he said it wasn't he; didn't see ormesby, but wired his lawyer when i'd read the papers. don't believe ormesby had enough malice in him to burn up a hen-house." there were further signs of sensation, and sergeant mackay was called again. he had ridden over to gaspard's trail the day following the fire, and decided to clear out the refuse dump, he said. then the whole audience grinned, when, being asked why he did so, he glanced at the jury as if for sympathy, answering: "i was thinking i might find something inside it. a man must do his duty, but it was a sairly distressful operation." he found two unopened coal-oil tins resembling the flattened one, and was certain by the appearance of the dump they had been placed there some time before the fire. there was no further evidence. dixon said very little, but that little told. the jury had scarcely retired before one of them reappeared, and, with a rush of blood to my forehead and a singing in my ears, i caught the words--"not guilty!" then, when the judge, and even the prosecuting counsel, said he fully concurred, the murmurs swelled until they filled the court again; and presently i was standing outside, a free man, in the center of an excited crowd, for western citizens are desperately fond of any sensation. how many cigars and offers of liquid refreshment were thrust upon me i do not remember, but they were overwhelmingly numerous, and i was grateful when dixon came to the rescue. "mr. ormesby is much obliged to you, gentlemen, but it's quiet he wants just now," he said; while we had hardly reached the leading hotel where dixon led me than there was a clamor in the direction of the court, and i looked at him inquiringly. "i expect they've issued a warrant for niven on a charge of conspiracy or arson, and the boys have heard of it," he said. "however, i have had sufficient professional occupation for to-day, and we're going to get supper and afterwards enjoy ourselves as we can." i had, nevertheless, determined to thank my benefactress first, and, ignoring dixon's advice, sent up my name. i was informed that miss haldane would receive nobody, and the lawyer smiled dryly when i returned crestfallen. "i don't think you need feel either hurt or surprised," he said. the inhabitants of the prairie towns differ from the taciturn plainsmen in being vociferously enthusiastic and mercurial, and to my disgust the citizens came in groups to interview me, while one, who shoved his way into our quarters by main force, said the rest would take it kindly if i made a speech to them. "you can tell them i feel honored, but nobody can charge me with ever having done such a thing in my life," i said; and the representatives of the populace retired, to find another outlet for their energies, as we presently discovered. "i owe my escape solely to a lady's courage and your skill, dixon; but why didn't you try to implicate lane?" i said; and the lawyer laughed. "any reasonable man ought to be satisfied with the verdict and demonstration. it would have been difficult, if not useless, while i fancy that if lane is allowed a little more rope his time will shortly come," he said. "hallo! here are more enthusiastic citizens desirous of interviewing you." "keep them out for heaven's sake," i said; but before dixon could secure the door sergeant mackay strode in. "i have come to congratulate ye. it will be a lesson til ye, ormesby," he announced. i did not see the hand he held out. "i'm in no mood for sermons, and can't appreciate your recent actions as they perhaps deserve," i said; and the sergeant's eyes twinkled mischievously. "it should not be that difficult; and ye have the consolation that we served the state," he said. "it was in the interests of justice we--well--we made use of ye to stalk the other man." "there's no use pretending i'm grateful," i commenced; but dixon broke into a boisterous laugh, and the sergeant's face grew so humorous that my own relaxed and we made friends again. the reunion had not long been consummated when a rattle of wheels, followed by the tramp of many feet and the wheezy strains of a cornet, rose from below, and, striding to the window, i said with dismay: "lock the door. they're coming with a band and torches now." "i'm thinking ye need not," said mackay dryly. "it's a farewell to miss haldane they're giving." we gathered at the opened window, looking down at a striking spectacle. a vehicle stood waiting, and behind it, lighted by the glow of kerosene torches, a mass of faces filled the street. the heads were uncovered almost simultaneously, and lucille haldane appeared upon the hotel steps, with her attendants behind her. at first she shrank back a little from the gaze of the admiring crowd, to whom her spirit and beauty had doubtless appealed; but when one of them urged something very respectfully, with his hat in his hand, she moved forward a pace and stood very erect, a slight but queenly figure, looking down at them. "i am honored, gentlemen," she said falteringly, though her voice gained strength. "it was merely a duty i did, but i am gratified that it pleased you, just because it shows that all of us are proud of our country and eager, for its credit, to crush oppression and see justice done to the downtrodden." the street rang with the cheer that followed, and when dixon seized his hat the action was infectious. the next minute we were moving forward amid the ranks of the enthusiastic crowd behind the vehicle, which jolted slowly towards the station; and i discovered later that the uncomfortable sensation at the back of my neck was caused by the hot oil from a torch, which dripped upon it. in the meantime i noticed nothing but the sea of faces, the tramp of feet, and the final burst of cheering at the station, in which mackay, holding aloft his forage cap, joined vociferously. "it's only fit and proper. she's as good and brave as she's bonny," he said. chapter xxiv a secret tribunal some little time had elapsed since my acquittal, when, one pleasant summer morning, i rode out from the railroad settlement bound for bonaventure. the air was soft and balmy, the sunshine brilliant, and the prairie sod, which, by that time, had in most years grown parched and dry, formed a springy green carpet beneath the horse's feet. there had but once before been such a season within my memory, and my spirits were almost as buoyant as the wallet in my pocket was heavy. the lean years had passed and left us, perhaps a little more grave in face and quiet in speech, to look forward to a brightening future, while the receipts i had brought back from the nearest town meant freedom at least. i was also unwearied in body, for the roll of paper money in the wallet had made a vast difference to me, and instead of riding all night after a long railroad journey, i had slept and breakfasted well at the wooden hotel. indeed, i almost wondered whether i were the same man who had previously ridden that way in a state of sullen desperation, spurred on by hatred and dogged obstinacy instead of hope. now i was, however, rather thankful than jubilant, for my satisfaction was tempered by a perhaps unusual humility. steel, thorn, and i had, in our own blundering fashion, made the best fight we could, but it was the generosity of others and the winds of heaven which had brought us the victory. distance counts for little in these days, when the steel track and the modern cargo steamer together girdle the face of the globe; and the loss of others had been our gain. there had been scarcity in argentina, and australian grass was shriveling for want of rain. famine had smitten india, and the great cattle-barons beyond our frontier had been overbusily engaged, attempting the extermination of the smaller settlers, to attend their legitimate business; so buyers in europe were looking to canada for wheat and cattle. our own beasts had flourished, and before the usual season we had driven every salable head in to the railroad, riding in force behind them. that drive and the events which followed it were worth remembering. i sold the cattle in winnipeg for excellent prices, and deducting my own share of the proceeds, took the first train westward to visit lane, and paid him down three-fourths of the balance of the loan. having bought wisdom dearly, i took a lawyer with me. lane showed neither surprise nor chagrin, though he must have felt both, and i could almost admire the way he bore defeat. he was less a man than a money-making machine, and the more to be dreaded for his absence of passion. rage was apparently as unknown to him as pity, and, though he knew he had lost crane valley, and with it the completion of a well-laid scheme, he actually pushed a cigar-box towards me as he signed the receipt. i drew a deep breath of relief as i passed the papers to the lawyer, for the harvest would more than cover what remained of the debt, and then i laid down certain sums on behalf of others. lane smiled almost affably as he tossed the quittances upon the table. "they're all in order, rancher. a capable man don't need to use second-rate trickery, and i'm open to allow that the bull-frog was hard to squash," he said. i pocketed the documents and went out in silence. speech would have been useless, because the man had no sensibilities that could be wounded; but the interview struck me as a grotesquely commonplace termination of a struggle which had cost me months of misery. indeed, i found it hard to convince myself that what had happened was real, and the heavy burden flung off at last. being by no means a mere passionless money-making machine, i had, nevertheless, not finished with lane. it was evening the next day when i reached bonaventure, and was shown into the presence of its owner, who had lately returned there from the east. he looked haggard, and did not rise out of the chair he lounged in, though his voice was cordial. "you have been successful, ormesby. i can see it by your face," he said. "i have, sir," i answered. "more so than i dared to hope, and i fancy you will be astonished when you count these bills. the bonaventure draft played a leading part in my release, and now i find it difficult to realize that the luck has changed at last." it was not quite dark outside, but the curtains were drawn, and haldane sat beside a table littered with papers under a silver reading-lamp. his face looked curiously ascetic and thin, but the smile in his keen eyes was genial. boone sat opposite him smoking, and nodded good-humoredly to me. "you will soon get used to prosperity, and there is no occasion for gratitude," haldane said, tossing the roll of paper money across the table, but taking up the account i laid beside it. "i notice that you have earned me a profit of twenty per cent. you have tolerable business talents in your own direction, ormesby, and i shall expect your good counsel in the practical management of bonaventure which i have undertaken." "the management of bonaventure?" i said, and haldane's forehead grew wrinkled as he nodded. "exactly. the verdict has been given. no more exciting corners or supposititious heaping up of unearned increments for me. i am sentenced by the specialists to a dormant life and open-air exercise, and have accordingly chosen the rearing of cattle on the salubrious prairie." i guessed what that sentence meant to a man of his energies; but he had accepted it gracefully, and i was almost startled when he said: "do you know that i envied you, ormesby, even when things looked worst for you?" i could only murmur a few not overappropriate words of sympathy, though i fancied that had haldane been under the same grip he might have envied me less. "it takes time to grow used to idleness, which is why i sent for you to-night," he said, with a swift resumption of his usual tone. "i purpose to teach lane that he is not altogether so omnipotent as he believes himself--partly by way of amusement and to forward certain views of my own, and partly because my younger daughter insists that he is a menace to every honest man on the prairie. boone appears inclined to agree with her." "i might even go a little further, sir," said boone. haldane ignored the comment, and pointed to the papers, of which there appeared to be a bushel. "i have been posting myself in my new profession, and conclude that the prospects for grain and live stock are encouraging," he said. "news from chile, california, and the austral, all confirm this view; and, remembering it, we will consider lane's position. boone has taken considerable pains to discover that, as i expected, his resources are far from inexhaustible, and circumstances point to the fact that he has set his teeth in too big a morsel. at present neither the speculative public nor would-be emigrants have grasped the position, and therefore lane would get little if he realized on his stolen lands just now." "that is plain; but what results from it?" i said. "prosperity to poor men, according to my daughter;" and haldane's smile was not wholly cynical. "we purpose that he should realize as soon as possible. boone discovered that he is raising money to carry on by quietly selling out his stock in the investment company which has consistently backed him, and i feel inclined for a speculation in that direction, especially as the public will shortly be invited to increase the company's capital. lastly, i am in possession of accurate information, while lane is not. contrary to general opinion, the railroad will be hurried through very shortly." it was great news, and the possible downfall of my enemy perhaps the least of it. it implied swift prosperity for all that district, and while i stared at the speaker the blood surged to my forehead. though fate had robbed me of the best, part of what i had toiled, and fought, and suffered for was to come about at last; and the calmness of the others appeared unnatural. haldane's eyes were keen, but he showed no sign of unusual interest; boone's face was merely grim, and i guessed that the man whose heel had been on my neck would fare ill between them. "if he had used legitimate weapons one could almost be sorry for him," i said. "it will try even his nerve to lose all he has plotted for when the prize is actually, if he knew it, within his grasp." "he deserves no mercy," boone broke in. "this is justice, ormesby, neither more nor less; and unless we cripple him once for all he will take hold again with the first bad season. what you will shortly hear should demonstrate the necessity for decisive measures; but our host forgot to mention that he declines to profit individually by this opportunity." "if anyone wishes to learn my virtues he can apply to certain company promoters in montreal," said haldane languidly. "boone will remember that i came here to farm for my health, and have been coerced into assisting at this vehmgericht. those wheels, however, give warning that the first sitting will commence." a minute or two later i started wrathfully to my feet as niven was ushered into the room. he on his part seemed equally astonished, and, i think, would have backed out again, but that boone adroitly slammed the door behind him. it may be mentioned that he had been tried in my place, and, to the disgust of sergeant mackay, just escaped conviction. "i need not introduce mr. ormesby, who will kindly resume his place," said haldane pleasantly. "sit down and choose a cigar if you feel like it. you sent word you wanted to talk to me?" "i didn't want to talk to that man;" and niven scowled at me, while haldane shrugged his shoulders. "i can't turn him out, you see. now hadn't you better explain what you want with me?" there was a languid contempt beneath the speaker's surface good-humor which was not lost on the fidgeting man; but he lighted a cigar with an air of bravado, and commenced: "thinking over things, i figured both you and adams had your knife in lane;" and haldane's mild surprise was excellently assumed. "well, i've got my own knife in him, too. it's this way. lane put up the money for me to buy out ormesby, and made a mighty close bargain, thinking i daren't kick. it would have been inconvenient, and i didn't mean to; but when those blame police ran me in for a thing i never done, he just turns his back, and wouldn't put up a dollar to defend me! 'i've no use for blunderers of your kind,' says he." "one could understand that it is necessary for him to make sure of his subordinates' abilities," said haldane reflectively; and niven, who stared hard at him, appeared to gulp down something before he proceeded. "well, he can't fool with me, and it comes to this. i'm recorded owner of gaspard's trail; paid for it with my own check--lane fixed that up. now, what i want to ask you is, how's lane going to turn me out if i hold on to the place? strikes me he can't do it." in spite of this assurance the speaker looked distinctly eager until haldane answered: "we need not discuss the moral aspect of the case, because it apparently hasn't one, and you might not understand it if it had. speaking from a purely business point of view, i feel tolerably certain that, in the circumstances, he would not take legal proceedings against you, though i have no doubt he might arrange the affair in some other way." "feel quite sure?" asked niven. and haldane answered: "i may say i do." niven's grin of triumph would have sickened any honest man, but i was not sorry for his employer. "i guess i'll take my chances of the other way, and i'm coming straight to business. will you stand behind me? it's not going to be a charity. there is money in gaspard's trail, and i'm open to make a fair deal with the man who sees me through." i saw haldane's lips set tightly for a moment, and my hand itched for a good hold of niven's collar; but the master of bonaventure next regarded him with a quiet amusement which appeared disconcerting. "i fancy your worthy master was correct when he described you as a blunderer," he said. "it would be quite impossible for me to make a bargain of that--or any other--kind with you. you might also have added that he inspired you to more than the buying of gaspard's trail." there was pluck in niven, for he laughed offensively. "i got my verdict, and if you won't deal i may as well be going. anyhow, you've told me what i most wanted to know." he departed without further parley, and haldane smiled at me. "it would have been a pity to detain him, and lane was wrong in choosing an understudy he could not scare into submission. that rascal will hold on to gaspard's trail, and the loss of it will further hamper his master." some little time passed, and boone, who appeared impatient, said at last: "she is late; but gordon may have been too busy to drive her over earlier, and she promised me faithfully that she would come." haldane said nothing, though he seemed dubious until there was another sound of wheels, and i had a second surprise when a lady was ushered into the room, for i could scarcely believe my eyes when i saw that it was redmond's daughter. she had changed greatly from the girl who called down vengeance on the oppressor when we brought her father home, although the glitter in her eyes and the intentness of her face showed the strain of emotional nature in her. still, she was handsomely and tastefully dressed, and carried herself with dignity. "this is mr. haldane, miss redmond, and i am sure he will be grateful to you for coming," said boone, who i noticed appeared relieved when the new arrival laid a packet on the table. "i may explain for ormesby's benefit that miss redmond, who is winning fame as a singer, has something of importance to show him," he added. the girl's hand was very cold when it touched my own, and her movements nervous as she drew a book in tattered binding out of its wrappings. "i hope mrs. gordon will spare you as long as possible, and that your visit to the prairie will do you good," said haldane, placing a chair for her. "once i fancied i could never look at the prairie without a shudder, but of late i have been longing for sunshine and air, and shall perhaps be happier when this is over," said the girl. "it is a very hard thing i have to do, and i must tell you the whole painful story." "we can understand that it must be," said haldane gently. "when i left home for winnipeg i joined a second-rate variety company. i had inherited a gift for singing, and those who heard me were pleased with the old irish ballads my mother taught me. so there was soon no fear of poverty, and i was trying to bury the past, when, the night i first sang to a packed audience in winnipeg, it was once more dragged up before me. i came home from what the newspapers said was a triumph, and because one critic had questioned a verse of an old song i looked for a book of my mother's among the relics i had brought from the prairie. i found--this--instead." ailin redmond ceased with a little gasp. and glancing at the dilapidated account book she touched, i wondered what power it could have had to change her triumph into an agony. "i sat all that night beside the stove trying to force myself to burn the book, and yet afraid," she continued. "perhaps we are superstitious; but i felt that i dare not, and its secret has been a very burden ever since. sometimes i thought of the revenge it would give me, and yet i could not take it without blackening my father's memory. so i kept silence until my health commenced to fail under the strain, and meeting mr. boone at brandan, where i sang at the time mr. ormesby's trial filled the papers, i felt i must tell him part of my discovery. had the trial not ended as it did he would have consulted with lawyer dixon. afterwards, though i hated lane the more, i pledged mr. boone to secrecy, and kept silent until, when i could bear the load no longer, i told my trouble to père louis. 'if you only desire vengeance it would be better to burn the book; but if you can save innocent men from persecution and prevent the triumph of the wicked, silence would be a sin,' he said. then i wrote to mr. boone and told him i would show the papers to mr. ormesby." i opened the battered volume handed me with a strong sense of anticipation, and, as i did so, the girl shrank back shivering. redmond's writing was recognizable, and i thrilled alternately with pity and indignation against another person as i read his testimony. omitting other details, the dated entries, arranged in debit and credit fashion, told the whole story. "deep snow and stock very poor," the first i glanced at ran. "received from ormesby three loads of hay. sure 'tis a decent neighbor, for he wouldn't take no pay. entered so, if i ever have the luck, to send it back to him. "plow-oxen sick; horse-team sore-backed; seven days' plowing done by ormesby, say--money at harvest, or to be returned in help stock driving. "fifty dollars loan from ormesby; see entry overdue grocery bill." "is it necessary for me to read any more of these?" i asked. "no. if you are satisfied that he at least recognized the debt, pass on to the other marked pages," answered the writer's daughter. i set my lips as i did so, for there was only one inference to be drawn from the following entries, which ran dated in a series: "demand for fifteen hundred dollars from lane. no credit, ten dollars in the house. lane came over, and part renewed the loan in return for services to be rendered. black curses on the pitiless devil! took twenty head of prime stock, to be driven to the hollow with ormesby's. started out with the stock for gaspard's trail." there were no further entries, and miss redmond, who had been watching me, said, with a perceptible effort: "you will remember all those dates well. now read what is written on the loose leaf. when i came in one night the book lay on the table with that leaf projecting; but as my father was always fretting over the accounts, i did not glance at it as i replaced the book." the writing was blurred and scrawling--the work of an unstable man in a moment of agony; and some of the half-coherent sentences ran: "it was lane and his master the devil who drove me. i did not mean to do what i did; but when the fire came down, remembered he said 'any convenient accident.' i knew it was murder when i saw ormesby with the blood on his face." further lines were almost unintelligible, but i made out, "judas. no room on earth. lane says he is dying fast. you will hate the man who drove me for ever and ever." i folded up the paper, and, not having read the whole of it, handed it to the girl. "i am almost sorry you were brave enough to show me this; but i can only try to forget it," i said. miss redmond's eyes were dry; but she moved as if in physical pain, and clenched one hand as she said: "that secret has worn me down for weary months, and i dare not change my mind again. i shall never rest until it is certain that wicked man shall drive no one else to destruction. you must show mr. haldane all you have read." haldane laid down the book, and sat silent for at least a minute. "will you please tell us, miss redmond, how far you can allow us to make use of this?" he said. the girl shuddered before she answered: "it must not be made public; but if in any other way you can strike lane down, i will leave it you. you can hardly guess what all this has cost me; but, god forgive me, the hate i feel is stronger than shame--and his last words are burned into my brain." ailin redmond rose as she spoke, and i saw that part of père louis's admonition had fallen upon stony ground. her face and pose were what they had been when she had bidden us bring the dead man in. she came of a passionate race; but there had also been a signal lack of balance in her father's temperament, and perhaps it was this very strain of wildness which had made her singing a success. haldane, with expressions of sympathy, led her to the door, and returning, sat staring straight before him with a curious expression. "i don't know that the stolid, emotionless person is not far the happiest," he said at last. "she must have suffered a good deal--poor soul; and, even allowing that you had not seen those pitiful papers, i'm doubtful if you acted quite wisely, boone. however, the question now is: how are we going to use them?" "nobody but ourselves must see them," i managed to answer, savage as i was. "i would make one exception," said the owner of bonaventure. "that one is the man responsible. it can be no enlightenment to him, and the fact that he would not suspect us of any reluctance to make the most of our power, strengthens our ability to deal with him." our conference ended shortly, and when we joined the others i saw that lucille haldane had taken redmond's daughter under her wing. how she had managed it, of course i do not know; but the latter appeared comforted already, and there was a gentle dimness instead of the former hard glitter in her eyes. then, and it was not for the first time, i felt that i could have bowed down and worshiped the mistress of bonaventure. it was evident that boone had also been observant, for he afterwards said, with unusual gravity: "women resembling miss lucille haldane are the salt of this sorrowful world. there was only one i ever knew to compare with her, and she, being too good for it, was translated to what, if only because she was called there, must be a better." i agreed with his first statement entirely, and took his word for the rest; but made no answer. boone did not appear to desire one, and again a strange longing filled his eyes while the shadow crept into his face. i remembered it was written that the heart knows its own bitterness. chapter xxv a change of tactics the fires of sunset were fading low down on the verge of the prairie when i spoke for the last time with beatrice haldane, as it happened, beside the splendid wheat. it was changing from green to ochre, and there was a play of varied light athwart the rigid blades, which in its own way emphasized the symmetry of the tall figure in pale-tinted draperies. miss haldane was stately of presence, but it was symbolic of the difference between us that while we of the prairie ever turned our eyes instinctively towards the west, she stood looking back towards civilization and the darkening east, with a cold green brilliancy burning behind her head. it matched the face projected against it, which was that of a statue, perfect in modeling, as i still think, if almost as colorless and serene. beatrice haldane was very beautiful, and every curve and fold of the simple dress was immaculate and harmonious because it seemed a part of her. my threadbare jean clung shapelessly about me, there was thick dust on my old leggings and a rent in my broad hat, which trifles were, by comparison, not without significance. beatrice haldane was clearly born to take a leading place, with the eyes of many upon her, where life pulsed fastest in the older world. i was a plain rancher, conscious, in spite of theories concerning its dignity, of the brand of rude labor and the stain of the soil; but at least my eyes were opened so that i had seen the utter impossibility of a once cherished dream. "the prairie is very beautiful to-night, and surely this grain promises a splendid yield," she said. "i am glad that it is so, for it will leave a pleasant memory. i shall probably never stand beside the wheat again." this, i knew, was true. beatrice haldane would leave for montreal and paris in a day or two, and, paying bonaventure a farewell visit, she had ridden over with her father, who had business with me. strange to say, i could now contemplate her approaching marriage with equanimity. "there are many drawbacks, but it is a good country," i answered thoughtfully. beatrice haldane looked at me, and again i felt that she could still draw my soul to the surface for inspection if she desired to. i also fancied she knew her power, and wished to exercise it, but not from pride in its possession. "and yet you can now hardly hope for more than a laborious life and moderate prosperity. the prairie is often dreary, and the toil almost brutalizing. are you still content?" the sympathy in the voice robbed the words of any sting, and i answered cheerfully: "it is all that you say; but there are compensations, and i think no effort is thrown away. i can only repeat the old argument. one can feel that he is playing a useful part in a comprehensive scheme even in the muddiest tramp down a half-thawn furrow, and that every ear of wheat called up or added head of cattle is needed by the world. perhaps the chief care of three-fourths of humanity concerns their daily bread. of course, our principal motive is the desire to attain our own, and you may not understand that there is a satisfaction in the mere discovering of how much one can do without, and, possibly as a result of this, that one's physical nature rises equal to the strain." "and what do you gain--the right to work still harder?" she asked. "i can grasp the half-formed ideal in your mind, and it is old, for thousands of years before thoreau men enlarged on it. still, it has always seemed to me that the realization is only possible to the very few, and to the rest the result mostly destructive to the intellect." i laughed a little. "and i am very much of the rank and file; but at least i have no hope of emulating either the medieval devotees or the modern hindoo visionaries. we practice self-denial from the prosaic lack of money, or to save a little to sink in a longer furrow, and endure fatigue more often to pay our debts than to acquire a bank balance. yet the result is not affected. the world is better fed." "yes," she said thoughtfully. "it seems that whatever your motives may be these things possess virtue in themselves--but the virtues do not necessarily react upon those who practice them." "that is true," i answered. "perhaps it is the motives that count." beatrice haldane looked away towards the dying fires. "there was a time when you would not have been content." the wondrous green transparency had almost gone, the dew touched the wheat, and we stood alone in the emptiness, under the hush that crept up with the dimness from the east, and through which one could almost hear the thirsty grasses drink. i knew now that i had never loved beatrice haldane as a man usually loves a woman, but had offered an empty homage to an unreality. still, the semblance had once been real enough to me, and i could not wholly hold my peace and let her go. furthermore, both she and her sister possessed the gift of forcing one's inmost thoughts, and there was a power in the quiet voice stronger than my will. "no. i once had my ambitions and an ideal," i said. "at first their realization seemed possible, but i had my lesson. even when i knew the ideal was unattainable, the knowledge did not decrease its influence, and now, while smiling at past presumption, i can at least cherish the memory. i think you must have known part of this." beatrice haldane had by knowledge attained to a perfection of simplicity, and, while my own was either the result of ignorance or born in me, we met upon it as man and woman--the latter too queenly to stoop to any small assumption of diffidence. "i guessed it long ago, and there was a time when i was pleased," she said. "however, it was doubtless well for you that, when contact with the world taught me what we both were, i knew it was impossible. when we met again on the prairie, you could not see that i was not the girl you knew in england. she had, in the meantime, bought enlightenment dearly; though whether it or her earlier fancies were nearer the hidden truth she does not know." "in one respect you can never change to me," i said. "the sunny-faced girl in england will always live in my memory." beatrice haldane smiled, though the fast fading light showed the weariness in her eyes. "until you find the substance better than the shadow; and she must always have been unreal. still, we are not proof against such assurances, and i am even now partly pleased to hear you say so. do you know that you have shamed me, harry ormesby?" "that would be impossible," i said; and my companion smiled. "hold fast by your blunt directness if you are wise," she said. "i was blinded by the critical faculty, and you rebuked me by clinging to your visionary ideal, while i--misjudged you. i do not mind admitting now that it hurt me, the more so when i found that lucille, being--and there is truth in the phrase--unspotted by the world, believed in you implicitly. it was because of this i allowed you to speak as you have done. i felt that i must ask your forgiveness, because we shall probably never meet again." whether beatrice haldane was correct in her own estimate i do not know; but she was the most queenly woman i had ever met, and i lifted the rent hat as i said: "circumstances betrayed me, and you could do no wrong. even if that had been possible, how far would one suspicion count against all that the girl in england has done for me? now it only remains for us to part good friends--and with full sincerity i wish you every happiness." "thank you," said beatrice quietly; and without another word we walked back towards the house together through the velvet dusk. i noticed that lucille glanced at us sharply as we entered. "you will not forget our appointment in winnipeg," said haldane, as they drove away; and i stood still long after the vehicle had melted into the prairie. what i thought i do not remember; but it was with a dreamy calmness that, now the worst had passed, i returned to crane valley. reluctance mingled with my anticipation when i proceeded to winnipeg at the appointed time. the harvest was almost ready, and a brief holiday possibly justifiable in anticipation of that time of effort; but the journey was long and expensive, while, after our severe economies, i had fallen into the habit of slow consideration each time i spent a dollar. steel laughed when i said so, and pointed to the grain. "it's easier to get used to prosperity than the other thing," he said. "there is plenty money yonder to start you again. if necessary you can remember you have earned a good time." the sight of the long waves of deepening ochre that rolled before the warm breeze was very reassuring, though belief came slowly, and for days i had feared some fresh disaster. their rhythmical rustle, swelled by the murmur of the wheat heads and the patter of the oats, made sweet music, for their undertone was hope, while the flash and flicker of the bending blades presaged the glitter of hard-won gold--gold that would set me a free man again. then i was ashamed, and my voice a trifle husky, as i said: "i am certainly going to winnipeg, steel. if it had not been for the others the harvest would have left me in the grip of lane, and now that the time has come i mean to stand by them." i boarded the cars the more contentedly that there was a note in my pocket from lucille haldane. "father tells me the time is ripe for you and your friends to strike at last," it ran. "i want to ask you to assist him in every way you can; and i wait anxiously to hear of your success." i did not understand the whole plan of campaign, but gathered that haldane, with the support of our prairie committee, would make a "bear" attack on the company--which, while lane held stock in it, had largely financed him--and i looked forward with keen interest to the struggle. we others had done our best with plow and bridle, not to mention birch staff and fork; but we had hitherto acted chiefly on the defensive, and now an attack was to be pushed home with the aid of money and a superior intellect. haldane was in excellent spirits when, accompanied by boone, he greeted me in winnipeg station. "i feel less rusty already, and you look several years younger than you did a few months ago," he said. "but we have breakfast ready, and can talk comfortably over it." the meal was a luxurious one, and haldane's explanations interesting. "mr. boone has taken a great deal of trouble to inquire into lane's affairs, with the assistance of a man dixon recommended. considering the difficulties, i hardly think i should have succeeded better myself," he said. boone said this was an unmerited compliment; and haldane laughed. "well, the result, as anticipated, is this. lane has most of his money locked up in mortgages which he does not wish to foreclose on immediately, while we conclude that the rest is represented by shares in the territories investment company, which concern proposes to increase its capital, and, as somebody has been trying to sell that stock quietly in small lots, one may decide that he is short of money. we purpose to scare off buyers and depreciate his shares by selling them in handfuls as publicly as possible; or, in other words, to hammer the company." "there are two points i am not clear about," i said. "we have not the stock to sell; and wouldn't it be a trifle hard on innocent shareholders?" "we are finding out your capacities by degrees," said haldane, with a quizzical glance at me. "in the first place, we take the risk of being able to procure the stock when frightened holders rush on the market. if they don't--well, there will be a difficulty. in the second place, there are no innocent holders, or only a very few. the corporation is a semi-private concern--combination of second-rate sharpers of your friend's own kidney; and the few outsiders are professional speculators who take such risks as they come--they are only now thinking of an appeal to the general public. here is the latest balance sheet, and i presume you are not anxious to see a continuance of that dividend wrung out of your friends on the prairie." my anger flamed up once more as i glanced at the figures. i had seen how that profit was earned--not by the company's agents, but by careworn men and suffering women, who toiled under a steadily increasing burden, which was crushing the life out of them. i had also received a laconic message from a combination of such as these: "have paid in ---- dollars to the b. o. m. we'll sell our boots to back you if haldane's standing in. do the best you can." then i brought my fist down on the table as i said: "i'd walk out a beggar to-morrow before that should happen. if this concern lives only by such plunder, for heaven's sake let us demolish it. i can't eat another morsel. isn't it time to begin?" haldane smiled, and touched a bell. "my principal broker should be waiting." a little, spectacled man, with a shrill voice and insignificant appearance, was ushered in, and, as i inspected him, haldane's choice reminded me of the hebrew shepherd's sling. he appeared a very feeble weapon to use against the giant who had oppressed us so grievously. "territories have been offering at several dollars' reduction," he said. "don't know why, unless it's the railroad uncertainty. you couldn't get hold of one under full premium until lately." the speaker, in spite of his declared ignorance, answered haldane's smile; and the latter said: "you can begin at a further five dollars down. come round in the afternoon and tell us how you are progressing. isn't there a race meeting somewhere about this place to-day?" the broker said there was; and i was astonished when haldane suggested that we might as well attend it, for this part of the conflict was evidently to be fought on wholly novel lines. we drove to the meeting, and after the monotony of crane valley the sight of the light-hearted crowd, the hum of voices and laughter, the gay dresses, and, above all, the horses, was exhilarating. nevertheless, it was some time before the scene compelled my whole attention, for the issues of the business which had brought me to winnipeg appeared far too serious to justify such trifling. by degrees, however, i yielded to the influence of the stirring spectacle, and was at length amazed to find myself shouting wildly with the rest when a handsome chestnut broke out from the ruck of galloping horses a furlong from the post. then, indeed, for a few seconds i was oblivious of everything but the silk-clad figure and the beautiful animal rushing past the dim sea of faces in the blaze of sunshine behind, while the roar of hoofs and the human clamor set me quivering. it was all so different from anything i had heard or seen on the silent prairie. boone returned presently, and i stared at the silver coins he placed in my palm. "you don't look satisfied, ormesby, with the result of your few dollars. are you sorry i did not lay a decent stake, or have you been infected by lane?" he said; and i answered him dryly: "i'm sorry that, without telling me, you staked anything at all. it is so long since i had any money to risk on such amusements--and it does not seem fair to the anxious men waiting on the prairie." haldane laughed. "it is generally wise to make the most of a pleasant interlude, because the average man does not get too many of them. if this strikes you as trifling, ormesby, you will find grim enough amusement before we are through." it was afternoon when we returned to the city, and we recommenced the campaign by a sumptuous lunch, during which the broker came in. "i've been offering territories until i'm hoarse," he said. "there was some surprise and talking, but nobody wanted to buy; and, while it's an honor to serve you, i don't see much of a commission in this." "you will, if i know my opponents," said haldane significantly. "take off two more dollars, and, if there are any buyers, don't let them think you're not in earnest. you can put another of your friends on." the broker departed and left me wondering. it struck me that to reduce the value by open quotations should have been enough, without saddling ourselves with contracts when we did not hold the stock; but it seemed that cautious slowness was not haldane's way. he next insisted on playing billiards with me, and he played as well as i did badly, for my fingers had grown stiff from the grip of the plow-stilts and bridle, and we had small opportunity for such amusements on the prairie. nothing of importance happened during the remainder of the day, but i have a clear recollection of how the throb of life from the busy city reacted on me as we sat together on a balcony outside the smoking-room after dinner. it was a hot night, and the streets were filled with citizens seeking coolness in the open air. the place seemed alive with moving figures that came and went endlessly under the glare of the great arc lights, while the stir and brilliancy appeared unreal to me. the air throbbed with voices, the clank of great freight trains in the station, and the hum of trolley cars; while only one narrow strip of sky appeared between the rows of stores, and that strip was barred by a maze of interlacing wires. i felt as though i had awakened from a century's sleep on the prairie. "somewhat different from crane valley," said haldane, pointing with his cigar towards the crowded wires. "i wonder how many of those are charged with our business--it is tolerably certain that some of them are. we have cheerfully thrown down the glove, and now the forces of fire and air and water are all pressed into the service of spreading our challenge across the continent. there's a mammoth printing machine in yonder building reeling it off by the thousands of copies every hour in its commercial reports, and those papers will be rushed east and west to warn holders in quebec or vancouver to-night. also, by this time, lane, wherever he is, will be spending money like water to keep the wires humming. feel uneasy about the explosion now that you have helped to fire the train?" "i feel curious both as to why you should take so much trouble to help us, sir, and as to the enemy's first move," i said. "to keep myself from rusting, for one thing, and because lane is one man too many down our way," was the careless answer. "if that does not appear a sufficient motive i may perhaps mention another when we have won. as to the other affair, lane will, so long as his means hold out, buy--or urge his friends to--while we sell. just how far can you and the men behind you go?" i named a sum, which haldane noted. "with what boone and i have decided to put up it will be enough if all goes well. if not--but we will not trouble about that. this contract strikes me as a trifle too big for lane," he said. i retired early, but scarcely slept all night. i felt that the struggle would commence in earnest on the morrow, and haldane's words had warned me that our nerve and treasury might be taxed to the utmost before we made good the challenge we had so lightly, it seemed to me, sent broadcast across the dominion. chapter xxvi the turning of the tide i rose early next morning, and a stroll through the awakening city, which was cool and fresh as yet, braced me for the stress of the day. haldane looked thoughtful at breakfast; boone was silent and suspiciously stolid, for he betrayed himself by the very slowness with which he folded back the newspaper brought him to expose the commercial reports. he handed it to haldane, who nodded, saying nothing. it was a relief to me, at least, when the meal was over, but afterwards the morning passed very heavily, for i spent most of it haunting a dark telephone box, where haldane received and dispatched cabalistic messages. i did not approve of conflict of this description, in which the uninitiated could neither follow the points lost or won nor see the enemy, and i should have preferred the hay-fork and a background of sunlit prairie. noon seemed a very long time coming, and the report of the broker who arrived with it far from reassuring. "we have sold a fair block of stock, and i brought you the contracts to sign," he said. "settlement and all conditions as usual. each time that we offered a round lot graham's salesman and another man took them up." "lane is taking hold. he has stirred up his allies," said haldane. "i'll put my name to these papers, and you can call down another few dollars when you start again. i suppose there is no other person selling?" "no," said the broker. "there were a good many other men curious about our game, and i fancy one or two of them had instructions; but they did nothing. we'll work up a sensation during the afternoon." it would have greatly pleased me to hear of other persons parting with their shares; but haldane still looked confident, and boone appeared to place implicit faith in his generalship. i, however, grew more and more anxious as the afternoon dragged by, for my sense of responsibility to the men behind me increased when each tinkle of the telephone bell was followed by a message reporting further sales. somebody was steadily taking up the stock we offered, and when, for the fourth time, haldane had answered my question, "any sign of weakness yet?" in the negative, i could stay indoors no longer, and found it a relief to stride briskly through the busy streets towards a grain buyer's offices. my own personal risk was heavy enough, but i knew also what it had cost my prairie neighbors to raise the sum they had credited me with, and i felt that, if beaten, i dare not return and face them with the news that, losing all in an unsuccessful gamble, we had left them doubly helpless at the mercy of a triumphant enemy. the interview with the grain merchant was, however, in a measure comforting. he admitted that prices were improving, stated approximate figures which almost surprised me, and volunteered the information that when my crop should be gathered he would be glad to make me an offer. although prospects were good in western canada, cereals were scarce everywhere else; and i returned so involved in mental calculations that i walked into several citizens, one of whom swore fluently. he wore toothpick-pointed shoes, and in my abstraction i had, it seemed, trodden cruelly on his toes. boone came up while i attempted to apologize, and tapped me on the shoulder. "what do you think of this amusement, ormesby? it seems to have had the effect of dazing you," he said. "you were walking right past the hotel as though your eyes were shut." "to be candid, i think very little of it," i said. "still, i was puzzling over a slightly complicated sum to ascertain how much--counting every remaining beast, salable implement, and load of grain--would, when i have paid off lane, remain my own." "planning your campaign for next year?" asked boone, with a trace of dryness. "no," i answered. "it will not be a great deal, but i'm open to stake the last cent on beating lane." "good man!" said boone. "we are going to beat him; and, to show that i am prepared to back my convictions, i may say that i have already hypothecated every pennyworth of my english property." haldane was waiting for us when we came in. "our men have had a busy afternoon. all the shares they offered were bought up, and there is no sign of any weakness yet," he said. we formed a somewhat silent company during the earlier portion of the evening. haldane sat busy, pencil in hand, and finally passed a page of his notebook across to us. "i don't quite know who is backing lane, but his purse is a tolerably long one," he said. "you see, we must produce shares, or the difference between their value at that time and the price we sold at, to this extent on settling day, ormesby." "of which nobody would apparently sell us one," i answered ruefully. haldane nodded. "you mean, of course, to-day. a good many people may be willing to do so before this hour to-morrow--if not it will be time then to consider seriously. meanwhile, the best we can do is to seek innocent relaxation, and i see that miss redmond is singing at the opera house." i was hardly in the mood to enjoy a concert, though i was curious to hear redmond's daughter; but inaction had grown almost insufferable and when we took our places in the crowded building i felt glad that i had come. the sight of the close-packed multitude and the hum of many voices helped to hold in check my nervous restlessness. nevertheless, though a lover of music, i scarcely heard a word of the first three songs, and only became intent when a clapping of hands rolled round the building as a dark-haired girl stood forward in the glare of the footlights. it was evidently she who had drawn the perspiring crowd together, and that alone was an eloquent testimonial, considering the temperature. ailin redmond was very plainly dressed, and she smiled her acknowledgments with a simplicity that evidently pleased the audience, while perhaps in compliment to them she wore as sole adornment a few green maple leaves. then i settled myself to listen, and continued almost spell-bound to the end of the song, wondering where the girl i had seen herding cattle barefooted not very long ago had acquired such power. she was not, from a technical view, perhaps, a finished singer; but western audiences can feel, if, for the most part, they cannot criticise; and i think she drove the full meaning of the old irish ballad home to the hearts of all of them. a wailing undertone rang through it, and the effect of the whole was best expressed as uncanny. it was no doubt the strangeness of her themes, and the contrast she presented to her stereotyped rivals, which had led to the girl's success. in any case the applause was vociferous, and continued until the singer returned and stood still, with hands lightly clasped, looking, not at the expectant audience, but directly at us. there was a curious expression in her eyes, which were fixed steadily on myself and haldane beside me. then i gained understanding as she commenced to sing, for there was no mistaking the fact that she meant the song for us. it was a clever resetting of such an old-world ballad as i think no anglo-saxon could have written; its burden was a mourning over ancient wrongs and hunger for revenge; but the slender, dark-haired girl held the power to infuse her spirit into me. my lips and hands closed tight as i saw, what i think she wished me to, helen boone dying in a sod hovel, and the wagon that bore the dead man rolling through murky blackness across the prairie. then i shook all misgivings from me, feeling that though every acre and bushel of grain must go, and we failed, they would be well spent in an attempt to pull down the man who had brought about such things. that others might suffer with him counted little then. they had clutched at their dividends--dividends wrung by him out of the agony of poor men; and their ignorance, which was scarcely possible, did not free them from responsibility. there was dead stillness for several seconds between the accompanist's final chord and the tumultuous applause which the slightly puzzled audience accorded, while, when it died away, i saw that boone's forehead was beaded and his lips slightly quivering. even haldane appeared less than usually at ease. "miss redmond is a young lady of uncommon and even uncomfortable gifts," he said. "women, as you will discover some day, ormesby, are responsible for most of the mischief that goes on, as well as a large amount of good. for instance, it was the encouragement of one of them which helped to start me on this campaign, and now, when slightly doubtful respecting the wisdom of the step, another must sing eerie songs to me with a purpose. i think we will walk round and call on her." we did so, and redmond's daughter did not keep us waiting long. she sailed down a broad stairway and stood smiling under the glaring lamps, very slight and slim and graceful, so that it seemed fitting haldane should bend over the hand she gave him. "there is no need for my poor compliments after the verdict of the multitude; but did you sing that song to us?" he said. "yes," said the girl quietly, while the smile sank out of her eyes. "we have a good many friends and hear much gossip, so i knew at once who was directing the attack on lane's company. as to the song--i had some slight education down east, you know--its choice was not without a meaning. you will remember how, on the eve of battle, shakespeare's ghosts prophesied to one man ruin and to another victory?" "yes," said haldane, looking puzzled, "i think i do." "then"--and ailin redmond seemed to shiver a little--"do you think there are no ghosts on the prairie?" "i have not met any of them," said haldane; and the girl answered with infectious gravity: "that does not prove there are none; and, even if you call it a childish fancy, i felt as i sang that they will bring you victory to-morrow." "you are far too clever and pretty to fill your head with such fancies, my dear," said haldane. and when we went out into the open he repeated, with a shrug of his shoulders: "in spite of her talents, that is a most uncomfortable young woman; but heaven send her prophecy comes true." again i passed a restless night, but our agent procured us admission into the inner precincts of the exchange on the morrow, and as i listened to the eager shouting and watched the excited groups surge about the salesmen, i began to comprehend the fascination that speculation wields over its votaries. our little spectacled broker, however, held my eye as he flitted to and fro, and now and then with a strident cry gathered a mob of gesticulating men about him. somebody accepted his offers on each occasion, and he approached us with an almost dismayed expression when the market closed at noon. "you are an old hand at this business, sir, but i feel it's my duty to warn you that things don't look well," he said. "your friends of the opposition are evidently able to stand considerable hammering. the sum you mentioned would be no use now to pull us straight; and unless there's a break pretty soon they'll squeeze you like a screw vice on settling day. it would be hard to figure the price they'll make you pay." "you don't suppose i haven't foreseen such a contingency," said haldane. "the break will probably come this afternoon--if not, to-morrow. tell your allies to sell further small lots down at a moderate reduction." our lunch was, as the others had been, luxurious; but my throat was dry, and i could not eat. boone's appetite had also failed, and i may have guessed aright at part of his story when i saw him, after thrice emptying his glass, glance still thirstily at the wine, and then thrust the decanter away. "it is time to consider," said haldane. "unless somebody is soon scared into selling, lane's company will be able to fleece us horribly on settling day; but experience of such affairs teaches me that sooner or later the smaller holders must break under a persistent hammering. now, i don't mind admitting that i did not anticipate such an obstinate defense; and the cause of my interference is mainly this: i had promised to take my younger daughter on a trip to europe, but am not overfond of traveling, and lucille is tolerably contented with her own country; so when she first suggested and then insisted that i should make a campaign fund of what it would cost i was not wholly sorry to agree, and figured that, with careful handling, the money might be sufficient to scare lane into making some rash move. at present it seems that i was mistaken, and that before we break him i must throw bonaventure into the scale. you may save your protests, gentlemen; i'm a born speculator, and my daughter has set her heart on this thing. if she hadn't, i'd have a very great reluctance to being beaten by a single-horse-power company." "every acre of crane valley i can find a buyer for goes in, too," i said; and boone added quietly: "you have my last dollar, sir, already." nothing of moment happened until next day, but it appeared to me that there was an almost insupportable tension in the very atmosphere. our chief broker was clearly excited, and his tone significant, when he called to inform us that, while no other sellers had followed his challenge, only very small parcels of the stock he offered were being taken up; and so the matter stood until the afternoon. i was now anxious as well as determined. it did not require much knowledge of such affairs for me to realize that unless other persons flung their shares on the market we should be left absolutely at the mercy of the men who had the stock to sell; and while i had nerved myself to part with everything, it would be inexpressibly galling to strip myself to enable lane to reap a handsome profit. neither do i think it was mere lust of revenge that impelled me. the man was a menace to the prosperity of every struggling rancher, and had shown no mercy; while--setting aside the fact that he himself deserved none--it seemed that my neighbors' right to existence depended on our efforts to overthrow him. haldane appeared unusually serious when i glanced at him. "if nothing happens in an hour we shall have to hold a council as to how we may cut our losses," he said. half an hour passed very slowly, and then, warned by a message, we strolled into the market to find there was comparative silence in the long echoing room, as those who congregated there grew languid and drowsy under the heat of the afternoon. its atmosphere seemed suffocating, and before i had been present long the suspense reacted upon me physically, for my throat resembled a lime-kiln and the superficial arteries of my forehead throbbed painfully. boone, at intervals, moistened his dry lips with his tongue, and haldane alone leaned calmly against a pillar jotting down figures in the notebook he held. then a few listless men gathered round a broker, and suddenly became intent, while a murmur of interest rose through the drowsy heat. the voices grew louder, the group swelled, and i started at the call: "any more of you with territories to sell?" "it must be lane's last throw," said haldane quietly. "ah! the tide is turning. there is somebody who doesn't belong to us making a deal with him." the bystanders surged to and fro about the speakers in a manner that reminded me of corraled cattle; others hurried towards them, and our broker's voice rang out: "i'll trade with you at two dollars better." then there was a confused shouting, "i'll beat him by another! two more dollars down!" and every unoccupied man in the room joined the crowd, out of which rose indistinguishable offers, comments, questions, and counter-offers. these swelled into a deafening clamor, but through them all i could hear or feel the hurried beating of my heart, and my voice sounded hollow as i touched haldane's arm. "tell me the meaning of it," i said. "we have beaten them," said haldane quietly. "there are other men hurrying to sell. the weak holders have broken at last, and, because a panic is infectious, most of the others will follow them. ah! it is beginning. there go the telegrams, and i hear both telephone bells. the fun will commence in earnest when the answers come in; and, meanwhile, a breath of fresher air would brace one. you may have noticed that it's a trifle choky inside here." i had, but my feet seemed glued to the floor and my eyes on the swaying crowd, so that it cost me an effort to tear them free and follow boone and haldane into the open air. he presently led us into the grateful coolness of a big basement saloon, and, scarcely drawing breath, i emptied the contents of a tumbler filled with iced liquid, and then i looked at boone, who had pushed aside the glass set before him and reached for the ice bowl. "i have bought my experience, ormesby," he said, with a smile which once more flashed a sidelight on his history. "in times like these it is better to confine one's self to nature's distillery. a cigar? no, thank you, sir. do you feel like smoking, ormesby?" i did not, for, in spite of the cool beverage, the bite of tobacco would have been insufferable then; but haldane lay back in a big lounge chewing a cigar. he said nothing whatever, and though he appeared satisfied, the lines on his forehead had deepened and his face appeared older. in spite of my impatience we must have remained nearly an hour before our leader rose a little stiffly and proceeded with unusual slowness towards the scene of the conflict. it was raging fiercely. some of the speculators howled like wild beasts; others wrestled with their fellows to reach the clear space in the center of the ring; and, standing on the plinth of a column, i could see gesticulating men hard at work with their notebooks. how they were able to record any bargain or to comprehend any offer amid that pandemonium was more than i could discover; for everybody interested appeared to be shouting at once, and the rest of the assembly cheering them on. one irate individual, indeed, dragged a neighbor backwards by the collar, and then plunged blindly into the midst of the circle when the other, retaliating, drove his hat down over his eyes. haldane listened keenly for several minutes, and then turned to me. "it's going our way, ormesby. holders are getting out as fast as they can, and various speculative gentlemen who have been waiting for the first sign of weakness are hammering them. we have done our part, and can safely leave the rest to them. see if you can give our broker this note for me, and then, if you have had sufficient excitement, we will take a drive somewhere until dinner's ready." i had certainly had sufficient excitement in that form to last the rest of my life, and i managed to reach the broker without personal injury, after which we solaced ourselves with a drive through the city and across some very uninteresting prairie. i saw little of either, and was conscious of scarcely anything beyond the all-important fact that lane's power was broken, and henceforward my neighbors would enjoy the fruits of their own labor instead of swelling heavy dividends with three-fourths of them. when we returned to the hotel our agent, who appeared in an exultant mood, was waiting us, and he positively beamed upon haldane as he said: "it's an honor to work for a man with your nerve and judgment, sir, and we have whipped the last grit out of them. i let up altogether when i saw every outside 'bear' come ramping in; and, if you're inclined that way, we might cover a little quietly without stiffening prices." i do not know what haldane's instructions were. indeed, the reaction of relief prevented my remembering anything at all very clearly, except that, as we sat at dinner, haldane said: "i shouldn't wonder if those physicians were right, and i think i have made my last stake this afternoon. i dare say you understand, ormesby, that as we could now purchase the stock below the price at which we sold there will be a profit in the transaction. individually, i did not undertake this matter as a speculation." haldane made light of our anxiety lest he should have suffered. "i have long known i should have to sink into idleness, and it was a good piece of work to retire on," he said. "but what about the profit?" i had no hesitation about the answer. "it was no desire of profit that brought me here; and as one experience of the kind is sufficient, i intend henceforward to stick to my horses and cattle. i will not touch a dollar of the money beyond actual expenses, and would propose that, setting aside any portion necessary to secure us against reprisals and to complete our work, the rest should be handed to miss haldane to distribute as she thinks best in charity." boone expressed his full compliance, and haldane smiled at me. "do you think you can run up a contra account in that way, ormesby?" "i believe we are justified; but, justified or not, i will not touch a dollar of the gains," i said. "i am going back to the prairie to-morrow, to express our deepest gratitude to miss haldane. as to yourself, sir, a good many hard-pressed men will never forget you." then boone rose up gravely with a wine-glass in his hand. "the task is too big for ormesby, or any other man," he said. "may every good thing follow the mistress of bonaventure." chapter xxvii illumination the binders were clanking through the wheat when i next met haldane at crane valley. having embarked upon his new career with characteristic energy, he rode over from bonaventure with his daughter to watch our harvesting, and incidentally came near bewildering me with his questions. some of them were hard to answer, and i felt a trace of irritation, as well as surprise, that a few hours' observation should enable him to hit upon the best means of overcoming difficulties which had cost me months of experimenting to discover. thorn, i remember, stared at him in wonder, and afterwards observed: "you and i have just got to keep on trying until we find out the best way of fixing things, and if our way's certain, it's often expensive. that man just chews on his cigar, and it comes to him. when i take up my located land and get worried about the money, i'm going to try cigar-smoking." "you will have considerably less of it if you experiment with the brand that haldane keeps," i answered, jerking the lines, and my binder rolled on again behind the weary team. when each minute was worth a silver coin, we dare not spare the beasts, and i had worn out four of them in as many days, and then sat almost nodding in the driving seat, with a deep sense of satisfaction in my heart which i was too tired to express. oat sheaves ridging the bleached prairie blazed in yellow ranks before my heavy eyes, and each heave of the binder's arms flung out behind me a truss of golden wheat. the glare was blinding, for we worked under the full heat of a scorching afternoon, as we had done, and would do, by the pale light of the moon. thick dust rolled about us, clogging my lashes and fouling the coats of the beasts, while the crackle of the flinty stems, the rasp of shearing knives, the rhythm of trampling hoofs, and the clink of metal throbbing harmoniously through the drowsy heat, were flung back by other machines at work across the grain. there is, however, a limit to human powers, and i must have been driving mechanically, and nearly asleep, when a clicking warned me that it was time to fit another spool of twine. i remember that during the operation i envied the endurance of the soulless, but otherwise almost human, machine. steel came up with his binder before it was completed, a creak and thud and tinkle swelling in musical crescendo as the jaded team loomed nearer through the dust. there was a flash of varnished wood that rose and fell, and twinkling metal, and i saw the driver sitting stiffly with hands, that were almost blackened, clenched on the lines, peering straight before him out of half-closed eyes, while the moisture that ran from his forehead washed copper-tinted channels through the grime. it was by an effort he held himself to his task; but that was nothing unusual, for the prairie does not yield up her riches lightly, and by the golden wake he left behind him the effort was justified. the earth had been fruitful that season, and harvest had not failed; while, having sown in deep dejection, uncertain who would reap, it was a small thing to strain one's strength to the utmost to gather the bounteous yield. we were already free, and every revolution of the binder's arms set us so much farther on the road to prosperity. twice i jerked the lines, but the team stood still; and i was preparing to encourage them more vigorously, when haldane and his daughter approached. both had insisted on my leaving them to their own devices, and now lucille appeared to regard the beasts and myself compassionately. "they look very tired, and they have done so much," she said, glancing down the long rows of piled-up grain. "is not that sufficient to justify your resting a little?" "i am afraid not," i answered with a somewhat rueful smile. "you see, prosperity has made us greedy, while all the grain cut up to the present belongs to lane." the girl looked indignant--haldane thoughtful. "i have been wondering whether you would feel inclined to contest his claim for the balance of the debt," he said. "considering that he has taken from you twice the value of his loan, and the story in miss redmond's book, you might be ethically and legally justified." "no," i said. "i made the bargain, and i intend to keep my part of it. that accomplished, i shall have the fewer scruples about using every effort to utterly crush the man. all we cut henceforward is my own, and i can only repeat that i should be glad to devote every bushel to help forward his defeat." "i think you are right," said lucille haldane, with a trace of pride in her approval, though her eyes were mischievous as she continued: "it is, however, unfortunate you are so very busy, because, as father is riding, and as the team are a little wild, we hoped you would drive them home for me." i climbed down from the iron saddle, shouting to steel, and lucille smiled demurely. "we could not tear you away from that machine when you would grudge every minute," she said. "remember that bonaventure is a long way off, and, even if we allowed it, you could hardly return before to-morrow." i nevertheless fancied she was pleased at my eagerness, and, for haldane had passed on, i felt suddenly oppressed by the recognition of what i owed her. yet had it been possible i should not have lightened the debt. i looked down at her gravely, noticing how young and fresh and slender she seemed--bright as the blaze of sunshine in which she stood--and then i pointed towards the long ranks of sheaves and the sea of stately ears. "i am not in the least inconsistent, and should not be if every moment were thrice as precious," i said. "i remember most plainly that you gave me all this. strange as it may seem, it is, nevertheless, perfectly true." the girl blushed prettily, and then glanced from me towards the tired horses and the standing machine, after which her eyes rested with approval on the stalwart form of thorn, who came up urging on his plodding team. "it would be something to be proud of, if one could believe you, rancher; but i am not wholly pleased with the last part of the speech," she said, with a faint, half-mocking inclination of the head. "i can guess what you are thinking, and you are a trifle slow to learn. women are very well in their own place, are they not? however, you find it perplexing when they will not stay there, but, because some of them grow tired of breathing incense, they descend and interfere in masculine affairs. it is truly strange that there should be more forces in the world than those centered in big dusty men and splendid horses!" "you must be a witch; but i am learning by degrees," i said. and the girl laughed merrily. "you have not progressed very far, to judge by the comparison. witches were usually pictured as malevolent, old, and ugly." "i meant a beneficent fairy; but the surprise was not quite unnatural," i said. "who could suspect in such a slender and fragile person the power she possesses to banish gloom and poverty? legions of men and horses could not accomplish so much." "now you go too far in the opposite direction," and my companion shook her head. "it is the sense of balance you need." the sun-blaze turned the clustered hair under her wide hat into the likeness of burnished gold--the gold of our own northwest, with a coppery warmth in it--but the light in her hazel eyes eclipsed its brilliancy. the lithe figure fitted its gorgeous background of yellow radiancy, and again i felt all my pulses quicken as i paid haldane's daughter silent homage. magnificent as the wheat, alike to eye and understanding, when one remembered its mission, her presence seemed the crown and complement of all that splendid field. it was hard to refrain from telling her so, and possibly my voice was not pitched quite in its normal key when i said: "it is short of the truth, but there is just one thing i should like to know, and that is whether any other motive than pure benevolence prompted you." "why?" then i answered boldly: "because it would be worth the rest to fancy that in some small measure it was due to individual goodwill towards rancher ormesby." the girl looked away from me across the grain, and, as she turned her head, it was with a thrill of pleasure, which may not have been wholly artistic, that i noticed the polished whiteness of her neck and a dainty, pink-tinted little ear that peeped out from the clusters of her hair. then she laughed, perhaps at thorn, who argued quaintly, if forcibly, with his reluctant beasts, and turned to me. "if you desire another motive, you may conclude, as you heard before, that it was love of justice; which really ought to satisfy you." "it is a creditable one," i answered. "but i fear that it does not." we left crane valley shortly, haldane on horseback, his daughter--because something had gone wrong with the bonaventure vehicle--beside me in our light wagon, which, if it in no way resembled the cumbrous contrivance bearing that name in england, was, i was uneasily conscious, by no means overclean. on the way we met the threshers, and stronger teams hauling the machines towards crane valley, for our threshing is done mostly in the field. we stopped to bid them hurry, and haldane, learning they had met gordon, whom he desired to see, bade us proceed while he looked for the rancher. i was not sorry to do so, and accordingly it was without him that we approached the dip to the sweetwater hollow. the afternoon was waning, and the air very still. the tiny birch leaves had ceased their whispering; but the sound of running water came musically out of their cool shadow. all the winding valley was rolled in green, an oasis of verdure in the sweep of white-bleached prairie; and, pulling the team up between the first of the slender trunks, i pointed down towards the half-seen lane of sliding water. "i might never have known you if it had not been for a trifling accident by yonder willow clump," i said. "i remember your sister suggested that very night that our meeting might be the first scene of a drama, and, considering all that has happened since then, her prediction has proved strangely accurate." lucille haldane nodded. "it is a coincidence that i was thinking of the same thing, and wondering, now that the play must be drawing towards its close, what the end will be. the meeting must, however, have been unlucky for you, because all your troubles date from that beginning." "and my privileges," i answered, smiling. "the present is at least a happy augury. when i met boone beside the river there was not a leaf on the birches, and their branches were moaning under a blast which makes one shiver from mere recollection. remember the harvest at crane valley, and look down on yonder shining water and cool greenery. it was you who brought us the sunshine, and even the memory of the dark days is now melting like that night's snow." "that is exaggerated sentiment, and i have heard invertebrate youths in the cities say such things more neatly," commented the girl, with an air of mock severity, and then glanced dreamily into the hollow; while, as silence succeeded, fate sent a little sting-fly to take a part--as, to confound man's contriving, trifles often do--in ending the play. the team were ill-broken broncos which had already given me trouble, and when the fly bored with envenomed proboscis through the hide of one, the beast flung up his head and kicked savagely. the reins which i held loosely were whisked away, and before it was possible to recover them both horses had bolted. the light wagon lurched giddily, and the next moment it swept like a toboggan down the declivity. "hold fast!" i shouted, leaning recklessly down; and the first shock of enervating consternation vanished when i gripped the reins. still, there was cold fear at my heart when, bracing both feet against the wagon-front, i strove uselessly to master the team. the brutes' mouths seemed made of iron, impervious to the bit; the slope was long and steep; birches and willows straggled athwart it everywhere; and the soil was treacherous. i could not break them from the gallop, and not daring to risk the sharp bends of the zigzag trail, i let them go straight for the slide of water in the bottom of the hollow. it was not the first time i had been run away with. a fall from a stumbling horse or a wagon upset is a very common and, considering the half-tamed beasts we use, by no means surprising accident in our country; but at first it was only by a fierce effort i shook off an almost overmastering terror as i contemplated the danger to my companion. i hazarded one glance at her and saw that her face was white and set, then dare look at nothing but the reeling trees ahead. i strained every sinew to swing the team clear of them. sometimes the beasts responded, sometimes they did not, and it was by a miracle the trunks went by. the wagon bounced more wildly, the slope grew steeper, and even if i could have checked the team this would only have precipitated a catastrophe. so, helpless, i clung to the reins until the end came suddenly. several birches barred our way; the brutes would swerve neither to right nor to left; and with a hoarse shout of warning i strove desperately to hold them straight for the one passage, wondering whether there was room enough in the narrow gap between the trunks. it was immediately evident that there was not. simultaneously with a heavy shock, the wagon appeared to dissolve beneath me and i was hurled bodily into the air. fortunately i alighted upon soft ground, headforemost, and perhaps, for that reason, escaped serious injury. it is possible that, in different circumstances, i might have lain still partly stupefied, or spent some time in ascertaining whether any bones had broken; but, as it was, i sprang to the overturned wagon, breathless with fear. lucille haldane lay, mercifully, just clear of it, a pitiful white figure, and my heart stood still as i bent over her. she was pale and limp as a crushed lily, and as beautiful; and it was with awe i dropped on one knee beside her. there was no sign of any breathing, coldness seemed to emanate from her waxlike skin, and though i had seen many accidents, i dare scarcely venture to lay a finger on the slackly throbbing artery in her wrist. then i groaned aloud, borne down with an overwhelming grief, for with the suddenness of a lightning flash i knew the words spoken but such a little while ago had been more than true. it was she who had brought all the sunshine and sweetness into my life. reason and power of action returned with the knowledge, and i started for the river at a breathless run, smashing savagely through every cluster of dwarf willows which barred my way, filled my hat with the cold water, and, returning, dashed it on her face. the action appeared brutal, but terror was stronger than any sentimental fancies then, and i dare neglect no chance with that precious life at stake. the slender form moved a little, and it was with relief unspeakable i heard a fluttering sigh; then i raised the wet head upon my knee, and fell to chafing the cold hands vigorously. the time may have been five minutes, or less, but i had never spent such long days in my life as those seconds while i waited, quivering in every limb, for some further sign of returning animation. it was very still in the hollow, and the song of the hurrying water maddened me. its monotonous cadence might drown the faint breathing for which i listened with such intensity. even in that space of agony two other incidents flashed through my memory, and i understood my fear during the dark voyage, and on the moonlit night when the cars lurched across the bridge. life would be very empty if the breath died out of that tender, shaken body. the suspense was mercifully ended. lucille haldane half opened her eyes, and looked up at me without recognition, closed them, and caught at her breath audibly, while i held her hands fast in a restraining grasp. then, as she looked up again, the blood came back, mantling the clear skin, and she said, brokenly: "i fell out of the wagon, did i not? how long have i been here?--and my head is wet. i--i must get up." i still held one hand fast; but, stooping, slipped one arm beneath her shoulder and raised her a little. "you must wait another few moments first." the girl appeared reluctant, but made no resistance, and when finally i raised her to her feet i found it was necessary to lean against a birch trunk to hide the fit of trembling that seized me. "i am not much hurt," she said; and my voice broke as i interjected: "thank god for it!" i fancied that lucille haldane, shaken as she was, flashed a swift sidelong glance at me, and that the returning color did not diminish in her cheek; then she said hurriedly: "yes, i am not hurt, but i see the horses yonder, and you had better make sure of them. we are still some distance from home." i turned without further speech, and found the vicious brutes, which had broken the wagon-pole, held fast by the tangled gear which had fouled a fallen tree. it was almost with satisfaction i saw the bolter had lamed himself badly. there was a change in lucille haldane when i led them back. she had recovered her faculties, but not her old frank friendliness, and said, almost sharply: "the wagon is useless. what do you propose to do?" "to fold up the rug in the box and make some kind of saddle for you," i said, and proceeded to do so, cutting up the gear, which was almost new, so recklessly that my companion seemed even then surprised. "do you know that you are destroying a good many dollars' worth of harness?" she asked. "it would not greatly matter if i spoiled a dozen sets so long as you reached home safely, and it is a very small fine for my carelessness," i answered. "i should never have forgiven myself if you had been injured; but are you--quite--sure that you are none the worse?" "i do not think i am much the better," said the girl. "still, i am not badly hurt, and it was not your fault." though still languid in her movements, she seemed chary of accepting much assistance when i helped her into the improvised saddle, and then, because the other horse was useless, i waded through the ford with my hand on the bridle. it was some distance to bonaventure, and my companion was not communicative, but i did not find the silence irksome. conflicting emotions would have made me slow of speech, and i was content with the fact that she rode beside me whole in limb and unspoiled in beauty. indeed, so much had the sight of her lying white and apparently lifeless impressed me that i cast many apprehensive glances in her direction before i could convince myself that all was well. haldane, who overtook us, desired me to remain at bonaventure; but every pair of hands was needed at crane valley, and i wished for solitude. so, stiffly mounting a borrowed horse, i set off homeward across the prairie. i had risen at three that morning, after an insufficient rest, and was worn out in body, but clear in mind, for a time, at least, while the brilliancy of the starshine and the silence of the waste helped me to think. i was by turns thankful, ashamed, dejected, and eager to clutch at an elusive hope. illumination had followed disillusion, and i knew at last that even while i was uplifted by vain imaginings, lucille haldane had, little by little, and unwittingly, extended her dominion over my heart. i had, it seemed, spent the best years of my life striving after an unattainable and shadowy ideal, while perhaps the real living substance, endowed with the best of all pertaining to flesh and blood, lay within my grasp. it was true that the mistress of bonaventure was much too good for me; but with all her graces she was of like fiber to us, and her few weaknesses rendered her more desirable in proof of the fact. that beatrice haldane was worthy of all adulation remained equally true; but it was hard to comprehend how, blinded by folly, i had mistaken the respect i paid her for the warm tide of passion which now pulsed through me. neither was the latter of sudden origin, for, looking back, i could see how, little by little, and imperceptibly, admiration, gratitude, and tenderness, had merged into it until terror opened my eyes and full understanding came at last. there remained, however, one burning question--did lucille haldane, in any degree, reciprocate what i felt?--and this lacked an answer. knowing her generous nature, it was clear that what she had done for me had not been done wittingly for a lover; but, on the other hand, i could recall many trifles which may have had their significance. thus alternate hopes and fears surged through my brain until, when i had decided that, being yet a poor man, i must wait the advent of the railroad, at least, before putting my fate to the test, my thoughts commenced to wander, and i must have guided the horse mechanically, for his sudden stopping roused me with a jerk to recognize the corral at crane valley. there is a limit beyond which no emotion may galvanize into continued activity the exhausted body, and we not infrequently reach it on the prairie. i do not know whether i was asleep or awake when i led the beast into the stable, but the sun was high when sally steel roused me from a couch of trampled hay unpleasantly near his feet. "you have had a tolerable sleep, and don't seem particular where you camp," she said. "come right along, and do your best with the second breakfast i've got waiting." i glanced with consternation at my watch. "why didn't one of the others waken me? do you know it's ten o'clock, sally?" i asked. "just because i wouldn't let them! you've got to last through harvest, anyway, and i guess miss haldane wouldn't have much use for a dead man," said sally, and was retiring with mischievous laughter, when i recalled her. "you have been too good a friend to me to make such jokes again," i said. "i'm not the only one. all the folks are talking," said the girl. thereupon i answered grimly: "if i hear any of them amusing themselves in that fashion i shall do my best to choke them." chapter xxviii the enemy capitulates some time had elapsed since the overturning of the wagon, and i had seen nothing of lucille haldane, when, one evening, i visited bonaventure at her father's request. all had gone well in the interval. the last bushel of grain had been threshed and sold, and the balance of my debt to lane, with every surcharge his ingenuity could invent, wiped out. haldane, who remained some time in winnipeg with boone, had also concluded operations successfully, for, as he had foreseen, once the turning point was passed he had no lack of allies eager to assist in plundering the vanquished, and, before these had satisfied their rapacity he had been able to unobtrusively cover most of our sales without advancing prices. boone explained that the new assailants considered the purchases a last effort on the part of the company's supporters. also--because there is little mercy for the beaten--impoverished storekeeper and plundered farmer commenced to air their grievances, and it became evident that the company, or those whom it financed, had occasionally exceeded the limits of the law. it was accordingly to a meeting of what haldane called the vehmgericht that i was summoned, and on arriving at bonaventure i found gordon and several of our neighbors already there. the day had been sunny, but our autumn nights are sharp, with a sting of frost in the air, which made the crackling fire in the open hearth acceptable. a shaded silver lamp flung a soft light about the room, which in no way suggested that it was to be used for a tribunal. there were decanters, cigar boxes, and british columbian fruit on the table, while haldane lounged in a velvet chair, with feet, neatly encased in patent leather, stretched out towards the fire. all this seemed inappropriate to the occasion, even though i had grown used to haldane's way. a glance at the others, however, showed that they were in deadly earnest. the men were lean and hard and grim, and their weather-darkened faces bore the stamp of the conflict. some of them had long overworked brain and body, half-fed, that lane and those who backed him might reap an iniquitous profit. others had seen wife and daughter toiling in the dust of the harrows or riding weary leagues behind the herds, and had not forgotten. i noticed they accepted haldane's offers of wine and tobacco dubiously, and i surmised it was only personal respect for him that prevented disapproving comments on this manner of procedure. boone doubtless guessed their thoughts, for he said whimsically: "i see no reason why you shouldn't have a good time, boys. there are easier ways of killing a coyote than beating his head in with the butt of a gun, and i can assure you that we mean solid business. for one, i find these cigars better than the tin flag plug." "tin flag!" and a man with wrinkles round his eyes laughed harshly. "dried willow bark had to do for us. this kind of thing takes time to get used to after living for 'most two years on damaged flour and molasses. maybe you're used to luxuries, and don't know what it is to see the wife fall sick when one couldn't raise a decent morsel to feed her." boone's face grew as stern as that of the speaker, and the shadow i knew crept into his eyes. "i think i do. my wife died for want of comforts that lane might twice collect his debt, and i am not likely to forget it to-night," he said. a silence followed, and through it i heard one or two of the others draw a deep breath, while their faces hardened as they, too, remembered grievous injuries. for my own part i was grimly expectant, for i had suffered long enough, and had sufficient sense to know that it was not often that struggling men had such an opportunity for dictating terms to a powerful adversary. we were all, i think, democratic in the word's most liberal sense, cherishing no grievance against the rich, and quick to recognize advantages offered us by capitalists' legitimate enterprise; but, now that the balance had swung to our side, we were equally determined to place further mischief beyond the power of the man who, for the sake of a few dollars, would have crushed us out of existence. it appeared a duty to the community; but i had not studied human nature sufficiently to discover exactly how far that motive influenced me. "if none of you have any further suggestions to make, i want to ask if you are willing to leave this affair to me," said haldane presently. "lane in his own way is a smart man, and would be quick to seize an advantage which anybody, speaking without consideration, might give him. i offer my services merely because, during an extensive business experience, i have had to deal with such men before." "there is nobody in the dominion better able to handle this case for us," said boone; and the others nodded assent. "we'll sit quieter than graven images unless he turns vicious, if you'll draw his sting," said one. "that's no use, anyway," a comrade interjected. "the insect would grow another one. what we want is his blame back broken." "i will, metaphorically speaking, try to oblige you both," said haldane, with a smile. "he is a little weak in the spine already, or he would have declined to meet us at all." nobody made any further comment, but the eyes of most of us were turned expectantly upon the clock, until at last gordon stood up when a rattle of wheels drew nearer. "this is going to be a great night, boys," he said. "the pernicious insect's come." lane entered, and nodded to us all comprehensively when he saw that haldane did not hold out his hand. the man's assurance was apparently boundless, for he was at first sight as _débonnaire_ and almost as genial as ever--almost, but not quite, for when he moved nearer the lamp i noticed a shiftiness in his eyes and an occasional contraction at the corners of his mouth. "this is a little business meeting, and we appreciate your attendance; but the former is no reason why you should not be comfortable," said haldane. "sit down and help yourself to anything you take a fancy to. i need not introduce any of these gentlemen." lane was not readily taken aback, for, while we afterwards had cause to believe he had never discovered the movements of boone, he looked at him significantly, but without surprise. "i know--all--of them. with thanks, i will," he said. "as to the visit, i am always ready to oblige my clients; but as you know time means money, it remains to be seen on whose bill i shall charge it." i took the last sentence as a preliminary defiance, and fancied haldane did so, too; but he only laughed as he said: "i should not wonder if you were not paid that bill." lane nodded, as though he understood that the swords were crossed; and when he poured out a glass of wine the rest of us prepared to watch the duel, with the comforting assurance that our champion was armed with the better weapons, as well as with the justice of his quarrel. it was characteristic of the enemy that he smiled indulgently when, as he raised his glass to his lips, steel and another man thrust their own aside. the inference could not have been plainer. "suppose we come straight to business," said haldane presently. "it may save time if i recapitulate what is known of your position. if i am wrong in details you can, of course, correct me." "you can sail ahead," and lane, stretching out his feet, leaned back in his chair in an attitude of contemplative attention. "to commence with, you hold a number of mortgages on land in this vicinity, from which, after recouping yourself for the loan, you are still drawing what i venture to call extortionate interest. these and your shares in the territories investment--which cannot be sold--i believe represent your assets. also, after taking first-class legal opinion, we find that, owing, shall i say, to indiscretions on your part, it may be possible to prevent your foreclosing on several of those mortgages, while one subordinate, i believe, refuses to be turned out of gaspard's trail. on the other hand, you have certain tolerably extensive liabilities i need not enumerate, and you want money badly. law suits are expensive, and you have a promising crop of them on hand. it was with a view of obtaining it you suggested the issue of new territories stock, and, seeing that hang fire, unobtrusively endeavored to sell your shares. i don't think the public would look at either just now. in short, you have taken too big a mouthful; you can't hold on without money, and you can't obtain that because, for some reason, respectable banks fight shy of you. it will simplify matters if you admit all this." "i'm not going to admit anything," lane said sturdily, after drinking another glass of wine. haldane smiled as he answered: "in that case we will take for granted what i have said. now, we have the money, time, and determination to fight you over every mortgage, and to rake up, as a claim for damages, every indiscretion." one of the listeners chuckled in a manner expressive of surprise and satisfaction when haldane ceased, and through the brief stillness which followed i could feel, if i could not see, that the others were in a state of strung-up expectancy. "better come to the point," lane said. "the question is, what do you want from me?" "it's pretty simple," was haldane's answer. "we want you out of this country. it's unfortunate that we can't help considering you an obstacle in the way of its prosperity; but, not being highway robbers, we are open to make you a fair offer for your property. here is a schedule i have drawn up, and you will see by examination that we purpose to buy the mortgages at their face value, paying you any interest due at current bank rates. we also purpose to buy back, on the same conditions, the lands on which you have already foreclosed." lane was difficult to astonish, but now he actually gasped; and several of those present, who were still within his clutches, sprang to their feet. "a glacier wouldn't be cooler than you!" lane said. "you must know they're worth, or will be, about three times as much." "exactly," said haldane; and gordon and another chuckled silently. "that is just why we want to see you safely out of this country. the man who drives that kind of bargain gives nobody else a show. please sit down, gentlemen; i'll answer your questions later." i think lane, in spite of his refusal to admit anything, must have felt himself driven into a corner. indeed, for almost the first time during my acquaintance with him he showed signs of temper, for his lips straightened and there was a gleam of malice in his eyes. "your hand looks a good one, but it's not good enough," he said. "i'm going to tell you to do your worst. say, don't you count too much on mr. haldane, the rest of you. if this is fun to him, it's bread and cheese to me, and i don't let up on my living easily. stand out from under before he gets tired and the roof falls on you. you all know me." the listeners had good reason to do so; but they had not only lost their fear of him--the fear which makes a coward of a brave man when he becomes a debtor--but had found his yoke so galling that they would have risked the worst by defying him in spite of it. he must have read as much in the contemptuous laugh and lowering faces. "i think we could beat you with it; but we hold still better cards," said haldane quietly. "for instance, you have squeezed niven a little too hard, and he is prepared to risk his liberty to testify on one or two points against you. i refer to incidents connected with gaspard's trail." lane brought his hand down on the table, and, for some unexplainable reason, i actually believed him as he said: "gaspard's trail was burnt by accident." "we won't question the statement," said haldane. "it was, at least, an accident that you were quick to profit by. this ace, however, takes the trick. just run through this account book, and--remembering that we can produce miss redmond, and three men, who will swear to what her father said when ormesby's cattle, which did not get there by accident, were burned in the fence--consider what might be done with it." lane seemed to shake himself together after he had read the first few entries; while, watching him closely, i once more saw the tell-tale contraction at the corners of his mouth. this was the only sign he made, however, save that presently he moved forward a little in his chair, which was close before the fire, and held up the torn-out page as though he wished the lamplight to fall on it more directly. the action, which was made very naturally, suggested nothing to myself or even to haldane; but when the reader moved again, boone rose suddenly and laid a restraining hand on his arm. "you have had time enough to grasp the significance of what is written there, and i'll take the papers back," he said. "of course, knowing whom we dealt with, we have a duly attested copy." i do not know whether lane had actually intended to destroy part at least of the dead man's testimony or not, but he was capable of anything, and the fire was hot. in any case, he calmly handed book and paper back to boone with the careless comment: "you thought of that? must be considerably smarter than you used to be." "yes," said boone dryly, "i have learned a good deal since i first met you. we will now, with mr. haldane's concurrence, give you five, or, if necessary, ten, minutes in which to consider your decision." without being in the least sorry for him, i fancied i could understand lane's feelings, and his state of mind could not have been enviable. it is true that haldane's offer allowed him a fair return for all sums invested, perhaps almost as much as he would have obtained by legitimate enterprise; but that must have been as nothing to the man who had schemed for a fortune, while one could have fancied that he found it inexpressibly galling to discover that those whom he had considered his helpless dupes now held him at their mercy. yet he showed small sign of discomfiture, and his voice was steady as he said: "it's robbery; but i'm open to admit you have fixed the thing tolerably neatly. suppose it was dixon who gave you the pointers? this man here must have some grit, for he knows that even now i could make it hot for him. do you know who he is?" "i consider the terms are liberal, and we arranged the affair ourselves," said haldane. "you could hardly expect mr. dixon to involve himself in what i'm afraid is virtually the compounding of a felony. it is also possible that some people would call our proceedings by unpleasant names, but you left us no choice of weapons. we might have squeezed you further, but i believe it's wise to leave a back way open for a beaten enemy. i am perfectly acquainted with mr. boone's history, and understand that now that his work is finished--for most of the scheme was his--he will surrender himself to the police. he does not, however, apprehend any trouble with them, because by the time he surrenders, the prosecutor will have removed himself across the frontier. now, hadn't you better consider your decision?" lane sat still for at least five minutes, and i could see that some of the rest were not quite convinced that the battle was over. they had experienced such a taste of his quality that they probably expected some bold counter-move rather than submission. nevertheless, the man was beaten, for at last he said: "it's your game. i must have the money down, and your solemn promise you'll make no use of what you know until i'm across the frontier." "if you will meet me at gordon's at noon to-morrow we'll settle the bill together," said haldane quietly; and rose as if to signify that the interview was over. lane no longer looked jaunty, for, although he evinced no great dismay, there was a subtle change in him as he also rose and brushed the dust off his hat. "everybody gets tripped up now and then, and must make the best of it," he said. "quaint, isn't it, that it should be a man of ormesby's kind who most helped to bring me up? well, it seems i can't stay any longer with you, boys; but no one knows what may happen, and i'll try to square the deal with you if ever i come back again." nobody answered him, and with a shrug of his shoulders he passed out of the room; and though i fancied that was the last i should see of him, i was mistaken. then boone said reflectively: "i wonder whether we have been too easy with him, sir. i can't help feeling, by the way he yielded, that the rascal has something up his sleeve." before our host could answer he was plied with congratulations and questions about the money for the redemption of the mortgages, and, raising his hand for silence, stood up, smiling at the men before him. "i'll find part of it in the meantime, and there is the profit on the campaign fund you raised," he said. "you needn't be bashful, gentlemen. i'm a business man, and will have no objection to charging you three or four per cent. more interest than the banks. it will, considering the prospects, be money sunk on good security. now that we have got our stumbling block out of the way, i see possibilities for this district, and am presently going to ask you to form a committee to consider whether we can't put up a small flour mill or coöperative dairy." he proceeded to sketch out a project with a vigor of conception and a grasp of practical details that astonished the listeners, who presently departed with sincere, if not very neatly expressed, gratitude, and with hope and exultation in their weather-darkened faces. i tried to express my own sentiments and, i believe, failed, but haldane smiled quaintly. "don't make any mistake, ormesby. i'm not setting up as a public benefactor," he said. "one can't do absolutely nothing, and i don't quite see why i shouldn't earn a few honest dollars where i can. i dare say the others will profit, and i should prefer them as friends rather than enemies; but this scheme is going to pay me--in fact, as you say here--it has just got to." chapter xxix the exit of lane early one evening, after lane's capitulation, i sat in the hall at bonaventure waiting its owner's return. lucille haldane occupied the window-seat opposite me, embroidering with an assiduity which, while slightly irritating, did not altogether displease me. since the wagon accident she had, in an indefinite manner, been less cordial, and i, on my part, was conscious of an unwonted restraint in her presence. it is unnecessary to say that she made a pretty picture with the square of still sunlit prairie behind her, though her face was tantalizingly hidden in shadow, and i could only admire the graceful pose of her figure and the lissom play of the little white fingers across the embroidery. the girl must have been sensible of my furtive regards, for at last she laid down the sewing and looked up sharply. "is there nothing among all those papers worth your attention, or have you taken an interest in embroidery?" she asked, pointing to the littered journals on the table. "do you know that it is a little disconcerting to be watched when at work?" i was uneasily conscious that my forehead grew hot, but hoped the hue that wind and sun had set upon it would hide the fact. "don't you think the trespass was almost justifiable?" i said. "you are responsible for spoiling us; and unaccustomed prosperity must be commencing to make me lazy. i was thinking." "that is really interesting," said the girl. "has sudden prosperity also rendered you incapable of expressing your thoughts in speech?" in this case, circumstances had certainly done so. i had been thinking how pretty and desirable the speaker looked; but the trouble was that, although silence cost me an effort, i could not tell her so. i hoped to say as much, and more besides, some day; but this moment was not opportune. lucille haldane was mistress of bonaventure, and i as yet a struggling man, who, thanks to her good nature and her father's business skill, had barely escaped sinking into poverty. it would be time to speak when my position was a little more secure. meanwhile, in spite of the sternly repressed longing and uncertainty which daily grew more painful, it was very pleasant to bask in the sunshine of her presence, and i dare not risk ending the privilege prematurely. "i was thinking what a change has come over this part of the prairie," i said, framing but one portion of my thoughts into words. "not long ago one saw nothing but anxious faces and gloomy looks, while now, i fancy, there is only one downcast man in all this vicinity, and he the one from whom your father and boone have just parted. the change, considering that a single person is chiefly responsible, is almost magical; but, remembering a past rebuke, that hardly sounds very pretty, does it?" lucille haldane laughed mischievously. "to one of the superior sex; but are you not forgetting that this season the heavens fought for you? it certainly might have been more neatly expressed. do you know that the education you mentioned is not yet quite finished?" "i know there is much you could teach me if you would," i said, with a humility which was not assumed, choking down bolder words which had almost forced themselves into utterance; and perhaps the effort left its trace on me, for lucille turned her head towards the prairie. "here is sergeant mackay. i wonder what he wants," she said. mackay, dusty and damp with perspiration, was ushered in a few minutes later, and for the first time i felt all the bitterness of jealousy as i saw the friendly manner in which the girl greeted cotton, who followed him. there was nothing of the coquette in lucille haldane, and the knowledge of this added to the sting; but i did not think that even she was always so unnecessarily gracious. mackay, however, appeared intent and grim, and by no means in a humor for casual conversation. "i'm wanting your father and fresh horses at once, miss haldane," he said. "ye had a visit from lane yesterday?" "we certainly had. what do you want with him?" asked lucille. and mackay smiled dryly when i added a similar question. "just his body, and your assistance as a loyal subject, henry ormesby. ye were once good enough to say ye could not expect too much from the police; but it's long since your natural protectors had eyes on the thief who was robbing ye. niven, when he wasn't quite sober, told a little story, and there's another bit question of a debt agreement forgery. ye will let us have the horses, miss haldane?" lucille bade them follow her, and i heard her giving orders to one of the hired men. then she returned alone in haste to me. "you saw where my father put the book miss redmond gave him?" she said. "yes," i answered, wondering. "he locked it inside that bureau and put the keys into his pocket." the girl wrenched at the handle, and i noticed by the creaking of the bureau how strong, in spite of her slenderness, she was. the lock would not yield, and she turned imperiously to me. "don't waste a moment, but smash that drawer in!" "it is a beautiful piece of maple, and why do you wish to destroy it?" i said, and, for she had a high spirit, fancied lucille haldane came near stamping one little foot impatiently. "can you not do the first thing i ask you without asking questions?" she said. there was nothing more to be said, and stooping for the poker, i whirled it around my head. one end of the bar doubled on itself, but the front of the drawer crushed in, and when i had wrenched out the fragments, lucille drew forth the book. "i know what my father promised, and there is miss redmond to consider. she has suffered too much already," she said, tearing out whole pages in hot hurry. "sergeant mackay is much less foolish than i once heard you call him, and i have no doubt suspects something of this. can't you see that he could force us to give the papers up? i am going to burn them." "that at least you shall not do," i said, taking them from her with as much gentleness as possible, but by superior force, and then positively quailed before the anger and astonishment in the girl's face. "you are still so afraid of lane that you would risk bringing fresh sorrow on that poor girl in order to protect yourself?" she said, with biting scorn. "no," i answered stolidly, without pausing for reflection. "i only wish to declare it was i who destroyed this evidence, if there is any trouble over the affair." i tore the book to pieces and rammed the fragments deep among the burning logs as i spoke, and when this was accomplished i did not look up until lucille haldane called me by name. gentle as she could be, i had a wholesome respect for her wrath. "i deserved it," she said, with a bewitching deepening of the crimson in her cheeks and a shining in her eyes. "you will forgive me. i had not time to think." thereupon i longed for eloquence, or boone's ready wit; but no neat speech came to my relief, and while i racked my clouded brains the girl must have guessed what was taking place, for merriment crept into her eyes. then, just as an inspiration dawned on me, as usual, too late, a hurried tread drew nearer along the passage. "it is sergeant mackay, and he must not come in here," said my companion with a nervous laugh, as she glanced at the shattered bureau. "is it quite impossible for you to hurry?" then before i realized what was happening, she had placed one hand on my shoulder and positively hustled me out of the door. hardly knowing what i did, i clutched at the little fingers, and missed them, and the next moment i plunged violently into the astonished sergeant. "mr. ormesby is ready, and so are the horses. i hope your chase will be successful," a voice, which sounded a little uneven (though there was a trace of laughter in it) said, and the door swung to. mackay looked at me curiously; and when we had mounted, said: "i'm asking no questions, but yon was surely a bit summary dismissal!" "it's just as well you are not, because i am afraid i should not answer them," i said, and mackay frowned upon his subordinate when cotton laughed. we had ridden a league before he vouchsafed any explanation. "i could not call in my other men in time, and as we may have to divide forces, demanded your assistance in virtue of the powers entrusted me," he said formally. "we'll call first at gordon's on the odd chance our man is there, and pick up adams, though lane's away hot-foot for the rail by now, i'm thinking. he had no' a bad nerve to cut it so fine." "did the confounded rascal know there was a warrant out?" i gasped, almost pulling my horse up in my indignation, as i remembered boone's hint. "we did not advertise the fact, but yon man knows everything, and i'm no' saying it's quite impossible," mackay answered dryly. "but what ails ye that ye're drawing bridle, harry ormesby?" i drove the spurs in the next second and shot clear a length ahead, and, though the bonaventure horses were good, the others had hard work to catch me during the next mile or two. if lane suspected the issue of the warrant, he had victimized us to the end, for he had tricked us into furnishing him with not only the means of escape, but sufficient ready money to start him upon a fresh career in another land. we met boone and haldane returning from gordon's ranch, and while the former advised the sergeant that lane must be well on his way to the station by this time, i drew haldane aside and hurriedly related what had happened at bonaventure. "lane is a capable rascal, and will certainly catch the westbound train. there is little to be gained either by wiring the bank," he said. "he insisted on taking a large share in paper currency, and as the draft was one i had by me, he would no doubt arrange for his friends to cash it before i could warn the drawer. do you know the bureau you smashed in cost me sixty dollars, ormesby?" i was endeavoring to express my contrition when haldane laughed. "i am not sure that you are the only person responsible for the destruction of my furniture." mackay had started before our conversation was finished, and it cost boone and me a long gallop to come up with him, while it was only by dint of hard riding that we eventually reached the station some hours after the departure of the train. mackay first of all wired to the stations down the line, and then explained: "that's just a useless duty. yon man is keen enough to know he might find the troopers waiting for him. he'll leave the cars at the flag station where there's nobody to detain him, and, buying a horse at the first ranch, strike south for the border. it would be desirable that we grip him before he reaches it." because various formalities must be gone through before a canadian offender is handed over by the americans, this was clear enough, though i did not see how it was to be accomplished, until mackay had exchanged high words with the station agent. a freight locomotive and an empty stock car rolled out of the siding, and we took our places therein, men and horses together. "sorry i haven't got a new bogie drawing-room for you, but it's getting time the police gave some other station a share of their business," said the exasperated railroad official. i also overheard him tell the engineer: "you have got to be back by daylight, and needn't be particular about shaking them." it was not the fault of the engineer if he did not shake the life out of us. canadian lines are neither metalled nor ballasted with much solidity; and with only one car to steady it the huge machine appeared to leap over each inequality of the track. there was also nipping frost in the air, the prairie glittered under the stars, and bitter draughts pulsed through the lurching car. it was not an easy matter to keep the horses on their feet or to maintain our own balance, but the swish of the dust and the rattle of flung-up ballast brought some comfort as an indication of our speed. "it's a steeplechase already," gasped boone, holding on by a head-rope as we roared across a bridge. "i looked at the gauge-glass, and the engineer can hardly have full steam up yet. we'll be lucky to escape with whole limbs when he has." the prediction was fully justified, for the bouncing, jolting, and hammering increased with the pace, and i made most of the journey holding fast by a very cold rail as for my life, while half-seen through the rush of ballast i watched the prairie race past. when one could look forward there was nothing visible but a field of dancing stars and a smear of white below, athwart which the blaze of the great headlamp drove onwards with the speed of a comet. all of us were thankful when the locomotive was pulled up before a lonely shed, and while we dragged the horses out the man who drove it, grinning at his stoker, said: "i guess there's no bonus for beating the record on this contract?" "no," said mackay dryly. "ye have the satisfaction of knowing ye served the state." by good fortune we found a sleepy man in the galvanized iron shed, and he informed us that lane had alighted from the last train and started on foot towards the nearest ranch, which lay about a league away. inside of fifteen minutes we were pounding on its door, and the startled owner said that the man we asked for had bought a good horse from him, and inquired the shortest route to the american frontier. "four hours' start," said mackay, as we proceeded again. "ye can add another three for the making of inquiries and searching for his trail. it will be a close race, i'm thinking." it certainly proved so, as well as a long one, because we lost much time halting at lonely ranches, and still more in riding in wrong directions; for lane had evidently picked up somebody, perhaps a contrabandist, well versed in the art of laying a false trail. neither did he strike straight for the border, and after dividing and joining forces several times, it was late one evening when we found ourselves close behind him. "oh, yes! a man like that paid me forty dollars to swap horses with him and his partner, it might be an hour ago," said the last rancher at whose dwelling we stopped. "seemed in a mighty hurry to reach montana. how long might it take you to reach the frontier? well, that's a question of horses, and i've no more in my corral. you ought to get there by daylight, or a little earlier. follow the wheel trail and you'll see a boundary stake on the edge of the big _coulée_ to the left of it." though we had twice changed horses, our beasts were jaded; but there was solace in the thought that lane was an indifferent rider, and must have almost reached the limits of his endurance, while, though used to the saddle, i was too tired to retain more than a blurred impression of that last night's ride. there was no moon, but the blue heavens were thick with twinkling stars, and the prairie glittered faintly under the white hoar frost. it swelled into steeper rises than those we were used to, while at times we blundered down the crumbling sides of deep hollows, destitute of verdure, in which the bare earth rang metallically beneath the hoofs. still, the wheel trail led straight towards the south, and, aching all over, we pushed on, as best we could, until i grew too drowsy even to notice my horse's stumbles or to speculate what the end would be. before that happened, however, i had considered the question and decided that there was no need for any scruples in seizing lane if the chance fell to me. we had merely promised to refrain from pressing one particular charge against the fugitive, and were willing to keep our bargain, though he on his part had deceived us into making it. at last, when only conscious of the cruel jolting and the thud of tired hoofs which rose and fell in a drowsy cadence through the silence, mackay's voice roused me, and i fancied i made out two mounted figures faintly projected against the sky ahead. "yon's them, and ye'll each do your best. we're distressfully close on the frontier now," he said. once more the spurs sank into the jaded beast, and when it responded i became suddenly wide awake. it was bitterly cold and that hour in the morning when man's vitality sinks to its lowest ebb; but one and all braced themselves for the final effort. boone, in spite of all that i could do, drew out ahead, and we followed as best we might, blundering down into gullies and over rises where the grass grew harsh and high, while thrice we lost the man who led us as well as the fugitives. nevertheless, they hove into sight again before a league had passed, and it even seemed that we gained a little on the one who lagged behind, until, at last, the blue of the heavens faded, and grayness gathered in the east. it spread over half the horizon; the two figures before us grew more distinct; and boone rode almost midway between ourselves and them, when, as though by magic, the first one disappeared. mackay roared to cotton when, topping a rise, there opened before us a winding hollow, and boone, wheeling his horse, waved an arm warningly. "it's the wrong man doubling. come on your hardest until the trail forks, and then try left and right!" he shouted before he, too, sank from view beneath the edge of the hollow. there were birches in the ravine as well as willow groves, and the fugitives had vanished among them, leaving no trace behind. there were, unfortunately, also several trails, and, because time was precious, the noise we made pressing up and down them would have prevented our hearing any sound. mackay, who in spite of this, sat still listening, used a little illicit language, and rated cotton for no particular cause, while i had managed to entangle myself in a thicket, when boone's voice fell sharply from the opposite rise: "gone away! he has taken to the open!" with many a stumble we compassed the steep ascent, and, as we gained the summit, the growing light showed me a solitary figure already diminishing down a stretch of level prairie. "it's our last chance!" roared mackay, pointing to what looked like a break in the grasses ahead. "i'm fearing yon's the boundary." our beasts were worn out, their riders equally so; but we called up the last of our failing strength to make a creditable finish of the race. the _coulée_ was left behind us, and lane's figure grew larger ahead, for mackay, who certainly did not wish to, declared he could see no boundary post. then as the first crimson flushed the horizon, a lonely homestead rose out of the grass, and when lane rode straight for it the sergeant swore in breathless gasps. a little smoke curled from its chimney, for the poorer ranchers rise betimes in that country. we saw lane drop from the saddle and disappear within the door, while when we drew bridle before it, two gaunt brown-faced men came out and regarded us stolidly. "what place is this?" asked mackay with a gasp. one of them seemed to consider before he answered him: "well, it's generally allowed to be todhunter's wells." "that's not what i want," said the sergeant. "where's the boundary?" this time the other man laughed as he pointed backwards across the prairie we had traversed. "'bout a league behind you. no, sir; you're not in canada. this, as the song says, is 'the land of the free.' you'll find the big stake by the _coulée_, if you don't believe me." "beaten!" said mackay, dropping his bridle; and added aside: "whisky smugglers by their manners, i'm thinking." as we endeavored to master our disappointment, lane himself appeared in the doorway. he looked very weary, his fleshy face was haggard and mottled by streaks of gray; but the humorous gleam i hated shone mockingly in his eyes. "sorry to disappoint you, sergeant, but you can't complain about the chase!" he said. "even cannuck policemen and amateur detectives aren't recognized here; and as there are two respectable witnesses, i'm afraid you'll have to apply to the washington authorities. you can tell mr. haldane, ormesby, that there's no use in stopping his check. i don't think there is anything else i need say, except that, as i have booked all the accommodation here, they might give you breakfast at the ranch in the _coulée_." he actually nodded to us, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, leaned against the lintel of the door with an air of amusement which was not needed to remind us that he was master of the situation, and for the last time set my blood on fire. there was, however, nothing to be gained by virulence, and when mackay, who disdained to answer a word, wheeled his jaded horse, we silently followed him towards the _coulée_. "i wish the americans joy of him," the grizzled sergeant said, at length. "there's just one bit consolation--we can very well spare him; and ye'll mind what the douce provost said in the song--'just e'en let him be; the toon is weel quit o' that deil o' dundee.'" boone, smiling curiously, closed with the speaker. "there is one thing i expected he did not do, and as it could hardly be due to magnanimity, he must have forgotten it," he said. "you will not go back empty-handed, sergeant. are you aware that you hold a warrant for me?" mackay pulled his horse up and stared at him. "i cannot see the point of yon joke," he said. "there isn't one," was the answer. "now that my work is finished, i see no further need of hiding the fact that, while you knew me as adams, my name is--boone." mackay still stared at him, then laughed a little, as it were in admiration, but silently. "i'm understanding a good deal now--and that was why ye helped run yon thief down. well, i'll take your parole, and i'm thinking ye will have little trouble since the prosecutor's gone." chapter xxx the last toast lane troubled us no further, and there came a time when those who had suffered under him, and at last assisted in his overthrow, would laugh boisterously at my narrative of his hasty exit from the prairie with the troopers hard upon his heels. they appeared to consider the description of how, with characteristic audacity, he bade us an ironical farewell one cold morning from the doorway of a lonely ranch an appropriate finale, and bantered the sergeant upon his tardiness. the latter would answer them dryly that the dominion was well quit of lane. some time, however, passed before this came about, and meanwhile winter closed in on the prairie. it was, save for one uncertainty which greatly troubled me, a tranquil winter--for i had, in addition to promising schemes for the future, a balance in the bank--but not wholly uneventful. before the first snow had fallen, men with theodolites and compasses invaded crane valley, and left inscribed posts behind them when they passed. this was evidently a preliminary survey; but it showed the railroad was coming at last, although, as the men could tell us nothing, there remained the somewhat important question whether it would follow that or an alternative route. also, a month or two later, thorn and steel sought speech with me, the former looking almost uncomfortable when his companion said: "i've been talking with haldane about taking up my old place, and don't see how to raise the money, or feel very keen over it. we never did much good there since my father went under. the fact is, we two pull well together, and you have the longest head. won't you run both places and make me a kind of foreman with a partner's interest?" the suggestion suited me in many ways, but bearing in mind what might be possible, i saw a difficulty. "i dare say we might make a workable arrangement, and i couldn't find a better partner; but haven't you sally's interests to consider?" i said. steel smiled in an oracular fashion. "that's tom's business," he said, with a gesture, which, though i think it was involuntary, suggested that he felt relieved of a load. "sally is a daisy, and i've done my best for her; but though there's nobody got more good points, i don't mind allowing she was a blame big handful now and then. of course, we are all friends here!" "we won't be if you start in apologizing for sally," broke in the stalwart thorn; and as i glanced at his reddened face, a light dawned on me. "that's all right!" said the smiling brother. "there's no use in wasting words on him. he has had fair warning, and i'm not to blame." it struck me that the best thing i could do was to shake hands with the wrathful foreman, and i did it very heartily. "he will think differently some day, and you will have a good wife, tom," i said. "we'll miss you both badly at crane valley, but must try to give you a good start off when you take up your preëmpted land." it must be recorded that henceforward sally was a model of virtue, so much so that i marveled, while at times her brother appeared to find it hard to conceal his astonishment. she was more subdued in manner and gentle in speech, while i could now understand the soft light which filled her eyes when they rested upon my foreman. the former spirit, however, still lurked within her, for returning to the house one evening when spring had come around again, i saw cotton, who had once been a favorite of hers, leap out of the door with a brush whirling through the air close behind him. "what is the meaning of this, cotton?" i asked sharply, and the corporal, who looked slightly sheepish, glanced over his shoulder as though expecting another missile. "the truth is that i don't quite know," he said. "perhaps miss steel is suffering from a bad toothache or something of the kind to-day." "that does not satisfy me," i said, as severely as i could, hoping he would not discover it was mischief which prompted me. "i presume my housekeeper did not eject you without some reason?" "why don't you ask her, then?" said cotton awkwardly. "still, i suppose an explanation is due to you if you insist on it. i went in to talk to sally while i waited for you, and said something--perfectly innocent, i assure you, about---- well--confound it--if i did say i'd been heartbroken ever since i saw her last, was that any reason why she should hurl a brush at me? she used to appreciate that kind of foolery." "circumstances alter cases," i said dryly. "don't you know that sally will leave here as mrs. thorn in a few weeks or so?" "on my word of honor, i didn't," and cotton laughed boyishly. "go in and make my peace with her, if you can. i am positively frightened to. say i'm deeply contrite and--confoundedly hungry." supper was just ready, but there were only four plates on the table, and when i ventured to mention that cotton waited repentant and famishing without, sally regarded me stonily. "he can just stay there and starve," she said. even thorn, who, i think, knew sally's weak points and how they were counterbalanced by the warm-heartedness which would have covered much worse sins, laughed; but the lady remained implacable, and, as a result of it, cotton hungry without, until--when the meal was almost finished--dixon, who was accompanied by sergeant mackay, astonished us by alighting at the door. he brought startling news. the first carloads of rails and ties for the new road were ready for dispatching, and it would pass close by my possessions; while, after we had recovered from our excitement, he said: "i have been searching for a corporal cotton, and heard he might be here. do you know where he is?" i looked at sally, who answered for me frigidly: "you might find him trying to keep warm in the stable." dixon appeared astonished, and mackay's eyes twinkled, while after some consideration the autocrat at the head of the table said: "if it's important business, charlie may tell him that he may come in." cotton seemed glad to obey the summons, and knowing that he had ridden a long way since his last meal, i signaled dixon to wait, when sally, relenting, set a double portion before him. it was, therefore, some time later when the lawyer, glancing in his direction, said: "you are charles singlehurst cotton, born at halton edge in the county of warwick, england?" the effect was electrical. cotton thrust back his plate and straightened himself, staring fixedly at the speaker with wrath in his gaze. "i am corporal c. cotton of the northwest police, and whether i was born in england or canada concerns only myself." dixon smiled indulgently, and mackay, looking towards me, nodded his head with a complacent air of one who has witnessed the fulfilment of his prophecy. "if i had any doubts before, after inspecting a photograph of you, i have none at present," the former said. "mr. ormesby forgot to mention that i am a lawyer by profession, and messrs. james, tillotson & james, of london, whose name you doubtless know, requested me through a correspondent to search for you. having business with mr. haldane, i came in person. have you any objection to according me a private interview?" cotton looked at me interrogatively, and i nodded. "you can safely trust even family secrets to mr. dixon. he is, or will be, one of the foremost lawyers in the dominion." dixon made me a little semi-ironical bow, and when he and cotton passed out together into my own particular sanctum, a lean-to shed, mackay beamed upon me. "man, did i not tell ye?" he said. it was some time before cotton came back, looking grave and yet elated, and turning towards us, said: "mr. dixon has brought me unexpected news, both good and bad. it is necessary that i should accompany him to winnipeg. sergeant, you have the power to grant me a week's leave of absence?" mackay pursed his lips up, and, with overdone gravity, shook his head. "i'm fearing we cannot spare ye with the new mounts to train." dixon chuckled softly. "i'm afraid charles singlehurst cotton will break no more police horses for you. he has a good many of another kind of his own," he said. "he has also influential relatives who require his presence in england shortly, and have arranged things so that your chief authorities will probably release him before his term of service is completed. the signature to this note should remove any scruples you may have about granting him leave." mackay drew himself up, and returned the letter with the air of one acknowledging a commander's orders, then let his hand drop heavily on cotton's shoulder. his tone was slightly sardonic, but there was a very kindly look in his eyes as he said: "ye'll no' be above accepting the congratulations of the hard old sergeant who licked ye into shape. it was no' that easy, and maybe it galled ye some; but ye have learned a few useful things while ye rode with the northwest troopers ye never would have done in england. we took ye, a raw liddie, some bit overproud of himself, and now i'm thinking we'll miss ye when we send ye back the makings of a man. away ye go with mr. dixon so long as it's necessary." it struck me as a graceful thought, for cotton stood straight, as on parade, with the salute to a superior, as he said: "i'll report for duty in seven days, sir," then laid his brown hand in mackay's wrinkled palm. "every word's just as true as gospel, and i'll thank you in years to come." he took my arm and drew me out upon the starlit prairie. "i can't sleep to-night, and my horse is lame. you will lend me one," he said. then when i asked whether he was not going with dixon to the station, he laughed, and flung back his head. "i'm going to spend all night in the saddle. it will be best for me," he said. "i'll tell you the whole story later, and, meantime, may say that over the sea, yonder, somebody is dead. i know what usually sends such men as i out here, but while i should like you to remember that i neither broke any law of the old country nor injured any woman, i wouldn't see which side my bread was buttered--and there are various ways of playing the fool." "we have mackay's assurance that the colonial cure has proved a success, and in all seriousness you have my best wishes for the future," i said. the corporal answered gravely: "if it had not i should never venture to visit bonaventure to-morrow, as i intend doing." "visit bonaventure?" i said, a little thickly. "of course!" said cotton, with both exultation and surprise in his tone. "can't you see the best this news may have made possible to me?" i was thankful that the kindly darkness hid my face, and turned towards the stables without a word; while, after the corporal had mounted, i found it very hard to answer him when he said simply, yet with a great air of friendship: "although you were irritating sometimes, ormesby, you were the first man i ever spoke frankly to in this country. won't you wish me luck?" "if she will have you, there is no good thing i would not wish for you both," i said; but in spite of my efforts my voice rang hollow, and i was thankful when cotton, who did not seem to notice it, rode away. i did not return to the house until long after the drumming of hoofs, growing fainter and fainter, had finally died away, and said little then. i even flung the journals dixon brought, which were full of the new railroad, unread, away. my rival was young and handsome, generous, and likable, even in his weaknesses. he was also, as it now appeared, of good estate and birth, and granting all that i could on my own side, the odds seemed heavily in favor of cotton, while a certain knowledge of the worst would almost have been preferable to the harrowing uncertainty as to how the mistress of bonaventure would make the comparison. it lasted for two whole weeks--weeks which i never forgot; for i could not visit bonaventure until i learned whether cotton's errand had resulted successfully, and he sent no word to lessen the anxiety. at last i rode in to the settlement, whither i knew haldane had gone to inspect the progress of the road, and met boone and mackay on the prairie. "has cotton returned?" i asked. "he has," said mackay dryly. "this is his last day's duty. he loitered at the settlement, and ye will meet him presently. i'm not understanding what is wrong with him, but he's uncertain in the temper, and i'm thinking that sudden good fortune does not agree with him." i met cotton, riding very slowly and looking straight ahead. he pulled up when i greeted him, and seeing the question in my eyes, ruefully shook his head. "i've had my answer, ormesby--given with a gentleness that made it worse," he said. he must have misunderstood my expression, and perhaps my face was a study just then, for he added grimly: "it is perfectly true, and really not surprising. hopeless from the first--and, i think, there is someone else, though heaven knows where in the whole dominion she would find any man fit to brush the dust from her little shoes, including myself. well, there is no use repining, and i'll have years in which to get over it; but it's lucky i'm leaving this country, and--for one can't shirk a painful duty--i'll say good-by to you with the others at bonaventure to-morrow." i was glad that he immediately rode on, for while i pitied him, my heart leaped within me. had it happened otherwise i should have tried to wish him well, and now my satisfaction, which was, nevertheless, stronger than all such considerations, appeared ungenerous. when i reached it the usually sleepy settlement presented a stirring scene. long strings of flat cars cumbered the trebled sidetrack, rows of huts had risen as by magic, and two big locomotives moved ceaselessly to and fro. dozens of oxen and horse teams hauled the great iron scoops which tore the sod up to form the roadbed, while the air vibrated with the thud of shovels, the ringing of hammers, and the clang of falling rails. the track lengthened yard by yard as i stood and watched. in another week or two the swarming toilers would have moved their mushroom town further on towards crane valley, and i was almost oppressed by a sense of what all this tremendous activity promised me. it meant at least prosperity instead of penury, the realizing of ambitions, perhaps a road to actual affluence; also it might be far more than this. i scarcely saw haldane until he grasped my hand. "it is a great day, ormesby," he said. "no man can tell exactly how far this narrow steel road may carry all of you. still, one might almost say that you have deserved it--and it has come at last." "it will either be the brightest day in all my life--or the worst," i said. "will you listen to me for two minutes, sir?" haldane did so, and then leaned against a flat car, with the wrinkles deepening on his forehead, for what appeared to be an inordinately long time. "i may tell you frankly that i had not anticipated this--and am not sure i should not have tried to prevent it if i had," he said. "i know nothing that does not testify in your favor as an individual, ormesby; but, as even you admit, there are objections from one point of view. still, this road and our new schemes may do much for you and---- well, i never refused my daughter anything, and if she approves of you, and you will not separate us altogether, i won't say no." i had expected nothing better, and dreaded a great deal worse; and my pulses throbbed furiously when, after some further speech, haldane strolled away with a half-wistful, half-regretful glance at his daughter who approached us as we spoke. she was in high spirits, and greeted me cordially. "you ought to be happy, and you look serious. this is surely the best you could have hoped for," she said. it seemed best to end the uncertainty at once, and yet, remembering cotton's fate, i was afraid. nevertheless, mustering courage, i looked straight at the speaker, and slowly shook my head. lucille was always shrewd, and i think she understood, for her lips quivered a little, and the smile died out of her eyes. "you are difficult to satisfy. is it not enough?" she said. her voice had in it no trace of either encouragement or disdain, and a boldness i had scarcely hoped for came upon me as i answered: "in itself it is worth nothing to me. what you said is true, for i have set my hopes very high. there is only one prize in the dominion that would satisfy me, and that is--you." lucille moved a little away from me, and i could not see her face, for she looked back towards the train of cars which came clanking down the track; but for once words were given me, and when i ceased, she looked up again. though the rich damask had deepened in her cheek, there was a significant question in her eyes. "are you sure you are not mistaken, rancher ormesby? men do not always know their own minds," she said. the underlying question demanded an answer, and i do not know how i furnished it, for i had already found it bewildering when asked by myself; but with deep humility i framed disjoined words, and gathered hope once more when i read what might have been a faint trace of mischief, and something more, in my companion's eyes. "it is not very convincing--but what could you say? and you are, after all, not very wise," she said. "i wonder if i might tell you that i knew part of this long ago; but the rest i did not know until the evening the team bolted in the hollow. still," and lucille grew grave again, "would it hurt you very much if i said i could not listen because i feared you were only dreaming this time, too?" "it would drive me out of canada a broken-hearted man," i said. "it was you for whom i strove, always you--even when i did not know it--since the first day i saw you. i would fling away all i own to-morrow, and----" the words broke off suddenly, for lucille looked up at me, shyly this time, and from under half-lowered lashes. "i think," she said very slowly, and with a pause, during which i did not breathe, "that would be a pity, harry ormesby." it was sufficient. all that the world could give seemed comprised within the brief sentence; and it was difficult to remember that we stood clear in the eyes of the swarming toilers upon the level prairie. neither do i remember what either of us next said, for there was a glamour upon me; but as we turned back towards haldane, side by side, i hazarded a query, and lucille smiled. "you ask too many questions--are you not yet content? still, since you ask, i think i did not understand aright either until a little while ago." haldane appeared satisfied, though, perhaps, that is not the most appropriate word, for he himself supplied a better one; and when we were next alone, and i ventured thanks and protestations, laughed, in the whimsical fashion he sometimes adopted, i think, to hide his inward sentiments. "you need not look so contrite, for i suppose you could not help it; and i am resigned," he said. "there. we will take all the rest for granted, and you must wait another year." then, although haldane smiled again, he laid his hand on my shoulder in a very kindly fashion as he added; "lucille might, like her sister, have shone in london and paris; but it seems she prefers the prairie--and, after all, i do not know that she has not chosen well." the story of my failures, mistakes, and struggles ended then and there, for henceforward, even when passing troubles rested upon us, i could turn for counsel and comfort to a helpmate whose wisdom and sympathy were equalled only by her courage. nevertheless, two incidents linger in my memory, and were connected with the last meeting of what had now ceased to be a prairie tribunal at bonaventure. it was an occasion of festivity, but regret was mingled with it, for boone and cotton would leave us that night, and there was not one of the bronzed men gathered in the great hall at bonaventure who would not miss them. boone, it may be mentioned, had, after entering into recognizances to appear if wanted, been finally released from them by the police. at length haldane stood up at the head of the long table. "this has been a day to remember, and, i think, what we have decided to-night will set its mark upon the future of the prairie," he said. "where all did well there were two who chiefly helped us to win what we have done, and it is to our sorrow that one goes back to his own country now that his work is well accomplished. we will not lightly forget him. the other will, i hope, be spared to stay with you and share your triumphs as he has done your adversity. i have to announce my daughter's approaching marriage to your comrade, henry ormesby." it pleased me greatly that cotton was the first upon his feet, and mackay the next, although it was but for a second, because, almost simultaneously, a double row of weather-darkened men heaved themselves upright. cotton's face was flushed, and his eyes shone strangely under the candlelight; but he looked straight at me as he solemnly raised the glass in his hand. "the mistress of bonaventure: god bless her, and send every happiness to both of them!" he said. the very rafters rang to the shout that followed, and it was the last time that toast was honored, for when next my neighbors gathered round me with goodwill and festivity, lucille haldane became mistress of the new homestead which had replaced the sod-house at crane valley, instead of bonaventure. it was an hour later when she stood beside me, under the moonlight, speeding the last of the guests. boone halted before us, bareheaded, a moment, with a curiously wistful look which was yet not envious, and his hand on the bridle. "it was a good fight, but i shall never again have such an ally as miss haldane," he said. he had barely mounted, when cotton came up, and i felt my companion's fingers tremble as, i think, from a very kindly impulse, she slipped them from my arm. cotton, however, was master of himself, and gravely shook hands with both of us. "it was not an empty speech, ormesby. i meant every word of it. heaven send you both all happiness," he said. he, too, vanished into the dimness with a dying beat of hoofs, and so out of our life; and we two were left alone, hand in hand, with only the future before us, on the moonlit prairie. the end transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original text have been corrected. in chapter ii, "the brand of serviture" was changed to "the brand of servitude". in chapter iii, "a composure which astonished be" was changed to "a composure which astonished me", and "he was bent in discharging his duty" was changed to "he was bent on discharging his duty". in chapter vii, "becaues he'd gone" was changed to "because he'd gone", and a mismatched quotation mark was corrected after "still, you might have been a little more civil, sally." in chapter viii, "it occured to me that lucille haldane" was changed to "it occurred to me that lucille haldane". in chapter ix, "every available dollar for the approaching stuggle" was changed to "every available dollar for the approaching struggle". in chapter x, a mismatched quotation mark was corrected before "'twoinette's so--so blamed systematic". in chapter xi, "while i draged at the halliards" was changed to "while i dragged at the halliards", "life your hands at once" was changed to "lift your hands at once", "several dark figures on the varanda" was changed to "several dark figures on the veranda", and "the shock of her kneel upon the bottom" was changed to "the shock of her keel upon the bottom". in chapter xii, "you have won lands down" was changed to "you have won hands down". in chapter xv, "a little worse than he rest" was changed to "a little worse than the rest". in chapter xvi, "the time for open resistance had come a last" was changed to "the time for open resistance had come at last", a missing period was added after "who watched our efforts with much approval", and "the memory of former wongs" was changed to "the memory of former wrongs". in chapter xvii, "snatching here hand away" was changed to "snatching her hand away". in chapter xxii, "panting of mammonth engines" was changed to "panting of mammoth engines". in chapter xxiii, "feed and cloth me" was changed to "feed and clothe me", a missing period was added after "her eyes were filled with light", and "igoring dixon's advice" was changed to "ignoring dixon's advice". in chapter xxiv, "i picketed the documents" was changed to "i pocketed the documents", and "too a big morsel" was changed to "too big a morsel". in chapter xxvii, "was i was uneasily conscious" was changed to "was, i was uneasily conscious". in chapter xxviii, "a promising crop of them an hand" was changed to "a promising crop of them on hand", and "unobstrusively endeavored to sell" was changed to "unobtrusively endeavored to sell". in chapter xxix, a period was changed to a question mark after "it is a little disconcerting to be watched when at work", "the sped of a comet" was changed to "the speed of a comet", and "shone mockingly in his ayes" was changed to "shone mockingly in his eyes". several words (such as bull-frog and candle-light) were hyphenated inconsistently in the original text. bleedback by winston marks _it was just a harmless, though amazing, kid's toy that sold for less than a dollar. yet it plunged the entire nation into a nightmare of mystery and chaos...._ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, august . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the thing is over now, but i can't see a teddy bear or a set of blocks in a department store window without shuddering. i'm thankful i'm a bachelor and have no children around to remind me of the utterly insane nightmare that a child's toy plunged our country into--the millions of people who died in agony--the total disruption and near dissolution of our nation. and yet, as the united states tottered on the verge of complete chaos, it was, ironically, another child's toy that saved us. a simple, ordinary, every-day toy for tots stopped the "fever", halted the carnage that was tearing our flesh and eyes and viscera into shreds. with most the scientists in the world working for an emergency solution, they could come up with no better answer than a toy that'd been around for generations before the "mystery i-gun" was even conceived. being a plain-clothesman, i have seen greed and impatience ruin many individual lives. if i could have guessed at the chain of events that would stem from my first contact with the younger baxter brother, i would have put a bullet through his head in cold blood and cheerfully faced the gas chamber. instead i took off my hat and followed him through the substantial old house to a moderately large room in the rear where, i'd been told, we would find a body. leo baxter was a little guy about five-foot six, like me but with a better build. his size was important for a couple of reasons, one being that it was startling to say the least, when he pointed to the giant on the floor and said, "my brother." he caught my look and shrugged impatiently. "i know, i know, but this is no time for mutt and jeff gags. calvin has been murdered. now get with it, lieutenant!" if calvin _was_ his brother, leo's agitation was understandable, but his voice had a flat note of practicality in it that i didn't like. as i looked down at the sprawled length of the big man on the tiled floor, the mutt and jeff angle didn't fit at all. david and goliath was a better bet. this goliath seemed also to have met his fate from a hole in the forehead. i say, "seemed," because it developed that calvin baxter was not yet quite dead. "there's no pulse or breath," his brother said when i mentioned this error in his assumption. "you're no doctor. now call that ambulance like i told you. jump!" i said. he jumped. i made a quick examination, meanwhile, and when leo came back from the phone i pointed. "see, the blood. it's still coming out." "corpses bleed, don't they?" "not in spurts," i said. "the hole's tiny, but whatever's in there touched an artery. see that?" he looked and seemed convinced. "the ambulance will be here. anything else i should do?" "yes. nothing. don't touch a thing in this room ... or did you already?" "just calvin. i heard him fall, and when i came in he was on his face." "why did you ask for homicide when you called the police? or let's put it this way: what makes you think it wasn't an accident?" "two reasons. first, because i couldn't see any cause of the accident. when i turned him over the floor was smooth and clean under his forehead except for the smear of blood. reason number two: because calvin just doesn't have accidents. all his life he's moved in slow motion. i've never known him to stumble, or cut himself, or drop anything or even bump into anyone." i was checking around the room myself, and i had to admit that both reasons might be valid. a man the size of calvin wasn't likely to be the skittish type. and by the time the ambulance arrived i was ready to admit that if the injury were an accident, calvin baxter had contrived to conceal its source. it took several of us to load the unconscious man onto the stretcher. i told his cocky little brother to stay on ice, while i rode downtown in the ambulance. dr. thorsen called me into the emergency ward. "how did this happen?" he wanted to know. thorsen is a lean, learned old chap who normally gives more answers than he asks. i said, "don't know, doc. i found him in a sort of home workshop. no power tools, nothing dangerous in sight. the bench at one end had a couple of little gadgets on it--looked sort of electrical. some wire, soldering iron, books, a few rough circuit drawings." "the gadgets. what did they look like?" i thought back and realized that what i had to describe would sound a little peculiar. "sort of like flashlights with a pistol grip ... and no lens where the light should come out. just blunt, flat ends." thorsen shrugged. "then i don't know. i expected you to report some kind of a blast or explosion." "no sign of one." "all right, then what else but a flying particle could drill a hole in a man's forehead the diameter of a piece of -gauge wire?" "what do the x-rays show?" "we'll know in a minute. what about the murder-attempt angle?" i said that i had nothing to go on yet. that was the whole truth and the final truth! when doc's x-rays revealed _nothing but a blood clot_ deep in the brain at the end of the tiny tunnel piercing the skull, i was left without even a "modus operandi", let alone a substantial suspect. * * * * * for two days i investigated brother leo, and when i wasn't investigating him i was questioning him. the small town in minnesota where he claimed he and his brother were born had been the county seat, and the whole shivaree had burned up in a prairie fire years ago, courthouse, birth records and all. with no other living relatives, i had to depend on people who had known both men. from those whom i questioned, i ascertained that they had been passing for brothers, at least, for some time. on the third day leo's patience began to crack. "you keep asking me the same, stupid questions over and over. i tell you, i'm a mechanical engineer. my brother was a mathematician. we're both single. i make enough money in the construction game to support both of us. what's so suspicious about humoring my brother's research?" "among other things," i said, "is your ignorance of what he was doing." "for the fiftieth time i tell you i _didn't_ know!" his exasperation was mounting to the pitch i had been awaiting. "you used the past tense. you do know now?" he wheeled and crossed the living room, poured himself a drink of straight bourbon and downed it. "yes, i have a notion now, but it's none of your damned business. his ideas may be patentable." i said slowly and quietly, "now i'll tell you what i've been waiting for. i've been waiting for you to offer me information about the two little gadgets that you removed from your brother's work-bench--against my explicit orders not to touch anything. until you produce those items and explain your actions i'll be around here asking stupid questions. from now on, understand?" "damn cops!" he threw the shot glass to the floor and glared at me for a long minute. "all right, come with me." we went into a little library. he took two volumes from a high shelf and from the recess snatched the two gadgets with the pistol grips. from a table drawer, which he unlocked with a key from his pocket, he took some drawings that looked like the ones that had disappeared from his brother's little workshop. "calvin developed a new effect by applying one of his esoteric mathematical symbols to a simple electronic circuit," leo began, in his surly tone. he pointed at the margin of the circuit drawing. there were jottings of algebraic formulae in which the quantity "i" appeared prominently. he pointed this out to me and continued, "being a cop you wouldn't understand, but this symbol stands for an imaginary number, the square root of a minus one." this rang a bell from away back in my own college math. i said, "yeah, i think i remember. it's some sort of operational factor in polar coordinates. no real meaning in itself, but--" "well! an educated cop! that's right, except that calvin managed to give this symbol an actual, functional application. i was telling the truth when i said i didn't know what he was doing. i still don't understand it, and i've been losing sleep over these formulae." "then why not take it to the university and let the professors--" "because," he interrupted, "whether i understand it or not, calvin's gadget, happens to work. watch this." he picked an ordinary paper clip from the debris of pencils, stamps and rubber bands from the top desk drawers, touched it to the "muzzle" end of the gadget where it stuck as if magnetized. "now keep your eyes on the paper clip," he ordered. his forefinger pressed a button in the pistol grip, and without click, snap, buzz or murmur, _the paper clip disappeared_. leo stared at me, as thoughts of "hyper-space", fourth-dimension and space-warps flitted through my mind. it wasn't a buck roger's atomic disintegrator, because there was no heat, flash or sound. the clip was suddenly elsewhere. "and i suppose the other gadget brings it back," i said. "that's what i thought, but i can't make it work. i suppose my brother could, if he were here." he tossed the thing to me, pointed at the little box of paper clips in the drawer and said, "have fun." i did, for about five minutes. eight paper clips later i was convinced that whatever else it might be, the gadget was no potential murder weapon. the clips disappeared, totally. you could pass your hand through the point of departure without a tingle of sensation. leo briefed me further. the thing worked only on metallic conductors. it was harmless to human flesh and other organic matter. then he removed the cover that ran the length of the rather crude, hand-carved, wooden barrel. from front to back, were: one pen-light cell, a lumpy-looking coil of wire hand-wound on a spindle-shaped iron core, and a short, cylindrical bar-magnet. "in mass production," he said, "about cents worth of material and maybe cents worth of labor! do you see why i wanted to keep it a secret until i could patent it?" "no!" i said flatly. "unless you consider a paper-clip disposal unit an item of commercial importance." "but it's a whole new scientific principle--the rotation of matter completely out of our space-time continuum!" "that much i grasp, but what good is it except as a demonstration of a piece of pure scientific research?" "good lord, man, have you no imagination?" "okay, okay! get rich," i said and slammed the front door behind me as i stomped out. i had been so certain that the missing gadgets would give me a motive for the attack on leo's brother, or at least the method of inflicting the fantastic wound, that i was about ready to turn in my badge in frustration. all i could pin on leo was a desire to cash in on his brother's gimmick--which, presumably, he could have done whether calvin lived or died. suppose, i mused on my way back to the station, that calvin had refused to let leo commercialize on his discovery? perhaps calvin was preparing a paper for publication in scientific circles. maybe cool-headed little leo tried to knock off his brother to keep the secret in the family until it could be turned to a selfish dollar. all right, suppose a jury would accept such an impalpable theory as a motive, then what? no murder weapon. no witnesses. not even a genuine murder yet, because calvin was still alive. yes, old doc thorsen had kept the mathematician alive somehow. the elder baxter lay on his back across two, white iron beds pushed together in the city hospital, and thorsen came in to report to me. "the clot seems to be absorbing better than i expected, but it's doubtful that we could operate to remove the paralyzing pressure. the puncture is deep into the brain tissue, and he's too nearly gone to survive such an ordeal." "any chance that he might recover consciousness?" "pretty remote," thorsen told me. "we'll keep a special nurse with him as you ordered, just in case he does." i left calvin baxter pale and motionless as some great statue supine amid the tangle of plasma, glucose and saline hoses, under his transparent oxygen tent. the wound that had laid him low was no more than a dot of dried blood on his massive forehead. until his death, his file would remain under unsolved crimes. in my own mind i was no longer sure of anything, except that if there was a nickel in calvin baxter's discovery, his mercenary brother would wring it out. and he did. even before calvin died. some seven weeks later leo marketed the "mystery i-gun" as a combined, toy, trick and puzzle, and it set the whole damned world on its ear! i located leo baxter in his new suite of offices on the th floor of the state building. he peeled back his lips in a sneery grin. "i thought you'd be showing up." he waved away his male secretary who was still clinging to my arm trying to tow me back to the reception room. i said, "i kept your secret, then you pull an irresponsible thing like this! a kid's toy! good lord, man, that device might be dangerous!" "i appreciate your professional ethics, lieutenant. i've applied for a patent, so you can tell all your friends now. and stop worrying. the "mystery i-gun" is quite harmless. i experimented a week before going into production." "a week?" i could scarcely believe my ears. "what happens when some kid jams his gun against a light-pole or an automobile ... or the night lock on the first national bank?" "nothing. it punches no holes. a large metallic object simply dissipates the field. the largest object it will handle is about a half-inch steel screw--" "baxter, your brother's accident is connected to that device--and you turn it loose as a novelty!" "nonsense. it's safe as a knot-hole. it simply makes things disappear. little things, like tacks, ball bearing, old rusty nuts and bolts--" "and dimes and mamma's earrings and the front door key," i snapped back. "until you know how to bring those things back you had no right to market that rig." he laid his small hands before him on the desk. "lieutenant, i'm sick of working for other people. this is my chance to get a bank-roll to back my own contracting firm. yes, i financed calvin's research because he's brilliant, and i knew he'd come up with something some day. now he's done it, and i'm merely protecting his interests and my investment in him. see here." he shoved some documents at me. there was the patent application, a declaration of partnership for purposes of marketing the mystery i-gun, and the articles of incorporation of the baxter construction company. "okay," i said. "so you've cut your brother in on all this. who's his beneficiary when he dies?" "still looking for a motive for murder, aren't you, lieutenant?" i didn't admit it to him, but he was right. calvin's "accident" seemed too convenient to the purposes of his practical little brother, leo. what's more, the lab and medical men on the force were just as mystified today as they were when we brought calvin in with the needle-thin hole in his skull. old doc thorsen had admitted to me that he could name no implement--not even a surgical instrument--that could have inflicted such a narrow gauge hole. it had to be caused by a fragment, _but there was no fragment in the brain_! "leo," i said, "i know you consider this case closed, but i want you to do me a favor. i want to go over your brother's lab once more." "but you've--" he stopped, shrugged and nodded his head. "okay. i'm interested in finding out what hurt cal, as much as you are. i'll tell you, i'm busy the rest of this week, but i'll meet you at the old house next monday evening at eight. you see, i closed up the place and moved downtown." i agreed, with the feeling that he was deliberately making me wait just to annoy me. leo baxter was an important man now, a man graciously willing to cooperate with the police--at his own convenience. i stood up. "your brother has been calling your name. i suppose they told you that?" "they phoned. doctor said it was just mutterings." "you haven't even been to see him?" "what's the use? he wouldn't recognize me." well, it wasn't any of my business, really, but it's funny how you get to hate a man for his attitude. i don't know what i expected to find by going over that lab-workshop again, but whatever it was, i hoped it would incriminate leo. on the face of it he was guilty of nothing more than a premature marketing of a new device, but the way he was cashing in on calvin's genius certainly did the dying man no honor. _cash in was right!_ the toys sold like bubble-gum. the papers, radio, and tv picked up the sensational gimmick and gave it a billion bucks worth of free advertising. and the profitable part of it was that the i-gun was so simple to mass-produce that leo's fifteen contracting manufacturers were almost able to keep up with the astronomical demand. before that week was up, the wall street journal estimated there were already more i-guns in the hands of the juvenile public than all the yo-yos ever produced. they retailed at eighty-five cents, made of plastic with a hole in the back where you could change the pen-light battery. they sold, all right. they sold in drugstores and toy stores and dime stores and department stores. toddler's, tykes and teen-agers went for them. and adults. maybe million of them were in the hands of the public before i saw leo baxter next. which was almost two weeks instead of the one week he had promised. i finally got an appointment. "sorry," he said. "i've been tied up with government people all week. the a. e. c. tried to get me in trouble." i said, "skip it. you promised for tonight. now let's go." "i can't possibly make it tonight." he pointed at his desk. it was littered with correspondence, orders and contracts. "give me one more week, lieutenant." it was an order, not a request. there was nothing to do but wait the third week. it was not, however, uneventful. it was the week the accidents began to happen. at : of a tuesday afternoon, a man was admitted to a local hospital with a perforated belly. straight through, hide, guts and liver. a newsman got hold of it and wrote a scare story about an attack with a pellet gun that must shoot needles. before the edition was sold out the hospitals were loaded with emergency cases. people with holes in them. tiny little holes, mostly, but holes that went right through them. then dogs. then automobiles, trucks and busses. holes in their radiators. holes in windshields that always went straight back, through seats and sometimes passengers--right out through the rear end. * * * * * the city panicked. then the county, state and nation. in two days, yes, the whole nation! at first everyone thought we were being attacked by some secret weapon. by some miracle of statesmanship, the president of the united states prevented a "massive retaliation" attack by the army upon our most likely enemy--long enough for intelligence to affirm that no enemy on earth was that mad at us. then all thoughts turned to extra-terrestrial space. a bombardment from the sky? it was ridiculous to even consider, because none of the holes that appeared in people and things came from above. the holes were almost entirely in the horizontal plane. strangely enough during those first two days, nobody thought of the mystery i-gun. no one but me. leo baxter had disappeared into thin air, as completely as if he'd turned to metal and crawled into the muzzle of one of his own "toys". i had every known place he frequented staked out with a pair of plain-clothesmen, but it was the morning of the second day of accidents before i got a radio call from the squad car stationed near the old baxter home. leo had come home at last. he was a sad looking midget when i got there. obviously no sleep, unshaven, deep hollows under his eyes. "i figured you'd be waiting for me, lieutenant, but you know what?" he demanded. "i don't give a damn! i kept waiting for them to figure out the answer to these accidents and string me up. how come you didn't tell anybody?" i said, "shut up and let's go inside." sure, i figured the i-gun was the cause, but the last thing i wanted was for leo to get strung up before i laid my hands on that other device--the one that wouldn't work. i wanted that rig and all the plans and formulae, and leo undoubtedly had them hidden deeper than fort knox. he unlocked the door, and i told the others to wait outside. we went into the hall and closed the door behind us. "so your little toy was harmless?" i said, grabbing him by his wrinkled lapels. "so it just shoots stuff off into another dimension?" he stared at me, his eyes half glazed. "i don't--know. that's what the notes said." he sank into a chair. "i guess it doesn't, though. it must ball up the metal object and shoot it out--infinite velocity--reduced in size--infinite mass--infinite inertia--keeps circling the globe like--like a satellite. goes right through anything it hits. goes on and on. forever. little bullets. right through steel. right through flesh and bones--" "simmer down," i said. "you've been reading the papers. i've been checking the facts." "what do you mean?" "that you were right the first time. it does shoot metal objects into another dimension. but _they don't stay there_. they ooze back. slowly. real slow, so the first edge or corner that sticks back into our dimension is only a few millionths of an inch thick. then a few ten-thousandths, then a few thousandths--and that's about the time they start making holes in people and objects _that run into them_." "run into them?" "certainly. there are no holes in buildings or other stationary objects. the holes are all horizontal. now look, baxter, our only chance is to work on that other device and your brother's notes, and maybe we can develop an extractor of some kind." "no. no, you don't understand," he said shaking his head like a sleep-walker. "it balls up the metal. shoots it out. infinite mass. infinite veloc--" "knock off that nonsense, and tell me where those plans are." "trying to steal my brother's other invention, are you? it's not patented yet. you know that, don't you? couldn't patent it because i can't make it work yet. you're smart, but you won't get it from me--" i had a fair hold on him, but the pure insanity that flared in his eyes shocked me for just the instant it took him to wrench out of my hands. he stumbled to the door of the study and burst through it heading for the window. i didn't hurry after him too fast, because i knew the boys outside would take him. leo baxter was only three paces into the stale air of the unused library when he screamed, clasping his hands to his chest and dropped. a peculiar grating, plucking sound came faintly before he thudded to the carpet. i stopped hard in my tracks and wiped the sweat from my face while leo baxter twitched almost at my feet, his heart shredded and bubbling its last in his perforated chest. _the paper clips. the ones i had propelled into nothingness weeks ago._ hat in hand i advanced slowly, waving it before me chest high. then it caught suddenly, grated for a split second and passed on in its arc. now there were several tiny holes in it. i backed away a foot and brought my hat down slowly on the same lethal spot of air. chest-high it caught and hung suspended. leaving it there as a marker i took off my suitcoat, held it before me and inched forward toward the desk. something plucked at the dangling garment, and a chill froze my spine. had i been walking forward normally, the tiny speck of metal that barely caught the glint of light from the window, would have pierced my skin at just about the site of my appendix. i circled the spot continuing to feel forward with my coat. that was the paper clip baxter had fired to demonstrate to me that first day. at the phone i called headquarters and told the chief what to do. "you're so right," he told me, his voice slurring strangely. "only you're a little late. the order went out to confiscate the i-guns. they think the damned toys might have something to do with the accidents. and i bought one of the first ones for my little jerry!" his voice sounded hollow. so they were figuring it out! the next question was, how to extract the deadly particles from the other dimension, or how to keep them from bleeding back slowly into ours. i moved cautiously through the old house fanning every inch of air ahead of me with a phone book. when i got to calvin baxter's workshop i was especially careful, but i needn't have been. the only metal particles stuck into the thin air seemed to be over his work-bench where he had been experimenting with his device. all but one. it was right where i expected to find it--better than six feet in the air, just forehead high for a man tall as calvin baxter. he had fired his proto-type of the i-gun just once into the middle of the room. how long ago? eight--ten weeks ago? it seemed impossible that all this horror had occurred in such a short time. but there it was, stuck in space, protruding about a hundredth of an inch from nowhere into clear visibility. so little was showing that i couldn't be sure, but it looked like the tip of an ordinary little nail or wood-screw. this was my "murder-weapon", the cause of calvin baxter's accident. he'd run into it, jerked his head back, and the speck had come out the same hole it went in. in twenty minutes by the clock i had the lab crew out from headquarters, and had explained the whole business to them. first they measured the length of the protrusion, and my guess was about right. it measured . inches on the micrometer caliper. if it were a screw an inch long, at that rate of "bleedback" it would take another weeks to come the rest of the way out. almost two years! paul riley, the lab chief, was sharp. he caught it about the same time i did and turned to look at me. "we've got to figure a way of getting those things out of the way." i nodded. "but quick." collins, our print man, said, "why not just shoot them back into wherever it is they go, with another i-gun?" "and have them come bleeding back after a few weeks?" paul frowned him silent. he picked up a hammer from the bench and tapped the tiny, glinting speck. the point flattened out a bit, but the thud of the hammer indicated how solidly it was stuck. then he walked around behind the point and struck it a hard blow from the cross-section side. the hammer shivered in his hand and he dropped it, rubbing his numbed fingers with his other hand. "lieutenant," he said slowly, "we are up against something." we found we could file away the metal easily enough. sure it filed away until the file cut into empty space. but cold comfort that was. in a few hours, we knew, molecule by molecule, the screw buried in the other dimension would come oozing back, a minute but lethal speck ready to ambush the first very tall man who walked toward it. tall man! that's why leo baxter and i had failed to find it in the first place. i had criss-crossed that room half a thousand times in my previous examinations. if i had been taller, or the speck of metal lower-- "we've got to bring calvin baxter back to consciousness somehow," i said. "we've got to find out how that extractor of his works." "right!" jerry said, dropping his hands in resignation. we'd run out of ideas at the same time, and the senior baxter appeared to be our only hope. * * * * * we fanned our way out of there, into the squad car, and proceeded at a gingerly five miles per hour back to headquarters. on my insistence, calvin baxter had been set up in a private room at the jail with doc thorsen in attendance. the city hospitals were so jammed with accident victims and frantic relatives that it was no place to work with a man who was our only salvation. when i explained everything to dr. thorsen and told him how important it was that we bring calvin back to consciousness he shook his head. "it might be done, but it would probably kill him--" "but you said he'd never recover anyway," i argued. thorsen seemed to be considering that. "yes," he said at last. "that's more apparent now than ever. he's beginning to suffer the usual complications of immobility. probably won't last more than a few weeks anyway. but can't you get the dope you want from his brother?" he stalled while he weighed his ethics against the necessity of the moment. "his brother," i told him, "is dead. paper clips. right through the heart." "i see. well, we could operate, but as i said, calvin wouldn't survive for long. maybe only hours or minutes. and maybe not even long enough to regain consciousness after we remove the clot." i said, "i've left a crew at the baxter house to tear it apart, board by board, until we find this so-called _extractor_ that leo hid. but even after we find it, we need calvin to tell us how to make it work. there must be a part missing." we had wandered into calvin's room and were talking over his great, supine body, covered to the chin with a white sheet. the speck of scalp on his forehead had dried up and dropped off leaving only a faint white spot. as i mentioned the missing part, his lips began moving and a grunt issued from his throat. "listen," i said. "he hears me! he's trying to talk!" "no, lieutenant." thorsen said, putting a hand to his eyes. "he's been grunting like that for days. the only word that ever comes out is his brother's name, leo." the name struck anger and frustration in me. "leo," i half-shouted. "that stinking little--never even visited his brother!" "relax, gene. that won't do any good. the man's dead," he reminded me. "relax? when all over the country people are tearing their bodies to pieces? innocent people. little kids--" "i know, i know. i just spent nine hours in the emergency ward. peritonitis. cardiac injury. lungs. torn eye-balls. and it's probably just the beginning." "then what are you waiting for?" i demanded. "our only chance is to bring calvin baxter to consciousness long enough to explain how his extractor works." doc ran trembling hands through his fuzz of white hair. for the first time i noticed that the pupils of his eyes were moving back and forth in little quick, darting motions like a wild animal looking for escape. "i--don't know, gene. i suppose you are right. only--we need permission--we must--you see, he might die, and--" i took a good look at him and suddenly realized that despite his calm voice, the old man was going to pieces. i grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out of there, across the hall to the chief's office. durstine had his head down on his arms, slouched over the desk fast asleep between two clanging telephones. "wake up, chief!" i said, shaking him by the shoulder. "we have to get baxter to city hospital and--" durstine raised his head and stared at me. his usually sharp, gray eyes were dull, and his face looked dirty with a stubble of black whiskers. with a deliberate motion of both hands he knocked the receivers off both phones and fell back in his swivel chair. "now what?" he asked thickly. "you're drunk!" i exclaimed. _durstine, who would fire a -year man without a qualm if he caught a single trace of beer on his breath on duty._ "what else is new?" he could barely focus his eyes on me. i swallowed a couple of times and began explaining what must be done. get the mayor and civil defense on the phone. commandeer all radio stations to explain the true nature of the metallic particles to the public. tell them to stay put, and when they did move, to walk slowly, fanning the air ahead of them with something solid--an umbrella, a coat, newspaper, garbage can lid--anything to warn them of the tiny, suspended daggers. "yeah. great idea. some people doing it already." he said it without enthusiasm. "only trouble is, the phones are swamped. communications are breaking down already, and when people learn about the fever, they will blow sky-high." "the fever?" "the fever." he bobbed his head loosely. "my jerry died of it this afternoon. came down with it day before yesterday. by the time we got him to the hospital this morning he was running a hundred and five. docs were too busy with bleeders. wouldn't listen to me until it was too late. jerry's dead. my little jerry." his voice was flat, his eyes staring straight ahead. jerry was his only son, and one of the first kids in town to own an i-gun. durstine had said he bought it for himself. the chief went on, "what's more, the fever's epidemic. before we left the hospital they were dragging victims in by the hundreds. not just kids, either. on top of this other thing, we got the worst epidemic in history. no one knows what it is." i looked at thorsen. "you said you'd been at the hospital. what is it?" "i--saw a few cases." he said it almost under his breath. i grabbed him by his coat lapels. "snap out of it, doc. if you know what it is, for god's sake tell us!" "they don't know what it is," he said looking down at the floor. "but you do. i can tell by your face." "all right, maybe i do." his face was drawn and defiant with an almost fanatical determination. "there aren't enough sulphas and antibiotics in the world to control it. we can't do anything about it, so why drive people crazy with fear?" durstine was coming out of his fog. he opened the big bottom drawer of his desk and handed an open fifth of whiskey to thorsen. he said, "doc, you're in no condition to make a decision like that." thorsen tipped up the bottle and let several swallows pour down his leathery neck. the stuff brought tears to his eyes. he blinked them away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "all right, public guardian, i'll tell you. it's pretty obvious, and other medical men will think of it pretty quick, i suppose--when they find out the cause of the punctures they are treating. this fever is just more of the same. peritonitis. only it's caused by particles so small that you can't even feel when they penetrate the skin. they're large enough to poke holes in your intestines, though. large enough to make microscopic passages for bacteria. so, you see, for every bleeding patient, there will be hundreds, thousands, coming down with peritonitis--infection of the body cavity from within. without drugs the inflammation spreads in hours, and the temperature goes up and up. it's fatal." i could almost feel the pain in my belly and the fire in my veins as he spoke. doc thorsen took another drink and handed me the bottle. "you look a little pale, gene. have a jolt and see if _your_ guts leak." durstine and i both had a drink, and the chief said, "i see what you meant. i wish you'd kept your mouth shut." i said, "dammit, we've got to do something." "like what?" durstine asked bitterly. "like quarantining the schools and the playgrounds?" thorsen nodded grimly. "and the parks? and all back yards and front yards?" durstine picked it up again. "and empty lots and all sidewalks and streets and public buildings and the whole damned outdoors plus the indoors?" the enormity of the problem began to sink into my tired brain. in the space of weeks, more than million i-guns were sold in the united states alone. multiply that figure by the number of times each was fired. ten? fifty? a hundred times? only god knew how many billion nails, tacks, screws and rivets were launched into limbo, and were now just beginning to return--invisible at first--to skewer the american people. wherever kids had played--and that was virtually everywhere--death was hidden. and the semi-visible particles would keep emerging for weeks, in the order that they were shot into the other dimension. worse yet, at the slow rate of emergence, it would be months or years before the metallic flotsam returned completely and dropped to earth! a man could protect himself only by remaining motionless. but society was geared to motion, fast, space-covering motion. the nation would starve to death, if everyone didn't go insane first and tear themselves to pieces running around. "we've got to get the secret of that extractor out of calvin baxter," i said. "if we can discover the principle, we can build large models, like a vacuum cleaner--" * * * * * getting baxter into city hospital and finding a competent surgeon in good enough condition to perform the delicate operation, took almost twenty-four hours. the hospital resembled an abattoir, the corridor floors slick from the drippings of fresh blood, as people seeking help wandered frantically from floor to floor. somehow we managed to impress upon the staff the fact that baxter had priority, and we were allowed on the operating floor, which was guarded at all entries. sick with exhaustion, i waited with durstine. thorsen was impressed into duty immediately, and that was the last we saw of him. it was a good many hours before they called us into the operating room. i won't try to describe the sight in detail. surgeons and nurses hovered over tables, weaving like drunken butchers in blood-soaked aprons. in one corner, on a cot, baxter lay with his head and shoulders propped up high. his feet hung over the end at least fourteen inches. a single sheet covered him. the top of his skull was bandaged, and he looked even paler than before. a doctor and one nurse stood on either side of him. as we came in the doctor said, "i've been told of the problem. we've done all we can, but this man is dying. i think we can bring him to consciousness for a few minutes. it's a terribly cruel thing to do, and i'm not sure he will be coherent. are you sure you want me to try?" "it's his invention that brought on all of this," i said. "if there's any solution to it, he has it in his head." "very well." he did things with a hypodermic needle while the nurse rigged an oxygen tent. the smell of ether and blood made me sicker. my throat was dry, and i remember wishing i hadn't drunk durstine's whiskey. as we stood waiting the humid air felt almost unbearably hot, and i had difficulty focussing my eyes. durstine looked terrible, hollow-eyed, unshaven, but he seemed in better shape than i. it was he who caught the first flicker of baxter's eyes and dropped to his knees. the color came back to the scientist's face in a rush of pink, and his chest heaved with deep breathing. "can you hear me?" durstine began. * * * * * an hour later baxter was dead as predicted. and so was all hope of removing the lethal debris with his other invention. the "extractor" didn't work, he had told us. yes, he'd been trying to reverse the field to retrieve the metallic objects from the other dimension, _but the experiment was a failure_! durstine took my arm. "come on, gene. we've done all we can. i know one safe place--a place where no kids ever played." "yeah, i know," i said with a tongue two sizes too big. "the nearest bar. the damned kids! they've murdered us! leo baxter and the damned kids!" things were turning gray, but i remember the chief catching me by the shoulder and jerking me around. too late i remembered about his little jerry and the agony my words must have carved in his heart. i wished he'd slug me, but he didn't. he looked at me for a long minute and said something i don't remember, because the fog closed in--a hot, dry fog that swept into my brain and blacked out the light. i don't even remember falling. the last thought i had was, _the fever! i've got it. and thorsen said there were no more antibiotics or drugs left in the city._ * * * * * some weeks later it was a surprise but no pleasure, to discover i was still alive. through the smoke of my unfocussed eyes i could tell that my "private" room was occupied by at least a dozen other patients. some were on cots and some, like me, simply lay on the floor with a blanket over them. i had one -second visit from the doctor before durstine came to take me away. the doc said simply, "you're a lucky man, lieutenant. we didn't save many 'fever' patients after the drugs ran out." the chief brought a couple of boys in blue with a stretcher to haul me out. i was amazed to discover that automobiles were still moving about the streets--not many, but a few. i was too sick and exhausted to talk during the ride. durstine rode in back with me, a hand on my shoulder. "don't worry, gene," he said. "you're going to be all right. and we've got this thing pretty well licked." he looked into my eyes and read the question i was too weak to speak aloud. "no," he said, "we didn't figure out baxter's extractor. but we do have a successful detector, and all we have to do now is use it--then hang a tin can or an old ketchup bottle on each speck of metal for a marker. yeah, the country's going to be cluttered up like a hanging garbage dump for a long time, but if you can see 'em you can dodge 'em." a detector? why, they'd have to equip every person in the country with one! and surely nothing less than an electronic, radar-type gadget could detect the microscopic particles as they first began to emerge--the kind that had riddled my intestines and given me the fever without even leaving a mark on my skin. "i know what you are thinking," durstine said. his face was gray and drawn, but he wore a faint smile. "it was simple when somebody thought of it. what would be cheap enough to distribute universally, yet effective enough to give you positive warning? you see, these tiny particles are so fine at first that you can fan the air with a plank and never know when one passes through." he raised me up from the stretcher and let me look out the window of the police ambulance. through squinted eyes i made out a strange sight. a thin scattering of pedestrians was moving slowly on the sidewalks, winding their ways among a random collection of floating tin cans and inverted bottles. when we stopped for a red light i watched a young woman in a business suit step between a whiskey bottle head-high, and a bean can about knee-high, and then proceed gingerly waving a colored sphere ahead of her. this sphere, about eighteen inches in diameter, suddenly disappeared. she stopped abruptly and began shouting. before the traffic light turned green, a man came up with an empty motor oil can and placed it on the sidewalk, under the point she indicated in the air before her. durstine explained, "when that speck gets large enough to support it, that can will be hung on it. meanwhile, other people are forewarned that the air over the can is out-of-bounds, so they won't waste detectors on it." as he spoke, the young woman was fishing another "detector" from her purse. it was a limp bit of something which she placed to her lips and inflated until it was a foot-and-a-half in diameter, then she tied off the neck and proceeded down the walk waving it before her in great vertical sweeps. it was as simple as that. our undoing had been an -cent kid's toy. and our salvation was a penny-balloon! mysteries of police and crime [illustration: watch house and watchmen a century ago. (_from a contemporary print by rowlandson and pugin._)] mysteries of police and crime by major arthur griffiths formerly one of h.m. inspectors of prisons; john howard gold medallist; author of "memorials of millbank," "chronicles of newgate," etc. _profusely illustrated_ in three volumes vol. i. special edition cassell and company, limited _london, paris, new york & melbourne_ all rights reserved [illustration] contents. part i. a general survey of crime and its detection. .....page crime distinguished from law-breaking--the general liability to crime--preventive agencies--plan of the work--different types of murders and robberies--crime developed by civilisation--the police the shield and buckler of society--difficulty of disappearing under modern conditions--the press an aid to the police: the cases of courvoisier, müller, and lefroy--the importance of small clues--"man measurement" and finger-prints--strong scents as clues--victims of blind chance: the cases of troppmann and peace--superstitions of criminals--dogs and other animals as adjuncts to the police--australian blacks as trackers: instances of their almost superhuman skill--how criminals give themselves away: the murder of m. delahache, the stepney murder, and other instances--cases in which there is strong but not sufficient evidence: the great coram street and burdell murders: the probable identity of "jack the ripper"--undiscovered murders: the rupprecht, mary rogers, nathan, and other cases: similar cases in india: the button crescent murder: the murder of lieutenant roper--the balance in favour of the police..... part ii. judicial errors. chapter i. wrongful convictions. judge cambo, of malta--the d'anglades--the murder of lady mazel--execution of william shaw for the murder of his daughter--the sailmaker of deal and the alleged murder of a boatswain--brunell, the innkeeper--du moulin, the victim of a gang of coiners--the famous calas case at toulouse--gross perversion of justice at nuremberg--the blue dragoon..... chapter ii. cases of disputed or mistaken identity. lesurques and the robbery of the lyons mail--the champignelles mystery--judge garrow's story--an imposition practised at york assizes--a husband claimed by two wives--a milwaukee mystery--a scottish case--the kingswood rectory murder--the cannon street murder--a narrow escape..... chapter iii. problematical errors. captain donellan and the poisoning of sir theodosius boughton: donellan's suspicious conduct: evidence of john hunter, the great surgeon: sir james stephen's view: corroborative story from his father--the lafarge case: madame lafarge and the cakes: doctors differ as to presence of arsenic in the remains: possible guilt of denis barbier: madame lafarge's condemnation: pardoned by napoleon iii.--charge against madame lafarge of stealing a school friend's jewels: her defence: conviction--madeleine smith charged with poisoning her _fiancé_: "not proven": the latest facts--the wharton-ketchum case in baltimore, u.s.a.--the story of the perrys..... chapter iv. police mistakes. the saffron hill murder: narrow escape of pellizioni: two men in newgate for the same offence--the murder of constable cock--the edlingham burglary: arrest, trial, and conviction of brannagan and murphy: severity of judge manisty: a new trial: brannagan and murphy pardoned and compensated: survivors of the police prosecutors put on their trial, but acquitted--lord cochrane's case: his tardy rehabilitation..... part iii. police--past and present. chapter v. early police: france. origin of police--definitions--first police in france--charles v.--louis xiv.--the lieutenant-general of police: his functions and powers--la reynie: his energetic measures against crime: as a censor of the press: his steps to check gambling and cheating at games of chance--la reynie's successors: the d'argensons, hérault, d'ombréval, berryer--the famous de sartines--two instances of his omniscience--lenoir and espionage--de crosne, the last and most feeble lieutenant-general of police--the story of the bookseller blaziot--police under the directory and the empire--fouché: his beginnings and first chances: a born police officer: his rise and fall--general savary: his character: how he organised his service of spies: his humiliating failure in the conspiracy of general malet--fouché's return to power: some views of his character..... chapter vi. early police (_continued_): england. early police in england--edward i.'s act--elizabeth's act for westminster--acts of george ii. and george iii.--state of london towards the end of the eighteenth century--gambling and lottery offices--robberies on the river thames--receivers--coiners--the fieldings as magistrates--the horse patrol--bow street and its runners: townsend, vickery, and others--blood money--tyburn tickets--negotiations with thieves to recover stolen property--sayer--george ruthven--serjeant ballantine on the bow street runners compared with modern detectives..... chapter vii. modern police: london. the "new police" introduced by peel--the system supported by the duke of wellington--opposition from the vestries--brief account of the metropolitan police: its uses and services--the river police--the city police--extra police services--the provincial police..... chapter viii. modern police (_continued_): paris. the spy system under the second empire--the manufacture of _dossiers_--m. andrieux receives his own on being appointed prefect--the clerical police of paris--the _sergents de ville_--the six central brigades--the cabmen of paris, and how they are kept in order--stories of honest and of dishonest cabmen--detectives and spies--newspaper attacks upon the police--their general character..... chapter ix. modern police (_continued_): new york. greater new york--despotic position of the mayor--constitution of the police force--dr. parkhurst's indictment--the lexow commission and its report--police abuses: blackmail, brutality, collusion with criminals, electoral corruption, the sale of appointments and promotions--excellence of the detective bureau--the black museum of new york--the identification department--effective control of crime..... chapter x. modern police (_continued_): russia. mr. sala's indictment of the russian police--their wide-reaching functions--instances of police stupidity--why sala avoided the police--von h---- and his spoons--herr jerrmann's experiences--perovsky, the reforming minister of the interior--the regular police--a rural policeman's visit to a peasant's house--the state police--the third section--attacks upon generals mezentzoff and drenteln--the "paris box of pills"--sympathisers with nihilism: an invaluable ally--leroy beaulieu on the police of russia--its ignorance and inadequate pay--the case of vera zassoulich--the passport system: how it is evaded and abused: its oppressiveness..... chapter xi. modern police (_continued_): india. the new system compared with the old--early difficulties gradually overcome--the village police in india--discreditable methods under the old system--torture, judicial and extra-judicial--native dislike of police proceedings--cases of men confessing to crimes of which they were innocent--a mysterious case of theft--trumped-up charges of murder--simulating suicide--an infallible test of death--the paternal duties of the police--the native policeman badly paid..... chapter xii. the detective, and what he has done. the detective in fiction and in fact--early detection--case of lady ivy--thomas chandler--mackoull, and how he was run down by a scots solicitor--vidocq: his early life, police services, and end--french detectives generally--amicable relations between french and english detectives..... chapter xiii. english and american detectives. english detectives--early prejudices against them lived down--the late mr. williamson--inspector melville--sir c. howard vincent--dr. anderson--mr. macnaghten--mr. mcwilliam and the detectives of the city police--a country detective's experiences--allan pinkerton's first essay in detection--the private inquiry agent and the lengths to which he will go..... part iv. captains of crime. chapter xiv. some famous swindlers. recurrence of criminal types--heredity and congenital instinct--the jukes and other families of criminals--john hatfield--anthelme collet's amazing career of fraud--the story of pierre cognard: count pontis de st. hélène: recognised by an old convict comrade: sent to the galleys for life--major semple: his many vicissitudes in foreign armies: thief and begging-letter writer: transported to botany bay..... chapter xv. swindlers of more modern type. richard coster--sheridan, the american bank thief--jack canter--the frenchman allmayer, a typical nineteenth century swindler--paraf--the tammany frauds--burton, _alias_ count von havard--dr. vivian, a bogus millionaire bridegroom--mock clergymen: dr. berrington: dr. keatinge--harry benson, a prince of swindlers: the scotland yard detectives suborned: benson's adventures after his release: commits suicide in the tombs prison--max shinburn and his feats..... chapter xvi. some female criminals. criminal women worse than criminal men--bell star--comtesse sandor--mother m----, the famous female receiver of stolen goods--the "german princess"--jenny diver--the baroness de menckwitz--emily lawrence--louisa miles--mrs. gordon-baillie: her dashing career: becomes mrs. percival frost: the crofters' friend: triumphal visit to the antipodes: extensive frauds on tradesmen: sentenced to penal servitude--a viennese impostor--big bertha, the "confidence queen"..... [illustration: mysteries of police and crime] part i. a general survey of crime and its detection. crime distinguished from law-breaking--the general liability to crime--preventive agencies--plan of the work--different types of murders and robberies--crime developed by civilisation--the police the shield and buckler of society--difficulty of disappearing under modern conditions--the press an aid to the police: the cases of courvoisier, müller, and lefroy--the importance of small clues--"man measurement" and finger-prints--strong scents as clues--victims of blind chance: the cases of troppmann and peace--superstitions of criminals--dogs and other animals as adjuncts to the police--australian blacks as trackers: instances of their almost superhuman skill--how criminals give themselves away: the murder of m. delahache, the stepney murder, and other instances--cases in which there is strong but not sufficient evidence: the burdell and various other murders: the probable identity of "jack the ripper"--undiscovered murders: the rupprecht, mary rogers, nathan, and other cases: similar cases in india: the burton crescent murder: the murder of lieutenant roper--the balance in favour of the police. i.--the causes of crime. crime is the transgression by individuals of rules made by the community. wrong-doing may be either intentional or accidental--a wilful revolt against law, or a lapse through ignorance of it. both are punishable by all codes alike, but the latter is not necessarily a crime. to constitute a really criminal act the offence must be wilful, perverse, malicious; the offender then becomes the general enemy, to be combated by all good citizens, through their chosen defenders, the police. this warfare has existed from the earliest times; it is in constant progress around us to-day, and it will continue to be waged until the advent of that millennium in which there is to be no more evil passion to agitate mankind. [illustration: types of male criminals. (_from photographs preserved at the black museum, new scotland yard._)] it may be said that society itself creates the crimes that most beset it. if the good things of life were more evenly distributed, if everyone had his rights, if there were no injustice, no oppression, there would be no attempts to readjust an unequal balance by violent or flagitious means. there is some force in this, but it is very far from covering the whole ground, and it cannot excuse many forms of crime. crime, indeed, is the birthmark of humanity, a fatal inheritance known to the theologians as original sin. crime, then, must be constantly present in the community, and every son of adam may, under certain conditions, be drawn into it. to paraphrase a great saying, some achieve crime, some have it thrust upon them; but most of us (we may make the statement without subscribing to all the doctrines of the criminal anthropologists) are born to crime. the assertion is as old as the hills; it was echoed in the fervent cry of pious john bradford when he pointed to the man led out to execution, "there goes john bradford but for the grace of god!" criminals are manufactured both by social cross-purposes and by the domestic neglect which fosters the first fatal predisposition. "assuredly external factors and circumstances count for much in the causation of crime," says maudsley. the preventive agencies are all the more necessary where heredity emphasises the universal natural tendency. the taint of crime is all the more potent in those whose parentage is evil. the germ is far more likely to flourish into baleful vitality if planted by congenital depravity. this is constantly seen with the offspring of criminals. but it is equally certain that the poison may be eradicated, the evil stamped out, if better influences supervene betimes. even the most ardent supporters of the theory of the "born criminal" admit that this, as some think, imaginary monster, although possessing all the fatal characteristics, does not necessarily commit crime. the bias may be checked; it may lie latent through life unless called into activity by certain unexpected conditions of time and chance. an ingenious refinement of the old adage, "opportunity makes the thief," has been invented by an italian scientist, baron garofalo, who declares that "opportunity only reveals the thief"; it does not create the predisposition, the latent thievish spirit. [illustration: types of female criminals]. (_from photographs at the black museum._)] however it may originate, there is still little doubt of the universality, the perennial activity of crime. we may accept the unpleasant fact without theorising further as to the genesis of crime. i propose in these pages to take criminals as i find them; to accept crime as an actual fact, and in its multiform manifestations; to deal with its commission, the motives that have caused it, the methods by which it has been perpetrated, the steps taken--sometimes extraordinarily ingenious and astute, sometimes foolishly forgetful and ineffective--to conceal the deed and throw the pursuers off the scent; on the other hand, i shall set forth in some detail the agencies employed for detection and exposure. the subject is comprehensive, the amount of material available is colossal, almost overwhelming. every country, civilised and uncivilised, the whole world at large in all ages, has been cursed with crime. to deal with but a fractional part of the evil deeds that have disgraced humanity would fill endless volumes; where "envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness" have so often impelled those of weak moral sense to yield to their criminal instincts, a full catalogue would be impossible. it must be remembered that crime is ever active in seeking new outlets, always keen to adopt new methods of execution; the ingenuity of criminals is infinite, their patient inventiveness is only equalled by their reckless audacity. they will take life without a moment's hesitation, and often for a miserably small gain; will prepare great coups a year or more in advance and wait still longer for the propitious moment to strike home; will employ address and great brain power, show fine resource in organisation, the faculty of leadership, and readiness to obey; will utilise much technical skill; will assume strange disguises and play many different parts, all in the prosecution of their nefarious schemes or in escaping penalties after the deed is done. with material so abundant, so varied and complicated, it will be necessary to use some discretion, to follow certain clearly defined lines of choice. i propose in these pages to adopt the principle embodied in the title and to deal more particularly with the "mysteries" of crime and its incomplete, partial, or complete detection; with offences not immediately brought home to their perpetrators; offences prepared in secret, committed by offenders who have long remained perhaps entirely unknown, but who have sometimes met with their true deserts; offences that have in consequence exercised the ingenuity of pursuers, showing the highest development of the game of hide-and-seek, where the hunt is man, where one side fights for life and liberty, immunity from well-merited reprisals, the other is armed with authority to capture the human beast of prey. the flights and vicissitudes of criminals with the police at their heels make up a chronicle of moving, hair-breadth adventure unsurpassed by books of travel and sport. typical cases only can be taken, in number according to their [illustration: criminals' weapons: revolvers, knuckle dusters, and life preservers in the black museum. _photo: cassell & company, limited._] relative interest and importance, but all more or less illustrating and embracing the hydra-headed varieties of crime. we shall see murders most foul, committed under the strangest conditions; brutal and ferocious attacks, followed by the most cold-blooded callousness in disposing of the evidences of the crime. in some cases a man will kill, as garofalo puts it, "for money and possessions, to succeed to property, to be rid of one wife through hatred of her or to marry another, to remove an inconvenient witness, to avenge a wrong, to show his skill or his hatred and revolt against authority." this class of criminal was well exemplified by the french murderer lacenaire, who boasted that he would kill a man as coolly as he would drink a glass of wine. they are the deliberate murderers, who kill of malice aforethought and in cold blood. there will be slow, secret poisonings, often producing confusion and difference of opinion among the most distinguished scientists; successful associations of thieves and rogues, with ledgers and bank balances, and regularly audited accounts; secret societies, some formed for purely flagitious ends, with commerce and capitalists for their quarry; others for alleged political purposes, but working with fire and sword, using the forces of anarchy and disorder against all established government. the desire to acquire wealth and possessions easily, or at least without regular, honest exertion, has ever been a fruitful source of crime. the depredators, whose name is legion, the birds of prey ever on the alert to batten upon the property of others, have flourished always, in all ages and climes, often unchecked or with long impunity. their methods have varied almost indefinitely with their surroundings and opportunities. now they have merely used violence and brute force, singly or in associated numbers, by open attack on highway and byway, on road, river, railway, or deep sea; now they have got at their quarry by consummate patience and ingenuity, plotting, planning, undermining or overcoming the strongest safeguards, the most vigilant precautions. robbery has been practised in every conceivable form: by piracy, the bold adventure of the sea-rover flying his black flag in the face of the world; by brigandage in new or distracted communities, imperfectly protected by the law; by daring outrage upon the travelling public, as in the case of highwaymen, bushrangers, "holders-up" of trains; by the forcible entry of premises or the breaking down of defences designed against attack--by burglary in banks and houses, "winning" through the iron walls of safes and strong-rooms, so as to reach the treasure within, whether gold or securities or precious stones; by robberies from the person, daring garrotte robberies, dexterous neat-handed pilfering, pocket-picking, counter-snatching; by insinuating approaches to simple-minded folk, and the astute, endlessly multiplied application of the time-honoured confidence trick. crime has been greatly developed by civilisation, by the numerous processes invented to add to the comforts and conveniences in the business of daily life. the adoption of a circulating medium was soon followed by the production of spurious money, the hundred and one devices for forging notes, manufacturing coin, and clipping, sweating, and misusing that made of precious metals. the extension of banks, of credit, of financial transactions on paper, has encouraged the trade of the forger and fabricator, whose misdeeds, aimed against monetary values of all kinds, cover an extraordinarily wide range. the gigantic accumulation no less than the general diffusion of wealth, with the variety of operations that accompany its profitable manipulation, has offered temptations irresistibly strong to evil-or weak-minded people, who seem to see chances of aggrandisement, or of escape from pressing embarrassments, with the strong hope always of replacing abstractions, rectifying defalcations, or altogether evading detection. less criminal, perhaps, but not less reprehensible, than the deliberately planned colossal frauds of a robson, a redpath, or a sadleir are the victims of adverse circumstances, the strahans, dean-pauls, fauntleroys, who succeeded to bankrupt businesses and sought to cover up insolvency with a fight, a losing fight, against misfortune, resorting to nefarious practices, wholesale forgery, absolute misappropriation, and unpardonable breaches of trust. between the "high flyers," the artists in crime, and the lesser fry, the rogues, swindlers, and fraudulent impostors, it is only a question of degree. these last-named, too, have in many instances swept up great gains. the class of adventurer is nearly limitless; it embraces many types, often original in character and in their criminal methods, clever knaves possessed of useful qualities--indeed, of natural gifts that might have led them to assured fortune had they but chosen the straight path and followed it patiently. we shall see with what infinite labour a scheme of imposture has been built up and maintained, how nearly impossible it was to combat the fraud, how readily the swindler will avail himself of the latest inventions, the telegraph and the telephone, of chemical appliances, of photography in counterfeiting signatures or preparing banknote plates, ere long, perchance, of the röntgen rays. we shall find the most elaborate and cleverly designed attacks on great banking corporations, whether by open force or insidious methods of forgery and falsification, attacks upon the vast stores of valuables that luxury keeps at hand in jewellers' safes and shop fronts, and on the dressing-tables of great dames. crime can always command talent, industry also, albeit laziness is ingrained in the criminal class. the desire to win wealth easily, to grow suddenly rich by appropriating the possessions or the earnings of others, is no doubt a strong incitement to crime; yet the depredator who will not work steadily at any honest occupation will give infinite time and pains to compass his criminal ends. [illustration: reduced fac-simile of part of front page of the first number of the "police gazette" (p. ).] ii.--the hunters and the hunted. society, weak, gullible, and defenceless, handicapped by a thousand conventions, would soon be devoured alive by its greedy parasites: but happily it has devised the shield and buckler of the police; not an entirely effective protector, perhaps, but earnest, devoted, unhesitating in the performance of its duties. the finer achievements of eminent police officers are as striking as the exploits of the enemies they continually pursue. in the endless warfare success inclines now to this side, now to that; but the forces of law and order have generally the preponderance in the end. infinite pains, unwearied patience, abounding wit, sharp-edged intuition, promptitude in seizing the vaguest shadow of a clue, unerring sagacity in clinging to it and following it up to the end--these qualities make constantly in favour of the police. the fugitive is often equally alert, no less gifted, no less astute; his crime has often been cleverly planned so as to leave few, if any, traces easily or immediately apparent, but he is constantly overmatched, and the game will in consequence go against him. now and again, no doubt he is inexplicably stupid and shortsighted, and will run his head straight into the noose. yet the hunters are not always free from the same fault; they will show blindness, will overrun their quarry, sometimes indeed open a door for escape. in measuring the means and the comparative advantages of the opponents, of hunted and hunters, it is generally believed that the police have much the best of it. the machinery, the organisation of modern life, favours the pursuers. the world's "shrinkage," the facilities for travel, the narrowing of neutral ground, of secure sanctuary for the fugitive, the universal, almost immediate, publicity that waits on startling crimes--all these are against the criminal. electricity is his worst and bitterest foe, and next to it rank the post and the press. flight is checked by the wire, the first mail carries full particulars everywhere, both to the general public and to a ubiquitous international police, brimful of _camaraderie_ and willing to help each other. it is not easy to disappear nowadays, although i have heard the contrary stoutly maintained. a well-known police officer once assured me that he could easily and effectually efface himself, given certain conditions, such as the possession of sufficient funds (not of a tainted origin that might draw down suspicion), or the knowledge of some honest wage-earning handicraft, or fluency in some foreign language, and, above all, a face and features not easily recognisable. given any of these conditions, he declared he could hide himself completely in the east-end, or the western hebrides, or south america, or provincial france, or some spanish mountain town. in proof of this he declared that he had lived for many months in an obscure french village, and, being well acquainted with french, passed quite unknown, while watching for someone; and he strengthened his argument by quoting the case of the perpetrator of a recent robbery of pearls, who baffled pursuit for months, and gave herself up voluntarily in the end. on the other hand, it may be questioned whether this lady was altogether hidden, or whether she was so terribly "wanted" by the police. in any case, pursuit was not so keen as it would have been with more notorious criminals. nor can the many well-established cases of men and women leading double lives be quoted in support of this view. such people are not necessarily in request; there may be a secret reason for concealment, for dreading discovery, but it has generally been of a social, a domestic, not necessarily a criminal character. we have all heard of the crossing-sweeper who did so good a trade that he kept his brougham to bring him to business from a snug home at the other end of the town. a case was quoted in the american papers some years back where a merchant of large fortune traded under one name, and was widely known under it "down town," yet lived under another "up town," where he had a wife and large family. this remarkable dissembler kept up the fraud for more than half a century, and when he died his eldest son was fifty-one, the rest of his children were middle-aged, and none of them had the smallest idea of their father's wealth, or of his other existence. the case is not singular, moreover. another on all fours, and even more romantic, was that of two youths with different names, walking side by side in the streets of new york, who saluted the same man as father; a gentleman with two distinct personalities. such deception may be long undetected when it is no one's business to expose it. where crime complicates it, where the police are on the alert and have an object in hunting the wrong-doer down, disappearance is seldom entirely successful. dr. jekyll could not cover mr. hyde altogether when his homicidal mania became ungovernable. the clergyman who lived a life of sanctity and preached admirable sermons to an appreciative congregation for five full years was run down at last and exposed as a noted burglar in private life. "sir granville temple," as he called himself, when he had committed bigamy several times, was eventually uncloaked and shown up as an army deserter whose father was master of a workhouse. criminals who seek effacement do not take into sufficient account the curiosity and inquisitiveness of mankind. at times, just after the perpetration of a great crime, when the criminal is missing and the pursuit at fault, every gossip, landlady, "slavey," local tradesman, 'bus conductor, lounger on the cab rank, newsboy, railway guard, becomes an active amateur agent of the police, prying, watching, wondering, looking askance at every stranger and newcomer; ready to call in the constable on the slightest suspicion, or immediately report any unusual circumstance. the rapid dissemination of news to the four quarters of the land by our far-reaching, indefatigable, and wide-awake press has undoubtedly secured many arrests. the judicious publication of certain details, of personal descriptions, of names, aliases, and the supposed movements of persons in request, has constantly borne fruit. in france police officials often deprecate the incautious utterances of the press, but it is a common practice of theirs in paris to give out fully prepared items to the newspapers with the express intention of deceiving their quarry; the missing man has been lulled into fancied security by hearing that the pursuers are on a wrong scent, and, issuing from concealment, "gives himself away." [illustration: the portrait which led to lefroy's arrest (p. ). (_by permission of the "daily telegraph."_)] iii.--the press an aid to the police. long ago, as far back as the murder of lord william russell by courvoisier, proof of the crime was greatly assisted by the publication of the story in the press. madame piolaine, an hotel-keeper, read in the newspaper of the arrest of a suspected person, recognising him as a man who had been in her service as a waiter. only a day or two after the murder he had come to her, begging her to take charge of a brown paper parcel, for which he would call. he had never returned, and now madame piolaine hunted up the parcel, which lay at the bottom of a cupboard, where she had placed it. the fact that courvoisier had brought it justified her in examining it, and she now found that it contained a quantity of silver plate, and other articles of value. when the police were called in, they identified the whole as part of the property abstracted from lord william russell's. here was a link directly connecting courvoisier with the murder. hitherto the evidence had been mainly presumptive. the discovery of lord william's waterloo medal, with his gold rings and a ten-pound note, under the skirting-board in courvoisier's pantry was strong suspicion, but no more. the man had a gold locket, too, in his possession, the property of lord william russell, but it had been lost some time antecedent to the murder. all the evidence was presumptive, and the case was not made perfectly clear until madame piolaine was brought into it through the publicity given by the press. in the murder of mr. briggs by the german, franz müller, detection was greatly facilitated by the publicity given to the facts of the crime. the hat found in the railway carriage where the deed had been done was a chief clue. it bore the maker's name inside the cover, and very soon a cabman who had read this in the newspaper came forward to say he had bought that very hat at that very maker's for a man named müller. müller had been a lodger of his, and had given his little daughter a jeweller's cardboard box, bearing the name of "death, cheapside." already this mr. death had produced the murdered man's gold chain, saying he had given another in exchange for it to a man supposed to be a german. there could be no doubt now that müller was the murderer. his movements were easily traced. he had gone across the atlantic in a sailing ship, and was easily forestalled by the detectives in a fast atlantic liner, which also carried the jeweller and the cabman. where identity is clear the publication of the _signalement_, if possible of the likeness, has reduced capture to a certainty; it is a mere question then of time and money. lefroy, the murderer of mr. gold, was caught through the publicity given to his portrait, which had appeared in the columns of the _daily telegraph_. some eminent but highly cautious police officers nevertheless deprecate the interference of the press, and have said that the premature or injudicious disclosure of facts obtained in the progress of investigation has led to the escape of criminals. it is to be feared that there is an increasing distrust of the official methods of detection, and the press is more and more inclined to institute a pursuit of its own when mysterious cases continue unsolved. we may yet see this system, which has sometimes been employed by energetic reporters in paris, more largely adopted here. without entering into the pro's and con's of such competition, it is but right to admit that the press, with its powerful influence, its ramifications endless and widespread, has already done great service to justice in following up crime. so convinced are the london police authorities of the value of a public organ for police purposes, that they publish a newspaper of their own, the admirably managed _police gazette_, which is an improved form of a journal started in . this gazette, which is circulated gratis to all police forces in the united kingdom, gives full particulars of crimes and of persons "wanted," with rough but often life-like woodcut portraits and sketches that help capture. ireland has a similar organ, the dublin _hue and cry_; and some of the chief constables of counties send out police reports that are highly useful at times. through these various channels news travels quickly to all parts, puts all interested on the alert, and makes them active in running down their prey. iv.--the importance of small clues. detection depends largely, of course, upon the knowledge, astuteness, ingenuity, and logical powers of police officers, although they find many independent and often unexpected aids, as we shall see. the best method of procedure is clearly laid down in police manuals: an immediate systematic investigation on the theatre of a crime, the minute examination of premises, the careful search for tracks and traces, for any article left behind, however insignificant, such as the merest fragment of clothing, a scrap of paper, a harmless tool, a hat, half a button; the slow, persistent inquiry into the antecedents of suspected persons, of their friends and associates, their movements and ways, unexplained change of domicile, proved possession of substantial funds after previous indigence--all these are detailed for the guidance of the detective. it will be seen in the following pages how small a thing has often sufficed to form a clue. a name chalked upon a door in tell-tale handwriting; half a word scratched upon a chisel, has led to the identification of its guilty owner, as in the case of orrock. a button dropped after a burglary has been found to correspond with those on the coat of a man in custody for another offence, and with the very place from which it was torn. the cloth used to enclose human remains has been recognised as that used by tailors, and the same with the system of sewing, thus narrowing inquiry to a particular class of workmen; and the fact is well illustrated in the detection of voirbo, to be hereafter told. the position of a body has shown that death could not have been accidental. a false tooth, fortunately incombustible, has sufficed for proof of identity when every other vestige has been annihilated by fire, as in the case of dr. webster of boston. [illustration: _photo: cassell & company, limited._ broken button at the black museum: a clue. (_the white paper has been placed upon the cloth to show up the button._)] in one clear case of murder, detection was aided by the simple discovery of a few half-burnt matches that the criminal had used in lighting candles in his victim's room to keep up the illusion that he was still alive. a dog, belonging to a murdered man, had been seen to leave the house with him on the morning of the crime, and was yet found fourteen days later alive and well, with fresh food by him, in the locked-up apartment to which the occupier had never returned. the strongest evidence against patch, the murderer of mr. blight at rotherhithe, was that the fatal shot could not possibly have been fired from the road outside, and the first notion of this was suggested by the doctor called in, afterwards eminent as sir astley cooper. in the gervais case proof depended greatly upon the date when the roof of a cellar had been disturbed, and this was shown to have been necessarily some time before, for in the interval the cochineal insects had laid their eggs, and this only takes place at a particular season. we shall see in the voirbo case, quoted above, how an ingenious police officer, when he found bloodstains on a floor, discovered where a body had been buried by emptying a can of water on the uneven stones and following the channels in which it ran. [illustration: taking measurements of criminals (bertillon system).] finger-prints and foot-marks have again and again been cleverly worked into undeniable evidence. the impression of the first is personal and peculiar to the individual; by the latter the police have been able to fix beyond question the direction in which criminals have moved, their character and class, and the neighbourhood that owns them. the labours of the scientist have within the last few years produced new methods of identification, which are invaluable in the pursuit and detection of criminals. the patient investigations of a medical expert, m. bertillon, of paris (one of the witnesses in the dreyfus case), developing the scientific discovery of his father, have proved beyond all question that certain measurements of the human frame are not only constant and unchangeable, but peculiar to each subject; the width of the head, the length of the face, of the middle finger, of the lower limbs from knee to foot, and so forth, provide such a number of combinations that no two persons, speaking broadly, possess them all exactly alike. this has established the system of anthropometry, of "man measurement," which has now been adopted on the same lines by every civilised nation in the world. the system, however, is on the face of it a complicated one, and at new scotland yard it has now been abandoned in favour of the finger-prints method. mr. francis galton, to whose researches this mode of identification is due, has proved that finger prints, exhibited in certain unalterable combinations, suffice to fix individual identity, and his system of notation, as now practised in england, will soon provide a general register of all known criminals in the country. [illustration: ear and head measurers (the bertillon system).] [illustration: mr. galton's types of finger-prints.] the ineffaceable odour of musk and other strong scents has more than once brought home robbery and murder to their perpetrators. a most interesting case is recorded by general harvey,[ ] where, in the plunder of a native banker and pawnbroker in india, an entire pod of musk, just as it had been excised from the deer, was carried off with a number of valuables. musk is a costly commodity, for it is rare, and obtained generally from far-off thibet. the police, in following up the dacoits, invaded their _tanda_, or encampment, and were at once conscious of an unmistakable and overpowering smell of musk, [illustration: "after a short struggle ... the thieves seized the opium" (p. ).] which was presently dug up with a number of rupees, coins of an uncommon currency. in another instance a scent merchant's agent, returning from calcutta, brought back with him a flask of spikenard. he travelled up country by boat part of the way, then landed to complete the journey, and carried with him the spikenard. he fell among thieves, a small gang of professional poisoners, who disposed of him, killing him and his companions and throwing them into the river. long afterwards the criminals, who had appropriated all their goods, were detected by the tell-tale smell of the spikenard in their house, and the flask, nearly emptied, was discovered beneath a stack of fuel in a small room. yet again, the smell of opium led to the detection of a robbery in the punjaub, where a train of bullock carts laden with the drug was plundered by dacoits. after a short struggle the bullock drivers bolted, the thieves seized the opium and buried it. but, returning through a village, they were intercepted as suspicious characters, and it was found that their clothes smelt strongly of opium. then their footsteps were traced back to where they had committed the robbery, and thence to a spot in the dry bed of a river, in which the opium was found buried. in india, again, many cases of obscure homicide have been brought to light by such a trifling fact as the practice, common among native women, of wearing glass, or rather shell lac, bangles or bracelets. these _choorees_, as they are called, are heated, then wound round wrist or ankle in continuous circles and joined. they are very brittle, and will naturally be easily smashed in a violent struggle. fruitless search was made for a woman who had disappeared from a village, until in a field adjoining the fragments of broken _choorees_ were picked up. on digging below, the corpse of the missing woman, bearing marks of foul play, was discovered. in another case a father identified certain broken _choorees_ as belonging to his daughter; they had been found, with traces of blood and wisps of female hair, near a well, and were the means of bringing home the murder. cheevers[ ] tells us that a young woman was seen to throw a boy ten years of age into a dry well twenty feet deep. information was given, and the child was extracted, a corpse. pieces of _choorees_ were picked up near the well similar to those worn by the woman, who was arrested and eventually convicted of murder. here the ingenious defence was set up that the child's mother, a woman of the same caste as the accused, and likely to wear the same kind of bangle, had gone to wail at the well-side and might have broken her glass ornaments in the excess of her grief. but sentence of death was passed. v.--"luck" for and against criminals. among the many outside aids to detection, "luck," blind chance, takes a very prominent place. we shall come upon innumerable instances of this. troppmann, the wholesale murderer, was apprehended quite by accident, because his papers were not in proper form. he might still have escaped prolonged arrest had he not run for it and tried to drown himself in the harbour at havre. the chief of a band of french burglars was arrested in a street quarrel, and was found to be carrying a great part of the stolen bonds in his pocket. when charles peace was taken at blackheath in the act of burglary, and charged with wounding a policeman, no one suspected that this supposed half-caste mulatto, with his dyed skin, was a murderer much wanted in another part of the country. every good police officer freely admits the assistance he has had from fortune. one of these--famous, not to say notorious, for he fell into bad ways--described to me how he was much thwarted and baffled in a certain case by his inability to come upon the person he was after, or any trace of him, and how, meeting a strange face in the street, a sudden impulse prompted him to turn and follow it, with the satisfactory result that he was led straight to his desired goal. the same officer confessed that chancing to see a letter delivered by the postman at a certain door he was tempted to become possessed of it, and did not hesitate to steal it. when he had opened and read it, he found the clue of which he was in search! criminals themselves believe strongly in luck, and in some cases are most superstitious. an italian, whose speciality was sacrilege, never broke into a church without kneeling down before the altar to pray for good fortune and large booty. the whole system of thuggee was based on superstition. the bands never operated without taking the omens; noting the flight of birds, the braying of a jackass to right or left, and so on, interpreting these things as warnings [illustration: the fight between macaire and the dog of montargis. (_from an old print._)] or as encouragements to proceed. this superstitious belief in luck is still prevalent. a notorious banknote forger in france carefully abstained from counterfeiting notes of two values, those for francs and , francs, being convinced that they would bring him into trouble. thieves, it has been noticed, generally follow one line of business, because a first essay in it was successful. the man who steals coats steals them continually; once a horse thief always a horse thief; the forger sticks to his own line, as do the pickpocket, the burglar, and the performer of the confidence trick. the burglar dislikes extremely the use of any tools or instruments but his own; he generally believes that another man's false keys, jemmies, and so forth, would bring him bad luck. only in matter-of-fact america does the cracksman rise superior to superstition. there a good business is done by certain people who lend housebreaking tools on hire. instinct, aboriginal and animal, has helped at times to bring criminals to justice. the mediæval story of the dog of montargis may be mere fable, but it rests on historic tradition that after macaire had murdered aubry de montdidier in the forest of bondy, the extraordinary aversion shown by the dog to macaire first aroused suspicion, and led to the ordeal of mortal combat, in which the dog triumphed. [illustration: sumatran thieves' calendar (british museum) for calculating lucky days.] it has been sometimes suggested that the instinct of animals might be further utilised in the pursuit of criminals. something more than the well-known unerring chase of the bloodhound might be got from the marvellous intelligence of dogs. we shall see how the strange restlessness of the dog owned by wainwright's manager in the whitechapel road nearly led to the discovery of the murdered harriet lane's remains. the clever beast was perpetually scratching at the floor beneath which the poor woman was buried, and his inconvenient restlessness no doubt led to his own destruction, for wainwright is said to have made away with the dog. in india the idea of using the pariah dog for the purpose of smelling out buried bodies has been often put forward. dogs would avail little, however, if the corpse lay at a great depth below ground, and hence the suggestion to draw upon the keener sense, exercised over a wider range above and below ground, of the vulture. this foul bird is commonly believed to be untameable, but it might assist unconsciously. vultures are much given to perching upon the same tree near every indian station, and close observation might reveal the direction of their flight. their presence at any particular spot would constitute fair grounds for suspicion that they were after carrion. indian police experience records many cases of the discovery of bodies through the agency of kites, vultures, crows, and scavenging wild beasts. the howling of a jackal has given the clue; in one remarkable case the body of a murdered child was traced through the snarling and quarrelling of jackals over the remains. a murderer who had buried his victim under a heap of stones, on returning (the old story) to the spot found that it had been unearthed by wild animals. vi.--the tracking instinct in australian aborigines. the strange, almost superhuman, powers of the australian blacks in following blind, invisible tracks have been turned to good account in the detection of crime. their senses of sight, smell, and touch are abnormally acute. they can distinguish the trail of lost animals one from the other, and follow it for hundreds of miles. like the red indians of north america, they judge by a leaf, a blade of grass, a mere splash in the mud; they can tell with unfailing precision whether the ground has been recently disturbed, and even what has passed over it. a remarkable instance occurred in the colony of victoria in , when a stockholder, travelling up to melbourne with a considerable sum of money, disappeared. his horse had returned riderless to the station, and without saddle or bridle. a search was at once instituted, but proved fruitless. the horse's hoof-marks were followed to the very boundary of the run, near which stood a hut occupied by two shepherds. these men, when questioned, declared that neither man nor horse had passed that way. then a native who worked on the station was pressed into the service, and starting from the house, walking with downcast eyes and occasionally putting his nose to the ground, he easily followed the horse's track to the shepherds' hut, where he at once offered some information. "two white mans walk here," he said, pointing to indications he alone could discover on the ground. a few yards farther he cried, "here fight! here large fight!" and it was seen that the grass had been trampled down. again, close at hand, he shouted in great excitement, "here kill--kill!" a minute examination of the spot showed that the earth had been moved recently, and on turning it over a quantity of clotted blood was found below. [illustration: an australian native tracking. (_a sketch from life._)] there was nothing, however, definitely to prove foul play, and further search was necessary. the black now discovered the tracks of men by the banks of a small stream hard by, which formed the boundary of the run. the stream was shrunk to a tiny thread after the long drought, and here and there was swallowed up by sand. but it gathered occasionally into deep, stagnant pools, which marked its course. each of these the native examined, still finding foot-marks on the margin. at last the party reached a pond larger than any, wide, and seemingly very deep. the tracker, after circling round and round the bank, said the trail had ceased, and bent all his attention upon the surface of the water, where a quantity of dark scum was floating. some of this he skimmed off, tasted and smelt it, and decided positively--"white man here." the pond was soon dragged with grappling-irons and long spears, and presently a large sack was brought up, which was found to contain the mangled remains of the missing stockholder. the sack had been weighted with many stones to prevent it from rising to the surface. suspicion fell upon the two shepherds who lived in the hut on the boundary of the run. one was a convict on ticket-of-leave, the other a deserter from a regiment in england. both had taken part in the search, and both had appeared much agitated and upset as the black's marvellous discoveries were laid bare. both, too, incautiously urged that the search had gone far enough, and protested against examining the ponds. while this was being done, and unobserved by them, a magistrate and two constables went to their hut and searched it thoroughly. they first sent away an old woman who acted as the shepherds' servant, and then turned over the place. nothing was found in the hut, but in an outhouse they came upon a coat and waistcoat and two pairs of trousers, all much stained with fresh blood-marks. on this the shepherds were arrested and sent down to melbourne. what had become of the saddle-bags in which the murdered man had carried his cash? it was surmised that they had been put by in some safe place, and again the services of the native tracker were sought. he now made a start from the shepherds' hut, and discovered as before, by sight and smell, the tracks of two men's feet, travelling northward. these took him to a gully or dry watercourse, in the centre of which was a high pile of stones. the tracks ended at a stone on the side, where the native said he smelt leather. when several stones had been taken down, the saddle-bags, saddle, and bridle were found hidden in an inner receptacle. the money, the motive of the murder, was still in the bags--no less than £ , --and had been left there, no doubt, for removal at a more convenient time. [illustration: australian shepherd's hut.] the shepherds were put on their trial, and the evidence thus accumulated was deemed convincing by a jury. it was also proved that the blood-stained clothes had been worn by the prisoners both on the day before and on the very day of the murder. the stains were ascertained by chemical analysis to be of human blood, not of sheep's, as set up by the defence. it was also shown that the men had been absent from the hut the greater part of the morning of the murder. they were executed at melbourne. this extraordinary faculty of following a trail is characteristic of all the australian blacks. it was remarkably illustrated in a queensland case, where a man was missing who was supposed to have been murdered, and whose remains were discovered by the black trackers. an aged shepherd, who had long served on a certain station, was at last sent off with a considerable sum, arrears of pay. he started down country, but was never heard of again. various suspicious reports started a belief that he had been the victim of foul play. the police were called in, and proceeded to make a thorough search, assisted by several blacks, who usually hang about the station loafing. but they lost their native indolence when there was tracking to be done. now they were roused to keenest excitement, and entered eagerly into the work, jabbering and gesticulating, with flashing eyes. no one, to look at these eyes, generally dull and bleary, could imagine that they possessed such visual powers, or that their owners were so shrewdly observant. [illustration: australian native types.] the search commenced at the hut lately occupied by the shepherd. the first thing discovered, lying among the ashes of the hearth, was a spade, which might have been used as a weapon of offence; spots on it, as the blacks declared, were of blood. some similar spots were pointed out upon the hard, well-trodden ground outside, and the track led to a creek or water-hole, on the banks of which the blacks picked up among the tufts of short dried grass several locks of reddish-white hair, invisible to everyone else. the depths of the water were now probed with long poles, and the blacks presently fished up a blucher boot with an iron heel. the hair and the boot were both believed to belong to the missing shepherd. the trackers still found locks of hair, following them to a second water-hole, where all traces ceased, and it was supposed by some that the body lay there at the bottom. not so the blacks, who asserted that it had now been lifted upon horseback for removal to a more distant spot, and in proof pointed out hoof-marks, which had escaped observation until they detected them. the hoof-marks were large and small, obviously of a mare and her foal. yet the water-hole was searched thoroughly; the blacks stripped and dived, they smelt and tasted the water, but always shook their heads, and, as a matter of fact, nothing was found in this second creek. the pursuit returned to the hoof-marks, and these were followed to the edge of a scrub, where for the time they were lost. next day, however, they were again picked up, on the hard, bare ground, where there was hardly a blade of grass. they led to the far-off edge of a plain, towards a small spiral column which ascended into the sky. it was the remains of an old and dilapidated sheep-yard, which had been burnt by the station overseer. this man, it should have been premised, had all along been suspected of making away with the shepherd from interested motives, having been the depositary of his savings. and it was remembered that he had paid several visits in the last few days to the burning sheep-yard. now, when the search party reached the spot, where little but charred and smouldering embers remained, the blacks eagerly turned over the ashes. suddenly a woman, a black "gin," screamed shrilly, and cried, "bones sit down here," and closer examination disclosed a heap of calcined human remains. small portions of the skull were still unconsumed, and a few teeth were found, quite perfect, having altogether escaped the action of the fire. soon the buckle of a belt was discovered, and identified as having been worn by the missing shepherd, and also the iron heel of a boot corresponding to that found in the first water-hole. thus the marvellous sagacity of the black trackers had solved the mystery of the shepherd's disappearance; but, although the shepherd's fate was thereby established beyond doubt, the evidence was not sufficient to bring home the crime of murder to the overseer. vii.--the shortsightedness of some criminals. not the least useful of the many allies found by the police are the criminals themselves. their shortsightedness is often extraordinary; even when seemingly most careful to cover up their tracks they will neglect some small point, will drop unconsciously some slight clue, which, sooner or later, must betray them. in an american murder, at michigan, a man killed his wife in the night by braining her with a heavy club. his story was that his bedroom had been entered through the window by some unknown murderer. this theory was at once disproved by the fact that the window was still nailed down on one side. the real murderer in planning the crime had extracted one nail and left the other. the detection of the murderers of m. delahache, a misanthrope who lived with a paralysed mother and one old servant in a ruined abbey at la gloire dieu, near troyes, was much facilitated by the carelessness with which the criminals neglected to carry off a note-book from the safe. after they had slain their three victims, they forced the safe and carried off a large quantity of securities payable to bearer, for m. delahache was a saving, well-to-do person. they took all the gold and banknotes, but they left the title-deeds of the property and his memorandum book, in which the late owner had recorded in shorthand, illegible by the thieves, the numbers and description of the stock he held, mostly in russian and english securities. by means of these indications it was possible to trace the stolen papers and secure the thieves, who still possessed them, together with the pocket-book itself and a number of other valuables that had belonged to m. delahache. criminals continually "give themselves away" by their own carelessness, their stupid, incautious behaviour. it is almost an axiom in detection to watch the scene of a murder for the visit of the criminal, who seems almost irresistibly drawn thither. the same impulse attracts the french murderer to the morgue, where his victim lies in full public view. this is so thoroughly understood in paris that the police keep officers in plain clothes among the crowd which is always filing past the plate-glass windows separating the public from the marble slopes on which the bodies are exposed. an indian criminal's steps generally lead him homeward to his own village, on which the indian police set a close watch when a man is much wanted. numerous cases might be quoted in which offenders disclose their crime by ill-advised ostentation: the reckless display of much cash by those who were, seemingly, poverty-stricken just before; self-indulgent extravagance, throwing money about wastefully, not seldom parading in the very clothes of their victims. a curious instance of the neglect of common precaution was that of wainwright, the murderer of harriet lane, who left the _corpus delicti_, the damning proof of his guilt, to the prying curiosity of an outsider, while he went off in search of a cab. one of the most remarkable instances of the want of reticence in a great criminal and his detection through his own foolishness occurred in the case of the stepney murderer, who betrayed himself to the police when they were really at fault and their want of acuteness was being made the subject of much caustic criticism. the victim was an aged woman of eccentric character and extremely parsimonious habits, who lived entirely alone, only admitting a woman to help her in the housework for an hour or two every day. she owned a good deal of house property, let out in tenements to the working classes. as a rule she collected the rents herself, and was believed to have considerable sums from time to time in her house. this made her timid; being naturally of a suspicious nature, she fortified herself inside with closed shutters and locked doors, never opening to a soul until she had closely scrutinised any visitor. it called for no particular remark that for several days she had not issued forth. she was last seen on the evening of the th of august, . when people came to see her on business on the th, th, and th, she made no response to their loud knockings, but her strange habits were well known; moreover, the neighbourhood was so densely inhabited that it was thought impossible she could have been the victim of foul play. at last, on the th of august, a shoemaker named emm, whom she sometimes employed to collect rents at a distance, went to mrs. elmsley's lawyers and expressed his alarm at her non-appearance. the police were consulted, and decided to break into the house. its owner was found lying dead on the floor in a lumber-room at the top of the house. life had been extinct for some days, and death had been caused by blows on the head with a heavy plasterer's hammer. the body lay in a pool of blood, which had also splashed the walls, and a bloody footprint was impressed on the floor, pointing outwards from the room. there were no appearances of forcible entry to the house, and the conclusion was fair that whoever had done the deed had been admitted by mrs. elmsley herself. a possible clue to the criminal was afforded by the several rolls of wall-paper lying about near the corpse. mrs. elmsley was in the habit of employing workmen on her own account to carry out repairs and decorations in her houses, and the indications pointed to her having been visited by one of these, who had perpetrated the crime. yet the police made no useful deductions from these data. while they were still at fault a man named mullins, a plasterer by trade and an ex-member of the irish constabulary, who knew mrs. elmsley well and had often worked for her, came forward voluntarily to throw some light on the mystery. nearly a month had elapsed since the murder, and he declared that during this period his attention had been drawn to the man emm and his suspicious conduct. he had watched him, had frequently seen him leave his cottage and proceed stealthily to a neighbouring brickfield, laden on each occasion with a parcel he did not bring back. mullins, after giving this information quite unsought, led the police officers to the spot, and into a ruined outbuilding, where a strict search was made. behind a stone slab they discovered a paper parcel containing articles which were at once identified as part of the murdered woman's property. mullins next accompanied the police to emm's house, and saw the supposed criminal arrested. but to his utter amazement the police turned on mullins and took him also into custody. something in his manner had aroused suspicion, and rightly, for eventually he was convicted and hanged for the crime. [illustration: "had ... frequently seen him ... proceed stealthily to a neighbouring brickfield."] here mullins had only himself to thank. whatever the impulse--that strange restlessness that often affects the secret murderer, or the consuming fear that the scent was hot, and his guilt must be discovered unless he could shift suspicion--it is certain that but for his own act he would never have been arrested. it may be interesting to complete this case, and show how further suspicion settled around mullins. the parcel found in the brickfield was tied up with a tag end of tape and a bit of a dirty apron string. a precisely similar piece of tape was discovered in mullins's lodgings lying upon the mantelshelf. there was an inner parcel fastened with waxed cord. the idea with mullins was, no doubt, to suggest that the shoemaker emm had used cobbler's wax. but a piece of wax was also found in mullins's possession, besides several articles belonging to the deceased. the most conclusive evidence was the production of a plasterer's hammer, which was also found in mullins's house. it was examined under the microscope, and proved to be stained with blood. mullins had thrown away an old boot, which chanced to be picked up under the window of a room he occupied. this boot fitted exactly into the blood-stained footprint on the floor in mrs. elmsley's lumber-room; moreover, two nails protruding from the sole corresponded with two holes in the board, and, again, a hole in the middle of the sole was filled up with dried blood. so far as emm was concerned, he was able clearly to establish an _alibi_, while witnesses were produced who swore to having seen mullins coming across stepney green at dawn on the day of the crime with bulging pockets stuffed full of something, and going home; he appeared much perturbed, and trembled all over. mullins was found guilty without hesitation, and the judge expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the verdict. the case was much discussed in legal circles and in the press, and all opinions were unanimously hostile to mullins. the convict steadfastly denied his guilt to the last, but left a paper exonerating emm. it is difficult to reconcile this with his denunciation of that innocent man, except on the ground of his own guilty knowledge of the real murderer. in any case, it was he himself who first lifted the veil and stupidly brought justice down upon himself. the case of mullins was in some points forestalled by the discovery of an indian murder, in which the native police ingeniously entrapped the criminal to assist in his own detection. a man in kumacu, named mungloo, disappeared, and a neighbour, moosa, was suspected of having made away with him. the police, unable to bring home the murder to him, caught him by bringing to him a corpse which they declared was mungloo's. moosa knew better, and said so. imprudently anxious to shift all suspicion from himself, he told the police that a certain kitroo knew where the real corpse lay, and advised them to arrest him. kitroo was seized, and confessed in effect that mungloo was buried close to his house. the ground was opened, and at a considerable depth down the body was found. now moosa came forward and claimed the credit, as well as the proffered reward for discovery. he was, he said, the first to indicate where the body was hidden. but kitroo turned queen's evidence, and swore that he had seen the murder committed by moosa and three others, and that, as he was an eye-witness, he was compelled by them to become an accomplice. moosa was sentenced to transportation for life. there was in his case no necessity to accuse kitroo, and but for his officiousness the corpse would never, probably, have been brought to light. viii.--some unavenged crimes. there have, however, been occasions when detection has failed more or less completely. the police do not admit always that the perpetrators remain unknown; they have clues, suspicion, strong presumption, even more, but there is a gap in the evidence forthcoming, and to attempt prosecution would be to face inevitable defeat. to this day it is held at scotland yard that the real murderer in a mysterious murder in london in the seventies was discovered, but that the case failed before an artfully planned _alibi_. sometimes an arrest is made on grounds that afford strong _primâ-facie_ evidence, yet the case breaks down in court. the burdell murder in , in new york, was one of these. dr. burdell was a wealthy and eccentric dentist, owning a house in bond street, the greater part of which he let out in tenements. one of his tenants was a mrs. cunningham, to whom he became engaged, and whom, according to one account, he married. in any case, they quarrelled furiously, and dr. burdell warned her that she must leave the house, as he had let her rooms. whereupon she told him significantly that he might not live to sign the agreement. shortly afterwards he was found murdered, stabbed with fifteen wounds, and there were all the signs of a violent struggle. the wounds must [illustration: old millbank prison.] have been inflicted by a left-handed person, and mrs. cunningham was proved to be left-handed. the facts were strong against her, and she was arrested, but was acquitted on trial. it came out long after the mysterious road (somerset) murder that the detectives were absolutely right about it, and that inspector whicher, of scotland yard, in fixing the crime on constance kent, had worked out the case with singular acumen. he elicited the motive--her jealousy of the little brother, one of a second family; he built up the clever theory of the abstracted nightdress, and obtained what he considered sufficient proof. it will be remembered that this accusation was denounced as frivolous and unjust. mr. whicher was so overwhelmed with ridicule that he soon afterwards retired from the force, and died, it was said, of a broken heart. his failure, as it was called, threw suspicion upon mr. kent, the father of the murdered child, and gough, the boy's nurse, and both were apprehended and charged, but the cases were dismissed. in the end, as all the world knows, constance kent, who had entered an anglican sisterhood, made full confession to the rev. mr. wagner, of brighton, and she was duly convicted of murder. although sentence of death was passed, it was commuted, and i had her in my charge at millbank for years. the outside public may think that the identity of that later miscreant, "jack the ripper," was never revealed. so far as absolute knowledge goes, this is undoubtedly true. but the police, after the last murder, had brought their investigations to the point of strongly suspecting several persons, all of them known to be homicidal lunatics, and against three of these they held very plausible and reasonable grounds of suspicion. concerning two of them the case was weak, although it was based on certain suggestive facts. one was a polish jew, a known lunatic, who was at large in the district of whitechapel at the time of the murder, and who, having developed homicidal tendencies, was afterwards confined in an asylum. this man was said to resemble the murderer by the one person who got a glimpse of him--the police-constable in mitre court. the second possible criminal was a russian doctor, also insane, who had been a convict in both england and siberia. this man was in the habit of carrying about surgical knives and instruments in his pockets; his antecedents were of the very worst, and at the time of the whitechapel murders he was in hiding, or, at least, his whereabouts was never exactly known. the third person was of the same type, but the suspicion in his case was stronger, and there was every reason to believe that his own friends entertained grave doubts about him. he also was a doctor in the prime of life, was believed to be insane or on the borderland of insanity, and he disappeared immediately after the last murder, that in miller's court, on the th of november, . on the last day of that year, seven weeks later, his body was found floating in the thames, and was said to have been in the water a month. the theory in this case was that after his last exploit, which was the most fiendish of all, his brain entirely gave way, and he became furiously insane and committed suicide. it is at least a strong presumption that "jack the ripper" died or was put under restraint after the miller's court affair, which ended this series of crimes. it would be interesting to know whether in this third case the man was left-handed or ambidextrous, both suggestions having been advanced by medical experts after viewing the victims. it is true that other doctors disagreed on this point, which may be said to add another to the many instances in which medical evidence has been conflicting, not to say confusing. yet the incontestable fact remains, unsatisfactory and disquieting, that many murder mysteries have baffled all inquiry, and that the long list of undiscovered crimes is continually receiving mysterious additions. an erroneous impression, however, prevails that such failures are more common in great britain than elsewhere. no doubt the british police are greatly handicapped by the law's limitations, which in england always act in protecting the accused. but with all their advantages, the power to make arrests on suspicion, to interrogate the accused parties and force on self-incrimination, the continental police meet with many rebuffs. numbers of cases are "classed," as it is officially called in paris--that is, pigeon-holed for ever and a day, lacking sufficient proofs for trial, and in some instances, indeed, there is no clue whatever. in every country, and in all times, past and present, there have been crimes that defied detection. feuerbach, in his record of criminal trials in bavaria, tells, for example, of the unsolved murder mystery of one rupprecht, a notorious usurer of munich, who was killed in in the doorway of a public tavern not fifty yards from his own residence. yet his murderer was never discovered. the tavern was called the "hell"; it was a place of evil resort, for rupprecht, a mean, parsimonious old curmudgeon, was fond of low company and spent most of his nights here, swallowing beer and cracking jokes with his friends. one night the landlord, returning from his cellar, heard a voice in the street asking for rupprecht, and, going up to the drinking saloon, conveyed the message. rupprecht went down to see his visitor and never returned. within a minute deep groans were heard as of a person in a fit or in extreme pain. all rushed downstairs and found the old man lying in a pool of blood just inside the front door. there was a gaping wound in his head, but he was not unconscious, and kept repeating, "wicked rogue! wicked villain! the axe! the axe!" [illustration: "found the old man lying in a pool of blood."] the wound had been inflicted by some sharp instrument, possibly a sword or sabre, wielded by a powerful hand. the victim must have been taken unawares, when his back was turned. the theory constructed by the police was that the murderer had waited within the porch out of sight, standing on a stone bench in a dark corner near the street door; that rupprecht, finding no one to explain the summons, had looked out into the street and then had made to go back into the house. after he had turned the blow was struck. thus not a scrap of a clue was left on the theatre of the crime. but rupprecht was still alive and able to answer simple questions. a judge was summoned to interrogate him, and asked, "who struck you?" "schmidt," replied rupprecht. "which schmidt?" "schmidt the woodcutter." further inquiries elicited statements that schmidt had used a hatchet, that he lived in the most, that they had quarrelled some time before. rupprecht said he had recognised his assailant, and he went on muttering, "schmidt, schmidt, woodcutter, axe." to find schmidt was naturally the first business of the police. the name was as common as smith is with us, and many schmidts were woodcutters. three schmidts were suspected. one was a known confederate of thieves; another had been intimate, but afterwards was on bad terms, with rupprecht: this was "big schmidt"; the third, his brother, "little schmidt," also knew rupprecht. all three, although none lived in the most, were arrested and confronted with rupprecht, but he recognised none of them; and he died next day, having become speechless and unconscious at the last. only the first schmidt seemed guilty; he was much agitated when interrogated, he contradicted himself, and could give no good account of the employment of his time when the offence was committed. moreover, he had a hatchet; it was examined and spots were found upon it, undoubtedly of blood. he was brought into the presence of the dead rupprecht, and was greatly overcome with terror and agitation. yet after the first accusation he offered good rebutting evidence. he explained the stain by saying he had a chapped hand which bled, and when it was pointed out that this was the right hand, which would be at the other end of the axe shaft, he was able in reply to prove that he was left-handed. again, the wound in the head was considerably longer than the blade of the axe, and an axe cannot be drawn along after the blow. the murderer's cries had been heard by the landlord, inquiring for rupprecht, but it was not schmidt's voice. there was an _alibi_, moreover, or as good as one. schmidt was at his mother-in-law's, and was known to have gone home a little before the murder; soon after it, his wife found him in bed and asleep. if he had committed the crime he must have jumped out of bed again almost at once, run more than a mile, wounded rupprecht, returned, gone back to bed and to sleep, all in less than an hour. further, it was shown by trustworthy evidence that this schmidt knew nothing of the murder after it had occurred. the police drew blank also with "big schmidt" and "little schmidt," neither of whom had left home on the night of the murder. they were no more successful with other schmidts, although every one of the name was examined, and it was now realised that the last delirious words of the dying man had led them astray. but while hunting up the schmidts it was not forgotten by the police that rupprecht had also cried out, "my daughter! my daughter!" after he had been struck down. this might have been from the desire to see her in his last moments. on the other hand, he was estranged from this daughter, and he positively hated his son-in-law. they were no doubt a cold-blooded pair, these bieringers, as they were called. the daughter showed little emotion when she heard her father had been mortally wounded; she looked at him as he lay without emotion, and had so little lost her appetite that she devoured a whole basin of soup in the house. it was suspicious, too, that she tried to fix the guilt on "big schmidt." bieringer was a man of superior station, well bred and well educated; and he lived on very bad terms with his wife, who was coarse, vulgar, and of violent temper like her father; and once at his instance she was imprisoned for forty-eight hours. rupprecht sided with his daughter, and openly declared that in leaving her his money he would tie it up so tightly that bieringer could not touch a penny. this he had said openly, and it was twisted into a motive why bieringer should remove him before he could make such a will. but a sufficient _alibi_ was proved by bieringer; his time was accounted for satisfactorily on the night of the murder. the daughter was absolved from guilt, for even if she, a woman, could have struck so shrewd a blow, it was not to her interest to kill a father who sided with her against her husband and was on the point of making a will in her favour. other arrests were made, rupprecht's maid reported that three troopers belonging to the regiment in garrison had called on her master the very day of the murder; one of them owed him money which he could not pay, and the others, it was thought, had joined him in trying to intimidate the usurer. but the case of these troopers, men who could handle the very weapon that did the deed, broke down on clear proof that they were elsewhere at the time of the murder. the one flaw in the otherwise acute investigation was that the sabres of all the troopers had not been examined before so much noise had been made about the murder. but from the first attention had been concentrated on axes, wielded by woodcutters, and the probable use of a sabre had been overlooked. after the troopers, two other callers had come, and rupprecht had given them a secret interview. one proved to be the regimental master-tailor, who was seeking a loan and had brought with him a witness to the transaction. their innocence also was clearly proved; and although many other persons were arrested they were in all cases discharged. [illustration: "her body ... was found in the water" (p. ).] the murder of this rupprecht has remained a mystery. the only plausible suggestion was that he had been murdered by some aggrieved person, some would-be borrower whom he had rejected, or some debtor who could not pay and thought this the simplest way of clearing his obligation. the authorities could not fix this on anyone, for rupprecht made no record of his transactions; he could neither read nor write, and kept all his accounts "in his head." only on rare occasions did he call in a confidential friend to look through his papers when there was question of arranging them or finding a note of hand. no one but rupprecht himself could have afforded the proper clue; and, as it was, he had led the police in the wrong direction. numerous murder mysteries have been contributed by american criminal records. special interest attaches to the case of mary rogers, "the pretty cigar seller" of new york, who was done to death by persons unknown in , because it formed the basis of edgar allan poe's famous story, "the mystery of marie roget." the scene of that story is paris, but the murder was actually committed near new york. mary rogers had many admirers, but her character was good, her conduct seemingly irreproachable. she was supposed to have spent her last sunday with friends, but was seen with a single companion late that afternoon at a little restaurant near hoboken. as she never returned home her disappearance caused much excitement, but at length her body, much maltreated, was found in the water near sybil's cave, hoboken. many arrests were made, but the crime was never brought home to anyone. poe's suggested solution, the jealous rage of an old lover returned from sea, was no more than ingenious fiction. among others upon whom suspicion fell was john anderson, the cigar merchant in whose employ mary rogers was, and it was encouraged by his flight after the discovery of the murder. but when arrested and brought back, he adduced what was deemed satisfactory proof of an _alibi_. anderson lived to amass enormous wealth, and about the time of his death in paris in the evil reports of his complicity in the murder were revived, but nothing new transpired. it was said that in his later years anderson became an ardent spiritualist, and that the murdered mary rogers was one among the many spirits he communed with. the murder of mary rogers was not the only unsolved mystery of its class beyond the atlantic. it was long antedated by that known as the manhattan well mystery. this murder occurred as far back as , when new york was little more than a village compared to its present size. the manhattan company, now a bank, had then the privilege of supplying the city with water. the well stood in an open field, and all passers-by had free access to it. one day the pretty niece of a respectable quaker disappeared; she had left her home, it was said, to be privately married, and nothing more was seen of her till she was fished out of the manhattan well. some thought she had committed suicide, but articles of her dress were found at a distance from the well, including her shoes, none of which she was likely to have removed and left there before drowning herself. her muff, moreover, was found in the water; why should she have retained that to the last? suspicion rested upon the man whom she was to have married, and who had called for her in his sleigh after she had already left the house. this man was tried for his life, but the case broke down, and the murder has always baffled detection. later, in , there was the mystery of sarah m. cornell, in which suspicion fell upon a reverend gentleman of the methodist persuasion, who was acquitted. again, in , there was the murder of helen jewitt, which was never cleared up; and more recently that of the ryans, brother and sister; while the murder of annie downey, commonly called "curly tom," a new york flower-girl, recalls many of the circumstances of the murders in whitechapel. a great crime that altogether baffled the new york police occurred in , and is still remembered as an extraordinary mystery. it was the murder of a wealthy jew named nathan, in his own house in twenty-third street. he had come up from the country in july for a religious ceremony, and slept at home. his two sons, who were in business, also lived in the twenty-third street house. the only other occupant was a housekeeper. the sons, returning late, one after the other, looked in on their father and found him sleeping peacefully. no noise disturbed the house during the night, but early next morning mr. nathan was found a shapeless mass upon the floor; he had been killed with brutal violence, and the weapon used, a ship carpenter's "dog," was lying close by the body besmeared with blood and grey hairs. the dead man's pockets had been rifled, and all his money and jewellery were gone; a safe that stood in the corner of the bedroom had been forced and its contents abstracted. various theories were started, but none led to the track of the criminal. one of mr. nathan's sons was suspected, but his innocence was clearly proved. another person thought to be guilty was the son of the resident housekeeper, but that supposition also fell to the ground. some of the police were of opinion that it was the work of an ordinary burglar; others opposed this view, on the ground that the ship carpenter's "dog" was not a housebreaking tool. one ingenious solution was offered, and it may be commended to the romantic novelist; it was to the effect that mr. nathan held certain documents gravely compromising the character of a person with whom he had had business dealings, and that this person had planned and executed the murder in order to become repossessed of them. this theory had no definite support from known fact; but mr. nathan was a close, secretive man, who kept all the threads of his financial affairs in his own hands; and it was said that no one in his family, not even his wife, was aware what his safe held or what he carried in his pockets. it is worth noticing that this last theory resembles very closely the explanation suggested as a solution of the undiscovered murder of rupprecht in bavaria, which has been already described. there are one or two striking cases in the records of indian crime of murders that have remained undiscovered. mr. arthur crawfurd[ ] describes that of an old marwari money-lender, which repeats in some particulars the cases of rupprecht and nathan. this usurer was reputed to be very wealthy. his business was extensive, all his neighbours were more or less in his debt, and, as he was a hard, unrelenting creditor, he was generally detested throughout the district. he lived in a mud-built house all on the ground floor. in front was the shop where he received his clients, and in this room, visible from the roadway, was a vast deed-box in which he kept papers, bills, notes of hand, but never money. when he had agreed to make a loan and all formalities were completed, he brought the cash from a secret receptacle in an inner chamber. in this, his strong room, so to speak, which occupied one corner at the back of the house, he slept. in the opposite angle lived his granddaughter, a young widow, who kept house for him. he was protected by a guard of two men in his pay, who slept in an outhouse close by. one night the granddaughter, disturbed by a strange noise in the old man's sleeping place, rose, lit a lamp, and was on the point of entering the bedroom when the usurer appeared at the door, bleeding profusely from his mouth and nostrils; his eyes protruded hideously; he was clearly in the last extremity, and fell almost at once to the ground. the granddaughter summoned the watchmen, who only arrived in time to hear a few last inarticulate sounds as their master expired. it was seen afterwards at the _post-mortem_ that he had been partially smothered, and subjected to great violence. his assailant must have knelt on him heavily, for the ribs were nearly all fractured and had been forced into the lungs. the police arrived in all haste and made a thorough search of the premises. it was soon seen that a hole had been made from outside through the mud wall close by the old man's bed. the orifice was just large enough to admit a man. there were no traces of any struggle save the blood, which had flowed freely and inundated the mattress. strange to say, there had been no robbery. the money-lender's treasure chamber was still secure, the lock intact, and all the money and valuables were found untouched: many bags of rupees, a tin case crammed with currency notes, and a package containing a considerable quantity of valuable jewellery. nor had the deed-box in the shop been interfered with. the perpetrators of this murder were never discovered. the police, hoping to entrap them in the not uncommon event of a return to the theatre of the crime, established themselves secretly inside the house, but not in the bedroom where the murder was accomplished. they were right in their surmise, but the design failed utterly through their culpable neglect. the bedroom, within a fortnight, was again entered, and in precisely the same way, while the careless watchers slept unconscious in the adjoining shop. the fair inference was that the murderers had returned hoping to lay hands on some of the booty which they had previously missed. but the old man's treasure had been removed, and they went away disappointed and empty-handed, though unfortunately they escaped capture. the same authority, mr. arthur crawfurd, gives another case that belongs to the class of the new york murder of mary rogers [illustration: _photo: kapp & co., calcutta._ prisoners at the presidency gaol calcutta.] and our own whitechapel murders. the body of a female was washed ashore upon the rocks below the foot of severndroog, in the south konkan district. the fact was reported to mr. crawfurd, who found the body of a fine healthy young mahomedan woman, who had not been dead for more than a couple of hours. the only injury to be seen was a severe extended wound upon one temple, which must have bled profusely, but was not, according to the medical evidence, sufficient to cause death. it seemed probable that she had been stunned by it and had fallen in the water, to be drowned, or that she had been thrown from the cliffs above on to the rocks, and, becoming unconscious, had slipped into the sea. she had, in fact, been seen crossing the cliffs on the morning of her death, and was easily recognised as the wife of a fisherman who lived in a village hard by, the port of which was filled with small craft that worked coastwise with goods and passengers, the only traffic of those days. the only arrests made were those of two europeans, soldiers, one an army schoolmaster on his way up coast to bombay, the other a sergeant about to be pensioned; and both had been travelling by a coast boat which was windbound a little below the fort. they had been landed in order to take a little exercise, and had been forthwith stopped by a crowd of suspicious natives, who charged them with the crime. yet on examination no blood stains were found upon their clothes, and nothing indicative of a struggle; moreover, it was soon clearly proved that they had not been put ashore till a.m., whereas the dead body had been picked up before a.m. further inquiry showed that they were men of estimable character. but nothing else was elucidated beyond a vague report that the woman's husband had reason, or believed himself to have reason, to accuse her of profligacy and had taken this revenge. another more recent indian murder went near to being classed with the undiscovered. that it was brought home to its perpetrators was due to the keen intelligence of a native detective officer, the sirdar mir abdul ali, of the bombay police. this clever detective, of whom a biography has appeared, belonged to the bombay police, and his many successes show how much the indian police has improved of late years. the murder was known as the parel case. on the morning of the th of november, , a deal box was picked up on a piece of open marsh close to the elphinstone station at parel. near it was an ordinary counterpane. it was at first supposed that the box had been stolen from the railway station, and the matter was reported to the police. an officer soon reached the spot, and ascertained that the box, from which an offensive smell issued, was locked and fastened. on breaking it open the remains of a woman were found within, coiled up and jammed in tightly, and in an advanced stage of decomposition. the face was so much battered that its features were unrecognisable, but the dress, that of a mahomedan, might, it was hoped, lead to identification. according to custom, the police gathered in thousands of people by beat of _battaki_, or drum, but no one who viewed the corpse could recognise the clothes. moreover, there was no woman reported missing at the time from any house in bombay. abdul ali shrewdly surmised either that the woman was a perfect stranger or that she had been murdered at a distance, and the box containing her remains had been brought into bombay to be disposed of without attracting attention. this box furnished the clue. abdul ali, following out his idea of the stranger visitor, had caused search to be made through the "rest houses," or _musafarkhanas_ of bombay, and in one of these the box was identified as the property of a pathan, named syed gool, who had but recently married an unknown young woman and had apparently deserted her. at least, it came out that he had suddenly taken ship for aden, and had been accompanied by his daughter and a friend, but not by his wife. moreover, witnesses were now prepared to swear that the clothes found on the corpse at parel much resembled those commonly worn by syed gool's young wife. the evidence was little more than presumptive, but the head of the bombay police persuaded the governor to telegraph to the resident of aden to look out for the three passengers and arrest them on landing. they were accordingly taken into custody and sent back to bombay. even now the case would have been incomplete but for the confession of one of the parties--syed gool's friend, who was known as noor mahomed. this man, a confederate, on arrival at bombay, made a clean breast of the crime and was admitted as an approver; but for that the offence might never have been brought home. syed gool, it appeared, had come from karachi only a little before, had put up at the _musafarkhana_ of one ismail habib in pakmodia street, where he had presently married one sherif khatum, whom he met in this same "rest house," and the whole party had taken up their residence in another house in the same street. noor mahomed went on to say that husband and wife soon quarrelled as to the possession of the latter's jewels, and their differences so increased in bitterness that syed gool resolved to murder the woman. he effected his purpose, assisted by his friend, using a pair of long iron pincers, with which he compressed her windpipe till she died of suffocation. the rest of the crime followed a not unusual course: the packing of the corpse in a wooden box which had been made to syed gool's order by a carpenter, and its removal in a bullock cart to the neighbourhood of the elphinstone station, where the murderers hired a man to watch it for a few pence during their temporary absence. but they had no intention of returning; indeed, they embarked at once on board the aden steamer, and the man left in charge of the box took it home with him, where it remained till he was alarmed by the offensive smell already mentioned. then he prudently resolved to get rid of it by removing it to the spot on which it was found.[ ] [illustration: "they were accordingly taken into custody" (p. ).] the tale of undiscovered murders can never be ended, and additions are made to it continually. in this country fresh cases crop up year after year, and it would take volumes to catalogue them all. i will mention but one or two more, merely to point the moral that the police are often at fault still, even in these latter days of enlightened research, where so much makes in favour of the law. thus the burton crescent murder, in december, , must always be remembered against the police. an aged widow, named samuel, lived at a house in burton crescent, but she kept no servant on the premises, and took in a lodger, although she was of independent means. the lodger was a musician in a theatrical orchestra, away most of the day, returning late to supper. one evening there was no supper and no mrs. samuel, but on making search he found her dead body in the kitchen, lying in a pool of blood. the police summoned a doctor to view the corpse, and it was found that mrs. samuel had been battered to death with the fragment of a hat-rail in which many pegs still remained. the pocket of her dress had been cut off, and a pair of boots was missing, but no other property. nothing could have happened till late in the afternoon, as three workmen, against whom there was apparently no suspicion, were in the house till then, and the maid who assisted in the household duties had left mrs. samuel alive and well at p.m. only one arrest was made, that of a woman, one mary donovan, who was frequently remanded on the application of the police, but against whom no sufficient evidence was forthcoming to warrant her committal for trial. the burton crescent murder has remained a mystery to this day. so has that of lieutenant roper, r.e., who was murdered at chatham on the th of february, . this young officer, who was going through the course of military engineering, was found lying dead at the bottom of the staircase leading to his quarters in brompton barracks. he had been shot with a revolver, and the weapon, six-chambered, was picked up at a short distance from the body, one shot discharged, the remaining five barrels still loaded with ball cartridges. the only presumption was that the murderer's object was plunder, personal robbery. mr. roper had left the mess at an earlier hour than usual, between and p.m., on the plea that he had letters to write home announcing his approaching arrival on short leave of absence. a brother officer accompanied him part of the way to brompton barracks, but left him to attend some entertainment, roper declining to go at once, for the reason given, but promising to join him later. the unfortunate officer was quite unconscious when found, and although he survived some forty minutes, he never recovered the power of speech, so that he could give no indication as to his assailant. a poker belonging to mr. roper was found by his side, and it was inferred that he had entered his room before the attack, and had seized the poker as the only instrument of self-defence within reach. not the slightest clue was ever obtained which would help to solve this mystery; rewards were offered, but in vain, and the police had at last to confess themselves entirely baffled. mr. roper was an exceedingly promising young officer; he had but just completed his course of instruction with considerable credit, and he was said to have been in perfect health and spirits on the fatal evening, so that there was nothing whatever to support, and indeed everything to discredit, any theory of suicide. ix.--a good word for the police. taking a general view of the case as between hunted and hunters, it may be fairly considered that the ultimate advantage is with the latter. let it be remembered that we hear more of one instance of failure on the part of the police than of ninety-nine successes. the failure is proclaimed trumpet-tongued, the successes pass almost unnoticed into the great garner of criminal reports and judicial or police statistics. at the very least it must be said that we are bound, in common justice, to give due credit to the ceaseless activity, the continual, painstaking effort of the guardians of the public weal. their methods are the outcome of long and patient experience, developed and improved as time passes, and they have deserved, if not always commanded, success. it may be that the ordinary detective works a little too openly--at least, in this country; that his face and, till lately, his boots were well known in the circles generally frequented by his prey. again, there may be at times slackness in pursuit, neglect or oversight of early clues. well-meaning but obstinate men will not keep a perfectly open mind: they may cling too long and too closely to a first theory, wresting their opinions and forcing acquired facts to fit this theory, and so travel farther and farther along the wrong road. "shadowing" suspected persons does not always answer, and may be carried too far; more, it may be so clumsily done as to put the quarry on his guard and altogether defeat the object in view. but to lay overmuch stress on such shortcomings as these would surely savour of hypercriticism. it is more just to accept with gratitude the overwhelming balance in favour of the police, and give them the credit due to them for the results achieved. [illustration] part ii. judicial errors. chapter i. wrongful convictions. judge cambo, of malta--the d'anglades--the murder of lady mazel--execution of william shaw for the murder of his daughter--the sailmaker of deal and the alleged murder of a boatswain--brunell the innkeeper--du moulin, the victim of a gang of coiners--the famous calas case at toulouse--gross perversion of justice at nuremberg--the blue dragoon. the criminal annals of all countries record cases of innocent persons condemned by judicial process on grounds that seemed sufficient at the time, but that ultimately proved mistaken. where circumstantial evidence is alone forthcoming, terrible errors have been committed, and when, later, new facts are brought to light, the mischief has been done. there is a family likeness in these causes of judicial mistake: strong personal resemblance between the real criminal and another; strangely suspicious facts confirming a first strong conjecture, such as the suspected person having been near the scene of the crime, having let drop incautious words, being found with articles the possession of which has been misinterpreted or has given a wrong impression. often a sudden accusation has produced confusion, and consequently a strong presumption of guilt. or the accused, although perfectly innocent, has been weak enough to invent a false defence, as in the case quoted by sir edward coke of a man charged with killing his niece. the accused put forward another niece in place of the victim to show that the alleged murder had never taken place. the trick was discovered, his guilt was assumed, and he paid the penalty with his life. on the other hand, the deliberate cunning of the real criminal has succeeded but too often in shifting the blame with every appearance of probability upon other shoulders. judge cambo of malta. a curious old story of judicial murder, caused by the infatuation of a judge, is to be found in the annals of malta, when under the knights, early in the eighteenth century. this judge, cambo by name, rising early one morning, heard an affray in the street, just under his window. looking out, he saw one man stab another. the wounded man, who had been flying for his life, reeled and fell. at this moment the assassin's cap came off, and his face was for a moment fully exposed to the judge above. then, quickly picking up the cap, he ran on, throwing away the sheath of his knife, and, turning into another street, disappeared. while still doubtful how he should act, the judge now saw a baker, carrying his loaves for distribution, approach the scene of the murder. before he reached the place where the corpse lay, he saw the sheath of the stiletto, picked it up, and put it into his pocket. walking on, he came next upon the corpse. terrified at the sight, and losing all self-control, he ran and hid himself lest he should be charged with the crime. but at that moment a police patrol entered the street, and saw him disappearing just as they came upon the body of the murdered man. they naturally concluded that the fugitive was the criminal, and made close search for him. when they presently caught him, they found him confused and incoherent, a prey to misgiving at the suspicious position in which he found himself. he was searched, and the sheath of the stiletto was discovered in his pocket. when tried, it was found that the sheath exactly fitted the knife lying by the side of the corpse. the baker was accordingly taken into custody and carried off to prison. all this went on under the eyes of the judge, yet he did not interpose to protect an innocent man. the police came and reported both murder and arrest; still he said nothing. he was at the time the presiding judge in the criminal court, and it was before him that the wretched baker was eventually tried. cambo was a dull, stupid person, and he now conceived that he was forbidden to act from his own private knowledge in the matter brought before him--that he must deal with the case according to [illustration: "saw him disappearing just as they came upon the body" (p. ).] the evidence of the witnesses. so he sat on the bench to hear the circumstantial proofs against a man who he had no sort of doubt was actually innocent. when he saw that the evidence was insufficient, amounting to no more than _semi prova_, half-proof, according to maltese law, he used every endeavour to make the accused confess his crime. failing in this, he ordered the baker to be "put to the question," with the result that the man, under torture, confessed to what he had not done. cambo was now perfectly satisfied; the accused, innocent in fact, was guilty according to law, and having thus satisfied himself that his procedure was right, he carried his strange logic to the end, and sentenced the baker to death. "horrible to relate," says the old chronicle, "the hapless wretch soon after underwent the sentence of the law." [illustration: torture pincers, from the chÂtelet prison.[a]] the sad truth came out at last, when the real murderer, having been convicted and condemned for another crime, confessed that he was guilty of the murder for which the baker had wrongly suffered. he appealed to judge cambo himself to verify this statement, for he knew that the judge had seen him. the grand master of the knights of malta now called upon judge cambo to defend himself from this grave imputation. cambo freely admitted his action, but still held that he had only done his duty, that he was really right in sending an innocent man to an ignominious death sooner than do violence to his own legal scruples. the grand master was of a more liberal mind, and condemned the judge to degradation and the forfeiture of his office, ordering him at the same time to provide handsomely for the family of his victim. the d'anglades. a very flagrant judicial error was committed in paris towards the latter end of the same century, mainly through the obstinate persistence of the lieutenant-general of police in believing that he had discovered the real perpetrators of a theft. circumstantial evidence was accepted as conclusive proof in spite of the unblemished character and the high social position of the accused. [illustration: branding irons, from the chÂtelet prison.[ ]] the marquis d'anglade and his wife lived in the same house with the comte and comtesse de montgomerie; it was in the rue royale, the best quarter in paris, and both kept good establishments. the montgomeries were the more affluent, had many servants, and a stable full of horses and carriages. d'anglade also kept a carriage, but his income was said to be greatly dependent upon his winnings at the gaming table. the two families were on terms of very friendly intercourse, frequently visited, and accepted each other's hospitality. when the comte and comtesse went to their country house, the d'anglades often accompanied them. [illustration: french convicts "en chaÎne." (_from a drawing by moanet._)] it was to have been so on one occasion, but at the eleventh hour the marquis d'anglade begged to be excused on the score of his wife's indisposition. the montgomeries went alone, but took most of their servants with them. when they returned to paris, a day earlier than they were expected, they found the door of their apartments open, although it had been locked when they left. a little later d'anglade came in. having been supping with other friends, and hearing that the montgomeries were in the house, he went in to pay his respects. madame d'anglade joined him, and the party did not break up till a late hour. there was no suspicion of anything wrong then. next morning, however, the comte de montgomerie discovered that he had been the victim of a great robbery. his strong box had been opened by a false key, and thirteen bags of silver, amounting to , francs, and , francs in gold, had been abstracted, also a hundred louis d'or coined in a new pattern, and a valuable pearl necklace. the police were summoned, and their chief, the lieutenant-general, declared that someone resident in the house must be the thief. suspicion seems to have attached at once to the d'anglades, although they readily offered to allow their premises to be searched. the search was forthwith made, and the whole of their boxes, the beds and cupboards, and all receptacles in the rooms they occupied, were thoroughly ransacked. only the garrets remained, and d'anglade willingly accompanied the officers thither. his wife, being ill and weak, remained downstairs. here, in the garret, the searchers came upon seventy-five louis d'or of the kind above mentioned, wrapped in a scrap of printed paper part of a genealogical table, which montgomerie at once identified as his. the police now wished to fix the robbery on the d'anglades, and their suspicions were strengthened by the poor man's confusion when desired, as a test, to count out the money before them all. he was trembling, a further symptom of guilt. however, when the basement was next examined, the part occupied by the montgomerie servants, evidence much more incriminatory was obtained against the latter. in the room where they slept, five of the missing bags of silver were found, all full, and a sixth nearly so. none of these servants was questioned, yet they were as likely to be guilty as the accused, more so indeed. but the police thought only of arresting the d'anglades, one of whom was imprisoned in the châtelet, the other in the fors l'evêque prison. the prosecution was of the most rancorous and pitiless kind. those who sat in the seat of justice prejudiced the case in d'anglade's disfavour, and, as he still protested his innocence, ordered him to suffer torture so as to extort confession. he remained obdurate to the last, was presently found guilty, although on this incomplete evidence, and was sentenced to the galleys for life, and his wife to be banished from paris, with other penalties and disabilities. d'anglade was condemned to join the _chaîne_, the gang of convicts drafted to toulon, and, having suffered inconceivably on the road, he died of exhaustion at marseilles. his wife was consigned to an underground dungeon, where she was confined of a girl, and both would have succumbed to the rigours of their imprisonment, when suddenly the truth came out, and they were released in time to escape death. an anonymous letter reached a friend of the d'anglades, coming from a man who was about to turn monk, being torn by remorse, which gave him no rest. this man had been one of several confederates, and he declared that he knew the chief agent in the theft to have been the comte de montgomerie's almoner, a priest called gaynard, who had stolen the money, aided by accomplices, mainly by one belestre, who, from being in great indigence, had come to be suddenly and mysteriously rich. gaynard and belestre were both already in custody for a street brawl, and when interrogated they confessed. gaynard had given impressions of the comte's keys to belestre, who had had false keys manufactured which opened the strong box. belestre was also proved to be in possession of a fine pearl necklace. the true criminals were now examined and subjected to torture, when they completely exonerated d'anglade. the innocent marquis could not be recalled to life, but a large sum was subscribed, some £ , , for his wife, as a slight compensation for the gross injustice done her. the comte de montgomerie was also ordered to make restitution of the property confiscated, or to pay its equivalent in money. lady mazel. one of the earliest of grave judicial blunders to be found in french records is commonly called the case of lady mazel, who was a lady of rank, living in a large mansion, of which she occupied two floors herself: the ground floor as reception-rooms, the first floor as her bedroom and private apartments. the principal door of her bedroom shut from the inside with a spring, and when the lady retired for the night there was no access from without, except by a special key which was always left on a chair _within_ the chamber. two other doors of her room opened upon a back staircase, but these were kept constantly locked. on the second floor was lodged the family chaplain only; above, on the third floor, were the servants.' one sunday evening the mistress supped with the abbé as was her general practice; then went to her bedroom, where she was attended by her waiting-maids. her butler, by name le brun, came to take her orders for the following day, and then, when the maids withdrew, leaving the key on the chair inside as usual, he also went away, shutting the spring door behind him. next morning there was no sign of movement from the lady, not at seven a.m. (her time for waking), nor yet at eight--she was still silent, and had not summoned her servants. le brun, the butler, and the maids began to be uneasy, and at last the son of the house, who was married and lived elsewhere, was called in. he expressed his fears that his mother was ill, or that worse had happened, and a locksmith was called in, and the door presently broken open. [illustration: "my mistress has been murdered!"] le brun was the first to enter, and he ran at once to the bedside. drawing aside the curtains, he saw a sight which made him cry aloud, "my mistress has been murdered!" and this exclamation was followed by an act that afterwards went against him. he opened the wardrobe and took out the strong box. "it is heavy," he said; "at any rate there has been no robbery." the murder had been committed with horrible violence. the poor woman had fought hard for life; her hands were all cut and lacerated, and there were quite fifty wounds on her body. a clasp knife, much discoloured, was found in the ashes of the fire. among the bedclothes they picked up a piece of a coarse lace cravat, and a napkin bearing the family crest, twisted into a nightcap. the key of the bedroom door, which had been laid on the chair, had disappeared. nothing much had been stolen. the jewels were untouched, but the strong box had been opened and some of the gold abstracted. suspicion fell at once upon the butler, le brun. the story he told was against himself. he said that after leaving his mistress he went down into the kitchen and fell asleep there. when he awoke he found, to his surprise, the street-door wide open. he shut it, locked it, and went to his own bed. in the morning he did his work as usual until the alarm was given; went to market, called to see his wife, who lived near by, and asked her to lock up some money, gold crowns and louis d'or, for him. this was all he had to tell, but on searching him a key was found in his pocket: a false or skeleton key, the wards of which had been newly filed, and it fitted nearly all the locks in the house, including the street-door, the antechamber, and the back door of the lady's bedroom. the napkin nightcap was tried on his head and fitted him exactly. he was arrested and shortly afterwards put upon his trial. it was not alleged that he had committed the murder himself. no blood had been found on any of his clothes, although there were scratches on his person. a shirt much stained with blood had been discovered in the loft, but it did not fit le brun, nor was it like any he owned. nor did the scrap of coarse lace correspond with any of his cravats; on the contrary, a maid-servant stated that she thought she recognised it as belonging to one she had washed for berry, once a footman in the house. the supposition was that le brun had let some accomplice into the house, who had escaped after effecting his purpose. this was borne out by the state of the doors, which showed no signs of having been forced, and by the discovery of le brun's false key. le brun was a man of exemplary character, who had served the family faithfully for twenty-nine years, and was "esteemed a good husband, a good father, and a good servant," yet the prosecution seemed satisfied he was guilty and put him to the torture. in the absence of real proofs it was hoped, after the cruel custom of the time, to force self-condemnatory admissions from the accused. the "question extraordinary" was applied, and the wretched man died on the rack, protesting his innocence to the last. [illustration: the torture of the rack.] a month later the real culprit was discovered. the police of sens had arrested a horse-dealer named berry, the man who had been in lady mazel's service as a lackey, but had been discharged. in his possession was a gold watch proved presently to have belonged to the murdered woman. he was carried to paris, where he was recognised by someone who had seen him leaving lady mazel's house on the night she was murdered, and a barber who shaved him next morning deposed to having seen that his hands were much scratched. berry said that he had been killing a cat. put to the torture prior to being broken on the wheel, he made full confession. at first he implicated the son and daughter-in-law of lady mazel, but when at the point of death he retracted the charge, and said that he had returned to the house with the full intention of committing the murder. he had crept in unperceived on the friday evening, had gained the loft on the fourth floor, and had lain there concealed until sunday morning, subsisting the while on apples and bread. when he knew the mistress had gone to mass he stole down into her bedroom, where he tried to conceal himself under the bed. it was too low, and he returned to the garret and slipped off his coat and waistcoat, and found now that he could creep under the bed. his hat was in his way, so he made a cap of the napkin. he lay hidden till night, then came out, and having secured the bell ropes, he roused the lady and demanded her money. she resisted bravely, and he stabbed her repeatedly until she was dead. then he took the key of the strong box, opened it, and stole all the gold he could find; after which, using the bedroom key which lay on the chair by the door, he let himself out, resumed his clothes in the loft, and walked downstairs. as the street-door was only bolted he easily opened it, leaving it open behind him. he had meant to escape by a rope ladder which he had brought for the purpose of letting himself down from the first floor, but it was unnecessary. it may be remarked that this confession was not inconsistent with le brun's complicity. but it is to be presumed that berry would have brought in le brun had he been a confederate, even although it could not have lessened his own guilt or punishment. william shaw. in britain the list of judicial blunders includes the case of william shaw, convicted of the murder of his daughter in edinburgh simply on the ground of her own outcry against his ill-usage. they were on bad terms, the daughter having encouraged the addresses of a man whom he strongly disliked as a profligate and a debauchee. one evening there was a fresh quarrel between father and daughter, and bitter words passed which were overheard by a neighbour. the shaws occupied one of the tenement houses still to be seen in edinburgh, and their flat, the prototype of a modern popular form of residence in paris and london, adjoined that of a man named morrison. the words used by catherine shaw startled and shocked morrison. he heard her repeat several times, "cruel father, thou art the cause of my death!" these were followed by awful groans. shaw had been heard to go out, and the neighbours ran to his door demanding admittance. as no one opened and all was now silent within, a constable was called to force an entrance, and the girl was found weltering in her blood, with a knife by her side. she was questioned as to the words overheard, was asked if her father had killed her, and she was just able to nod her head in the affirmative, as it seemed. now william shaw returned. all eyes were upon him; he turned pale at meeting the police and others in his apartment, then trembled violently as he saw his daughter's dead body. such manifest signs of guilt fully corroborated the deceased's incriminating words. last of all, it was noticed with horror that there was blood on his hands and on his shirt. he was taken before a magistrate at once, and committed for trial. the circumstances were all against him. he admitted in his defence the quarrel, and gave the reason, but declared that he had gone out that evening leaving his daughter unharmed, and that her death could only be attributed to suicide. he explained the bloodstains by showing that he had been bled some days before and that the bandage had become untied. the prosecution rested on the plain facts, mainly on the girl's words, "cruel father, thou art the cause of my death!" and her implied accusation in her last moments. shaw was duly convicted, sentenced, and executed at leith walk in november, , with the full approval of public opinion. yet the innocence which he still maintained on the scaffold came out clearly the following year. the tenant who came into occupation of shaw's flat found there a paper which had slipped down an opening near the chimney. it was a letter written by catherine shaw, as was positively affirmed by experts in handwriting, and it was addressed to her father, upbraiding him for his barbarity. she was so hopeless of marrying him whom she loved, so determined not to accept the man her father would have forced upon her, that she had decided to put an end to the existence which had become a burden to her. "my death," she went on, "i lay to your charge. when you read this, consider yourself as the inhuman wretch that plunged the knife into the bosom of the unhappy catherine shaw!" this letter, on which there was much comment, came at last into the hands of the authorities, who, having satisfied themselves that it was authentic, ordered the body of shaw to be taken down from the gibbet where it still hung in chains and to be decently interred. as a further but somewhat empty reparation of his honour, a pair of colours was waved over his grave. [illustration: the press-gang at work (p. ).] the sailmaker and the boatswain. a still more curious story is that of a sailmaker who many years ago went to spend christmas with his mother near deal. on his way he spent a night at an inn at deal, and shared a bed with the landlady's uncle, the boatswain of an indiaman, who had just come ashore. in the morning the uncle was missing, the bed was saturated with blood, and the young sailmaker had disappeared. the bloodstains were soon traced through the house, and beyond, as far as the pier-head. it was naturally concluded that the boatswain had been murdered and his body thrown into the sea. a hue-and-cry was at once set up for the young man, who was arrested the same evening in his mother's house. he was taken red-handed, with ample proofs of his guilt upon him. his clothes were stained with blood; in his pockets were a knife and a strange silver coin, both of which were sworn to most positively as the property of the missing boatswain. the evidence was so conclusive that no credence could be given to the prisoner's defence, which was ingenious but most improbable. his story was that he woke in the night and asked the boatswain the way to the garden, that he could not open the back door, and borrowed his companion's clasp-knife to lift the latch. when he returned to bed the boatswain was gone; why or where he had no idea. the youth was convicted and sent to the gallows, but by strange fortune he escaped death. the hanging was done so imperfectly that his feet touched the ground, and when taken down he was soon resuscitated by his friends. they made him leave as soon as he could move, and he went down to portsmouth, where he engaged on board a man-of-war about to start for a foreign station. on his return from the west indies three years later to be paid off, he had gained the rating of a master's mate, and gladly took service on another ship. the first person he met on board was the boatswain he was supposed to have murdered! the explanation given was sufficiently strange. on the day of his supposed murder the boatswain had been bled by a barber for a pain in the side. during the absence of his bedfellow the bandage had come off his arm, which bled copiously, and he got up hurriedly to go in search of the barber. the moment he got into the street he was seized by a press-gang and carried off to the pier. there a man-of-war's boat was in waiting, and he was taken off to a ship in the downs, which sailed direct for the east indies. he never thought of communicating with his friends; letter-writing was not much indulged in at that period. doubts have been thrown upon this story, which rests mainly upon local tradition. as no body was found, it does not seem probable that there would be a conviction for murder. of the various circumstances on which it was based, that of the possession of the knife was explained, but not the possession of the silver coin. it has been suggested that when the sailmaker took it out of the boatswain's pocket the coin had stuck between the blades of the knife. brunell the innkeeper. the astute villainy of a criminal in covering up his tracks was never more successful than in the case of brunell, the innkeeper at a village near hull. a traveller was stopped upon the road and robbed of a purse containing twenty guineas. but he pursued his journey uninjured, while the highwayman rode off in another direction. presently the traveller reached the bell inn, kept by brunell, to whom he recounted his misadventure, adding that no doubt the thief would be caught, for the stolen gold was marked, according to his rule when travelling. having ordered supper in a private room, the gentleman was soon joined by the landlord, who had heard the story, and now wished to learn at what hour the robbery took place. "it was just as night fell," replied the traveller. "then i can perhaps find the thief," said the landlord. "i strongly suspect one of my servants, john jennings by name, and for the following reason. the man has been very full of money of late. this afternoon i sent him out to change a guinea. he brought it back saying he could not get the change, and as he was in liquor i was resolved to discharge him to-morrow. but then i was struck with the curious fact that the guinea was not the same as that which i had given, and that it was marked. now i hear that those you lost were all marked, and i am wondering whether this particular guinea was yours." "may i see it?" asked the traveller. "unfortunately i paid it away not long since to a man who lives at a distance, and who has gone home. but my servant jennings, if he is the culprit, will probably have others in his possession. let us go and search him." they went to jennings's room and examined his pockets. he was in a deep drunken sleep, and they came without difficulty upon a purse containing nineteen guineas. the traveller recognised his purse, and identified by the mark his guineas. the man was roused and arrested on this seemingly conclusive evidence. he stoutly denied his guilt, but was sent for trial and convicted. the case was thought to be clearly proved. although the prosecutor could not swear to the man himself, as the robber had been masked, he did to his guineas. again, the prisoner's master told the story of his substitution of the marked for the other coin; while the man to whom the landlord had paid the marked guinea produced it in court. a comparison with the rest of the money left no doubt that these guineas were one and the same. the unfortunate jennings was duly sentenced to death, and executed at hull. yet, within a twelvemonth, it came out that the highwayman was brunell himself. the landlord had been arrested on a charge of robbing one of his lodgers, and convicted; but he fell dangerously ill before execution. as he could not live, he made full confession of his crimes, including that for which jennings had suffered. it seemed that he had ridden sharply home after the theft, and, finding a debtor had called, gave him one of the guineas, not knowing they were marked. when his victim arrived and told his story, brunell became greatly alarmed. casting about for some way of escape, he decided to throw the blame on his servant, whom he had actually sent out to change a guinea, but who had failed, as we know, and had brought back the same coin. as jennings was drunk, brunell sent him to bed, and then easily planted the incriminating purse in the poor man's clothes. no sort of indemnity seems to have been paid to jennings's relations or friends. du moulin's case. of the same class was the conviction of a french refugee, du moulin, who had fled to england from the religious persecutions in his own country. he brought a small capital with him, which he employed in buying goods condemned at the custom-house, disposing of them by retail. the business was "shady" in its way, as the goods in question were mostly smuggled, but du moulin's honesty was not impeached until he was found to be passing false gold. he made it a frequent practice to return money paid him by his customers, declaring it was bad. the fact could not be denied, but the suspicion was that he had himself changed it after the first payment; and this happened so often that he presently got into disrepute, losing both his business and his credit. the climax came when he received a sum of £ in guineas and portugal gold, and "scrupled," or questioned, several of the pieces. but he took them, giving his receipt. in a few days he brought back six coins, which he insisted were of base metal. his client harris as positively declared that they were not the same as those he had paid. then there was a fierce dispute. du moulin was quite certain; he had put the whole £ into a drawer and left the money there till he had to use it, when part of it was at once refused. harris continued to protest, threatening du moulin with a charge of fraud, but presently he paid. he lost no opportunity, however, of exposing du moulin's conduct, doing so so often, and so libellously, that the other soon brought an action for defamation of character. [illustration: _photo: cassell & co., ltd._ coiners' mould in the black museum, one in separate parts, the other closed and held in position by a spring.] this drove harris to set the law in motion also, on his own information, backed by the reports of others on whom du moulin had forced false money. a warrant was issued against the frenchman, his house was searched, and in a secret drawer all the apparatus of a counterfeiter of coin was discovered--files, moulds, chemicals, and many implements. this evidence was damnatory; his guilt seemed all the more clear from the impudence with which he had assailed harris and his insistence in passing the bad money. conviction followed, and he was sentenced to death. but for a mere accident, which brought about confession, he would certainly have suffered on the scaffold. a day or two before he was to have been executed, one williams, a seal engraver, was thrown from his horse and killed, whereupon his wife fell ill, and in poignant remorse confessed that her husband was one of a gang of counterfeiters, and that she helped him by "putting off" the coins. one of the gang hired himself as servant to du moulin, and, using a whole set of false keys, soon became free of all drawers and receptacles, in which he planted large quantities of false money, substituting them for an equal number of good pieces. the members of this gang were arrested and examined separately. they altogether repudiated the charge, but du moulin's servant was dumbfounded when some bad money was found in his quarters. on this he turned king's evidence, and his accomplices were convicted. calas. a case in which "justice" was manifestly unjust is that of the shameful prosecution and punishment of calas, a judicial murder begun in wicked intolerance and carried out with almost inconceivable cruelty. bitter, implacable hatred of the protestant or reformed faith and all who professed it survived in the south of france till late in the eighteenth century. there was no more bigoted city than toulouse, which had had its own massacre ten years before st. bartholomew, and perpetuated the memory of this "deliverance," as it was called, by public fêtes on its anniversary. it was on the eve of the fête of that a terrible catastrophe occurred in the house of one jean calas, a respectable draper, who had the misfortune to be a heretic--in other words, a criminal, according to the ideas of toulouse. marc antoine galas, the eldest son of the family, was found in a cupboard just off the shop, hanging by the neck, and quite dead. the shocking discovery was made by the third brother, pierre. it was then between nine and ten p.m.; he had gone downstairs with a friend who had supped with them, and had come suddenly upon the corpse. the alarm was soon raised in the town, and the officers of the law hastened to the spot. in toulouse the police was in the hands of the _capitouls_, functionaries akin to the sheriffs and common councillors of a corporation, and one of the leading men among them just then was a certain david de beaudrigue, who became the evil genius of this unfortunate calas family. he was bigoted, ambitious, self-sufficient, full of his own importance, fiercely energetic in temperament, and undeviating in his pursuit of any fixed idea. [illustration: medals struck in commemoration of the st. bartholomew massacre. . obverse, pope gregory xiii. reverse, angel smiting protestants. . obverse, charles ix. reverse, the king as hercules slaying the hydra of heresy. . obverse, charles ix. reverse, the king on his throne. ] now, when called up by the watch and told of the mysterious death of marc antoine calas, he jumped to the conclusion that it was a murder, and that the perpetrator was jean calas; in other words, that calas was a parricide. the motives of the crime were not far to seek, he thought. one calas son had already abjured the protestant for the true faith, this now dead son was said to have been anxious to go over, and the father was resolved to prevent it at all cost. it was a commonly accepted superstition in those dark times that the huguenots would decree the death of any traitors to their own faith. full of this baseless prepossession, de beaudrigue thought only of what would confirm it. he utterly neglected the first duty of a police officer: to seek with an unbiassed mind for any signs or [illustration: the calas family. (_from the picture by l. c. carmontelli._)] indications that might lead to the detection of the real criminals. he should have at once examined the wardrobe in which the body was found pendent; the shop close at hand, the passage that led from it through a small courtyard into the back street. it was perfectly possible for ill-disposed people to enter the shop from the front street and escape by this passage, and possibly they might leave traces behind them. de beaudrigue thought only of securing those whom he already in his own mind condemned as guilty, and hurrying upstairs found the calas, husband and wife, whom he at once arrested; pierre calas, whom he also suspected, was given in charge of two soldiers; the maid-servant, too, was taken, as well as two friends of the family who happened to be in the house at the time. when another _capitoul_ mildly suggested a little less precipitation, de beaudrigue replied that he would be answerable, and that he was acting in a holy cause. the whole party was carried off to gaol. when the elder calas asked to be allowed to put a candlestick where he might find it easily on his return, he was told sardonically, "you will not return in a hurry." the request and its answer went far to produce a revulsion in his favour when the facts became known. the wretched man never re-entered his house, but he passed it on his way to the scaffold and knelt down to bless the place where he had lived happily for many years, and from which he had been so ruthlessly torn. on the way to gaol the prisoners were greeted with yells and execrations. it was already taken for granted that they had murdered marc antoine. arrived at the hôtel de ville, there was a short halt while the accusation was prepared charging the whole party as principals or accessories. an interrogatory followed which was no more than a peremptory summons to confess. "come," said the _capitoul_ to pierre, "confess you killed him." denial only exasperated de beaudrigue, who began at once to threaten calas and the rest with the torture. there was absolutely no evidence whatever against the accused, and in the absence of it recourse was had to an ancient ecclesiastical practice, the _monitoire_, a solemn appeal made to the religious conscience of all who knew anything to come forward and declare it. this notice was affixed to the pulpits of churches and in street corners. it assumed the guilt of the calas family quite illegally, because without the smallest proof, and it warned everyone to come forward and speak, whether from hearsay or of their own knowledge. nothing followed the _monitoire_, so these pious sons of the church went a step farther and obtained a _fulmination_; a threat to excommunicate all who could speak yet would not. this was duly launched, and caused great alarm. religious sentiment had reached fever pitch. the burial of marc antoine with all the rites of the church was a most imposing ceremony. he lay in state. the catafalque bore a notice to the effect that he had abjured heresy. he was honoured as a martyr; a little more and he would have been canonised as a saint. [illustration: iron chair in which calas is said to have been tortured, now in the possession of madame tussaud & sons, limited.] still, nothing conclusive was forthcoming against the calas. one or two witnesses declared that they had heard disputes, swore to piteous appeals made to the father by the dead son, to cries such as "i am being strangled!" "they are murdering me!" and this was all. it was all for the prosecution; not a word was heard in defence. the protestant friends of the family were not competent to bear witness; the accused, moreover, were permitted to call no one. it would be hard to credit the disabilities still imposed upon the french huguenots were it not that the laws in england against roman catholics at that time were little less severe. in france all offices, all professions were interdicted to protestants. they could not be ushers or police agents, they were forbidden to trade as printers, booksellers, watchmakers, or grocers, they must not practise as doctors, surgeons, or apothecaries. although there was no case, the prosecution was obstinately persisted in, not merely because the law officers were full of prejudice, but because, if they failed to secure conviction, they would be liable to a counter action for their high-handed abuse of legal powers. as has been said, no pains were taken at the first discovery of the death to examine the spot or investigate the circumstances. it was all the better for the prosecution that nothing of the kind was done. had the police approached the matter with an open mind, judging calmly from the facts apparent, they would have been met at once by an ample, nay, overwhelming--explanation. there can be no doubt that marc antoine calas committed suicide. the proofs were plain. this eldest son was a trouble to his parents, ever dissatisfied with his lot, disliking his father's business, eager to take up some other line, notably that of an advocate. here, however, he encountered the prejudice of the times, which forbade this profession to a protestant; and it was his known dissatisfaction with this law that led to the conjecture--and there was little else--that he wished to abjure his faith. at last marc antoine offered to join his father, but was told that until he learnt the business and showed more aptitude he could not hope for a partnership. from this moment he fell away, took to evil courses, frequented the worst company, was seen at the billiard tables and tennis courts of toulouse, and became much addicted to gambling. when not given to debauchery he was known as a silent, gloomy, discontented youth, who quarrelled with his lot and complained always of his bad luck. on the very morning of his death he had lost heavily--a sum of money entrusted him by his father to exchange from silver into gold. all this pointed to the probability of suicide. the calas themselves, however, would not hear of any such solution. suicide was deemed disgraceful and dishonourable. sooner than suggest suicide, the elder calas was prepared to accept the worst. one of the judges was strongly of opinion that it was clearly a case of [illustration: jean calas taking leave of his family. (_from the painting by d. chodswiecke, ._)] _felo de se_, but he was overruled by the rest, who were equally convinced of the guilt of the calas. not a single witness of the examined could speak positively; not one had seen the crime committed; they contradicted each other, and their statements were improbable and opposed to common sense. moreover, the murder was morally and physically impossible. was it likely that a family party collected round the supper-table would take one of their number downstairs and hang him? could such wrong be done to a young and vigorous man without some sort of struggle that would leave its traces on himself and in the scene around? but the bigoted and prejudiced judges of toulouse gave judgment against the accused; yet, although so satisfied of their guilt, they ordered the torture to be applied to extort full confession. the prisoners appealing, the case was heard in the local parliament, and the first decision upheld. thirteen judges sat; of these, seven were for a sentence of death, three for preliminary torture, two voted for a new inquiry based on the supposition of suicide, one alone was for acquittal. as this was not a legal majority, one dissident was won over, and sentence of death was duly passed on calas, who was to suffer torture first, in the hope that by his admissions on the rack the guilt of the rest might be assured. the sentence was executed under circumstances so horrible and heartrending that humanity shudders at hearing them. calas was taken first to the question chamber and put "upon the first button." there, being warned that he had but a short time to live and must suffer torments, he was sworn and exhorted to make truthful answer to the interrogatories, to all of which, after the rack had been applied, he replied denying his guilt. he was then put "upon the second button"; the torture increased, and still he protested his innocence. last of all, he was subjected to the question extraordinary, and being still firm, he was handed over to the reverend father to be prepared for death. he suffered on the wheel, being "broken alive"; the process lasted two whole hours, but at the end of that time the executioner put him out of his misery by strangling him. when asked for the last time, on the very brink of the grave, to make a clean breast of his crime and give up the names of his confederates, he only answered, "where there has been no crime there can be no accomplices." his constancy won him the respect of all who witnessed his execution. "he died," said a monk "like one of our catholic martyrs." [illustration: voltaire. (_from the picture by largillière._)] this noble end caused deep chagrin to his judges; they were consumed with secret anxiety, having hoped to the last that a full confession would exonerate them from their cruelty. at toulouse there had been a fresh outburst of fanaticism, in which more lives were lost; and now, the news of calas' execution reaching the city, open war was declared against all huguenots. but a reaction was at hand, caused by the very excess of this religious intolerance. the terrible story began to circulate through france and beyond. the rest of the accused had been released, not without reluctance, by the authorities of toulouse, but pierre calas had been condemned to banishment. another brother had escaped to geneva, where he met with much sympathy. the feeling in other protestant countries was intense, and loud protests were published. but the chief champion and vindicator of the calas family was voltaire, who seized eagerly at an opportunity of attacking the religious bigotry of his countrymen. he soon raised a storm through europe, writing to all his disciples, denouncing the judges of toulouse, who had killed an innocent man. "everyone is up in arms. foreign nations, who hate us and beat us, are full of indignation. nothing since st. bartholomew has so greatly disgraced human nature." voltaire bent all the powers of his great mind to collecting evidence and making out a strong case. the encyclopædists, with d'alembert at their head, followed suit. all paris, all france grew excited. the widow calas was brought forward to make a fresh appeal to the king in council. the whole case was revived in a lengthy and tedious procedure, and in the end it was decided to reverse the conviction. "there is still justice in the world!" cried voltaire--"still some humanity left. mankind are not all villains and scoundrels." three years after the judicial murder of jean calas all the accused were formally pronounced innocent, and it was solemnly declared that jean calas was illegally done to death. but the family were utterly ruined, and, although entitled to proceed against the judges for damages, they had no means to go to law. the queen said the french wits had drunk their healths, but had given them nothing to drink in return. it is satisfactory to know, however, that some retribution overtook the principal mover in this monstrous case. the fierce fanatic, david de beaudrigue, was dismissed from all his offices, and being threatened with so many lawsuits, he went out of his mind. he was perpetually haunted with horrors, always saw the scaffold and the executioner at his grisly task, and at last, in a fit of furious madness, he threw himself out of the window. the first time he escaped death, but he made another attempt, and died murmuring the word "calas" with his last breath. a gross perversion of justice at nuremberg. on the th of january, , at five o'clock in the morning, the nuremberg merchant johann marcus sterbenk was awakened by his maid with the unpleasant news that his house had been broken into and the counting-house robbed of its strong-box, containing the sum of , gulden. it was a heavy iron strong-box, standing on four legs, and was painted in dark green stripes and ornamented on the top surface and lock with leaves and flowers. the sum stolen meant a small fortune in those days. the counting-house had a window which looked out on to the staircase, and some ten days before, when the key of the door had been mislaid, it had been necessary to remove a pane of glass from the window in order to reach the door from within. on getting to his counting-house, the merchant found that the pane of glass had again been removed, and that the door of the room was standing open. the main front door also was open, although the maid had declared that she had bolted it securely the evening before. the robbery had clearly been the work of someone who knew the locality well; yet, although several people swore to having seen suspicious-looking men in the neighbourhood about two o'clock in the morning, they were unable to identify or describe them, and for a time justice was at fault. suddenly suspicion fell on one schönleben, sterbenk's messenger; and ere long all agreed that he must be the culprit. there was absolutely no evidence--nothing more than his own careless words, which were seized upon and twisted against him. it was now remembered that his previous life had not been blameless, and every little incident was seized upon to his discredit. thus it was said that the day after the robbery his brother was seen in close converse with him at his house; after that the brother drove out of town with his cart, in which, according to general belief, the strong-box was concealed. again, it was noted that schönleben had been often late at business, and again, that the day after the robbery he appeared extremely lightheaded. on the strength of these suspicions schönleben was arrested, and with him a poor beadmaker, beutner by name, who was suspected of being his accomplice. the only connection between the two was that beutner had once helped schönleben to carry a load of wood into the sterbenks' house; and as he was passing the window of the counting-house, it was said that he gazed spell-bound at the sight of all the money inside. for not more than this the two were lodged in gaol and subjected to criminal examination. it was hardly thought possible that they could be innocent men. a new clue was, however, soon discovered. a barber named kirchmeier called on sterbenk and declared that on the day of the robbery he had seen a cash-box identical in every respect with the one stolen. it was in the room of a working gilder, mannert, who lived in the same house as schönleben the messenger. on making a second call at the same room a few days later there was no box to be seen. kirchmeier deposed that the box was standing under the table near the oven and behind the door; and as this witness was a respectable, well-to-do citizen, bearing the character of an upright, religious man, his testimony was deemed unimpeachable. the poor gilder, mannert, had also always borne the best of characters, but he, too, was arrested, with his wife and sons. when examined, he denied absolutely that he had ever owned such a box, and although he admitted a slight acquaintance with schönleben, and that he was employed by sterbenk, he declared that he knew nothing of the messenger's private affairs. then the examination of the mannerts was renewed; but as they still persisted in repudiating all knowledge of the strong-box the court had recourse to more drastic measures. in those days it was not absolutely required that witnesses should take the oath, which was reserved for extreme cases; it was a last step when evidence was imperfect, and the punishment for perjury was very severe. kirchmeier signified his perfect willingness to be sworn, and eventually reiterated his charges upon oath. "that which i saw, i saw," he averred. "the green-painted cash-box, with green wooden legs, i saw in the rooms of the man who is now kneeling imploringly before me. i cannot help it. i am quite convinced that in this case i am not mistaken. if i am, his blood be on my head." the court, after such solemn testimony, could not exonerate the mannerts and schönleben; and the public shared this conviction. excitement over the case was not confined to nuremberg, but spread through all germany. so high ran feeling against the accused for their obstinate pleas of innocence, that the mob smashed schönleben's windows and killed his youngest child as it lay in its mother's arms. [illustration: "together they ... lifted the cash-box and ... carried it home" (p. ).] mannert's wife and sons corroborated his statements. nevertheless, the barber, kirchmeier, when confronted with them, stuck to his story. the entire absence of all malicious motive strengthened his testimony and gained him full credence from the nuremberg authorities. so the mannert family were also consigned to durance, while their residence was searched from top to bottom. nothing incriminating was found; only in a lumber room one of the planks appeared to have been recently disturbed, and this, although it led to no further discovery, was deemed highly suspicious. meanwhile, schönleben had been again questioned, and still stoutly denied his guilt. when asked as to his accomplices and confederates, he replied that he could have had none, having committed no crime. beutner, the beadmaker, had no doubt asked him once where sterbenk's counting-house was situated, and whether the family all slept upstairs, but, after all, that might be mere curiosity. beutner excused himself by saying he must have been drunk when he asked such questions--at least, he had no recollection of putting them. several independent witnesses deposed to having been with beutner on the night of the robbery till a.m., after which they walked home with him. the perverse cruelty of the nuremberg court, which had accepted kirchmeier's story so readily, was not yet exhausted, and, very much as in the case of calas, given on a previous page, it persisted in seeking a confession as its own best justification. mannert was still obdurate, however, and force was now applied. floggings were tried, but quite without result, and at last, a fresh search of the dwellings of both mannert and schönleben having proved fruitless, it was resolved to appeal to the antiquated instruments of nuremberg justice, surviving still, within ten years of the nineteenth century--the priest and the rack. the power of the priest to extort confession, even from the most hardened criminals, had often proved successful heretofore, and public expectation was raised high that justice would once more be vindicated in this fashion. but the priests failed now. neither mannert, nor his wife, nor his sons would make the slightest acknowledgment of their guilt, and it became clear that they had won over the priests to their side. still the court was resolute to follow out its own line of action. confession having failed, it determined to try the effect of flogging the woman, or, if her health did not allow such an extreme proceeding, she was to be strictly isolated, and kept upon bread and water in the darkest dungeon of the prison; lastly, if these merciless measures proved of no avail, she was to be subjected to the rack. schönleben, from the recesses of the prison, now made a desperate effort to free himself by reviving suspicion against beutner. so absolutely helpless and hopeless had justice now become that the nuremberg court actually accepted a dream as evidence. schönleben pretended that he had seen the missing cash-box under a heap of wood at beutner's house--seen it only in his dreams, however. this "baseless fabric" of his imagination sufficed to send the officers to search beutner's house, and although nothing was discovered, public opinion agreed with the judges in again accusing beutner, and he was held to be implicated, despite the renewed proof of a satisfactory _alibi_. nobody believed beutner's witnesses. the next incident in these shameful proceedings was the death of frau mannert, who succumbed to the cruel treatment she had received. she died protesting her innocence to the last, and the priests who shrived her in the dark underground cell where she breathed her last expressed much indignation at the shocking ill-usage to which she owed her death. four more months passed, bringing no relaxation in the law's severity towards those whom it still gripped in its cruel clutches. who shall say what their fate might have been? but now, at last, an unexpected turn was given to the inquiry, and by pure accident justice got upon the right track. certain rumours reached the ears of one of the judges, who proceeded to investigate them. these rumours started from a beer-shop, where someone in his cups had been heard grossly to abuse a locksmith, gösser by name, and his assistant, blösel. the vituperation ended in a direct charge of complicity in the sterbenk robbery. blösel sat speechless under the attack, but his master, gösser, tried lamely to repudiate the charges. it was remembered now against these two that, although miserably poor till a certain date, they had become suddenly rich; had bought good clothes and silver watches, had launched out into many extravagances, and were always ready to stand treat to their friends. gösser just now had applied for a passport to leave nuremberg and go to dresden; and passports were in those days rather expensive luxuries, and generally beyond the means of persons in straitened circumstances. schönleben once more contributed his quota to the newly formulated charge; he had always suspected him, he said; and this time he had good reason to do so. when the police arrested gösser and his assistant (they were always glad to arrest anybody), the two prisoners incontinently confessed their crime. gösser, a man of thirty-three, had settled in nuremberg with his wife and family about a year previously. he was a shiftless, aimless fellow, and it was only by serious money sacrifices that he obtained admission into the guild of locksmiths in nuremberg. having thus started in debt, he was never able to get clear [illustration: street in nuremberg.] again. he was often in want of the necessaries of life; his relations would not help him; and he began to despair of ever gaining an honest livelihood. having once visited sterbenk's house, he had quickly realised how easily the counting-house door might be forced. the criminal idea of thus obtaining funds once formed, it grew and gained more mastery, till at length, on the night of the th of january, he proceeded to perpetrate the theft. he went to sterbenk's, opened the outer door, which he said was unbolted, and silently, and without difficulty, entered the counting-house. finding the strong-box too heavy to move by himself, he had gone home and awakened his assistant, whom he persuaded to join him. together they had crept back, lifted the cash-box, and, without interference, carried it home. while gösser's wife was out of the way, they opened it and divided the spoil. the box they kept close hidden for a long time, but at last broke it up and threw the pieces bit by bit into the river. after the robbery gösser confessed to his wife, who, overcome with fear, implored her husband to return the money. but he paid some pressing debts and bought what he needed for his business, and now hoped that he was on the high road to success and competence. gösser declared that no one had instigated him to the deed, that he alone was responsible, and had had no accomplice beyond blösel; and the confessions of his wife and blösel corroborated these statements. [illustration: old prison and "hangman's passage", nuremberg.] an examination of gösser's dwelling also confirmed them, while portions of the strong-box were by-and-bye found in the river. but it was not till after there remained no shadow of doubt of the truth of gösser's story that the other prisoners were lightened of their chains, and only by degrees were they informed of the new turn of affairs. kirchmeier was arrested on the th of november, and feeling ran tremendously strong against him as the original cause of so much cruel injustice. his three confessions were read out to him, and he was asked if he still stood by them. strange to state, he firmly reiterated them, continuing to do so even when the fragments of the box and the plainly rebutting evidence were laid before him. the only plausible solution of his extraordinary conduct was that he suffered from hallucinations. he had only lately recovered from a bad attack of bilious fever; and it was quite probable that in his convalescent condition the excitement of the robbery working on a disordered mind produced an impression which had all the weight and force of actual tangible fact. some such view of his conduct was evidently taken by the court; for, although arraigned for perjury, he was acquitted, and absolved from having falsely sworn from any evil motive. yet his fellow-townspeople could not readily forgive him, or forget the sufferings he had brought upon the innocent victims of his delusions. he was scouted by his old friends and deserted by his customers; and, to escape universal execration and the starvation that threatened him, he settled in another part of germany. gösser and blösel were, of course, duly punished. "the blue dragoon." this case,[ ] in which justice got upon a false scent and narrowly escaped the commission of a tragical blunder, is remarkable for the tortuous course it ran before the truth was at last reached. in a certain dutch town there lived, towards the close of the last century, an elderly widow lady, madame andrecht. she was fairly well-to-do, and possessed some valuable silver, although she lived in a quiet, retired street and in a not very reputable locality. her neighbours were all of the poorer classes; and the town ditch, which was navigable, flowed at the bottom of her back garden. hers was a tranquil, uneventful existence; she was served by one elderly female servant, and her only recreation was a yearly visit paid to a married son in the country, when she locked up the house and took the servant away with her. on the th of june, --, she returned home, after one of these visits, to find her house broken into and most of her possessions gone. it was clear that the thieves were acquainted with the interior of the house, and had set to work in a systematic fashion, although some of the plunder had escaped them. a window leading from the garden had been forced; the back door was open, and footsteps could be traced down the garden to the hedge at the bottom over the ditch. this pointed to the removal of the booty by boat. the discovery of this robbery caused a great sensation, and the house was soon surrounded by a gaping crowd, whom the police had some trouble in controlling. one, an irrepressible baker, managed to make his way inside, and his acquaintances awaited with impatience the result of his investigations. but on his return he assumed a great air of mystery, and refused to satisfy their curiosity. everyone was left to evolve his own theory, and the most voluble of the chatterers was a wool-spinner, leendert van n----, who talked so pointedly that before evening he was summoned to the town house and called upon for an explanation by the burgomaster. in a hesitating, stammering way, as if dreading to incriminate anyone, he unfolded his suspicions, which were to the following effect:-- at the end of the street stood a small alehouse, kept by an ex-soldier, nicholas d----, commonly known as the "blue dragoon." some years previously he had courted and married a servant of madame andrecht. the mistress had never liked the match, and had done all she could to prevent the young people from meeting. nicholas had managed, however, to pay the girl secret visits, stealing at night across leendert's back garden and over the hedge. leendert objected, and begged nicholas to discontinue these clandestine proceedings. later on he discovered that the ardent lover used to row along the fosse and enter the garden that way. all this was ancient history, but it was brought back to his mind by the robbery. his suspicion had been emphasised by the fact of his finding a handkerchief on the fosse bank, opposite the garden, only ten days before. this handkerchief proved to be marked with the initials n. d. suspicion, once raised against the dragoon, was strengthened by other circumstances. during the first search of the house a half-burnt paper had been picked up, presumably a pipelight. on examination, it was found to be an excise receipt, and further investigation proved it to have belonged to nicholas d----. this evidence, such as it was, seemed to point to the same person, and, after a short consultation among the magistrates, orders were given for his arrest, and that of his wife, father, and brother. his house was ransacked, but the closest search failed to reveal the missing plate; only in one drawer a memorandum-book was discovered which was proved beyond doubt to have belonged to madame andrecht. nothing resulted from a first examination to which the prisoner was subjected. he answered every question in an open, straightforward manner; but while admitting the facts of his courtship, as told by the wool-spinner, he could adduce no rebutting evidence in his own defence. the other members of the household corroborated what he had said; and the wife declared strenuously that the note-book had not been in the drawer the previous week, when she had removed all the contents in order to clean the press. their attitude and their earnest protestations of innocence made a favourable impression on the judge; the neighbours testified to their honest character and general good name. still, nicholas could not be actually exonerated; the note-book, the charred receipt, and the handkerchief were so many unanswered points against him. at this stage of the inquiry a new witness came forward and strengthened the suspicion against nicholas d----. a respectable citizen, a wood merchant, voluntarily appeared before the authorities and made a statement, which, he said, had been weighing on his conscience ever since the robbery. it would seem that a carpenter, isaac van c----, owed this man money; and he had been obliged to put pressure upon him. the carpenter had begged him to delay proceedings, telling him of the difficulty he also had in collecting his dues, and showing him some silver plate he had taken in pledge from one of his debtors. after some discussion, the wood merchant agreed to accept the plate as part payment of the carpenter's bill. when the robbery became known, the wood merchant began to think the articles pledged to him might have formed part of the stolen property. he had no reason to suspect his debtor, the carpenter, of being concerned in the theft, but still he thought the clue ought to be followed up. the carpenter was immediately sent for and examined. he said that the debtor of whom he spoke to the wood merchant was nicholas d----, who owed him sixty gulden for work done on the premises, and as he would not or was unable to pay, he (the carpenter) had peremptorily asked for his money. nicholas then offered him some old silver, which he said had belonged to his father, and asked him to dispose of it through an agent in amsterdam or some distant town. nicholas was brought in, and, confronted with the carpenter, did not deny that he owed the debt and could not see how to pay it; but when the plate was shown him he hesitated, turned pale, and declared he knew nothing about it. his nervousness and prevarication excited a general doubt as to his previous statements. this was further increased by the examination of the carpenter's private account-book, which contained an entry of the old silver received from the innkeeper. the carpenter's housekeeper and apprentice also bore witness to the agreement. [illustration: summer uniform.] [illustration: dutch police at the present day.] [illustration: winter uniform.] the general feeling in the town was now very strong against nicholas d----. he was committed to the town prison, and his relatives placed under closest surveillance. all, nevertheless, persisted in their story. in order to ascertain the truth, justice was prepared to go to the extreme length of applying torture to force a confession from the obstinate accused. but happily, just as the "question" was about to be employed, the following letter was received:-- "before i leave the country and betake myself where i shall be beyond the reach either of the court of m---- or the military tribunal of the garrison, i would save the unfortunate persons who are now prisoners at m----. beware of punishing the innkeeper, his wife, his father, or his brother, for a crime of which they are not guilty. how the story of the carpenter is connected with theirs i cannot conjecture. i have heard of it with the greatest surprise. the latter may not himself be entirely innocent. let the judge pay attention to this remark. you may spare yourself the trouble of inquiring after me. if the wind is favourable, by the time you read this letter i shall be on my passage to england. "joseph christian ruhler, formerly corporal in the company of le lery." the receipt of this letter started a new set of conjectures, followed up by inquiries. captain le lery's company was quartered in the town, and corporal ruhler had, as a matter of fact, belonged to it, but he had mysteriously and suddenly disappeared about the time of the robbery. no trace of him had been found. his letter seemed to throw light upon his disappearance, yet when it was shown to his captain and some of his comrades it was unanimously declared to be a forgery. what could have been the writer's object in fabricating it? various theories were advanced, the most popular being that some guilty party, knowing the corporal had gone, thought to implicate him and save the accused from the torture, which might have driven them to full confession, in which the names of all accomplices would have been divulged. it was a clumsy explanation, but the only feasible one forthcoming. every effort was made to discover the author of the letter, but without avail. now a fresh witness volunteered information--a merchant who lived in madame andrecht's neighbourhood, and who had left home about the time that the robbery had been perpetrated. he had just returned, to find that the mysterious affair was the talk of the town--indeed, he had had a full account of it from his fellow-passengers in the coach which brought him home. he now came to the authorities and told them what he knew. a day or two before the robbery a carpenter, isaac van c----, had come to him seeking to borrow his boat, which the merchant kept in the fosse just behind his warehouse. isaac made some pretence for wanting the boat which was not altogether satisfactory to the merchant, who refused to lend it, but yielded when the carpenter declared he wished to use it for the purposes of fishing. the next morning the boat was returned, but was not in exactly its right place; the inside of the boat, moreover, was too clean and dry for it to have been recently used for fishing. the merchant, although he had not yet heard of the robbery, strongly suspected that the carpenter had used the boat for some improper purpose, and he was strengthened in this view by finding two silver spoons under one of the thwarts. this discovery angered him, for he felt he had been deceived, and putting the spoons in his pocket, he went at once to the carpenter for an explanation. the carpenter, with whom were his housekeeper and apprentice, seemed greatly embarrassed when the spoons were produced, and after having been pressed by the merchant, they confessed that they had been up to no good, but would not say where or how they had obtained these spoons. the merchant was now called away from home, and the affair was driven from his mind by more serious transactions. now that he heard of the robbery, he remembered the suspicious conduct of the carpenter and his servants. evidence of this sort, coming from a witness of the highest character, carried so much weight that the judge ordered the carpenter and his companions to be arrested. at the same time, search was made in the house, which resulted in the discovery of the whole of the stolen effects. the culprits, finding it useless to deny their guilt, now made full confession. the three of them were implicated, but it was not settled who had originated the idea. the apprentice, having worked in madame andrecht's house for another master, knew his way about it, and had guided the thieves after they had effected their entrance. the boat had been borrowed, in the way described, to simplify the removal of the plunder. all three of the culprits were with the crowd assembled outside the house when the robbery had been discovered. they heard of the suspicions against the blue dragoon, and the apprentice at once visited the alehouse, and succeeded in secreting the memorandum-book in the drawer of the press, where it was discovered. the foregoing evidence was sufficient to convict the carpenter and his two accomplices, but justice was not yet satisfied of nicholas d----'s innocence. two damaging facts still told against him: the half-charred excise bill and the handkerchief bearing his initials. it was possible that he had been an accomplice, although the carpenter and the others would not accuse him. that other people were also concerned seemed evident from the fact of the forged letter, whose authorship was still undiscovered. further facts of a strange and interesting kind were presently forthcoming about this letter. the schoolmaster of a neighbouring village came with a scrap of paper on which was inscribed the name joseph christian ruhler, the name with which the forged letter had been signed. at the schoolmaster's request the writing of this paper was compared with that of the letter, and they were found to be identical. then the schoolmaster went on to say that both had been written by a pupil of his, a deaf and dumb boy whom he had taught to write, and who made a scanty living as an amanuensis. some time before this, an unknown man had called on the boy, had taken him to an inn in the village, and there given him a letter to copy. the boy, on reading the letter--which, as we have seen, was of a very compromising nature--demurred. but he was pacified by the present of a gulden, and made the copy. still, the secrecy and peculiarity of the whole affair weighed on his mind, and he at length confided the story to his teacher. the alleged letter from the corporal had already got into circulation in the neighbourhood, and was clearly the one the boy had copied. the schoolmaster went to the inn, made inquiries about the strange man, and eventually found him to be a baker, h----, the very man who had been so determined to enter madame andrecht's house when the robbery was first announced. so far he had been utterly unconnected in any way with the crime, though his excessive zeal had attracted attention at the time. however, he was arrested; and from the disclosures he made a warrant was also issued for the apprehension of the wool-spinner, leendert van n----, and his wife, who had been the first to air their suspicions of the innkeeper's complicity. as the investigation proceeded, a curious tale was unfolded. the last persons arrested had no share in the housebreaking, but were concerned in another crime, which probably would never have been discovered but for the robbery. the substance of their confessions was as follows:-- leendert van n----, h---- the baker, and corporal ruhler were old acquaintances, and had dealings together of not too reputable a kind in connection with the victualling and clothing of the garrison. they cordially hated and despised each other, and only kept together from community of interests and pursuits. the associates were playing cards one evening (june th) in leendert's house, situated in the vicinity of madame andrecht's, when they quarrelled with the corporal, and the corporal retorted in offensive terms. from words they came to blows, in which madame van n---- assisted. in a few minutes the corporal lay pinioned on the ground, uttering loud curses and threatening them with public exposure. the baker whispered that they had better do the job thoroughly, and after a few blows the corpse, drenched in blood, lay at their feet. the terrors of conscience and the apprehensions of their crime paralysed their thoughts during the night. the next morning they heard the commotion caused by the news of the discovery of the robbery at madame andrecht's. at once they realised their danger, and the probability of a house-to-house search being instituted, when their horrible crime would be discovered. their great object, then, was to give the authorities something to occupy their time till the body could be disposed of. it was madame van n---- who perfected the idea. why should not suspicion be laid at the door of the blue dragoon? his nocturnal courtship was remembered, and corroborative evidence could be supplied by a handkerchief that he had dropped in the house some little time before. the baker then remembered the old excise receipt that nicholas d---- had once handed him to make a note on. part of it was charred away, and the remaining portion was carelessly dropped in the house when the baker accompanied the police in their search. it may be remembered that the van n----'s were most busy in the hints they gave of the innkeeper's supposed guilt, and their machinations were unconsciously assisted by those of the carpenter and his confederates. so the false evidence brought by these two independent plots formed very circumstantial proof against the innocent victim. however, the baker and the wool-spinner only wanted to excite suspicion against nicholas till they could accomplish their object of hiding the body. that effected, they began to feel remorse that an innocent person should be ruined. the thought of the torture which awaited him struck them with horror, and they evolved the idea of a letter from [illustration: "the corporal lay pinioned on the ground" (p. ).] ruhler, incriminating himself. thus they hoped to obtain delay for nicholas and safety for themselves. however, their plans were too well thought out; their fear of detection led them to employ the strange deaf and dumb boy to write their letter, which afterwards betrayed them. sentence of death was pronounced against the persons who had been concerned in the housebreaking as well as against those who had committed the murder, and it was carried into effect on all of them with the exception of madame van n----, who died in prison. the wool-spinner alone exhibited any sign of penitence. [illustration: discovery of a crime] chapter ii. cases of disputed or mistaken identity. lesurques and the robbery of the lyons mail--the champignelles mystery--judge garrow's story--an imposition practised at york assizes--a husband claimed by two wives--a milwaukee mystery--a scottish case--the kingswood rectory murder--the cannon street case--a narrow escape. lesurques. the most famous, and perhaps the most hackneyed, of all cases of mistaken identity is that of lesurques, charged with the robbery and murder of the courier of the lyons mail, which has been so vividly brought home to us through the dramatic play based upon it and the marvellous impersonation of the dual _rôle_, lesurques-duboscq, by sir henry irving. lesurques was positively identified as a man who had travelled by the mail coach, and he was in due course convicted. yet at the eleventh hour a woman came into court and declared his innocence, swearing that the witnesses had mistaken him for another, duboscq, whom he greatly resembled. she was the _confidante_ of one of the gang who had planned and carried out the robbery. but her testimony, although corroborated by other confederates, was rejected, and lesurques received sentence of death. yet there were grave doubts, and the matter was brought before the revolutionary legislature by the directory, who called for a reprieve. but the five hundred refused, on the extraordinary ground that to annul a sentence which had been legally pronounced "would subvert all ideas of justice and equality before the law." lesurques died protesting his innocence to the last. "truth has not been heard," he wrote a friend; "i shall die the victim of a mistake." he also published a letter in the papers addressed to duboscq: "man in whose place i am to die," he wrote, "be satisfied with the sacrifice of my life. if you are ever brought to justice, think of my three children, covered with shame, and of their mother's despair, and do not prolong the misfortunes of so fatal a resemblance." on the scaffold he said, "i pardon my judges and the witnesses whose mistake has murdered me. i die protesting my innocence." four years elapsed before duboscq was captured. in the interval others of the gang had passed through the hands of the police, but the prime mover was only now taken. even then he twice escaped from prison. when finally he was put on his trial, and the judge ordered a fair wig, such as lesurques had worn, to be placed on his head, the strange likeness was immediately apparent. he denied his guilt, but was convicted and guillotined. thus two men suffered for one offence. french justice was very tardy in atoning for this grave error. the rehabilitation of lesurques' family was not decreed till after repeated applications under several _régimes_--the directory, the consulate, the empire, and the restoration. in the reign of louis xviii. the sequestrated property was restored, but there was no revision of the sentence, although the case was again and again revived. the champignelles mystery. one day in october, , a lady dressed in mourning appeared at the gates of the château of champignelles, and was refused admission. "i am the marquise de douhault, _née_ de champignelles, the daughter of your old master. surely you know me?" she said, lifting her veil. "the marquise de douhault has been dead these three years," replied the _concierge_; "you cannot enter here. i have strict orders from the sieur de champignelles." this same lady was seen next day at the village church, praying at the tomb of the late m. de champignelles, and many remarked her extraordinary resemblance to the deceased marquise. but the marquise was dead; her funeral service had been performed in this very church. some of the bystanders asked the lady's maid-servant who she was, and were told that they ought to know. others went up to the lady herself, who said, "i am truly the marquise de douhault, but my brother will not acknowledge me or admit me to the château." [illustration: lesurque on the scaffold (p. ).] then followed formal recognition. people were summoned by sound of drum to speak to her identity, and did so "to the number of ninety-six, many of them officials, soldiers, and members of the municipality." the lady gave many satisfactory proofs, too, speaking of things that "only a daughter of the house could know." thus encouraged, she proceeded to serve the legal notice on her brother and claim her rights--her share of the property of champignelles as co-heir, and a sum in cash for back rents during her absence when supposed to be dead. where had she been all this time? who had died, if not she? her story, although clear, precise, and supported by evidence, was most extraordinary. to understand it we must go back and trace her history and that of the champignelles family as given in the memoir prepared by the claimant for the courts. [illustration: grand front of la salpÊtriÈre asylum, paris.] adelaide marie had been married at twenty-three to the marquis de douhault, who coveted her dowry, and did not prove a good husband. he was subject to epileptic fits, eventually went out of his mind, and, after wounding his wife with a sword, was shut up in charenton. the wife led an exemplary life till his death, which was soon followed by that of her father. her brother now became the head of the family, and is said to have been a frank blackguard, the real cause of his father's death. he proceeded to swindle his mother, who was entitled by settlement to a life interest in the champignelles estates, subject to pensions to her children, and he persuaded her to reverse that arrangement--she to surrender her property, he to pay her an annual allowance. he had gained his sister's concurrence by obtaining her signature to a blank document, which he filled up as he wished. the son, of course, did not pay the allowances, and very often the mother was in sad straits, reduced at times to pawn her jewels for food. she appealed now to her daughter, who naturally sided with her, and wrote in indignant terms to her brother. there was an angry quarrel, with the threat of a lawsuit if he did not mend his ways. for the purpose of conferring with her mother, whom she meant to join in the suit, the marquise de douhault proposed to start for paris. [illustration: the duchess of polignac. (_from the contemporary portrait by mme. le brun._)] having a strange presentiment that this journey would be unlucky, she postponed it as long as possible, but went at length on the day after christmas day, . arrived at orleans, she accepted the hospitality of a m. de la roncière and rested there some days. on the th of january, , she was to continue her journey, but in the morning she took a carriage drive with her friends. all she remembered afterwards was that madame de la roncière offered her a pinch of snuff, which she took, and that she was seized with violent pains in the head, followed by great drowsiness and stupor; the rest was a blank. when she came to herself, she was a prisoner in the salpêtrière. her brain was now clear, her mind active. she protested strongly, and, saying who she was, demanded to be set at large. they laughed at her, telling her her name was buirette, and that she was talking nonsense. her detention lasted for seventeen months, and she was denied all communication with outside. at last she managed to inform a friend, the duchess of polignac, of her imprisonment, and on the th of july, , she was released, to find herself alone in paris in the midst of the horrors of the revolution. she was friendless. her brother, to whom she at once applied, repudiated her as an impostor; an uncle was equally cruel; she asked for her mother, and was told she had none. then she ran to versailles, where many friends resided, found refuge with the duchess of polignac, and was speedily recognised by numbers of people, princes, dukes, and the rest, all members of that french aristocracy which was so soon to be dispersed in exile or to suffer by the guillotine. they urged her not to create a scandal by suing her brother, but to trust to the king for redress. soon the king himself was a prisoner, and presently died on the scaffold. her case was taken up, however, by certain lawyers, who advanced her funds at usurious rates, and planned an attack on her brother, under which, however, they contemplated certain frauds of their own. when she hesitated to entrust them with full powers one of these lawyers denounced her to the committee of public safety, and she narrowly escaped execution. bailly, the mayor of paris, was a friend of hers, but could not save her from imprisonment in la force, where she remained a month, then escaping into the country. here she learnt that her mother was not dead, and returned to paris to see her at her last gasp. after that she wandered to and fro in hiding and in poverty till, in , she reappeared at champignelles. such was the case the claimant presented to the courts. a story is good till the other side is heard, and her brother, m. de champignelles, clever, unscrupulous, and a friend of the republican government, had a very strong defence. his first answer was to accuse his sister, or the person claiming to be his sister, of having tried to seize his château by force of arms, declaring that she had come backed by three hundred men to claim her so-called rights, and that he had appealed to the municipality for protection. this plea failed, and his second was to accuse the claimant of being someone else. he asserted that she was a certain anne buirette, who had been an inmate of the salpêtrière from the rd of january, . this date was a crucial point in the case. the claimant had adopted it as the date of her entry into the salpêtrière, yet it was clearly shown that at that time the marquise de douhault was alive, and that she resided on her property of chazelet through and . on other points the claimant showed remarkable knowledge, remembered names, faces of people, circumstances in the past; and all this tended to prove that she was the marquise. but [illustration: releasing prisoners at la salpÊtriÈre, paris. during the french revolution. _photo by permission of messrs. goupil et cie_. (_from the painting by tony robert-fleury._)] this error in dates was serious, and it was strengthened by a mistake in the christian names of the deceased marquis de douhault. [illustration: chapel of la salpÊtriÈre.] the case came on for trial before the civil tribunal of st. fargeau, where the commissary of the republic stated it fully, and with a strong bias against the claimant. as he put it: "one side asked for the restitution of a name, a fortune, of which she had been despoiled with a cruelty that greatly added to the alleged crime; the other charged the claimant with being an impostor seeking a position to which she had no right whatever." between these two alternatives the court must decide, and either way a crime must be laid bare. was it all a fraud? the defence set up was certainly strong. it rested first on the death of the marquise. this was supported by the certificates of the doctors who attended her in her last illness, documents attested by the municipality of orleans, which bore witness to both illness and death. another document testified that extreme unction had been administered, and that the burial had been carried out in the presence of many relatives. the family went into mourning, and the memory of the marquise was revered among the honoured dead. there was next the suspicious commencement of the claim: a letter addressed by the claimant to the curé of champignelles, two years and a half after the death above recorded, asking for a baptismal certificate and another of marriage. this letter was full of faults of spelling and grammar, and was signed anne louis adelaide, formerly marquise de grainville, names that were not exact. it was asserted that the real marquise was a lady of great intelligence, cultured, highly educated as became her situation, knowing several languages, and a good musician, and especially that she was well able to write prettily and correctly. then for the identity of the claimant with anne buirette there was seemingly conclusive evidence, the strongest part of it being her own statement of the date on which she was received at the salpêtrière. all the story of her release through the appeal to the duchess of polignac was declared to be untrue. the past life of this anne buirette was raked up, and it was demonstrated that she was a swindler who had been sent to gaol for an ingenious fraud which may be narrated here. when in , on the occasion of the birth of a royal prince, the queen wished charitably to redeem a number of the pledges in the mont de piété, the woman buirette, being unauthorised, drove round in a carriage, calling herself a royal attendant, to collect pawn tickets from poor people. she recovered the sums necessary to redeem the pledges and applied the money to her own use. for this she was sent to the salpêtrière, from which she was released in october, , and not, as she stated, on the day of the barricades. from this moment, according to the defence, the fraud began, whether at her own instance or not could not be shown. her movements were traced from place to place as she went about seeking recognition and assistance, now accepted, more often rejected, by those to whom she appealed. finally the commissary closed the case by pointing to the physical dissimilarity between the two women, the marquise and the claimant. the first was known as a lady of quality, distinguished in her manners, clever, well-bred; the second was obviously stupid and low-born, stained with vices, given to drink. the marquise was of frail, delicate constitution, the claimant seemed strong and robust; the first had blue eyes, the second black; the first walked lame, the second showed no signs of lameness. yet the claimant persisted, and her counsel upset much that had been urged. it was shown that the death certificate was not produced; that the ill-written letters so condemnatory were copies, not originals; that the official documents purporting to set forth the past life of anne buirette were irregular in form and probably not authentic. the claimant showed that she was lame, that her eyes were blue; more, that she carried the scar of the sword wound made by her mad husband years before. it was all to no purpose. the tribunal refused to enter into the question of the alleged falsity of the documentary evidence, and taking its stand upon the date of entry into the salpêtrière, declared that the claimant could not be the marquise de douhault. then followed a long course of tedious litigation. the claim was revived, carried from court to court, heard and re-heard; one decree condemned the claimant, and recommended that the case should be dropped; after five years the supreme court of appeal sent it for a new trial to the criminal court of bourges. the points referred were: first, to verify the death of the marquise de douhault; second, to establish whether or not the claimant was anne buirette, and if not, third, to say whether she was the marquise. there were now great discrepancies as to the date and the circumstances of death. some said it occurred on the th of january, , some on the th, some again on the th. other facts also were disputed. as to the second query, witnesses swore that the claimant was anne buirette; saw no resemblance between anne buirette and her, and among these was anne buirette's own husband. as to the third point, out of witnesses declared positively that this was the marquise herself; but said either that she was not or that they had never seen the claimant, whilst among the number were several who had been satisfied as to her identity in the first instance. these inquiries were followed by others as to handwriting, and many new and surprising facts came out. it was asserted by experts that the letters written before her alleged death by the marquise and after it by the claimant were in one and the same hand; that the documents the claimant was said to have written or signed were forgeries, and must have been concocted with fraudulent intention. now, too, the claimant explained away the famous date of entry into prison, and laid it to her poor memory, enfeebled by so many misfortunes. there seemed enough in all this to reverse the decision of st. fargeau, but the court of bourges upheld it. the procureur-général pronounced his opinion, formed at the imperious demands of his conscience, that the claimant was not the marquise de douhault; more, that "between her and that respectable lady there was as much difference as between crime and virtue." the law was pitilessly hostile to the very end. on the revival of the case the claimant was successful in proving that she was certainly not anne buirette, but although she published many memoirs prepared by some of the most eminent lawyers of the day, and was continually before the courts during the consulate and first empire, she was always unable to establish her identity. the law denied that she was the marquise de douhault, but yet would not say who she was. to the last she was nameless, and had no official existence. when she died the authorities would not permit any name to be inscribed on her tomb. judge garrows story. our own criminal records abound with cases of disputed or mistaken identity. among the most remarkable of them is the one which judge garrow was fond of recounting on the oxford circuit. he described how a man was being tried before him for highway robbery, and the prosecutor identified him positively. the guilt of the accused seemed clear, and the jury was about to retire to consider their verdict, when a man rode full-speed into the courthouse yard, and forced his way into the court, with loud cries to stop the case; he had ridden fifty miles to save the life of a fellow-creature, the prisoner now at the bar. [illustration: "a man ... forced his way into the court" (p. ).] this strange interruption would have been resented by the judge, but the new arrival called upon all present, especially the prosecutor, to look at him. it was at once apparent that he was the living image of the prisoner; he was dressed in precisely similar attire, a green coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and top boots. the likeness in height, demeanour, and especially in countenance, was so remarkable that the prosecutor was dumbfoundered; he could no longer speak positively as to the identity of the man who had robbed him. all along, the prisoner had been protesting his innocence, and now, of course, the gravest doubts arose as to his guilt. the prosecutor could not call upon the second man to criminate himself, and yet the jury had no alternative but to acquit the first prisoner. in this they were encouraged by the judge, who declared that, although a robbery had certainly been committed by one of two persons present, the prosecutor could not distinguish between them, and there was no alternative but acquittal. [illustration: sir william garrow. (_from the engraving by j. parden._)] so the first man got off; but now a fresh jury was empanelled, and the second was put upon his trial; his defence was simple enough. only the day previous the prosecutor had sworn to one man as his robber. could he now be permitted, even if he wished, to swear away the life of another man for the same offence? all he could say was that it was his belief that it was the last comer that robbed him; but surely if the jury had acquitted one person to whom he had sworn positively, could they now convict a second whom he only believed to be guilty? the jury could not but accept the force of this reasoning, and as the second man would make no distinct confession of guilt, he was suffered to go free. but the truth came out afterwards. the two men were brothers; the first had really committed the crime, and the whole scene had been got up between them for the purpose of imposing on the court. a case at york. a very similar case occurred at york. a gentleman arrived there during the assize, and having alighted at a good hotel, where he dined and slept, asked the landlord next morning if he could find anything of interest in the town. hearing that the assizes were in progress, he entered the court, just as a man was being tried for highway robbery. the case seemed strong against the prisoner, who was much cast down, for he had been vehemently protesting his innocence. suddenly, on the appearance of the stranger, he rose in the dock and cried, "here, thank god, is someone who can prove my innocence." the stranger looked bewildered, but the prisoner went on to declare that he had met this very gentleman, at a distant place, dover, on the day of the alleged robbery, and he now reminded him that he had conveyed his luggage on a wheelbarrow from the ship inn to the packet for calais. the stranger was now interrogated, but could not admit that he had been in dover on that day, nor had he any distinct recollection of the prisoner. the judge then inquired whether he was in the habit of keeping a diary, or of recording the dates of his movements. the gentleman replied that he was a merchant and made notes regularly in his pocket-book of his proceedings. this pocket-book was at that moment locked up in his trunk at the inn, but he would gladly surrender his keys and allow the book to be fetched, to be produced in court. so a messenger was despatched for the book, and in the meantime the prisoner at the bar questioned the stranger, recalling facts and circumstances to his mind, with the result that their meeting in dover was pretty clearly proved. the stranger had given his name as a member of a very respectable firm of london bankers, and altogether his credibility appeared beyond question. then came the book, which fixed the date of his visit to dover. all this remarkable testimony, arrived at so strangely, was accepted by the jury, and the prisoner was forthwith discharged. within a fortnight, the gentleman and the ex-prisoner were committed together to york castle, charged with a most daring act of house-breaking in the neighbourhood! hoag or parker? a very remarkable case of the difficulty of identification is to be found in american records, under date . a man was indicted [illustration: york castle (used as prison), with assize court on left _photo: frith & co., reigate._] for bigamy, the allegation being that he was a certain james hoag. the man himself said that he was thomas parker. at the trial, mrs. hoag, the wife, and many relations, with other respectable witnesses, swore positively that he was james hoag; on the other hand, thomas parker's wife, and an equal number of credible witnesses, swore to the other contention. whereupon the court recalled the first set of witnesses, who maintained their opinion, being satisfied that he was james hoag, his stature, shape, gestures, complexion, looks, voice, and speech leaving no doubt on the subject; they even described a particular scar on his forehead, underneath his hair, and when this was turned back there, sure enough, was the scar. yet the parker witnesses declared that thomas parker had lived among them, worked with them, and was with them on the very day he was supposed to have contracted his alleged marriage with mrs. hoag. now mrs. hoag played her last card, and said that her husband had a peculiar mark on the sole of his foot; mrs. parker admitted that her husband had no such mark. so the court ordered the prisoner to take off his shoes and stockings and show the soles of his feet; there was no mark on either of them. mrs. parker now claimed him with great insistency, but mrs. hoag would not give up her husband, and there was a very violent discussion in court. at last a justice of the peace from parker's village entered the court and gave evidence to the effect that he had known him from a child as thomas parker, and had often given him employment. so mrs. parker carried off her husband in triumph. a milwaukee mystery. an extraordinary case of mistaken identity occurred some fifty years ago in milwaukee, in the states, for the details of which i am indebted to a gentleman of that city, mr. john w. hinton. no fewer than ten reputable, straightforward witnesses swore positively to a dead body as that of a man with whom they were intimately acquainted and in more or less daily intercourse. they based their identification upon certain physical facts of the most unmistakable kind. they were not only satisfied as to the general features--the height, shape, size, the colour of the hair and eyes--but there were other peculiar and distinctive marks, such as scars, loss of teeth, a missing eye, that carried absolute conviction to the witnesses. yet they were all absolutely and entirely wrong; completely deceived by the remarkable resemblance, the strange, almost incredible similarity of personal traits in two different people. the case arose out of a mysterious crime. about a.m. on the morning of the th of april, , a party of rag-gatherers were seeking their harvest from the river just below one of the milwaukee bridges. a mass of floating _débris_--chips, scraps of timber, and general rubbish--was collected in an eddy at the water's edge, and amidst it a boy espied what he at first thought to be a bag, and afterwards a bundle of rags. he dragged it on shore with his boat-hook and began to examine it. all at once he dropped the parcel with a loud yell and took to his heels. some of his more courageous fellows then tore it open and exposed its ghastly contents. inside was the trunk of a human body, with the head all but severed, and held only by a few ligaments. the brains had been dashed out by a blow on the back of the skull, which made a deep indentation several inches long. a great gash had been made in the throat; the left eye protruded; both legs had been chopped off and were gone. the bottom of the bag, as the cover proved to be, had been frayed out or forced open by the action of the water, and the missing portions of the trunk had fallen through or been washed out of the aperture. the milwaukee police, headed by the deputy-sheriff, who had been at one time chief of police, were soon upon the scene. the cause of death was plain. the weapon used was indicated by the wounds; it was evidently an axe which had cut into the skull, and the protruding eye had been sliced out by the same instrument. close scrutiny of the bag revealed one or two clues of importance. the bag was a wheat sack, with the name of "vogt" stamped upon it; it had been securely tied by peculiar knots, which an expert eye recognised as french, knots tied by no one but frenchmen, and french sailors to boot. weights had evidently been inserted in the "slack" of the bag, which had been thus knotted, and portions of the rope remained attached to the bag. the weights were gone, and had no doubt been detached at the bottom of the river, with the result that the corpse had risen to the surface. the first step towards the detection of the murderer was to identify the body, and trace back the victim's habits, acquaintances, and surroundings. here followed the marvellous mistake made by persons who on the face of it could not be believed to be in error. a mass of testimony was immediately forthcoming, all stating in the most explicit, positive terms that the deceased was a certain john dwire, well known in milwaukee. all who spoke did so definitely, declaring their reasons, which appeared conclusive. they knew dwire well, they recognised his face and its features, his body, the colour of his hair and eyes. this last was a weak point, however. dwire was said to have only one eye; the corpse had two. although one had been nearly cut away by the axe stroke, it was still hanging to the head. the witnesses were not to be silenced by this discrepancy; they pointed triumphantly to other physical proofs: a scar or burn mark on the left cheek, the size of a sixpence, "a five-pointed starry scar" which all deposed that dwire bore; again, he had lost two front teeth--one in the upper, the other in the lower jaw, just as was seen in the corpse; the whiskers, of the leg of mutton pattern, were dwire's; the bald head also, for hair was growing round the base of the skull only, curly, and of a sandy hue, as in the case of dwire. there was a cut, made in shaving the chin, dwire's; scars on one finger of the left hand and on the thumb of the right hand, again dwire's; and a nose slightly inclined to one side, also dwire's. such was the evidence of the witnesses, corroborating each other in every particular, the testimony of people who had known him for years, the woman of the house where he lodged, the keeper of the boarding-house where he fed, whom he had not paid in full, the associates who worked with him and frequented the same haunts. yet while the inquest before which these statements were made was proceeding, unequivocal evidence was adduced which entirely falsified the story as told. the john dwire supposed to have been murdered was alive and well at no great distance from milwaukee. a whisper to this effect had been put about, and some of the officials, another deputy-sheriff, and the city marshal travelled to a point higher up the river, some sixteen miles distant, where dwire had been seen at work since the discovery of his supposed corpse in the stream. he was living near kemper's pier, and had been there uninterruptedly for months--since the previous christmas, indeed. had the court hesitated to accept this startling news, all possible doubt must have disappeared by the next incident. john dwire himself walked into the court, saying with some humour, "lest anyone here should still think i'm dead i have come in person to assure him that i am not the corpse found in the river last saturday morning." his reappearance, of course, dumbfoundered all present, more particularly those who had sworn so positively to his mortal remains. it had another and more beneficial result: it saved an innocent man from arrest and probable conviction. the first act of the police on the mistaken identification of the body had been to commence a search in certain low haunts where dwire had at times been seen, and they had come upon an axe recently used lying on a wood-pile in the possession of a french sailor, commonly called "matelot jack," who was the bar tender of a drinking-shop. the frenchman had disappeared, but suspicion fell upon another foreigner, a german, who was an associate of dwire's, and had accompanied him when the latter left milwaukee. this german had come into the lodging-house asking for dwire's clothes; he came twice, the second time armed with a letter from dwire authorising him to receive the clothes, but they were impounded for moneys owing. steps were being taken to arrest this german, and had not dwire shown up it might have gone hard with the suspected person. it had been in dwire's mind at one time to leave the neighbourhood, and had he done so the case against the german would have been pretty complete. [illustration: the river at milwaukee.] that there had been a murder still remained self-evident, but it was never positively known by whom it was committed, nor who was the actual victim. some years later a man was arrested on suspicion as a thief; he was carrying a bag heavily laden, and it was found to contain a number of copper articles, all of them stolen. the bag was inscribed with the same name, "vogt," as that picked up in the river. a farmer named vogt now came forward and stated that about the time of the picking up of the unknown corpse he had sent his carter in with a load of wheat packed in bags such as the two mentioned. the man was supposed to have delivered his load, driven his team outside the city, the waggon filled with the empty sacks, and then made off with the price of the wheat. a more probable theory was that he had been murdered and rifled, his body being then thrust into one of his own bags, which was thrown into the river. the case was never carried through to the end, and neither the thief who was caught with the second bag nor the french sailor, matelot jack, was tried, presumably from want of sufficiently clear evidence to warrant prosecution. a scottish case. our next case of mistaken identity occurred in scotland many years ago, when a farmer's son, a respectable youth, was charged with night-poaching on the evidence of a keeper, who swore to him positively. it was a moonlit night, but cloudy. other witnesses were less certain than the keeper, but they could speak to the poacher's dress and appearance, and they saw him disappearing towards the farmer's house. an attempt to set up an _alibi_ failed, and the prisoner, having been found guilty by the jury, was sentenced to three months' imprisonment. on his release, feeling that he was disgraced, he left the country to take up a situation at the cape of good hope. soon afterwards the keepers whose evidence had convicted the wrong man met the real culprit in the streets of the county town. he was in custody for theft, and was being escorted to the courts. his name was hammond. the keepers followed, and after a longer look were more than ever satisfied of the mistake they had made, and they very rightly gave information in the proper quarter. then a witness came forward who, on the night of the trespass, had seen and spoken with this man hammond, when he had said he was going into the woods for a shot. hammond himself, knowing he could not be tried for an offence for which another had suffered, now voluntarily confessed the poaching. great sympathy was shown towards the innocent victim, and the gentleman whose game had been killed offered to befriend him. but the young man had already made for himself a position at the cape of good hope, and would not leave the colony, where indeed he eventually amassed a fortune. on his return to scotland, many years later, he was presented with a licence to shoot for the rest of his days over the estates he was supposed to have poached. karl franz. we now come to the famous kingswood rectory case. on the th of june, , kingswood rectory, in surrey, was broken into, in the absence of the family, and the caretaker murdered. the unfortunate woman was found in her nightdress. she was tied with cords, and had been choked by a sock used as a gag and stuffed halfway down her throat. there had been no robbery; the house had been entered by a window in the basement, but nothing was missing from it, although the whole place had been ransacked. trace enough was discovered to establish the identity of one at least of the murderers. a packet of papers was found lying on the floor of the room, and it had evidently dropped from the pocket of one of the men. this packet contained six documents: a passport made out in the name of karl franz, of schandau, in saxony; a certificate of birth, and another of baptism, both in the name of franz; a begging letter with no address, but signed krohn; and a letter from madame titiens, the great singer, in reply to an appeal for help. besides these, there was a sheet of paper on which were inscribed the addresses of many prominent personages; part of the stock-in-trade of a begging-letter writer. all these papers plainly implied that one of the criminal intruders into kingswood rectory was a german. moreover, within the last few days several german tramps had been seen in the neighbourhood of kingswood, one of whom exactly answered to the description on the passport. a few weeks later, a young german, in custody in london for a trifling offence, was recognised as karl franz. he himself positively denied that he was the man, but at last acknowledged that the documents found in kingswood rectory were his property. he was, in due course, committed for trial at the croydon assizes. the prosecution seemed to hold very convincing evidence against him. a saxon police officer was brought over, who identified him as karl franz, and swore that the various certificates produced had been delivered to him on the th of april of the same year. another witness swore to franz as one of the men seen in the neighbourhood of the rectory on the th of june; while a third deposed to having met two strangers in a wayside public-house, talking a foreign language, and identified franz as one of them. this recognition was made in newgate, where he picked out franz from a crowd of prisoners. yet more: the servant of a brushmaker in reigate deposed that two men, speaking some unknown tongue, had come into the shop on the day of the crime, and had bought a hank of cord. one of these men she firmly believed to be the accused. this was the same cord as that with which the murdered woman was bound. what could the accused say to rebut such seemingly overwhelming evidence? he had, nevertheless, a case, and a strong case. he explained first that he had changed his name because he had been told of the kingswood murder, and of the discovery of his papers. they were undoubtedly his papers, but they had been stolen from him. his story was that he had landed at hull, and was on the tramp to london, when he met two other germans by the way, seamen, adolf krohn and muller by name, and they all joined company. muller had no papers, and was very anxious that karl franz should give him his. on the borders of northamptonshire the three tramps spent the night behind a haystack. next morning franz awoke to find himself alone; his companions had decamped, and his papers were gone. he had been robbed also of a small bag containing a full suit of clothes. this story was discredited. it is a very old dodge for accused persons to say that suspicious articles found on the scene of a crime had been stolen from them. yet franz's statement was suddenly and unexpectedly corroborated from an independent source. the day after he had told his story, two vagrants, who were wandering on the confines of northamptonshire, came across some papers hidden in a heap of straw. they took them to the nearest police-station, when it was found that they bore upon the kingswood case. one was a rough diary kept by the prisoner franz from the moment of his landing at hull to the day on which he lost his other papers. the inference was that it had been stolen from him too, but that the thieves, on examination, found the diary useless, and got rid of it. another of the papers was a certificate of confirmation in the name of franz. now, too, it was proved beyond doubt that the letter written by madame titiens was not intended for the accused. the recipient of that letter might no doubt have been an accomplice of the accused, but then it must have been believed that these men kept their papers together in one lot, which was hardly likely. [illustration: inspector. captain. foot gendarme. saxon police.] another curious point on which the prosecution relied also broke down. a piece of cord had been found in franz's lodgings, exactly corresponding with that bought at reigate, and used in tying the victim. but now it was shown that this cord could only have been supplied to the reigate shop by one rope-maker, there being but one manufacturer of that kind of cord; and this fact rested on the most positive evidence of experts. franz had declared that he had picked up this bit of cord in a street in whitechapel, near his lodgings, and opposite to a tobacconist's shop. on further inquiry it was not only found that the rope factory which alone supplied this cord was situated within a few yards of franz's lodgings, but his solicitor, in verifying this, picked up a scrap of the very same cord in front of a shop in that same street! the cannon street case. a very narrow escape from wrongful conviction occurred in the case generally known as the cannon street murder, which happened in april, . here the suspected murderer was tried for his life, and the circumstantial evidence against him was so exceedingly strong that but for a very able defence conducted before mr. baron bramwell, one of the strongest judges england has had, the prisoner would surely have been convicted. a certain sarah milson was housekeeper at messrs. bevington's, the well-known furriers and leather dressers of cannon street. she was a widow, and had been employed by the firm for several years. it was her duty to occupy the premises at night when the working hands had left the house. she was not alone, for a female cook also lived on the premises. it was the rule of the house that the porter, a man named kit, should lock the doors when the day's work was over, and hand over the keys, including those of the safe, to mrs. milson. on the night of the th of april, , kit performed this duty, and then called upstairs through the speaking-tube to mrs. milson, who came down to receive the keys. his last act was to extinguish the light in the lobby, after which he was shown out of the front door by mrs. milson. a little later the same evening the cook, who was upstairs in her bedroom, heard a ring at the door-bell, and was on the point of answering it when mrs. milson, who was sitting in the dining-room, called out that the bell was for her, and she accordingly went down. this was about ten minutes past nine. the unfortunate housekeeper was never again seen alive. later that night the cook, on going downstairs with a lighted candle in her hand, found mrs. milson dead at the foot of the stairs. the police were at once called in, and found that death was caused by the battering in of the woman's head, and a large quantity of blood was spattered over the stairs. a crowbar was found close to the body, and was probably the instrument by which the murder had been effected, although it was unstained with blood. [illustration: "found mrs. milson dead at the foot of the stairs" (p. ).] an inquiry was at once set on foot by the police, who ascertained certain facts. first, the cook declared that a man came constantly to call upon the housekeeper, that she herself had never seen the man, but that on one occasion, just before his expected arrival, mrs. milson had borrowed two sovereigns from her, which had afterwards been repaid. the identity of this man was discovered next day when a letter was found in one of the boxes of the deceased, signed "george terry." this letter, a claim made upon mrs. milson for the repayment of certain moneys she owed, expressed great indignation, and threatened that unless mrs. milson could offer satisfactory terms the writer would complain to mr. bevington of his housekeeper's indebtedness. attached to this letter was a receipt signed "william denton, on behalf of george terry, , old change." it was not difficult to follow up george terry from the address given, and he was presently found as an inmate of st. olave's workhouse. he readily told the story of his relations with mrs. milson. she had been acquainted with his wife, and as she was in difficulties, he had helped her to get a loan from a certain mrs. webber, the total amount being £ . mrs. webber appears to have been very urgent about repayment, and so terry sent mrs. milson the letter which was found, but which he did not write himself, having secured the services of a fellow-lodger whom he knew by the name of bill. "bill" wrote the letter, went with it to cannon street, signed the receipt for such money as he received, and brought back the money. this had occurred some three months before. the man calling himself denton was then traced, and proved to be a certain william smith, who lived at eton, at , eton square. the city detectives who had charge of the case went at once to eton with the letter and the receipt, which were shown to william smith and acknowledged to be in his handwriting. there was enough in this to warrant the man smith's arrest on suspicion, but the police soon had stronger evidence. a woman, mrs. robins, who acted as housekeeper at no. , cannon street, volunteered some very damaging information. she stated that on the night of the murder she returned to no. at ten minutes to ten. as she was on the point of entering her house she heard the door of no. violently slammed. looking round, she saw a man go down the steps and pass her on the right. he was dressed in dark clothes and wore a tall hat. the light of the hall lamp shone on the man's face, so that she was able to know it; she noticed that he walked in a very hurried manner, leaning forward as he went along. in order to see whether mrs. robins could identify this man, william smith was taken from bow street to the mansion house through cannon street. he was between two police officers, but there was nothing to show that he was in custody. mrs. robins had been warned by the police to stand at her door at the time the party passed, and she was asked to say whether she could recognise her man. she made out smith without hesitation; but to strengthen her evidence, she was sent for to the mansion house, where the prisoner was placed amongst a number of people in a room through which mrs. robins was invited to pass. as she crossed the room for the second time she pointed to smith and said, "this is the man i saw in cannon street." another very damaging witness was a boat-builder, henry giles, of eton, who deposed that he met the prisoner smith in an alehouse on the night of the th of april. giles asked smith to play a game of dominoes, but smith replied that he had to travel forty miles that night. "how can you do that?" asked giles. "easy enough," was the reply; "if i go to london and back, that would make forty miles." giles then said, "but you are not going to london, are you?" and smith replied, "yes, i am," at which giles laughed and called him a liar. another witness declared that he had seen smith hurrying towards slough station about p.m. the prisoner was said to be wearing dark clothes, a black coat, and a tall black hat. the evidence of railway officials proved that a train had left slough at . and reached paddington at . . there was also a train down at . , which arrived at . . it was said in evidence that the interval of two hours was quite sufficient to allow smith to go into the city by the metropolitan railway, commit the crime in cannon street, and return _viâ_ bishop's road to paddington. further evidence against the man smith consisted of spots upon his coat which were believed to be blood-stains, but which he accounted for by alleging that he had cut himself in shaving. here was a man of indifferent character, an idle ne'er-do-well, known to have had dealings with the murdered woman, against whom very clear circumstantial evidence had been adduced. he was shown to have said he was going to london; he was seen close to the station where a train was on the point of starting for london; he was recognised by a respectable woman at just the time he could have reached the house in cannon street had he travelled up to paddington as alleged, and added to all this there were the blood-stains on his coat. yet the whole case broke down on the production of the most complete and unquestionable _alibi_. it was proved beyond all question that smith did not go to london from slough by the . train. the prisoner admitted that he had walked in the direction of slough station with the idea of meeting a friend. but he was certainly in company with a man named harris in eton square a little before . , and the two remained together until ten minutes past ten. [illustration: the mansion house justice room, where the case was first heard.] a number of other witnesses corroborated this statement--a brazier, a photographer, a gardener, a bootmaker, and so on. ten or twelve men in all had had smith under their eyes through the whole of the time that he was supposed to be killing the woman in cannon street. one had been drinking with him, three others had played cards with him, an alehouse-keeper's wife had served him with beer after p.m. it was altogether absurd to suppose that these witnesses had combined to perjure themselves on behalf of smith. but even if such a combination had been possible, although no motive for it had been produced, there was other evidence that spoke unconsciously for the prisoner. if smith had really committed the crime he would never have denied that he went to london, as he did deny it; he would have made some excuse for his going, feeling sure that the fact would be discovered. another curious fact was that, as he was undoubtedly at eton at . , he must have gone at great speed to catch the . train at slough, a full mile distant. there was not the least necessity for it either, as the windsor station was only a few yards from where he had been seen. a defence of this kind was perfectly unanswerable; the judge summed up entirely in favour of the prisoner, and directed the jury to find him not merely "not guilty," but actually innocent of the crime. i cannot leave this interesting case, in which there was nearly a miscarriage of justice from mistaken circumstantial evidence, without relating a curious fact within my own knowledge that grew out of this murder. in december, , when i was acting as controller of the convict prison at gibraltar, a convict came before the visitors who appeared under strong emotion, and who told me in a broken voice, with tears in his eyes, that he wished to give himself up as one of the cannon street murderers. i cannot remember the man's name, but i will call him x. after hearing what he had to say, the visitors asked him what had induced him to make this confession. "because," said he, "i didn't do the job alone. my accomplice, y" (as i will call him), "has just come out in the last draft from england. i have not yet spoken to him, but i am greatly afraid that he might forestall me in my confession." the man spoke with such evident contrition and good faith that the visitors felt bound to accept his story; but they sent for the other, meaning to confront them. y started violently when he came into our presence and saw x standing there, but he positively denied his complicity in the murder. for some time, too, he refused to acknowledge that he knew x, and then followed a strange altercation between the two, x earnestly imploring y to make a clean breast of it, as he himself had done; y as stoutly repudiating all connection with the matter. just when we had made up our minds to dismiss both the men and report the case home for instructions, y's better nature seemed to triumph, and he admitted thus tardily that he had been concerned in the murder of mrs. milson. our next step was to order both men into separate and solitary confinement until instructions could be received from home. we fully expected to hear in due course that both men were to be sent home to stand their trial for the cannon street murder. i am not ashamed to confess that we had been completely humbugged. a full and searching inquiry had been instituted by the home office authorities, more particularly into the antecedents and movements of the two convicts, and it was established beyond all doubt that neither of them could have possibly committed the crime, seeing that both were in custody for another offence on the day of the murder. i am free to admit that in the many years i have since spent in the charge and control of criminals, i have been very loath, after this experience, to accept confessions, although i have had many made to me. mine is not a singular experience, as most police and prison officials will say. indeed, the general public themselves must have noticed that there are few mysterious crimes committed which are not confessed to by persons who could not possibly have been guilty. in the case of x and y, the whole trick had been devised for the simple purpose of escaping daily labour and gaining a few weeks' complete idleness in the cells. false confessions, it may be added, are a frequent source of trouble to the police. whenever some great criminal mystery has shocked the public mind, silly people, whether from constant brooding over the fact or from sheer imbecility, are driven to surrender themselves as the criminals. it will be remembered that at the time of the whitechapel murders numbers of people stood self-confessed as the perpetrators of these crimes, eager to take upon themselves the criminal identity of the mysterious "jack the ripper." i have recorded elsewhere[ ] a curious case in which a lady of good position, married, having many children and a perfectly happy home, became possessed with the idea that she had committed murder--that of a soldier in garrison in the town where she lived. at length she wrote to scotland yard, and made full confession of her crime, adding that she meant to arrive in london next day, where she was prepared to submit herself to arrest, trial, and whatever penalty might be imposed. all she asked was that she might not be separated from her children, and that if they could not accompany her to gaol they might at least be permitted to visit her frequently. next day she arrived as she had threatened, and drove up to scotland yard in a cab, herself and children inside, her portmanteaux and a huge bath on the box. there she sat, and positively refused to move anywhere except to gaol. the police authorities, after vainly arguing with her, were on the point of taking charge of her as a wandering lunatic, and sending her home, but the assistant commissioner hit upon a happy device for getting rid of her. this was to tell her that if she went to gaol she must be separated absolutely from her children. if, however, she would sign a paper promising to appear whenever called upon, she might remain with her children in her own home. the ruse was successful; she signed the promise, and returned as she had come. [illustration: the convict prison at gibraltar (marked by a *).] a narrow escape. an innocent man narrowly escaped death through an artful plot which led to a mistake of identity, but which fortunately, at the eleventh hour, was brought home to its criminal contrivers. a certain mr. henderson, a respectable merchant of edinburgh, was in charged with the forgery of an acceptance, signed by the duchess of gordon, although, as a matter of fact, he was ignorant of the whole affair. in the year mentioned it was discovered that a man named petrie, who filled the post of town officer or constable in leith, held a bill for £ which purported on the face of it to have been drawn by george henderson on the duchess of gordon, accepted by her, and paid over by henderson to a mrs. macleod. this mrs. macleod owed a sum of money to petrie, and she begged him for a further advance, which he made, to the amount of £ , mrs. macleod lodging with him as security the acceptance which she had received from henderson. petrie took no action on the bill in the way of demanding payment from the duchess of gordon; this was at the instance of mrs. macleod, who assured him that her grace was at that time engaged in special devotional exercises, and that the duchess's agent was absent from edinburgh. petrie was put off with other excuses. mrs. macleod continued to beg him to hold over the bill, and brought him a letter to the same effect purporting to come from henderson. petrie, although suspicious as to the genuineness of the bill, took no steps, and the matter came out otherwise; whereupon the edinburgh magistrates issued a warrant for the arrest of the three parties--petrie, henderson, and mrs. macleod. petrie was almost immediately exonerated, but mrs. macleod gave such evidence against henderson that he was held to be fully incriminated, and was put back for trial. mrs. macleod asserted positively that the bill had been given her by henderson. in due course henderson was arraigned. several witnesses swore positively that they had seen henderson sign documents, especially an acknowledgment of a debt to mrs. macleod. one, a man named gibson, declared that the signature had been given in his own house by henderson, and in his presence and that of other witnesses. he appears to have identified henderson in the dock, asserting that he had often previously seen him and been in his company. gibson further declared that henderson wore a suit of dark-coloured clothes, and a black wig such as he now appeared in. henderson's defence was that he knew absolutely nothing of the whole proceeding. his counsel adduced in his favour that he was a man of excellent character, and his demeanour at the trial, his straightforward answers to all interrogatories, and the outward appearance of truth in all his details, no doubt made an impression upon the court. the lord advocate, his prosecutor, pressed hard for a conviction, on the ground that the forgery of the bill had been fully proved. the judges, however, stayed proceedings, and postponed decision until the following session. now, when the case looked blackest against henderson, a mere chance interposed to save him. the lord advocate, who seems to have had no doubt of his guilt, was on his way northward to spend the recess, when he paid a visit on the way to a mr. rose, of kilravock. one day mr. rose took his lordship to see a house he was building, and while inspecting it mr. rose missed one of the carpenters. on inquiring what had become of him, the foreman took mr. rose aside and privately told him that the man, hearing the lord advocate was at kilravock, had absconded, saying it was time for him to leave the country. the man in question, by name david household, had gone to the coast, proposing to take ship for london. mr. rose felt it his duty to inform the lord advocate, and the foreman was questioned as to whether the carpenter had been guilty of any crime. the answer was that household was suspected of being accessory to a forgery. the lord advocate forthwith despatched a messenger to the coast, who apprehended household, and carried him prisoner to edinburgh. household was brought before the court at the beginning of the winter session and questioned, when he confessed that he had been party to a very scandalous and deliberate fraud. early in the year mrs. macleod had come to him and asked him to write out for her the very bill or acceptance for the forgery of which george henderson was charged. household admitted that he had penned the whole document, and had imitated the signatures of henderson, both as drawer and endorser of the bill, but that he had not written the name of gordon. household further deposed that he had assumed, at mrs. macleod's request, the identity of george henderson; that she had given him for the personation a coat belonging to her husband, and a black-knotted periwig; that she had carried him to a gardener's house at the water-gate, where she had dictated to him a part of the obligation which had been produced in court; and had then taken him on to a house in the canon-gate (gibson's), where he (household) had written the rest of the document, and signed it [illustration: "mrs. macleod went to her execution dressed in a black robe" (p. ).] "george henderson" in the presence of the various witnesses whom mrs. macleod had produced. he also confessed that he had written the letter which mrs. macleod had given petrie as coming from george henderson. finally, after mrs. macleod's arrest, a highlander had come to him with a message from mr. macleod urging him to leave the country for his own safety. household, however, did not take flight until the appearance of the lord advocate at kilravock; then he went to leith, and hid himself on board ship, where he was discovered by a customs officer, and eventually arrested. this evidence changed the whole character of the trial, and the lord advocate was the first to admit that henderson was innocent of the forgery, which was now fixed upon mrs. macleod. the records of the case do not give any definite information as to who actually signed the duchess's name to the bill, but when mrs. macleod was finally arraigned this forgery was laid to her charge, and her offence must have been satisfactorily proved to the jury, for she was found guilty and sentenced to death. two law officers, the lord advocate and the solicitor-general, characterised the whole "as an artful and horrid contrivance, only discovered by the good providence of god." it is stated in the account published that mrs. macleod went to her execution dressed in a black robe with a large hoop, and a white fan in her hand. when on the gallows she herself took off the ornamental parts of her dress, and put the fatal cord about her neck with her own hands. she persisted to the last in denying her guilt. the duchess of gordon in this case was lady henrietta mordaunt, daughter of the celebrated charles earl of peterborough, and wife of alexander, second duke, whom she married in , twenty years before the occurrences recorded. [illustration] chapter iii. problematical errors. captain donellan and the poisoning of sir theodosius boughton: donellan's suspicious conduct: evidence of john hunter, the great surgeon: sir james stephen's view: corroborative story from his father--the lafarge case: madame lafarge and the cakes: doctors differ as to the presence of arsenic in the remains: possible guilt of denis barbier: madame lafarge's condemnation: pardoned by napoleon iii.--charge against madame lafarge of stealing a school friend's jewels: her defence: conviction--madeleine smith charged with poisoning her _fiancé:_ "not proven": the latest facts--the wharton-ketchum case in baltimore, u.s.a.--the story of the perrys. captain donellan. "few cases," says sir james stephen,[ ] "have given rise to more discussion than that of the alleged poisoning of sir theodosius boughton by his brother-in-law, captain donellan, in ." it was long deemed a mystery, and even now the facts are not considered conclusive against the man who actually suffered for the crime. donellan was found guilty, and in due course executed, but to this day the justice of the sentence is questioned, and the case, in the opinion of some, should be classed with judicial errors. this is not the view of sir james stephen, who has declared that the evidence would have satisfied him of donellan's guilt. "why should he not have been found guilty?" asks the eminent judge. "he had the motive, he had the means, he had the opportunity; his conduct, from first to last, was that of a guilty man." sir theodosius boughton was a young baronet who, on his majority, came into an estate of £ , a year. in he was living at lawford hall, warwickshire, with his mother and sister, the latter having married captain donellan in . mrs. donellan was her brother's heir; if he died childless everything would go to her. donellan claimed afterwards to have been quite disinterested. he had all his wife's fortune settled on her and her children, and would not even keep a life interest in her property in case she predeceased him. this settlement extended not only to what she had but to what she expected, and his conduct in this matter was one of the points made by the defence in his favour. [illustration: captain john donellan. (_from a contemporary print._)] boughton was suffering from a slight specific disorder, but was otherwise well; donellan wished to make it appear otherwise. talking of him to a friend, he described his condition as such that the friend remarked the young man's life would not be worth a couple of years' purchase. "not one," promptly corrected donellan. on the th of august, , a country practitioner who was called in pronounced sir theodosius in good health and spirits, but prescribed a draught for him: jalap, lavender water, nutmeg, and so forth. the remainder of the day was spent in fishing, and the baronet went to bed, having arranged that his mother should come to him and give him his medicine at seven o'clock next morning. he had been neglectful about taking it; it had been kept locked up in a cupboard, but, at his brother-in-law's suggestion, it was now left on the shelf in another room--where, as the prosecution declared, anyone, captain donellan in particular, might have access to it. at six a.m. on the morning of the th a servant went in and saw sir theodosius about some business of mending a net. the young baronet then appeared quite well. at seven lady boughton came up with the medicine, which she found on the shelf. sir theodosius tasted and smelt it, complaining that it was very nauseous. his mother then smelt it, and noticed that it was like bitter almonds, but she persuaded her son to drink off a whole dose. "in about two minutes or less," she afterwards deposed, "he struggled violently and appeared convulsed, with a prodigious rattling in his throat and stomach." when he was a little better the mother left him, but returned in five minutes to find him with his eyes fixed, his teeth clenched, and froth running out of his mouth. the doctor was forthwith summoned. now donellan came in, and lady boughton told him that she was afraid she had given her son something wrong instead of the medicine. donellan asked for the bottle, took it, poured in some water, then emptied the contents into a basin. lady boughton protested, declaring that he ought not to have meddled with the bottle. donellan's reply was that he wished to taste the stuff. again, when a maid-servant came in he desired her to remove the basin and the bottles, while lady boughton directed her to let them alone. but now sir theodosius was in his death-throes, and while she was engaged with him the bottles disappeared. donellan, after the event, wrote to the baronet's guardian, sir william wheler, notifying the death, but giving none of the peculiar circumstances of the case. three or four days later the guardian replied that as the death had been so sudden, and gossip was afloat concerning a possible mistake with the medicine, it was desirable to have a _post-mortem._ "the country will never be satisfied else, and we shall all be very much blamed," wrote sir william wheler. "although it is late now it will appear from the stomach whether there is anything corrosive in it.... i assure you it is reported all over the country that he was killed either by medicine or by poison." the step was all the more necessary in the interest of the doctor who prescribed the draught. donellan replied that lady boughton and he agreed "cheerfully" to the suggestion. sir william wrote again, saying he was glad they approved, and gave the names of the doctors who should perform the autopsy. when they came, donellan showed them the second letter, not the first; the mere desire for a _post-mortem_, not the grounds for it, as set forth in the first, that poison was suspected. decomposition was far advanced, the doctors were not pleased with the business, and, knowing no special reason for inquiry, made none. after this donellan wrote to sir william wheler, conveying the impression that the _post-mortem_ had actually taken place. later, another surgeon offered to open the body, but donellan refused, on the plea that it would be disrespectful to the two first doctors. sir william, too, having learnt that nothing had been done, reiterated his desire for a _post-mortem_, and two more doctors arrived at lawford hall on the very day of the funeral. donellan took advantage of a misconstruction of a message, and the body was buried without being opened. three days afterwards it was exhumed in deference to growing suspicions of poison, but it was too late to verify foul play. but the doctors formed a strong opinion of the cause of death, and later, when it came to the trial, they agreed that the draught, after swallowing which boughton died, was poison, and the immediate cause of death. one said that the nature of the poison was sufficiently clear from lady boughton's description of the smell. but the great surgeon, john hunter, would not admit that the appearance of the body gave the least suspicion of poison. as to the smell, a mixture of the very same ingredients, but with laurel water added, was made up for lady boughton at the trial, and she declared it smelt of bitter almonds exactly like the draught. the introduction of the laurel water followed the important discovery that donellan had a private still in a room which he called his own, and that he distilled roses in it. a curious bit of evidence not mentioned in the report of the trial is preserved,[ ] which shows how a single number of the "philosophical transactions" was found in donellan's library, and the only leaves in the book that had been cut were those that gave an account of the making of laurel water by distillation. donellan's still figured further in the case, for it was proved that he had taken it into the kitchen, and asked the cook to dry it in the oven. this was two or three days after the baronet's death, and the presumption was that he had desired to take the smell of laurel water off the still. it also appeared that donellan was in the habit of keeping large quantities of arsenic in his room, which he used, seemingly with but little caution, for poisoning fish. donellan's defence did not help him greatly. it was written, after the custom of those days, and did not attempt to explain why [illustration: "now donellan came in" (p. ).] he had washed or made away with the bottles. he submitted that he had urged the doctors to the _post-mortem_ by producing sir william wheler's letter; but it was the second, not the first letter. on other points he maintained a significant silence. what went against him also were unguarded confidences made to a fellow-prisoner while he was awaiting trial. he said openly that he believed his brother-in-law had been poisoned, and that it lay among themselves: lady boughton, himself, the footman, and the doctor. another curious story is preserved by sir james stephen, whose grandfather had long retained a strong belief in donellan's innocence, and had written a pamphlet against the verdict which attracted much notice at the time. mr. stephen changed his opinion when he had been introduced to donellan's attorney, who told him that he also had firmly believed in donellan's innocence until one day he proposed to his client to retain dunning, the eminent counsel, for his defence. donellan agreed, and referred the attorney to mrs. donellan for authority to incur the expense of the heavy fee required. mrs. donellan demurred, thinking the outlay unnecessary, and when this was reported to the prisoner, donellan burst into a rage, crying, "and who got it for her?" then, seeing that he had committed himself, he stopped abruptly, and said no more. donellan was convicted and executed, and to those who aver that the verdict was wrong sir james stephen replies that every item of evidence pointed to donellan's guilt, and did, in fact, satisfy the jury. the want of complete proof is the chief basis of the argument in donellan's favour, backed by the opinion of so eminent a scientist as hunter. he deposed that he did not see the slightest indication of poisoning, and while he admitted that death following so soon after the draught had been swallowed was a curious fact, yet he could see no necessary connection between the two circumstances. the symptoms, as described to him, and the state of the internal organs, were perfectly compatible with death from epilepsy or apoplexy. public opinion at the time was, no doubt, adverse to donellan, and the jury may have been prejudiced against him. he was deemed an adventurer, a fortune-hunter, who had gained a footing in a good family by somewhat discreditable means, and it was assumed that he was prepared to go any length to feather his nest further. this was a rather exaggerated view. donellan was a gentleman. he had borne the king's commission, and was a son of a colonel in the army. to haunt fashionable society in london and the chief pleasure resorts in search of a rich _partie_ was a common enough proceeding, and implied self-seeking, but not necessarily criminal tendencies. he got his chance at bath by doing a civil thing, and made the most of it. lady boughton was unable to find accommodation in the best hotel, and donellan, who was there, promptly gave up his rooms. the acquaintance thus pleasantly begun grew into intimacy, and ended in his marrying miss boughton. so far the circumstances were not very strong against him. it was his conduct after the event that told, and, though there is an element of doubt in the case, most people, probably, who review the facts will come to the same conclusion as did sir james stephen. madame lafarge. one of the greatest poisoning trials on record in any country is that of madame lafarge, and its interest is undying, for to this day the case is surrounded by mystery. although the guilt of the accused was proved to the satisfaction of the jury at the time of trial, strong doubts were then entertained, and still possess acute legal minds, as to the justice of her conviction. long after the event, two eminent prussian jurists, councillors of the criminal court of berlin, closely studied the proceedings, and gave it as their unqualified opinion that, according to prussian law, there was absence of proof. they published a report on the case, in which they gave their reasons for this opinion, but it will be best to give some account of the alleged poisoning before quoting the arguments of these independent authorities. in the month of january, , an iron-master, residing at glandier, in the limousin, died suddenly of an unknown malady. his family, friends, and immediate neighbours at once accused his wife of having poisoned him. this wife differed greatly in disposition and breeding from the deceased. marie fortunée capelle was the daughter of a french artillery colonel, who had served in napoleon's guard. she was well connected, her grandmother having been a fellow-pupil of the duchess of orleans under madame de genlis; her aunts were well married, one to a prussian diplomat, the other to m. garat, the general secretary of the bank of france. she had been delicately nurtured. her father had held good military commands, and was intimate with the best people, many of them nobles of the first empire, and the child was petted by the duchess of dalmatia (madame soult), the princess of echmuhl (madame ney), madame de cambacères, and so forth. colonel capelle died early, and marie's mother, having married again, also died. marie was left to the care of distant relations; she had a small fortune of her own, which was applied to her education, and she was sent to one of the best schools in paris. here she made bosom friends, as schoolgirls do, and with one of them became involved in a foolish intrigue, which, in the days of her trouble, brought upon her another serious charge, that of theft. marie grew up distinguished-looking if not absolutely pretty; tall, slim, with dead-white complexion, jet-black hair worn in straight shining pleats, fine dark eyes, and a sweet but somewhat sad smile. these are the chief features of contemporary portraits. to marry her was now the wish of her people, and she was willing enough to become independent. some say that a suitor was sought through the matrimonial agents, others positively deny it. in any case, a proposal came from a certain charles pouch lafarge, a man of decent family but inferior to the capelles, not much to look at, about thirty, and supposed to be prosperous in his business. the marriage was hastily arranged, and as quickly solemnised--in no more than five days. lafarge drew a rosy picture of his house: a large mansion in a wide park, with beautiful views, where all were eager to welcome the bride and make her happy. as they travelled thither the scales quickly fell from marie's eyes. her new husband changed in tone; from beseeching he became rudely dictatorial, and he seems to have soon wounded the delicate susceptibilities of his wife. the climax was reached on arrival at glandier, a dirty, squalid place. threading its dark, narrow streets, they reached the mansion--only a poor place, after all, surrounded with smoking chimneys: a cold, damp, dark house, dull without, bare within. the shock was terrible, and madame lafarge declared she had been cruelly deceived. life in such surroundings, tied to such a man, seemed utterly impossible. she fled to her own room, and there indited a strange letter to her husband, a letter that was the starting-point of suspicion against her, and which she afterwards explained away as merely a first mad outburst of disappointment and despair. her object was to get free at all costs from this hateful and unbearable marriage. this letter, dated the th of august, , began thus: "charles,--i am about to implore pardon on my knees. i have betrayed you culpably. i love not you, but another...." and it continued in the same tone for several sheets. then she implored her husband to release her and let her go that very evening. "get two horses ready: i will ride to bordeaux and then take ship to smyrna. i will leave you all my possessions. may god turn them to your advantage--you deserve it. as for me, i will live by my own exertions. let no one know that i ever existed.... if this does not satisfy you i will take arsenic--_i have some_.... spare me, be the guardian angel of a poor orphan girl, or, if you choose, slay me, and say i have killed myself.--marie." [illustration: madame lafarge. (_from a contemporary print_.)] this strange effusion was read with consternation not only by lafarge, but by his mother, his sister, and her husband. a stormy scene followed between lafarge and his wife, but at length he won her over. she withdrew her letter, declaring that she did not mean what she wrote, and that she would do her best to make him happy. "i have accepted my position," she wrote to m. garat, "although it is difficult. but with a little strength of mind, with patience, and my husband's love, i may grow contented. charles adores me, and i cannot but be touched by the caresses lavished on me." to another she wrote that she struggled hard to be satisfied with her life. her husband under a rough shell possessed a noble heart; her mother-in-law and sister-in-law overwhelmed her with attentions. now she gradually settled down into domesticity, and busied herself with household affairs. m. lafarge made no secret of his wish to employ part of his wife's fortune in developing his works. he had come upon an important discovery in iron smelting, and only needed capital to make it highly profitable. his wife was so persuaded of the value of this invention that she lent him money, and used her influence with her relatives to secure a loan for him in addition. husband and wife now made wills whereby they bequeathed their separate estates to each other. lafarge, however, made a second will, almost immediately, in favour of his mother and sister, carefully concealing the fact from his wife. then he started for paris, to secure a patent for his new invention, taking with him a general power of attorney to raise money on his wife's property. during their separation many affectionate letters passed between them. the first attempt to poison, according to the prosecution, was made at the time of this visit to paris. madame lafarge now conceived the tender idea of having her portrait painted, and sending it to console her absent spouse. at the same time she asked her mother-in-law to make some small cakes to accompany the picture. they were made and sent, with a letter, written by the mother, at marie lafarge's request, begging lafarge to eat _one_ of the cakes at a particular hour on a particular day. she would eat one also at glandier at the same moment, and thus a mysterious affinity might be set up between them. a great deal turned on this incident. the case containing the picture and the rest was despatched on the th of december, by _diligence_, and reached paris on the th. but on opening the box, one large cake was found, not several small ones. how and when had the change been effected? the prosecution declared it was marie's doing. the box had undoubtedly been tampered with; it left, or was supposed to leave, glandier fastened down with small screws. on reaching paris it was secured with long nails, and the articles inside were not placed as they had been on departure. lafarge tore off a corner of the large cake, ate it, and the same night was seized with violent convulsions. it was presumably a poisoned cake, although the fact was never verified, but marie lafarge was held responsible for it, and eventually charged with an attempt to murder her husband. in support of this grave charge it was found that on the th of december, two days before the box left, she had purchased a quantity of arsenic from a chemist in the neighbouring town. her letter asking for it was produced at the trial, and it is worth reproducing. "sir," she wrote, "i am overrun with rats. i have tried nux vomica quite without effect. will you, and can you, trust me with a little arsenic? you may count upon my being most careful, and i shall only use it in a linen closet." at the same time she asked for other drugs, of a harmless character. further suspicious circumstances were adduced against her. it was urged that after the case had been despatched to paris she was strangely agitated, her excitement increasing on the arrival of news that her husband was taken ill, that she expressed the gravest fears of a bad ending, and took it almost for granted that he must die. yet, as the defence presently showed, there were points also in her favour. would marie have made her mother-in-law write referring to the small cakes, one of which the son was to eat, if she knew that no small cakes, but one large one, would be found within? how could she have substituted the large for the small? there was as much evidence to show that she could not have effected the exchange as that she had done so. might not someone else have made the change? here was the first importation of another possible agency into the murder, which never seems to have been investigated at the time, but to which i shall return presently to explain how marie lafarge may have borne the brunt of another person's crime. again, if she wanted thus to poison her husband, it would have been at the risk of injuring her favourite sister also. for this sister lived in paris, and lafarge had written that she often called to see him. she might, then, have been present when the case was opened, and might have been poisoned too. lafarge so far recovered that he was able to return to glandier, which he reached on the th of january, . that same day madame lafarge wrote to the same chemist for more arsenic. it was a curious letter, and certainly calculated to prejudice people against her. she told the chemist that her servants had made the first lot into a clever paste which her doctor had seen, and for which he had given her a prescription; she said this "so as to quiet the chemist's conscience, and lest he should think she meant to poison the whole province of limoges." she also informed the chemist that her husband was indisposed, but that this same doctor attributed it to the shaking of the journey, and that with rest he would soon be better. but he got worse, rapidly worse. his symptoms were alarming, and pointed undoubtedly to arsenical poisoning, judged by our modern knowledge. madame lafarge, senior, now became strongly suspicious of her daughter-in-law, and insisted on remaining always by her son's bedside. marie opposed this, and wished to be her husband's sole nurse, and, according to the prosecution, would have kept everyone else from him. she does not seem to have succeeded, for the relatives and servants were constantly in the sick-room. some of the latter were very much on the mother's side, and one, a lady companion, anna brun, afterwards deposed that she had seen marie go to a cupboard and take a white powder from it, which she mixed with the medicine and food given to lafarge. madame lafarge, senior, again, and her daughter, showed the medical attendant a cup of chicken broth on the surface of which white powder was floating. the doctor said it was probably lime from the whitewashed wall. the ladies tried the experiment of mixing lime with broth, and did not obtain the same appearance. yet more, anna brun, having seen marie lafarge mix powder as before in her husband's drink, heard him cry out, "what have you given me? it burns like fire." "i am not surprised," replied marie quietly. "they let you have wine, although you are suffering from inflammation of the stomach." yet marie lafarge made no mystery of her having arsenic. not only did she speak of it in the early days, but during the illness she received a quantity openly before them all. it was brought to her at lafarge's bedside by one of his clerks, denis barbier (of whom more directly), and she put it into her pocket. she told her husband she had it. he had been complaining of the rats that disturbed him overhead, and the arsenic was to kill them. lafarge took the poison from his wife, handed it over to a maid-servant, and desired her to use it in a paste as a vermin-killer. here the facts were scarcely against marie lafarge. as the husband did not improve, on the th his mother sent a special messenger to fetch a new doctor from a more distant town. on their way back to glandier, this messenger, the above-mentioned denis barbier, confided to the doctor that he had often bought [illustration: "on this the mother denounced marie to the now dying lafarge" (p. ).] arsenic for marie lafarge, but that she had begged him to say nothing about it. the doctor, lespinasse by name, saw the patient, and immediately ordered antidotes, while some of the white powder was sent for examination to the chemist who had originally supplied the arsenic. the chemist does not seem to have detected poison, but he suggested that nothing more should be given lafarge unless it had been prepared by a sure hand. on this the mother denounced marie to the now dying lafarge as his murderess. the wife, who stood there with white face and streaming eyes, heard the terrible accusation, but made no protest. from this time till his last moments he could not bear the sight of his wife. once, when she offered him a drink, he motioned, horror stricken, for her to leave him, and she was not present at his death, on the th of january. a painful scene followed between the mother and marie by the side of the still warm corpse--high words, upbraidings, threats on the one side, indignant denials on the other. then marie's private letters were seized, the lock of her strong-box having been forced, and next day, the whole matter having been reported to the officers of the law, a _post-mortem_ was ordered, on suspicion of poisoning. "impossible," cried the doctor who had regularly attended the deceased. "you must all be wrong. it would be abominable to suspect a crime without more to go upon." the _post-mortem_ was, however, made, yet with such strange carelessness that the result was valueless. it may be stated at once that the presence of arsenic was never satisfactorily proved. there were several early examinations of the remains, but the experts never fully agreed. orfila, the most eminent french toxicologist of his day, was called in to correct the first autopsy, and his opinion was accepted as final. he was convinced that there were traces of arsenic in the body. they were, however, infinitesimal; orfila put it at half a milligramme. raspail, another distinguished french doctor, called it the hundredth part of a milligramme, and for that reason declared against orfila. his conclusion, arrived at long after her conviction, was in favour of the accused. the jury, he maintained, ought not to have found her guilty, because no definite proof was shown of the presence of arsenic in the corpse. this point was not the only one in the poor woman's favour. even supposing that lafarge had been poisoned--which, in truth, is highly probable--the evidence against her was never conclusive, and there were many suspicious circumstances to incriminate another person. this was denis barbier, lafarge's clerk, who lived in the house under a false name, and whose character was decidedly bad. lafarge was not a man above suspicion himself, and he long used this barbier to assist him in shady financial transactions--the manufacture of forged bills of exchange, which were negotiated for advances. barbier had conceived a strong dislike to marie lafarge from the first; it was he who originated the adverse reports. at the trial he frequently contradicted himself, as when he said at one time that he had volunteered the information that he had been buying arsenic for marie, and at another, a few minutes later, that he only confessed this when pressed. barbier, then, was lafarge's confederate in forgery; had these frauds been discovered he would have shared lafarge's fate. it came out that he had been in paris when lafarge was there, but secretly. why? when the illness of the iron-master proved mortal, barbier was heard to say, "now i shall be master here!" all through that illness he had access to the sick-room, and he could easily have added poison to the various drinks given to lafarge. again, when the possibilities of murder were first discussed, he was suspiciously ready to declare that it was not _he_ who gave the poison. finally, the german jurists, already quoted, wound up their argument against him by saying, "we do not actually accuse barbier, but had we been the public prosecutors we should rather have formulated charges against him than against madame lafarge." summing up the whole question, they were of opinion that the case was full of mystery. there were suspicions that lafarge had been poisoned, but so vague and uncertain that no conviction was justified. the proofs against the person accused were altogether insufficient. on the other hand, there were many conjectures favourable to her. moreover, there was the very gravest circumstantial evidence against another person. the verdict should decidedly have been "not proven." but public opinion, hastily formed, condemned madame lafarge in advance, and the machinery of the french criminal law helped to create a new judicial error, through obstinate reliance on a preconceived opinion. marie lafarge was sentenced to hard labour for life, after exposure in the public pillory. the latter was remitted, but she went into the montpelier prison and remained there many years. during her seclusion she received some six thousand letters from outside, the bulk of them sympathetic and kindly. many in prose or verse, and in several languages, were signed by persons of the highest respectability. a large number offered marriage, some the opportunities for escape and the promise of happiness in another country. she replied to almost all with her own hand. her pen was her chief solace during her long imprisonment, and several volumes of her work were eventually published, including her memoirs and prison thoughts. at last, having suffered seriously in health, she appealed to napoleon iii., the head of the second empire, and obtained a full pardon in . [illustration: in the public pillory. (_from the engraving by victor adam._)] the stolen jewels. the sad story of madame lafarge would be incomplete without some account of another mysterious charge brought against her shortly after her arrest for murder. when her mother-in-law accused her of poisoning her husband, one of her old schoolmates declared that she had stolen her jewels. this second allegation raised the public interest to fever pitch. all france, from court to cottage, all classes, high and low, were concerned in this great _cause célèbre_, in which the supposed criminal, both thief and murderess, belonged to the best society, and was a young, engaging woman. the question of her guilt or innocence was keenly discussed. each new fact or statement was taken as clear proof of one or the other, and each side found warm advocates in the public press. [illustration: maÎtre lachaud.] the charge of theft, although the lesser, took precedence of that of murder, and madame lafarge was tried by the correctional tribunal of tulle before she appeared at the assizes to answer for her life. she was prosecuted by the vicomte de leautaud on behalf of his wife. the accusation was clear and precise. madame de leautaud's diamonds had disappeared for more than a year; the vicomte believed that madame lafarge, when marie capelle, had stolen them when on a visit to his house, the château de busagny, and he prayed the court to authorise a search to be made at glandier, madame lafarge's residence until her recent arrest. when arraigned and interrogated, marie at once admitted that the diamonds were in her possession. she readily indicated the place where they would be found at glandier, and made no difficulty as to their restitution. but she long refused positively to explain how she had come by them, declaring it to be a secret she was bound in honour to keep inviolate. at last, under the urgent entreaties of her friends, she confided the secret to her two counsel, maître bac and maître lachaud (at that time on the threshold of his great and enduring renown), and sent them to madame leautaud beseeching her to allow a full revelation of the facts. the letters she then wrote her school friend have been preserved. the first was brief, and merely introduced maître bac as a noble and conscientious person, who had her full confidence, and on whom madame de leautaud might rely in discussing an affair that concerned them both so closely. the second was a pathetic appeal to tell the whole truth about the diamonds, and it is not easy to say on reading it whether it was inspired by extraordinary astuteness or by genuine emotion. it ran: marie,--may god never visit upon you the evil you have done me. alas, i know you to be really good, but weak. you have told yourself that as i am likely to be convicted of an atrocious crime i may as well take the blame of one which is only infamous. i kept our secret. i left my honour in your hands, and you have not chosen to absolve me. the time has arrived for doing me justice. marie, for your conscience' sake, for the sake of your past, save me!... remember the facts; you cannot deny them. from the moment i knew you i was deep in your confidence, and i heard the story of that intrigue, begun at school and continued at busagny by letters that passed through my hands. you soon discovered that this handsome spaniard had neither fortune nor family. you forbade him to love, although you had first sought his love, and then you entered into another love affair with m. de leautaud. ...the man you flouted cried for vengeance.... the situation became intolerable, but money alone could end it. i came to busagny, and it was arranged between us that you should entrust your diamonds to me, so that i might raise money on them, with which you could pay the price he demanded. the letter proceeds in similar terms, and need not be reproduced at length. marie lafarge continues to implore her old friend to save her, reminding her that only thus can she save herself. otherwise all the facts must come out. remember [and here we seem to get one glimpse of the cloven foot] i have all the proofs in my hands. your letters to him and his to you, your letters to me.... your letter, in which you tell me that he is singing in the chorus at the opera, and is of the stamp of man to extort blackmail.... there is one thing for you to do now. acknowledge in writing under your own hand, dated june, that you consigned the diamonds to my care with authority to sell them if i thought it advisable. this will end the affair. as madame de leautaud still positively denied the truth of these statements, marie, in self-defence, made them to the judge. she told the whole story of how the diamonds had been given her to sell, that she might remit the amount to a young man in poor circumstances and of humble condition, whose revelations might prove inconvenient. madame de leautaud had assisted marie to take the jewels out of their settings, so as to facilitate their sale. if they had not as yet been sold, it was because she had found it very difficult to dispose of them, both before and after her marriage. she still had them; and they were, in fact, found at glandier, in the place she indicated. there was never any question as to the identity of the stones, which were recognised in court by the jeweller who had supplied them, and who spoke to their value, some £ , independently of certain pearls which were missing. the prosecution certainly made out a strong case against marie lafarge. the jewels, it was stated, were first missed after a discussion between the two ladies on the difference between paste and real stones. at first madame de leautaud made little of her loss. she was careless of her things, and thought her husband or her mother had hidden her jewels somewhere to give her a fright. but they both denied having played her any such trick, and as the jewels were undoubtedly gone, the police were informed, and many of the servants suspected. suspicion against madame lafarge had always rankled in madame de leautaud's mind, and it was soon strengthened by her strange antics with regard to the jewels. on one occasion she defended a servant who had been suspected, promising to find him a place if he were dismissed, as she knew he was innocent. one of her servants told the de leautauds that her mistress said laughingly she had stolen the jewels and swallowed them. again, madame lafarge had submitted to be mesmerised by madame de montbreton, madame de leautaud's sister, and had fallen into an evidently simulated magnetic trance; when, being questioned about the missing jewels, she said they had been removed by a jew, who had sold them. other circumstances were adduced as strongly indicating marie's guilt. it was observed in paris, before her marriage, that she had a quantity of fine stones, loose, and she explained that they had been given her at busagny. once after her marriage m. lafarge had asked her for a diamond to cut a pane of glass, and, to his surprise, she produced a number, saying she had owned them from childhood, but that they had only been handed over to her lately by an old servant. these contradictory explanations told greatly against madame lafarge. she made other statements also that were at variance. when first taxed with the theft she pretended that the diamonds had been sent her by an uncle in toulouse, whose name and address she was, however, unable to give. next she brought up the story contained in her appealing letter to madame de leautaud. it was the story of the young man, félix clavé, son of a schoolmaster, with whom the girls had made acquaintance. having frequently met him when attending mass, they rashly wrote him an anonymous letter, giving him a rendezvous in the garden of the tuileries. marie lafarge declared that the encouragement came from madame de leautaud, which the latter denied, and retorted that it was marie lafarge who had been the object of the young man's devotion. then clavé disappeared to algeria, so marie declared, as he had written to her from algiers. madame de leautaud said this was impossible, as she had seen him on the stage of the opera. a few months later, marie alleged, when her friend was with her at busagny, madame de leautaud brought out the diamonds and implored marie to sell them for her, as she must "absolutely" have money to buy clavé's silence. what followed, according to marie lafarge, has already been told, except that madame de leautaud went through a number of devices to make it appear that the diamonds had been stolen from her, and that then m. de leautaud was informed of the supposed theft. the gendarmes actually came to search the château and to investigate the robbery next day, although at that time the diamonds were safe in her possession, entrusted to her by madame de leautaud. according to the prosecution, these statements were quite untrue. there had been a theft, and it was soon discovered. the chief of the paris detective police, m. allard, had been summoned to busagny to investigate, and he was satisfied that the robbery had been committed by someone in the château; and, as the servants all bore unimpeachable characters, m. allard had asked about the other inmates, and the guests. then m. de leautaud mentioned marie capelle (lafarge), and hinted that there were several sinister rumours current concerning her, but would not make any distinct charge then. m. allard now remembered that there had been another mysterious robbery at the house of madame garat, marie lafarge's aunt, in paris, a couple of years before, when a franc note had been stolen, and he had been called in to investigate, but without any result. what if marie capelle (lafarge) had had something to do with this theft? [illustration: "her own maid elected to go with her to prison" (p. ).] it must be admitted that these charges, if substantiated, made the case look black against marie lafarge. but one, at least, fell entirely to the ground when she was on her defence. it was clearly shown that she could not have stolen the banknote at her aunt's, madame garat's, for she was in paris at the time. as regards the diamonds, her story, if she had stuck to one account only--that of the blackmail--would have been plausible, nay probable, enough. it was positively contradicted on oath by the lady most nearly concerned, madame de leautaud, and it was not believed by the court; and marie lafarge was finally convicted of having stolen the diamonds, and sentenced to two years' imprisonment. she appealed against this finding, and appeared no less than four times to seek redress, always without success. meanwhile the graver charge of murder had been gone into and decided against her; so that the shorter sentence for theft was merged into the life sentence. there were many who believed in marie's entire innocence to the very last. her own maid elected to go with her to prison, and remained by her side for a year. a young girl, cousin of the deceased m. lafarge, was equally devoted, and also accompanied her to montpelier gaol. her advocate, the eminent maître lachaud, steadfastly denied her guilt, and years later, when the unfortunate woman died, he regularly sent flowers for her grave. [illustration: madeleine smith. (_from a portrait taken in court during her trial._)] madeleine smith. the eldest daughter of a glasgow architect, madeleine smith was a girl of great beauty, bright, attractive, and much courted. but from all her suitors she singled out a certain jersey man, pierre Émile l'angelier, an _employé_ in the firm of huggins, in glasgow--a small, insignificant creature, altogether unworthy of her in looks or position. the acquaintance ripened, and madeleine seems to have become devotedly attached to her lover, whom she often addressed as her "own darling husband." they kept up a clandestine correspondence, and had many stolen interviews at a friend's house. in the spring of madeleine's parents discovered the intimacy, and peremptorily insisted that it should end forthwith. but the lovers continued to meet secretly, and madeleine threw off all restraint, and was ready to elope with her lover. the time was indeed fixed, but she suddenly changed her mind. then a rich glasgow merchant, mr. minnock, saw madeleine, and was greatly enamoured of her. early in january, , he offered her marriage, and she became engaged to him. it was necessary, now, to break with l'angelier, and, mindful of the old adage to be off with the old love before she took on with the new, she wrote to him, begging him to return her letters and her portrait. l'angelier positively refused to give them or her up. he had told many friends of his connection with madeleine smith, and some of them had now advised him to let her go. "no; i will never surrender the letters, nor, so long as i live, shall she marry another man." on the th of february he wrote her a letter, which must have been full of upbraiding, and probably of threats, but it has not been preserved. madeleine must have been greatly terrified by it, too, for her reply was a frantic appeal for mercy, for a chivalrous silence as to their past relations which he was evidently incapable of preserving. she was in despair, entirely in the hands of this mean ruffian, who was determined not to spare her; she saw all hope of a good marriage fading away, and nothing but ignominious exposure before her. as the result of the trial, when by-and-by she was arraigned for the murder of l'angelier, was a verdict of "not proven," it is hardly right to say that she now resolved to rid herself of the man who possessed her guilty secret. but that was the case for the prosecution, the basis of the charge brought against her. she had made up her mind, as it seemed, to extreme measures. she appeared to be reconciled with l'angelier, and had several interviews with him. what passed at these meetings of the th and th of february was never positively known, but on the th he was seized with a mysterious and terrible illness, being found lying on the floor of his bedroom writhing in pain, and likely to die. he did, in fact, recover, but those who knew him said he was never the same man again. he seems to have had some suspicion of madeleine, for he told a friend that a cup of chocolate had made him sick, but said he was so much fascinated by her that he would forgive her even if she poisoned him, and that he would never willingly give her up. rumours of the engagement and approaching marriage now reached his ears, and called forth fresh protests and remonstrances. madeleine replied, denying the rumours, and declaring that she loved him alone. about this time the smith family went on a visit to bridge of allan, where mr. minnock followed them, and, at his urgent request, the day of marriage was fixed. then they all returned to glasgow, and missed l'angelier, who also had followed madeleine to bridge of allan. he remained at stirling, but, on receiving a letter from her, he went on to glasgow, being in good health at the time. this was the nd of february, a sunday, on which night, about eight p.m., he reached his lodgings, had tea, and went out. as he left, he asked for a latchkey, saying he "might be late." he expressed his intention of going back to stirling the following day. that same night, or rather in the small hours of the morning, the landlady was roused by a violent ringing of the bell; and, going down to the front door, found l'angelier there, half doubled up with pain. he described himself as exceedingly ill. a doctor was sent for, who put him to bed and prescribed remedies, but did not anticipate immediate danger. the patient, however, persisted in repeating that he was "worse than the doctor thought"; but he hoped if the curtains were drawn round his bed, and he were left in peace for five minutes, he would be better. these were his last words. when the doctor presently reappeared; l'angelier was dead. he had passed away without giving a sign; without uttering one word to explain how he had spent his time during the evening. a search was made in his pockets, but nothing of importance was found; but a letter addressed to him signed "m'eine," couched in passionate language, imploring him "to return." "are you ill, my beloved? adieu! with tender embraces." the handwriting of this letter was not identified, but a friend of l'angelier's, m. de mean, hearing of his sudden death, went at once to warn madeleine smith's father that l'angelier had letters in his possession which should not be allowed to fall into strange hands. it was too late: the friends of the deceased had sealed up his effects and they refused to surrender the letters. later m. de mean plainly told madeleine smith, whom he saw in her mother's presence, that grave suspicion began to overshadow her. it was known that l'angelier had come up from bridge of allan at her request, and he implored her to say whether or not he had been in her company that night. her answer was a decided negative, and she stated positively that she had seen nothing of him for three weeks. she went farther and asserted that she had neither seen nor wanted to see him on the sunday evening; she had given him an appointment for saturday, but he had not [illustration: "the landlady was roused by a violent ringing of the bell." (p. ).] appeared, although she had waited for him some time. this appointment had been made that she might recover her letters. all through this painful interview with de mean, madeleine appeared in the greatest distress. next morning she took to flight. madeleine was pursued, but by her family, not by the police, and was overtaken on board a steamer bound for rowallan. soon after her return to glasgow the contents of her letters to l'angelier were made public, and a _post-mortem_ had been made. the body had been exhumed, and the suspicious appearance of the mucous membrane of the stomach, together with the history of the case, pointed to death by poison. the various organs, carefully sealed, were handed over to experts for analysis, and it may be well to state here the result of the medical examination. dr. penny stated in evidence that the quantity of arsenic found in the deceased amounted to eighty-eight grains, or about half a, teaspoonful, some of it in hard, gritty, colourless, crystalline particles. it was probable that this was no more than half the whole amount the deceased had swallowed, for under the peculiar action of arsenic a quantity, quite half a teaspoonful, must have been ejected. the chief difficulties in the case were whether anyone could have taken so much as a whole teaspoonful of arsenic unknowingly, and how this amount could have been administered. the question was keenly debated, and it was generally admitted that the poison could have been given in chocolate, cocoa, gruel, or some thick liquid, or mixed with solid food in the shape of a cake. this was not inconsistent with the conjectures formed that l'angelier had met madeleine smith on the sunday night. the case against her became more formidable when it was ascertained that she had been in the habit of buying arsenic, but with the alleged intention of taking it herself, for her complexion. she was now arrested and sent for trial at edinburgh, on a charge of poisoning l'angelier. her purchases of arsenic were proved by the chemist's books under date of the st of february, and again on the th and th of march, this last date being four days before the murder. it was also proved that she wanted to buy prussic acid a few weeks before her arrest. there was nothing to show that she had obtained or possessed any arsenic at the time of l'angelier's first illness, on the th of february. but it was proved in evidence that, on the night of his death, sunday, the nd of march, l'angelier had been seen in the neighbourhood of blythswood square, where the smiths lived; again, that he had himself bought no arsenic in glasgow. madeleine's plucky demeanour in court gained her much sympathy; she never once gave way; only when her impassioned letters were being read aloud did she really lose her composure. she stepped into the dock as though she were entering a ballroom and although she was under grave suspicion of having committed a dastardly crime, the conduct of l'angelier had set the public strongly against him, so that a vague feeling of "served him right" was present in the large crowd assembled to witness the trial. the case for the prosecution was strong, but it failed to prove the actual administration of poison, or, indeed, that the accused had met the deceased on the sunday night. the judge, in summing up, pointed out the grave doubts that surrounded the case, and the verdict of the jury was "not proven," by a majority of votes. this result was received with much applause in court, and generally throughout glasgow, although a dispassionate review of all the facts in this somewhat mysterious case must surely point clearly to a failure of justice. however, madeleine triumphed, and won great favour with the crowd. the money for her defence was subscribed in glasgow twice over, and even before she left the court she received several offers of marriage. since writing the foregoing i have had an interesting communication from a lady, who has told me the impressions of one who was present in court during the whole of madeleine smith's trial. this gentleman was an advocate, trained and practised in the law, and according to his opinion, unhesitatingly expressed, there could be no shadow of doubt but that madeleine was l'angelier's wife, by the law of scotland. as he has put it, in scotland two people who ought to be married can generally be joined together, and there was little doubt that the sanction of matrimony was needed for this connection. both madeleine and l'angelier were in the habit of addressing each other as husband and wife. this explains l'angelier's insistence on the point that "so long as he lived madeleine should never marry another man." the verdict of "not proven" was brought in by the jury on the grounds that it was not established that the two had actually met on the sunday night preceding l'angelier's last illness. nevertheless, it is certain that a pocket-book of l'angelier's was offered as evidence to the judge, lord fullerton, who examined it, but ruled it out because it was not a consecutive diary and the entries had been made in pencil. this book was placed, after the proceedings, in the hands of the legal gentleman above mentioned, and he saw in it an unmistakable entry made by l'angelier to the effect that he had been in madeleine's company on the saturday night. [illustration: "she stepped into the dock as though she were entering a ball-room" (p. ).] full corroboration is given by my informant of the engaging and attractive appearance of madeleine smith. she was so excessively pretty and bewitching that, to use his own words, no one but a hard-hearted old married man could have resisted her fascinations. he had no doubt whatever in his own mind of her guilt. the wharton-ketchum case. general w. e. ketchum, of the united states army, was a man somewhat past the prime of life, but still sound and strong. mrs. wharton was the widow of an army man, and was upwards of fifty years of age. the two were intimate friends, and the general, who had amassed a modest competence, had lent various sums to mrs. wharton, amounting to some $ , (£ ). she was not well off, as it was thought, and, just before the events about to be recorded, she was unable to pay an intended visit to europe from insufficient funds and inability to obtain her letter of credit. on the rd of june, , general ketchum came from washington to her house in baltimore, to see the last of her, believing her about to start on her long journey, and to collect his debt of $ , . he was in excellent health when he left home, but very soon after arriving at baltimore he was taken very ill. he rallied for a time, but again relapsed, and on the th of june he died. suspicions were aroused by his sudden decease, and certainly the symptoms of his illness, as reported, were singular and obscure. whilst he lay there sick unto death, another gentleman residing in the same house was also suddenly prostrated with a strange and unaccountable sickness, and narrowly escaped with his life. after general ketchum's death his waistcoat was not to be found, nor the note for $ , . mrs. wharton declared that she had repaid him what she owed him and that he had then given her back the note of hand, which was destroyed there and then. she furthermore claimed from his estate a sum of $ , in united states bonds, which, as she asserted, she had entrusted to the general's safe keeping; yet there was not the slightest mention of any such transaction in his papers--a strange omission, seeing that he was a man of unquestionable integrity, and most scrupulously exact in all matters of account. chemical analysis of the stomach of the deceased disclosed the presence of antimonial poison--one of the constituents of tartar emetic. the same poison had been found in a tumbler of milk punch prepared by mrs. wharton for general ketchum, and in a tumbler of beer offered by mrs. wharton to the other invalid in her house, mr. van ness. mrs. wharton had been known to buy tartar emetic during the very week when these singular illnesses occurred among the guests under her roof. in these suspicious facts people easily found materials for believing in a crime, and a story was soon spread to the effect that mrs. wharton had succeeded in poisoning general ketchum, and had tried to poison mr. van ness. meanwhile she resumed her preparations for her voyage to europe; but on the very day of departure, the th of july, , a warrant for her arrest was issued, and she was taken into custody. in the trial which followed, a great many of the known facts were ruled out as inadmissible. it was argued, and accepted in law, that an accusation of murdering one man could not be supported by evidence of an attempt to kill another, although almost at the same time and by the same means. the charge of poisoning general ketchum was tried as if there had been no van ness, as if no other person had been taken ill in mrs. wharton's house. but by reason of the predisposition of the public mind, the case was transferred from baltimore to annapolis, and there tried. the first witness was a mrs. chubb, who had accompanied general ketchum to baltimore, and who testified that he had fallen ill directly he arrived. he was seized with vomiting, giddiness, and general nausea, which lasted for three days. a doctor was then called in, who prescribed medicine, but mrs. wharton broke the bottle, whether by accident or intentionally it was impossible to say. distinct evidence was first afforded of the possession of tartar emetic by mrs. wharton. mrs. chubb, who went out to get a fresh bottle of medicine for the general, was asked to buy the antimony also, which mrs. wharton said she wanted for herself. the invalid's condition improved a little the next day, and arrangements were made to remove him to his own home. however, he relapsed and became worse than ever. the doctor prescribed medicine, which was to be given him at intervals, but before the time for taking the second dose, mrs. wharton appeared with it, or something like it, yet different, and more of it than was prescribed. this she strenuously urged the general to swallow, and succeeded in inducing him to do so. within fifteen minutes he was racked with terrible pain. he tore with his fingers at his throat, chest, and stomach until he broke the skin, then followed fierce convulsions, at the end of which he died. fresh evidence was forthcoming, but not accepted, against mrs. wharton. at her suggestion mrs. van ness, who had been nursing her brother, had concocted some milk punch. this was made in two portions. one was given to mr. van ness, and produced symptoms very similar to those exhibited by the unfortunate general ketchum; the other had been left in a refrigerator by the general's bedside, and when what was left had been examined by mrs. van ness, she declared it had been tampered with; there was a strange muddy deposit at the bottom of the tumbler, and when tasted it was metallic, leaving a curious grating sensation in the mouth. the original constituents had been no more than whisky, milk, and sugar. this testimony was ruled out of order, as belonging to an entirely different case. the doctor who had attended the general gave evidence as to the symptoms he observed and the remedies applied. at first sight he thought him to be suffering from asiatic cholera; but later developments were more those of apoplexy, and then again he feared paralysis. he at length had his suspicions aroused, and hinted at poison. the remains of the suspected tumbler were shown him, and his doubts became convictions. with regard to the poisonous action of tartar emetic, the doctor testified that he had noticed all its symptoms in the deceased, although there was a strong similarity between them and those of cholera. other medical opinion was to the effect that death might have been due to cerebro-spinal meningitis, and some stress was laid upon the absence of antimonial poison in many of the internal organs, although it was contended it had been found in small quantities in the stomach. the same lethal drug had been also detected by analysis in the sediment at the bottom of the tumbler of milk punch. the verdict of the jury was "not guilty," but it did not satisfy public opinion, and it was generally felt that wharton's counsel had by no means established her innocence; none of the incriminating facts had been entirely disproved, nor had the exact truth in regard to the money transactions been elicited. no doubt the accused escaped chiefly owing to the fact that chemical experts, called by her counsel, were not satisfied, beyond the possibility of all reasonable doubt, that antimony had been found in the vital organs of general ketchum. at the time of this trial another indictment was also pending against mrs. wharton, charging her with an attempt to kill mr. van ness by administering poison. but some months later the counsel for the state entered a _nolle prosequi_, for what reasons was never generally or distinctly known. the story of the perrys. truth is stranger than fiction, as we have heard often enough, but in this extraordinary case we shall never know how much is fiction, how much truth. if justice failed, it was misled by a series of the strangest circumstances, some of which have remained a mystery to the present hour. the following details are taken from an account written by a magistrate resident near the scene of the occurrence, and by name sir thomas overbury, the direct descendant of the unfortunate overbury poisoned in the tower. [illustration: ruins of old campden house, with the banqueting hall on the left.] the village of campden, in gloucestershire, some five-and-twenty minutes from the cathedral town and county seat, gave its name to the viscountess campden, the lady of the manor. her steward and agent, a certain william harrison, a man of seventy years, started from campden on the th of august, , to walk over to the neighbouring village of charringworth, where he wished to collect rents due to his mistress. as he had not returned according to his wont between and p.m., mrs. harrison, his wife, despatched a servant named john perry along the road to meet him and bring him safely home. neither perry nor his master returned that night. next morning edward harrison, the son, proceeded to charringworth to inquire for his father, and on his way met perry, the servant, coming from that village. perry told edward harrison that mr. harrison had not been heard of, and the two together visited another village, ebrington, and there got some news. a villager stated that the elder harrison had paid him a passing call the night before, but had made no stay. they next went to paxford, a mile thence, where further news met them. they heard that a poor woman had picked up, in the high road between ebrington and campden, a hat, a hat-band, and a comb, and seeking her out, they found her "leasing" or gleaning in a field, whereupon she delivered up the articles, and they were at once identified as mr. harrison's. the woman was forthwith desired to point out the spot where she had picked them up, and she showed it them on the road "near unto a great furze brake." as the hat-band was bloody and the comb all hacked and cut, it was reasonably concluded that their owner had been murdered. mr. harrison's disappearance so greatly alarmed his wife that she conceived he had met with foul play at the hand of john perry, the servant whom she had sent to convoy him home. at her instance, therefore, perry was seized and carried before a justice, who straightway bade him explain why he had stayed absent the whole of the night he had been sent to look for his master. perry's story was that he had not gone "a land's length" towards charringworth when it came on so dark he was afraid to go forward, and he returned to the harrisons' house, meaning to take out his young master's horse. but he did no more than make another false start, and then, without informing his mistress that he was still on the premises, he lay down to rest in the hen-roost, where he continued for an hour or more, "but slept not." about midnight he turned out again, and the moon having now risen he really started for charringworth. once more he was stopped; this time by a great mist, in which he lost his way, and finally he took refuge under a hedge, where he slept till daybreak. at last he reached charringworth, and learning that his master had been there the previous day, followed his movements as he went from house to house receiving monies for rent. there were, however, no signs of the missing man in the village now. most of perry's statements were verified by other witnesses; but the case was black against him, and he was detained by the law until something definite came out concerning mr. harrison. a week passed, during which perry was lodged "sometimes in an inn in campden, sometimes in the common prison," and all the time he was devising different stories to account for his master's disappearance. one was that a tinker had killed him; another that the servant of a neighbouring squire had robbed and murdered him; and thirdly, that he had been killed in campden, where his body was hidden in a bean-rick, which was searched, but no body found. on further examination, being pressed to confess, he again insisted that mr. harrison had been murdered, "but not by him." then the justice said if he knew of the murder he must know also the perpetrators, and this john perry presently allowed by putting the whole blame on his own mother and brother. he charged these near relatives with having constantly "lain at him" ever since he was in mr. harrison's service, urging him to help them with money, reminding him how poor they were, and how easy it was for him to relieve them; he need do no more than give them notice when his master went to receive his rents, and they could then waylay him and rob him. perry went on to say that he met his brother richard on the very morning that mr. harrison went to charringworth, and that the brother, hearing of the rent collection, was resolved to have the money; that when he (john perry) started by his mistress's order to bring mr. harrison safely home, he again met his brother richard, who was lying in wait at a gateway leading from campden churchyard into the "conygree," certain private grounds and gardens of lady campden's place. by-and-bye, having entered this "conygree," which was possible only to those who had the key, he found that his master was being attacked; he was "on the ground, his brother upon him, and his mother standing by." he begged hard that they would not hurt his master, who was crying, "ah, rogues, you will kill me!" but his brother richard replied: "peace, peace! you are a fool," and so strangled him, "which having done, he took a bag of money out of his (mr. harrison's) pocket, and threw it into his mother's lap," and then he and his mother consulted what to do with the body. [illustration: views of campden as it is now. . buildings just inside the "conygree," where harrison was said to have been strangled. . the "great sink" or mill pond into which harrison's body was said to have been thrown. . entrance to the "conygree" (right of the steps).] it was decided that they should drop it into the great sink, behind certain mills near the garden, and this they did. john perry told all this most circumstantially, making it agree with his own movements and the various facts that had come to light, describing how he had gone into the hen-roost but could not sleep; how he had taken with him the hat, band, and comb (and cut the latter with his knife), how he had cast them down upon the highway where they were found, giving as his reason that he hoped it might be believed that his master had been robbed and murdered. the justices, on this confession, sent to search the sink at the mill, but without success; "the fish pools likewise in campden were drawn and searched, but nothing could be there found," so that "some were of opinion the body might be hid in the ruins of campden house, burnt in the late wars, and not unfit for such concealment, where was likewise search made, but all in vain." no time was lost, however, in securing the other perrys--joan, the mother, and richard, both of whom were informed of the accusation brought against them, which "they denied with many imprecations." john, nevertheless, persisted that he had spoken nothing but truth. suspicion was strengthened against richard perry by his being seen to drop a ball of "inkle," which he declared was his wife's "hair lace," but which john, when it was shown to him, said he knew to his sorrow, for it was the string his brother had strangled mr. harrison with. other significant evidence was quoted, as that richard's nose "fell a-bleeding" when he met his children, being on his way to be admonished by the minister in church. again, it was remembered that a year before there had been a robbery at mr. harrison's, when £ was stolen from the house at noonday; and john perry was now asked if he knew aught of the matter. his answer was that his brother richard was the thief, that he, john perry, had given him notice that the money was in a room that could be reached by a ladder to the window, and that richard had stolen it while the master was in church with his whole family "at lecture." the three perrys, joan, john, and richard, were arraigned at the next assizes on two separate counts: house-breaking and robbery (of £ ), and again robbery and the murder of william harrison. the judge would not allow the second charge to be proceeded with, as no body had been found, but they acknowledged, indeed, pleaded guilty to it, begging for the king's pardon under the recent act of oblivion. the charge of murder was again advanced at the next assize before another judge, and allowed; it ended in a verdict of guilty, mainly on the strength of john's confession, although by this time john had gone out of his mind. this was enough to satisfy those who administered the law; and the three, joan, john, and richard perry, were all sentenced to be hanged. the execution was carried out without delay on broadway hill, in sight of campden, where john was also hung in chains. the strangest part of this affair has yet to be told. william harrison was not dead; he had been much misused, but had not been murdered, and three years later he reappeared in the flesh. his was a marvellous tale, and its veracity was questioned at the time, but we cannot discredit it entirely. the account he gave of himself is found in a letter he addressed to sir thomas overbury, whose narrative has been followed throughout. on the day in question, thursday, the th of august, , he went to charringworth to collect lady campden's rents, but as harvest was in progress the tenants did not come home from the fields till late, and he was kept at charringworth till nightfall. he received no more than £ , although he had expected a very considerable sum. with this in his pocket he took his road home, and reached at length the ebrington furzes, where the tract passed through a narrow passage. here he was suddenly faced by a man mounted on horseback, and fearing to be ridden down he struck the horse over the nose, whereupon the horseman drew his sword and attacked him, harrison making what defence he could with his cane. then came another behind him, who caught him by the collar and dragged him towards the hedge, and after him a third. they did not rob him of his money, but two of them lifted him into the saddle behind the third, and forcing his arms around the rider's middle, fastened the wrists together "with something that had a spring lock to it as i conceived by hearing it give a snap as they put it on." after this they threw a cloak over him, and carried him away, riding some distance till they halted at a stone pit, into which they tumbled him, having now taken all his money. an hour later they bade him come out of the pit, and when he asked what they would do with him they struck him, then mounted him again in the same manner; but before riding away they filled his pockets with a great quantity of money, which incommoded him much in riding, so that by next afternoon, when they again drew rein, he was sorely bruised. they had come now to a lone house upon a heath, where he was carried upstairs, and they stayed the night. the woman of the house was told that he was much hurt, and was being carried to a surgeon; they laid him on cushions on the floor, and gave him some broth and strong waters. next day, saturday, they rode on as before and they lay that night at a place where there were two or three houses, where again he slept on cushions. the next day, sunday, they reached deal, and halted by the seaside. one of them kept guard over the prisoner while the two others entered into conference with a man who was awaiting them. this man, whose name he afterwards heard was renshaw, was afraid that harrison would die before he could be got on board, but he was put into a boat and carried to a ship, where his wounds were dressed, and in a week's time "he was indifferently recovered." now the master of the ship came one day to say that they were chased by turkish pirates, and when all offered to fight in defence of the ship he would not suffer it, but handed them over prisoners to the turks. they were lodged in a dark hole, and remained there in wretched plight, not knowing how long it was before they landed, nor where they were put on shore, except that it was a great house or prison. presently they were called up and viewed by persons who came to buy them, and harrison, having said that he had some skill in physic, was taken by an aged physician who lived near smyrna, and who had at one time resided in england, at crowland, in lincolnshire. harrison was set to keep the still-room, and was fairly well treated, except on one occasion, when his master, being displeased, felled him to the ground, and would have stabbed him with his stiletto. after nearly two years' captivity harrison's master fell sick and died, but before the end he liberated his captive, and bade him shift for himself. harrison made his way to a seaport about a day's journey distant, where he met two men belonging to a hamburg ship, and now about to sail for portugal. he implored them to give him passage, but they replied that they did not dare, nor would they yield for all his importunity. at last a third man from the same ship consented to take him on board provided he would lie down above the keel, and remain hidden till they got to sea. they carried him safely to lisbon, where they put him on shore, penniless and friendless, as he thought, but he happened fortunately on three englishmen, one of whom took compassion on him, provided him with lodging and diet, and at last procured him a passage home. harrison's story was published in , together with the original narrative of sir thomas overbury, and certain critical remarks were appended. it was said that many people doubted whether harrison had ever been out of england. nevertheless, it was certain that he had absented himself from his home and friends for a couple of years, and unless he was carried forcibly away there is no plausible [illustration: "felled him to the ground and would have stabbed him" (p. ).] explanation of his disappearance. it seemed on the face of it highly improbable that a man who bore a good character, who was in comfortable circumstances, the esteemed servant of an honourable family for nearly fifty years, would have run away without the least warning, and apparently for no sort of reason. he was already seventy years of age, and he left behind him a very considerable sum of lady campden's money. that he was seized and sequestrated can hardly be doubted, but how or by whom, except so far as he himself describes, was never satisfactorily known. it was thought that his eldest son, hoping to succeed him in the stewardship to lady campden, might have compassed his father's removal. this view was supported by the fact that when he did become steward he betrayed his trust. yet again, to suppose that the elder harrison would allow the perrys to suffer death for a crime of which he knew they must be innocent was to accuse him of the deepest turpitude. the conclusion generally arrived at was that the facts actually did happen very much as they were related, yet the whole story is involved in mystery. the only solution, so far as perry is concerned, is that he was mad, as the second judge indeed declared. but we cannot account for harrison's conduct on any similar supposition. if his own story is rejected as too wild and improbable for credence, some other explanation must be found of his disappearance. unless he was out of the country, or at least beyond all knowledge of events at campden, it is difficult to understand what motive would have weighed with him when he heard that three persons were to be hanged as his murderers. the only possible conclusion, therefore, is that he was carried away, and kept away by force. chapter iv. police mistakes. the saffron hill murder: narrow escape of pellizioni: two men in newgate for the same offence--the murder of constable cock--the edlingham burglary: arrest, trial, and conviction of brannagan and murphy: severity of judge manisty: a new trial: brannagan and murphy pardoned and compensated: survivors of the police prosecutors put on their trial, but acquitted--lord cochrane's case: his tardy rehabilitation. no human institution is perfect, and the police are fallible like the rest. they have in truth made mistakes, all of them regrettable, many glaring, many tending to bring discredit upon a generally useful and deserving body. if they would freely confess their error they might, in most cases, be forgiven when they go wrong; but there have been occasions when only the pressure of facts which there was no disputing has elicited from them a reluctant admission that they have been on the wrong track. one or two instances of their persistence in error will now be adduced. pellizioni. in the pellizioni case, - , there might have been a terrible failure of justice, as terrible as any hitherto recorded in criminal annals. this was a murder in a public-house at saffron hill, clerkenwell. the district then, as now, was much frequented by immigrant italians, mostly of a low class, and they were often at variance with their english neighbours. a fierce quarrel arose in this tavern, and was followed by a deadly fight, in which a man named harrington was killed, and another, rebbeck, was mortally wounded. the police were speedily summoned, and, on arrival, they found an italian, pellizioni by name, lying across harrington's body, in which life was not yet extinct. pellizioni was at once seized as the almost obvious perpetrator of the foul deed. he stoutly proclaimed his innocence, declaring that he had only come in to quell the disturbance, that the murdered man and rebbeck were already on the ground, and that in the scuffle he had been thrown on the top of them. but the facts were seemingly against him, and he was duly committed for trial. [illustration: "found an italian ... lying across harrington's body" (p. ).] the case was tried before mr. baron martin, and although the evidence was extremely conflicting, the learned judge said that he thought it quite conclusive against the prisoner. he summed up strongly for a conviction, and the jury brought in a verdict of guilty, whereon pellizioni was sentenced to be hanged. this result was not accepted as satisfactory by many thoughtful people, and the matter was taken up by the press, notably by the _daily telegraph_. some of the condemned convict's compatriots became deeply interested in him. it was known that in the locality of saffron hill he bore the repute of a singularly quiet and inoffensive man. ultimately, a priest, who laboured among these poor italians, saved justice from official murder by bringing one of his flock to confess that he and not pellizioni had struck the fatal blows. this was one gregorio mogni, but he protested that he had acted only in self-defence. mogni was forthwith arrested, tried, and convicted of the crime, with the strange result that now two men lay in newgate, both condemned, independently not jointly, of one and the same crime. if mogni had struck the blows, clearly pellizioni could not have done so. moreover, a new fact was elicited at mogni's trial, and this was the production--for the first time--of the weapon used. it was a knife, and this knife had been found some distance from the scene of the crime, where it could not have been thrown by pellizioni. and again, it was known and sworn to as mogni's knife, which, after stabbing the men, he had handed to a friend to take away. the gravamen of the charge against the police was that they had found the knife before pellizioni was tried. it was at once recognised all through saffron hill that it was mogni's knife, and with so much current gossip it was hardly credible that the police were not also informed of this fact. yet, fearing to damage their case (a surely permissible inference), they kept back the knife at the first trial. it was afterwards said to have been in court, but it certainly was not produced, while it is equally certain that its identification would have quite altered the issue, and that pellizioni would not have been condemned. the defence, in his case, went the length of declaring that to this questionable proceeding the police added false swearing. no doubt they stuck manfully to their chief and to each other, but they hardly displayed the open and impartial mind that should characterise all officers of justice. in any case, it was not their fault that an innocent man was not hanged. william habron. the strange circumstances which led to the righting of this judicial wrong must give the habron case a pre-eminence among others of the kind. the mistake arose from the ungovernable temper of the accused, who threatened to shoot a certain police officer, under the impression that he had been injured by him. in july, , two brothers, william and john habron, were taken before the magistrates of chorlton-cum-hardy, near manchester, charged with drunkenness. grave doubts, were, however, expressed in court as to the identity of william habron. the chief witness, constable cock, was very positive; he knew the man, he said, because he had so often threatened reprisals if interfered with. but the magistrates gave william the benefit of the doubt, and discharged him. as he left the court he passed cock and said, "i'll do for you yet. i shall shoot you before the night is out." [illustration: cock, the murdered constable. (_from a photograph._)] others heard the threat, but thought little of it, among them superintendent bent, of the manchester police. that same night bent was roused out with the news that cock had been shot. he ran round to west point, where the unfortunate officer lay dying, and although unable to obtain from him any distinct indication of the murderer, he concluded at once that john habron must be the man. he knew where the brothers lodged, and taking with him a force of police, he surrounded the house. "if it is anyone," said the master of the house and employer of the accused, "it is william--he has such an abominable temper." all three brothers--william, john, and frank habron--were arrested in their beds and taken to the police-station. in the morning a strict examination of the ground where cock had been shot revealed a number of footmarks. the habrons' boots were brought to the spot and found to fit these marks exactly. the evidence told chiefly against william habron, who was identified as the man who had bought some cartridges in a shop in manchester. both william and john brought witnesses to prove an _alibi_, but this failed under cross-examination. again, they sought to prove that they had gone home to bed at nine o'clock on the night of the murder, while other witnesses swore to seeing them drinking at eleven p.m. in a public-house which cock must have passed soon after that hour on his way to west point, the spot where he was found murdered. the fact of william habron's animus against the constable was elicited from several witnesses, but what told most against the prisoners was the contradictory character of the defence. william habron alone was convicted, and sentenced to penal servitude. years afterwards the notorious charles peace, when lying under sentence of death in leeds prison, made full confession to the writer of these pages that it was he who had killed constable cock on the night in question. the case was taken up at once, and after thorough investigation of the facts, as stated by peace, habron received a full pardon and an indemnity of £ . the edlingham burglary. almost at the very time that william habron was receiving tardy justice a new and still more grievous error was being perpetrated in the north of england. the edlingham burglary case will always be remembered as a grave failure of justice, and not alone because the circumstantial evidence did not appear sufficient, but because the police, in their anxiety to secure conviction, went too far. as the survivors of the northumberland police force concerned in this case were afterwards put upon their trial for conspiracy and acquitted, they cannot be actually charged with manufacturing false evidence, but it is pretty clear that facts were distorted, and even suppressed, to support the police view. the vicarage at edlingham, a small village near alnwick, was broken into on the th of february, . the only occupants of the house were mr. buckle, the vicar, his wife, an invalid, his daughter and four female servants. the daughter gave the alarm about one a.m., and roused her father, a still sturdy old gentleman although seventy-seven years of age, who slipped on a dressing-gown, and seizing a sword he had by him, rushed downstairs, candle in hand, to do battle for his possessions. he found two men rifling the drawing-room, and thrust at them; one rushed past him and made his escape, the other fired at the vicar and wounded him. the same shot (it was a scatter gun) also wounded miss buckle. this second burglar then jumped out of the drawing-room window on to the soft mould of a garden bed. the alarm was given, the police and a doctor were summoned. the latter attended to the wounds, which were serious, and the police, under the orders of superintendent harkes, an energetic officer, immediately took the necessary steps to discover the culprits. officers were despatched to visit the domiciles of all the poachers and other bad characters in alnwick, while a watch was set upon the roads into the town so that any suspicious persons arriving might be stopped and searched. then mr. harkes drove over to edlingham to view the premises. he found the window in the drawing-room through which the burglars had entered still open, and the room, all in confusion, ransacked and rifled. one of the servants gave him a chisel which she had found in an adjoining room, another handed over a piece of newspaper picked up just outside the dining-room door. the police-officer soon saw from the marks made that the chisel had been used to prise open the doors, and so soon as daylight came he found outside in the garden the print of feet and the impress of hands and knees upon the mould. meanwhile, the officers in alnwick had ascertained that two men, both of them known poachers, had been absent from home during the night. their names were michael brannagan and peter murphy; both were stopped on the outskirts of the town about seven o'clock on the morning of the th. there was nothing more against them at the moment than their absence during the night, and after having searched them the police let them go home. brannagan was quickly followed, and arrested as he was taking off his dirty clogs. murphy, who lodged with his sister, had time to change his wet clothes and boots before the officers appeared to take him. a girl to whom he was engaged, fearing [illustration: mr. buckle surprising the burglars.] something was wrong, quickly examined the pockets of his coat, and, finding some blood and fur, tore these pockets out, and hid the coat. when the police returned and asked for the clothes he had been wearing, she gave them a jacket belonging to peter's brother-in-law, an old man named redpath. at the police-station, the prisoners were stripped and examined. there was no sign of a sword wound on either of them, nor any hole or rent that might have been made by a sword-thrust through their clothes. that same day the prisoners were taken to edlingham, and everything was arranged as during the burglary. but mr. buckle could not identify either of them, nor could miss buckle. the case against the prisoners was certainly not strong at this stage. moreover, there was this strong presumption in their favour--that people engaged in such an outrage as burglary and wounding with intent would not have returned openly to their homes within a few hours of the commission of the crime. when brought before the magistrates for preliminary inquiry, the prisoners found fresh evidence adduced against them. the police, in the person of mr. harkes, had traced foot-marks going through the grounds of the vicarage, and out on to the alnwick road. plaster casts were produced of these footmarks, also the boots and clogs of the prisoners, and all were found to correspond. the chisel found in the vicarage had been traced to murphy. his brother-in-law, old redpath, had been induced to identify it as his property. this admission had been obtained from redpath by a clever ruse, as the police called it, although they had really set a trap for him, and he had owned to the chisel although it was not his at all. another damning fact had been elicited in the discovery of a scrap of newspaper in the lining of murphy's coat (which, as we know, was not murphy's, but redpath's), which fragment fitted exactly into the newspaper picked up in the vicarage. this scrap of paper was unearthed from the coat on the th of february, by an altogether independent and unimpeachable witness, dr. wilson, the medical gentleman who attended the buckles. it may be observed that the coat itself had been in the possession of the police for just nine days; so had the original newspaper. the evidence was deemed sufficient, and both prisoners were fully committed for trial at the newcastle spring assizes of . it is now known that certain facts, damaging to the prosecution, had been brought to the notice of the police. they had positive information that other persons had been abroad from alnwick that night; they had received a statement, made with much force by one who had good reason to know, that the wrong men had been arrested; while there were witnesses who had met the prisoners soon after the burglary on the other side of alnwick. on the other hand, fresh evidence against them was forthcoming at the trial. this was the discovery of a piece of fustian cloth with a button attached, which had been picked up by a zealous police-officer under the drawing-room window, a month after the burglary. here again was damaging evidence, for this scrap of cloth was found to fit exactly into a gap in brannagan's trousers. it was said afterwards, at the trial of the police, that they had purposely cut out the piece; and it was proved in evidence that a tailor of alnwick, to whom the trousers and piece were submitted, expressed his doubts that the accident could have happened in jumping out of the window. the tear would have been more irregular, the fitting-in less exact. moreover, the piece of cloth was perfectly fresh and clean when found, whereas, if it had lain out for nearly a month in the mud and snow, it must have become dark and dirty, and hard at the edges, as corduroy goes when exposed to the weather. as, however, the judge would not allow the cloth and button to be put in evidence, they played no important part in the case until the subsequent prosecution of the police, except possibly in prejudicing the minds of the jury against brannagan and murphy. the prisoners were ably defended by mr. milvain, afterwards a q.c. his case was that mr. buckle (who had corrected his first denial, and, later, had identified the men) was mistaken in the confusion and excitement of the burglarious attack; and that the police had actually conspired to prove the case with manufactured evidence, so as to avoid the reproach of another undetected crime. in support of this grave charge he argued that even if the footprints had not been made deliberately with the boots and clogs in their possession, there had been a great crowd of curious folk all around the house after the crime, any of whom might have made the marks. but a still stronger disproof was that there were no distinct footmarks under the drawing-room window, only vague and blurred impressions; a statement borne out long afterwards, when it was found that the real burglars had taken the precaution to cover their feet with sacking. again, the evidence of the newspaper was altogether repudiated on the grounds that it had not been sooner detected, and had been put with malicious intention where it was found. lastly, several witnesses swore that they had never seen in the possession of old redpath any chisel such as that produced; while as to the gun, it was denied that either prisoner had ever possessed any firearms. their poaching was for rabbits, and they always used a clever terrier. [illustration: edlingham rectory. _photo: cassell & co., limited._] the judge (manisty) summed up strongly against the prisoners, but the jury did not so easily agree upon their verdict. they deliberated for three hours, and at last delivered a verdict of guilty, whereupon the judge commended them, and proceeded to pass the heaviest sentence in his power, short of death. he sought in vain, he said, "for any redeeming circumstance" that would justify him in reducing the sentence. had mr. or miss buckle succumbed to their wounds, he must have condemned the prisoners to death. it is clear, then, that judge manisty was only saved by mere accident from making as grievous a mistake as any into which a judge ever fell. brannagan and murphy were removed from court protesting their innocence. they went into penal servitude with the same disclaimer. seven years dragged themselves along, and there seemed no near prospect of release, "life" convicts being detained as a rule for at least twenty years. but now, by some unseen working of providence, a light was about to be let in on the case. it came to the knowledge of a young solicitor in alnwick that a certain george edgell had been "out" on the night of the edlingham burglary, and that when he came in, a little before the general alarm, his wife had begged their fellow-lodgers to say nothing about his absence. mr. percy, vicar of st. paul's, alnwick, through whose unstinting exertions justice at last was done, knew edgell and questioned him, openly taxing him with complicity in the now nearly forgotten crime. edgell at first stoutly denied the imputation, but seemed greatly agitated and upset. added to this, it was stated authoritatively that harkes, the police superintendent, who was now dead, admitted that he had been wrong, but that it was too late to rectify the mistake. there was some strong counter influence at work, and mr. percy found presently that another man, named charles richardson, was constantly hanging about edgell. the reason came out when at last edgell made full confession of the burglary, and it was seen that this richardson was his accomplice. they had been out on a poaching expedition, but had had little success. then richardson proposed to try the vicarage, and they forced their way in. richardson used a chisel which he had picked up in an outhouse to prise open the windows and doors. all through he had been the leader and moving spirit. he it was who had first thought of the burglary, who had carried off the only bit of spoil worth having, miss buckle's gold watch, and this, by a curious nemesis, afforded one of the strongest proofs of his guilt. a seal or trinket had been attached to the chain, and years afterwards, the jeweller to whom he had sold it came forward as a witness against him. the watch itself he had been unable to dispose of, he said, and he threw it into the tyne. richardson was a burly ruffian of great stature, and possessed of enormous strength; a quarrelsome desperado, who had already been tried for the murder of a policeman but acquitted for want of sufficient legal proof. the matter was now taken up by mr. milvain, q.c., who, it will be remembered, defended brannagan and murphy, and who had become recorder of durham. at his earnest request, backed by strong local representations, the home secretary at length ordered a commission of inquiry, admitting that the circumstances of the case were "most singular and unprecedented." a solicitor of newcastle was appointed to investigate the whole matter, and the fresh facts, with edgell's confession, were set before him. on his report the conviction was quashed. it was now seen that the evidence which had condemned those innocent men to a life sentence was flimsy, and much of it open to doubt. all the weak points have been already set forth, and it is enough to state that brannagan and murphy were forthwith released, and returned in triumph to northumberland. the treasury adjudged them the sum of £ each, as some slight compensation for their seven years spent in durance vile, and the money was safely invested for them by trustees. brannagan at once obtained employment as a wheelwright, the handicraft he had acquired in prison, and murphy, who was a prison-taught baker, adopted that trade, and married the girl agnes simm, who had befriended him in regard to the coat on the morning after the burglary. the real offenders were in due course put upon their trial at newcastle, before mr. baron pollock, were found guilty, and sentenced each to five years' penal servitude. a petition, with upwards of three thousand signatures, was presented to the home secretary, praying for a mitigation of sentence on the ground that edgell's voluntary confession had righted a grievous wrong. the reply was in the negative, and this decision can no doubt be justified. but it is impossible to leave this question of sentence without commenting upon the extraordinary difference in the views of two of her majesty's judges in dealing with precisely the same offence. there is no more glaring instance on record of the inequality in the sentences that may be passed than that of mr. justice manisty inflicting "life" where mr. baron pollock thought five years sufficient. another trial was inevitable before this unfortunate affair came to an end. the conduct of the police had been so strongly [illustration: convicts at work. . mat-making. . boot-making. . serving dinner. . basket-weaving. . carpentry in cell. _photos: w. h. grove, brompton road, s.w._] impugned that nothing less than a judicial investigation would satisfy the public mind. a scotland yard detective, the well-known and highly intelligent inspector butcher, had been sent down to northumberland to verify, if possible, strong suspicions, and hunt up all the facts. he worked upon the problem for a couple of months, and a criminal prosecution was ordered on his report. harkes was now dead, but four of his constables, harrison, sprott, gair, and chambers, were charged with deliberately plotting the conviction of two innocent men. they were accused of making false plaster casts of footprints; of entrapping redpath into a mistaken recognition of the chisel; of tearing a piece of the newspaper found in the vicarage and feloniously placing it in the lining of what they believed to be murphy's coat; and lastly, of tearing or cutting out from brannagan's trousers a piece of cloth, which they placed in the vicarage garden, to show that brannagan had been there and had jumped through the window. the real burglars, edgell and richardson, were brought in their convict garb to give evidence against the policemen by detailing their proceedings on the night of the crime. edgell's story was received with respect, coming as it did from a man who was suffering imprisonment on his own confession. it was credibly believed that richardson had picked up the chisel, and all the probabilities corroborated their statement that they had covered up their feet with sacking. the defence was that the confession was all a lie, and that the men who made it were worthless characters. in summing up, mr. justice denman showed that the evidence of deliberate conspiracy was wanting, and that the police might be believed to have been honestly endeavouring to do their duty in securing a conviction. [illustration: ex-superintendent butcher, the officer who investigated the edlingham case.] the verdict was "not guilty," and was generally approved, more perhaps on negative grounds of want of proof than from any positive evidence of innocence. but the result was no doubt influenced by the fact that the principal person in the plot, if plot there was, had passed beyond the reach of human justice. the chief mover in the prosecution was superintendent harkes, and the rest only acted at his instigation. lord cochrane. the prosecution and conviction of lord cochrane in may well be classed under this head, for it was distinctly an error of _la haute police_, of the government, which as the head of all police, authorises the detection of all wrong-doing, and sets the criminal law in motion against all supposed offenders. it has now, been generally accepted that the trial and prosecution of lord cochrane (afterwards earl of dundonald) was a gross case of judicial error. he was charged with having conspired to cause a rise in the public funds by disseminating false news. there were, no doubt, suspicious circumstances connecting him with the frauds of which he was wrongfully convicted, but he had a good answer to all. his conviction and severe sentence, after a trial that showed the bitter animosity of the judge (ellenborough) against a political foe, caused a strong revulsion of feeling in the public mind, and it was generally believed that he had not had fair play. the law, indeed, fell upon him heavily. he was found guilty, and sentenced to pay a fine of £ , to stand in the pillory, and to be imprisoned for twelve months. these penalties involved the forfeiture of his naval rank, and he had risen by many deeds of conspicuous gallantry to be one of the foremost officers in the british navy. his name was erased from the list of knights of the bath, and he was socially disgraced. how he lived to be rehabilitated and restored to his rank and dignities is the best proof of his wrongful conviction. the story told by lord cochrane himself in his affidavits will best describe what happened. having just put a new ship in commission, _h.m.s. tonnant_, he was preparing her for sea with a convoy. he was an inventive genius, and had recently patented certain lamps for the use of the ships sailing with him. he had gone into the city one morning, the st of february, , to supervise their manufacture, when a servant followed him with a note. it had been brought to his house by a military officer in uniform, whose name was not known, nor could it be deciphered, so illegible was the scrawl. lord cochrane was expecting news from the peninsula, where a brother of his lay desperately wounded, and he sent back word to his house that he would come to see the officer at the earliest possible moment. when he returned he found a person he barely knew, who gave the name of raudon de berenger, and told a strange tale. he was a prisoner for debt, he said, within the rules of the king's bench, and he had come to lord cochrane to implore him to release him from his difficulties and carry him to america in his ship. his request was refused--it could not be granted, indeed, according to naval rules; and de berenger was dismissed. but before he left he urged piteously that to return to the king's bench prison in full uniform would attract suspicion. it was not stated how he had left it, but he no doubt implied that he had escaped and changed into uniform somewhere. why he did not go back to the same place to resume his plain clothes did not appear. lord cochrane only knew that in answer to his urgent entreaty he lent him some clothes. the room was at that moment littered with clothes, which were to be sent on board the _tonnant_, and he unsuspiciously gave de berenger a "civilian's hat and coat." this was a capital part of the charge against lord cochrane. de berenger had altogether lied about himself. he had not come from within the rules of the king's bench but from dover, where he had been seen the previous night at the ship hotel. he was then in uniform, and pretended to be an aide-de-camp to lord cathcart, the bearer of important despatches. he made no secret of the transcendent news he brought. bonaparte had been killed by the cossacks, louis xviii proclaimed, and the allied armies were on the point of occupying paris. to give greater publicity to the intelligence, he sent it by letter to the port-admiral at deal, to be forwarded to the government in london by means of the semaphore telegraph. the effect of this startling news was to send up stocks ten per cent., and many speculators who sold on the rise realised enormous sums. de berenger, still in uniform, followed in a post-chaise, but on reaching london he dismissed it, took a hackney coach, and drove straight to lord cochrane's. he had some slight acquaintance with his lordship, and had already petitioned him for a passage [illustration: bow street police court in . (_from a contemporary print by rowlandson and pugin._)] [illustration: lord cochrane. (_from the painting by stroehling._)] to america, an application which had been refused. there was nothing extraordinary, then, in de berenger's visit. his lordship, again, claimed that de berenger's call on him, instead of going straight to the stock exchange to commence operations, indicated that he had weakened in his plot, and did not see how to carry it through. "had i been his confederate," says lord cochrane in his affidavit, "it is not within the bounds of credibility that he would have come in the first instance to my house, and waited two hours for my return home, in place of carrying out the plot he had undertaken, or that i should have been occupied in perfecting my lamp invention for the use of the convoy, of which i was in a few days to take charge, instead of being on _the only spot_ where any advantage to be derived from the stock exchange hoax could be realised, had i been a participator in it. such advantage must have been immediate, before the truth came out; and to have reaped it, had i been guilty, it was necessary that i should not lose a moment. it is still more improbable that being aware of the hoax, i should not have speculated largely for the special risk of that day." [illustration: _de berenger._-- (_from cruikshank's etching._)] we may take lord cochrane's word, as an officer and a gentleman, that he had no guilty knowledge of de berenger's scheme; but here again the luck was against him, for it came out in evidence that his brokers had sold stock for him on the day of the fraud. yet the operation was not an isolated one made on that occasion only. lord cochrane declared that he had for some time past anticipated a favourable conclusion to the war. "i had held shares for the rise," he said, "and had made money by sales. the stock i held on the day of the fraud was less than [illustration: "gambling in the stocks." (_from cruikshank's etching._)] i usually had, and it was sold under an old order given to my brokers to sell at a certain price. it had necessarily to be sold." it was clear to lord cochrane's friends--who, indeed, and rightly, held him to be incapable of stooping to fraud--that had he contemplated it he would have been a larger holder of stock on the day in question, when he actually held less than usual. on these grounds alone they were of opinion that he should have been absolved from the charge. [illustration: lord cochrane as he appeared in court. (_from cruikshank's etching._)] great lawyers like lords campbell, brougham, and erskine have commented on this case, all of them expressing their belief in lord cochrane's innocence. lord campbell was of opinion that the verdict was "palpably contrary to the first principles of justice, and ought to have been reversed." the late chief baron, sir fitzroy kelly, in criticising the trial, ends by expressing his regret that "we cannot blot out this dark page from our legal and judicial history." these are the opinions of legal luminaries who were in the fullest mental vigour and acumen at the time of the trial. they were intimately acquainted with all the facts, and we may accept their judgment that a great and grievous wrong had been done to a nobleman of high character, who had not spared himself in the service of the state. their view was tardily supported by the government in restoring lord cochrane to his rightful position in the navy. the part taken by the late lord playfair in the rehabilitation of lord dundonald has been told by sir wemyss reid in his admirable "memoirs" of playfair. lord dundonald died in october, , and by his last will bequeathed to his grandson, the present gallant earl, whose brilliant achievements as a cavalry leader in the great boer war have shown him to be a worthy scion of a warrior stock, "all the sums due to me by the british government for my important services, as well as the sums of pay stopped under perjured evidence for the commission of a fraud upon the stock exchange. given under my trembling hand this st day of february, the anniversary of my ruin." lord playfair was an intimate friend of the much-worried admiral, and while he was a member of the house of commons he made a strenuous effort to carry out the terms of the above will by recovering the sums mentioned in it. he moved for a select committee of the house, which could not be refused, "as," to quote playfair, "the whole world had come to the conviction that dundonald was entirely innocent." the committee was appointed, and was composed of many excellent men, including spencer walpole, russell gurney, and whitbread. what followed shall be told in playfair's own words. "i declined to go upon the committee," he writes in his autobiography, as edited by sir wemyss reid, "as my feelings of friendship were too keen to make me a fair judge. the committee felt perfectly satisfied of lord dundonald's innocence, but they hesitated as to their report from lack of evidence; at the critical point an interesting event occurred. "in lord dundonald and lady x were in love, and though they did not marry, always held each other in great esteem for the rest of their lives. old lady x was still alive in , and she sent me a letter through young cochrane, the grandson, authorising me to use it as i thought best. the letter was yellow with age, but had been carefully preserved. it was written by lord dundonald, and was dated from the prison on the night of the committal. it tried to console the lady by the fact that the guilt of a near relative of hers was not suspected, while the innocence of the writer was his support and consolation. "the old lady must have had a terrible trial. it was hard to sacrifice the reputation of her relative; it was harder still to see injustice still resting upon her former lover. lord dundonald had loved her and had received much kindness from her relative, so he suffered calumny and the injustice of nearly two generations rather than tell the true story of his wrong. "i had long suspected the truth, but i never heard it from lord dundonald. the brave old lady tendered this letter as evidence to the committee, but i declined to give it in, knowing that had my friend been alive he would not have allowed me to do so. at the same time i showed the letter to the members of the committee individually, and it had a great effect upon their minds, and no doubt helped to secure the report recommending that the treasury should pay the grandson the back salary of the admiral. [illustration: lord cochrane in custody. (_from cruikshank's etching._)] "the interesting letter itself i recommended should be put in the archives of the dundonald family, and this i believe has been done." part iii. police--past and present. chapter v. early police: france. origin of police--definitions--first police in france--charles v.--louis xiv.--the lieutenant-general of police--his functions and powers--la reynie--his energetic measures against crime--as a censor of the press--his steps to check gambling and cheating at games of chance--la reynie's successors: the d'argensons, hérault, d'ombréval, berryer--the famous de sartines--two instances of his omniscience--lenoir and espionage--de crosne, the last and most feeble lieutenant-general of police--the story of the bookseller blaizot--police under the directory and the empire--fouché--his beginnings and first chances--a born police officer--his rise and fall--general savary--his character--how he organised his service of spies--his humiliating failure in the conspiracy of general malet--fouché's return to power--some views of his character. when men began to congregate in communities, laws for the good government and protection of the whole number became a necessity, and this led to the creation of police. the word itself is derived from [greek: polis] ("city"), a collection of people within a certain area: a community working regularly together for mutual advantage and defence. the work of defence was internal as well as external, for since the world began there have been dissidents and outlaws, those who declined to accept the standard of conduct deemed generally binding, and so set law at defiance. hence the organisation of some force taking its mandate from the many to compel good conduct in the few; some special institution whose functions are to watch over the common weal, and act for the public both in preventing evil and preparing or securing good. from this the police deduces its claim to such interference with every citizen as is necessary to maintain order and ensure obedience to the law. it is easy to see that by excessive development the police system may become too paternal, and that under the great despotisms it may be and often is a potent engine for the enslavement of a people. [illustration: clock at the palais de justice, paris, presented by charles v. in .] these ideas, perfect enough in the abstract, are contained in the definitions of police as found in dictionaries and the best authorities. the imperial dictionary calls it "a judicial and executive system in a national jurisprudence which is specially concerned with the quiet and good order of society; the means instituted by a government or community to maintain public order, liberty, property, and individual security." littré defines _police_ as "the ordered system established in any city or state, which controls all that affects the comfort and safety of the inhabitants." "police," says a modern writer, "is that section of public authority charged to protect persons and things against every attack, every evil which can be prevented or lessened by human prudence." again: "to maintain public order, protect property and personal liberty, to watch over public manners and the public health: such are the principal functions of the police." although we english people were slow to adopt any police system on a large or uniform scale, the principle has ever been accepted by our legists. jeremy bentham considered police necessary as a measure of precaution, to prevent crimes and calamities as well as to correct and cure them. blackstone in his commentaries says: "by public police and economy i mean the due regulation and domestic order of the kingdom, whereby the individuals of the state, like members of a well-governed family, are bound to conform their general behaviour to the rules of propriety, good neighbourhood, and good manners; to be decent, industrious, and inoffensive in their respective stations." [illustration: the bastille. (_from an old print._)] the french kings were probably the first, in modern times, to establish a police system. as early as the fourteenth century charles v., who was ready to administer justice anywhere, in the open field or under the first tree, invented a police "to increase the happiness and security of his people." it was a fatal gift, soon to be developed into an engine of horrible oppression. it came to be the symbol of despotism, the plain outward evidence of the king's supreme will, the bars and fetters that checked and restrained all liberty, depriving the people of the commonest rights and privileges, forbidding them to work, eat, dress, live, or move from place to place without leave. louis xiv., on his accession, systematised and enormously increased the functions and powers of the police, and with an excellent object, that of giving security to a city in which crime, disorder, and dirt flourished unchecked. but in obtaining good government all freedom and independence was crushed out of the people. the lieutenant of police first appointed in , and presently advanced to the higher rank of lieutenant-general, was an all-powerful functionary, who ruled paris despotically henceforward to the great break-up at the revolution. he had summary jurisdiction over beggars, vagabonds, and evil-doers of all kinds and classes; he was in return responsible for the security and general good order of the city. crimes, great and small, were very prevalent, such as repeated acts of fraud and embezzlement; for fouquet had but just been convicted of the malversation of public moneys on a gigantic scale. there were traitors in even the highest ranks, and the chevalier de rohan about this period was detected in a plot to sell several strong places on the normandy coast to the enemy. very soon the civilised world was to be shocked beyond measure by the wholesale poisonings of the marchioness of brinvilliers, voisin, and other miscreants. in the very heart of paris there was a deep gangrene, a sort of criminal alsatia--the cour des miracles--where depredators and desperadoes gathered unchecked, and defied authority. the streets were made hideous by incessant bloodthirsty brawls; quarrels were fought out then and there, for everyone, with or without leave, carried a sword--even servants and retainers of the great noblemen--and was prompt to use it. the lieutenant-general was nearly absolute in regard to offences, both political and general. in his office were kept long lists of suspected persons and known evil-doers, with full details of their marks and appearance, nationality and character. he could deal at once with all persons taken in the act; if penalties beyond his power were required, he passed them on to the superior courts. the prisoners of state in the royal castles--the bastille, vincennes, and [illustration: relics of the bastille and other french prisons. (_in the possession of madame tussaud & sons, limited._) . hand crusher. . thumb-screw. . key of the bastille. . dungeon door from the abbey prison, paris. . handcuffs. . wrist and neck-irons.] the rest--were in his charge; he interrogated them at will, and might add to their number by arresting dangerous or suspected persons, in pursuit of whom he could enter and search private houses or take any steps, however arbitrary. for all these purposes he had a large armed force at his disposal, cavalry and infantry, nearly a thousand men in all, and besides there was the city watch, the _chevaliers de guet_, or "archers," who were seventy-one in number. la reynie. the first lieutenant-general of police in paris was gabriel nicolas (who assumed the name of la reynie, from his estate), a young lawyer who had been the _protégé_ of the governor of burgundy, and afterwards was taken up by colbert, louis xiv.'s minister. la reynie is described by his contemporaries as a man of great force of character, grave and silent and self-reliant, who wielded his new authority with great judgment and determination, and soon won the entire confidence of the autocratic king. he lost no time in putting matters right. to clear out the cour des miracles and expel all rogues was one of his first measures; his second was to enforce the regulation forbidding servants to go armed. exemplary punishment overtook two footmen of a great house who had beaten and wounded a student upon the pont neuf. they were apprehended, convicted, and hanged, in spite of the strong protests of their masters. la reynie went farther, and revived the ancient regulation by which servants could not come and go as they pleased, and none could be engaged who did not possess papers _en règle_. the servants did not submit kindly, and for some time evaded the new rule by carrying huge sticks or canes, of which also they were eventually deprived. the lieutenant-general of police was the censor of the press, which was more free-spoken than was pleasing to a despotic government, and often published matter that was deemed libellous. the french were not yet entirely cowed, and sometimes they dared to cry out against unjust judges and thieving financiers; there were fierce factions in the church; jesuit and jansenist carried on a bitter polemical war; the protestants, unceasingly persecuted, made open complaint which brought down on some of their exemplary clergy the penalty of the galleys. the police had complete authority over printers and publishers, and could deal sharply with all books, pamphlets, or papers containing libellous statements or improper opinions. the most stringent steps were taken to prevent the distribution of prohibited books. philosophical works were most disliked. books when seized were dealt with as criminals and were at once consigned to the bastille. twenty copies were set aside by the governor, other twelve or fifteen were at the disposal of the higher officials, the rest were handed over to the paper-makers to be torn up and sold as waste paper or destroyed by fire in the presence of the keeper of archives. many of the books preserved in the bastille and found at the revolution were proved to be insignificant and inoffensive, and to have been condemned on the general charge of being libels either on the queen and royal family or on the ministers of state. prohibited books were not imprisoned until they had been tried and condemned; their sentence was written on a ticket affixed to the sack containing them. condemned engravings were scratched and defaced in the presence of the keeper of archives and the staff of the bastille; and so wholesale was the destruction of books that one paper-maker alone carried off , pounds weight of fragments. seizures were often accompanied by the arrest of printers and publishers, and an order to destroy the press and distribute the bookseller's whole stock. [illustration: louis xiv. (_from an old print._)] although la reynie used every effort to check improper publications, he was known as the patron and supporter of legitimate printing. under his auspices several notable editions issued from the press, and their printers received handsome pensions from the state. he was a collector, a bibliophile who gathered together many original texts; and he will always deserve credit for having caused the chief manuscripts of the great dramatist molière to be carefully preserved. society was very corrupt in those days, honeycombed with vices, especially gambling, which claimed the constant attention of a paternal police. la reynie was most active in his pursuit of gamblers. the rapid fortunes made by dishonest means led to much reckless living, and especially to an extraordinary development of play. everyone gambled, everywhere, in and out of doors, even in their carriages while travelling to and fro. louis xiv., as he got on in life, and more youthful pleasures palled, played tremendously. his courtiers naturally followed the example. it was not all fair play either; the temptation of winning largely attracted numbers of "greeks" to the gaming tables, and cheating of all kinds was very common. the king gave frequent and positive orders to check it. a special functionary who had jurisdiction in the court, the grand provost, was instructed to find some means of preventing this constant cheating at play. at the same time la reynie sent colbert a statement of the various kinds of fraud practised with cards, dice, or _hoca_, a game played with thirty points and thirty balls. the police lieutenant made various suggestions for checking these malpractices; the card-makers were to be subjected to stringent surveillance; it was useless to control the makers of dice, but they were instructed to denounce all who ordered loaded dice. as to _hoca_, it was, he said, far the most difficult and the most dangerous. the italians, who had originated the game, so despaired of checking cheating in it that they had forbidden it in their own country. la reynie's anxiety was such that he begged the minister to prohibit its introduction at the court, as the fashion would soon be followed in the city. however, this application failed; the court would not sacrifice its amusements, and was soon devoted to _hoca_, with _lansquenet_, _postique_, _trou-madame_, and other games of hazard. the extent to which gambling was carried will be seen in the amounts lost and won; it was easy, in _lansquenet_ or _hoca_, to win fifty or sixty times in a quarter of an hour. madame de montespan, the king's favourite, frequently lost a hundred thousand crowns at a sitting. one christmas day she lost seven hundred thousand crowns. on another occasion she laid a hundred and fifty thousand pistoles (£ , ) upon three cards, and won. another night, it is said, she won back five millions which she had lost. monsieur, the king's brother, also gambled wildly. when campaigning he lost a hundred thousand francs to other officers; once he was obliged to pledge the whole of his jewels to liquidate his debts of honour. nevertheless the games of chance, if permitted at court, were prohibited elsewhere. the police continually harried the keepers of gambling hells; those who offended were forced to shut up their establishments and expelled from paris. the king was disgusted at times, and reproved his courtiers. he took one m. de ventadour sharply to task for starting _hoca_ in his house, and warned him that "this kind of thing must be entirely ended." the exact opposite was the result: that and other games gained steadily in popularity, and the number of players increased and multiplied. the king promised la reynie to put gambling down with a strong hand, and called for a list of all hells and of those who kept them. but the simple measure of beginning with the court was not tried. had play been suppressed among the highest it would soon have gone out of fashion; as it was, it flourished unchecked till the collapse of the _ancien régime_. hÉrault. it would be tedious to trace the succession of lieutenants-general between la reynie and de crosne, the last, who was in office at the outbreak of the french revolution. one or two were remarkable in their way: the elder d'argenson, who was universally detested and feared; who cleared out the low haunts with such ruthless severity that he was known to the thieves and criminals as rhadamanthus, or the judge of the infernal regions; his son, d'argenson the younger, who is held responsible for the law of passports which made it death to go abroad without one; hérault, who persecuted the freemasons, and was so noted for his bigotry and intolerance. of him the following story is told. in one of his walks abroad he took offence at the sign at a shop door which represented a priest bargaining about goods at a counter, with this title, "l'abbé coquet." returning home, he despatched an emissary to fetch the abbé coquet, but gave no explanation. the agent went out and picked up a priest of the name and brought him to hérault's house. they told him the abbé coquet was below. "mettez-le dans le grenier" was hérault's brief order. next day the abbé, half-starved, grew furious at his detention, and hérault's servants reported that they could do nothing with him. "eh! brulez-le et laissez-moi tranquille!" replied the chief of police, whereupon an explanation followed, and the abbé coquet was released. d'ombrÉval. d'ombréval, again, was a man of intolerant views. he especially distinguished himself by his persistent persecution of the mad fanatics called the _convulsionnaires_,[ ] whom he ran down everywhere, pursuing them into the most private places, respecting neither age nor sex, and casting them wholesale into prison. two of these victims were found in the conciergerie in who had been imprisoned for thirty-eight years. the _convulsionnaires_ successfully defied the police in the matter of a periodical print which they published secretly and distributed in the very teeth of authority. this rare instance of baffled detection is worth recording. the police were powerless to suppress the _nouvelles ecclésiastiques_, as the paper was called. a whole army of active and unscrupulous spies could not discover who wrote it or where it was printed. sometimes it appeared in the town, sometimes in the country. it was printed, now in the suburbs, now among the piles of wood in the gros caillou, now upon barges in the river seine, now in private houses. a thousand ingenious devices were practised to put it into circulation and get it through the barriers. one of the cleverest was by utilising a poodle dog which carried a false skin over its shaved body; between the two the sheets were carefully concealed, and travelled safely into the city. so bold were the authors of this print that on one occasion when the police lieutenant was searching a house for a printing press several copies of the paper still wet from the press were thrown into his carriage. berryer. berryer, a later lieutenant-general, owed his appointment to madame de pompadour, whose creature he was, and his whole [illustration: de sartine. (_from the engraving by littret._)] aim was to learn all that was said of her and against her, and then avenge attack by summary arrests. at her instance he sent in a daily statement of all the scandalous gossip current in the city, and he lent his willing aid to the creation of the infamous _cabinet noir_, in which the sanctity of all correspondence was violated and every letter read as it passed through the post. a staff of clerks was always busy; they took impressions of the seals with quicksilver, melted the wax over steam, extracted the sheets, read them, and copied all parts that were thought likely to interest the king and madame de pompadour. the treacherous practice was well known in paris, and so warmly condemned that it is recorded in contemporary memoirs: "dr. quesnay furiously declared he would sooner dine with the hangman than with the intendant of posts" who countenanced such a base proceeding. m. de sartines. perhaps the most famous and most successful police minister of his time was m. de sartines, whose detective triumphs were mainly due to his extensive system and to the activity of his nearly ubiquitous agents. two good stories are preserved of de sartines' omniscience. one of them runs that a great officer of state wrote him from vienna begging that a noted austrian robber who had taken refuge in paris might be arrested and handed over. de sartines immediately replied that it was quite a mistake, the man wanted was not in paris, but actually in vienna; he gave his exact address, the hours at which he went in and out of his house, and the disguises he usually assumed. the information was absolutely correct, and led to the robber's arrest. again, one of de sartines' friends, the president of the high court at lyons, ventured to deride his processes, declaring that they were of no avail, and that anyone, if so disposed, could elude the police. he offered a wager, which de sartines accepted, that he could come into paris and conceal himself there for several days without the knowledge of the police. a month later this judge left lyons secretly, travelled to paris day and night, and on arrival took up his quarters in a remote part of the city. by noon that day he received a letter, delivered at his address, from de sartines, who invited him to dinner and claimed payment of the wager. a great _coup_ was made by this adroit officer, but the interest of the affair attaches rather to the thieves than to the police. it was on the occasion of the marriage of louis xvi. and marie antoinette in . during the great fêtes in honour of the event an extraordinary tumult arose in the rue royale, where it joins the modern champs Élysées. a gang of desperadoes had cunningly stretched cords across the street under cover of the darkness, and the crowds moving out to the fêtes fell over them in hundreds. the confusion soon grew general, and a frightful catastrophe ensued. men, women, and children, horses and carriages, were mixed up in an inextricable tangle, and hundreds were trampled to death. some desperate men tried to hack out a passage with their swords, children were passed from hand to hand over the heads of the [illustration: tumult caused by thieves at the marriage festivities of marie antoinette.] crowd, too often to fall and be swallowed up in the struggling gulf below. no fewer than , people are said to have perished in this horrible _mêlée_. it was, of course, a time of harvest for the thieves. apparently only one of the confraternity suffered from the crush, and on him fifty watches were found and as many chains, gold and silver. next day de sartines and his agents made wholesale arrests. some three or four hundred noted thieves were taken up and sent to the conciergerie, where they were strictly searched. large quantities of valuables were secured--watches, bracelets, rings, collars, purses, all kinds of jewels. one robber alone had two thousand francs tied up in his handkerchief. de sartines kept a few criminals on hand for the strange purpose of amusing fashionable society. it became the custom to have thieves to perform in drawing-rooms. de sartines, when asked, would obligingly send to any great mansion a party of adroit pickpockets, who went through all their tricks before a distinguished audience, cutting watch-chains, stealing purses, snuffboxes, and jewellery. this famous chief of police was the first to use espionage on a large scale, and to employ detectives who were old criminals. when reproached with this questionable practice, de sartines defended it by asking, "where should i find honest folk who would agree to do such work?" it was necessary for him to protect these unworthy agents by official safe-conducts, which were worded as follows:-- "in the king's name. his majesty, having private reasons for allowing ---- to conduct his affairs without interruption, accords him safe conduct for six months, and takes him under especial protection for that period. his majesty orders that he shall be exempt from arrests and executions during that time; all officers and sergeants are forbidden to take action against him, gaolers shall not receive him for debt, under pain of dismissal. if notwithstanding this he should be arrested he must be at once set free, provided always that the safe-conduct does not save him from condemnations pronounced on the king's behalf." lenoir. lenoir, who succeeded de sartines, carried espionage still farther, and employed a vast army of spies, paid and unpaid. servants only got their places on the condition that they kept the police informed of all that went on in the houses where they served. the hawkers who paraded the streets were in his pay. he had suborned members of the many existing associations of thieves, and they enjoyed tolerance so long as they denounced their accomplices. the gambling-houses were taken under police protection; with the proviso that they paid over a percentage of profits and reported all that occurred. people of good society who had got into trouble were forgiven on condition that they watched their friends and gave information of anything worth knowing. one fashionable agent was a lady who entertained large parties and came secretly by a private staircase to the police office with her budget of news. this woman was only paid at the rate of £ a year. [illustration: lenoir. (_from a contemporary print._)] de crosne. thiroux de crosne was the last lieutenant-general of police, and the revolutionary upheaval was no doubt assisted by his ineptitude, his marked want of tact and intelligence. while the city was mined under his feet with the coming volcanic disturbances he gave all his energies to theatrical censorship, and kept his agents busy reporting how often this or that phrase was applauded. he was ready to imprison anyone who dared offend a great nobleman, and was very severe upon critics and pamphleteers. the absurd misuse of the censorship was no doubt one of the contributing causes of the revolution. the police were so anxious to save the king, louis xvi., from the pollution of reading the many libels published that they allowed no printed matter to come near him. in this way he was prevented from gauging the tendency of the times, or the trend of public opinion. at last, wishing to learn the exact truth of the vague rumours that reached him, he ordered a bookseller, blaizot, to send him everything that appeared. he soon surprised his ministers by the knowledge he displayed, and they set to work to find how it reached him. blaizot was discovered and sent to the bastille. when the king, wondering why he got no more pamphlets, inquired, he learnt that blaizot had been imprisoned by his order! the monarchical police was quickly swept away by the french revolution. it was condemned as an instrument of tyranny; having only existed, according to the high-sounding phrases of the period, to "sow distrust, encourage perfidy, and substitute intrigue for public spirit." the open official police thus disappeared, but it was replaced by another far more noxious; a vast political engine, recklessly handled by every bloodthirsty wretch who wielded power in those disastrous times. the french republicans, from the committee of public safety to the last revolutionary club, were all policemen--spying, denouncing, feeding the guillotine. robespierre had his own private police, and after his fall numerous reports were found among his papers showing how close and active was the surveillance he maintained through his spies, not only in paris alone, but all over france. [illustration: barras. (_from the engraving by allais._)] under the directory the office of a minister of police was revived, not without stormy protest, and the newly organised police soon became a power in the republic as tyrannical and inquisitorial as that of venice. it had its work cut out for it. paris, the whole country, was in a state of anarchy, morals were at their lowest point, corruption and crime everywhere rampant. the streets of the city, all the high roads, were infested with bands of robbers with such wide ramifications that a general guerilla warfare terrorised the provinces. we shall see more of this on a later page, when describing the terrible bandits named _chauffeurs_, from their practice of torturing people by toasting their feet before the fire until they gave up their hidden treasure. fouchÉ. nine police ministers quickly followed each other between and , men of no particular note; but at last barras fixed [illustration: attack upon the bastille, during the french revolution.] upon fouché as a person he imagined to be well qualified for the important post. he thus gave a first opening to one whose name is almost synonymous with policeman--the strong, adroit, unscrupulous manipulator of the tremendous underground forces he created and controlled, the man who for many years practically divided with napoleon the empire of france. the emperor had the ostensible supremacy, but his many absences on foreign wars left much of the real power in his minister's hands. fouché's aptitudes for police work must have been instinctive, for he had no special training or experience when summoned to the post of police minister. he had begun life as a professor, and was known as _le père fouché_, a member of the oratory, although he did not actually take religious orders. born in the seaport town of nantes, he was at first designed for his father's calling--the sea; but at school his favourite study was theology and polemics, so that his masters strongly advised that he should be made a priest. something of the suppleness, the quiet, passionless self-restraint, the patient, observant craftiness of the ecclesiastic remained with him through life. the revolution found him in his native town, prefect of his college of nantes, married, leading an obscure and blameless life. he soon threw himself into the seething current, and was sent to the national convention as representative for la nièvre. it is needless to follow his political career, in which, with that readiness to change his coat which was second nature to him, he espoused many parties in turn, and long failed to please any, least of all robespierre, who called him "a vile, despicable impostor." but the directory was friendly to him, and appointed him its minister, first at milan, then in holland, whence he was recalled by barras, whom he had obliged in various matters, to take the ministry of police. he had always been in touch with popular movements, knew men and things intimately, and, it was hoped, would check the more turbulent spirits. fouché saw his chance when bonaparte rose above the horizon. he was no real republican; all his instincts were towards despotism and arbitrary personal government. it may well be believed that he contributed much to the success of the th brumaire; this born conspirator could best handle all the secret threads that were needed to establish the new power. he has said in his memoirs that the revolution of saint-cloud must have failed but for him, and he was willing enough to support it. "i should have been an idiot not to prefer a future to nothing. my ideas were fixed. i deemed bonaparte alone fitted to carry out the changes rendered imperatively necessary by our manners, our vices, our errors and excesses, our misfortunes and unhappy differences." when the consulate was established, fouché was one of the most important personages in france. he had ample means at his disposal, and he did not hesitate to use them freely to strengthen his position; he bought assistance right and left, had his paid creatures everywhere, even at bonaparte's elbow, it was said, and had bribed josephine and bourrienne to betray the inmost secrets of the palace. the strength and extent of his system--created by necessity, perfected by sheer love of intrigue--was soon realised by his master, who saw that fouché united the police and all its functions in his own person, and might easily prove a menace to his newly acquired power. [illustration: fouchÉ. (_from the engraving by couché._)] so fouché was suppressed, but only for a couple of years, during which nearer dangers, conspiracies threatening the very life of napoleon, led the emperor to recall the astute, all-powerful minister, who meanwhile had maintained a private police of his own. fouché had his faithful agents abroad, and showed himself better served, better informed, than the emperor himself. he proved this by giving napoleon an early copy of a circular by the exiled bourbon king about to be issued in paris, the existence of which was unknown to the official police. when fouché returned to the prefecture, it was to stay. for some eight years he was indispensable. the emperor seemed to rely upon him entirely, passing everything on to him. "send it to fouché; it is his business," was the endorsement on innumerable papers of that time. the provincial _préfets_ looked only to fouché; the police minister was the sole repository of power, the one person to please; his orders were sought and accepted with blind submission by all. he might have remained in office to the end of the imperial _régime_ but that he became too active and meddled with matters quite beyond his province; and his downfall was hastened by a daring intrigue to bring about a secret compact with england and secure peace. savary. fouché's successor was general savary, one of napoleon's most devoted and uncompromising adherents, an indifferent soldier and a conceited, self-sufficient man. he will always be stigmatised as the executioner of the duc d'enghien, one ready to go any lengths in blind obedience to his master's behests. his appointment as chief of the police caused universal consternation; it was dreaded as the inauguration of an epoch of brutal military discipline, the advent of the soldier-policeman, whose iron hand would be heavy upon all. wholesale arrests, imprisonments, and exiles were anticipated. savary himself, although submissively accepting his new and strange duties, shrank from executing them. he would gladly have declined the honour of becoming police minister, but the emperor would not excuse him, and, taking him by the hand, tried to stiffen his courage by much counsel. the advice he freely gave is worth recording in part, as expressing the views of a monarch who was himself the best police officer of his time. "ill-use no one," he told savary as they strolled together through the park of saint-cloud. "you are supposed to be a severe man, and it would give a handle to my enemies if you were found harsh and reactionary. dismiss none of your present employees; if any displease you, keep them at least six months, and then find them other situations. if you have to adopt stern measures, be sure they are justified, and it will at least be admitted that you are doing your duty.... do not imitate your predecessor, who allowed me to be blamed for sharp measures and took to himself the credit of any acts of leniency. a good police officer is quite without passion. allow yourself to hate no one; listen to all, and never commit yourself to an opinion until you have thought it well over.... i removed monsieur fouché because i could no longer rely upon him. when i no longer gave him orders, he acted on his own account and left me to bear the responsibility. he was always trying to find out what i meant to do, so as to forestall me, and, as i became more and more reserved, he accepted as true what others told him, and so got farther and farther astray." [illustration: savary. (_from the engraving by sixdeniers._)] savary, on assuming the reins of office, found himself in a serious dilemma. he could hardly have anticipated that fouché would make his task easy for him, but the result was even worse than he had expected. he had been weak enough to allow fouché three weeks to clear out of the ministry, and his wily predecessor had made the best use of his time to burn and destroy every paper of consequence that he possessed. when he finally handed over his charge, he produced one meagre document alone--an abusive memorandum, two years old, inveighing against the exiled house of bourbon. every other paper had disappeared. he was no less malicious with regard to the secret staff of the office. the only persons he presented to the new chief were a few low-class spies whom he had never largely trusted; and although savary raised some of them to higher functions he was still deprived of the assistance of the superior agents upon whom fouché had so greatly relied. savary solved this difficulty cleverly. he found in his office a registry of addresses for the use of the messengers who delivered letters. this registry was kept by his clerks, and, not wishing to let them into his design, he took the registry one night into his private study and copied out the whole list himself. he found many names he little expected; names which, as he has said, he would have expected sooner to find in china than in this catalogue. many addresses had, however, no indication but a single initial, and he guessed--no doubt rightly--that these probably related to the most important agents of all. having thus gained the addresses, savary proceeded to summon each person to his presence by a letter written in the third person, and transmitted by his office messengers. he never mentioned the hour of the interview, but was careful never to send for two people on the same day. his secret agents came as requested, generally towards evening, and before they were ushered in savary took the precaution to inquire from his groom of the chambers whether they came often to see monsieur fouché. the servant had almost invariably seen them before, and could give many interesting particulars about them. thus savary knew how to receive them; to be warm or cold in his welcome as he heard how they had been treated by his predecessor. he dealt in much the same way with the persons known only under an initial. he wrote also to them at their addresses, and sent the letters by confidential clerks who were known personally to the _concierges_ of the houses where the agents resided. the parisian _concierge_ was as much an inquisitive busybody in those days as now; curious about his lodgers' correspondence, and knowing exactly to whom he should deliver a letter with the initial address. it required only a little adroitness to put a name to these hitherto unknown people when they called in person at his office. it sometimes happened that more than one person having the same initial resided in the same house. if the _concierge_ made the mistake of handing two letters to one individual, savary, when he called, explained that his clerks had inadvertently written to him twice. in every case the letter of summons contained a request that the letter might be brought to the office as a passport to introduction. savary adopted another method of making the acquaintance of the secret _personnel_. he ordered his cashier to inform him whenever a secret agent called for his salary. at first, being suspicious of the new _régime_, very few persons came, but the second and third month self-interest prevailed; people turned up, merely to inquire, as they said, and were invariably passed on to see the chief. savary took the visit as a matter of course, discussing business, and often increasing voluntarily their rates of payment. by this means he not only re-established his connection, but greatly extended it. savary's system of espionage was even more searching and comprehensive than fouché's, and before long earned him the sobriquet of the "sheik of spies." he had a whole army at his disposal--the gossips and _gobe-mouches_ of the clubs, the cabmen and street porters, the workmen in the suburbs. when fashionable paris migrated to their country houses for the summer and early autumn, savary followed them with his spies, whom he found among their servants, letter-carriers, even their guests. he also reversed the process, and actually employed masters to spy on their servants, obliging every householder to transmit a report to the police of every change in their establishments, and of the conduct of the persons employed. he essayed also to make valets spy on those whom they served, so that a man became less than ever a hero to his valet. it followed, naturally, that savary was the most hated of all the tyrants who wielded the power of the police prefecture. he spared no one; he bullied the priests; he increased the rigours of the wretched prisoners of war at bitche and verdun; and exercised such an irritating, vexatious, ill-natured surveillance over the whole town, over every class--political, social, and criminal--that he was soon universally hated. he was a stupid man, eaten up with vanity and self-importance; extremely jealous of his authority, and ever on the look out to vindicate it if he thought it assailed. never perhaps did more inflated, unjustifiable pride precede a more humiliating fall. savary's pretensions as a police officer were utterly shipwrecked by the conspiracy of general malet, a semi-madman, who succeeded in shaking napoleon's throne to its very foundations and making his military police minister supremely ridiculous. this general malet was a born conspirator. he had done little as a soldier, but had been concerned in several plots against napoleon, for the last of which he had been cast into the prison of la force. during his seclusion he worked out the details of a new conspiracy, based upon the most daring and yet simplest design. he meant to take advantage of the emperor's absence from paris, and, announcing his death, declare a provisional government, backed by the troops, of whom he would boldly take command. it all fell out as he had planned, and, but for one trifling accident, the plot would have been entirely successful. paris at the moment he rose was weakly governed. cambacères represented the emperor; savary held the police, but, in spite of his espionage, knew nothing of malet, and little of the real state of paris below the surface; pasquier, prefect of police, was an admirable administrator, but not a man of action. the garrison of paris was composed mainly of raw levies, for all the best troops were away with napoleon in russia, and the commandant of the place, general hullin, was a sturdy soldier--no more: a mere child outside the profession of arms. [illustration: malet in prison. (_from the drawing by a. lacauchie._)] malet had influence with fouché, through which, before that minister's disgrace, he had obtained his transfer from la force to a "maison de santé" in the faubourg st. antoine. in this half asylum, half place of detention, the inmates were suffered to come and go on parole, to associate freely with one another, and to receive any visitors they pleased from outside. in this convenient retreat, which sheltered other irreconcilable spirits, malet soon matured his plot. his chief confederate--the only one, indeed, he fully trusted--was a certain abbé lafone, a man of great audacity and determination, who had already been mixed up in royalist plots against the empire. the two kept their own counsel, alive to the danger of treachery and betrayal in taking others into their full confidence; but malet could command the services of two generals, guidal and laborie, with whom he had been intimate at la force, but who never knew the whole aim and extent of the conspiracy. about p.m. on the rd of october, , malet and the abbé left the faubourg st. antoine, and malet, now in full uniform, appeared at the gates of the neighbouring barracks, where he announced the news, received by special courier, of the emperor's death, produced a resolution from the senate proclaiming a provisional government, and investing him with the supreme command of the troops. under his orders, officers were despatched with strong detachments to occupy the principal parts of the city, the barriers, the quays, the prefecture, the place royal, and other open squares. another party was sent to the prison of la force to extract generals laborie and guidal, the first of whom, when he joined malet, was despatched to the prefecture and thence to the ministry of police, to seize both the _préfet_ and savary and carry them off to gaol. guidal was to support laborie. malet himself, with another body of troops, proceeded to the place vendôme, the military headquarters of paris, and proposed to make the commandant hullin his prisoner. the arrest of the heads of the police was accomplished without the slightest difficulty about a.m. on the th of october, and they were transported under escort to la force. (savary ever afterwards was nicknamed the duc de la force.) malet meanwhile had roused general hullin, to whom he presented his false credentials. as the general passed into an adjoining room to examine them, malet fired a pistol at him and "dropped" him. then the adjutant-general dorcet interposed, and, seizing his papers, instantly detected the forgery. malet was on the point of shooting him also, when a staff-officer rushed up from behind, and, backed by a handful of his guard, easily overpowered malet. from that moment the attempt collapsed. the police minister and the _préfet_ were released from prison; the conspirators were arrested. yet for a few hours malet had been master of paris. napoleon was furiously angry with everyone, and loaded the police in particular with abuse. he did not, however, remove savary from his office, for he knew he could still trust him, and this was no time to lose the services of a devoted friend. the insecurity of his whole position had been clearly manifested. one man, a prisoner, had, by his own inventive audacity, succeeded in suborning or imposing upon superior officers and securing the assistance of large bodies of troops, in forcing prison doors, arresting ministers and high officials, and seizing the reins of power. no one had stood against him; the powers wielded by authority were null and void; chance alone, a mere accident, had spoilt the enterprise. fouchÉ again. at the restoration of the bourbons the police organisation was revised, but still left in much the same hands--ex-napoleonists, such as beugnot and bourrienne, who were director-general and prefect respectively. the latter distinguished himself by a fruitless attempt to arrest his old enemy fouché, who was living quietly in paris, holding aloof from affairs as he had done through the closing days of the empire. fouché escaped from the police officers by climbing over his garden wall, and then went into hiding. he was thus thrown back into the ranks of the imperialists, and, on the return from elba, was at once nominated to his old office of chief of police, where he made himself extremely useful to napoleon. but he played a double part, as usual; had friends in both camps, and, after giving the emperor much valuable information as to the movements of the allies before waterloo, went over to the victors after the battle. fouché was extraordinarily busy in shaping events at the final downfall of napoleon, and he was one of the first to approach wellington with suggestions as to the emperor's disposal. he seems to have gained the duke's goodwill, and wellington urged louis xviii. to appoint him afresh, as the person who could be best trusted to maintain public order, to the directorship of the police. fouché had many friends in high places; he had also the knack of seeming to be indispensable. it was a severe blow to the king that fouché should be forced upon him. when the order of appointment was placed before him for signature, he glanced at it, and let it lie upon the table, and the pen slipped from his hand; he long sat buried in sad thought before he could rouse himself to open relations with the man who had been hitherto the implacable foe of his family. [illustration: "malet was on the point of shooting him also" (p. ).] fouché gained his point; but where all knew, all watched, and none trusted him, he needed all his _sang froid_, all his tact, to hold his position. but in his long career of conspiracy and change he had learnt the lesson of dissimulation and self-restraint. yet he was still the focus and centre of intrigue, to whom everyone flocked--his old associates, once his friends and now his hardly concealed enemies; the men who had been his enemies and were now on the surface his friends. his antechamber showed the most mixed assemblage. "he went among them, from one to the other, speaking with the same ease as though he had the same thing to say to all. how often have i seen him creeping away from the window where he had been talking apart with some old comrade--thibaudeau, for example, the ancient revolutionist--on the most friendly, confidential terms, to join us, a party of royalists, about an affair concerning the king. a little later fouché inserted thibaudeau's name in the list of the proscribed."[ ] [illustration: thibaudeau. (_from a contemporary print._)] fouché has been very differently judged by his contemporaries. some thought him an acute and penetrating observer, with a profound insight into character; knowing his epoch, the men and matters appertaining to it, intimately and by heart. others, like bourrienne, despised and condemned him. "i know no man," says the latter, "who has passed through such an eventful period, who has taken part in so many convulsions, who so barely escaped disgrace and was yet loaded with honours." the keynote of his character, thought bourrienne, was great levity and inconstancy of mind. yet he carried out his schemes, planned with mathematical exactitude, with the utmost precision. he had an insinuating manner; could seem to speak freely when he was only drawing others on. a retentive memory and a great grasp of facts enabled him to hold his own with many masters, and turn most things to his own advantage. he did not long survive the restoration, and died at trieste in , leaving behind him a very considerable fortune. [illustration: a "charlie's" rattle, in the black museum.] chapter vi. early police (_continued_): england. early police in england--edward i.'s act--elizabeth's act for westminster--acts of george ii. and george iii.--state of london towards the end of the eighteenth century--gambling and lottery offices--robberies on the river thames--receivers--coiners--the fieldings as magistrates--the horse patrol--bow street and its runners: townsend, vickery, and others--blood money--tyburn tickets--negotiations with thieves to recover stolen property--sayer--george ruthven--serjeant ballantine on the bow street runners compared with modern detectives. if a century or more ago france and other continental countries were generally over-policed, england, as a free country, long refused to surrender its liberties. until quite recent years there was no organised provision for public safety, for the maintenance of good order, the prevention of crime, or the pursuit of law-breakers. good citizens co-operated in self-defence; the office of constable was incumbent upon all, but evaded by many on payment of substitutes. one of the earliest efforts to establish a systematic police was the statute th edward i. ( ), made for the maintenance of peace in the city of london. this ancient statute was known as that of watch and ward, and it recognised the above principle that the inhabitants of every district must combine for their own protection. it recites how "many evils, as murders, robberies, and manslaughters, [illustration: "one o'clock and a shiny night!"] have been committed by night and by day, and people have been beaten and evilly entreated"; it is enjoined that "none be so hardy as to be found going or wandering about the streets of the city with sword or buckler after curfew tolled at st. martin's le grand." it goes on to say that any such should be taken by the keepers of the peace and be put in the place of confinement appointed for such offenders, to be dealt with as the custom is, and punished if the offence is proved. this act further prescribed that as such persons sought shelter "in taverns more than elsewhere, lying in wait and watching their time to do mischief," no tavern might be allowed to remain open "for sale of ale or wine" after the tolling of curfew. many smaller matters were dealt with so as to ensure the peace of the city. it was enacted that, "forasmuch as fools who delight in mischief do learn to fence with buckler," no school to teach the art of fencing should be allowed within the city. again, many pains and penalties were imposed on foreigners who sought shelter and refuge in england "by reason of banishment out of their own country, or who, for great offence, have fled therefrom." such persons were forbidden to become innkeepers, "unless they have good report from the parts whence they cometh, or find safe pledges." that these persons were a source of trouble is pretty plain from the language of the act, which tells how "some nothing do but run up and down through the streets more by night than by day, and are well attired in clothing and array, and have their food of delicate meats and costly; neither do they use any craft or merchandise, nor have they lands and tenements whereof to live, nor any friend to find them; and through such persons many perils do often happen in the city, and many evils, and some of them are found openly offending, as in robberies, breaking of houses by night, murders, and other evil deeds." another police act, as it may be called, was that of th elizabeth ( ) for the good government of the city and borough of westminster, which had been recently enlarged. "the people thereof being greatly increased, and being for the most part without trade or industry, and many of them wholly given to vice and idleness," and a power to correct them not being sufficient in law, the dean of westminster and the high steward were given greater authority. they were entitled to examine and punish "all matters of incontinences, common scolds, and common annoyances, and to commit to prison all who offended against the peace." certain ordinances were made by this act for regulating the domestic life of the city of westminster; the bakers and the brewers, the colliers, wood-mongers, and bargemen were put under strict rule; no person was suffered to forestall or "regrate" the markets so as to increase the price of victuals by buying them up beforehand; the cooks and the tavern-keepers were kept separate: no man might sell ale and keep a cookshop at the same time; the lighting of the city was imposed upon the victuallers and tavern-keepers, who were ordered to keep one convenient lanthorn at their street doors from six p.m. until nine a.m. next morning, "except when the moon shall shine and give light." rogues and sturdy beggars were forbidden to wander in the streets under pain of immediate arrest. many other strict regulations were made for the health and sanitation of the burgesses, such as the scavenging and cleansing of the streets, the punishment of butchers, poulterers, and fishmongers who might sell unwholesome food, the strict segregation of persons infected with the plague. it is interesting to note that sir william cecil, the great lord burleigh, was the first high steward of westminster, and that the regulations above quoted were introduced by him. these acts remained in force for many centuries, although the powers entrusted to the high steward fell into great disuse. but in the th george ii. ( ) the elizabethan act was re-enacted and its powers enlarged. this was an act for well-ordering and regulating a night watch in the city--"a matter of very great importance for the preservation of the persons and properties of the inhabitants, and very necessary to prevent fires, murders, burglaries, robberies, and other outrages and disorders." it had been found that all such precautions were utterly neglected, and now the common council of the city was authorised to create a night watch and levy rates to pay it. the instructions for this night watch were issued through the constables of wards and precincts, the old constitutional authority, who were expected to see them observed. but the night-watchmen could act in the absence of the constable when keeping watch and ward, and were enjoined to apprehend all night-walkers, malefactors, rogues, vagabonds, and disorderly persons whom they found disturbing the public peace, or whom they suspected of evil designs. forty years later another act was passed, th george iii. ( ), which again enlarged and, in a measure, superseded the last-mentioned act. it is much more detailed, prescribing the actual number of watchmen, their wages, and how they are to be "armed and accommodated," which means that they were to carry rattles and staves and lanterns; it details minutely the watchman's duty: how he is to proclaim the time of the night or morning "loudly and as audibly as he can"; he is to see that all doors are safe and well secured; he is to prevent "to the utmost of his power all murders, burglaries, robberies, and affraies; he is to apprehend all loose, idle, and disorderly persons, and deliver them to the constable or headborough of the night at the watch-houses." it may be stated at once that this act, however excellent in intention and carefully designed, greatly failed in execution. the watchmen often proved unworthy of their trust, and it is recorded by that eminent [illustration: a rescue; or, the tars triumphant," showing peace officers in . (_after the picture by r. collett._)] police magistrate, mr. colquhoun, "that no small portion of those very men who are paid for protecting the public are not only instruments of oppression in many instances, by extorting money most unwarrantably, but are frequently accessories in aiding and abetting or concealing the commission of crimes which it is their duty to detect and suppress." it is but fair to add that sir john fielding, who was examined in as to the numerous burglaries committed in the metropolis, stated that the watch was insufficient, "that their duty was too hard and their pay too small." [illustration: a highway robbery.] beyond question the state of the metropolis, and, indeed, of the country at large, at the end of the eighteenth century was deplorable. robbery and theft from houses and on the highway had been reduced to a regular system. opportunities were sought, intelligence obtained, plans prepared with the utmost skill and patience. houses to be forced were previously reconnoitred, and watched for days and weeks in advance. the modern burglar could have taught the old depredator little that he did not know. again, the gentleman of the road--the bold highwayman--used infinite pains in seeking out his prey. he had his spies in every quarter, among all classes, and the earliest certain intelligence of travellers worth stopping when carrying money and other valuables; he could count upon the cordial support of publicans and ostlers, who helped him in his attack and covered his retreat. the footpads who infested the streets were quite as daring; it was unsafe to cross open spaces, even in the heart of the town, after dark. these lesser thieves, so adroit in picking pockets by day, used actual violence by night. the country was continually ravaged by other depredators: horse and cattle stealers, thieves who laid hands upon every kind of agricultural produce. the farmers' fields were constantly plundered of their crops, fruit and vegetables were carried off, even the ears of wheat were cut from their stalks in the open day. it was estimated that one and a half million bushels were annually stolen in this way. the thieves boldly took their plunder to the millers to be ground, and the millers, although aware that fields and barns had been recently robbed, did not dare object, lest their mills should be burnt over their heads. gambling. no doubt the general level of morality was low. gambling of all kinds had increased enormously. there were gaming-houses and lottery offices everywhere. faro banks and e. o. tables, and places where hazard, roulette, and rouge-et-noir could be played, had multiplied exceedingly. six gaming-houses were kept in one street near the haymarket, mostly by prize-fighters, and persons stood at the doors inviting passers-by to enter and play. besides these, there were subscription clubs of presumably a higher class, and even ladies' gaming-houses. the public lotteries were also a fruitful source of crime, not only in the stimulus they gave to speculation, but in their direct encouragement of fraud. a special class of swindlers was created--the lottery insurers, the sharpers who pretended to help the lottery players against loss by insuring the amount of their stakes. offices for fraudulent lottery insurance existed all over the town. it was estimated that there were of them, supporting , agents and clerks, and , "morocco men," as they were called--the canvassers who went from door to door soliciting insurances, which they entered in a book covered with red morocco leather. it was said that these unlicensed offices obtained premiums of nearly two millions of money when the english and irish lotteries were being drawn, on which they made a profit of from to per cent. it was proved by calculating the chances that they were some per cent. in favour of the insurers. even in those days the principle of profiting by the gambling spirit of the public was strongly condemned, but lotteries survived until , since when the law has dealt severely with any specious attempts to reintroduce them under other names. river thieves. at this time the plunder of merchandise and naval stores in the river thames had reached gigantic proportions. previous to the establishment of the thames river police in the commerce of the country, all the operations of merchants and shipowners, were grievously injured by these wholesale depredations, which amounted at a moderate computation to quite half a million per annum. there were, first of all, the river pirates, who boarded unprotected ships in the stream. one gang of them actually weighed a ship's anchor, hoisted it into their boat with a complete new cable, and rowed away with their spoil. these villains hung about vessels newly arrived and cut away anything within reach--cordage, spars, bags of cargo. they generally went armed, and were prepared to fight for what they seized. there were the "heavy horsemen and the light horsemen," the "game watermen," the "game lightermen," the "mudlarks and the scuffle-hunters," each of them following a particular line of their own. some of these, with the connivance of watchmen or without, would cut lighters adrift and lead them to remote places where they could be pillaged and their contents carried away. cargoes of coal, russian tallow, hemp, and ashes were often secured in this way. the "light horsemen" did a large business in the spillings, drainings, and sweepings of sugar, coffee, and rum; these gleanings were greatly increased by fraudulent devices, and were carried off with the connivance of the mates, who shared in the profit. the "heavy horsemen" were smuggled on board to steal whatever they could find--coffee, cocoa, pimento, ginger, and so forth, which they carried on shore concealed about their persons in pouches and pockets under their clothes. the [illustration: gambling in society. (_from a print by gillray, published in ._)] "game watermen" worked by quickly receiving what was handed to them when cargoes were being discharged, and this they conveyed at once to some secret place; the "game lightermen" were of the same class, who used their lighters to conceal stolen parcels of goods which they could afterwards dispose of. a clever trick is told of one of these thieves, who long did a big business in purloining oil. a merchant who imported great quantities was astonished at the constant deficiency in the amounts landed, far more than could be explained by ordinary leakage. he determined to attend at the wharf when the lighters arrived, and he saw that in one of them all the casks had been stowed with their bungs downwards. he waited until the lighter was unloaded, and then, visiting her, found the hold full of oil. this the lightermen impudently claimed as their perquisite; but the merchant refused to entertain the idea, and, having sent for casks, filled nine of them with the leakage. still dissatisfied, he ordered the deck to be taken up, and found between the timbers of the lighter enough to fill five casks more. no doubt this robbery had been long practised. "mudlarks" were only small fry who hung about the stern quarters of ships at low water to receive and carry on shore any pickings they might secure. the "scuffle-hunters" resorted in large numbers to the wharves where goods were discharged, and laid hands upon any plunder they could find, chiefly the contents of broken packets, for which they fought and "scuffled." before leaving this branch of depredation mention must be made of the plunder levied on his majesty's dockyards, the naval victualling and ordnance stores, which were perpetually pillaged, as were the warships, transports, and lighters in the thames, medway, solent, and dart. over and above the peculations of employees, the frauds and embezzlements in surveys, certificates, and accounts, there was nearly wholesale pillage in such articles as cordage, canvas, hinges, bolts, nails, timber, paint, pitch, casks, beef, pork, biscuit, and indeed all kinds of stores. no definite figures are at hand giving the value of these robberies, but they must have reached an enormous total. "fences." the extensive robberies described above were, no doubt, greatly facilitated by the many means that existed for the disposal of the stolen goods. never did the nefarious trade of the "receiver" flourish so widely as then. this, the most mischievous class of criminal, without whom the thief would find his calling hazardous and unproductive, was extraordinarily numerous at this period. there were several thousands in the metropolis alone, a few of them no more than careless, asking no questions about the property brought to them for purchase, but the bulk of them distinctly criminal, who bought goods well knowing them to be stolen. many had been thieves themselves, but had found "receiving" a less hazardous and more profitable trade; they followed ostensibly some reputable calling--kept coalsheds, potato warehouses, and chandler's shops--some were publicans, others dealt in secondhand furniture, old clothes, old iron, and rags, or were workers and refiners of gold and silver. these were the rank and file, the retailers, so to speak, who passed on what was brought to them to the wholesale "receivers," of whom at that time there were some fifty or sixty, opulent people many of them, commanding plenty of capital. these high-class operators had their crucibles and their furnaces always ready for melting down plate; they had extensive connections beyond sea for the disposal of valuables, especially of jewels, which were taken from their settings to prevent recognition. these great "fences"--the cant name for "receivers"--worked as large and lucrative a business as do any of their successors to-day. a wide connection was the first essential. often enough the thieves arranged with the "receivers" before they entered upon any new job, and thus the latter kept touch with the operators, who gladly parted with their plunder at easy prices, being unable to dispose of it alone. it was a first principle with the "receiver" that the goods he purchased should not be recognisable, and until all marks and means of identification were removed he would not admit them into his house. he would not even discuss terms until the thieves had taken this precaution. various methods were employed. in linen and cloth goods the head and fag-ends were cut off, and occasionally the list and selvedge, if they were peculiar. the marks on the soles of boots and shoes were obliterated by hot irons, and the linings, if necessary, removed. gold watches were sent off to agents in large towns or on the continent, their outward appearance having first been changed; the works of one were placed in the case of another. where the proceeds of the robbery were banknotes, or property whose identity could not be destroyed, they were sent off to a distance to foreign marts, and all traces of them lost. it was essential that the "receiver" on a large scale should have an army of agents and co-partners--persons following the same nefarious traffic, who could be trusted, for their own sakes, to be cautious in their proceedings. coiners. the general crime of this period was enormously increased by the extensive fabrication of false money. coining was extraordinarily prevalent, and a wide, far-reaching system had been created for distributing and uttering the counterfeits, not only at home but on the continent. all england, all europe, was literally deluged with false money, the largest proportion of which was manufactured in this country. not only was the current coinage of the realm admirably counterfeited--guineas, half-guineas, crowns, half-crowns, shillings, sixpences, and coppers, but the coiners could turn out all kinds of foreign money--louis d'ors, spanish dollars, sequins, pagodas, and the rest, so cleverly imitated as almost to defy detection. so prosperous was the business that as many as forty or fifty private mints were constantly at work in london and various country towns fabricating false money; as many as workpeople were engaged, and the names of some known coiners were registered at the royal mint. there was a steady demand for the base coin; it went off so fast that the manufacturers seldom had any stock on hand. as soon as it was finished it was sent off, here, there, and everywhere, by every kind of conveyance. not a coach nor a carrier left london without a parcel of bad money consigned to country agents. it was known that one agent alone had placed five hundred pounds' worth with country buyers in a single week. some idea of the profits may be gathered from the fact that indian pagodas, worth s., could be manufactured for - / d. apiece; and that the middleman who bought them at s. a dozen retailed them at from s. d. to s. each. the counterfeiting of gold coins was the least common, owing to the expense of the process and the necessary admixture of at least a portion of the precious metal. it was different with silver. it was stated that two persons alone could manufacture between two and three hundred pounds' worth (nominal value) of spurious silver in six days. there were five kinds of base silver, known in the trade as flats, plated goods, plain goods, castings, and "pig things." the first were cut out of flattened plates of a material part silver, part copper; the second were of copper only, silvered over; the third were of copper, turned out of a lathe and polished; the fourth were of white metal, cast in a mould; the "pig things" were the refuse of the rest converted into sixpences. copper coins were also manufactured largely out of base metal. [illustration: imitation banknote etched by george cruikshank in , satirising the infliction of capital punishment for forgery.] frauds on the currency were not limited to counterfeiting the coinage. banknotes were systematically forged, although the penalty was death. this crime had been greatly stimulated by the suspension of specie payments and the issue of paper money. the bank of england had been thus saved at a great financial crisis, when its reserve in cash and bullion had shrunk to little more than a million, and it had issued notes for values of less than five pounds. note forgery at once increased to a serious extent, and as the bank was implacable, insisting on rigorous prosecution, great numbers of capital convictions followed. the most minute and elaborate provisions existed, prescribing the heaviest penalties not only for the actual manufacture and uttering, but for the mere possession of banknote paper, plates, or engraving tools. the infliction of the extreme sentence did not check the crime. detection, too, was most difficult. the public could not distinguish between true and false notes. bank officials were sometimes deceived, and clerks at the counter were known to accept bad paper, yet refuse payment of what was genuine. some account will be given on a later page of charles price, commonly called "old patch," from his favourite disguise of a patch on one eye. he was a most extraordinarily successful forger of banknotes, who did all but the negotiation of them himself: he made his paper with the correct watermark, engraved his plates, and prepared his own ink. he had several homes, many aliases, used many disguises, and employed an army of agents and assistants, some of them his wives (for he was a noted bigamist), to put off the notes. [illustration: henry fielding, novelist and magistrate.] the fieldings. an early and commendable attempt had been made in the middle of the eighteenth century to grapple with this all-prevailing, all-consuming crime. when henry fielding, the immortal novelist, was appointed a middlesex magistrate towards the close of his somewhat tempestuous career, he strove hard to check disorders, waging unceasing warfare against evil-doers and introducing a well-planned system of prevention and pursuit. although in failing [illustration: sir john fielding, the blind bow street magistrate. (_from the portrait by m. w. peters, r.a._)] health, he laboured incessantly. he often sat on the bench for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, returning to bow street after a long day's work to resume it from seven p.m. till midnight. he did a great public service in devising and executing a plan for the extirpation of robbers, although the benefit was but temporary. this was in , when the whole town seemed at the mercy of the depredators. the duke of newcastle, at that time secretary of state, sent for fielding, who unfolded a scheme whereby, if £ were placed at his disposal, he engaged to effect a cure. after his first advance from the treasury he was able to report that "the whole gang of cut-throats was entirely dispersed, seven of them were in actual custody, and the rest driven, some out of the town, the rest out of the kingdom." he had nearly killed himself in the effort. "though my health was reduced to the last extremity ... i had the satisfaction of finding ... that the hellish society was almost entirely extirpated"; that, instead of "reading about murders and street robberies in the newspapers every morning," they had altogether ceased. his plan had not cost the government more than £ , and "had actually suppressed the evil for a time." it was only for a brief space, however; and his brother, blind sir john fielding, who succeeded him at bow street, frankly confessed that new gangs had sprung up in place of those recently dispersed. but he bravely set himself to combat the evil, and adopted his brother's methods. he first grappled with the street robbers, and in less than three months had brought nine of them to the gallows. next he dealt with the highwaymen infesting the road near london, "so that scarce one escaped." the housebreakers, lead-stealers, shoplifters, and all the small fry of pickpockets and petty larcenists were increasingly harried and in a large measure suppressed. he organised a scheme for protecting the suburbs, by which the residents subscribed to meet the expense of transmitting immediate news to bow street by mounted messengers, with full particulars of articles stolen, and the description of the robber; the same messenger was to give information at the turnpikes and public-houses _en route_, and thus a hue and cry could be raised and the offender would probably soon be captured. at the same time a notice would be inserted in the _public advertiser_ warning tavern-keepers, stable-keepers, and pawnbrokers, the first against harbouring rogues, the second against hiring out horses to the persons described, the third against purchasing goods which were the proceeds of a robbery. sir john fielding (he was knighted in ) was a most active and energetic magistrate, and he was such a constant terror to evil-doers that his life was often threatened. there were few crimes reported in which he did not take a personal interest, promptly visiting the spot, taking information, and setting his officers on the track. when lord harrington's house was robbed of some three thousand pounds' worth of jewellery, sir john repaired thither [illustration: sir john fielding officiating at bow street. (_from a drawing by dodd._)] at once, remaining in the house all day and the greater part of the night. it was the same in cases of highway robbery, murder, or riot. everyone caught red-handed was taken before him, and his court was much frequented by great people to hear the examination of persons charged with serious crimes--such as dr. dodd, hackman, who murdered miss reay, the brother-forgers the perreaus, and sarah meteyard, who killed her parish apprentice by abominable cruelty. one well-known nobleman, "a great patron of the arts," given also to visiting newgate in disguise in order to stare at the convicts under sentence of death, would constantly take his seat on the bench. sir john fielding's appearance in court and manner of conducting business have been graphically described by the rev. dr. somerville of jedburgh. he speaks in his diary of sir john's "singular adroitness. he had a bandage over his eyes, and held a little switch or rod in his hand, waving it before him as he descended from the bench. the sagacity he discovered in the questions he put to the witnesses, and the marked and successful attention, as i conceived, not only to the words but to the accents and tones of the speaker, supplied the advantage which is usually rendered by the eye; and his arrangement of the questions, leading to the detection of concealed facts, impressed me with the highest respect for his singular ability as a police magistrate." sir john fielding was undoubtedly the originator of the horse patrol, which was found a most useful check on highway robbery. but it was not permanently established by him, and we find him beseeching the secretary of state to continue it for a short time longer "as a temporary but necessary step in order to complete that which was being so happily begun." he was satisfied from "the amazing good effects produced by this patrol that outrages would in future be put down by a little further assistance of the kind." this patrol was reintroduced by the chief magistrate of bow street about , either sir richard ford or sir nathaniel conant. it was a very efficient force, recruited entirely from old cavalry soldiers, who were dressed in uniform, well armed, and well mounted. they wore a blue coat with brass buttons, a scarlet waistcoat, blue trousers and boots, and they carried sword and pistols. their duties were to patrol the neighbourhood of london in a circuit of from five to ten miles out, beginning at five or seven p.m. and ending at midnight. it was their custom to call aloud to all horsemen and carriages they met, "bow street patrol!" they arrested all known offenders whom they might find, and promptly followed up the perpetrators of any robbery that came under their notice. very marked and satisfactory [illustration: margaret nicholson's attempt to assassinate george iii. in (p. ). (_from the painting by r. smirke.)]_] results were obtained by this excellent institution; it almost completely ended highway robbery, and if any rare case occurred, the guilty parties were soon apprehended. the bow street runners. bow street may be called the centre of our police establishment at that time; it was served by various forces, and especially by eight officers, the famous bow street runners of that period, the prototype of the modern detective. they were familiarly known as the "robin redbreasts," from the scarlet waistcoat which was practically their badge of office, although they also carried as a mark of authority a small bâton surmounted by a gilt crown. the other police-offices of london were also assisted by officers, but these were simply constables, and do not appear to have been employed beyond their own districts. the bow street runners, however, were at the disposal of the public if they could be spared to undertake the pursuit of private crime. three of them were especially appropriated to the service of the court. the attempt made by margaret nicholson upon george iii., and other outrages by mad people, called for special police protection, and two or more of these officers attended royalties wherever they went. they were generally macmanus, townsend, and sayer, townsend being the most celebrated of the three. he has left a self-painted picture in contemporary records, and his evidence, given before various police committees, shows him to have been a garrulous, self-sufficient functionary. it was his custom to foist his opinions freely on everyone, even on the king himself. he boasted that george iv. imitated the cut of his hat, that the dukes of clarence and of york presented him with wine from their cellars; he mixed himself up with politics, and did not hesitate to advise the statesmen of the day on such points as catholic emancipation and the reformed parliament. it generally fell to his office to interrupt duels, and, according to his own account, he stopped that between the duke of york and colonel lennox. his importance, according to his own idea, was shown in his indignant refusal to apprehend a baker who had challenged a clerk; he protested that "it would lessen him a good deal" after forty-six years' service, during which period he had had the honour of taking earls, marquises, and dukes. no doubt these runners were often usefully employed in the pursuit of criminals. townsend himself when at a levée arrested the man who had boldly cut off the star of the garter from a nobleman's breast. the theft having been quickly discovered, word was passed to look out for the thief. it reached townsend, who shortly afterwards noticed a person in court dress who yet did not seem entitled to be there. fearing to make a mistake, he followed him a few yards, and then remembered his face as that of an old thief. when taken into custody, the stolen star was found in the man's pocket. [illustration: coldbath fields prison in . (_from a drawing in the crace collection._)] vickery was another well-known runner, who did much good work in his time. one of his best performances was that of saving the post-office from a serious robbery. the officials would not believe in the existence of the plot, but vickery knew better, and produced the very keys that were to pass the thieves through every door. he had learnt as a fact that they had twice visited the premises, but still postponed the coup, waiting until an especially large amount of plunder was collected. another case in which vickery exhibited much acumen was the clever robbery effected from rundell and bridges, the gold jewellers on ludgate hill. two jews, having selected valuables to the amount of £ , , asked to be permitted to seal them up and leave them until they returned with the money. in the act of packing they managed to substitute other exactly similar parcels, and carried off the jewels in their pockets. as they did not return, the cases were opened and the fraud discovered. vickery was called in, and soon traced the thieves to the continent, whither he followed them, accompanied by one of the firm, and tracked them through france and holland to frankfort, where quite half of the stolen property was recovered. vickery subsequently became jailer at coldbath fields prison. one of the prisoners committed to his custody was fauntleroy the banker; and a story has been handed down that this great forger all but escaped from custody. a clever plot had been set on foot, but timely information reached the authorities. on making a full search, a ladder of ropes and other aids to breaking out of prison were laid bare. no blame seems to have attached to vickery in this, although some of his colleagues and contemporaries were not always above suspicion. they were no doubt subject to great temptations under the system of the time. it was the custom to reward all who contributed to the conviction of offenders. this blood-money, as it was called, was a sum of £ , distributed amongst those who had secured the conviction. no doubt the practice stimulated the police, but it was capable of great perversion; it gave the prosecutor a keen interest in securing conviction, and was proved, at times, to have led persons to seduce others into committing crime. it is established beyond question that at the commencement of the nineteenth century persons were brought up charged with offences to which they had been tempted by the very officials who arrested them. it must be admitted that the emoluments of the police officers were not extraordinarily high; a guinea a week appears to have been the regular pay, to which may be added the share of blood-money referred to above, which, according to witnesses, seldom amounted to more than £ or £ a year. besides this, the officers had the privilege of selling tyburn tickets, as they were called, which were exemptions from serving as constables or in other parish offices--an onerous duty from which people were glad to buy exemption at the price of £ , £ , or even £ . again, a runner employed by other public departments or by private persons might be, but was not always, handsomely rewarded if successful. he had, of course, his out-of-pocket expenses and a guinea a day while actually at work; but this might not last for more than a week or a fortnight, and, according to old townsend, people were apt to be mean in recognising the services of the runners. these officers were also the intermediaries at times between the thieves and their victims, and constantly helped in the negotiations for restoring stolen property; it could not be surprising that sometimes the money stuck to their fingers. the loss incurred by bankers, not only through the interception of their parcels, but by actual breakings into their banks, led to a practice which was no less than compounding felony: the promise not to prosecute on the restitution of a portion of the stolen property. it was shown that the "committee of bankers," a society formed for mutual protection, employed a solicitor, who kept up communication with the principal "fences" and "family men." this useful functionary was well acquainted with the thieves and their haunts, and when a banker's parcel--known in cant language as a "child"--was stolen, the solicitor entered into treaty with the thieves to buy back the money. in this fashion a regular channel of communication came to be established, offers were made on both sides, and terms were negotiated which ended generally in substantial restitution. many bankers objected to the practice, and refused to sanction it. still it prevailed, and largely; and several specific cases were reported by the select committee on the police in . thus, two banks that had each been robbed of notes to the amount of £ , , recovered them on payment of £ , . in another case spanish bonds, nominally worth £ , , were given back on payment of £ , ; in another, nearly £ , was restored for £ , ; and where bills had been stolen that were not easily negotiable, £ , out of £ , was offered for £ . sometimes after apprehension proceedings were stopped because a large amount of the plunder had been given up. the system must have been pretty general, since the committee stated that they knew of no less than sixteen banks which had thus tried to indemnify themselves. a strong suspicion was entertained that sayer, a bow street runner already mentioned, had feathered his nest finely with a portion of the proceeds of the paisley bank robbery at glasgow. he was an acquaintance of the mackoulls,[ ] and it was he who proposed to the bank that £ , should be restored on condition that all proceedings ceased. when sayer reached the bank with mrs. mackoull the notes produced amounted to no more than £ , . whether sayer had impounded any or not was never positively known; but when he died, at an advanced age, he was worth £ , . and it has been said that shortly before his death he pointed to the fireplace and a closet above it, using some incoherent words. this was probably the receptacle of a number of notes, which were afterwards found in the possession of one of his relatives, notes that were recognised as part of the paisley bank plunder. he must either have got them as hush-money or have wrongfully detained them, and then found it too dangerous to pass them into circulation. probably he desired to have them destroyed, so that the story might not come out after his death. the runners must have found it difficult to resist temptation. the guilt of one of them--vaughan--was clearly established in open court, and he was convicted as an accessory in a burglary into which he had led others; he was also proved to have given an unsuspicious sailor several counterfeit coins to buy articles with at a chandler's shop. when the sailor came out, vaughan arrested him and charged him with passing bad money. vaughan absconded, but was afterwards discovered and brought to trial. townsend tells of a case in his own glorification--and there is no reason to deny him the credit--in which he arrested a notorious old pickpocket, one mrs. usher, who had done a very profitable business for many years. she was said to be worth at least £ , at the time of her arrest, and when townsend appeared against her he was asked in so many words whether he would not withdraw from the prosecution. the surrey jailer, ives by name, asked him, "cannot this be 'stashed'?" townsend virtuously refused, and still would not yield, although mrs. usher's relations offered him a bribe of £ . he also tells how he might have got a considerable sum from broughton, who had robbed the york mail, but he steadfastly refused to abandon the prosecution. as much as a thousand pounds had been offered to keep back a single witness. these runners were often charged with being on much too intimate terms with criminals. it was said that they frequented [illustration: sketch of townsend of bow street. (_drawn by richard doyle._)] low taverns and flash houses, and that thus thieves' haunts were encouraged as a sort of preserve in which the police could, at any time, lay hands on their game. the officers on their side declared that they could do little or nothing without these houses--that, being so few in number, it would be impossible for them to keep in touch with the great mass of metropolitan criminality. vickery spoke out boldly, and said that the detection of offenders was greatly facilitated, for they knew exactly where to look for the men they wanted. townsend repudiated the idea that the officer was contaminated by mixing with thieves. the flash houses "can do the officer no harm if he does not make harm of it." unless he went there and acted foolishly or improperly, or got on too familiar terms with the thieves, he was safe enough. but the houses were undoubtedly an evil, and the excuse that they assisted in the apprehension of offenders was no sufficient justification for them. to this day, however, the free access to thieves' haunts is one of the most valuable aids to detection, and the police-officer who does not follow his prey into its own jungle will seldom make a large bag. on the whole, it may be said that the old bow street runner was useful in his generation, although he rarely effected very phenomenal arrests. he was bold, fairly well informed, and reasonably faithful. serjeant ballantine, who knew some of the latest survivors personally, had a high opinion of them, and thought their methods generally superior to those of the modern detective. we may not go quite that length--which, after all, is mere assertion--but it seems certain, as i shall presently show, that they were missed on the establishment of the "new police," as the existing magnificent force was long called. they mostly disappeared, taking to other callings, or living out their declining years on comparatively small pensions. george ruthven, one of the last, died in , and a contemporary record speaks of him as follows: "he was the oldest and most celebrated of the few remaining bow street runners, among whom death has lately made such ravages, and was considered as the most efficient police officer that existed during his long career of usefulness. he was for thirty years attached to the police force, having entered it at the age of seventeen; but in he retired with a pension of £ from the british government, and pensions likewise from the russian and prussian governments, for his services in discovering forgeries to an immense extent connected with those [illustration: capture of the cato street conspirators. (_from a contemporary print._)] countries. since he has been landlord of the 'one tun tavern,' chandos street, covent garden, and has visited most frequently the spot of his former associations.... he was a most eccentric character, and had written a history of his life, but would on no account allow it to meet the public eye. during the last three months no less than three of the old bow street officers--namely, goodson, salmon, and ruthven--have paid the debt of nature." among the captures to be credited to ruthven is that of the cato street conspirators, in . these desperadoes, headed by arthur thistlewood, had formed a plot to murder lord castlereagh and the rest of the ministers at a dinner at lord harrowby's town house in grosvenor square. they were arming themselves for the purpose in a stable in cato street, near the edgware road, when ruthven and other runners burst in. a fight ensued, in which smithers, one of the officers, was killed. several of the conspirators were taken, but thistlewood contrived to escape, only, however, to be arrested next morning. he and four others were hanged, while five more were transported for life. serjeant ballantine, as i have said, paid the bow street runners the high compliment of preferring their methods to those of our modern detectives. they kept their own counsel strictly, he thought, withholding all information, and being especially careful to give the criminal who was "wanted" no notion of the line of pursuit, of how and where a trap was to be laid for him, or with what it would be baited. they never let the public know all they knew, and worked out their detection silently and secretly. the old serjeant was never friendly to the "new police," and his criticisms were probably coloured by this dislike. that it may be often unwise to blazon forth each and every step taken in the course of an inquiry is obvious enough, and there are times when the utmost reticence is indispensable. the modern detective is surely alive to this; the complaint is more often that he is too chary of news than that he is too garrulous and outspoken. chapter vii. modern police: london. the "new police" introduced by peel--the system supported by the duke of wellington--opposition from the vestries--brief account of the metropolitan police, its uses and services--the river police--the city police--extra-police services--the provincial police. the necessity for a better police organisation in london much exercised the public mind during the early decades of the nineteenth century. at length, in , sir robert peel introduced a new scheme, the germ of the present admirable forces. in doing so he briefly recapitulated the shortcomings and defects of the system, or want of system, that then prevailed; he pointed out how many glaring evils had survived the repeated inquiries and consequent proposals for reform. parliamentary committees had reported year after year from to , all of them unanimously of opinion that in the public interest, to combat the steady increase of crime a better method of prevention and protection was peremptorily demanded. yet nothing had been done. the agitation had always subsided as soon as the immediate alarm was forgotten. so this opulent city, with its teeming population and abounding wealth, was still mainly dependent upon the parochial watch: the safe-keeping of both was entrusted to a handful of feeble old men, an obsolete body without system or authority. that crime had increased by "leaps and bounds" was shown by the figures. it was out of all proportion to the growth of the people. in as compared with there had been an increase of per cent in committals, as against - / per cent in population, and the ratio was one criminal to every of the population. this was in london alone. in the provinces the increase was as per cent of crime against - / per cent of population. unquestionably the cause of all this was the inefficiency of the police. the necessary conditions, unity of action of the whole and direct responsibility of the parts, could never be assured under such arrangements. each london parish worked independently, and while some made a fairly good fight, others by their apathy were subjected to continual depredation. the wealthy and populous district of kensington, for instance, some fifteen square miles in extent, depended for its protection upon three constables and three headboroughs--none of the latter very remarkable for steadiness and sobriety. it was fairly urged that three drunken beadles could effect nothing against widespread burglary and thieving. in the parish of tottenham, equally unprotected, there had been nineteen attempts at burglary in six weeks, and sixteen had been entirely successful. in spitalfields, at a time not long antecedent to , gangs of thieves stood at the street corners and openly rifled all who dared to pass them. in some parishes, suburban and of recent growth, there was no police whatever, no protection but the voluntary exertions of individuals and the "honesty of the thieves." such were fulham--with , inhabitants--chiswick, ealing, acton, edgware, barnet, putney, and wandsworth. in deptford, with , , constantly reinforced by evil-doers driven out of westminster through stricter supervision, there was no watch at all. then the number of outrages perpetrated so increased that a subscription was raised to keep two watchmen, who were yet paid barely enough to support existence, much less ensure vigilance. watchmen, indeed, were often chosen because they were on the parish rates. the pay of many of them was no more than twopence per hour. [illustration: sir robert peel. (_after the painting by j. wood._)] the duke of wellington, who was the head of the administration when peel brought forward his measure in , supported it to the full, and showed from his own experience how largely crime might be prevented by better police regulations. he mentioned the well-known horse-patrol,[ ] which had done so much to clear the neighbourhood of london of highwaymen and footpads. his recollection reached back into the early years of the century, and he could speak from his own experience of a time when scarcely a carriage could pass without being robbed, when travellers had to do battle for their property with the robbers who attacked them. yet all this had been stopped summarily by the mounted patrols which guarded all the approaches to london, and highway robbery had ceased to exist. the same good results might be expected from the general introduction of a better preventive system. it is a curious fact that the duke incurred much odium by the establishment of this new police, which came into force about the time that the struggle for parliamentary reform had for the moment eclipsed his popularity. the scheme of an improved police was denounced as a determination to enslave, an insidious attempt to dragoon and tyrannise over the people. police spies armed with extraordinary authority were to harass and dog the steps of peaceable citizens, to enter their houses, making domiciliary visitations, exercising the right of search on any small pretence or trumped-up story. there were idiots who actually accused the duke of a dark design to seize supreme power and usurp the throne; it was with this base desire that he had raised this new "standing army" of drilled and uniformed policemen, under government, and independent of local ratepayers' control. the appointment of a military officer, colonel rowan, of the irish constabulary, betrayed the intention of creating a "veritable gendarmerie." the popular aversion to the whole scheme, fanned into flame by these silly protests, burst out in abusive epithets applied to the new tyrants. such names as "raw lobsters" from their blue coats, "bobbies" from sir robert peel, and "peelers" with the same derivation, "crushers" from their heavy-footed interference with the liberty of the subject, "coppers" because they "copped" or captured his majesty's lieges, survive to show how they were regarded in those days. [illustration: william anthony, "the last of the charlies."] yet the admirable regulations framed by sir richard mayne, who was soon associated with colonel rowan, did much to reassure the public. they first enunciated the judicious principle that has ever governed police action in this country: the principle that prevention of crime was the first object of the constable, not the punishment of offenders after the fact. the protection of person and property and the maintenance of peace and good order were the great aims of a police force. a firm but pleasant and conciliatory demeanour was earnestly enjoined upon all officers, and this has been in truth, with but few exceptions, the watchword of the police from first to last. "perfect command of temper," as laid down by sir richard mayne, was an indispensable qualification; the police officer should "never suffer himself to be moved in the slightest degree by language or threats." he is to do his duty in a "quiet and determined manner," counting on the support of bystanders if he requires it, but being careful always to take no serious step without sufficient force at his back. he was entrusted with certain powers, though not of the arbitrary character alleged: he was entitled to arrest persons charged with or suspected of offences: he might enter a house in pursuit of an offender, to interfere in an affray, to search for stolen goods. [illustration: policeman, old style. (_from a drawing by leech._)] they went their way quietly and efficiently, these new policemen, and, in spite of a few mistakes from over-zeal, soon conquered public esteem. the opposition died hard; dislike was fostered by satirical verse and the exaggerated exposure of small errors, and in the police came into collision with a mob at coldbath fields, when there was a serious and lamentable affray. but already the london vestries were won over. they had been most hostile to the new system, "as opposed to the free institutions of this country, which gave parish authorities the sole control in keeping and securing the peace." they had denounced the new police as importing espionage totally repugnant to the habits and feelings of the british people, and subjecting them to "a disguised military force." these protests formed part of a resolution arrived at by a conference of parishes, which also insisted that those who paid the cost should have the control. yet a couple of years later these same vestries agreed that "the unfavourable impression and jealousy formerly existing against the new police is rapidly diminishing ... and that it has fully answered the purpose for which it was formed...." this conclusion was supported by some striking statistics. crime appreciably diminished. the annual losses inflicted on the public by larcenies, burglaries, and highway robberies, which had been estimated at about a million of money, fell to £ , , and at the same time a larger number of convictions was secured. [illustration: fight between police and mob at coldbath fields in (p. ).] it is beyond the limits of this work to give a detailed account of the growth and gradual perfecting of the metropolitan police [illustration: the police force on bonner's fields during the chartist disturbances in . (_from an engraving in "the illustrated london news."_)] into the splendid force that watches over the great city to-day. the total strength now, according to the last official returns, is nearly , of all ranks, and it has about quintupled since its first creation in . the population of london at that date was just one million and a half; the area controlled by the new police not half the present size. now not far short of , , souls are included within the area supervised by our present metropolitan force, measuring square miles of territory, or some thirty miles across from any point of the circumference of a circle whose centre is at charing cross. throughout the whole of this vast region, which constitutes the greatest human ant-heap the world has ever known, ever growing, too; the blue-coated guardian of the peace is incessantly on patrol, the total length of his beats reaching to about miles. he is unceasingly engaged in duties both various and comprehensive in behalf of his fellow-citizens. by his active and intelligent watchfulness he checks and prevents the commission of crime, and if his vigilance [illustration: metropolitan river police to the rescue.] [illustration: a night charge.] is unhappily sometimes eluded it is not because he is not eager to pursue and capture offenders. he is exposed to peculiar dangers in protecting the public, but accepts them unhesitatingly, risking his life gladly, and facing brutal and often murderous violence as bravely as any soldier in the breach. in the whitechapel division, where roughs abound, a fifth of the police contingent in that quarter are injured annually on duty; per cent. of the whole force goes on the sick list during the year from the result of savage assaults. a recent return of officers injured shows a total of , cases, and these include , assaults when making arrests, injuries in stopping runaway, horses, bites from dogs, and many injuries sustained in disorderly crowds or when assisting to extinguish fires. the regulation of street traffic is, everybody knows, admirably performed by the police, and they ably control all public carriages. the lost property office is a police institution that renders much efficient service, and in a recent year over , articles which had been dropped, forgotten, or mislaid were received, and in most cases returned to their owners. they made up a very heterogeneous collection, and included all kinds of birds and live stock--parrots, canaries, larks, rabbits, dogs, and cats; there were books, bicycles, weapons, perambulators, mail carts, golf clubs, sewing machines, and musical instruments. in minor matters the police constable is a universal champion and knight errant. he escorts the softer sex across the crowded thoroughfare as gallantly as any squire of dames; it is a touching sight to watch the lost child walking trustfully hand in hand with the six-foot giant to some haven of safety. if in the west end the man in blue is sometimes on friendly terms with the cook, he is always alert in the silent watches of the night, trying locks and giving necessary warning; in poorer neighbourhoods he is the friend of the family, the referee in disputes, the kindly alarum clock that rouses out the early labourer. it may truly be said that london owes a deep debt of gratitude to its police. [illustration: a police launch at the floating river station, waterloo bridge.] no account, however brief and meagre, of the metropolitan force would be complete which did not include some reference [illustration: a city policeman regulating traffic at the mansion house. _photo: cassell & co., ltd._] to the river and dockyard police. i have already described on earlier pages[ ] the systematic depredations that went on amid the thames shipping in earlier days. this called imperatively for reform, and a marine police was established to watch over our ships and cargoes and guard the wharves and quays. regular boat patrols were always on the move about the river, and the police, who carried arms, had considerable powers. this thames branch was not immediately taken over by peel's new police, but it is now part and parcel of the metropolitan force, and a very perfect system obtains. the river police has its headquarters in the well-known floating station at waterloo bridge, formerly a steamboat pier, with a cutter at erith, and it also has the services of several small steam launches for rapid transit up and down the river. there is very little crime upon the great waterway, thanks to the vigilance of the thames police, who also do good work in preventing suicides, while they have many opportunities of calling attention to possible foul play by their recovery of bodies floating on the stream. what is true of the metropolitan force applies equally to the city police. the city forms an _imperium in imperio_, one square mile of absolutely independent territory interpolated in the very heart and centre of london. the city police was formed at the same time as the metropolitan, but the great municipality claimed the right to manage its own police affairs, declining government subsidies as resolutely as it resisted government control. the house of commons in frankly acknowledged that the city was justified in its pretensions, and that it was certain to maintain a good and efficient police force. that anticipation has been fully borne out, and the city police is admitted on all hands to be a first-class force, well organised and most effective, filled with fine men who reach a high standard both of intelligence and of physique. it has lighter duties by night, when the city empties like a church after service, but during the day it has vast cares and responsibilities, the duty of regulating the congested street traffic in the narrow city thoroughfares being perhaps the most onerous. like their comrades beyond the boundary, the city police are largely employed by private individuals; banks, exchanges, public offices, and so forth, gladly put themselves under official protection. it should have been mentioned, when dealing with the metropolitan police, that some , officers of all ranks, from superintendents to private constables, are regularly engaged in a variety of posts outside ordinary police duty. every great department of state is guarded by them; the sovereign's sacred person, the princes of the blood, the royal palaces, all public buildings, museums and collections, many of the parks and public gardens, the powder factories, are among the institutions confided to their care. going farther afield, it is interesting to note that great tradesmen, great jewellers, great pickle-makers, great drapers, great card-makers, the co-operative stores, great fruit-growing estates, the public markets--all these share police services with coutts' and drummond's banks, holland house, roehampton house, and so on. the whole of our dockyards are under police surveillance; so are the albert hall, brompton cemetery, and many other institutions. it is impossible to leave this subject without adverting to the excellent provincial police now invariably established in the great cities and wide country districts, who, especially as regards the former, have an organisation and duties almost identical with those already detailed. the police forces of liverpool, manchester, birmingham, edinburgh, glasgow, and the rest yield nothing in demeanour, devotion, and daring to their colleagues of the metropolis. in the counties, where large areas often have to be covered, great responsibility must be devolved upon officers of inferior rank, and it is not abused. these sergeants or inspectors, with their half-dozen men, are so many links in a long-drawn chain. much depends upon them, their energy and endurance. they, too, have to prevent crime by their constant vigilance on the high roads, and by keeping close watch on all suspicious persons. for the same reason special qualities are needed in the county chief constable and his deputy; the task of superintending their posts at wide distances apart, and controlling the movements of tramps and bad characters through their district, calls for the exercise of peculiar qualities, the power of command, of rapid transfer from place to place, of keen insight into character, of promptitude and decision--qualities that are most often found in military officers, who are, in fact, generally preferred for these appointments. chapter viii. modern police (_continued_): paris. the spy system under the second empire--the manufacture of _dossiers_--m. andrieux receives his own on being appointed prefect--the clerical police of paris--the _sergents de ville_--the six central brigades--the cabmen of paris, and how they are kept in order--stories of honest and of dishonest cabmen--detectives and spies--newspaper attacks upon the police--their general character. some account of the police arrangements in two or three other capitals, and also in india, may now be given by way of contrast and comparison. the police of paris has already been dealt with in its early beginnings, and under the first empire. after the bourbon restoration, and during the days of the revived monarchy, the least valuable feature of the french police had the chief prominence. every effort was made, by means of the police, to check opposition to the reigning power, and suppress political independence. but it was at this period that the detection of crime was undertaken for the first time as a distinct branch of police business, and it will be seen in a later chapter how vidocq did great things, although often by dishonest agents and unworthy means. in the second empire the secret police over-rode everything; napoleon iii. had been a conspirator in his time, and he had an army of private spies in addition to the police of the château, and these spies watched the regular police at a cost of some fourteen millions of francs. at the fall of the second empire there were half a dozen different secret police services in paris. there was the emperor's, already mentioned; the empress had hers; m. rouher, the prime minister, and m. piétri, the prefect, each had a private force, so had other great officials. most of these agents were unknown to each other as such, and so extensive was the system of espionage that one-half of paris was at that time said to be employed in watching the other half. this system produced the _dossiers_, the small portfolios or covers, one of which appertained to each individual, high or low, [illustration: a "gardien de la paix."] innocent or criminal, and was carefully preserved in the archives of the prefecture. there were thousands and thousands of these, carefully catalogued and filed for easy reference, made up of confidential and calumniating reports sent in by agents, sometimes serious charges, often the merest and most mendacious tittle-tattle. the most harmless individuals were often denounced as conspirators, and an agent, if he knew nothing positive, drew liberally on his imagination for his facts. great numbers of these _dossiers_ were destroyed in the incendiary fires of the commune; some of its leaders were no doubt anxious that no such records should remain. the criminal classes also rejoiced, but not for long. one of the first acts of the authorities when order was re-established was to reconstitute the criminal _dossiers_, a work of immense toil, necessitating reference to all the archives of prisons and tribunals. within a couple of years some five million slips were got together, and the documents filled eight thousand boxes. it is to be feared that the secret police is still active in paris, even under a free republic; secret funds are still produced to pay agents; among all classes of society spies may be found even to-day; in drawing-rooms and in the servants' hall, at one's elbow in the theatre, among journalists, in the army, and in the best professions. that this is no exaggeration may be gathered from the fact that the _dossiers_ are still in process of manufacture. m. andrieux, a former prefect, who has published his reminiscences, describes how on taking office the first visitor he received was his chief clerk who, according to the regular custom, put his _dossier_ into his hands. "it bore the number , ," m. andrieux tells us, "and i have it now in my library, bound, with all the gross calumnies and truculent denunciations that form the basis of such documents." the regular police organisation, that which preserves order, checks evil-doing, and "runs in" malefactors, falls naturally and broadly into two grand divisions, the administrative and the active, the police "in the office" and the police "out of doors." the first attends to the clerical business, voluminous and incessant, for frenchmen are the slaves of a routine which goes round and round like clockwork. there is an army of clerks in the numerous bureaus, hundreds of those patient government employees, the _ronds de cuir_, as they are contemptuously called, because they sit for choice on round leather cushions, writing and filling in forms [illustration: a "garde de paris."] for hours and hours, day after day. the active army of police out of doors, which constitutes the second half of the whole machine, is divided into two classes: that in uniform and that in plain clothes. every visitor to paris is familiar with the rather theatrical-looking policeman, in his short frock coat or cape, smart _képi_ cocked on one side of his head, and with a sword by his side. this _agent_, _sergent de ville_, _gardien de la paix_--he is known by all three titles--has many excellent qualities, and is, no doubt, a very useful public servant. he is almost invariably an old soldier, a sergeant who has left the army with a first-class character, honesty and sobriety being indispensable qualifications. our own metropolitan police is not thus recruited: the scotland yard authorities rather dislike men with military antecedents, believing that army training, with its stiff and unyielding discipline, does not develop that spirit of good-humoured conciliation so noticeable in our police when dealing with the public. something of the same kind is seen in paris; for it is said that it takes two or three years to turn the well-disciplined old soldier into the courteous and considerate _sergent de ville_. his instructions are, however, precise; he is strictly cautioned to use every form of persuasion before proceeding to extremities, he is told to warn but not to threaten, very necessary regulations when dealing with such a highly strung, excitable population as that of paris. the same _sergents de ville_ are stationed in the same quarter of the town, so that they become more or less intimately acquainted with their neighbours and charges. they are thus often enabled to deal with them in a friendly way; a little scolding is found more effective than intimidation, and strong measures may be avoided by tact and forbearance. the uniformed police are not all employed in the streets and _arrondissements_. there is a large reserve composed of the six central brigades, as they are called, a very smart body of old soldiers, well drilled, well dressed, and fully equipped: armed, moreover, with rifles, with which they mount guard when employed as sentries at the doors or entrance of the prefecture. in paris _argot_ the men of these six central brigades are nicknamed "_vaisseaux_" (vessels), because they carry on their collars the badge of the city of paris--an ancient ship--while the sergeants in the town districts wear only numbers: their own individual number, and that of the quarter in which they serve. these _vaisseaux_ claim to be the _élite_ of the force; they come in daily contact with the gardes de paris, horse and foot, a fine corps of city gendarmerie, and, as competing with them, take a particular pride in themselves. their comrades in the quarters resent this pretension, and declare that when in contact with the people the _vaisseaux_ make bad blood by their arrogance and want of tact. the principal business of four at least of these central brigades is to be on call when required to reinforce the out-of-doors police at special times. they are ready to turn out and preserve order at fires, and will, no doubt, be the first in the fray if paris is ever again convulsed with revolutionary troubles. of the two remaining central brigades, one controls public carriages, the other the halles, that great central market by which paris is provided with a large part of its food. the cabmen of paris are not easily controlled, but they are probably a much rougher lot than the london drivers, and they, no doubt, need a much tighter hand. every cab-stand is under the charge of its own policeman, who knows the men, notes their arrival and departure, and marks their general behaviour. other police officers of the central brigades superintend the street traffic, but not so successfully as do our police; indeed, parties of the french police [illustration: parisian prison warders.] [illustration: "every cab-stand is under the charge of its own policeman" (p. ).] have from time to time been sent to london for instruction in this difficult branch of police business, but have hardly benefited by their teaching. parisian cabmen are forbidden to rove in search of fares, or hang about in front of cafes and at street corners, the penalty being imprisonment without the option of a fine. indeed, a special quarter in one of the paris prisons is known as the "cabmen's," and is often full of them. yet the drivers are honest enough, and many curious stories are told of the self-denial shown by these hard-worked, poorly paid servants of the public. a rich russian who had won ten thousand francs one night at his club left the whole sum behind him in a cab in which he had driven home. he was so certain that he had lost it irreparably that he returned to st. petersburg without even inquiring whether or not it had been given up. some time later he was again in paris, and a friend strongly urged him at least to satisfy himself whether or not the missing money had been taken to the lost property office. he went and asked, although the limit of time allowed to claim the lost property was almost expired. "ten thousand francs lost? yes, there it is," and after the proper identification the money was restored to him. "what a fool that cabman must have been!" was the russian's only remark. again, a certain jeweller in the palais royal left a diamond _parure_ worth , francs (£ , ) in a cab, and the police, when he reported the loss, gave him scant hope of recovery. he did not know the number of the cabman--he had picked him up in the street, not taken him from the rank; and, worse than all, he had quarrelled with the driver, the reason why he had abruptly left the cab. the case seemed quite hopeless, yet the cabman brought back the diamonds of his own accord. the quaintest part of the story is to come. when told at the prefecture to ask the jeweller for the substantial reward to which he was clearly entitled, he replied with intense indignation: "no, not i; he was too rude. i hope i may never see him or speak to him again." all cabmen are not so honest, however; and now and again the fraudulent cabman gets caught. it was so in the case of a tortoiseshell fan, which was deposited under a wrong description and eventually, after the legal interval, handed over to the cabman who had found it. soon afterwards a lady turned up to claim it, and as she described it exactly he was ordered to restore it to the lady, whose name was communicated to him. "but she has no right to it," protested the cabman. "she is a thief. i know the real owner. i have known her from the first. it is mdlle. ----," and he named a popular actress, thus confessing his own misconduct. the actress was then summoned, and did in fact identify the fan as the one she had lost. but it was proved satisfactorily that the other lady also had lost a fan that was curiously similar. the vicissitudes of treasure-trove might be greatly multiplied. the most curious chances happen, the strangest articles are brought to the police authorities. everything found in the streets and highways, in omnibuses, theatres, cabs, railway stations, is forwarded to the prefecture. in one case an immigrant who had made his fortune in canada and carried it in his pocket, in the shape of fifty notes of ten thousand francs each (£ , ), dropped his purse as he climbed on to the outside of an omnibus. the conductor picked it up and restored it; he was rewarded with £ , and richly he deserved it for resisting so great a temptation. beds, brooches, boots, sheets even, are brought into the prefecture. a mummy was once among the _trouvailles_; there are umbrellas without end. hogier grisons, a french writer, from whom many of these incidents are taken, says that a friend of his declares that whenever he finds himself without an umbrella he goes straight to the prefecture, describes some particular one, according to his fancy, with such and such a handle, a certain colour, and so on, when he always has the exact article handed over to him. [illustration: paris police vans.] so much for the police in uniform. that in plain clothes, _en bourgeois_, as the french call it, is not so numerous, but it fulfils a higher, or at least a more confidential, mission. its members are styled inspectors, not agents, and their functions fall under four principal heads. there is, first of all, the service of the _sûreté_--in other words, of public safety--the detective department, employed entirely in the pursuit and capture of criminals, of which more anon; next comes the police, now amalgamated with the _sûreté_, that watches over the morals of the capital in a fashion that would not be tolerated in this country, and possesses arbitrary powers under the existing laws of france; then there is the _brigade de garnis_, the police charged with the supervision of all lodging-houses, from the commonest "_sleep_-sellers' shop," as it is called, to the grandest hotels. last of all there is the brigade for inquiries, whose business it is to act as the eyes and ears of the prefecture--in plain english, as its spies. there are many complaints in paris that the police are short-handed, especially in the streets. the average is sixteen to a quarter inhabited by , to , people, so that the beats are long and the patrol work severe, especially at night, though the numbers of the _sergents de ville_ are then doubled. some say that the streets of paris are more unsafe in the more remote districts than those of any capital of europe. the police are much abused, too, by the radical and irreconcilable press. it is not uncommon to read in the daily papers such headlines as the following: "crimes of the police," "police thieves," "murder by a _sergent de ville_"--generally gross exaggerations, of course. the truth, no doubt, is that the police of paris, taken as a whole, are a hard-working, devoted, and generally estimable body of public servants. [illustration: a visit from the detectives.] chapter ix. modern police (_continued_): new york. greater new york--despotic position of the mayor--constitution of the police force--dr. parkhurst's indictment--the lexow commission and its report--police abuses: blackmail, brutality, collusion with criminals, electoral corruption, the sale of appointments and promotions--excellence of the detective bureau--the black museum of new york--the identification department--effective control of crime. new york, by its latest charter of government, takes in the whole of the outlying suburban districts, and has become the second city in the world. it is known now as greater new york, and its present municipal constitution is curiously at variance with the democratic traditions of a nominally free people. supreme power, the absolute autocratic authority, is vested in a single individual, elected, it is true, by the popular voice, but, while he holds office, as despotic as any czar. the only check on the mayor of greater new york is that of public opinion, expressed through a vigilant, often outrageously plain-speaking, press, but a press at times influenced, even to the point of silence, by party spirit. holding his mandate on these terms, the head of the municipal executive in new york can, as a matter of fact, do as he pleases. the whole business of municipal administration is absolutely in his hands. he is assisted by eighteen boards, each controlling a separate department, but all of them except one, that of finance, composed of members whom he personally appoints. the first mayor elected on these lines was mr. van wyck, who, when he took up his office, was said to be as much master of new york as napoleon iii. was of paris and france when he became president by virtue of the plebiscite. all this would be beyond the scope of my subject were it not that the government of new york, past and present, is intimately bound up with its police. the mayor, as the chief of executive power, is the head of the force by which it ought to be protected, and peace and good order maintained. not long since, that police was attacked by many reputable citizens and declared to be a disgrace to modern civilisation. the situation had grown up under the shadow of tammany hall, that strange product of modern democracy, an organisation, originally political, which grew with steadily increasing, irresponsible power till it overshadowed and overawed the city of new york, ruling it with barefaced chicanery and imposing an outrageous despotism. in the power of tammany was temporarily overborne by an outburst of popular indignation. but it was scotched, not killed. the almost irresponsible power wielded by the chief magistrate under the latest charter is working again for ill. there is no guarantee for its wise and temperate exercise; and a new commission, known as the mazet commission, presided over by mr. moss, has conducted an inquiry which revealed that some of the old evils were again in the ascendant. until the outside public was apt to regard the police of new york as "the best and finest in the world." the eulogistic words are those of its own champions, who claimed for it that "its services have been great, the bravery of some of its members conspicuous in life-saving and yet more in quelling riot and disturbance." it has always been a tradition in america that the police may be trusted with considerable powers; a free people, feeling that law in a new country must sternly check license, has not unwillingly permitted its constituted guardians to use the strong arm on occasion, and in a way that would not be tolerated in slow-going, sober old england. to "loose off his revolver" at the fugitive he cannot catch, or who has slipped through his fingers, is no uncommon practice with the american policeman, what though he may hit the innocent pigeon and miss the offending crow. i can call to mind the summary finish of a prolonged strike of "street-car" employees which i witnessed in one of my various visits to new york. a force of policemen in plain clothes and armed to the teeth were sent "down town" on a street-car with orders to fight their way through, which they did "handsomely." in other words, they shot down all opposition. the number of casualties was never publicly reported. let us consider first the constitution of the force. the whole body of police is small compared with that of other large cities, and in proportion to the mixed, turbulent public it controls--only one to souls; it is governed by a board of four commissioners appointed by [illustration: "they shot down all opposition" (p. ).] the mayor for a term of six years. particular duties are allocated to the several members of the board. thus, the senior commissioner and president _ex officio_ is entrusted with the higher discipline of the force; he deals with all charges of misconduct, and decides whether offending constables shall or shall not be sent before the public tribunals. another commissioner controls repairs and supplies, examining and passing all bills for work done, after satisfying himself that it has been completed. a third supervises the pension fund, and disposes of applications for retirement, and also of applications from widows and children of police officers for relief. the fourth commissioner is the treasurer of police funds. immediately next to the board stands a superintendent of police, who is chief of the executive, the responsible head of the _personnel_, of the rank and file of the force. he is the intermediary between the four inspectors, who come next in the hierarchy, and the supreme board, the channel communicating the board's will and the agent to enforce its execution. the superintendent holds all the threads of general control, and is responsible for and charged with the enforcement of the law throughout the city. three inspectors supervise each a separate district, being responsible for the preservation of the peace within its limits and security to life and limb; the fourth is the head of the detective branch. after the inspectors rank the captains of "precincts," of which there were thirty-four previous to the enlargement of the city, each "precinct" being analogous to a french _arrondissement_ or a police "division" in london. the captain is an officer of great influence and importance in his precinct, which he rules more or less despotically, but nominally in the best interests of the public. he has a large force of men at his disposal, and is expected to use it for the comfort and protection of good citizens, as well as the pursuit and capture of criminals. the rank and file of the force serving under the captains are classed as follows: first the sergeants, from whom the captains are commonly selected; next the roundsmen; then the patrolmen, synonymous with our ordinary blue-coated constables; last of all the doormen, who are out of uniform and employed at stations, lock-ups, and in offices, performing many and various functions of administration. in theory, to all outward seeming this organisation, so perfect, so symmetrical, so accurately planned, might be supposed to justify the encomiums passed upon it as the best and finest police force in the world. yet some of those for whose service it existed denounced it as an intolerable tyranny, supported by corruption and wielding arbitrary authority. revolt was threatened, and it broke out ere long, only to be crushed in its first efforts, but, unabashed by failure, to renew its strenuous efforts. the moving spirit, the apostle of reform, was dr. parkhurst, the incumbent of the madison square church, who, after ten years of active ministration, began in to preach against tammany from his pulpit with a persistent courage that survived every attempt to put him down. he took office next year as president of the society for the prevention of crime, and at once adopted as his watchword the cry of "down with the police." he denounced the whole administration of law and justice as criminally corrupt; all officers, lawyers, judges depending on tammany worked hand in hand with crime. "it is simply one solid gang of rascals, half of the gang in office, the other half out, and the two halves steadily catering to each other across the official line." [illustration: _photo: sarony, new york._ the rev. dr. parkhurst.] for this bold language dr. parkhurst was summoned before the grand jury of new york and solemnly reproved. he was not to be silenced; but, anxious to formulate no fresh attack until he could speak to facts from his own knowledge, he made a sad and weary pilgrimage through the worst purlieus of the city, and obtained abundant proof that the law was continually and flagrantly violated under the eyes of the police, and in collusion and complicity with them. he returned to the charge, inveighing with redoubled vigour against the police, telling how he had "gone down into the disgusting depths of this tammany-debauched town." he was again summoned before the grand jury, but now he had his answer, and so far from rebuking him afresh, the grand jury agreed with him as to the corruption of the new york police. now the forlorn hope dr. parkhurst had led was followed by a strong column of assault, and although tammany fought hard to shield its creatures, and dr. parkhurst was vilified, accused, even arrested and prosecuted upon trumped-up charges, the city rose to back him. a memorial was presented to the state senate praying for a full public inquiry into the state of the police department. tammany still fought; its nominee, governor flower, governor of the state of new york, refused to approve the inquiry, on the ground that it was needless. "no city in the state has a lower tax rate than new york," he said; "no city has a better police regulation; no city has a lower ratio of crime; ... a better health department, better parks, better schools, better credit.... no city is so comfortable a place to live in. that bad men sometimes get into office there is true; that ideal municipal government has not yet been attained there is true; but these things are equally true of every city in the world, they are truer of other cities of our state than they are of new york." despite all opposition, a committee was appointed and soon commenced a searching investigation. it was presided over by senator lexow, and is still known as the lexow commission. how exhaustively it dealt with the business may be seen from the fact that witnesses were examined on oath, that the evidence filled , pages of printed matter, and that nine months elapsed before it could present its first provisional report. [illustration: _photo copyrighted ( ) by g. prince, new york._ senator lexow.] immense difficulties were experienced in obtaining evidence. the influence of the police was paramount; and it was, no doubt, in consequence of the reluctance of witnesses to speak against the police that the lexow committee reported so strongly. it is necessary to bear this in mind, since it may be that the police prejudiced their own case at this point or at that by efforts to keep back the facts. the committee found that the witnesses they called before them were subjected to outrage if they dared to state what they knew. "they were abused, clubbed, and imprisoned, even convicted of crimes on false testimony by policemen and their accomplices. men of business were harassed and annoyed in their affairs ... people of all degrees seemed to feel that to antagonise the police was to call down upon themselves the swift judgment and persecution of an invulnerable force.... the uniform belief was that if they spoke against the police, had helped the committee, or had given information, their business would be ruined, they would be hounded from the city, and their lives even jeopardised." the committee therefore came to the conclusion that the police formed a separate and highly privileged class, armed with the authority and the machinery for oppression and punishment, but practically free themselves from the operation of the criminal law. this indictment was based upon clear proof of the irregularities practised by certain members of the new york police. they may be summarised under four principal heads, with each of which i will deal in turn. ( ) _blackmail._--a tariff was fixed under which a tax was imposed upon disorderly houses, drinking shops, gambling places, and so forth, and was paid, no doubt cheerfully, for immunity from police interference. this tax varied from twenty dollars (£ ) to five hundred dollars (£ ) per month. the moneys were collected by detectives and other constables, who received a commission upon the sums raised. these extortions were not limited to the caterers for vice, mostly native american citizens. the poor, ignorant, and friendless foreigner, who was seeking a new home in the new world, was constantly and wantonly plundered. if he dared to protest he was beaten and maltreated. a wretched italian shoeblack, who had cleaned an officer's boots for a month on credit, was half-killed when he dared to ask for his money. a russian jewess who had opened a small tobacco shop got into the black books of certain detectives by refusing to supply them for nothing, was arrested on a false charge, and heavily fined. ( ) _brutality._--these charges cover a wide range. the lexow committee stigmatised the police-stations as "slaughter-houses," [illustration: squad of american police drilling.] where "prisoners, in custody of officers of the law and under the law's protection, were brutally kicked and maltreated almost within view of the judge presiding in the court." numbers of witnesses testified to the severe assaults made upon them at the station-houses. it was a word and a blow with the policeman, often no previous word. a significant story was told to the committee by mr. costello, an irishman attached to the staff of the _new york herald_. his work took him much to the police headquarters, and he was apparently on good terms with most of the officers. the experience he thus gained led him to produce a book called "our police protectors," which had a good sale, under the patronage of the police, until one of the officers brought out a book, which drove costello's out of sale. costello, accepting his disappointment, produced another book about the fire department. again he met with competition from a man protected by the fire and police authorities. he endeavoured to fight for his own hand, but soon got to loggerheads with the police. he was arrested on a trumped-up charge, and when taken to the station-house was knocked down by an officer--"brass-knuckled," for the ruffian's fist was armed with brass knuckles. then he was brutally kicked as he lay half-stunned in the muddy gutter. another still more brutal case was that of a gentleman who interposed in a fight and was attacked by a policeman who rushed into the _mêlée_. the officer, striking out wildly with his club, caught the well-meaning gentleman on the face and knocked his eye out. another officer attacked a man who was dissatisfied with the shell-fish he bought at an oyster stand, the keeper of which had paid for police protection. the custodian of order forthwith exerted his authority on the side of his friend and smashed in the teeth of the discontented customer. another witness appeared before the committee bleeding and disfigured, just as he had come out of police hands. this man had been robbed of four dollars while asleep on a doorstep, and his whole offence was in having appealed to the police for assistance in recovering his money. in all these and similar cases the victims could not hope for redress. the police were above the law, and were not held responsible for offences, not even for such felonious assaults as those described, which would have entailed upon ordinary citizens a sentence of four or five years' imprisonment. the policeman, even if charged and convicted, was certain to be let off with a small fine. but, as a general rule, the sufferers knew too well that it was useless to take proceedings. mr. costello, already mentioned, was asked why he had not done so. in answer he used the well-known saying, "it is no use going to law with the devil when the court is in hell." the gentleman who lost his eye because he was so weak as to interfere in a street fight preferred to pay a lawyer to bribe his assailant not to appear against him, although the boot was entirely on the other leg and the offender was the policeman. in the case of the italian shoeblack his mates raised money enough to pay a lawyer, but could never get the case brought into court. in considering these charges of brutality, however, it is but fair to bear in mind the dangerous character of certain classes of the population with which the new york police have to deal, and the readiness with which resort is had to lethal weapons. to expect from them the patience and forbearance that we look for from the english police would be obviously unreasonable. ( ) _collusion with crime and criminals._--this was another grave allegation proved against certain of the new york police. it was shown that they were hand-in-glove in one nefarious practice at least--that known as the "green goods trade," a species of confidence trick played upon the unwary fool, and a very profitable game to the side which invariably won. "green goods" are forged or counterfeit banknotes, passed off as genuine and sold for a song on one of two pretences to those who would buy them. the first, that there had been over-issue of paper currency by the treasury, and the notes were, therefore at a discount; the second, that the plates from which the notes were struck had been stolen from the government, hence they could be offered cheap. [illustration: james mcnally, inventor of the "green goods trade."] the business, which seems to have been invented by one mcnally, commonly called "king mcnally," was so ingenious that some account of it may be given here. seven principal actors were needed, and they were: (i.) the "backer," or capitalist, who was wanted to supply genuine notes to a large amount, which had to be produced when the swindle was started and the fish was on the hook. (ii.) the "writer," who sent out the circulars which constituted the bait. (iii.) the "bunco steerer," who was despatched, often to a considerable distance, to get the nibbling victim in tow. (iv.) the "old man," a personage of benign and most respectable aspect, who had to sit in the room when the fraud was being carried out. (v.) the "turner," who did the bargaining and sold the bogus notes. (vi.) the "ringer," a sleight-of-hand artist who effected the exchange, at a given moment, between the genuine notes displayed and the shams palmed off on the fool. (vii.) the "tailer," a species of bully employed to get rid of any dupe who, having discovered the swindle, returned to expose it. a first step was to procure directories and lists of addresses, by which means vast numbers of circulars were distributed through the country. it was the business of no. , the "writer," a mere clerk, to send these out, enclosing in each envelope forged cuttings from newspapers (printed, of course) which set forth the extraordinary advantages offered by those who had "green goods" for sale. at the same time a slip was inserted giving an address to which anyone might telegraph so as to secure the offer before it was too late. the address was always bogus, some number in a street of a house that did not exist, or an entirely vacant lot of ground. the telegrams were, however, delivered by the telegraph companies to the swindlers in person, a service for which a substantial fee was paid. it was supposed that as many as , circulars a day were despatched. one or two at most would meet with a response. then the "bunco steerer" went off forthwith to bring the victim in; to hand him over to the rogues waiting to despoil him in some low tavern or opium shop where they consorted together, with the direct permission of the police. the "guy," or the "come-on," as the victim was styled in the swindlers' argot, when he appeared was handled in various ways. the first step was to make a price, and that was generally at the rate of , dollar bills for dollars paid down. smaller sums were also negotiated, and the process was not always quite the same. either the good bills were counted over and deposited in a box, which by some sleight-of-hand was exchanged for another filled with waste paper, or the bills were arranged in packages with a good note on top and bottom, the intervening notes being bogus. this latter dodge was used with any suspicious customer, a "hard" victim, as he was called. there was another plan carried out with a private carriage; it was called the "carriage racket," and the transfer was made by means of a couple of bags or satchels. in one the genuine notes were deposited by a confederate, who entered the carriage with the victim, and sat by his side. the worker of the fraud, after filling the satchel, would kindly offer to accompany the victim back to the station, and _en route_ the exchange was made with another--bogus--bag. in all cases the railway station played a principal part in the fraud; it was essential that the victim should be a stranger who came from a distance, and was returning home after the deal. he was cunningly debarred from examining the box or the satchel, whichever was employed. in the case of the box he was given a key which would not fit the lock; and in the case of the satchel he was told to cut the leather through when he got to his journey's end. the idea in both cases was that he should not detect the fraud before leaving new york; that would, of course, have been inevitable directly he opened the receptacle. as he was doing a shady, fraudulent thing in buying the notes, he would generally fall into the trap, realising the necessity for great caution and secrecy. [illustration: the old tombs prison, new york, now rebuilt.] now and again a victim discovered the trick, and refused to leave the city till he had exposed it. this case was met by the "tailer," who was in waiting at the railway station disguised as a policeman. when he came on the scene he met the complaint made with an immediate threat of arrest, and the victim, knowing his intention had been dishonest, was only too glad to get off. but sometimes the "guy" was swindled in a different way. he paid his money, but got no notes. they were to be sent to his address; when they failed to arrive he would come back to inquire, and probably buy more, which were also to follow, but never did. this trick was often carried out three or four times. at last the parcel would be handed into the "express" or parcel office before his eyes, but to a confederate, who, when the notes were missing, was accused of having stolen them, and was not, of course, to be found. not only did certain members of the police connive at this nefarious traffic, which flourished exceedingly, but they actually co-operated in it. a police captain provided the "joint" or place of meeting where the thieves beat the victim or swindled him. the proprietor was in the swim, and received his commission, and if superior officials interfered, as sometimes happened, the "joint" was transferred, then and there to a new place. the "green goods" man always had timely notice when any police raid was in contemplation; the police were also most useful in taking charge of the "come-backs," the "guys" or victims who would not submit to extortion, and it was often possible to take them in hand when they applied at the detective bureau so as to nullify their proceedings, or at worst give the hint to the swindlers to make themselves scarce. the police were also kind enough to assist "king mcnally" in the discipline of his subjects. whenever a "writer," who was the medium by which the profits were shared after the first half had been monopolised by the capitalist, was behindhand with his payments, the police were informed, and the defaulter arrested. the profits of this nefarious business were very high. it was said that mcnally often took as much as £ , in a single day. some of the capitalists or "backers" made large fortunes, £ , , £ , , even £ , apiece. another species of illegitimate revenue was that drawn from the gaming houses, the policy shops and pool rooms which are apparently very numerous in new york. this particular traffic appears to have originated the slang epithet "pantata," which was the familiar title for the police official who gave his [illustration: equipments of the new york police. . winter helmet. . summer hat. . revolver. . shield. . day stick. . rosewood baton for parade. . belt and frog. . night stick. . handcuffs (new style). . nippers. ] countenance to vice and crime. its derivation is said to be bohemian, and the word was originally used in austro-hungary, where the emperor-king francis joseph was called the "pantata of his people." the exact meaning of the word is father-in-law, and the new york pantata was thus esteemed the head of the criminal family. it was proved before the lexow commission that there were at that time no less than six hundred policy shops in active operation in the city working openly under police protection, and that they paid a fixed tariff of fifteen dollars per shop per month. the number of pool rooms was still larger, and they remained unmolested in consideration of payments amounting to a total of some three hundred dollars a month. the gaming that went on in the pool rooms appears to have been much akin to the continental lottery system, and any sum could be staked, from one cent upwards. another form of revenue raised by dishonest members of the police force was in levying commission upon the owners of property who had been robbed of valuables and were willing to pay to have them restored. the practice which obtained in this country during the earlier part of the present century is still in force in new york; it is possible to come upon the track of stolen property, and pawnbrokers or "fences" are prepared to hand it over on repayment of the advances made on it. but in carrying out the arrangements the police, of course, took toll, and were paid either commission or substantial gratuities by the owners they obliged. . yet another indictment brought against the new york police was that of _active interference with the purity of election_. it was alleged to be the agent of a political party, its duty being to secure the return of the proper candidates, those of tammany hall. in carrying this out members of the force sometimes arrested and ill-treated the opposition voters; they canvassed for their own side, and, neglecting their proper functions as guardians of the peace, they became the agents of tammany hall. the ballot boxes were tampered with, and such frauds as personation and the repeated appearance of the same voter were winked at. [illustration: superintendent william s. devery, of the new york police.] it was little likely that a force recruited and administered as regards promotion on corrupt lines would act otherwise than as has been set forth. in early days first appointments were not to be purchased for money, but the practice soon became general, and no one could be appointed a constable unless he paid for it, or had political friends. one commissioner admitted that from to per cent. of all the appointments he made were at the instance of tammany hall. yet there was at this time a civil service rule that all officers were to be appointed by open competition. it came to be a custom at last that every candidate should produce dollars to a go-between, who passed it on to the police authorities; after this payment the examinations were made easy. the same rule as to payment was enforced for promotion. it cost , dollars to become a sergeant, and for a captaincy , dollars were paid. one witness, who was a police sergeant, told a remarkable story of his examination for one of these latter appointments. he had passed the prescribed examination three times in succession, and yet was no nearer nomination. his friends told him that this was simply waste of time, but he persisted for four years, trusting that his merits would be recognised, still steadfastly declining to bribe his superiors. finally he consented, and was told that his promotion could be had for , dols. this money was subscribed by his friends, but then the price was raised to , dollars. again it was subscribed, but became a bone of contention amongst the officials. at one time it looked as though even bribery would fail to secure the promotion, but they appeared at last to have divided the plunder to their mutual satisfaction, and the witness now became a captain. [illustration: inspector byrnes.] it is only fair to the police of new york to credit them with considerable success in dealing with crime. whatever suspicion may have rested on their good faith where offenders have been able to purchase their connivance, there is no doubt that a large number of crimes have always been detected and avenged in new york. they have to deal with cosmopolitan rogues drawn to the happy hunting ground of the new world, and with a large mass of indigenous crime of the most serious kind. the unlawful taking of life is very prevalent in the united states, where the percentage of murders is larger than anywhere in the world, but these crimes do not go largely unpunished. again, the american "crook," the bank robber, the burglar, the counterfeit-money maker, and the wholesale forger are to be met with in large numbers across the atlantic, and the warfare against them is unceasing. it is true that the detective forces of the country are very much in private hands: agencies like pinkerton's have a fine record; the triumphs achieved by the breaking up of some of the secret societies in the south, such as the molly mcguire and the kluklux clans, are feats deserving the warmest recognition. at the same time, the detective bureau, composed of officers of mulberry street, has done excellent service, and inspector byrnes, its chief, has earned a high reputation in thief-taking. the detective bureau of new york "has attained national importance," says a writer who knows it and its services well. he instances especially the protection given to the great business centre of wall street at the time when the "down town" district was specially favoured of thieves and depredators. robbery from the person, burglarious entrance to banking and other premises, the abstraction of money, bonds, and valuable papers used to be of constant occurrence. more recently the presence of a "crook" below a line drawn, say, through fulton street was _primâ facie_ evidence against him, and he was then and there arrested, and called upon to give account of himself. unless he could show good cause for venturing within the peculiar precincts of finance and commerce he was relegated to gaol. the detectives are always "on the spot," ever keen and active in coping with the evil-doer. a dozen are always on duty at the stock exchange, where it is boasted that not a ten cent stamp has been stolen by a professional thief for years. the ways of the new york detective are like those of the famous ah sing, "childlike and bland," but no less astute and successful. they aim at prevention, and trust to it even more than to the pursuit subsequent to the commission of crime. it is an axiom with them to know their game by heart; they study the thoughts and idiosyncrasies, the plans and proceedings, of the criminal classes so closely that they can predicate what will be done under any particular circumstances, how the thief will act when planning, when executing, and, above all, when covering up his tracks after he has made his _coup_. one method followed with marked success is to keep their spies and assistants in the heart of the enemy's camp. it is well known that criminals have little or no fidelity to each other, that "honour among thieves" is a mendacious adage provided any of them can see substantial profit in betraying his associates. the best officers make a point of keeping in touch with the "crooks," visiting them frequently in their favourite resorts, and hearing all the movements and the news. matters in progress, the activity or otherwise of well-known practitioners, are thus ascertained, for the high-flyer in crime generally knows what others of his class are about, and is willing to pass it on for a consideration, or to stand well with the police. new york possesses its black museum, its treasure-house of criminal relics akin to that which may be viewed at the headquarters [illustration: . photographing a criminal for the "rogues' gallery" (new york). . cabinet in which american criminals are registered. . two leaves of the "rogues' gallery."] of our metropolitan police at new scotland yard. a brief summary of the exhibits in this strange depository is, in its way, an epitome of contemporary crime. every item, even the most insignificant, tells of some flagitious act. the sledge hammers, drills, jemmies, masks, and powder flasks tell their own story, so do the marvellously ingenious burglar's implements manufactured by high-class mechanical skill, and hired out to executive agents on a percentage of results. here are the bogus gold bricks of some famous confidence trick, the well-named _vol à l'americain_, lithographic stones from which thousands and thousands of counterfeit notes have been struck off, the curious devices used for opening combination locks, the rope ladders, lanterns, revolvers that have figured in various notable operations. [illustration: complete set of an american burglar's tools.] another branch well worked by the new york police is its identification department, which is now fully served by the bertillon method of measurement, and it has always been rich in photographic portraiture. the famous "rogues' gallery," which forms the basis of mr. inspector byrnes' book on american criminals, is a marvellous record of rascality. each picture is backed with a brief history of ancestry and antecedents, so that the influences at work, whether congenital or accidental, evil traits transmitted from parents, or the growth of bad example acting on weak moral fibre, may be seen at once. as has been said, the united states offers many attractions to wrong-doers, and in this police gallery will be found the portraits of such great criminal practitioners as "hungry joe," the ex-governor of south carolina; franklin j. moses, "big bertha," annie riley, an accomplished linguist; max shinburn, and the rest. it is a part of the case against the new york police that it fails to control crime effectively, but it can nevertheless show results at least as good under this head as those achieved in european countries. in some respects indeed its operations are marked by a cleverness and smartness which it would be hard to match in the best of the police forces of the old world. [illustration] chapter x. modern police (_continued_): russia. mr. sala's indictment of the russian police--their wide-reaching functions--instances of police stupidity--why sala avoided the police--von h---- and his spoons--herr jerrmann's experiences--perovsky, the reforming minister of the interior--the regular police--a rural policeman's visit to a peasant's house--the state police--the third section--attacks upon generals mezentzoff and drenteln--the "paris box of bills"--sympathisers with nihilism: an invaluable ally--leroy beaulieu on the police of russia--its ignorance and inadequate pay--the case of vera zassoulich--the passport system--how it is evaded and abused--its oppressiveness. forty years ago a well-known writer summed up the russian police in the following scathing words: "as grand-masters of the art and mystery of villainy, as proficients in lying, stealing, cruelty, rapacity, and impudence, i will back the russian police against the whole world of knavery." this tremendous indictment seems to be fully justified by past experience, and it is to be feared that many of the worst charges can be still maintained. recent writers tell new stories that fall little short of the old. russia is still absolutely given over to the police. it is the most police-ridden country in the world; not even in france in the worst days of the monarchy were the people so much in the hands of the police. from first to last the russian citizen is deemed incapable of looking after himself. not only is he forbidden to take an active part in the management of public affairs, but in the most private matters he must submit to the interference of the police. "the russian police has a finger in every pie," wrote the acute observer quoted above.[ ] "they meddle not only with criminals, not only with passports, but with hotels, boarding and lodging houses, theatres, balls, _soirees_, shops, boats, births, deaths, and marriages. the police take a russian from his cradle and never lose sight of him till he is snugly deposited in a parti-coloured coffin in the great cemetery of wassily ostrow. surely to be an orphan must be a less terrible bereavement in russia than in any other country; for the police are father and mother to everybody--uncles, aunts, and cousins too." [illustration: types of russian police. officer. mounted sergeant. foot sergeant. ] nothing can be done in russia without police permission. a person cannot build a bathroom in his house without leave. a physician cannot practise without it; he must have leave even to refuse to attend to night calls; he cannot prescribe anæsthetics, narcotics, or poisons without special permission; and no chemist would make up a prescription containing any of these drugs unless the doctor's name were on his special list. no new journal can be established without permission, no printing office, no bookshop, no photograph gallery; special police leave is needed to sell newspapers in the streets; a reader at one of the public libraries who wishes to consult standard works on social subjects must be armed with a permit; no concert for charitable purposes can be organised without leave from the police, and the proceeds must be handed over to them to be passed on to the recipients or embezzled on the way. all freedom of movement within the empire is checked by the police. a native russian must have leave if he wishes to go fifteen miles from home. a foreign traveller is forbidden to enter the country without leave, he must have leave if he wishes to remain more than six months, and must ask for leave to go away again; every change of residence must be notified to the police. the passport system, although at times unevenly and unequally administered, is a potent weapon in the hands of the police, by means of which they can control the movements of everyone within the empire. to give some idea of the wide-reaching functions of the police, the power assumed in matters momentous and quite insignificant, we may quote from the list of circulars issued by the minister of the interior to the governors of the various provinces during four recent years. the governors were directed to regulate religious instruction in secular schools, to prevent horse-stealing, to control subscriptions collected for the holy places in palestine, to regulate the advertisements of medicines and the printing on cigarette papers, to examine the quality of quinine sold, and overlook the cosmetics and other toilet articles--such as soap, starch, brilliantine, tooth-brushes, and insect powder--provided by chemists. they were to issue regulations for the proper construction of houses and villages, to exercise an active censorship over published price-lists and printed notes of invitation and visiting-cards, as well as seals and rubber stamps. all private meetings and public gatherings, with the expressions of opinion and the class of subjects discussed, were to be controlled by the police. in a word, quoting one high authority,[ ] the russian police collect statistics, enforce sanitary regulations, make searches and seizures in private houses, keep thousands of "suspects" constantly under surveillance, reading all their correspondence, and, of course, violating the sanctity of the post office. they take charge of the bodies of persons found dead; they admonish those who neglect their religious duties and fail to partake of the holy communion; they enforce obedience to thousands of diverse orders and regulations supposed to promote the welfare of the people and guarantee the safety of the state. there are , sections relating to police in a russian code of laws, and it is hardly an exaggeration to say, as mr. kennan puts it, that in the peasant villages, away from the centres of education and enlightenment, the police are the omnipresent and omnipotent regulators of all human conduct--a sort of incompetent bureaucratic substitute for divine providence. [illustration: prefecture of police, petersburg. _photo: daziaro, petersburg._] before, however, dealing further with the russian police of to-day, it will be interesting, for purposes of comparison, to look back for a moment into some of the less recent stories of police proceedings. travellers who visited the country fifty years ago or more give it as their deliberate opinion that the russian police was "more stupid, more dishonest and corrupt than can well be conceived." even in those days they had enormous powers; everything was submitted to their superintendence, and they carried out their orders just as seemed good to them. their too literal interpretation of the letter of the law was often productive of the most serious consequences. thus it was a strict rule that no one might pass the neva when the breaking up of the ice had set in, and police were stationed on the banks to insist upon its observance. but the rule was also made to apply to any unfortunate persons who were already on the ice when the thaw began; no one was allowed to cross, and therefore no one could be allowed to land. the humane intention of saving life was thus set at naught by the intense stupidity of subordinates, and many accidents happened. a worse case occurred at the burning of the lehmann theatre, about , during the carnival, a period of great festivity known as maslinizza. at the time in question the most popular of the many entertainments was that of a german pantomime company, which performed in a temporary theatre erected upon the admiralty square, st. petersburg. this pantomime was the rage, and the theatre was constantly crammed. at one morning performance the alarm of fire was raised, almost instantly flames burst out from behind the scenes, and the whole edifice, of wood, was in a blaze. the audience, wild with terror, rushed to the doors, and found exit altogether forbidden. these doors opened inwards, and the pressure of the frantic crowd closed them as effectually as if they had been barred. a workman, who was on the far side, and who had assisted in the erection of the theatre, called for an axe, saying that he knew what was wrong, and that a way must be cut open for the crowd. but there was a policeman on duty, and he refused to allow any steps to be taken without superior authority. when, at last, his fatal obstinacy was overcome, and admission was gained, it was found to be too late. the whole of the densely packed audience, men, women, and children, were dead; they had been stifled by the smoke that filled the building, and not a single soul was saved. the extortions of the russian police have been at all times unblushing. their rapacity knows no bounds, and it appears to be exhibited by every rank, from the highest to the lowest. george augustus sala, in his "journey due north," admirably summed up the situation in his day. he had been struck by the appearance of a man in uniform, seated in an admirably appointed droschky behind a priceless stepper, driven by a resplendent coachman, and he thought that he was gazing upon the czar himself. the master was not, perhaps, of prepossessing appearance; he was stout and flabby, with pale, trembling cheeks, and close-cropped, shiny black hair, but he was in a smart uniform, with a double-eagled helmet, buckskin gloves, and patent-leather boots. "who is it?" sala asked of a russian friend. "field-marshal? prince gortschakoff? general [illustration: "the major ... sits at the receipt of custom."] todleben?" "no, he is a major of police." "has he enormous pay or a private fortune?" "that dog's son," replied the russian, "has not a penny of his own, and his full pay all told is a sum of £ a year." "but the private carriage, the horse, the silver-mounted harness, the luxury of the whole turn-out?" "_il prend_; he takes." and later on sala proceeds to tell us how the "taking" is done. the major in his handsome office sits at the receipt of custom; everybody must bribe him--all those who seek for licenses, for privileges. as we have seen, police permission is needed for everything under the sun, and all who come seeking it must pay. they bribe the major, his employees, even the private policeman at the doors. "it is a continual and refreshing rain," says sala, "of grey fifty-rouble notes to the major, of blue and green fives and threes to the employees, of fifty-copeck pieces to the grey-coats." and then the writer goes on to give specific instances of robbery on a large scale, telling us how this police body, "organised to protect the interests of citizens and watch over public order and morals, to pursue and detect and take charge of criminals ... simply harasses, frightens, cheats, and plunders honest folk." during the course of a one month's residence in st. petersburg sala was robbed four times; first of a cigar-case, then of a purse, fortunately not very well lined, next of an overcoat, and lastly of a drawerful of nondescript articles, including shirts, cigars, and a pair of opera-glasses. this last robbery had been effected by breaking through a seemingly secure lock, and the victim suspected a certain chambermaid who attended to his room. he was on the point of laying the whole case before the police when a friend, a frenchman who knew russia by heart, interposed and strongly advised sala to accept his loss; he would certainly recover nothing, and would as certainly be obliged to spend more than double the value of the property stolen, with the additional inconvenience of being nearly worried to death. the gist of this shrewd advice was that he should grin and bear it, buy new articles, but never complain. "complaints will lead to your being replundered fourfold, hardly to the recovery of your possessions." this was no new experience. an earlier traveller, herr jerrmann, gives a curious instance of the extraordinary faculty the russian police exhibited of retaining what came into their hands. it was always considered, he said, that the person robbed had never less chance of recovering his property than when the police had actually got the thief. the general feeling, in fact, was strong that thefts would be seldom if ever reported were it not that the law imperatively requires it to be done. a certain nobleman, von h----, lost some plate, silver spoons, knives and forks, which were abstracted from his plate-chest. a few weeks later one of his servants came and told him that he had seen the stolen property exhibited for sale in a pawnbroker's shop. von h---- went and identified his plate, then, calling the police in, required the silversmith to produce the goods. there could be no doubt as to ownership, for von h----'s arms and initials had not been erased. the silversmith willingly admitted von h----'s claim, and would have surrendered the property to him at once. but the police interposed, and declined to allow him to take away his property until he had formally proved his ownership. for this it was necessary to draw up a formal statement of the case, and submit it to the lieutenant of police, accompanied by a specimen article from his plate-chest in corroboration of his claim. while this was being done the police took charge of the pieces that had been stolen, and soon acquired more. von h---- was apparently a novice then, for, in order to recover the few articles he had lost, he submitted the whole contents of his plate-chest for police inspection at the police bureau. from that time he never saw a single article again! [illustration: under examination in a russian police office.] jerrmann tells another story within his own experience. a silver table-spoon was stolen from his kitchen; his suspicions fell upon the baker who brought him bread, and the same day the thief was captured, and the spoon traced to a receiver's shop. justice was prompt in its action; the thief was duly punished, the receiver's shop was closed. but the police took possession of the spoon! herr jerrmann valued the spoon, which was a christening gift, and he was determined to spare no pains to recover it. he was, however, referred from one person to another, hunted from place to place in the most vexatious way, and all without result. at last a commissary who was the custodian of the spoon asked him frankly why he was so persevering; the value of the spoon was trifling, and he must have spent more money in droschkies than the thing was worth, while he might confidently expect to be much more out of pocket still before he got back his property. jerrmann, seeing how the land lay, suddenly decided upon a daring ruse. he told the commissary that he meant to have the spoon the very next day, and when he was asked mockingly what he proposed to do, he answered simply that he was going to dine that evening with perovsky, the minister of the interior. "and i mean," added jerrmann, "to ask him a riddle, namely, how to recover one's property when it is temporarily held by the police. if you will come to breakfast with me to-morrow morning i promise you that you shall make use of that very spoon. but whether you wear uniform or not will entirely depend upon how perovsky deals with my riddle." the commissary again laughed, but a little uneasily. he accepted the invitation to breakfast, and when he came the spoon was on the table; he had sent it in anticipation. the best part of this story is that the dinner with perovsky was purely imaginary. but that famous minister's name was ever a terror to faithless officials. this perovsky, a man of singular ability and of the most straightforward character, had been appointed head of the police by the czar nicholas i. when that sovereign was roused to the consciousness that his police was a shame and a scandal to the empire. perovsky did something, no doubt, towards reforming the most crying abuses, but he met with the most determined opposition from the great army of police officials, who bitterly resented his interference. many stories are told of his methods of calling his subordinates to account. there was one occasion when he drew the attention of the chief of police to a certain mansion where gambling at prohibited games of chance was constantly carried on. he desired the police to surround the house and to depute two of their number to enter it. the officers were to make their way to a room indicated, and if they there found a party of gamesters at a faro table arrests should be made. all fell out as planned; the gamblers were caught _in flagrante_ with piles of gold upon the table, sufficient proof of what was going on. but just as the players were about to be removed to the police [illustration: convicts in a russian prison. (_from a photograph._)] station one of them took the police officers aside and assured them that it was all a mistake, that they were not playing for the gold upon the table, which merely served as markers. still, if the police officers cared to try their skill at _écarté_ for a thousand roubles a game, some of those present would be glad to give them a chance of winning the money. this was only another excuse for making it a present to the officers of the law, who presently withdrew with their pockets well lined to inform their chief that there was nothing wrong in the house they had visited. this report was carried in due course to perovsky, who summoned the two police agents before him, and, assuring them that he was not their dupe, opened another door and disclosed to view the very same gamblers of the night before sitting at a green table in the same order, playing the same, prohibited game. the whole affair was an artfully executed plot to entrap the police. the police, it has been contended, is an indispensable wheel in the organisation of absolute monarchy. that power pretends to be paternal as well as repressive, and as long as it forbids the people to share in government, or express opinions on current events, it must be aided by some organ that replaces the public voice, speaking either in elective assemblies or in the press. the police, acting for the central power, is supposed to control everything, to criticise conduct, to protect as well as correct, and it thus becomes possessed of very considerable power. in russia, under nicholas i., the police was well styled the mainspring of the state machinery; and although under alexander ii. more liberal principles obtained, the growth of nihilism led to reaction, and the police recovered all its old authority. great pains have been taken to perfect its processes, to give it increased strength and enlarge its action. with this in view an organisation was planned which lasted for some years, and which consisted mainly in the separation of all police into two principal and distinct branches-- . the ordinary, everyday, regular police. . the political, or state, and for the most part secret police. let us consider these in turn. . the regular police is on the whole organised as in many other european countries, with the difference that the police officer often predominates in russia over other local functionaries. for purposes of illustration it may be noted that where in france a _sous-prèfet_ would act under the prefect of a department, the official in russia next to the governor is the _ispravnik_, with whom lesser members of the police hierarchy are in direct relations. a great army of unofficial and unpaid _attachés_ assists the regular police of the towns. this force was obtained through the clever device of enlisting the services of every house porter, the russian _dvornik_, who answers to the french _concierge_ and the german _hausknecht_, and discharges much the same functions in an emphasised and more arbitrary fashion. the _dvornik_ is bound to see and examine the papers and passports of all inmates of the house he serves, and especially of all visitors and new arrivals. the police regulation requires every _dvornik_ to carry the passport to the police station within three days of the arrival of a new person, and to lodge it there in exchange for a ticket of residence. the same process is followed on departure. thus the _dvornik_ becomes a sort of permanent detective; he has not only to watch over all in the house, but he is held responsible that no revolutionary proclamations are posted on the external walls, no dangerous articles thrown out of the windows, and he is expected to lend a hand to the police if they make an arrest or give chase to a fugitive. although he gets no pay from government, he is expected to give much service under irksome conditions. he is forbidden to leave his post at any time during the long night watch, sixteen hours, from p.m. to a.m. next day, and he is liable to severe punishment if he fail in these duties. for all this the house proprietor really pays, and he may be still further mulcted, for he is held responsible for all illicit acts committed in his house, which may be sequestrated on proof of secret meetings held within it, or on any discovery of weapons, ammunition, explosives, or forbidden literature. the police in the provinces is represented by a force of , or more, who were first appointed in , were armed, mounted, given good pay and many rights. each officer had his own beat, in which he ruled supreme, and he was thought quite a delightful institution. but within a year or two the police had developed into abominable petty tyrants, who held the country folk at their mercy, a prey to their exactions and brutality. they became, in fact, a perfect scourge in their districts, and even governors and high officials denounced them as brigands. it became clear that a bad police was worse than no police at all. thus, an institution intended to help and protect the people soon degenerated into a new and terrible instrument of vexation and oppression. no name was too bad for the rural policeman, the _uriadniki_, who were nicknamed the _kuriatniki_, or "chicken stealers," by the peasants, and likened by the better informed to the dread bodyguard of ivan the terrible. a graphic picture has been painted by the famous vera zassoulich, in her memoirs, of the visit of a rural policeman to a peasant's house in company with the tax collector of the district. vera, a young lady of high birth and much beauty, spent, in pursuit of the nihilistic propaganda she was preaching, long periods under the roofs of villagers, and she was working as an ordinary seamstress in one house when a descent was made upon it. "i was sitting," she writes, "at the door of the one room of the hut when the policeman appeared, accompanied by an old soldier in a dirty grey greatcoat, and followed by two peasants.... i was called upon to give my name, produce my passport, and state how long i meant to reside in that place.... then, in reply to my questions, i was told that the police had come to back up the tax gatherer, and i saw what happened if the payments were in default. the stove of the hut was smashed, then smeared with tar, so were the walls, the furniture and wearing apparel; after that every piece of crockery in the place was broken and the pieces thrown out of the window. the horse and cow were taken out of the stalls and carried off to be sold." [illustration: whip and manacles used in russian convict prisons. (_in possession of h. de windt, esq._)] . the political or state police was the invention of nicholas i. alexander i. had created a ministry of the interior, but it was nicholas who devised the second branch, which he designed for his own protection and the security of the state. after the insurrection of he created a special bulwark for his defence, and invented that secret police which grew into the notorious "third section" of the emperor's own chancery. it has been said, with reason, that no russian, in the days of its most dreaded activity, could mention its name without a shudder. it has been likened to that other secret tribunal, that so long oppressed venice, the council of ten. it was the most powerful instrument an absolute government ever called to its aid. the terrors it inspired were heightened by the mysterious silence that overshadowed its proceedings. it worked secretly, but struck with unerring severity; its methods were dark and devious; it was unjust, unfair, illegal, respecting neither caste nor sex. women, ladies of rank and beauty and fashion, were said to have been seized ruthlessly by its unscrupulous agents, tried in secret conclave, and punished then and there with the whip. many people were hurried away to siberia without any form of trial at all--the first application of the system known as "administrative process," which became very common in after years, when the publicity of the courts would have been inconvenient, or convictions uncertain in due course of law. the third section, while it lasted, was the most dreaded power in the empire. it was practically supreme in the state, a ministry independent of all other ministries, placed quite above them, and responsible only to the czar himself. the third section had its prototype in the privileged bodyguard of ivan the terrible, which laid the whole country under contribution. another czar, alexis, had his secret police, and his son, peter the great, invented a police system of a most formidable kind. it was known as the preobrajenski, from the place where it had its headquarters, and was in fact a modern civil inquisition, more terrible, more powerful even than the religious inquisition of spain. peter the great very likely felt that, with the many changes he introduced into national life, which so often roused the most obstinate resistance, he ought to have ready to his hand an instrument of coercion supported by espionage. it was in effect the third section, as we have seen it since, and although it was solemnly suppressed by peter iii. in , it survived in that third section, just as the latter survives in the existing organisation of the russian police. for many years, under alexander ii., the third section was much more than a state police; it was a power apart in the government, exercising independent authority, having many privileges, placed [illustration: how prisoners used to be deported to siberia.] outside and above the laws. its chief, who was also called the head of the gendarmerie, was by right a member of the council, and he was the most confidential servant of the emperor, with whom he was ever in the most intimate relations. he exercised something like absolute power; his veto could in effect control all appointments, because he could adduce police reasons based on police knowledge against any person. he had, in fact, complete control over everyone and everything in the empire; he could arrest, lock up, exile, cause anyone he liked to disappear. [illustration: _photo: bergamasco, petersburg._ count schouvaloff, chief of the "third section."] under the enlightened _régime_ of alexander ii., it seemed for a while as though the third section had lost much of its authority. but the first attempt upon the czar's life in at kara kossoff restored it to full activity, and one of the most prominent men in the empire, schouvaloff, was placed at its head, thus restoring it to its ancient prestige, for the chief of the third section had invariably been a person of great consequence, as indeed the important functions he exercised demanded. but the revival of the third section was not justified by any subsequent success; in the years immediately following it proved itself singularly inefficient, unable either to prevent or to put down the outrages committed in broad day. it showed itself useless at st. petersburg, at kieff, at odessa, at karkoff, in all the great cities; it neither was able to defend itself against the conspiracies, nor could it detect or capture the conspirators. the first acts of the new revolution had been directed against the third section, and these attacks preceded those upon the czar and his throne. the two last chiefs, general mezentzoff and general drenteln, fell victims to the nihilists. the first was stabbed by some unknown person in the streets of st. petersburg, the second was fired at in broad daylight by a young man on horseback, who was not arrested for a number of years. these attempts are to be placed to the credit of nihilism, for they practically ended the third section. nominally this redoubtable office was abolished, but that did not mean that the arbitrary surveillance of the police was ended. alexander ii. hoped, perhaps, that he was wiping out a symbol of despotism, but he retained the substance while discarding the shadow. the change meant no more than the fusion of his private palace police with the ordinary public police. there was no longer a head of the third section, but there was a minister of the interior; it was the consolidation and concentration of power in one hand, and there it has remained. there was good reason for the change; the various classes of police, instead of helping, hampered and interfered with each other. there were three police forces in the capital and all large cities; that of the minister of the interior, the city police, and the third section, already described. they were perpetually getting in each other's way, and it was said that the state confided to their care was in as bad a way as the baby with five nurses. often enough, like the famous detectives of the french farce, _tricoche et cacolet_, policemen hunted policemen; they were all suspicious of people who seemed too much on the alert, and the consequence was that much time and trouble was wasted in mutual surveillance. sometimes it happened that the agents of the third section, fancying they had made an important arrest, found to their chagrin that they had only caught their comrades; meanwhile, the nihilists had a practically free hand and terrorised the whole country. the absolute incompetence of his protectors appears to have been brought home to alexander ii. by the incident known as the "paris box of pills." a parcel arrived one morning labelled "pills for asthma and rheumatism: dr. jus, paris." it was addressed direct to the czar, who was reported to be suffering from these complaints. alexander handed the box over to his private physician for examination, and the moment it was opened one of the pills exploded. more care was shown in verifying the remaining pills, and it was found that they were filled with dynamite. there have been times when the police of russia were stirred to the utmost activity. after the murder of general mezentzoff in broad daylight and in one of the principal squares of st. petersburg, such profound dismay prevailed that the police were unceasingly on the _qui vive_. the perpetrators of the deed, nevertheless, had disappeared, leaving no trace, and the police in their frenzied eagerness turned the city upside down. searches innumerable of all suspected houses were made, and the most arbitrary arrests took place on the slightest whisper of anything wrong. reports at the time put the numbers taken into custody at quite a thousand. yet "illegal" or "irregular" people, as they were styled by the officers of the law, came and went, moving about with impunity under the very noses of the police, and, as a rule, escaping scot-free. they found shelter in houses of friends and sympathisers--persons of all classes, some of them least likely on the face of it to assist the nihilists. stepniak tells us in his "underground russia" that these _likrivateli_, as they are called in russian, or "concealers," were to be found among the highest aristocracy as well as in the ranks of government officials, including even members of the police, all of them people who, for some reason or other, hesitated to give active support to the conspiracy, but who were nevertheless well disposed towards it, and proved this by hiding individuals for whom there was a hue-and-cry. stepniak describes various types of this very numerous and varied class. one of these sympathisers with nihilism was known among the conspirators as the _dvornik_, because in his anxious care for the safety of his companions he ruled them as tyrannically as the doorkeeper, whose functions as an unpaid assistant of the police have been already described. this man made it his business to impress caution on his comrades, and so strictly, that when anyone was known to be under surveillance he would arrange for his concealment, and insist constantly on changing the hiding-place. the _dvornik_ was quite a specialist in the business of circumventing the police. he knew them by heart and all their ways. on one occasion he hired an apartment exactly opposite the house in which the chief of the secret police lived, and watched it so closely day after day that he became acquainted with numbers of persons employed by the police. he knew half the spies in st. petersburg by sight, and had made a study of their peculiar methods, their manner of watching, the way they started on a hunt, how they pursued their quarry. after a time he could "spot" any new spy, could penetrate the cleverest disguises of the old hands and detect small signs that betrayed them to him, but were quite unseen by others. in the same way he had thoroughly mastered st. petersburg: he knew his way all over the city, was acquainted with all sorts of places of refuge and with every house that had two outlets, so that he was invaluable in helping anyone to escape. a fugitive placed under his guidance could be conveyed with absolute safety from one part of the city to another, so clever was he in covering up his tracks. [illustration: _photo: bergamasco, st. petersburg_ general baranof] speaking on the general question, leroy beaulieu in his monumental work on russia says: "the police has been at all times a sink of abuses and extortions, because, of all departments, it enjoys the greatest facilities for indulging in them. in spite of the particular attention of which it has always been the object, this department, on which all the rest lean for support, has always been so far one of the most defective. in the cities, especially in the capitals, where they are under the eyes of the highest authorities, the force leave--externally--little to be desired. they are attentive, courteous, helpful, if not always honest. a foreigner who, in st. petersburg, judged them from the outside only, would think the service perfect. yet the long unpunished daring of the nihilists has revealed only too clearly its incompetence and carelessness. the astounding powerlessness which the police displayed on these occasions is traceable chiefly to the habitual vices of russian administration: ignorance, indolence, venality." general baranof in , when head of the police, found that a great number of his men could not sign their names correctly. many more, even those of high grades, were supremely ignorant of the laws and regulations they were called upon to administer. the general tone was low, and the force was recruited from a very inferior class, for the police and their work are much despised by respectable citizens. the pay has always been ridiculously small, thereby directly encouraging the dishonest practices, the more or less enforced contributions levied on the public in every direction, by which it has been eked out. the members of a force, driven by extreme penury into illicit earnings, could hardly be loyal, and it has been always easy for the revolutionists to buy relaxed watchfulness, and even complicity. so ineffective was the official police that in the city of st. petersburg was invited to reinforce it by electing a council to co-operate in watching over the personal safety of the czar. it was not the first time that well meaning loyal subjects had desired to assist the government in the pursuit of its foes. the idea of the _droujina_, an ancient secret society, was revived. it was a sort of vigilance society composed of special police volunteers, acting with the official police, but unpaid, and with no recognised status. the promoters thought that the best method of combating conspiracy was to meet conspirators on their own ground and with their own arms. its organisation and action were secret. among other measures it offered rewards to peasants and workmen who would inform the authorities of any plots in progress; another idea was to meet outrage by anticipation, to face the nihilists with their own weapons, and blow them up with dynamite before they could use it to subvert existing authority. the _droujina_ rejoiced in the epithets of "holy" and "life-saving," but it achieved nothing tangible. it had the command of considerable funds, freely subscribed, and was carried on by a number of zealous persons, but it is not on record that they arrested a single conspirator, though, like the police, they sometimes took up the wrong people. the well-known case of vera zassoulich showed conclusively how little the police were able to protect themselves. it was she who resolved, like a second charlotte corday, to call general trépoff, the prefect of civil police in st. petersburg, to account for his cruel ill-usage of a prisoner, one bogoli ouboff. this man at one of trépoff's inspections did not remove his hat when the general passed. trépoff not only struck him with his stick, but ordered him to be flogged. corporal punishment had been abolished, and the order was therefore illegal; it caused great indignation in st. petersburg, and nearly produced a serious outbreak in the prison. the story travelled far and wide, finally reaching the ears of vera zassoulich in a far-off province, that of penza, seven months later. she started at once for st. petersburg, and obtained admission to trépoff's presence on pretence of presenting a petition. but directly she saw him she drew a pistol from her pocket and fired at him point-blank. trépoff was badly wounded in the side, but eventually recovered. vera was seized and removed, but her demeanour was calm and self-possessed, and she only asked to be allowed to put on her shawl, which she had left in the waiting-room. it was thought that vera's attack was a part of a general conspiracy, but there seems to be little doubt that she acted altogether alone and on her own motion. the sequel was curious, and showed how generally trépoffs arbitrariness was condemned. vera was brought before an ordinary tribunal, tried, and acquitted. her friends then very judiciously got her out of the country, fearing, and with good reason, that this decision would not be allowed to stand. they were perfectly right, for the government overruled the verdict, although given by a legally constituted tribunal, and ordered vera to be re-arrested. happily for her, she was already safe in switzerland. after this the government decreed by ukase that all political offences should be tried, not by a jury, but by a specially constituted tribunal. they were, in fact, to be brought before a court-martial having the same powers as in war-time, and inflicting penalties under the military code, which included deportation and the loss of civil rights. the passport, by which every individual is, or ought to be, held and ticketed so as to be recognised and easily followed wherever he goes, is a terrible burden on a people half of whom are compelled by the climate and the poorness of the soil to spend six months of every year away from home. to be obliged to take out a passport before leaving home is at once a hindrance to movement and a tax upon the pocket. to abolish the passport would be a first great step towards according freedom to the whole population. as it is, no one can choose his own residence, nor follow his profession as he pleases; still less can people collect and group themselves in places where the productiveness of the soil would naturally encourage them to do so. yet the obligation is by no means effective; it is constantly evaded. the fabrication of false passports is a very flourishing trade, which has been of immense service to the revolutionists in covering up their movements and concealing from the eyes of justice those "wanted." [illustration: vera zassoulich shooting general trÉpoff] a story is told of a russian gentleman who was in a hurry to leave odessa and travel to the shores of the mediterranean. not choosing to waste time in presenting himself at the passport bureau, he accepted the services of a commissionaire, who promised to get him the passport for a comparatively small sum, a little under £ . the would-be traveller accepted the offer, and next day started from home with the passport all in proper form. nor have the passport regulations reduced the number of vagrants for ever on the tramp, who can show no papers, and yet are seldom interfered with. when the authorities awoke suddenly to the need for enforcing the rules in some of the more remote towns, such as tiflis and odessa, there was a general exodus of the working population, and the well-to-do people were left without the servants, small tradespeople, and others who had ministered to their wants. the passport regulations oppress all classes. the well-to-do russian who would go abroad must pay for the privilege; the tax is at present ten roubles (about thirty shillings), but in the days of nicholas i. it was five hundred roubles, and some are in favour of reviving this costly tariff. when the police are stirred up by some nihilist outrage, a high price must be paid to obtain a travelling passport, but it can be got, as can almost anything in russia, for money. the burden, however, weighs heaviest on the poorer classes, who are constantly liable to be bullied by the police to produce passports, and imposed upon by the communal authorities when renewal is sought. passports are often lost by their holders, more often stolen from them. when this happens, the loser, if he is a stranger from a rural district residing in a city on sufferance, may find himself in sore straits. it is an expensive and tedious business to obtain another passport, and to be without one is to run perpetual risk of trouble with the police. the man without a passport is thus often thrown into the arms of the revolutionary party, who, if he will accept their tenets, readily obtain him a false passport, and find him the work he could not get without its production. again, it is known that many peasants residing in towns suffer from the dilatoriness or unconcern of the authorities whose duty it is to renew their passports. cases are on record where the fear of police persecution while passportless has driven men to suicide. a village girl killed herself in because she could not get her papers renewed and the family in which she was working would not re-engage her. the passport arrangements appear to be more stringent in connection with natives than with visitors, but the latter are denied the comparative freedom they once enjoyed. at one time a visitor might remain a month in the country without inquiry or interference; now it is necessary to register the passport for a stay of anything over three days; the document is lodged at the police office, and the hotel-keeper, landlord, or host becomes responsible for the traveller. it is the same with any driver of a post-chaise in the country districts, who has to produce his passenger at every station. letters are only delivered after registration of the passport, and then on a certificate filled in by the chief of police of the district. passports are taxed, and bring in a considerable revenue to the government; at one time a visitor paid £ for registration, but the fee has been considerably reduced. during the reign of nicholas i. it rose as high as £ . [illustration: leg irons worn by russian convicts. (_in possession of h. de windt, esq._)] chapter xi. modern police (_continued_): india. the new system compared with the old--early difficulties gradually overcome--the village police in india--discreditable methods under the old system--torture, judicial and extra-judicial--native dislike of police proceedings--cases of men confessing to crimes of which they were innocent--a mysterious case of theft--trumped-up charges of murder--simulating suicide--an infallible test of death--the paternal duties of the police--the native policeman badly paid. the regular police of india, as it is now constituted, dates from the disappearance of the east india company. under the old system, taking bengal for our example, the district magistrate, a member of the civil service, was the head of the district police. he had under his orders a certain number of constables, fifty or more, who were called _burkundazes_; they were distributed among the various stations or _thannahs_, each of which was under a thannadar, who was more commonly called a _darogah_, and was practically a police superintendent. this officer was responsible to the magistrate only, just as the magistrate was directly responsible to the supreme government. but after the police throughout the province of bengal, and eventually throughout india, was constituted into a special department; the regular force became a species of government constabulary, under the central authority of an inspector-general seated at calcutta, with deputy-inspectors and superintendents in charge of divisions and districts respectively. the senior police official in every district, generally a military officer, was associated with and subject to the orders of the magistrate in all executive duties, such as the repression of crime and the maintenance of peace and good order; but as regards administration, in all questions of pay, clothing, promotion, and so forth, the chief police officer looked to his police superior, the inspector-general. nevertheless, the character of the new police was as little military as [illustration: a court of justice in the jungle.] it could be made consistently with the control and discipline of a large body of men. constables learnt the rudiments of drill, and wore uniform, but were seldom armed except when employed in gaols or to guard treasuries. as a general rule supervision was entirely entrusted to europeans, but there was a superior grade of native officer fairly well paid. yet the service was not generally popular, owing to persistent local prejudices, and good material was not always available either for sub-officers or for constables. natives preferred to enter the fiscal and administrative departments. at first the new force did not work very smoothly. the military superintendents were not always acceptable to the civilian magistrates, and no doubt many thought more of drill than of their more important functions in preventing and detecting crime. numbers of the old order of police hated the "new-fangled notions" and resigned, with the result that the force was recruited hastily with inexperienced, often unsuitable men, many of them old soldiers, and few, if any, fitted to deal with intricate and complicated police investigations. colonel lewin, one of the first-appointed district superintendents, has frankly recorded his want of experience and his mis-directed zeal when first called to police work; but he also hints at the difficulties and obstacles thrown in his way by magistrates who hated the change. gradually, however, the steady, settled action of the well-organised, well-governed body of earnest workers has made itself felt, and the regular indian police of to-day is not inferior to any in the whole world. another form of police has existed from time immemorial in india, the rural or village police, and it has still a certain limited power. these functionaries hold office by a quasi-hereditary tenure; they are not appointed by the state nor paid from the public treasury, but they have a recognised position; their clearly defined duties, as well as their emoluments, drawn from the villages, are fixed and controlled by authority. these village watchmen, and they are little more, although distinct and separate from the regular police by constitution, are yet allied to them, being expected to report to them, without fail, all criminal and extraordinary occurrences, and at the same time to take their orders and execute them punctually. this local, unofficial police is not in the highest state of efficiency, perhaps, but much has been done of late to bring its members into good order, and to exact from them a punctual performance of their duties. the worst that could be alleged against them was that they might at times work with evil-doers who were their friends and neighbours, or that they might yield to the threats or temptations of the larger landowners around when these were criminally disposed. it has been said by all who know india well that the deceit inherent in the character of its people must tend to interfere with the course of justice. witnesses will not speak freely, or will say too much; they conceal facts or over-colour them just as their interests suggest; some can be bought, others intimidated, while the most independent chafe at police inquiries which are apt to be wearisome and irritating, and though not always personally hostile, will say anything or nothing merely to get rid of the police. "they would condone even grievous wrongs," says sir richard temple,[ ] "disavow the losses of property which they had suffered, and withhold all assistance from their neighbours in similar plights, rather than undergo the trouble of attending at police offices and the criminal courts." police methods under the old system were often most discreditable. the native officers charged with detection had but one thought--to make the case complete. for this they would invent facts, manufacturing evidence from witnesses inspired by themselves. "the police," an eminent indian judge once said from the bench, "will never leave a case alone, but must always prepare it and patch it up by teaching the witnesses to learn their evidence off by heart beforehand, and to say more than they know." in another case a judge gave it as his opinion that certain prisoners confessed to a burglary merely to screen others whom the police befriended, and that in the prosecution there was not a single fact on which he could with confidence rely. again, a _darogah_, or village official, was so impressed with the necessity for succeeding where his colleagues had failed, in a murder case, that he used the most unjustifiable means to create evidence: witnesses were forced under threats and ill-treatment to depose to facts which had never occurred. another reprehensible practice was that of drugging prisoners before their appearance in court so that they could make no defence. one was given a hookah to smoke, and remembered nothing of what he said or had to say. still worse remains, for it is a well-authenticated fact, attested by all who have personal experience, that where evidence of the right sort was not forthcoming it was obtained by intimidation or actual torture. of the survival of torture in india as a judicial process, secret and unavowed, but undoubtedly practised, there can be no doubt. it was the subject of constant regret to conscientious english officials, who were yet unable entirely to check it. cases of cruel maltreatment were continually brought to light, and met with exemplary punishment. thus in a _darogah_ and his men were convicted in the court of the "twenty-four pergunnahs" of having tortured a man into confession by tying his hands behind him and then hoisting him by his wrists to a beam in the roof. another case consisted in tying a prisoner's hands and feet together and introducing a stick below the knees, after which the police, holding each end of the stick, dashed him violently against the door. as late as , after the introduction of the new system, an inspector and sub-inspector trussed up four recalcitrant prisoners upon the roof of a house and left them there to starve. in the same year another sub-inspector was transported for life for having caused the death of a suspected thief by ill-usage. in this case the victim was stripped on a cold february night, whipped, then water was poured upon his naked body, and a fan was used to keep down the temperature. again, in the same year, a high official, colonel pughe, reports twelve cases in which the police were accused of torturing prisoners, and out of the twelve cases seven convictions were secured. he relates in the same document that soon after the establishment of the new police, a sub-inspector of the old school ordered a man to be tied up and flogged to extort confession from him, and this in open day in the middle of a large bazaar in the hooghly district! "so little was the occurrence thought of," writes colonel pughe, "that no complaint was made by the sufferer, and it was by the merest accident that the circumstance came to notice." the custom till then was apparently too common to attract attention. the people of bengal had become accustomed to be flogged, just as the fakir grew so fond of his bed studded with pointed nails that he could not sleep comfortably on any other. as late as the editor of a respectable periodical in bengal expressed his belief that the flogging of supposed delinquents had been so long practised with impunity that the natives took it as a matter of course. [illustration: indian police and their methods (p. ).] it may be interesting to make a short digression here and recount some of the modes of extra-judicial torture that have prevailed throughout india. there is abundant evidence that this atrocious custom was, and probably still is, common among all sects and classes of natives in india. dr. cheevers gives it as his opinion that "the poor practise torture upon each other; robbers on their victims, and _vice versâ_; masters upon their servants; _zemindars_ upon their ryots; schoolmasters upon their pupils; husbands upon their wives; and even parents upon their children." "the very plays of the populace," says another authority, "excite the laughter of many a rural audience by the exhibition of revenue squeezed out of a defaulter coin by coin through the appliance of familiar provocatives." colonel lewin, already quoted, details some of the devices which he discovered had been in use among the old police. they would fill the nose and ears of a prisoner with cayenne pepper; stop the circulation of the blood with tight ligaments; suspend their victim head downwards in a well; and in cases of great obstinacy immerse the body repeatedly in the water until insensibility, but not death, was produced. dr. cheevers has been at great pains to collect details of the various processes. they are torture by heat--by a lighted torch or red hot charcoal or burning tongs, or by boiling oil, which sometimes was poured into the ears and nose; torture by cold; suspension by the wrists, by the feet, by the hair, by the moustache; confinement in a cell containing quicklime; blinding by the _bhela_ nut; placing on a bed of thorns; rubbing the face on the ground; employing the stocks; tying the limbs in constrained postures; placing stinging or annoying insects upon the skin; flogging with stinging nettles; sticking pins or thorns or slithers of bamboo under the nails; beating the ankles and other joints with a soft mallet--a devilish invention from madras. the list is long and horrible, but before leaving the subject we may mention milder methods, as they seem, because the ill-treatment leaves no mark, but in which the agony is nevertheless extreme. exposure to the sun is one of these, starvation another, pinching a third, and "running up and down" a fourth, as practised in madras till quite recently, according to a report under date , where the police, unable to obtain evidence, made it their business to "walk the prisoner about." this was not done, as was pretended, out of mere wantonness, but with the ostensible purpose of obliging him to show where certain stolen property was hidden. the police relieved each other every two hours or so, but the prisoners were kept perpetually in motion. after a night's unceasing promenade the craving for rest and sleep becomes imperative, especially in a native who is always ready to sleep, and is often awake for no more than eight hours out of the twenty-four. other refinements of torture are the infliction of degradation and mental suffering by breaking caste, and by exposing the victims to various indignities. police action in india is often complicated, impeded, and even neutralised by the peculiar conditions of the country, where long prevailing, more or less ineradicable custom is supreme. the average native does not pause to balance right or wrong; he likes to do just as his forefathers did through the centuries, and fails to see why an act honoured by long prescription should be called wrong-doing. offences that the present rulers of india have put down with a strong hand, such as suttee (widow burning), leper burying, and suicide, the natives are still reluctant to call crimes. thuggee, the cowardly murder and robbery of inoffensive and unsuspicious travellers, was part of its perpetrators' religion; theft is to thousands a sport or a profession, a habit or family tradition inherited from ancestors who were all gang-robbers. while thus tradition and custom continue to make even serious crime appear venial to the ordinary intelligence, the investigation is continually hampered, and the actual fact often concealed. many natives, as i have said, detest police proceedings, afraid of their being unduly prolonged, of their wasting time, of their imposing the inconvenient presence of officers charged with the inquiry. others forbear to speak, either fearing the enmity of the friends or neighbours they may implicate or with a mistaken tenderness for their honour. yet again, timidity, venality, or stupidity has led to concealment. witnesses whose testimony was damaging have often been bought off, having been found ready to perjure themselves for quite small sums. [illustration: madras policeman.] the police themselves have been known to hush up crimes, having been bribed to silence, and it has been discovered later that some mysterious murder had been no secret to them from the first. they have been known on sufficient payment to transport a victim's corpse to another jurisdiction, so that they might evade all responsibility for its presence. suspicion of foul play was once aroused (it was in the old days) by the fact that certain persons who had but just dug a well for the irrigation of their fields had, for no plausible reason, filled it up again. police officers were ordered to reopen the well, and they reported that they had done so, finding nothing wrong. but the magistrate of the district heard presently that a woman had been seen in the neighbourhood of the well just about the time it had been filled up, and that she had disappeared. rumour said she had been murdered for the sake of some golden ornaments which she wore. the well was now dug out under the official's own eye, and it was clear that a female corpse had been buried within; a quantity of long hair was found, but the body had been removed, probably by the police. the dishonest vagaries of the indian police are nearly endless. the police when baffled in detection will try to create a criminal and manufacture a crime. higher officials must always be on their guard against such frauds. it is essential, for example, to watch identification closely. a case is on record where the headless body of a woman was found in a well, and suspicion fell upon certain rajpoots whose sister was known to be missing. they were arrested, and confessed most circumstantially that they had in truth murdered her. conviction followed, and they would have been executed but for the unexpected reappearance of the missing woman herself. she had eloped with a man who, having heard of the charge brought against her brothers, produced her in court. the accused men, thus saved at the eleventh hour, explained their false confession by their fears that they could not prove their innocence, so strong was the presumption of their guilt. it should be added that the headless corpse was never identified. one more case of the same kind. a corpse bearing marks of violence was found floating on the teesta river, and a murder was surmised. the head-constable proceeded to investigate, and found a woman ready to declare that her adopted father, oootum by name, was missing. she could not identify the body at first, but was eventually persuaded to do so. corroboration was now needed, and after that the discovery of the perpetrators of the crime. aided by the woman, the constable fixed upon four men, who were forced (probably in the usual manner) to confess that they had murdered oootum. fortunately, at the first inquiry into the case the missing oootum turned up before the district magistrate. for this the head-constable and three associates were very rightly sentenced to five years' imprisonment. [illustration: _photo: bourne & shepherd, calcutta._ indian provincial police.] a curious case of theft which was never explained, although the supposed thief was arrested, convicted, and sentenced to imprisonment, is told by a bengal civilian. it appears that a mr. and mrs. phillips were on a visit to the lieutenant-governor of bengal, and that one evening the lady missed a diamond ring. information was at once lodged with the police, and a native detective was employed, who entered the governor's service disguised as a _kitmutgar_ (butler). suspicion from the first had rested upon an _ayah_, or female servant, and it was to be the detective's duty to worm himself into her confidence. the police officer was successful, as it seemed, for the woman presently admitted that she had stolen the ring. she was anxious to dispose of it, but did not dare. however, she picked out one diamond and handed it over to him to sell, promising him others if he succeeded. the police officer produced the diamond, which was identified by mrs. phillips as one belonging to her ring. on this evidence the _ayah_ was tried and convicted. she appealed, but the conviction was upheld. not long afterwards mr. and mrs. phillips moved up country, and on unpacking their goods the missing ring was found jammed into an inkstand, with all the diamonds intact. the case was immediately reopened, and it was recommended that the _ayah_ should be forthwith released. one of the judges protested, however, that the conviction was legal, on the ground that the prisoner's friends had inserted a diamond in the place of the one removed, and had put the ring where it was certain to be found. nevertheless the _ayah_ was pardoned. the theory held was that the detective, eager to get the credit of having discovered the thief, had fabricated the whole story and gone to the expense of purchasing a diamond in support of it. he still stuck to it that the woman had given him the diamond, which, as has been seen, was one more than the ring contained. now another strange fact cropped up. mrs. phillips discovered that a diamond was missing from a locket she possessed, and when this locket was produced the surplus diamond appeared to fit into the vacant space. from this a new theory was started--that the _ayah_ had really stolen the ring, but, distrusting the disguised _kitmutgar_, had also picked out the diamond from the locket to test his willingness to serve her. when, later, the case had gone against her, her friends had intervened in the manner described, replacing the ring in the hope of obtaining her pardon. jewellers who were consulted gave it as their opinion that the surplus diamond was very similar to those in the locket, but no one could swear that it was one of the same. there the matter rested, and the mystery has never been solved. attempts to defeat the ends of justice are very often made in india by the natives themselves on their own motion, to satisfy some personal animosity. many cases might be cited of conspiracy to advance false and malicious charges against an enemy. in one case wounds were fabricated on a body already dead to support an accusation of murder. an old man was found with his head nearly separated from his body and other deep wounds in both shoulders, besides cuts on the back. yet there had been no considerable effusion of blood, no retraction of the muscles, and medical opinion was emphatic that all these injuries had been inflicted after death, which had undoubtedly occurred from long-standing tubercular disease. it was presently shown that the whole case had been trumped up to support a charge of murder against an unpopular neighbour. [illustration: a religious mendicant.] a monstrous case is recorded by mr. arthur crawford, whose "reminiscences" have been several times quoted in these pages, in which a son was on such bad terms with his father that he elaborated a great plot to involve him in disgrace and suffering, if not to convict him of his own (the son's) murder. the father was an aged and most respectable brahmin in the south konkan, madhowrao by name, described as a kindly, courtly native gentleman, with intellectual, well-cut features, and spare and active in body. he had this one son, vinayek, a constant trouble to him, chiefly on account of his wandering habits. he often absented himself for months together, and roamed the country as a _gosai_, or religious mendicant. after an unusually protracted absence, the father offered the police a reward if they would trace and find his son. the matter was taken up by a local constable, and he had no sooner commenced his investigations than he received an anonymous letter through the post charging the father with having made away with his son. the story was told most circumstantially: how madhowrao, assisted by his widowed sister, who acted as his housekeeper, had strangled vinayek in the dead of night, and had then employed two servants to throw the body to the alligators, at the foot of a torrent hard by the village. these servants came forward and described how they had seen the corpse with protruding eyes and tongue, the cord still round its neck, then how they had stripped it, and, tying it to a heavy stone, had thrown it into the water. the constable searched the house, and found hidden away a bundle of clothes with a pair of sandals. moreover, he fished up a great heap of bones from the alligators' pool. the whole party were arrested, and the servants, the chief witnesses, were examined. they stuck to their story, declared that they had acted solely to oblige their master, who, they saw, was in great distress, and said that was all they knew. but madhowrao himself stoutly denied his guilt, repeating always that his son was alive, but was only keeping out of the way until his father was hanged. closer inquiry was in the father's favour, for it was clearly proved that the bones found in the water were those of a bullock, and also that there was no sort of attempt to conceal vinayek's clothes. nevertheless, the high court, to which the matter had been referred, pressed for the committal of the prisoners. meanwhile, the head constable, a very keen-witted and indefatigable officer, had gone away on a journey. pleading ill-health, he had sought, and obtained, three months' sick leave, which he had spent to very good purpose in searching for the missing vinayek. he ran him down at length at a great distance, somewhere in the territory of the nizam, and brought him back in person, to be confronted with his father, who was still lying under the charge of compassing his death. a very dramatic scene followed; vinayek was brought into court almost noiselessly behind madhowrao, who was desired to turn round; at sight of his son he fell down flat on his face insensible, while his sister went off into hysterics. now vinayek made full confession of the plot, in which he had been assisted by a young cousin. he was to disappear, as he did, and after an interval the other was to denounce the murderers; the two servants were suborned by the promise of a good reward when vinayek came into his estate, and they very properly shared the punishment which was inflicted on the chief conspirators. [illustration: father and son confronted.] in these cases it was vindictiveness and animosity that led to the plot, which was only unmasked by the astuteness and perseverance of the police. but greed also is a potent incentive to false accusation of crime, and thus it was with khan beg. coveting the inheritance of a rich relative, ibrahim beg, whose heir he was, he laid a deep scheme to secure it without waiting for ibrahim's death. khan beg was a dissolute wastrel who had been reduced to poverty by his own extravagance, and who knew that he might expect no further help from his kinsman. ibrahim was married to a young and handsome wife, chumbelee, with whom he did not live on the very best of terms, due mainly to the lying stories of a confidential servant, an accomplice of khan beg's. one day in a fit of fury he forgot himself so far as to raise his hand against chumbelee. the woman, goaded by pain and disgrace, screamed aloud in the full hearing of neighbours and servants. next morning she was gone, and information was laid at the nearest police station by the manservant above mentioned that chumbelee had been murdered. officers proceeded at once to ibrahim beg's house, and searched the premises. it was soon seen that some earth in the courtyard had been recently moved; on digging, the headless body of a woman was found a little way down. the body was identified by the manservant, who swore to a bangle found upon one arm, remembering that he had once taken it for his mistress to be mended. a slave-girl who did the household work also declared that the body was chumbelee's. ibrahim beg was, of course, apprehended, and locked up, vainly protesting his innocence. his own story was that he had been stupefied, he knew not how, by some narcotic, and after his violent quarrel with his wife, which he did not deny, he had fallen asleep until a late hour the following morning. his jealousy and ill-treatment of his wife were notorious, and told greatly against him; the seclusion in which he had always kept her also militated against him now. so few people had seen her that there was no more evidence of identity than that already adduced. all that could be said in his favour was that without the head, absolute recognition was impossible. ibrahim beg himself stoutly denied that the corpse was chumbelee's. the trial proceeded, and ended in his conviction; the case was referred to a superior court, which deemed the evidence conclusive; the sentence of death passed was about to be executed, and khan beg was on the point of obtaining his ends and acquiring considerable wealth. but now came the slip. an anonymous letter was received by a young english civilian who had charge of the district, informing him that chumbelee was still alive, actually residing within twenty miles of the scene of her supposed murder. the magistrate, knowing it to be a case of life and death, straightway rode to the place indicated, a certain tomb occupied by a gang of fakirs, men of evil repute, whom it was necessary to approach with caution. the magistrate, summoning the village police to his aid, cautiously surrounded the tomb, then broke in, and searched the whole place. he came upon chumbelee at last in an underground apartment. she was, of course, forthwith taken out and brought back to her husband's house. the whole plot was now laid bare by the manservant, anxious to save his own skin. he had long been in the power of khan beg, and agreed to assist him the moment a body could be found to be palmed off as chumbelee's. a widower at last consented to sell the corpse of his recently deceased wife, which they took and decapitated. it was the manservant who had administered the drug to ibrahim; he made the slave-girl prisoner, and then carried off chumbelee in a blanket to the fakirs' tomb. ibrahim beg, when he recovered next morning from the effects of the drug, gave the police no information of his wife's disappearance, for he believed that she had eloped and left him of her own accord. the whole of this pernicious plot was admirably planned, but it failed, as such plots often do, through the avarice of the principal personage. khan beg had refused to pay a sum promised to one of his subordinate helpers, and the latter had written the anonymous letter. [illustration: a fakir.] in no country is it so essential that the body, in the case of a supposed crime, should be not only produced, but identified, as in india. an englishman who was ascending the hooghly nearly suffered the extreme penalty of the law through ignorance of this axiom. he had left his ship at diamond harbour and hired a native boat to take him on to calcutta. the boatmen greatly exasperated him by their laziness, and he applied his stick to them so vigorously that three jumped overboard. their comrades declared that they were drowned, and burst into loud lamentations. on reaching shore they charged him with murder. he was arrested forthwith, and committed to gaol. ere long he was duly arraigned, and on the oath of the boatmen who had been eye-witnesses of his offence he was convicted without the slightest hesitation. while he lay in gaol, however, under sentence of death, he was visited by a native, who promised him that on the payment of a substantial sum the drowned boatmen should be brought to life. the money was gladly paid, and next day the charge of murder entirely broke down by the reappearance of the missing men. it seemed that they were expert divers, and having gone at once to the bottom they rose again at a considerable distance from the boat, and swam ashore. their comrades were fully aware of the fact, and the conspiracy was formed so that the english stranger, when in peril of his life, might be induced to pay a large ransom to escape. it is clear from such cases as these that the police of india have to be always on their guard against being led into traps. another trick which the police have to guard against is the simulation of death by suicide. this is a very ancient imposture. captain bacon, in his "first impressions in hindustan," describes how he saw a corpse bearing three wounds on the chest and many marks of violence brought to a magistrate's house, with the idea of fixing an accusation of murder on a certain man. the magistrate, having his doubts, was about to examine the body, when he was implored by those who carried it not to pollute it by touch before the rites of sepulture had been performed. he did no more, therefore, than thrust the sharp end of his billiard cue once or twice into the side with such force that the point of the cue penetrated between the ribs. upon this the muscles of the supposed corpse quivered, and there was a barely perceptible movement of the head. the natives around were now told that life could not be yet extinct, but they persisted in declaring that the man had been dead since cock-crow. whereupon, a kettle of hot water was produced and a small stream poured upon the foot of the corpse, which there and then jumped up from the litter and ran away at full speed! the same test was applied by a young officer when the body of a native, who was supposed to have been murdered by sepoys, was brought to his tent. there was no more evidence than the existence of the corpse, but the officer was at breakfast, and had the kettle handy. at the first touch of the scalding fluid "the murdered remains" started up and scampered away. boiling water, by the way, is no doubt a generally satisfactory test of whether life is actually extinct. but there is a better, as practised by a french doctor in a lyons hospital. he applied the flame of a candle for some seconds to one digit of the hand or foot. a vesicle formed, as it will invariably; if this vesicle contains serous fluid, there is life; if vapour only, death has certainly supervened. on the whole, the modern indian police system may be said to operate well. the police have numerous duties over and above those of the prevention and detection of crime. a government so paternal as that of india finds the machinery of the police exceedingly useful in keeping in touch with the great masses of the population. the constable is the agent through whom the government issues its orders or conveys its wishes. if the people are wanted in any large numbers, such as for the identification of bodies found, and if foul play is suspected, it is the police who beat the drum and call them in. when supplies are needed, such as carts, camels, bullocks, or forage, for any military expedition, it is the police who work upon the men of the villages and gather in what is required. when a high functionary had discovered a cure for snake bites, it was the police who were entrusted with its distribution through the districts most troubled with poisonous reptiles. the particular panacea was liquid ammonia, which had to be applied at once and in a particular way. it was not only necessary, therefore, to issue supplies of the useful drug, but all the headmen of villages had to be taught how to use it; this was the duty of the police. again, when the government once seriously attempted to exterminate snakes, and offered a reward for every dead reptile brought in, the machinery of the police was at once set in motion to encourage natives to hunt up and kill the snakes, and afterwards to distribute the rewards. when the plague of locusts overran the length and breadth of the land, the police were sent out to organise beaters and instruct the villagers how to destroy the terrible pest. another plague, that of rats, the jerboa rat, which travels like a kangaroo by leaps and bounds and eats up everything it meets, was to be grappled with by the police, and though they do not seem to have been very effective in destroying the pest, it became their business to pay out the rewards for all the vermin killed. an interesting detail in government methods may be mentioned in this connection. the rats, when destroyed, were buried or burnt, but the tails were first cut off and tied up into neat little bundles like radishes, which were produced as vouchers for the numbers destroyed. a police official records that the travelling police superintendents were called upon to make entries in their diaries such as: "visited bangalpore, counted , rats' tails, paid the reward, burnt the tails." the police have also rendered very valuable services during famines, when their labours increase ten-and twenty-fold. not only does crime multiply in these dread seasons, but the force is actively employed in helping to establish relief camps, in hunting up and bringing in the starving population, in passing on supplies of grain from the railway stations to the out-districts, and so forth. yet with all this the indian native policeman is but indifferently paid, much less than a soldier or other subordinate members of the public departments. ordinary labour even is better paid. the horsekeeper, the gardener, the cowman is better off, even the coolie despises the pittance of the policeman, who has no advantages but those of a remote pension and the respect he inspires as a man clothed with a little authority. [illustration: jerboa rats.] chapter xii. the detective, and what he has done. the detective in fiction and in fact--early detection--case of lady ivy--thomas chandler--mackoull, and how he was run down by a scots solicitor--vidocq: his early life, police services, and end--french detectives generally--amicable relations between french and english detectives. the detective, both professional and amateur, since edgar allan poe invented dupin, has been a prominent personage in fiction and on the stage. he has been made the central figure of innumerable novels and plays, the hero, the pivot on which the plot turns. readers ever find him a favourite, whether he is called hawkshaw or captain redwood, grice or stanhope, van vernet or père tabaret, sherlock holmes or monsieur lecocq. but imagination, however fertile, cannot outdo the reality, and it is with the detective in the flesh that i propose to deal. i propose to take him in the different stages of his evolution--from the thief reformed and become a thief-taker, down to the present honourable officer, the guardian of our lives and property, the law's chief weapon and principal vindicator. in times past the detection of crime was left very much to chance; but now and again shrewd agents, both public officials and private persons, contributed to the discovery of frauds and other misdeeds. long ago, in france, as i have shown, there was an organised police force which often had resort, both for good and evil, to detective methods. here in england the office of constable was purely local, and his duties were rather to make arrests in clear cases of flagrant wrong-doing than to follow up obscure and mysterious crime. the ingenious piecing together of clues and the following up of light and baffling scents was generally left to the lawyers and those engaged on behalf of the parties injured or aggrieved. the case of lady ivy. one of the first cases on record of a fraud on a very large scale cleverly planned and not less cleverly detected was the claim raised by a lady ivy, in , to a large estate in shadwell. it was based on deeds purporting to be drawn more than a hundred years previously, in the " nd and rd philip and mary of - , under which deeds the lands had been granted to lady ivy's ancestors." the case was tried before the famous, or, more correctly, the infamous judge jeffreys, and the lawyers opposed to lady ivy proved that the deed put forward had been forged. it was discovered that the style and titles of the king and queen as they appeared in the deed were not those used by the sovereigns at that particular date. always in the preambles of acts of parliament of - philip and mary were styled "king and queen of naples, princes of spain and sicily," not, as in the deed, "king and queen of spain and both the sicilies." again, in the deed burgundy was put before milan as a dukedom; in the acts of parliament it was just the reverse. that style did come in later, but the person drawing the deeds could not foretell it, and as a fair inference it was urged that the deeds were a forgery. evidence was also adduced to show that lady ivy had forged other deeds, and it was so held by judge jeffreys: "if you produce deeds made in such a time when, say you, such titles were used, and they were not so used, that sheweth your deeds are counterfeit and forged and not true deeds. and there is _digitus dei_, the finger of god in it, so that though the design be deep laid and the contrivance skulk, yet truth and justice will appear at one time or other." accordingly, my lady ivy lost her verdict, and an information for forgery was laid against her, but with what result does not appear. a lawyer turned detective. fifty years later a painstaking lawyer in berkshire was able to unravel another case of fraud, which had eluded the imperfect police of the day. it was an artful attempt to claim restitution from a certain locality for a highway robbery said to have been committed within its boundaries: a robbery which had never occurred. on the th march, , according to his own story, one thomas chandler, an attorney's clerk, was travelling on foot along the high road between london and reading. having passed through maidenhead thicket, and while in the neighbourhood of hare hatch, some thirty miles out, he was set upon by three men, bargees, who robbed him of all he possessed, his watch and cash, the latter amounting to £ , all in bank-notes. after the robbery they bound him and threw him into a pit by the side of the road. he lay there some three hours, till long after dark, he said, being unable to obtain release from "his miserable situation," although the road was much frequented and he heard many carriages and people passing along. at length he got out of the pit unaided, and, still bound hand and foot, jumped rather than walked for half a mile uphill, calling out lustily for anyone to let him loose. the first passer-by was a gentleman, who gave him a wide berth, then a shepherd came and cut his bonds, and at his entreaty guided him to the constable or tything-man of the hundred of sunning, in the county of berks. here he set forth in writing the evil that had happened to him, with a full and minute description of the thieves, and at the same time gave notice that he would in due course sue the hundred for the amount under the statutes. all the formalities being observed, process was duly served on the high constable of sunning, and the people of the hundred, alarmed at the demand, which if insisted upon would be the "utter ruin of many poor families," engaged a certain attorney, edward wise, of wokingham, to defend them. mr. wise had all the qualities of a good detective: he was ingenious, yet patient and painstaking, and he soon pieced together the facts he had cleverly picked up about chandler. some of these seemed at the very outset much against the claimant. that a man should tramp along the high road with nearly £ , in his pockets was quite extraordinary; not less so that he should not escape from the pit till after dark, or that his bonds should have been no stronger than tape, a length of which was found at the spot where he was untied. he seemed, moreover, to be little concerned by his great loss. after he had given the written notices to the constable, concerning which he was strangely well informed, having all the statutes at his fingers' ends, as though studied beforehand, he ordered a hot supper and a bowl at the hare and hounds in hare hatch, where he kept up his carousals till late in the night. nor was he in any hurry to return to town and stop payment of the lost notes at the banks, but started late and rode leisurely to london. it was easy enough to trace him there. he had given his address in the notices, and he was soon identified as the clerk of mr. hill, an attorney in clifford's inn. it now appeared that chandler, for a client of his master, had negotiated a mortgage upon certain lands in the neighbourhood of devizes for £ , far more, as was proved, than their value. an old mortgage was to be paid off in favour of the new, and chandler had set off on the day stated to complete the transaction, carrying with him the £ and the balance of £ supposed to be his own property, but how obtained was never known. his movements on the previous day also were verified. he had dined with the mortgagee, when the deed was executed and the money handed over in notes. these notes were mostly for small sums, making up too bulky a parcel to be comfortably carried under his gaiters (the safest place for them, as he thought), and he had twice changed a portion, £ at the bank of england for two notes, and again at "sir richard hoare's shop" for three notes, two of £ and one of £ . with the whole of his money he then started to walk ninety miles in twenty-four hours, for he was expected next day at devizes to release the mortgage. mr. hill had kept a list of his notes in chandler's handwriting, which chandler was anxious to recover when he got back, in order, as he said, to stop payment of them at the banks. his real object was to alter the numbers of three notes of hoare's, all of which he wished to cash and use, and he effected this by having a fresh list made out in which these notes were given new and false numbers. thus the notes with the real numbers would not be stopped on presentation. he did it cleverly, changing to , to , to , variations so slight as to pass unnoticed by mr. hill when the list as copied was returned to him. these three notes were cashed and eventually traced back to chandler. further, it was clearly proved that he had got those notes at hoare's in exchange for the £ note, for that note presently came back to hoare's through a gentleman who had received it in part payment for a captain's commission of dragoons, and it was then seen that it had been originally received from chandler. while mr. wise was engaged in these inquiries the trial of chandler's case against the hundred came on at abingdon assizes in june, and a verdict was given in his favour for £ , chiefly because mr. hill was associated with the mortgage, and he was held a person of good repute. but a point of law was reserved, for chandler had omitted to give a full description of the notes, as required by statute, when advertising his loss. but now chandler disappeared. he thought the point of law would go against him; that the mortgagee would press for the return of the £ which he had recovered from the hundred; that his master, mr. hill, had now strong doubts of his good faith. the first of these fears was verified; on argument of the point of law the abingdon verdict was set aside. there was good cause for chandler's other fears also. news now came of the great bulk of the other notes; they reached the bank from amsterdam through brokers named solomons, who had bought them from one "john smith," a person answering to the description of chandler, who in signing the receipt "wrote his name as if it had been wrote with a skewer." the indefatigable mr. wise presently found that chandler had been in holland with a trader named casson, and then unearthed casson himself. all this time mr. hill was in indirect communication with chandler, writing letters to him by name "at easton in suffolk, to be left for him at the crown at ardley, near colchester, in essex." thither mr. wise followed him, accompanied by the mortgagee, mr. winter, and the "holland trader," mr. casson, who was ready to identify chandler. they reached the crown at ardley, and actually saw a letter "stuck behind the plates of the dresser," awaiting chandler, who rode in once a fortnight, from a distance, for "his mare seemed always to be very hard rid." there was nothing known of a place called easton; but aston and assington were both suggested to the eastward, and in search of them mr. wise with his friends rode through ipswich as far as southwold, and there found easton, "a place washed by the sea," where he halted, "being thus pretty sure of going no farther eastward." but the scent was false, and although they ran down a young man whom they proposed to arrest with the assistance of "three [illustration: punishment by pillory.] fellows from the keys, who appeared to be smugglers, for they were pretty much maimed and scarred," the person was clearly not chandler. so, finding they had been "running the wrong hare," they "trailed very coolly all the way back to ipswich." travelling homeward, they halted a night at colchester, and called at an inn, the three crowns, or the three cups, where chandler had been seen a few months before. here, as a fact, after overrunning their game near fourscore miles, "they got back to the very form," yet even now they lost their hare. this inn was kept by chandler himself, in partnership with his brother-in-law, who naturally would not betray him, and carefully concealed the fact that chandler was at that very time in the house. after this chandler thought colchester "a very improper place for him to continue long in." there were writs out against him in essex, suffolk, and norfolk, so he sold off his goods and moved to another inn at coventry, where he set up at the sign of the golden dragon under the name of john smith. now, still fearing arrest, he thought to buy off winter, the mortgagee, by repaying him something, and sent him £ . but winter was bitter against him, and writs were taken out for warwickshire. chandler had in some way secured the protection of lord willoughby de broke; he had also made friends with the constables of coventry, and it was not easy to compass his arrest. but at last he was taken and lodged in the town gaol. two years had been occupied in this pertinacious pursuit, prolonged by trials, arguments, journeyings to and fro, and mr. wise was greatly complimented upon his zeal and presented with a handsome testimonial. chandler, who was supposed to have planned the whole affair with the idea of becoming possessed of a considerable sum in ready money, was found guilty of perjury, and was sentenced to be put in the pillory next market day at reading from twelve to one, and afterwards to be transported for seven years. a curious feature of the trial was the identification of chandler as john smith by casson, who told how at amsterdam he (chandler) had received payment for his bills partly in silver--£ worth of ducats and spanish pistoles--which broke down both his pockets, so that the witness had to get a rice-sack and hire a wheelbarrow to convey the coin to the delft "scout," where it was deposited in a chest and so conveyed to england. how denovan ran down mackoull. detailed reference has been made in previous pages to the bow street runners, to vickery, lavender, sayer, donaldson, and townsend, whose exploits in capturing criminals were often remarkable. none of them did better, however, than a certain mr. denovan, a scots officer of great intelligence and unwearied patience, who was employed by the paisley union bank of glasgow to defend it against the extraordinary pretensions of a man who had robbed it and yet sued it for the restoration of property which was clearly the bank's and not his. for the first and probably the only time known in this country, an acknowledged thief was seen contending with people in open court for property he had stolen from them. [illustration: james mackoull. (_from a contemporary drawing._)] the hero of this strange episode was one james mackoull, a hardened and, as we should say nowadays, an "habitual" criminal. he was one of the most extraordinary characters that have ever appeared in the annals of crime. his was a clear case of heredity in vice, for his mother had been a shoplifter and low-class thief, who had married, however, a respectable tradesman; all her children--three sons and two daughters--had turned out badly, becoming in due course notorious offenders. one of them, john mackoull, was well educated, and the author of a work entitled "the abuses of justice," which he brought out after his acquittal on a charge of forgery; another brother, ben mackoull, was hanged for robbery in . james mackoull began early, and at school stole from his companions. he studied little, but soon became an expert in the science of self-defence, and, being active and athletic, took rank in due course as an accomplished pugilist. his first public theft was from a cat's-meat man, whom he robbed by throwing snuff in his eyes; while the man was blinded, he cut the bag of coppers fastened to the barrow and bolted. henceforth he became a professional thief, and with two noted associates, bill drake and sam williams, did much business on a large scale. one of his most remarkable feats was his robbery from the person of a rich undertaker, known as "the old raven," who was fond of parading himself in st. james's park, london, dressed out in smart clothes and wearing conspicuously exposed a fine gold watch set with diamonds. mackoull knew that on most days "the old raven" entered the park from spring gardens at p.m., so he timed himself to arrive a little earlier. he waited till the undertaker had passed him, then pushed on in front, when he turned round suddenly, and, clutching the watch with one hand, knocked his victim's hat over his eyes with the other. fearing detection for this theft, which caused considerable noise, mackoull thought it prudent to go to sea. he entered the royal navy, and served for two years on board h.m.s. _apollo_ as an officer's servant. his conduct was exemplary, and he was presently transferred to h.m.s. _centurion_, on which ship he rose to be purser's steward. he was discharged with a good character after nine years' service afloat, and returned to london about with a considerable sum of money, the accumulations of prize-money and pay. the moment he landed he resumed his evil courses. having rapidly wasted his substance in the ring, in the cockpit, and at the gaming-table, he devoted himself with great success to picking pockets. he gave himself out as the captain of a west indiaman, and being much improved in appearance, having a genteel address and fluent speech, he was well received in a certain class of society. at the end of a debauch he generally managed to clear out the company. he was an adept in what is known as "hocussing," and this served him well in despoiling his companions of their purses and valuables. it was at this time that he gained the _sobriquet_ of the "heathen philosopher" among his associates. he owed it to a trick played upon a master baker, whom he encountered at an election at brentford. this worthy soul affected to be learned in astronomy, and [illustration: pit ticket the cockfight by hogarth.] mackoull approached him, courteously advising him to have a look at the strange "alternating star" to be seen that night in the sky. as soon as the baker was placed to view the phenomenon, mackoull deftly relieved him of his pocket-book, which he knew to be well lined. then, as the baker could not see the star properly and went home to use his telescope, mackoull promptly decamped, returning to town in a postchaise. now mackoull married a lodging-house keeper, and went into the business of "receiving." at first he stored his stolen goods in his mother's house, but as this became insecure he devised a receptacle in his own. he chose for the purpose a recess where had formerly been a window, but which had been blocked up to save the window-tax. it was on that account called "pitt's picture." but the hiding-place was discovered, and as mackoull was "wanted," he escaped to the continent, where he frequented the german gambling-tables and learnt the language. he visited hamburg, leipsic, rotterdam, and is said to have often played billiards with the grand duke of mecklenburg-schwerin, whom he relieved of all his superfluous cash. again he had to fly, but being afraid to return to london he travelled north, and landed at leith in . thence he went to edinburgh, and lodged in the canongate, devoting himself to his old pursuits at taverns, "calling himself a hamburg merchant and making many friends." a theft at the theatre was nearly fatal to him. he was caught by a police officer in the act of picking a gentleman's pocket, and, after running for his life, was at last overtaken. having no assistance at hand, the "town officer" struck him on the head with his "batoon." mackoull fell with a deep groan, and the officer, fearing he had killed him, made off. as the result of this encounter mackoull was long laid up, and he carried the scar on his forehead to his dying day. as time passed he grew more daring and more truculent, and it is believed he was the author of the well-known murder of begbie, the porter of the british linen company bank--a crime never brought home to him, however, the murder remaining a mystery to the last. this victim, returning from leith carrying a large parcel of bank-notes, was stabbed in the back at the entrance of tweeddale's court. several persons were suspected, apprehended, and discharged for want of evidence. yet the most active measures were taken to detect the crime. "hue-and-cry" bills were thrown off during the night, and despatched next morning by the mail-coaches to all parts of the country. it was stated in this notice that "the murder was committed with a force and dexterity more resembling that of a foreign assassin than an inhabitant of this country. the blow was directly to the heart, and the unfortunate man bled to death in a few minutes." through mr. denovan's investigations many facts were obtained to implicate mackoull, but the proof of his guilt was still insufficient. one of the most suspicious facts against him was that later on he was often seen in the belle vue grounds, and here, in an old wall, many of the notes stolen from the murdered porter were presently discovered. they were those of large value, which the perpetrator of the crime would find it difficult to pass. reports that they had been thus found, and in this particular wall, were in circulation some three weeks before they were actually unearthed, and it is believed the story was purposely put about to lead to their recovery. it is a curious fact that the stonemason who came upon the notes in pulling down the wall resided close to the spot where the murder had been committed. but for the good luck that he was able to prove clearly that he was not in edinburgh at the time of the murder, he might have been added to the sufficiently long list of victims of circumstantial evidence. mackoull at this time passed to and fro between edinburgh and dublin, and was popular in both capitals, a pleasant companion, ever ready to drink and gamble and join in any debauchery. he became very corpulent, and it was said of him that he did not care how he was jostled in a crowd. this was necessary as a matter of business sometimes, but one night at the edinburgh theatre he got into trouble. incledon, the famous vocalist, was singing to full houses, and mackoull in the crowded lobby picked a gentleman's pocket. he was caught in the act, but escaped for a time; then was seized after a hot pursuit and searched, but with no result, for he had dropped his booty in the race. they cast him into the tolbooth, but he was released for want of proof after nine months' detention. as the story is told, the gentleman robbed was much displeased at mackoull's release and complained of this failure of justice. the judge before whom the thief had been arraigned admitted that he ought to have been hanged. "he went to the play-house to steal and not to hear music; and he gave a strong proof of this, mr. p., when he preferred _your_ notes to mr. incledon's." mackoull, retiring south after his liberation, lay low for a time, but he made one expedition to scotland for the purpose of passing forged notes, when he was again arrested, but again evaded the law. another enterprise in chester failed; the luck was against him for the moment. but now, having sought out efficient confederates, he laid all his plans for the robbery of some one or other of the great scottish banks. he was well equipped for the job, had secured the best men and the finest implements. [illustration: the tolbooth, edinburgh.] he was assisted by two confederates, french and huffey white, the latter a convict at the hulks, whose escape mackoull had compassed on purpose. they broke into the paisley bank at glasgow on sunday night, july , , with keys carefully fitted long in advance, and soon ransacked the safe and drawers, securing in gold and notes something like £ , . of course, they left glasgow at once, travelling full speed in a postchaise and four, first to edinburgh and then _viâ_ haddington and newcastle southward to london. in the division of the spoil which now took place mackoull contrived to keep the lion's share. white was apprehended, and to save his life a certain sum was surrendered to the bank; but some of the money, as i have said elsewhere,[ ] seems to have stuck to the fingers of sayer, the bow street officer who had negotiated between mackoull and the bank. mackoull himself had retained about £ , . in , after a supposed visit to the west indies, he reappeared in london, where he was arrested for breach of faith with the bank and sent to glasgow for trial. he got off by a promise of further restitution, and because the bank was unable at that time to prove his complicity in the burglary. an agent who had handed over £ , on his account, was then sued by mackoull for acting without proper authority, and was obliged to refund a great part of the money. nothing could exceed his effrontery. he traded openly as a bill broker in scotland under the name of james martin; buying the bills with the stolen notes and having sometimes as much as £ , on deposit in another bank. at last he was arrested, and a number of notes and drafts were seized with him. he was presently discharged, but the notes were impounded, and by-and-by he began a suit to recover "his property"--the proceeds really of his theft from the bank. his demeanour in court was most impudent. crowds filled the court when he gave his evidence, which he did with the utmost effrontery, posing always as an innocent and much-injured man. it was incumbent upon the bank to end this disgraceful parody of legal proceedings. either they must prove mackoull's guilt or lose their action--an action brought, it must be remembered, by a public depredator against a respectable banking company for daring to retain a part of the property of which he had robbed them. in this difficulty they appealed to mr. denovan, well known as an officer and agent of the scottish courts, and sent him to collect evidence showing that mackoull was implicated in the original robbery in . denovan left edinburgh on january , , meaning to follow the exact route of the fugitives to the south. all along his road he came upon traces of them in the "post books" or in the memory of innkeepers, waiters, and ostlers. he passed through dunbar, berwick, and belford, pausing at belford to hunt up a certain george johnson who was said to be able to identify mackoull. johnson had been a waiter at the talbot inn, darlington, in , but was now gone--to what place his parents, who lived in belford, could not say. "observing, however, that there was a church behind the inn," writes mr. denovan, "a thought struck me i might hear something in the churchyard on sunday morning;" and he was rewarded with the address of thomas johnson, a brother of george's, "a pedlar or travelling merchant." "i immediately set forth in a postchaise and found thomas johnson, who gave me news of george. he was still alive, and was a waiter either at the bay horse in leeds or somewhere in tadcaster, or at a small inn at spittal-on-the-moor, in westmorland, but his father-in-law, thomas cockburn, of york, would certainly know." pushing on, denovan heard of his men at alnwick. a barber there had shaved them. "i was anxious to see the barber, but found he had put an end to his existence some years ago." at morpeth the inn at which they had stopped was shut up. at newcastle the posting book was lost, and when found in the bar of the crown and thistle was "so mutilated as to be useless." but at the queen's head, durham, there was an entry, "chaise and four to darlington, will and will." the second "will" was still alive, and remembered mackoull as the oldest of the party, a "stiff red-faced man," the usual description given of him. the landlady here, mrs. jane escott, remembered three men arriving in a chaise who said they were pushing on to london with a quantity of scottish bank-notes. at the talbot inn, darlington, where george johnson had lived, the scent failed till denovan found him at another inn, the king's head. his evidence was most valuable, and he willingly agreed to give it in court at edinburgh. he had seen the three men at durham, the oldest, "a stiff, stout man with a red face, seemed to take the management, and paid the postboys their hire." he had offered a £ scottish note in payment for two pints of sherry and some biscuits, but there was not change enough in the house, and white was asked for smaller money, when he took out his pocket-book stuffed full of bank notes, all too large, so the first note was changed by johnson at the darlington bank. johnson was sure he would know the "stiff man" again amongst a hundred others in any dress. there was no further trace now till denovan got to the white hart, welwyn, where the fugitives had taken the light post-coach. at welwyn, too, they had sent off a portmanteau to a certain address, and this portmanteau was afterwards recovered with the address in mackoull's hand. at welwyn also mr. denovan heard of one cunnington who had been a waiter at the inn in , but had left in for london, and who was said to know something of the matter. the search for this cunnington was the next business, and mr. denovan pushed on to london hoping to find him there. "in company with a private friend i went up and down holborn inquiring for him at every baker's, grocer's, or public house," but heard nothing. the same at the coaching offices, until at last a guard who knew cunnington said he was in brighton. but the man had left brighton, first for horsham, then for margate, and had then gone back to london, where mr. denovan ran him down at last as a patient in the middlesex hospital. cunnington was quite as important a witness as johnson. he declared he should know mackoull among a thousand. he had seen the three men counting over notes at the white hart; mackoull did not seem to be a proper companion for the two; he took the lead, and was the only one who used pen, ink, and paper. cunnington expressed his willingness to go to edinburgh if his health permitted. since denovan's arrival in london he had received but little assistance at bow street. the runners were irritated at the unorthodox way in which the case had been managed. sayer, who had been concerned in the restitution, flatly refused to have anything to do with the business, or to go to edinburgh to give evidence. this was presently explained by another runner, the famous townsend, who hinted that sayer's hands were not clean, and that he was on very friendly terms with mackoull's wife, a lady of questionable character, who was living in comfort on some of her husband's ill-gotten gains. indeed, sayer's conduct had caused a serious quarrel between him and his colleagues, lavender, vickery, and harry adkins, because he had deceived and forestalled them. denovan was, however, on intimate terms with lavender, and succeeded in persuading him to assist, and through him he came upon the portmanteau sent from welwyn, which had been seized at the time of huffey white's arrest. huffey had been taken in the house of one scoltop, a blacksmith in the tottenham court road, the portmanteau and a box of skeleton keys being also seized. both were now found in a back closet in the office at bow street, "under a singular collection of rubbish, and were actually covered by williams's bloody jacket, and the maul and ripping iron with which the man williamson had been murdered in ratcliff highway." the portmanteau contained many papers and notes damaging to mackoull, and in the box were housebreaking implements, punches, files, and various "dubs" and "skrews," as well as two handkerchiefs of fawn colour, with a broad border, such as the three thieves often wore when in their lodgings in glasgow immediately before the robbery. how mr. denovan found and won over scoltop is a chief feather in his cap. his success astonished even the oldest officers in bow street. scoltop was the friend and associate of burglars, and constantly engaged in manufacturing implements for them. he had long been a friend of mackoull's and had made tools for him, among them those used for the robbing of the paisley union bank, a _coup_ prepared long beforehand, as we have seen. the first set of keys supplied had been tried on the bank locks and found useless, so that scoltop had furnished others and sent them down by mail. these also were ineffective, as the bank had "simple old-fashioned locks," and mackoull came back from glasgow, bringing with him "a wooden model of the key hole and pike of the locks," which enabled scoltop to complete his job easily. "i wonder," said scoltop to mr. denovan, "that the bank could have trusted so much money under such very simple things." scoltop would not allow any of this evidence to be set down in writing, but he agreed to go down to edinburgh and give it in court, and to swear also to receiving the portmanteau addressed in the handwriting of mackoull. but denovan's greatest triumph was with mrs. mackoull. she kept a house furnished in an elegant manner, but was not a very reputable person. "she was extremely shy at first, and as if by chance, but to show that she was prepared for anything, she lifted up one of the cushions on her settee, displaying a pair of horse pistols that lay below," on which he produced a double-barrelled pistol and a card bearing the address "public office, bow street." then she gave him her hand and said, "we understand each other." but still she was very reticent, acting, as mr. denovan was firmly convinced, under the advice of the not incorruptible sayer. she was afraid she would be called upon to make a restitution of that part of the booty that had gone her way. denovan strongly suspected that she had received a large sum from her husband and had refused to give it back to him--"the real cause of their misunderstanding," which was, indeed, so serious that he had no great difficulty in persuading her also to give evidence at edinburgh. [illustration: "on which he produced a double-barrelled pistol and a card" (p. ).] such was the result of an inquiry that scarcely occupied a month. it was so complete that the celebrated lord cockburn, who was at that time counsel for the bank, declared "nothing could exceed denovan's skill, and that the investigation had the great merit of being amply sustained by evidence in all its important parts." when the trial of the cause came on in february, and denovan appeared in court with all the principal witnesses, johnson, cunnington, scoltop, and mrs. mackoull, the defendant--it was only a civil suit--was unable to conceal his emotion, and fainted away. this was, practically, the throwing up of the sponge. soon afterwards he was indicted for the robbery of the bank, and on conviction sentenced to death. he was greatly cast down at first, but soon recovered his spirits, and while awaiting execution received a number of visitors in the condemned cell. among them was his wife, who provided him with the means of purchasing every luxury. she also applied for and obtained a reprieve for him. but though he might escape the gallows, he could not evade death. within a couple of months of his sentence he fell into imbecility, his hitherto jet-black hair grew white, and his physical faculties failed him. before the year was ended he had gone to his account. vidocq. the first regular organisation of detective police may be said to have been created by vidocq, the famous french thief, who, having turned his own coat, found his best assistants in other converted criminals. vidocq's personal reminiscences have been read all the world over, and need hardly be recounted here. it was at the end of a long career of crime, of warfare with justice, in which he had been perpetually worsted, that he elected to go over to the other side. he would cease to be the hare, and would, if permitted, in future hunt with the hounds. so he offered his services to the authorities, who at first bluntly refused them. m. henri, the functionary at the head of the criminal department of the prefecture, sent him about his business without even asking his name. this was in , during the ministry of fouché. vidocq, rebuffed, joined a band of coiners, who betrayed him to the police, and he was arrested, nearly naked, on the roof as he was trying to escape. he was taken before m. henri, whom he reminded of his application and renewed his offers, which were now accepted, but coldly and distrustfully. the only condition he had made was that he should not be relegated to the galleys, but held in any [illustration: vidocq, the celebrated french detective. (_from the engraving by mlle. coignet._)] parisian prison the authorities might choose. so he was committed to la force, and the entry appears on the registry of that prison that he was nominally sentenced to eight years in chains; it was part of his compact that he should associate freely with other prisoners and secretly inform the police of all that was going on. he betrayed a number of his unsuspecting companions, and seems to have been very proud of his treacherous achievements. no prisoner had the slightest suspicion that he was a police spy, nor had any of the officials, except the gate-keeper. in this way he earned the gratitude of the authorities, who thought he might be more useful at large. in order to give a plausible explanation of his release, it was arranged that he should be sent from the prison of la force to bicêtre and permitted to escape by the way. vidocq has given his own account of his escape: "i was fetched from la force and taken off with the most rigorous precaution, handcuffed, and lodged in the prison van; but i was let out on the road." the report of this daring escape, as it was supposed, was the talk of all paris, and the cause of great rejoicing in criminal circles, where vidocq's health was drunk with many wishes for his continued good fortune. vidocq made excellent use of his freedom. he entered freely into all the low haunts of the city, and was received with absolute confidence by every miscreant abroad. through him, although he kept carefully in the background, innumerable arrests were made; one of the most important was that of the head of a gang of robbers named guenvive, whose acquaintance he made at a _cabaret_, where they exchanged some curious confidences. guenvive was very anxious to put him on his guard against "that villain vidocq," who had turned traitor to his old friends. but guenvive assured vidocq that he knew him intimately and there was nothing to be feared while he was by. together they went to attack vidocq, each carrying handkerchiefs loaded with two-sous pieces, and watched for him at his front door. for obvious reasons vidocq did not come out, but his ready concurrence in the scheme made him guenvive's most intimate friend. the robber was willing to enrol vidocq in his band, and proposed that he should join in a grand affair in the rue cassette. vidocq agreed, but took no part in the actual robbery on the pretence that he could not safely be out in the streets, as he had no papers. when the party, having successfully accomplished their _coup_, carried their plunder home to guenvive's quarters, they were surprised by a visit of the police, during which vidocq, who was present, concealed himself under the bed. the end of this business was the conviction of the robbers and their condemnation to _travaux forcés_, but they appear to have succeeded in discovering how and by whom they had been betrayed. vidocq brought about another important arrest in the person of fossard, a notorious criminal, who was to become yet more famous by his celebrated theft of medals from the bibliothèque royale. fossard was a man of athletic proportions and desperately brave; he had escaped from the bagne of brest and was supposed to be prepared to go any lengths rather than return there; he was always armed to the teeth, and swore he would blow out the brains of anyone who attempted to take him. he lived somewhere near the rue poissonnière; the neighbourhood was known, but not the house or the floor; the windows were said to have yellow silk blinds, but many other windows had the same; another indication was that fossard's servant was a little humpbacked woman, who also worked as a milliner. vidocq found the hunchback, but not her master, who had moved into another residence over a wineshop at the corner of the rue duphot and the rue st. honoré. he at once assumed the disguise of a charcoal-seller, and verified the lodging, but waited for an opportunity to take the criminal. although he was armed and no coward, he realised that the only safe way to secure fossard would be in his bed. [illustration: the bicÊtre in . (_after gueroult._)] vidocq now took the tavern-keeper into his confidence, warned him that he had under his roof a very dangerous robber, and that this lodger was only waiting a favourable chance to rob his till. the first night that the receipts had been good the ruffian would certainly lay hands upon the money. the tavern-keeper was only too glad to accept the assistance of the police, and promised to admit them whenever required. one night, when fossard had returned home early and gone to bed, vidocq and his comrades were let in during the small hours, and the following trick was arranged. the tavern-keeper had with him a little nephew, a child of ten, precocious and ready to earn an honest penny. vidocq easily taught him a little tale. the child was to go upstairs to fossard's door in the early morning, and ask fossard's wife for some eau-de-cologne, saying his aunt was unwell. the child played his part well; he went up, closely followed by the police in stockinged feet; he knocked, gave his message, the door was opened to him, and in rushed the officers, who secured fossard before he was well awake. in these later days of the first empire the police, as we have seen, were more actively engaged in political espionage than in the detection of crime, and paris was very much at the mercy of criminals. there were whole quarters given up to malefactors--places, particularly beyond the barrier, which offered a safe retreat to convicts, thieves, the whole fraternity of crime, into which no police-officer was bold enough to enter. vidocq volunteered to clear out at least one of them, a tavern kept by a certain desnoyez, always a very favourite and crowded resort. accompanied by a couple of police officers and eight gendarmes, he started off to execute a job for which his superiors declared that he needed a battalion at least. but on reaching the tavern he walked straight into the salon, where a barrier ball was in progress, stopped the music, and coolly looked around. loud cries were raised of "turn him out!" but vidocq remained imperturbable, and exhibiting his warrant, ordered the place to be cleared. his firm aspect imposed upon even the most threatening, and the whole company filed out one by one past vidocq, who stationed himself at the door. whenever he recognised any man as a person wanted or a dangerous criminal, he marked his back adroitly with a piece of white chalk as a sign that he should be made prisoner outside. this was effected by the gendarmes, who handcuffed each in turn, and added him to a long chain of [illustration: vidocq stops the music (p. ).] prisoners, who were eventually conducted in triumph to the prefecture. vidocq's successes gained him a very distinct reputation in paris; he had undoubtedly diminished crime--at least he had reduced the number of notorious criminals who openly defied justice; it was decided, therefore, to give him larger powers, and in he was authorised to establish a regular body of detectives, the first "brigade de sûreté," which was composed of a certain number of agents devoted entirely to the detection of crime. they were no more than four in number at first, but the brigade was successively increased to six, twelve, twenty, and at last to twenty-eight. in the very first year, between january and december, , vidocq had only twelve assistants; yet among them they effected arrests, many of them of the most important character. fifteen of their captives were murderers, a hundred and eight were burglars, five were addicted to robbery with violence, and there were some two hundred and fifty thieves of other descriptions. such good work soon gained vidocq detractors, and the old, official, clean-handed police, not unnaturally jealous, charged him with actually preparing crime in order that he might detect it. the police authorities were privately informed by these other employees that vidocq abused his position disgracefully, and carried on widespread depredation on his own account. in reply they were told that they could not be very skilful, or they would have caught him in the act. having failed to implicate vidocq himself, they fell upon his assistants, most of them ex-thieves, who they declared now carried on their old trade with impunity. vidocq soon heard of these accusations, and, to give a practical denial of the charge, ordered all his people invariably to wear gloves. to appear without them, he declared, would be visited with instant dismissal. the significance of this regulation lay in the fact that a pocket can only be picked by a bare hand. certainly vidocq and his men were neither idle nor expensive to maintain; their hours of duty were often eighteen out of the twenty-four; sometimes they were employed for days together without a break. the chief himself was incessantly active; no one could say how he lived or when he slept. whenever he was wanted he was found dressed and ready, with a clean-shaven face like an actor, so that he might assume any disguise--wigs, whiskers, or moustaches of any length or colour; sometimes, it is said that he changed his costume ten times a day. he was a man of extraordinarily vigorous physique, strong and squarely built, with very broad shoulders; he had fair hair, which early turned grey, a large thick nose, blue eyes, and a constant smile on his lips. he always appeared well-dressed, except when in disguise, and was followed everywhere he went, but at a slight distance, by a cabriolet, driven by a servant on whom he could rely. he always went armed with pistols and a long knife or dagger. his worst points were his boastfulness and his insupportable conceit. m. canler, afterwards chief of the detective police, tells an amusing story in his memoirs of how vidocq was fooled by one of his precious assistants. in choosing between candidates, the old thief sought the boldest and most impudent. one day a man he did not know, jacquin, offered himself, and vidocq, to try him, sent him to buy a couple of fowls in the market. jacquin presently brought back the fowls and also the ten francs vidocq had given him to pay for them. he was asked how he had managed. it was simple enough. he had gone into the market carrying a heavy hod on his shoulder, and, when he had bargained for the fowls, he asked the market woman to place them for him on the top of the stones on the hod. while she obliged him, he picked her pocket of the ten francs he had paid her. jacquin acted the whole affair before vidocq, whom he treated just as he had treated the owner of the fowls. when the _séance_ was over, he had robbed vidocq of his gold watch and chain. after ten years of active work vidocq resigned his post. he was at cross purposes, it was said, with his superiors; m. delavau, the new prefect, had no sympathy with him, and was so much under priestly influence as to abhor vidocq, who perhaps foresaw that he had better withdraw before he was dismissed. but the real reason was that he had feathered his nest well, and was in possession of sufficient capital to start an industrial enterprise--the manufacture of paper boxes. to this he presently added a _bureau de renseignements_, the forerunner of our modern private inquiry office, for which, from his abundant and varied experience, he was peculiarly well fitted. he soon possessed a wide _clientèle_, and had as many as , cases registered in his office. at the same time his brain was busy with practical inventions, such as a burglar-proof door and a safety paper--one that could not be imitated and used for false documents. his private inquiry business prospered greatly, but got him into serious trouble. there seems to have been no reason to charge him with dishonesty, yet he was arrested for fraud and "abuse of confidence" in some two hundred instances; he was mixed up in some shady transactions, among them money-lending and bill-discounting. he was also accused of tampering with certain employees in the war office, and his papers were seized by the police. some idea of the extent of his business may be gathered from the description of his offices, which were extensive, sumptuously furnished, and organised into first, second, and third divisions, like a great department of state, each served by a large staff of clerks. a little groom in livery, with buttons bearing vidocq's monogram, ushered the visitor into his private cabinet, where the great "intermediary," as he called himself, sat at his desk, surrounded by fine pictures (for one of which, it was said, he had refused £ , ) and many other signs of luxury and good taste. nothing came of this arrest, which vidocq took quite as a joke, although he was detained in the conciergerie for three months and his business suffered. yet, afterwards, the police would not leave him alone. old animosities had never disappeared, and they were revived when vidocq occasionally turned his hand to his old work and caught someone whom the regular police could not find. he had started a sort of "trade protection society," by which, on payment of a small annual fee, any shopkeeper or business man could obtain particulars concerning the solvency of new clients. the number of subscribers soon exceeded , , and vidocq, in one of his published reports, fixed the amount he had saved his customers at several thousands of pounds. a fresh storm burst over him when he unmasked and procured the arrest of a long-firm swindler, before the police knew anything of the case. once more he was arrested, in ; his papers were impounded, there were rumours of tremendous disclosures, family scandals, crimes suppressed--all manner of villainies. no doubt he had made himself the "intermediary" in matters not quite savoury, but the worst things against him were an unauthorised arrest and a traffic in decorations very much on the grévy-wilson lines of later days. the prejudice against him must have been strong, and the case [illustration: the conciergerie, palace of justice, paris.] ended in a sentence of eight years' imprisonment, which was, however, reversed on appeal. he was much impoverished by his lawsuits, and one of his last proceedings was to appear before a london audience dressed, first as a french convict in chains, then in the various disguises he had used in following up malefactors. although his lecture was in french, he seems to have attracted large audiences at the cosmorama. sir francis burdett was a great patron and supporter of vidocq, and was in the habit, whenever he visited paris, of inviting the old thief-taker to dine with him at the trois frères restaurant in the palais royal. vidocq died in penury in at a very advanced age. vidocq's mantle, after his resignation of his official post, fell upon one of his own young men, for the fallacious idea still held that to discover thieves it was necessary to have been a thief. the choice fell upon one coco-latour, who had been a robber of the housebreaking class, and was much esteemed for his enterprise in that particular branch of crime. he now took over vidocq's offices and staff, with much the same results. arrests were constantly made, numbers of depredators were brought to justice, but again and again in court there were some discreditable scenes; fierce recriminations between the dock and the witness-box, little to choose between the accused criminal and the man who had captured him. public feeling was revolted by these exhibitions, and at last the authorities resolved to abolish the system. m. gisquet, who was prefect of police, broke up coco-latour's band of ex-brigands and ordered that in future the work should be done by persons of unblemished character. any who had been once convicted were declared ineligible. new and respectable offices were installed under the wing of the prefecture, replacing the old dens in low streets which had been no better than thieves' haunts infested by the worst characters. from , when this salutary change took effect, until the present day the french detective has won well-deserved credit as an honourable, faithful public servant, generally with natural aptitude, trained and developed by advice and example. "a man does not become a detective by chance; he must be born to it"; he must have the instinct, the _flair_, the natural taste for the business--qualities which carry him on to success through many disheartening disappointments and seeming defeats. the best traditions of the paris prefecture have been worthily maintained by such men as canler, claude, macé, goron, and cochefert. their services have been conspicuous, their methods good, and they are backed by useful, if arbitrary, powers, such as the right to detain and interrogate suspected persons, which our police, under the jealous eye of the law, have never possessed. this might seem to give the french police the advantage as regards results, yet it is the fact that, with all their limitations, the english police can compare favourably with that of our french neighbours, and, as has been said, if we have at times to reproach our servants with failure, there are also many undetected crimes, cases "classed," or put by as hopeless, in france. [illustration: palace of justice and prefecture of police, paris.] a few stories may be inserted here illustrating the more prominent traits of the french detectives, their patience, courage promptitude, and ingenuity. no pains are too great to take; a clue is followed up at all costs and all hazards. the french detective is equal to any labours, any hardships, any emergency, any dangers. the words "two pounds of butter," written on a scrap of paper found on the theatre of a great crime, led canler and his officers to visit every butterman's shop in paris, till at last the man who had sold and the criminal who had bought the butter were found. in the same way a knife picked up was shown to every cutler until it was identified and the purchaser traced. a murdered man had been seen in company with another the day before the crime; the latter was described to the police, who got on his track within twenty-four hours, checked the employment of his time, and found the tailor who had sold him his clothes; within another day his lodging was known, on the fourth he was arrested and the crime brought home to him. two men on the watch for a criminal held on three days and nights out of doors, in december, almost without food, and, to justify their presence in the high road, pretended to be navvies working at repairs. four detectives, in pursuit of five murderers, divided the business among them: one played the flute at a hall often visited by their men, another sold pencils in the street, a third worked in brickfields frequented by their quarry, a fourth kept the men wanted constantly in view. [illustration: french detectives playing the part of navvies.] another detective disguised himself as a floor polisher, simply to get on friendly terms with a man of the same calling, who was an assassin. the disguises assumed are various and surprising, and this may be taken as fact in spite of statements to the contrary. a detective has been seen in a blue blouse distributing leaflets in the street, and has been recognised (by a friend) in correct evening dress at a diplomatic reception. there was once attached to the prefecture a regular wardrobe of all sorts of costumes, and a dressing-room as in a theatre, with wigs and all facilities for "making up." this is now left to the individual himself, but not the less does he disguise. so sedulous are these detectives in playing assumed parts, that it is told of two who were employed in a high-class case, one as master, the other as valet, that after the job was done, the master had so identified himself with his part as to check his comrade afterwards for his familiarity in addressing him! [illustration: in the rue capron branch of the mont de pietÉ] french detectives often show great tact and promptitude. one of them one day recognised a face without being able to put a name to it, and followed his man into a 'bus. "don't arrest me here," said the other. "i'll come with you quietly when we leave the omnibus." it proved to be a prisoner who had escaped that very morning from the _dépôt_ of the prefecture, and whom the police officer had only seen for a moment in the passage. perpetual suspicion becomes second nature with the detective; he has to be constantly on the alert, his imagination active; he must readily invent tricks and dodges when the occasion demands. there is a positive order that an arrest must be made quietly, if possible unobserved, and not in any café, theatre, or public place. this obliges him to have recourse to artifice to entrap his prey. fortunately, most criminals are simplicity itself, and readily give themselves away. it is enough to send a message for the man wanted, and he will appear at the wineshop round the corner, bringing, say, his tools to do some imaginary job. but courage is also a quality constantly shown. it was a french detective who shared the cell with the infamous troppmann, and got him to confess the crime when off his guard. the murderer would certainly have tried to destroy his companion on the slightest suspicion of his real character. it is satisfactory to know that very amicable relations exist between london and paris detectives, and that they are at all times willing to assist each other. i have heard that the french greatly admire the completeness of our metropolitan police machinery, its extensive ramifications, the "informations" or budget of facts and police circumstances issued four times daily from scotland yard, and the facility with which news is circulated and action started in all--even in the most remote--parts. our people have made many famous captures for the french: françois, to wit, and other anarchists; arton, the panama scapegoat, and many more. not long ago the french police were deeply anxious to know the exact whereabouts of a certain individual, and sent over his photograph and description by a trusted agent for distribution among our police divisions. it so happened--a little aided by good fortune, perhaps--that the french agent was enabled to put his hand on the man he wanted the very first afternoon of the search. maxime du camp tells a story of a visit paid to the head of the french police by three englishmen, two of them jewellers, the third a london detective, who were in hot pursuit of an employee who had "looted" the jewellers' shop. directly they had told their story the french official quietly said, "i know all about it; wait one moment." a message was sent downstairs to the prison cells below, and the thief in person was brought up. then the jewel boxes with their contents were produced, and one of the jewellers, overcome with joy, fainted away on the spot. the affair seemed miraculous, and yet it was perfectly simple. information had reached the french police that a young englishman, but just arrived in paris, and staying at one of the best hotels, had pawned five pieces of valuable jewellery at the mont de piété, the great public pawnshop, and out of curiosity they paid him a domiciliary visit. he was found in his room surrounded with portmanteaux crammed full of gems, and was detained pending inquiry. [illustration: jewellery dÉpÔt, mont de piÉtÉ.] chapter xiii. english and american detectives. english detectives--early prejudices against them lived down--the late mr. williamson--inspector melville--sir c. howard vincent--dr. anderson--mr. macnaughten--mr. mcwilliam and the detectives of the city police--a country detective's experiences--allan pinkerton's first essay in detection--the private inquiry agent and the lengths to which he will go. although the old bow street runner either retired from business or set up what we should now call private inquiry offices, the new organisation did not include any members specially devoted to the detection of crime. the want of them caused much inconvenience, and after an existence of fifteen years the metropolitan police was strengthened by the employment of a few constables in plain clothes, charged with the particular duty of, so to speak, secretly safeguarding the public. the plan was first adopted by sir james graham, when home secretary, and only tentatively, for the old distrust and suspicion of secret spies and underhand police processes lingered. there was something unpleasant, people said, in the idea of a disguised police: personal freedom was in danger; and the system was therefore tried on a very small scale.[ ] no more than a round dozen were appointed at first--three inspectors and nine sergeants, but very shortly six constables were added as "auxiliaries," and gradually the total became , though this was only a small proportion of the total , which then made up the whole force. the real intention and use of the "plain clothes" police was that they should be ever on the alert, ever at the heels of wrong-doers, and ready to follow up clues or track down criminals unperceived. they quickly overcame the early prejudice against them, and began by their substantial services to win popular esteem. charles dickens may be said to have discovered the modern detective. his papers in _household words_ were a revelation to the public, and the life portraits he drew of some of the most notable men employed in this comparatively new branch of criminal pursuit did much to turn suspicion into admiration. [illustration: sir james graham, founder of the detective system.] a few words may fitly find place here concerning some of our later developments of this most useful and not always sufficiently appreciated class. i should be glad to do justice to the memory of one who spent a lifetime at scotland yard, and was long the very centre and heart of the detective department--the late mr. williamson. starting as a private constable and ending as chief constable, he was, from first to last, one of the most loyal, intelligent, and indefatigable of the many valuable public servants who have deserved well of their fellow-citizens. yet to the outside world he was probably little more than a name through all his long years of arduous and uncompromising service. few but the initiated recognised the redoubtable detective in this quiet, unpretending, middle-aged man, who walked leisurely along whitehall, balancing a hat that was a little large for him loosely on his head, and often with a sprig of a leaf or flower between his lips. he was by nature very reticent; no outsider could win from him any details of the many big things he had "put through." his talk, for choice, was about gardening, for which he had a perfect passion; and his blooms were famous in the neighbourhood where he spent his unofficial hours. another favourite diversion with him, until increasing pressure of work denied him any leisure, was boating. he was very much at home on the thames, a powerful sculler, and very fond of the exercise. he never missed till the very last a single oxford and cambridge boat-race, seeing it for choice from the police steam-launch--the very best way indeed of going to the race, but a pleasure reserved for the home secretary, the police officials, and a few of their most intimate friends. the police boat is the last to go down the course, and the first to follow the competing eights. one or two especially trying circumstances helped to break williamson down rather prematurely. he took very much to heart, as was natural, the misconduct of his comrade detectives in the notorious de goncourt turf frauds. he was at that time practically the head of his branch, and some of the blame--but, of course, none of the disgrace--was visited upon him, as it was argued that his men had been allowed too free a hand. this may have been the case; but he had to deal with men of uncommon astuteness, who were the more unscrupulous because he trusted them so implicitly, with the trust of a loyal nature, true to those above him, and counting upon fidelity from his subordinates. mr. williamson's active career was also chequered by the diabolical nature of the crimes which kept him most busily employed. fenianism might have been found written on his heart, like calais on queen mary's, and, closely interwoven with it, anarchism and nihilism in all their phases. he knew no peace when foreign potentates were the guests of our royalties; scotland yard was, in fact, held responsible for the safety of czar and emperor, and the police authorities depended chiefly on williamson, with his consummate knowledge and long experience of exotic crime. it [illustration: old scotland yard.] was williamson who was first on the scene when infernal machines had exploded, or might be expected to explode at any moment. to him the officer who is nowadays our chief mainstay and defence against these outrages, inspector melville, owes much of his insight into the peculiar business of the "special section," as this important branch of criminal investigation is called. the latter not long ago disposed very ingeniously of a case which might have led to serious mischief. fertility of resource with great promptitude in action are among mr. melville's strongest and most valuable traits. well, on one occasion, during the visit to england of a foreign sovereign, information was received that one of his subjects residing in this country, and by no means loyal to him, intended to do him an injury the first time he could get near him in public. it happened that at that moment the imperial visitor was on the point of joining in a great procession, which had either actually started, or would start in the course of an hour or so. the malcontent was employed as cellarman to a wine and spirit merchant or publican with large wine vaults. there was no time to lose, and melville made the best of his way to the place, saw the proprietor, and inquired for a certain brand of champagne he wished to purchase. the master called his man and sent them down together into the cellars. the cellarman went first with a light; at the bottom of the staircase he unlocked the wine cellar and went in--still first. [illustration: inspector melville.] "what wine is that over yonder?" asked melville carelessly, and the man crossed over to the far end of the vault to look before he answered. this was all the astute officer wanted. instantly seizing the opportunity, he stepped back out of the cellar, closed the door promptly and locked it. the irreconcilable cellarman was a prisoner, and was left there perfectly safe from any temptation to carry out the fell purpose of which he was suspected. after the procession was over he was set free. most of the prominent detectives of to-day learnt their work under williamson--butcher, the chief inspector, who is as fond of flowers as was his master, and may be known by the fine rose in his buttonhole; littlechild, who earned his first reputation in unravelling and exposing long-firm and assurance office frauds; neald, the curator of the black museum, a sturdy, self-reliant, solid detective officer, who, among other great cases, worked to a successful issue the "orrock" murder, in which the syllable "rock" scratched upon a chisel led ultimately to detection. the exposure of the detectives' misdeeds in brought a superior official to scotland yard, and the first head of the newly named criminal investigation department was colonel howard vincent. his appointment was a surprise to many, and his fitness for the post was not immediately apparent. he was young, comparatively speaking, unknown, inexperienced in police matters, with no previous record but a brief military service, followed by a call to the bar. but he was energetic, painstaking, a man of order, with some power of organisation; above all, a gentleman of high character and integrity. his reign at scotland yard may not have been marked by any phenomenal feats in detection; in the pursuit of criminals he was dependent upon his able subordinates, and it was his rule to summon the most experienced of them to advise him in all serious cases. in the more subtle processes of analysis and deduction, of working from effect to cause, from vague, almost impalpable indications to strong presumption of guilt, howard vincent did not shine; nor did he always, perhaps, fully realise the value of reticence in detective operations; but he did good work at scotland yard by raising the general tone and systematising the service. [illustration: _photo: h. s. mendelssohn, pembridge crescent, w._ sir howard vincent, m.p.] dr. anderson, who was chief of the investigation department until , when he resigned, was an ideal detective officer, with a natural bias for the work, and endowed with gifts peculiarly useful in it. he is a man of the quickest apprehension, with the power of close, rapid reasoning from facts, suggestions, or even impressions. he could seize on the essential point almost by intuition, and was marvellously ready in finding the real clue or indicating the right trail. with all this he was the most discreet, the most silent and reserved of public functionaries. someone said he was a mystery even to himself. this, to him, inestimable quality of reticence is not unaided by a slight, but perhaps convenient, deafness. if he is asked an embarrassing question, he quickly puts up his hand and says the inquiry has been addressed to his deaf ear. but i shrewdly suspect that he hears all that he wishes to hear; little goes on around him that is not noted and understood; without seeming to pay much attention, he is always listening and drawing his own conclusions. [illustration: _photo: h.s. mendelssohn, pembridge crescent, w._ dr. anderson.] the chief of the investigation department has, of course, to be in close touch with all his subordinates; from his desk he can communicate with every branch of his department. the speaking tubes hang just behind his chair. a little farther off is the office telephone, which brings him into converse with sir edward bradford, the chief commissioner, or with colleagues and subordinates in more distant parts of the "house." he is, and must be, an indefatigable worker, since the labours of his department are unceasing, and often of the most anxious, even disappointing, character. dr. anderson's successor is colonel henry, for many years inspector-general of police in bengal, and more recently employed on special police duty at johannesburg. he has been chosen for the post not alone because of his long police experience, but also because he is an expert in matters of identification, especially in regard to the "finger-prints" system and the bertillon system of anthropometry. mr. macnaughten, the chief constable, or second in command of the investigation department, is essentially a man of action. a man of presence is mr. macnaughten--tall, well-built, with a military air, although his antecedents are rather those of the public school, of indian planter life, than of the army. his room, like his chief's, is hung with speaking tubes, his table is deep with reports and papers, but the walls are bright with photographs of officials, personal friends, and of notorious criminals which mr. macnaughten keeps by him as a matter of business. some other and more gruesome pictures are always under lock and key; photographs, for instance, of the victims of jack the ripper, and of other brutal murders, taken immediately after discovery, and reproducing with dreadful fidelity the remains of bodies that have been mutilated almost out of human semblance. it is mr. macnaughten's duty, no less than his earnest desire, to be first on the scene of any such sinister catastrophe. he is therefore more intimately acquainted, perhaps, with the details of the most recent celebrated crimes than anyone else at new scotland yard. [illustration: _photo: byrne & co., richmond._ sir edward bradford.] nor can the detective officers of the city police be passed by without an acknowledgment of their skill and their devotion to the public service, especially mr. mcwilliam, who has long been chief of the department. he has repeatedly shown himself a keen, clear-headed, highly intelligent official, and he has gained especial fame in the unravelling of forgeries and commercial frauds. the sixth of the so-called whitechapel murders, that of mitre square, was perpetrated within the city limits, and brought the additional energies and acumen of the city detectives to the solution of a perplexing mystery. [illustration: _photo: maull & fox, piccadilly, w._ mr. melville t. macnaughten.] under such chiefs as these the rank and file of our detectives labour, assiduously utilising the qualities which really serve them best--patience and persistence, following the hints and suggestions given them by their leaders. the best detective is he who has that infinite capacity for taking pains which has been defined as the true test of genius. it is not by guesses or sensational snapshots that crimes are unearthed, but by the slow process of routine, almost commonplace inquiry, after the most minute and painstaking investigation of the traces--often of the most minute character--left upon the theatre of the deed. [illustration: mr. mcwilliam.] people whom business or chance has brought much into contact with detectives must have been struck with their ubiquity. all who have a good memory for faces or the vision to penetrate disguises will have had many opportunities of recognising them in strange places and at unexpected times. the police officer is to be met with in railway trains, on board steamboats, in hotels, at all places of public resort. he may [illustration: new scotland yard. . commissioner's room. . view from the river (_photo: york & son, notting hill, w._). . principal entrance. . the western façade. ] be seen in "the rooms" at monte carlo, retained by "the administration" of the casino to keep his eye on the company, or engaged on business of his own, "shadowing" some criminal or suspect. i have given my coat and hat to a detective at a great london reception in an historic house, where many of the guests were titled or celebrated people, but into which others, unbidden and extremely undesirable, had been known to insinuate themselves in the prosecution of their nefarious trade. i have met detectives at a wedding breakfast, at a big dinner, at balls during the season, and i can safely assert that these "professionals," in manners or in costume, were certainly not the least gentlemanlike of the guests assembled. there is no better company than a good detective, if he can only be persuaded to talk--no easy matter, for reticence is a first rule of conduct in the profession, and he is seldom communicative except on perfectly safe ground. it was my good fortune once to be thrown with a well-known member of one of those provincial forces which include many first-rate detective practitioners. it was some years back, and i am committing no breach of confidence in recounting some of his experiences. "never let go, sir: that's the only rule. i like to keep touch of 'em when once i've got 'em," he began, and he spoke pensively, as though his mind were busy with the past, and he rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his chin. a man dressed quietly but well; his brown greatcoat not cut in the very last fashion, perhaps, but of glossy cloth and in good style; a pearl pin in his black silk scarf; and his boots, although thick-soled and substantial, neatly made. his face was hard, shrewd, but not unkindly, and there was a merry twinkle in his penetrating grey eyes, which seemed to see through you in a single glance. although very quiet and unobtrusive in manner, he was evidently a man of much determination of character; it was to be seen in his slow, distinct way of speaking, and in the firm lines of a mouth which the clean-shaven upper lip fully showed. "but i've had luck, i won't deny that. there was that case of them sharpers down in the eastern counties. it wasn't till all others had failed that they put me on to the job. i didn't know the chap wanted, not even by sight; and yet i was certain that he knew me. he'd been doing the confidence trick with a young man of this town, and had robbed him of over a hundred pounds. he made tracks out of the place--no one knew where. he was a betting man, and i hunted for him high and low, at all the racecourses of the country, but couldn't come upon him. we were in london, last of all, and it was rather a joke against me at scotland yard, where i had been, as usual, for help. they'd ask me if i knew my man, and i was obliged to say 'no.' and if i thought i knew where to find him, and i had to say 'no' to that too; and they always laughed at me whenever i turned up. i was just about to travel homewards, when i thought i'd try one more chance. there happened to be a sporting paper on the coffee-room table, and i took it up. i saw two race meetings were on for that day--shrewsbury and wye. i'd go for one, but which? i shied up a shilling, and it came down wye. so to the wye races i went, with the young man who had been duped. "the course was very crowded as we drove on. a couple with a great lottery machine caught my eye; one was taking the money, the other turning the handle, which ground out mostly blanks. 'sergeant,' whispers the young fellow to me all at once, 'that's him!' pointing to the man who was taking the money. but how was i to take him? i got down, and sent the trap to the other side of the tents, then stepped up to my man and asked him plump for change for a five-pound note. he knew me directly, and showed fight. i collared him, and moved him on towards the trap, when the roughs raised a cry of 'rouse, rouse!'--rescue, that is, you know--and mobbed me. i held on--never let go, sir, as i said before, that's the motto; but they broke two fingers of my right hand in the shindy, and it was all i could do to force the fellow into the trap, but i did it with my left, while i kept off the crowd with the other arm. but i nearly lost him again on the way, all through being a soft-hearted fool. his wife came after us, and at the station begged hard to be allowed to go down with us. i agreed; what's more, i took the cuffs off him, and let them talk together in the corner of the carriage. they nearly sold me. it was in the ---- tunnel, dark as pitch, and the train making a fine rattle, when the wife put down the window all of a sudden, and he bolted through. i caught him by the leg, in spite of my game fingers, but only just in time; and after that i handcuffed him to myself--his wrist to mine. [illustration: "the roughs raised a cry of 'rouse! rouse!'" (p. ).] 'now,' says i, 'where you go, i go.' and that's the rule i've always followed since. "the london police have no very high opinion of country talent, but we beat them sometimes, all the same--not that i want to say a word against the metropolitans. they've such opportunities, and so much knowledge. now there was jim highflyer; he'd never have been 'copped' but for a couple of london detectives. he was a first-class workman was highflyer, and he once spent a long time in this town--not in his own name. while he was here there were no end of big burglaries, and we never could get at the rights of them. one of the worst of the lot was a plate robbery from a jeweller's in queen street. a man with a sack had been tracked by one of the constables a long way that night into the yard of a house, and there he was lost. the house belonged to one of the town councillors, mr. t---- by name, a most respectable man, very free with his money, and popular. we searched the yard next morning, and found a lot of the plate in a dust-heap. mr. t---- gave us every assistance. it was quite plain how it had come there. there was no suspicion against mr. t----, of course; and do what we could, we couldn't pick up the man we wanted. by-and-by the town councillor went away for a long spell; the house was shut up--not let, as he was coming back, he said, and did once or twice. after he left the burglaries stopped, and i'd have thought very little more about it all if it hadn't been that i heard a man, who had been arrested for an assault, and was in ----shire gaol, had been recognised by two london detectives as a notorious burglar, jim highflyer. he'd got a knife upon him, and the name of the maker was a cutler in this town; also a silver pencil-case, with the name of the jeweller in queen street. i went over to the gaol, and identified the man at once. it was the town councillor himself, mr. t----. we searched his house here after that, and found it crammed full of stolen goods. you see, there it was the metropolitans did the job. highflyer would have got off with a few weeks for the assault, but they knew him and all about him. he was 'wanted' just then for several other affairs. he got ten years, did master jim. "but the neatest and about the longest job i ever was concerned in was young mr. burbidge's case, and that i did in london without any help from the london police. he was in the theatrical profession; a smart young chap, greatly trusted by his manager, who employed him as a confidential secretary, and allowed him to keep the accounts and all the cash. no one checked one or counted t'other. one fine morning he went off with a big sum. he'd been to the bank and drawn a cheque to pay the weekly wages; but he bolted instead, leaving the treasury empty and the whole company whistling for their 'screws.' the manager was half mad, and he came at once to the police. the chief sent for me. 'it's a bad business, thoroughly bad, and we must get him,' he said. 'spare no pains--spend what money you like, only catch him, if you can.' in jobs of this sort, sir, time goes a long way. burbidge had got a good start, several hours or more; it was no use my rushing off after him in a hurry, particularly as i did not know which way to rush. so i set myself to think a little before i commenced work. the 'swag' stolen was large. the thief would probably try to make tracks out of the country as soon as he could; but which way? to liverpool, perhaps, and by one of the ocean steamers to the states; or to hull, and so to sweden and norway; or london, and so to france and spain. i sent one of my men to the railway station to make inquiries, and another to wire to the police at the ports and to scotland yard to watch the continental trains. "the job i kept for myself was to find out what i could about young burbidge's ways. it's the only way to get a line on a man who's made off in a hurry and left no clue. so i called at his rooms. he lived in comfortable apartments over a tobacconist's, and was a good customer to his landlord, to judge by the number of pipes i saw over the mantelpiece, all of which were as well coloured as a black-and-tan. the rooms were just as he left them--he might really have been coming back in half-an-hour, only he didn't quite intend to, not if he knew it. the chest of drawers was full of clothes; there were boots already polished; brush and comb on the dressing-table. in the sitting-room the slippers were on the hearth, books, acting-plays lying on the sofa and about the floor, a writing-desk, but not a single scrap of paper--not a letter, or an envelope, or even an unreceipted bill. he'd made up his mind to bolt, and he'd removed everything which might give us the smallest notion of which way he'd gone. "it was just the same at the theatre. he'd had a sort of dressing-room there, which he'd used as an office, with a desk in it, and pigeon-holes and a nest of drawers. it was all left ship-shape enough. files of play-bills, of accounts receipted and not, ledgers, and all that; but not a paper of the kind i looked for. i made a pretty close search, too. i took every piece of furniture bit by bit, and turned over every scrap of stuff with writing on it or without. i forced every lock, and ransacked every hiding-place, but i got nothing anywhere for my pains. the manager was with me all the time, and he didn't half like it, i can tell you. no more did i, although i wouldn't for worlds show that i was vexed. i tried to keep him up, saying it'd come all right--that patience in these things never failed in the long run; and i got him to talk about the young chap, to see if i could come upon his habits that way. 'who were his friends, now?' i asked. 'he'd none in particular--not in the company, at least, or out of it.' 'ah! who might this be?' i said quietly, as i drew out of the blotting-paper a photograph of a young lady: a fair-haired little bit of a thing, with a pretty, rather modest, face, which i felt i should know again. "the _carte de visite_ had the photographer's name on it, and his address, that of a good street. this was my line, of course. i made up my mind to follow on to london at once. then one of my men came in to say that burbidge had been seen taking a ticket--to london? no; only to shrivelsby--a long way short of it. it was some game, i felt certain. he might have gone to london, and paid excess fare; but i wired to shrivelsby, and also to town. no one like him had been seen at shrivelsby; he hadn't got out there, that was clear. only one person did, and it wasn't burbidge; at least, the person did not answer to his description. it was only a man in a working-suit--a mechanic on the look-out for work. nor had he been seen at euston; but that was a big place, and he might easily have been missed. so i started for london at once, taking the photograph and another of burbidge, whom i had never seen in my life. it is not difficult to hunt out who owns to a _carte de visite_, particularly when the portrait's that of a theatrical. i got upon the track of the lady fast enough, directly i went into the photographer's place. there was a likeness of her in his album, in the very same dress, and her name to it, miss jessie junniper. i soon found out more too. before night i knew that she was playing at the royal roscius, and that she lived in a street of little villas down hammersmith way. i took lodgings myself in the house just opposite, and set up a close watch. in the morning, early, miss jessie came out, and i followed her to the underground railway. she took a ticket for the temple station. so did i, and i tracked her down to the theatre. rehearsal, of course. three hours passed before she came out again. then a man met her at the stage door, a very old gentleman, who leant on a stick, and seemed very humpty-backed and bent. they went down the strand together to allen's, the great trunk-maker, and through the windows i saw them buy a couple of those big trunks, baskets covered with black leather, such as ladies take on their travels. ''um,' thought i, 'she's on the flit.' "i was only just in time. then they went down to charing cross station, and so back to hammersmith. the old gentleman went into the house with miss junniper, and stayed an hour or two, and then took his leave. next day miss junniper did not go out. the boxes arrived, and towards midday an oldish lady--a middle-aged, poorly-dressed, shabby-genteel lady--called and stayed several hours. but no burbidge, and nobody at all like him. i began to feel disappointed. the third day miss junniper went out again to rehearsal; the old gentleman met her as before, and the two drove in a cab to the city. i followed them to leadenhall-street, where they went into the offices of the white star line. i did not go upstairs with them, and somehow i lost them when they came out. i ought to have guessed then what i did not think of till late that night. of course, the old gentleman was burbidge himself. he was an actor, and a nipper, therefore, at disguises. he'd been play-acting all along. he was the mechanic at shrivelsby, the shabby-genteel old lady, and the old man most of all. i won't tell you how i cursed myself for not thinking of this sooner. it was almost too late when i did. my gent. had left the villa (to which they had returned), and he did not come back next day, nor yet the day after; and i was nearly wild with the chance i'd lost. he'd got 'the office,' that's what i thought, and i was up a tree. but the third day came a telegram for the young lady. i saw the boy deliver it and go off, as though there was no answer. then she came out, and i followed her to the telegraph-office. i saw her write her message and send [illustration: "a man met her at the stage door, a very old gentleman" (p. ).] it off. i'd have given pounds to read it, but i couldn't manage it; the clerk--it's their duty--wouldn't let me. i was countered again, and i was almost beat, and thinking of writing home to say so, when i saw miss junniper's message in the compartment where she had been writing. she'd done it with a hard pencil, which showed through. there was the address as plain as ninepence--no mystery or circumlocution--'burbidge, king's head hotel, kingston.' i was there the same evening, just before his dinner. i asked if mr. burbidge was there. sure enough. he wasn't a bit afraid of being took, i suppose, so far off the line of pursuit, so he'd stuck to his own name, and was not even disguised. he gave in without a word. the tickets were on him, and in his bag upstairs a lot of the cash he'd stolen; likewise a wardrobe of clothes--the old gentleman's suit, and all the rest." our american cousins are, as i have said, well served by their official detectives, but private agents do much of the business of pursuit and detection, and of these semi-official aids to justice one firm has gained a world-wide celebrity. some account of the chief and first of the pinkertons may be introduced here. allan pinkerton began life as a cooper, and was doing a thriving business at dundee, some thirty-eight miles north-west of chicago, about . the times were primitive; barter took the place of cash payments in the absence of a currency. to remedy this inconvenience, a bank was started in milwaukee, which throve and had many branches, doing such a good business that its notes passed everywhere, and were extensively counterfeited. a gang of the forgers had been discovered by allan pinkerton on a small island in the fox river near dundee. wanting poles and staves for his trade, he had gone to cut them in the woods, when he came upon the embers of camp-fires, and signs that the island was secretly frequented by tramps and others. pinkerton informed the sheriff, and active steps were taken by which a large confederacy of horse thieves, "cover-men," and counterfeiters was broken up. the trade still flourished, however, and some of the reputable citizens of dundee begged allan pinkerton to do further service to his town in trying to check it. a suspicious stranger had just come to dundee, asking for "old man crane"; this crane was known as a "hard character," the associate of thieves and evil-doers, and an agent, it was thought, for the distribution of bogus notes. the villagers generally gave him a wide berth, and when the counterfeit money reappeared in the shape of many forged ten-dollar bills, this "old man crane" was credited with being the centre of the traffic. any friend or acquaintance of his came equally under suspicion, and allan pinkerton was set to discover what he could about this new arrival. he proved to be a hale, strong man, advanced in years, who rode a splendid horse. pinkerton found him waiting at the saddler's, where some repairs were being made to his saddle, and easily got into conversation with him. the stranger wanted to know where "old man crane" lived, and when informed, casually mentioned that he often had some business with him. pinkerton seemed to understand, and the other suddenly asked, "do you ever deal, any?" "yes, when i can get a first-rate article," promptly replied pinkerton. whereupon the stranger said he had some that were "bang up," and pulled out a bundle of notes, which he handed over for pinkerton's inspection, believing him to be a "square man." the stranger proved to be one john craig, who had long been engaged with a nephew, smith, at elgin, in the fabrication of false notes. pinkerton said afterwards that he had never seen anything more perfect than these spurious notes; they were exact imitations, almost without a flaw. they were indeed so good that they even passed muster at the bank on which they were counterfeited, and were received over the counter, and had been paid in and out more than once without discovery. craig, who appears to have been a singularly confiding person, went on to tell pinkerton, of whom he knew nothing, that "old man crane" had once acted extensively for him, but was now slackening off, and that a new and more enterprising agent was much required. then he offered pinkerton the job to work the entire "western field," and said he could supply him with from to , forged bills, for which he need only pay per cent. of their face value. pinkerton agreed to these terms; he was to raise the necessary cash and meet craig by appointment in elgin, the place of rendezvous being the basement of the baptist chapel. craig said that he never carried any large quantity of the notes about with him; it was too dangerous. his regular place of residence, too, was near the canadian frontier at fairfield, vermont, whence he could quickly make tracks if threatened with capture. he kept two engravers of his own constantly employed in counterfeiting and printing; he showed pinkerton other samples, and seemingly gave himself quite away. after this, they parted in dundee, but the "trade" was soon afterwards completed in elgin town. pinkerton proceeded on foot, taking with him the necessary cash provided by his friends in dundee. he met his new confederates at the baptist chapel and received the forged bills in exchange for the good money. allan pinkerton, in telling this story, frankly admits that he was sorely tempted to take up the nefarious traffic. he had in his hand a thousand ten-dollar notes, representing a couple of thousand pounds--spurious money, no doubt, but so admirably counterfeited that they were almost as good as gold. he would have no difficulty in passing them, and with this capital he might lay the foundation of his fortune. pinkerton put aside the evil thought, but he never forgot how nearly he had yielded, and always sympathised with those who had been seduced into crime. [illustration: craig undergoing search (p. ).] pinkerton now lent all his energies to securing the arrest of craig. appointing to meet him again, he offered to buy him out and take over his whole business. if craig would only give him time to raise the necessary funds, he would carry on the concern on large lines. craig had no objection, and promised to furnish pinkerton with a full stock-in-trade. another appointment was made for a few days later in a chicago hotel, and now pinkerton arranged for craig's capture. a warrant and the services of a couple of officers were obtained. craig came, and the pair entered into business at once. craig was ready with four thousand bills and would deliver them within an hour; but pinkerton objected, and would not hand over the cash without seeing the bills. craig resented this, and, becoming distrustful, broke up the conference, but on going out he told pinkerton he would think the matter over and see him by-and-by. craig did in fact return, but when pinkerton asked him if he meant to complete the bargain, he denied all knowledge of it, and, indeed, of pinkerton. nothing was to be gained by delay, and the officers at once arrested craig, who was taken to a room in the hotel and searched. but not a dollar in counterfeit money was found upon him, and when taken before the magistrate he was released on bail. he appears to have used his money freely in obtaining bail, and soon bolted, gladly forfeiting his recognisances rather than "face the music." his disappearance cleared the neighbourhood of counterfeiters for some years. it can hardly be said that allan pinkerton showed any marvellous acumen in this detection. but it was a first attempt, and it was soon followed by more startling adventures. a special product of modern times is the private inquiry agent, so much employed nowadays, whose ingenuity, patient pertinacity, and determination to succeed have been usefully engaged in unravelling intricate problems, verging upon, if not actually included within, the realm of crime. i knew one who was employed by a famous firm of solicitors in a very delicate operation, which he terminated successfully, but in a way to show that he did not stick at trifles in securing his end. it was the sequel to a divorce case. the decree nisi had been granted, and against the wife, who had been refused the custody of the one child born of the marriage. the husband was anxious to secure possession of the child, but the wife, like so many more of her sex, was much too sharp to be forestalled. she had a friend waiting at the court who, directly the decree was pronounced, started off in a hansom to the lady's residence, where the child was, laid hands on it, and brought it down to victoria station just in time for the night mail to the continent, by which lady and child travelled together to the south of france. a detective was at once despatched in pursuit by the husband's lawyer, and his orders were at all costs to recover possession of the child. he soon got upon the lady's track. she had not gone further than monte carlo. the detective found it impossible to kidnap the child, so he managed to make friends with the mother, gradually grew very intimate, paid her devoted attention, and eventually married her. when he was her husband he had no difficulty in completing his commission, and--possibly with the lady's full consent--he soon sent the child home. i never heard how his marriage--all in the way of business!--turned out. another story is, perhaps, more dramatic. a married man of considerable property, strictly entailed, died childless in india. the estates went to the next-of-kin, but he, just as he was entering into their enjoyment, was startled by a telegram from his relative's widow, preparing him for the birth of a posthumous child. he at once consulted his lawyer, who, after warning him that much time and money would probably be spent in the process, promised to expose the fraud, if fraud there was, or, at any rate, prove that it was a _bonâ-fide_ affair. a year passed, and yet the next-of-kin had heard nothing of the case. at last he went to his lawyers and insisted upon knowing how it stood. he was told that the matter was now ripe; the lady had arrived with her infant son. she was actually at that moment at a private hotel in the west end. "go and call on her, and insist upon seeing the child. if there's any difficulty about it, go out on the landing and call out 'bartlett!' a man will come down and explain everything." the lady did not produce the child when asked; she said it was out in the park with the nurse, and tried all sorts of excuses, so bartlett was summoned. "i want to see the child," said the next-of-kin. "this lady's? she has no child. i have been with her now for six months, and she has asked me repeatedly to get her one--anywhere, in cairo, at the foundling in malta, here in london." "who are you, then?" both inquired, astonished beyond measure. and "bartlett," having completed his mission, quietly informed the lady, whom he had been watching, and the next-of-kin, who was really his employer, that he was the detective engaged to unravel the case. with such men as this on the side of law and justice, long-continued fraud, however astutely prepared, becomes almost impossible. the private inquiry agent is generally equal to any emergency. part iv. captains of crime. chapter xiv. some famous swindlers. recurrence of criminal types--heredity and congenital instinct--the jukes and other families of criminals--john hatfield--anthelme collet's amazing career of fraud--the story of pierre cognard: count pontis de st. hélène: recognised by an old convict comrade: sent to the galleys for life--major semple: his many vicissitudes in foreign armies: thief and begging-letter writer: transported to botany bay. the regular recurrence of certain crimes and the reappearance of particular types of criminals have been often remarked by those who deal with judicial records; the fact is established by general experience, and is capable of abundant proof. it is to be explained in part by heredity. the child follows the father, and on a stronger influence than that of mere imitativeness; and these transmitted tendencies to crime can be illustrated by many well-authenticated cases, where whole families have been criminals generation after generation. there is the famous, or infamous, family of the jukes, a prolific race of criminals, starting from a vagabond father and five of his disreputable daughters. the jukes descendants in less than a hundred years numbered twelve hundred individuals, all of them more or less evincing the criminal taint. these facts have been brought out by the patient investigation of mr. dugdale, an american scientist. an old case is recorded of a yorkshire family, the dunhills, the head of which, snowdon dunhill, spread terror through the east riding as the chief of a band of burglars. this snowdon dunhill was convicted in of robbing a granary, and sentenced to seven years' transportation. he returned from the antipodes to earn a second sentence of exile, and his son was at the same time sentenced to transportation. one of his sisters, rose dunhill, was twice imprisoned for larceny; another, sarah, had been repeatedly convicted of picking pockets, and was finally sent across the water for seven years. it may be incidentally stated, as showing the contamination of evil, that nearly all who came into association with the dunhills felt the baneful influence of the family. dunhill's wife was transported; so were rose dunhill's two husbands and sarah's three. in a wide district of northern france known as that of santerre, between peronne and montdidier, was the scene of numerous and repeated crimes. there was no mystery about their perpetrators; the thieves and their victims lived side by side, yet the latter only spoke of them with bated breath, and shrank from denouncing them to the police. at last the authorities interposed and arrested the malefactors, who were tried and disposed of in due course of law. it was found that they were all of one family, which had started originally in one village and ramified gradually into neighbouring districts. eleven years later, in , a second generation had come to manhood, and these true sons of their fathers perpetrated exactly the same offences. yet again, in , a fresh wave of depredation passed over the district, and again the same families were responsible for the crimes. the last manifestation was perhaps the worst of all. thefts, arson, and murder had been of repeated occurrence, but no arrests were made until a knife found in the possession of a villager was identified as one of a lot stolen from a travelling cheap-jack. the man who had it was a hugot. through him others were implicated, a villet and a lemaire. these three names, hugot, villet, and lemaire, were full of sinister significance in the neighbourhood, and recalled a long series of dark deeds, perpetrated by the ancestors of these very criminals. lombroso has collected a number of cases showing how the criminal tendency has reappeared in successive generations. dumollard, the wholesale murderer of women, was the son of a murderer; patetot, another murderer, was the grandson and great-grandson of a criminal. there was a family named nathan, of which, on one particular day, there were fourteen members in the same gaol. these nathans were a band of thieves entirely made up [illustration: a member of the thief caste at trichinopoly. (_drawn from life by g. gold._)] of relations--parents and children, brothers and cousins. it has been observed that the most notorious italian brigands regularly inherited the business from their parents; we shall see presently how the coles and youngers of the western states of america were all closely related; many of the most desperate members of the neapolitan camorra were brothers. there is a village in the south of italy which has been a nest and focus of criminals for centuries. the natives are mostly related to each other by intermarriage, and all seem bound by tradition to prey upon their fellows. again, in the madras presidency, at trichinopoly, a whole caste of thieves existed, one and all vowed to various kinds of crime; and the practice of crime by certain indian tribes generation after generation is well known to indian police officers. that the criminal virus is widely disseminated is proved by its unfailing reappearance in all times and places. crimes of the same sort have been and are being continually committed, with no greater difference than is due to surroundings, opportunities, individual idiosyncrasies, the changing circumstances that accompany the varying conditions of life. i propose to show now from a number of selected cases how thieves, swindlers, depredators, murderers, and all kinds and classes of criminals who make mankind their prey, have been reproduced again and again. both men and women have been found acting under the same baleful impulse, showing greater or less ingenuity, but working on the same lines. the sharper follows out his long career of successful fraud and imposture century after century. such men as hatfield, collet, coster, sheridan, benson, shinburn, allmeyer, are the seemingly inevitable recurrence of one and the same type. jenny diver and the german princess have had their later manifestations in mrs. gordon baillie, la "comtesse," sandor, and bertha heyman. cain has innumerable descendants; nothing stops the murderer when the savage instinct is in the ascendant; he feels no remorse when the deed is done. i shall presently give a short account of one or two of those miscreants who might otherwise escape classification, and whose very names are synonymous with great crimes--troppmann, bichel, dumollard, de tourville, and peace. but this section may very well begin with some account of a few famous swindlers. hatfield. one of the earliest swindlers in modern records was john hatfield, a youth of low origin, who was yet so gifted by nature, had such mother wit and such a persuasive tongue, that he succeeded in passing himself off as a man of rank and fortune without detection or punishment for a long series of years. he was born of poor parents in cheshire, in , and on reaching manhood became the commercial traveller of a linen-draper, working the north of england. on one of his rounds he met with a young lady, a distant connection of the ducal house of rutland, who had a small fortune of her own, and, using his honeyed tongue, [illustration: _photo: w. h. grove, brompton road, s.w._ convicts at work in the dartmoor quarries.] he succeeded in inducing her to marry him. the happy pair proceeded to london, where they lived on their capital, the wife's dowry, some £ , , which was quickly squandered in extravagance and riotous living. it was impossible to keep this up, and hatfield again retired to the country, where he presently deserted his wife, leaving her with her children in complete destitution. he made his way once more to london, and, boasting much of his relationship with the manners family, got credit from confiding tradesmen, until the bubble burst, when he was sent to a debtors' prison. about this time his wife died in great penury. hatfield soon afterwards, by a series of artful misrepresentations, obtained money from the duke of rutland, who secured his release. [illustration: john hatfield. (_from a contemporary engraving._)] in the duke was appointed lord lieutenant of ireland, and hatfield, hoping to find fresh openings for exercising his ingenuity, determined to follow him to dublin. here he gave the landlord of a good hotel a plausible excuse for his arriving without servants, carriages, or horses, and for some time lived very pleasantly, being treated with much deference as a relative of the viceroy. at the end of the month the landlord presented his bill, and was referred to hatfield's agent, who, strangely enough, was "out of town." when the bill was again presented, hatfield gave the address of a gentleman living in the castle; this gentleman, however, declined to be answerable, whereupon hatfield was served with a writ, and conveyed at once to the marshalsea, in dublin. he was there able to win the commiseration of the gaoler and his wife by the old story of his high connections, and by his deep anxiety that his excellency should hear of his temporary embarrassments. by means of these lies he was lodged in most comfortable quarters, and was treated with every respect; and upon his making further application to the duke of rutland, his grace again weakly agreed to pay his debts, on the condition that he left ireland immediately. hatfield, on his return to england, visited scarborough and renewed his fraudulent operations, but he was discovered and thrown into prison, where he remained for eight and a half years. at the end of that time he was released through the intervention of a miss nation, a devonshire lady, who paid his debts for him, and afterwards gave him her hand in marriage. he now posed as a reformed character, and lived an honest life for just three years, during which period he became partner in a firm at tiverton. then he offered himself as parliamentary candidate for queenborough, but his past misdeeds had been too notorious, and the constituency would not elect him. balked in his attempt, he straightway left his home and family, and once more disappeared. in he came to the surface under the assumed name of colonel the hon. alexander augustus hope, brother to lord hopetoun, and member for linlithgow. hatfield was staying in the lake district, at the queen's hotel, keswick, and near here, at buttermere, he met a village beauty, mary robinson, whose parents owned an hotel on the shores of the lake. he was not long in winning her affections. but the double-faced scoundrel at this moment was paying attention to another young lady, the rich ward [illustration: "mary of buttermere." (_drawn from life by j. gillray._)] of an irish gentleman, mr. murphy, who, with his family, was resident in the same hotel. this suit prospered. hatfield's proposal was accepted, and communications were opened with lord hopetoun. the villain allowed none of the letters to reach their destination. the day was even fixed for the marriage. at the last moment the bridegroom did not appear, but mr. murphy received a letter from him at buttermere, under his name of colonel hope, asking him to cash a cheque or draft which he enclosed, drawn on a liverpool banker. the money was obtained, and sent to buttermere, but colonel hope continued to be missing, until the news arrived that he had run off with mary robinson. it never transpired why he preferred this sweet girl, whose charms were afterwards sung by wordsworth, to his other well-dowered _partie_. some do him the credit of saying that he really loved mary robinson; others that, already fearing detection and exposure, he thought it wise to disappear. exposure was, indeed, close at hand. mr. murphy wrote direct to lord hopetoun, and soon heard that the supposed colonel hope was an impostor. the draft on the liverpool bankers also proved to be a forgery, and many letters fraudulently franked by hatfield as an m.p. were brought up against him. after his marriage with mary robinson he had gone to scotland, but had cut short his wedding trip to return to buttermere, where he was arrested on several charges. hatfield dexterously made his escape from the constable who took him, and was long lost sight of. at last, after many wanderings, he was captured in the neighbourhood of swansea, and sent to the gaol of brecon. he tried to pass off as one tudor henry, but was easily identified, and on his removal to carlisle was tried for his life. sentence of death was passed upon him, and he suffered on the rd of september, . "notwithstanding his various and complicated enormities," says a contemporary chronicle, "his untimely end excited considerable commiseration. his manners were extremely polished and insinuating, and he was possessed of qualities which might have rendered him an ornament to society." collet. anthelme collet stands out in the long list of swindlers as one of the most insinuating and accomplished scoundrels that ever took to criminal ways. a number of curious stories have survived of his ingenuity, his daring, and his long, almost unbroken, success. he is a product of the french revolutionary epoch, and found his account in the general dislocation of society that prevailed in france and her subject countries in the commencement of the last century. collet's parents lived in the department of the aisne, where he was born in . from his childhood up he was noted as a consummate liar and cunning thief, and to cure him of his evil propensities he was sent to an uncle in italy, a priest, who kept him by his side for three years, but made nothing of him. young collet then returned to france, and entered the military school at fontainebleau, from which he graduated as _sous-lieutenant_, and passed on to a regiment in garrison at brescia. here he soon made friends with the monks of a neighbouring capuchin monastery, and, preferring their society to that of his comrades, became the subject of constant gibes. exasperated by this, and chafing at the restraints of military discipline, he resolved to desert. a wound received in a duel strengthened him in this determination. he was sent for cure to a hospital, that of san giacomo, in naples, and there met a dominican monk, chaplain of the order, who persuaded him to take the cowl. collet also earned the gratitude of a sick mate, a major in the french army, whom he seems to have nursed, but who was so seriously wounded that he did not recover. at his death the major left collet all his possessions-- , francs in money, a gold watch, and two very valuable rings. [illustration: anthelme collet (_from a contemporary engraving._)] collet, in due course, entered as a novice with the brothers of st. pierre, and was soon so high in the good graces of his companions that the prior appointed him _quêteur_, the brother selected to seek alms and subscriptions for his convent. the young man's greed could not resist the handling of money; he quickly succumbed to temptation, misappropriated the funds he collected, and returned to the convent from his first mission several thousand francs short in his accounts. fearing detection, he made up his mind to disappear. one day, talking with his friend the syndic of the town, he succeeded in securing a number of passports signed in blank. then he went to the prior, and informed him that he had come into a large fortune, but had hesitated to claim it as he was a deserter from his regiment. if the prior would protect him he would now do so, and on this he was permitted to go to naples, armed with introductions to a bank, and other credentials from the convent. at naples, collet's first act was to obtain , francs from the bankers by false pretences, and, being in funds, he threw off his monkish garb, assumed that of a high-born gentleman, and, filling up one of his passports in the name of the marquis de dada, started _viâ_ capua for rome. _en route_ he again changed his identity, having become possessed of the papers of one tolosan, a sea captain, and native of lyons, who had been wrecked on the italian coast. some say that collet had picked up tolosan's pocket-book, others that he had stolen it. in any case, he called himself by that name on arrival at rome, and as a lyonnais sought the protection of a venerable french priest also from lyons, who was acquainted with the tolosan family, and through whom he was presented to cardinal archbishop fesch, the uncle of the emperor napoleon. he now became an inmate of the cardinal's palace, and was introduced by his patron everywhere, even to the pope. under such good auspices he soon began to prey upon his new friends, before whom he put the many schemes that filled his inventive mind, and from most of whom he extracted considerable sums. he persuaded a rich merchant clothier to endorse a bill for , francs; he borrowed another sum of , francs from the cardinal archbishop's bankers; he bought jewellery on credit to the value of , francs from one tradesman and defrauded many others; even the cardinal's personal servants were laid under contribution. a more daring theft was a number of blank appointments to the priesthood which he abstracted from the cardinal's bureau, and with them a bull to create a bishop _in partibus_. then he decamped from rome. his thefts and frauds were soon discovered, and the papal police put upon his track. he had left rome on an ecclesiastical mission, and in company with other priests, one of whom was informed of his real character and requested to secure him. but collet, having some suspicion, forestalled him by making off before he could be arrested. the place to which he fled was mondovi, where he set up as a young man of fashion, and was soon a centre of the pleasure-loving, with whom he spent his money freely. his next idea was to organise amateur theatricals, and he forthwith constituted himself the wardrobe-keeper of the company. a number of fine costumes were ordered, among them the robes of a bishop and other ecclesiastical garments, the uniforms of a french general officer and of french diplomatists, with all the accessories, ribbons, medals, decorations, feathers, and gold lace. on the night preceding the first dress rehearsal he again decamped, carrying off most of the "properties" and clothes. now he assumed the garb of a neapolitan priest who was flying into switzerland from french oppression. he fabricated the necessary papers and was fully accepted by the bishop of sion, who appointed him to a cure of souls in a parish close by. here he discharged all the clerical functions, confessing, marrying, baptizing, burying the dead, teaching youth, visiting the sick, consoling the poor and needy. he also started a scheme for restoring the parish church, and collected , francs for the good work, promising to make up from his own purse any balance required. the building was set on foot, an architect was engaged, and many purchases were made by the false _curé_, who was, of course, treasurer of the fund. collet finished up by paying a visit to a neighbouring town, where he bought religious pictures, candelabra, and church plate, all on credit, and despatched them to his parish. but he proceeded himself with the building money to strasburg, driving post. using many different disguises, and playing many parts, he travelled from strasburg into germany, and then by a circuitous route through the tyrol into italy, making for turin, where he forged a bill of exchange for , francs, and got the money. but the fraud was detected, and he had to fly, this time towards nice. now he filled in the bull appointing to a bishopric, and created himself bishop of monardan, by name dominic pasqualini. this gained him a cordial welcome from the bishop of nice, who invited him to his summer palace, where all the clergy were assembled to be presented to him. his eminence wished the sham bishop to examine his deacons, but collet avoided the danger by saying there could be no need; he was sure that his brother of nice had not ordained "ignorant asses." yet the other was not to be entirely put off, and at his earnest request collet put on his episcopal robes, stolen from the amateurs of mondovi, and ordained thirty deacons, after which he preached a sermon--one of bourdaloue's, which he had by heart. the _rôle_ of bishop was a little too dangerous, so collet abandoned the violet apron and went on to paris as a private person. on arrival he came across the friend who had helped him to his first appointment in the army, and being well provided with funds, he renewed his acquaintance by giving him a sumptuous dinner. through this friend's good offices he was reappointed to the army, this time to the th of the line, in garrison at brest, and collet started for the west to join his regiment. but he does not seem to have got further than l'orient. he, however, perpetrated a number of robberies by the way, and now resolved to break ground in an entirely new and distant quarter. bringing his inventiveness to bear, he fabricated papers appointing himself inspector-general and general administrator of the army of catalonia; his new name and title being charles alexander, count of borromeo. he took the road to fréjus, on the riviera, not the most direct to catalonia, and was everywhere received with great honour on presenting his credentials. thence, with an imposing escort, he passed on to draguignan, and appeared in full uniform, covered with decorations, before the astonished war commissaries, explaining that he had the emperor's express commands to undertake an inquiry into their accounts. at the same time he appointed a staff, aides-de-camp, secretaries, and attendants, and soon had a suite of some twenty people. amongst the papers he had forged was one which empowered him to draw upon the military chest for the equipment of his army of catalonia. at marseilles he had made use of this to secure , francs, and at nismes he laid hands on , more. whenever he arrived in a garrison he reviewed the troops, and conducted himself as a grand personage. at montpelier his luck turned. he had begun well; a crowd of suppliants fell at his feet, including the prefect, to whom collet promised his influence and a strong recommendation for the grand cross of the legion of honour. but at this moment the bubble burst. the prefecture was suddenly surrounded by the gendarmes, a police officer entered the salle-à-manger and arrested collet as he sat at table with the prefect and his staff. no fault could well be found with those whom collet had duped, but the swindler himself was in fear of being instantly shot. he was, however, kept in confinement awaiting superior orders. one day the prefect, still chafing at the trick played upon him, [illustration: arrest of collet (p. ).] told his guests at dinner that he would allow them to see this bold and unscrupulous person, whose name was on every tongue. he accordingly sent for collet, who was brought from the prison to the prefecture escorted by the gendarmes. while waiting to be exhibited he was lodged in the serving-room, next the dining-room. here he found, to his surprise and delight, a full suit of white, the costume of a _marmiton_, a cook's assistant. he quickly assumed the disguise, and taking up the nearest dish, walked out between the sentries on guard, passed into the dining-room, through it, and out of the prefecture. he was soon missed, and a great hue and cry was raised through the country, but collet all the time had found a hiding-place close by the house. when the alarm had ceased, he slipped away, and leaving montpelier, made his way to toulouse, where he cashed another forged bill of exchange, now for , francs. with the funds obtained he travelled northward, but was followed from toulouse, for the forgery was quickly discovered. when arrested they carried him to grenoble, and there he was tried for the forgery. his sentence was to five years' _travaux forcés_, and exposure in the pillory (_carcan_). before long he was recognised at grenoble by one of those whom he had nominated to his staff at fréjus, and being tried again he was now sent to the bagne of brest. collet passed five years in this prison, and somehow contrived to live more or less comfortably as a galley slave. he was always in funds, but how he obtained them, or where he kept them, was a profound mystery to the very last. with the money thus at his disposal he purchased extra food, he bought the assistance of his fellows to relieve him of the severer toils, and no doubt bribed his keepers. he became so fat and round-faced, and generally so benignant and smiling, that he was nicknamed by his comrades of the chain "monsieur l'évêque." numberless attempts were made to discover the sources of his wealth; he was supposed to have secreted a store of precious stones, but, although he was watched and frequently searched, they were never found. he was free-handed, too, with his money, gave freely to other convicts, and was much esteemed by them. it is told of one who committed a murder in the prison that, when permitted to address his comrades before execution, after acknowledging their general kindness to himself, he added, "i wish especially to thank monsieur collet." he did not live to return to liberty, and died, only a few days before the end of his term, consumed with despair at ending his days at the bagne, but carrying with him the secret of his wealth. nine louis d'or only were found, in the collar of his waistcoat; what had become of the rest no one could tell. he never had money in the hands of the prison paymaster, he was never found in the possession of more money than he was entitled to receive as prison earnings, and yet, when he wanted it to gratify any expensive taste, to buy white shirts, snuff, books, wine, or toothsome food, the gold flowed from his hand as if by legerdemain. cognard. hardly less remarkable than collet's adventures are those of cognard, an ex-convict, who, in the topsy-turvy times of the first empire, came to be colonel of a regiment, wearing many decorations and having a good record of service in the field. pierre cognard, when serving a sentence of fourteen years in the bagne of brest, made his escape, and passed into spain, where he joined an irregular corps under the guerilla leader nina, and gained the cross of alcantara. while in garrison in one of the towns of catalonia, he made the acquaintance of a person who had been a servant to count pontis de ste. hélène, recently deceased. this servant had, by some means or other, laid hands upon the count's titles of nobility, and he now handed them over to cognard, who adopted the name and title without question. despite his antecedents, he appears to have displayed great strictness in dealing with public money, and on one occasion denounced two french officers whom he caught in malpractices. they turned on him, and accused him of complicity. general wimpfen ordered all to be arrested, but cognard resisted, and was only taken by force. he was relegated to a military prison in the island of majorca, from which he escaped with a party of prisoners, who, having seized a spanish brig in the harbour, sailed in it to algiers. there they sold their prize, and cognard crossed into spain, which the french were occupying. the pretended comte was appointed to soult's staff, took part in the later operations in the pyrenees, and was in command of a flying column at the battle of toulouse. after the abdication of napoleon, he disappeared from sight, but he was with the emperor at waterloo, where he acquitted himself well. at the restoration cognard passed himself off as a grandee of spain, who had served napoleon under pressure. having demanded an audience of the king, louis xviii., he seems to have had no difficulty in persuading louis that he was what he pretended; he was well received at court, and treated with distinction. during the hundred days cognard accompanied the king to ghent, and made himself conspicuous everywhere as a member of the court. on the second restoration he was nominated lieutenant-colonel of the nd regiment, and formed part of the garrison of paris. he was now seemingly at the height of prosperity, but his downfall was near at hand. [illustration: the place vendÔme.] there was a review one day in the place vendôme, and cognard was present at the head of his regiment. in the crowd of bystanders was a recently liberated convict, named darius, who had been at brest with cognard. the ex-convict was struck by cognard's likeness to an old comrade, and asked the colonel's name. he was told it was the count pontis de ste. hélène, a distinguished officer, much appreciated at the court. darius was not satisfied, still holding to the idea that he had seen this face at brest. so when the parade broke up he followed the pretended count to his house, and then asked if he might speak to him. after some parleying, he was admitted to the presence of cognard, whom he at once addressed with the familiarity of an old friend. "of course you know me," said darius. "i am glad to find you so well off. do not think i wish to harm you, but you are rich and i am needy. pay me properly, and i will leave you alone." cognard indignantly repudiated the acquaintance, and sent his visitor to the right-about. darius was furious, and would not let the matter rest there. he went straight to the ministry of the interior, who sent him on to the war office, where he was received by general despinois. "what proof can you give me," asked the war minister, "of this extraordinary statement?" "only confront us," replied darius, "and see what happens." cognard was forthwith summoned by an aide-de-camp, and promptly appeared at headquarters. general despinois treated him with scant ceremony, charging him at once as an impostor. "but this can go on no longer," said the general. "you cannot humbug me or the government; we know that you are cognard, the escaped convict." cognard kept his countenance, and merely asked to be allowed to fetch his credentials and other papers from home. the general made no difficulty, but would not suffer cognard to go alone, and before he started he called in darius. cognard was unable to control a slight movement of surprise, which did not escape the quick eye of general despinois. but now a fierce war of words ensued between the pretended count and the other convict, to end which despinois sent cognard, accompanied by an officer of gendarmes, to fetch his papers. on the way cognard inveighed against the lies that were being told against him, and had no difficulty in gaining the sympathy of his escort. arrived at home, cognard called for wine, and begged the officer to help himself, while he passed into an adjoining room to change his clothes. the other agreed readily enough, and cognard, finding his brother, who acted as his servant, close by, changed into livery, and in a striped waistcoat, with an apron round his waist, and a feather brush in his hand, quietly walked down the back staircase and straight out of the house. the gendarmes who were on sentry below did not attempt to interfere with this man-servant, and the escape was not discovered until the officer above grew tired of waiting. now he knocked at the door of the next room, and peremptorily ordered the count to come out. there was, of course, no cognard to come out, and the officer returned to the war office without his prisoner. cognard now reverted to his old ways. he found a hiding-place with a comrade, and remained there a couple of days, when he left for toulouse. the records do not say what he did in the provinces, but within a fortnight he was back in paris, and having joined himself to other thieves, he made a nearly successful attempt to rob the bank at poissy. laying a sum of two thousand francs in gold upon the counter, he asked for a bill on toulouse, and adroitly seized the key of the safe. cognard's demeanour did not please the cashier, and the bill was refused. then cognard brusquely repocketed his money, and, still keeping the key, made off. he was followed by cries of "stop, thief!" but he got away with all his comrades but one. this was the man with whom he lodged, and the police, having obliged him to lead them to his domicile, forced an entrance into cognard's room, where they found a whole armoury of weapons, a number of disguises, wigs, false whiskers and moustachios. it was generally believed that these were to be worn in a grand attack about to be made upon the _diligence_ from toulouse. cognard remained at large for some little time, but a close watch was set upon his movements, and he was eventually arrested by vidocq, although he stoutly defended himself, and wounded one of the police-officers with his pistol. when brought to trial he was in due course condemned, and sentenced to _travaux forcés_ for life. major semple. among our own compatriots major semple, _alias_ lisle, has been handed down as a champion swindler in his time, and he was certainly convicted of frauds and thefts often enough to entitle him to a foremost place in criminal records. but he could not have been wholly bad, for his offences may be largely traced to ill [illustration: "he was followed by cries of 'stop, thief!'" (p. ).] luck. the man was wanting in perseverance, steadiness, moral sense; he succeeded in nothing, stuck to nothing long, and in the end became a frank _vaurien_, a low-class adventurer, put to all sorts of shifts to live. in his early days he had served with the colours, not without distinction; had borne a commission and taken part in the american war of independence, in which he was wounded and made prisoner. when, after his release, he was retired on a pension, he married a lady of good family with some means. what afterwards befell him we do not know, but he was a widower, or separated, when he became associated with miss chudleigh, afterwards famous as the duchess of kingston, in her expedition to st. petersburg, where she set up a brandy distillery. it was probably through her good offices that he was introduced to prince potemkin, through whom he was appointed captain in a russian regiment, with which he made several campaigns. he was on the high road to rank and honour; but in his roving disposition, and a certain discontent at his prolonged exile, led him to resign his place and return to england, where he was soon without resources, and lapsed into crime. the first offence with which he was charged was the theft of a postchaise which he hired and appropriated. his defence was that he had only committed a breach of contract, but, as he had sold the article, it was called felony, and he was convicted of a crime. his sentence was seven years' transportation; but at this time he still had friends, and some influential personages obtained a commutation of his punishment. after a short stay in the hulks at woolwich, awaiting transfer to botany bay, he was pardoned on condition that he left the country forthwith. this took him again to france, just then in the throes of the revolution, and he became actively concerned with pétion, roland, and others in the events of that epoch. he was present at the king's trial, but was soon afterwards denounced to the committee of public safety as a spy, and with difficulty escaped the guillotine. once more this soldier of fortune returned to his old profession, and joined the allied armies now operating on the frontier against the french republic. he was engaged in several important actions, and always distinguished himself in the field. yet within a year or two the waters had again closed over him. he left the austrian army in a hurry, having been placed under arrest at augsburg; why, exactly, we do not know, presumably for some shady conduct, the consequences of which he must have evaded, for he got back to london, and was soon in serious trouble. he must have fallen into great destitution, or he would not have been taken into custody for so sorry an offence as obtaining a shirt and a few yards of calico on false pretences. in the "reminiscences" of henry angelo about this date ( ) a side-light is thrown upon him and the petty devices he practised to get a meal. he had become a confirmed cadger, and had introduced himself to angelo on the pretence of learning to fence. "semple always stuck close to us," writes angelo, "took care to follow us home to our door, and, walking in, stopped till dinner was placed on the table, when i said, 'captain' (no assumed major then), 'will you take your dinner with us?' though he always pretended to have an engagement, he obligingly put it off, and did us the honour to stop. in the evening, if we were going to vauxhall, or elsewhere, he was sure to make one, and would have made our house his lodging if i had not told him that all our beds were engaged except my father's, and that room was always kept locked in his absence. our sponging companion continued these intrusions for about three months, when suddenly he disappeared without paying for his instruction or anything else. to write of his various swindling cheats, so well known, would be needless." the calico fraud ended in another sentence of transportation for seven years, and again interest was made to spare him the penalty, but this time without avail. he was shipped off, but on the voyage out escaped convict life for a time. he was concerned with some of his felon comrades in a mutiny on board the convict ship, and the authorities, to be well rid of them, sent them, twenty-eight in number, adrift in the pacific in an open boat. they reached south america in safety, and, passing themselves off as a shipwrecked crew, were well received by the spaniards. semple was put forward as the leader, and described as a dutch officer of rank, thus gaining courteous treatment. he must have been assisted to return to europe, for he is next met with at lisbon, where his real character and condition came out, and he was arrested at the request of the british minister, who had him conveyed to gibraltar. he was still seemingly a free agent on the rock, and misused his liberty to enter into some mutinous conspiracy afoot in the garrison, for which he was arrested and sent off to tangier. next year an order was issued to capture and send him home to england, whence he was passed on a second time to the antipodes. semple survived to return again to england and to his old ways. for some time he made a precarious living as a begging-letter writer, and the same diarist, angelo, preserves two specimens of semple's correspondence. one letter, however, is an impudent attempt to take angelo to task for daring first to cut him, then to expose him to the ridicule of others. "this is not the sort of conduct i expect," said semple, "from a man bred in the first societies, and to which, however innocent you think it, i cannot, must not submit.... do not, i request you, again expose yourself...." the outrage and the protest were both forgotten when, nine years later, he wrote to angelo, pleading that the "sad urgency" of his situation "cannot be described. i am at this hour without a fire (in february) and without a shirt.... let me pray you to accord me a little assistance, a few shillings." angelo records that he "sent the poor devil a crown in answer to his letter, which was most probably a tissue of falsehoods designed to create sympathy." [illustration: "the prince of swindlers" (major semple). (_from a contemporary engraving._)] chapter xv. swindlers of more modern type. richard coster--sheridan, the american bank thief--jack canter--the frenchman allmayer, a typical nineteenth century swindler--paraf--the tammany frauds--burton _alias_ count von havard--dr. vivian, a bogus millionaire bridegroom--mock clergymen: dr. berrington; dr. keatinge--harry benson, a prince of swindlers: the scotland yard detectives suborned: benson's adventures after his release: commits suicide in the tombs prison--max shinburn and his feats. it might be inferred from the previous chapter that mankind has been easily duped in the past, and that a great superstructure of fraud has often been raised upon a rather narrow basis. the swindler to-day certainly works on larger, bolder lines; he is aided by the greater complexity of modern life, he has more openings, and his operations are of a wider, more varied, more interesting description, as will now be seen. richard coster. in the long list of remarkable swindlers this man, who was perhaps the most accomplished, and long the most successful of all, seldom finds place. he first attracted notice in bristol as a general agent and bill discounter on a large scale, but nothing very positive is known as to his antecedents except that at one time he drove a carrier's cart between oxford and london. he appears to have been industrious and saving, so that he secured sufficient funds to start as a costermonger with a horse and cart of his own. he presently established himself in london, where he acquired a very large acquaintance among people who were afterwards of immense use to him--horse copers, thieves, coiners, and swindlers of all sorts. he was next heard of at bristol, where, however, his business did not prosper and his reputation was bad. within the year he was committed to prison on a charge of obtaining goods by false pretences. immediately after his release he again started, under the name of coster and co., but moved back shortly to london. here his movements were erratic, and no doubt unavowable. he changed his quarters continually, as well as his way of life. at one time he kept an eating-house, at another he was an outside broker, again he was clerk to a provision merchant. soon afterwards he was the principal partner in the firm of coates and smith, and also of smith and martin, general merchants, acting apparently as financial agents. after two or three years he blossomed out on a still larger scale in two places, as young and co., in little winchester street, and as casey and coster, near upper thames street. during these many changes and chances he did not entirely escape the attentions of the law. in he was indicted, with a confederate, frederick wilson, for a conspiracy to defraud. at the following sessions he was charged with obtaining bills of exchange under false pretences. coster escaped conviction by paying on the bills which he was supposed to have illegally obtained. during these operations he attracted the notice of the society for the suppression of swindling, which had its eye constantly upon him, and published his names and _aliases_ and innumerable addresses. it would be tedious to catalogue them all: hatton garden, queen's arms yard, parliament street, under the name of davies and co., feather-bed manufacturers; as wright and co., of little winchester street, engaged in the glove trade, and so on. the secretary to the society for the protection of trade reported in a circular that "young, richards and co., of upper thames street; young and co., of little winchester street; brown and co., of the same address, are firms belonging to richard coster, so often noticed." at last, having tried all kinds of business--broker, bullion dealer, coral dealer--he came out finally as a moneylender on a large scale in new street, bishopsgate, whence he issued circulars headed "accommodation" in large type, and supported by the emblems of freemasonry, into which honourable craft he had entered under a feigned name. the circular was addressed to "merchants, manufacturers, farmers, graziers, tradesmen, and persons of respectability," at home or abroad, and offered to accept and endorse any bills at any dates, and for any amounts, or they might draw bills on any responsible houses in london which should be regularly accepted from them when presented, provided they enclosed a commission of eightpence in the pound when sending advice of having drawn them. if they could not take up the bills when due, they need only apply afresh (enclosing a fresh commission), when the bills would be renewed, or fresh bills sent which they could discount, and so pay the first set, and continue the same until their own property or produce turned to advantage, and such temporary accommodation was no longer required. "by this mode money to any amount may be raised, according to the circumstances and situation of the borrower, at about seven per cent. he must be a bad merchant," went on this circular, "who cannot always make from to per cent. of money. some persons for want of knowing this system of raising money are obliged to sacrifice their property by locking it up in mortgages for one half its value, and spend the other half in paying solicitors' enormous bills and expenses of mortgage deeds." all expenses were to be borne by the borrower--postage, bill stamps, and the commission of eightpence in the pound--and must be transmitted before the bills could be accepted. references were also required, but the "strictest secrecy and delicacy" would be observed in using them. the borrower might send money or goods at any time to redeem bills, and the advertiser was ready always to prove his own respectability. coster was long able to carry on his trade with great plausibility. he succeeded mainly by reason of the number and variety of the firms of which he was the sole proprietor. his was, indeed, one of the earliest instances of "long firm frauds." when a transaction was to be carried through by young and co. of little winchester street, brown and co. of cushion court answered all inquiries, declaring young and co. to be persons of the highest credit. and this system he multiplied almost indefinitely. the bills of exchange were freely accepted, the goods were delivered when ordered without hesitation. thus coster secured a consignment of the entire stock of a german wine-grower who was selling off; on another occasion he got a large quantity of dublin stout into his hands; on a third a cargo of valuable timber. in none of these cases did he pay out one single shilling as purchase money. the innumerable aliases under which he carried on his transactions, and the care he took never to appear in person, saved him from all danger of arrest. he was represented by his agents, all of them creatures of his own, whom he had bound to himself by some strong tie. they dared not call their souls their own, and carried out his instructions implicitly, acting now as principal, now as agent, just as he required. they were mostly decayed tradesmen and persons in straitened circumstances, whom he "sweated" and paid starvation wages--salaries of from ten to twenty shillings per week. one man only he trusted as his right hand, smith, whose name so frequently figured in the firms he invented, and who was eventually involved in his downfall. [illustration: botany bay in . (_from an aquatint by l. lycett._)] coster's frauds became known to alderman sir peter laurie, who set himself to unmask and convict him. it might have been more difficult had not the villain added forgery to his lesser swindles. he began to circulate bogus banknotes, and in february, , sent to honiton an order for lace, enclosing three ten-pound notes in payment, all of which were forged. clark, the lacemaker, discovered the fraud, and forwarded the notes to the solicitors of the bank of england. a plan was laid for the transmission of fictitious parcels to the address given by coster, "w. jackson, at the four swans, bishopsgate street," and when smith, the assistant, applied for them he was arrested. coster's complicity was next ascertained, and he was secured. the letter ordering the lace proved to be in his handwriting, but the strongest evidence against the prisoner was that of two of his former instruments, who gladly turned upon him. coster was transported for life, smith for a shorter term. walter sheridan. one of the most successful of modern criminal adventurers was the american, walter sheridan, who was said to be the originator of the great bank of england forgeries for which the bidwells were afterwards punished. some say that he was the moving spirit in the whole business, but whether he did more than plan the affair may be doubted, and his name was never mixed up with it. an eminent police officer of new york, mr. george w. walling, states in his reminiscences that sheridan became disgusted with the way in which the job was worked, and declined to be further associated with such unsatisfactory partners. it is possible that, had he been allowed to carry out "the job" in his own way, it might have been accomplished without detection, to the more serious discomfiture of the bank. [illustration: walter sheridan.] sheridan is a typical modern criminal, having great natural gifts, unerring instinct in divining profitable operations, uncommon quickness and astuteness in planning details and executing them. no one has better utilised to his own advantage the numberless chances offered by the intricate machinery of modern trade and finance. he began in the lower lines of fraud. full of an adventurous spirit, he ran away from his home, a small farm in ohio, when only a boy, resolved to seek fortune by any means in the busy centres of life. st. louis was his first point: here he at once fell into bad company, and became associated with desperadoes, especially those engaged in the confidence trick. in , when just twenty, he was caught and tried for horse-stealing, but just before sentence escaped to chicago, where he became the pupil of a certain joe moran, a noted hotel thief, with whom he worked the hotels around very profitably for two or three years. at last, however, he was arrested and "did time." on his release, moran being dead, sheridan took up a higher line of business and became a "bank sneak," the clever thief who robs banks by bounce or stratagem. in this business he was greatly aided by a fine presence and an insinuating address. he was the life and soul of the gang he joined, the brains and leader of his associates, and his successes in this direction were many. with two confederates he robbed the first national bank of springfield, illinois, obtaining some , dollars from the vaults. next he secured , dollars from a fire insurance company; again, , dollars from the mechanics' bank of scranton. a very few years of this made him a rich man, and by he was supposed to be worth some £ , or £ , . he had gone latterly into partnership with the notorious george williams, commonly called "english george," a well-known depredator and bank thief. about this time he participated in the plunder of the maryland fire insurance company of baltimore, and fingered a large part of the , dollars taken, in money and negotiable bonds, not one cent of which was ever recovered. one of his neatest thefts was relieving judge blatchford, of new york, of a wallet containing , dollars' worth of bonds. misfortune overtook him at last, and he failed in his attempt to rob the first national bank of cleveland, ohio, in . one of his confederates had laid hands on , dollars, but was caught in the act of carrying off the packages of notes, and sheridan was arrested as an accomplice. he was very virtuously indignant at this shameful imputation, and his bail was accordingly accepted for , dollars, which he at once sacrificed and fled. but now the famous pinkerton detectives were put upon his track. allan pinkerton, who was assisted by his son william, soon ascertained that sheridan owned a prosperous hotel at hudson, michigan, in which state he also possessed much landed property. the pinkertons took up their quarters at this hotel, which was under the management of sheridan's brother-in-law. chiefly anxious, while cautiously prosecuting inquiries, to secure a photograph of the man so much wanted--for nothing of the kind was as yet in the hands of the police authorities--young pinkerton stuck at nothing to obtain this valuable clue, and having ascertained where the family rooms were located in the hotel, he broke in and captured an excellent likeness of sheridan, which was speedily copied and distributed among the various pinkerton agencies in the united states and beyond the atlantic. sheridan about this time came in person to his hotel to visit his relatives. the pinkertons did not lay hands on him here among his friends, but they shadowed him closely when he moved on, and by-and-by captured him at sandusky, ohio. he was taken to chicago, but made a desperate attempt to escape, which was foiled, and he was eventually put upon his trial. he retained the very best legal advice, paid large sums--no less than £ , --in fees, and was eventually acquitted through the clever use of legal technicalities. sheridan, after this narrow escape from well-merited retribution, "went east," and organised fresh depredations in new localities. they were often on the most gigantic scale, thanks to his wonderful genius for evil. the robbery of the falls city tobacco bank realised plunder to the value of £ , to his gang, and sheridan, now at the very pinnacle of his criminal career, must have himself been worth quite £ , . in these days he made a great external show of respectability, and cultivated good business and social relations. this aided him in the still larger schemes of forgery on which he now entered, the largest ever known in the united states, which comprised the most gigantic creation of false securities and bonds. it was an extraordinary undertaking, slowly and elaborately prepared. taking the name of ralston, he passed himself off as a rich californian. he began to speculate largely in grain, becoming a member of the produce exchange, and obtaining large advances on cargoes of grain. at the same time he kept a desk in a broker's office in broadway as a basis of operations. his next move was to gain the confidence of the president of the new york indemnity company, to whom he represented that his mother held a great number of railway bonds, on which he sought a large loan to cover the purchase of real estate. sheridan offered £ , worth of these securities, and readily obtained an advance to a third of their value. these bonds were all forgeries, but so faultless in execution that they deceived the keenest eyes. it was not the only fraud of the kind, although details of the rest are wanting. but it is generally believed that the total losses incurred by the companies and institutions on whom sheridan forged amounted to nearly a million of money. many wall street brokers and a number of private investors were utterly ruined by these wholesale frauds. [illustration: the arrest of sheridan.] a little before the exposure sheridan quietly gathered all his assets together, divided the spoil, and crossed to europe, carrying with him £ , worth of the forged bonds, some of which he put upon the european markets. others of them were stolen from him in switzerland by a girl who said she had burned them, believing the police were about to search the house for them. she had, however, given them secretly to her father, who also realised on them. sheridan at last took up his residence in brussels, where he lived like a prince, having forsworn his own country, to which he never meant to return. but he could not keep away from america, and he presently went back to his fate, which was the entire loss of his ill-gotten gains. under the name of walter a. stewart, he turned up at denver as a florist and market gardener doing a large business. he presently established a bank of his own and was caught by the speculative mania; he took to the wildest gambling in mining stock, and by degrees lost every penny he possessed. after this it was believed that he intended to organise a fresh series of forgeries and he was closely watched by the pinkertons. they arrested him as he landed from the pennsylvania ferry-boat, and, brought to trial on no less than eighty-two indictments, including the new york forgeries, he was sentenced to five years' imprisonment in sing sing. after his release he was arrested for stealing a box of diamonds, and yet again, as john holcom, for being in possession of counterfeit united states bills. he received two fresh sentences, to follow one on the other, and as his health was already failing when he was last apprehended, it is probable that he did not long survive. now, at any rate, the curtain has fallen upon him and his extraordinary career. jack canter. another born american, who, between and , achieved much evil fame and high fortune, varied by long periods of eclipse, was canter, a criminal who, like sheridan, possessed many natural gifts. although at forty-five he had spent more than half his life in gaol, he was still, when at large, a man of distinguished appearance, with good looks and pleasant manners, an accomplished linguist and expert penman. more, he held a diploma as a physician, and had taken high honours in the medical schools, while he sometimes contributed articles to the press written with judgment and vigour. while in sing sing he was treated more like an honoured guest than a felon "doing time," and had the pick of the many snug billets provided in that easy-going prison for its most favoured inmates. at one time he kept the gaol records, and thus had access to the particulars of all other inmates, their antecedents, crimes, sentences, and so forth. he turned this knowledge to good account, and invented a system of tampering with the discharge book so as to reduce the term of imprisonment of anyone for a stipulated sum. by the agency of certain chemicals he erased entries and substituted others, all in favour of the prisoner. he was not subjected to any prison rule save detention for the allotted term, and this detention must have oppressed him little, for he went in and out through the prison gates much as he liked, drove a smart team of horses, and paid frequent visits to new york to see his friends. it was greatly suspected that some of the prison officials who winked at his escapades were also implicated in his frauds. [illustration: sing sing prison.] after one of his releases from sing sing, in the beginning of , he created a central fire insurance company in philadelphia, with a capital of £ , . the stock was long in good repute, and was held by many respectable business men. suspicion was, however, aroused, and the pinkertons being called in to investigate, they soon ascertained that the assets of the company consisted of forged railway securities. the fraud had been cunningly devised. a small quantity of genuine stock had been purchased, and the figures had been altered to others much larger. a ten-dollar share was converted into one for three or five hundred dollars, and the whole assets of the company were practically nil. [illustration: snap-shot of sing sing prisoners going to work.] allmayer. among swindlers of the 'eighties the frenchman allmayer takes a prominent place, and may be regarded as a type of the nineteenth century criminal; one who, although fairly well born, undeniably well educated, and happy at home, where he was a favourite child, fell into evil courses early in his teens. he had been placed on a stool in his father's offices, and one day came across the cheque-book, which he forthwith appropriated. there was a hue and cry for it, and it was soon recovered. but one cheque was missing, which in due course was presented at the bank with the forged signature of allmayer's father, and duly paid. by-and-by the fraud was discovered, and the author of it exposed and sharply reprimanded, but that was all. soon afterwards he again swindled his father. he stole a registered letter containing notes, and laid the blame on a perfect stranger. now m. allmayer _père_ ordered his incorrigible son to enlist, and the young man joined a regiment of dragoons, where he soon made many friends by squandering money belonging to other people. to pay his debts he robbed his captain. although he managed to defer his trial by a clever escape from the military cells, he was eventually sentenced to five years' imprisonment in the cherche midi military prison of paris, and passed thence to a discipline battalion in algeria. on the expiration of his term he returned to paris, and gained his father's forgiveness. taken into the bosom of the family, for some time he lived a steady, respectable life, and might have done well, for he had undoubted talents, and his friends were on the point of securing him a good situation. the allmayers lived at chatou, and going up and down the line to and from st. lazare, he renewed his acquaintance with an old school-friend, edmond k., who gave him the run of his offices in paris. monsieur k. about this time missed several letters, which always disappeared from his table after allmayer's visits. but he had no solid reason to suspect his young friend, till one day something serious occurred. another parisian banker, c., was asked through the telephone by monsieur k. at what price he would discount a bill for £ , , drawn on a london house and endorsed by k. the banker c. thought he recognised k.'s voice; at any rate, he was pleased to do the business, for he had often asked k. to open relations with him. c. accordingly quoted his price, and was told by k. that the bill should be sent by a messenger, to whom he could pay over its value in cash. twenty minutes later the bill was brought, and the money handed over. next day, however, c.'s london correspondent, to whom the bill had been transmitted for collection, returned it so that some small irregularity in the endorsement might be corrected. it was passed on to k., who declared at once that he knew nothing of the endorsement, but that the bill itself was one he had lost two months before. as for the cash paid by c., it had not come into k.'s hands. clearly there had been a crime, but who were the guilty parties? two clerks in k.'s office were suspected, and as these young gentlemen had been imprudent enough occasionally to imitate their employer's signature, merely as a matter of amusement, they were arrested, and the case looked black against them. allmayer, however, obtained their release in the following manner. from the first discovery of the fraud, allmayer had taken a great interest in the affair. being k.'s intimate friend, he accompanied him to the prefecture of police, and was called as a witness by the _juge d'instruction_. taking the judge aside, he privately told him a story with that air of perfect frankness and plausibility which he found so useful in his later career. he would confide to the judge the exact truth, he said. the fact was that monsieur k., being in pressing need of money for his personal use, had himself abstracted the bill belonging to his firm. monsieur k. was then called in, and taxed by the judge with the deed. k., utterly taken aback, protested, but in vain. allmayer, who was present, implored him to confess. the unfortunate man, still quite bewildered, stammered and stuttered, and gave so many indications of guilt that the judge committed him to mazas. but as he was not quite satisfied with allmayer, who, moreover, had a "history," he sent him also to prison. now the allmayer family intervened, and, strongly suspecting that their son was really guilty, were glad to compromise the affair. both the prisoners were then released, and allmayer thought it prudent to cross the frontier. it was well he did so, for now the true inwardness of the story was revealed. allmayer had secured the assistance of an old comrade in the algerian discipline corps, whom he had taken with him first to a public telephone office, where the communication was made with the banker c. as though coming from k.'s offices. then allmayer sent this old soldier to receive the money on the bill, which he had appropriated some time previously. he pocketed the proceeds, and kept the lion's share, for his comrade only got £ and a suit of new clothes. next morning he warned him to make himself scarce, declaring that all was discovered, and that he had better fly to algeria. when allmayer's guilt was fully established, and he had been arrested and brought back to paris, a search was made for the soldier, who was found in algeria. in his pocket was a telegram from allmayer warning him that "joseph" was after him, and advising him to go to new york. joseph, it must be understood, meant the detective-officer in pursuit. it seemed unlikely that allmayer would leave the mazas prison as easily now as on his first visit. but he made one of the most daring and successful escapes on record, passing through the gates of that gloomy stronghold quite openly. as he had to be interrogated day after day by the judge in his cabinet, he was taken to the prefecture, and managed, while seated at the table facing the judge, to abstract, almost from under that functionary's nose, a sheet of official paper and an official envelope. this he accomplished by scattering his own papers, which were very numerous, upon the table, and mixing the official sheets with his own. he had already observed that the judge, in transmitting an order of release for some prisoner in mazas, had not used a printed form, but had simply written a letter on a sheet of official paper. this was enough for allmayer, who, when once again in the privacy of his cell, concocted the necessary order to the governor of mazas, signed by the judge. this was the first step gained, but such a letter must be stamped with the judge's seal to carry the proper weight. one morning, as he sat before the judge, he entered into an animated conversation with him, and suddenly, with a violent gesture, upset the ink-bottle over the uniform of the garde de paris who stood by his side. allmayer, full of apology, pointed to the water-bottle on the mantelpiece, the guard rushed towards it, the judge and the clerk following him with their eyes, and at that moment allmayer, who had already the seal in his hand, stamped his letter. this was the second step. the third was to get his letter conveyed by some official hand to mazas. for this he devised a fresh stratagem. on leaving the cabinet with his escort, he paused outside the door and said he had forgotten something. he re-entered the cabinet, and came out with his letter in his hand, saying indignantly, "the judge thinks i am one of his servants. here, you, monsieur le garde, you had better carry this, or see it sent to mazas." allmayer had barely returned to his cell in mazas before a warder arrived with the welcome news that the judge had ordered him to be set free. that same evening he reached brussels. as soon as his escape was discovered, the french authorities demanded his extradition; but the legal forms had not been strictly observed, and allmayer was not surrendered. belgium, however, refused to give him hospitality, and he was conducted to the german frontier, whence he gained the nearest port and embarked for morocco. at this time allmayer was a gentlemanly, good-looking youth, [illustration: allmayer upsetting the ink-bottle (p. ).] with fair complexion and rosy cheeks and a heavy light moustache, and rather bald; his manners were so good, he was always so irreproachably dressed, that he easily passed himself off for a man of the highest fashion. he assumed many aliases, mostly with titles--the vicomte de bonneville, the comte de motteville, the comte de maupas, and so on. sometimes he was satisfied with plain "monsieur", and was then generally meyer or mayer, which were his business names. his swindling was on a large scale. he bought and sold sheep and wool, and it was admitted by those whom he victimised that he had a natural talent for business. one wool merchant whom he defrauded declared his surprise at finding this smart young gentleman so fully at home in the quality and character of the wools of the world. all this time he moved freely to and fro, returning frequently to france from morocco, passing boldly through the capitals of europe, staying even in paris. the police knew he was there, but could not lay hands upon him. it was at paris, under the name of eugène meyer, that he carried out one of his largest and most successful frauds. he was arranging for a supply of arms to the sultan of morocco, when he mentioned casually that a sum of £ , was owing to him by one of the largest bankers in paris, who held his acceptance for the sum. the people present were willing enough to discount this acceptance, but the amount was too large to deal with as a whole. meyer solved the difficulty by saying he would have it broken up into bills for smaller amounts, which, in effect, he produced, and which were willingly discounted. by-and-by it came out that the bills were forged, and those who held them were arrested; but allmayer was gone. all he did was to write to the papers exonerating his unconscious accomplices, and offering to appear at their trial if the police would guarantee him a safe-conduct. but the police refused, and his unfortunate confederates were condemned. much astonishment and some indignation were expressed in paris at the carelessness of the police in allowing allmayer to remain at large. yet all the time the detectives were at his heels, and followed him all over europe--to belgrade, to genoa, back to paris. at marseilles he robbed a merchant, monsieur r., of , francs by pretending to secure for him a contract for the french government for sheep. it would be necessary, however, as he plausibly put it, to remit the above-mentioned sum anonymously to a certain high functionary. allmayer attended at monsieur r.'s office to give the address, which he himself wrote upon an envelope at monsieur r.'s table. this done, monsieur r. inserted the notes, and the letter was left there upon the blotting-pad--at least, so monsieur r. believed, but allmayer by a dexterous sleight of hand had substituted another exactly similar, while that with the notes was safely concealed in his pocket. it is said that the high functionary received a letter containing nothing but a number of pieces of old newspaper carefully cut to the size of bank notes, and did not understand it until, later on, monsieur r. wrote him a letter of sorrowful reproach at not having kept his word by giving the contract in exchange for the notes. still allmayer pursued his adventurous career without interference, and the police were always a little too late to catch him. they heard of him at lyons, where he passed as a cavalry officer and gave a grand banquet to his old comrades in the garrison; again, at aix they were told of a sham vicomte de malville, who had played high at the casino, and unfairly, but he was gone before they could catch him. at biarritz he signalised his stay by cheating, borrowing, and swindling on every side. the commissary of police at bordeaux was warned to keep his eye upon this person, who passed as monsieur mario magnan, but the commissary imprudently summoned the suspected person to his presence, and blurting out the story, gave allmayer the chance of escape before the parisian police arrived to arrest him. he had gone ostensibly to paris, but his baggage was registered to coutrai. the detective followed to coutrai, and found that his quarry had gone on to havre with several hours' start. the man wanted was hunted for through havre, but the covert was drawn blank till all at once, by that strange interposition of mere chance that so often tells against the criminal, the detectives came on him on the boulevard strasbourg, a perfect gentleman, fashionably dressed, with a lady on his arm in an elegant toilette. they laid hands on him a little doubtfully at first, but it proved to be allmayer, although he vigorously denied his identity. this was practically the end of his criminal career, for he was speedily transferred to paris and committed for trial, being located this time in the conciergerie, under the constant surveillance of two police officers. even there his mind was actively employed in planning escape; the scheme he tried was that of confiding to the head of police the whereabouts of a hidden receptacle of certain thieves, who had collected a quantity of plunder. if the officers would take him there, he would show them the place; it was in the rue st. maur, at ménilmontant. but the authorities were not to be imposed upon, and, by inquiring elsewhere, learnt that the whole story was a fabrication. allmayer had arranged that on arrival at the ground he should be rescued by a number of friends assembled for the purpose. the secret of his many successes was that he was a consummate actor, and could play any part. now an officer, he was cordially welcomed by his brothers in arms; at the watering-places and health resorts he posed and was accepted as a gentleman of rank and fashion; in commercial circles he appeared a quick and intelligent man of business. he practised the same art, but in quite a different direction, at his trial. a great interest was excited in paris by the arrest of this notorious swindler, so clever at disguises, so bold in his schemes, who had so long set the police at defiance. yet when he appeared in court he disappointed everyone, and showed up as a poor, timid, broken-backed creature, half imbecile, surely incapable of the daring crimes attributed to him. he told a rambling disconnected story of how he was wrongfully accused, that the chief agent in all these affairs was an old prison-bird whose acquaintance he had unhappily made, and who had bolted, leaving him to bear all the blame. his abject appearance and his poor, weak defence gained him the pity of his judges, and, instead of the heaviest, the lightest sentence was imposed upon him. all this was a clever piece of acting; he had assumed the part for the purpose which he had achieved. allmayer was sentenced to twelve years' transportation, and he was last heard of in the safety islands, where he was employed as a hospital nurse, and had made himself very popular with his keepers. someone who met him not long since describes him as still prepossessing, bright, intelligent eyes, fluent as ever in speech, but with a singularly false face. by-and-by he may reappear to despoil his more confiding fellows once more, and be the despair of the police. paraf. this man was an extraordinary swindler who amassed considerable sums by his frauds. he came of a really good stock, and might have earned fame and fortune had he not been afflicted with incurably low tastes. paraf was born about of a respectable family in alsace; he was highly educated, and became a brilliant and expert chemist. the elder paraf, his father, was a calico manufacturer, and he gladly placed his son at the head of his print works, where the young man's knowledge and intelligence were most valuable. but once, while making a tour through scotland, his funds ran short, and his father would not supply him with more money. so he carried an alleged newly discovered dye to a glasgow manufacturer, and sold it for several thousand pounds, which sum, passing over to paris, he quickly squandered in dissipation. the dye was worthless, but paraf was not wholly an impostor, for, when once more penniless, he joined forces with his old professor in paris, and together they discovered the famous aniline dyes. paraf brought this invention to england, patented it, and sold it for a considerable sum. no doubt he would have made a great deal of money had he run straight, but he was an absolute spendthrift, and parted speedily with all he had. when utterly destitute, he stole the patent for another dye from a friend, and sold it to his uncle in paris for a couple of thousand pounds. with what was left of this sum he started for america, and landed in new york, where he was well received. of engaging person and frank manners, he gained the friendship and confidence of several capitalists, to one of whom he sold an aniline black dye for £ , . he now launched out into a career of wild extravagance; he occupied magnificent rooms at a first-class hotel, bathed in sweet-scented waters, and gave sumptuous dinners at delmonico's. his money did not last long, and he had recourse to fresh swindles. his next transaction was the sale of an alleged cloverine dye to a damask manufacturer, and he persuaded governor sprague, of rhode island, to invest £ , in a madder dye, which proved a failure. then he became acquainted with a frenchman, monsieur mourier, who invented oleo-margarine, the process of which paraf stole from him and fraudulently sold to a new york firm. mourier established his prior claim to the invention, and the firm had to buy their rights afresh. after this paraf found new york too hot for him. he went south to chili, and promoted a company to extract gold from copper, but found it easier to extract it from other people's pockets. this latest escapade finished him, for he was pursued and cast into prison, where he died. tammany frauds. the fact has often been noticed that crime takes larger developments to-day than heretofore. schemes are larger, the plunder is greater, the depredator travels over wider areas. he is often cosmopolitan; his transactions include the capitals of europe, the great cities beyond the atlantic, in india, and at the antipodes. the immensity of the hauls made by daring swindlers misusing their powers as the guardians of public funds, was well shown in the tammany frauds in the 'seventies, when "boss" tweed and his accomplices stole millions from the taxpayers of new york. the frauds which they successfully accomplished amounted, it was said, to twenty million dollars. they had an annual income of about that sum to play with, and they ran up as well a city debt of about a hundred million dollars. at that time the municipal administration of new york was abominably bad; the city was wretchedly lighted, badly paved, and the police protection not only imperfect but untrustworthy. the tammany frauds were exposed, as we know, by an englishman, mr. louis jennings, the representative of the _times_ in new york, who, coming by chance upon the fringe of the frauds, pursued his clue, despite many disheartening failures, until he obtained full success. he found that a most elaborate system of fraudulent entry in the city books covered the misappropriation of enormous sums. it was the custom to pay over hundreds of thousands of dollars, for work that was never accomplished, to persons who were either men of straw or had no corporeal existence. thus £ , was charged for carpets in the court house, and on inspection it was found that this court house floor was covered with a common matting barely worth £ . in another building the plastering figured at £ , , and the furniture, which consisted of a few stools and desks, ran up to a million and a half sterling. no wonder that in these glorious times "boss" tweed and his merry men became millionaires, having been penniless adventurers before. they kept steam yachts, drove fast trotters, their wives wore priceless diamonds, and they gave princely entertainments in brownstone mansions in fifth avenue and madison square. when fate at last overtook them, and landed most of them in the state prison, the ample funds at their disposal enabled them still to make life tolerable, and i myself have seen one or two of these most notorious swindlers smoking large cigars and lounging over novels in their snug cells at sing sing. [illustration: can the law reach him? ("boss" tweed defying the law.) (_from a cartoon in "harper's weekly"_ [ ].)] burton, _alias_ the count von havard. compared with these top-sawyers and high-flyers in crime we have little to show on this side of the atlantic; but i may mention one or two notorious swindlers of these latter days, remarkable in their way for the dexterity and the pertinacity with which they pursue their nefarious trade. every now and again the police lay their hands on some fine gentleman who is well received in society, like benson, bearing some borrowed aristocratic name, but who is really an ex-convict repeating the game that originally got him into trouble. there was the man burton, as he was generally called, who rejoiced in many aliases, such as temple, bouverie, wilmot, st. maur, erskine, and many more, and whose career was summarily ended in , when, as count von havard, he was sentenced to five years' penal servitude for obtaining money by fraud. this man's character may be gathered from the police description of him when he was once more at large. he was described as a native of virginia, in the united states; was supposed to be a gentleman by birth and education, and spoke english with a slightly foreign accent. the police notice went on to say that he was "an accomplished swindler, an adept in every description of subterfuge and artifice; he tells lies with such a specious resemblance to truth that numerous persons have been deceived by him to their cost. he is highly educated, an excellent linguist, and also skilled in the dead languages, and his good address has obtained him an entrance into the very highest society abroad. by the adroit use of secret information of which he has become possessed he has extorted large sums as blackmail. one of his devices is to enter into a correspondence with relatives of deceased persons, leading them to suppose they are _bénéficiaires_ under wills, and thus obtain money to carry on preliminary inquiries. he frequently makes his claim through a respectable solicitor, whom he first dupes with an account of his brilliant connections and prospects. he represents himself as the son of a foreign nobleman, de somerset st. maur wilmot, and claims relationship with several distinguished persons." he was in reality a very old offender, who had done more than one sentence in this country, and had probably known the interior of many foreign prisons. his operations extended throughout europe, and he had visited the principal health resorts and holiday places of the continent, such as biarritz, homburg, ostend; and this constant movement to and fro no doubt helped him to elude the police. [illustration: a cell in sing sing prison.] [illustration: where the sing sing prisoners dine.] [illustration: corridor in sing sing prison.] dr. vivian. another man of the same stamp, calling himself dr. vivian, of new york, burst upon the world of birmingham, about as a man of vast wealth, which he spent with a most lavish hand. he stopped at the best hotel in the town, the queen's, and got into society. one day, at a flower-show, he was introduced to a miss w., to whom he at once paid his addresses, and made such rapid progress in her good graces that they were married by special licence a week or two later. the wedding was of the most splendid description; the happy bridegroom had presented his wife with quantities of valuable jewellery, and he was so well satisfied with the arrangements at the church that he gave the officiating clergyman a fee of £ . after a magnificent wedding breakfast at the queen's hotel, the newly married couple proceeded to london, and were next heard of at the langham, living in the most expensive style. the bridegroom spent large sums among the london tradesmen, and, strange to say, invariably paid cash. all this time a man who had much the appearance of dr. vivian was greatly wanted by the police; the person in question had been down in warwickshire a few months previous to the arrival of dr. vivian at birmingham. this person was strongly suspected of a theft at an hotel at whitchurch. a visitor at the hotel had been robbed one night of a certain sum in cash and a number of very valuable old coins. now the police became satisfied that dr. vivian and the man wanted for this theft were one and the same person, and the authorities of scotland yard took the decided step of arresting him. they went farther, and had the audacity to declare that the so-called dr. vivian was one james barnet, otherwise george percy, otherwise george guelph, a notorious convict, only recently released after a term of ten years' penal servitude. when arrested, vivian, as we will still call him, was found to be in possession of a large amount of money, much more than could have come from the hotel robbery at whitchurch; he had a roll of notes to the value of some two thousand pounds, and a great deal of gold. the impression was that a part of this was the proceeds of another hotel robbery from a bookmaker at manchester. the notes, however, when examined, were found to be all of one date, some ten or twelve years back, antecedent to his last conviction, and it seemed most improbable that he could have come upon these in the ordinary way of robbery. it was far more likely that they were forged notes (although this was never proved) which had been "planted" safely somewhere while he was at large, and that on his release he had drawn upon the deposit. at the same time there had been some serious thefts at the langham hotel during the prisoner's honeymoon residence, and there is very little doubt that vivian, _alias_ barnet, was an accomplished hotel thief. many curious facts came out while he was in custody. he was identified as a man who had wandered from hotel to hotel in the midlands, changing his appearance continually, but not enough to defy detection. he carried with him a large wardrobe as his stock-in-trade, and was seldom seen in the same suit of clothes two days together. he had had several narrow escapes, and before his final escapade had been arrested in derby by a detective, who was pretty certain that he had "passed through his hands." the accumulated evidence against him was strong, and when put upon his trial for the particular theft at the whitchurch hotel, he was found guilty and sentenced to another ten years' seclusion. mock clergymen. the convict swindler when at large has many lines of operation, and a favourite one is the assumption of the clerical character. this is generally done by criminals who at one time or another have been in holy orders, and have been unfrocked for their misdeeds. dr. berrington was a notable instance of this. although he was repeatedly convicted of performing clerical functions, for which he was altogether disqualified, he kept up the game to the last. in one of his short periods of freedom he had the effrontery to take the duties of a country rector, and, as such, accepted an invitation to dine at a neighbouring squire's. strange to say, the carriage which he hired from the livery stables of the nearest town was driven by a man who, like himself, was a licence-holder, and who had last seen his clerical fare when they were both inmates of dartmoor prison. berrington had no doubt been in the church at one time, and was a ripe scholar. the story goes that during one of his imprisonments he was amusing himself in the school hour with a hebrew grammar. "what! do you know hebrew?" said a visitor to the gaol who was passing through the ward. "yes," replied berrington, "and i daresay a great deal better than you do." there was another reverend gentleman, who was an ordained priest in the church of england, and had once held an irish living worth £ a year, but had lost every shilling he was worth on the turf. one day, when seized with the old gambling mania, he made an improper use of a friend's cheque-book. he was staying at this friend's house, and forged his name, having found the cheque-book accessible. he was soon afterwards arrested on manchester racecourse, and, after trial, sentenced to transportation for life. in december, , another clerical impostor caused some noise, and there is some reason to suppose from his own story that he had actually been ordained a priest in the church of rome. this rests on his own statement, no doubt, made when on his trial in dublin for obtaining money under false pretences, the latest of a long series of similar offences. at that time he rejoiced in several aliases, keatinge being the commonest, but he was also known as moreton, with many variations of christian names. his offence was that he had received frequent help from the priests' protection society, on the pretence that he had left the church of rome and that his abjuration of the old faith had left him in great distress. the society on these grounds had made him an allowance, and he had often preached and performed clerical duty in dublin churches. he was charged with having falsely represented himself to be a clergyman in holy orders, but his own story was very precise and circumstantial. keatinge made out that he had studied at stonyhurst and then at st. michael's college, brussels; thence he went to rome, was admitted to orders, and for some time held the post of latin translator and general secretary to cardinal pecci of perugia, afterwards pope leo xiii. after that, he said, he became chaplain and secretary to cardinal d'andrea, and was soon afterwards given the degree of doctor of divinity and made a monsignore. he declared that he had become involved in the political struggle between cardinal d'andrea and cardinal antonelli, and was imprisoned with the former in the latter cardinal's palace. from that time forth dr. keatinge was the victim of constant persecution, but at last escaped from rome, by the assistance of a lady, who afterwards became his wife, when he had seceded from the roman church. after that he appears to have lapsed into a life of vagabondage and questionable adventure. he suffered many convictions, mostly for false pretences, and the dublin affair relegated him once more to gaol. harry benson. one of the most daring and successful of modern swindlers was harry benson, who came into especial prominence in connection with the goncourt frauds and the disloyalty of certain london detectives. his was a brief and strangely romantic career of crime; he was not much more than forty when it terminated with his death, yet he had netted vast sums by his ingenious frauds, and had long lived a life of cultured ease, respected and outwardly most respectable. he came of very decent folk; his father was a prosperous merchant, established in paris, with offices in the faubourg st. honoré, and a person of undeniably good repute. young benson was well and carefully educated: he spoke several languages with ease and correctness; he was a good musician, was well read, had charming manners, a suave and polished address. but from the earliest days his moral sense was perverted; he could not and would not run straight. benson belonged by nature to the criminal class, and if we are to believe lombroso and the italian school, he was a born criminal. all his tastes and predilections were towards fraud and foul play. young benson seems to have first made his appearance in brussels in - , when he was prominent among the french refugees who left france at the time of the franco-german war. he had assumed the name and title of the comte de montague, pretending to be the son of a general de montague, an old bonapartist. he lived in fine style, had carriages and horses, a sumptuous _appartement_, gave many entertainments, and was generally a very popular personage, much esteemed for his great courtliness and his pleasant, insinuating address. nothing is known of the sources of his wealth at this period, but his first trouble with the law came of a nefarious attempt to add to them. one day the comte de montague called at the mansion house, in london, and besought the lord mayor's charitable aid for the town of châteaudun, which had suffered much from the ravages of the war. money was being very freely subscribed to relieve french distress at the time, and the comte had no difficulty in obtaining a grant of a thousand pounds for châteaudun. this he at once proceeded to apply to his own needs, for the comte was no other than benson. his imposture was presently discovered, and he paid a second visit to the mansion house, but this time as a prisoner. the escapade ended in a sentence of a year's imprisonment, during which he appears to have set his cell on fire and burned himself badly. he was ever afterwards lame, and obliged to use crutches; an unmistakable addition to his _signalement_ which would have seriously handicapped any less audacious offender. the more extensive of the operations in which benson was engaged followed upon his release from gaol. he was estranged from his family in paris, and, being obliged to earn his own living, he advertised himself as seeking the place of secretary, giving his knowledge of several languages as one of his qualifications. this brought him into connection with a man who was to be his confederate and partner in many nefarious schemes. a certain william kurr engaged him, and they soon came to an understanding, becoming associated on equal terms. kurr was a very shady character, who had tried several lines of life. from clerk in a railway office he passed into the service of a west end money-lender, and then became interested in turf speculations. the business of illegitimate betting attracted him as offering great opportunities for acquiring fortune, and he was the originator of several sham firms and bogus offices, none of which prospered greatly until he fell in with benson. from that time forth their operations were on a much bolder and more successful scale. benson's ready wit and inventive genius struck out new lines of procedure, and there is little doubt that quite early in the partnership he conceived the happy idea of suborning the police. kurr, under the name of gardner and co., of edinburgh, had come under suspicion, and was being hotly pursued by a detective officer, meiklejohn, who had been chosen from among the scotland yard officers to act for the midland railway in the north. when the scent was hottest, kurr, by benson's advice, approached meiklejohn and bought him over. this was the first step in a great conspiracy which presently involved other officers, who weakly sacrificed honour and position to the specious temptations of these scoundrels. benson, being half a frenchman, and intimately acquainted with french ways, saw a great opening for carrying on turf frauds in france. the firm accordingly moved over to french soil, and elaborated with great skill and patience a vast scheme for entrapping the unwary. they first worked carefully through the directories, bottin's and others, in order to obtain the names and addresses of likely victims; when eventually they were brought to justice some of these books were found in benson's quarters, much marked and annotated. at the same time they prepared an [illustration: kurr, benson, froggatt, and the detectives] attractive circular, setting forth in specious terms the extraordinary advantages of their system of betting. this circular was distributed broadcast through the country, accompanied by a copy of a sporting paper specially prepared for this particular purpose. it was the only copy of the paper that ever appeared, although it was numbered , . it had been printed on purpose in edinburgh, and was in every respect a complete journal, containing news up to date, advertisements, leading articles, columns of paragraphs and notices, several of which referred in the most complimentary language to a mr. hugh montgomery--benson's _alias_ in this fraud--and the excellence of his system of betting investment. it stated that this mr. hugh montgomery, who had invented the system, had already netted nearly half a million of money by following its principles, and it was open to any to reap the same handsome profit. they had only to remit funds to the firm at any of their numerous offices in london, at cleveland road, duke street st. james's, and elsewhere. this brilliant scheme soon brought in a rich harvest. many simple-minded french people swallowed the bait, and none more readily than a certain comtesse de goncourt, a lady of good estate, but with an unfortunate taste for speculation. the comtesse threw herself eagerly into the arrangement, and forwarded several substantial sums to london, which were duly invested for her with good results; for the old trick was followed of at first allowing her to win. presently her transactions grew larger, till at last they reached the sum of £ , . several bogus cheques were sent her, purporting to be her winnings, but she was desired to hold them over until a certain date, in accordance with the english law. yet these rapacious scoundrels were not satisfied with such large profits. they wrote to the poor comtesse that another £ , was necessary to complete certain formalities. as she was now nearly cleaned out, she tried to raise the money in paris through her notary, and this led to the discovery of the whole fraud. meanwhile the conspirators had been living in comfort, pulling the wires from london. benson had made himself safe, as he thought, by extending his system of suborning the police. through meiklejohn, a second officer, druscovitch by name, who was especially charged with the continental business of scotland yard, was approached and tempted. he was a well-meaning man, with a good record, but in very straitened circumstances, and he fell before the tempting offers of the insidious benson. all this time benson was living in good style at shanklin, in the isle of wight. he had a charming house, named rose bank, a good cook and numbers of other servants, he drove a good carriage, and constantly entertained his friends. one of his accomplishments was music; he composed and sang charming french _chansonettes_ with so much feeling that they were always loudly encored. benson soon tried to inveigle another fly from scotland yard into his web. scenting danger from the news that inspector clarke was hunting up certain sham betting offices, he invited him down to his little place at shanklin. benson did not succeed with clarke, who, when placed on his trial with the other inspectors, was acquitted. he must have been sorely tried, for benson showed consummate tact, and cleverly acted upon clarke's fears by seeming to incriminate him. then he offered a substantial bribe, which, however, clarke was honest enough to refuse. when the storm broke benson had early notice of the danger from his allies in the police. druscovitch warned them that a big swindle had come in from paris; it was theirs. already the french police had begun to act against the firm. they had requested the scotland yard authorities, by telegraph, to intercept letters from paris which, it was believed, contained large remittances. but benson contrived to secure this telegram before it was delivered. knowing that he had good friends, he held his ground; druscovitch, on the other hand, became more and more uneasy, thinking that he could not shield his paymasters much longer. he had many secret interviews with them, and pleaded desperately that he must ere long arrest somebody, and he warned benson to look out for himself. it was time for the conspirators to think about their means of retreat. so far they seem to have held the bulk of their booty in bank of england notes, a very tell-tale commodity which could always be traced through the numbers. benson solved this difficulty by deciding to change the bank of england notes into scottish notes, the numbers of which were not invariably taken on issue. through meiklejohn benson got rid of £ , worth, travelling down to alloa on purpose and getting clydesdale bank notes in exchange. to cover this operation, benson had deposited £ , in the alloa bank. he was on very friendly terms with its manager, and was actually at dinner with him when a telegram was put into his hands warning him to decamp, for druscovitch was on his way down with the warrant to arrest him. benson bolted, but was, of course, obliged to forfeit his deposit of £ , . when druscovitch arrived his game, of course, was gone. he still attempted to linger over the job, but the authorities were more in earnest than he was, and england became too hot for him. the exchange of bank of england into clydesdale notes was known, and so were some of the numbers of the latter. a watch was therefore set upon the holders of these notes, and benson thought it wiser to escape to holland. soon after his arrival at rotterdam he and his friends were arrested. but here, at the closing scene, while extradition was being demanded, another confederate, froggatt, a low-class attorney, nearly succeeded in obtaining their release. he sent a forged telegram to the dutch police, purporting to come from scotland yard, to the effect that the men they had got were the wrong people. the imposition was discovered just in time, and the prisoners were handed over to a party of london police, headed, strange to say, by druscovitch in person. his complicity with the swindlers was not yet suspected, and he was compelled to carry out his orders. what passed between him and his friends is not exactly known, but kurr and benson, after the manner of their class, had no idea of suffering alone. that they should turn on their police assistants was a matter of course, and one of their first acts in millbank prison, where they were beginning their long terms of penal servitude, was to make a clean breast of it and implicate the detectives. when clarke, druscovitch, meiklejohn, and palmer, with froggatt, were put upon their trial, the facts, as already stated, were elicited, and it was found that the swindlers had long secured the connivance and support of all these officers, except clarke. a letter, which was impounded, written by meiklejohn to kurr as far back as , shows how eager meiklejohn was to earn his money. it was an early notification of the issue of a warrant, and warned his friends to keep a sharp look out:-- "dear bill,--rather important news from the north. tell h. s. and the young one to keep themselves quiet. in the event of a smell stronger than now they must be ready to scamper out of the way." for this important service meiklejohn is believed to have received a _douceur_ of £ . all these misguided men were sentenced to terms of imprisonment, and, as i have said before, the discovery of their faithlessness led to important changes in police constitution, and the creation of the criminal investigation department. i can remember benson while he was a convict at portsmouth, where he was employed at light labour, and might be seen hobbling on his crutches at the tail end of the gangs as they marched in and out of prison. he bore an exemplary prison character and was [illustration: trial of the detectives at the old bailey.] released on ticket-of-leave in , having fully earned his remission. he was not long in seeking new pastures, and soon used his versatile talents and many accomplishments in fresh schemes of fraud. it was his duty to report himself as a licence holder to the metropolitan police, but this did not suit so erratic a genius, and within a few months he was advertised for in the _police gazette_, a woodcut engraving of his features being accompanied with the following description of the man "wanted":-- "age , height ft. in., complexion sallow, hair, whiskers, beard, and moustache black (may have shaved), turning slightly grey, eyes brown, small scar under right eye, frequently pretends lameness, has a slouching gait, stoops slightly, head thrown forward, invariably smoking cigarettes." it will be seen from this that the use of crutches was not indispensable to him, but was probably assumed as a means of contusing his _signalement_. his many aliases were published with the description; some of the more remarkable were george marlowe, george washington morton, andrew montgomery, henry younger (the name he went under at rose bank cottage, shanklin), montague posno, and the comte de montague. benson's first act after release appears to have been to ascertain whether he had inherited anything from his father, whose death had occurred while he was in prison. nothing had come to him, but his family did not quite disown him, for a brother offered to find him a situation. this benson contemptuously refused, and took the first opportunity of reopening his relations with kurr, who had been released a little earlier. soon after this the police missed them, and they appear to have crossed the atlantic and started in a new line as company promoters, mainly in connection with mines of a sham character. benson seems to have done well in this nefarious business before he returned to europe, when he made brussels his headquarters and carried on the same business, the exploitation of mines. he appears to have gained the attention of the police, and the belgian authorities communicated with those of scotland yard. benson was now identified and arrested. at his lodgings were found a great quantity of letters containing post office orders and cheques, which seem to have been sent to him for investment in his bogus companies. benson next did a couple of years' imprisonment in a belgian prison, and on his release transferred himself to switzerland, setting up at geneva as an american banker with large means. he stopped at the best hotels and betrayed all his old fondness for ostentation. here he received many telegrams from his confederates, who were still "working" the united states, all of them connected with stocks and shares and the fluctuations of the market. he was in the habit of leaving these telegrams--which invariably dealt with high figures--about the hotel, throwing them down carelessly in the billiard-room, smoking-room, and other apartments, where they were read by others, and greatly enhanced his reputation. [illustration: a prison gang.] at this hotel he became acquainted with a retired surgeon-general of the indian army, with an only daughter, to whom he made desperate love. he lavished presents of jewellery upon her, and so won upon the father that he consented to the marriage. the old man was no less willing to entrust his savings to this specious scoundrel, and on benson's advice sold out all his property, some £ , invested in india stock. the money was transmitted to geneva and handed over to benson in exchange for certain worthless scrip which was to double the doctor's income. now, however, a telegram summoned benson to new york, and he left hurriedly. his _fiancée_ followed to the port at which he had said he would embark, but missed him. mr. churchward--benson's _alias_--had gone to another place, bremen, to take passage by the north german lloyd. the surgeon-general, trembling for his earnings, applied for a warrant, and benson was arrested as he was on the point of embarkation. he was taken back to geneva, but on refunding £ , out of the £ , he was liberated. it was now discovered that his presents to his _fiancée_ were all in sham jewellery, and that the scrip he had given in exchange for the £ , was really worth only a few pounds. after this most brilliant _coup_ benson abandoned europe, re-crossed the atlantic, and resumed operations in america, he became the hero of many fraudulent adventures, the last of which led to his arrest. in the city of mexico he impudently passed himself off as mr. abbey, madame patti's agent, and sold tickets on her behalf to the amount of , dollars. this fraud was discovered; he was arrested and taken to new york, where he was lodged in the tombs. while awaiting trial he committed suicide in gaol by throwing himself over the railings from the top storey, thus fracturing his spine. max shinburn. the career of max shinburn can hardly be cited in proof of the old saying that honesty is the best policy. this notorious criminal won a fine fortune, as well as much evil fame, by his dishonest proceedings between and , and after sundry vicissitudes, ended in belgium as a millionaire, enjoying every luxury amidst the pleasantest surroundings. according to one account, shinburn was a german jew, who emigrated to the united states rather hurriedly to evade police pursuit. he found his way, it is said, to st. louis, and soon got into trouble there as a burglar; his intimate knowledge of the locksmith trade was useful to the new friends he made, but did not save him from capture and imprisonment. another story is that he was born in pennsylvania of decent parents, was well educated, and in due course became a bank clerk. his criminal tendencies were soon displayed by his defalcations; he stole a number of greenbacks, and covered the theft by fraudulent entries in the books. this ended his career of humdrum respectability, and he was next heard of at boston, where he robbed a bank by burglariously entering the vaults, by means of his skill as a locksmith. we have here some corroboration of the first account of his origin; if he had begun life as a clerk he could not well have acquired skill as a locksmith. it is strengthened by the fact that his largest and most remunerative "affairs" were accomplished by forcing doors and opening safes. it was said of him that he could walk into any bank, for he could counterfeit any key; and that no safe, combination or other, could resist his attack. the number of banks he plundered was extraordinary; the new windsor bank of maryland, a bank in connecticut, and many more, yielded before him; and in new england alone he amassed great sums. [illustration: max shinburn.] shinburn spent in wasteful excess all that he thus guiltily earned. he lived most extravagantly, at the best hotels, consorting with the showiest people; he was to be seen on all racecourses, "plunging" wildly, and at the faro tables, where he played high. this continued for years. he escaped all retribution until a confederate betrayed him in connection with the wrecking of the concord bank, when at least , dollars was secured and divided among the gang. he was taken at saratoga, the fashionable watering-place, and his arrest caused much sensation in the fast society of which he was so prominent a member. max shinburn's consignment to gaol checked his baleful activity, but not for long. his fame as a high-class gentleman criminal secured him considerate treatment, which, on the loose system of many american gaols, meant that his warders and he were on very familiar terms. one evening shinburn called an officer to his cell, and after a short gossip at the door, invited him inside. next moment he had seized the warder by the throat, overpowered him, and captured his keys. then, making his victim fast, he walked straight out of the prison. once more taken and incarcerated, he once more escaped. this time, by suborning his warders, he obtained the necessary tools for sawing through the prison bars, and thus regained freedom. he soon resumed his old practices, and on a much larger and more brilliant scale. one of his chief feats was the forcing of the vaults of the lehigh coal and navigation company, at whitehaven, pennsylvania, from which he abstracted , dollars. he somehow contrived to obtain impressions of the locks, and manufactured the keys. the famous detective, pinkerton, was called in, and soon guessed that shinburn had been at work. some of the confederates were arrested, and presently shinburn was taken, but only after a desperate encounter. now, to ensure safe custody, the prisoner was handcuffed to one of pinkerton's assistants, and both were locked up in a room at the hotel. yet shinburn, during the night, contrived to pick the lock of the handcuff by means of the shank of his scarf-pin, and, shaking himself free, slipped quietly away. he fled to europe, and paid a first visit to belgium, but went back to the states to make one last grand _coup_. this was the robbery of the ocean bank in new york, from which he took £ , in securities, notes, and gold. with this fine booty he returned to belgium, bought himself a title, and--at least outwardly--lived the life of an honest and respectable citizen. we have seen that sheridan, another american "crook," spent some years in brussels, and it is strongly suspected that he and shinburn were concerned in the famous mail train robbery and other great crimes in belgium. chapter xvi. some female criminals. criminal women worse than criminal men--bell star--comtesse sandor--mother m----, the famous female receiver of stolen goods--the "german princess"--jenny diver--the baroness de menckwitz--emily lawrence--louisa miles--mrs. gordon-baillie: her dashing career: becomes mrs. percival frost: the crofter's friend: triumphal visit to the antipodes: extensive frauds on tradesmen: sentenced to penal servitude--a viennese impostor--big bertha, the "confidence queen." it has been universally agreed that criminal women are the worst of all criminals. "a woman is rarely wicked," runs the italian adage, "but when she is so, she is worse than a man." we must leave psychologists to explain a fact which is well known to all who have dealings with the criminal classes. no doubt, as a rule, women have a weaker moral sense; they come more under the influence of feeling, and when once they stray from the right path they wander far, and recovery is extremely difficult. many succumb altogether, and are merged in the general ruck of commonplace, habitual criminals. now and again a woman rises into the first rank of offenders, and some female criminals may be counted amongst the most remarkable of all depredators. one of these appeared in texas not many years ago, and, as a female outlaw, the head and chief controlling spirit of a great gang, she long spread terror through that state. bell star was the daughter of a guerilla soldier, who had fought on the side of the south, and she was nursed among scenes of bloodshed. when little more than a child she learnt to handle the lasso, revolver, carbine, and bowie knife with extraordinary skill. as she grew up [illustration: "she ... slashed him across the face" (p. ).] she developed great strength, and became a fearless horsewoman, riding wild, untamed brutes that no one else would mount. it is told of her that she rode twice and won races at a country meeting, dressed once as a man and once as a woman, having changed her attire so rapidly that the trick was never discovered. she was barely eighteen when she was chosen to lead the band, which she ruled with great firmness and courage, dominating her associates by her superior intelligence, her audacity, and her personal charm. her exploits were of the most daring description; she led organised attacks on populous cities, entering them fearlessly, both before and after the event, disguised in male attire. on one occasion she sat at the _table d'hôte_ beside the judge of the district, and heard him boast that he knew bell star by sight, and would arrest her wherever he met her. next day, having mounted her horse at the door of the hotel--still in man's clothes--she summoned the judge to come out, told him who she was, slashed him across the face with her riding-whip, and galloped away. bell star's band was constantly pursued by government troops; many pitched battles were fought between them, in one of which this masculine heroine was slain. another woman of the same class was of french extraction, and known in the western states under the _sobriquet_ of "zelie." she also commanded a band of outlaws, and was ever foremost in acts of daring brigandage, fighting, revolver in hand, always in the first rank. she was a woman of great intellectual gifts and many accomplishments, spoke three languages fluently, and was of very attractive appearance. she is said to have died of hysteria in a french lunatic asylum. many other instances of this latter-day development of the criminal woman may be quoted. there was at lyons an american adventuress and wholesale thief who, having enriched herself by robbery in the united states, crossed to europe and continued her depredations until arrested in paris. la comtesse sandor, as she was called, was another of this type, who went about europe disguised as a man, and as such gained the affections of the daughter of a wealthy austrian, whom she actually married. theodosia w., again, made a large fortune in st. petersburg as a receiver of stolen goods, and managed her felonious business with remarkable astuteness. "mother m----." another notorious female receiver was "mother m----," of new york, who, with her husband, kept a haberdashery shop in that city towards the end of the 'seventies. they were jews, and keen traders. their shop was a perfectly respectable establishment on the surface. the proper assortment of goods was on hand to supply the needs of regular customers. "mother m----" served in the shop herself, assisted by her two daughters, and did so good a business that they might have honestly acquired a competence. but she was in a hurry to grow rich and had no conscientious scruples. she soon opened relations with thieves of all descriptions, and was prepared to buy all kinds of stolen goods. her dealings were said to be enormous; they extended throughout the united states and beyond--to canada, mexico, even to europe. as time went on she developed into the champion and banker of her criminal customers. under cover of her shop she ran a "bureau for the prevention of detection," and was always ready to bribe police officers who were corruptible, or throw them off the scent, and for due consideration she would arrange for the defence of accused persons. it was said that she had secured in advance the services of celebrated criminal lawyers of new york by paying them a retaining fee of , dollars a year. when any of her clients were laid by the heels, she acted as their banker, providing funds if required, and helping to support their wives and families while they were in custody. she was extremely cautious in her methods. no one was admitted to the office behind the shop, where the real business was done, without introduction and voucher. "mother m----" allowed none of the "swag" to come to the shop. the bulk of the proceeds of any robbery was first stored, and the receiver invited to send an agent to examine and report upon it. having estimated its value, she then proceeded to haggle over the price, which eventually she paid in cash, taking over the whole of the property and accepting all the risks of its disposal. as a general rule, she secreted it or shipped it off, and generally succeeded in escaping detection. once or twice, however, she came to grief. the proceeds of a great silk robbery were found in her possession, but on arrest and trial she was acquitted. at last, in , new york became too hot to hold her, and she crossed the frontier into canada, and she is said to be still there, living a quiet, respectable life. if report is to be trusted, she regrets new york and the large circle of friends and acquaintances she had gathered round her. in the days of her great activity she kept open house for thieves of both sexes, gave handsome entertainments, employed a good cook, and had a full cellar of choice wines. she enjoyed an excellent reputation also as a liberal supporter of the synagogue and jewish charities, and was generally esteemed. the "german princess." female sharpers have abounded in every age and country. the feminine mind is so full of resource, a woman can be so inventive, [illustration: the marshalsea prison in the eighteenth century.] so clever in disguising frauds and keeping up specious appearances, that we come upon the female adventuress continually. as far back as the seventeenth century there was the celebrated "german princess," who took in everyone right and left. although she was nothing more than a common thief, the daughter of a chorister in canterbury cathedral, and the wife of a shoemaker, she passed herself off at continental watering-places as the ill-used child of a sovereign prince of the german empire. at spa she became engaged to a foolish old gentleman of large estate, and absconded with all her presents before the wedding-day. then she established herself at a london tavern and, as an act of great condescension, married the landlord's brother, who suddenly found that she was a bigamist and a cheat. her committal to newgate followed, but on her release she resumed her _rôle_ as the "german princess" and went on the stage to play in a piece named after her, and the plot of which was founded on the strange ill-usage of this high-born lady. after this she resumed her robberies and led a life of vagabondage, in which she swindled tradesmen, especially jewellers, out of much valuable property. fate presently overtook her and landed her at the plantations as a convict; but even in jamaica her effrontery gained her the friendship of the governor, and she soon returned to england to resume her career as a rich heiress, whereby she duped many foolish people and committed numbers of fresh robberies. one day, however, the keeper of the marshalsea prison, who was on the look-out for some stolen goods, called at the lodging which she occupied, recognised her, and carried her off to gaol. she was soon identified as a convict who had returned from transportation, and her adventurous career presently ended on the gallows. jenny diver. mary young, _alias_ jenny diver, was of the same stamp as the "german princess," but in a somewhat lower grade and of a later date. her business was chiefly pocket-picking, her adroitness in which gained her her _sobriquet_, as one who "dived" deep into other people's pockets. she was an irish girl in service, who formed an acquaintance with a thief, and accompanied him to london. the man was arrested on the way, and mary young, arriving alone and helpless, soon joined a countrywoman, ann murphy, and tried to earn her livelihood by her needle. murphy told her of a more lucrative way of life, and introduced her to a club near st. giles's, where thieves of both sexes assembled to practise their business, and she was taught how to pick pockets, steal watches, and cut off reticules. she soon displayed great dexterity. an early feat, which gained her great renown, was that of stealing a diamond ring from the finger of a young gentleman who helped her to alight from a coach. another clever trick of hers was to wear false arms and hands, while her own were concealed beneath her cloak, to be used as occasion offered. it was her custom to attend churches, and, when seated in a crowded pew, make play on either side. another clever device was to join the crowd assembled to see a state procession. she would be attended by a footman and by several accomplices. seizing a favourable opportunity, between the park and spring gardens, she pretended to be taken seriously ill, and while the crowd pressed round her with kindly help, her confederates took advantage of the confusion to lay hands on all they could "lift"; jewels, watches, snuffboxes of great value were thus secured. yet again, accompanied by her footman, she would pretend to be taken ill at the door of a fine house and send her servant in to know if she might be admitted until she recovered. while the occupants, who willingly acceded to her request, were seeking medicines she snapped up all the cash and valuables she could find. but she was at last arrested in the very act of picking a gentleman's pocket and was transported to virginia, whence she returned before the completion of her sentence and resumed her malpractices. having made a successful tour through the provinces, she returned to london, frequented the royal exchange, the theatres, the park, and other places of the sort, where she preyed continually on the public and with continued immunity from arrest, till she was caught picking a pocket on london bridge and was again sentenced to transportation. again she returned, within a year, and was finally arrested, tried a third time, and sentenced to death. the baroness de menckwitz. the type of jenny diver was not uncommon then or since, and many names might be quoted in proof of this. a very notorious female swindler came over to england towards the end of the eighteenth century, and managed to defraud numbers of london tradespeople of considerable sums. her plan of procedure was always the same: to pass herself off as a lady of distinction, take a house in a good part of the town, furnish it on credit, make away with the goods, and then abscond. she was arrested again and again, and spent much time in newgate or the fleet prison. one device was to open a picture gallery where busts and portraits were on sale, which she had obtained, the first from an italian image boy, the second from credulous dealers. sometimes she got a bill discounted on the strength of having a consignment of wax figures detained in the custom house. she set up an establishment as a "fancy dress-maker" in half moon street, piccadilly, but the house was only a cloak to debauchery and malpractices. in carrying out these various frauds and crimes she assumed many aliases, and was now miss price, next mrs. douglas or lady [illustration: newgate gaol at the end of the eighteenth century. (_from contemporary engravings._)] douglas, mrs. wray, mrs. hughes, and finally, having joined forces with a german swindler whose acquaintance she had made in the fleet prison, she took rank as the baroness de menckwitz. this menckwitz was a dismissed lieutenant from the imperial service, who had committed many depredations in vienna, and was much "wanted" by the imperial police. a handbill circulated at the time described him as twenty-eight years of age, about the middle height, hair inclined to be reddish and worn after the english fashion "tied and in a bag"; in the face he was blotched, had grey eyes, was rather thin but well made, and he usually wore the cross of the holy order of st. stanislas on his breast. his associate, who had passed also as a baroness de kenentz, was described in the same handbill as five feet in height, rather thin, but of strong build, having quite black hair and eyebrows, somewhat brown complexion, black eyes, and wearing her hair "quite negligent or loose without powder." to this physical _signalement_ a contemporary account adds: "she has the tongue of a siren, the bite of an asp, and the fangs of a harpy.... she is devoid of every particle of gratitude, and would sacrifice the best friend the moment her turn is served.... her art is so excessive that though you were warned against her, she would find out new ways to deceive you," and more to the same effect. together this precious pair made a fine harvest for a time. they took a house in somerset street, portman square, for six months, and hired a set of servants; also a chariot, "the better to carry on their depredations." they now pawned the plate they had obtained by fraud in vienna. a most elaborate scheme of fraud was practised on a london merchant, to whom they presented themselves armed with a bill of exchange drawn in hamburg, and on the strength of which they obtained a loan of £ . this they repaid, but obtained a fresh loan of £ , , covered by the pledge of a diamond ring. this sum was needed, they pretended, to complete the purchase of a large stud of horses for the grand duke ferdinand, which was on the point of being shipped at yarmouth. they furthermore represented that the baron was about to be appointed austrian ambassador in the room of count starenberg, on the eve of being recalled. on these pretences the loan was advanced, and only partly repaid. other frauds were perpetrated upon jewellers, who parted with valuables, which the two menckwitzes pledged. for this they were arrested; but the london merchant backed their bail, entirely to his own loss. after this the woman deserted her companion and took the name of douglas, to pursue her depredations her own way, and to meet with the requital at last that she deserved. emily lawrence. before passing on to more recent female swindlers, it may be interesting to mention briefly one or two who were well known between and . emily lawrence, a dashing adventuress and adroit, daring thief, had few equals. she is described as a most ladylike and fascinating person, who was received with effusion when she descended from her brougham at a shop door and entered to give her orders. her line was jewel robbery, which she effected on a large scale. at one time she was "wanted" for stealing "loose" diamonds in paris to the value of £ , . soon afterwards she was arrested for other jewel robberies at emanuel's, and at hunt and roskell's, in london. imprisonment for seven years followed, after which she resumed her operations, now choosing for the scene of her depredations brighton, where she stole jewels worth £ , while she engaged the shopman with her fascinating conversation. apprehended as she was leaving brighton, she asserted that she was a lady of rank, but a london detective who came down soon proved the contrary, and she again got seven years. it was always said that this extraordinary woman carried a number of valuable diamonds with her to millbank penitentiary, and succeeded in hiding them there. a tradition obtains that the jewels were never unearthed, and that the secret of the hiding-place long survived among the fraternity of thieves. women, it was said, came as prisoners almost voluntarily, in order to carry out their search for the treasure, and a thousand devices were tried to secure a lodging in the cell where the valuables were said to be concealed. whether they were found and taken safely out of millbank we shall never know. probably the whole story is a fable, and it is at least certain that no jewels were discovered when millbank was destroyed, root and branch, a few years ago ( ), to make way for the national gallery of british art. louisa miles. louisa miles was another of the emily lawrence class, who kept her own carriage for purposes of fraud, and called herself by several fine names. one day she drove up to hunt and roskell's as miss constance browne, to select jewels for her sick friend, lady campbell. giving a good west end address, and a banker's reference, she asked that the valuables might be sent home on approbation. when an assistant brought them, he was told lady campbell was too ill to leave her room, and they must be taken in to her. he demurred at first, then yielded, and never saw the jewels again. after waiting nervously for half an hour the assistant found he was locked in. when the police arrived to release him the ladies had disappeared, and with them the jewels. the house had been hired furnished, the carriage also was hired, as well as the footman in livery. pursuit was quickly organised, and miss constance browne was captured in a second-class carriage on the great western railway, with a quantity of the stolen jewels in her possession, and was sentenced to penal servitude. mrs. gordon-baillie. the modern female sharper is generally more inventive than were her predecessors, and works on more ambitious lines, although there is little to choose between the old and the new in criminality. if the "german princess" had had the same scope, the same large theatre of operations, she would probably have outdone even the famous mrs. gordon-baillie, whose extensive frauds gained her a sentence of five years' penal servitude. this ingenious person long turned the credulity of the british public to her own advantage, and, posing as a lady of rank and fashion, became noted for her heartfelt philanthropy, her eager desire to help the distressed. it was in that a certain mrs. gordon-baillie appeared before the world as the champion and friend of the crofters of skye; a dashing and attractive lady, in the possession of ample funds, which she freely lavished in the interests of her _protégés_. no one knew who she was or where she came from, but she was accepted at her own valuation, and much appreciated, not only in the island of skye, when she was "on the stump," but also in the west end of london, and by the best society. she made a sensation wherever she went. she was a tall, light-haired, fresh-complexioned woman, much given to gorgeous apparel, and her fine presence and engaging ways gained her admission to many good houses. her movements were chronicled in society papers; she was often interviewed by the reporters, and she had a bank balance and a cheque-book as a client of one of the oldest banks in london. [illustration: mrs. gordon-baillie.] all this time the popular mrs. gordon-baillie was a swindler and a thief, whose chequered career had commenced by a term of imprisonment in the general prison of perth, who indulged in several aliases, had been twice married, and was so deeply engaged in shady transactions that she had been very much "wanted," and had only evaded pursuit by changing her identity. she was born of humble parents at peterhead--her mother having been a servant, her father a small farmer--and first became known to criminal fame about as a pretty, engaging young person who had swindled the tradesmen of dundee. she was there convicted of obtaining goods under false pretences, having hired and furnished a smart villa, where she lived in luxurious comfort until arrested for not paying the bills. she was at this time miss mary ann sutherland bruce, her own name, and she retained it after her release, when she returned to her swindling courses, this time in edinburgh, whence she was obliged to bolt. her movements were now erratic; she passed rapidly from london to paris, from paris to rome, florence, vienna, visiting all the principal cities of europe, and leaving behind her unpaid tradesmen and disappointed landlords, but turning up smiling in new places, and soon securing new friends. as a proof of her audacity, about this time she made overtures to buy a london newspaper, and to start in the management of a london theatre. she was now resident in a pretty house near regent's park, with a lady companion, a brougham, and a well-mounted establishment. once again fate checked her career, in the shape of warrants for fraudulent pretences, and she found it advisable to disappear. when next she rose above the surface it was in a new aspect, with a new name. she was now miss ogilvie white, sometimes mrs. white. during this period she was summoned at the mansion house by a cabman, and was described as of york terrace, regent's park. her first appearance as mrs. gordon-baillie was in , when she became intimately acquainted with an old baronet, a gentleman on the other side of eighty, now inclining to dotage. under his auspices she launched out again, had a charming house in the west end, and money was plentiful for a time. it was a costly acquaintance for him; when the supplies ran short (and she seems to have extracted quite £ , from him) she easily persuaded him to accept bills for large amounts, which were readily discounted in the city until it was found there were "no effects" to meet them. the aged baronet was sued on all sides, and although his friends interposed declaring he was unable to manage his own affairs, having signed these acceptances under undue influence, a petition in bankruptcy was filed against him, so that the claims, which ran to thousands of pounds, might be thoroughly investigated. mrs. gordon-baillie was much "wanted" in connection with these transactions. but she was not to be found, and it was reported that she had gone to australia, although her visit to the antipodes was really made at a later date. [illustration: mrs. gordon-baillie among the crofters (p. ).] it was about this time that she married privately--for she retained her more aristocratic surname--a certain richard percival bodeley frost. her husband was fairly well born and had good connections, but he was put to hard shifts for a living, and found his account in floating the bills which his future wife was obtaining from the baronet above mentioned. the manipulation of these considerable sums gave him status as a man of substance, and he became largely engaged in company promoting, entering into contracts and other speculations. it was proved that he was at this time entirely without means, yet he contrived to get good backing from bankers in lombard street, and one city solicitor lent him £ , for a week or two on his note of hand. the money was never repaid, and when mr. frost was finally exposed he appeared in the bankruptcy court with liabilities to the tune of £ , . meanwhile his wife had espoused the cause of the crofters of skye. she appeared there in the depths of a severe winter, but, nothing daunted, went on stump through the island, received everywhere with enthusiasm by the crofters, whom she harangued on every possible occasion. her charity was profuse, it was said, although the source of the funds she distributed was somewhat tainted. at the end of her tour she collected £ towards the defence of the crofters about to be tried at inverness, and for this notable service she was presented with an address signed by the member for skye and others. now she went out to australia, partly on private business, partly to seek assistance for her crofters and acquire lands on which they might settle in the new world. her visit was one long triumph. she was warmly greeted whereever she appeared. colonial statesmen gladly fell in with her views, and when she returned to england, it was with a grant of , acres from the government of victoria. frost, to whom she was no doubt married, joined her in australia, and the couple returned to england as mr. and mrs. roberts. she, however, resumed the name of gordon-baillie, and as such embarked upon a new career of swindling, which was neither profitable nor very successful. her system argued that she was no longer backed by capital, and that she was reduced to rather commonplace frauds to gain a livelihood. her usual practice, about which there is little novelty, was to order goods from confiding tradesmen, pay for them with a cheque above the value, and get the change in cash. the cheques were presently dishonoured, but mrs. gordon-baillie had scored twice, having both ready money and the goods themselves, which she promptly re-sold. frost was concerned in these transactions, for the counterfoils of the cheque-book were in his handwriting. the frosts constantly changed their address, moving from furnished house to furnished house, adding to their precarious means by plundering and pawning all articles on which they could safely lay their hands. in all this she was no doubt greatly aided by her fashionable appearance and winning ways. not only did shopmen bow down before her, but she imposed upon the shrewd pressmen who interviewed her, and towards the end of her career, when funds were low, she persuaded a firm of west end bankers, hard-headed, experienced men of business, to give her a cheque-book and allow her to open an account. she soon had drawn no less than thirty-nine cheques on their bank, not one of which was honoured. when at last fate overtook her, and the police were set on her track by the duped and defrauded tradesmen, she brazened it out in court, declaring that her engagements were no more than debts, and that she was no worse than dozens of fashionable ladies who did not pay their bills. the prompt disposal of the goods she had obtained was, however, held to be felonious. nor would the judge allow her plea that she always meant to replace the furniture she had pawned. severe punishment was her righteous portion, and all who were associated with her suffered. as annie frost she was sentenced to five years' penal servitude; her husband, frost, to eighteen months. since her release, she has been reconvicted for the same class of fraud, but she is, i believe, now again at large. a viennese impostor. an ingenious fraud was not long since devised and carried out with a certain impunity by a young woman of vienna. she pretended to have been struck with a sudden admiration for some one of the gilded youth of the austrian capital, and so far forgot maidenly reserve as to write and confess her weakness. she chose a well-to-do but easily gullible person--and not one, but dozens, telling them one and all the same story. as she signed herself in full with the aristocratic name of kinsky, just then borne by a beautiful and wealthy member of that high family, the individuals selected felt themselves on the high road to fortune. the correspondence which followed was of the romantic kind, and it ended in a consent to elope at an early date. that was, however, impossible until sufficient funds were forthcoming to bribe the servants of the kinsky mansion--the concierge, the lady's maid, the footmen, coachman, and so forth. ample supplies were forthwith despatched to the young lady, who thus realised a very considerable sum. about this time the fraud became known to the police, and the false countess was arrested under the more plebeian name of marie lichtner. she seems to have enjoyed the whole joke, which was both profitable and amusing, despite the penalty of imprisonment that overtook her. on one occasion she gave a rendezvous to all her admirers at the opera, and on the same night. they were to appear in correct evening dress, and each was to wear a white camellia in his buttonhole. marie lichtner was there, but so also was the true countess, in a box upon the grand tier, resplendent in her beauty, and no doubt the false lady had the mingled pleasure and pain of seeing many lovelorn looks addressed to the kinsky box and its handsome occupant. big bertha. [illustration: bertha heyman.] america has produced a rival to mrs. gordon-baillie in bertha heyman, sometimes known as "big bertha," sometimes as the "confidence queen," a lady of like smart appearance and engaging manners, who reaped a fine harvest from the simpletons who were only too willing to believe in her. one of her first exploits was to wheedle a thousand dollars out of a palace car conductor when travelling between new york and chicago. soon after that, with a confederate calling himself dr. cooms, she was arrested for despoiling a commercial traveller from montreal of several hundred thousand dollars by the confidence game. her schemes were extraordinarily bold and ingenious, and they were covered by much ostentatious display. it was her plan to lodge at the best hotels, such as the windsor, the brunswick, and hoffman house, new york, the palmer house in chicago, or parker's in boston, to have both a lady's-maid and a man-servant in her train, and to talk at large about her influential friends. yet she was constantly in trouble, and saw the inside of many gaols and penitentiaries, but she came out ready to begin again with new projects, often on a bolder scale. one of her last feats was in wall street operations in stocks and shares. with her specious tongue she persuaded one broker that she was enormously rich, worth at least eight million dollars, and by this means won a great deal of money. the fraud was only discovered when the securities she had deposited were examined and found to be quite worthless. "big bertha" was gifted with insight into human nature, and is said to have succeeded in deceiving the shrewdest business people. of late nothing has been heard of her. [illustration: end of vol. i.] printed by cassel & company, limited, la belle sauvage, london, e.c. footnotes: [ ] "records of indian crime," ii. . [ ] "medical jurisprudence of india," p. . [ ] "reminiscences of an indian police official," p. . [ ] some other very creditable exploits of this indian detective, abdul ali, in elucidating murder mysteries will be given in a later chapter when dealing with indian police. [ ] in the possession of mdme. tussaud & son, ltd. [ ] abridged from the full account given in the "tales from _blackwood_," second series. [ ] _see_ "secrets of the prison house," vol. i. [ ] "criminal law of england." [ ] townsend's "life of justice buller." [ ] these _convulsionnaires_ were a sect of the jansenists who met at the tomb of "francis of paris," where they preached, prophesying the downfall of the church and the french monarchy. their ceremonies were wild and extravagant; they contorted their bodies violently, rolled on the ground, imitating birds, beasts, and fishes, until these convulsions (hence their name) ended in a swoon and collapse. the law was very severe against these fanatics, who, however, survived the most vigorous measures. [ ] pasquier, mémoires, iii., p. . [ ] see _post_, p. . [ ] see _ante_, p. . [ ] see _ante_, pp. - . [ ] george augustus sala, "a journey due north." [ ] mr. george kennan, in the _century_ magazine. [ ] "india in ," p. . [ ] see _ante_, pp. , . [ ] the opinion expressed by a parliamentary committee, in , on this wearing of plain clothes is worth recording. "with respect to the occasional employment of police in plain clothes," says the report, "the system affords no just matter of complaint while strictly confined to detecting breaches of the law.... at the same time, the committee would strongly urge the most cautious maintenance of these limits, and solemnly deprecate any approach to the employment of spies, in the usual acceptance of the term, as a practice most abhorrent to the feelings of the people and most alien to the spirit of the constitution." * * * * * typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: brunel=> brunell {pg v} preqared to submit herself=> prepared to submit herself {pg } province of limgoes=> province of limoges {pg } the recollections of a policeman. by thomas waters, an inspector of the london detective corps. boston: thayer and eldridge, & washington street. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by wentworth and company, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. preface. the tales included in this volume possess a remarkable degree of literary merit, which renders no apology necessary for their appearance before the public at this time. the detective policeman is in some respects peculiar to england--one of the developments of the last twenty-five years. he differs as much from the informer and spy of the continent of europe as the modern protective policeman does from the old-fashioned watchman. his occupation is of the most exciting and dangerous character, calling into requisition patient endurance and skilful diplomacy. in ferreting out the legitimate objects of justice, his record is full of "hair-breadth 'scapes," which lend a strong odor of the romantic to his life. we think that the reader, after having perused the following pages, will unite with us in the remark, that the _true_ stories contained therein have never been equalled for thrilling interest by any productions of modern fiction. contents. page the gambler guilty or not guilty x, y, z the widow the twins the pursuit legal metamorphoses the revenge mary kingsford flint jackson modern science of thief taking the detective police party three "detective" anecdotes the martyrs of chancery law at a low price the law the duties of witnesses and jurymen bank note forgeries doom of english wills disappearances loaded dice part i. the gambler. a little more than a year after the period when adverse circumstances--chiefly the result of my own reckless follies--compelled me to enter the ranks of the metropolitan police, as the sole means left me of procuring food and raiment, the attention of one of the principal chiefs of the force was attracted towards me by the ingenuity and boldness which i was supposed to have manifested in hitting upon and unraveling a clue which ultimately led to the detection and punishment of the perpetrators of an artistically-contrived fraud upon an eminent tradesman of the west end of london. the chief sent for me; and after a somewhat lengthened conversation, not only expressed approbation of my conduct in the particular matter under discussion, but hinted that he might shortly need my services in other affairs requiring intelligence and resolution. "i think i have met you before," he remarked with a meaning smile on dismissing me, "when you occupied a different position from your present one? do not alarm yourself: i have no wish to pry unnecessarily into other men's secrets. waters is a name common enough in _all_ ranks of society, and i may, you know"--here the cold smile deepened in ironical expression--"be mistaken. at all events, the testimony of the gentleman whose recommendation obtained you admission to the force--i have looked into the matter since i heard of your behavior in the late business--is a sufficient guarantee that nothing more serious than imprudence and folly can be laid to your charge. i have neither right nor inclination to inquire further. to-morrow, in all probability, i shall send for you." i came to the conclusion, as i walked homewards, that the chief's intimation of having previously met me in a another sphere of life was a random and unfounded one, as i had seldom visited london in my prosperous days, and still more rarely mingled in its society. my wife, however, to whom i of course related the substance of the conversation, reminded me that he had once been at doncaster during the races; and suggested that he might possibly have seen and noticed me there. this was a sufficiently probable explanation of the hint; but whether the correct one or not, i cannot decide, as he never afterwards alluded to the subject, and i had not the slightest wish to renew it. three days elapsed before i received the expected summons. on waiting on him, i was agreeably startled to find that i was to be at once employed on a mission which the most sagacious and experienced of detective-officers would have felt honored to undertake. "here is a written description of the persons of this gang of blacklegs, swindlers, and forgers," concluded the commissioner, summing up his instructions. "it will be your object to discover their private haunts, and secure legal evidence of their nefarious practices. we have been hitherto baffled, principally, i think, through the too hasty zeal of the officers employed: you must especially avoid that error. they are practised scoundrels; and it will require considerable patience, as well as acumen, to unkennel and bring them to justice. one of their more recent victims is young mr. merton, son, by a former marriage, of the dowager lady everton.[a] her ladyship has applied to us for assistance in extricating him from the toils in which he is meshed. you will call on her at five o'clock this afternoon--in plain clothes of course--and obtain whatever information on the subject she may be able to afford. remember to communicate _directly_ with me; and any assistance you may require shall be promptly rendered." with these, and a few other minor directions, needless to recapitulate, i was dismissed to a task which, difficult and possibly perilous as it might prove, i hailed as a delightful relief from the wearing monotony and dull routine of ordinary duty. [a] the _names_ mentioned in this narrative are, for obvious reasons, fictitious. i hastened home; and after dressing with great care--the best part of my wardrobe had been fortunately saved by emily from the wreck of my fortunes--i proceeded to lady everton's mansion. i was immediately marshalled to the drawing-room, where i found her ladyship and her daughter--a beautiful, fairy-looking girl--awaiting my arrival. lady everton appeared greatly surprised at my appearance, differing, as i daresay it altogether did, from her abstract idea of a policeman, however attired or disguised; and it was not till she had perused the note of which i was the bearer, that her haughty and incredulous stare became mitigated to a glance of lofty condescendent civility. "be seated, mr. waters," said her ladyship, waving me to a chair. "this note informs me that you have been selected for the duty of endeavoring to extricate my son from the perilous entanglements in which he has unhappily involved himself." i was about to reply--for i was silly enough to feel somewhat nettled at the noble lady's haughtiness of manner--that i was engaged in the public service of extirpating a gang of swindlers with whom her son had involved himself, and was there to procure from her ladyship any information she might be possessed of likely to forward so desirable a result; but fortunately the remembrance of my actual position, spite of my gentleman's attire, flashed vividly upon my mind; and instead of permitting my glib tongue to wag irreverently in the presence of a right honorable, i bowed with deferential acquiescence. her ladyship proceeded, and i in substance obtained the following information:-- mr. charles merton, during the few months which had elapsed since the attainment of his majority, had very literally "fallen amongst thieves." a passion for gambling seemed to have taken entire possession of his being; and almost every day, as well as night, of his haggard and feverish life was passed at play. a run of ill-luck, according to his own belief--but in very truth a run of downright robbery--had set in against him, and he had not only dissipated all the ready money which he had inherited, and the large sums which the foolish indulgence of his lady-mother had supplied him with, but had involved himself in bonds, bills, and other obligations to a frightful amount. the principal agent in effecting this ruin was one sandford--a man of fashionable and dashing exterior, and the presiding spirit of the knot of desperadoes whom i was commissioned to hunt out. strange to say, mr. merton had the blindest reliance upon this man's honor; and even now--tricked, despoiled as he had been by him and his gang--relied upon his counsel and assistance for escape from the desperate position in which he was involved. the everton estates had passed, in default of male issue, to a distant relative of the late lord; so that ruin, absolute and irremediable, stared both the wretched dupe and his relatives in the face. lady everton's jointure was not a very large one, and her son had been permitted to squander sums which should have been devoted to the discharge of claims which were now pressed harshly against her. i listened with the deepest interest to lady everton's narrative. repeatedly during the course of it, as she incidentally alluded to the manners and appearance of sandford, who had been introduced by mr. merton to his mother and sister, a suspicion, which the police papers had first awakened, that the gentleman in question was an old acquaintance of my own, and one, moreover, whose favors i was extremely desirous to return in kind, flashed with increased conviction across my mind. this surmise i of course kept to myself; and after emphatically cautioning the ladies to keep our proceedings a profound secret from mr. merton, i took my leave, amply provided with the resources requisite for carrying into effect the scheme which i had resolved upon. i also arranged that, instead of waiting personally on her ladyship, which might excite observation and suspicion, i should report progress by letter through the post. "if it _should_ be he!" thought i, as i emerged into the street. the bare suspicion had sent the blood through my veins with furious violence. "if this sandford be, as i suspect, that villain cardon, success will indeed be triumph--victory! lady everton need not in that case seek to animate my zeal by promises of money recompense. a blighted existence, a young and gentle wife by his means cast down from opulence to sordid penury, would stimulate the dullest craven that ever crawled the earth to energy and action. pray heaven my suspicion prove correct; and then, oh mine enemy, look well to yourself, for the avenger is at your heels!" sandford, i had been instructed was usually present at the italian opera during the ballet: the box he generally occupied was designated in the memoranda of the police: and as i saw by the bills that a very successful piece was to be performed that evening, i determined on being present. i entered the house a few minutes past ten o'clock, just after the commencement of the ballet, and looked eagerly round. the box in which i was instructed to seek my man was empty. the momentary disappointment was soon repaid. five minutes had not elapsed when cardon, looking more insolently-triumphant than ever, entered arm-in-arm with a pale aristocratic-looking young man, whom i had no difficulty, from his striking resemblance to a portrait in lady everton's drawing-room, in deciding to be mr. merton. my course of action was at once determined on. pausing only to master the emotion which the sight of the glittering reptile in whose poisonous folds i had been involved and crushed inspired, i passed to the opposite side of the house, and boldly entered the box. cardon's back was towards me, and i tapped him lightly on the shoulder. he turned quickly round; and if a basilisk had confronted him, he could scarcely have exhibited greater terror and surprise. my aspect, nevertheless, was studiously bland and conciliating, and my out-stretched hand seemed to invite a renewal of our old friendship. "waters!" he at last stammered, feebly accepting my proffered grasp--"who would have thought of meeting you here?" "not you, certainly, since you stare at an old friend as if he were some frightful goblin about to swallow you. really"---- "hush! let us speak together in the lobby. an old friend," he added in answer to mr. merton's surprised stare. "we will return in an instant." "why, what is all this, waters?" said cardon, recovering his wonted _sang-froid_ the instant we were alone. "i understood you had retired from amongst us; were in fact--what shall i say?"---- "ruined--done up! nobody should know that better than you." "my good fellow, you do not imagine"---- "i imagine nothing, my dear cardon. i was very thoroughly done--done _brown_, as it is written in the vulgar tongue. but fortunately my kind old uncle"---- "passgrove is dead!" interrupted my old acquaintance, eagerly jumping to a conclusion, "and you are his heir! i congratulate you, my dear fellow. this is indeed a charming 'reverse of circumstances.'" "yes; but mind i have given up the old game. no more dice-devilry for me. i have promised emily never even to touch a card again." the cold, hard eye of the incarnate fiend--he was little else--gleamed mockingly as these "good intentions" of a practised gamester fell upon his ear; but he only replied, "very good; quite right, my dear boy. but come, let me introduce you to mr. merton, a highly connected personage i assure you. by the by, waters," he added in a caressing, confidential tone, "my name, for family and other reasons, which i will hereafter explain to you, is for the present sandford." "sandford!" "yes: do not forget. but _allons_, or the ballet will be over." i was introduced in due form to mr. merton as an old and esteemed friend, whom he--sandford--had not seen for many months. at the conclusion of the ballet, sandford proposed that we should adjourn to the european coffee-house, nearly opposite. this was agreed to, and out we sallied. at the top of the staircase we jostled against the commissioner, who, like us, was leaving the house. he bowed slightly to mr. merton's apology, and his eye wandered briefly and coldly over our persons; but not the faintest sign of interest or recognition escaped him. i thought it possible he did not know me in my changed apparel; but looking back after descending a few steps, i was quickly undeceived. a sharp, swift glance, expressive both of encouragement and surprise, shot out from under his penthouse brows, and as swiftly vanished. he did not know how little i needed spurring to the goal we had both in view! we discussed two or three bottles of wine with much gaiety and relish. sandford especially was in exuberant spirits; brimming over with brilliant anecdote and sparkling badinage. he saw in me a fresh, rich prey, and his eager spirit revelled by anticipation in the victory which he nothing doubted to obtain over my "excellent intentions and wife-pledged virtue." about half-past twelve o'clock he proposed to adjourn. this was eagerly assented to by mr. merton, who had for some time exhibited unmistakeable symptoms of impatience and unrest. "you will accompany us, waters?" said sandford, as we rose to depart. "there is, i suppose, no vow registered in the matrimonial archives against _looking on_ at a game played by others?" "oh no; but don't ask me to play." "certainly not;" and a devilish sneer curled his lip. "your virtue shall suffer no temptation be assured." we soon arrived before the door of a quiet, respectable looking house in one of the streets leading from the strand: a low peculiar knock, given by sandford, was promptly answered; then a password, which i did not catch, was whispered by him through the key-hole, and we passed in. we proceeded up stairs to the first floor, the shutters of which were carefully closed, so that no intimation of what was going on could possibly reach the street. the apartment was brilliantly lighted: a roulette table and dice and cards were in full activity: wine and liquors of all varieties were profusely paraded. there were about half-a-dozen persons present, i soon discovered, besides the gang, and that comprised eleven or twelve well-dressed desperadoes, whose sinister aspects induced a momentary qualm lest one or more of the pleasant party might suspect or recognise my vocation. this, however, i reflected, was scarcely possible. my beat during the short period i had been in the force was far distant from the usual haunts of such gentry, and i was otherwise unknown in london. still, questioning glances were eagerly directed towards my introducer; and one big burly fellow, a foreigner--the rascals were the scum of various countries--was very unpleasantly inquisitorial. "_y'en réponds!_" i heard sandford say in answer to his iterated queries; and he added something in a whisper which brought a sardonic smile to the fellow's lips, and induced a total change in his demeanor towards myself. this was reassuring; for though provided with pistols, i should, i felt, have little chance with such utterly reckless ruffians as those by whom i was surrounded. play was proposed; and though at first stoutly refusing, i feigned to be gradually overcome by irresistible temptation, and sat down to blind hazard with my foreign friend for moderate stakes. i was graciously allowed to win; and in the end found myself richer in devil's money by about ten pounds. mr. merton was soon absorbed in the chances of the dice, and lost large sums, for which, when the money he had brought with him was exhausted, he gave written acknowledgements. the cheating practised upon him was really audacious; and any one but a tyro must have repeatedly detected it. he, however, appeared not to entertain the slightest suspicion of the "fair-play" of his opponents, guiding himself entirely by the advice of his friend and counsellor, sandford, who did not himself play. the amiable assemblage broke up about six in the morning, each person retiring singly by the back way, receiving, as he departed, a new password for the next evening. a few hours afterwards, i waited on the commissioner to report the state of affairs. he was delighted with the fortunate _début_ i had made, but still strictly enjoined patience and caution. it would have been easy, as i was in possession of the password, to have surprised the confederacy in the act of gaming that very evening; but this would only have accomplished a part of the object aimed at. several of the fraternity--sandford amongst the number--were suspected of uttering forged foreign bank-notes, and it was essential to watch narrowly for legal evidence to insure their conviction. it was also desirable to restore, if possible, the property and securities of which mr. merton had been pillaged. nothing of especial importance occurred for seven or eight days. gaming went on as usual every evening, and mr. merton became of course more and more involved: even his sister's jewels--which he had surreptitiously obtained, to such a depth of degredation will this frightful vice plunge men otherwise honorable--had been staked and lost; and he was, by the advice of sandford, about to conclude a heavy mortgage on his estate, in order not only to clear off his enormous 'debts of honor,' but to acquire fresh means of 'winning back'--that _ignus-fatuus_ of all gamblers--his tremendous losses! a new preliminary 'dodge' was, i observed, now brought into action. mr. merton esteemed himself a knowing hand at _ecarté_: it was introduced; and he was permitted to win every game he played, much to the apparent annoyance and discomfiture of the losers. as this was precisely the snare into which i had myself fallen, i of course the more readily detected it, and felt quite satisfied that a _grand coup_ was meditated. in the meantime i had not been idle. sandford was _confidentially_ informed that i was only waiting in london to receive between four and five thousand pounds--part of uncle passgrove's legacy--and then intended to immediately hasten back to canny yorkshire. to have seen the villain's eyes as i incidentally, as it were, announced my errand and intention! they fairly flashed with infernal glee! ah, sandford, sandford! you were, with all your cunning, but a sand-blind idiot to believe the man you had wronged and ruined could so easily forget the debt he owed you! the crisis came swiftly on. mr. merton's mortgage-money was to be paid on the morrow; and on that day, too, i announced the fabulous thousands receivable by me were to be handed over. mr. merton, elated by his repeated triumphs at ecarté, and prompted by his friend sandford, resolved, instead of cancelling the bonds and obligations held by the conspirators, to redeem his losses by staking on that game his ready money against those liabilities. this was at first demurred to with much apparent earnestness by the winners; but mr. merton, warmly seconded by sandford, insisting upon the concession, as he deemed it, it was finally agreed that ecarté should be the game by which he might hope to regain the fortune and the peace of mind he had so rashly squandered: the last time, should he be successful--and was he not sure of success?--he assured sandford, that he would ever handle cards or dice. he should have heard the mocking merriment with which the gang heard sandford repeat this resolution to amend his ways--_when_ he had recovered back his wealth! the day so eagerly longed for by merton and the confederates--by the spoilers and their prey--arrived; and i awaited with feverish anxiety the coming on of night. only the chief conspirators--eight in number--were to be present; and no stranger except myself--a privilege i owed to the moonshine legacy i had just received--was to be admitted to this crowning triumph of successful fraud. one only hint i had ventured to give mr. merton, and that under a promise, 'on his honor as a gentleman,' of inviolable secrecy. it was this: "be sure, before commencing play to-morrow night, that the bonds and obligations you have signed, the jewels you have lost, with a sum in notes or gold to make up an equal amount to that which you mean to risk, is actually deposited on the table." he promised to insist on this condition. it involved much more than he dreamt of. my arrangements were at length thoroughly complete; and a few minutes past twelve o'clock the whispered password admitted me into the house. an angry altercation was going on. mr. merton was insisting, as i had advised, upon the exhibition of a sum equal to that which he had brought with him--for, confident of winning, he was determined to recover his losses to the last farthing; and although his bonds, bills, obligations, his sister's jewels, and a large amount in gold and genuine notes, were produced, there was still a heavy sum deficient. "ah, by the by," exclaimed sandford as i entered, "waters can lend you the sum for an hour or two--for a _consideration_," he added in a whisper. "it will soon be returned." "no, thank you," i answered coldly. "i never part with my money till i have lost it." a malignant scowl passed over the scoundrel's features; but he made no reply. ultimately it was decided that one of the fraternity should be despatched in search of the required amount. he was gone about half an hour, and returned with a bundle of notes. they were, as i hoped and expected, forgeries on foreign banks. mr. merton looked at and counted them; and play commenced. as it went on, so vividly did the scene recall the evening that had sealed my own ruin, that i grew dizzy with excitement, and drained tumbler after tumbler of water to allay the fevered throbbing of my veins. the gamblers were fortunately too much absorbed to heed my agitation. merton lost continuously--without pause or intermission. the stakes were doubled--trebled--quadrupled! his brain was on fire; and he played, or rather lost, with the recklessness of a madman. "hark! what's that?" suddenly exclaimed sandford, from whose satanic features the mask he had so long worn before merton had been gradually slipping. "did you not hear a noise below?" _my_ ear had caught the sound; and i could better interpret it than he. it ceased. "touch the signal-bell, adolphe," added sandford. not only the play, but the very breathing of the villains, was suspended as they listened for the reply. it came. the answering tinkle sounded once--twice--thrice. "all right!" shouted sandford. "proceed! the farce is nearly played out." i had instructed the officers that two of them in plain clothes should present themselves at the front door, obtain admission by means of the password i had given them, and immediately seize and gag the door-keeper. i had also acquainted them with the proper answer to the signal-wring--three distinct pulls at the bell-handle communicating with the first floor. their comrades were then to be admitted, and they were all to silently ascend the stairs, and wait on the landing till summoned by me to enter and seize the gamesters. the back entrance to the house was also securely but unobtrusively watched. one only fear disturbed me: it was lest the scoundrels should take alarm in sufficient time to extinguish the lights, destroy the forged papers, and possibly escape by some private passage which might, unknown to me, exist. rousing myself, as soon as the play was resumed, from the trance of memory by which i had been in some sort absorbed, and first ascertaining that the handles of my pistols were within easy reach--for i knew i was playing a desperate game with desperate men--i rose, stepped carelessly to the door, partially opened it, and bent forward, as if listening for a repetition of the sound which had so alarmed the company. to my great delight the landing and stairs were filled with police-officers--silent and stern as death. i drew back, and walked towards the table at which mr. merton was seated. the last stake--an enormous one--was being played for. merton lost. he sprang upon his feet, death-pale, despairing, overwhelmed, and a hoarse execration surged through his clenched teeth. sandford and his associates coolly raked the plunder together, their features lighted up with fiendish glee. "villain!--traitor!--miscreant!" shrieked mr. merton, as if smitten with sudden frenzy, and darting at sandford's throat: "you, devil that you are, have undone, destroyed me!" "no doubt of it," calmly replied sandford, shaking off his victim's grasp; "and i think it has been very artistically and effectually done too. snivelling, my fine fellow, will scarcely help you much." mr. merton glared upon the taunting villain in speechless agony and rage. "not quite so fast, _cardon_, if you please," i exclaimed, at the same time taking up a bundle of forged notes. "it does not appear to me that mr. merton has played against equal stakes, for unquestionably this paper is not genuine." "dog!" roared sandford, "do you hold your life so cheap?" and he rushed towards me, as if to seize the forged notes. i was as quick as he, and the levelled tube of a pistol sharply arrested his eager onslaught. the entire gang gathered near us, flaming with excitement. mr. merton looked bewilderedly from one to another, apparently scarcely conscious of what was passing around him. "wrench the papers from him!" screamed sandford, recovering his energy. "seize him--stab, strangle him!" "look to yourself, scoundrel!" i shouted with equal vehemence. "your hour is come! officers, enter and do your duty!" in an instant the room was filled with police; and surprised, panic-stricken, paralysed by the suddenness of the catastrophe, the gang were all secured without the slightest resistance, though most of them were armed, and marched off in custody. three--sandford, or cardon; but he had half-a-dozen _aliases_, one of them--were transported for life: the rest were sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. my task was effectually accomplished. my superiors were pleased to express very warm commendation of the manner in which i had acquitted myself; and the first step in the promotion which ultimately led to my present position in another branch of the public service was soon afterwards conferred upon me. mr. merton had his bonds, obligations, jewels, and money, restored to him; and, taught wisdom by terrible experience, never again entered a gaming-house. neither he nor his lady-mother was ungrateful for the service i had been fortunate enough to render them. part ii. guilty or not guilty? a few weeks after the lucky termination of the sandford affair i was engaged in the investigation of a remarkable case of burglary, accompanied by homicide, which had just occurred at the residence of mr. bagshawe, a gentleman of competent fortune, situated within a few miles of kendal in westmoreland. the particulars forwarded to the london police authorities by the local magistracy were chiefly these:-- mr. bagshawe, who had been some time absent at leamington, warkwickshire, with his entire establishment, wrote to sarah king--a young woman left in charge of the house and property--to announce his own speedy return, and at the same time directing her to have a particular bedroom aired, and other household matters arranged for the reception of his nephew, mr. robert bristowe, who, having just arrived from abroad, would, he expected, leave london immediately for five oaks' house. the positive arrival of this nephew had been declared to several tradesmen of kendal by king early in the day preceding the night of the murder and robbery; and by her directions butcher-meat, poultry, fish, and so on, had been sent by them to five oaks for his table. the lad who carried the fish home stated that he had seen a strange young gentleman in one of the sitting-rooms on the ground-floor through the half-opened door of the apartment. on the following morning it was discovered that five oaks' house had been, not indeed broken _into_, but broken _out of_. this was evident from the state of the door fastenings and the servant-woman barbarously murdered. the neighbors found her lying quite dead and cold at the foot of the principal staircase, clothed only in her nightgown and stockings, and with a flat chamber candlestick tightly grasped in her right hand. it was conjectured that she had been roused from sleep by some noise below, and having descended to ascertain the cause, had been mercilessly slain by the disturbed burglars. mr. bagshawe arrived on the following day, and it was then found that not only a large amount of plate, but between three and four thousand pounds in gold and notes--the produce of government stock sold out about two months previously--had been carried off. the only person, except his niece, who lived with him, that knew there was this sum in the house, was his nephew robert bristowe, to whom he had written, directing his letter to the hummums hotel, london, stating that the sum for the long-contemplated purchase of ryland's had been some time lying idle at five oaks, as he had wished to consult him upon his bargain before finally concluding it. this mr. robert bristowe was now nowhere to be seen or heard of; and what seemed to confirm beyond a doubt the--to mr. bagshawe and his niece--torturing, horrifying suspicion that this nephew was the burglar and assassin, a portion of the identical letter written to him by his uncle was found in one of the offices! as he was nowhere to be met with or heard of in the neighborhood of kendal, it was surmised that he must have returned to london with his booty; and a full description of his person, and the dress he wore, as given by the fishmonger's boy, was sent to london by the authorities. they also forwarded for our use and assistance one josiah barnes, a sly, sharp, vagabond-sort of fellow, who had been apprehended on suspicion, chiefly, or rather wholly, because of his former intimacy with the unfortunate sarah king, who had discarded him, it seemed, on account of his incorrigibly idle, and in other respects disreputable habits. the _alibi_ he set up was, however, so clear and decisive, that he was but a few hours in custody; and he now exhibited great zeal for the discovery of the murderer of the woman to whom he had, to the extent of his perverted instincts, been sincerely attached. he fiddled at the festivals of the humbler kendalese; sang, tumbled, ventriloquized at their tavern orgies; and had he not been so very highly-gifted, might, there was little doubt, have earned a decent living as a carpenter, to which profession his father, by dint of much exertion, had about half-bred him. his principal use to us was, that he was acquainted with the features of mr. robert bristowe; and accordingly, as soon as i had received my commission and instructions, i started off with him to the hummums hotel, covent garden. in answer to my inquiries, it was stated that mr. robert bristowe had left the hotel a week previously without settling his bill--which was, however, of very small amount, as he usually paid every evening--and had not since been heard of; neither had he taken his luggage with him. this was odd, though the period stated would have given him ample time to reach westmoreland on the day it was stated he _had_ arrived there. "what dress did he wear when he left?" "that which he usually wore: a foraging-cap with a gold band, a blue military surtout coat, light trousers, and wellington boots." the precise dress described by the fishmonger's errand-boy! we next proceeded to the bank of england, to ascertain if any of the stolen notes had been presented for payment. i handed in a list of the numbers furnished by mr. bagshawe, and was politely informed that they had all been cashed early the day before by a gentleman in a sort of undress uniform, and wearing a foraging cap. lieutenant james was the name indorsed upon them; and the address harley street, cavendish square, was of course a fictitious one. the cashier doubted if he should be able to swear to the person of the gentleman who changed the notes, but he had particularly noticed his dress. i returned to scotland yard to report _no_ progress; and it was then determined to issue bills descriptive of bristowe's person, and offering a considerable reward for his apprehension, or such information as might lead to it; but the order had scarcely been issued, when who should we see walking deliberately down the yard towards the police-office but mr. robert bristowe himself, dressed precisely as before described! i had just time to caution the inspector not to betray any suspicion, but to hear his story, and let him quietly depart, and to slip with josiah barnes out of sight, when he entered, and made a formal but most confused complaint of having been robbed something more than a week previously--where or by whom he knew not--and afterwards deceived, bamboozled, and led astray in his pursuit of the robbers, by a person whom he now suspected to be a confederate with them. even of this latter personage he could afford no tangible information; and the inspector, having quietly listened to his statement--intended, doubtless, as a mystification--told him the police should make inquiries, and wished him good-morning. as soon as he had turned out of scotland yard by the street leading to the strand, i was upon his track. he walked slowly on, but without pausing, till he reached the saracen's head, snow-hill, where, to my great astonishment, he booked himself for westmoreland by the night-coach. he then walked into the inn, and seating himself in the coffee-room, called for a pint of sherry wine and some biscuits. he was now safe for a short period at any rate; and i was about to take a turn in the street, just to meditate upon the most advisable course of action, when i espied three buckishly-attired, bold-faced looking fellows--one of whom i thought i recognised, spite of his fine dress--enter the booking-office. naturally anxious in my vocation, i approached as closely to the door as i could without being observed, and heard one of them--my acquaintance sure enough; i could not be deceived in that voice--ask the clerk if there were any vacant places in the night-coach to westmoreland. to westmoreland! why, what in the name of mercury could a detachment of the swell-mob be wanting in that country of furze and frieze-coats? the next sentence uttered by my friend, as he placed the money for booking three insides to kendal on the counter was equally, or perhaps more puzzling: "is the gentleman who entered the office just now--him with a foraging cap i mean--to be our fellow-passenger?" "yes, he has booked himself; and has, i think, since gone into the house." "thank you: good-morning." i had barely time to slip aside into one of the passages, when the three gentlemen came out of the office, passed me, and swaggered out of the yard. vague, undefined suspicions at once beset me relative to the connection of these worthies with the "foraging-cap" and the doings at kendal. there was evidently something in all this more than natural, if police philosophy could but find it out. i resolved at all events to try; and in order to have a chance of doing so, i determined to be of the party, nothing doubting that i should be able, in some way or other, to make one in whatever game they intended playing. i in my turn entered the booking-office, and finding there were still two places vacant, secured them both for james jenkins and josiah barnes, countrymen and friends of mine returning to the "north countrie." i returned to the coffee-room, where mr. bristowe was still seated, apparently in deep and anxious meditation, and wrote a note, with which i despatched the inn porter. i had now ample leisure for observing the suspected burglar and assassin. he was a pale, intellectual-looking, and withal handsome young man, of about six-and-twenty years of age, of slight but well-knit frame, and with the decided air--travel-stained and jaded as he appeared--of a gentleman. his look was troubled and careworn, but i sought in vain for any indication of the starting, nervous tremor always in my experience exhibited by even old practitioners in crime when suddenly accosted. several persons had entered the room hastily, without causing him even to look up. i determined to try an experiment on his nerves, which i was quite satisfied no man who had recently committed a murder, and but the day before changed part of the produce of that crime into gold at the bank of england, could endure without wincing. my object was, not to procure evidence producible in a court of law by such means, but to satisfy my own mind. i felt a growing conviction that, spite of appearances, the young man was guiltless of the deed imputed to him, and might be the victim, i could not help thinking, either of some strange combination of circumstances, or, more likely, of a diabolical plot for his destruction, essential, possibly, to the safety of the real perpetrators of the crime; very probably--so ran my suspicions--friends and acquaintances of the three gentlemen who were to be our fellow-travelers. my duty, i knew, was quite as much the vindication of innocence as the detection of guilt; and if i could satisfy myself that he was not the guilty party, no effort of mine should be wanting, i determined, to extricate him from the perilous position in which he stood. i went out of the room, and remained absent for some time; then suddenly entered with a sort of bounce, walked swiftly, and with a determined air, straight up to the box where he was seated, grasped him tightly by the arm, and exclaimed roughly, "so i have found you at last!" there was no start, no indication of fear whatever--not the slightest; the expression of his countenance, as he peevishly replied, "what the devil do you mean?" was simply one of surprise and annoyance. "i beg your pardon," i replied; "the waiter told me a friend of mine, one _bagshawe_, who has given me the slip, was here, and i mistook you for him." he courteously accepted my apology, quietly remarking at the same time that though his own name was bristowe, he had, oddly enough, an uncle in the country of the same name as the person i had mistaken him for. surely, thought i, this man is guiltless of the crime imputed to him; and yet---- at this moment the porter entered to announce the arrival of the gentleman i had sent for. i went out; and after giving the new-comer instructions not to lose sight of mr. bristowe, hastened home to make arrangements for the journey. transformed, by the aid of a flaxen wig, broad-brimmed hat, green spectacles, and a multiplicity of waistcoats and shawls, into a heavy and elderly, well-to-do personage, i took my way with josiah barnes--whom i had previously thoroughly drilled as to speech and behavior towards our companions--to the saracen's head a few minutes previous to the time for starting. we found mr. bristowe already seated; but the "three friends," i observed, were curiously looking on, desirous no doubt of ascertaining _who_ were to be their fellow-travelers before venturing to coop themselves up in a space so narrow, and, under certain circumstances, so difficult of egress. my appearance and that of barnes--who, sooth to say, looked much more of a simpleton than he really was--quite reassured them, and in they jumped with confident alacrity. a few minutes afterwards the "all right" of the attending ostlers gave the signal for departure, and away we started. a more silent, less social party i never assisted at. whatever amount of "feast of reason" each or either of us might have silently enjoyed, not a drop of "flow of soul" welled up from one of the six insides. every passenger seemed to have his own peculiar reasons for declining to display himself in either mental or physical prominence. only one or two incidents--apparently unimportant, but which i carefully noted down in the tablet of my memory--occurred during the long, wearisome journey, till we stopped to dine at about thirty miles from kendal; when i ascertained, from an over-heard conversation of one of the three with the coachman, that they intended to get down at a roadside tavern more than six miles on this side of that place. "do you know this house they intend to stop at?" i inquired of my assistant as soon as i got him out of sight and hearing at the back of the premises. "quite well: it is within about two miles of five oaks' house." "indeed! then you must stop there too. it is necessary i should go on to kendal with mr. bristowe; but you can remain and watch their proceedings." "with all my heart." "but what excuse can you make for remaining there, when they know you are booked for kendal? fellows of that stamp are keenly suspicious; and in order to be useful, you must be entirely unsuspected." "oh, leave that to me. i'll throw dust enough in their eyes to blind a hundred such as they, i warrant ye." "well, we shall see. and now to dinner." soon after, the coach had once more started. mr. josiah barnes began drinking from a stone bottle which he drew from his pocket; and so potent must have been the spirit it contained, that he became rapidly intoxicated. not only speech, but eyes, body, arms, legs, the entire animal, by the time we reached the inn where we had agreed he should stop, was thoroughly, hopelessly drunk; and so savagely quarrelsome, too, did he become, that i expected every instant to hear my real vocation pointed out for the edification of the company. strange to say, utterly stupid and savage as he seemed, all dangerous topics were carefully avoided. when the coach stopped, he got out--how, i know not--and reeled and tumbled into the tap-room, from which he declared he would not budge an inch till next day. vainly did the coachman remonstrate with him upon his foolish obstinacy; he might as well have argued with a bear; and he at length determined to leave him to his drunken humor. i was out of patience with the fellow; and snatching an opportunity when the room was clear, began to upbraid him for his vexatious folly. he looked sharply round, and then, his body as evenly balanced, his eye as clear, his speech as free as my own, crowed out in a low exulting voice, "didn't i tell you i'd manage it nicely?" the door opened, and, in a twinkling, extremity of drunkenness, of both brain and limb, was again assumed with a perfection of acting i have never seen equalled. he had studied from nature, that was perfectly clear. i was quite satisfied, and with renewed confidence obeyed the coachman's call to take my seat. mr. bristowe and i were now the only inside passengers; and as farther disguise was useless, i began stripping myself of my superabundant clothing, wig, spectacles, &c., and in a few minutes, with the help of a bundle i had with me, presented to the astonished gaze of my fellow-traveler the identical person that had so rudely accosted him in the coffee-room of the saracen's head inn. "why, what, in the name of all that's comical, is the meaning of this?" demanded mr. bristowe, laughing immoderately at my changed appearance. i briefly and coolly informed him; and he was for some minutes overwhelmed with consternation and astonishment. he had not, he said, even heard of the catastrophe at his uncle's. still, amazed and bewildered as he was, no sign which i could interpret into an indication of guilt escaped him. "i do not wish to obtrude upon your confidence, mr. bristowe," i remarked, after a long pause; "but you must perceive that unless the circumstances i have related to you are in some way explained, you stand in a perilous predicament." "you are right," he replied, after some hesitation. "_it is_ a tangled web; still, i doubt not that some mode of vindicating my perfect innocence will present itself." he then relapsed into silence; and neither of us spoke again till the coach stopped, in accordance with a previous intimation i had given the coachman, opposite the gate of the kendal prison. mr. bristowe started, and changed color, but instantly mastering his emotion, he calmly said, "you of course but perform your duty; mine is not to distrust a just and all-seeing providence." we entered the jail, and the necessary search of his clothes and luggage was effected as forbearingly as possible. to my great dismay we found amongst the money in his purse a spanish gold piece of a peculiar coinage, and in the lining of his portmanteau, very dexterously hidden, a cross set with brilliants, both of which i knew, by the list forwarded to the london police, formed part of the plunder carried off from five oaks' house. the prisoner's vehement protestations that he could not conceive how such articles came into his possession, excited a derisive smile on the face of the veteran turnkey; whilst i was thoroughly dumb-founded by the seemingly complete demolition of the theory of innocence i had woven out of his candid open manner and unshakeable hardihood of nerve. "i dare say the articles came to you in your sleep!" sneered the turnkey as we turned to leave the cell. "oh," i mechanically exclaimed, "in his sleep! i had not thought of that!" the man stared; but i had passed out of the prison before he could express his surprise or contempt in words. the next morning the justice-room was densely crowded, to hear the examination of the prisoner. there was also a very numerous attendance of magistrates; the case, from the position in life of the prisoner, and the strange and mysterious circumstances of the affair altogether, having excited an extraordinary and extremely painful interest amongst all classes in the town and neighborhood. the demeanor of the accused gentleman was anxious certainly, but withal calm and collected; and there was, i thought, a light of fortitude and conscious probity in his clear, bold eyes, which guilt never yet successfully stimulated. after the hearing of some minor evidence, the fishmonger's boy was called, and asked if he could point out the person he had seen at five oaks on the day preceding the burglary? the lad looked fixedly at the prisoner for something more than a minute without speaking, and then said, "the gentleman was standing before the fire when i saw him, with his cap on; i should like to see this person with his cap on before i say anything." mr. bristowe dashed on his foraging-cap, and the boy immediately exclaimed, "that is the man!" mr. cowan, a solicitor, retained by mr. bagshawe for his nephew, objected that this was, after all, only swearing to a cap, or at best to the _ensemble_ of a dress, and ought not to be received. the chairman, however, decided that it must be taken _quantum valeat_, and in corroboration of other evidence. it was next deposed by several persons that the deceased sarah king had told them that her master's nephew had positively arrived at five oaks. an objection to the reception of this evidence, as partaking of the nature of "heresay," was also made, and similarly overruled. mr. bristowe begged to observe "that sarah king was not one of his uncle's old servants, and was entirely unknown to him: it was quite possible, therefore, that he was personally unknown to her." the bench observed that all these observations might be fitly urged before a jury, but, in the present stage of the proceedings, were uselessly addressed to them, whose sole duty it was to ascertain if a sufficiently strong case of suspicion had been made out against the prisoner to justify his committal for trial. a constable next proved finding a portion of a letter, which he produced, in one of the offices of five oaks; and then mr. bagshawe was directed to be called in. the prisoner, upon hearing this order given, exhibited great emotion, and earnestly intreated that his uncle and himself might be spared the necessity of meeting each other for the first time after a separation of several years under such circumstances. "we can receive no evidence against you, mr. bristowe, in your absence," replied the chairman in a compassionate tone of voice; "but your uncle's deposition will occupy but a few minutes. it is, however, indispensable." "at least, then, mr. cowan," said the agitated young man, "prevent my sister from accompanying her uncle: i could not bear _that_." he was assured she would not be present; in fact she had become seriously ill through anxiety and terror; and the crowded assemblage awaited in painful silence the approach of the reluctant prosecutor. he presently appeared--a venerable, white-haired man; seventy years old at least he seemed, his form bowed by age and grief, his eyes fixed upon the ground, and his whole manner indicative of sorrow and dejection. "uncle!" cried the prisoner, springing towards him. the aged man looked up, seemed to read in the clear countenance of his nephew a full refutation of the suspicions entertained against him, tottered forwards with out-spread arms, and, in the words of the sacred text, "fell upon his neck, and wept," exclaiming in choking accents, "forgive me--forgive me, robert, that i ever for a moment doubted you. mary never did--never, robert; not for an instant." a profound silence prevailed during this outburst of feeling, and a considerable pause ensued before the usher of the court, at a gesture from the chairman, touched mr. bagshawe's arm, and begged his attention to the bench. "certainly, certainly," said he, hastily wiping his eyes, and turning towards the court. "my sister's child, gentlemen," he added appealingly, "who has lived with me from childhood: you will excuse me, i am sure." "there needs no excuse, mr. bagshawe," said the chairman kindly; "but it is necessary this unhappy business should be proceeded with. hand the witness the portion of the letter found at five oaks. now, is that your handwriting; and is it a portion of the letter you sent to your nephew, informing him of the large sum of money kept for a particular purpose at five oaks?" "it is." "now," said the clerk to the magistrates, addressing me "please to produce the articles in your possession." i laid the spanish coin and the cross upon the table. "please to look at those two articles, mr. bagshawe," said the chairman. "now, sir, on your oath, are they a portion of the property of which you have been robbed?" the aged gentleman stooped forward and examined them earnestly; then turned and looked with quivering eyes, if i may be allowed the expression, in his nephew's face; but returned no answer to the question. "it is necessary you should reply, yes or no, mr. bagshawe," said the clerk. "answer, uncle," said the prisoner soothingly: "fear not for me. god and my innocence to aid, i shall yet break through the web of villany in which i at present seem hopelessly involved." "bless you, robert--bless you! i am sure you will. yes, gentlemen, the cross and coin on the table are part of the property carried off." a smothered groan, indicative of the sorrowing sympathy felt for the venerable gentleman, arose from the crowded court on hearing this declaration. i then deposed to finding them as previously stated. as soon as i concluded, the magistrates consulted together for a few minutes; and then the chairman, addressing the prisoner, said, "i have to inform you that the bench are agreed that sufficient evidence has been adduced against you to warrant them in fully committing you for trial. we are of course bound to hear anything you have to say; but such being our intention, your professional adviser will perhaps recommend you to reserve whatever defence you have to make for another tribunal: here it could not avail you." mr. cowan expressed his concurrence in the intimation of the magistrate; but the prisoner vehemently protested against sanctioning by his silence the accusation preferred against him. "i have nothing to reserve," he exclaimed with passionate energy; "nothing to conceal. i will not owe my acquittal of this foul charge to any trick of lawyer-craft. if i may not come out of this investigation with an untainted name, i desire not to escape at all. the defence, or rather the suggestive facts i have to offer for the consideration of the bench are these:--on the evening of the day i received my uncle's letter i went to drury lane theatre, remaining out very late. on my return to the hotel, i found i had been robbed of my pocket-book, which contained not only that letter, and a considerable sum in bank-notes, but papers of great professional importance to me. it was too late to adopt any measures for its recovery that night; and the next morning, as i was dressing myself to go out, in order to apprise the police authorities of my loss, i was informed that a gentleman desired to see me instantly on important business. he was shown up, and announced himself to be a detective police-officer: the robbery i had sustained had been revealed by an accomplice, and it was necessary i should immediately accompany him. we left the hotel together; and after consuming the entire day in perambulating all sorts of by-streets, and calling at several suspicious-looking places, my officious friend all at once discovered that the thieves had left town for the west of england, hoping, doubtless, to reach a large town and get gold for the notes before the news of their having been stopped should have reached it. he insisted upon immediate pursuit. i wished to return to the hotel for a change of clothes, as i was but lightly clad, and night-traveling required warmer apparel. this he would not hear of, as the night-coach was on the point of starting. he, however, contrived to supply me from his own resources with a greatcoat--a sort of policeman's cape--and a rough traveling-cap, which tied under the chin. in due time we arrived at bristol, where i was kept for several days loitering about; till, finally, my guide decamped, and i returned to london. an hour after arriving there, i gave information at scotland yard of what had happened, and afterwards booked myself by the night-coach for kendal. this is all i have to say." this strange story did not produce the slightest effect upon the bench, and very little upon the auditory, and yet i felt satisfied it was strictly true. it was not half ingenious enough for a made-up story. mr. bagshawe, i should have stated, had been led out of the justice-hall immediately after he had finished his deposition. "then, mr. bristowe," said the magistrate's clerk, "assuming this curious narrative to be correct, you will be easily able to prove an _alibi_?" "i have thought over that, mr. clerk," returned the prisoner mildly, "and must confess that, remembering how i was dressed and wrapped up--that i saw but few persons, and those casually and briefly, i have strong misgivings of my power to do so." "that is perhaps the less to be lamented," replied the county clerk in a sneering tone, "inasmuch as the possession of those articles," pointing to the cross and coin on the table, "would necessitate another equally probable, though quite different story." "that is a circumstance," replied the prisoner in the same calm tone as before, "which i cannot in the slightest manner account for." no more was said, and the order for his committal to the county jail at appleby on the charge of "wilful murder" was given to the clerk. at this moment a hastily-scrawled note from barnes was placed in my hands. i had no sooner glanced over it, than i applied to the magistrates for an adjournment till the morrow, on the ground that i could then produce an important witness, whose evidence at the trial it was necessary to assure. the application was, as a matter of course, complied with; the prisoner was remanded till the next day, and the court adjourned. as i accompanied mr. bristowe to the vehicle in waiting to convey him to jail, i could not forbear whispering, "be of good heart, sir, we shall unravel this mystery yet, depend upon it." he looked keenly at me; and then, without other reply than a warm pressure of the hand, jumped into the carriage. "well, barnes," i exclaimed as soon as we were in a room by ourselves, and the door closed, "what is it you have discovered?" "that the murderers of sarah king are yonder at the talbot where you left me." "yes: so i gather from your note. but what evidence have you to support your assertion?" "this! trusting to my apparent drunken imbecility, they occasionally dropped words in my presence which convinced me not only that they were the guilty parties, but that they had come down here to carry off the plate, somewhere concealed in the neighborhood. this they mean to do to-night." "anything more?" "yes. you know i am a ventriloquist in a small way, as well as a bit of a mimic: well, i took occasion when that youngest of the rascals--the one that sat beside mr. bristowe, and got out on the top of the coach the second evening, because, freezing cold as it was, he said the inside was too hot and close"---- "oh, i remember. dolt that i was, not to recall it before. but go on." "well, he and i were alone together in the parlor about three hours ago--i dead tipsy as ever--when he suddenly heard the voice of sarah king at his elbow exclaiming, 'who is that in the plate closet?' if you had seen the start of horror which he gave, the terror which shook his failing limbs as he glanced round the apartment, you would no longer have entertained a doubt on the matter." "this is scarcely judicial proof, barnes; but i dare say we shall be able to make something of it. you return immediately; about nightfall i will rejoin you in my former disguise." it was early in the evening when i entered the talbot, and seated myself in the parlor. our three friends were present, and so was barnes. "is not that fellow sober yet?" i demanded of one of them. "no; he has been lying about drinking and snoring ever since. he went to bed, i hear, this afternoon; but he appears to be little the better for it." i had an opportunity soon afterwards of speaking to barnes privately, and found that one of the fellows had brought a chaise-cart and horse from kendal, and that all three were to depart in about an hour, under pretence of reaching a town about fourteen miles distant, where they intended to sleep. my plan was immediately taken: i returned to the parlor, and watching my opportunity, whispered into the ear of the young gentleman whose nerves had been so shaken by barnes' ventriloquism, and who, by the way, was _my_ old acquaintance--"dick staples, i want a word with you in the next room." i spoke in my natural voice, and lifted, for his especial study and edification, the wig from my forehead. he was thunder-struck; and his teeth chattered with terror. his two companions were absorbed over a low game at cards, and did not observe us. "come," i continued in the same whisper, "there is not a moment to lose; _if you would save yourself_, follow me!" he did so, and i led him into an adjoining apartment, closed the door, and drawing a pistol from my coat-pocket, said--"you perceive, staples, that the game is up: you personated mr. bristowe at his uncle's house at five oaks, dressed in a precisely similar suit of clothes to that which he wears. you murdered the servant"---- "no--no--no, not i," gasped the wretch; "not i: i did not strike her"---- "at all events you were present, and that, as far as the gallows is concerned, is the same thing. you also picked that gentleman's pocket during our journey from london, and placed one of the stolen spanish pieces in his purse; you then went on the roof of the coach, and by some ingenious means or other contrived to secrete a cross set with brilliants in his portmanteau." "what shall i do--what shall i do?" screamed the fellow, half dead with fear, and slipping down on a chair; "what shall i do to save my life--my life?" "first get up and listen. if you are not the actual murderer"---- "i am not--upon my soul i am not!" "if you are not, you will probably be admitted king's evidence; though, mind, i make no promises. now, what is the plan of operations for carrying off the booty?" "they are going in the chaise-cart almost immediately to take it up: it is hidden in the copse yonder. i am to remain here, in order to give an alarm should any suspicion be excited, by showing two candles at our bedroom window; and if all keeps right, i am to join them at the cross-roads, about a quarter of a mile from hence." "all right. now return to the parlor: i will follow you; and remember that on the slightest hint of treachery i will shoot you as i would a dog." about a quarter of an hour afterwards his two confederates set off in the chaise-cart: i, barnes, and staples, cautiously followed, the latter handcuffed, and superintended by the ostler of the inn, whom i for the nonce pressed into the king's service. the night was pitch dark, fortunately, and the noise of the cart-wheels effectually drowned the sound of our footsteps. at length the cart stopped; the men got out, and were soon busily engaged in transferring the buried plate to the cart. we cautiously approached, and were soon within a yard or two of them, still unperceived. "get into the cart," said one of them to the other, "and i will hand the things up to you." his companion obeyed. "hollo!" cried the fellow, "i thought i told you"---- "that you are nabbed at last!" i exclaimed, tripping him suddenly up. "barnes, hold the horse's head. now, sir, attempt to budge an inch out of that cart, and i'll send a bullet through your brains." the surprise was complete; and so terror-stricken were they, that neither resistance nor escape was attempted. they were soon handcuffed and otherwise secured; the remainder of the plate was placed in the cart; and we made the best of our way to kendal jail, where i had the honor of lodging them at about nine o'clock in the evening. the news, late as it was, spread like wild-fire, and innumerable were the congratulations which awaited me when i reached the inn where i lodged. but that which recompensed me a thousandfold for what i had done, was the fervent embrace in which the white-haired uncle, risen from his bed to assure himself of the truth of the news, locked me, as he called down blessings from heaven upon my head! there are blessed moments even in the life of a police-officer. mr. bristowe was of course liberated on the following morning; staples was admitted king's evidence; and one of his accomplices--the actual murderer--was hanged, the other transported. a considerable portion of the property was also recovered. the gentleman who--to give time and opportunity for the perpetration of the burglary, suggested by the perusal of mr. bagshawe's letter--induced mr. bristowe to accompany him to bristol, was soon afterwards transported for another offence. part iii. x. y. z. the following advertisement appeared in several of the london journals in the year :--"if owen lloyd, a native of wales, and who, it is believed, resided for many years in london as clerk in a large mercantile establishment, will forward his present address to x. y. z., post-office, st. martin's-le-grand, to be left till called for, he will hear of something greatly to his advantage." my attention had been attracted to this notice by its very frequent appearance in the journal which i was chiefly in the habit of reading, and, from professional habits of thinking, i had set it down in my own mind as a _trap_ for some offender against the principles of _meum_ and _tuum_, whose presence in a criminal court was very earnestly desired. i was confirmed in this conjecture by observing that, in despair of owen lloyd's voluntary disclosure of his retreat, a reward of fifty guineas, payable by a respectable solicitor of lothbury, was ultimately offered to any person who would furnish x. y. z. with the missing man's address. "an old bird," i mentally exclaimed on perusing this paragraph, "and not to be caught with chaff; that is evident." still more to excite my curiosity, and at the same time bring the matter within the scope of my own particular functions, i found, on taking up the "police gazette," a reward of thirty guineas offered for the _apprehension_ of owen lloyd, whose person and manners were minutely described. "the pursuit grows hot," thought i, throwing down the paper, and hastening to attend a summons just brought me from the superintendent; "and if owen lloyd is still within the four seas, his chance of escape seems but a poor one." on waiting on the superintendent, i was directed to put myself in immediate personal communication with a mr. smith, the head of an eminent wholesale house in the city. "in the city!" "yes; but your business with mr. smith is relative to the extensive robbery at his west-end residence a week or two ago. the necessary warrants for the apprehension of the suspected parties have been, i understand, obtained, and on your return will, together with some necessary memoranda, be placed in your hands." i at once proceeded to my destination, and on my arrival, was immediately ushered into a dingy back-room, where i was desired to wait till mr. smith, who was just then busily engaged, could speak to me. casting my eyes over a table, near which the clerk had placed me a chair, i perceived a newspaper and the "police gazette," in both of which the advertisements for the discovery of owen lloyd were strongly underlined. "oh, ho," thought i; "mr. smith, then, is the x. y. z. who is so extremely anxious to renew his acquaintance with mr. owen lloyd; and i am the honored individual selected to bring about the desired interview. well, it is in my new vocation--one which can scarcely be dispensed with, it seems, in this busy scheming life of ours." mr. smith did not keep me waiting long. he seemed a hard, shrewd, business man, whose still wiry frame, brisk, active gait and manner, and clear, decisive eye, indicated--though the snows of more than sixty winters had passed over his head--a yet vigorous life, of which the morning and the noon had been spent in the successful pursuit of wealth and its accompaniment--social consideration and influence. "you have, i suppose, read the advertisements marked on these papers?" "i have, and of course conclude that you, sir, are x. y. z." "of course, conclusions," rejoined mr. smith with a quite perceptible sneer, "are usually very silly ones: in this instance especially so. my name, you ought to be aware, is smith: x. y. z., whoever he may be, i expect in a few minutes. in just seventeen minutes," added the exact man of business; "for i, by letter, appointed him to meet me here at one o'clock precisely. my motive in seeking an interview with him, it is proper i should tell you, is the probability that he, like myself, is a sufferer by owen lloyd, and may not therefore object to defray a fair share of the cost likely to be incurred in unkenneling the delinquent, and prosecuting him to conviction; or, which would be far better, he may be in possession of information that will enable us to obtain completely the clue i already almost grasp. but we must be cautious: x. y. z. _may_ be a relative or friend of lloyd's, and in that case, to possess him of our plans would answer no purpose but to afford him an opportunity of baffling them. thus much premised, i had better at once proceed to read over to you a few particulars i have jotted down, which, you will perceive, throw light and color over the suspicions i have been within these few days compelled to entertain. you are doubtless acquainted with the full particulars of the robbery at my residence, brook street, last thursday fortnight?" "yes; especially the report of the officers, that the crime must have been committed by persons familiar with the premises and the general habits of the family." "precisely. now, have you your memorandum-book ready?" "quite so." "you had better write with ink," said mr. smith, pushing an inkstand and pens towards me. "important memoranda should never, where there is a possibility of avoiding it, be written in pencil. friction, thumbing, use of any kind, often partially obliterates them, creating endless confusion and mistakes. are you ready?" "perfectly." "owen lloyd, a native of wales, and, it was understood, descended from a highly-respectable family there. about five feet eight; but i need not describe his person over again. many years with us, first as junior, then as head clerk; during which his conduct, as regards the firm, was exemplary. a man of yielding, irresolute mind--if indeed a person can be said to really possess a mind at all who is always changing it for some other person's--incapable of saying "no" to embarrassing, impoverishing requests--one, in short, mr. waters, of that numerous class of individuals whom fools say are nobody's enemies but their own, as if that were possible"---- "i understand; but i really do not see how this bears upon"---- "the mission you are directed to undertake? i think it does, as you will presently see. three years ago, owen lloyd having involved himself, in consequence of the serious defect of character i have indicated, in large liabilities for pretended friends, left our employment; and to avoid a jail, fled, no one could discover whither. edward jones, also a native of the principality, whose description, as well as that of his wife, you will receive from the superintendent, was discharged about seven years since from our service for misconduct, and went, we understood, to america. he always appeared to possess great influence over the mind of his considerably younger countryman lloyd. jones and his wife were seen three evenings since by one of our clerks near temple bar. i am of opinion, mr. waters," continued mr. smith, removing his spectacles, and closing the note-book, from which he had been reading, "that it is only the first step in crime, or criminal imprudence, which feeble-minded men especially long hesitate or boggle at; and i now more than suspect that, pressed by poverty, and very possibly yielding to the persuasions and example of jones--who, by the way, was as well acquainted with the premises in brook street as his fellow-clerk--the once honest, ductile owen lloyd, is now a common thief and burglar." "indeed!" "yes. a more minute search led to the discovery, the day before yesterday, of a pocket-book behind some book-shelves in the library. as no property had been taken from that room--though the lock of a large iron chest, containing coins and medals, had been evidently tampered with--the search there was not at first very rigorous. that pocket-book--here it is--belonged, i know, to owen lloyd when in our service. see, here are his initials stamped on the cover." "might he not have inadvertently left it there when with you?" "you will scarcely think so after reading the date of the five-pound note of the hampshire county bank, which you will find within the inner lining." "the date is ." "exactly. i have also strong reason for believing that owen lloyd is now, or has been lately, residing in some part of hampshire." "that is important." "this letter," continued mr. smith; and then pausing for a brief space in some embarrassment, he added--"the commissioner informed me, mr. waters, that you were a person upon whose good sense and _discretion_, as well as sagacity and courage, every confidence might be placed. i therefore feel less difficulty than i otherwise should in admitting you a little behind the family screen, and entering with you upon matters one would not willingly have bruited in the public ear." i bowed, and he presently proceeded. "owen lloyd, i should tell you, is married to a very amiable, superior sort of woman, and has one child, a daughter named caroline, an elegant, gentle-mannered, beautiful girl i admit, to whom my wife was much attached, and she was consequently a frequent visitor in brook street. this i always felt was very imprudent; and the result was, that my son arthur smith--only about two years her senior; she was just turned of seventeen when her father was compelled to fly from his creditors--formed a silly, boyish attachment for her. they have since, i gather from this letter, which i found yesterday in arthur's dressing-room, carried on, at long intervals, a clandestine correspondence, waiting for the advent of more propitious times--which, being interpreted," added mr. smith with a sardonic sneer, "means of course my death and burial." "you are in possession, then, if miss caroline lloyd is living with her father, of his precise place of abode?" "not exactly. the correspondence is, it seems, carried on without the knowledge of owen lloyd; and the girl states in answer, it should seem, to arthur's inquiries, that her father would never forgive her if, under present circumstances, she disclosed his place of residence--_we_ can now very well understand that--and she intreats arthur not to persist, at least for the present, in his attempts to discover her. my son, you must understand, is now of age, and so far as fortune is concerned, is, thanks to a legacy from an aunt on his mother's side, independent of me." "what post-mark does the letter bear?" "charing-cross. miss lloyd states that it will be posted in london by a friend; that friend being, i nothing doubt, her father's confederate, jones. but to us the most important part of the epistle is the following line:--'my father met with a sad accident in the forest some time ago, but is now quite recovered.' the words _in the forest_ have, you see, been written over, but not so entirely as to prevent their being, with a little trouble, traced. now, coupling this expression with the hampshire bank-note, i am of opinion that lloyd is concealed somewhere in the new forest." "a shrewd guess, at all events." "you now perceive what weighty motives i have to bring this man to justice. the property carried off i care little comparatively about; but the intercourse between the girl and my son must at any cost be terminated"---- he was interrupted by a clerk, who entered to say that mr william lloyd, the gentleman who had advertised as "x. y. z." desired to speak to him. mr. smith directed mr. lloyd to be shewn in; and then, snatching up the "police gazette," and thrusting it into one of the table-drawers, said in a low voice, but marked emphasis, "a relative, no doubt, by the name: be silent, and be watchful." a minute afterwards mr. lloyd was ushered into the room. he was a thin, emaciated, and apparently sorrow-stricken man, on the wintry side of middle age, but of mild, courteous, gentlemanly speech and manners. he was evidently nervous and agitated, and after a word or two of customary salutation, said hastily, "i gather from this note, sir, that you can afford me tidings of my long-lost brother owen: where is he?" he looked eagerly round the apartment, gazed with curious earnestness in my face, and then again turned with tremulous anxiety to mr. smith. "is he dead? pray do not keep me in suspense." "sit down, sir," said mr. smith, pointing to a chair. "your brother, owen lloyd, was for many years a clerk in this establishment"---- "_was--was!_" interrupted mr. lloyd with greatly-increased agitation: "not now, then--he has left you?" "for upwards of three years. a few days ago--pray do not interrupt me--i obtained intelligence of him, which, with such assistance as you may possibly be able to afford, will perhaps suffice to enable this gentleman"--pointing to me--"to discover his present residence." i could not stand the look which mr. lloyd fixed upon me, and turned hastily away to gaze out of the window, as if attracted by the noise of a squabble between two draymen, which fortunately broke out at the moment in the narrow, choked-up street. "for what purpose, sir, are you instituting this eager search after my brother? it cannot be that---- no, no--he has left you, you say, more than three years: besides, the bare supposition is as wicked as absurd." "the truth is, mr. lloyd," rejoined mr. smith after a few moments' reflection, "there is great danger that my son may disadvantageously connect himself with your--with your brother's family--may, in fact, marry his daughter caroline. now i could easily convince owen"---- "caroline!" interjected mr. lloyd with a tremulous accent, and his dim eyes suffused with tears--"caroline!--ay, truly _her_ daughter would be named caroline." an instant after, he added, drawing himself up with an air of pride and some sternness: "caroline lloyd, sir, is a person who, by birth, and, i doubt not, character and attainments, is a fitting match for the son of the proudest merchant of this proud city." "very likely," rejoined mr. smith dryly; "but you must excuse me for saying that, as regards _my_ son, it is one which i will at any cost prevent." "how am i to know," observed mr. lloyd, whose glance of pride had quickly passed away, "that you are dealing fairly and candidly with me in the matter?" in reply to this home-thrust, mr. smith placed the letter addressed by miss lloyd to his son in the hands of the questioner, at the same time explaining how he had obtained it. mr. lloyd's hands trembled, and his tears fell fast over the letter as he hurriedly perused it. it seemed by his broken, involuntary ejaculations, that old thoughts and memories were deeply stirred within him. "poor girl!--so young, so gentle and so sorely tried! her mother's very turn of thought and phrase. owen, too, artless, honorable, just as he was ever, except when the dupe of knaves and villains." he seemed buried in thought for some time after the perusal of the letter; and mr. smith, whose cue it was to avoid exciting suspicion by too great eagerness of speech, was growing fidgetty. at length, suddenly looking up, he said in a dejected tone, "if this is all you have ascertained, we seem as far off as ever. i can afford you no help." "i am not sure of that," replied mr. smith. "let us look calmly at the matter. your brother is evidently not living in london, and that accounts for your advertisements not being answered." "truly." "if you look at the letter attentively, you will perceive that three important words, 'in the forest,' have been partially erased." "yes, it is indeed so; but what"---- "now, is there no particular locality in the country to which your brother would be likely to betake himself in preference to another? gentlemen of fancy and sentiment," added mr. smith, "usually fall back, i have heard, upon some favorite haunt of early days when pressed by adversity." "it is natural they should," replied mr. lloyd, heedless of the sneer. "i have felt that longing for old haunts and old faces in intensest force, even when i was what the world calls prospering in strange lands; and how much more---- but no; he would not return to wales--to caermarthen--to be looked down upon by those amongst whom our family for so many generations stood equal with the highest. besides, i have personally sought him there--in vain." "but his wife--_she_ is not a native of the principality?" "no. ah! i remember. the forest! it must be so! caroline heyworth, whom we first met in the isle of wight, is a native of beaulieu, a village in the new forest, hampshire. a small, very small property there, bequeathed by an uncle, belonged to her, and perhaps has not been disposed of. how came i not to think of this before? i will set out at once--and yet pressing business requires my stay here for a day or two." "this gentleman, mr. waters, can proceed to beaulieu immediately." "that must do then. you will call on me, mr. waters--here is my address--before you leave town. thank you. and god bless you, sir," he added, suddenly seizing mr. smith's hand, "for the light you have thrown upon this wearying, and, i feared, hopeless search. you need not be so anxious, sir, to send a special messenger to release your son from his promise of marriage to my niece. none of us, be assured, will be desirous of forcing her upon a reluctant family." he then bowed, and withdrew. "mr. waters," said mr. smith with a good deal of sternness, as soon as we were alone, "i expect that no sentimental crotchet will prevent your doing your duty in this matter?" "what right," i answered with some heat, "have you, sir, to make such an insinuation?" "because i perceived, by your manner, that you disapproved my questioning mr. lloyd as to the likeliest mode of securing his brother." "my manner but interpreted my thoughts: still, sir, i know what belongs to my duty, and shall perform it." "enough: i have nothing more to say." i drew on my gloves, took up my hat, and was leaving the room, when mr. smith exclaimed, "stay one moment, mr waters: you see that my great object is to break off the connection between my son and miss lloyd?" "i do." "i am not anxious, you will remember, to press the prosecution _if, by a frank written confession of his guilt_, owen lloyd places an insuperable bar between his child and mine. you understand?" "perfectly. but permit me to observe, that the _duty_ you just now hinted i might hesitate to perform, will not permit me to be a party to any such transaction. good-day." i waited on mr. william lloyd soon afterwards, and listened with painful interest to the brief history which he, with childlike simplicity, narrated of his own and brother's fortunes. it was a sad, oft-told tale. they had been early left orphans; and deprived of judicious guidance, had run--william more especially--a wild career of dissipation, till _all_ was gone. just before the crash came, they had both fallen in love with the same woman, caroline heyworth, who had preferred the meeker, more gentle-hearted owen, to his elder brother. they parted in anger. william obtained a situation as bailiff and overseer of an estate in jamaica, where, by many years of toil, good fortune, and economy, he at length ruined his health and restored his fortunes; and was now returned to die rich in his native country; and, as he had till an hour before feared, unlamented and untended save by hirelings. i promised to write immediately i had seen his brother; and with a sorrowful heart took leave of the vainly-rejoicing, prematurely-aged man. i arrived at southampton by the night-coach--the railway was but just begun, i remember--and was informed that the best mode of reaching beaulieu--bewley, they pronounced it--was by crossing the southampton river to the village of hythe, which was but a few miles distance from beaulieu. as soon as i had breakfasted, i hastened to the quay, and was soon speeding across the tranquil waters in one of the sharp-stemmed wherries which plied constantly between the shores. my attention was soon arrested by two figures in the stern of the boat, a man and woman. a slight examination of their features sufficed to convince me that they were jones and his wife. they evidently entertained no suspicion of pursuit; and as i heard them tell the boatmen they were going on to _bewley_, i determined for the present not to disturb their fancied security. it was fortunate i did so. as soon as we had landed, they passed into a mean-looking dwelling, which, from some nets, and a boat under repair, in a small yard in front of it, i concluded to be a fisherman's. as no vehicle could be readily procured, i determined on walking on, and easily reached beaulieu, which is charmingly situated just within the skirts of the new forest, about twelve o'clock. after partaking of a slight repast at the principal inn of the place--i forget its name; but it was, i remember, within a stone's-throw of the celebrated beaulieu abbey ruins--i easily contrived, by a few careless, indirect questions, to elicit all the information i required of the loquacious waiting-maid. mr. lloyd, who seemed to bear an excellent character, lived, i was informed, at a cottage about half a mile distant from the inn, and chiefly supported himself as a measurer of timber--beech and ash: a small stock--the oak was reserved for government purposes--he usually kept on hand. miss caroline, the girl said, did beautiful fancy-work; and a group of flowers painted by her, as natural as life, was framed and glazed in the bar, if i would like to see it. upon the right track sure enough! mr. lloyd, there could be no longer a doubt, had unconsciously betrayed his unfortunate, guilty brother into the hands of justice, and i, an agent of the iron law, was already upon the threshold of his hiding-place! i felt no pleasure at the success of the scheme. to have bravely and honestly stood up against an adverse fate for so many years, only to fall into crime just as fortune had grown weary of persecuting him, and a long-estranged brother had returned to raise him and his to their former position in society, was melancholy indeed! and the young woman too, whose letter breathed so pure, so gentle, so patient a spirit!--it would not bear thinking about--and i resolutely strove to look upon the affair as one of everyday routine. it would not do, however; and i was about to quit the room in no very enviable frame of mind, when my boat companions, mr. and mrs. jones, entered, and seated themselves at one of the tables. the apartment was rather a large one, and as i was seated in the corner of a box at some distance from the entrance, they did not at first observe me; and several words caught my ear which awakened a strong desire to hear more. that i might do so, i instantly adopted a very common, but not the less often very successful device. as soon as the new-comers perceived me, their whispered colloquy stopped abruptly; and after a minute or so, the man said, looking hard at me, "good-day, sir; you have had rather a long walk?" and he glanced at my dusty boots. "sir," i replied, enclosing my left ear with my hand in the manner of a natural ear-trumpet, "did you speak?" "a dusty walk," he rejoined in a voice that might have been heard in a hurricane or across fleet street. "one o'clock!" i replied, pulling out my watch. "no: it wants a quarter yet." "deaf as the monument," said jones to his companion. "all right." the suspended dialogue was but partially resumed. "do you think," said the woman, after the lapse of about five minutes--"do you think owen and his family will go with us? i hope not." "not he: i only asked him just for the say-so of the thing. he is too chicken-hearted for that, or for anything else that requires pluck." finishing the spirits and water they had ordered, they soon afterwards went out. i followed. as soon as we had gone about a hundred paces from the house, i said, "pray can you tell me which is mr. lloyd the beech-merchant's house?" "yes," replied the man, taking hold of my arm, and hallooing into my ear with a power sufficient to really deafen one for life: "we are going there to dine." i nodded comprehension, and on we journeyed. we were met at the door by owen lloyd himself--a man in whose countenance guilelessness, even to simplicity, seemed stamped by nature's own true hand. so much, thought i, for the reliance to be placed on physiognomy! "i have brought you a customer," said mr. jones; "but he is as deaf as a stone." i was courteously invited in by signs; and with much hallooing and shouting, it was finally settled that, after dinner, i should look over mr. lloyd's stock of wood. dinner had just been placed on the table by mrs. lloyd and her daughter. a still very comely, interesting woman was mrs. lloyd, though time and sorrow had long since set their unmistakeable seals upon her. her daughter was, i thought, one of the most charming, graceful young women i had ever seen, spite of the tinge of sadness which dwelt upon her sweet face, deepening its interest if it somewhat diminished its beauty. my heart ached to think of the misery the announcement of my errand must presently bring on such gentle beings--innocent, i felt confident, even of the knowledge of the crime that had been committed. i dreaded to begin--not, heaven knows, from any fear of the men, who, compared with me, were poor, feeble creatures, and i could easily have mastered half-a-dozen such; but the females--that young girl especially--how encounter _their_ despair? i mutely declined dinner, but accepted a glass of ale, and sat down till i could muster sufficient resolution for the performance of my task; for i felt this was an opportunity of quietly effecting the capture of both the suspected criminals which _must_ not be neglected. dinner was just over when mrs. lloyd said, "oh, mr. jones, have you seen anything of my husband's pocket-book? it was on a shelf in the room where you slept--not the last time, but when you were here about three weeks ago. we can find it nowhere; and i thought you might possibly have taken it by mistake." "a black, common-looking thing?" said jones. "yes." "i _did_ take it by mistake. i found it in one of my parcels, and put it in my pocket, intending of course to return it when i came back; but i remember, when wanting to open a lock of which i had lost the key, taking it out to see if it contained a pencil-case which i thought might answer the purpose; and finding none, tossing it away in a pet, i could not afterwards find it." "then it is lost?" "yes; but what of that? there was nothing in it." "you are mistaken," rejoined owen; "there was a five-pound country note in it, and the loss will---- what is the matter, friend?" i had sprung upon my feet with uncontrollable emotion: mr. lloyd's observation recalled me to myself, and i sat down again, muttering something about a sudden pain in the side. "oh, if that's the case," said jones, "i'll make it up willingly. i am pretty rich, you know, just now." "we shall be much obliged to you," said mrs lloyd; "its loss would be a sad blow to us." "how came you to send those heavy boxes here, jones?" said owen lloyd. "would it not have been better to have sent them direct to portsmouth, where the vessel calls?" "i had not quite made up my mind to return to america then; and i knew they would be safer here than anywhere else." "when do you mean to take them away? we are so badly off for room, that they terribly hamper us." "this evening, about nine o'clock. i have hired a smack at hythe to take us, bag and baggage, down the river to meet the liner which calls off portsmouth to-morrow. i wish we could persuade you to go with us." "thank you, jones," replied owen in a dejected tone. "i have very little to hope for here; still my heart clings to the old country." i had heard enough; and hastily rising, intimated a wish to look at the timber at once. mr. lloyd immediately rose, and jones and his wife left the cottage to return to hythe at the same time that we did. i marked a few pieces of timber, and promising to send for them in the morning, hastened away. a mountain seemed removed from off my breast: i felt as if i had achieved a great personal deliverance. truly a wonderful interposition of providence, i thought, that has so signally averted the fatal consequences likely to have resulted from the thoughtless imprudence of owen lloyd, in allowing his house to be made, however innocently, a receptacle for stolen goods, at the solicitations, too, of a man whose character he knew to be none of the purest. he had had a narrow escape, and might with perfect truth exclaim-- "there's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will." the warrants of which i was the bearer, the london police authorities had taken care to get indorsed by a magistrate of the county of hampshire, who happened to be in london, so that i found no difficulty in arranging effectually for the capture and safe custody of jones and his assistants when he came to fetch his booty. i had just returned to the beaulieu inn, after completing my arrangements, when a carriage drove furiously up to the door, and who should, to my utter astonishment, alight, but mr. william lloyd, and messrs. smith, father and son. i hastened out, and briefly enjoining caution and silence, begged them to step with me into a private room. the agitation of mr. lloyd and of mr. arthur smith was extreme, but mr. smith appeared cold and impassive as ever. i soon ascertained that arthur smith, by his mother's assistance, i suspect, had early penetrated his father's schemes and secrets, and had, in consequence, caused mr. william lloyd to be watched home, with whom, immediately after i had left, he had a long conference. later in the evening an _éclaircissement_ with the father took place; and after a long and stormy discussion, it was resolved that all three should the next morning post down to beaulieu, and act as circumstances might suggest. my story was soon told. it was received of course with unbounded joy by the brother and the lover; and even through the father's apparent indifference i could perceive that his refusal to participate in the general joy would not be of long duration. the large fortune which mr william lloyd intimated his intention to bestow upon his niece was a new and softening element in the affair. mr. smith, senior, ordered his dinner; and mr. lloyd and arthur smith--but why need i attempt to relate what _they_ did? i only know that when, a long time afterwards, i ventured to look in at mr. owen lloyd's cottage, all the five inmates--brother, uncle, lover, niece, and wife--were talking, laughing, weeping, smiling, like distracted creatures, and seemed utterly incapable of reasonable discourse. an hour after that, as i stood screened by a belt of forest-trees in wait for mr. jones and company, i noticed, as they all strolled past me in the clear moonlight, that the tears, the agitation had passed away, leaving only smiles and grateful joy on the glad faces so lately clouded by anxiety and sorrow. a mighty change in so brief a space! mr. jones arrived with his cart and helpers in due time. a man who sometimes assisted in the timber-yard was deputed, with an apology for the absence of mr. lloyd, to deliver the goods. the boxes, full of plate and other valuables, were soon hoisted in, and the cart moved off. i let it proceed about a mile, and then, with the help i had placed in readiness, easily secured the astounded burglar and his assistants; and early the next morning jones was on his road to london. he was tried at the ensuing old-bailey sessions, convicted, and transported for life; and the discretion i had exercised in not executing the warrant against owen lloyd was decidedly approved of by the authorities. it was about two months after my first interview with mr. smith that, on returning home one evening, my wife placed before me a piece of bride-cake, and two beautifully-engraved cards united with white satin ribbon, bearing the names of mr. and mrs. arthur smith. i was more gratified by this little act of courtesy for emily's sake, as those who have temporarily fallen from a certain position in society will easily understand, than i should have been by the costliest present. the service i had rendered was purely accidental: it has nevertheless been always kindly remembered by all parties whom it so critically served. part iv. the widow. in the winter of i was hurriedly, and, as i at the time could not help thinking, precipitately despatched to guernsey, one of the largest of the islands which dot the british channel, in quest of a gentleman of, till then, high character on the stock exchange, who, it was alleged, had absconded with a very large sum of money intrusted to him for investment by a baronet of considerable influence in official quarters. from certain circumstances, it was surmised that guernsey would be his first hiding-place, and i was obliged to post all the way to weymouth in order to save the mail packet, which left that place on the saturday evening, or night rather, with the channel-island mails. mr. ---- had gone, it was conjectured, by way of southampton. my search, promptly and zealously as i was aided by the guernsey authorities, proving vain, i determined on going on to jersey, when a letter arrived by post informing me that the person of whom i was in pursuit had either not intended to defraud his client, or that his heart had failed him at the threshold of crime. a few hours after i had left london he had reappeared, it seems, in his counting-house, after having a few minutes previously effected the investment of the money in accordance with his client's instructions, and was now, through his attorney, threatening the accuser and all his aiders and abettors with the agreeable processes that in england usually follow sharply at the heels of such rash and hasty proceedings. my mission over, i proposed to retrace my steps immediately, but unfortunately found myself detained in the island for nearly a week by the hurricane-weather which suddenly set in, rendering it impossible for the mail or other steam-packets to cross the channel during its continuance. time limped slowly and heavily away; and frequently, in my impatience to be gone, i walked down to the bleak pier, and strained my eyes in the direction in which the steamer from jersey _should_ appear. almost every time i did so i encountered two persons, who, i could see, were even more impatient to be gone than myself, and probably, i thought, with much more reason. they were a widow lady, not certainly more than thirty years of age, and her son, a fine curly-haired boy, about eight or nine years old, whose natural light-heartedness appeared to be checked, subdued, by the deep grief and sadness which trembled in his mother's fine expressive eyes, and shrouded her pale but handsome face. he held her by the hand; often clasping it with both his tiny ones, and looking up to her as she turned despondingly away from the vacant roadstead and raging waters, with a half-frightened, half-wondering expression of anxious love, which would frequently cause his mother to bend down, and hurriedly strive to kiss away the sorrowful alarm depicted in the child's face. these two beings strangely interested me; chiefly perhaps because, in my compelled idleness, i had little else except the obstinate and angry weather to engage my attention or occupy my thoughts. there was an unmistakable air of 'better days' about the widow--a grace of manner which her somewhat faded and unseasonable raiment rendered but the more striking and apparent. her countenance, one perceived at the first glance, was of remarkable comeliness; and upon one occasion that i had an opportunity of observing it, i was satisfied that, under happier influences than now appeared to overshadow her, those pale interesting features would light up into beauty as brilliant as it was refined and intellectual. this introduces another walking mystery, which, for want of something better to do, i was conjuring out of my fellow-watchers on the pier. he was a stoutish, strongly-set man of forty years of age, perhaps scarcely so much, showily dressed in new glossy clothes; french-varnished boots, thin-soled enough, winter as it was, for a drawing-room; hat of the latest _gent_ fashion; a variegated satin cravat, fastened by two enormous-headed gold pins, connected with a chain; and a heavy gold chain fastened from his watch waistcoat-pocket over his neck. the complexion of his face was a cadaverous white, liberally sprinkled and relieved with gin and brandy blossoms, whilst the coarseness of his not overly-clean hands was with singular taste set off and displayed by some half-dozen glittering rings. i felt a growing conviction, especially on noticing a sudden change in the usual cunning, impudent, leering expression of his eyes, as he caught me looking at him with some earnestness, that i had somewhere had the honor of a previous introduction to him. that he had not been, lately at all events, used to such resplendent habiliments as he now sported, was abundantly evident from his numerous smirking self-surveys as he strutted jauntily along, and frequently stopping before shops that, having mirrors in their windows, afforded a more complete view of his charming person. this creature i was convinced was in some way or other connected, or at any rate acquainted, with the young and graceful widow. he was constantly dogging her steps; and i noticed with surprise, and some little irritation, that his vulgar bow was faintly returned by the lady as they passed each other; and that her recognition of him, slight and distant as it was, was not unfrequently accompanied by a blush, whether arising from a pleasurable emotion or the reverse, i could not for some time determine. there is a mystery about blushes, i was, and am quite aware, not easily penetrable, more especially about those of widows. i was soon enlightened upon that point. one day, when she happened to be standing alone on the pier--her little boy was gazing through a telescope i had borrowed of the landlord of the hotel where i lodged--he approached, and before she was well aware of his intention, took her hand, uttering at the same time, it seemed, some words of compliment. it was then i observed her features literally flash with a vividness of expression which revealed a beauty i had not before imagined she possessed. the fellow absolutely recoiled before the concentrated scorn which flushed her pale features, and the indignant gesture with which she withdrew her hand from the contamination of his touch. as he turned confusedly and hastily away, his eyes encountered mine, and he muttered some unintelligible sentences, during which the widow and her son left the spot. "the lady," said i, as soon as she was out of hearing, "seems in a cold, bitter humor this morning; not unlike the weather." "yes, mr. "wat---- i beg pardon, mr. what's-your name, i would say?" "waters, as i perceive you know quite well. my recollection of you is not so distinct. i have no remembrance of the fashionable clothes and brilliant jewellery, none whatever; but the remarkable countenance i _have_ seen." "i dare say you have, waters," he replied, reassuming his insolent, swaggering air. "i practice at the old bailey; and i have several times seen you there, not, as now, in the masquerade of a gentleman, but with a number on your collar." i was silly enough to feel annoyed for a moment at the fellow's stupid sarcasm, and turned angrily away. "there, don't fly into a passion," continued he with an exulting chuckle. "i have no wish to be ill friends with so smart a hand as you are. what do you say to a glass or two of wine, if only to keep this confounded wind out of our stomachs? it's cheap enough here." i hesitated a few seconds, and then said, "i have no great objection; but first, whom have i the honor of addressing?" "mr. gates. william gates, _esquire_, attorney-at-law." "gates! not the gates, i hope, in the late bryant affair?" "well--yes; but allow me to say, waters, that the observations of the judge on that matter, and the consequent proceedings, were quite unjustifiable; and i was strongly advised to petition the house on the subject; but i forbore, perhaps unwisely." "from consideration chiefly, i dare say, for the age and infirmities of his lordship, and his numerous family?" "come, come," rejoined gates with a laugh; "don't poke fun in that way. the truth is, i get on quite as well without as with the certificate. i transact business now for mr. everard preston: you understand?" "perfectly. i now remember where i have seen you. but how is it your dress has become so suddenly changed? a few weeks ago, it was nothing like so magnificent?" "true, my dear boy, true: quite right. i saw you observed that. first-rate, isn't it? every article genuine. bond and regent street, i assure you," he added, scanning himself complacently over. i nodded approval, and he went on--"you see i have had a windfall; a piece of remarkable luck; and so i thought i would escape out of the dingy, smoky village, and air myself for a few days in the channel." "a delightful time of the year for such a purpose truly. rather say you came to improve your acquaintance with the lady yonder, who, i dare say, will not prove ultimately inflexible?" "perhaps you are right--a little at least you may be, about the edges. but here we are; what do you take--port?" "that as soon as anything else." mr. gates was, as he said, constitutionally thirsty, and although it was still early in the day, drank with great relish and industry. as he grew flushed and rosy, and i therefore imagined communicative, i said, "well, now, tell me who and what is that lady?" the reply was a significant compound gesture, comprising a wink of his left eye and the tap of a fore-finger upon the right side of his nose. i waited, but the pantomimic action remained uninterpreted by words. "not rich apparently?" "poor as job." "an imprudent marriage probably?" "guess again, and i'll take odds you'll guess wrong; but suppose, as variety is charming, we change the subject. what is your opinion now of the prospects of the ministry?" i saw it was useless attempting to extract any information from so cunning a rascal; and hastily excusing myself, i rose, and abruptly took my leave, more and more puzzled to account for the evident connection, in some way or other, of so fair and elegant a woman with a low attorney, struck off the rolls for fraudulent misconduct, and now acting in the name of a person scarcely less disreputable than himself. on emerging from the tavern, i found that the wind had not only sensibly abated, but had become more favorable to the packet's leaving jersey, and that early the next morning we might reasonably hope to embark for weymouth. it turned out as we anticipated. the same boat which took me off to the roads conveyed also the widow--mrs. grey, i saw by the cards on her modest luggage--and her son. gates followed a few minutes afterwards, and we were soon on our stormy voyage homewards. the passage was a very rough, unpleasant one, and i saw little of the passengers in whom, in spite of myself, as it were, i continued to feel so strong an interest, till the steamer was moored alongside the weymouth quay, and we stood together for a brief space, awaiting the scrutiny and questionings of the officers of the customs. i bowed adieu as i stepped from the paddle-box to the shore, and thought, with something of a feeling of regret, that in all probability i should never see either of them again. i was mistaken, for on arriving early the next morning to take possession of the outside place booked for me by the coach to london through southampton, i found mrs. grey and her son already seated on the roof. gates came hurriedly a few minutes afterwards, and ensconced himself snugly inside. the day was bitterly cold, and the widow and her somewhat delicate-looking boy were but poorly clad for such inclement weather. the coachman and myself, however, contrived to force some rough, stout cloaks upon their acceptance, which sufficed pretty well during the day; but as night came on rainy and tempestuous, as well as dark and bleak, i felt that they must be in some way or other got inside, where gates was the only passenger. yet so distant, so frigidly courteous was mrs. grey, that i was at a loss how to manage it. gates, i saw, was enjoying himself hugely to his own satisfaction. at every stage he swallowed a large glass of brandy and water, and i observed that he cast more and more audaciously-triumphant glances towards mrs. grey. once her eye, though studiously i thought averted from him, caught his, and a deep blush, in which fear, timidity, and aversion seemed strangely mingled, swept over her face. what _could_ it mean? it was, however, useless to worry myself further with profitless conjectures, and i descended from the roof to hold a private parley with the coachman. a reasonable bargain was soon struck: he went to mrs. grey and proposed to her, as there was plenty of room to spare, that she and her son should ride inside. "it will make no difference in the fare," he added, "and it's bitter cold out here for a lady." "thank you," replied the widow after a few moments' hesitation; "we shall do very well here." i guessed the cause of her refusal, and hastened to add, "you had better, i think, accept the coachman's proposal: the night-weather will be dreadful, and even i, a man, must take refuge inside." she looked at me with a sort of grateful curiosity, and then accepted, with many thanks, the coachman's offer. when we alighted at the regent circus, london, i looked anxiously but vainly round for some one in attendance to receive and greet the widow and her son. she did not seem to expect any one, but stood gazing vacantly, yet sadly, at the noisy, glaring, hurrying scene around her, her child's hand clasped in hers with an unconsciously tightening grasp, whilst her luggage was removed from the roof of the coach. gates stood near, as if in expectation that his services must now, however unwillingly, be accepted by mrs. grey. i approached her, and said somewhat hurriedly, "if, as i apprehend, madam, you are a stranger in london, and consequently in need of temporary lodgings, you will, i think, do well to apply to the person whose address i have written on this card. it is close by. he knows me, and on your mentioning my name, will treat you with every consideration. i am a police-officer; here is my address; and any assistance in my power, shall, in any case," and i glanced at gates, "be freely rendered to you." i then hastened off, and my wife an hour afterwards was even more anxious and interested for the mysterious widow and her son than myself. about six weeks had glided away, and the remembrance of my fellow-passengers from guernsey was rapidly fading into indistinctness, when a visit from roberts, to whose lodgings i had recommended mrs. grey, brought them once more painfully before me. that the widow was poor i was not surprised to hear; but that a person so utterly destitute of resources and friends, as she appeared from roberts' account to be, should have sought the huge wilderness of london, seemed marvellous. her few trinkets, and nearly all her scanty wardrobe, roberts more than suspected were at the pawnbroker's. the rent of the lodgings had not been paid for the last month, and he believed that for some time past they had not had a sufficiency of food, and were _now_ in a state of literal starvation! still, she was cold and distant as ever, complained not, though daily becoming paler, thinner, weaker. "does gates the attorney visit her?" i asked. "no--she would not see him, but letters from him are almost daily received." roberts, who was a widower, wished my wife to see her: he was seriously apprehensive of some tragical result; and this, apart from considerations of humanity, could not be permitted for his own sake to occur in his house. i acquiesced; and emily hurriedly equipped herself, and set off with roberts to sherrard street, haymarket. on arriving at home, roberts, to his own and my wife's astonishment, found gates there in a state of exuberant satisfaction. he was waiting to pay any claim roberts had upon mrs. grey, to whom, the ex-attorney exultingly announced, he was to be married on the following thursday! roberts, scarcely believing his ears, hastened up to the first floor, to ascertain if mrs. grey had really given authority to gates to act for her. he tapped at the door, and a faint voice bidding him enter, he saw at once what had happened. mrs. grey, pale as marble, her eyes flashing with almost insane excitement, was standing by a table, upon which a large tray had been placed covered with soups, jellies, and other delicacies, evidently just brought in from a tavern, eagerly watching her son partake of the first food he had tasted for two whole days! roberts saw clearly how it was, and stammering a foolish excuse of having tapped at the wrong door, hastened away. she had at last determined to sacrifice herself to save her child's life! emily, as she related what she had seen and heard, wept with passionate grief, and i was scarcely less excited: the union of mrs. grey with such a man seemed like the profanation of a pure and holy shrine. then gates was, spite of his windfall, as he called it, essentially a needy man! besides--and this was the impenetrable mystery of the affair--what inducement, what motive could induce a mercenary wretch like gates to unite himself in marriage with poverty--with destitution? the notion of his being influenced by sentiment of any kind was, i felt, absurd. the more i reflected on the matter, the more convinced i became that there was some villainous scheme in process of accomplishment by gates, and i determined to make at least one resolute effort to arrive at a solution of the perplexing riddle. the next day, having a few hours to spare, the thought struck me that i would call on mrs. grey myself. i accordingly proceeded towards her residence, and in coventry street happened to meet jackson, a brother officer, who, i was aware, from a few inquiries i had previously made, knew something of gates's past history and present position. after circumstantially relating the whole matter, i asked him if he could possibly guess what the fellow's object could be in contracting such a marriage? "object!" replied jackson; "why, money of course: what else? he has by some means become aware that the lady is entitled to property, and he is scheming to get possession of it as her husband." "my own conviction! yet the difficulty of getting at any proof seems insurmountable." "just so. and, by the way, gates is certainly in high feather just now, however acquired. not only himself, but rivers his cad, clerk he calls himself, has cast his old greasy skin, and appears quite spruce and shining. and--now i remember--what did you say was the lady's name?" "grey." "grey! ah, then i suppose it can have nothing to do with it! it was a person of the name of welton or skelton that called on us a month or two ago about gates." "what was the nature of the communication?" "i can hardly tell you: the charge was so loosely made, and hurriedly withdrawn. skelton--yes, it _was_ skelton--he resides in pretty good style at knightsbridge--called and said that gates had stolen a cheque or draft for five hundred pounds, and other articles sent through him to some house in the city, of which i think he said the principal was dead. he was advised to apply through a solicitor to a magistrate, and went away, we supposed, for that purpose; but about three hours afterwards he returned, and in a hurried, flurried sort of way said he had been mistaken, and that he withdrew every charge he had made against mr. gates." "very odd." "yes; but i don't see how it can be in any way connected with this mrs. grey's affairs. still, do you think it would be of any use to sound rivers? i know the fellow well, and where i should be pretty sure to find him this evening." it was arranged he should do so, and i proceeded on to sherrard street. mrs. grey was alone in the front apartment of the ground-floor, and received me with much politeness. she had, i saw, been weeping; her eyes were swollen and bloodshot; and she was deadly pale; but i looked in vain for any indication of that utter desolation which a woman like her, condemned to such a sacrifice, might naturally be supposed to feel. i felt greatly embarrassed as to how to begin; but at length i plunged boldly into the matter; assured her she was cruelly deceived by gates, who was in no condition to provide for her and her son in even tolerable comfort; and that i was convinced he had no other than a mercenary and detestable motive in seeking marriage with her. mrs. grey heard me in so totally unmoved a manner, and the feeling that i was really meddling with things that did not at all concern me, grew upon me so rapidly, as i spoke to that unanswering countenance, that by the time i had finished my eloquent harangue, i was in a perfect fever of embarrassment and confusion, and very heartily wished myself out of the place. to my further bewilderment, mrs. grey, when i had quite concluded, informed me--in consideration, she said, of the courtesies i had shewn her when we were fellow-travelers--that she was perfectly aware mr. gates' motive in marrying her was purely a mercenary one; and her own in consenting to the union, except as regarded her son, was, she admitted, scarcely better. she added--riddle upon riddles!--that she knew also that mr. gates was very poor--insolvent, she understood. i rose mechanically to my feet, with a confused notion swimming in my head that both of us at all events could not be in our right senses. this feeling must have been visible upon my face; for mrs. grey added with a half-smile, "you cannot reconcile these apparent contradictions; be patient; you will perfectly comprehend them before long. but as i wish not to stand too low in your estimation, i must tell you that mr. gates is to subscribe a written agreement that we separate the instant the ceremony has been performed. but for that undertaking, i would have suffered any extremity, death itself, rather than have consented to marry him!" still confused, stunned, as it were, by what i had heard, my hand was on the handle of the door to let myself out, when a thought arose in my mind. "is it possible, mrs. grey," i said, "that you can have been deceived into a belief that such a promise, however formally set down, is of the slightest legal value?--that the law recognises, or would enforce, an instrument to render nugatory the solemn obligation you will, after signing it, make, 'to love, honor, obey, and cherish your husband?'" i had found the right chord at last. mrs. grey, as i spoke, became deadly pale; and had she not caught at one of the heavy chairs, she would have been unable to support herself. "do i understand you to say," she faintly and brokenly gasped, "that such an agreement as i have indicated, duly sealed and witnessed, could not be summarily enforced by a magistrate?" "certainly it could not, my dear madam, and well gates knows it to be so; and i am greatly mistaken in the man, if, once the irrevocable ceremony over, he would not be the first to deride your credulity." "if that be so," exclaimed the unfortunate lady with passionate despair, "i am indeed ruined--lost! oh my darling boy, would that you and i were sleeping in your father's quiet grave!" "say not so," i exclaimed with emotion, for i was afflicted by her distress. "honor me with your confidence, and all may yet be well." after much entreaty, she despairingly complied. the substance of her story, which was broken by frequent outbursts of grief and lamentation, was as follows:--she was the only child of a london merchant--mr. walton we will call him--who had lived beyond his means, and failed ruinously to an immense amount. his spirits and health were broken by this event, which he survived only a few months. it happened that about the time of the bankruptcy she had become acquainted with mr. john grey, the only son of an eminent east india merchant, but a man of penurious disposition and habits. "mr. ezekiel grey?" the same. they became attached to each other, deeply so; and knowing that to solicit the elder grey's consent to their union would be tantamount to a sentence of immediate separation and estrangement, they unwisely, thoughtlessly, married, about ten months after mr. walton's death, without the elder grey's knowledge. gates, an attorney, then in apparently fair circumstances, with whom young mr. grey had become acquainted, and anne crawford, maria walton's servant, were the witnesses of the ceremony, which, after due publication of banns, was celebrated in st. giles's church. the young couple, after the marriage, lived in the strictest privacy, the wife meagrely supported by the pocket-money allowance of mr. ezekiel grey to his son. thus painfully elapsed nine years of life, when, about twelve months previous to the present time, mr. grey determined to send his son to bombay, in order to the arrangement of some complicated claims on a house of agency there. it was decided that, during her husband's absence, mrs. john grey should reside in guernsey, partly with a view to economy, and partly for the change of air, which it was said their son required--mr. gates to be the medium through which money and letters were to reach the wife. mr. ezekiel grey died somewhat suddenly about four months after his son's departure from england, and mrs. grey had been in momentary expectation of the arrival of her husband, when gates came to guernsey, and announced his death at bombay, just as he was preparing for the voyage to england! the manner of gates was strange and insolent; and he plainly intimated that without his assistance both herself and child would be beggars; and that assistance he audaciously declared he would only afford at the price of marriage! mrs. grey, overwhelmed with grief for the loss of a husband by whom she had been as constantly as tenderly beloved, and dizzy with ill-defined apprehension, started at once for london. a copy of the will of mr. ezekiel grey had been procured, by which in effect he devised all his estate, real and personal, to his son; but in the event of mr. john grey dying unmarried, or without lawful issue, it went to his wife's nephew mr. skelton---- "skelton of knightsbridge?" yes: in case of mr. john grey marrying, skelton was to be paid an immediate legacy of five thousand pounds. so far, then, us fortune went, the widow and her son seemed amply provided for. so mrs. grey thought till she had another interview with gates, who unblushingly told her that unless she consented to marry him, he would not prove, though he had abundant means of doing so, that the person she had married at st. giles's church was the son of ezekiel grey, the eminent merchant! "the name," said the scoundrel, "will not help you; there are plenty of john greys on that register; and as for anne crawford, she has been long since dead." mrs. grey next called on mr. skelton, and was turned out of the house as an impostor; and finally, having parted with everything upon which she could raise money, and gates reiterating his offer, or demand rather, accompanied by the proposal of an immediate separation, she had consented. "courage, madam!" i exclaimed at the end of her narrative, of which the above is the substance, and i spoke in a tone of joyous confidence, which, more than my words, reassured her: "i already see glimpses of daylight through this maze of villainy. gates has played a desperate game certainly, but one which we shall, you may rely on it, easily baffle." a knock at the door interrupted me. i peered through the blind, and saw that it was gates: "silence--secrecy!" i emphatically urged in a low voice, and with my finger on my lip, and left the room before the street-door could be answered; and by my friend roberts' contrivance, i was in a few minutes afterwards in the street, all the time unobserved by the intruder. the next day early jackson called on me. he had seen rivers, but he seemed to know nothing, except, indeed, that it was quite true gates had received a five-hundred pound draft from a house in india, which he, rivers, had got notes for at the bank of england. there were also in the same parcel a gold watch, he knew, and some jewelry, but from whom it all came, he, rivers, was ignorant. nothing but that had jackson been able to discover. "call you that nothing?" said i, starting up, and hastily swallowing my last cup of coffee. "it is enough, at all events, to transport william gates, esquire!" i had to wait that morning on especial business on the commissioner; and after the business upon which i had been summoned had been despatched, i related the case of grey _versus_ gates as clearly and succinctly as i could. he listened with great attention, and in about a quarter of an hour i left him with as clear and unmistakable a path before me as it was possible to desire. i was passing down the stairs when i was resummoned. "you quite understand, waters, that skelton is not for a moment to be lost sight of till his deposition has been taken?" "certainly, sir." "that will do then." arrived at home, i despatched my wife in a cab for mrs. grey. she soon arrived, and as much as was necessary of our plan i confided to her. mr. gates had pressed her earnestly that the ceremony should take place on the following morning. by my directions she now wrote, although her trembling fingers made an almost unintelligible scrawl of it, that as it _was_ to be, she agreed to his proposition, and should expect him at nine o'clock. two hours afterwards, jackson and i, having previously watched the gentleman home, knocked at mr. skelton's house, knightsbridge, and requested to see him. at the very moment, he came out of a side-room, and was proceeding up stairs. "mr. skelton," said i, stepping forward, "i must have a private interview with you!" he was in an instant as pale as a corpse, and shaking like an aspen--such miserable cowards does an evil conscience make men--and totteringly led the way, without speaking, to a small library. "you know me, mr. skelton, and doubtless guess the meaning of my errand?" he stammered out a denial, which his trembling accents and ashy countenance emphatically denied. "you and gates of the minories are engaged in a felonious conspiracy to deprive mrs. grey and her infant son of their property and inheritance!" had he been struck by a cannon-shot, he could not have fallen more suddenly and helplessly upon the couch close to which he was standing. "my god!" he exclaimed, "what is this?" perceiving he was quite sufficiently frightened, i said, "there is no wish on mrs. grey's part to treat you harshly, so that you aid us in convicting gates. for this purpose, you must at once give the numbers of the notes gates obtained for the cheque, and also the letter in which the agent at bombay announced its transmission through gates." "yes--yes!" he stammered, rising, and going to a secrétaire. "there is the letter." i glanced over it. "i am glad to find," i said, "that you did not know by this letter that the money and other articles here enumerated had been sent by the dying husband to his wife through gates." "i most solemnly assure you i did not!" he eagerly replied, 'until--until"---- "mr. gates informed you of it, and seduced you to conspire with him. he has been playing a double game. whilst amusing you, he purposes marrying mrs. grey to-morrow morning!" "is it possible? but i suspected"---- "no doubt. in the meantime, you will, if you please, accompany us. there is every desire to spare you," i added, perceiving him hesitate; "but our orders are peremptory." with a very ill grace mr. skelton complied, and we were rapidly driven off. the next morning jackson, skelton, and myself, were in sherrard street before daybreak. mrs. grey was already up and at eight o'clock we sat down with her and her son to an excellent breakfast. she was charmingly dressed in the wedding garments which gates had purchased with her stolen money, and i almost felt it in my heart to pity the unfortunate bridegroom, rascal as he was, about to be suddenly disappointed of such a bride and such a fortune! it was very necessary that she should be so arrayed, for, as we had thought quite probable, rivers called a few minutes past eight with a present of jewelry, and the bride's appearance must have completely disarmed any suspicion which his master might have entertained. breakfast was over: mrs. grey, with her son, was seated on a couch in the front room, and we were lying _perdu_ in the next apartment, separated only by folding-doors, when a coach drew up before the house; a bridegroom's impatient summons thundered at the door; and presently forth stepped mr. gates, resplendently attired, followed by his man rivers, who was, it appeared, to give the bride away. mr. gates entered the presence of beautiful mrs. grey in immense triumph. he approached her with the profoundest gallantry; and was about to speak, when jackson and i, who had been sedulously watching through the chink of the slightly-opened doors, advanced into the room, followed by mr. skelton. his attitude of terror and surprise was one of the most natural performances i ever witnessed. he turned instinctively as if to flee. my grasp was in an instant on his collar. "the game is up, my good mr. gates: i arrest you for felony!" "felony!" "ay, truly. for stealing a gold watch, diamond pin, and a cheque for five hundred pounds, sent through you to this lady." all his insolent swagger vanished in an instant, and the abject scoundrel threw himself at mrs. grey's feet, and absolutely howled for mercy. "i will do anything," he gaspingly protested; "anything you require, so that you will save me from these men!" "where is crawford?" i asked, desirous of taking immediate, but not, i hope, unfair advantage of the rascal's terror; "she who witnessed this lady's marriage?" "at leamington, warwickshire," he replied. "very good. now, mrs. grey, if you will leave us, i shall be obliged. we must search this gentleman, and perhaps"----. she vanished in an instant: her gentleness of disposition was, i saw, rapidly mastering all resentment. i carried the watch we took out of gates's pocket to her, and she instantly recognised it to be her husband's. a fifty and a twenty-pound bank-note, corresponding to the numbers on our list, we extricated from the disappointed bridegroom's pocket-book. "and now, sir, if you please," said i, "we will adjourn to your lodgings." a savage scowl was his only reply, not at all discomposing to me, and we were soon busy ransacking his hidden hoards. we found several other articles sent by mr. john grey to his wife, and three letters to her, which, as corroborative evidence, would leave no doubt as to _who_ her husband was. our next visit was to a police court, where mr. william gates was fully committed for trial. he was in due time convicted of stealing the watch, and sentenced to transportation for seven years. mrs. grey's marriage, and her son's consequent succession to the deceased merchant's wealth, were not disputed. she has never remarried, and lives now in beneficent affluence in one of the new squares beyond the edgeware road with her son, who though now six-and-twenty years of age, or thereabouts, is still unappropriated; but "the good time is coming," so at least hinted a few days ago the fashionable "morning post." part v. the twins. the records of police courts afford but imperfect evidence of the business really effected by the officers attached to them. the machinery of english criminal law is, in practice, so subservient to the caprice of individual prosecutors, that instances are constantly occurring in which flagrant violations of natural justice are, from various motives, corrupt and otherwise, withdrawn not only from the cognizance of judicial authority, but from the reprobation of public opinion. compromises are usually effected between the apprehension of the inculpated parties and the public examination before a magistrate. the object of prosecution has been perhaps obtained by the preliminary step of arrest, or a criminal understanding has been arrived at in the interval; and it is then found utterly hopeless to proceed, however manifest may have appeared the guilt of the prisoner. if you adopt the expedient of compelling the attendance of the accused, it is, in nine cases out of ten, mere time and trouble thrown away. the utter forgetfulness of memory, the loose recollection of facts so vividly remembered but a few hours before, the delicately-scrupulous hesitation to depose confidently to the clearest verities evinced by the reluctant prosecutor, render a conviction almost impossible; so that, except in cases of flagrant and startling crimes, which are of course earnestly prosecuted by the crown lawyers, offences against "our sovereign lady the queen, her crown, and dignity," as criminal indictments run, if no aggrieved subject voluntarily appears to challenge justice in behalf of his liege lady, remain unchastised, and not unfrequently unexposed. from several examples of this prevalent abuse which have come within my own knowledge, i select the following instance, merely changing the names of the parties:-- my services, the superintendent late one afternoon informed me, were required in a perplexed and entangled affair, which would probably occupy me for some time, as orders had been given to investigate the matter thoroughly. "there," he added, "is a mr. repton, a highly-respectable country solicitor's card. he is from lancashire, and is staying at webb's hotel, piccadilly. you are to see him at once. he will put you in possession of all the facts--surmises rather, i should say, for the facts, to my apprehension, are scant enough--connected with the case, and you will then use all possible diligence to ascertain first if the alleged crime has been really committed, and if so, of course to bring the criminal or criminals to justice." i found mr. repton, a stout, bald-headed, gentlemanly person, apparently about sixty years of age, just in the act of going out. "i have a pressing engagement for this evening, mr. waters," said he, after glancing at the introductory note i had brought, "and cannot possibly go into the business with the attention and minuteness it requires till the morning. but i'll tell you what: one of the parties concerned, and the one, too, with whom you will have especially to deal, is, i know, to be at covent garden theatre this evening. it is of course necessary that you should be thoroughly acquainted with his person; and if you will go with me in the cab that is waiting outside, i will step with you into the theatre, and point him out." i assented; and on entering covent garden pit, mr. repton, who kept behind me, to avoid observation, directed my attention to a group of persons occupying the front seats of the third box in the lower tier from the stage, on the right-hand side of the house. they were--a gentleman of about thirty years of age; his wife, a very elegant person, a year or two younger; and three children, the eldest of whom, a boy, could not have been more than six or seven years old. this done, mr. repton left the theatre, and about two hours afterwards i did the same. the next morning i breakfasted with the lancashire solicitor by appointment. as soon as it was concluded, business was at once entered upon. "you closely observed sir charles malvern yesterday evening, i presume?" said mr. repton. "i paid great attention to the gentleman you pointed out to me," i answered, "if he be sir charles malvern." "he is, or at least---- but of that presently. first let me inform you that malvern, a few months ago, was a beggard gamester, or nearly so, to speak with precision. he is now in good bodily health, has a charming wife, and a family to whom he is much attached, an unencumbered estate of about twelve thousand a year, and has not gambled since he came into possession of the property. this premised, is there, think you, anything remarkable in sir charles's demeanor?" "singularly so. my impression was, that he was laboring under a terrible depression of spirits, caused, i imagined, by pecuniary difficulties. his manner was restless, abstracted. he paid no attention whatever to anything going on on the stage, except when his wife or one of the children especially challenged his attention; and then, a brief answer returned, he relapsed into the same restless unobservance as before. he is very nervous too. the box door was suddenly opened once or twice, and i noticed his sudden start each time." "you have exactly described him. well, that perturbed, unquiet feverishness of manner has constantly distinguished him since his accession to the redwood estates, and only since then. it strengthens me and one or two others in possibly an unfounded suspicion, which---- but i had better, if i wish to render myself intelligible, relate matters in due sequence. "sir thomas redwood, whose property in lancashire is chiefly in the neighborhood of liverpool, met his death, as did his only son mr. archibald redwood, about six months ago, in a very sudden and shocking manner. they were out trying a splendid mare for the first time in harness, which sir thomas had lately purchased at a very high price. two grooms on horseback were in attendance, to render assistance if required, for the animal was a very powerful, high-spirited one. all went very well till they arrived in front of mr. meredith's place, oak villa. this gentleman has a passion for firing off a number of brass cannon on the anniversary of such events as he deems worthy of the honor. this happened, unfortunately, to be one of mr. meredith's gunpowder days; and as sir thomas and his son were passing, a stream of light flashed directly in the eyes of the mare, followed by the roar of artillery, at no more than about ten paces off. the terrified animal became instantly unmanageable, got the bit between her teeth, and darted off at the wildest speed. the road is a curved and rugged one; and after tearing along for about half a mile, the off-wheel of the gig came, at an abrupt turn, full against a milestone. the tremendous shock hurled the two unfortunate gentlemen upon the road with frightful violence, tore the vehicle almost completely assunder, and so injured the mare, that she died the next day. the alarmed grooms, who had not only been unable to render assistance, but even to keep up with the terrified mare, found mr. archibald redwood quite dead. the spine had been broken close to the nape of the neck: his head, in fact, was doubled up, so to speak, under the body. sir thomas still breathed, and was conveyed to redwood manor house. surgical assistance was promptly obtained; but the internal injuries were so great, that the excellent old gentleman expired in a few hours after he had reached his home. i was hastily sent for; and when i arrived, sir thomas was still fully conscious. he imparted to me matters of great moment, to which he requested i would direct, after his decease, my best care and attention. his son, i was aware, had but just returned from a tour on the continent, where he had been absent for nearly a twelvemonth; but i was not aware, neither was his father till the day before his death, that mr. archibald redwood had not only secretly espoused a miss ashton--of a reduced family, but belonging to our best gentry--but had returned home, not solely for the purpose of soliciting sir thomas's forgiveness of his unauthorized espousals, but that the probable heir of redwood might be born within the walls of the ancient manor house. after the first burst of passion and surprise, sir thomas, one of the best-hearted men in the universe, cordially forgave his son's disobedience--partly, and quite rightly, imputing it to his own foolish urgency in pressing a union with one of the lacy family, with which the baronet was very intimate, and whose estate adjoined his. "well, this lady, now a widow, had been left by her husband at chester, whilst he came on to seek an explanation with his father. mr. archibald redwood was to have set out the next morning in one of sir thomas's carriages to bring home his wife; and the baronet, with his dying breath, bade me assure her of his entire forgiveness, and his earnest hope and trust that through her offspring the race of the redwoods might be continued in a direct line. the family estates, i should tell you, being strictly entailed on heirs-male, devolved, if no son of mr. archibald redwood should bar his claim, upon charles malvern, the son of a cousin of the late sir thomas redwood. the baronet had always felt partially towards malvern, and had assisted him pecuniarily a hundred times. sir thomas also directed me to draw as quickly as i could a short will, bequeathing mr. charles malvern twenty thousand pounds out of the personals. i wrote as expeditiously as i could, but by the time the paper was ready for his signature, sir thomas was no longer conscious. i placed the pen in his hand, and i fancied he understood the purpose, for his fingers closed faintly upon it; but the power to guide was utterly gone, and only a slight, scrambling stroke marked the paper as the pen slid across it in the direction of the falling arm. "mr. malvern arrived at the manor-house about an hour after sir thomas breathed his last. it was clearly apparent through all his sorrow, partly real, i have no doubt, as well as partly assumed, that joy, the joy of riches, splendor, station, was dancing at his heart, and, spite of all his efforts to subdue or conceal it, sparkling in his eye. i briefly, but gently as i could, acquainted him with the true position of affairs. the revulsion of feeling which ensued entirely unmanned him; and it was not till an hour afterwards that he recovered his self-possession sufficiently to converse reasonably and coolly upon his position. at last he became apparently reconciled to the sudden overclouding of his imaginatively-brilliant prospects, and it was agreed that as he was a relative of the widow, he should at once set off to break the sad news to her. well, a few days after his departure, i received a letter from him, stating that lady redwood--i don't think, by the way, that, as her husband died before succeeding to the baronetcy, she is entitled to that appellation of honor; we, however, call her so out of courtesy--that lady redwood, though prematurely confined in consequence of the intelligence of her husband's untimely death, had given birth to a female child, and that both mother and daughter were as well as could be expected. this, you will agree, seemed perfectly satisfactory?" "entirely so." "so i thought. mr. malvern was now unquestionably, whether sir charles malvern or not, the proprietor of the redwood estates, burthened as with a charge, in accordance with the conditions of the entails, of a thousand pounds life annuity to the late mr. redwood's infant daughter. "sir charles returned to redwood manor-house, where his wife and family soon afterwards arrived. lady redwood had been joined, i understood, by her mother, mrs. ashton, and would, when able to undertake the journey, return to her maternal home. it was about two months after sir thomas redwood's death that i determined to pay lady redwood a visit, in order to the winding up of the personal estate, which it was desirable to accomplish as speedily as possible; and then a new and terrible light flashed upon me." "what, in heaven's name!" i exclaimed, for the first time breaking silence--"what could there be to reveal?" "only," rejoined mr. repton, "that, ill, delirious, as lady redwood admitted herself to have been, it was her intimate, unconquerable conviction _that she had given birth to twins_!" "good god! and you suspect"---- "we don't know what to suspect. should the lady's confident belief be correct, the missing child might have been a boy. you understand?" "i do. but is there any tangible evidence to justify this horrible suspicion?" "yes; the surgeon-apothecary and his wife, a mr. and mrs. williams, who attended lady redwood, have suddenly disappeared from chester, and, from no explainable motive, having left or abandoned a fair business there." "that has certainly an ugly look." "true; and a few days ago i received information that williams has been seen in birmingham. he was well dressed, and not apparently in any business." "there certainly appears some ground for suspicion. what plan of operations do you propose?" "that," replied mr. repton, "i must leave to your more practised sagacity. i can only undertake that no means shall be lacking that may be required." "it will be better, perhaps," i suggested, after an interval of reflection, "that i should proceed to birmingham at once. you have of course an accurate description of the persons of williams and his wife ready?" "i have; and very accurate pen-and-ink sketches i am told they are. besides these, i have also here," continued mr. repton, taking from his pocket-book a sheet of carefully-folded satin paper, "a full description of the female baby, drawn up by its mother, under the impression that twins always--i believe they generally do--closely resemble each other. "light hair, blue eyes, dimpled chin"--and so on. the lady--a very charming person, i assure you, and meek and gentle as a fawn--is chiefly anxious to recover her child. you and i, should our suspicions be confirmed, have other duties to perform." this was pretty nearly all that passed, and the next day i was in birmingham. the search, as i was compelled to be very cautious in my inquiries, was tedious, but finally successful. mr. and mrs. williams i discovered living in a pretty house, with neat grounds attached, about two miles out of birmingham, on the coach road to wolverhampton. their assumed name was burridge, and i ascertained from the servant-girl, who fetched their dinner and supper, beer, and occasionally wine and spirits, from a neighboring tavern, that they had one child, a boy, a few months old, of whom neither father nor mother seemed very fond. by dint of much perseverance, i at length got upon pretty familiar terms with mr. burridge, _alias_ williams. he spent his evenings regularly in a tavern; but with all the pains-taking, indefatigable ingenuity i employed, the chief knowledge i acquired, during three weeks of assiduous endeavor, was, that my friend burridge intended, immediately after a visit which he expected shortly to receive from a rich and influential relative in london, to emigrate to america, at all events to go abroad. this was, however, very significant and precious information; and very rarely, indeed, was he, after i had obtained it, out of my sight or observation. at length perseverance obtained its reward. one morning i discerned my friend, much more sprucely attired than ordinarily, make his way to the railway station, and there question with eager looks every passenger that alighted from the first-class carriages. at last a gentleman, whom i instantly recognized, spite of his shawl and other wrappings, arrived by the express train from london. williams instantly accosted him, a cab was called, and away they drove. i followed in another, and saw them both alight at a hotel in new street. i also alighted, and was mentally debating how to proceed, when williams came out of the tavern, and proceeded in the direction of his home. i followed, overtook him, and soon contrived to ascertain that he and his wife had important business to transact in birmingham the next morning, which would render it impossible he should meet me, as i proposed, till two or three o'clock in the afternoon at the earliest; and the next morning, my esteemed friend informed me, he would leave the place, probably for ever. an hour after this interesting conversation, i, accompanied by the chief of the birmingham police, was closeted with the landlord of the hotel in new street, a highly-respectable person, who promised us every assistance in his power. sir charles malvern had, we found, engaged a private room for the transaction of important business with some persons he expected in the morning, and our plans were soon fully matured and agreed upon. i slept little that night, and immediately after breakfast hastened with my birmingham colleague to the hotel. the apartment assigned for sir charles malvern's use had been a bedroom, and a large wardrobe, with a high wing at each end, still remained in it. we tried if it would hold us, and with very little stooping and squeezing, found it would do very well. the landlord soon gave us the signal to be on the alert, and in we jammed ourselves, locking the wing-doors on the inside. a minute or two afterwards, sir charles, and mr. and mrs. williams entered, and, paper, pens, and ink having been brought, business commenced in right earnest. their conversation it is needless to detail. it will suffice to observe that it was manifest sir charles, by a heavy bribe, had induced the accoucheur and his wife to conceal the birth of the male child, which, as i suspected, was that which williams and his spouse were bringing up as their own. i must do the fictitious baronet the justice to say that he had from the first the utmost anxiety that no harm should befall the infant. mr. malvern's nervous dread lest his confederates should be questioned, had induced their hurried departure from chester, and it now appeared that he had become aware of the suspicions entertained by mr. repton, and could not rest till the williams's and the child were safe out of the country. it was now insisted, by the woman more especially, that the agreement for the large annual payment to be made by sir charles should be fairly written out and signed in plain "black and white," to use mrs. williams' expression, in order that no future misunderstandings might arise. this, mr. malvern strongly objected to; but finding the woman would accept of no other terms, he sullenly complied, and at the same time reiterated, that if any harm should befall the boy--to whom he intended, he said, to leave a handsome fortune--he would cease, regardless of consequences to himself, to pay the williams's a single shilling. a silence of several minutes followed, broken only by the scratching of the pen on the paper. the time to me seemed an age, squeezed, crooked, stifled as i was in that narrow box, and so i afterwards learned it did to my fellow-sufferer. at length mr. malvern said, in the same cautious whisper in which they had all hitherto spoken, "this will do, i think;" and read what he had written. mr. and mrs. williams signified their approval; and as matters were now fully ripe, i gently turned the key, and very softly pushed open the door. the backs of the amiable trio were towards me, and as my boots were off, and the apartment was thickly carpeted, i approached unperceived, and to the inexpressible horror and astonishment of the parties concerned, whose heads were bent eagerly over the important document, a hand, which belonged to neither of them, was thrust silently but swiftly forward, and grasped the precious instrument. a fierce exclamation from mr. malvern as he started from his seat, and a convulsive scream from mrs. williams as she fell back in hers, followed; and to add to the animation of the tableau, my friend in the opposite wing emerged at the same moment from his hiding-place. mr. malvern comprehended at a glance the situation of affairs, and made a furious dash at the paper. i was quicker as well as stronger than he, and he failed in his object. resistance was of course out of the question; and in less than two hours we were speeding on the rail towards london, accompanied by the child, whom we entrusted to williams' servant-maid. mrs. repton was still in town, and mrs. ashton, lady redwood, and her unmarried sister, in their impatience of intelligence, had arrived several days before. i had the pleasure of accompanying mrs. repton with the child and his temporary nurse to osborne's hotel in the adelphi; and i really at first feared for the excited mother's reason, or that she would do the infant a mischief, so tumultuous, so frenzied, was her rapturous joy at the recovery of her lost treasure. when placed in the cot beside the female infant, the resemblance of the one to the other was certainly almost perfect. i never saw before nor since so complete a likeness. this was enough for the mother; but, fortunately, we had much more satisfactory evidence, legally viewed, to establish the identity of the child in a court of law, should the necessity arise for doing so. here, as far as i am concerned, all positive knowledge of this curious piece of family history ends. of subsequent transactions between the parties i had no personal cognizance. i only know there was a failure of justice, and i can pretty well guess from what motives. the parties i arrested in birmingham were kept in strict custody for several days; but no inducement, no threats, could induce the institutors of the inquiry to appear against the detected criminals. mrs. and miss ashton, lady redwood and her children, left town the next day but one, for redwood manor; and mr. repton coolly told the angry superintendent that "he had no instructions to prosecute." he, too, was speedily off, and the prisoners were necessarily discharged out of custody. i saw about three weeks afterwards in a morning paper that mr. malvern, "whom the birth of a posthumous heir in a direct line had necessarily deprived of all chance of succession to the redwood estates, and the baronetcy, which the newspapers had so absurdly conferred on him, was, with his amiable lady and family, about to leave england for italy, where they intended to remain some time." the expressed, but uncompleted will of the deceased baronet, sir thomas redwood, had been, it was further stated, carried into effect, and the legacy intended for mr. malvern paid over to him. the williams's never, to my knowledge, attained to the dignity of a notice in the newspapers; but i believe they pursued their original intention of passing over to america. thus not only "offence's gilded hand," but some of the best feelings of our nature, not unfrequently, "shove by justice," and place a concealing gloss over deeds which, in other circumstances, would have infallibly consigned the perpetrators to a prison, or perhaps the hulks. whether, however, any enactment could effectually grapple with an abuse which springs from motives so natural and amiable, is a question which i must leave to wiser heads than mine to discuss and determine. part vi. the pursuit the reader need scarcely be told that albeit police-officers like other men, chiefly delight to recount their _successful_ exploits, they do, nevertheless, experience numerous and vexatious failures and disappointments. one especially i remember, of which the irritating recollection did not pass away for many weeks. i had been for some time in pursuit of a rather eminent rascal, though one young in years, and by marriage respectably connected, who, by an infamous abuse of the trust reposed in him by the highly-respectable firm who employed him, had contrived to possess himself of a large sum of money, with which, or at least with the portion of it falling to his share--for we discovered that he had been for some time connected with a gang of first-rate swindlers--he hoped to escape to america. the chase was hot after him; and spite of all his doublings and turnings, and the false scents adroitly thrown out by his confederates with the view to favor his escape, i at last fairly ran him to earth at plymouth, though in what precise spot of it he burrowed i could not for the moment ascertain. neither was i well acquainted with his features; but in the description of his person furnished me there were certain indelible marks enumerated which, upon strict examination, could not fail to determine his identity. he purposed, i ascertained, to attempt leaving england in a barque bound for new york, which was to sail from plymouth on the day after i arrived there. of this i was fully satisfied, and i determined to capture him on board. accordingly, about half an hour before the ship was to sail, and after all the passengers had embarked, two of the local officers and i got into a boat which i had some time previously engaged to be in readiness, and put off to the vessel. the wind was decidedly fair for the emigrant ship; and so stiffly did it blow from the north-east, that four hands, i was informed, were required, not indeed to convey us swiftly out, but to pull the boat back against the wind, and the strong tide which would be running outside the breakwater. the sea dashed smartly at times over the boat, and the men pulled their sou'-wester caps well over their eyes, to shield themselves from the blinding spray. we were speedily on board; and the captain, although much annoyed at the delay, paraded his motley passengers as well as crew before us; but to my extreme surprise our bird was not amongst them! every possible and impossible hiding-place was thoroughly but vainly searched; and we were at length compelled to a reluctant admission that the gentleman we were in quest of, had not yet honored the captain of the _columbia_ with his patronage. we sullenly returned into the boat; and the instant we did so, the anchor, already atrip, was brought home; the ship's bows fell rapidly off; her crowded canvass dilated and swelled in the spanking breeze, and she sprang swiftly off upon her course. it was a pretty and somewhat exciting spectacle; and i and my companions continued to watch the smartly-handled vessel with much interest till a point of land hid her from our view. we then turned our faces towards plymouth, from which, i was surprised to find, we were apparently as distant as ever. "the tide, let alone the wind, is dead against us!" growled the master of the boat, who was now pulling the near oar, in reply to a remark from one of the plymouth officers. this man had steered on going out. a quick suspicion flashed across me. "where is the other boatman who came out with us?" i sharply demanded. the old seaman, instead of replying, turned himself half round towards the weather-bow oar, exclaiming, "easy, billy--easy; let her nose lay a little closer to the wind!" this, i readily saw, was done to conceal a momentary confusion, arising from the suddenness of my question--a very slight one by the by, for the fellow was an old man-of-war's man, with a face hardened and bronzed by service, weather, grog, and tobacco smoke. i repeated the question in a more peremptory tone. the veteran first deliberately squirted a mouthful of tobacco juice over the side, and then with an expression of his cast-iron phiz, which it is impossible by words to convey a distinct idea of, so compounded was it of diabolical squint, lamb-like simplicity, and impudent cunning, replied, "that wor a passenger to yankee land--a goin' there, i'm purty suspicious, for the benefit of his health." i looked at the plymouth officers, and they at me. the impudent ingenuity of the trick that had been played us seemed scarcely credible. "he--he--ho--ho!" rumbled out of the tobacco-stifled throat of the old rogue, "if he wor somebody you wanted, it wor uncommon well done. didn't you obsarve him jump into the main chains of the barkey jist as you wor leavin' on her, and cast us off a minute afterwards? he perfarred stoppin' with us whilst you wor rummagin' the hooker--he--he--ho--ho!" it was useless bandying words with the fellow; and though i felt desperately savage, i had sense enough to hold my tongue. "pull smartly," said one of the plymouth officers; "a shot will bring her too yet." "why, ay," rejoined the imperturbable seaman; "it mout, if you could get speech of the admiral in time; but i'm thinkin' we shall be a good while yet pullin' in against this choppin' wind and head sea." and sure enough they were! more than another hour, by some boatman-craft unexplainable by me, for the sailors apparently rowed with all their might, were we in reaching the landing-place; and by that time all chance of compelling the return of the _columbia_ was long past. it would be, i knew, impossible to _prove_ complicity on the part of the owner of the boat with the escaped felon, and i preferred to digest the venom of my spleen in silence, rather than by a useless display of it to add to the chuckling delight of the old rascal of a boatman. we had passed some distance along the quay when one of the local officers, addressing a youngish sailor, who, with folded arms and a short pipe in his mouth was standing in philosophical contemplation of the sea and weather, said, "i suppose there is no chance of the emigrant ship that sailed a while ago putting in at any other port along the coast?" the man took the pipe from his mouth, regarded the questioner for a few moments with an expression of contemptuous curiosity anything but flattering to its object, and bawled out, addressing himself to a weather-beaten seaman a few yards off, "i say, tom davis, here's a blue bottle as wants to know the name and bearins of the port off the land's end which the barkey that sailed awhile agone for ameriker with a north-easter kicking her endways is likely to bring up in: i'm not acquainted with it myself or else i'd tell the gentleman." the laugh from two or three bystanders which followed this sally greatly irritated the officer, and he would have indulged in an angry reply had not his more prudent comrade taken him by the arm and urged him away. "ay, ay," said the veteran addressed as tom davis, as we were passing him, "jim there has always got plenty of jawing tackle aboard; but, lord love ye, he's a poor dumb cretur at understanding the signs of the weather! he's talkin' about north-easters, and don't see that the wind's beginning to chop about like a bumbo at womanwith a dozen customers round her. it's my opinion, and tom davis ought by this time to be summut of a judge, that, instead of a north-easter, it's a precious sight more likely to be blowing a sou'-wester before two hours are past, and a sneezer too; and then the _columby_, if she ha'nt made a good offin', which she is not likely to have done, will be back again in a brace of shakes." "do you think it probable," i eagerly asked, "that the _columbia_ will be obliged to put back into plymouth?" "i don't know about _probable_. it's not so sure as death or quarter-day, but it's upon the cards for all that." "will it be early in the night, think you, that she will run in, if at all?" "ah! there now you wants to know too much;" said the old seaman turning on his heel. "all i can say is, that if you find in an hour or so's time that the wind has chopped round to the sou'-west, or within a p'int or two, and that it's blowin' the buttons off your coat one after another, the _columby_, if she's lucky, wont be far off." the half-bantering prediction of the old seaman was confirmed by others whom we consulted, and measures for preventing our quarry from landing, and again giving us the slip, were at once discussed and resolved upon. we then separated, and i proceeded to the tavern at which i had put up to get some dinner. i had not gone far when my eye fell upon two persons whose presence there surprised as well as somewhat grieved me. one was the young wife of the criminal on board the _columbia_. i had seen her once in london, and i knew, as before intimated, that she was of respectable parentage. there was no exultation in her countenance. she had no doubt followed or accompanied her husband to plymouth for the purpose of furthering his escape, and now feared that the capricious elements would render all the ingenuity and boldness that had been brought into play vain and profitless. she was a mild-looking, pretty woman--very much so, i doubt not, till trouble fell upon her, and wonderfully resembled the female in the "momentous question;" so remarkably indeed, that when, years afterwards, i first saw that print, i felt an instantaneous conviction that i had somewhere met with the original of the portrait; and after much puzzlement of brain remembered when and where. the resemblance was doubtless purely accidental; but it was not the less extraordinary and complete. she was accompanied by a gray-haired man of grave, respectable exterior, whom i at once concluded to be her father. as i passed close by them, he appeared about to address me, and i half-paused to hear what he had to say; but his partly-formed purpose was not persisted in, and i proceeded on my way. after dining, i returned to the quay. the wind, as foretold, was blowing directly from the south-west; and during the short pace of time i had been absent, had increased to a tempest. the wild sea was dashing with terrific violence against the breakwater, discernible only in the fast-darkening night by a line of white tumultuous foam and spray, which leaped and hissed against and over it. "a dirty night coming on," said a subaltern officer of the port whom i had previously spoken with; "the _columbia_ will, i think, be pretty sure to run in with the tide." "when do you say is the very earliest time she may be expected?" "well, in my opinion, judging from where she was when i was on the look-out a quarter of an hour agone, not under three hours. let me see. it's now just upon the stroke of five about eight o'clock, i should say, she will be here; certainly not before, perhaps much later; and if the captain is very obstinate, and prefers incurring a rather serious risk to returning, it may be of course not at all." i thanked him, and as remaining on the bleak quay till eight o'clock or thereabout was as useless as unpleasant, i retraced my steps towards the royal george tavern; calling in my way on the plymouth officers, and arranging that one of them should relieve me at ten o'clock; it having been previously agreed that we should keep an alternate watch during the night of two hours each. i afterwards remembered that this arrangement was repeated, in a tone of voice incautiously loud, at the bar of a public-house, where they insisted upon my taking a glass of porter. there were, i should say, more than a dozen persons present at the time. the fire was blazing brightly in the parlor of the royal george when i entered, and i had not been seated near it many minutes before i became exceedingly drowsy; and no wonder, for i had not been in bed the previous night, and the blowing of the wind in my eyes for a couple of hours had of course added greatly to their heavy weariness. habit had long enabled me to awake at any moment i had previously determined on, so that i felt no anxiety as to oversleeping myself; and having pulled out my watch, noticed that it was barely half-past five, wound it up, and placed it before me on the table, i settled myself comfortably in an arm-chair, and was soon sound asleep. i awoke with a confused impression, not only that i had quite slept the time i had allotted myself, but that strangers were in the room and standing about me. i was mistaken in both particulars. there was no one in the parlor but myself, and on glancing at the watch i saw that it was but a quarter-past six. i rose from the chair, stirred the fire, took two or three turns about the room, listened for a few minutes to the howling wind and driving rain which shook and beat against the casement, sat down again, and took up a newspaper which was lying on the table. i had read for some time when the parlor door opened, and who should walk in but the young wife and elderly gentleman whom i had seen in the street. i at once concluded that they had sought me with reference to the fugitive on board the _columbia_; and the venerable old man's rather elaborate apologies for intrusion over, and both of them seated on the side of the fireplace opposite to me, i waited with grave curiosity to hear what they might have to say. an awkward silence ensued. the young woman's eyes, swollen with weeping, were bent upon the floor, and her entire aspect and demeanor exhibited extreme sorrow and dejection. i pitied her, so sad and gentle did she look, from my very soul. the old man appeared anxious and careworn, and for some time remained abstractedly gazing at the fire without speaking. i had a mind to avoid a painful, and, i was satisfied, profitless interview, by abruptly retiring; and was just rising for the purpose when a fiercer tempest-blast than before, accompanied by the pattering of heavy rain-drops against the window-panes, caused me to hesitate at exposing myself unnecessarily to the rigor of such a night; and at the same moment the gray-haired man suddenly raised his eyes and regarded me with a fixed and grave scrutiny. "this war of the elements," he at last said; "this wild uproar of physical nature, is but a type, mr. waters, and a faint one, of the convulsions, the antagonisms, the hurtful conflicts ever raging in the moral world." i bowed dubious assent to a proposition not apparently very pertinent to the subject, which i supposed chiefly occupied his mind, and he proceeded. "it is difficult for dim-eyed beings such as we are always to trace the guiding hand of the ever-watchful power which conducts the complex events of this changing, many-colored life to wise and foreseen issues. the conflicts of faith with actual experience are hard for poor humanity to bear, and still keep unimpaired the jewel beyond price of unwavering trust in him to whom the secrets of all hearts are known. ah, sir! guilt, flaunting its vanities in high places--innocence in danger of fetters--are perplexing subjects to dwell upon!" i was somewhat puzzled by this strange talk, but, hopeful that a meaning would presently appear, i again silently intimated partial concurrence in his general views. "there is no longer much doubt, mr. waters, i believe," he after a few moments added in a much more business-like and sensible tone, "that the _columbia_ will be forced back again, and that the husband of this unhappy girl will consequently fall into the hands of the blind, unreasoning law.... you appear surprised.... my name, i should have mentioned, is thompson; and be assured, mr. waters, that when the real facts of this most unfortunate affair are brought to your knowledge, no one will more bitterly regret than yourself that this tempest and sudden change of wind should have flung back the prey both you and i believed had escaped upon these fatal shores." "from your name i presume you to be the father of this young woman, and"---- "yes," he interrupted; "and the father-in-law of the innocent man you have hunted down with such untiring activity and zeal. but i blame you not," he added, checking himself--"i blame you not. you have only done what you held to be your duty. but the ways of providence are indeed inscrutable!" a passionate burst of grief from the pale, weeping wife testified that, whatever might be the fugitive husband's offences or crimes against society, he at least retained _her_ affection and esteem. "it is very unpleasant," i observed, "to discuss such a subject in the presence of relatives of the inculpated person, especially as i as yet perceive no useful result likely to arise from it; still, since you as it were force me to speak, you must permit me to say, that it appears to me you are either grossly deceived yourself, or attempting for some purpose or other to impose upon my credulity." "neither, sir--neither," replied mr. thompson with warmth. "i certainly am not deceived myself, and i should hope that my character, which i doubt not is well known to you, will shield me from any suspicion of a desire to deceive others." "i am quite aware, mr. thompson, of your personal respectability; still you may be unwittingly led astray. i very much regret to say, that the evidence against your daughter's husband is overwhelming, and i fear unanswerable." "the best, kindest of husbands!" broke in the sobbing wife; "the most injured, the most persecuted of men!" "it is useless," said i, rising and seizing my hat, "to prolong this conversation. if he be innocent, he will no doubt be acquitted; but as it is now close upon half-past seven o'clock, i must beg to take my leave." "one moment, sir," said mr. thompson hastily. "to be frank with you, it was entirely for the purpose of asking your advice as an experienced person that we are here. you have heard of this young man's father?" "joel masters?--yes. a gambler, and otherwise disreputable person, and one of the most specious rascals, i am told, under the sun." "you have correctly described him. you are not perhaps acquainted with his handwriting?" "yes, i am; partially so at least. i have a note in my pocket--here it is--addressed to me by the artful old scoundrel for the purpose of luring me from the right track after his son." "then, mr. waters, please to read this letter from him, dated liverpool, where it appears he was yesterday to embark for america." the letter mr. thompson placed in my hands startled me not a little. it was a circumstantial confession addressed by joel masters to his son, setting forth that he, the father, was alone guilty of the offence with which his unfortunate son was charged, and authorizing him to make a full disclosure should he fail in making his escape from the country. this was, i thought, an exceedingly cheap kind of generosity on the part of honest joel, now that he had secured himself by flight from the penalties of justice. the letter went on to state where a large amount of bank-notes and acceptances, which the writer had been unable to change or discount, would be found. "this letter," said i, "is a very important one; but where is the envelop?" mr. thompson searched his pocket-book: it was not there. "i must have dropped it," he exclaimed, "at my lodgings. pray wait till i return. i am extremely anxious to convince you of this unfortunate young man's innocence. i will not be more than a few minutes absent." he then hurried out. i looked at my watch: it wanted five-and-twenty minutes to eight. "i have but a very few minutes to spare," i observed to the still passionately grieving wife; "and as to the letter, you had better place it in the hands of the attorney for the defence." "ah, sir," sobbed the wife, raising her timid eyes towards me, "you do not believe us or you would not be so eager to seize my husband." "pardon me," i replied, "i have no right to doubt the truth of what you have told me; but my duty is a plain one, and must be performed." "tell me frankly, honestly," cried the half-frantic woman with a renewed burst of tears, "if, in your opinion, this evidence will save my unhappy, deeply-injured husband? my father, i fear, deceives me--deceives himself with a vain hope." i hesitated to express a very favorable opinion of the effect of a statement, obnoxious, as a few moments' reflection suggested, to so much suspicion. the wife quickly interpreted the meaning of my silence, and broke at once into a flood of hysterical lamentation. it was with the greatest difficulty i kept life in her by copious showers of water from the decanter that stood on the table. this endured some time. at last i said abruptly, for my watch admonished me that full ten minutes had been passed in this way, that i must summon the waiter and leave her. "go--go," said she, suddenly rallying, "since it must be so. i--i will follow." i immediately left the house, hastened to the quay, and, on arriving there, strained my eyes seaward in search of the expected ship. a large bark, which very much resembled her, was, to my dismay, riding at anchor within the breakwater, her sails furled, and everything made snug for the night. i ran to the landing-steps, near which two or three sailors were standing. "what vessel is that?" i asked, pointing to the one which had excited my alarm. "_the columbia_," replied the man. "_the columbia!_ why, when did she arrive?" "some time ago. the clock chimed a quarter-past eight as the captain and a few of the passengers came on shore." "a quarter-past eight! why, it wants nearly half an hour to that now!" "does it though? before you are ten minutes older you'll hear the clock strike nine!" the man's words were followed by a merry mocking laugh close to my elbow: i turned sharply round, and for the first and last time in my life felt an almost irresistible temptation to strike a woman. there stood the meek, dove-eyed, grief-stricken wife i had parted from but a few minutes before, gazing with brazen impudence in my face. "perhaps, mr. waters," said she with another taunting laugh, "perhaps yours is london time; or, which is probably more likely, watches sometimes sleep for an hour or so as well as their owners." she then skipped gaily off. "are you a mr. waters?" said a custom-house official who was parading the quay. "yes--and what then?" "only that a mr. joel masters desired me to say that he was very much grieved he could not return to finish the evening with you, as he and his son were unfortunately obliged to leave plymouth immediately." it would have been a real pleasure to have flung the speaker over the quay. by a great effort i denied myself the tempting luxury, and walked away in a fever of rage. neither joel masters nor his son could afterwards be found, spite of the unremitting efforts of myself and others, continued through several weeks. they both ultimately escaped to america; and some years afterwards i learned through an unexpected channel that the canting, specious old rascal was at length getting his deserts in the establishment of sing-sing. the son, the same informant assured me, had, through the persuasions and influence of his wife, who probably thought justice might not be so pleasantly eluded another time, turned over a new leaf, and was leading an honest and prosperous life at cincinnati. part vii. legal metamorphoses. the respectable agent of a rather eminent french house arrived one morning in great apparent distress at scotland yard, and informed the superintendent that he had just sustained a great, almost ruinous loss, in notes of the bank of england and commercial bills of exchange, besides a considerable sum in gold. he had, it appeared, been absent in paris about ten days, and on his return but a few hours previously, discovered that his iron chest had been completely rifled during his absence. false keys must have been used, as the empty chest was found locked, and no sign of violence could be observed. he handed in full written details of the property carried off, the numbers of the notes, and every other essential particular. the first step taken was to ascertain if any of the notes had been tendered at the bank. not one had been presented; payment was of course stopped, and advertisements descriptive of the bills of exchange, as well as of the notes, were inserted in the evening and following morning papers. a day or two afterwards, a considerable reward was offered for such information as might lead to the apprehension of the offenders. no result followed; and spite of the active exertions of the officers employed, not the slightest clue could be obtained to the perpetrators of the robbery. the junior partner in the firm, m. bellebon, in the meantime arrived in england, to assist in the investigation, and was naturally extremely urgent in his inquiries; but the mystery which enveloped the affair remained impenetrable. at last a letter, bearing the st. martin le grand post-mark, was received by the agent, m. alexandre le breton, which contained an offer to surrender the whole of the plunder, with the exception of the gold, for the sum of one thousand pounds. the property which had been abstracted was more than ten times that sum, and had been destined by the french house to meet some heavy liabilities falling due in london very shortly. le breton had been ordered to pay the whole amount into hoare's to the account of the firm, and had indeed been severely blamed for not having done so as he received the different notes and bills; and it was on going to the chest immediately on his return from paris, for the purpose of fulfilling the peremptory instructions he had received, that m. le breton discovered the robbery. the letter went on to state that should the offer be acceded to, a mystically worded advertisement--of which a copy was enclosed--was to be inserted in the "times," and then a mode would be suggested for safety--in the interest of the thieves of course--carrying the agreement into effect. m. bellebon was half-inclined to close with this proposal, in order to save the credit of the house, which would be destroyed unless its acceptances, now due in about fourteen days, could be met; and without the stolen moneys and bills of exchange, this was, he feared, impossible. the superintendent, to whom m. bellebon showed the letter, would not hear of compliance with such a demand, and threatened a prosecution for composition of felony if m. bellebon persisted in doing so. the advertisement was, however, inserted, and an immediate reply directed that le breton, the agent, should present himself at the old manor-house, green lanes, newington, unattended, at four o'clock on the following afternoon, bringing with him of course the stipulated sum _in gold_. it was added, that to prevent any possible treason (_trahison_, the letter was written in french,) le breton would find a note for him at the tavern, informing him of the spot--a solitary one, and far away from any place where an ambush could be concealed--where the business would be concluded, and to which he must proceed unaccompanied, and on foot! this proposal was certainly quite as ingenious as it was cool, and the chance of outwitting such cunning rascals seemed exceedingly doubtful. a very tolerable scheme was, however, hit upon, and m. le breton proceeded at the appointed hour to the old manor-house. no letter or message had been left for him, and nobody obnoxious to the slightest suspicion could be seen near or about the tavern. on the following day another missive arrived, which stated that the writer was quite aware of the trick which the police had intended playing him, and he assured m. bellebon that such a line of conduct was as unwise as it would be fruitless, inasmuch as if "good faith" was not observed, the securities and notes would be inexorably destroyed or otherwise disposed of, and the house of bellebon and company be consequently exposed to the shame and ruin of bankruptcy. just at this crises of the affair i arrived in town from my unsuccessful hunt after the fugitives who had slipped through my fingers at plymouth. the superintendent laughed heartily, not so much at the trick by which i had been duped, as at the angry mortification i did not affect to conceal. he presently added, "i have been wishing for your return, in order to intrust you with a tangled affair, in which success will amply compensate for such a disappointment. you know french too, which is fortunate; for the gentleman who has been plundered understands little or no english." he then related the foregoing particulars, with other apparently slight circumstances; and after a long conversation with him, i retired to think the matter over, and decide upon the likeliest mode of action. after much cogitation, i determined to see m. bellebon _alone_, and for this purpose i despatched the waiter of a tavern adjacent to his lodgings, with a note expressive of my wish to see him instantly on pressing business. he was at home, and immediately acceded to my request. i easily introduced myself; and after about a quarter of an hour's conference, said carelessly--for i saw he was too heedless of speech, too quick and frank, to be intrusted with the dim suspicions which certain trifling indices had suggested to me--"is monsieur le breton at the office where the robbery was committed?" "no: he is gone to greenwich on business, and will not return till late in the evening. but if you wish to re-examine the place, i can of course enable you to do so." "it will, i think, be advisable; and you will, if you please," i added, as we emerged into the street, "permit me to take you by the arm, in order that the _official_ character of my visit may not be suspected by any one there." he laughingly complied, and we arrived at the house arm in arm. we were admitted by an elderly woman; and there was a young man--a moustached clerk--seated at a desk in an inner room writing. he eyed me for a moment, somewhat askance i thought, but i gave him no opportunity for a distinct view of my features; and i presently handed m. bellebon a card, on which i had contrived to write, unobserved, "send away the clerk." this was more naturally done than i anticipated; and in answer to m. bellebon's glance of inquiry, i merely said, "that as i did not wish to be known there as a police-officer, it was essential that the minute search i was about to make should be without witnesses." he agreed; and the woman was also sent away upon a distant errand. every conceivable place did i ransack; every scrap of paper that had writing on it i eagerly perused. at length the search was over, apparently without result. "you are quite sure, monsieur bellebon, as you informed the superintendent, that monsieur le breton has no female relations or acquaintances in this country?" "positive," he replied. "i have made the most explicit inquiries on the subject both of the clerk dubarle and of the woman-servant." just then the clerk returned, out of breath with haste i noticed, and i took my leave without even now affording the young gentleman so clear a view of my face as he was evidently anxious to obtain. "no female acquaintance!" thought i, as i re-entered the private room of the tavern i had left an hour before. "from whom came, then, these scraps of perfumed note-paper i have found in his desk i wonder?" i sat down and endeavored to piece them out, but after considerable trouble, satisfied myself that they were parts of different notes, and so small, unfortunately, as to contain nothing which separately afforded any information except that they were all written by one hand, and that a female one. about two hours after this i was sauntering along in the direction of stoke-newington, where i was desirous of making some inquiries as to another matter, and had passed the kingslaw gate a few hundred yards, when a small discolored printed handbill, lying in a haberdasher's shop window, arrested my attention. it ran thus:--"two guineas reward.--lost, an italian greyhound. the tip of its tail has been chopped off, and it answers to the name of fidèle." underneath, the reader was told in writing to "inquire within." "fidèle!" i mentally exclaimed. "any relation to m. le breton's fair correspondent's fidèle, i wonder?" in a twinkling my pocket-book was out, and i reperused by the gas-light on one of the perfumed scraps of paper the following portion of a sentence, "_ma pauvre fidèle est per_"----. the bill, i observed, was dated nearly three weeks previously. i forthwith entered the shop, and pointing to the bill, said i knew a person who had found such a dog as was there advertised for. the woman at the counter said she was glad to hear it, as the lady, formerly a customer of theirs, was much grieved at the animal's loss. "what is the lady's name?" i asked. "i can't rightly pronounce the name," was the reply. "it is french, i believe; but here it is, with the address, in the day-book, written by herself." i eagerly read--"madame levasseur, oak cottage; about one mile on the road from edmonton to southgate." the hand-writing greatly resembled that on the scraps i had taken from m. le breton's desk; and the writer was french too! here were indications of a trail which might lead to unhoped-for success, and i determined to follow it up vigorously. after one or two other questions, i left the shop, promising to send the dog to the lady the next day. my business at stoke-newington was soon accomplished. i then hastened westward to the establishment of a well-known dog-fancier, and procured the loan, at a reasonable price, of an ugly italian hound: the requisite loss of the tip of its tail was very speedily accomplished, and so quickly healed, that the newness of the excision could not be suspected. i arrived at the lady's residence about twelve o'clock on the following day, so thoroughly disguised as a vagabond cockney dog-stealer, that my own wife, when i entered the breakfast parlor just previous to starting, screamed with alarm and surprise. the mistress of oak cottage was at home, but indisposed, and the servant said she would take the dog to her, though, if i would take it out of the basket, she herself could tell me if it was fidèle or not. i replied that i would only show the dog to the lady, and would not trust it out of my hands. this message was carried up stairs, and after waiting some time outside--for the woman, with natural precaution, considering my appearance, for the safety of the portable articles lying about, had closed the street-door in my face--i was readmitted, desired to wipe my shoes carefully, and walk up. madame levasseur, a showy looking woman, though not over-refined in speech or manners, was seated on a sofa, in vehement expectation of embracing her dear fidèle; but my vagabond appearance so startled her, that she screamed loudly for her husband, m. levasseur. this gentleman, a fine, tall, whiskered, moustached person, hastened into the apartment half-shaved, and with his razor in his hand. "qu'est ce qu'il y a donc?" he demanded. "mais voyez cette horreur là," replied the lady, meaning me, not the dog, which i was slowly emancipating from the basket-kennel. the gentleman laughed; and reassured by the presence of her husband, madame levasseur's anxieties concentrated themselves upon the expected fidèle. "mais, mon dieu!" she exclaimed again as i displayed the aged beauty i had brought for her inspection, "why, that is not fidèle!" "not, marm?" i answered, with quite innocent surprise. "vy, ere is her wery tail;" and i held up the mutilated extremity for her closer inspection. the lady was not, however, to be convinced even by that evidence; and as the gentleman soon became impatient of my persistence, and hinted very intelligibly that he had a mind to hasten my passage down stairs with the toe of his boot, i, having made the best possible use of my eyes during the short interview, scrambled up the dog and basket, and departed. "no female relative or acquaintance hasn't he?" was my exulting thought as i gained the road. "and yet if that is not m. le breton's picture between those of the husband and wife, i am a booby, and a blind one." i no longer in the least doubted that i had struck a brilliant trail; and i could have shouted with exultation, so eager was i not only to retrieve my, as i fancied, somewhat tarnished reputation for activity and skill, but to extricate the plundered firm from their terrible difficulties; the more especially as young m. bellebon, with the frankness of his age and nation, had hinted to me--and the suddenly tremulous light of his fine expressive eyes testified to the acuteness of his apprehensions--that his marriage with a long-loved and amiable girl depended upon his success in saving the credit of his house. that same evening, about nine o'clock, m. levasseur, expensively, but withal snobbishly attired, left oak cottage, walked to edmonton, hailed a cab, and drove off rapidly towards town, followed by an english swell as stylishly and snobbishly dressed, wigged, whiskered, and moustached as himself: this english swell being no other than myself, as prettily metamorphosed and made up for the part i intended playing as heart could wish. m. levasseur descended at the end of the quadrant, regent street, and took his way to vine street, leading out of that celebrated thoroughfare. i followed; and observing him enter a public house, unhesitatingly did the same. it was a house of call and general rendezvous for foreign servants out of place. valets, couriers, cooks, of many varieties of shade, nation, and respectability, were assembled there, smoking, drinking, and playing at an insufferably noisy game, unknown, i believe, to englishmen, and which must, i think, have been invented in sheer despair of cards, dice, or other implements of gambling. the sole instruments of play were the gamester's fingers, of which the two persons playing suddenly and simultaneously uplifted as many, or as few, as they pleased, each player alternately calling a number; and if he named precisely how many fingers were held up by himself and opponent, he marked a point. the hubbub of cries--"cinq," "neuf," "dix," &c.--was deafening. the players--almost every body in the large room--were too much occupied to notice our entrance; and m. levasseur and myself seated ourselves, and called for something to drink, without, i was glad to see, exciting the slightest observation. m. levasseur, i soon perceived, was an intimate acquaintance of many there; and somewhat to my surprise, for he spoke french very well, i found that he was a swiss. his name was, i therefore concluded, assumed. nothing positive rewarded my watchfulness that evening; but i felt quite sure levasseur had come there with the expectation of meeting some one, as he did not play, and went away about half past eleven o'clock with an obviously discontented air. the following night it was the same; but the next, who should peer into the room about half past ten, and look cautiously round, but m. alexandre le breton! the instant the eyes of the friends met, levasseur rose and went out. i hesitated to follow, lest such a movement might excite suspicion; and it was well i did not, as they both presently returned, and seated themselves close by my side. the anxious, haggard countenance of le breton--who had, i should have before stated, been privately pointed out to me by one of the force early on the morning i visited oak cottage--struck me forcibly, especially in contrast with that of levasseur, which wore only an expression of malignant and ferocious triumph, slightly dashed by temporary disappointment. le breton stayed but a short time; and the only whispered words i caught were--"he has, i fear, some suspicion." the anxiety and impatience of m. bellebon whilst this was going on became extreme, and he sent me note after note--the only mode of communication i would permit--expressive of his consternation at the near approach of the time when the engagements of his house would arrive at maturity, without anything having in the meantime been accomplished. i pitied him greatly, and after some thought and hesitation, resolved upon a new and bolder game. by affecting to drink a great deal, occasionally playing, and in other ways exhibiting a reckless, devil-may-care demeanor, i had striven to insinuate myself into the confidence and companionship of levasseur, but hitherto without much effect; and although once i could see, startled by a casual hint i dropped to another person--one of ours--just sufficiently loud for him to hear--that i knew a sure and safe market for stopped bank of england notes, the cautious scoundrel quickly subsided into his usual guarded reserve. he evidently doubted me, and it was imperatively necessary to remove those doubts. this was at last effectually, and, i am vain enough to think, cleverly done. one evening a rakish looking man, who ostentatiously and repeatedly declared himself to be mr. trelawney of conduit street, and who was evidently three parts intoxicated, seated himself directly in front of us, and with much braggart impudence boasted of his money, at the same time displaying a pocket-book, which seemed pretty full of bank of england notes. there were only a few persons present in the room besides us, and they were at the other end of the room. levasseur, i saw, noticed with considerable interest the look of greed and covetousness which i fixed on that same pocket-book. at length the stranger rose to depart. i also hurried up and slipped after him, and was quietly and slyly followed by levasseur. after proceeding about a dozen paces i looked furtively about, but _not_ behind; robbed mr. trelawney of his pocket-book, which he had placed in one of the tails of his coat; crossed over the street, and walked hurriedly away, still, i could hear, followed by levasseur. i entered another public-house, strode into an empty back-room, and was just in the act of examining my prize, when in stepped levasseur. he looked triumphant as lucifer, as he clapped me on the shoulder, and said in a low exulting voice, "i saw that pretty trick, williams, and can, if i like, transport you!" my consternation was naturally extreme, and levasseur laughed immensely at the terror he excited. "soyez tranquille," he said at last, at the same time ringing the bell: "i shall not hurt you." he ordered some wine, and after the waiter had fulfilled the order and left the room, said, "those notes of mr. trelawney's will of course be stopped in the morning, but i think i once heard you say you knew of a market for such articles?" i hesitated, coyly unwilling to further commit myself. "come, come," resumed levasseur in a still low but menacing tone, "no nonsense. i have you now; you are, in fact, entirely in my power; but be candid, and you are safe. who is your friend?" "he is not in town now," i stammered. "stuff--humbug! i have myself some notes to change. there, now we understand each other. what does he give, and how does he dispose of them?" "he gives about a third generally, and gets rid of them abroad. they reach the bank through _bona fide_ and innocent olders, and in that case the bank is of course bound to pay." "is that the law also with respect to bills of exchange?" "yes, to be sure it is." "and is _amount_ of any consequence to your friend?" "none, i believe, whatever." "well, then, you must introduce me to him." "no, that i can't," i hurriedly answered. "he wont deal with strangers." "you _must_, i tell you, or i will call an officer." terrified by this threat, i muttered that his name was levi samuel. "and where does levi samuel live?" "that," i replied, "i _cannot_ tell; but i know how to communicate with him." finally, it was settled by levasseur that i should dine at oak cottage the next day but one, and that i should arrange with samuel to meet us there immediately afterwards. the notes and bills he had to dispose of, i was to inform samuel, amounted to nearly twelve thousand pounds, and i was promised £ for effecting the bargain. "five hundred pounds, remember, williams," said levasseur as we parted; "or, if you deceive me, transportation! you can prove nothing regarding _me_, whereas, i could settle _you_ off hand." the superintendent and i had a long and rather anxious conference the next day. we agreed that, situate as oak cottage was, in an open space away from any other building, it would not be advisable that any officer except myself and the pretended samuel should approach the place. we also agreed as to the probability of such clever rogues having so placed the notes and bills that they could be consumed or otherwise destroyed on the slightest alarm, and that the open arrest of levasseur, and a search of oak cottage, would in all likelihood prove fruitless. "there will be only two of them," i said in reply to a remark of the superintendent as to the somewhat dangerous game i was risking with powerful and desperate men, "even should le breton be there; and surely jackson and i, aided by the surprise and our pistols, will be too many for them." little more was said, the superintendent wished us luck, and i sought out and instructed jackson. i will confess that, on setting out the next day to keep my appointment, i felt considerable anxiety. levasseur _might_ have discovered my vocation, and set this trap for my destruction. yet that was hardly possible. at all events, whatever the danger, it was necessary to face it; and having cleaned and loaded my pistols with unusual care, and bade my wife a more than usually earnest farewell, which, by the way, rather startled her, i set off, determined, as we used to say in yorkshire, "to win the horse or lose the saddle." i arrived in good time at oak cottage, and found my host in the highest possible spirits. dinner was ready, he said, but it would be necessary to wait a few minutes for the two friends he expected. "_two_ friends!" i exclaimed, really startled. "you told me last evening there was to be only one, a monsieur le breton." "true," rejoined levasseur carelessly; "but i had forgotten that another party as much interested as ourselves would like to be present, and invite himself, if i did not. but there will be enough for us all, never fear," he added with a coarse laugh, "especially as madame levasseur does not dine with us." at this moment a loud knock was heard. "here they are!" exclaimed levasseur, and hastened out to meet them. i peeped through the blind, and to my great alarm saw that le breton was accompanied by the clerk dubarle! my first impulse was to seize my pistols and rush out of the house; but calmer thoughts soon succeeded, and the improbability that a plan had been laid to entrap me recurred forcibly. still, should the clerk recognize me? the situation was undoubtedly a critical one; but i was in for it, and must therefore brave the matter out in the best way i could. presently a conversation, carried on in a loud, menacing tone in the next room between levasseur and the new comers, arrested my attention, and i softly approached the door to listen. le breton, i soon found, was but half a villain, and was extremely anxious that the property should not be disposed of till at least another effort had been made at negotiation. the others, now that a market for the notes and securities had been obtained, were determined to avail themselves of it, and immediately leave the country. the almost agonized intreaties of le breton that they would not utterly ruin the house he had betrayed, were treated with scornful contempt, and he was at length silenced by their brutal menaces. le breton, i further learned, was a cousin of madame levasseur, whose husband had first pillaged him at play, and then suggested the crime which had been committed as the sole means of concealing the defalcations of which he, levasseur, had been the occasion and promoter. after a brief delay, all three entered the dining-room, and a slight but significant start which the clerk dubarle gave, as levasseur, with mock ceremony, introduced me, made my heart, as folk say, leap into my mouth. his half-formed suspicions seemed, however, to be dissipated for the moment by the humorous account levasseur gave him of the robbery of mr. trelawney, and we sat down to a very handsome dinner. a more uncomfortable one, albeit, i never assisted at. the furtive looks of dubarle, who had been only partially reassured, grew more and more inquisitive and earnest. fortunately levasseur was in rollicking spirits and humor, and did not heed the unquiet glances of the young man; and as for le breton, he took little notice of anybody. at last this terrible dinner was over, and the wine was pushed briskly round. i drank much more freely than usual, partly with a view to calm my nerves, and partly to avoid remark. it was nearly the time for the jew's appearance, when dubarle, after a scrutinizing and somewhat imperious look at my face, said abruptly, "i think, monsieur williams, i have seen you somewhere before?" "very likely," i replied with as much indifference as i could assume. "many persons have seen me before--some of them once or twice too often." "true!" exclaimed levasseur with a shout. "trelawney, for instance!" "i should like to see monsieur with his wig off!" said the clerk with increasing insolence. "nonsense, dubarle; you are a fool," exclaimed levasseur, "and i will not have my good friend williams insulted." dubarle did not persist, but it was plain enough that some dim remembrance of my features continued to haunt and perplex him. at length, and the relief was unspeakable, a knock at the outer door announced jackson--levi samuel, i mean. we all jumped up, and ran to the window. it was the jew sure enough, and admirably he had dressed and now looked the part. levasseur went out, and in a minute or two returned introducing him. jackson could not suppress a start as he caught sight of the tall, moustached addition to the expected company; and although he turned it off very well, it drove the jewish dialect in which he had been practising completely out of his thoughts and speech, as he said, "you have more company than my friend williams led me to expect?" "a friend--one friend extra, mr. samuel," said levasseur; "that is all. come, sit down, and let me help you to a glass of wine. you are an english jew i perceive?" "yes." a silence of a minute or two succeeded, and then levasseur said, "you are of course prepared for business?" "yes--that is, if you are reasonable." "reasonable! the most reasonable men in the world," rejoined levasseur with a loud laugh. "but pray where is the gold you mean to pay us with?" "if we agree, i will fetch it in half an hour. i do not carry bags of sovereigns about with me into _all_ companies," replied jackson with much readiness. "well, that's right enough: and now how much discount do you charge?" "i will tell you when i see the securities." levasseur rose without another word, and left the apartment. he was gone about ten minutes, and on his return, deliberately counted out the stolen bank of england notes and bills of exchange. jackson got up from his chair, peered close to them, and began noting down the amounts in his pocket-book. i also rose, and pretended to be looking at a picture by the fire-place. the moment was a nervous one, as the signal had been agreed upon, and could not now be changed or deferred. the clerk dubarle also hastily rose, and eyed jackson with flaming but indecisive looks. the examination of the securities was at length terminated, and jackson began counting the bank of england notes aloud--"one--two--three--four--five!" as the signal word passed his lips, he threw himself upon le breton, who sat next to him; and at the same moment i passed one of my feet between dubarle's, and with a dexterous twist hurled him violently on the floor; another instant and my grasp was on the throat of levasseur, and my pistol at his ear. "hurrah!" we both shouted with eager excitement; and before either of the villains could recover from his surprise, or indeed perfectly comprehend what had happened, levasseur and le breton were hand-cuffed, and resistance was out of the question. young dubarle was next easily secured. levasseur, the instant he recovered the use of his faculties, which the completeness and suddenness of the surprise and attack had paralysed, yelled like a madman with rage and anger, and but for us, would, i verily believe, have dashed his brains out against the walls of the room. the other two were calmer, and having at last thoroughly pinioned and secured them, and carefully gathered up the recovered plunder, we left oak cottage in triumph, letting ourselves out, for the woman-servant had gone off, doubtless to acquaint her mistress with the disastrous turn affairs had taken. no inquiry was made after either of them. an hour afterwards the prisoners were securely locked up, and i hurried to acquaint m. bellebon with the fortunate issue of our enterprise. his exultation, it will be readily believed, was unbounded; and i left him busy with letters to the firm, and doubtless one to "cette chère et aimable louise," announcing the joyful news. the prisoners, after a brief trial, which many readers of this narrative may perhaps remember, were convicted of felonious conspiracy, and were all sentenced to ten years' transportation. le breton's sentence, the judge told him, would have been for life, but for the contrition he had exhibited shortly before his apprehension. as levasseur passed me on leaving the dock, he exclaimed in french, and in a desperately savage tone, "i will repay you for this when i return, and that infernal trelawney too." i am too much accustomed to threats of this kind to be in any way moved by them, and i therefore contented myself by smiling, and a civil "au revoir--allons!" part viii. the revenge. levasseur and his confederates sailed for the penal settlements on the ill-fated convict-ship, the _amphytrion_, the total wreck of which on the coast of france, and consequent drowning of the crew and prisoners, excited so painful a sensation in england. a feeling of regret for the untimely fate of le breton, whom i regarded rather as a weak dupe than a purposed rascal, passed over my mind as i read the announcement in the newspapers; but newer events had almost jostled the incidents connected with his name from my remembrance, when a terrible adventure vividly recalled them, and taught me how fierce and untameable are the instincts of hate and revenge in a certain class of minds. a robbery of plate had been committed in portman square with an ingenuity and boldness which left no doubt that it had been effected by clever and practised hands. the detective officers first employed having failed to discover the offenders, the threads of the imperfect and broken clue were placed in my hands, to see if my somewhat renowned dexterity, or luck, as many of my brother officers preferred calling it, would enable me to piece them out to a satisfactory conclusion. by the description obtained of a man who had been seen lurking about the house a few days previous to the burglary, it had been concluded by my predecessors in the investigation that one martin, a fellow with half a dozen _aliases_, and a well-known traveler on the road to the hulks, was concerned in the affair; and by their advice a reward of fifty pounds had been offered for his apprehension and conviction. i prosecuted the inquiry with my usual energy and watchfulness, without alighting upon any new fact or intimation of importance. i could not discover that a single article of the missing property had been either pawned or offered for sale, and little doubt remained that the crucible had fatally diminished the chances of detection. the only hope was, that an increased reward might induce one of the gang to betray his confederates; and as the property was of large value, this was done, and one hundred guineas was promised for the required information. i had been to the printer's to order the placards announcing the increased recompense; and after indulging in a long gossip with the foreman of the establishment, whom i knew well, was passing at about a quarter-past ten o'clock through ryder's court, newport market, where a tall man met and passed me swiftly, holding a handkerchief to his face. there was nothing remarkable in that, as the weather was bitterly cold and sleety; and i walked unheedingly on. i was just in the act of passing out of the court towards leicester square, when swift steps sounded suddenly behind me. i instinctively turned; and as i did so, received a violent blow on the left shoulder--intended, i doubted not, for the nape of my neck--from the tall individual who had passed me a minute previously. as he still held the handkerchief to his face, i did not catch even a momentary glance at his features, and he ran off with surprising speed. the blow, sudden, jarring, and inflicted with a sharp instrument--by a strong knife or a dagger--caused a sensation of faintness; and before i recovered from it all chance of successful pursuit was at an end. the wound, which was not at all serious, i had dressed at a chemist's shop in the haymarket; and as proclaiming the attack would do nothing towards detecting the perpetrator of it, i said little about it to any one, and managed to conceal it entirely from my wife, to whom it would have suggested a thousand painful apprehensions whenever i happened to be unexpectedly detained from home. the brief glimpse i had of the balked assassin afforded no reasonable indication of his identity. to be sure he ran at an amazing and unusual pace, but this was a qualification possessed by so many of the light-legged as well as light-fingered gentry of my professional acquaintance, that it could not justify even a random suspicion; and i determined to forget the unpleasant incident as soon as possible. the third evening after this occurrence i was again passing along leicester square at a somewhat late hour, but this time with all my eyes about me. snow, which the wind blew sharply in one's face, was falling fast, and the cold was intense. except myself, and a tallish snow-wreathed figure--a woman apparently--not a living being was to be seen. this figure, which was standing still at the further side of the square, appeared to be awaiting me, and as i drew near it, threw back the hood of a cloak, and to my great surprise disclosed the features of a madame jaubert. this lady, some years before, had carried on, not very far from the spot where she now stood, a respectable millinery business. she was a widow with one child, a daughter of about seven years of age. marie-louise, as she was named, was one unfortunate day sent to coventry street on an errand with some money in her hand, and never returned. the inquiries set on foot proved utterly without effect: not the slightest intelligence of the fate of the child was obtained--and the grief and distraction of the bereaved mother resulted in temporary insanity. she was confined in a lunatic asylum for seven or eight months, and when pronounced convalescent, found herself homeless, and almost penniless, in the world. this sad story i had heard from one of the keepers of the asylum during her sojourn there. it was a subject she herself never, i was aware, touched upon; and she had no reason to suspect that i was in the slightest degree informed of this melancholy passage in her life. she, why, i know not, changed her name from that of duquesne to the one she now bore--jaubert; and for the last two or three years had supported a precarious existence by plausible begging-letters addressed to persons of credulous benevolence; for which offence she had frequently visited the police-courts at the instance of the secretary of the mendicity society, and it was there i had consequently made her acquaintance. "madame jaubert!" i exclaimed with unfeigned surprise, "why, what on earth can you be waiting here for on such a night as this?" "to see you!" was her curt reply. "to see me! depend upon it, then, you are knocking at the wrong door for not the first time in your life. the very little faith i ever had in professional widows, with twelve small children, all down in the measles, has long since vanished, and"---- "nay," she interrupted--she spoke english, by the way, like a native--"i'm not such a fool as to be trying the whimpering dodge upon you. it is a matter of business. you want to find jem martin?" "ay, truly; but what can _you_ know of him? surely you are not _yet_ fallen so low as to be the associate or accomplice of burglars?" "neither yet, nor likely to be so," replied the woman; "still i could tell you where to place your hand on james martin, if i were but sure of the reward." "there can be no doubt about that," i answered. "then follow me, and before ten minutes are past you will have secured your man." i did so--cautiously, suspiciously; for my adventure three evenings before had rendered me unusually circumspect and watchful. she led the way to the most crowded quarter of st. giles's, and when she had reached the entrance of a dark blind alley, called hine's court, turned into it, and beckoned me to follow. "nay, nay, madame jaubert," i exclaimed, "that wont do. you mean fairly, i dare say; but i don't enter that respectable alley alone at this time of night." she stopped, silent and embarrassed. presently she said with a sneer, "you are afraid, i suppose?" "yes i am." "what is to be done then?" she added after a few moments' consideration. "he is alone, i assure you." "that is possible; still i do not enter that _cul-de-sac_ to-night unaccompanied save by you." "you suspect me of some evil design, mr. waters?" said the woman with an accent of reproach. "i thought you might, and yet nothing can be further from the truth. my sole object is to obtain the reward, and escape from this life of misery and degradation to my own country, and if possible begin the world respectably again. why should you doubt me?" "how came you acquainted with this robber's haunts?" "the explanation is easy, but this is not the time for it. stay; can't you get assistance?" "easily--in less than ten minutes; and if you are here when i return, and your information proves correct, i will ask pardon for my suspicions." "be it so," she said joyfully; "and be quick, for this weather is terrible." ten minutes had not passed when i returned with half-a-dozen officers, and found madame jaubert still at her post. we followed her up the court, caught martin sure enough asleep upon a wretched pallet of straw in one of the alley hovels, and walked him off, terribly scared and surprised, to the nearest station-house, where he passed the remainder of the night. the next day martin proved an _alibi_ of the distinctest, most undeniable kind. he had been an inmate of clerkenwell prison for the last three months, with the exception of just six days previous to our capture of him; and he was of course at once discharged. the reward was payable only upon conviction of the offender, and the disappointment of poor madame jaubert was extreme. she wept bitterly at the thought of being compelled to continue her present disreputable mode of life, when a thousand francs--a sum she believed martin's capture would have assured her--besides sufficient for her traveling expenses and decent outfit, would, she said, purchase a partnership in a small but respectable millinery shop in paris. "well," i remarked to her, "there is no reason for despair. you have not only proved your sincerity and good faith, but that you possess a knowledge--how acquired you best know--of the haunts and hiding-places of burglars. the reward, as you may have seen by the new placards, has been doubled; and i have a strong opinion, from something that has reached me this morning, that if you could light upon one armstrong, _alias_ rowden, it would be as certainly yours as if already in your pocket." "armstrong--rowden!" repeated the woman with anxious simplicity; "i never heard either of these names. what sort of a person is he?" i described him minutely; but madame jaubert appeared to entertain little or no hope of discovering his whereabout; and ultimately went away in a very disconsolate mood, after, however, arranging to meet me the next evening. i met her as agreed. she could obtain, she said, no intelligence of any reliable worth; and she pressed me for further particulars. was armstrong a drinking, a gaming, or a play-going man? i told her all i knew of his habits, and a gleam of hope glanced across her face as one or two indications were mentioned. i was to see her again on the morrow. it came; she was as far off as ever; and i advised her to waste no further time in the pursuit, but to at once endeavor to regain a position of respectability by the exercise of industry in the trade or business in which she was reputedly well-skilled. madame jaubert laughed scornfully; and a gleam, it seemed to me, of her never entirely subdued insanity shot out from her deep-set, flashing eyes. it was finally settled that i should meet her once more at the same place at about eight o'clock the next evening. i arrived somewhat late at the appointed rendezvous, and found madame jaubert in a state of manifest excitement and impatience. she had, she was pretty sure, discovered armstrong, and knew that he was at that moment in a house in greek street, soho. "greek street, soho! is he alone?" "yes; with the exception of a woman who is minding the premises, and of whom he is an acquaintance under another name. you will be able to secure him without the least risk or difficulty, but not an instant must be lost." madame jaubert perceived my half-hesitation. "surely" she exclaimed, "you are not afraid of one man! it's useless affecting to suspect _me_ after what has occurred." "true," i replied. "lead on." the house at which we stopped in greek street appeared to be an empty one, from the printed bills in the windows announcing it to be let or sold. madame jaubert knocked in a peculiar manner at the door, which was presently opened by a woman. "is mr. brown still within?" madame jaubert asked in a low voice. "yes: what do you want with him?" "i have brought a gentleman who will most likely be a purchaser of some of the goods he has to dispose of." "walk in, then, if you please," was the answer. we did so; and found ourselves, as the door closed, in pitch darkness. "this way," said the woman; "you shall have a light in half a minute." "let me guide you," said madame jaubert, as i groped onwards by the wall, and at the same time seizing my right hand. instantly as she did so, i heard a rustle just behind me--two quick and violent blows descended on the back of my head, there was a flash before my eyes, a suppressed shout of exultation rang in my ears, and i fell insensible to the ground. it was some time, on partially recovering my senses, before i could realize either what had occurred or the situation in which i found myself. gradually, however, the incidents attending the artfully-prepared treachery of madame jaubert grew into distinctness, and i pretty well comprehended my present position. i was lying at the bottom of a cart, blindfold, gagged, handcuffed, and covered over by what, from their smell, seemed to be empty corn-sacks. the vehicle was moving at a pretty rapid rate, and judging from the roar and tumult without, through one of the busiest thoroughfares of london. it was saturday evening; and i thought, from the character of the noises, and the tone of a clock just chiming ten, that we were in tottenham court road. i endeavored to rise, but found, as i might have expected, that it was impossible to do so; my captors having secured me to the floor of the cart by strong cords. there was nothing for it, therefore, but patience and resignation; words easily pronounced, but difficult, under such circumstances, to realize in practice. my thoughts, doubtless in consequence of the blows i had received, soon became hurried and incoherent. a tumultuous throng of images swept confusedly past, of which the most constant and frequent were the faces of my wife and youngest child, whom i had kissed in his sleep just previous to leaving home. madame jaubert and james martin were also there; and ever and anon the menacing countenance of levasseur stooped over me with a hideous expression, and i felt as if clutched in the fiery grasp of a demon. i have no doubt that the voice which sounded in my ear at the moment i was felled to the ground must have suggested the idea of the swiss--faintly and imperfectly as i caught it. this tumult of brain only gradually subsided as the discordant uproar of the streets--which no doubt added to the excitement i was suffering under by suggesting the exasperating nearness of abundant help which could not be appealed to--died gradually away into a silence only broken by the rumble of the cart-wheels, and the subdued talk of the driver and his companions, of whom there appeared to be two or three. at length the cart stopped, i heard a door unlocked and thrown open, and a few moments afterwards i was dragged from under the corn-sacks, carried up three flights of stairs, and dropped brutally upon the floor till a light could be procured. directly one was brought, i was raised to my feet, placed upright against a wooden partition, and staples having been driven into the paneling, securely fastened in that position, with cords passed through them, and round my armpits. this effected, an authoritative voice--the now distinct recognition of which thrilled me with dismay--ordered that i should be unblinded. it was done; and when my eyes became somewhat accustomed to the suddenly-dazzling light and glare, i saw levasseur and the clerk dubarle standing directly in front of me, their faces kindled into flame by fiendish triumph and delight. the report that they had been drowned was then a mistake, and they had incurred the peril of returning to this country for the purpose of avenging themselves upon me; and how could it be doubted that an opportunity achieved at such fearful risk, would be effectually, remorselessly used? a pang of mortal terror shot through me, and then i strove to awaken in my heart a stern endurance, and resolute contempt of death, with, i may now confess, very indifferent success. the woman jaubert was, i also saw, present; and a man, whom i afterwards ascertained to be martin, was standing near the doorway, with his back towards me. these two, at a brief intimation from levasseur, went down stairs; and then the fierce exultation of the two escaped convicts--of levasseur especially--broke forth with wolfish rage and ferocity. "ha--ha--ha!" shouted the swiss, at the same time striking me over the face with his open hand, "you find, then, that others can plot as well as you can--dog, traitor, scoundrel that you are! 'au revoir--alors!' was it, eh? well, here we are, and i wish you joy of the meeting. ha--ha! how dismal the rascal looks, dubarle!"--(again the coward struck me)--"he is hardly grateful to me, it seems, for having kept my word. i always do, my fine fellow," he added with a savage chuckle; "and never neglect to pay my debts of honor. yours especially," he continued, drawing a pistol from his pocket, "shall be prompt payment, and with interest too, scélérat!" he held the muzzle of the pistol to within a yard of my forehead, and placed his finger on the trigger. i instinctively closed my eyes, and tasted in that fearful moment the full bitterness of death; but my hour was not yet come. instead of the flash and report which i expected would herald me into eternity, a taunting laugh from levasseur at the terror he excited rang through the room. "come--come," said dubarle, over whose face a gleam of commiseration, almost of repentance, had once or twice passed; "you will alarm that fellow down stairs with your noise. we must, you know, wait till he is gone; and he appears to be in no hurry. in the meantime let us have a game of piquet for the first shot at the traitor's carcase." "excellent--capital!" shouted levasseur with savage glee. "a game of piquet; the stake your life, waters! a glorious game! and mind you see fair-play. in the meantime here's your health, and better luck next time if you should chance to live to see it." he swallowed a draught of wine which dubarle, after helping himself, had poured out for him; and then approaching me, with the silver cup he had drained in his hand, said, "look at the crest! do you recognize it--fool, idiot that you are?" i did so readily enough: it was a portion of the plunder carried off from portman square. "come," again interposed dubarle, "let us have our game." the play began, and---- but i will dwell no longer upon this terrible passage in my police experience. frequently even now the incidents of that night revisit me in dreams, and i awake with a start and cry of terror. in addition to the mental torture i endured, i was suffering under an agonizing thirst, caused by the fever of my blood, and the pressure of the absorbing gag, which still remained in my mouth. it was wonderful i did not lose my senses. at last the game was over; the swiss won, and sprang to his feet with the roar of a wild beast. at this moment madame jaubert entered the apartment somewhat hastily. "this man below," she said, "is getting insolent. he has taken it into his tipsy head that you mean to kill your prisoner, and he wont, he says, be involved in a murder, which would be sure to be found out. i told him he was talking absurdly; but he is still not satisfied, so you had better go down and speak to him yourself." i afterwards found, it may be as well to mention here, that madame jaubert and martin had been induced to assist in entrapping me, in order that i might be out of the way when a friend of levasseur's, who had been committed to newgate on a serious charge, came to be tried, i being the chief witness against him; and they were both assured that i had nothing more serious to apprehend than a few days' detention. in addition to a considerable money-present, levasseur had, moreover, promised madame jaubert to pay her expenses to paris, and assist in placing her in business there. levasseur muttered a savage imprecation on hearing the woman's message, and then said, "come with me, dubarle; if we cannot convince the fellow, we can at least silence him! marie duquesne, you will remain here." as soon as they were gone, the woman eyed me with a compassionate expression, and approaching close to me, said in a low voice, "do not be alarmed at their tricks and menaces. after thursday you will be sure to be released." i shook my head, and as distinctly as i could made a gesture with my fettered arms towards the table on which the wine was standing. she understood me. "if," said she, "you will promise not to call out, i will relieve you of the gag." i eagerly nodded compliance. the gag was removed, and she held a cup of wine to my fevered lips. it was a draught from the waters of paradise, and hope, energy, life, were renewed within me as i drank. "you are deceived," i said in a guarded voice, the instant my burning thirst was satisfied. "they intend to murder me, and you will be involved as an accomplice." "nonsense," she replied. "they have been frightening you, that's all." "i again repeat you are deceived. release me from these fetters and cords, give me but a chance of at least selling my life as dearly as i can, and the money you told me you stood in need of shall be yours." "hark!" she exclaimed. "they are coming!" "bring down a couple of bottles of wine," said levasseur from the bottom of the stairs. madame jaubert obeyed the order, and in a few minutes returned. i renewed my supplications to be released, and was of course extremely liberal of promises. "it is vain talking," said the woman. "i do not believe they will harm you; but even if it were as you say, it is too late now to retrace my steps. you cannot escape. that fool below is already three-parts intoxicated: they are both armed, and would hesitate at nothing if they but suspected treachery." it was vain to urge her. she grew sullen and menacing and was insisting that the gag should be replaced in my mouth, when a thought struck me. "levasseur called you marie duquesne just now; but surely your name is jaubert--is it not?" "do not trouble yourself about my name," she replied, "that is my affair, not yours." "because if you _are_ the marie duquesne who once kept a shop in cranbourne alley, and lost a child called marie-louise, i could tell you something." a wild light broke from her dark eyes, and a suppressed scream from her lips. "i am that marie duquesne!" she said in a voice tremulous with emotion. "then i have to inform you that the child so long supposed to be lost i discovered nearly three weeks ago." the woman fairly leapt towards me, clasped me fiercely by the arms, and peering in my face with eyes on fire with insane excitement, hissed out, "you lie--you lie, you dog! you are striving to deceive me! she is in heaven: the angels told me so long since." i do not know, by the way, whether the falsehood i was endeavoring to palm off upon the woman was strictly justifiable or not; but i am fain to believe that there are few moralists that would not, under the circumstances, have acted pretty much as i did. "if your child was lost when going on an errand to coventry street, and her name is marie-louise duquesne, i tell you she is found. how should i otherwise have become acquainted with these particulars?" "true--true," she muttered: "how else should he know? where is she?" added the woman in tones of agonized entreaty, as she sank down and clasped my knees. "tell me--tell me, as you hope for life or mercy, where i may find my child?" "release me, give me a chance of escape, and to-morrow your child shall be in your arms. refuse, and the secret dies with me." she sprang quickly to her feet, unclasped the handcuffs, snatched a knife from the table, and cut the cords which bound me with eager haste. "another draught of wine," she said still in the same hurried, almost insane manner. "you have work to do! now, whilst i secure the door, do you rub and chafe your stiffened joints." the door was soon fastened, and then she assisted in restoring the circulation to my partially-benumbed limbs. this was at last accomplished, and marie duquesne drew me towards a window, which she softly opened. "it is useless," she whispered, "to attempt a struggle with the men below. you must descend by this," and she placed her hand upon a lead water-pipe, which reached from the roof to within a few feet of the ground. "and you," i said; "how are you to escape?" "i will tell you. do you hasten on towards hampstead, from which we are distant in a northerly direction about a mile. there is a house at about half the distance. procure help, and return as quickly as possible. the door-fastenings will resist some time, even should your flight be discovered. you will not fail me?" "be assured i will not." the descent was a difficult and somewhat perilous one, but it was safely accomplished, and i set off at the top of my speed towards hampstead. i had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile, when the distant sound of a horse's feet, coming at a slow trot towards me, caught my ear. i paused, to make sure i was not deceived, and as i did so, a wild scream from the direction i had left, followed by another and another, broke upon the stillness of the night. the scoundrels had no doubt discovered my escape, and were about to wreak their vengeance upon the unfortunate creature in their power. the trot of the horse which i had heard was, simultaneously with the breaking out of those wild outcries, increased to a rapid gallop. "hallo!" exclaimed the horseman as he came swiftly up. "do you know where these screams come from?" it was the horse-patrol who thus providentially came up! i briefly stated that the life of a woman was at the mercy of two escaped convicts. "then for god's sake jump up behind me!" exclaimed the patrol. "we shall be there in a couple of minutes." i did so: the horse--a powerful animal, and not entirely unused to carry double--started off, as if it comprehended the necessity for speed, and in a very brief space of time we were at the door of the house from which i had so lately escaped. marie duquesne, with her body half out of the window, was still wildly screaming as we rushed into the room below. there was no one there, and we swiftly ascended the stairs, at the top of which we could hear levasseur and dubarle thundering at the door, which they had unexpectedly found fastened, and hurling a storm of imprecations at the woman within, the noise of which enabled us to approach them pretty nearly before we were heard or perceived. martin saw us first, and his sudden exclamation alarmed the others. dubarle and martin made a desperate rush to pass us, by which i was momently thrown on one side against the wall; and very fortunately, as the bullet levelled at me from a pistol levasseur held in his hand would probably have finished me. martin escaped, which i was not very sorry for; but the patrol pinned dubarle safely, and i griped levasseur with a strength and ferocity against which he was powerless as an infant. our victory was complete; and two hours afterwards, the recaptured convicts were safely lodged in a station-house. i caused madame duquesne to be as gently undeceived the next morning as possible, with respect to her child; but the reaction and disappointment proved too much for her wavering intellect. she relapsed into positive insanity, and was placed in bedlam, where she remained two years. at the end of that period she was pronounced convalescent. a sufficient sum of money was raised by myself and others, not only to send her to paris, but to enable her to set up as a milliner in a small but respectable way. as lately as last may, when i saw her there she was in health both of mind and body, and doing comfortably. with the concurrence of the police authorities, very little was said publicly respecting my entrapment. it might perhaps have excited a monomania amongst liberated convicts--colored and exaggerated as every incident would have been for the amusement of the public--to attempt similar exploits. i was also anxious to conceal the peril i had encountered from my wife; and it was not till i had left the police force that she was informed of it. levasseur and dubarle were convicted of returning from transportation before the term for which they had been sentenced had expired, and were this time sent across the seas for life. the reporters of the morning papers, or rather the reporter for the "times," "herald," "chronicle," "post," and "advertiser," gave precisely the same account, even to the misspelling of levasseur's name, dismissing the brief trial in the following paragraph, under the head of "old bailey sessions:"--"alphonse dubarle ( ), and sebastian levasson ( ), were identified as unlawfully-returned convicts, and sentenced to transportation for life. the prisoners, it was understood, were connected with the late plate-robbery in portman square; but as conviction could not have increased their punishment, the indictment was not pressed." levasseur, i had almost forgotten to state, admitted that it was he who wounded me in ryder's court, leicester square. part ix. mary kingsford. towards the close of the year , i was hurriedly despatched to liverpool for the purpose of securing the person of one charles james marshall, a collecting clerk, who, it was suddenly discovered, had absconded with a considerable sum of money belonging to his employers. i was too late--charles james marshall having sailed in one of the american liners the day before my arrival in the northern commercial capital. this fact well ascertained, i immediately set out on my return to london. winter had come upon us unusually early; the weather was bitterly cold; and a piercing wind caused the snow, which had been falling heavily for several hours, to gyrate in fierce, blinding eddies, and heaped it up here and there into large and dangerous drifts. the obstruction offered by the rapidly-congealing snow greatly delayed our progress between liverpool and birmingham; and at a few miles only distant from the latter city, the leading engine ran off the line. fortunately, the rate at which we were traveling was a very slow one, and no accident of moment occurred. having no luggage to care for, i walked on to birmingham, where i found the parliamentary train just on the point of starting, and with some hesitation, on account of the severity of the weather, i took my seat in one of the then very much exposed and uncomfortable carriages. we traveled steadily and safely, though slowly along, and reached rugby station in the afternoon, where we were to remain, the guard told us, till a fast down-train had passed. all of us hurried as quickly as we could to the large room at this station, where blazing fires and other appliances soon thawed the half-frozen bodies, and loosened the tongues of the numerous and motley passengers. after recovering the use of my benumbed limbs and faculties, i had leisure to look around and survey the miscellaneous assemblage about me. two persons had traveled in the same compartment with me from birmingham, whose exterior, as disclosed by the dim light of the railway carriage, created some surprise that such a finely-attired, fashionable gentleman should stoop to journey by the plebeian penny-a-mile train. i could now observe them in a clearer light, and surprise at their apparent condescension vanished at once. to an eye less experienced than mine in the artifices and expedients familiar to a certain class of 'swells,' they might perhaps have passed muster for what they assumed to be, especially amidst the varied crowd of a 'parliamentary;' but their copper finery could not for a moment impose upon me. the watch-chains, were, i saw, mosaic; the watches, so frequently displayed, gilt; eye-glasses the same; the coats, fur-collared and cuffed, were ill-fitting and second-hand; ditto of the varnished boots and renovated velvet waistcoats; while the luxuriant moustaches and whiskers, and flowing wigs, were unmistakably mere _pièces d'occasion_--assumed and diversified at pleasure. they were both apparently about fifty years of age; one of them perhaps one or two years less than that. i watched them narrowly, the more so from their making themselves ostentatiously attentive to a young woman--girl rather she seemed--of a remarkably graceful figure, but whose face i had not yet obtained a glimpse of. they madeboisterous way for her to the fire, and were profuse and noisy in their offers of refreshment--all of which, i observed, were peremptorily declined. she was dressed in deep, unexpensive mourning; and from her timid gestures and averted head, whenever either of the fellows addressed her, was, it was evident, terrified as well as annoyed by thier rude and insolent notice. i quietly drew near to the side of the fire-place at which she stood, and with some difficulty obtained a sight of her features. i was struck with extreme surprise--not so much at her singular beauty, as from an instantaneous conviction that she was known to me, or at least that i had seen her frequently before, but where or when i could not at all call to mind. again i looked, and my first impression was confirmed. at this moment the elder of the two men i have partially described placed his hand, with a rude familiarity, upon the girl's shoulder, proffering at the same time a glass of hot brandy and water for her acceptance. she turned sharply and indignantly away from the fellow; and looking round as if for protection, caught my eagerly-fixed gaze. "mr. waters!" she impulsively ejaculated. "oh, i am so glad!" "yes," i answered, "that is certainly my name; but i scarcely remember----. stand back, fellow!" i angrily continued, as her tormentor, emboldened by the spirits he had drank, pressed with a jeering grin upon his face towards her, still tendering the brandy and water. "stand back!" he replied by a curse and a threat. the next moment his flowing wig was whirling across the room, and he standing with his bullet-head bare but for a few locks of iron-gray, in an attitude of speechless rage and confusion, increased by the peals of laughter which greeted his ludicrous, unwigged aspect. he quickly put himself in a fighting attitude, and, backed by his companion, challenged me to battle. this was quite out of the question; and i was somewhat at a loss how to proceed, when the bell announcing the instant departure of the train rang out, my furious antagonist gathered up and adjusted his wig, and we all sallied forth to take our places--the young woman holding fast by my arm, and in a low, nervous voice, begging me not to leave her. i watched the two fellows take their seats, and then led her to the hindmost carriage, which we had to ourselves as far as the next station. "are mrs. waters and emily quite well?" said the young woman coloring, and lowering her eyes beneath my earnest gaze, which she seemed for a moment to misinterpret. "quite, entirely so," i almost stammered. "you know us then?" "surely i do," she replied, reassured by my manner. "but you, it seems," she presently added with a winning smile, "have quite forgotten little mary kingsford." "mary kingsford!" i exclaimed almost with a shout. "why, so it is! but what a transformation a few years have effected!" "do you think so? not _pretty_ mary kingsford now then, i suppose?" she added with a light, pleasant laugh. "you know what i mean, you vain puss you!" i rejoined quite gleefully; for i was overjoyed at meeting with the gentle, well-remembered playmate of my own eldest girl. we were old familiar friends--almost father and daughter--in an instant. little mary kingsford, i should state, was, when i left yorkshire, one of the prettiest, most engaging children i had ever seen; and a petted favorite not only with us, but of every other family in the neighborhood. she was the only child of philip and mary kingsford--a humble, worthy, and much-respected couple. the father was gardener to sir pyott dalzell, and her mother eked out his wages to a respectable maintenance by keeping a cheap children's school. the change which a few years had wrought in the beautiful child was quite sufficient to account for my imperfect recognition of her; but the instant her name was mentioned, i at once recognised the rare comeliness which had charmed us all in her childhood. the soft brown eyes were the same, though now revealing profounder depths, and emitting a more pensive expression; the hair, though deepened in color, was still golden; her complexion, lit up as it now was by a sweet blush, was brilliant as ever; whilst her child-person had become matured and developed into womanly symmetry and grace. the brilliancy of color vanished from her cheek as i glanced meaningly at her mourning dress. "yes," she murmured in a sad quivering voice--"yes, father is gone! it will be six months come next thursday that he died! mother is well," she continued more cheerfully after a pause, "in health, but poorly off; and i--and i," she added with a faint effort at a smile, "am going to london to seek my fortune!" "to seek your fortune!" "yes: you know my cousin, sophy clarke? in one of her letters, she said she often saw you." i nodded without speaking. i knew little of sophia clarke, except that she was the somewhat gay, coquettish shopwoman of a highly respectable confectioner in the strand, whom i shall call by the name of morris. "i am to be sophy's fellow shop-assistant," continued mary kingsford; "not of course at first at such good wages as she gets. so lucky for me, is it not, since i must go to service? and so kind, too, of sophy to interest herself for me!" "well, it may be so. but surely i have heard--my wife at least has--that you and richard westlake were engaged?--excuse me, mary, i was not aware the subject was a painful or unpleasant one." "richard's father," she replied with some spirit, "has higher views for his son. it is all off between us now," she added; "and perhaps it is for the best that it should be so." i could have rightly interpreted these words without the aid of the partially expressed sigh which followed them. the perilous position of so attractive, so inexperienced, so guileless a young creature, amidst the temptations and vanities of london, so painfully impressed and preocupied me, that i scarcely uttered another word till the rapidly diminishing rate of the train announced that we neared a station, after which it was probable we should have no farther opportunity for private converse. "those men--those fellows at rugby--where did you meet with them?" i inquired. "about thirty or forty miles below birmingham, where they entered the carriage in which i was seated. at birmingham i managed to avoid them." little more passed between us till we reached london. sophia clarke received her cousin at the euston station, and was profuse of felicitations and compliments upon her arrival and personal appearance. after receiving a promise from mary kingsford to call and take tea with my wife and her old playmate on the following sunday, i handed the two young women into a cab in waiting, and they drove off. i had not moved away from the spot when a voice a few paces behind me, which i thought i recognised, called out: "quick, coachee, or you'll lose sight of them!" as i turned quickly round, another cab drove smartly off, which i followed at a run. i found, on reaching lower seymour street, that i was not mistaken as to the owner of the voice, nor of his purpose. the fellow i had unwigged at rugby thrust his head half out of the cab window, and pointing to the vehicle which contained the two girls, called out to the driver "to mind and make no mistake." the man nodded intelligence, and lashed his horse into a faster pace. nothing that i might do could prevent the fellows from ascertaining mary kingsford's place of abode; and as that was all that, for the present at least, need be apprehended, i desisted from pursuit, and bent my steps homewards. mary kingsford kept her appointment on the sunday, and in reply to our questioning, said she liked her situation very well. mr. and mrs. morris were exceedingly kind to her; so was sophia. "her cousin," she added in reply to a look which i could not repress, "was perhaps a little gay and free of manner, but the best-hearted creature in the world." the two fellows who had followed them had, i found, already twice visited the shop; but their attentions appeared now to be exclusively directed towards sophia clarke, whose vanity they not a little gratified. the names they gave were heartly and simpson. so entirely guileless and unsophisticated was the gentle country maiden, that i saw she scarcely comprehended the hints and warnings which i threw out. at parting, however, she made me a serious promise that she would instantly apply to me should any difficulty or perplexity overtake her. i often called in at the confectioner's, and was gratified to find that mary's modest propriety of behavior, in a somewhat difficult position, had gained her the goodwill of her employers, who invariably spoke of her with kindness and respect. nevertheless, the cark and care of a london life, with its incessant employment and late hours, soon, i perceived, began to tell upon her health and spirits; and it was consequently with a strong emotion of pleasure i heard from my wife that she had seen a passage in a letter from mary's mother, to the effect that the elder westlake was betraying symptoms of yielding to the angry and passionate expostulations of his only son, relative to the enforced breaking off of his engagement with mary kingsford. the blush with which she presented the letter was, i was told, very eloquent. one evening, on passing morris' shop, i observed hartley and simpson there. they were swallowing custards and other confectionary with much gusto; and, from their new and costly habiliments, seemed to be in surprisingly good case. they were smirking and smiling at the cousins with rude confidence; and sophia clarke, i was grieved to see, repaid their insulting impertinence by her most elaborate smiles and graces. i passed on; and presently meeting with a brother-detective, who, it struck me, might know something of the two gentlemen, i turned back with him, and pointed them out. a glance sufficed him. "hartley and simpson you say?" he remarked after we had walked away to some distance: "those are only two of their numerous _aliases_. i cannot, however, say that i am as yet on very familiar terms with them; but as i am especially directed to cultivate their acquaintance, there is no doubt we shall be more intimate with each other before long. gamblers, blacklegs, swindlers, i already know them to be; and i would take odds they are not unfrequently something more, especially when fortune and the bones run cross with them." "they appear to be in high feather just now," i remarked. "yes: they are connected, i suspect, with the gang who cleaned out young garslade last week in jermyn street. i'd lay a trifle," added my friend, as i turned to leave him, "that one or both of them will wear the queen's livery gray turned up with yellow, before many weeks are past. good-by." about a fortnight after this conversation, i and my wife paid a visit to astley's, for the gratification of our youngsters, who had long been promised a sight of the equestrian marvels exhibited at that celebrated amphitheatre. it was the latter end of february; and when we came out of the theatre, we found the weather had changed to dark and sleety, with a sharp, nipping wind. i had to call at scotland-yard; my wife and children consequently proceeded home in a cab without me; and after assisting to quell a slight disturbance originating in a gin-palace close by, i went on my way over westminster bridge. the inclement weather had cleared the streets and thoroughfares in a surprisingly short time; so that, excepting myself, no foot-passenger was visible on the bridge till i had about half-crossed it, when a female figure, closely muffled up about the head, and sobbing bitterly, passed rapidly by on the opposite side. i turned and gazed after the retreating figure: it was a youthful, symmetrical one; and after a few moments' hesitation, i determined to follow at a distance, and as unobservedly as i could. on the woman sped, without pause or hesitation, till she reached astley's, where i observed her stop suddenly, and toss her arms in the air with a gesture of desperation. i quickened my steps, which she observing, uttered a slight scream, and darted swiftly off again, moaning and sobbing as she ran. the slight momentary glimpse i had obtained of her features beneath the gaslamp opposite astley's, suggested a frightful apprehension, and i followed at my utmost speed. she turned at the first-cross street, and i should soon have overtaken her, but that in darting round the corner where she disappeared, i ran full butt against a stout, elderly gentleman, who was hurrying smartly along out of the weather. what with the suddenness of the shock and the slipperiness of the pavement, down we both reeled; and by the time we had regained our feet, and growled savagely at each other, the young woman, whoever she was, had disappeared, and more than half an hour's eager search after her proved fruitless. at last i bethought me of hiding at one corner of westminster bridge. i had watched impatiently for about twenty minutes, when i observed the object of my pursuit stealing timidly and furtively towards the bridge on the opposite side of the way. as she came nearly abreast of where i stood, i darted forward; she saw, without recognising me, and uttering an exclamation of terror, flew down towards the river, where a number of pieces of balk and other timber were fastened together, forming a kind of loose raft. i followed with desperate haste, for i saw that it was indeed mary kingsford, and loudly calling to her by name to stop. she did not appear to hear me, and in a few moments the unhappy girl had gained the end of the timber-raft. one instant she paused with clasped hands upon the brink, and in another had thrown herself into the dark and moaning river. on reaching the spot where she had disappeared, i could not at first see her in consequence of the dark mourning dress she had on. presently i caught sight of her, still upborne by her spread clothes, but already carried by the swift current beyond my reach. the only chance was to crawl along a piece of round timber which projected farther into the river, and by the end of which she must pass. this i effected with some difficulty; and laying myself out at full length, vainly endeavored, with out-stretched, straining arms, to grasp her dress. there was nothing left for it but to plunge in after her. i will confess that i hesitated to do so. i was encumbered with a heavy dress, which there was no time to put off, and moreover, like most inland men, i was but an indifferent swimmer. my indecision quickly vanished. the wretched girl, though gradually sinking, had not yet uttered a cry, or appeared to struggle; but when the chilling waters reached her lips, she seemed to suddenly revive to a consciousness of the horror of her fate: she fought wildly with the engulphing tide, and shrieked piteously for help. before one could count ten, i had grasped her by the arm, and lifted her head above the surface of the river. as i did so, i felt as if suddenly encased and weighed down by leaden garments, so quickly had my thick clothing and high boots sucked in the water. vainly, thus burdened and impeded, did i endeavor to regain the raft; the strong tide bore us outwards, and i glared round, in inexpressible dismay, for some means of extrication from the frightful peril in which i found myself involved. happily, right in the direction the tide was drifting us, a large barge lay moored by a chain-cable. eagerly i seized and twined one arm firmly round it, and thus partially secure, hallooed with renewed power for assistance. it soon came: a passer-by had witnessed the flight of the girl and my pursuit, and was already hastening with others to our assistance. a wherry was unmoored: guided by my voice, they soon reached us; and but a brief interval elapsed before we were safely housed in an adjoining tavern. a change of dress, with which the landlord kindly supplied me, a blazing fire, and a couple of glasses of hot brandy and water, soon restored warmth and vigor to my chilled and partially benumbed limbs; but more than two hours elapsed before mary, who had swallowed a good deal of water, was in a condition to be removed. i had just sent for a cab, when two police-officers, well known to me, entered the room with official briskness. mary screamed, staggered towards me, and clinging to my arm, besought me with frantic earnestness to save her. "what _is_ the meaning of this?" i exclaimed, addressing one of the police-officers. "merely," said he, "the young woman that's clinging so tight to you has been committing an audacious robbery"---- "no--no--no!" broke in the terrified girl. "oh! of course you'll say so," continued the officer. "all i know is, that the diamond brooch was found snugly hid away in her own box. but come, we have been after you for the last three hours; so you had better come along at once." "save me!--save me!" sobbed poor mary, as she tightened her grasp upon my arm and looked with beseeching agony in my face. "be comforted," i whispered; "you shall go home with me. calm yourself, miss kingsford," i added in a louder tone: "i no more believe you have stolen a diamond brooch than that i have." "bless you!--bless you!" she gasped in the intervals of her convulsive sobs. "there is some wretched misapprehension in this business, i am quite sure." i continued; "but at all events i shall bail her--for this night at least." "bail her! that is hardly regular." "no; but you will tell the superintendent that mary kingsford is in my custody, and that i answer for her appearance to-morrow." the men hesitated, but i stood too well at head-quarters for them to do more than hesitate; and the cab i had ordered being just then announced, i passed with mary out of the room as quickly as i could, for i feared her senses were again leaving her. the air revived her somewhat, and i lifted her into the cab, placing myself beside her. she appeared to listen in fearful doubt whether i should be allowed to take her with me; and it was not till the wheels had made a score of revolutions that her fears vanished; then throwing herself upon my neck in an ecstacy of gratitude, she burst into a flood of tears, and continued till we reached home sobbing on my bosom like a broken-hearted child. she had, i found, been there about ten o'clock to seek me, and being told that i was gone to astley's, had started off to find me there. mary still slept, or at least she had not risen, when i left home the following morning to endeavor to get at the bottom of the strange accusation preferred against her. i first saw the superintendent, who, after hearing what i had to say, quite approved of all that i had done, and intrusted the case entirely to my care. i next saw mr. and mrs. morris and sophia clarke, and then waited upon the prosecutor, a youngish gentleman of the name of saville, lodging in essex street, strand. one or two things i heard, necessitated a visit to other officers of police, incidentally, as i found, mixed up with the affair. by the time all this was done, and an effectual watch had been placed upon mr. augustus saville's movements, evening had fallen, and i wended my way homewards, both to obtain a little rest, and hear mary kingsford's version of the strange story. the result of my inquiries may be thus briefly summed up. ten days before, sophia clarke told her cousin that she had orders for covent-garden theatre; and as it was not one of their busy nights, she thought they might obtain leave to go. mary expressed her doubt of this, as both mr. and mrs. morris, who were strict, and somewhat fanatical dissenters, disapproved of play-going, especially for young women. nevertheless sophia asked, informed mary that the required permission had been readily accorded, and off they went in high spirits; mary especially, who had never been to a theatre in her life before. when there, they were joined by hartley and simpson, much to mary's annoyance and vexation, especially as she saw that her cousin expected them. she had, in fact, accepted the orders from them. at the conclusion of the entertainments, they all four came out together, when suddenly there arose a hustling and confusion, accompanied with loud outcries, and a violent swaying to and fro of the crowd. the disturbance was, however, soon quelled; and mary and her cousin had reached the outer door, when two police-officers seized hartley and his friend, and insisted upon their going with them. a scuffle ensued; but other officers being at hand, the two men were secured and carried off. the cousins, terribly frightened, called a coach, and were very glad to find themselves safe at home again. and now it came out that mr. and mrs. morris had been told that they were going to spend the evening at _my_ house, and had no idea they were going to the play! vexed as mary was at the deception, she was too kindly-tempered to refuse to keep her cousin's secret; especially knowing as she did that the discovery of the deceit sophia had practised would in all probability be followed by her immediate discharge. hartley and his friend swaggered on the following afternoon into the shop, and whispered sophia that their arrest by the police had arisen from a strange mistake, for which the most ample apologies had been offered and accepted. after this, matters went on as usual, except that mary perceived a growing insolence and familiarity in hartley's manner towards her. his language was frequently quite unintelligible, and once he asked her plainly "if she did not mean that he should go _shares_ in the prize she had lately found?" upon mary replying that she did not comprehend him, his look became absolutely ferocious, and he exclaimed: "oh, that's your game, is it? but don't try it on with me, my good girl, i advise you." so violent did he become, that mr. morris was attracted by the noise, and ultimately bundled him, neck and heels, out of the shop. she had not seen either him or his companion since. on the evening of the previous day, a gentleman whom she never remembered to have seen before, entered the shop, took a seat, and helped himself to a tart. she observed that after a while he looked at her very earnestly, and at length approaching quite close, said, "you were at covent garden theatre last tuesday evening week?" mary was struck, as she said, all of a heap, for both mr. and mrs. morris were in the shop, and heard the question. "oh, no, no! you mistake," she said hurriedly, and feeling at the same time her cheeks kindle into flame. "nay, but you were though," rejoined the gentleman. and then lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "and let me advise you, if you would avoid exposure and condign punishment, to restore me the diamond brooch you robbed me of on that evening." mary screamed with terror, and a regular scene ensued. she was obliged to confess she had told a falsehood in denying she was at the theatre on the night in question, and mr. morris after that seemed inclined to believe any thing of her. the gentleman persisted in his charge; but at the same time vehemently iterating his assurance that all he wanted was his property; and it was ultimately decided that mary's boxes, as well as her person, should be searched. this was done; and to her utter consternation the brooch was found concealed, they said, in a black silk reticule. denials, asservations, were vain. mr. saville identified the brooch, but once more offered to be content with its restoration. this mr. morris, a just, stern man, would not consent to, and he went out to summon a police-officer. before he returned, mary, by the advice of both her cousin and mrs. morris, had fled the house, and hurried in a state of distraction to find me, with what result the reader already knows. "it is a wretched business," i observed to my wife, as soon as mary kingsford had retired to rest, at about nine o'clock in the evening. "like you, i have no doubt of the poor girl's perfect innocence; but how to establish it by satisfactory evidence is another matter. i must take her to bow street the day after to-morrow." "good god, how dreadful! can nothing be done? what does the prosecutor say the brooch is worth?" "his uncle," he says, "gave a hundred and twenty guineas for it. but that signifies little; for were its worth only a hundred and twenty farthings, compromise is, you know, out of the question." "i did not mean that. can you show it me? i am a pretty good judge of the value of jewels." "yes, you can see it." i took it out of the desk in which i had locked it up, and placed it before her. it was a splendid emerald, encircled by large brilliants. my wife twisted and turned it about, holding it in all sorts of lights, and at last said--"i do not believe that either the emerald or the brilliants are real--that the brooch is, in fact, worth twenty shillings intrinsically." "do you say so?" i exclaimed as i jumped up from my chair, for my wife's words gave color and consistence to a dim and faint suspicion which had crossed my mind. "then, this saville is a manifest liar; and perhaps confederate with----. but give me my hat; i will ascertain this point at once." i hurried to a jeweller's shop, and found that my wife's opinion was correct: apart from the workmanship, which was very fine, the brooch was valueless. conjectures, suspicions, hopes, fears, chased each other with bewildering rapidity through my brain; and in order to collect and arrange my thoughts, i stepped out of the whirl of the streets into dolly's chop-house, and decided, over a quiet glass of negus, upon my plan of operations. the next morning there appeared at the top of the second column of the "times" an earnest appeal, worded with careful obscurity, so that only the person to whom it was addressed should easily understand it, to the individual who had lost or been robbed of a false stone and brilliants at the theatre, to communicate with a certain person--whose address i gave--without delay, in order to save the reputation, perhaps the life, of an innocent person. i was at the address i had given by nine o'clock. several hours passed without bringing any one, and i was beginning to despair, when a gentleman of the name of bagshawe was announced: i fairly leaped for joy, for this was beyond my hopes. a gentleman presently entered, of about thirty years of age, of a distinguished, though somewhat dissipated aspect. "this brooch is yours?" said i, exhibiting it without delay or preface. "it is; and i am here to know what your singular advertisement means?" i briefly explained the situation of affairs. "the rascals!" he broke in almost before i had finished; "i will briefly explain it all. a fellow of the name of hartley, at least that was the name he gave, robbed me, i was pretty sure, of this brooch. i pointed him out to the police, and he was taken into custody; but nothing being found upon him, he was discharged." "not entirely, mr. bagshawe, on that account. you refused, when arrived at the station-house, to state what you had been robbed of; and you, moreover, said, in presence of the culprit, that you were to embark with your regiment for india the next day. that regiment, i have ascertained, did embark, as you said it would." "true; but i had leave of absence, and shall take the overland route. the truth is, that during the walk to the station-house, i had leisure to reflect that if i made a formal charge, it would lead to awkward disclosures. this brooch is an imitation of one presented me by a valued relative. losses at play--since, for this unfortunate young woman's sake, i _must_ out with it--obliged me to part with the original; and i wore this, in order to conceal the fact from my relative's knowledge." "this will, sir," i replied, "prove, with a little management, quite sufficient for all purposes. you have no objection to accompany me to the superintendent?" "not in the least: only i wish the devil had the brooch as well as the fellow that stole it." about half-past five o'clock on the same evening, the street door was quietly opened by the landlord of the house in which mr. saville lodged, and i walked into the front room on the first floor, where i found the gentleman i sought languidly reclining on a sofa. he gathered himself smartly up at my appearance, and looked keenly in my face. he did not appear to like what he read there. "i did not expect to see you to-day," he said at last. "no, perhaps not: but i have news for you. mr. bagshawe, the owner of the hundred and twenty guinea brooch your deceased uncle gave you, did _not_ sail for india, and"---- the wretched cur, before i could conclude, was on his knees begging for mercy with disgusting abjectness. i could have spurned the scoundrel where he crawled. "come, sir!" i cried, "let us have no snivelling or humbug: mercy is not in my power, as you ought to know. strive to deserve it. we want hartley and simpson, and cannot find them: you must aid us." "oh yes; to be sure i will!" eagerly rejoined the rascal "i will go for them at once," he added with a kind of hesitating assurance. "nonsense! _send_ for them, you mean. do so, and i will wait their arrival." his note was despatched by a sure hand; and meanwhile i arranged the details of the expected meeting. i, and a friend, whom i momently expected, would ensconce ourselves behind a large screen in the room, whilst mr. augustus saville would run playfully over the charming plot with his two friends, so that we might be able to fully appreciate its merits. mr. saville agreed. i rang the bell, an officer appeared, and we took our posts in readiness. we had scarcely done so, when the street-bell rang, and saville announced the arrival of his confederates. there was a twinkle in the fellow's green eyes which i thought i understood. "do not try that on, mr. augustus saville," i quietly remarked: "we are but two here certainly, but there are half a dozen in waiting below." no more was said, and in another minute the friends met. it was a boisterously jolly meeting, as far as shaking hands and mutual felicitations on each other's good looks and health went. saville was, i thought, the most obstreperously gay of all three. "and yet now i look at you, saville, closely," said hartley, "you don't look quite the thing. have you seen a ghost?" "no; but this cursed brooch affair worries me." "nonsense!--humbug!--it's all right: we are all embarked in the same boat. it's a regular three-handed game. i prigged it; simmy here whipped it into pretty mary's reticule, which she, i suppose, never looked into till the row came; and _you_ claimed it--a regular merry-go-round, aint it, eh? ha! ha! ha!---- ha!" "quite so, mr. hartley," said i, suddenly facing him, and at the same time stamping on the floor; "as you say, a delightful merry-go-round; and here, you perceive," i added, as the officers crowded into the room, "are more gentlemen to join in it." i must not stain the paper with the curses, imprecations, blasphemies, which for a brief space resounded through the apartment. the rascals were safely and separately locked up a quarter of an hour afterwards; and before a month had passed away, all three were transported. it is scarcely necessary to remark, that they believed the brooch to be genuine, and of great value. mary kingsford did not need to return to her employ. westlake the elder withdrew his veto upon his son's choice, and the wedding was celebrated in the following may with great rejoicing; mary's old playmate officiating as bride-maid, and i as bride's-father. the still young couple have now a rather numerous family, and a home blessed with affection, peace, and competence. it was some time, however, before mary recovered from the shock of her london adventure; and i am pretty sure that the disagreeable reminiscences inseparably connected in her mind with the metropolis, will prevent at least _one_ person from being present at the world's great fair. part x. flint jackson. farnham hops are world-famous, or at least famous in that huge portion of the world where english ale is drunk, and whereon, i have a thousand times heard and read, the sun never sets. the name, therefore, of the pleasant surrey village, in and about which the events i am about to relate occurred, is, i may fairly presume, known to many of my readers. i was ordered to farnham, to investigate a case of burglary, committed in the house of a gentleman of the name of hursley, during the temporary absence of the family, which had completely nonplussed the unpractised dogberrys of the place, albeit it was not a riddle at all difficult to read. the premises, it was quickly plain to me, had been broken, not into, but out of; and a watch being set upon the motions of the very specious and clever person left in charge of the house and property, it was speedily discovered that the robbery had been effected by herself and a confederate, of the name of dawkins, her brother-in-law. some of the stolen goods were found secreted at his lodgings; but the most valuable portion, consisting of plate, and a small quantity of jewelry, had disappeared: it had questionless been converted into money, as considerable sums, in sovereigns, were found upon both dawkins and the woman, sarah purday. now, as it had been clearly ascertained that neither of the prisoners had left farnham since the burglary, it was manifest there was a receiver near at hand who had purchased the missing articles. dawkins and purday were, however, dumb as stones upon the subject; and nothing occurred to point suspicion till early in the evening previous to the second examination of the prisoners before the magistrates, when sarah purday asked for pen, ink, and paper, for the purpose of writing to one mr. jackson, in whose service she had formerly lived. i happened to be at the prison, and of course took the liberty of carefully unsealing her note and reading it. it revealed nothing; and save by its extremely cautious wording, and abrupt peremptory tone, coming from a servant to her former master, suggested nothing. i had carefully reckoned the number of sheets of paper sent into the cell, and now on recounting them found that three were missing. the turnkey returned immediately, and asked for the two other letters she had written. the woman denied having written any other, and for proof pointed to the torn fragments of the missing sheets lying on the floor. these were gathered up and brought to me, but i could make nothing out of them, every word having been carefully run through with the pen, and converted into an unintelligible blot. the request contained in the actually-written letter was one simple enough in itself, merely, "that mr. jackson would not on any account fail to provide her, in consideration of past services, with legal assistance on the morrow." the first nine words were strongly underlined; and i made out after a good deal of trouble that the word "pretence" had been partially effaced, and "account" substituted for it. "she need not have wasted three sheets of paper upon such a nonsensical request as that," observed the turnkey. "old jackson wouldn't shell out sixpence to save her or anybody else from the gallows." "i am of a different opinion; but tell me, what sort of a person is this former master of hers?" "all i know about him is that he's a cross-grained, old curmudgeon, living about a mile out of farnham, who scrapes money together by lending small sums upon notes-of-hand at short dates, and at a thundering interest. flint jackson folk about here call him." "at all events, forward the letter at once, and to-morrow we shall see--what we shall see. good-evening." it turned out as i anticipated. a few minutes after the prisoners were brought into the justice-room, a guilford solicitor of much local celebrity arrived, and announced that he appeared for both the inculpated parties. he was allowed a private conference with them, at the close of which he stated that his clients would reserve their defence. they were at once committed for trial, and i overheard the solicitor assure the woman that the ablest counsel on the circuit would be retained in their behalf. i had no longer a doubt that it was my duty to know something further of this suddenly-generous flint jackson, though how to set about it was a matter of considerable difficulty. there was no legal pretence for a search-warrant, and i doubted the prudence of proceeding upon my own responsibility with so astute an old fox as jackson was represented to be; for, supposing him to be a confederate with the burglars, he had by this time in all probability sent the stolen property away--to london in all likelihood; and should i find nothing, the consequences of ransacking his house merely because he had provided a former servant with legal assistance would be serious. under these circumstances i wrote to headquarters for instructions, and by return of post received orders to prosecute the inquiry thoroughly, but cautiously, and to consider time as nothing so long as there appeared a chance of fixing jackson with the guilt of receiving the plunder. another suspicious circumstance that i have omitted to notice in its place was that the guilford solicitor tendered bail for the prisoners to any reasonable amount, and named enoch jackson as one of the securities. bail was, however, refused. there was no need for over-hurrying the business, as the prisoners were committed to the surrey spring assizes, and it was now the season of the hop-harvest--a delightful and hilarious period about farnham when the weather is fine and the yield abundant. i, however, lost no time in making diligent and minute inquiry as to the character and habits of jackson, and the result was a full conviction that nothing but the fear of being denounced as an accomplice could have induced such a miserly, iron-hearted rogue to put himself to charges in defence of the imprisoned burglars. one afternoon, whilst pondering the matter, and at the same time enjoying the prettiest and cheerfulest of rural sights, that of hop-picking, the apothecary at whose house i was lodging--we will call him mr. morgan; he _was_ a welshman--tapped me suddenly on the shoulder, and looking sharply round, i perceived he had something he deemed of importance to communicate. "what is it?" i said quickly. "the oddest thing in the world. there's flint jackson, his deaf old woman, and the young people lodging with him, all drinking and boozing away at yon alehouse." "shew them to me, if you please." a few minutes brought us to the place of boisterous entertainment, the lower room of which was suffocatingly full of tipplers and tobacco-smoke. we nevertheless contrived to edge ourselves in; and my companion stealthily pointed out the group, who were seated together near the farther window, and then left me to myself. the appearance of jackson entirely answered to the popular prefix of flint attached to his name. he was a wiry, gnarled, heavy-browed, iron-jawed fellow of about sixty, with deep-set eyes aglow with sinister and greedy instincts. his wife, older than he, and so deaf apparently as the door of a dungeon, wore a simpering, imbecile look of wonderment, it seemed to me, at the presence of such unusual and abundant cheer. the young people, who lodged with jackson, were really a very frank, honest, good-looking couple, though not then appearing to advantage--the countenance of henry rogers being flushed and inflamed with drink, and that of his wife's clouded with frowns, at the situation in which she found herself, and the riotous conduct of her husband. their brief history was this:--they had both been servants in a family living not far distant from farnham--sir thomas lethbridge's, i understood--when about three or four months previous to the present time, flint jackson, who had once been in an attorney's office, discovered that henry rogers, in consequence of the death of a distant relative in london, was entitled to property worth something like £ . there were, however, some law-difficulties in the way, which jackson offered, if the business was placed in his hands, to overcome for a consideration, and in the meantime to supply board and lodging and such necessary sums of money as henry rogers might require. with this brilliant prospect in view service became at once utterly distasteful. the fortunate legatee had for some time courted mary elkins, one of the ladies' maids, a pretty, bright-eyed brunette; and they were both united in the bonds of holy matrimony on the very day the "warnings" they had given expired. since then they had lived at jackson's house in daily expectation of their "fortune," with which they proposed to start in the public line. finding myself unrecognized, i called boldly for a pot and a pipe, and after some manoeuvring contrived to seat myself within ear-shot of jackson and his party. they presented a strange study. henry rogers was boisterously excited, and not only drinking freely himself, but treating a dozen fellows round him, the cost of which he from time to time called upon "old flint," as he courteously styled his ancient friend, to discharge. "come, fork out, old flint!" he cried again and again. "it'll be all right, you know, in a day or two, and a few half-pence over. shell out, old fellow! what signifies, so you're happy?" jackson complied with an affectation of acquiescent gaiety ludicrous to behold. it was evident that each successive pull at his purse was like wrenching a tooth out of his head, and yet while the dismalest of smiles wrinkled his wolfish mouth, he kept exclaiming: "a fine lad--a fine lad! generous as a prince! good lord, another round! he minds money no more than as if gold was as plentiful as gravel! but a fine generous lad for all that!" jackson, i perceived, drank considerably, as if incited thereto by compressed savageness. the pretty young wife would not taste a drop, but tears frequently filled her eyes, and bitterness pointed her words as she vainly implored her husband to leave the place and go home with her. to all her remonstrances the maudlin drunkard replied only by foolery, varied occasionally by an attempt at a line or two of the song of "the thorn." "but you _will_ plant thorns, henry," rejoined the provoked wife in a louder and angrier tone than she ought perhaps to have used--"not only in my bosom, but your own, if you go on in this sottish, disgraceful way." "always quarreling, always quarreling!" remarked jackson, pointedly, towards the bystanders--"_always_ quarreling!" "who is always quarreling?" demanded the young wife sharply. "do you mean me and henry?" "i was only saying, my dear, that you don't like your husband to be so generous and free-hearted--that's all," replied jackson, with a confidential wink at the persons near him. "free-hearted and generous! fool-hearted and crazy, you mean!" rejoined the wife, who was much excited. "and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to give him money for such brutish purposes." "always quarreling, always quarreling!" iterated jackson, but this time unheard by mrs. rogers--"_always_, perpetually quarreling!" i could not quite comprehend all this. if so large a sum as £ was really coming to the young man, why should jackson wince as he did at disbursing small amounts which he could repay himself with abundant interest? if otherwise--and it was probable he should not be repaid--what meant his eternal, "fine generous lad!" "spirited young man!" and so on? what, above all, meant that look of diabolical hate which shot out from his cavernous eyes towards henry rogers when he thought himself unobserved, just after satisfying a fresh claim on his purse? much practice in reading the faces and deportment of such men made it pretty clear to me that jackson's course of action respecting the young man and his money was not yet decided upon in his own mind; that he was still perplexed and irresolute; and hence the apparent contradiction in his words and acts. henry rogers at length dropped asleep with his head upon one of the settle-tables; jackson sank into sullen silence; the noisy room grew quiet; and i came away. i was impressed with a belief that jackson entertained some sinister design against his youthful and inexperienced lodgers and i determined to acquaint them with my suspicions. for this purpose mr. morgan, who had a patient living near jackson's house, undertook to invite them to tea on some early evening, on the pretence that he had heard of a tavern that might suit them when they should receive their fortune. let me confess, too, that i had another design besides putting the young people on their guard against jackson. i thought it very probable that it would not be difficult to glean from them some interesting and suggestive particulars concerning the ways, means, practices, outgoings and incomings, of their worthy landlord's household. four more days passed unprofitably away, and i was becoming weary of the business, when about five o'clock in the afternoon the apothecary galloped up to his door on a borrowed horse, jumped off with surprising celerity, and with a face as white as his own magnesia, burst out as he hurried into the room where i was sitting: "here's a pretty kettle of fish! henry rogers has been poisoned, and by his wife!" "poisoned!" "yes, poisoned; although, thanks to my being on the spot i think he will recover. but i must instantly to dr. edwards: i will tell you all when i return." the promised "all" was this: morgan was passing slowly by jackson's house, in the hope of seeing either mr. or mrs. rogers, when the servant-woman, jane riddet, ran out and begged him to come in, as their lodger had been taken suddenly ill. ill indeed! the surface of his body was cold as death, and the apothecary quickly discovered that he had been poisoned with sulphuric acid (oil of vitriol), a quantity of which he, morgan, had sold a few days previously to mrs. rogers, who, when purchasing it, said mr. jackson wanted it to apply to some warts that annoyed him. morgan fortunately knew the proper remedy, and desired jackson, who was in the room, and seemingly very anxious and flurried, to bring some soap instantly, a solution of which he proposed to give immediately to the seemingly dying man. the woman-servant was gone to find mrs. rogers, who had left about ten minutes before, having first made the tea in which the poison had been taken. jackson hurried out of the apartment, but was gone so long that morgan, becoming impatient, scraped a quantity of plaster off the wall, and administered it with the best effect. at last jackson came back, and said there was unfortunately not a particle of soap in the house. a few minutes afterwards the young wife, alarmed at the woman-servant's tidings, flew into the room in an agony of alarm and grief. simulated alarm, crocodile grief, mr. morgan said; for there could, in his opinion, be no doubt that she had attempted to destroy her husband. mr. jackson, on being questioned, peremptorily denied that he had ever desired mrs. rogers to procure sulphuric acid for him, or had received any from her--a statement which so confounded the young woman that she instantly fainted. the upshot was that mrs. rogers was taken into custody and lodged in prison. this terrible news flew through farnham like wild-fire. in a few minutes it was upon everybody's tongue: the hints of the quarrelsome life the young couple led, artfully spread by jackson, were recalled, and no doubt appeared to be entertained of the truth of the dreadful charge. i had no doubt either, but my conviction was not that of the farnham folk. this, then, was the solution of the struggle i had seen going on in jackson's mind; this the realization of the dark thought which i had imperfectly read in the sinister glances of his restless eyes. he had intended to destroy both the husband and wife--the one by poison, and the other by the law! doubtless, then, the £ had been obtained, and this was the wretched man's infernal device for retaining it! i went over with morgan early the next morning to see the patient, and found that, thanks to the prompt antidote administered, and dr. edwards' subsequent active treatment, he was rapidly recovering. the still-suffering young man, i was glad to find, would not believe for a moment in his wife's guilt. i watched the looks and movements of jackson attentively--a scrutiny which he, now aware of my vocation, by no means appeared to relish. "pray," said i, suddenly addressing riddet, the woman-servant--"pray, how did it happen that you had no soap in such a house as this yesterday evening?" "no soap!" echoed the woman, with a stare of surprise. "why"---- "no--no soap," hastily broke in her master with loud and menacing emphasis. "there was not a morsel in the house. i bought some afterwards in farnham." the cowed and bewildered woman slunk away. i was more than satisfied; and judging by jackson's countenance, which changed beneath my look to the color of the lime-washed wall against which he stood, he surmised that i was. my conviction, however, was not evidence, and i felt that i should need even more than my wonted good-fortune to bring the black crime home to the real perpetrator. for the present, at all events, i must keep silence--a resolve i found hard to persist in at the examination of the accused wife, an hour or two afterwards, before the county magistrates. jackson had hardened himself to iron, and gave his lying evidence with ruthless self-possession. he had _not_ desired mrs. rogers to purchase sulphuric acid; had _not_ received any from her. in addition also to his testimony that she and her husband were always quarreling, it was proved by a respectable person that high words had passed between them on the evening previous to the day the criminal offence was committed, and that foolish, passionate expressions had escaped her about wishing to be rid of such a drunken wretch. this evidence, combined with the medical testimony, appeared so conclusive to the magistrates, that spite of the unfortunate woman's wild protestations of innocence, and the rending agony which convulsed her frame, and almost choked her utterence, she was remanded to prison till that day-week, when, the magistrates informed her, she would be again brought up for the merely formal completion of the depositions, and be then fully committed on the capital charge. i was greatly disturbed, and walked for two or three hours about the quiet neighborhood of farnham, revolving a hundred fragments of schemes for bringing the truth to light, without arriving at any feasible conclusion. one only mode of procedure seemed to offer, and that but dimly, a hope of success. it was, however, the best i could hit upon, and i directed my steps towards the farnham prison. sarah purday had not yet, i remembered, been removed to the county jail at guilford. "is sarah purday," i asked the turnkey, "more reconciled to her position than she was?" "she's just the same--bitter as gall, and venomous as a viper." this woman, i should state, was a person of fierce will and strong passions, and in early life had been respectably situated. "just step into her cell," i continued, "upon some excuse or other, and carelessly drop a hint that if she could prevail upon jackson to get her brought by _habeas_ before a judge in london, there could be no doubt of her being bailed." the man stared, but after a few words of pretended explanation, went off to do as i requested. he was not long gone. "she's all in a twitteration at the thoughts of it," he said; "and must have pen, ink, and paper, without a moment's delay, bless her consequence!" these were supplied; and i was soon in possession of her letter, couched cautiously, but more peremptorily than the former one. i need hardly say it did not reach its destination. she passed the next day in a state of feverish impatience; and no answer returning, wrote again, her words this time conveying an evident though indistinct threat. i refrained from visiting her till two days had thus passed, and found her, as i expected, eaten up with fury. she glared at me as i entered the cell like a chained tigress. "you appear vexed," i said, "no doubt because jackson declines to get you bailed. he ought not to refuse you such a trifling service, considering all things." "all what things?" replied the woman, eyeing me fiercely. "that you know best, though i have a shrewd guess." "what do you guess? and what are you driving at?" "i will deal frankly with you, sarah purday. in the first place, you must plainly perceive that your _friend_ jackson has cast you off--abandoned you to your fate; and that fate will, there can be no doubt, be transportation." "well," she impatiently snarled, "suppose so; what then?" "this--that you can help yourself in this difficulty by helping me." "as how?" "in the first place, give me the means of convicting jackson of having received the stolen property." "ha! how do you know that?" "oh, i know it very well--as well almost as you do. but this is not my chief object; there is another far more important one," and i ran over the incidents relative to the attempt at poisoning. "now," i resumed, "tell me, if you will, your opinion on this matter." "that it was jackson administered the poison, and certainly not the young woman," she replied with vengeful promptness. "my own conviction! this, then, is my proposition:--you are sharp-witted, and know this fellow's ways, habits, and propensities thoroughly--i, too, have heard something of them--and it strikes me that you could suggest some plan, some device grounded on that knowledge, whereby the truth might come to light." the woman looked fixedly at me for some time without speaking. as i meant fairly and honestly by her i could bear her gaze without shrinking. "supposing i could assist you," she at last said, "how would that help me?" "it would help you greatly. you would no doubt be still convicted of the burglary, for the evidence is irresistible; but if in the meantime you should have been instrumental in saving the life of an innocent person, and of bringing a great criminal to justice, there cannot be a question that the queen's mercy would be extended to you, and the punishment be merely a nominal one." "if i were sure of that!" she murmured with a burning scrutiny in her eyes, which were still fixed upon my countenance--"if i were sure of that! but you are misleading me." "believe me, i am not. i speak in perfect sincerity. take time to consider the matter. i will look in again in about an hour; and pray, do not forget that it is your sole and last chance." i left her, and did not return till more than three hours had passed away. sarah purday was pacing the cell in a frenzy of inquietude. "i thought you had forgotten me. now," she continued with rapid vehemence, "tell me, on your word and honor as a man, do you truly believe that if i can effectually assist you it will avail me with her majesty?" "i am as positive it will as i am of my own life." "well, then, i _will_ assist you. first, then, jackson was a confederate with dawkins and myself, and received the plate and jewelry, for which he paid us less than one-third of the value." "rogers and his wife were not, i hope, cognizant of this?" "certainly not; but jackson's wife, and the woman-servant, riddet, were. i have been turning the other business over in my mind," she continued, speaking with increasing emotion and rapidity; "and oh, believe me, mr. waters, if you can, that it is not solely a selfish motive which induces me to aid in saving mary rogers from destruction. i was once myself---- ah god!" tears welled up to the fierce eyes, but they were quickly brushed away, and she continued somewhat more calmly:--"you have heard, i dare say, that jackson has a strange habit of talking in his sleep?" "i have, and that he once consulted morgan as to whether there was any cure for it. it was that which partly suggested"---- "it is, i believe, a mere fancy of his," she interrupted; "or at any rate the habit is not so frequent, nor what he says so intelligible, as he thoroughly believes and fears it, from some former circumstances, to be. his deaf wife cannot undeceive him, and he takes care never even to doze except in her presence only." "this is not, then, so promising as i hoped." "have patience. it is full of promise, as we will manage. every evening jackson frequents a low gambling-house, where he almost invariably wins small sums at cards--by craft, no doubt, as he never drinks there. when he returns home at about ten o'clock, his constant habit is to go into the front-parlor, where his wife is sure to be sitting at that hour. he carefully locks the door, helps himself to brandy and water--plentifully of late--and falls asleep in his arm-chair; and there they both doze away, sometimes till one o'clock--always till past twelve." "well; but i do not see how"---- "hear me out, if you please. jackson never wastes a candle to drink or sleep by, and at this time of the year there will be no fire. if he speaks to his wife he does not expect her, from her wooden deafness, to answer him. do you begin to perceive my drift?" "upon my word, i do not." "what; if upon awaking, jackson finds that his wife is mr. waters, and that mr. waters relates to him all that he has disclosed in his sleep: that mr. hursley's plate is buried in the garden near the lilac-tree; that he, jackson, received a thousand pounds six weeks ago of henry roger's fortune, and that the money is now in the recess on the top-landing, the key of which is in his breast-pocket; that he was the receiver of the plate stolen from a house in the close at salisbury a twelvemonth ago, and sold in london for four hundred and fifty pounds. all this hurled at him," continued the woman with wild energy and flashing eyes, "what else might not a bold, quick-witted man make him believe he had confessed, revealed in his brief sleep?" i had been sitting on a bench; but as these rapid disclosures burst from her lips, and i saw the use to which they might be turned, i rose slowly and in some sort involuntarily to my feet, lifted up, as it were, by the energy of her fiery words. "god reward you!" i exclaimed, shaking both her hands in mine. "you have, unless i blunder, rescued an innocent woman from the scaffold. i see it all. farewell!" "mr. waters," she exclaimed, in a changed, palpitating voice, as i was passing forth; "when all is done, you will not forget me?" "that i will not, by my own hope of mercy in the hereafter. adieu!" at a quarter past nine that evening i, accompanied by two farnham constables, knocked at the door of jackson's house. henry rogers, i should state, had been removed to the village. the door was opened by the woman-servant, and we went in. "i have a warrant for your arrest, jane riddet," i said, "as an accomplice in the plate stealing the other day. there, don't scream, but listen to me." i then intimated the terms upon which alone she could expect favor. she tremblingly promised compliance; and after placing the constables outside, in concealment, but within hearing, i proceeded to the parlor, secured the terrified old woman, and confined her safely in a distant out-house. "now, riddet," i said, "quick with one of the old lady's gowns, a shawl, cap, _etcetera_." these were brought, and i returned to the parlor. it was a roomy apartment, with small, diamond-paned windows, and just then but very faintly illumined by the star-light. there were two large high-backed easy-chairs, and i prepared to take possession of the one recently vacated by jackson's wife. "you must perfectly understand," were my parting words to the trembling servant, "that we intend standing no nonsense with either you or your master. you cannot escape; but if you let mr. jackson in as usual, and he enters this room as usual, no harm will befall you: if otherwise, you will be unquestionably transported. now, go." my toilet was not so easily accomplished as i thought it would be. the gown did not meet at the back by about a foot; that, however, was of little consequence, as the high-chair concealed the deficiency; neither did the shortness of the sleeves matter much, as the ample shawl could be made to hide my too great length of arm; but the skirt was scarcely lower than a highlander's, and how the deuce i was to crook my booted legs up out of view, even in that gloomy starlight, i could hardly imagine. the cap also was far too small; still, with an ample kerchief in my hand, my whiskers might, i thought, be concealed. i was still fidgeting with these arrangements when jackson knocked at his door. the servant admitted him without remark, and he presently entered the room, carefully locked the door, and jolted down, so to speak, in the fellow easy-chair to mine. he was silent for a few moments, and then he bawled out: "she'll swing for it, they say--swing for it, d'ye hear, dame? but no, of course she don't--deafer and deafer, deafer and deafer every day. it'll be a precious good job when the parson says his last prayers over her as well as others." he then got up, and went to a cupboard. i could hear--for i dared not look up--by the jingling of glasses and the outpouring of liquids that he was helping himself to his spirituous sleeping-draughts. he reseated himself, and drank in moody silence, except now and then mumbling drowsily to himself, but in so low a tone that i could make nothing out of it save an occasional curse or blasphemy. it was nearly eleven o'clock before the muttered self-communing ceased, and his heavy head sank upon the back of the easy-chair. he was very restless, and it was evident that even his sleeping brain labored with affrighting and oppressive images; but the mutterings, as before he slept, were confused and indistinct. at length--half an hour had perhaps thus passed--the troubled meanings became for a few moments clearly audible. "ha--ha--ha!" he burst out, "how are you off for soap? ho--ho! done there, my boy; ha--ha! but no--no. wall-plaster! who could have thought it? but for that i--i---- what do you stare at me so for, you infernal blue-bottle? you--you"---- again the dream-utterance sank into indistinctness, and i comprehended nothing more. about half-past twelve o'clock he awoke, rose, stretched himself, and said:--"come, dame, let's to bed; it's getting chilly here." "dame" did not answer, and he again went towards the cupboard. "here's a candle-end will do for us," he muttered. a lucifer-match was drawn across the wall, he lit the candle, and stumbled towards me, for he was scarcely yet awake. "come, dame, come! why, thee beest sleeping like a dead un! wake up, will thee---- ah! murder! thieves! mur"---- my grasp was on the wretch's throat; but there was no occasion to use force: he recognized me, and nerveless, paralyzed, sank on the floor incapable of motion much less of resistance, and could only gaze in my face in dumb affright and horror. "give me the key of the recess up stairs, which you carry in your breast-pocket. in your sleep, unhappy man, you have revealed every thing." an inarticulate shriek of terror replied to me. i was silent; and presently he gasped: "wha--at, what have i said?" "that mr. hursley's plate is buried in the garden by the lilac-tree; that you have received a thousand pounds belonging to the man you tried to poison; that you netted four hundred and fifty pounds by the plate stolen at salisbury; that you dexterously contrived to slip the sulphuric acid into the tea unseen by henry roger's wife." the shriek or scream was repeated, and he was for several moments speechless with consternation. a ray of hope gleamed suddenly in his flaming eyes. "it is true--it is true!" he hurriedly ejaculated; "useless--useless--useless to deny it. but you are alone, and poor, poor, no doubt. a thousand pounds!--more, more than that: _two_ thousand pounds in gold--gold, all in gold--i will give you to spare me, to let me escape!" "where did you hide the soap on the day when you confess you tried to poison henry rogers?" "in the recess you spoke of. but think! two thousand pounds in gold--all in gold"---- as he spoke, i suddenly grasped the villain's hands, pressed them together, and in another instant the snapping of a handcuff pronounced my answer. a yell of anguish burst from the miserable man, so loud and piercing, that the constables outside hurried to the outer-door, and knocked hastily for admittance. they were let in by the servant-woman; and in half an hour afterwards the three prisoners--jackson, his wife, and jane riddet--were safe in farnham prison. a few sentences will conclude this narrative. mary rogers was brought up on the following day, and, on my evidence, discharged. her husband, i have heard, has since proved a better and a wiser man. jackson was convicted at the guilford assize of guiltily receiving the hursley plate, and sentenced to transportation for life. this being so, the graver charge of attempting to poison was not pressed. there was no moral doubt of his guilt; but the legal proof of it rested solely on his own hurried confession, which counsel would no doubt have contended ought not to be received. his wife and the servant were leniently dealt with. sarah purday was convicted, and sentenced to transportation. i did not forget my promise; and a statement of the previously-narrated circumstances having been drawn up and forwarded to the queen and the home secretary, a pardon, after some delay, was issued. there were painful circumstances in her history which, after strict inquiry, told favorably for her. several benevolent persons interested themselves in her behalf, and she was sent out to canada, where she had some relatives, and has, i believe, prospered there. this affair caused considerable hubbub at the time, and much admiration was expressed by the country people at the boldness and dexterity of the london "runner;" whereas, in fact, the successful result was entirely attributable to the opportune revelations of sarah purday. sketches of the london detective force, from dickens' "household words." part xi. the modern science of thief-taking. if thieving be an art (and who denies that its more subtle and delicate branches deserve to be ranked as one of the fine arts?), thief-taking is a science. all the thief's ingenuity, all his knowledge of human nature; all his courage; all his coolness; all his imperturbable powers of face; all his nice discrimination in reading the countenances of other people; all his manual and digital dexterity; all his fertility in expedients, and promptitude in acting upon them; all his protean cleverness of disguise and capability of counterfeiting every sort and condition of distress; together with a great deal more patience, and the additional qualification, integrity, are demanded for the higher branches of thief-taking. if an urchin picks your pocket, or a bungling "artist" steals your watch so that you find it out in an instant, it is easy enough for any private in any of the seventeen divisions of london police to obey your panting demand to "stop thief!" but the tricks and contrivances of those who wheedle money out of your pocket rather than steal it; who cheat you with your eyes open; who clear every vestige of plate out of your pantry while your servant is on the stairs; who set up imposing warehouses, and ease respectable firms of large parcels of goods; who steal the acceptances of needy or dissipated young men;--for the detection and punishment of such impostors a superior order of police is requisite. to each division of the force is attached two officers, who are denominated "detectives." the staff, or head-quarters, consists of six sergeants and two inspectors. thus the detective police, of which we hear so much, consists of only forty-two individuals, whose duty it is to wear no uniform, and to perform the most difficult operations of their craft. they have not only to counteract the machinations of every sort of rascal whose only means of existence is avowed rascality, but to clear up family mysteries, the investigation of which demands the utmost delicacy and tact. one instance will show the difference between a regular and a detective policeman. your wife discovers on retiring for the night, that her toilette has been plundered; her drawers are void; except the ornaments she now wears, her beauty is as unadorned as that of a quakeress: not a thing is left; all the fond tokens you gave her when her pre-nuptial lover, are gone; your own miniature, with its setting of gold and brilliants; her late mother's diamonds; the bracelets "dear papa" presented on her last birth-day; the top of every bottle in the dressing-case brought from paris by uncle john, at the risk of his life, in february , are off--but the glasses remain. every valuable is swept away with the most discriminating villainy; for no other thing in the chamber has been touched; not a chair has been moved; the costly pendule on the chimney-piece still ticks; the entire apartment is as neat and trim as when it had received the last finishing sweep of the housemaid's duster. the entire establishment runs frantically up stairs and down stairs; and finally congregates in my lady's chamber. nobody knows anything whatever about it; yet everybody offers a suggestion, although they have not an idea "who ever did it." the housemaid bursts into tears; the cook declares she thinks she is going into hysterics; and at last you suggest sending for the police; which is taken as a suspicion of, and insult on the whole assembled household, and they descend into the lower regions of the house in the sulks. x arrives. his face betrays sheepishness, combined with mystery. he turns his bull's-eye into every corner, and upon every countenance (including that of the cat), on the premises. he examines all the locks, bolts, and bars, bestowing extra diligence on those which enclosed the stolen treasures. these he declares have been "wiolated;" by which he means that there has been more than one "rape of the lock." he then mentions about the non-disturbance of other valuables; takes you solemnly aside, darkens his lantern, and asks if you suspect any of your servants, in a mysterious whisper, which implies that _he_ does. he then examines the upper bed-rooms, and in that of the female servants he discovers the least valuable of the rings, and a cast-off silver tooth-pick between the mattresses. you have every confidence in your maids; but what _can_ you think? you suggest their safe custody; but your wife intercedes, and the policeman would prefer speaking to his inspector before he locks anybody up. had the whole matter remained in the hands of x , it is possible that your troubles would have lasted you till now. a train of legal proceedings--actions for defamation of character and suits for damages--would have followed, which would have cost more than the value of the jewels, find the entire execration of all your neighbors and every private friend of your domestics. but, happily, the inspector promptly sends a plain, earnest-looking man, who announces himself as one of the two detectives of the x division. he settles the whole matter in ten minutes. his examination is ended in five. as a connoisseur can determine the painter of a picture at the first glance, or a wine-taster the precise vintage of a sherry by the merest sip; so the detective at once pounces upon the authors of the work of art under consideration, by the style of performance; if not upon the precise executant, upon the "school" to which he belongs. having finished the toilette branch of the inquiry, he takes a short view of the parapet of your house, and makes an equally cursory investigation of the attic-window fastenings. his mind is made up, and most likely he will address you in these words:-- "all right, sir. this is done by one of 'the dancing school!'" "good heavens!" exclaims your plundered partner. "impossible, why _our_ children go to monsieur pettitoes, of no. , and i assure you he is a highly respectable professor. as to his pupils, i--" the detective smiles and interrupts. "dancers," he tells her, "is a name given to the sort of burglar by whom she had been robbed; and every branch of the thieving profession is divided into gangs, which are termed 'schools.' from no. to the end of the street the houses are unfinished. the thief made his way to the top of one of these, and crawled to your garrett"-- "but we are forty houses distant, and why did he not favor one of my neighbors with his visit?" you ask. "either their uppermost stories are not so practicable, or the ladies have not such valuable jewels." "but how do they know that?" "by watching and inquiry. this affair may have been in action for more than a month. your house has been watched; your habits ascertained; they have found out when you dine--how long you remain in the dining-room. a day is selected; while you are busy dining, and your servants busy waiting on you, the thing is done. previously, many journeys have been made over the roofs, to find out the best means of entering your house. the attic is chosen; the robber gets in, and creeps noiselessly, or 'dances' into the place to be robbed." "is there _any_ chance of recovering our property?" you ask anxiously, seeing the whole matter at a glance. "i hope so. i have sent some brother officers to watch the fences' houses." "fences?" "fences," explains the detective, in reply to your innocent wife's inquiry, "are purchasers of stolen goods. your jewels will be forced out of their settings, and the gold melted." the lady tries, ineffectually, to suppress a slight scream. "we shall see, if, at this unusual hour of the night, there is any bustle in or near any of these places; if any smoke is coming out of any one of their furnaces, where the melting takes place. _i_ shall go and seek out the precise 'garretter'--that's another name these plunderers give themselves--whom i suspect. by his trying to 'sell' your domestics by placing the ring and toothpick in their bed, i think i know the man. it is just in his style." the next morning, you find all these suppositions verified. the detective calls, and obliges you at breakfast--after a sleepless night--with a complete list of the stolen articles, and produces some of them for identification. in three months, your wife gets nearly every article back; her damsels' innocence is fully established; and the thief is taken from his "school" to spend a long holiday in a penal colony. this is a mere common-place transaction, compared with the achievements of the staff of the little army of detective policemen at head-quarters. sometimes they are called upon to investigate robberies; so executed, that no human ingenuity appears to ordinary observers capable of finding the thief. he leaves not a trail or a trace. every clue seems cut off; but the experience of a detective guides him into tracks quite invisible to other eyes. not long since, a trunk was rifled at a fashionable hotel. the theft was so managed, that no suspicion could rest on any one. the detective sergeant who had been sent for, fairly owned, after making a minute examination of the case, that he could afford no hope of elucidating the mystery. as he was leaving the bed-room, however, in which the plundered portmanteau stood, he picked up an ordinary shirt-button from the carpet. he silently compared it with those on the shirts in the trunk. it did not match them. he said nothing, but hung about the hotel for the rest of the day. had he been narrowly watched, he would have been set down for an eccentric critic of linen. he was looking out for a shirt-front or wristband without a button. his search was long and patient; but at length it was rewarded. one of the inmates of the house showed a deficiency in his dress, which no one but a detective would have noticed. he looked as narrowly as he dared at the pattern of the remaining fasteners. it corresponded with that of the little tell-tale he had picked up. he went deeper into the subject, got a trace of some of the stolen property, ascertained a connexion between it and the suspected person, confronted him with the owner of the trunk, and finally succeeded in convicting him of the theft.--at another hotel-robbery, the blade of a knife, broken in the lock of a portmanteau, formed the clue. the detective employed in that case was for some time indefatigable in seeking out knives with broken blades. at length he found one belonging to an under-waiter, who proved to have been the thief. the swell-mob--the london branch of which is said to consist of from one hundred and fifty to two hundred members--demand the greatest amount of vigilance to detect. they hold the first place in the "profession." their cleverness consists in evading the law; the most expert are seldom taken. one "swell," named mo. clark, had an iniquitous career of a quarter of a century, and never was captured during that time. he died a "prosperous gentleman" at boulogne, whither he had retired to live on his "savings," which he had invested in house property. an old hand named white lived unharmed to the age of eighty; but he had not been prudent, and existed on the contributions of the "mob," till his old acquaintances were taken away, either by transportation or death, and the new race did not recognize his claims to their bounty. hence he died in a workhouse. the average run of liberty which one of this class counts upon is four years. the gains of some of the swell mob are great. they can always command capital to execute any especial scheme. their traveling expenses are large; for their harvests are great public occasions, whether in town or country. as an example of their profits, the exploits of four of them at the liverpool cattle show some seven years ago, may be mentioned. the london detective police did not attend, but one of them waylaid the rogues at the euston station. after an attendance of four days, the gentleman he was looking for appeared, handsomely attired, the occupants of first-class carriages. the detective, in the quietest manner possible, stopped their luggage; they entreated him to treat them like "gentlemen." he did so, and took them into a private room, where, they were so good as to offer him fifty pounds to let them go. he declined, and over-hauled their booty; it consisted of several gold pins, watches, (some of great value,) chains and rings, silver snuff-boxes, and bank-notes of the value of one hundred pounds! eventually, however, as owners could not be found for some of the property, and some others would not prosecute, they escaped with a light punishment. in order to counteract the plans of the swell mob, two of the sergeants of the detective police make it their business to know every one of them personally. the consequence is, that the appearance of either of these officers upon any scene of operations is a bar to anything or anybody being "done". this is an excellent characteristic of the detectives, for they thus become as well a preventive police. we will give an illustration:-- you are at the oxford commemoration. as you descend the broad stairs of the roebuck to dine, you overtake on the landing a gentleman of foreign aspect and elegant attire. the variegated pattern of his vest, the jetty gloss of his boots, and the exceeding whiteness of his gloves--one of which he crushes in his somewhat delicate hand--convince you that he is going to the grand ball, to be given that evening at merton. the glance he gives you while passing, is sharp, but comprehensive; and if his eye does rest upon any one part of your person and its accessories more than another, it is upon the gold watch which you have just taken out to see if dinner be "due." as you step aside to make room for him, he acknowledges the courtesy with "par-r-r-don," in the richest parisian _gros parle_, and a smile so full of intelligence and courtesy, that you hope he speaks english, for you set him down as an agreeable fellow, and mentally determine that if he dines in the coffee-room, you will make his acquaintance. on the mat at the stair-foot there stands a man. a plain, honest-looking fellow, with nothing formidable in his appearance, or dreadful in his countenance; but the effect his apparition takes on your friend in perspective, is remarkable. the poor little fellow raises himself on his toes, as if he had been suddenly overbalanced by a bullet; his cheek pales, and his lip quivers, as he endeavors ineffectually to suppress the word "_coquin!_" he knows it is too late to turn back (he evidently would, if he could), for the man's eye is upon him. there is no help for it, and he speaks first; but in a whisper. he takes the new comer aside, and all you can overhear is spoken by the latter, who says he insists on monsieur withdrawing his "school" by the seven o'clock train. you imagine him to be some poor wretch of a school-master in difficulties; captured, alas, by a bailiff. they leave the inn together, perhaps for a sponging house. so acute is your pity, that you think of rushing after them, and offering bail. you are, however, very hungry, and, at this moment, the waiter announces that dinner is on table. in the opposite box there are covers for four, but only three convives. they seem quiet men--not gentleman, decidedly, but well enough behaved. "what has become of monsieur?" asks one. none of them can divine. "shall we wait any longer for him?" "oh, no--waiter--dinner!" by their manner, you imagine that the style of the roebuck is a "cut above them." they have not been much used to plate. the silver forks are so curiously heavy, that one of the guests, in a dallying sort of way, balances a prong across his fingers, while the chasing of the castors engages the attention of a second. this is all done while they talk. when the fish is brought, the third casts a careless glance or two at the dish cover, and when the waiter has gone for the sauce, he taps it with his nails, and says enquiringly to his friend across the table "silver?" the other shakes his head, and intimates a hint that it is _only_ plated. the waiter brings the cold punch, and the party begin to enjoy themselves. they do not drink much, but they mix their drinks rather injudiciously. they take sherry upon cold punch, and champagne upon that, dashing in a little port and bottled stout between. they are getting merry, not to say jolly, but not at all inebriated. the amateur of silver dish-covers has told a capital story, and his friends are revelling in the heartiest of laughs, when an apparition appears at the end of the table. you never saw such a change as his presence causes, when he places his knuckles on the edge of the table and looks at the diners _seriatim_; the courtiers of the sleeping beauty suddenly struck somniferous were nothing to this change. as if by magic, the loud laugh is turned to silent consternation. you now, most impressively, understand the meaning of the term "dumbfoundered." the mysterious stranger makes some enquiry about "any cash?" the answer is "plenty." "all square with the landlord, then?" asks the same inflexible voice as--to my astonishment--that which put the french man to the torture. "to a penny," the reply. "_quite_ square?" continues the querist, taking with his busy eye a rapid inventory of the plate. "s' help me----" "hush!" interrupts the dinner spoiler, holding up his hand in a cautionary manner. "have you done anything to-day?" "not a thing." then there is some more in a low tone; but you again distinguish the word "school," and "seven o'clock train." they are too old to be the frenchman's pupils; perhaps they are his assistants. surely they are not all the victims of the same _capias_ and the same officer! by this time the landlord, looking very nervous, arrives with his bill: then comes the head waiter, who clears the table; carefully counting the forks. the reckoning is paid, and the trio steal out of the room with the man of mystery behind them,--like sheep driven to the shambles. you follow to the railway station, and there you see the frenchman, who complains bitterly of being "sold for noting" by his enemy. the other three utter a confirmative groan. in spite of the evident omnipotence of their persevering follower, your curiosity impels you to address him. you take a turn on the platform together, and he explains the whole mystery. "the fact is," he begins, "i am sergeant witchem, of the detective police." "and your four victims are?"-- "members of a crack school of swell-mobsmen." "what do you mean by 'school?'" "gang. there is a variety of gangs--that is to say, of men who 'work' together, who play into one another's hands. these gentlemen hold the first rank, both for skill and enterprise, and had they been allowed to remain would have brought back a considerable booty. their chief is the frenchman." "why do they obey your orders so passively?" "because they are sure that if i were to take them into custody, which i could do, knowing what they are, and present them before a magistrate, they would all be committed to prison for a month, as rogues and vagabonds." "they prefer then to have lost no inconsiderable capital in dress and dinner, to being laid up in jail." "exactly so." the bell rings, and all five go off into the same carriage to london. this is a circumstance that actually occurred; and a similar one happened when the queen went to dublin. the mere appearance of one the detective officers before a "school" which had transported itself in the royal train, spoilt their speculation; for they all found it more advantageous to return to england in the same steamer with the officer, than to remain with the certainty of being put in prison for fourteen or twenty-eight days as rogues and vagabonds. so thoroughly well acquainted with these men are the detective officers we speak of, that they frequently tell what they have been about by the expression of their eyes and their general manner. this process is aptly termed "reckoning them up." some days ago, two skilful officers, whose personal acquaintance with the swell mob is complete, were walking along the strand on other business, when they saw two of the best dressed and best mannered of the gang enter a jeweller's shop. they waited till they came out, and, on scrutinising them, were convinced, by a certain conscious look which they betrayed, that they had stolen something. they followed them, and in a few minutes something was passed from one to the other. the officers were convinced, challenged them with the theft, and succeeded in eventually convicting them of stealing two gold eye-glasses, and several jeweled rings. "the eye," said our informant, "is the great detector. we can tell in a crowd what a swell-mobsman is about by the expression of his eye." it is supposed that the number of persons who make a trade of thieving in london is not more than six thousand; of these, nearly two hundred are first-class thieves or swell-mobsmen, six hundred "macemen," and trade swindlers, bill-swindlers, dog-stealers, &c.; about forty burglars, "dancers," "garretteers," and other adepts with the skeleton-keys. the rest are pickpockets, "gonophs--" mostly young thieves who sneak into areas, and rob tills--and other pilferers. to detect and circumvent this fraternity, is the science of thief-taking. here, it is, however, impossible to give even an imperfect notion of the high amount of skill, intelligence, and knowledge, concentrated in the character of a clever detective policeman. we shall therefore finish the sketch in another part. part xii. a detective police party. in pursuance of the intention mentioned at the close of a former paper on "the modern science of thief-taking," we now proceed to endeavor to convey to our readers some faint idea of the extraordinary dexterity, patience, and ingenuity, exercised by the detective police. that our description may be as graphic as we can render it, and may be perfectly reliable, we will make it, so far as in us lies, a piece of plain truth. and first, we have to inform the reader how the anecdotes we are about to communicate, came to our knowledge. we are not by any means devout believers in the old bow-street police. to say the truth, we think there was a vast amount of humbug about those worthies. apart from many of them being men of very indifferent character, and far too much in the habit of consorting with thieves and the like, they never lost a public occasion of jobbing and trading in mystery and making the most of themselves. continually puffed besides by incompetent magistrates anxious to conceal their own deficiencies, and hand-in-glove with the penny-a-liners of that time, they became a sort of superstition. although as a preventive police they were utterly ineffective, and as a detective police were very loose and uncertain in their operations, they remain with some people, a superstition to the present day. on the other hand, the detective force organized since the establishment of the existing police, is so well chosen and trained, proceeds so systematically and quietly, does its business in such a workman-like manner, and is always so calmly and steadily engaged in the service of the public, that the public really do not know enough of it, to know a tithe of its usefulness. impressed with this conviction, and interested in the men themselves, we represented to the authorities at scotland yard, that we should be glad, if there were no official objection, to have some talk with the detectives. a most obliging and ready permission being given, a certain evening was appointed with a certain inspector for a social conference between ourselves and the detectives, at our office in wellington street, strand, london. in consequence of which appointment the party "came off," which we are about to describe. and we beg to repeat that, avoiding such topics as it might for obvious reasons be injurious to the public, or disagreeable to respectable individuals to touch upon in print, our description is as exact as we can make it. just at dusk, inspectors wield and stalker are announced; but we do not undertake to warrant the orthography of any of the names here mentioned. inspector wield presents inspector stalker. inspector wield is a middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his conversation by the aid of a corpulent fore-finger, which is constantly in juxta-position with his eyes or nose. inspector stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed scotchman--in appearance not at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained school-master, from the normal establishment at glasgow. inspector wield one might have known, perhaps, for what he is--inspector stalker, never. the ceremonies of reception over, inspectors wield and stalker observe that they have brought some sergeants with them. the sergeants are presented--five in number, sergeant dornton, sergeant witchem, sergeant mith, sergeant fendall, and sergeant straw. we have the whole detective force from scotland yard with one exception. they sit down in a semicircle (the two inspectors at the two ends) at a little distance from the round table, facing the editorial sofa. every man of them, in a glance, immediately takes an inventory of the furniture and an accurate sketch of the editorial presence. the editor feels that any gentleman in company could take him up, if need should be, without the smallest hesitation, twenty years hence. the whole party are in plain clothes. sergeant dornton, about fifty years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sun-burnt forehead, has the air of one who has been a sergeant in the army--he might have sat to wilkie for the soldier in the reading of the will. he is famous for steadily pursuing the inductive process, and, from small beginnings, working on from clue to clue until he bags his man. sergeant witchem, shorter and thicker-set, and marked with the small-pox, has something of a reserved and thoughtful air, as if he were engaged in deep arithmetical calculations. he is renowned for his acquaintance with the swell mob. sergeant mith, a smooth-faced man with a fresh bright complexion, and a strange air of simplicity, is a dab at housebreakers. sergeant fendall, a light-haired, well-spoken, polite person, is a prodigious hand at pursuing private inquiries of a delicate nature. straw, a little wiry sergeant of meek demeanor and strong sense, would knock at a door and ask a series of questions in any mild character you chose to prescribe to him, from a charity-boy upwards, and seem as innocent as an infant. they are, one and all, respectable-looking men; of perfectly good deportment and unusual intelligence; with nothing lounging or slinking in their manners; with an air of keen observation, and quick perception when addressed; and generally presenting in their faces, traces more or less marked of habitually leading lives of strong mental excitement. they have all good eyes; and they all can, and they all do, look full at whomsoever they speak to. we light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are very temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins by a modest amateur reference on the editorial part to the swell mob. inspector wield immediately removes his cigar from his lips, waves his right hand, and says, "regarding the swell mob, sir, i can't do better than call upon sergeant witchem. because the reason why? i'll tell you. sergeant witchem is better acquainted with the swell mob than any officer in london." our heart leaping up when we beheld this rainbow in the sky, we turn to sergeant witchem, who very concisely, and in well-chosen language, goes into the subject forthwith. meantime, the whole of his brother officers are closely interested in attending to what he says, and observing its effect. presently they begin to strike in, one or two together, when an opportunity offers, and the conversation becomes general. but these brother officers only come in to the assistance of each other--not to the contradiction--and a more amicable brotherhood there could not be. from the swell mob, we diverge to the kindred topics of cracksmen, fences, public-house dancers, area-sneaks, designing young people who go out "gonophing," and other "schools," to which our readers have already been introduced. it is observable throughout these revelations, that inspector stalker, the scotchman, is always exact and statistical, and that when any question of figures arises, everybody as by one consent pauses, and looks to him. when we have exhausted the various schools of art--during which discussion the whole body have remained profoundly attentive, except when some unusual noise at the theatre over the way, has induced some gentleman to glance inquiringly towards the window in that direction, behind his next neighbor's back--we burrow for information on such points as the following. whether there really are any highway robberies in london, or whether some circumstances not convenient to be mentioned by the aggrieved party, usually precede the robberies complained of, under that head, which quite change their character? certainly the latter, almost always. whether in the case of robberies in houses, where servants are necessarily exposed to doubt, innocence under suspicion ever becomes so like guilt in appearance, that a good officer need be cautious how he judges it? undoubtedly. nothing is so common or deceptive as such appearances at first. whether in a place of public amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an officer knows a thief,--supposing them, beforehand, strangers to each other--because each recognizes in the other, under all disguise, an inattention to what is going on, and a purpose that is not the purpose of being entertained? yes. that's the way exactly. whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to trust to the alleged experiences of thieves as narrated by themselves, in prisons, or penitentiaries, or anywhere? in general, nothing more absurd. lying is their habit and their trade; and they would rather lie--even if they hadn't an interest in it, and didn't want to make themselves agreeable--than tell the truth. from these topics, we glide into a review of the most celebrated and horrible of the great crimes that have been committed within the last fifteen or twenty years. the men engaged in the discovery of almost all of them, and in the pursuit or apprehension of the murderers, are here, down to the very last instance. one of our guests gave chase to and boarded the emigrant ship, in which the murderess last hanged in london was supposed to have embarked. we learn from him that his errand was not announced to the passengers, who may have no idea of it to this hour. that he went below, with the captain, lamp in hand--it being dark, and the whole steerage abed and sea-sick--and engaged the mrs. manning who _was_ on board, in a conversation about her luggage, until she was, with no small pains, induced to raise her head, and turn her face towards the light. satisfied that she was not the object of his search, he quietly re-embarked in the government steamer alongside, and steamed home again with the intelligence. when we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a considerable time in the discussion, two or three leave their chairs, whisper sergeant witchem, and resume their seats. sergeant witchem, leaning forward a little, and placing a hand on each of his legs, then modestly speaks as follows: "my brother-officers wish me to relate a little account of my taking tally-ho thompson. a man oughtn't to tell what he has done himself; but still, as nobody was with me, and, consequently, as nobody but myself can tell it, i'll do it in the best way i can, if it should meet your approval." we assure sergeant witchem that he will oblige us very much, and we all compose ourselves to listen with great interest and attention. "tally-ho thompson," says sergeant witchem, after merely wetting his lips with his brandy and water, "tally-ho thompson was a famous horse-stealer, couper, and magsman. thompson, in conjunction with a pal that occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out of a good round sum of money, under pretence of getting him a situation--the regular old dodge--and was afterwards in the 'hue and cry' for a horse--a horse that he stole, down in hertfordshire. i had to look after thompson, and i applied myself, of course, in the first instance, to discovering where he was. now, thompson's wife lived, along with a little daughter, at chelsea. knowing that thompson was somewhere in the country, i watched the house--especially at post-time in the morning--thinking thompson was pretty likely to write to her. sure enough, one morning the postman comes up, and delivers a letter at mrs. thompson's door. little girl opens the door, and takes it in. we're not always sure of postmen, though the people at the post-offices are always very obliging. a postman may help us, or he may not,--just as it happens. however, i go across the road, and i say to the postman, after he has left the letter, 'good morning! how are you?' 'how are you?' says he. 'you've just delivered a letter for mrs. thompson.' 'yes, i have.' 'you didn't happen to remark what the post-mark was, perhaps?' 'no,' says he, 'i didn't.' 'come,' says i, 'i'll be plain with you. i'm in a small way of business, and i have given thompson credit, and i can't afford to lose what he owes me. i know he's got money, and i know he's in the country, and if you could tell me what the post-mark was, i should be very much obliged to you, and you'd do a service to a tradesman in a small way of business that can't afford a loss.' 'well,' he said, 'i do assure you that i did not observe what the post-mark was; all i know is, that there was money in the letter--i should say a sovereign.' this was enough for me, because of course i knew that thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable she'd write to thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge the receipt. so i said 'thankee' to the postman, and i kept on the watch. in the afternoon i saw the little girl come out. of course i followed her. she went into a stationer's shop, and i needn't say to you that i looked in at the window. she bought some writing-paper and envelopes, and a pen. i think to myself, 'that'll do!'--watch her home again--and don't go away, you may be sure, knowing that mrs. thompson was writing her letter to tally-ho, and that the letter would be posted presently. in about an hour or so, out came the little girl again, with the letter in her hand. i went up, and said something to the child, whatever it might have been; but i couldn't see the direction of the letter, because she held it with the seal upwards. however, i observed that on the back of the letter there was what we call a kiss--a drop of wax by the side of the seal--and again, you understand, that was enough for me. i saw her post the letter, waited till she was gone, then went into the shop, and asked to see the master. when he came out, i told him, 'now, i'm an officer in the detective force; there's a letter with a kiss been posted here just now, for a man that i'm in search of; and what i have to ask of you is, that you will let me look at the direction of that letter.' he was very civil--took a lot of letters from the box in the window--shook 'em out on the counter with the faces downwards--and there among 'em was the identical letter with the kiss. it was directed, mr. thomas pigeon, post-office, b----, to be left 'till called for. down i went to b---- (a hundred and twenty miles or so) that night. early next morning i went to the post-office; saw the gentleman in charge of that department; told him who i was; and that my object was to see, and track, the party that should come for the letter for mr. thomas pigeon. he was very polite, and said, 'you shall have every assistance we can give you; you can wait inside the office; and we'll take care to let you know when anybody comes for the letter.' well, i waited there three days, and began to think that nobody ever _would_ come. at last the clerk whispered to me,' here! detective! somebody's come for the letter!' 'keep him a minute,' said i, and i ran round to the outside of the office. there i saw a young chap with the appearance of an ostler, holding a horse by the bridle--stretching the bridle across the pavement, while he waited at the post-office window for the letter. i began to pat the horse, and that; and i said to the boy, 'why, this is mr. jones's mare!' 'no. it an't.' 'no?' said i. 'she's very like mr. jones's mare!' 'she an't mr. jones's mare, anyhow,' says he. 'it's mr. so-and-so's, of the warwick arms.' and up he jumped, and off he went--letter and all. i got a cab, followed on the box, and was so quick after him that i came into the stable-yard of the warwick arms, by one gate, just as he came in by another. i went into the bar, where there was a young woman serving, and called for a glass of brandy and water. he came in directly, and handed her the letter. she casually looked at it, without saying anything, and stuck it up behind the glass over the chimney-piece. what was to be done next? "i turned it over in my mind while i drank my brandy and water (looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), but i couldn't see my way out of it at all. i tried to get lodgings in the house, but there had been a horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was full. i was obliged to put up somewhere else, but i came backwards and forwards to the bar for a couple of days, and there was the letter, always behind the glass. at last i thought i 'd write a letter to mr. pigeon myself, and see what that would do. so i wrote one, and posted it, but i purposely addressed it, mr. john pigeon, instead of mr. thomas pigeon, to see what _that_ would do. in the morning (a very wet morning it was) i watched the postman down the street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached the warwick arms. in he came presently with my letter. 'is there a mr. john pigeon staying here?' 'no!--stop a bit though,' says the bar-maid; and she took down the letter behind the glass. 'no,' says she, 'it's thomas, and _he_ is not staying here. would you do me a favor, and post this for me, as it is so wet?' the postman said yes; she folded it in another envelop, directed it, and gave it him. he put it in his hat, and away he went. "i had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter. it was addressed, mr. thomas pigeon, post-office, r----, northamptonshire, to be left till called for. off i started directly for r----; i said the same at the post-office there, as i had said at b----; and again i waited three days before anybody came. at last another chap on horseback came. 'any letters for mr. thomas pigeon?' 'where do you come from?' 'new inn, near r----.' he got the letter, and away _he_ went--at a canter. "i made my enquiries about the new inn, near r----, and hearing it was a solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a couple of miles from the station, i thought i'd go and have a look at it. i found it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to look about me. the landlady was in the bar, and i was trying to get into conversation with her; asked her how business was, and spoke about the wet weather, and so on; when i saw, through an open door, three men sitting by the fire in a sort of parlor, or kitchen; and one of those men, according to the description i had of him, was tally-ho thompson! "i went and sat down among 'em, and tried to make things agreeable; but they were very shy--wouldn't talk at all--looked at me, and at one another, in a way quite the reverse of sociable. i reckoned 'em up, and finding that they were all three bigger men than me, and considering that their looks were ugly--that it was a lonely place--railroad station two miles off--and night coming on--thought i couldn't do better than have a drop of brandy and water to keep my courage up. so i called for my brandy and water; and as i was sitting drinking it by the fire, thompson got up and went out. "now the difficulty of it was, that i wasn't sure it _was_ thompson, because i had never set eyes on him before; and what i had wanted was to be quite certain of him. however, there was nothing for it now, but to follow, and put a bold face upon it. i found him talking, outside in the yard, with the landlady. it turned out afterwards, that he was wanted by a northampton officer for something else, and that, knowing that officer to be pock-marked (as i am myself), he mistook me for him. as i have observed, i found him talking to the landlady, outside. i put my hand upon his shoulder--this way--and said, 'tally-ho thompson, it's no use. i know you. i'm an officer from london, and i take you into custody for felony!' 'that be d--d!' says tally-ho thompson. "we went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up rough, and their looks didn't please me at all, i assure you. 'let the man go. what are you going to do with him?' 'i'll tell you what i'm going to do with him. i'm going to take him to london to-night, as sure as i'm alive. i'm not alone here, whatever you may think. you mind your own business, and keep yourselves to yourselves. it'll be better for you, for i know you both very well.' _i_'d never seen or heard of 'em in all my life, but my bouncing cowed 'em a bit, and they kept off, while thompson was making ready to go. i thought to myself, however, that they might be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue thompson; so i said to the landlady, 'what men have you got in the house, missis?' 'we haven't got no men here,' she says, sulkily. 'you have got an ostler, i suppose?' 'yes, we've got an ostler.' 'let me see him.' presently he came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was. 'now attend to me, young man,' says i; 'i'm a detective officer from london. this man's name is thompson. i have taken him into custody for felony. i'm going to take him to the railroad station. i call upon you in the queen's name to assist me; and mind you, my friend, you'll get yourself into more trouble than you know of, if you don't!' you never saw a person open his eyes so wide. 'now, thompson, come along!' says i. but when i took out the handcuffs, thompson cries, 'no! none of that! i won't stand _them_! i'll go along with you quiet, but i won't bear none of that!' 'tally-ho thompson,' i said, 'i'm willing to behave as a man to you, if you are willing to behave as a man to me. give me your word that you'll come peaceably along, and i don't want to handcuff you.' 'i will,' says thompson, 'but i'll have a glass of brandy first.' 'i don't care if i've another,' said i. 'we'll have two more, missis,' said the friends, 'and con-found you, constable, you'll give your man a drop, won't you?' i was agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my man and i took tally-ho thompson safe to the railroad, and i carried him to london that night. he was afterwards acquitted, on account of a defect in the evidence; and i understand he always praises me up to the skies, and says i'm one of the best of men." this story coming to a termination amidst general applause, inspector wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on his host, and thus delivers himself: "it wasn't a bad plant that of mine, on fikey, the man accused of forging the sou' western railway debentures--it was only t'other day--because the reason why? i'll tell you. "i had information that fikey and his brother kept a factory over yonder there," indicating any region on the surrey side of the river, "where he bought second-hand carriages; so after i'd tried in vain to get hold of him by other means, i wrote him a letter in an assumed name, saying that i'd got a horse and shay to dispose of, and would drive down next day, that he might view the lot, and make an offer--very reasonable it was, i said--a reg'lar bargain. straw and me then went off to a friend of mine that's in the livery and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day, a precious smart turn-out, it was--quite a slap-up thing! down we drove, accordingly, with a friend (who's not in the force himself); and leaving my friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of the horse, we went to the factory, which was some little way off. in the factory, there was a number of strong fellows at work, and after reckoning 'em up, it was clear to me that it wouldn't do to try it on there. they were too many for us. we must get our man out of doors. 'mr. fikey at home?' ' no, he ain't.' 'expected home soon?' 'why, no, not soon.' 'ah! is his brother here?' '_i_'m his brother.' ' oh! well, this us an ill-conwenience, this is. i wrote him a letter yesterday, saying i'd got a little turn-out to dispose of, and i've took the trouble to bring the turn-out down, a' purpose, and now he ain't in the way.' ' no, he an't in the way. you couldn't make it convenient to call again, could you?' ' why, no, i couldn't. i want to sell; that's the fact; and i can't put it off. could you find him anywheres?' at first he said no, he couldn't, and then he wasn't sure about it, and then he'd go and try. so, at last he went up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft, and presently down comes my man himself, in his shirt-sleeves. "'well,' he says, 'this seems to be rayther a pressing matter of yours.' 'yes,' i says, 'it _is_ rayther a pressing matter, and you'll find it a bargain--dirt-cheap.' 'i ain't in partickler want of a bargain just now,' he says, 'but where is it?' 'why,' i says, 'the turn-out's just outside. come and look at it.' he hasn't any suspicions, and away we go. and the first thing that happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend (who knows no more of driving than a child) when he takes a little trot along the road to show his paces. you never saw such a game in your life! "when the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a stand-still again, fikey walks round and round it, as grave as a judge--me too. 'there, sir!' i says. 'there's a neat thing!' 'it an't a bad style of thing,' he says. 'i believe you,' says i. 'and there's a horse!'--for i saw him looking at it. 'rising eight!' i says, rubbing his fore-legs. (bless you, there an't a man in the world knows less of horses than i do, but i'd heard my friend at the livery stables say he was eight years old, so i says, as knowing as possible, 'rising eight.') 'rising eight, is he?' says he. 'rising eight,' says i. 'well,' he says, 'what do you want for it?' 'why, the first and last figure for the whole concern is five-and-twenty pound!' 'that's very cheap!' he says, looking at me. 'an't it?' i says. 'i told you it was a bargain! now, without any higgling and haggling about it, what i want is to sell, and that's my price. further, i'll make it easy to you, and take half the money down, and you can do a bit of stiff[b] for the balance.' 'well,' he says again, 'that's very cheap.' 'i believe you,' says i; 'get in and try it, and you'll buy it. come! take a trial!' [b] give a bill "ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the road, to show him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in the public-house window to identify him. but the clerk was bothered, and didn't know whether it was him, or wasn't--because the reason why? i'll tell you,--on account of his having shaved his whiskers. 'it's a clever little horse,' he says, 'and trots well; and the shay runs light.' 'not a doubt about it,' i says. 'and now, mr. fikey, i may as well make it all right, without wasting any more of your time. the fact is, i'm inspector wield, and you're my prisoner.' 'you don't mean that?' he says. 'i do, indeed.' 'then burn my body,' says fikey, 'if this ain't _too_ bad!' "perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with surprise. 'i hope you'll let me have my coat?' he says. 'by all means.' ' well, then, let's drive to the factory.' 'why, not exactly that, i think,' said i; 'i've been there, once before, to-day. suppose we send for it.' he saw it was no go so he sent for it, and put it on, and we drove him up to london, comfortable." this reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a general proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air of simplicity, to tell the "butcher's story." butcher's story. the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air of simplicity, began, with a rustic smile, and in a soft, wheedling tone of voice, to relate the butcher's story, thus:-- "it's just about six years ago, now, since information was given at scotland yard of there being extensive robberies of lawns and silks going on, at some wholesale houses in the city. directions were given for the business being looked into; and straw, and fendall, and me, we were all in it." "when you received your instructions," said we, "you went away, and held a sort of cabinet council together?" the smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied, "ye-es. just so. we turned it over among ourselves a good deal. it appeared, when we went into it, that the goods were sold by the receivers extraordinarily cheap--much cheaper than they could have been if they had been honestly come by. the receivers were in the trade, and kept capital shops--establishments of the first respectability--one of 'em at the west end, one down in westminster. after a lot of watching and inquiry, and this and that among ourselves, we found that the job was managed, and the purchases of the stolen goods made, at a little public-house near smithfield, down by saint bartholomew's; where the warehouse porters, who were the thieves, took 'em for that purpose, don't you see? and made appointments to meet the people that went between themselves and the receivers. this public-house was principally used by journeymen butchers from the country, out of place, and in want of situations; so, what did we do, but--ha, ha, ha!--we agreed that i should be dressed up like a butcher myself, and go and live there!" never, surely, was a faculty of observation better brought to bear upon a purpose, than that which picked out this officer for the part. nothing in all creation, could have suited him better. even while he spoke, he became a greasy, sleepy, shy, good-natured, chuckle-headed, unsuspicious, and confiding young butcher. his very hair seemed to have suet in it, as he made it smooth upon his head, and his fresh complexion to be lubricated by large quantities of animal food. ----"so i--ha, ha, ha!" (always with the confiding snigger of the foolish young butcher) "so i dressed myself in the regular way, made up a little bundle of clothes, and went to the public-house, and asked if i could have a lodging there? they says, 'yes, you can have a lodging here,' and i got a bed-room, and settled myself down in the tap. there was a number of people about the place, and coming backwards and forwards to the house; and first one says, and then another says, 'are you from the country, young man?' 'yes,' i says, 'i am. i'm come out of northamptonshire, and i'm quite lonely here, for i don't know london at all, and it's such a mighty big town?' 'it is a big town,' they says. 'oh, it's a _very_ big town!' i says. 'really and truly i never was in such a town. it quite confuses of me!'--and all that, you know. "when some of the journeyman butchers that used the house, found that i wanted a place, they says, 'oh, we'll get you a place!' and they actually took me to a sight of places, in newgate market, newport market, clare, carnaby--i don't know where all. but the wages was--ha, ha, ha!--was not sufficient, and i never could suit myself, don't you see? some of the queer frequenters of the house, were a little suspicious of me at first, and i was obliged to be very cautious indeed, how i communicated with straw or fendall. sometimes, when i went out, pretending to stop and look into the shop-windows, and just casting my eye round, i used to see some of 'em following me; but, being perhaps better accustomed than they thought for, to that sort of thing, i used to lead 'em on as far as i thought necessary or convenient--sometimes a long way--and then turn sharp round, and meet 'em, and say, 'oh, dear, how glad i am to come upon you so fortunate! this london's such a place, i'm blowed if i an't lost again!' and then we'd go back all together, to the public-house, and--ha, ha, ha! and smoke our pipes, don't you see? "they were very attentive to me, i am sure. it was a common thing, while i was living there, for some of 'em to take me out, and show me london. they showed me the prisons--showed me newgate--and when they showed me newgate, i stops at the place where the porters pitch their loads, and says, 'oh dear,' 'is this where they hang the men! oh lor!' 'that!' they says, 'what a simple cove he is! _that_ an't it!' and then they pointed out which _was_ it, and i says, 'lor!' and they says, 'now you'll know it agen, won't you?' and i said i thought i should if i tried hard--and i assure you i kept a sharp look out for the city police when we were out in this way, for if any of 'em had happened to know me, and had spoke to me, it would have been all up in a minute. however, by good luck such a thing never happened, and all went on quiet: though the difficulties i had in communicating with my brother officers were quite extraordinary. "the stolen goods that were brought to the public-house, by the warehouse porters, were always disposed of in a back parlor. for a long time, i never could get into this parlor, or see what was done there. as i sat smoking my pipe, like an innocent young chap, by the tap-room fire, i'd hear some of the parties to the robbery, as they came in and out, say softly to the landlord, 'who's that?. what does _he_ do here?' 'bless your soul,' says the landlord, 'he's only a'--ha, ha, ha!--'he's only a green young fellow from the country, as is looking for a butcher's sitiwation. don't mind _him_!' so, in course of time, they were so convinced of my being green, and got to be so accustomed to me, that i was as free of the parlor as any of 'em, and i have seen as much as seventy pounds worth of fine lawn sold there, in one night, that was stolen from a warehouse in friday street. after the sale, the buyers always stood treat--hot supper, or dinner, or what not--and they'd say on those occasions 'come on, butcher! put your best leg foremost, young 'un, and walk into it!' which i used to do--and hear, at table, all manner of particulars that it was very important for us detectives to know. "this went on for ten weeks. i lived in the public-house all the time, and never was out of the butcher's dress--except in bed. at last, when i had followed seven of the thieves, and set 'em to rights--that's an expression of ours, don't you see, by which i mean to say that i traced 'em, and found out where the robberies were done, and all about 'em--straw, and fendall, and i, gave one another the office, and at a time agreed upon, a descent was made upon the public-house, and the apprehensions effected. one of the first things the officers did, was to collar me--for the parties to the robbery weren't to suppose yet, that i was anything but a butcher--on which the landlord cries out, 'don't take _him_,' he says, 'whatever you do! he's only a poor young chap from the country, and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!' however, they--ha, ha, ha!--they took me, and pretended to search my bedroom, where nothing was found but an old fiddle belonging to the landlord, that had got there somehow or another. but, it entirely changed the landlord's opinion, for when it was produced, he says, 'my fiddle! the butcher's a pur-loiner! i give him into custody for the robbery of a musical instrument!' "the man that had stolen the goods in friday street was not taken yet. he had told me, in confidence, that he had his suspicions there was something wrong (on account of the city police having captured one of the party), and that he was going to make himself scarce. i asked him, 'where do you mean to go, mr. shepherdson?' 'why, butcher,' says he, 'the setting moon, in the commercial road, is a snug house, and i shall hang out there for a time. i shall call myself simpson, which appears to me to be a modest sort of a name. perhaps you'll give us a look in, butcher?' 'well,' says i, 'i think i _will_ give you a call'--which i fully intended, don't you see, because, of course, he was to be taken! i went over to the setting moon next day, with a brother officer, and asked at the bar for simpson. they pointed out his room up stairs. as we were going up, he looks down over the banisters, and calls out, 'halloa, butcher! is that you?' 'yes, it's me.' 'how do you find yourself?' 'bobbish,' he says; 'but who's that with you?' 'it's only a young man, that's a friend of mine,' i says. 'come along, then,' says he; 'any friend of the butcher's is as welcome as the butcher!' so, i made my friend acquainted with him, and we took him into custody. "you have no idea, sir, what a sight it was, in court, when they first knew that i wasn't a butcher, after all! i wasn't produced at the first examination, when there was a remand; but i was at the second. and when i stepped into the box, in full police uniform, and the whole party saw how they had been done, actually a groan of horror and dismay proceeded from 'em in the dock! "at the old bailey, when their trials came on, mr. clarkson was engaged for the defence, and he _couldn't_ make out how it was, about the butcher. he thought, all along, it was a real butcher. when the counsel for the prosecution said, 'i will now call before you, gentlemen, the police-officer,' meaning myself, mr. clarkson says, 'why police-officer? why more police-officers? i dont't want police. we have had a great deal too much of the police. i want the butcher! however, sir, he had the butcher and the police-officer, both in one. out of seven prisoners committed for trial, five were found guilty, and some of 'em were transported. the respectable firm, at the west end got a term of imprisonment; and that's the butcher's story!" the story done, the chuckle-headed butcher again resolved himself into the smooth-faced detective. but, he was so extremely tickled by their having taken him about, when he was that dragon in disguise, to show him london, that he could not help reverting to that point in his narrative; and gently repeating, with the butcher's snigger, "'oh, dear!' i says, 'is that where they hang the men? oh, lor!' '_that!_' says they. 'what a simple cove he is!'" it being now late, and the party very modest in their fear of being too diffuse, there were some tokens of separation; when serjeant dornton, the soldierly-looking man, said, looking round him with a smile: "before we break up, sir, perhaps you might have some amusement in hearing of the adventures of a carpet bag. they are very short; and, i think, curious." we welcomed the carpet bag, as cordially as mr shepherdson welcomed the false butcher at the setting moon. serjeant dornton proceeded: "in , i was dispatched to chatham, in search of one mesheck, a jew. he had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in the bill-stealing way, getting acceptances from young men of good connexions (in the army chiefly), on pretence of discount, and bolting with the same. "mesheck was off, before i got to chatham. all i could learn about him was, that he had gone, probably to london, and had with him--a carpet bag. "i came back to town, by the last train from blackwall, and made inquiries concerning a jew passenger with--a carpet bag. "the office was shut up, it being the last train. there were only two or three porters left. looking after a jew with a carpet bag, on the blackwall railway, which was then the high road to a great military depôt, was worse than looking after a needle in a hay-rick. but it happened that one of these porters had carried, for a certain jew, to a certain public-house, a certain--carpet bag. "i went to the public-house, but the jew had only left his luggage there for a few hours, and had called for it in a cab, and taken it away. i put such questions there, and to the porter, as i thought prudent, and got at this description of--the carpet bag. "it was a bag which had, on one side of it, worked in worsted, a green parrot on a stand. a green parrot on a stand was the means by which to identify that--carpet bag. "i traced mesheck, by means of this green parrot on a stand to cheltenham, to birmingham, to liverpool, to the atlantic ocean. at liverpool he was too many for me. he had gone to the united states, and i gave up all thoughts of mesheck, and likewise of his--carpet bag. "many months afterwards--near a year afterwards--there was a bank in ireland robbed of seven thousand pounds, by a person of the name of doctor dundey, who escaped to america; from which country some of the stolen notes came home. he was supposed to have bought a farm in new jersey. under proper management, that estate could be seized and sold, for the benefit of the parties he had defrauded. i was sent off to america for this purpose. "i landed at boston. i went on to new york. i found that he had lately changed new york paper-money for new jersey paper-money, and had banked cash in new brunswick. to take this doctor dundey, it was necessary to entrap him into the state of new york, which required a deal of artifice and trouble. at one time, he couldn't be drawn into an appointment. at another time, he appointed to come to meet me, and a new york officer, on a pretext i made; and then his children had the measles. at last, he came, per steamboat, and i took him, and lodged him in a new york prison called the tombs; which i dare say you know, sir?" editorial acknowledgment to that effect. "i went to the tombs, on the morning after his capture, to attend the examination before the magistrate. i was passing through the magistrate's private room, when, happening to look round me to take notice of the place, as we generally have a habit of doing, i clapped my eyes, in one corner, on a--carpet bag. "what did i see upon that carpet bag, if you'll believe me, but a green parrot on a stand, as large as life! "'that carpet bag, with the representation of a green parrot on a stand,' said i, 'belongs to an english jew, named aaron mesheck, and to no other man alive or dead!' "i give you my word the new york police officers were doubled up with surprise. "'how do you ever come to know that?' said they. "'i think i ought to know that green parrot by this time,' said i, 'for i have had as pretty a dance after that bird, at home, as ever i had, in all my life!'" "and _was_ it mesheck's?" we submissively inquired. "was it, sir? of course it was! he was in custody for another offence, in that very identical tombs, at that very identical time. and, more than that! some memoranda, relating to the fraud for which i had vainly endeavored to take him, were found to be, at that moment, lying in that very same individual--carpet bag!" such are the curious coincidences and such is the peculiar ability, always sharpening and being improved by practice, and always adapting itself to every variety of circumstances, and opposing itself to every new device that perverted ingenuity can invent, for which this important social branch of the public service is remarkable! for ever on the watch, with their wits stretched to the utmost, these officers have, from day to day and year to year, to set themselves against every novelty of trickery and dexterity that the combined imaginations of all the lawless rascals in england can devise, and to keep pace with every such invention that comes out. in the courts of justice, the materials of thousands of such stories as we have narrated--often elevated into the marvellous and romantic, by the circumstances of the case--are dryly compressed into the set phrase, "in consequence of information i received, i did so and so." suspicion was to be directed, by careful inference and deduction, upon the right person; the right person was to be taken, wherever he had gone, or whatever he was doing to avoid detection: he is taken; there he is at the bar; that is enough. from information i, the officer, received, i did it; and, according to the custom in these cases, i say no more. these games of chess, played with live pieces, are played before small audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. the interest of the game supports the player. its results are enough for justice. to compare great things with small, suppose leverrier or adams informing the public that from information he had received he had discovered a new planet; or columbus informing the public of his day that from information he had received, he had discovered a new continent; so the detectives inform it that they have discovered a new fraud or an old offender, and the process is unknown. thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings of our curious and interesting party. but one other circumstance finally wound up the evening, after our detective guests had left us. one of the sharpest among them, and the officer best acquainted with the swell mob, had his pocket picked, going home! part xiii. three "detective" anecdotes. the pair of gloves. "it's a singular story, sir," said inspector wield, of the detective police, who, in company with sergeants dornton and mith, paid us another twilight visit, one july evening; "and i've been thinking you might like to know it. "it's concerning the murder of the young woman, eliza grimwood, some years ago, over in the waterloo road. she was commonly called the countess, because of her handsome appearance, and her proud way of carrying of herself; and when i saw the poor countess (i had known her well to speak to), lying dead, with her throat cut, on the floor of her bedroom, you'll believe me that a variety of reflections calculated to make a man rather low in his spirits, came into my head. "that's neither here nor there. i went to the house the morning after the murder, and examined the body, and made a general observation of the bedroom where it was. turning down the pillow of the bed with my hand, i found, underneath it, a pair of gloves. a pair of gentleman's dress gloves, very dirty; and inside the lining, the letters tr, and a cross. "well, sir, i took them gloves away, and i showed 'em to the magistrate, over at union hall, before whom the case was. he says, 'wield,' he says, 'there's no doubt this is a discovery that may lead to something very important; and what you have got to do, wield, is, to find out the owner of these gloves.' "i was of the same opinion, of course, and i went at it immediately. i looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it was my opinion that they had been cleaned. there was a smell of sulphur and rosin about 'em, you know, which cleaned gloves usually have, more or less. i took 'em over to a friend of mine at kennington, who was in that line, and i put it to him. 'what do you say now? have these gloves been cleaned?' 'these gloves have been cleaned,' says he. 'have you any idea who cleaned them?' says i. 'not at all,' says he; 'i've a very distinct idea who _didn't_ clean 'em, and that's myself. but i'll tell you what, wield, there ain't above eight or nine reg'lar glove cleaners in london,'--there were not, at that time, it seems--'and i think i can give you their addresses, and you may find out, by that means, who did clean 'em.' accordingly, he gave me the directions, and i went here, and i went there, and i looked up this man, and i looked up that man; but, though they all agreed that the gloves had been cleaned, i couldn't find the man, woman, or child, that had cleaned that aforesaid pair of gloves. "what with this person not being at home, and that person being expected home in the afternoon, and so forth, the inquiry took me three days. on the evening of the third day, coming over waterloo bridge from the surrey side of the river, quite beat, and very much vexed and disappointed, i thought i'd have a shilling's worth of entertainment at the lyceum theatre to freshen myself up. so i went into the pit, at half-price, and i sat myself down next to a very quiet, modest sort of young man. seeing i was a stranger (which i thought it just as well to appear to be) he told me the names of the actors on the stage, and we got into conversation. when the play was over, we came out together, and i said, 'we've been very companionable and agreeable, and perhaps you wouldn't object to a drain?' 'well, you're very good,' says he; 'i _shouldn't_ object to a drain.' accordingly, we went to a public house, near the theatre, sat ourselves down in a quiet room up stairs on the first floor, and called for a pint of half-and-half, a-piece, and a pipe. "well, sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our half-and-half, and sat a talking, very sociably, when the young man says, 'you must excuse me stopping very long,' he says, 'because i'm forced to go home in good time. i must be at work all night.' 'at work all night?' says i. 'you ain't a baker?' 'no,' he says, laughing, 'i ain't a baker.' 'i thought not,' says i, 'you haven't the looks of a baker.' 'no,' says he, 'i'm a glove cleaner.' "i never was more astonished in my life, than when i heard them words come out of his lips. 'you're a glove cleaner, are you?' says i. 'yes,' he says, 'i am.' 'then, perhaps,' says i, taking the gloves out of my pocket, 'you can tell me who cleaned this pair of gloves? it's a rum story,' i says. 'i was dining over at lambeth, the other day, at a free-and-easy--quite promiscuous--with a public company--when some gentleman, he left these gloves behind him! another gentleman and me, you see, we laid a wager of a sovereign, that i wouldn't find out who they belonged to. i've spent as much as seven shillings already, in trying to discover; but, if you could help me, i'd stand another seven and welcome. you see there's tr and a cross, inside.' '_i_ see,' he says. 'bless you, _i_ know these gloves very well! i've seen dozens of pairs belonging to the same party.' 'no?' says i. 'yes,' says he. 'then you know who cleaned 'em?' says i. 'rather so,' says he. 'my father cleaned 'em.' "'where does your father live?' says i. 'just round the corner,' says the young man, 'near exeter street, here. he'll tell you who they belong to, directly.' 'would you come round with me now?' says i. 'certainly,' says he, 'but you needn't tell my father that you found me at the play, you know, because he mightn't like it.' 'all right!' we went round to the place, and there we found an old man in a white apron, with two or three daughters, all rubbing and cleaning away at lots of gloves, in a front parlor. 'oh, father!' says the young man, 'here's a person been and made a bet about the ownership of a pair of gloves, and i've told him you can settle it.' 'good evening, sir,' says i to the old gentleman. 'here's the gloves your son speaks of. letters tr, you see, and a cross.' 'oh yes,' he says, 'i know these gloves very well; i've cleaned dozens of pairs of 'em. they belong to mr. trinkle, the great upholsterer in cheapside.' 'did you get 'em from mr. trinkle, direct,' says i, 'if you'll excuse my asking the question?' 'no,' says he; 'mr. trinkle always sends 'em to mr. phibbs's, the haberdasher's opposite his shop, and the haberdasher sends 'em to me.' 'perhaps _you_ wouldn't object to a drain?' says i. 'not in the least!' says he. so i took the old gentleman out, and had a little more talk with him and his son, over a glass, and we parted ex-cellent friends. "this was late on a saturday night. first thing on the monday morning, i went to the haberdasher's shop, opposite mr. trinkle's, the great upholsterer's in cheapside. 'mr. phibbs in the way?' 'my name is phibbs.' 'oh! i believe you sent this pair of gloves to be cleaned?' 'yes, i did, for young mr. trinkle over the way. there he is, in the shop!' 'oh! that's him in the shop, is it? him in the green coat?' 'the same individual.' 'well, mr. phibbs, this is an unpleasant affair; but the fact is, i am inspector wield of the detective police, and i found these gloves under the pillow of the young woman that was murdered the other day, over in the waterloo road?' 'good heaven!' says he. 'he's a most respectable young man, and if his father was to hear of it, it would be the ruin of him!' 'i'm very sorry for it,' says i, 'but i must take him into custody.' 'good heaven!' says mr. phibbs, again; 'can nothing be done?' 'nothing,' says i. 'will you allow me to call him over here,' says he, 'that his father may not see it done?' 'i don't object to that,' says i; 'but unfortunately, mr. phibbs, i can't allow of any communication between you. if any was attempted, i should have to interfere directly. perhaps you'll beckon him over here?' mr phibbs went to the door and beckoned, and the young fellow came across the street directly; a smart, brisk young fellow. "'good morning, sir' says i. 'good morning, sir,' says he 'would you allow me to inquire, sir,' says i, 'if you ever had any acquaintance with a party of the name of grimwood?' 'grimwood! grimwood!' says he, 'no!' 'you know the waterloo road?' 'oh! of course i know the waterloo road!' 'happen to have heard of a young woman being murdered there?' 'yes, i read it in the paper, and very sorry i was to read it.' 'here's a pair of gloves belonging to you, that i found under her pillow the morning afterwards!' 'he was in a dreadful state, sir; a dreadful state!' 'mr. wield,' he says, 'upon my solemn oath i never was there i never so much as saw her, to my knowledge, in my life!' 'i am very sorry,' says i. 'to tell you the truth; i don't think you _are_ the murderer, but i must take you to union hall in a cab. however, i think it's a case of that sort, that, at present, at all events, the magistrate will hear it in private.' a private examination took place, and then it came out that this young man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate eliza grimwoods, and that, calling to see this cousin a day or two before the murder, he left these gloves upon the table. who should come in, shortly afterwards, but eliza grimwood! 'whose gloves are these?' she says, taking 'em up. 'those are mr. trinkle's gloves,' says her cousin. 'oh!' says she, 'they are very dirty, and of no use to him, i am sure, i shall take 'em away for my girl to clean the stoves with.' and she put 'em in her pocket. the girl had used 'em to clean the stoves, and, i have no doubt, had left 'em lying on the bedroom mantel-piece, or on the drawers, or somewhere; and her mistress, looking round to see that the room was tidy, had caught 'em up and put 'em under the pillow where i found 'em. "that's the story, sir." the artful touch. "one of the most _beautiful_ things that ever was done, perhaps," said inspector wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, "was a move of serjeant witchem's. it was a lovely idea! "witchem and me were down at epsom one derby day, waiting at the station for the swell mob. as i mentioned, when we were talking about these things before, we are ready at the station when there's races, or an agricultural show, or a chancellor sworn in for an university, or jenny lind, or any thing of that sort; and as the swell mob come down, we send 'em back again by the next train. but some of the swell mob, on the occasion of this derby that i refer to, so far kiddied us as to hire a horse and shay; start away from london by whitechapel, and miles round; come into epsom from the opposite direction; and go to work, right and left, on the course, while we were waiting for 'em at the rail. that, however, ain't the point of what i'm going to tell you. "while witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up one mr. tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an amateur detective in his way, and very much respected. 'halloa, charley wield,' he says. 'what are you doing here? on the look out for some of your old friends?' 'yes, the old move, mr. tatt.' 'come along,' he says, 'you and witchem, and have a glass of sherry.' 'we can't stir from the place,' says i, 'till the next train comes in; but after that, we will with pleasure.' mr. tatt waits, and the train comes in, and then witchem and me go off with him to the hotel. mr. tatt he's got up quite regardless of expense, for the occasion; and in his shirt-front there's a beautiful diamond prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound--a very handsome pin indeed. we drink our sherry at the bar, and have had our three or four glasses, when witchem cries, suddenly, 'look out, mr. wield! stand fast!' and a dash is made into the place by the swell mob--four of 'em--that have come down as i tell you, and in a moment mr. tatt's prop is gone! witchem, he cuts 'em off at the door, i lay about me as hard as i can, mr. tatt shows fight like a good 'un, and there we are, all down together, heads and heels, knocking about on the floor of the bar--perhaps you never see such a scene of confusion! however, we stick to our men (mr. tatt being as good as any officer), and we take 'em all, and carry 'em off to the station. the station's full of people, who have been took on the course; and it's a precious piece of work to get 'em secured. however, we do it at last, and we search 'em; but nothing's found upon 'em, and they're locked up; and a pretty state of heat we are in by that time, i assure you! "i was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had been passed away; and i said to witchem, when we had set 'em to rights, and were cooling ourselves along with mr. tatt, 'we don't take much by _this_ move, any way, for nothing's found upon 'em, and it's only the braggadocia[c] after all.' 'what do you mean, mr. wield?' says witchem. 'here's the diamond pin!' and in the palm of his hand there it was, safe and sound! 'why, in the name of wonder,' says me and mr. tatt, in astonishment, 'how did you come by that?' 'i'll tell you how i come by it,' says he. 'i saw which of 'em took it; and when we were all down on the floor together, knocking about, i just gave him a little touch on the back of his hand, as i knew his pal would; and he thought it was his pal; and gave it me!' it was beautiful, beau-ti-ful! [c] three months' imprisonment as reputed thieves "even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap was tried at the quarter sessions at gruildford. you know what quarter sessions are, sir. well, if you'll believe me, while them slow justices were looking over the acts of parliament, to see what they could do to him, i'm blowed if he didn't cut out of the dock before their faces! he cut out of the dock, sir, then and there; swam across a river; and got up into a tree to dry himself. in the tree he was took--an old woman having seen him climb up--and witchem's artful touch transported him!" the sofa. "what young men will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves and break their friends' hearts," said serjeant dornton, "it's surprising! i had a case at saint blank's hospital which was of this sort. a bad case, indeed, with a bad end! "the secretary, and the house-surgeon, and the treasurer, of saint blank's hospital, came to scotland yard to give information of numerous robberies having been committed on the students. the students could leave nothing in the pockets of their great-coats, while the great-coats were hanging at the hospital, but it was almost certain to be stolen. property of various descriptions was constantly being lost; and the gentlemen were naturally uneasy about it, and anxious, for the credit of the institution, that the thief or thieves should be discovered. the case was entrusted to me, and i went to the hospital. "'now, gentlemen,' said i, after we had talked it over, 'i understand this property is usually lost from one room.' "yes, they said. it was. "'i should wish, if you please,' said i, 'to see that room.' "it was a good-sized bare-room down stairs, with a few tables and forms in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats and coats. "'next, gentlemen,' said i, 'do you suspect anybody?' "yes, they said. they did suspect somebody. they were sorry to say, they suspected one of the porters. "'i should like,' said i, 'to have that man pointed out to me, and to have a little time to look after him.' "he was pointed out, and i looked after him, and then i went back to the hospital, and said, 'now, gentlemen, it's not the porter. he's, unfortunately for himself, a little too fond of drink, but he's nothing worse. my suspicion is, that these robberies are committed by one of the students; and if you'll put me a sofa into that room where the pegs are--as there's no closet--i think i shall be able to detect the thief. i wish the sofa, if you please, to be covered with chintz, or something of that sort, so that i may lie on my chest, underneath it, without being seen.' "the sofa was provided, and next day at eleven o'clock, before any of the students came, i went there, with those gentlemen, to get underneath it. it turned out to be one of those old-fashioned sofas with a great cross beam at the bottom, that would have broken my back in no time if i could ever have got below it. we had quite a job to break all this away in the time: however, i fell to work, and they fell to work, and we broke it out, and made a clear place for me. i got under the sofa, lay down on my chest, took out my knife, and made a convenient hole in the chintz to look through. it was then settled between me and the gentlemen that when the students were all up in the wards, one of the gentlemen should come in, and hang up a great-coat on one of the pegs. and that that great-coat should have, in one of the pockets, a pocket-book containing marked money. "after i had been there some time, the students began to drop into the room, by ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk about all sorts of things, little thinking there was anybody under the sofa--and then to go up stairs. at last there came in one who remained until he was alone in the room by himself. a tallish, good-looking young man of one or two and twenty, with a light whisker. he went to a particular hat-peg, took off a good hat that was hanging there, tried it on, hung his own hat in its place, and hung that hat on another peg, nearly opposite to me. i then felt quite certain that he was the thief, and would come back by-and-bye. "when they were all up stairs, the gentleman came in with the great-coat. i showed him where to hang it, so that i might have a good view of it; and he went away; and i lay under the sofa on my chest, for a couple of hours or so, waiting. "at last, the same young man came down. he walked across the room, whistling--stopped and listened--took another walk and whistled--stopped again, and listened--then began to go regularly round the pegs, feeling in the pockets of all the coats. when he came to the great-coat, and felt the pocket-book, he was so eager and so hurried that he broke the strap in tearing it open. as he began to put the money in his pocket, i crawled out from under the sofa, and his eyes met mine. "my face, as you may perceive, is brown now, but it was pale at that time, my health not being good; and looked as long as a horse's. besides which, there was a great draught of air from the door, underneath the sofa, and i had tied a handkerchief round my head; so what i looked like, altogether, i don't know. he turned blue--literally blue--when he saw me crawling out, and i couldn't feel surprised at it. "'i am an officer of the detective police,' said i, 'and have been lying here, since you first came in this morning. i regret, for the sake of yourself and your friends, that you should have done what you have; but this case is complete. you have the pocket-book in your hand and the money upon you; and i must take you into custody!' "it was impossible to make out any case in his behalf, and on his trial he pleaded guilty. how or when he got the means i don't know; but while he was awaiting his sentence, he poisoned himself in newgate." we inquired of this officer, on the conclusion of the foregoing anecdote, whether the time appeared long, or short, when he lay in that constrained position under the sofa? "'why, you see, sir,' he replied, 'if he hadn't come in, the first time, and i had not been quite sure he was the thief, and would return, the time would have seemed long. but, as it was, i being dead-certain of my man, the time seemed pretty short.'" part xiv. the martyrs of chancery. in lambeth marsh stands a building better known than honored. the wealthy merchant knows it as the place where an unfortunate friend, who made that ruinous speculation during the recent sugar-panic, is now a denizen; the man-about-town knows it as a spot to which several of his friends have been driven, at full gallop, by fleet race-horses and dear dog-carts; the lawyer knows it as the "last scene of all," the catastrophe of a large proportion of law-suits; the father knows it as a bug-bear wherewith to warn his scapegrace spendthrift son; but the uncle knows it better as the place whence nephews date protestations of reform and piteous appeals, "this once," for bail. few, indeed, are there who has not heard of the queen's prison, or, as it is more briefly and emphatically termed, "the bench!" awful sound! what visions of folly and roguery, of sloth and seediness, of ruin and recklessness, are conjured up to the imagination in these two words! it is the "hades" of commerce--the "inferno" of fortune. within its grim walls--surmounted by a chevaux de frise, classically termed "lord ellenborough's teeth"--dwell at this moment members of almost every class of society. debt--the grim incubus riding on the shoulders of his victim, like the hideous old man in the eastern fable--has here his captives safely under lock and key, and within fifty-feet walls. the church, the army, the navy, the bar, the press, the turf, the trade of england, have each and all their representatives in this "house." every grade, from the ruined man of fortune, to the petty tradesman who has been undone by giving credit to others still poorer than himself, sends its members to this bankrupts' parliament. nineteen-twentieths in this royal house of detention owe their misfortunes directly or indirectly to themselves; and, for them, every free and prosperous man has his cut-and-dry moral, or scrap of pity, or screed of advice; but there is a proportion of prisoners--happily a small one--within those huge brick boundaries, who have committed no crime, broken no law, infringed no commandment. they are the victims of a system which has been bequeathed to us from the dark days of the "star chambers" and "courts of high commission"--we mean the martyrs of chancery. these unhappy persons were formerly confined in the fleet prison, but on the demolition of that edifice, were transferred to the queen's bench. unlike prisoners of any other denomination, they are frequently ignorant of the cause of their imprisonment, and more frequently still, are unable to obtain their liberation by any acts or concessions of their own. there is no act of which they are permitted to take the benefit--no door left open for them in the court of bankruptcy. a chancery prisoner is, in fact, a far more hopeless mortal than a convict sentenced to transportation; for the latter knows that at the expiration of a certain period, he will, in any event, be a free man. the chancery prisoner has no such certainty; he may, and he frequently does, waste a life-time in the walls of a jail, whither he was sent in innocence--because, perchance, he had the ill-luck to be one of the next of kin of some testator who made a will which no one could comprehend, or the heir of some intestate who made none. any other party interested in the estate commences a chancery suit, which he must defend or be committed to prison for "contempt." a prison is his portion, whatever he does; for, if he answers the bill filed against him, and cannot pay the costs, he is also clapped in jail for "contempt." thus, what in ordinary life is but an irrepressible expression of opinion or a small discourtesy, is, "in equity," a high crime, punishable with imprisonment--sometimes perpetual. whoever is pronounced guilty of contempt in a chancery sense, is taken from his family, his profession, or his trade, (perhaps his sole means of livelihood,) and consigned to a jail where he must starve, or live on a miserable pittance of three shillings and sixpence a week, charitably doled out to him from the county rate. disobedience of an order of the court of chancery--though that order may command you to pay more money than you ever had, or to hand over property which is not yours and was never in your possession--is contempt of court. no matter how great soever your natural reverence for the time-honored institutions of your native land--no matter, though you regard the lord high chancellor of great britain as the most wonderful man upon earth, and his court as the purest fount of justice, where she sits weighing out justice with a pair of oertling's balances, you may yet be pronounced to have been guilty of "contempt." for this there is no pardon. you are in the catalogue of the doomed, and are doomed accordingly. a popular fallacy spreads a notion that no one need "go into chancery," unless he pleases. nothing but an utter and happy innocence of the bitter irony of "equity" proceedings keeps such an idea current. men have been imprisoned for many years, some for a life-time, on account of chancery proceedings, of the very existence of which they were almost in ignorance before they "somehow or other were found in contempt." see yonder slatternly old man in threadbare garments, with pinched features telling of long years of anxiety and privation, and want. he has a weak, starved voice, that sounds as though years of privation have shrunk it as much as his cheeks. he always looks cold, and (god help him) feels so too; for liebig tells us that no quantity of clothing will repel cold without the aid of plenty of food--and little of that passes his lips. his eye has an unquiet, timid, half-frightened look, as if he could not look you straight in the face for lack of energy. his step is a hurried shuffle, though he seldom leaves his room; and when he does, he stares at the racket-players as if they were beings of a different race from himself. no one ever sees his hands--they are plunged desperately into his pockets, which never contain anything else. he is like a dried fruit, exhausted, shrunken, and flung aside by the whole world. he is a man without hope--a chancery prisoner! he has lived in a jail for twenty-eight weary years! his history has many parallels. it is this:-- it was his misfortune to have an uncle, who died leaving him his residuary legatee. the uncle, like most men who make their own wills, forgot an essential part of it--he named no executor. our poor friend administered, and all parties interested received their dues--he, last of all, taking but a small sum. it was his only fortune, and having received it he looked about for an investment. there were no railways in those days, or he might have speculated in the diddlesex junction. but there were brazilian mining companies, and south sea fishing companies, and various other companies, comprehensively termed "bubble." our friend thought these companies were not safe, and he was quite right in his supposition. so he determined to intrust his money to no bubble speculation; but to invest it in spanish bonds. after all, our poor friend had better have tried the brazilian mines; for the bonds proved worth very little more than the paper on which they were written. his most catholic majesty did not repudiate, (like certain transatlantic states,) but buttoned up his pockets and told his creditors he had "no money." some five years after our friend was startled by being requested to come up to doctors' commons, and tell the worthy civilians there all about his uncle's will--which one of the legatees, after receiving all he was entitled to under it, and probably spending the money--suddenly took it into his head to dispute the validity of. meanwhile the court of chancery also stepped in, and ordered him (pending the ecclesiastical suit) to pay over into court "that little trifle" he had received. what could the poor man do? his catholic majesty had got the money--he, the legatee, had not a farthing of it, nor of any other money whatsoever. he was in contempt! an officer tapped him on the shoulder, displayed a little piece of parchment, and he found that he was the victim of an unfortunate "attachment." he was walked to the fleet prison, where, and in the queen's prison, he has remained ever since--a period of twenty-eight years! yet no less a personage than a lord chancellor has pronounced his opinion that the will, after all, was a good and valid will--though the little family party of doctors' commons thought otherwise. there is another miserable-looking object yonder--greasy, dirty, and slovenly. he, too, is a chancery prisoner. he has been so for twenty years. why, he has not the slightest idea. he can only tell you that he was found out to be one of the relations of some one who had left "a good bit of money." the lawyers "put the will into chancery; and at last i was ordered to do something or other, i can't recollect what, which i was also told i couldn't do nohow if i would. so they said i was in contempt, and they took and put me into the fleet. it's a matter of twenty years i have been in prison; of course i'd like to get out, but i'm told there's no way of doing it anyhow." he is an artisan, and works at his trade in the prison, by which he gains just enough to keep him without coming upon the county-rate. in that room over the chapel is the infirmary. there was a death lately. the deceased was an old man of sixty-eight, and nearly blind; he had not been many years in prison, but the confinement, and the anxiety, and the separation from his family, had preyed upon his mind and body. he was half-starved, too; for after being used to all the comforts of life, he had to live in jail on sixpence a-day. yet there was one thousand pounds in the hands of the accountant-general of the court of chancery, which was justly due to him. he was in contempt for not paying some three hundred pounds. but death purged his contempt, and a decree was afterwards made for paying over the one thousand pounds to his personal representatives; yet himself had died, for want of a twentieth part of it, of slow starvation! it must not, however, be supposed that chancery never releases its victims. we must be just to the laws of "equity." there is actually a man now in london whom they have positively let out of prison! they had, however, prolonged his agonies during seventeen years. he was committed for contempt in not paying certain costs, as he had been ordered. he appealed from the order; but until his appeal was heard, he had to remain in durance vile. the court of chancery, like all dignified bodies, is never in a hurry; and, therefore, from having no great influence, and a very small stock of money to forward his interest, the poor man could only get his cause finally heard and decided on in december, --seventeen years from the date of his imprisonment. and, after all, the court decided that the original order was wrong; so that he had been committed for seventeen years _by mistake_! how familiar to him must have been the face of that poor, tottering man, creeping along to rest on the bench under the wall yonder. he is very old, but not so old as he looks. he is a poor prisoner, and another victim to chancery. he has long ago forgotten, if he ever knew, the particulars of his own case, or the order which sent him to a jail. he can tell you more of the history of this gloomy place and its defunct brother, the fleet, than any other man. he will relate you stories of the "palmy days" of the fleet, when great and renowned men were frequently its denizens; when soldiers and sailors, authors and actors, whose names even then filled england with their renown, were prisoners within its walls; when whistling shops flourished and turnkeys were smugglers; when lodgings in the prison were dearer than rooms at the west-end of the town; and when a young man was not considered to have finished his education until he had spent a month or two in the bench or the fleet. he knows nothing of the world outside--it is dead to him. relations and friends have long ceased to think of him, or perhaps even to know of his existence. his thoughts range not beyond the high walls which surround him, and probably if he had but a little better supply of food and clothing, he might almost be considered a happy man. but it is the happiness of apathy, not of the intelligence and the affections--the painless condition of a trance, rather than the joyous feeling which has hope for its bright-eyed minister. what has _he_ to do with hope? he has been thirty-eight years a chancery prisoner. he is another out of twenty-four, still prisoners here, more than half of whom have been prisoners for above ten years, and not one of whom has any hope of release! a few have done something fraudulent in "contempt" of all law and equity; but is not even _their_ punishment greater than their crime? let us turn away. surely we have seen enough, though many other sad tales may be told, rivaling the horrors of speilberg and french lettres-de-cachet. part xv. law at a low price. low, narrow, dark, and frowning are the thresholds of our inns of court. if there is one of these entrances of which i have more dread than another, it is that leading out of holborn to gray's inn. i never remember to have met a cheerful face at it, until the other morning, when i encountered mr. ficker, attorney-at-law. in a few minutes we found ourselves arm in arm, and straining our voices to the utmost amid the noise of passing vehicles. mr. ficker stretched himself on tiptoe in a frantic effort to inform me that he was going to a county court. "but perhaps you have not heard of these places?" i assured mr. ficker that the parliamentary discussions concerning them had made me very anxious to see how justice was administered in these establishments for low-priced law. "i am going to one now;" but he impressively added, "you must understand, that professionally i do not approve of their working. there can be no doubt that they seriously prejudice the regular course of law. comparing the three quarters preceding with three quarters subsequent to the establishment of these courts, there was a decrease of nearly , writs issued by the court of queen's bench alone, or of nearly , on the year." we soon arrived at the county court. it is a plain, substantial looking building, wholly without pretension, but at the same time not devoid of some little architectural elegance of exterior. we entered, by a gateway far less austere than that of gray's inn, a long, well-lighted passage, on either side of which were offices connected with the court. one of these was the summons office, and i observed on the wall a "table of fees," and as i saw mr. ficker consulting it with a view to his own business, i asked him his opinion of the charges. "why," said he, "the scale of fees is too large for the client and too small for the lawyer. but suitors object less to the amount than to the intricacies and perplexities of the table. in some districts the expense of recovering a sum of money is one-third more than it is in others; though in both the same scale of fees is in operation. this arises from the variety of interpretations which different judges and officers put upon the charges." passing out of the summons office, we entered a large hall, placarded with lists of trials for the ensuing week. there were more than one hundred of them set down for trial on nearly every day. "i am glad," i said, "to think that this is not all additional litigation. i presume these are the thousands of causes a-year withdrawn from the superior courts?" "the skeletons of them," said mr. ficker, with a sigh. "there were some pickings out of the old processes; but i am afraid there is nothing but the bone here." "i see here," said i, pointing to one of the lists, "a single plaintiff entered, as proceeding against six-and-twenty defendants in succession." "ah," said mr. ficker, rubbing his hands, "a knowing fellow that--quite awake to the business of these courts. a cheap and easy way, sir, of recovering old debts. i don't know who the fellow is--a tailor, very likely--but no doubt you will find his name in the list in this way once every half-year. if his midsummer and christmas bills are not punctually paid, it is far cheaper to come here and get a summons served, than to send all over london to collect the accounts, with the chance of not finding the customer at home. and this is one way, you see, in which we solicitors are defrauded. no doubt, this fellow formerly employed an attorney to write letters for him, requesting payment of the amount of his bill, and _s._ _d._ for the cost of the application. now, instead of going to an attorney, he comes here and gets the summons served for _s._ a knowing hand that--a knowing hand." "but," i said, "surely no respectable tradesman----" "_respectable_," said mr. ficker, "i said nothing about respectability. this sort of thing is very common among a certain class of trades-people, especially puffing tailors and boot-makers. such people rely less on regular than on chance-custom, and therefore they care less about proceeding against those who deal with them." "but," said i, "this is a decided abuse of the power of the court. such fellows ought to be exposed." "phoo, phoo," said mr. ficker; "they are, probably, soon known here, and then if the judge does his duty, they get bare justice, and nothing more. i am not sure, indeed, that sometimes their appearance here may not injure rather than be of advantage to them; for the barrister may fix a distant date for payment of a debt which the tradesman, by a little civility, might have obtained from his customer a good deal sooner." "the court" i found to be a lofty room, somewhat larger and handsomer than the apartment in which the hogarths are hung up in the national gallery. one-half was separated from the other by a low partition, on the outer side of which stood a miscellaneous crowd of persons who appeared to be waiting their turn to be called forward. though the appearance of the court was new and handsome, everything was plain and simple. i was much struck by the appearance and manner of the judge. he was comparatively a young man; but i fancied that he displayed the characteristics of experience. his attention to the proceedings was unwearied; his discrimination appeared admirable; and there was a calm self-possession about him that bordered upon dignity. the suitors who attended were of every class and character. there were professional men, tradesmen, costermongers, and a peer. among the plaintiffs, there were specimens of the considerate plaintiff, the angry plaintiff, the cautious plaintiff, the bold-swearing plaintiff, the energetic plaintiff, the practiced plaintiff, the shrewish (female) plaintiff, the nervous plaintiff, and the revengeful plaintiff. each plaintiff was allowed to state his or her case in his or her own way, and to call witnesses, if there were any. when the debt appeared to be _primâ facie_ proved, the barrister turned to the defendant, and perhaps asked him if he disputed it? the characteristics of the defendants were quite as different as the characteristics of the plaintiffs. there was the factious defendant, and the defendant upon principle--the stormy defendant, and the defendant who was timid--the impertinent defendant, and the defendant who left his case entirely to the court--the defendant who would never pay, and the defendant who would if he could. the causes of action i found to be as multifarious as the parties were diverse. besides suits by trades-people for every description of goods supplied, there were claims for every sort and kind of service that can belong to humanity, from the claim of a monthly nurse, to the claim of the undertaker's assistant. in proving these claims the judge was strict in insisting that a proper account should have been delivered, and that the best evidence should be produced as to the correctness of the items. no one could come to the court and receive a sum of money merely by swearing that "mr. so-and-so owes me so much." with regard to defendants, the worst thing they could do, was to remain away when summoned to attend. it has often been observed that those persons about whose dignity there is any doubt, are the most rigorous in enforcing its observance. it is with courts as it is with men; and as small debt courts are sometimes apt to be held in some contempt, i found the judge here very prompt in his decision, whenever a defendant did not appear by self or agent. take a case in point:-- _barrister (to the clerk of the court)._ make an order in favor of the plaintiff. _plaintiff's attorney._ your honor will give us speedy recovery? _barrister._ will a month do, mr. docket? _plaintiff's attorney._ the defendant is not here to assign any reason for delay, your honor. _barrister._ very well; then let him pay in a fortnight. i was much struck, in some of the cases, by a friendly sort of confidence which characterized some of the proceedings. here again the effect in a great measure was attributable to the barrister. he seemed to act--as indeed he is--rather as an authorized arbitrator than as a judge. he advised rather than ordered; "i really think, he said, to one defendant, "i really think, sir, you have made yourself liable." "do you, sir?" said the man, pulling out his purse, without more ado, "then, sir, i am sure i will pay." it struck me, too, as remarkable, that though some of the cases were hotly contested, none of the defeated parties complained of the decision. in several instances, the parties even appeared to acquiesce in the propriety of the verdict. a scotch shoeing-smith summoned a man who, from his appearance, i judged to be a hard, keen-dealing yorkshire horse-jobber; he claimed a sum of money for putting shoes upon six-and-thirty horses. his claim was just, but there was an error in his particulars of demand which vitiated it. the barrister took some trouble to point out that in consequence of this error even if he gave a decision in his favor, he should be doing him an injury. the case was a hard one, and i could not help regretting that the poor plaintiff should be non-suited. did _he_ complain? neither by word or action. folding up his papers, he said, sorrowfully, "well, sir, i assure you i would not have come here, if it had not been a just claim." the barrister evidently believed him, for he advised a compromise, and adjourned the case that the parties might try to come to terms. but the defendant would not arrange, and the plaintiff was driven to elect a non-suit. the mode of dealing with documentary evidence afforded me considerable satisfaction. private letters--such as the tender effusions of faithless love--are not, as in the higher courts, thrust one after the other, into the dirty face of a grubby-looking witness who was called to prove the handwriting, sent the round of the twelve jurymen in the box, and finally passed to the reporters that they might copy certain flowery sentences and a few stanzas from "childe harold," which the short-hand writers "could not catch," but are handed up, seriatim, to the judge who looks through them carefully and then passes them over without observation for the re-perusal of the defendant. not a word transpires except such extracts as require comment. there was a claim against a gentleman for a butcher's bill. he had the best of all defences, for he had paid ready money for every item as it was delivered. the plaintiff was the younger partner of a butchering firm which had broken up, leaving him in possession of the books and his partner in possession of the credit. the proprietor of the book-debts proved the order and delivery of certain joints prior to a certain date, and swore they had not been paid for. to show his title to recover the value of them, he somewhat unnecessarily thrust before the barrister, the deed which constituted him a partner. the judge instantly compared the deed with the bill. "why," he said, turning to the butcher, "all the items you have sworn to were purchased anterior to the date of your entering into partnership. if any one is entitled to recover, it is your partner, whom the defendant alleges he has paid." in one, as they are called, of the "superior courts," i very much doubt whether either judge or jury would have discovered for themselves this important discrepancy. the documentary evidence was not confined to deeds and writings, stamped or unstamped. even during the short time i was present, i saw some curious records produced before the barrister--records as primitive in their way as those the chancellor of the exchequer used to keep in the tally-office, before the comparatively recent introduction of book-keeping into the department of our national accountant. among other things received in evidence, were a milkwoman's score and a baker's notches. mr. ficker appeared inclined to think that no weight ought to be attached to such evidence as this. but, when i recollect that there have occasionally been such things as tombstones produced in evidence before lord volatile in his own particular court, the house of lords, ("the highest jurisdiction," as they call it, "in the realm,") i see no good reason why mrs. chalk, the milkwoman, should not be permitted to produce her tallies in a county court. for every practical purpose the score upon the one seems just as good a document as the epitaph upon the other. i was vastly pleased by the great consideration which appeared to be displayed towards misfortune and adversity. these courts are emphatically courts for the _recovery_ of debts; and inasmuch as they afford great facilities to plaintiffs, it is therefore the more incumbent that defendants should be protected against hardship and oppression. a man was summoned to show why he had not paid a debt pursuant to a previous order of the court. the plaintiff attended to press the case against him, and displayed some rancor. "why have you not paid, sir?" demanded the judge sternly. "your honor," said the man, "i have been out of employment six months, and within the last fortnight everything i have in the world has been seized in execution." in the superior courts this would have been no excuse. the man would probably have gone to prison, leaving his wife and family upon the parish. but here that novel sentiment in law proceedings--sympathy--peeped forth. "i believe this man would pay," said the barrister, "if possible. but he has lost everything in the world. at present i shall make no order." it did not appear to me that the plaintiffs generally in this court were anxious to press very hardly upon defendants. indeed it would be bad policy to do so. give a man time, and he can often meet demands that it would be impossible for him to defray if pressed at once. "immediate execution" in this court, seemed to be payment within a fortnight. an order to pay in weekly installments is a common mode of arranging a case, and as it is usually made by agreement between the parties, both of them are satisfied. in fact, the rule of the court seemed not dissimilar from that of trades-people who want to do a quick business, and who proceed upon the principle that "no reasonable offer is refused." i had been in the court sufficiently long to make these and other observations, when mr. ficker introduced me to the clerk. on leaving the court by a side-door, we repaired to mr. nottit's room, where we found that gentleman (an old attorney) prepared to do the honors of "a glass of sherry and a biscuit." of course the conversation turned upon "the county court." "doing a pretty good business here?" said mr. ficker. "business--we're at it all day," replied mr. nottit. "i'll show you. this is an account of the business of the county courts in england and wales in the year --the account for is not yet made up." "take six months, i suppose, to make it," said mr. ficker, rather ill-naturedly. "total 'number of plaints or causes entered,'" read the clerk, " , ." "total amount of money sought to be recovered by the plaintiffs," continued mr. nottit, "£ , , ." "good gracious!" exclaimed ficker, his face expressing envy and indignation; "what a benefit would have been conferred upon society, if all this property had been got into the legitimate law courts! what a benefit to the possessors of all this wealth! i have no doubt whatever that during the past year the suitors, who have recovered this million and a quarter, have spent the whole of it, squandered it upon what they called "necessaries of life." look at the difference if it had only been locked up for them--say in chancery. it would have been preserved with the greatest possible safety; accounted for--every fraction of it--in the books of the accountant-general; and we, sir, we--the respectable practitioners in the profession--should have gone down three or four times every year to the master's offices to see that it was all right, and to have had a little consultation as to the best means of holding it safely for our client, until his suit was properly and equitably disposed of." "but, perhaps, ficker," i suggested, "these poor clients make better use of their own money after all than the courts of law and equity could make it for them." "then the costs," said mr. ficker, with an attorney's ready eye to business, "let us hear about them." "the total amount of costs adjudged to be paid by defendants on the amount (£ , ) for which judgment was obtained, was £ , ," was the answer--"being an addition of . per cent, on the amount ordered to be paid." "well," said mr. ficker, "that's not so very bad. twenty five per cent," turning to me, "is a small amount undoubtedly for the costs of an action duly brought to trial; but, as the greater part of these costs are costs of court, twenty-five per cent, cannot be considered inadequate." "it seems to me a great deal too much," said i. "justice ought to be much cheaper." "all the fees to counsel and attorneys are included in the amount," remarked the clerk, "and so are allowances to witnesses. the fees on causes amounted to very nearly £ , . of this sum, the officers' fees were, in , £ , , and the general fund fees £ , ." "not so bad!" said mr. ficker, smiling. "the judges' fees amounted to nearly £ , . this would have given them all £ each; but the treasury has fixed their salaries at a uniform sum of £ , so that the sixty judges only draw £ , of the £ , ." "where does the remainder go?" i inquired. the county court clerk shook his head. "but you don't mean," said i, "that the suiters are made to pay £ , a year for what only costs £ , ?" "i am afraid it is so," said mr. nottit. "dear me!" said mr. ficker; "i never heard of such a thing in all my professional experience. i am sure the lord chancellor would never sanction that in his court. you ought to apply to the courts above, mr. nottit--you ought, indeed." "and yet," said i, "i think i have heard something about a suitors' fee fund in those courts above--eh, ficker?" "ah--hem--yes," said mr. ficker. "certainly--but the cases are not at all analogous. by the way, how are the other fees distributed?" "the clerks," said mr. nottit, "received £ , , nearly as much as the judges. as there are clerks, the average would be £ a-year to each. but as the clerks' fees accumulate in each court according to the business transacted, of course the division is very unequal. in one court in wales the clerk only got £ _s._ in fees; in another court, in yorkshire, his receipts only amounted to £ _s._ _d._ but some of my colleagues made a good thing of it. the clerks' fees in some of the principal courts' are very 'comfortable.' "the clerk of westminster netted £ clerkenwell southwark bristol, sheffield, bloomsbury, birmingham, shoreditch, leeds. marylebone, received £ a-year and upwards." "but," continued our friend, "three-fourths of the clerks get less than £ a-year." "now," said mr. ficker, "tell us what you all do for this money?" "altogether," said the clerk, "the courts sat in , , days, or an average for each judge of days. the greatest number of sittings was in westminster, where the judge sat days. at liverpool, there were sittings on days. the number of trials, as i have before mentioned, was , , or an average of about , to each judge, and to each court. in some of the courts, however, as many as , cases are tried in a year." "why," said mr. ficker, "they can't give five minutes to each case! is this 'administration of justice? '" "when," said the clerk, "a case is undefended, a plaintiff appears, swears to his debt, and obtains an order for its payment, which takes scarcely two minutes." "how long does a defended case take?" "on the average, i should say, a quarter of an hour; that is, provided counsel are not employed." "jury cases occupy much longer?" "undoubtedly." "are the jury cases frequent?" i inquired--some feeling of respect for 'our time-honored institution' coming across me as i spoke. "nothing," said our friend, "is more remarkable in the history of the county courts than the very limited resort which suitors have to juries. it is within the power of either party to cause the jury to be summoned in any case where the plaint is upwards of £ . the total number of cases tried in was , . of these, upwards of , were cases in which juries might have been summoned. but there were only jury cases in all the courts, or one jury for about every trials! the party requiring the jury obtained a verdict in out of the cases, or exactly one-half. "at any rate, then, there is no imputation on the juries," said mr. ficker. "the power of resorting to them is very valuable," said our friend. "there is a strong disposition among the public to rely upon the decision of the barrister, and that reliance is not without good foundation, for certainly justice in these courts have been well administered. but there may be occasions when it would be very desirable that a jury should be interposed between a party to a cause and the presiding judge; and certainly if the jurisdiction of these courts is extended, it will be most desirable that suitors should be able to satisfy themselves that every opportunity is open to them of obtaining justice." "for my own part," said i, "i would as soon have the decision of one honest man as of twelve honest men, and perhaps i would prefer it. if the judge is a liberal-minded and enlightened man, i would rather take his judgment than submit my case to a dozen selected by chance, and among whom there would most probably be at least a couple of dolts. by the way, why should not the same option be given to suitors in westminster hall as is given in the county courts?" "what!" exclaimed mr. ficker, "abolish trial by jury! the palladium of british liberty! have you _no_ respect for antiquity?" "we must adapt ourselves to the altered state of society, ficker. observe the great proportion of cases _tried_ in these courts--more than sixty per cent. of the entire number of plaints entered. this is vastly greater than the number in the superior courts, where there is said to be scarcely one cause tried for fifty writs issued. why is this? simply because the cost deters parties from continuing the actions. they settle rather than go to a jury." "and a great advantage, too," said mr. ficker. "under the new bill," said our friend, the clerk, "fickers clients will all be coming to us. they will be able to recover £ in these courts, without paying ficker a single _s._ _d._ unless they have a peculiar taste for law expenses." "and a hideous amount of rascality and perjury will be the consequence," said mr. ficker. "you will make these courts mere plaintiffs' courts, sir--courts to which every rogue will be dragging the first man who he thinks can pay him £ , if he only swears hard enough that it is due to him. i foresee the greatest danger from this extension of litigation, under the pretence of providing cheap law. "fifty pounds," said i, "is, to a large proportion of the people, a sum of money of very considerable importance. i must say, i think it would be quite right that inferior courts should not have the right of dealing with so much of a man's property, without giving him a power of appeal, at least under restrictions. but, at the same time, looking at the satisfactory way in which this great experiment has worked--seeing how many righteous claims have been established and just defences maintained, which would have been denied under any other system--i cannot but hope to see the day when, attended by proper safeguards for the due administration of justice, these courts will be open to even a more numerous class of suitors than at present. it is proposed that small charitable trust cases shall be submitted to the judges of these courts; why not also refer to them cases in which local magistrates cannot now act without suspicion of partisanship?--cases, for example, under the game laws, or the turnpike laws, and, more than all, offences against the truck act, which essentially embody matters of account. why not," said i, preparing for a burst of eloquence--"why not----" "overthrow at once the seat of justice, the letter of the law, and our glorious constitution in church and state!" it was mr. ficker who spoke, and he had rushed frantically from the room ere i could reply. having no one to argue the point further with, i made my bow to mr nottit and retired also. part xvi. the law. the most litigious fellow i ever knew, was a welshman, named bones. he had got possession, by some means, of a bit of waste ground behind a public-house in hogwash street. adjoining this land was a yard belonging to the parish of st. jeremiah, which the parish trustees were fencing in with a wall. bones alleged that one corner of their wall was advanced about ten inches on his ground, and as they declined to remove it back, he kicked down the brick-work before the mortar was dry. the trustees having satisfied themselves that they were not only within their boundary, but that they had left bones some feet of the parish land to boot, built up the wall again. bones kicked it down again. the trustees put it up a third time, under the protection of a policeman. the inexorable bones, in spite of the awful presence of this functionary, not only kicked down the wall again, but kicked the brick-layers into the bargain. this was too much, and bones was marched off to guildhall for assaulting the brick-layers. the magistrate rather pooh-poohed the complaint, but bound over bones to keep the peace. the _causa belli_, the wall, was re-edified a fourth time; but when the trustees revisited the place next morning, it was again in ruins! while they were in consultation upon this last insult, they were politely waited on by an attorney's clerk, who served them all with "writs" in an action of trespass, at the suit of bones, for encroaching on his land. thus war was declared about a piece of dirty land literally not so big as a door-step, and the whole fee-simple of which would not sell for a shilling. the trustees, however, thought they ought not to give up the rights of the parish to the obstinacy of a perverse fellow, like bones, and resolved to indict bones for assaulting the workmen. accordingly, the action and the indictment went on together. the action was tried first, and as the evidence clearly showed the trustees had kept within their own boundary, they got the verdict. bones moved for a new trial; that failed. the trustees now thought they would let the matter rest, as it had cost the parish about one hundred and fifty pounds, and they supposed bones had had enough of it. but they had mistaken their man. he brought a writ of error in the action, which carried the cause into the exchequer court, and tied it up nearly two years, and in the meantime he forced them _nolens volens_ to try the indictment. when the trial came on, the judge said, that as the whole question had been decided in the action, there was no occasion for any further proceedings, and therefore the defendant had better be acquitted, and so make an end of it. accordingly, bones was acquitted; and the very next thing bones did was to sue the trustees in a new action, for maliciously instituting the indictment against him without reasonable cause! the new action went on to trial; and it being proved that one of the trustees had been overheard to say that they would punish him; this was taken as evidence of malice, and bones got a verdict for forty shillings damages besides all the costs. elated with this victory, bones pushed on his old action in the exchequer chamber to a hearing, but the court affirmed the judgment against him, without hearing the trustees' counsel. the trustees were now sick of the very name of bones, which had become a sort of bugbear, so that if a trustee met a friend in the street he would be greeted with an inquiry after the health of his friend, mr. bones. they would have gladly let the whole matter drop into oblivion, but jupiter and bones had determined otherwise; for the indomitable briton brought a writ of error in the house of lords, on the judgment of the exchequer chamber. the unhappy trustees had caught a tartar, and follow him into the lords they must. accordingly, after another year or two's delay, the case came on in the lords. their lordships pronounced it the most trumpery writ of error they had ever seen, and again affirmed the judgment, with costs, against bones. the trustees now taxed their costs, and found that they had spent not less than five hundred pounds in defending their claims to a bit of ground that was not of the value of an old shoe. but, then, bones was condemned to pay the costs. true--so they issued execution against bones; caught him, after some trouble, and locked him up in jail. the next week, bones petitioned the insolvent court, got out of prison, and, on examination of his schedule, his effects appeared to be £ _s._ _d._! bones had, in fact, been fighting the trustees on credit for the last three years; for his own attorney was put down as a creditor to a large amount, which was the only satisfaction the trustees obtained from perusing his schedule. they were now obliged to have recourse to the parish funds to pay their own law expenses, and were consoling themselves with the reflection that these did not come out of _their own pockets_--when they received the usual notification that a bill in chancery had been filed against them, at mr. bones's suit, to overhaul their accounts with the parish, and _prevent the misapplication of the parish money_ to the payment of their law costs! this was the climax. and being myself a disciple of coke, i have heard nothing further of it; being unwilling, as well perhaps as unqualified, to follow the case into the labyrinthic vaults of the court of chancery. the catastrophe, if this were a tale, could hardly be mended--so the true story may end here. part xvii. the duties of witnesses and jurymen. i am not a young man, and have passed much of my life in our criminal courts. i am, and have been, in active practice at the bar, and i believe myself capable of offering some hints toward an improved administration of justice. i do not allude to any reform in the law, though i believe much to be needed. i mean to confine myself to amendments which it is in the power of the people to make for themselves, and indeed, which no legislature, however enlightened, can make for them. in no country can the laws be well administered, where the popular mind stands at a low point in the scale of intelligence, or where the moral tone is lax. the latter defect is of course the most important, but it is so intimately connected with the former, that they commonly prevail together, and the causes which remove the one, have, almost without exception, a salutary effect upon the other. that the general diffusion of morals and intelligence is essential to the healthy working of jurisprudence in all countries, will be admitted, when it is recollected that no tribunal, however skillful, can arrive at the truth by any other way than by the testimony of witnesses, and that consequently on their trustworthiness the enjoyment of property, character, and life, must of necessity depend. again, wherever trial by jury is established, a further demand arises for morals and intelligence among the people. it follows then, as a consequence almost too obvious to justify the remark, that whatever in any country enlarges and strengthens these great attributes of civilization, raises its capacity for performing that noblest duty of social man, the administration of justice. let me first speak of witnesses and their testimony. it is sometimes supposed that the desire to be veracious is the only quality essential to form a trustworthy witness--and an essential quality it is beyond all doubt--but it is possessed by many who are nevertheless very unsafe guides to truth. in the first place, this general desire for truth in a mind not carefully regulated, is apt to give way, oftentimes unconsciously, to impressions which overpower habitual veracity. it may be laid down as a general rule that witnesses are partisans, and that, often without knowing it, their evidence takes a color from the feeling of partisanship, which gives it all the injurious effects of willful falsehood--nay, it is frequently more pernicious. the witness who knowingly perverts the truth, often betrays his mendicity by his voice, his countenance, or his choice of words; while the unconscious perverter gives his testimony with all the force of sincerity. let the witness who intends to give evidence worthy of confidence, be on his guard against the temptations to become a partisan. witnesses ought to avoid consorting together on the eve of a trial; still more, discussing the matters in dispute, and comparing their intended statements. musicians have observed that if two instruments, not in exact accordance, are played together, they have a tendency to run into harmony. witnesses are precisely such instruments, and act on each other in like manner. so much with regard to the moral tone of the witness; but the difficulties which i have pointed out may be surmounted, and yet leave his evidence a very distorted narrative of the real facts. consideration must be given to the intellectual requirements of a witness. it was the just remark of dr. johnson that complaints of the memory were often very unjust toward that faculty which was reproached with not retaining what had never been confided to its care. the defect is not a failure of memory, but a lack of observation; the ideas have not run out of the mind--they never went into it. this is a deficiency, which cannot be dealt with in any special relation to the subject in hand; it can only be corrected by cultivating a general habit of observation, which, considering that the dearest interests of others may be imperiled by errors arising out of the neglect to observe accurately, must be looked upon in the light of a duty. a still greater defect is the absence of the power of distinguishing fact and inference. nothing but a long experience in courts of justice, can give a notion of the extent to which testimony is adulterated by this defect. it is often exemplified in the depositions of witnesses, or rather in the comparison between the depositions which, as your readers know, are taken in writing before the committing magistrate, and the evidence given on the trial. circumstances on which the witness had been silent when examined before the magistrate shortly after the event, make their appearance in his evidence on the day of trial; so that his memory purports to augment inaccuracy in proportion to their time which has elapsed since the transaction of which he speaks! i have observed this effect produced in a marvelous degree in cases of new trial, which in civil suits are often awarded, and which frequently take place years after the event to which they relate. the comparison of the evidence of the same witness as it stands upon the short-hand writer's notes of the two trials, would lead an unpracticed reader to the conclusion that nothing but perjury could account for the diversities; and this impression would be confirmed, if he should find, as in all probability he would, that the points on which the latter memory was better supplied than the earlier, were just those on which the greatest doubt had prevailed on the former occasion, and which were made in favor of the party on whose side the witness had been called. but the critic would be mistaken. the witness was not dishonest, but had failed to keep watch over the operations of his own mind. he had perhaps often adverted to the subject, and often discoursed upon it, until at length he confounded the facts which had occurred, with the inference which he had drawn from such facts, in establishment of the existence of others, which had in reality no place except in his own cogitation, but which after a time took rank in his memory with its original impressions. the best safeguard a witness could employ to preserve the unalloyed memory of transactions, is to commit his narrative to writing, as soon after the event as he shall have learned that his evidence respecting them is likely to be required; and yet i can hardly recommend such a course, because so little is the world, and even that portion of the world which passes its life in courts of justice, acquainted with what may be called the philosophy of evidence, that a conscientious endeavor of this kind to preserve his testimony in its purity, might draw upon him the imputation of having fabricated his narrative; and this is the more probable, because false witnesses have not unfrequently taken similar means for abiding by their fictions. it is worthy of note how much these disturbing causes, both moral and intellectual, fasten upon these portions of evidence which are most liable to distortion. words, as contra-distinguished from facts, exemplify the truth of this position. every witness ought to feel great distrust of himself in giving evidence of a conversation. language, if it runs to any length, is very liable to be misunderstood, at least in passages. but supposing it to be well understood at the moment, the exact wording of it can rarely be recalled, unless the witness's memory were tantamount in minuteness and accuracy to the record of a short-hand writer. he is consequently permitted to give an abstract, or, as it is usually called, the substance of what occurred. but here a new difficulty arises; to abstract correctly is an intellectual effort of no mean order, and is rarely accomplished with a decent approach to perfection. let the juryman bear this in mind. he will be often tempted to rely on alleged confessions of prisoners sworn to by witnesses who certainly desire to speak the truth. these confessions often go so straight to the point, that they offer to the juryman a species of relief from that state of doubt, which, to minds unpracticed in weighing probabilities, is irksome, almost beyond description. speaking from the experience of thirty years, i should pronounce the evidence of words to be so dangerous in its nature as to demand the utmost vigilance, in all cases, before it is allowed to influence the verdict to any important extent. while i am on the subject of evidence, infirm in its nature, i must not pass over that of identity of person. the number of persons who resemble each other is not inconsiderable in itself; but the number is very large of persons, who, though very distinguishable when standing side by side, are yet sufficiently alike to deceive those who are without the means of immediate comparison. early in life an occurrence impressed me with the danger of relying on the most confidential belief of identity. i was at vauxhall gardens where i thought i saw, at a short distance, an old country gentleman whom i highly respected, and whose favor i should have been sorry to lose. i bowed to him, but obtained no recognition. in those days the company amused themselves by walking round in a circle, some in one direction, some in the opposite, by which every one saw and was seen--i say, in those days, because i have not been at vauxhall for a quarter of a century. in performing these rounds i often met the gentleman, and tried to attract his attention, until i became convinced that either his eye-sight was so weakened that he did not know me, or that he chose to disown my acquaintance. some time afterward, going into the county in which he resided, i received, as usual, an invitation to dinner; this led to an explanation, when my friend assured me he had not been in london for twenty years. i afterwards met the person whom i had mistaken for my old friend, and wondered how i could have fallen into the error. i can only explain it by supposing that, if the mind feels satisfied of identity, which it often does at the first glance, it ceases to investigate that question, and occupies itself with other matter; as in my case, where my thoughts ran upon the motives my friend might have, for not recognizing me, instead of employing themselves on the question of whether or no the individual before my eyes was indeed the person i took him for. if i had had to give evidence on this matter my mistake would have been the more dangerous, as i had full means of knowledge. the place was well lighted, the interviews were repeated, and my mind was undisturbed. how often have i known evidence of identity acted upon by juries, where the witness was in a much less favorable position (for correct observation) than mine. sometimes, a mistaken verdict is avoided by independent evidence. rarely, however, is this rock escaped, by cross-examination, even when conducted with adequate skill and experience. the belief of the witness is belief in a matter of opinion resulting from a combination of facts so slight and unimportant, separately considered, that they furnish no handle to the cross-examiner. a striking case of this kind occurs to my recollection, with which i will conclude. a prisoner was indicted for shooting at the prosecutor, with intent to kill him. the prosecutor swore that the prisoner had demanded his money, and that upon refusal, or delay, to comply with his requisition, he fired a pistol, by the flash of which his countenance became perfectly visible; the shot did not take effect, and the prisoner made off. here the recognition was momentary, and the prosecutor could hardly have been in an undisturbed state of mind, yet the confidence of his belief made a strong impression on all who heard the evidence, and probably would have sealed the fate of the prisoner without the aid of an additional fact of very slight importance, which was, however, put in evidence by way of corroboration, that the prisoner, who was a stranger to the neighborhood, had been seen passing near the spot in which the attack was made about noon of the same day. the judge belonged to a class, now, thank god! obsolete, who always acted on the reverse of the constitutional maxim, and considered every man guilty, until he was proved to be innocent. if the case had closed without witnesses on behalf of the prisoner, his life would have been gone; fortunately, he possessed the means of employing an able and zealous attorney, and, more fortunately, it so happened that several hours before the attack the prisoner had mounted upon a coach, and was many miles from the scene of the crime at the hour of its commission. with great labor, and at considerable expense, all the passengers were sought out, and with the coachman and guard, were brought into court, and testified to the presence among them of the prisoner. an _alibi_ is always a suspected defence, and by no man was ever more suspiciously watched than by this judge. but then witness after witness appeared, their names corresponding exactly with the way-bill produced by the clerk of a respectable coach-office, the most determined scepticism gave way, and the prisoner was acquitted by acclamation. he was not, however, saved by his innocence, but by his good fortune. how frequently does it happen to us all to be many hours at a time without having witnesses to prove our absence from one spot by our presence at another! and how many of us are too prone to avail ourselves of such proof in the instances where it may exist! a remarkable instance of mistake in identity, which put the life of a prisoner in extreme peril, i heard from the lips of his counsel. it occurred at the special commission held at nottingham after the riots consequent on the rejection of the reform bill by the house of lords, in . the prisoner was a young man of prepossessing appearance, belonging to what may be called the lower section of the middle rank of life, being a frame-work knitter, in the employment of his father, a master manufacturer in a small way. he was tried on an indictment charging him with the offence of arson. a mob, of which he was alleged to be one, had burnt colwick hall, near nottingham, the residence of mr. musters, the husband of mary chaworth, whose name is so closely linked with that of byron. this ill-fated lady was approaching the last stage of consumption, when, on a cold and wet evening in autumn, she was driven from her mansion, and compelled to take refuge among the trees of her shrubbery--an outrage which probably hastened her death. the crime with its attendant circumstances, created, as was natural, a strong sympathy against the criminals. unhappily, this feeling, so praiseworthy in itself, is liable to produce a strong tendency in the public mind to believe in the guilt of the party accused. people sometimes seem to hunger and thirst after a criminal, and are disappointed when it turns out that they are mistaken in their man, and are, consequently, slow to believe that such an error has been made. doubtless, the impression is received into the mind unconsciously; but although on that ground pardonable, it is all the more dangerous. in this case, the prisoner was identified by several witnesses as having taken an active part in setting fire to the house. he had been under their notice for some considerable space of time. they gave their evidence against him without hesitation, and probably the slightest doubt of its accuracy. his defence was an _alibi_. the frame at which he worked had its place near the entrance to the warehouse, the room frequented by the customers and all who had business to transact at the manufactory. he acted, therefore, as doorkeeper, and in that capacity had been seen and spoken with by many persons, who in their evidence more than covered the whole time which elapsed between the arrival of the mob at colwick hall and its departure. the _alibi_ was believed, and the prisoner, after a trial which lasted a whole day, was acquitted. the next morning he was to be tried again on another indictment, charging him with having set fire to the castle of nottingham. the counsel for the prosecution, influenced by motives of humanity, and fully impressed with the prisoner's guilt on both charges, urged the counsel for the prisoner to advise his client to plead guilty, undertaking that his life should be spared, but observing at the same time that his social position, which was superior to that of the other prisoners, would make it impossible to extend the mercy of the crown to him unless he manifested a due sense of his offences by foregoing the chance of escape. "you know," said they, "how rarely an _alibi_ obtains credit with a jury. you can have no other defence to-day than that of yesterday. the castle is much nearer than colwick hall to the manufactory, and a very short absence from his work on the part of the prisoner might reconcile the evidence of all the witnesses, both for him and against him; moreover, who ever heard of a successful _alibi_ twice running?" the counsel for the prisoner had his client taken into a room adjoining the court, and having explained to him the extreme danger in which he stood, informed him of the offer made by the prosecutors. the young man evinced some emotion, and asked his counsel to advise what step he should take. "the advice," he was answered, "must depend upon a fact known to himself alone--his guilt or innocence. if guilty, his chance of escape was so small that it would be the last degree of rashness to refuse the offer; if, on the other hand, he were innocent, his counsel, putting himself in the place of the prisoner, would say, that no peril, however imminent, would induce him to plead guilty." the prisoner was further told, that in the course of a trial circumstances often arose at the moment, unforeseen by all parties, which disclosed the truth; that this consideration was in his favor if he were innocent but showed at the same time that there were now chances of danger, if he were guilty, the extent of which could not be calculated, nor even surmised. the youth, with perfect self-possession, and unshaken firmness, replied, "i am innocent, and will take my trial." he did so. many painful hours wore away, every moment diminishing the prisoner's chance of acquittal, until it seemed utterly extinguished, when some trifling matter which had escaped the memory of the narrator, occurred, leading him to think it was possible that another person, who must much resemble the prisoner, had been mistaken for him. inquiry was instantly made of the family, whether they knew of any such resemblance; when it appeared that the prisoner had a cousin so much like himself that the two were frequently accosted in the street, the one for the other. the cousin had absconded. it is hardly credible, though doubtless true, that a family of respectable station could have been unaware of the importance of such a fact, or that the prisoner, who appeared not deficient in intelligence, and who was assuredly in full possession of his faculties, could be insensible to its value. that either he or they could have placed such reliance on his defence as to induce them to screen his guilty relative, is to the last degree improbable, especially as the cousin had escaped. witnesses, however, were quickly produced, who verified the resemblance between the two, and the counsel for the prosecution abandoned their case, expressing their belief that their witnesses had given their evidence under a mistake of identity. the narrator added that an _alibi_ stood a less chance of favorable reception at nottingham than elsewhere, although in every place received with great jealousy. in one of the trials arising out of the outrages committed by the luddites, who broke into manufactories and destroyed all lace frames of a construction which they thought oppressive to working-men, an _alibi_, he said had been concocted, which was successful in saving the life of a man notoriously guilty, and which had therefore added to the disrepute of this species of defence. the hypothesis was, that the prisoner, at the time when the crime was committed, at loughborough, sixteen miles from nottingham, was engaged at a supper party at the latter place; and the prisoner having the sympathy of a large class in his favor, whose battle he had been fighting, no difficulty was experienced by his friends in finding witnesses willing to support this hypothesis on their oaths; but it would have been a rash measure to have called them into the box unprepared. and when it is considered how readily a preconcerted story might have been destroyed by cross-examination, the task of preparing the witnesses so as to elude this test, was one requiring no ordinary care and skill. the danger would arise thus:--every witness would be kept out of court, except the one in the box. he would be asked where he sat at the supper? where the prisoner sat, and each of the other guests? what were the dishes, what was the course of conversation, and so forth--the questions being capable of multiplication _ad infinitum_; so that however well tutored, the witnesses would inevitably contradict each other upon some matters, on which the tutor had not foreseen that the witness would be cross-examined, or to which he had forgotten the answer prescribed. the difficulty was, however, surmounted. after the prisoner's apprehension, the selected witnesses were invited to a mackerel supper, which took place at an hour corresponding to that at which the crime was committed; and so careful was the ingenious agent who devised this conspiracy against the truth that, guided by a sure instinct, he fixed upon the same day of the week as that on which the crime had been committed, though without knowing how fortunate it would be for the prisoner that he took this precaution. when, on cross-examination, it was found that the witnesses agreed as to the order in which the guests were seated, the contents of the dishes, the conversation which had taken place, and so forth--the counsel for the crown suspected the plot; but not imagining that it had been so perfectly elaborated, they inquired of their attorneys as to whether there was any occurrence peculiar to the day of the week in question, and were told that, upon the evening of such day, a public bell was always rung, which must have been heard at the supper, if it had taken place at the time pretended. the witnesses were separately called back and questioned separately as to the bell. they had all heard it; and thus not only were the cross-examiners utterly baffled, but the cross-examination gave ten-fold support to the examination in chief, that is, to the evidence as given by the witnesses in answer to the questions put by the prisoner's counsel in his behalf. the triumph of falsehood was complete. the prisoner was acquitted. when, however, the attention of prosecutors is called to the possibility of such fabrications they become less easy of management. the friends of a prisoner are often known to the police, and may be watched--the actors may be surprised at the rehearsal; a false ally may be inserted among them; in short, there are many chances of the plot failing. this, however, is an age of improvement, and the thirty years which have elapsed since the days of luddism have not been a barren period in any art or science. the mystery of cookery in dishes, accounts, and _alibis_, has profited by this general advancement. the latest device which my acquaintance with courts has brought to my knowledge is an _alibi_ of a very refined and subtle nature. the hypothesis is, that the prisoner was walking from point a to point z, along a distant road, at the hour when the crime was committed. the witnesses are supposed each to see him, and some to converse with him, at points which may be indicated by many or all the letters of the alphabet. each witness must be alone when he sees him, so that no two may speak to what occurred at the same spot or moment of time; but, with this reservation, each may safely indulge his imagination with any account of the interview which he has wit to make consistent with itself, and firmness to abide by, under the storm of a cross-examination. "the force of _falsehood_ can no farther go." no rehearsal is necessary. neither of the witnesses needs know of the existence of the others. the agent gives to each witness the name of the spot at which he is to place the prisoner. the witness makes himself acquainted with that spot, so as to stand a cross-examination as to the surrounding objects, and his education is complete. but as panaceas have only a fabulous existence, so this exquisite _alibi_ is not applicable to all cases; the witness must have a reason for being on the spot, plausible enough to foil the skill of the cross-examiner; and, as false witnesses cannot be found at every turn, the difficulty of making it accord with the probability that the witness was where he pretends to have been on the day and at the hour in question is often insuperable, to say nothing of the possibility and probability of its being clearly established, on the part of the prosecution, that the prisoner could not have been there. i should add, that, except in towns of the first magnitude, it must be difficult to find mendacious witnesses who have in other respects the proper qualifications to prove a concocted _alibi_, save always where the prisoner is the champion of a class; and then, according to my experience--sad as the avowal is--the difficulty is greatly reduced. these incidents illustrate the soundness of the well-known proposition, that mixture of truth with falsehood, augments to the highest degree the noxious power of the venomous ingredient. that man was no mean proficient in the art of deceiving, who first discovered the importance of the liar being parsimonious in mendacity. the mind has a stomach as well as an eye, and if the bolus be neat falsehood, it will be rejected like an over-dose of arsenic which does not kill. let the juryman ponder these things, and beware how he lets his mind lapse into a conclusion either for or against the prisoner. to perform the duties of his office, so that the days which he spends in the jury-box will bear retrospection, his eye, his ears, and his intellect, must be ever on the watch. a witness in the box, and the same man in common life, are different creatures. coming to give evidence, "he doth suffer a law change." sometimes he becomes more truthful, as he ought to do, if any change is necessary; but unhappily this is not always so, and least of all in the case of those whose testimony is often required. i remember a person, whom i frequently heard to give evidence quite out of harmony with the facts; but i shall state neither his name nor his profession. a gentleman who knew perfectly well the unpalatable designation which his evidence deserved, told me of his death. i ventured to think it was a loss which might be borne, and touched upon his infirmity, to which my friend replied in perfect sincerity of heart, "well! after all, i do not think he ever told a falsehood in his life--_out of the witness' box_!" part xviii. bank-note forgeries. chapter i. viotti's division of violin-playing into two great classes--good playing and bad playing--is applicable to bank-note making. we shall now cover a few pages with a faint outline of the various arts, stratagems, and contrivances employed in concocting bad bank-notes. the picture cannot be drawn with very distinct or strong markings. the tableaux from which it is copied, are so intertwisted and complicated with clever, slippery, ingenious scoundrelism, that a finished chart of it would be worse than morally displeasing--it would be tedious. all arts require time and experience for their development. when anything great is to be done, first attempts are nearly always failures. the first bank-note forgery was no exception to this rule, and its story has a spice of romance in it. the affair has never been circumstantially told; but some research enables us to detail it:-- in the month of august, , a gentleman living in the neighborhood of lincoln's inn fields, named bliss, advertised for a clerk. there were, as was usual at that time, many applicants; but the successful one was a young man of twenty-six, named richard william vaughan. his manners were so winning and his demeanor so much that of a gentleman, (he belonged indeed to a good county family in staffordshire, and had been a student at pembroke hall, oxford,) that mr. bliss at once engaged him. nor had he occasion, during the time the new clerk served him, to repent the step. vaughan was so diligent, intelligent, and steady, that not even when it transpired that he was, commercially speaking, "under a cloud," did his master lessen confidence in him. some inquiry into his antecedents showed that he had, while at college, been extravagant--that his friends had removed him thence--set him up in stafford as a wholesale linen-draper, with a branch establishment in aldersgate street, london--that he had failed, and that there was some difficulty about his certificate. but so well did he excuse his early failings and account for his misfortunes, that his employer did not check the regard he felt growing towards him. their intercourse was not merely that of master and servant. vaughan was a frequent guest at bliss's table; by-and-by a daily visitor to his wife, and--to his ward. miss bliss was a young lady of some attractions, not the smallest of which was a hansome fortune. young vaughan made the most of his opportunities. he was well-looking, well-informed, dressed well, and evidently made love well, for he won the young lady's heart. the guardian was not flinty-hearted, and acted like a sensible man of the world. "it was not," he said, on a subsequent and painful occasion, "till i learned from the servants and observed by the girl's behavior, that she greatly approved richard vaughan, that i consented; but on condition that he should make it appear that he could maintain her. i had no doubt of his character as a servant, and i knew his family were respectable. his brother is an eminent attorney." vaughan boasted that his mother (his father was dead) was willing to re-instate him in business with a thousand pounds--five hundred of which was to be settled upon miss bliss for her separate use. so far all went on prosperously. providing richard vaughan could attain a position satisfactory to the blisses, the marriage was to take place on the easter monday following, which, the calendar tells us, happened early in april, . with this understanding, he left mr. bliss's service, to push his fortune. months passed on, and vaughan appears to have made no way in the world. he had not even obtained his bankrupt's certificate. his visits to his affianced were frequent, and his protestations passionate; but he had effected nothing substantial towards a happy union. miss bliss's guardian grew impatient; and, although there is no evidence to prove that the young lady's affection for vaughan was otherwise than deep and sincere, yet even she began to lose confidence in him. his excuses were evidently evasive, and not always true. the time fixed for the wedding was fast approaching; and vaughan saw that something must be done to restore the young lady's confidence. about three weeks before the appointed easter tuesday, vaughan went to his mistress in high spirits. all was right--his certificate was to be granted in a day or two--his family had come forward with the money, and he was to continue the aldersgate business he had previously carried on as a branch of the stafford trade. the capital he had waited so long for, was at length forthcoming. in fact, here were two hundred and forty pounds of the five hundred he was to settle on his beloved. vaughan then produced twelve twenty-pound notes; miss bliss could scarcely believe her eyes. she examined them. the paper, she remarked, seemed thicker than usual. "oh," said bliss, "all bank bills are not alike." the girl was naturally much pleased. she would hasten to apprise mistress bliss of the good news. not for the world! so far from letting any living soul know he had placed so much money in her hands, vaughan exacted an oath of secresy from her, and sealed the notes up in a parcel with his own seal--making her swear that she would on no account open it till after their marriage. some days after, that is, "on the twenty-second of march," ( ) we are describing the scene in mr. bliss's own words--"i was sitting with my wife by the fireside. the prisoner and the girl were sitting in the same room--which was a small one--and although they whispered, i could distinguish that vaughan was very urgent to have something returned which he had previously given to her. she refused, and vaughan went away in an angry mood. i then studied the girl's face, and saw that it expressed much dissatisfaction. presently a tear broke out. i then spoke, and insisted on knowing the dispute. she refused to tell, and i told her that until she did, i would not see her. the next day i asked the same question of vaughan--he hesitated. 'oh' i said, 'i dare say it is some ten or twelve pound matter--something to buy a wedding bauble with.' he answered that it was much more than that--it was near three hundred pounds! 'but why all this secrecy?' i said; and he answered that it was not proper for people to know that he had so much money till his certificate was signed. i then asked him to what intent he had left the notes with the young lady? he said, as i had of late suspected him, he designed to give her a proof of his affection and truth. i said, 'you have demanded them in such a way that it must be construed as an abatement of your affection towards her.'" vaughan was again exceedingly urgent in asking back the packet; but bliss remembering his many evasions, and supposing that this was a trick, declined advising his niece to restore the parcel without proper consideration. the very next day it was discovered that the notes were counterfeits. this occasioned stricter inquiries into vaughan's previous career. it turned out that he bore the character in his native place of a dissipated and not very scrupulous person. the intention of his mother to assist him was an entire fabrication, and he had given miss bliss the forged notes solely for the purpose of deceiving her on that matter. meanwhile the forgeries became known to the authorities, and he was arrested. by what means, does not clearly appear. the "annual register" says, that one of the engravers gave information; but we find nothing in the newspapers of the time to support that statement; neither was it corroborated at vaughan's trial. when vaughan was arrested, he thrust a piece of paper into his mouth, and began to chew it violently. it was, however, rescued, and proved to be one of the forged notes; fourteen of them were found on his person, and when his lodgings were searched twenty more were discovered. vaughan was tried at the old bailey on the seventh of april, before lord mansfield. the manner of the forgery was detailed minutely at the trial:--on the first of march, (about a week before he gave the twelve notes to the young lady,) vaughan called on mr. john corbould, an engraver, and gave an order for a promissory note to be engraved with these words:-- "no. ----. "i promise to pay to --------, or bearer, ---- london ----." there was to be a britannia in the corner. when it was done, mr. sneed (for that was the _alias_ vaughan adopted) came again, but objected to the execution of the work. the britannia was not good, and the words "i promise" were too near the edge of the plate. another was in consequence engraved, and on the fourth of march, vaughan took it away. he immediately repaired to a printer, and had forty-eight impressions taken on thin paper, provided by himself. meanwhile, he had ordered, on the same morning, of mr. charles fourdrinier, another engraver, a second plate, with what he called "a direction," in the words, "for the governor and company of the bank of england." this was done, and about a week later he brought some paper, each sheet "folded up," said the witness, "very curiously, so that i could not see what was in them. i was going to take the papers from him, but he said he must go upstairs with me, and see them worked off himself. i took him up-stairs; he would not let me have them out of his hands. i took a sponge and wetted them, and put them one by one on the plate in order for printing them. after my boy had done two or three of them, i went down-stairs, and my boy worked the rest off, and the prisoner came down and paid me." here the court pertinently asked, "what imagination had you when a man thus came to you to print on secret paper, 'the governor and company of the bank of england?'" the engraver's reply was:--"i then did not suspect anything; but i shall take care for the future." as this was the first bank-of-england-note forgery that was ever perpetrated, the engraver was held excused. it may be mentioned, as an evidence of the delicacy of the reporters, that in their account of the trial, miss bliss's name is not mentioned. her designation is "a young lady." we subjoin the notes of her evidence:-- "a young lady (sworn). the prisoner delivered me some bills; these are the same (producing twelve counterfeit bank notes sealed up in a cover, for twenty pounds each;) said they were bank bills. i said they were thicker paper--he said all bills are not alike. i was to keep them till after we were married. he put them into my hands to show he put confidence in me, and desired me not to show them to anybody; sealed them up with his own seal, and obliged me by an oath not to discover them to anybody, and i did not till he discovered them himself; he was to settle so much in stock on me." vaughan urged in his defence that his sole object was to deceive his affianced, and that he intended to destroy all the notes after his marriage. but it had been proved that the prisoner had asked one john ballingar to change first one, and then twenty of the notes; but which that person was unable to do. besides, had his sole object been to dazzle miss bliss with his fictitious wealth, he would most probably have intrusted more, if not all the notes, to her keeping. he was found guilty, and passed the day that had been fixed for his wedding, as a condemned criminal. on the th may, , richard william vaughan was executed at tyburn. by his side, on the same gallows, there was another forger--william boodgere, a military officer, who had forged a draught on an army-agent named calcroft, and expiated the offence with the first forger of bank-of-england notes. the gallows may seem hard measure to have meted out to vaughan, when it is considered that none of his notes were negotiated and no person suffered by his fraud. not one of the forty-eight notes, except the twelve delivered to miss bliss, had been out of his possession; indeed the imitation must have been very clumsily executed, and detection would have instantly followed any attempt to pass the counterfeits. there was no endeavor to copy the style of engraving on a real bank note. that was left to the engraver; and as each sheet passed through the press twice, the words added at the second printing, "for the governor and company of the bank of england," could have fallen into their proper place on any one of the sheets, only by a miracle. but what would have made the forgery clear to even a superficial observer, was the singular omission of the second "n" in the word england.[d] [d] bad orthography was by no means uncommon in the most important documents at that period; the days of the week, in the day-books of the bank of england itself, are spelt in a variety of ways. the criticism on vaughan's note of a bank clerk examined on the trial was--"there is some resemblance to be sure; but this note" (that upon which the prisoner was tried) "is numbered thirteen thousand eight hundred and forty, and we never reach so high a number." besides, there was no water-mark in the paper. the note, of which a fac-simile appeared in our eighteenth number, and dated so early as , has a regular design in the texture of the paper, showing that the water-mark is as old as the bank notes themselves. vaughan was greatly commiserated. but despite the unskillfulness of the forgery, and the insignificant consequences which followed it, the crime was considered of too dangerous a character not to be marked, from its very novelty, with exemplary punishment. hanging created at that time no remorse in the public mind, and it was thought necessary to set up vaughan as a warning to all future bank-note forgers. the crime was too dangerous not to be marked with the severest penalties. forgery differs from other crimes not less in the magnitude of the spoil it may obtain and of the injury it inflicts, than in the facilities attending its accomplishment. the common thief finds a limit to his depredations in the bulkiness of his booty, which is generally confined to such property as he can carry about his person; the swindler raises insuperable and defeating obstacles to his frauds if the amount he seeks to obtain is so considerable as to awaken close vigilance or inquiry. to carry their projects to any very profitable extent, these criminals are reduced to the hazardous necessity of acting in concert, and thus infinitely increasing the risks of detection. but the forger need have no accomplice--he is burdened with no bulky and suspicious property--he needs no receiver to assist his contrivances. the skill of his own individual right-hand can command thousands--often with the certainty of not being detected, and oftener with such rapidity as to enable him to baffle the pursuit of justice. it was a long time before vaughan's rude attempt was improved upon; but in the same year, ( ,) another department of the crime was commenced with perfect success, namely, an ingenious alteration, for fraudulent purposes, of real bank notes. a few months after vaughan's execution, one of the northern mails was stopped and robbed by a highwayman; several bank notes were comprised in the spoil, and the robber, setting up with these as a gentleman, went boldly to the hatfield post-office, ordered a chaise-and-four, rattled away down the road, and changed a note at every change of horses. the robbery was of course soon made known, and the numbers and dates of the stolen notes were advertised as having been stopped at the bank. to the genius of a highwayman this offered but a small obstacle, and the gentleman-thief changed all the figures " " he could find, into " 's." these notes passed currently enough; but on reaching the bank, the alteration was detected, and the last holder was refused payment. as that person had given a valuable consideration for the note, he brought an action for the recovery of the amount; and at the trial it was ruled by the lord chief justice, that "any person paying a valuable consideration for a bank note, payable to bearer, in a fair course of business, has an understood-right to receive the money of the bank." it took a quarter of a century to bring the art of forging bank notes to perfection. in , this was nearly attained by an ingenious gentleman named mathison, a watch-maker, from the matrimonial village of gretna green. having learnt the arts of engraving and of simulating signatures, he tried his hand at the notes of the darlington bank; but, with the confidence of skill, was not cautious in passing them, was suspected and absconded to edinburgh. scorning to let his talent be wasted, he favored the scottish public with many spurious royal bank-of-scotland notes, and regularly forged his way by their aid to london. at the end of february he took handsome lodgings in the strand, opposite arundel street. his industry was remarkable; for, by the th of march, he had planned and polished rough pieces of copper, engraved them, forged the water-mark, printed, and negotiated several impressions. his plan was to travel and to purchase articles in shops. he bought a pair of shoe-buckles at coventry with a forged note, which was eventually detected at the bank of england. he had got so bold that he paid such frequent visits in threadneedle street that the bank clerks became familiar with his person. he was continually changing notes of one for another denomination. these were his originals, which he procured to make spurious copies of. one day seven thousand pounds came in from the stamp office. there was a dispute about one of the notes. mathison, who was present, though at some distance, declared, oracularly, that the note was a good one. how could he know so well? a dawn of suspicion arose in the minds of the clerks; one trail led into another, and mathison was finally apprehended. so well were his notes forged, that, on the trial, an experienced bank clerk declared he could not tell whether the note handed him to examine, was forged or not. mathison offered to reveal his secret of forging the water-mark, if mercy were shown to him; this was refused, and he suffered the penalty of his crime. mathison was a genius in his criminal way, but a greater than he appeared in . in that year perfection seemed to have been reached. so considerable was the circulation of spurious paper-money that it appeared as if some unknown power had set up a bank of its own. notes were issued from it, and readily passed current, in hundreds and thousands. they were not to be distinguished from the genuine paper of threadneedle street. indeed, when one was presented there, in due course, so complete were all its parts, so masterly the engraving, so correct the signatures, so skillful the water-mark, that it was promptly paid, and only discovered to be a forgery when it reached a particular department. from that period forged paper continued to be presented, especially at the time of lottery-drawing. consultations were held with the police. plans were laid to help detection. every effort was made to trace the forger. clarke, the best detective of his day, went like a sluth-hound, on the track; for in those days the expressive word "blood-money" was known. up to a certain point there was little difficulty; but beyond that, consummate art defied the ingenuity of the officer. in whatever way the notes came, the train of discovery always paused at the lottery-offices. advertisements offering large rewards were circulated; but the unknown forger baffled detection. while this base paper was in full currency, there appeared an advertisement in the daily advertiser for a servant. the successful applicant was a young man, in the employment of a musical-instrument maker, who, some time after, was called upon by a coachman, and informed that the advertiser was waiting in a coach to see him. the young man was desired to enter the conveyance, where he beheld a person with something of the appearance of a foreigner, sixty or seventy years old, apparently troubled with the gout. a camlet surtout was buttoned round his mouth, a large patch was placed over his left eye, and nearly every part of his face was concealed. he affected much infirmity. he had a faint hectic cough; and invariably presented the patched side to the view of the servant. after some conversation--in the course of which he represented himself as guardian to a young nobleman of great fortune--the interview concluded with the engagement of the applicant, and the new servant was directed to call on mr. brank, at titchfield street, oxford street. at this interview brank inveighed against his whimsical ward for his love of speculating in lottery tickets, and told the servant that his principal duty would be to purchase them. after one or two meetings, at each of which brank kept his face muffled, he handed a forty and twenty pound bank note; told the servant to be very careful not to lose them, and directed him to buy lottery-tickets at separate offices. the young man fulfilled his instructions, and at the moment he was returning, was suddenly called by his employer from the other side of the street, congratulated on his rapidity, and then told to go to various other offices in the neighborhood of the royal exchange, and to purchase more shares. four hundred pounds in bank-of-england notes were handed him, and the wishes of the mysterious mr. brank were satisfactorily effected. these scenes were continually enacted. notes to a large amount were thus circulated, lottery tickets purchased, and mr. brank--always in a coach, with his face studiously concealed--was ever ready on the spot to receive them. the surprise of the servant was somewhat excited; but had he known that from the period he left his master to purchase the tickets, one female figure accompanied all his movements, that, when he entered the offices, it waited at the door, peered cautiously in at the window, hovered round him like a second shadow, watched him carefully, and never left him until once more he was in the company of his employer--that surprise would have been greatly increased.[e] again and again were these extraordinary scenes rehearsed. at last the bank obtained a clue, and the servant was taken into custody. the directors imagined that they had secured the actor of so many parts, that the flood of forged notes which had inundated that establishment would at length be dammed up at his source. their hopes proved fallacious, and it was found that "old patch" (as the mysterious forger was, from the servant's description, nick-named,) had been sufficiently clever to baffle the bank directors. the house in titchfield street was searched; but mr. brank had deserted it, and not a trace of a single implement of forgery was to be seen. [e] francis's history of the bank of england. all that could be obtained was some little knowledge of "old patch's" proceedings. it appeared that he carried on his paper-coining entirely by himself. his only confidant was his mistress. he was his own engraver. he even made his own ink. he manufactured his own paper. with a private press he worked his own notes, and counterfeited the signatures of the cashiers, completely. but these discoveries had no effect, for it became evident that mr. patch had set up a press elsewhere. although his secret continued as impenetrable, his notes became as plentiful as ever. five years of unbounded prosperity ought to have satisfied him--but it did not. success seemed to pall him. his genius was of that insatiable order which demands new excitements, and a constant succession of new flights. the following paragraph from a newspaper of , relates to the same individual:-- "on the th of december, ten pounds was paid into the bank, for which the clerk, as usual, gave a ticket to receive a bank note of equal value. this ticket ought to have been carried immediately to the cashier, instead of which the bearer took it home, and curiously added an to the original sum, and returning, presented it so altered to the cashier, for which he received a note of one hundred pounds. in the evening, the clerks found a deficiency in the accounts, and on examining the tickets of the day, not only that but two others were discovered to have been obtained in the same manner. in one, the figure was altered to , and in another to , by which the artist received, upon the whole, nearly one thousand pounds." to that princely felony, old patch, as will be seen in the sequel, added smaller misdemeanors which one would think were far beneath his notice, except to convince himself and his mistress of the unbounded facility of his genius for fraud. at that period the affluent public were saddled with a tax on plate, and many experiments were made to evade it. among others one was invented by a mr. charles price, a stock-jobber and lottery-office keeper, which, for a time, puzzled the tax-gatherer. mr. charles price lived in great style, gave splendid dinners, and did everything on the grandest scale. yet mr. charles price had no plate! the authorities could not find so much as a silver tooth-pick on his magnificent premises. in truth, what he was too cunning to possess, he borrowed. for one of his sumptuous entertainments, he hired the plate of a silversmith in cornhill, and left the value in bank notes as security for its safe return. one of these notes having proved a forgery, was traced to mr. charles price; and mr. charles price was not to be found at that particular juncture. although this excited no surprise--for he was often an absentee from his office for short periods--yet, in due course and as a formal matter of business, an officer was sent to find him, and to ask his explanation regarding the false notes. after tracing a man whom he had a strong notion was mr. charles price, through countless lodgings and innumerable disguises, the officer (to use his own expression) "nabbed" mr. charles price. but, as mr. clark observed, his prisoner and his prisoner's lady were even then "too many" for him; for although he lost not a moment in trying to secure the forging implements, after he had discovered that mr. charles price, and mr. brank, and old patch, were all concentrated in the person of his prisoner, he found the lady had destroyed every trace of evidence. not a vestige of the forging factory was left; not the point of a graver, nor a single spot of ink, nor a shred of silver paper, nor a scrap of anybody's handwriting, was to be met with. despite, however, this paucity of evidence to convict him, mr. charles price had not the courage to face a jury, and eventually he saved the judicature and the tyburn executive much trouble and expense, by hanging himself in bridewell. the success of mr. charles price has never been surpassed, and even after the darkest era in the history of bank forgeries--which dates from the suspension of cash payments, in february, , and which will be treated of in the succeeding chapter--"old patch" was still remembered as the cæsar of forgers. chapter ii. in the history of crime, as in all other histories, there is one great epoch by which minor dates are arranged and defined. in a list of remarkable events, one remarkable event more remarkable than the last, is the standard around which all smaller circumstances are grouped. whatever happens in mohammedan annals, is set down as having occurred so many years after the flight of the prophet; in the records of london commerce a great fraud or a great failure is mentioned as having come to light so many months after the flight of rowland stephenson. sporting men date from remarkable struggles for the derby prize, and refer to , as "bloomsbury's year." the highwayman of old dated from dick turpin's last appearance on the fatal stage at tyburn turnpike. in like manner, the standard epoch in the annals of bank-note forgery, is the year , when (on the th of february) one-pound notes were put into circulation instead of golden guineas; or, to use the city idiom, 'cash payments were suspended.' at that time the bank-of-england note was no better in appearance--had not improved as a work of art--since the days of vaughan, mathison, and old patch; it was just as easily imitated, and the chances of the successful circulation of counterfeits were increased a thousand-fold. up to no notes had been issued even for sums so small as five pounds. consequently all the bank paper then in use, passed through the hands and under the eyes of the affluent and educated, who could more readily distinguish the false from the true. hence, during the fourteen years which preceded the non-golden and small-note era, there were only three capital convictions for the crime. when, however, the bank-of-england notes became "common and popular," a prodigious quantity--to complete the quotation--was also made "base," and many persons were hanged for concocting them. to a vast number of the humbler orders, bank notes were a rarity and a "sight." many had never seen such a thing before they were called upon to take one or two-pound notes in exchange for small merchandise, or their own labor. how were they to judge? how were they to tell a good from a spurious note?--especially when it happened that the officers of the bank themselves, were occasionally mistaken, so complete and perfect were the imitations then afloat. there cannot be much doubt that where one graphic rascal was found out, ten escaped. they snapped their fingers at the executioner, and went on enjoying their beef-steaks and porter--their winter treats to the play--their summer excursions to the suburban tea-gardens--their fashionable lounges at tunbridge wells, bath, margate, and ramsgate--doing business with wonderful unconcern, and "face" all along their journeys. these usually expensive, but to them profitable enjoyments, were continually coming to light at the trials of the lesser rogues who undertook the issue department; for, from the ease with which close imitation was effected, the manufacture was more readily completed than the uttering. the fraternity and sisterhood of utterers played many parts, and were banded in strict compact with the forgers. some were turned loose into fairs and markets, in all sorts of appropriate disguises. farmers, who could hardly distinguish a field of standing wheat from a field of barley--butchers, who never wielded more deadly weapons than two-prong forks--country boys, with cockney accents, bought gingerbread, and treated their so-called sweethearts with ribbons and muslins, all by the interchange of false "flimseys." the better-mannered disguised themselves as ladies and gentlemen, paid their losings at cards or hazard, or their tavern bills, their milliners, and coachmakers, in motley money, composed of part real and part base bank paper. some went about in the cloak of the samaritan, and generously subscribed to charities wherever they saw a chance of changing a bad "five" for three or four good "ones." ladies of sweet disposition went about doing good among the poor--personally inquired into distress, relieved it by sending out a daughter or a son to a neighboring shop for change, and left five shillings for present necessities, walking off with fifteen. so openly--in spite of the gallows--was forgery carried on, that whoever chose to turn utterer found no difficulty in getting a stock-in-trade to commence with. indeed, in the days of highwaymen, no traveling-gentleman's pocket or valise was considered properly furnished without a few forged notes wherewith to satisfy the demands of the members of the "high toby." this offence against the laws of the road, however, soon became too common, and wayfarers who were stopped and rifled, had to pledge their sacred words of honor that their notes were the genuine promises of abraham newland, and that their watches were not of the factory of mr. pinchbeck. with temptations so strong, it is no wonder that the forgers' trade flourished, with only an occasional check from the strong arm of the law. it followed, therefore, that from the issue of small notes in february, , to the end of --twenty years--there were no fewer than eight hundred and seventy prosecutions connected with bank-note forgery, in which there were only one hundred and sixty acquittals, and upwards of three hundred executions! was the culminating point of the crime. in the first three months there were no fewer than one hundred and twenty-eight prosecutions by the bank; and by the end of that year, two-and-thirty individuals had been hanged for note forgery. so far from this appalling series of examples having any effect in checking the progress of the crime, it is proved that at, and after that very time, base notes were poured into the bank at the rate of _a hundred a day_! the enormous number of undetected forgeries afloat, may be estimated by the fact, that from the st of january, , to the th april, , one hundred and thirty-one thousand three hundred and thirty-one pieces of paper were ornamented by the bank officers with the word "forged"--upwards of one hundred and seven thousand of them were one-pound counterfeits. intrinsically, it would appear from an hibernian view of the case, then, that bad notes were nearly as good, (except not merely having been manufactured at the bank,) as good ones. so thoroughly and completely did some of them resemble the authorized engraving of the bank, that it was next to impossible to distinguish the false from the true. countless instances, showing rather the skill of the forger than the want of vigilance in bank officials, could be brought forward. respectable persons were constantly taken into custody on a charge of uttering forgeries, imprisoned for days and then liberated. a close scrutiny proving that the accusations were made upon genuine paper. in september, mr a. burnett, of portsmouth, had the satisfaction of having a note which had passed through his hands, returned to him from the bank of england, with the base mark upon it. satisfied of its genuineness, he re-inclosed it to the cashier, and demanded its payment. by return of post he received the following letter:-- "_bank of england, sept., ._ "sir,--i have to acknowledge your letter to mr. hase, of the th inst., inclosing a one-pound note, and, in answer thereto, i beg leave to acquaint you, that on inspection it appears to be a genuine note of the bank of england; i therefore, agreeably to your request, inclose you one of the like value, no. , , dated nd august, . "i am exceedingly sorry, sir, that such an unusual oversight should have occurred to give you so much trouble, which i trust your candor will induce you to excuse when i assure you that the unfortunate mistake has arisen entirely out of the hurry and multiplicity of business. "i am, sir, "your most obedient servant, "j. rippon. "a. burnett, esq. " belle vue terrace. "southsea, near portsmouth." a more extraordinary case is on record:--a note was traced to the possession of a tradesman, which had been pronounced by the bank inspectors to have been forged. the man would not give it up, and was taken before a magistrate, charged with "having a note in his possession, well knowing it to be forged." he was committed to prison on evidence of the bank inspector, but was afterwards released on bail to appear when called on. he was _not_ called on; and, at the expiration of twelve months, (having kept the note all that time,) he brought an action against the bank for false imprisonment. on the trial the note was proved to be genuine! and the plaintiff was awarded damages of one hundred pounds. it is a fact sufficiently dreadful that three hundred and thirty human lives should have been sacrificed in twenty-one years; but when we relate a circumstance which admits the merest probability that some--even one--of those lives may have been sacrificed in innocence of the offence for which they suffered, the consideration becomes appalling. some time after the frequency of the crime had in other respects subsided, there was a sort of bloody assize at haverfordwest, in wales; several prisoners were tried for forging and uttering, and thirteen were convicted--chiefly on the evidence of mr. christmas, a bank inspector, who swore positively, in one case, that the document named in the indictment, "was not an impression from a bank-of-england plate--was not printed on the paper with the ink or water-mark of the bank--neither was it in the handwriting of the signing clerk." upon this testimony the prisoner, together with twelve participators in similar crimes, were condemned to be hanged! the morning after the trial, mr. christmas was leaving his lodging, when an acquaintance stepped up and asked him, as a friend, to give his opinion on a note he had that morning received. it was a bright day; mr. christmas put on his spectacles, and carefully scrutinized the document in a business-like and leisurely manner. he pronounced it to be forged. the gentleman, a little chagrined, brought it away with him to town. it is not a little singular that he happened to know mr. burnett, of portsmouth, whom he accidentally met, and to whom he showed the note. mr. burnett was evidently a capital judge of bank paper. he said nothing, but slipping his hand into one pocket, handed to the astonished gentleman full change, and put the note into another. "it cannot be a good note," exclaimed the latter, "for my friend christmas told me at haverfordwest that it is a forgery!" but as mr. burnett had backed his opinion to the amount of twenty shillings, he declined to retract it; and lost no time in writing to mr. henry hase (abraham newland's successor) to test its accuracy. it was lucky that he did so; for this little circumstance saved thirteen lives! mr. christmas's co-inspectors at the bank of england actually reversed his non-official judgment that the note was a forgery. it was officially pronounced to be a good note; yet upon the evidence of mr. christmas as regards other notes, the thirteen human beings at haverfordwest were trembling at the foot of the gallows. it was promptly and cogently argued that as mr. christmas's judgment had failed him in the deliberate examination of one note, it might also err as to others, and the convicts were respited. the converse of this sort of mistake often happened. bad notes were pronounced to be genuine by the bank. early in january, , a well-dressed woman entered the shop of mr. james hammond, of bishopsgate street without, and having purchased three pounds worth of goods, tendered in payment a ten-pound note. there was something hesitating and odd in her manner; and, although mr. hammond could see nothing the matter with the note, yet he was ungallant enough to suspect--from the uncomfortable demeanor of his customer--that all was not right. he hoped she was not in a hurry, for he had no change; he must send to a neighbor for it. he immediately dispatched his shopman to the most affluent of all his neighbors--to her of threadneedle street. the delay occasioned the lady to remark, "i suppose he is gone to the bank!" mr. hammond having answered in the affirmative, engaged his customer in conversation, and they freely discussed the current topics of the day; till the young man returned with ten one pound bank-of-england notes. mr. hammond felt a little remorse at having suspected his patroness, who departed with the purchases with the utmost dispatch. she had not been gone half an hour before two gentlemen rushed into the shop in a state of grievous chagrin; one was the bank clerk who had changed the note. he begged mr. hammond would be good enough to give him another for it. "why?" asked the puzzled shopkeeper. "why, sir," replied the distressed clerk, "it is forged!" of course his request was not complied with. the clerk declared that his dismissal was highly probable; but mr. hammond was inexorable. the arguments in favor of death-punishments never fail so signally as when brought to the test of the scaffold and its effect on bank forgeries. when these were most numerous, although from twenty to thirty persons were put to death in one year, the gallows was never deprived of an equal share of prey during the next. as long as simulated notes could be passed with ease, and detected with difficulty, the old bailey had no terrors for clever engravers and dexterous imitators of the hieroglyphic autographs of the bank-of-england signers. at length public alarm at the prevalence of forgeries, and the difficulty of knowing them as such, arose to the height of demanding some sort of relief. in a committee was appointed by the government to inquire into the best means of prevention. one hundred and eighty projects were submitted. they mostly consisted of intricate designs such as rendered great expense necessary to imitate. but none were adopted for the obvious reason that ever so indifferent and easily executed imitation of an elaborate note is quite sufficient to deceive an uneducated eye, as had been abundantly proved in the instance of the irish "black note." the bank had not been indifferent or idle on the subject, for it had spent some hundred thousand pounds in projects for inimitable notes. at last--not long before the commission was appointed--they were on the eve of adopting an ingenious and costly mechanism for printing a note so precisely alike on both sides as to appear as one impression, when one of the bank printers imitated it exactly by the simple contrivance of two plates and a hinge. this may serve as a sample of the other one hundred and seventy-nine projects. neither the gallows nor expensive and elaborate works of art having been found effectual in preventing forgery, the true expedient for at least lessening the crime was adopted in :--the issue of small notes was wholly discontinued, and sovereigns were brought into circulation. the forger's trade was nearly annihilated. criminal returns inform us that during the nine years after the resumption of gold currency the number of convictions for offences having reference to the bank-of-england notes were less than one hundred, and the executions only eight. this clinches the argument against the efficacy of the gallows. in death-punishments were repealed for all minor offences, and, although the cases of bank-note forgeries slightly increased for a time, yet there is no reason to suppose that they are greater now than they were between and . at present, bank-paper forgeries are not numerous. one of the latest was that of the twenty-pound note, of which about sixty specimens found their way into the bank. it was well executed in belgium by foreigners, and the impressions were passed among the change-agents in various towns in france and the netherlands. the speculation did not succeed; for the notes got into, and were detected at the bank, a little too soon to profit the schemers much. the most considerable frauds now perpetrated are not forgeries; but are done upon the plan of the highwayman mentioned in our first chapter. in order to give currency to stolen or lost notes which have been stopped at the bank, (lists of which are supplied to every banker in the country,) the numbers and dates are fraudulently altered. some years since, a gentleman, who had been receiving a large sum of money at the bank, was robbed of it in an omnibus. the notes gradually came in, but all were altered. the last was one for five hundred pounds, dated the th march, , and numbered . on the monday ( rd june) after the last "derby day," amid the _twenty-five thousand pieces_ of paper that were examined by the bank inspectors, there was one note for five hundred pounds, dated th march, , and numbered . at that note an inspector suddenly arrested his rapid examination of the pile of which it was one. he scrutinized it for a minute, and pronounced it "altered." on the next day, that same note, with a perfect one for five hundred pounds, is shown to us with an intimation of the fact. we look at every letter--we trace every line--follow every flourish; we hold both up to the light--we undulate our visuals with the waves of the water-mark. we confess that we cannot pronounce decisively, but we have an opinion derived from a slight "goutiness" in the fine stroke of the figure that no. is the forgery! so indeed it was. yet the bank inspector had picked it out from the hundred genuine notes as instantaneously--pounced upon it as rapidly as if it had been printed with green ink upon card-board. this, then, o gentlemen forgers and sporting-note alterers, is the kind of odds which is against you. a minute investigation of the note assured us of your exceeding skill and ingenuity; but it also convinced us of the superiority of the detective ordeal which you have to blind and to pass. in this instance you had followed the highwayman's plan, and had put with great cunning, the additional marks to the in to make it into a . to hide the scraping out of the top or serif of the figure --to make the angle from which to draw the fine line of the --you had artfully inserted with a pen the figures "£ ," as if that sum had been received from a person bearing a name that you had written above. you had with extraordinary neatness cut out the " " from , and filled up the hole with an , abstracted from some note of lesser value. you had fitted it with remarkable precision--only you had not got the quite upright enough to pass the shrewd glance of the bank inspector. we have seen a one-pound note made up of refuse pieces of a hundred other bank notes, and pasted on a piece of paper, (like a note that had been accidentally torn,) so as to present an entire and _passable_ whole. to alter with a pen a into a is an easy task--to cut out the numeral from the _date_ in one note and insert it into another needs only a tyro in paper-cutting; but to change the special _number_ by which each note is distinguished, is a feat only second in impossibility to trumping every court-card of every suit six times running in a rubber of whist. yet we have seen a note so cleverly altered by this expedient, that it was actually paid by the bank cashiers. if the reader will take a bank note out of his purse, and examine its "number," he will at once appreciate the combination of chances required to find, on any other note, any other figure that shall displace any one of the numerals so as to avoid detections. the "number" of every bank note is printed twice on one line--first, on the words "i promise," secondly, on the words, "or bearer." sometimes the figures cover the whole of those words--sometimes they only partly obscure them. no. now lies before us. suppose we wished to substitute the " " of another note for the first " " of the one now under our eye; we see that the " " covers a little bit of the "p," and intersects in three places the "r," in "promise." now, to give this alteration the smallest chance, we must look through hundreds of other notes till we find an " " which not only covers a part of the "p" and intersects the "r" in three places, but in precisely _the same_ places as the " " on our note does; else the strokes of those letters would not meet when the " " was let in, and instant detection would ensue. but even then the job would only be half done. the second initial " " stands upon the "or" in "or bearer," and we should have to investigate several hundred more notes, to find an " " that intersected that little word exactly in the same manner, and then let it in with such mathematical nicety, that not the hundredth part of a hair's breath of the transferred paper should fail to range with the rest of the letters and figures on the altered note; to say nothing of hiding the joins in the paper. this is the triumph of ambi-dexterity; it is a species of patch-work far beyond the most sublime achievements of "old patch" himself." time has proved that the steady perseverance of the bank--despite the most furious clamor--in gradually improving their original note and thus preserving those most essential qualities, simplicity and uniformity--has been a better preventive to forgery than any one of the hundreds of plans, pictures, complications, chemicals, and colors, which have been forced upon the directors' notice. whole-note forgery is nearly extinct. the lives of eminent forgers need only wait for a single addendum; for only one man is left who can claim superiority over mathison, and he was, unfortunately for the bank of england, born a little too late, to trip up his heels, or those of the late mr. charles price. he can do everything with a note that the patchers, and alterers, and simulators can do, and a great deal more. flimsy as a bank note is to a proverb, he can split it into three perfect continuous, flat, and even leaves. he has forged more than one design sent into the bank as an infallible preventive to forgery. you may, if you like, lend him a hundred-pound note; he will undertake to discharge every trace of ink from it, and return it to you perfectly uninjured and a perfect blank. we are not quite sure that if you were to burn a bank note and hand him the black cinders, that he would not bleach it, and join it, and conjure it back again into a very good-looking, payable piece of currency. but we _are_ sure of the truth of the following story, which we have from our friend the transcendent forger referred to, and who is no other than the chief of the engraving and engineering department of the bank of england:-- some years ago--in the days of the thirty-shilling notes--a certain irishman saved up the sum of eighty-seven pounds ten, in notes of the bank of ireland. as a sure means of securing this valuable property, he put it in the foot of an old stocking, and buried it in his garden, where bank-note paper couldn't fail to keep dry, and to come out, when wanted, in the best preservation. after leaving his treasure in this excellent place of deposit for some months, it occurred to the depositor to take a look at it, and see how it was getting on. he found the stocking-foot apparently full of the fragments of mildewed and broken mushrooms. no other shadow of a shade of eighty-seven pounds ten. in the midst of his despair, the man had the sense not to disturb the ashes of his property. he took the stocking-foot in his hand, posted off to the bank in dublin, entered it one morning as soon as it was opened, and, staring at the clerk with a most extraordinary absence of all expression in his face, said, "ah, look at that, sir! can ye do anything for me?" "what do you call this?" said the clerk. "eighty-siven pound ten, praise the lord, as i'm a sinner! ohone! there was a twenty as was paid to me by mr. phalim o'dowd, sir, and a ten as was changed by pat rielly, and a five as was owen by tim; and, ted connor, ses he to ould phillips----" "well!--never mind old phillips. you have done it, my friend!" "oh, lord, sir, and it's done it i have, most com-plate! oh, good luck to you, sir; can you do nothing for me?" "i don't know what's to be done with such a mess as this. tell me, first of all, what you put in the stocking, you unfortunate blunderer?" "oh yes, sir, and tell you true as if it was the last word i had to spake entirely, and the lord be good to you, and ted conner ses he to ould phillips, regarden the five as was owen by tim, and not includen of the ten which was changed by pat rielly----" "you didn't put pat rielly or ould phillips into the stocking did you?" "is it pat or ould phillips as was ever the valy of eighty-sivin pound ten, lost and gone, and includen the five as was owen by tim, and ted connor----" "then tell me what you _did_ put in the stocking, and let me take it down. and then hold your tongue, if you can, and go your way, and come back to-morrow." the particulars of the notes were taken, without any reference to ould phillips, who could not, however, by any means be kept out of the story; and the man departed. when he was gone, the stocking-foot was shown to the then chief engraver of the notes, who said, that if anybody could settle the business, his son could. and he proposed that the particulars of the notes should not be communicated to his son, who was then employed in his department of the bank, but should be put away under lock and key; and that if his son's ingenuity should enable him to discover from these ashes what notes had really been put in the stocking, and the two lists should tally, the man should be paid the lost amount. to this prudent proposal the bank of ireland readily assented, being extremely anxious that the man should not be a loser, but, of course, deeming it essential to be protected from imposition. the son readily undertook the delicate commission proposed to him. he detached the fragments from the stocking with the utmost care, on the fine point of a pen-knife--laid the whole gently in a basin of warm water, and presently saw them, to his delight, begin to unfold and expand like flowers. by and by, he began to "teaze them" with very light touches of the ends of a camel's-hair pencil, and so, by little and little, and by the most delicate use of the warm water, the camel's-hair pencil, and the pen-knife, got the various morsels separate before him, and began to piece them together. the first piece laid down was faintly recognizable by a practiced eye as a bit of the left-hand bottom corner of a twenty-pound note; then came a bit of a five--then of a ten--then more bits of a twenty--then more bits of a five and ten--then, another left-hand bottom corner of a twenty--so there were two twenties!--and so on, until, to the admiration and astonishment of the whole bank, he noted down the exact amount deposited in the stocking, and the exact notes of which it had been composed. upon this--as he wished to see and divert himself with the man on his return--he provided himself with a bundle of corresponding new, clean, rustling notes, and awaited his arrival. he came exactly as before, with the same blank staring face, and the same inquiry, "can you do anything for me, sir!" "well," said our friend, "i don't know. maybe i _can_ do something. but i have taken a great deal of pains, and lost a great deal of time, and i want to know what you mean to give me!" "is it give, sir? thin, is there anything i wouldn't give for my eighty-sivin pound tin, sir; and it's murdered i am by ould phillips." "never mind him; there were two twenties, were there not?" "oh, holy mother, sir, there was! two most illigant twenties! and ted conner--and phalim--which rielly----" he faltered, and stopped as our friend, with much ostentatious rustling of the crisp paper, produced a new twenty, and then the other twenty, and then a ten, and then a five, and so forth. meanwhile, the man occasionally murmuring an exclamation of surprise or a protestation of gratitude, but gradually becoming vague and remote in the latter as the notes reappeared, looked on, staring, evidently inclined to believe that they were the real lost notes, reproduced in that state by some chemical process. at last they were all told out, and in his pocket, and he still stood staring and muttering, "oh, holy mother, only to think of it! sir, it's bound to you forever, that i am!"--but more vaguely and remotely now than ever. "well," said our friend, "what do you propose to give me for this?" after staring and rubbing his chin for some time longer, he replied with the unexpected question-- "do you like bacon?" "very much," said our friend. "then it's a side as i'll bring your honor to-morrow morning, and a bucket of new milk--and ould phillips----" "come," said our friend, glancing at a notable shillelah the man had under his arm, "let me undeceive you. i don't want anything of you, and i am very glad you have got your money back. but i suppose you'd stand by me, now, if i wanted a boy to help me in a little skirmish?" they were standing by a window on the top storey of the bank, commanding a court-yard, where a sentry was on duty. to our friend's amazement, the man dashed out of the room without speaking one word, suddenly appeared in the court-yard, performed a war-dance round this astonished soldier--who was a modest young recruit--made the shillelah flutter, like a wooden butterly, round his musket, round his bayonet, round his head, round his body, round his arms, inside and outside his legs, advanced and retired, rattled it all around him like a firework, looked up at the window, cried out with a high leap in the air, "whooroo! thry me!"--vanished--and never was beheld at the bank again from that time forth. part xix. the doom of english wills. cathedral number one. there are few things in this beautiful country of england, more picturesque to the eye, and agreeable to the fancy, than an old cathedral town. seen in the distance, rising from among cornfields, pastures, orchards, gardens, woods, the river, the bridge, the roofs of ancient houses, and haply the ruins of a castle or abbey, the venerable cathedral spires, opposed for many hundred years to the winter wind and summer sun, tower, like a solemn historical presence, above the city, conveying to the rudest mind associations of interest with the dusky past. on a nearer approach, this interest is heightened. within the building, by the long perspectives of pillars and arches; by the earthy smell, preaching more eloquently than deans and chapters, of the common doom; by the praying figures of knights and ladies on the tombs, with little headless generations of sons and daughters kneeling around them; by the stained-glass windows, softening and mellowing the light; by the oaken carvings of the stalls, where the shorn monks told their beads; by the battered effigies of archbishops and bishops, found built up in the walls, when all the world had been unconscious, for centuries, of their blunt stone noses; by the mouldering chapter-room; the crypt, with its barred loopholes, letting in long gleams of slanting light from the cloisters where the dead lie, and where the ivy, bred among the broken arches, twines about their graves; by the sound of the bells, high up in the massive tower; by the universal gravity, mystery, decay, and silence. without, by the old environing cathedral-close, with its red-brick houses and staid gardens; by the same stained glass, so dark on that side though so bright within; by the pavement of half-obliterated tombstones; by the long echoes of the visitors' footsteps; by the wicket-gate, that seems to shut the moving world out of that retirement; by the grave rooks and jackdaws that have built their nests in steeple crevices, where the after-hum of the chimes reminds them, perhaps, of the wind among the boughs of lofty trees; by the ancient scraps of palace and gateway; by the ivy again, that has grown to be so thick and strong; by the oak, famous in all that part, which has struck its mighty root through the bishop's wall; by the cathedral organ, whose sound fills all that space, and all the space it opens in the charmed imagination. there may be flaws in this whole, if it be examined, too closely. it may not be improved by the contemplation of the shivering choristers on a winter morning, huddling on their gowns as they drowsily go to scamper through their work; by the drawling voice, without a heart, that drearily pursues the dull routine; by the avaricious functionary who lays aside the silver mace to take the silver pieces, and who races through the show as if he were the hero of a sporting wager. some uncomfortable doubts may, under special circumstances, obtrude themselves, of the practical christianity of the head of some particular foundation. he may be a brawler, or a proud man, or a sleek, or an artful. he may be usually silent, in the house of lords when a christian minister should speak, and may make a point of speaking when he should be silent. he may even be oblivious of the truth; a stickler by the letter, not the spirit, for his own purposes; a pettifogger in the supreme court of god's high law, as there are pettifoggers in the lower courts administering the laws of mortal man. disturbing recollections may arise, of a few isolated cases here and there, where country curates with small incomes and large families, poor gentlemen and scholars, are condemned to work, like blind horses in a mill, while others who do not work get their rightful pay; or of the inconsistency and indecorum of the church being made a robe and candlestick question, while so many shining lights are hidden under bushels, and so many black-cloth coats are threadbare. the question may present itself, by remote chance, whether some shovel-hats be not made too much on the model of the banker's shovel with which the gold is gathered on the counter, and too little in remembrance of that other kind of shovel that renders ashes unto ashes, and dust to dust. but, on the whole, the visitor will probably be content to say, "the time was, and this old cathedral saw it, when these things were infinitely worse; they will be better; i will do all honor to the good that is in them, (which is much), and i will do what in me lies for the speedier amendment of the bad." in this conclusion, we think the visitor of the old cathedral would be right. but, it is important to bring to the knowledge of all visitors of old cathedrals in england, and of all who stay at home too, the most gigantic and least known abuse, attaching to those establishments. it is one which affects, not only the history and learning of the country, and that powerfully, but the legal rights and titles of all classes--of every man, woman, and child, rich and poor, great and small, born into this english portion of this breathing world. for the purpose of the object on which we now enter, we have consulted a great mass of documents, and have had recourse to the personal experience of a gentleman who has made this kind of research his business. in every statement we make, we shall speak by the card, that equivocation may not undo us. the proof of every assertion, is ready to our hand. the public have lately heard some trifling facts relative to doctors' commons, through the medium of a young gentleman who was articled, by his aunt, to a proctor there. our readers may possibly be prepared to hear that the registry of the diocese of canterbury, in which are deposited all the wills proved in that large, rich, and populous district, is a job so enormous as to be almost incredible. that the registrars, with deputies, and deputies' deputies, are sinecurists of from sixteen to seventeen thousand pounds, to seven or eight thousand pounds, a-year; that the wills are not even kept secure from fire; that the real working men are miserably paid out of the rich plunder of the public; that the whole system is one of greed, corruption, and absurdity, from beginning to end. it is not, however, with the registry of canterbury that our business lies at present, but with the registries and peculiars of other dioceses, which are attached to the old cathedrals throughout great britain, and of which our readers may be by no means prepared to hear what we shall have to tell. let us begin by setting forth from london on a little suppositious excursion--say with mr. william wallace, of the middle temple and the royal society of antiquaries. mr. william wallace, for the purpose of a literary pursuit in which he is engaged, involving the gratification of a taste he has for the history of old manners and old families, is desirous, at his own proper cost and charge, to search the registers in some cathedral towns, for wills and records. having heard whispers of corruption in these departments, and difficulty of search, mr. wallace arms himself with letters from the bishops of those places. putting money in his purse besides, he goes down, pretty confidently. mr. william wallace arrives at cathedral number one; and, after being extremely affected, despite a heavy shower of rain, by the contemplation of the building, inquires for the registrar. he is shown a very handsome house in the cathedral-close--a house very superior to the bishop's--wherein the registrar resides. for, the registrar keeps a first rate roof over his own head, though he keeps his deeds in a dilapidated gate-house; at which he takes toll to the amount of seven thousand a-year; and where, as at other toll-houses, "no trust" is the rule; for he exacts his fees beforehand. mr. william wallace now learns that, locally, the registrar is a person of almost inordinate power; besides his seven thousand-pound-per-annum place, he is chapter clerk, town clerk, clerk to the magistrates--a proctor, moreover, in boundless practice. he lives in great state; he keeps horses, carriages, dogs, and a yacht; he is--could he be anything else?--a staunch tory; he generally proposes the tory members for the county, and has been known to pay the entire electioneering expenses of a favorite tory candidate. mr. wallace, although fortified with a letter bearing the mitred seal of the bishop of the diocese, feels that he is about to come in contact with a great power; an awful something that is not to be trifled with; one of the noblest institutions of our land, who is a very miller of dee, and accountable to nobody. with a due sense of the importance of this outside buttress of the church, mr. wallace presents himself with the bishop's letter. the registrar storms, and takes it extremely ill. he appears to confound mr. wallace with his own foot-boy. he says the bishop has no power to interfere with _him_, and he won't endure it. he says the bishop don't know what harm may come of showing wills. he can't make out, what people want to see wills for. he grudgingly concedes some obstructed search, on the usual terms; namely, two guineas per day for all the days a clerk--not fond of any sort of fatigue--may choose to take in making any particular search. "but perhaps you will allow me to look at the indexes?" asks mr. wallace. "_that's_ of no use," is the reply, "for a great many of the years are missing; and in those we have got, a great many wills are not entered. we often have to spend two months in finding a will." our friend then performs a little mental arithmetic:--two months--or, even say fifty days--means one hundred guineas, to ferret out one will. complete indexes would only occasion ten minutes' search, equal to one day, or, according to the registrar's tariff, two guineas. mr. wallace then draws the inevitable conclusion, that bad indexes partly occasion the inordinate income of the registrar, whose manifest interest it is to keep them as imperfect as possible. one little trait of the very early volumes (the earliest wills are dated a. d. ,) is as quaint, as it is productive to the registrar: the names of the testators are arranged--alphabetically, it is true--but under the christian instead of the surnames. imagine the number of days, or couples of guineas, that would drop into the registrar's coffers, for picking out one particular john smith from the thousands of "johns," under the letter "j!" since the year , the index is better: indeed it is almost as available as the old catalogues of the british museum, though not quite so perfect. all this was despair to mr. william wallace, who modestly hinted that his archæological necessities pressed him to ask admission to the actual depository of the wills. the registrar was petrified with astonishment. his figure expanded with a burst of indignation, which presently exploded in the interrogative interjection, "what?" that went off, like the sharp crack of a rifle. what? exhibit, to any living soul, the dilapidative neglect, the hideous disorder, the wilful destruction of documents, involving the transfer of the property, personal and landed, of seven counties; and which he, the registrar, obtains seven thousand pounds per annum for preserving carefully, and arranging diligently! why, only last year the archæological institute of great britain, itself, was peremptorily refused admission; and was it likely that the registrar would allow mr. william wallace--the friend of a mere bishop--to be turned loose, to browse at will upon the waste the registrar and his predecessors had committed and permitted? but what will not an enthusiastic antiquary dare, in his loved pursuit? mr. wallace was bold enough to hint that a bishop had perhaps some power in his diocese--even over a registrar. this appeared in a degree to lull the tempest; and after all storms there is a calm. the registrar reflected. there was nothing very formidable in the applicant's appearance; he had not the hungry look of a legacy or pedigree hunter--a foolish young fellow, perhaps, with a twist about old manners and customs: and, in short, he _may_ take a look at the repositories. up a narrow stair, under the guidance of a grumpy clerk, our persevering middle templar wends. in a long room, over the arches of the gateway, he sees parallel rows of shelves laden with wills: not tied up in bundles, not docketed, not protected in any way from dust or spiders by the flimsiest covering. only the modern wills are bound up; but--not to encroach upon the registrar's hard earnings--the backings of the bindings are composed of such original wills as were written on parchment. these are regularly cut up--that is, wilfully destroyed--for bookbinding purposes! mr. wallace sees, at a glance, that he may as well try to find a lost shell on a sea-shore, or a needle in a haystack, as attempt to discover what he is desirous of picking out of this documentary chaos. he looks round in mute grief; his archaic heart is heavy; he understands, exactly, how rienzi felt amidst the ruins of rome, or the daughters of jerusalem when they wept. wherever he turns his eyes, he sees black, barbarous ruin. in one corner, he observes decayed boxes filled with rotten wills; in another, stands a basket, containing several lumps of mediæval mortar, and a few brick-bats of the early pointed style--the edges, possibly, of some hole in the wall too large for even poor seven thousand a-year to shirk the stopping of. despite the hints of the clerk that his time is valuable, mr. wallace is contemplating these relics with the eager gaze of an f.s.a., when he descries, hanging over the edge of the basket, something like an ancient seal. he scrutinizes it intensely--there is a document attached to it. he rescues it from the rubbish. "what can this be?" asks mr. wallace with glistening eye. "oh!" answers the clerk, with listless indifference, "nothing of any consequence, _i'm_ sure." by this time, mr. wallace has found out that this "nothing of any consequence," is a charter of king william the conqueror; _the identical instrument by which the see of dorchester was transferred to lincoln_--that's all! the broken seal is not of "much consequence" either. oh, no! now it happens that there is only one impression of the great seal of the great norman extant, and that is in the british museum, broken in half; this, being a counterpart, supplies the entire seal! such is the priceless historical relic found in the year , by chance, in a lime-basket, in the very place where it ought to have been as zealously preserved as if it had been the jewel of a diadem! but, other treasures--equally of "no consequence," and about to be carried off by bricklayers' laborers, to where rubbish may be shot--are dug out by mr. william wallace:--item, a bundle of pardons from king john to certain barons and bishops: item, a confession of the protestant faith made on his death-bed by archbishop toby matthew, hitherto supposed by his biographers to have died a catholic: item, a contemporary poem on the battle of bosworth. the registrar's clerk is of opinion, when these are shown to him, that "they an't worth much," but growlingly saves them, on remonstrance, and bundles them into his desk; where we trust they still remain; and whence we hope they may be rescued by the proper authorities. as mr. wallace follows his surly guide up the stairs of the gate-house, the rain patters sharply against the casements, and a fusty, damp odor emerges from the upper story. under a broken roof, and a ceiling being unplastered in huge patches by time and rain, in the top room, lie--or, more correctly, rot--the wills of the archdeaconry of blowe; a "peculiar" of the diocese. the papers below stairs are merely worm-eaten, spider-woven, dusty, ill-arranged; but, compared with those which mr. wallace now sees--and smells--are in fastidious glass-case order. after dodging the rain-drops which filter through the ceiling, down among the solemn injunctions of the dead, mr. wallace is able to examine one or two bundles. mildew and rot are so omnipotent in this damp depository, that the shelves have, in some places, broken and crumbled away. a moment's comparison between the relative powers of wood and paper, in resisting water, will give a vivid idea of the condition of the wills in this archdiaconal shower-bath. the comers of most of the piles are as thoroughly rounded off, as if a populous colony of water rats (the ordinary species could not have existed there) had been dining off them since the days of king stephen. others are testamentary agglomerations, soddened into pulp,--totally illegible and inseparable; having been converted by age, much rain, and inordinate neglect, into _post-mortem_ papier maché. all these, are original wills: no such copies of them--which registrars are enjoined to provide--having been made by the predecessors of the present pluralist. in order that the durability of parchment should be of no avail in arresting the most complete destruction within the scope of possibility, it is the sheepskin testaments of this collection that are regularly shredded to bind up the modern wills ranged in books below. the very sight of this place, shows the futility of anything like research. mr. wallace examines a few of the documents, only to see their extreme historical as well as local importance; turns away; and descends the stairs. "thus, then," says mr. william wallace solemnly, as he takes a parting look at the ancient gate-house, "are documents, involving the personal and real property of seven english counties, allowed to crumble to destruction; thus, is ruin brought on families by needless litigation; thus, do registrars roll in carriages, and proctors grow rich; thus, are the historical records of the great english nation doomed--by an officer whom the nation pays the income of a prince to be their conservator--to rottenness, mildew, and dust." mr. wallace having added nothing to the object of his pursuits and inquiries, in the registry of this cathedral number one, departed at once for cathedral number two. how he fared there, the reader shall soon learn. cathedral number two. mr. william wallace, having taken some repose in the bosom of his family, and having recruited his nervous system, impaired for the moment by the formidable demonstrations made in unimpeachable ecclesiastical registry number one, resolved on making a visit to unimpeachable ecclesiastical registry number two; upheld by the consideration that, although an ecclesiastical registry is a fine institution, for which any englishman would willingly die; and without which he could, in no patriotic acceptation worth mentioning, be an englishman at all; still, that the last wills and testaments of englishmen are not exactly waste-paper, and that their depositaries ought, perhaps to be kept as dry--say as skittle grounds, which are a cheaper luxury than registries, with the further advantage that no man need frequent them unless he likes: whereas, to registries he _must_ go. the literary object which mr. wallace had in view, in this second expedition, beckoned him to the north of england. "indeed," said mr. wallace, pausing. "possibly, to the second city of england; an archbishopric; giving one of the princes of the blood his title; enjoying the dignity of a lord mayor of its own; an ancient and notable place; renowned for its antiquities; famous for its cathedral; possessing walls, four gates, six posterns, a castle, an assembly-room, and a mansion house; this is surely the place for an unimpeachable registry!" he arrived at the venerable city of his purpose, at ten minutes past three p. m., according to greenwich, or at three-ten, according to bradshaw. our traveler's first proceeding, was, to take a walk round the walls, and gratify his fancy with a bird's-eye-view of the unimpeachable registry. he could hardly hit upon the roof of that important building. there was a building in a severe style of architecture--but it was the jail. there was another that looked commodious--but it was the mansion house. there were others that looked comfortable--but they were private residences. there appeared to be nothing in the way of registry, answering to the famous monkish legend in a certain chapter-house: as shines the rose above all common flowers, so above common piles this building towers. yet such a building must be somewhere! mr. wallace went into the town and bought a guide-book, to find out where. he walked through the quiet narrow streets, with their gabled houses, craning their necks across the road to pry into one another's affairs; and he saw the churches where the people were married; and the habitations where the doctors lived, who were knocked up when the people were born; and he accidentally passed the residence of mrs. pitcher, who likewise officiated on those occasions; and he remarked an infinity of shops where every commodity of life was sold. he saw the offices of the lawyers who made the people's wills, the banks where the people kept their money, the shops of the undertakers who made the people's coffins, the church-yards where the people were buried, but _not_ the registry where the people's wills were taken care of. "very extraordinary!" said mr. wallace. "in the great city of a great ecclesiastical see, where all kinds of moving reverses and disasters have been occurring for many centuries, where all manner of old foundation and usage, piety, and superstition, were, and a great deal of modern wealth is, a very interesting and an unimpeachable registry there must be, somewhere!" in search of this great public edifice, the indefatigable mr. wallace prowled through the city. he discovered many mansions; but he _could not_ satisfy himself about the registry. the uneasiness of mr. wallace's mind increasing with the growth of his suspicion that there must surely be a flaw in the old adage, and that where there was a will (and a great many wills) there was no way at all, he betook himself to the cathedral-close. passing down an uncommonly pure, clean, tidy little street, where the houses looked like a tasteful sort of missionary-subscription-boxes, into which subscribers of a larger growth were expected to drop their money down the chimneys, he came by a turnstile, into that haven of rest, and looked about him. "do you know where the registry is?" he asked a farmer-looking man. "the wa'at!" said he. "the registry; where they keep the wills?" "a'dinnot know for shower," said the farmer, looking round. "ding! if i shouldn't wondther if _thot_ wur it!" mr. wallace concealed his disparaging appreciation of the farmer's judgment, when he pointed with his ash-stick to a kind of shed--such as is usually called a lean-to--squeezing itself, as if it were (with very good reason) ashamed, into the south-west corner of the cross, which the ground-plan of the cathedral forms, and sticking to it like a dirty little pimple. but, what was his dismay, on going thither to inquire, to discover that this actually was the unimpeachable registry; and that a confined den within, which would have made an indifferent chandler's shop, with a pestilent little chimney in it, filling it with smoke like a lapland hut, was the "searching office." mr. wallace was soon taught that seven thousand pounds per annum is, after all, but a poor pittance for the registrar of a simple bishopric, when calculated by the ecclesiastical rule of three; for the registry of cathedral number two, produces to its fortunate patentees twenty thousand per annum; about ten thousand a year for the registrar who does nothing, and the like amount for his deputy who helps him. the portentous personage to whom mr. wallace was accredited, received him in state in the small office surrounded by a surrogate (apparently retained on purpose to cross-examine mr. wallace) and the clerks. mr. wallace mentioned that he believed the archbishop had written to the deputy-registrar to afford him every facility in consulting the documents under his charge. the deputy registrar owned that the archbishop had done so, but declared that the archbishop had no jurisdiction whatever over him; and, claiming as he did, complete immunity from, and irresponsibility to, all human control, he begged to say that his grace the archbishop, in presuming to write to the high-authorities of that unimpeachable registry on such a subject, had taken a very great liberty. mr. william wallace inquired if that was to be the answer he was expected to convey to the archbishop? bowed, and was about to retire, when the awful deputy recalled him. what did he want to search for? mr. wallace repeated that his object was wholly literary and archæological. the chief clerk who here came in as a reinforcement, was so good as to intimate that he "didn't believe a word of it." whereupon a strong opinion was added that mr. wallace wanted surreptitiously to obtain pedigrees, and to consult wills. a powerful battery of cross-questionings was then opened by the heavier authorities, aided by a few shots from the light-bob, or skirmishing party--the clerk. but had mr. william wallace been his great ancestor, he could not have held his position against such odds more firmly. at length the preliminaries of a treaty were proposed by the enemy, the terms of which were that mr. wallace should be allowed to consult any records dated before the year one thousand four hundred! this was demured to as utterly useless. negotiations were then resumed, and the authorities liberally threw in another century, out of the fullness of a respect for the archbishop, which they had refrained from condescending to express;--mr. wallace might consult documents up to the year fifteen hundred. with this munificent concession, mr. wallace was obliged to be satisfied, and proceeded to venture on another stipulation:-- the researches which he had proposed to himself at this cathedral number two, were elaborate and complicated; they would require such facilities as had been asked on his behalf by the archbishop. could he have access to the documents themselves? the effect which this simple request produced in the office, was prodigious! a small schoolboy who should, at dinner, ask for a piece of the master's apple-pie; or a drummer on parade, who should solicit from his captain a loan of five shillings, could not produce a more sublime degree of astonishment, than that which glared through the smoke from the faces of the deputy-registrar, the surrogate, the chief clerk, and all the junior clerks, then and there assembled. the effect produced amounted to temporary petrefaction; the principals neither spoke nor moved; the subordinates left off writing and poking the fire. so superlative was the audacity of the request, that it paralyzed the pendulum of that small, rusty, dusty, smoky old ecclesiastical clock, and stopped the works! refusal in words was not vouchsafed to mr. william wallace; neither did he need that condescension. the silent but expressive pantomine was enough. as the eastern culprit receives his doom by the speechless gesture of the judge's hand across his own neck; so mr. william wallace fully understood that, access to the record depositories of the province appertaining to cathedral number two, was nearly equivalent to getting into a freemason's lodge after it has been "tiled," or to obtaining admission to st. paul's cathedral without two-pence. he therefore waved as perfectly impossible that item of the treaty. for the public, however, the evidence of that gentleman is hardly necessary to bring them acquainted with the manner in which the trust imposed on the registrar and his deputy is performed; for while the deputy registrar and mr. william wallace are settling their differences over the next clause of their treaty, we shall dip into the reports of the ecclesiastical commission issued in , to show what the state of things was at that time; and to any one who can prove that those venerable documents have been by any means rescued from decay since that year, the public will doubtless be much obliged. at page one hundred and seventy of the report, mr. edward protheroe, m.p., states, on oath, that in the instance of every court he had visited the records suffered more or less from damp and the accumulation of dust and dirt. then, speaking of the registry of this same cathedral number two, he declares its documents to have been in a scandalous state. "i found them," he continues, "perfectly to accord with the description i had received from various literary and antiquarian characters who had occasion to make searches in the office; and i beg leave to remark that the place must have been always totally inadequate as a place of deposit for the records, both as to space and security." some of the writings he found in two small cells, "in a state of the most disgraceful filth;" others in "two apertures in the thick walls, scarcely to be called windows; and the only accommodation for these records are loose wooden shelves, upon which the wills are arranged in bundles, tied up with common strings, and without any covering to them; exposed to the effect of the damp of the weather and the necessary accumulation of dirt." to these unprotected wills the deputy registrar was perhaps wise in his generation to deny access; for mr. protheroe says in addition that, "if it was the object of any person to purloin a will, such a thing might be accomplished." perfectly and safely accessible copies might be made, at "an expense quite trifling." what? mr. protheroe, would you rob these poor registrars of a shilling of their hard earnings, just to save landed and other property, of some millions value, from litigation and fraud? would you discount their twenty thousand a year by even a fraction per cent? the clause of the treaty, offensive and defensive, which was being negotiated all this while, between the deputy registrar and his visitor, was drawn up by the former in these concise words, "how long do you want to be here?" that, mr. wallace replied, would depend upon the facilities afforded him, the condition of the calendars and indexes, and the assistance he might be allowed to call in. after much battling, the conference ended by mr. william wallace, and a friend who accompanied him, being allowed to set to work upon the calendars of such wills as had been deposited before the year . the two antiquaries would have commenced their researches immediately; only, on examining their dress, they found it in such a state of filth from the smoke with which the office had been filled during the arrangement of this important compact, that they were obliged to return to the hotel to change their linen. the prospect of spending a week in such a place was not altogether agreeable. mr. wallace did not enjoy the notion of being smoke-dried; and of returning to the middle temple a sort of animated ham. a sojourn in the place was not to be thought of without terror; yet the poor clerks endured their smoking fate with fortitude. use was to them a second nature; and every man connected with these registries must be completely inured to dust. but the man of the middle temple was a kind of knight-errant in the matter of rescuing ancient documents from their tombs of filth; and not to be daunted. he and his friend opened the campaign directly in the face of the enemy's fire--which, so great was their ardor, they only wished would become a little more brisk and less smoky. that day and the next day they bored on with patience and perseverance through every obstacle. when they found in the calendar a reference to what they wanted, every possible obstacle was thrown in their way. the required document was either lost, or had been stolen, or had strayed. nor was there the slightest reason to doubt that this was true. it was well known to the searchers that one class of documents at least had been actually made away with by a former deputy registrar. dr. thelwall, of newcastle, wrote in the gentleman's magazine for , page four hundred and ninety:--"it is a fact well known that, by a canon of james the first, the clergyman of every parish was required to send a copy of the register annually to the bishop of the diocese. the most shameful negligence is attributable to the person (the deputy registrar) in whose keeping they have been placed. indeed i have some reason to suppose this, as i lately saw in the possession of a friend, a great number of extracts from the register of a certain parish in this neighborhood, and, on questioning him as to the way in which he became possessed of them, i was informed they were given to him by his cheesemonger, and that they were copies forwarded by the clergyman of the parish to the proper officer in a bordering diocese, and had been allowed through the negligence of their keeper to obtain the distinguished honor of wrapping up cheese and bacon." the sale of records, for waste paper, was the mode adopted to revenge the meanness of the legislature, in not providing the under-paid registrars with remuneration for this addition to their duties. was it possible to keep life and soul together upon the ten or fifteen thousand sterling per annum which these two poor fellows were then obliged to starve upon? certainly not! therefore, to eke out a wretched existence, they found themselves driven to sell the property of the public, if not for the necessaries, for the luxuries, of life. they had, perhaps, managed to keep their families, by a rigid, pinching economy in bread--dry bread; but to butter it; to indulge themselves with the proper diet of even church mice, they were obliged to dispose of paper--worth, perhaps, thousands and thousands of pounds to the parties whose names were inscribed on it--at a few pence per pound, to the cheesemonger. from this doom of some of the parochial records of the province, mr. william wallace inferred the degree of care and exactitude with which the wills were kept. previous knowledge had prepared him for it; but he was not prepared to find that _the whole_ of another and most important class of records, up to a comparatively late date, had been abstracted, in the lump, from the registry of this cathedral number two. the case was this:-- in the course of his investigations, it was necessary for him to refer to a "marriage allegation,"--that is, a copy of the statement made by a bridegroom previous to converting himself, by the help of the bishop's license, into a husband. he then learnt that most of such documents are the "private property" of one of the clerks, who kept them in his own private house; that he had bought them of a deceased member of the herald's college, and that for each search into them he charged according to a sliding scale, arranged according to the station of the applicant, the maximum of which was five pounds for the simple search, and five pounds more if what the party wanted were found. the english of this is, that the present custodier of these papers purchased of a dead herald what did not belong to him; and what there could have been no difficulty whatever in restoring to the true owner; (because no one could have known better than the purchaser that they were public property); and that their proper place was not his private house, but the provincial registry. the produce of this abstraction is an illegal income better possibly than the legal gains of an admiral or a government commissioner; double that of a physician in good practice, or of a philanthropist in easy circumstances,--and treble that of our best dramatist, or our best poet. besides these hindrances, which could not be helped, a certain number of wilful obstructions were thrown in the way of our inquiring friends, because they had been desired by the archbishop to be placed on the fee free-list. they were watched by the entire office; for it became argus for the occasion. remarks of a satirical character were discharged point-blank from behind the desks, whenever a good opening occurred. the non-paying searchers were "in the way"--(this was true, so unfit is the apartment for public accommodation); "what people got they ought to pay for, as other people did." spies slid silently out from behind the ramparts, or desks, to look over their shoulders, and to see that they did not purloin any information posterior to the fifteenth century. mr. william wallace stood all this manfully; but his ally was obliged to retire at the expiration of the second day. mr. william wallace at length found he could not advance the objects of his inquiries any more efficiently at this cathedral number two, than he had advanced them at cathedral number one; so, at the end of a week, he beat a dignified retreat with all the honors of war. he then turned his face towards the unimpeachable registry of cathedral number three, hoping for better success. cathedral number three. the core of the inquiry which mr. william wallace had a heart, lay imbedded in the depositories of unimpeachable ecclesiastical registry number three. to the city of that see he therefore repaired, warmed by that flaming zeal which only burns in the breast of an earnest antiquary, and which no amount of disappointment can quench. though sanguine, even for an antiquity-hunter, the hopes which rebounded from his previous failures, sunk within him, when he remembered that whereas he was in former instances fortified with letters of recommendation--almost of command--from the bishops of each diocese; on this occasion, he had to fight single-handed, (like another st. george,) the dragons that "guarded" the treasures he sought. he had no better introduction to the third deputy-registrar than an honest purpose; and, his former experience taught him that that was about as unpromising an usher into such a presence as could be imagined. mr. wallace therefore commenced this new attack with no strong presentiment of success. strengthened with an ally, in the person of a friendly attorney, mr. william wallace marched boldly to the great functionary's house, a splendid edifice in the cathedral close, with thirty-three windows in front, extensive grounds behind, detached stables and a tasteful boat-house at the edge of what is here called the "minster pool." into this great house of a great man, mr. william wallace was ushered by his friend. nothing could exceed the obsequiousness of the man of law, and great was the civility of the man of wills. the interview was going on pleasantly and the antiquary was beginning to believe that at last he had found a pattern deputy-registrar, when the lawyer happened to mention that mr. william wallace was a literary man. mr. wallace felt that this would be fatal--and it was so. he knew the condign contempt ecclesiastical registrars entertained for the literary world, from the little circumstance of hearing only the week before in another registry, the most eminent historian of the present day, and our best archaic topographer, designated as "contemptible penny-a-liners." mr. wallace was therefore not at all astonished when the deputy-registrar folded up his smiling countenance into a frown. he evidently knew what was coming. literary men never pay, and mr. william wallace wanted to consult "his" registers gratis. when this shrewd surmise was, by a word from the attorney, realized, the registrar struggled hard to smoothe his face again to a condition of bland composure; but in vain. the wound which had pierced through his pocket, rankled within. the depravity of literary people in endeavoring to dig and delve for historical information without paying for the privilege of benefitting the public by their researches, was _too_ abominable! the registrar was so good as to say that he would grant mr. wallace the privilege of consulting any wills he pleased--on the usual terms: namely, two shillings and sixpence for every document. with this condescending permission (which placed mr. wallace on exactly the same footing as the great body of the public which had not done itself the honor of visiting the deputy-registrar) he repaired to the searching office. the point he had set himself to ascertain at this cathedral registry number three, hinged upon an authentic attestation of the decease of the father of a distinguished general under charles the first. the name was a very common one in the diocese, and of course continually occurred in the index. will after will was produced by the clerks; half-crown after half-crown fell glibly out of mr. wallace's pocket. still no success. this proved an expensive day. mr. wallace had had to pay, in the course of it, twenty-five pounds; although he was not allowed, as at the other places, to make a single extract. the income of the office even of deputy registrar sometimes admits of the maintenance of from six to a dozen race-horses, but the expense of compiling paper calendars could never be tolerated. to make indexes of wills that have never been catalogued would be quite out of the question; for the registrar charges his clients for the _time_ of his clerks in making searches, and it was owned to mr. wallace that it would take a year (at from one to two guineas per day) to find any will dated before the year . the searching office of this registry was, like the others, inconvenient, small, and often crowded. the policy of the clerks was, therefore, to despatch the inquirers as fast as possible, so as to ensure a rapid change of visitors and a streaming influx of half-crowns. on the second day of mr. wallace's search the trouble he had given on the previous day for his money was intelligibly hinted to him. he was broadly told that he was "very much in the way;" for room was so much required that some applicants were plainly told that they must "come again to-morrow." to others who had not their inquiries ready cut and dried, in a business form, and who threatened long explanations respecting testators, a deaf ear was turned, or a pretended search was made, and they were told "there was no such will in the place." a pleasant case occurred on the second morning. an illiterate laborer tried to make the officials understand that an uncle of his wife had, he had heard, left him a legacy, and "he wanted to know the rights o' it." he gave the name and the exact date of the death, and a clerk retired under pretence of searching for the document. in a very short time he returned with-- "no such will in the place--half-a-crown, please." "half-a-croone?" said the countryman, "wat vor?" "half-a-crown!" repeated the clerk. "wat, vor telling me nought?" "half-a-crown!" was again let off with a loud explosion, over the stiff embrasure of white cravat. "but darn me if oi pay't," persisted the expectant legatee. "half-a-crown!" the countryman went on raising a storm in the office, in midst of which the "half-a-crown!" minute guns were discharged with severe regularity. at length, however, the agriculturist was obliged to succumb, and after a mighty effort to disinter the coin from under a smock-frock, and out of the depths of a huge pocket and a leather purse, the poor man was obliged to produce and pay over what was probably a fifth of his week's earnings. this circumstance having attracted mr. wallace's attention and pity, he took a note of the name of the testator; and, after the inquirer had left, found it in the calendar, and by-and-by, by dint of a little manoeuvring, got a sight of the will. in it he actually found that the poor man _had_ been left a small legacy. meanwhile mr. william wallace had been actively employed in calling for wills and paying out half-crowns. it was quite evident from the calendars that no greater care was taken of paper and parchment here than in the other registries. several wills entered in it, as having been once in the depository--wherever that was--had against them the words "wanting" and "lost." that ancient records should in the course of centuries fall aside, cannot be wondered at, even in a registry, which produces at present to its officers from seven to ten thousand per annum; but what excuse can there be for the loss of comparatively modern ones? certain wills were not to be found of the years ; ; ; and . mr. wallace soon found that in a place where dropping half-crowns into the till and doing as little as possible in return for them, is considered the only legitimate business, he was looked upon even at twenty-five pounds per day as a sort of bad bargain, who required a great deal too much for his money. they could not coin fast enough by mr. william wallace, and the deputy-registrar indulged the office with his august presence to inform him, that as he gave so much trouble for the searches he was making, he must pay, besides two-and-six-pence for every future search, two guineas per diem for the use of the office! it happened that the bishop of cathedral number three was then in the city, officiating at an ordination, and to him mr. william wallace determined to apply for relief from this extortion. he enclosed to his lordship his letters from other prelates and stated his case. the answer he received was the bishop's _unqualified authority_ to search wherever and for whatever he wanted in the registers of his lordship's diocese. although this letter was addressed by the bishop to the servant or deputy of _his_ servant, the registrar, yet mr. wallace's dear-bought sagacity had taught him to place very little faith in a bishop's power over his inferiors. as it turned out, he found himself one of those who are blessed, because, expecting nothing, they are not disappointed. the deputy-registrar received his superior's mandate with supercilious _sang-froid_. the old story--"the bishop had no jurisdiction whatever over him," but this once, &c. &c. mr. william wallace had met in cathedrals numbers one and two, repulses and rudeness. but each cerberus who pretended to guard the documentary treasures of those dioceses, honestly showed his teeth. _they_ had not been guilty of deceit. deputy-registrar number three was wiser in his generation. he gave a cold assent to the bishop's mandate in mr. wallace's behalf; but with it such wily instructions to his clerks, as rendered it as nugatory as if he had put it in his waste basket or had lighted his cigar. during the two days that half-crowns rained in silver showers from the antiquary's purse, nearly every will he asked for was produced; but now, on the third day, when the bishop's letter had closed his purse-strings, mr. wallace demanded document after document, and was told by the "conservators" of this important kind of public property, that they had "been lost," "could not be found," "mislaid." but the most frequent return was, "destroyed at the siege of the city, in the year "--stolen away with the tomb of marmion when "fanatic brooke the fair cathedral storm'd and took." the result of the three days' investigations stood thus: "during the two paying days, out of a hundred wills asked for, eighty were produced. throughout the non-paying day, out of ninety wills asked for, only _one_ was produced!" when half-crowns were rife, not one word was said about "the siege of the city, in the year ," although nearly all the wills mr. wallace was obliged with a sight of, were dated anterior to that destructive event. for some explanation mr. wallace repaired to the deputy-registrar's abode. it was too late. the clever sub. knew what was coming--and retreated from the field. the servant's answer to mr. wallace was, "out of town, sir!" but mr. william wallace was foiled even more completely in another point: he had a great desire to see where and how the wills were kept. he knew their condition in , from what ulster king-at-arms said before the ecclesiastical commission, "i consider the records very dirty; they have not, apparently, been dusted for many years." the remarkable result of mr. wallace's urgent inquiries was that not a soul he asked could, or would, tell in what place the ecclesiastical records of cathedral number three were deposited. mr. wallace gave up this investigation in despair and left the city. the _locus_ of the documents was to him a mystery and a wonder! the habits of the antiquary do not, however, dispose him to indulge in listless despair. to find out the secret masses of the records of cathedral number three was a task mr. william wallace had so earnestly set himself, that next to his domestic relations and his literary labors, it grew into one of the duties of his existence; therefore, on his way to cathedral number four, he paid another visit to the city of cathedral number three, fortified with letters to some of its clergy. to be sure _they_ could clear up the mystery. his first application was to one of the canons. did he know where the ecclesiastical records were kept? well, it was odd, but it never entered his head to inquire. he really did _not_ know. perhaps some of the chapter officials could tell. to one of these, hies mr. wallace. even that functionary--whose courteousness, together with that of his colleague, was pleasant to the applicant by the force of mere contrast--was equally unable to reveal the secret. "but surely," he added, "such a place cannot, when one sets about it, be so impenetrable a mystery. i have an idea that the _miller_ could enlighten you." "the miller?" "yes. he knows everything about the town. try him." mr. wallace had business at the searching office, and having transacted it, determined to make another effort in this legitimate quarter. the following short dialogue occurred between him and the clerk:--"pray," said mr. wallace, "where are the wills kept?" "that's not your business!" was the answer. mr. wallace returned to the charge but the clerk became deaf, and went on with some writing, precisely as if mr. william wallace were invisible and inaudible. the miller was the only resource. he was from home, and his wife gave the same answer as everybody else had done. "but," she said, pointing to an individual who was sauntering into the close, "there's one as can tell 'ee. he's a _rachetty_ man--he is." without waiting to inquire the meaning of this strange expression, off starts the record-hunter upon the new secret. he runs down his game in no time. it consists of a burly biped, bearing a cage of fine ferrets. round his person is displayed the broad insignia of office,--he is a rat-catcher. here mr. william wallace's perseverance triumphs. the rat-catcher knows all about it. "why you see, sir," he said, "i contracts for the registrar." "what for?" "what for? why, i catches the rats for him at so much a-year." "and where do you catch them?" "where do i catch them? why, where the old wills is." "and where is that?" "where is that? why, _there_." the rat-catcher points to a sort of barn that rises from the edge of the minster pool. it has no windows on the ground-floor. on the first-floor are six--two in the front of the building and four at the end,--twenty-seven windows less than are displayed in the front of the registrar's beautifully glazed house; but much of the little glass afforded to the registry is broken. to mend it upon seven thousand a-year would never do, especially when old parchment is lying about in heaps. why pay glaziers' charges when ancient wills and other ecclesiastical records keep out wind and weather as well as glass?--for light is a thing rather to be shunned than admitted into such places. accordingly, as the rat-catcher points to the shed, mr. wallace observes numberless ends of record rolls and bundles of engrossed testaments poked into the broken windows: in some places variegated with old rags. judging from the exterior, and from the contract for rat-catching, the interior of this depository of the titles of hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of property, must be an archæological golgotha, a dark mouldy sepulchre of parchment and dust. lawyers say that there is not an estate in this country with an impregnable title; in other words, it is on the cards in the game of ecclesiastical and common law, for any family to be deprived of their possessions in consequence of being unable to establish a perfect title to them. how can it be otherwise when the very deeds by which they have and hold what they enjoy, are left to be eaten by rats, or to be stuffed into broken windows? cathedral number four. an antiquary cannot approach the city of chester from london, even in an express railway train, without emotions more lively than that class of observers generally have credit for. despite a sensation akin to that of being fired off in a rocket, and a pardonable fancy that the hedges are endless bands of green ribbon in eternal motion, that the houses, and cottages, and churches, and trees, and villages, as they dart past the confines of the carriage window, are huge missiles shot across fields which are subjected to a rapid dispensation of distorted perspective; yet these mighty evidences of the present do not dull his mind to the past. he remembers, with wonder, that two thousand years ago, it was over this identical line of country that the legions of suetonius lagged along after they had blunted the scythes of boadicea, routed her hordes, and driven her to suicide. we will not say that our own fellow of the society of antiquaries, mr. william wallace, retrojected his imagination so far into the past while crossing the chester platform with his carpet-bag, because we are led to believe, from his report to us, that his views were immediately directed to the more modern times of st. werburgh, who founded the abbey of chester (once the most splendid in england); seeing that it is in the still-standing gateway of that obsolete establishment, that the objects of mr. wallace's especial solicitude are now, and always have been deposited, since henry the eighth erected chester into a diocese. his hopes of success in seeking out certain facts from the testamentary records of this see, were more slender than they had been while entering upon his errand at the other three cathedrals. he had written to the bishop for that permission to search which had been by other prelates so readily granted, but which had been rendered by the respective registrars so utterly nugatory, and had received no answer. awkward reminiscences of the state of this registry, as disclosed before the last parliamentary committee on the ecclesiastical courts, fell like a dark shadow over his hopes. up to the year , the gateway where the wills are kept was, upon the deputy registrar's own showing, neither "fire-proof, sufficiently large, nor absolutely free from plunder." the searching-office was a part of the gateway; and was as inadequate as other searching offices. the chief registrar in was a sinecurist in the _seventieth_ year of office, and was verging towards the hundredth of his age; having received, in his time, not less than three hundred and fifty thousand pounds of the public money for doing nothing. the fees for searches and extracts were heavy, and nobody was allowed, as in most other registries, to see how the wills were kept. such were the gloomy prepossessions of mr. william wallace, as he approached the archway which held the testamentary treasures of diocese number four. he sought the searching office in vain, and at length was fain to address himself to the first passenger--a burly blacksmith--who, at once, in answer to his inquiry, pointed to a handsome new stone building, that stood within the abbey square. mr. william wallace ascended the steps doubtingly; and when he found himself in the wide passage of an evidently well-planned public office--so contrary was the whole aspect of the place to his preconceptions of it, and to his previous experience of other ecclesiastical registries--that he would have retired, had not the words, "searching office," as plain as paint and capitals could make them, stared him full in the face from a door on his right. this he boldly opened, and beheld a handsome apartment, so mounted with desks, counters, and every appurtenance for public convenience, as to put him in mind of the interior of a flourishing assurance office. "the room," says mr. william wallace, in his report to us, "is furnished with a counter of ample size, extending round it, on which you examine the indexes. on calling for one or two modern wills, the clerks brought me a substantial, well-bound book, in which he informed me all modern wills have been, since the appointment of the present registrar, enrolled at length, in a round text, so distinct and plain, that illiterate persons might read them; and not engrossed, so as to become a source of revenue, as at doctor's commons, where the unlearned, in what is called 'court-hand,' are obliged to call in the aid of a clerk, and disburse a fee for the wills to be read to them. i was informed that i could see the originals on giving a satisfactory reason to the registrar, or, in his absence, to a principal clerk. so promptly is business done here, that i found the wills which had been received from manchester and other places that day, had been already indexed--very different to york, where wills are sometimes not indexed for six or eight months, and, consequently, often not at all. i next inquired for some earlier wills, and stated that i might probably want to have two or three days' research, for a literary purpose. on hearing this, the clerk informed me that the registrar made no charge under such circumstances, except for the clerks' time. i then called for about six early wills, and only one of the six could not be found. afterwards i asked for the returns of several parish registers; each set of which are well and substantially bound in a separate volume; for this a fee of three shillings and eight-pence is demanded; at york, for the production of a similar quantity of records, fifteen pounds is the price, without clerks' fees; and at lincoln it would be impossible to collect them at all, many having been used to bind up modern wills, and for other such purposes." mr. william wallace, pleasingly surprised at the contrast this registry number four presented to others he had visited, and where he had been so egregiously snubbed, determined to learn and see as much respecting it as possible. with this view, he applied, without any other introduction than his card, to the registrar; whose excellent custom it was, he understood, to be in attendance daily for several hours. at that time he was examining witnesses in a case for the ecclesiastical court, and handed the card to the bishop's secretary, who was also in official attendance. "that gentleman," says mr. wallace, "immediately came down, and informed me that the bishop had written to me, in answer to my application, two days before, giving me permission to search, at reasonable hours, and that the registrar, as was his usual custom, had not the slightest objection. i then asked to be shown the various parts of the building, the modes of preserving the records, which request was granted without the smallest hesitation." our informant then goes on to say that he found the building--which was raised solely at the expense of the present registrar, since his appointment in --conveniently divided into different departments like the best of the government offices,--each department legibly indicated for the benefit of the inquirer, on the different doors. the manner in which the records are preserved at this cathedral number four, is spoken of by our friend with satisfaction. his report to us is silent on rats, wet, mildew, smoke, broken windows, torn testaments, and illegible calendars. "modern wills," he repeats, "are copied at length into volumes, by the present registrar, a practice which i regret is not adopted at york, lincoln, lichfield, winchester, and other places i have visited. if wills of an earlier date than that of the enrolment books are required to be taken out of the office for production in any court of law, &c., an examined copy made for the purpose, is deposited in its place during its temporary removal from the registry. the principal portion of the wills are deposited in a dry, but not a fire-proof building, in good repair, called the abbey gateway; where, during the office hours, two clerks are constantly kept at work in copying wills that come in. these are kept in boxes, arranged upon shelves with just sufficient space to admit them, like drawers; and upon the top of the wills is a sheet of pasteboard fitting the box, as a further protection from dust. the wills are alphabetically arranged in the boxes, which are of uniform size, and contain more or less letters; the first box for , for instance, contains the wills of testators whose names commence with a. or b. the wills of each letter are placed separately, and are divided into packets of one month each, so that the exact date of probate being known, the will is found immediately." before the period of its renovation, the registry of chester was as inefficient and exacting as the other three we have described. to whom the merit of the change and the contrast is really due, is not easily to be ascertained, although the present incumbent of the office must necessarily have the largest share of credit for it. we suspect, however, that the proximate impetus of the reform can be traced to the geographical position of the see. it includes the busiest of the manufacturing towns, and the most business-like, practical, and hard-handed examples of the english character. the thorough-going manchester or liverpool legatee would not endure, beyond a certain point and a certain time, the impositions, delays, destructions, and muddling confusion of the will offices in the more easy-going districts. time with him is cash. what he wants he must have at once, especially if he pays for it. he may be put off once or twice with a rotten, illegible index, or a "come again to-morrow;" but when he once sees that these may be obviated, he takes care to let there be no delay on his part, and agitates immediately. to engage a free trade hall, and get up a public meeting, is with him a matter of no more consideration than scolding his clerk, or bringing a creditor to book. he has discredited the maxim that "talking is not doing;" and a constant iteration of pertinent speeches, ending with stinging "resolutions," has been found to _do_ greater feats, to perform much greater wonders than setting ecclesiastical registries in order. it is possible, therefore, that the lay authorities of the chester registry, having the dread of an uncompromising community before their eyes, saw their safety in renovation; and, like sensible men, made it, without that whining sophistication, that grim tenacity, with which abuses are excused and clung to, in exact proportion to their absurdity, profitableness, and injustice. part xx. disappearances. now, my dear cousin, mr. b., charming as he is in many points, has the little peculiarity of liking to change his lodgings once every three months on an average, which occasions some bewilderment to his country friends, who have no sooner learnt the belle vue road, hampstead, than they have to take pains to forget that address, and to remember the - / , upper brown street, camberwell; and so on, till i would rather learn a page of "walker's pronouncing dictionary," than try to remember the variety of directions which i have had to put on my letters to mr. b. during the last three years. last summer it pleased him to remove to a beautiful village not ten miles out of london, where there is a railway station. thither his friend sought him. (i do not now speak of the following scent there had been through three or four different lodgings, where mr. b. had been residing, before his country friend ascertained that he was now lodging at r----.) he spent the morning in making inquiries as to mr. b.'s whereabouts in the village; but many gentlemen were lodging there for the summer, and neither butcher nor baker could inform him where mr. b. was staying; his letters were unknown at the post-office, which was accounted for by the circumstance of their always being directed to his office in town. at last the country friend sauntered back to the railway office, and while he waited for the train he made inquiry, as a last resource, of the book-keeper at the station. "no, sir, i cannot tell you where mr. b. lodges--so many gentlemen go by the trains; but i have no doubt but that the person standing by that pillar can inform you." the individual to whom he directed the inquirer's attention had the appearance of a tradesman--respectable enough, yet with no pretensions to "gentility," and had, apparently, no more urgent employment than lazily watching the passengers who came dropping in to the station. however, when he was spoken to, he answered civilly and promptly. "mr. b.? tall gentleman, with light hair? yes, sir, i know mr. b. he lodges at no. morton villas--has done these three weeks or more; but you'll not find him there, sir, now. he went to town by the eleven o'clock train, and does not usually return until the half-past four train." the country friend had no time to lose in returning to the village, to ascertain the truth of this statement. he thanked his informant, and said he would call on mr. b. at his office in town; but before he left r---- station, he asked the book-keeper who the person was to whom he had referred him for information as to his friend's place of residence. "one of the detective police, sir," was the answer. i need hardly say, that mr. b., not without a little surprise, confirmed the accuracy of the policeman's report in every particular. when i heard this anecdote of my cousin and his friend, i thought that there could be no more romances written on the same kind of plot as caleb williams; the principal interest of which, to the superficial reader, consists in the alternation of hope and fear, that the hero may, or may not, escape his pursuer. it is long since i have read the story, and i forget the name of the offended and injured gentleman, whose privacy caleb has invaded; but i know that his pursuit of caleb--his detection of the various hiding-places of the latter--his following up of slight clews--all, in fact, depended upon his own energy, sagacity, and perseverance. the interest was caused by the struggle of man against man; and the uncertainty as to which would ultimately be successful in his object; the unrelenting pursuer, or the ingenious caleb, who seeks by every device to conceal himself. now, in , the offended master would set the detective police to work; there would be no doubt as to their success; the only question would be as to the time that would elapse before the hiding-place could be detected, and that could not be a question long. it is no longer a struggle between man and man, but between a vast organised machinery, and a weak, solitary individual; we have no hopes, no fears--only certainty. but if the materials of pursuit and evasion, as long as the chase is confined to england, are taken away from the storehouse of the romancer, at any rate we can no more be haunted by the idea of the possibility of mysterious disappearances; and any one who has associated much with those who were alive at the end of the last century, can testify that there was some reason for such fears. when i was a child i was sometimes permitted to accompany a relation to drink tea with a very clever old lady, of one hundred and twenty--or, so i thought then; i now think she, perhaps, was only about seventy. she was lively and intelligent, and had seen and known much that was worth narrating. she was a cousin of the sneyds, the family whence mr. edgeworth took two of his wives; had known major andre; had mixed in the old whig society that the beautiful duchess of devonshire and "buff and blue mrs. crewe" gathered round them; her father had been one of the early patrons of the lovely miss linley. i name these facts to show that she was too intelligent and cultivated by association, as well as by natural powers, to lend an over easy credence to the marvellous; and yet i have heard her relate stories of disappearances which haunted my imagination longer than any tale of wonder. one of her stories was this:--her father's estate lay in shropshire, and his park gates opened right on to a scattered village, of which he was landlord. the houses formed a straggling, irregular street--here a garden, next a gable end of a farm, there a row of cottages, and so on. now, at the end of the house or cottage lived a very respectable man and his wife. they were well known in the village, and were esteemed for the patient attention which they paid to the husband's father, a paralytic old man. in winter his chair was near the fire; in summer they carried him out into the open space in front of the house to bask in the sunshine, and to receive what placid amusement he could from watching the little passings to and fro of the villagers. he could not move from his bed to his chair without help. one hot and sultry june day all the village turned out to the hay fields. only the very old and the very young remained. the old father of whom i have spoken was carried out to bask in the sunshine that afternoon, as usual, and his son and daughter-in-law went to the hay making. but when they came home, in the early evening, their paralyzed father had disappeared--was gone! and from that day forwards nothing more was ever heard of him. the old lady, who told this story, said, with the quietness that always marked the simplicity of her narrations, that every inquiry which her father could make was made, and that it could never be accounted for. no one had observed any stranger in the village; no small household robbery, to which the old man might have been supposed an obstacle, had been committed in his son's dwelling that afternoon. the son and daughter-in-law (noted, too, for their attention to the helpless father) had been afield among all the neighbors the whole of the time. in short, it never was accounted for, and left a painful impression on many minds. i will answer for it, the detective police would have ascertained every fact relating to it in a week. this story from its mystery was painful, but had no consequences to make it tragical. the next which i shall tell, (and although traditionary, these anecdotes of disappearances which i relate in this paper are correctly repeated, and were believed by my informants to be strictly true,) had consequences, and melancholy ones, too. the scene of it is in a little country town, surrounded by the estates of several gentlemen of large property. about a hundred years ago there lived in this small town an attorney, with his mother and sisters. he was agent for one of the 'squires near, and received rents for him on stated days, which, of course, were well known. he went at these times to a small public house, perhaps five miles from ----, where the tenants met him, paid their rents, and were entertained at dinner afterwards. one night he did not return from this festivity. he never returned. the gentleman whose agent he was employed the dogberrys of the time to find him and the missing cash; the mother, whose support and comfort he was, sought him with all the perseverance of faithful love. but he never returned, and by and by the rumor spread that he must have gone abroad with the money; his mother heard the whispers all around her, and could not disprove it; and so her heart broke, and she died. years after, i think as many as fifty, the well-to-do butcher and grazier of ---- died; but, before his death, he confessed that he had waylaid mr. ---- on the heath close to the town, almost within call of his own house, intending only to rob him; but meeting with more resistance than he anticipated, had been provoked to stab him, and had buried him that very night deep under the loose sand of the heath. there his skeleton was found; but too late for his poor mother to know that his fame was cleared. his sister, too, was dead, unmarried, for no one liked the possibilities which might arise from being connected with the family. none cared if he was guilty or innocent now. if our detective police had only been in existence! this last is hardly a story of unaccounted for disappearance. it is only unaccounted for in one generation. but disappearances never to be accounted for on any supposition are not uncommon, among the traditions of the last century. i have heard (and i think i have heard it in one of the earlier numbers of "chambers's journal") of a marriage which took place in lincolnshire about the year . it was not then _de riguer_ that the happy couple should set out on a wedding journey; but instead, they and their friends had a merry, jovial dinner at the house of either bride or groom; and in this instance the whole party adjourned to the bridegroom's residence, and dispersed; some to ramble in the garden, some to rest in the house until the dinner hour. the bridegroom, it is to be supposed, was with his bride, when he was suddenly summoned away by a domestic, who said that a stranger wished to speak to him; and henceforward he was never seen more. the same tradition hangs about an old deserted welsh hall, standing in a wood near festiniog; there, too, the bridegroom was sent for to give audience to a stranger on his wedding day, and disappeared from the face of the earth from that time; but there they tell in addition, that the bride lived long,--that she passed her threescore years and ten, but that daily, during all those years, while there was light of sun or moon, to lighten the earth, she sat watching,--watching at one particular window, which commanded a view of the approach to the house. her whole faculties, her whole mental powers, became absorbed in that weary watching; long before she died she was childish, and only conscious of one wish--to sit in that long, high window, and watch the road along which he might come. she was as faithful as evangeline, if pensive and inglorious. that these two similar stories of disappearance on a wedding-day "obtained," as the french say, shows us that any thing which adds to our facility of communication, and organization of means, adds to our security of life. only let a bridegroom try to disappear from an untamed _katherine_ of a bride, and he will soon be brought home like a recreant coward, overtaken by the electric telegraph, and clutched back to his fate by a detective policeman. two more stories of disappearance, and i have done. i will give you the last in date first, because it is the most melancholy; and we will wind up cheerfully (after a fashion.) some time between and , there lived in north shields a respectable old woman and her son, who was trying to struggle into sufficient knowledge of medicine to go out as ship surgeon in a baltic vessel, and perhaps in this manner to earn money enough to spend a session in edinburgh. he was furthered in all his plans by the late benevolent dr. g----, of that town. i believe the usual premium was not required in his case; the young man did many useful errands and offices which a finer young gentleman would have considered beneath him; and he resided with his mother in one of the alleys (or "chares,") which lead down from the main street of north shields to the river. dr. g---- had been with a patient all night, and left her very early on a winter's morning to return home to bed; but first he stepped down to his apprentice's home, and bade him get up, and follow him to his own house, where some medicine was to be mixed, and then taken to the lady. accordingly the poor lad came, prepared the dose, and set off with it some time between five and six on a winter's morning. he was never seen again. dr. g---- waited, thinking he was at his mother's house; she waited, considering that he had gone to his day's work. and meanwhile, as people remembered afterwards, the small vessel bound to edinburgh sailed out of port. the mother expected him back her whole life long; but some years afterwards occurred the discoveries of the hare and burke horrors, and people seemed to gain a dark glimpse at his fate; but i never heard that it was fully ascertained, or indeed, more than surmised. i ought to add, that all who knew him spoke emphatically as to his steadiness of purpose and conduct, so as to render it improbable in the highest degree that he had run off to sea, or suddenly changed his plan of life in any way. my last story is one of a disappearance which was accounted for after many years. there is a considerable street in manchester, leading from the centre of the town to some of the suburbs. this street is called at one part garratt, and afterwards, where it emerges into gentility and comparatively country, brook street. it derives its former name from an old black-and-white hall of the time of richard the third, or thereabouts, to judge from the style of building; they have closed in what is left of the old hall now; but a few years since this old house was visible from the main road; it stood low, on some vacant ground, and appeared to be half in ruins. i believe it was occupied by several poor families, who rented tenements in the tumble-down dwelling. but formerly it was gerard hall, (what a difference between gerard and garratt!) and was surrounded by a park, with a clear brook running through it, with pleasant fish ponds, (the name of these was preserved, until very lately, on a street near), orchards, dove-cotes, and similar appurtenances to the manor-houses of former days. i am almost sure that the family to whom it belonged were mosleys; probably a branch of the tree of the lord of the manor of manchester. any topographical work of the last century relating to their district would give the name of the last proprietor of the old stock, and it is to him that my story refers. many years ago there lived in manchester two old maiden ladies, of high respectability. all their lives had been spent in the town, and they were fond of relating the changes which had taken place within their recollection; which extended back to seventy or eighty years from the present time. they knew much of its traditionary history from their father, as well; who, with his father before him, had been respectable attorneys in manchester, during the greater part of the last century; they were, also, agents for several of the county families, who, driven from their old possessions by the enlargement of the town, found some compensation in the increased value of any land which they might choose to sell. consequently the messrs. s----, father and son, were conveyancers in good repute, and acquainted with several secret pieces of family history; one of which related to garratt hall. the owner of this estate, some time in the first half of the last century, married young; he and his wife had several children, and lived together in a quiet state of happiness for many years. at last, business of some kind took the husband up to london; a week's journey those days. he wrote, and announced his arrival; i do not think he ever wrote again. he seemed to be swallowed up in the abyss of the metropolis, for no friend (and the lady had many and powerful friends) could ever ascertain for her what had become of him; the prevalent idea was that he had been attacked by some of the street robbers who prowled about in those days, that he had resisted, and had been murdered. his wife gradually gave up all hopes of seeing him again, and devoted herself to the care of her children; and so they went on, tranquilly enough, until the heir became of age, when certain deeds were necessary before he could legally take possession of the property. these deeds mr. s---- (the family lawyer) stated had been given up by him into the missing gentleman's keeping just before the last mysterious journey to london, with which i think they were in some way concerned. it was possible that they were still in existence, some one in london might have them in possession, and be either conscious or unconscious of their importance. at any rate, mr. s----'s advice to his client was that he should put an advertisement in the london papers, worded so skilfully that any one who might hold the important documents should understand to what it referred, and no one else. this was accordingly done; and although repeated, at intervals, for some time, it met with no success. but, at last, a mysterious answer was sent, to the effect that the deeds were in existence, and should be given up; but only on certain conditions, and to the heir himself. the young man, in consequence, went up to london; and adjourned, according to directions, to an old house in barbacan; where he was told by a man, apparently awaiting him, that he must submit to be blindfolded, and must follow his guidance. he was taken through several long passages before he left the house; at the termination of one of these he was put into a sedan chair, and carried about for an hour or more; he always reported that there were many turnings, and that he imagined he was set down finally not very far from his starting-point. when his eyes were unbandaged, he was in a decent sitting-room, with tokens of family occupation lying about. a middle-aged gentleman entered, and told him that, until a certain time had elapsed (which should be indicated to him in a particular way, but of which the length was not then named), he must swear to secrecy as to the means by which he obtained possession of the deeds. this oath was taken, and then the gentleman, not without some emotion, acknowledged himself to be the missing father of the heir. it seems that he had fallen in love with a damsel, a friend of the person with whom he lodged. to this young woman he had represented himself as unmarried; she listened willingly to his wooing, and her father, who was a shopkeeper in the city, was not averse to the match, as the lancashire 'squire had a goodly presence, and many similar qualities, which the shopkeeper thought might be acceptable to his customers. the bargain was struck; the descendant of a knightly race married the only daughter of the city shopkeeper, and became a junior partner in the business. he told his son that he had never repented the step he had taken; that his lowly-born wife was sweet, docile and affectionate; that his family by her was large; and that he and they were thriving and happy. he inquired after his first (or rather, i should say, his true) wife with friendly affection; approved of what she had done with regard to his estate, and the education of his children; but said that he considered he was dead to her, as she was to him. when he really died he promised that a particular message, the nature of which he specified, should be sent to his son at garratt; until then they would not hear more of each other; for it was of no use attempting to trace him under his incognito, even if the oath did not render such an attempt forbidden. i dare say the youth had no great desire to trace out the father, who had been one in name only. he returned to lancashire; took possession of the property at manchester; and many years elapsed before he received the mysterious intimation of his father's real death. after that he named the particulars connected with the recovery of the title-deeds to mr. s----, and one or two intimate friends. when the family became extinct, or removed from garratt, it became no longer any very closely kept secret, and i was told the tale of the disappearance by miss s----, the aged daughter of the family agent. once more, let me say, i am thankful i live in the days of the detective police; if i am murdered, or commit a bigamy, at any rate my friends will have the comfort of knowing all about it. part xxi. loaded dice. several years ago i made a tour through some of the southern counties of england with a friend. we travelled in an open carriage, stopping for a few hours a day, or a week, as it might be, wherever there was any thing to be seen; and we generally got through one stage before breakfast, because it gave our horses rest, and ourselves the chance of enjoying the brown bread, new milk, and fresh eggs of those country roadside inns, which are fast becoming subjects for archæological investigation. one evening my friend said, "to-morrow, we will breakfast at t----. i want to inquire about a family named lovell, who used to live there. i met the husband and wife and two lovely children, one summer, at exmouth. we became very intimate, and i thought them particularly interesting people, but i have never seen them since." the next morning's sun shone as brightly as heart could desire, and after a delightful drive, we reached the outskirts of the town about nine o'clock. "o, what a pretty inn!" said i, as we approached a small white house, with a sign swinging in front of it, and a flower garden on one side. "stop, john," cried my friend; "we shall get a much cleaner breakfast here than in the town, i dare say; and if there is any thing to be seen there, we can walk to it;" so we alighted, and were shown into a neat little parlor, with white curtains, where an unexceptionable rural breakfast was soon placed before us. "pray do you happen to know any thing of a family called lovell?" inquired my friend, whose name, by the way, was markham. "mr. lovell was a clergyman." "yes, ma'am," answered the girl who attended us, apparently the landlord's daughter, "mr. lovell is the vicar of our parish." "indeed! and does he live near here?" "yes, ma'am, he lives at the vicarage. it is just down that lane opposite, about a quarter of a mile from here; or you can go across the fields, if you please, to where you see that tower, it's close by there." "and which is the pleasantest road?" inquired mrs. markham. "well, ma'am, i think by the fields is the pleasantest, if you don't mind a stile or two; and, besides, you get the best view of the abbey by going that way." "is that tower we see part of the abbey?" "yes, ma'am," answered the girl; "and the vicarage is just the other side of it." armed with these instructions, as soon as we had finished our breakfast we started across the fields, and after a pleasant walk of twenty minutes we found ourselves in an old churchyard, amongst a cluster of the most picturesque ruins we had ever seen. with the exception of the gray tower, which we had espied from the inn, and which had doubtless been the belfry, the remains were not considerable. there was the outer wall of the chancel, and the broken step that had led to the high altar, and there were sections of aisles, and part of a cloister, all gracefully festooned with mosses and ivy; whilst mingled with the grass-grown graves of the prosaic dead, there were the massive tombs of the dame margerys and the sir hildebrands of more romantic periods. all was ruin and decay; but such poetic ruins! such picturesque decay! and just beyond the tall great tower, there was the loveliest, smiling little garden, and the prettiest cottage, that imagination could picture. the day was so bright, the grass so green, the flowers so gay, the air so balmy with their sweet perfumes, the birds sang so cheerily in the apple and cherry trees, that all nature seemed rejoicing. "well," said my friend, as she seated herself on the fragment of a pillar, and looked around her, "now that i see this place, i understand the sort of people the lovells were." "what sort of people were they?" said i. "why, as i said before, interesting people. in the first place, they were both extremely handsome." "but the locality had nothing to do with their good looks, i presume," said i. "i am not sure of that," she answered; "when there is the least foundation of taste or intellect to set out with, the beauty of external nature, and the picturesque accidents that harmonise with it, do, i am persuaded, by their gentle and elevating influences on the mind, make the handsome handsomer, and the ugly less ugly. but it was not alone the good looks of the lovells that struck me, but their air of refinement and high breeding, and i should say high birth--though i know nothing about their extraction--combined with their undisguised poverty and as evident contentment. now, i can understand such people finding here an appropriate home, and being satisfied with their small share of this world's goods; because here the dreams of romance writers about love in a cottage might be somewhat realized; poverty might be graceful and poetical here; and then, you know, they have no rent to pay." "very true," said i; "but suppose they had sixteen daughters, like a half-pay officer i once met on board a steam packet?" "that would spoil it, certainly," said mrs. markham; "but let us hope they have not. when i knew them they had only two children, a boy and a girl, called charles and emily; two of the prettiest creatures i ever beheld." as my friend thought it yet rather early for a visit, we had remained chattering in this way for more than an hour, sometimes seated on a tombstone, or a fallen column; sometimes peering amongst the carved fragments that were scattered about the ground, and sometimes looking over the hedge into the little garden, the wicket of which was immediately behind the tower. the weather being warm, most of the windows of the vicarage were open, and the blinds were all down; we had not yet seen a soul stirring, and were just wondering whether we might venture to present ourselves at the door, when a strain of distant music struck upon our ears. "hark!" i said; "how exquisite! it was the only thing wanting to complete the charm." "it is a military band, i think," said mrs. markham; "you know we passed some barracks before we reached the inn." nearer and nearer drew the sounds, solemn and slow; the band was evidently approaching by the green lane that skirted the fields we had come by. "hush!" said i, laying my hand on my friend's arm, with a strange sinking of the heart; "they are playing the dead march in saul! don't you hear the muffled drums? it's a funeral, but where's the grave?" "there!" said she, pointing to a spot close under the hedge where some earth had been thrown up; but the aperture was covered with a plank, probably to prevent accidents. there are few ceremonies in life at once so touching, so impressive, so sad, and yet so beautiful as a soldier's funeral! ordinary funerals, with their unwieldy hearses and feathers, and the absurd looking mutes, and the "inky cloaks" and weepers of hired mourners, always seem to me like a mockery of the dead; the appointments border so closely on the grotesque; they are so little in keeping with the true, the only view of death that can render life endurable! there is such a tone of exaggerated--forced, heavy, overacted gravity about the whole thing, that one had need to have a deep personal interest involved in the scene, to be able to shut one's eyes to the burlesque side of it. but a military funeral, how different! there you see death in life and life in death! there is nothing overstrained, nothing overdone. at once simple and solemn, decent and decorous, consoling, yet sad. the chief mourners, at best, are generally true mourners, for they have lost a brother with whom "they sat but yesterday at meat;" and whilst they are comparing memories, recalling how merry they had many a day been together, and the solemn tones of that sublime music float upon the air, we can imagine the freed and satisfied soul wafted on those harmonious breathings to its heavenly home; and our hearts are melted, our imaginations exalted, our faith invigorated, and we come away the better for what we have seen. i believe some such reflections as these were passing through our minds, for we both remained silent and listening, till the swinging to of the little wicket, which communicated with the garden, aroused us; but nobody appeared, and the tower being at the moment betwixt us and it, we could not see who had entered. almost at the same moment a man came in from a gate on the opposite side, and advancing to where the earth was thrown up, lifted the plank and discovered the newly-made grave. he was soon followed by some boys, and several respectable-looking persons came into the enclosure, whilst nearer and nearer drew the sound of the muffled drums; and now we descried the firing party and their officer, who led the procession with their arms reversed, each man wearing above the elbow a piece of black crape and a small bow of white satin ribbon; the band still playing that solemn strain. then came the coffin, borne by six soldiers. six officers bore up the pall, all quite young men; and on the coffin lay the shako, sword, side-belt, and white gloves of the deceased. a long train of mourners marched two and two, in open file, the privates first, the officers last. sorrow was imprinted on every face; there was no unseemly chattering, no wandering eyes; if a word was exchanged, it was in a whisper, and the sad shake of the head showed of whom they were discoursing. all this we observed as they marched through the lane that skirted one side of the churchyard. as they neared the gate the band ceased to play. "see there!" said mrs. markham, directing my attention to the cottage; "there comes mr. lovell. o, how he has changed!" and whilst she spoke, the clergyman, entering by the wicket, advanced to meet the procession at the gate, where he commenced reading the funeral service as he moved backwards towards the grave, round which the firing party, leaning on their firelocks, now formed. then came those awful words, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the hollow sound of the earth upon the coffin, and three volleys fired over the grave finished the solemn ceremony. when the procession entered the churchyard, we had retired behind the broken wall of the chancel, whence, without being observed, we had watched the whole scene with intense interest. just as the words "ashes to ashes! dust to dust!" were pronounced, i happened to raise my eyes towards the gray tower, and then, peering through one of the narrow slits, i saw the face of a man--such a face! never to my latest day can i forget the expression of those features! if ever there was despair and anguish written on a human countenance, it was there! and yet so young! so beautiful! a cold chill ran through my veins as i pressed mrs. markham's arm. "look up at the tower!" i whispered. "my god! what can it be?" she answered, turning quite pale. "and mr. lovell, did you observe how his voice shook? at first i thought it was illness; but he seems bowed down with grief. every face looks awestruck! there must be some tragedy here--something more than the death of an individual!" and fearing, under this impression, that our visit might prove untimely, we resolved to return to the inn, and endeavor to discover if any thing unusual had really occurred. before we moved i looked up at the narrow slit--the face was no longer there; but as we passed round to the other side of the tower, we saw a tall, slender figure, attired in a loose coat, pass slowly through the wicket, cross the garden, and enter the house. we only caught a glimpse of the profile; the head hung down upon the breast; the eyes were bent upon the ground; but we knew it was the same face we had seen above. we went back to the inn, where our inquiries elicited some information which made us wish to know more; but it was not till we went into the town that we obtained the following details of this mournful drama, of which we had thus accidentally witnessed one impressive scene. mr. lovell, as mrs. markham had conjectured, was a man of good family, but no fortune; he might have had a large one, could he have made up his mind to marry lady elizabeth wentworth, a bride selected for him by a wealthy uncle who proposed to make him his heir; but preferring poverty with emily dering, he was disinherited. he never repented his choice, although he remained vicar of a small parish, and a poor man all his life. the two children whom mrs. markham had seen were the only ones they had, and through the excellent management of mrs. lovell, and the moderation of her husband's desires, they had enjoyed an unusual degree of happiness in this sort of graceful poverty, till the young charles and emily were grown up, and it was time to think what was to be done with them. the son had been prepared for oxford by the father, and the daughter, under the tuition of her mother, was remarkably well educated and accomplished; but it became necessary to consider the future: charles must be sent to college, since the only chance of finding a provision for him was in the church, although the expense of maintaining him there could be ill afforded; so, in order in some degree to balance the outlay, it was, after much deliberation, agreed that emily should accept a situation as governess in london. the proposal was made by herself, and the rather consented to, that, in case of the death of her parents, she would almost inevitably have had to seek some such means of subsistence. these partings were the first sorrows that had reached the lovells. at first all went well. charles was not wanting in ability nor in a moderate degree of application: and emily wrote cheerily of her new life. she was kindly received, well treated, and associated with the family on the footing of a friend. neither did further experience seem to diminish her satisfaction. she saw a great many gay people, some of whom she named; and, amongst the rest, there not unfrequently appeared the name of herbert. mr. herbert was in the army, and being a distant connection of the family with whom she resided, was a frequent visitor at their house. "she was sure papa and mamma would like him." once the mother smiled, and said she hoped emily was not falling in love; but no more was thought of it. in the mean time charles had found out that there was time for many things at oxford, besides study. he was naturally fond of society, and had a remarkable capacity for excelling in all kinds of games. he was agreeable, lively, exceedingly handsome, and sang charmingly, having been trained in part singing by his mother. no young man at oxford was more _fêté_; but alas! he was very poor, and poverty poisoned all his enjoyments. for some time he resisted temptation; but after a terrible struggle--for he adored his family--he gave way, and ran in debt, and although his imprudence only augmented his misery, he had not resolution to retrace his steps, but advanced further and further on this broad road to ruin, so that he had come home for the vacation shortly before our visit to t----, threatened with all manner of annoyances if he did not carry back a sufficient sum to satisfy his most clamorous creditors. he had assured them he would do so, but where was he to get the money? certainly not from his parents; he well knew they had it not; nor had he a friend in the world from whom he could hope assistance in such an emergency. in his despair he often thought of running away--going to australia, america, new zealand, any where; but he had not even the means to do this. he suffered indescribable tortures, and saw no hope of relief. it was just at this period that herbert's regiment happened to be quartered at t----. charles had occasionally seen his name in his sister's letters, and heard that there was a herbert now in the barracks, but he was ignorant whether or not it was the same person; and when he accidentally fell into the society of some of the junior officers, and was invited by herbert himself to dine at the mess, pride prevented his ascertaining the fact. he did not wish to betray that his sister was a governess. herbert, however, knew full well that their visitor was the brother of emily lovell, but partly for reasons of his own, and partly because he penetrated the weakness of the other, he abstained from mentioning her name. now, this town of t---- was, and probably is, about the dullest quarter in all england. the officers hated it; there was no flirting, no dancing, no hunting, no any thing. not a man of them knew what to do with himself. the old ones wandered about and played at whist, the young ones took to hazard and three-card loo, playing at first for moderate stakes, but soon getting on to high ones. two or three civilians of the neighborhood joined the party, charles lovell among the rest. had they begun with playing high, he would have been excluded for want of funds; but whilst they played low, he won, so that when they increased the stakes, trusting to a continuance of his good fortune, he was eager to go on with them. neither did his luck altogether desert him; on the whole he rather won than lost: but he foresaw that one bad night would break him, and he should be obliged to retire, forfeiting his amusement and mortifying his pride. it was just at this crisis, that one night, an accident, which caused him to win a considerable sum, set him upon the notion of turning chance into certainty. whilst shuffling the cards he dropped the ace of spades into his lap, caught it up, replaced it in the pack, and dealt it to himself. no one else had seen the card, no observation was made, and a terrible thought came into his head! whether loo or hazard was played, charles lovell had, night after night, a most extraordinary run of luck. he won large sums, and saw before him the early prospect of paying his debts and clearing all his difficulties. amongst the young men who played at the table, some had plenty of money and cared little for their losses; but others were not so well off, and one of these was edward herbert. he, too, was the son of poor parents who had straightened themselves to put him in the army, and it was with infinite difficulty and privation that his widowed mother had amassed the needful sum to purchase for him a company, which was now becoming vacant. the retiring officer's papers were already sent in, and herbert's money was lodged at cox and greenwood's; but before the answer from the horse guards arrived, he had lost every sixpence. nearly the whole sum had become the property of charles lovell. herbert was a fine young man, honorable, generous, impetuous, and endowed with an acute sense of shame. he determined instantly to pay his debts, but he knew that his own prospects were ruined for life; he wrote to the agents to send him the money and withdraw his name from the list of purchasers. but how was he to support his mother's grief? how meet the eye of the girl he loved? she, who he knew adored him, and whose hand, it was agreed between them, he should ask of her parents as soon as he was gazetted a captain! the anguish of mind he suffered threw him into a fever, and he lay for several days betwixt life and death, and happily unconscious of its misery. meantime, another scene was being enacted elsewhere. the officers, who night after night found themselves losers, had not for some time entertained the least idea of foul play, but at length, one of them observing something suspicious, began to watch, and satisfied himself, by a peculiar method adopted by lovell in "throwing his mains," that he was the culprit. his suspicions were whispered from one to another, till they nearly all entertained them, with the exception of herbert, who, being looked upon as lovell's most especial friend, was not told. so unwilling were these young men to blast for ever the character of the visitor whom they had so much liked, and to strike a fatal blow at the happiness and respectability of his family, that they were hesitating how to proceed, whether to openly accuse him or privately reprove and expel him, when herbert's heavy loss decided the question. herbert himself, overwhelmed with despair, had quitted the room, the rest were still seated around the table, when having given each other a signal, one of them, called frank houston, arose and said: "gentlemen, it gives me great pain to have to call your attention to a very strange, a very distressing circumstance. for some time past there has been an extraordinary run of luck in one direction--we have all observed it--all remarked on it. mr. herbert has at this moment retired a heavy loser. there is, indeed, as far as i know, but one winner amongst us; but one, and he a winner to a considerable amount; the rest are all losers. god forbid that i should rashly accuse any man! lightly blast any man's character! but i am bound to say, that i fear the money we have lost has not been fairly won. there has been foul play! i forbear to name the party--the facts sufficiently indicate him." who would not have pitied lovell, when, livid with horror and conscious guilt, he vainly tried to say something? "indeed--i assure you--i never"--but words would not come; he faultered and rushed out of the room in a transport of agony. they did pity him; and when he was gone, agreed amongst themselves to hush up the affair; but unfortunately, the civilians of the party, who had not been let into the secret, took up his defence. they not only believed the accusation unfounded, but felt it as an affront offered to their townsman; they blustered about it a good deal, and there was nothing left for it but to appoint a committee of investigation. alas! the evidence was overwhelming! it turned out that the dice and cards had been supplied by lovell. the former, still on the table, were found on examination to be loaded. in fact, he had had a pair as a curiosity long in his possession, and had obtained others from a disreputable character at oxford. no doubt remained of his guilt. all this while herbert had been too ill to be addressed on the subject; but symptoms of recovery were now beginning to appear; and as nobody was aware that he had any particular interest in the lovell family, the affair was communicated to him. at first he refused to believe in his friend's guilt, and became violently irritated. his informants assured him they would be too happy to find they were mistaken, but that since the inquiry no hope of such an issue remained, and he sank into a gloomy silence. on the following morning, when his servant came to his room door, he found it locked. when, at the desire of the surgeon, it was broken open, herbert was found a corpse, and a discharged pistol lying beside him. an inquest sat upon the body, and the verdict brought in was _temporary insanity_. there never was one more just. preparations were now made for the funeral--that funeral which we had witnessed; but before the day appointed for it arrived, another chapter of this sad story was unfolded. when charles left the barracks on that fatal night, instead of going home, he passed the dark hours in wandering wildly about the country; but when morning dawned, fearing the eye of man, he returned to the vicarage, and slunk unobserved to his chamber. when he did not appear at breakfast, his mother sought him in his room, where she found him in bed. he said he was very ill--and so indeed he was--and begged to be left alone; but as he was no better on the following day, she insisted on sending for medical advice. the doctor found him with all those physical symptoms that are apt to supervene from great anxiety of mind; and saying he could get no sleep, charles requested to have some laudanum; but the physician was on his guard, for although the parties concerned wished to keep the thing private, some rumors had got abroad that awakened his caution. the parents, meanwhile, had not the slightest anticipation of the thunderbolt that was about to fall upon them. they lived a very retired life, were acquainted with none of the officers, and they were even ignorant of the amount of their son's intimacy with the regiment. thus, when news of herbert's lamentable death reached them, the mother said to her son, "charles, did you know a young man in the barracks called herbert; a lieutenant, i believe? by the bye, i hope it's not emily's mr. herbert." "did i know him?" said charles, turning suddenly towards her, for, under pretence that the light annoyed him, he always lay with his face to the wall. "why do you ask, mother?" "because he's dead. he had a fever and----" "herbert dead!" cried charles, suddenly sitting up in the bed. "yes, he had a fever, and it is supposed he was delirious, for he blew out his brains; there is a report that he had been playing high, and lost a great deal of money. what's the matter dear? o, charles, i shouldn't have told you! i was not aware that you knew him?" "fetch my father here, and mother, you come back with him!" said charles, speaking with a strange sternness of tone, and wildly motioning her out of the room. when the parents came, he bade them sit down beside him; and then, with a degree of remorse and anguish that no words could portray, he told them all; whilst they, with blanched cheeks and fainting hearts, listened to the dire confession. "and here i am," he exclaimed, as he ended, "a cowardly scoundrel, that has not dared to die! o herbert! happy, happy herbert! would i were with you!" at that moment the door opened, and a beautiful, bright, smiling, joyous face peeped in. it was emily lovell, the beloved daughter, the adored sister, arrived from london in compliance with a letter received a few days previously from herbert, wherein he had told her that by the time she received it, he would be a captain. she had come to introduce him to her parents as her affianced husband. she feared no refusal; well she knew how rejoiced they would be to see her the wife of so kind and honorable a man. but they were ignorant of all this, and in the fulness of their agony, the cup of woe ran over, and she drank of the draught. they told her all before she had been five minutes in the room. how else could they account for their tears, their confusion, their bewilderment, their despair? before herbert's funeral took place, emily lovell was lying betwixt life and death in a brain fever. under the influence of a feeling easily to be comprehended, thirsting for a self-imposed torture, that by its very poignancy should relieve the dead weight of wretchedness that lay upon his breast, charles crept from his bed, and slipping on a loose coat that hung in his room, he stole across the garden to the tower, whence, through the arrow slit, he witnessed the burial of his sister's lover, whom he had hastened to the grave. here terminates our sad story. we left t---- on the following morning, and it was two or three years before any farther intelligence of the lovell family reached us. all we then heard was, that charles had gone, a self-condemned exile, to australia; and that emily had insisted on accompanying him thither. * * * * * typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: to have taken taken entire possession=> to have taken entire possession {pg } whose sinster aspects=> whose sinister aspects {pg } cooly informed him=> coolly informed him {pg } which his conduet=> which his conduct {pg } which had been abtsracted=> which had been abstracted {pg } both of the clerk dubarie=> both of the clerk dubarle {pg } lavasseur, went down stairs=> levasseur, went down stairs {pg } levassuer=> levasseur {pg x } they were both apparantly=> they were both apparently {pg } by there rude and insolent notice=> by thier rude and insolent notice {pg } mr. augustus seville=> mr. augustus saville {pg } he mutered=> he muttered {pg } client's will all be coming to us=> clients will all be coming to us {pg } judgment againt him=> judgment against him {pg } before the magistate=> before the magistrate {pg } evidence repecting them=> evidence respecting them {pg } but supposing it to be=> {pg } doubt of its accuaracy=> doubt of its accuracy {pg } viotti's divison of violin-playing=> viotti's division of violin-playing {pg } was held exeused=> was held excused {pg } have satisfied him=> have sstisfied him {pg } constant sucession of=> constant succession of {pg } he will at at once appreciate=> he will at once appreciate {pg } modest young recuit=> modest young recruit {pg } giving a satifactory reason=> giving a satisfactory reason {pg } and the the tower=> and the tower {pg } as far as i i know=> as far as i know {pg } known to the police by thomas holmes secretary to the howard association author of "pictures and problems from london police courts," etc. london edward arnold [_all rights reserved_] dedication to her who has shared my life, who has participated in all my joys and sorrows, in all my hopes and fears, whose gentleness has softened me, whose patience has curbed my impatience, whose faith has inspired me, whose sympathy and self-denial have made my life possible--to her whose love has never failed do i gratefully dedicate this book. t. h. preface the kind reception accorded to a previous book encourages me to believe that another volume dealing with my experiences in the great under-world of london may not prove unacceptable. for twenty-five years i have practically lived in this under-world, and the knowledge that i have obtained has been gathered from sad, and often wearying, experience. yet i have seen so much to encourage and inspire me, that now, in my latter days, i am more hopeful of humanity's ultimate good than ever. hopeful--nay, i am certain, for i have felt the pulse of humanity, and i know that it throbs with true sympathy. i have listened to its heart-beats, and i know that they tell in no uncertain manner that the heart of humanity is sound and true. most gladly do i take this opportunity of proclaiming--and i would that i could proclaim it with a far-reaching voice--that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, in spite of apparent carelessness, indifference, and selfishness, the rich are not unmindful of the poor; they do not hate the poor, for i know--and no one knows it better--that with many of the rich the present condition of the very poor is a matter of deep and almost heartbreaking concern. they will be glad--ay, with a great gladness--if some practical way of ameliorating our present conditions can be shown. but i can speak with more authority for the poor, whom i know, love, and serve. the poor have no ill-feeling toward the rich; they harbour no suspicions; no envy, hatred, or malice dwell in their simple minds. their goodness astonishes me, and it rebukes me. ah, when we get at the heart of things, rich and poor are very close together, and this closeness makes me hopeful; for out of it social salvation will come and the day arrive when experiences like unto mine will be impossible, and mine will have passed away as an evil dream. sincerely and devoutly i hope that this simple record of some parts of my life and my work may tend to bind rich and poor still closer. one result of my former book, "pictures and problems from london police courts," is to be found at walton-on-the-naze--a home of rest for london's poorest toilers, which the readers of that book generously gave me the means of establishing. during the present year five hundred poor women have rested in it, some of them never having previously seen the sea. such profits as accrue to me from the sale of this book will be devoted to the maintenance and development of this home. one word more. i want it to be distinctly understood that _i am no longer a police court missionary_. i resigned that position four years ago that i might be free to devote my life to london's poorest toilers, the home-workers, to whom frequent references are made in my pages, and for whom i hope great things. but i am not free altogether of my old kind of work, for, as secretary of the howard association, one half of my life is still devoted to prisons and prisoners. thomas holmes. , bedford road, tottenham, n. _september, ._ contents chapter page i. memories and contrasts ii. some burglars i have met iii. the black list and inebriates iv. police-court marriages v. extraordinary sentences vi. discharged prisoners vii. the last dread penalty viii. housing the poor ix. the hooliganism of the poor x. the heroism of the slums xi. a pennyworth of coal xii. old boots and shoes xiii. jonathan pinchbeck, the slum autolycus xiv. people who have "come down" known to the police chapter i memories and contrasts during the summer of there were in london few men more unsettled in mind and miserable than myself. i had severed my connection with london police-courts--and well i knew it. i was not sure that i had done wisely or well, and was troubled accordingly. i missed more than words can express the miseries that had hitherto been inseparable from the routine of my life. for twenty-one years, day after day at a regular hour, i had turned my steps in one direction, and had gone from home morning by morning with my mind attuned to a certain note. it was not, then, a strange thing to find that mechanical habits had been formed, and that sometimes i found myself on the way to the police-court before i discovered my mistake. still less was it a marvel to find that my mind refused to accept all at once the fact that i was no longer a police-court missionary. i must in truth confess i felt a bit ashamed that i had given up the work. i felt that i was something of a traitor, who had deserted the poor and the outcast, many of whom had learned to love and trust me. i am not ashamed to say that i had been somewhat proud of my name and title, for the words "police-court missionary" meant much to me, and i had loved my work and had suffered for it. it was doubtless in accordance with the fitness of things that i should retire from the work when i did, for i am getting old, and dead officialism might have crept upon me, and whatever power for good i may have might have been atrophied. of such a fate i always felt afraid; mercifully from such a fate i was prevented or delivered. still, i sorrowed till time lightened the sense of loss. by-and-by new interests arose, new duties claimed me, and other phases of life interested me. four years have now lapsed, a length of time that allows sufficient perspective, and enables me to calmly take stock of the twenty-one years i spent in london police-courts. i do not in this chapter, or in this book, intend to review the whole of those years, but i do hope to make some comparisons of the things of to-day with those of twenty-one years ago. the comparisons will, i trust, be encouraging, and show that we have progressed in a right direction, and that we are all still progressing. two days of those years will remain ever with me--the day i entered on my work and the day i gave it up. of the latter i will not speak; but as the former opened my eyes to wonders of humanity, and humanity being of all wonders the greatest, i have something to say. the conditions at london police-courts in those days were bad, past conception. no words of mine can adequately describe them, and only for the sake of comparison and encouragement do i attempt briefly to portray some of the most striking features of those days. even now i feel faint when i recall the "prisoners' waiting-room," with its dirty floor, its greasy walls, and its vile atmosphere. the sanitary arrangements were disgusting. there was no female attendant to be found on the premises. strong benches attached to the walls provided the only seats; neither was there separation of the sexes. in this room old and young, pure and impure, clean and verminous, sane and insane, awaited their turn to appear before the magistrate; for the insane in those days were brought by local authorities that the magistrate might certify them, and they sat, too, amongst the waiting prisoners. the sufferings of a decent woman who found herself in such company in such a room may easily be imagined; but the sufferings of a pure-minded girl, who for some trifling offence found herself in like position, cannot be described. the coarse women of alsatia made jests upon her, and coarse blackguards, though sometimes well dressed, vaunted their obscenity before her. deformed beggars, old hags from the workhouse--or from worse places--thieves, gamblers, drunkards, and harlots, men and women on the verge of delirium tremens--all these, and others that are unmentionable, combine to make the prisoners' room a horrid memory. things are far different to-day, for light and cleanliness, fresh air and decency, prevail at police-courts. at every court there is now a female attendant; the sexes are rigidly separated. children's cases are heard separately; neither are children placed in the cells or prisoners' room. in those days policemen waited for the men and women who had been in their custody, and against whom they had given evidence, and, after their fines were paid, went to the nearest public-house and drank at their expense. hundreds of times i have heard prisoners ask the prosecuting policeman to "make it light for me," and many times i have heard the required promise given and an arrangement made. sometimes i am glad to think that i have heard policemen give the reply: "i shall speak the truth"; but not often was this straightforward answer given. in this respect a great change has come about, for policemen do not hold a conference with their prisoners in the waiting-room, and it is now a rare occurrence for a policeman to take a drink at his prisoner's expense. and this improvement is to be welcomed, for it is typical of the improvement that has been going on all round. gaolers in those days were "civil servants," and were not under police authority; now they are sergeants of the police, and under police discipline and authority. the old civil servant gaoler looked down from his greater altitude with something like contempt upon the common policemen, and this often led to much friction and unpleasantness. now things work smoothly and easily, for every police-court official knows his duties and to whom he is responsible. but a great change has also come over the magistrates--perhaps the greatest change of all. doubtless the magistrates of those days were excellent men, but they were not only officials, but official also. it was their business to mete out punishment, and they did it. some were old--too old for the office. i have seen one sleeping on the bench frequently, and only waking up to give sentence. once while the justice nodded his false teeth fell on his desk; he awoke with a start, and made a frantic effort to recover them. no doubt these men were sound lawyers, but they were representatives of the community as it then existed; there was no sentimentality about them, but they were rarely vindictive. the legal profession, too, has changed. where are the greasy, drunken old solicitors that haunted the precincts of police-courts twenty-five years ago? gone. but they were common enough in those days, and touted for five-shilling jobs, money down, or higher prices when payment was deferred. with droughty throats and trembling limbs, they hastened to the nearest public-house to spend what payment had been given in advance. here they would remain till their clients were before the magistrate, and would then appear just in time to say: "i appear for the prisoner, your worship." horrid old men they were, the fronts of their coats and vests all stained and shiny with the droppings of beer. frequently the magistrate, unable to tolerate their drunken or half-drunken maunderings, would order them out of court; but even this drastic treatment had little effect upon them, for the next day, or even on the latter part of the same day, they, apparently without shame or humiliation, would inform his worship that they were in so-and-so's case, and ask at what time it would be taken--as if, forsooth, their engagements were numerous and important. the bullying solicitor, too, has disappeared or mended his ways. no longer is he allowed to bully and insult witnesses or prosecutors, and cast scurrilous and unclean imputations on the lives and characters of those opposed to him. generally these fellows were engaged for the "defence." they one and all acted on the principle that to attack was the best defence. i once heard an athletic young doctor ask a solicitor of this kind, who had been unusually insulting, to meet him when the case was over, assuring him also that he would receive his deserts--a good thrashing. the pompous, ignorant solicitor, with neither wit, words, action, utterance, nor the power of speech--he, too, has gone. one wondered at the strange fate that made solicitors of such men; wondered, too, how they passed the necessary examinations; but wondered most of all why people paid money for such fellows to defend them. invariably they made their client's case much worse; they always declined to let "sleeping dogs lie," and were positively certain to reveal something or discover something to the disadvantage of the person whose interests they were supposed to be upholding. i remember one magistrate, sitting impatient and fidgety while the weary drip of words went on, calling out suddenly: "three months' hard labour, during which you can ruminate on the brilliant defence made by your solicitor!" all these have passed, and police-courts have been civilized; for law is more dignified, and its administration more refined. magistrates are up-to-date, too, and quite in touch with the new order of things and with the aspirations of the community. bullying, drunken, and stupid solicitors have no chance to-day. in all these directions great changes have come about, and great progress has been made. but the greatest change of all is that which has taken place in the appearance of the prisoners and of police-court humanity generally. where are the "blue-bottle" noses now? twenty-five years ago they were numerous, but now london police-courts know them not. where are the reddened faces that told of protracted debauch? they are seldom to be met with. hundreds of times in the years gone by, in the prisoners' waiting-room, i have heard the expression, "he's got them on"; and i have seen poor wretches trembling violently with terror in their faces, seeking to avoid some imaginary horror. but delirium tremens seems to have vanished from london police-courts. do people drink less? is a question often asked. if i may be permitted to reply, i would say they do, and very much less; but whether they are more sober is another question. of one thing i am perfectly certain, and it is this: people are more susceptible to the effects of drink than they were twenty-five years ago. whether this susceptibility is due to some change in the drink or to physiological causes in the drinkers i do not know, but of the result i am, as i have said, quite sure. i am inclined to believe that we possess less power to withstand the effects of alcohol than formerly. we seem to arrive at the varying stages of drunkenness with very much less trouble, and at very much less cost. the reverse process, too, is equally rapid. formerly there was not much doubt about the guilt of a man or woman who was charged with being drunk. if the policeman's word was not quite sufficient, the appearance of the prisoner completed the evidence. but now men and women are mad drunk one hour and practically sober the next. red noses and inflamed faces cannot be developed under these conditions. i have seen in later years a long array of prisoners charged with being drunk, and no evidence of tarrying long at wine upon any one of them, and no evidence of drinking either, excepting the bruises or injuries received. this ability to get drunk quickly and to recover quickly leads sometimes to unexpected results; for some men, when released on bail, rush promptly to their own doctor and get a certificate of sobriety, and then bring the doctor as a witness. his worship is in a dilemma when the case is brought before him, for the police state that the man was mad drunk at a.m., while, on the other hand, medical testimony is forthcoming that at a.m. he was perfectly sober. other men, when detained in the cells, get quickly sober. nor can they believe they have been drunk; indignantly they demand an examination by the police divisional doctor, and willingly pay the necessary bill of seven and sixpence for his attendance. this time it is the doctor who is in a dilemma; he knows in his heart that the man _has been_ drunk; he also naturally wishes to confirm the police evidence; still, he cannot conscientiously say that the man _is_ drunk. "he appears to be recovering from the effects of drink," is the testimony that he gives, and his opinion is attached to the charge-sheet for the magistrate's guidance. "no," says the prisoner, "i was not drunk; neither had i been drunk; but i was excited at being detained in the cells on a false charge." and he will call as witnesses friends who were in his company during the evening, and from whom he had parted only a few minutes previous to arrest. they declare that the prisoner was perfectly sober; that he could not possibly have been drunk; that they had only a limited number of drinks; that he was as sober as they were--the latter statement being probably true! what can the magistrate do under such circumstances but discharge the prisoner?--and "another unfounded charge by the police" is duly advertised by the press. i believe this to be the secret of so much contradictory evidence, and this new physiological factor must be taken into account when weighing evidence, or much discredit will fall upon the police, when they have but honestly done their duty. it ought no longer to avail a prisoner who proves sobriety at one o'clock, sobriety at three o'clock, to contend that he could not possibly have been drunk at two o'clock. i have seen so much of drunkenness that i believe two hours a sufficient length of time to allow many men to get drunk and to get sober too. i must not enter on an inquiry as to why this change has come about; i merely content myself with stating a fact, that must be recognized, and which is as worthy of consideration by sociologists and politicians as it is by judges and magistrates. this facility of getting drunk means danger, for passions are readily excited, and delusions readily arise, and are most tenaciously held in brains so easily disturbed by drink. all sorts of things are possible, from silly antics to frenzy and murder; but, as i have said, the varying stages pass so quickly that only onlookers can realize the truth: for the victim of this facility is nearly always sure that the evidence given against him is absolutely false. but prisoners generally have changed: i am not sure that the change is for the better. time was when prisoners had character, grit, pluck, and personality, but now these qualities are not often met with. formerly a good number of the vagabonds were interesting vagabonds, and were possessed of some redeeming features: they seemed to have a keen sense of humour; but to-day this feature cannot often be seen. prisoners have put on a kind of veneer, for both youthful offenders and offenders of older growth are better dressed. they are cleaner, too, in person, for which i suppose one ought to be thankful--even though, to a large extent, rags and tatters were picturesque compared with the styles of dress now too often seen. loss of the picturesque has, i am afraid, been accompanied by loss of individuality, and the processions that pass through london police-courts now are not so striking as formerly. they are devoid of strong personality, and the mass of people in many respects resembles a flock of sheep. they have no desire to do wrong, but they constantly go wrong; they have no particular wish to do evil, but they have little inclination for good. in a word, weakness, not wickedness, is their great characteristic. but weakness is often more mischievous and disastrous in its consequences than wickedness. in the young offenders this lack of grit is combined with an absence of moral principles, and though the majority of them appear to know right from wrong, they certainly act as if they possess little moral consciousness. again i content myself with merely stating a fact, for i must not be led into philosophic inquiry or speculation as to the causes of this loss of grit, though i hope to say something upon the subject later on. crime, too, has changed in some respects. there are fewer crimes of violence; there is less brutality, less debauchery, less drinking; but--and i would like to write it very large--there is more dishonesty, which is a more insidious evil. here again i am tempted to philosophic inquiry, or to engage in some attempt to answer the question--are we as a nation becoming more dishonest? i answer at once, we are. for twenty-five years i have watched the trend of crime, for the past ten years i have closely studied our criminal statistics, and i can say that personal experience and a close study of our annual criminal statistics confirm me in this matter. some explanation of the growth of dishonesty may be found in the social changes that have been going on. as education advanced the number of men and women employed as clerks, salesmen, and business assistants multiplied, and it follows that the temptations to, and opportunities for, dishonesty multiplied also. for years a large transference of boys and young men from the labouring and artisan life to the clerk's desk or to the shop-counter has been going on. the growth in the number of persons employed as distributors of the necessaries of life, who day after day receive, on behalf of their employers, payments for bread, milk, meat, coal, etc., multiplies enormously the facilities for dishonest actions. most of those engaged in this class of work come from the homes of the poor, and in too many cases receive insufficient payment for arduous and responsible services. still, i am sure that we must not look for the reason of this growing dishonesty in the multiplication of the opportunities, or to sudden temptations caused by the stress of poverty. to what, then, shall it be attributed? i do not hesitate to answer this question, by replying at once: to that lack of moral backbone and grit to which i have alluded; to the absence of direct principles; to the desire of enjoying pleasures that cannot be afforded, and of spending money not honestly acquired. some people to whom i have spoken on this subject have said to me: "but these are the faults of the rich; surely they are not the sins of the poor." and i have said: "well, you know more of the rich than i do, so maybe they are characteristic of both." though i do not believe them to be national characteristics, sorrowfully i say the trend is in that direction. i know perfectly well that some people will say that this is the croaking of one who is growing old, and that old men always did, and always will, believe in the decadence of the present age. but this is not so. i am a born optimist. i believe in the ultimate triumph of good. i believe that humanity has within itself a sufficiency of good qualities to effect its social salvation. nevertheless, i am afraid of this growing dishonesty, for i have seen something of its consequences. sneaking peculations, small acts of dishonesty, miserable embezzlements, falsified accounts, and contemptible frauds, have damned the lives of thousands, and the strands of life are covered by human wrecks, whose anchorage has been so weak that the veriest puff of wind has driven them to destruction. i know something of the evils of drink; i have seen much of the blighting influence of gambling; but dishonesty is more certain and deadly in its effects among educated and ignorant alike: for it begins in secrecy, it is continued in duplicity, it destroys the moral fibre, and it ends with death. i have said that the police-court processions are not so interesting as in years gone by: probably that is a superficial view, for humanity is, and must be always, equally interesting. it may not be as picturesque, but that is a surface view only, and we really want to know what is beneath. but the underneath takes some discovering, and when we get there it is only to find that there is still something lower still. much has been said of late years about the increase of insanity. whether this increase is more apparent than real is a debatable point. i am glad to know that more people are certified than formerly, and that greater care is taken of them. this undoubtedly prolongs their existence, and consequently adds to their number. but whatever doubt i may have about the actually insane, i have no doubt whatever about the increase in the number of those who live on the borderland between sanity and insanity, and whose case is far more pitiful than that of the altogether mad. poor wretches! who are banged from pillar to post, helpless and hopeless, they are the sport of circumstances; they are an eyesore to humanity, a danger to the community, and a puzzle to themselves. for such neither the state nor local authorities have anything to offer. if committed to prison, they are certified as "unfit for prison discipline." if they enter the workhouse, they are encouraged to take their discharge at the earliest moment. they cannot work, but they can steal, and they can beg. they have animal passions, but they have less than animal control. they can perpetuate their species, and pile up burdens for other generations to bear. nothing in all my experiences astonishes me so much as the continued neglect of these unfortunate people. prisons have been revolutionized; dealing with young offenders has developed into a cult; prisoners' aid societies abound; the care, the feeding, the education, the health, and the play of children have become national or municipal business: but the nation still shirks its responsibility to those who have the greatest claim upon its care; for these people are still in as parlous condition as the lepers of old. my memory recalls many of them, and profoundly do i hope that in the great changes that are impending, and in the great improvements that are taking place, consideration of the poor, smitten, unfortunate half-mad will not be wanting. surely i am not wrong in affirming that, when the state finds in its prisons a number of people who are constantly committing offences, who are helpless and penniless, and whose mental condition is so low that they are not fit to be detained even in prison, provision should be made for their being permanently detained and controlled in institutions or colonies, with no opportunity for perpetuating their kind. in our dealings with the "unfit" we have, then, made no progress, and we are still waiting and hoping for a solution of this distressing evil. to show how this evil grows by neglect, i offer the following instance: i happen to be a churchwarden, and when leaving church one sunday morning i was asked by the verger to speak to a man and woman who sat by the door. they had come in during the service, and asked for the vicar, in the hope of obtaining relief. the man was wretched in appearance--much below the usual size--and was more than half blind; the woman was equally wretched in appearance, and not far removed from imbecility. i knew the man at once, and had known him for twenty years. i had met him scores of times at london police-courts, where he had been invariably committed to prison, although certified as "unfit." he had been in the workhouse many times. in the workhouse he had met with the poor wretch that sat by his side. they were legally and lawfully married, and were possessed of three children--or, rather, they were the parents of three children, for other folk possessed them; but doubtless they would make their losses good in due time, the couple being by no means old. the number of women charged with drunkenness has increased largely during late years, and the list of those constantly charged has grown considerably. from this it would appear safe to conclude that female intemperance generally has largely increased. many people have come to this conclusion, and are very apt with figures which seem to prove their case. but even figures can lie, for a woman who has been convicted ten or twelve times in the year has furnished ten or twelve examples of female inebriety; but, after all, she is but one individual. and to get at approximate truth, we must ascertain the number of separate individuals who have been charged. nor will this give us the whole truth, for it must also be ascertained who are the women that are constantly charged. to what class do they belong? what is the matter with them? why are they different from women generally? such inquiries as these have been conveniently avoided. i will endeavour to supply the missing answers. eighty per cent. of the women charged repeatedly with drunkenness belong to one class, and may be described as "unfortunates." the number of these women has increased tremendously during the last twenty years. the growth of london accounts partly for this increase in the number of "unfortunates," and the growth of provincial towns supplements the growth of london. in all our large centres we have, then, a large army of women whose lives are beyond description, whose vocation renders drinking compulsory, and whose habits bring them into conflict with the police. their convictions, which number many thousands, should be charged to another evil. of the remaining twenty per cent. i must also give some description. ten per cent. of them are demented old women, who spend their lives in workhouses or prisons, upon whom a small amount of drink takes great effect. the remaining ten per cent. may be considered more or less respectable, but my experience has led me to believe that less rather than more would be a fitting description. i want it to be clearly understood that i am now speaking of women "repeaters," not of women who are occasionally charged with drunkenness. in considering female intemperance, the above must be eliminated, and when this is done i think it will be found that the alleged increase of drunkenness among women is not proved. at any rate, it is not proved by criminal statistics. but a great change has come over women: they are no longer ashamed of being seen in public-houses, for respectable women are by no means careful about the company they meet and associate with in the public-houses. in police-courts i have noticed this growing change. time was when few or no women were found among the audiences that assembled day by day in the courts. it is not the case now. formerly, if women had any connection with cases that were coming on, they discreetly waited in the precincts of the court till they were called by the police or the usher. it is very different now, for there is no scarcity of women, ready to listen to all repulsive details of police-court charges. sometimes, when the order is given for women to leave the court, some women are ready to argue the matter with the usher; and when ultimately compelled to leave, it is evident they do so under protest, and with a sense of personal grievance. perhaps it may be natural for police-courts to supply to the poor and the tradesman class that excitement and relish the higher courts and divorce courts furnish to those better off. in one direction i am able to bear direct testimony to the virtue of women, for they are more honest than men, and their honesty increases rather than diminishes. this is the more remarkable as opportunities for dishonesty have become much more numerous among women. still, in spite of multiplied opportunities, dishonesty among women seems to be a diminishing quantity. i am glad to find that our annual statistics for some years past confirm me in this experience. but my experiences do not furnish me with any reason for believing that we have made any progress with the housing of the very poor. the state, municipal authorities, and philanthropists still act upon the principle, "to him that hath it shall be given." consequently, they continue to provide dwellings for those who can pay good rents. in another chapter some of my experiences with regard to the housing of the very poor will be found, so i content myself here with a few reflections and statements. during the years covered by my experience the rents of the very poor have increased out of all proportion to their earnings. i have taken some trouble to inquire into this question, and when speaking to elderly men and women living in congested streets, i have obtained much information. "how long have you lived in this house?" i asked an elderly widow. "thirty years. i was here long before my husband died." "what rent do you pay?" "thirteen shillings per week." "but you can't pay thirteen shillings." "no, i let off every room and live in this kitchen." we were then in the kitchen, which was about nine feet square. the house consisted of four rooms and a back-yard about the same size as the kitchen; there was no forecourt. "what rent did you pay when you first came here?" "six shillings and sixpence." the rent had doubled in thirty years. "who is your landlord?" "i don't know who it is now, but a collector calls every week." "why don't you go somewhere else?" "i can't get anything cheaper, and i like the old place, and i don't have to climb a lot of stairs." this little conversation exactly outlines the lot of the poor, so far as their housing is concerned: they must either take a "little house and let off," or make their homes in one or more of the very little rooms. let me be explicit. by the very poor i mean families whose income is under twenty-five shillings weekly--women whose husbands have but fitful work; women who have to maintain themselves, their children and sick husbands, when those husbands are not in the infirmary; widows who have to maintain themselves and their children, with or without parish assistance; and elderly widows or spinsters who, by great efforts, maintain themselves. for these and similar classes no housing accommodation has yet been attempted. yet for them the need is greatest, and from neglecting them the most disastrous consequences ensue. the state will lend money to the man who has a fair and regular income; municipal authorities and philanthropic trusts will build for those who can regularly pay high rents; but the very poor are still hidden in prison-houses, and for them no gaol deliverance is proclaimed, so they huddle together, and the more numerous the building improvements, the closer they huddle. the new tenements are not for them, neither is any provision made for them before they are displaced, so a great deal of police-court business arises in consequence, to say nothing of greater and more far-reaching evils. but i deal more fully with housing in my next chapter. in dealing with child offenders, vast improvements have been made. to-day rarely, indeed, are children sent to prison, and we appear to be on the verge of the time when it will be impossible for anyone under the age of fourteen to receive a sentence of imprisonment. the birch, too, is more sparingly used, and only when there appears to be no other fitting punishment. one magistrate quite recently, in ordering its infliction, declared it was the first time he had done so for twelve years. the courts do not run with the blood of naughty lads, as some suppose; but the birch has not disappeared, and the lusty cries of youthful delinquents are sometimes to be heard. while i hate cruelty and do not love the birch, i would like to place on record the fact that i have never known it administered too severely, or any serious injury inflicted. the statement that the most powerful policeman is selected for the duty is fiction pure and simple. in london, at any rate, the sergeant-gaoler or his deputy administers the birch. whatever else may be charged against the police, cruelty to children cannot be brought against them, for the kindness of the force to children is proverbial. and this kindness is reflected in police-courts. nowhere are children more considerately treated. i agree with the movement in favour of separate courts for children, because i would not have children's actions considered as criminal; but, in the light of my experience, i am bound to disagree with many of the statements made by some advocates of the movement. children are tenderly treated and considered in the london police-courts of to-day. but i am more concerned for the toms, dicks, and harrys between fourteen and twenty years of age, who, having little or no home accommodation, crowd our streets, especially on sunday evenings, and make themselves a nuisance to the staid and respectable. for these the bad old rule and simple plan of fines to be promptly paid, or imprisonment in default of payment, still prevails; but of this i have more to say in a chapter on hooliganism. years ago the brute, coarse and cruel though he was, was different from the brute of to-day; for, at any rate, he was an undisguised brute. youthful offenders, too, had more pluck and self-reliance; in fact, while offences remain much the same, and the ways in which offences are committed have not altered greatly, the bearing and appearance of the offenders have completely changed. rags are not so plentiful as they were, and child offenders are very much better dressed; for civilization cannot endure rags, and shoeless feet are an abomination. veneer, then, is very palpable to-day in police-courts. this may be indicative of good or evil. it may have its origin in self-respect, in changing fashions, or in deceit; it may be one of the effects of insufficient education, or it may be a by-product of the general desire to appear respectable. it may also be claimed as an outward and visible sign of the improved social condition and the enlarged financial resources of the poor. the change in speech, too, is strongly noticeable; the old blood-curdling oaths and curses spiced with blasphemy are quite out of fashion. emphasis can only be given to speech to-day by interlarding it with filthy words and obscene allusions. this method of expression is not confined to the poorest, for even well-dressed men adopt it, and the style and words have now passed on to thoughtless young people of both sexes. there are no "women" to-day. times have improved so greatly that every woman has become "a lady." the term "woman" is one of reproach, and must only be used as indicative of scorn or to impute immorality. magistrates have tried hard to preserve the good old word and give it a proper place, but in vain. "another woman" always means something very bad indeed; she is one that must be spoken of with bated breath. even the word "female" carries with it an implication of non-respectability. indeed, so far have we progressed in this direction, and so far does the politeness of the force extend, that when giving evidence against a woman of the worst possible character an officer will refer to her as "the lady," not as the prisoner. sometimes, as i have already hinted, the magistrate intervenes at this point, and tries to preserve some of the last shreds of respectability that still attach to the once-honoured word. here again one might speculate as to what has produced this change, and ask whether the development of obscene language has anything to do with the abandonment of the words "woman" and "female." personally, i am inclined to believe that it has. "what did he say?" peremptorily asked an irate magistrate of a young and modest constable. "your worship, the words were so bad that i don't like to repeat them." "write them down, then." the officer did so. "well, they are pretty bad, but you will soon get used to them. they don't shock me, for i hear them all the day, and every day." the magistrate was correct, and, more the pity, his words are true. the old oaths were far less disgusting and far less demoralizing. the invocation of the deity, either for confirmation of speech or for a curse upon others, argued some belief in god, which belief has probably suffered decay even among the coarse and ignorant. still, if police-court habitués and their friends continue to embellish their speech with obscenity, then their last state will be worse than their first. likely enough, this fashion in speech has much to do with the substitution of the word "lady" and the abandonment of the word "woman." it may be, after all, only a clumsy attempt to speak courteously, without casting any imputation on the moral character of the person referred to. that, however, is the only redeeming feature i can find in the matter, which is altogether too bad for words. i only refer to the subject because i wish to be a faithful witness, and these changes cannot be ignored, for they are full of grave portent. profoundly i hope this fashion will change, and if appeal were of any use, i would honestly and earnestly appeal to all my poor and working-class friends to set themselves against this vile method of expression, and to encourage a higher standard of thought and speech. but i must now give a little consideration to some legal changes that have taken place, from which much was expected, and from which much has followed. whether the results have been exactly what were expected, and whether the good has been as large as we looked for, are moot points. it is, of course, true of social problems, and peculiarly true of humanity itself, that evil defeated in one direction is certain to manifest itself in another, so that standing still in social life, or in individual life, must and does mean retrogression, when the old evils assert themselves differently, but more speciously guised. briefly, the new acts that have had most effect in london police-courts are the first offenders act, the married women's protection act ( ), and some clauses in the licensing act of . the former act has undoubtedly kept thousands of young people from prison, for which everyone ought to be supremely thankful. it was, perhaps, impossible for us to have a reform of this magnitude without some evil attaching to it, for we have not as yet discovered an unmixed good. this beneficent act has been much talked of and widely advertised. the public generally have been enraptured with it, and magistrates have not been slow to avail themselves of its merciful provisions, though generally exercising a wise discretion as to their application. but human nature is a strange mixture, for while excessive punishment hardens and demoralizes a wrong-doer, leniency often confirms him. it is, and must always be, a serious matter to interpose between a wilful wrong-doer and the punishment of his deeds; but the punishment must be just and sensible, or worse evils will follow. the utmost that can be urged against this well-known act is that it has not impressed on the delinquent youth the heinousness of his wrong-doing, and this is the case. true, he has been in the hands of the police, and he has been admonished by the magistrate; he has also been in the gaoler's office, and bound in recognizance to be of good behaviour. but this is all, for nothing else has happened to him. he has not been made to pay back the money stolen, neither has he been compelled to make any reparation to those he has injured. the law, then, has considered his offence but slight, and his dishonesty but a trivial matter. in his heart he knows that, though he has purged his offence as far as the law is concerned, he has not absolved his own conscience by any attempt to put the matter right with the person he has wronged; consequently, he is quite right in arguing that the law has condoned his offence. frequently, then, he goes from the court a rogue at heart. hundreds of times i have tried to persuade young persons, who have been charged with dishonesty and dealt with as first offenders, of the duty and necessity of paying back the money dishonestly obtained, but i never succeeded. the law had done with them; nothing else mattered. the wrong to the individual and to their own conscience was of no consequence. human nature being, then, so constructed, it cannot be a matter for surprise that the first offenders act failed in conveying to young persons who had fastened around themselves the deadly grip of dishonesty that the law considered dishonesty a most serious matter. many of the young offenders could not realize this, for, to use their own expression, "they got jolly well out of it." but such results might have been foreseen, and ought to have been foreseen. this matter is, however, now attended to, for mr. gladstone's probation act ( ) empowers magistrates to compel all dishonest persons that are dealt with under the act to make restitution of stolen property or money up to the value of £ . i have long advocated this course, which is both just and merciful--just to the person who has been robbed and just to the robber; merciful because it compels the wrong-doer in some degree to undo the wrong, and enables him to break the chains of his deadly habit. it will also prove to him that the law is not so tolerant of dishonesty as he believed. common-sense, too, says that the pardoned rogue ought not to profit from his roguery, while the person he has robbed has to suffer, not only the loss of goods or money, but also the trouble and expense of prosecution. most respectfully, then, would i like to point out to all magistrates that they may now order dishonest persons dealt with under this act to make restitution up to £ . it is to be hoped that our magistrates will freely avail themselves of this permissive power, and make young rogues "pay, pay, pay." it matters not how small the instalments nor how long a time the payments may be continued, for i feel assured that nothing will stem the onward sweep of dishonesty, and that nothing will bring home to young offenders the serious character of dishonesty so much as the knowledge that great inconvenience, but no pecuniary benefit, can come to those who indulge in it. the married women's protection act came at last. it was inevitable. there was a horrible satire contained in the suggestion that in england, with its humanity and civilization, after a thousand years of christianity an act to protect women against their legal husbands should be necessary; but it was. this act came in the very fulness of time. everybody was tired and altogether dissatisfied with the old and ineffectual plan of sending brutal husbands to prison. this feeling arose not from sympathy with brutal husbands, but from pity to ill-treated wives, for it was recognized that sending brutal husbands to prison only made matters worse. briefly, the act empowered married women who had persistently cruel husbands to leave them, and having left them, to apply to the magistrates for a separation and maintenance order, which magistrates were empowered to grant when persistent cruelty was proved. police-courts then became practically divorce-courts for the poor, for thousands of women have claimed and obtained these separation orders. it seems just, and i have no hesitation in saying it is right, whatever may be the consequences, that decent suffering women whose agony has been long drawn out should be protected from and delivered out of the power of human brutes. but in a community like ours we are bound to have an eye to the consequences. women very soon found that it was much easier to get separation than it was to get maintenance. however modest the weekly amount ordered--and to my mind magistrates were very lenient in this respect--comparatively few of the discarded husbands paid the amounts ordered: some few paid irregularly, the majority paid nothing. the "other woman" became an important factor, and the money that should have gone to the support of the legal wife and legitimate children went to her and to illegitimate children. such fellows were, then, in straits. if they left the "other woman," affiliation orders loomed over them; if they did not pay their legalized wives, they might be sent to prison. some men i know found this the easiest way of paying their wives "maintenance," for they would go cheerfully to prison, and when released would promptly start on the task of again accumulating arrears. undoubtedly very many women were much better off apart from their husbands--at any rate, they had some peace--but mostly they lived lives of unremitting toil and partial, if not actual, starvation. on the whole, this act, which was quite necessary and inspired by good intentions, has not proved satisfactory. but married men began to ask, "why cannot we have separation orders against habitually drunken wives?" why, indeed! the principle had been admitted, and "sauce for the goose must be sauce for the gander." joan had been protected; darby must have equal rights. and darby got them, with something added. the licensing bill of put him right, or rather wrong. under some provisions of this act habitual drunkenness in case of either husband or wife became a sufficient reason for separation, and police-courts became more than ever divorce-courts for the poor. but darby came best, or rather worst, out of this unseemly matter, for there was no need for him to leave his wife and his home before applying for a separation. he might live with his wife in their home, and while living with her apply for a summons against her, and this granted, he might continue to live with her right up to the time the summons was heard--might even accompany her to the court, and drink with her on the way thither. then, proving her drunkenness to the magistrate's satisfaction, he could get his order, give her a few shillings, go home and close the door against her, leaving her homeless and helpless in the streets. she may have borne him many children, she might be about to become a mother once more; in fact, the frequent repetition of motherhood might be the root-cause of her drunkenness. no matter, the law empowers him to put her out and keep her out. such is the law, and to such a point has the chivalry of many husbands come. but darby may go still further, for he may call in "another woman" to keep house and look after the children. in a sense he may live in a sort of legalized immorality, and do his wife no legal wrong; while, if she, poor wretched woman, with all her temptations and weaknesses, yields but once to a similar sin, all claim to support is forfeited, and she goes down with dreadful celerity to the lowest depths. plenty of good husbands, and brave men they are, refuse to take advantage of this act, and bear all the unspeakable ills and sorrows connected with a drunken wife, bearing all things, enduring all things, and hoping all things, rather than turn the mothers of their children into the streets. but it is far different with some husbands, whose lives and habits have conduced to, if they have not actually caused, their wives' inebriety; to them the act is a boon, and they are not backward in applying for relief. i have elsewhere given my views as to the working of these special clauses, but i again take an opportunity of saying that the whole proceedings are founded in stupidity. in action they are cruel, and in results they are demoralizing to the individuals concerned, and to the state generally. all this is the more astounding when one realizes that the act might easily have been made a real blessing; and it is more astounding still when the temper and tone of society is considered. we demand, and rightfully demand, that first offenders shall have another chance. has it come to this--that a wretched wife, who, through suffering, worry, neglect, or ill-health or mental disturbance, has given way to drink, shall have less consideration than the young thief? so it appears. we scour london's streets, we seek out the grossest women even civilization can furnish--women whose only hope lies with the eternal father--and we put them in inebriates' reformatories, and keep them there, at a great expense, for two or three years. money without stint is spent that they may have the shadow of a chance for reclamation. organized societies are formed for their after-care when released from the reformatories. and yet we calmly contemplate married women, otherwise decent but for drink, real victims of inebriety, being thrust homeless into the streets, with the dead certainty that they will descend to the inferno out of which we are seeking to deliver the unfortunates. chapter ii some burglars i have met the common london burglar is by no means a formidable fellow. speaking generally, there is nothing of bill sikes about him, for he has not much stature, strength, courage, or brains. most of those that i have met have been poor specimens of manhood, ready alike to surrender to a self-possessed woman or to a young policeman. idle, worthless fellows, who, having no regular work to do, and being quite indifferent as to what happens to them, often attempt burglary, but of the crudest description. these young fellows evince no skill, exhibit little daring, and when caught show about as much pluck as a guinea-pig. for them one may feel contempt, but contempt must be tempered by pity. circumstances have been against them. underfed and undersized, of little intelligence, with no moral consciousness, they are a by-product of our civilization, a direct product of our slum-life. if caught young and given some years' manual training and technical education, together with manly recreation and some share in competitive games, many of them would go straight on their release, provided a reasonable start in life were given them. idle liberty is dangerous to young men who have no desire for wrong-doing, but who at the same time have little aspiration for right-doing. our prisons are crowded with them, and a series of short imprisonments only serves to harden them, until they become confirmed but clumsy criminals. but real burglars are men of different stamp, and, if i may be pardoned, men of better metal, for at any rate they possess nerve, brain, and grit. they may be divided into two classes: first, the men who are at war with society, who live by plunder, and who mean to live by plunder, who often show marvellous skill, energy, presence of mind, and pluck; secondly, men who, having once engaged in burglary, find it so thrilling that no other pleasure, passion, or sport has to them one tithe of the joy and glamour that a midnight raid presents. let me give you one example of the former. a well-dressed gentleman--frock-coat, silk hat, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, etc.--took a house in a swell neighbourhood at £ a year rental. his references were to all appearances undeniable; his manner, speech, and bearing were beyond reproach; so he obtained a lease of the premises, and entered into possession. his next step was to call on the local superintendent of the police and give him his address, asking also that the police might keep a watchful eye upon the house till he took up his residence in it. he was, he said, a practical consulting and analytical chemist; he was fitting up an expensive laboratory on the premises, and a good many things of value to him would be sent to the house. he himself would be there during the day, but he would be grateful if the police would, when on their beat at night, sometimes see that all was right. the police were charmed with him. he was a small man, about feet inches in height. the same night a mean-looking little man was converted at an open-air meeting of the salvation army. he wished for lodgings for a time, that he might be shielded from temptation, for which he was prepared to pay. so he went to lodge with the officer in command, and donned a red guernsey. he was employed on night-work, he told his landlady, but sometimes he had to go away for a day or two. his friends were well pleased with him; his conversion seemed genuine, and he gave but little trouble. meanwhile, at the large house close by consignments of goods were, constantly arriving, and sometimes the frock-coated gentleman showed himself to the police. for many weeks this went on, till one day the convert was missing from his lodging. he did not return the next day, nor the day after that. they were anxious about him; they were poor, too, and he owed money. but they could get no tidings of him. thinking something might have happened to him by way of accident, they went to the police-station to inquire. a keen detective heard their inquiry, and kept his own counsel; but next morning he went to the remand prison, and sure enough he found the missing man there among the prisoners. he had been arrested for "failing to report." he was on "ticket-of-leave," and had to report himself once a month to the police. either his religious emotion or the interest of his night employment had caused him to neglect this trivial matter. about this time the consulting and analytical chemist disappeared, and no more consignments of goods for the laboratory arrived. the little convert was once more remanded, for the magistrate and the police wanted to know what he had been doing. the police, too, had been keeping an eye on the big house; they thought, too, that something had happened to the chemist, so they forced the door and entered. it was verily a robbers' cave they found. no trace of scientific implements, except burglars' tools, no trace of chemicals or laboratory; but they found the proceeds of many clever burglaries that had been committed in various parts of london. the chemist and the convert were one; their identity was established. when i spoke to him in the cells, he called himself an "ass" for failing to report himself to the police. "if it had not been for that, i should have been all right," he said. in a previous book i have given at some length my experiences of a burglar who is a living example of the second class; but i have something to add to the story, for since "pictures and problems" was issued his fifth term of penal servitude terminated, and the man came back to me. twice had i given him a good start in life, for he was both clever and industrious, and in many respects honest. i do not think he would have cheated anyone, and i know that he would have scorned to pick anyone's pocket. i had twice previously set him up in his business--bookbinding. twice had he appeared to be on the way to thorough reformation of character and good social standing; but twice, when things were prospering with him, and when he had acquired plenty of good clothing, etc., and had saved at least £ , had he lapsed into burglary, with the inevitable result--he was caught. well under fifty years of age, yet his accumulated sentences amounted to nearly forty years; but it must be borne in mind that one-fourth of the time he had been on "ticket-of-leave," for he behaved well in prison, and obtained every possible mark for good conduct, etc. i had not expected to see any more of him, for i knew that he had heart trouble, and, moreover, had been ill in prison. the officials had, however, taken good care of him, and during the months previous to his discharge he had been an occupant of the prison hospital. he appeared to be in fair health. the hair on his head had been allowed to grow; he had been decently shaved. his clothing, however, betrayed him, for there was no mistaking it. he had earned £ in prison, which sum had been placed with the church army for his benefit. neither the church army nor the salvation army could find or give him any employment, and the £ was soon spent. i saw much of him, and watched him closely, for he interested me. when he was quite penniless and apparently hopeless, i obtained work for him with a local tradesman, for which he was to receive £ weekly, but was required to do a certain amount of work every day; for i was anxious for him to have regular work, and to be able to earn sufficient for his need, but no more. i also agreed to find or procure sufficient work to keep him going. this arrangement seemed likely to prosper, and i felt some hope. there was no sign of repentance to be observed in him, neither was he in the least ashamed of his past; indeed, he seemed to think, like a good many other ex-convicts, that it was the duty of the community to help him and compensate him for the years he had spent in prison. i soon had cause for suspicion, but kept silent, till one day i saw him with something that he could not possibly have purchased. i told him that i should warn the police. he did not deny the impeachment, but he wanted to argue the matter, and seemed to believe that in some way or other his conduct was justifiable. within a fortnight from the time of this conversation he was again in the hands of the police, who charged him with attempted burglary, and once more he went back to penal servitude. he has not written to me; i hope he will not write. i confess myself hopeless with such men. the chances of their reformation are almost nil, and i for one welcome heartily and unreservedly the proposals of the present home secretary, and sincerely hope that those proposals will soon become part and parcel of our penal administration. no prisoners' aid society can help such men, and those of us who are behind the scenes know perfectly that no prisoners' aid society tries to help them. they naturally prefer more plastic material to work upon. the strangest part of this matter is the undoubted fact that these men have within them a great deal that is good, for sometimes i have known them to be stirred by pity and animated by love; but it requires someone in much worse plight than they themselves are to evoke that pity and kindle that love. the following story, true in all particulars, will be of interest: in one of our large prisons i saw an old man acting as "orderly" in the prison hospital. he was leaning over the bed of a young man who was dying of consumption. he was pointed out to me as an "old lag"--that is, an ex-convict. he was a habitual criminal, a sin-seared, oft-convicted, hardened old man, of whom and for whom there was no hope; a danger to the community and a pest to society, well known to prison officials. his last offence being of a technical character, he was sent to prison for a short term only. what could the governor do with him? solitude and severity had proved ineffectual for his reformation; deadening and soul-destroying monotony had failed to soften him; the good advice of various chaplains had fallen like seed in a stony place. he seemed impervious to feeling, not susceptible to kindness--a hopeless, dead-alive man. an inspiration came to the governor. he made the "old lag" into a nurse, and sent him into the hospital. muttering and cursing, he went among the sick and the weak. he was brought face to face with suffering and death. prison does not secure immunity from the fell scourge consumption, and the old man's days had to be spent among some upon whom the scourge had fixed its relentless grip. sometimes death makes a long tarrying, and the wheels of consumption's death-car are long delayed. suffering, waiting, hoping for the end, lay a young man who was alone in the world. too ill and too near death, he could not be discharged from prison; he had no friends into whose care he could be committed; so he must suffer, wait and hope for the end. and the old convict had to nurse him. soon strange sensations began to thrill the old man, for pity took possession of him. by-and-by the old man's heart became tender again, and the foundations of the frozen deep were broken up; the "old lag" had learned to love! he had found someone in worse plight than himself, someone who needed his care, and someone whom he could care for. as the weary days passed, and the days lengthened into weeks, and the weeks into weary months, the affection between the two men grew in intensity, till the fear of separation filled their minds--a separation not caused by death. would the old man's sentence expire before the young man died? would the young man die before the old man's time was up? who would be nurse for the young man when the old man was gone? alas! the convict's time was up first, and the day came when the prison-gates were opened and he must go free, when he must say farewell to his friend. the day came, but the old man refused to leave, and he implored the governor to let him stay "and see the last of him." surely it was a beautiful exhibition of the power of love. the old man had passed through love to light, and the dear old sinner was ready to sacrifice himself for the benefit of the dying lad. but it was not to be. prison rules and prison discipline could not be relaxed, and the old convict must needs go. there was no place for him in the prison, so with sad heart he bade his friend farewell and departed. but three days later he was back in the same prison, and once more he was "orderly" in the hospital. on leaving prison the convict said to the governor: "you won't let me stop, but you will soon have me back again, and you won't be able to refuse me admission." in prison he had earned a few shillings, so into the nearest public-house he went, got drunk, came out and "went for" the first policeman, who naturally took him into custody. when before the magistrate he asked for three months, but the magistrate thought that one month met the justice of the case. so back he went to prison, where the governor promptly gave him his "old job." when i saw the old man, his month was running out. i have since learnt that when he was again discharged, he said to his friend, "cheer up! i shall soon be back." but the dying youth lingers on, and waits for him in vain. eagerly he scans every fresh comer, but no glint of recognition lights up his poor face. the officials, too, scan every list that comes with a fresh consignment of prisoners, but the "old lag's" name has not appeared. neither do the police know anything of him. what has happened to the old convict? perhaps, after all, his time was up first. maybe he waits in the spirit-world for the coming of his friend. maybe the young man will plead for the old convict, and say: "lord, i was sick and in prison, and he came unto me." and the lord will answer and say: "inasmuch as ye did it unto him, ye did it unto me." the police effect many smart and plucky captures. sometimes they are aided by a stupid oversight on the part of the criminal, but quite as often by some extraordinary piece of luck. let me give an instance of the latter. a six-foot fellow from the country joined the london police-force. he also, as soon as possible, joined himself in matrimony to a servant-girl living in london. her health proved to be very bad, but this did not prevent her having children quickly, and so it came about that, before he had been in the police-force many years he was in debt and difficulties. four young children and a wife constantly ill do not help to make a policeman's life a happy one. his friends made a collection for him on the quiet, but it had little beneficial effect. the children became ill, the wife became worse, the debts heavier, and exposure threatened. it was winter-time. he left his ailing wife and crying children to go on night-duty, wishing he was dead and out of it all. as he went quietly to his beat, his step became slower and slower, until it stopped altogether, and he found himself standing with his back to the wall thinking of suicide. some months afterwards he gave me this account of what happened. "mr. holmes, pluck and courage had nothing to do with it, for i had just made up my mind to make a hole in the water, when i happened to look at the window of a jeweller's shop, in which a light was burning. "i saw somebody move in the shop, so i took out my truncheon and went softly into the shop door. i had an idea it was unfastened, so i stood still for a minute or two, hardly breathing, and then i rushed at the door, and sure enough it opened, and in i went. "the three fellows were just packing up the jewellery. one of them came for me with a pistol, but before he could get it to fire i caught him on the head with my truncheon, and down he went. another made for the door, but he had to pass me, and i laid him out. the third came at me with a big jemmy, and we had a fight, but i was too big and quick for him. i almost broke his arm. so i took the lot; but i should not have cared if they had killed me. i was just in a mad fury, and it was nothing but a piece of luck." yes, it was a bit of luck. a large sum of money was collected for him by the public. his praises were duly sung in the press, his debts were paid, and his wife sent for a time to a convalescent home. he might have made headway in the force, but he was no scholar. i went sometimes to give him lessons in arithmetic, spelling, etc., but it was of no use. he wanted to catch more thieves, and sometimes made the terrible mistake of arresting an innocent person. the last time i saw him he told me that his wife was no better, but that she had had another child. not long ago a singular mistake occurred in north london. burglars had infested a respectable road for some time. an attempt to enter had evidently been made at one house without success, for they had left jemmy-marks upon the door, but did not enter. the police resolved to watch this house from the outside. the owner and his stalwart son resolved to watch inside, but neither communicated with the other. at midnight two men were seen by the police to enter the garden and go to the front door, so the constables softly followed and listened at the door, which was closed. evidently there was someone inside, so they cautiously opened the door, when suddenly they were set on by two men armed with heavy hammers. a severe blow fell on the shoulder of one of the officers, who responded with a crack on the head with a truncheon, and the man inside fell on the floor. poor fellow, he was the owner! the son also got injured, and when the police were about to handcuff him, the affair was explained. meanwhile the thieves went higher up the road, made a real attempt, and were caught. but the owner of the house lay ill for some days, suffering from concussion of the brain, while the officer was incapacitated from duty for some weeks. chapter iii the black list and inebriates in my opening chapter a slight reference was made to the habitual inebriates act of . i now wish to deal more fully with this subject, for it has occupied much time in police-courts, and has held a large place in the public mind and interest. the uselessness of short terms of imprisonment for persons frequently charged with drunkenness had been fully proved; they had not been found deterrent or reformative, the only practical result being that the lives of those constantly committed were considerably lengthened. sometimes i have felt that it would be good if the women to whom i now refer could have gone quietly out of existence, for i believe that the all-merciful would extend greater mercy to them than they show to themselves. but life has a firm grip upon women; and when it is devoted to animalism and idleness, when the cares and worries of home, children, and employment do not concern them, then indeed those lives are often lengthened out beyond the lives of their more virtuous and industrious sisters. for these women prisons had proved useful sanatoria, and frequent sentences times of recuperation. small wonder, then, that new methods should at length be tried. the habitual inebriates act came into being in . the act adopted the definition of a much earlier act as to what constituted the habitual inebriate, which was as follows: "those who, by the excessive use of intoxicating drink, are unable to control their affairs or are dangerous to themselves or others." i quite believe that if the framers of this act had realized the character of those who would come within its provisions, a far different definition would have been found. but the act also conditioned that only those who were charged four times during the year with drunkenness should be dealt with, the great mistake being that no attempt was made previously to inquire into the character and condition of those that happened to be charged four times in the year. i suppose it was a natural inference that anyone so frequently charged must be of necessity a confirmed and regular inebriate. but the reverse proved true, for the worst inebriates, dipsomaniacs, and sots, escaped the meshes of the net so carefully spread. they at any rate did not fall into the hands of the police so frequently; indeed, many of them did not at all. but the act netted a very different kind of fish--a kind that ought to have been netted many years previously, and dealt with in a far more effectual manner than was now proposed. the act gave power to local authorities and philanthropic societies to establish inebriates' reformatories, which, after satisfying the requirements of the home office, were to be duly licensed to receive habitual inebriates qualified under the new law. these institutions were to be supported by an imperial capitation grant for every inebriate committed, the local authorities being empowered to draw upon the rates for the balance. magistrates were given power to commit to these establishments for one, two, or three years, when the persons charged before them pleaded guilty to being habitual inebriates, and desired the question settled without reference to a higher court; but magistrates could not deal with them until they had been charged four times within the year. if consent was refused, magistrates were empowered to send them for trial before the judge and jury. early in i took considerable pains to ascertain the exact character and condition of the persons who came within the provision of the act. i found, as i expected to find, that they were idle and dissolute persons, nearly all of them women, and such women as only the streets of our large towns could furnish. so much misapprehension and uncertainty prevailed as to the kind and sex of the persons who would be affected by the new law that the london county council, after acquiring a valuable property in surrey for the purposes of the act, prepared for the reception of males. for this there was no excuse. a glance at the annual criminal statistics would have shown to what sex the oft-convicted inebriates belonged, and an inquiry among the police would have revealed their true character and condition. a considerable time elapsed before these reformatories were ready, local authorities being very reluctant to use their powers, but at length the task of trying to cure london's grossest women of inebriety began. it was a hopeless task from the first. after eight years' experience its futility has been fully demonstrated. in the _contemporary review_ of may, , i ventured to give a description of the men and women who would be dealt with. the women, i said, would consist of per cent. of gross unfortunates, dominated by vice or mental disease, homeless and shameless women; per cent. old women who live alternately in workhouses and prisons, with occasional spells of liberty and licence; and per cent. of otherwise decent women, the majority of whom would be mentally weak. the men i described as idle, dissolute, and dishonest fellows, or worse. eight years' experience of the working of the act has verified my analysis. the report of the government inspector for amply proves it. dr. branthwaite (the government inspector), a properly qualified medical officer, has taken infinite pains to ascertain the mental condition of those committed to certified reformatories, and who became his special charge. i quote from his report for : "during the eight years the act has been in operation , men and women had been committed to reformatories. of these, were men and , were women." he thus classifies them as to mental condition: · per cent. as insane, defective, imbecile, or epileptic; · per cent. as eccentric, dull, or senile; · per cent. as of average mental capacity. this means that out of the total admissions for the eight years, · per cent. were practically insane, and therefore hopeless from a reformatory point of view. the remaining · per cent. were, he says, of average mental capacity. but the inspector can only speak of them as he finds them; he cannot speak of their mental capacity when outside his reformatories. i can; therefore i wish to say here something about them. there exists a large class of men and women who, when placed under absolute control in prisons or reformatories, submit themselves quietly to the authority that controls and the conditions that environ them. they obey orders, they display no anger, they offer no violence; they are not moody or spiteful, but they fulfil their duties with some degree of cheerfulness and alacrity. those who have charge of them naturally look upon them as the most hopeful of their prisoners. a greater mistake could not be made. it may be vice, it may be drink, it may be dishonesty, that is the master passion of their lives; it may be, for aught i know--and in reality i believe that it is--some inscrutable mental disease that causes their passions or weaknesses; but whatever the passion, and however caused or controlled, when these people are under absolute authority in places where the vice, passion, or weakness cannot possibly be indulged, then that passion, vice, or weakness is absolutely non-existent for the time, and its victims appear as normal people. but a far different state of mind and body exists when they are released from authority, for with liberty the old instinct or passion comes into fierce existence, and instantly demands gratification. while the released person has on the one hand gained considerably in health of mind and body, the sleeping passion too has gained in strength during the time it has hibernated. these persons, i am happy to believe, are not of normal mind, for they are helpless before the stress of temptation. in fact, decent as they may seem while in custody, the gratification of their particular vice is the only thing of importance in life to them. these unfortunate people, when at liberty, are in reality under authority of a different kind, and their obedience to the dark, mysterious authority that controls them is as implicit as if they were detained in prison or reformatory, for they do not question or gainsay its imperious demands. small wonder, then, that nearly all the women who have been committed to inebriate reformatories revert to their old habits of life. to speak of their relapse is wrong, for in reality there is no relapse about it; they have only been held by force from their old life, which they resume when that preventive force is withdrawn. but it has been a costly experience so far, at any rate, as london is concerned. the government led off with a capitation grant of s. d. weekly. for the first few years it cost about £ s. per week, in addition to the outlay on land, buildings, and appointments, to keep each of these demented women. though this cost has now been considerably reduced, it is even now about £ weekly. no one, i feel sure, would begrudge this outlay if there was the remotest chance of these extraordinary women living decently when released from the reformatories. sadly, but emphatically, i say no such chance exists. let it be clearly understood that i am not making this terrible statement about inebriates generally, but only with regard to those women who fall into the hands of the police four times in one year, thus qualifying for committal according to the act. the very hopelessness of these women excites my deepest pity, and because i pity them i point out plainly their condition, in the sincere hope that more satisfactory methods of dealing with them may be provided. the inspector claims that it is better for these women to be detained in inebriate reformatories than to undergo a continual round of short terms of imprisonment, varied by spells of liberty spent in gross orgies upon the street. he says, too, that it is the cheaper course. there is some truth in his contention. of the exact proportion of the monetary cost of the two methods i am not concerned, but undoubtedly, for the good of the community and the purity of our streets, lengthened detention in inebriate reformatories is infinitely better than short detention in prisons. i am not objecting to their lengthened detention, but to the method and objects of detention. if their detention is to be for the good of the public, let it be understood that the common weal demands it. but as they are a class altogether apart from ordinary women, even from ordinary drunken women, they ought to be detained in institutions adapted for women of their condition only, and the absurdity of trying to cure vice-possessed women of the drink habit ought to cease. but the legal advantages attaching to the life of a gross and disorderly woman are considerable--far greater than the advantages that are attached to a life of virtue and honest toil. "only be bad enough, gross enough, violent enough, and you shall have your reward. only get into conflict with the guardians of law and order four times in one year, and three years' comfort in an inebriate reformatory shall be your reward. there your work shall be limited, your leisure shall be certain, your food shall be plentiful and varied, and your recreation, indoors and out of doors, shall not be forgotten. there you shall live lives of comfort and comparative ease." so the state seems to say to the women of the class who at present fill our inebriate reformatories. and some are not slow to accept the invitation. i remember one massive young irishwoman, who had a strong aversion to anything like honest work, saying to me one morning when she was again in custody: "mr. holmes, i am about sick of this: i'll go to a home for a year. ask the magistrate to send me; it will do me good." i declined to be the intermediary, so she appealed to the magistrate to send her away under the act. there being some doubt as to the requisite number of convictions, the magistrate added to the list by giving her fourteen days. at the expiration of her sentence--indeed, on the very day of her discharge from prison--she got into collision with the police, and next day was again before the magistrate. she again asked the magistrate to send her to a reformatory. but she had another grievance this time: she told the magistrate that mr. holmes had insulted her. on being asked for particulars, she said that i had refused to help her to get into an inebriate reformatory, and further (and this was the insult), that i had said that she was big enough, strong enough, and young enough to work for her living. i pleaded guilty to the insult, and pointed out to the magistrate the physical dimensions of the prisoner. he smiled, and said there was some truth in my statement; but as the prisoner was young, there was hope of her reformation, so he committed her for two years. i ventured respectfully to tell him that he had but allowed her one of the legal advantages of an idle and disorderly woman. drink had no more to do with her condition than it has with mine, though to some extent it was useful to her; but vice and idleness were the dominant factors in her life, not drink. the habitual inebriates act of was followed by the licensing act of , some clauses of which dealt with habitual inebriates, and provided for the compilation of a black list. every person, male or female, charged with drunkenness, or some crime connected with drunkenness, four times in one year, was to be placed on an official list, whether sent or not sent to an inebriate reformatory. their photographs were to be taken and circulated to the police and to the publicans. publicans were prohibited under a severe penalty from serving the "listed" with intoxicating drink within a period of three years. if the "listed" persons procured, or attempted to procure, any drink during that time they, too, were liable to a penalty not exceeding £ or fourteen days. there was considerable fear and a strange anxiety among many of the repeatedly convicted as to what would happen to them when this act began its operations. but this wholesome dread soon disappeared. when its operations became known, the lists were duly made and circulated; the photographs were accurately, if not beautifully, taken; the police were supplied with the lists and the publicans with the photographs. but very soon the "listed" proceeded to procure drink and get drunk as usual, for a wonder had come to light. when charged under the new act, instead of getting their usual month they received but a fortnight, for the act did not allow a more severe punishment. true, they had committed more heinous offences, for they had defied the law, which said they must not procure drink, and their offences had been _dual_, for they had been drunk, too, and disorderly and disgusting as of yore. nevertheless, their double offence entitled them to but half their former reward. magistrates soon saw the humour of it, and soon got tired of it, and sometimes, when a charge was preferred against a "lister" under the act, they ordered the police to charge the prisoners under the old act, that more punishment might be given. but if these clauses were not successful from a legal point of view, they were from another. the act came into force on january , . at the beginning of may in the same year--that is, in four months from commencing operations-- names, mostly women, were on that list. i sometimes have the privilege of looking at the list, which has now grown to a portentous length. it is an education to look at those hundreds of portraits. i look at them with fear and wonderment, for they are a revelation--an awe-inspiring picture-gallery! i would like every student of humanity and every lover of his kind to have a copy of that list, to study those photographs, and ponder the letterpress description that accompanies each photograph. it would almost appear that we are getting back to primeval man, the faces are so strange and weird. different as the faces are, one look is stamped upon them all--the look of bewilderment. they one and all seem to think that there is something wrong, and they wonder what it is. no one can glance for a single moment at those terrible photographs without seeing that there is something more than drink at the root of things. no one can meet them, as i have met them, face to face, can look into their eyes, and know, as i know, how pitifully sad, yet how horrible, are their lives, without affirming, as i affirm, that the state proclaims its ignorance when it classifies them as inebriates, and its impotence when it asks others to cure them of the love of drink. these are the women that fill our inebriate reformatories, and of whom the home office inspector reports that · per cent. are not sane. certainly they are not sane, and it is high time that the truth was realized and the fact faced. is it scientific to call their disease inebriety, when in sober truth it is something far worse--something that comes down through the ages, and in all climes and at all times has seized hold upon certain women--a something that never releases its hold till the portals of death are open for its victims? oh, i could almost laugh at the irony of it all! cure them of animal passion elemental in its intensity? cure them of diseased minds and disordered brains, by keeping them for two or three years without drink? it cannot be done. but something can be done; only it is so simple a thing that i feel sure it will not be done. yet if we had any thought for the purity of our streets, any concern for public morality and public decency, any consideration for the public weal, we should take these women aside, and keep them aside--not for one, two, or three years, but for the remainder of their natural lives, justified by the knowledge that they are not responsible creatures, and that pity itself demands their submission to kindly control and to strong-handed restraint. but the licensing act of dealt with another class of women inebriates, and dealt with them in a drastic but unsatisfactory way. the law got hold of really drunken women this time, but it did not give them half the consideration extended to gross and demented unfortunates. it empowered magistrates to grant separation orders between married couples when either husband or wife became habitually drunken. in this act the same definition of habitual inebriety that governed the act was adopted, and husbands very promptly began to demand separation orders on account of their wives' drunkenness. my experiences of the result of this act are sorrowful to a degree; but i expected those results, for i knew that the clauses that empowered separation orders must be either inoperative or disastrous. alas! they did not remain inoperative, for the number of discarded wives began quickly to multiply. when the bill was before parliament i spent some weeks in a vain endeavour to prevent some of the worst consequences that i knew would follow, and have followed. i contributed several articles to leading reviews; i wrote to _the times_ and scores of other influential papers; i wrote to leaders of temperance societies; i circularized the members of both houses, pointing out the enormity and the absurdity of putting drunken wives homeless on the streets; i pleaded, i begged, with heart, voice, and pen, for just one chance to be given the miserable women. my efforts were vain. no one supported me. i was a voice crying in the wilderness. it might be thought that i was asking for some great thing or some silly thing. i asked for neither. let my readers judge. we had established inebriate reformatories at the public cost. we were filling them with the grossest unfortunates, of whom there was no hope of redemption; these women we were maintaining for two or three years in comfort. will it be believed? i asked that drunken, but not immoral, women should be given equal chances of reformation. i asked that when a wife's drunkenness was proved, that she should, whether she consented or not, be committed for one year to an inebriate reformatory, and that the husband's contribution for her support should be paid to the institution that controlled her. but the house of commons would have none of it; the house of lords would not entertain it; the christian churches would not support it; the guardians of public morality ignored it. drunken wives, though physically weak and ill, though mothers of young children, though decent in other ways, were not to be allowed one chance of reformation, were not to be considered for one moment worthy of treatment equal to that given to demented and gross women of the streets. "pitch them out!" said our lords and gentlemen of both houses. "get rid of them!" said the christian churches. husbands have not been slow in taking this advice, for they have been pitching wives out and have been getting rid of wives ever since. but the public do not get rid of them so easily. it has to bear the burden that cast-off wives bring, and that burden grows with every separation granted; so wives hitherto moral are fast qualifying for the legal advantages given to unspeakable women, and by-and-by, when the cast-out women behave themselves sufficiently badly, and the police take them into custody four times in a year--then, and not till then, when it is too late, both houses of parliament, the christian churches, and the guardians of public morality offer them the reforming influences of an institution for the cure of inebriety. contrasts: the young commission agent and a brave old man. one of the first men to apply for a separation order under the act was a thriving commission agent--_i.e._, a bookmaker--who had married a barmaid. his jewellery was massive, and there was all over him the appearance of being extremely well-to-do. he brought with him a solicitor to advocate his cause, and witnesses, too, were forthcoming. his young wife, when asked for her statement, did not attempt to deny that she was sometimes the worse for drink, but contented herself by saying that her husband drank a great deal more than she did, but it took less effect. she also said if she did drink, her husband was the cause of it, for he was unfaithful to her. she readily agreed to her husband's offer of £ weekly, so the order was promptly granted, and she went her way alone. the husband, i noticed, was not so lonely, being accompanied by a well-dressed female. the second act of this unseemly farce was played before the same court after a three months' interval. the commission agent, again fortified by his solicitor's presence, applied for an abrogation of the order made upon him for his wife's maintenance. her lapse into immorality was duly proved, her defence--which, of course, was no defence at all--being that her husband was worse than herself, for he had been living with the woman now in court for some months. the magistrate had no option--for private opinion must not prevent the due fulfilment of the law--so the order was quashed. henceforth the husband was free of all obligations, pecuniary or otherwise, excepting that he might not legally marry till his wife's death. whatever her faults were, i must confess that i felt very sorry for her. young, friendless, and homeless, she was already on that polished, inclined plane down which many are precipitated to the lowest depths, from which nothing short of a miracle could save her. a few minutes later i was speaking to her outside the court, and asking about her future, when the opulent commission agent and his expensively dressed but non-legalized wife passed us. triumph was written on his coarse face, and, turning to his cast-off wife, he snapped his fingers in her face, and said: "i knew i should soon get rid of you!" using, of course, vulgar embellishment. to such contemptible blackguards, men without an atom of decency, this act has provided a ready means for getting rid of wives when their company proves distasteful. but oh the chivalry of it, especially when the fellow who participated in the wife's wrong-doing comes cheerfully to give evidence against her! when i think on these things, i believe that i have some faith still in physical chastisement. but i turn gladly--nay, eagerly--to another side of the question; for all men are not made on the same lines as the opulent bookie, for which we have need to be thankful. among some of the men who, driven almost distraught by the misery they had endured--and only those who have to endure it can tell how great that misery is--have applied for separation orders on account of their wives' habitual drunkenness, i have met some that shone resplendent amid the moral darkness so often connected with police-court cases. a sorrowful-faced old man, nearly seventy years of age, applied to the magistrate for advice. his wife for some years had been giving way constantly to drink. his home was ruined; he was in debt. he produced a bundle of pawn-tickets, etc. "have you any sons and daughters? cannot they influence her?" "they are married, and are all abroad. they cannot help me; but they send me money when i require any. they want me to go to them, but i cannot leave her." "do you earn any money?" "oh yes! quite sufficient to keep us. i have had a good place for forty years." "well," said the magistrate, "i cannot advise you, but you can have a summons against her for habitual drunkenness. will you have one?" "yes, sir," said the bewildered old man. the summons was served upon the wife, and in due time they appeared before the court. a pathetic couple they were; neither of them appeared to exactly understand why they were there. he knew that he had to prove his wife's drunkenness, and he did it simply enough. it was the old, old story of drink, neglect, waste, and dirt--no food provided, no house made tidy, no beds made, no washing of clothes. that was the negative side. the pawnings and debts, and cuts and wounds she had received from falling, formed the positive. the old woman denied nothing, but said it was all true. when asked for her defence, she could only reiterate: "he's been very good to me; he's been very good to me." when asked about his means, the old man said he thought that he could allow his wife s. a week. the magistrate thought that s. was as much as he could afford, and made the order accordingly. the couple waited in court till the separate orders were delivered to them, and then tremblingly rose to go, he to his lonely home and she to ----. i accompanied them into the streets, and said to the old woman: "where are you going to live?" she replied: "i am going home." "but you are separated. the magistrate has given your husband an order which says that you must no longer live with him." "not live with my husband! where am i to live, then?" i do not think that either of them understood till that moment what a separation order meant, for the old man said: "you can't live anywhere else." then, turning to me, he said half defiantly: "i suppose i can take her back home if i like?" "certainly," i said; "but you cannot come to the magistrate for another order." "i will never ask for another. i don't want this"; and he tore it in twain. "come on." and he offered his arm to his old and bewildered partner, and away they went--he to endure patiently and still to hope; she, touched by his faithful love, to struggle and, perchance, to conquer. he was a brave old man--a sir galahad with bent back and frosty locks. i watched them as they slowly disappeared along the street. old as they were, they were passing through love to light. for i saw them many times after that day; i made it my business to see them, and to give them such encouragement as i could: they sorely needed it. so i learned the story of their lives. she had been a good wife and mother till late in life. then her children had all dispersed, and great loneliness came upon her. she had not even the prattle of a grandchild to cheer her. her husband was away so much from home, for he worked many hours. old age steals away the power of self-control, and loneliness is hard to bear, and drink promised to cheer her. the old man's faithfulness was her only anchorage, but it held. the battle went sometimes against her, but from the day they stood before the magistrate the old woman began to gain strength, and with strength came hope and happier days. i have selected these two instances because they fully illustrate the dangers and the weakness of this system. but these two by no means stand alone, and i am not exaggerating when i say that hundreds of men have consulted me about their wives' drunkenness, all of them expecting some help or relief from the act. when i have explained to them exactly how it affected them and what a separation order meant, by far the greater number went away sorrowing, and most of them have added: "i thought she would be put in a home for a time, where i could pay a little for her. i cannot put her homeless into the streets; i should not be able to sleep if i knew she was out." of course not; what decent husband could? and this feeling has, i am glad to say, been characteristic of husbands who have suffered intensely and long, and who through it all have been good and patient husbands. i do not wish it to be understood that i think evil of every husband who enforces a separation order on account of his wife's habitual drunkenness--far from it; for i know only too well that with some it has been a bitter and last resource, nothing else being apparently possible. but i do say this, and for this reason i have told the above stories: that this law places it in the power of a worthless husband, who cares not what becomes of his wife, to get rid of her and his responsibilities at practically the same time, but does nothing for the unfortunate husband who hopes for his wife's reformation, and who has still some respect for her; also that it consigns wretched women to a position that is certain to bring about their complete demoralization, for it submits them to temptations they cannot withstand. chapter iv police-court marriages the fashion that has arisen of late years of judges or magistrates engineering weddings among the wretched and often penniless people who sometimes come before them savours of indecency. such proceedings ought to have no place in our courts of penal administration. the effects of thriftless and ill-assorted marriages are so palpable in police-courts that one wonders to what malign source of inspiration the suggestion that some criminal youth or some vicious young woman can be reincarnated by marriage is to be attributed. some of the most effective and eloquent homilies i have ever listened to have been delivered from the bench upon youthful and thriftless marriages, and upon the folly of obtaining household goods by the hire-purchase system. in spite, however, of the well-known results of such marriages--for squalor and misery inevitably attend them--educated gentlemen of position and experience appear to take pleasure in arranging them, and police-court missionaries find occupation and joy in seeing the arrangements duly carried out. the altogether unwholesome effect of arranging these marriages is considerably enhanced by the press, which duly chronicles in heavy type and sensational headings a "police-court romance." romance! i would like to find the romance. i have seen much of the results of such marriages, but i never discovered any romance; they were anything but romantic. while i have seen the results, and have had to alleviate some of the miseries following such marriages, i am thankful to say that i never did anything quite so foolish as to take part in arranging or giving any assistance in carrying out the arrangements for a single marriage of this description. many years ago i was asked by a worthy magistrate to see that the arrangements for a marriage of this kind were duly carried out; i told him that i must respectfully decline. he reminded me, with a humorous twinkle in the eye, "that marriages were made in heaven." the reply was obvious: "sometimes in hell, your worship." and the sequel proved my reply to be true. magistrates seldom see the after-results, but those results are far-reaching. from this one case alone grievous burdens have already been cast upon the public, and future generations will be called upon to bear an aggravated burden. for in a short time the couple were homeless, with three young children, and were found sleeping, or trying to sleep, in a van one winter's night. it requires no prophetical vision to see the consequences of these marriages, but a few instances may stimulate imagination. three years ago a decent-looking young woman of twenty was charged in one of our courts with abandoning her illegitimate child. she was young, pretty, and told a sad tale about her wrongs. the press account of the matter appeared with such embellishment as befitted a "romance," for a young man had risen in court and offered to marry the girl, and make her into an "honest woman." now, this chivalrous young man had not seen the girl previously--they were complete strangers; nevertheless, the magistrate adjourned the case, and offered a sovereign towards the wedding expenses. the hero in this business--the chivalrous young man!--was penniless and out of work; in fact, if he himself spoke truly, he had done no work for a year; but, seeing publicity had been gained and interest excited, he wrote a letter to the press, asking the public to supplement the magistrate's contribution, and supply him with funds to furnish a home for himself and future wife his letter was not published, but it was sent in to me by the editor, for i had written to the press on the subject. i have said that he was out of work, and certainly he was likely to remain out of work, for he was one of the audience to be seen regularly at the police-court, many of whom never seem to seek for work. i have no hesitation in saying that the man who comes forward in a police-court and offers to marry a young woman to whom he is a complete stranger, and who is, moreover, charged with serious crime, is either a fool or a rogue--probably both. why magistrates should smile on these impromptu proposals, and order remands that the consummation may take place, i cannot possibly understand. if i were a magistrate and a fellow came forward with a like proposal, i would order him out of court; in fact, i should experience some pleasure in kicking him out. but in this case the magistrate gave a fatherly benediction and twenty shillings. the missionary, too, was by no means out of it, for he afterwards took some credit for this sorry business. the true story of the girl came out afterwards. it was not one to excite pity, for it was a shameful one to a degree. but morbid, and i think i may say maudlin, sympathy is one of the prevailing evils of the day, and is not founded in real pity or love, or controlled by common-sense or by the least discretion, as the following will show: the case of a young woman in whom i was interested was placed before the public as a "romance," and consequently well advertised. she was by no means a desirable person; as a matter of fact, there was nothing to be said in her favour. the untrue statement she made before the magistrate was, however, duly circulated. in a few days i received a large number of letters, many of them from men with proposals of marriage. i did the best thing possible by burning the latter, with one exception, for this interested me, as it contained a membership ticket of a religious society. the writer told me that he was a god-fearing man, a church member for many years, a carpenter in business on his own account, a widower with several children; that he had prayed over the matter, and it was laid upon his conscience that he must marry the young woman and save her. he also enclosed a postal order for s., and asked me to pay her rail-fare and send him a telegram. i returned his membership ticket, his letter, and his postal order, and some words of my own--brief and pointed: "sir, "you may be a well-meaning man, but you are an ass. what right have you to submit your children to the care of an abandoned woman? marry some decent woman you are acquainted with, and save them and yourself. "yours truly, "t. holmes." quite recently a police-court missionary told us through the press that he had arranged seventy such weddings, that he raised £ to give the various couples a start in life, many of whom were so poor that he loaned them a wedding-ring for the ceremony, as he always kept one by him for emergencies. yet he assured us, in spite of the poverty of the persons concerned, and notwithstanding the disgraceful circumstances that had brought them within his province, all these marriages had turned out happily. i sincerely wish that i could believe in the happiness of couples of this description, married under such circumstances, but i cannot, for my experience of them has been so very different. indeed, i was not surprised to read an account in the press of the trial of a young man for the murder of his wife, when the wife's mother stated that the marriage had been arranged by a police-court missionary. when i reflect upon this subject, i must confess myself astonished that our bishops and clergy, who insist so strongly on the sacredness of marriage and of its indissolubility, are silent upon the matter, and have no advice to give to their representatives upon it. especially am i surprised that our good bishop of london, who is conversant with every phase of london life, and who has spoken so fearlessly upon the extent and evils of immorality, is silent on police-court marriages and police-court separations; for these marriages are none the less immoral though they be legalized by the state and blessed by the church, and the evils of them will not bear recapitulation. on divorce our leaders have much to say; on marriage with deceased wives' sisters they have advice to give. are the poor to have no guidance? are penniless, ignorant, and often gross young people to be engineered into promiscuous marriage without a protest? is the widespread evil that attaches to wholesale "separation" of no consequence? are these and suchlike arrangements good enough for the poor? but there is another light in which these engineered marriages must be considered. not very long since one of our judges had before him a young man charged with the attempted murder of the girl with whom he had kept company. his jealousy and brutality had alarmed her, so she had given him up. but he was not to be got rid of so easily, for he waylaid her and attempted to murder her by cutting her throat. he was charged, but the charge was reduced to one of grievous bodily harm. at the trial the young woman was asked by the judge whether she would consent to marry the prisoner, adding that if she would consent it would make a difference in the sentence imposed. the matter was adjourned to the next session, the prisoner being allowed his liberty that the marriage might be effected. during the adjournment they were married, and when next before the magistrate the marriage certificate was produced. she saved the man from prison, and the judge bestowed his benediction in the following words: "take her away" (as if, forsooth, she had been the prisoner) "and be good to her. you have assaulted her before: don't do it again"--thus giving him every opportunity of doing at his leisure what he had barely failed to do in his haste. i ask, is not a procedure of this kind a grave misuse of the power of the courts? is there any justice about it? is it fair to place on a young and inexperienced girl the onus of deciding whether or not her would-be murderer shall be punished? is there any sense of propriety in holding a half-veiled threat over her, and inducing her, against her better judgment, to marry a jealous and murderous brute? i can find no satisfactory answers to these questions, and contend such proceedings ought to be impossible in our courts of justice. if our penal administrators think that brutality, jealousy, and murderous instincts can be cured by matrimonial ties, especially when these ties are forged and riveted under such circumstances, then their knowledge of human nature is small indeed. the jealous brute when single is in all conscience bad enough, but when married he is infinitely worse; for with him jealousy becomes an absolute mania, and tragedy is almost inevitable. it must not be understood that all magistrates and judges bring pressure to bear on wretched or sinning couples for the purpose of compelling matrimony, for this is not the case. we have need to be thankful that comparatively few do so. but there is enough of this business done to warrant my calling attention to it, and in expressing the hope that "romance" of this kind may speedily die a death from which there is no resurrection. it may be that among the long list of sordid cases that come before the courts there are some in which marriage seems the best way out of the tangle, financial or otherwise. sometimes, perhaps, it is the only honourable course, especially where the mother of a child is desirous of it. but it must be remembered that in these cases the parties have had plenty of opportunity for marriage previous to appearing before the court, and would have like opportunities after going from the court, without magistrates intervening. but it becomes a public matter when judges or magistrates use their positions and the power of the law to compel young people, sometimes mere boys and girls, to marry. better a thousand times that many should bear the ills and sorrows that they have, and go through life with the shadow of disgrace over them, rather than take as partners those that have been either forced by circumstances or terrorized by representatives of the law into the unhappy position. it may seem strange that, while some of our judges, magistrates, and missionaries betray anxiety to hurry on these indecent marriages, and to coerce penniless young people into them, the state should find ready means for undoing them. it is no uncommon thing for very young women who have been married but a few months to apply for separation orders and maintenance orders. i may add also that it is no uncommon thing for magistrates to grant them. the extent to which separation prevails may be gathered from the fact that under the summary jurisdiction (married women) act, , there have been granted up to the end of (the latest date for which statistics are available) , separation orders; and, assuming the average for the years to to be maintained, up to the end of there would have to be added a further , separation orders, making a total since the act came into force of , such orders. surely these figures ought to compel serious thought. chapter v extraordinary sentences i owe my readers an apology for introducing this chapter, inasmuch as it does not deal chiefly with my own experiences, but with two extraordinary sentences recently given, and made public through the press; though it is fair to say that i know something of the friends in the one case and the victims in the other of the prisoners who received those sentences. i have seen nothing during my personal experiences to cause me any misgivings as to the administration of justice. i have not seen people punished for crimes they had not committed, but i have seen a large number of prisoners discharged about whose guilt there was no moral doubt. it stands to the credit of our penal system that it is much easier for a guilty man to escape than it is for an innocent man to be punished. this is a just and safe position. i would like also to say that among all the sentences that i have known imposed upon prisoners, there have been very few--indeed, scarcely any--that i have thought did not meet the justice of the case. i have, therefore, no sympathy with the organized outcries that are from time to time raised against our judges and magistrates and the police. judges and magistrates are but human, and that they will err sometimes in their judgments is certain. we censure them sometimes because their sentences are too severe; we blame them sometimes because they have been too lenient; but it is always well to remember that judges and magistrates see and know more of the attendant circumstances of a case than the press and the public possibly can see or know. this knowledge, of course, cannot have any bearing on the question of guilt or innocence; but it can have, and ought to have, some effect upon the length of sentence imposed. within limits, then, judges and magistrates must be allowed latitude with regard to degrees of sentence, for a cast-iron method allowing no latitude would entail a tremendous amount of injustice. nine times out of ten, when a judge or magistrate errs in the imposition of sentence, he errs on the side of leniency, and it is right that it should be so. but an error on the side of mercy does not create a public sensation; and this speaks well for the public, for it is good to know that the community is better pleased to hear of leniency than of severity. nevertheless, an error on the side of leniency is an error, and may be followed with results as disastrous as those that follow from an error on the side of severity; for while those results are not so quickly palpable, they may be more extensive. i want, then, in this chapter to select two sentences--one given by a judge, the other by a magistrate: the judge erring, in my opinion, on the side of severity; the magistrate erring, in my judgment, on the side of leniency. neither of these sentences seems to have attracted public attention, though both are of recent date. let me quote from a letter received on june , : "dear sir, "i hope you will excuse me writing to you about my son, who is a young man not twenty-three years of age. "he is a carpenter and joiner, and has a good little business of his own, with a shop and yard. "on january , , there was a burglary at the house next to mine, and in a fortnight after my son was arrested on suspicion. the people--very old friends of ours--being awake, heard voices, but did not recognize one of the voices as that of my son. "at the trial there was no evidence produced to prove that my son was in the house. my wife and myself are prepared to say that he went to bed at ten o'clock, and that we called him at seven o'clock next morning. "the jury brought my son in guilty, and the judge gave him _fourteen years' penal servitude_. the whole court was shocked; no one could understand it. i cannot understand it, for i have read many instances of real old criminals, after committing robberies, being sentenced to a few months or a year or so. but fourteen years for a young man! oh, sir, my family have lived in this old town for nearly three hundred years, and no member of it had ever been in a prisoner's dock till now. i have written to the home secretary, and his answer was that he could not at present interfere. i pray to heaven that you will be kind enough to write to him and beg of him to pardon my son. i am sending to you a paper with a full account of the trial. "i remain, "yours truly, "x." i have that paper now before me--the _coventry times_, dated wednesday, december , . the trial took place on the previous friday at warwick assizes. taylor was charged with breaking and entering, and feloniously stealing twenty-four farthings, one gold locket, one metal chain, and ten spoons; to make assurance doubly sure, he also was charged with receiving the same property. taylor had been in custody since january , . on december of the same year he received his extraordinary sentence, after being detained in prison nearly eleven months. everything seems extraordinary about this case--the long delay before trial, the severe sentence, the trumpery character of the articles stolen. i express no opinion about the prisoner's guilt. some of the articles were found in his possession, and it was proved that he had been spending farthings. that the people whose house had been entered did not suspect the prisoner was clear, as they sent for him next morning to repair the door that had been broken. but, at any rate, the jury believed taylor guilty, for, without leaving the box, they gave their verdict to that effect. one of the objects of the burglary appears to have been the acquisition of the silver teaspoons. mrs. wilson, the prosecutor's wife, had been previously married to a man named vernon, and the spoons in question belonged to him. it was said that the friends of vernon wanted the spoons, and mrs. wilson admitted that "they would like them; but they had let her alone for twenty years." these spoons disappeared. they were not found in taylor's possession, but someone had undoubtedly taken them. mrs. wilson stated in her evidence that after the burglary there was a piece of paper left on the parlour table, on which was written in pencil the words, "mrs. vernon, after twenty years"; but this paper was missing, and the prisoner's mother had been in the parlour and had seen the paper, which could not be found after she left. whether taylor committed a trumpery burglary, or whether he did the thing out of mean spirit, or whether he was in collusion with others, does not matter very much. punishment he doubtless deserved, but fourteen years for a young man for a silly offence seems beyond the bound of credibility. but it is true; for in june, , i approached the home secretary, begging for a revision of the sentence, and received a reply similar to that sent to the prisoner's father--that it was too early a date for interference. it is only fair to assume that the judge was in possession of knowledge that justified his words, if not his sentence, for in addressing the prisoner he said: "you have been convicted, and properly convicted; but i know the sort of man you are, from this case and from the fact that there is another charge against you in this calendar. fourteen years' penal servitude!" i am not surprised to read that "the prisoner appeared to be stunned when he heard the sentence, and fell into the warders' arms who surrounded him!" i am not surprised to read that the prisoner's father and mother rose to their feet, and that the one shouted, "he is innocent!" and that the other went into hysterics; but i am surprised to read that an english judge could not allow something for parental feelings, and that he said fiercely: "take those people away!" and when the prisoner's father shouted, "i can go out, but he is innocent!" that the judge instantly retorted: "if you don't go out, i will commit you to prison." fourteen years for a young man of twenty-two! fourteen years for a first offender! it requires an effort to make oneself believe it, but it is a fact. i should like to know what was at the back of mr. justice ridley's mind when he gave that sentence. surely he had some reasons that he, at any rate, considered sufficient to justify it. it is difficult to imagine what they were, for no personal violence had been offered, no firearms had been carried, no burglar's tools had been discovered. taylor was not even suspected of connection with any professional criminals. it was, moreover, the first time he had been in the hands of the police. taylor seems to have been industrious, for at twenty-two years of age he was in business on his own account. i can't help thinking that there was something wrong with taylor, some mental twist or peculiarity; for, admitting him to be guilty, he acted like a fool. to leave a piece of paper, in his own handwriting, referring to matters of which only intimate friends could have knowledge, was of itself an extraordinary thing; but to go spending openly at public-houses stolen farthings was more extraordinary still. so the responsibility for his conviction rests largely with himself. but fourteen years even for a fool is unthinkable, and the responsibility for that rests with his judge. this leads me to say that stupid and half-witted criminals are often more severely dealt with than clever and dangerous rogues. the former "give themselves away" in such sweetly simple fashion that they appear hardened and indifferent, and are punished accordingly. i am afraid, too, that sometimes judges and magistrates cannot attain to pauline excellence and "suffer fools gladly." hundreds of times i have heard the expression about someone who had received a severe sentence: "well, he deserved it for being such a fool!" even the public is more prepared to tolerate severe punishments for the men whose crimes savour of crass folly, if not of downright idiocy, than it is for dangerous, clever daring, and calculating rogues. my second example will tend to show that magistrates are not exempt from this kind of feeling, but when led by it, rush to the other extreme, and inflict no punishment whatever. the hearing of the case i am about to relate took place at tower bridge police-court in july, . a young married woman was charged with obtaining by false pretences £ in cash and £ worth of jewellery from an old woman who had been a domestic servant, but who at the age of seventy had given up regular work, and was hoping to make her little savings suffice for the remainder of her days. the prisoner was also charged with obtaining by fraud £ s. from a working man in whose house she had lodgings. evidence was given that the prisoner had an uncle abroad, but nothing had been heard of him for a very long time. two years ago the prisoner spread a report that he had died immensely rich, and had left her thousands of pounds. in order to pay legal expenses, she said, she borrowed money from her aunt, an old woman of eighty. having exhausted her aunt's money, and leaving her to the workhouse authorities, the prisoner then proceeded to draw upon the retired domestic, who parted with every penny of her savings and her jewellery. in due time she was penniless also, and had again to seek work, at seventy years of age, having no friends to help her. the prisoner then turned her attention to her landlord, and obtained £ s. from him; but he became suspicious, and wanted to see some documents or solicitors. she gave him the address of her solicitors in chancery lane. then he insisted upon her accompanying him to see them; he compelled her to go, and, on arriving, found the address to be a bank. the landlord then communicated with the police, and she was arrested. the prisoner admitted that the whole story was false, and that she was very wicked. it was stated in evidence that the prisoner had an illegitimate child, which she said was the child of a gentleman, and that she had persuaded a young man to marry her by promising him £ from the child's father, when the wedding took place; but the young husband had never received the money. the lady missionary told the magistrate that she had received a letter from the prisoner, whilst under remand in holloway prison, expressing her deep sorrow, and promising to work hard and pay the money back. mr. hutton bound the prisoner over under the probation act! i wonder what was at the back of mr. hutton's mind when he practically discharged her. if the probation act is to bring us such judgments as this, it would have been well if we had never heard of it. i can imagine no more heartless and cruel series of frauds than those perpetrated in this case. the prisoner seems to have pursued her victims with unerring instinct and skill: the old aunt was robbed and ruined; the old domestic, after a long life of hard work and economy, was robbed and ruined; then, with confidence in her own powers, she proceeded to rob her landlord. a continual succession of lies, deceptions, and frauds, extending over years! and then bound over! herein is a problem: if ten teaspoons, one metal chain, and one gold locket are equal to fourteen years' penal servitude, what are some hundreds of pounds, obtained by two years' fraud, and entailing the ruin of two decent old women, equal to? the answer, according to the magistrate, is, nothing! a great deal has been said, and not without some show of justice, about there being one law for the rich and another for the poor. in this case it is positively true, though in an opposite sense to the generally accepted meaning of the words. i have no hesitation in saying that if the prosecutors had been in more influential circumstances, and had employed a solicitor to put their case, the law would not have been satisfied by accepting the prisoner's recognizances. are we to accept the principle that punishment must be in inverse ratio to the seriousness of the offence? it appears so! the innocent young man she decoyed into marriage has not received his £ --he never will--but he received what he might have expected, and at least he got his deserts. i ask my readers to ponder this decision: bound over! i ask them to ponder this sentence: fourteen years' penal servitude! there is an eternity between the two sentences; the one is permitted to go on her guileless way. the other is sent to confinement, monotony, and degradation for fourteen years. the latter was at the worst a foolish, clumsy rogue; the other was a consummate and accomplished artist in deception. whether the old women would have received any benefit from the imprisonment of the younger woman is beside the question. i am sure they will receive no benefit from her liberty, though she says she will work hard and repay them! on what principle can she be called a first offender? if rogues are to be imprisoned at all, by what process of reasoning can it be argued that she ought to go free? surely the time is come when other people as well as prisoners must be considered. what will be the effect of a judgment like this? it can have but one effect: it will encourage similar young women in their lives of deception and fraud. i may here stop to ask whether a young _man_ charged with similar offence would have been dealt with at tower bridge police-court, or at any other court, in a similar way. my own conviction is that he would not have been so dealt with. this raises the question whether there is or ought to be equality, or something approximating to equality, of punishment for the sexes. this being the day of women's rights, i would say that certainly there ought to be something like equality even in the imposition of sentences; but the law and its administrators do not hold this view. i do not remember any case of a man and woman being jointly charged, both being jointly and equally guilty, in which the man did not receive much the heavier sentence. i can understand it in the case of husband and wife, for the law considers husband and wife as one; but, unfortunately for the husband, it considers the male person as that particular one. but, with regard to unmarried couples, i can see no general reason for severity to the man and leniency to the woman. at the risk of appearing ferocious, i must say that i was taken aback at the tower bridge police-court decision, for i confess that i would have preferred the magistrate giving the prisoner six months' hard labour, or sending her for trial before judge and jury. not that i want either men or women to be detained in prison--i hate the thought of it--but i happen to hate something else much more, and that is the idea that plausible and crafty young women can rob and ruin decent old women with impunity. i hold--though in this i may be wrong--that if the law cannot compel fraudulent persons to restore their ill-gotten gains--and in the case of the prisoner at tower bridge this was, of course, impossible--then at least it ought to administer in such cases a decent amount of punishment. but the course adopted did not uphold the dignity of the law; it did not in the least help those that have suffered; it did not punish the prisoner; neither did it serve to act as a warning to others. but while, as i have previously said, justice is, on the whole, fairly administered, there is still a wide difference in the sentences given for like offences. the demeanour of a prisoner before the magistrate may easily add to or lessen the length of his sentence; crocodile tears and a whining appeal for mercy generally have an opposite effect to that the prisoner wishes. a scornful, defiant, or violent attitude is almost certain to increase the length of sentence. the plausible, cunning, and somewhat clever man, who cross-examines with the skill of an expert, is sure to be hardly judged and appraised when sentence is given; but the devil-may-care fellow, who bears himself a bit jauntily, and who, moreover, has considerable humour and a dash of wit, is almost sure by a few witty or humorous quips to partially disarm justice and secure for himself more lenient punishment. i suppose we all have a sneaking kindness for the complete vagabond; we instinctively like the fellow who can make us laugh; we do not want to believe that the man who is possessed of humour is altogether bad, and when we have to punish him we let him off as lightly as possible. but the stubborn thick-head does not excite either our risible faculties or our heart's sympathy; nevertheless, that thick-head may be far less guilty than the complete vagabond--in truth, he is often a far better fellow--but his thick-headedness is against him, and we punish him accordingly. and here i draw upon my own experiences, for i have known complete vagabonds that were also absolute scoundrels, who, by their apparent candour, jollity, and flashes of humour, continually saved themselves from anything approaching long sentences. one fellow in particular took at least twelve years in qualifying for penal servitude, though he was a thorough rogue and a vagabond absolutely. he was a printer and a clever workman; but he never worked--not he! he would steal anything. several times he had called on clergymen, and while conversing with them in their halls had appropriated their best silk umbrellas. on one occasion he had gone away without booty, but he returned five minutes afterwards, and rang the bell, which, being answered by the servant, he said: "i am very sorry to trouble, but i forgot my umbrella. ah! here it is." and he went away with the parson's best. "give me another chance," i have heard him say. "you know you like me: i am not a bad fellow at heart." he saved himself from penal servitude many times, but he got it at last, after several narrow escapes. one winter night i was told he was at my front-door, where he had been many times, for i never asked him in: i am sure he would have robbed me if i had. "well, old man, how are you?" he said, for he always patronized me in a delightful manner. "oh, it is you, downy, is it?" "ah, it is me. i say, holmes, i am starving!" "there is some comfort in that," i said. "bah! you don't mean it; you are too good-hearted. give us a cup of tea." i declined his invitation, and told him that i had no umbrellas to spare. "well, that's a bit thick," he said; "i did not expect that from you. well, i'm off." then, as an afterthought, he said: "what's the time?" "five minutes past six," i said. "why, i have been on this doorstep quite five minutes." "quite ten minutes," i said. away he went to the parish clergyman, who did not know him, and delivered some imaginary messages from myself. he got two shillings and a meal from the clergyman. to my surprise, i saw him in the dock next day, charged with stealing a valuable fur-lined overcoat. he had called at a gentleman's house to ask for employment. the servant had admitted him, and left him standing in the hall while she summoned the master. it was dark, but he discovered the valuable coat and put it on. there was no work for him, and the gentleman, who knew downy well, showed him out promptly. he afterwards missed his coat, and quickly gave information to the police. downy was as light-hearted as usual, denied his guilt, and closely examined the prosecutor as to the exact time he (downy) called on him. the magistrate, having had depositions taken, was about to commit him for trial, when the prisoner said: "i have a witness to call." "you can call him at your trial," the magistrate said. "who is your witness?" "mr. holmes." "what can he prove?" "that i was at his house at exactly the same time that it is said i was at the prosecutor's." i declined to give evidence, for i believed the fellow had the overcoat, though he was without a coat when i saw him. he was duly committed for trial, but before leaving the dock he turned to the magistrate and said: "you have made up your mind that i am to get five years, but you are mistaken this time: no jury will convict on the evidence." the grand jury threw out the bill, so i was saved the pleasure of giving evidence for him. in a few days he appeared at the court desiring to speak to the magistrate. when given the chance, he said: "well, i'm here again. i thought you might be pleased to know that no true bill was found against me; my case did not go to the jury. you haven't done with me yet." "i am sorry," said the magistrate. "but you will not be disappointed many more times. you will get your five years." "probably, but not at your suggestion. good-morning!" he was on my doorstep again that evening. "come to see you again, holmes, my boy. lend us half a crown!" i declined. "ha!" he said, "you would lend it me soon enough if you knew what a lark i have had. i can't help laughing. why, i have been to old ---- and offered to give him back his fur coat for a quid." and the rascal roared at the thought of it. "what did he say to you?" "well, he rather hurt my feelings, for his language was not polite." "i suppose you have not restored it?" "what do you think?" but downy got his five years within a few weeks. he removed a big marble clock from the bar of a public-house, and got away with it, too, in broad daylight; but fate tripped him at last, and he got his well-earned five years. as he is still under forty years of age, i have no doubt but that in prison his talent will be developed. not that he has much to learn, but even downy may gather a few wrinkles when given proper opportunities. now, downy represents a very numerous class of men and women, though few of them have his cool assurance and originality, but, like him, live to a large extent by thieving and general dishonesty. these people can seldom furnish _bona-fide_ addresses, or give any proof that they have been doing honest work. yet they go on from year to year, in and out of prison, undergoing small sentences--first a few days, then a few weeks, followed by a few months, then committal to trial, when sentences of one or two years are passed upon them. some of them, though their lives are devoted to criminality, never arrive at the dignity of penal servitude. with due respect, there is, i submit, even now room for improvement with regard to the infliction of sentences. a large amount of latitude must be allowed, for judges and magistrates ought not, must not, be automatic; a certain amount of liberty must be granted to them. but when that latitude includes the right and the power to give fourteen years' penal servitude to a young man of twenty-two for a trumpery offence, and that his first offence; when it includes the right and the power to practically discharge a clever and dangerous woman who has lived by fraud, and whose frauds brought untold suffering upon innocent and aged victims--when this latitude allows cool and calculating rogues to continue interminably their lives of roguery, alternated with very small and insufficient sentences, it is evident that the liberty and latitude allowed require in some way to be circumscribed. judges and magistrates are human, and i for one would keep them human, with the power to sympathize and the power to laugh, for these things are altogether good, and to a reasonable extent it is right that these wholesome qualities should exercise some influence; but even these faculties require some restraint, or injustice instead of justice will be done. i am afraid there is some truth in what many discharged prisoners have told me--that the length of sentence depends on the whim of the judge, and that on some days it appears evident that a crumb of undigested cheese impairs the temper and judgment, and adds appreciably to the length of the sentences given. if this is in the least degree true, it is a matter for profound regret. in spite of temper, pain, or indigestion, the balance of justice ought to be fairly held. i am glad to think that i have sometimes known pain and suffering to have the opposite effect when judgment has been given. a magistrate of my acquaintance, noted for good temper and courteous urbanity, was one morning in a very unpleasant frame of mind. everything went wrong with him, and, as a consequence, with everyone who had to deal with him. he was cross, peevish, and rude. the police knew it, for he was not civil to them; witnesses knew it, for he was rough with them. on one occasion when he had been at his worst he caught my eye. after the court was over he said to me: "you thought me very ill-tempered this morning?" "indeed i did, your worship, for you were rough to everyone." "ah!" he said, "i have neuralgia frightfully; i have had no sleep all night." i said: "i am very sorry, your worship; but i noticed another thing." "what was that?" "why, you let all the prisoners down lightly." "oh," he said, "you noticed it, did you? i had to let myself go sometimes, for i could hardly bear it, so i let go when it did not matter very much; but i kept a tight hand over myself when it came to sentences. i was determined that the prisoners should not suffer for my neuralgia." he was wise, and he did nobly. it would be well if all our judges and magistrates kept a tight hand on themselves when it comes to sentences; for everyone must admit a cruel wrong is done when prisoners are awarded heavier sentences because the judge is either in ill-health or out of temper. chapter vi discharged prisoners it was, of course, inevitable, considering the large space prison reform and discharged prisoners have occupied in the public mind, that some influence, not altogether healthy, would be exercised on both prisoners and public. the leniency of sentences, or of treatment whilst undergoing sentences, has upon most prisoners a humanizing and softening effect. on others it produces a very different feeling, for in a measure it confirms them in wrong-doing. personally, i have great faith in wise and discriminate leniency, preferring the risk of confirming the few to the certainty of hardening the many. still, it is worth while, in our efforts for prison reform and for ex-prisoners' social salvation, to pause sometimes and inquire not only what success is being achieved, but also what is the general effect of our efforts. the constant stream of appeals on behalf of discharged prisoners that flows throughout the length and breadth of our land, while productive of good, is of a certainty productive of much evil. the efforts made in prison to get prisoners to attach themselves to some recognized prisoners' aid society before discharge, good as they are, are not without some ill consequences. the sympathy of the community for men and women who have broken their country's laws, and who are undergoing, or have undergone, terms of imprisonment, has been so often and so earnestly proclaimed that even this expression of sympathy has had consequences that were not anticipated, but which might have been expected if a little more thought had been given to the matter. it is, i know, impossible that any movement or trend of thought can be absolutely free from evil, and every influence for good has something connected with it that acts in an opposite direction. one result of all this public sympathy and effort has been to lead a large number of people to think and believe that because they have been criminals, and have suffered just punishment for their evil-doing, it is someone's bounden duty to help them, and provide them not only with the means of living when discharged from prison, but also with suitable employment. so far has this kind of belief permeated, that several of my acquaintances, educated men who have suffered well-merited terms of imprisonment, contend that the community ought to receive them back with open arms, and not only restore them to a position, but give them again the confidence and respect they had forfeited. their offences having been purged, they argue, by the term of imprisonment suffered, the law has been satisfied; and the law now holding them guiltless, nothing else ought to be considered. these men, as i have said, were educated men, and well able to win back the public confidence if they set themselves to the task. but i am more concerned for the effect of this belief upon the ordinary prisoners, who have but little education, and for them it has disastrous effects. if there is one virtue that is absolutely necessary to a discharged prisoner, it is the virtue of self-reliance. without it he is nothing. no matter what sympathy and what aid be extended to him from societies or individuals, without self-reliance he is a certain failure. anything that tends to lessen self-reliance in discharged prisoners has, then, a tendency to reduce their chances of reformation. after all has been done that can possibly be done for discharged prisoners, one is compelled--reluctantly compelled--to the conclusion that the only men who can be rescued are those who possess grit and self-reliance. many--i think that i can with safety say most--discharged prisoners appear to believe that assistance once given gives them a claim to other assistance. i have met with very few to whom i have given material help who thought that the help given them was exceptional and given with the view of helping them to a little start, that they might afterwards rely upon themselves. on the other hand, i have met with hundreds who actually believed that help previously given constituted an absolute claim to continued assistance. sometimes it has taken much persuasion, and occasionally a display of physical force, before i have been able to get some discharged prisoners to accept my view of the matter. the complete assurance with which many of them present themselves at my door and inform me that they are "just come out of prison, sir," is of itself astounding, but a little conversation with them reveals more surprising things still. about eleven o'clock one winter night there was a loud rap at my front-door, to which i responded. when i opened the door, a big man stood before me, and he promptly put his foot across the doorstep, and the following conversation took place: "what do you want?" "oh, you are mr. holmes. i want you to help me." "why should i help you? i know nothing of you." "i have just come out of prison." "well, you are none the better for that." "well, you help men that have been in prison." "sometimes, when i see they are ashamed of having been in." "well, i don't want to get in prison again." "how do i know you have been in prison?" "why, didn't you speak to us like a man last sunday?" "yes, i was at pentonville last sunday, and i hope i spoke like a man." "ah, that you did! and when i heard you, i said: 'i'll see him when i come out. he will be sure to give me half a dollar.'" "how did you get my address?" "from another chap." "when did you come out?" "this morning." "how long have you been in?" "six months." "got all your conduct marks?" "every one." "then you had eight shillings when you left the prison. how much have you got left?" "never a sou!" "what have you done with it?" "i bought a collar, a pocket-handkerchief, a necktie, and a bit of tobacco, and a good dinner." "you saved nothing for your lodging?" "no; i thought you would see me right." "i see! how old are you?" "thirty-four." "how tall?" "six feet one." "what is your weight?" "fourteen stone." "my friend, you are big enough, strong enough, and young enough to help yourself. you seem to be making a bad job of it; but you will get no help from me." "not half a dollar?" "not half a penny." "what are you for?" "well," i said, "i appear to exist for a good many purposes, but at the present time i am for the purpose of telling you to move off. take your foot from my doorstep and clear!" "not without half a dollar." "take your foot away!" "no fear! i am going to have some money for my lodgings." "you will get no money here. clear off!" "you don't mean to say that, after speaking to us like a man, you won't give me any money?" "that is exactly what i do mean to say." "what are you for?" "i will show you what i am for"; and i called three stalwart sons. "i ask you once more to withdraw your foot, or we shall be compelled to put you as gently as possible in the gutter." he then left us, muttering as he went: "i wonder what he's for?" the sight of an ashamed and broken ex-prisoner touches me, and my heart goes out to him. neither sympathy nor help will i deny him. but when unabashed fellows confront me, and show not the slightest evidence of sorrow or shame, but trade, as far as they can trade, upon the shameful fact that they have been rogues and vagabonds, very different feelings are evoked. my experience leads me to the belief that the greater majority of ex-prisoners are by no means ashamed of having been in prison, or of the criminal actions that preceded prison; neither are they anywise reticent about their actions or thoughts. so well is the public desire to help prisoners understood that i have sometimes been the victim of specious scoundrels who probably had never been in prison, but who richly deserved the unenviable distinction. one morning, when i was leaving home for the day, i saw on the opposite side of the street a young man, who looked intently at me when i bade my wife good-bye. as he was an entire stranger to me, i did not speak to him, but went about my business. during the evening my wife said to me: "oh, you owe me ten shillings!" "what for?" i inquired. "i gave young brown his fare to birmingham." "what young brown?" i inquired. "that nice young fellow that got into trouble two years ago, and you helped him when he came out of prison. he kept the place you got for him, and now he has got a much better one at birmingham." i tried to recall young brown, but my memory was vacant on the matter. at length i asked for his description, when the young man i had seen in the morning was revealed. he noted my departure, and when quite sure that i was not in the way, he came to the door and asked to see me. he told my wife a long tale about his imprisonment and of my kindness to him, of his struggle for two years on a small salary, and of the good position open for him in birmingham; and also of his certainty that i would, had i been at home, have advanced his fare, and wound up by expressing the great sorrow that he had missed me. he did wish so much to tell me of his success, for it was all due to my kindness. he got his fare, and i sincerely hope that by this time he has got his deserts too. but, independently of specious rogues, it is high time the fact was recognized that a feeling does largely exist among prisoners and ex-prisoners that the fact of having been in prison is a sure passport to public sympathy, and constitutes a claim upon public assistance. a large proportion of prisoners are, of course, people of low intelligence, who cannot estimate things at a proper value or see things as ordinary-minded people see them, and to these the belief becomes a certainty and the hope almost a realization. let me repeat, then, that the duty of the community to help and "rescue" discharged prisoners has been so insistently and persistently proclaimed that prisoners now quite believe it, and are eagerly ready to leave to societies, organizations, or individuals other than themselves those efforts that are undoubtedly necessary for their own reformation and re-establishment. i hold, and very strongly hold, that there is no hope of any prisoner's reformation who has no sorrow for the wrong he has done, and no sense of shame for the disgrace he has brought upon himself and others. i am not sure which is the more hopeless and repulsive kind of an individual--the man who blatantly demands assistance because he has been a rogue, or the fawning hypocrite who professes repentance, tells of his conversion, and thanks god that he has been in prison; but i do know that both have the same object in view, and that both are but specimens of a numerous class. while giving a course of lectures in our large prisons i had opportunities of becoming acquainted with many of the prisoners. at the conclusion of each lecture those prisoners who had expressed during the week a wish to consult me were allowed to do so in strict privacy. i had some very interesting talks with them. for many of them i felt profoundly sorry, and made some arrangement to meet with them when they were once more at liberty. for others i felt no pity, for i realized that they were barely receiving a just reward for their deeds. one young man, with a heavy face and a leering kind of a look, came to me, and informed me that he had asked permission to see me, because he wanted my help in a fortnight's time, when he would be at liberty. clad in khaki and marked with broad arrows, there was nothing to differentiate him from the ordinary prisoner, excepting, perhaps, that his face was duller and less intelligent than the majority. i asked him how long he had been in prison. "six months." "what are you in for?" "forgery." "how much money did you get by it?" "five hundred pounds." "you were a bank clerk, then?" "yes." "is your father alive?" "no." "have you a mother?" "yes, and two sisters." "in what way do you want me to help you?" "i want to go to canada." i looked at him closely and said, "tell me what you did with the five hundred pounds." for the first time i saw brightness in his eyes and face, and he promptly replied, "oh, i had a high old time." i saw sensual enjoyment written very largely about his lips and eyes; but i repeated his words, "a high old time?" "yes; a good time, you know." so i enumerated drink, gambling, women, and to each of them he replied, "yes." he evidently looked back to that wicked period with great pleasure. i felt that he was far beyond my prentice hand, for i thought of his mother and sisters, of the employer he had so ruthlessly robbed, and of his own certain future. so i said to him, "my son, i cannot help you; no one can help you. it is no use wasting money in sending you to canada. canada is no place for you, for you cannot get away from yourself." he said, "i shall be away from temptation in canada." "no," i said; "that is impossible: the devil is always to hand, even in canada." "won't you help me to get away from london?" "no," i said. "stop in london, where you have been a wicked rogue; face life where you are known; show yourself a man by living decently and working honestly at anything you can get. try and win back your mother's and sisters' respect. write to your employer and ask his forgiveness; tell him that at some time in life you will endeavour to repay him. feel ashamed that you have been a disgusting rogue; don't rejoice in having a 'high old time.'" he did not blush, or appear in any way concerned, but said: "if you won't help me, others will." it needs no great knowledge of life to forecast that young man's future. i often feel dismayed when i consider some of the present-day tendencies. there is such a feverish and manifest desire among thousands of people to stand between a prisoner and the law, and to relieve him at any cost from the legal consequence of his wrong-doing. indeed, some folk would move heaven and earth, if it were possible, to keep a heartless young rogue out of prison. i would not lift my finger; to me it seems a most serious matter, for the consequences of criminal actions ought to be certain as daylight. i would, however, do much to make those consequences, not only certain, but swift, reasonable, and dignified, but not vindictive or revengeful. punishment should be severe enough to convey an important and a lasting lesson. there ought to be no element of chance about it, but at present there is a great deal of uncertainty whether a prisoner, even if found guilty, will receive any punishment or be merely admonished. i am aware that the views i have just expressed are not held by many people, but i am speaking from a long experience, during which i have dealt personally with individuals, and have taken infinite pains to learn something of those individuals. from this knowledge and experience i am forced to the conclusion that, as a rule, it is not a wise or a good thing to prevent the consequence of crime falling upon the criminal; but, as i have previously said, those consequences ought to be reasonable and sensible. we need a healthier public feeling on this question, and i earnestly long for the time when we shall all feel and acknowledge that the real disgrace lies in the action, and not in the degree of punishment awarded the perpetrator. a thief discharged on "probation" is still a thief equally with the one who had received a term of imprisonment, but the community thinks otherwise. i am quite sure that i shall be hardly judged and condemned for giving expression to this opinion; it will doubtless be said that i have grown hard-hearted late in life, and have lost my sympathy for unfortunate people. i ask my readers to accept my assurance that this is not the case; my sympathy is larger than ever, for poor broken humanity is with me an ever-present sorrow. i never refuse assistance to a hard-up scoundrel without a heart-wrench and subsequent feelings of uneasiness. i love men, but i hate the very thought of "coddling" humanity. i know what it leads to, and i think how poor broken humanity catches on to the process, and becomes more and more willing to be "coddled." but poor humanity is the poorer for the process. a man that has committed some crime, and has then taken his gruel in both senses, who faces the world, and by pluck, perseverance, and rectitude regains his footing in life, is to me a hero; for i can appreciate his difficulties, and appreciate, too, his moral worth. it is my privilege to know such men, and it is my joy sometimes to meet them. when i pass one of them in the street, i always feel inclined to cry, "there goes a man." thank god, men of this sort are more numerous than might be expected, and it is only fair to our prison authorities to say that among a number that i know none complain of their treatment. whilst undergoing sentence they did not like prison, of course, but they had to put up with it, and made the best of it. but while i am writing this--on july , between and p.m.--i have been called three times to speak to young men who claimed--and i have no doubt in their cases truly claimed--to be discharged prisoners. each time it was a young man under thirty that required help; two were absolute strangers to me; one i had known previously, for, unfortunately, six years ago i met him before he was consigned to prison, and also after he came out. at that time i did my best for him, and gave him a suit of clothes, and procured him, after great difficulties, some employment. during the last year he had called on me several times, when i had resolutely declined to assist him. he seemed astonished, and said, "but you helped me before." to-night i was a bit angry, and said, "oh, is it you again? you are troubling me too often; i can do nothing for you." he resented the idea that he was a too frequent visitor. "why, it is six weeks since i was here." my next visitor was a strong, healthy young man, who promptly touched his forehead with his fingers by way of salute. "just come out of prison, sir." "well, what of that?" "i am a married man, with two children." "i am sorry for your wife and children." he misunderstood me. "i thought you would be. we must pay our rent to-night, or we shall be put out in the street." "where are you living?" "in campbell road, finsbury park. we have furnished apartments; we have been there one week, and they want the rent." i said, "you came out of prison a week ago, and paid a deposit on your room?" "yes, sir." "you pay, or should pay, seven shillings a week for that wretched room. you have not paid, so you ask me to help you; but i cannot do it: i know nothing whatever of you. please go away: i am busy." he looked at me and said: "but i stole boots, you know, and i got three months. what are my wife and children to do?" "well," i said, "if you did steal boots, you were a thief, and i cannot think the better of you on that account. you may or may not have a wife and two children; i do not know. furnished apartments in campbell road are too dear and too nasty. i cannot give away money to keep the landlord of campbell road." with great difficulty i got rid of him, and i am afraid that my temper was not sweetened in the endeavour. i had just settled down at my work when once more i was informed that a man wished to see me. the inevitable front-door again. i sometimes wonder how many silent vows i have registered on my own doorstep. the broken ones, i know, have been numerous enough to condemn me. another old acquaintance this time. as i stand on the doorstep, the rain sweeps in at the open door. the poor fellow is soaked through; it is nearly ten o'clock; he is homeless and penniless. i can spare half a crown; he has it, and i direct him to the nearest lodging-house--not that he needed directions--feeling quite sure that he will there meet with my two previous visitors; possibly, too, will tell them of his success, and chaff them about their failure. but it was the rain that did it, and i hope that fact may be taken into consideration when judgment is delivered. true, by their continual coming they had wearied me, and by their persistence they had annoyed me; but the sight of a homeless vagabond in the pelting rain acted as a counter-irritant, and pity had to triumph over censorious judgment. so i went back to my desk knowing that i had done wrong; but somehow i had received satisfaction, for my temper was soothed. perhaps it was good for me that i was not visited again that night by any discharged prisoners. for, poor fellows! they demand our pity; but how to transmute that pity into practical help is a difficult problem. when a discharged prisoner possesses health, skill, and self-reliance, he has a hard battle to fight, one that will call forth either the best or the worst that is in him. but the great bulk of discharged prisoners have but indifferent health, and possess no technical skill or self-reliance; any service they can render to the community is but poor service, and of a kind that many thousands of honest men are only too anxious to secure for themselves. if the great bulk of them could, when discharged, be put into regular employment, and be enabled to earn a living, they would, if under a mild compulsion, conduct themselves decently; but if work and reasonable payment were provided, compulsion would still be necessary, for the greater part of them have no continuity of purpose, and are as thoughtless of to-morrow as butterflies, and they would very soon, were it possible, revert to an aimless, wandering life. it is the lack of grit, of continuity of purpose, of moral principles, combined with inferior physical health and a low standard of intelligence, that renders the position of many discharged prisoners so hopeless. we may blame them--perhaps it is right to blame them--for not exercising qualities they do not possess, but it is certain they do not possess the qualities i have named. they do, however, possess qualities that are not quite so estimable, for irresponsibility and low cunning are their chief characteristics. these men are nomads: settled life, regular work, the patient bearing of life's burden, and the facing of life's difficulties, are foreign to their instincts and nature. this kind of character is developed at an early age, for it is very prevalent in our growing youths; it is one of the signs of our times, and it bodes no good to our future national welfare. after giving the last of a course of weekly lectures to youths under twenty-one in one of our provincial prisons, i spoke a few friendly words to them, and asked those to put up their hands who had been previously in prison. a number of hands were put up. on questioning them, i found that they by no means resented short terms of imprisonment alternated with irresponsible liberty. during the present summer, when commencing a similar course of lectures in one of our large london prisons, i asked the youthful prisoners who had previously met me to put up their hands. here again a number of hands went up. i found, to my astonishment, at least six youths who had listened to my lectures in other prisons were detained in this particular prison. i could not help telling them that i thought my lectures had not done them much good. "we liked them, sir," was the response. "well," i said, "i wish those addresses had been a great deal better or a great deal worse; they were not good enough to keep you out of prison, neither were they bad enough to frighten you away." what place is there in strenuous life for such young fellows? the difficulties outside a prison's wall are so great that they cannot face them. but the saddest part of it is that they do not want to face them, and it must be confessed that they have not the slightest idea how to do so. weakness, then, not wickedness, is the great characteristic of what are termed "the criminal classes." who can rescue them? who can reform them? no one, unless they can infuse into their very bones, blood, and marrow the essence of vigour and the germ of self-reliance. prisoners' aid societies are powerless with them. church army and salvation army and all the labour homes combined can do nothing with them or for them; for prison life is easier than wood-chopping, and the comforts of prison are superior to those of a labour home. the borstal system is good, so far as it goes, but it does not go half far enough; it is not vigorous enough. possibly, if these young men were detained three times as long as they are at present, and given three times the amount of work they have to do at the present time, with the rough up-to-date technical training, many of them would profit; but i am certain that no half-measures can be effectual with the large army of young prisoners who have either acquired or inherited the love of an idle and irresponsible life. i was speaking a short time ago to a young man whom i knew had been several times in prison, and asked him: "what are you in for this time?" "for making a false attestation," was his reply. he had tried to enlist under false pretences. but he is now in the army, for i have received letters from him. three other young fellows whom i had met in prison when at liberty consulted me about joining the army. i warned them of the risk, and told them they would have to tell lies. nevertheless, they are now in the army. why there should be any difficulty about such fellows joining the army i don't understand. they are animals, and they can fight! if their teeth are not good, what does it matter? they are not now required to bite cartridges. they can be taught to discharge rifles, and a bullet from one of their rifles may prove as deadly as a bullet from the rifle of a better man. "the character of the army must be maintained." by all means keep up the character of the army. some people are advocating conscription. well, here is a chance. form a regiment, or two regiments, of young men who have been three times in prison. give them ten years of thorough discipline and sound manual and technical training. under discipline they will be obedient, and at the worst they will be as good men as those that manned nelson's ships, and would prove quite as good as those that fought at waterloo, or captured india for the east india company. i am no advocate of war, but i am afraid that the prospect of universal peace is remote. devoutly i wish that it was close at hand. we must look at things as they are. let me state the case: here are thousands of young men who have no settled places of abode, no technical skill, no great physical strength, no capabilities, and no desire for continuous honest labour. no one can provide them with employment. there is no place for them in industrial life. they are content to spend their lives in cheap lodging-houses or in prison. they beg or they steal when at liberty. occasionally they do a little work, when that work does not require much strength or brains. they graduate in idleness and crime; they become habituated to prison, and finally they become hopeless criminals. large sums of money are expended in a vain endeavour to reform them; larger sums still are expended in maintaining public institutions that we call prisons, in which they are kept for a short period, and in which they are submitted to lives of semi-idleness. large numbers of warders are maintained to look after them when in prison; large numbers of police are required to look after them when they are at liberty. innocent people suffer through their depredations; innocent people, honest and hardworking people, have to keep them when they are submitted to the comparatively comfortable life of prison. they become fathers of children, and future generations will be compelled to bear heavy burdens because of them. many of them, when young, join local regiments of militia. once a year they are called up for training, but their few weeks of training soon pass, after which they hark back to lodging-houses or prisons. they get some liking for a soldier's life; but if they have been in prison, there is no honest place for them in the army. they are not good enough to be shot at! they are not good enough to shoot at others! it would appear that a large amount of moral excellence is required before a man can be allowed to be the recipient of a bullet, or before he can receive a state licence to kill. i am persuaded that nothing but a long period of strict discipline will avail the mass of young men who constantly find their way into prison. at present prison discipline is too short to be effectual, too deadening to be useful, too monotonous to be elevating. compulsory discipline, with a fair degree of liberty, a reasonable remuneration for their services, and a lengthened training, are the only things that are at all likely to be effectual with young men who will not, cannot, submit themselves to the higher discipline that is self-imposed. failing the army, there is but one alternative--national workshops, with manual and technical training. but that means socialism pure and simple; for if workshops were provided for young criminals, there could be no possible objection against a similar provision for the children of the industrious poor. the state needs to be careful not to hold out any inducements to youthful criminality, for of a surety it will be a bad day for england when idle and dishonest youth stands a better chance in life than youth that is industrious and honest. even now certain signs point to danger in that direction. prisoners' aid societies have an impossible task when they attempt to reform these young men. they are heavily handicapped from the start, inasmuch as they cannot enforce discipline even in a labour home; neither can they compel continuity of work; neither can they secure regular employment for any that might be inclined to perseverance and industry. no prisoners' aid society can do this, and it would be well for everybody concerned if this fact were honestly admitted and the truth fairly faced. in justice to many of the societies, it is only fair to say that they freely admit that they have nothing to offer to those that have been several times convicted. during , , men and women, each of whom had already been in prison more than twenty times, were again received into the local prisons of england and wales. think of it. in one year only, and that the very last year for which criminal statistics are available, , men and women who had been committed to prison more than twenty times each were again sent to prison in england and wales alone! these official figures not only bring a grave indictment against our prison system, but they also serve to show the inability of discharged prisoners' aid societies to deal with the bulk of discharged prisoners in ways that can be called satisfactory. the fault does not lie with the societies, for they are all animated with an earnest desire to help discharged prisoners. every society that exists, and every individual member of every society, would be more than delighted--they would be thankful to god--if they could in some effectual way help every discharged prisoner. but they cannot. the difficulties are too great, too stupendous. of a truth, they have no work to offer discharged prisoners; for they cannot create work at will, neither can they produce from some mysterious and inexhaustible store situations to suit the varying capabilities of ex-prisoners. social conditions are dead against the work of these societies, though the sympathy--that is, the abstract sympathy--of the public is with them. for every situation that is vacant, or likely to be vacant, where skill and experience are not required, a hundred honest men are waiting--waiting to fight each other for a remote chance of getting it. employers will not hold situations in abeyance till some prisoners' aid society can supply them with a doubtful servant. they would act foolishly--i might say wickedly--if they did. again i say--for i would have this fact emphasized--no organization, be it large or small, can offer situations to discharged prisoners. certain things they can do. but what avails intermittent wood-chopping? of what use is casual bill-distributing? can an irregular supply of envelope-addressing, continued for a few weeks, be considered work? paper and rag sorting, and the carrying of advertising boards at intervals, must not be dignified by the word "work." all these things are useful to a limited extent and to a certain class. they suit those men, and those men only, who have no desire for the discipline of real work, by which i mean regular and continuous labour. any discharged prisoner who possesses a fair amount of health and strength and an atom of grit stands a much better chance when he relies upon himself than when he seeks the aid of an organization; for life in a labour home does not procure him, or help him to procure, honest and continuous work. even a lengthened stay in a labour home leaves him in the same position as when he left prison. relying on himself, an ex-prisoner can take his chance among the hundred who are scrambling or fighting for the coveted job; and if his health and appearance are satisfactory, he is as likely to get it as any other man. but even though a large number of discharged prisoners enter labour homes, the managers have no power to compel them either to work or remain in the home. as a consequence, the majority depart in a very short time, preferring liberty and semi-starvation to the non-compulsory restraint of the home. so they pass into freedom, glorious freedom! free, but with no desire, and with very little chance, of doing right; free, with little desire and no ability to live by honest labour. freedom to them means liberty or licence to do wrong, and only serves to give them opportunities of getting once more into prison. it follows, then, as a matter of course, that aid societies concern themselves, and rightly concern themselves, with first-time prisoners. they are younger; they are not so hopeless; they stand a much better chance in the labour world; they have not been so often through the deadening mill of prison. all these things are true, but with all these things in their favour, only a very limited amount of success is obtained in the reformation of first-time prisoners. the reasons are obvious. first, no society has the power to enforce any discipline or impose any restraint upon them; secondly, no society can procure, even for young ex-prisoners, continuous and progressive employment. i know the difficulties, and something of the anxieties that societies experience in this direction, for i have shared them. honesty is essential even for porters, vanmen and milkmen. the choice of occupation for ex-prisoners under twenty-one is very limited. the pick and shovel are of no use to them. trades they have none. clerkships are out of the question. positions--even humble positions--of trust are not for them. too old for boys' work, yet not fitted for men's, although first-time prisoners, they are in a difficult position. so are those who try to help them. "send them to sea!" well, we are a nation of sailors, but those who go down to the sea in ships do so of their own choice. for them the sea has an attraction; they love it--or they think they love it when they enter on the life. but all english youths do not love the sea; neither are all fitted for a sailor's life. but supposing the sea be decided upon, in what capacity are they to go? they cannot go as sailors, nor yet as apprentices; neither can they go as stewards or cooks. the difficulty of sending them to sea is scarcely less than that of finding them occupation ashore. numbers of them are put on coasting vessels, it is true; but this course is certain to fail--and it does fail. their first voyage, in sight of land all the time, may last a week--maybe a fortnight. at the end of the voyage they are paid off at the port where the ship discharges its cargo. during the time aboard they have had a rough time. the voyage has lasted long enough to make them heartily and bodily sick of the sea; but it has not lasted long enough to inure them to the life and give them a liking for it, while the comfort aboard a "collier" makes them sigh for the comforts of prison. if not paid off at the first port, a good many youths, to use their own expression, "can't stick it," so they "bunk" at the first opportunity. still, they have been "sent to sea," and figure accordingly in the published report and statistics. this course is, i contend, unfair even to discharged prisoners. it is not only a foredoomed failure, but it lands youths in positions where they are certain to get into mischief. some of them tramp back to london, after having sold their "kit," which had been bought for them out of their prison earnings. no; it is idle to suppose that youths who have been subject to no discipline other than that of prison will be reformed and induced to work steadily and persistently by a few days' unpleasant experience on a coasting vessel. quite recently a strong youth came to see me. i had met him in prison, where the governor quite wisely had him trained for a ship's cook. he had behaved well in prison and obtained all his marks, and his sentence was long enough to allow him to earn a substantial gratuity. this was spent by an agent of a society in buying a very meagre outfit and a railway-ticket to hull. the youth supposed that he was going to have a berth on an ocean-going steamer, but no such berth was forthcoming. ultimately he was shipped aboard a small coaster with a cargo of coals for southend. at the end of seventeen days he was paid off at southend. by arrangement, he was to receive s. per month for his services, and should therefore have received at least s. he was considerably surprised to find that only s. was forthcoming, the skipper telling him, and producing a document to that effect, that there was a lien upon his first wages of s. for a "shipping fee" which he, the skipper, had paid to the man who introduced him. he stayed in southend for a short time looking for another berth, for his discharge-note was in order, and his conduct appears to have been satisfactory. but berths are not to be had at southend, so with his last money he paid his fare to london, where he landed penniless. this custom of paying "hangers-on" at the docks of large seaports a sum of money for "shipping" youths prevails largely, and a most unsatisfactory practice it is. i have personally known several men engaged in what is termed rescue work resort largely to this method of getting rid of responsibilities they themselves have undertaken, and which they ought to bear, or honestly say at the outset that they cannot undertake them. the fact is that prison youths are not wanted even at sea, or, if they are, it is under such circumstances that the hope of their doing any good for themselves must be abandoned. "send them to sea" has too long been a catchword. whether it ever did cure youths of idleness and dishonesty i am doubtful, but i am certain, at any rate, that it does not at the present time act as the grand specific. the navy will not accept prison youths; the mercantile marine will have none of them, and short coasting voyages are worse than useless; for honesty and industry are estimable qualities even at sea. it would be well indeed if all prisoners' aid societies and all those engaged in similar work would plainly and unmistakably state the difficulties they experience when called on to find situations or employment for discharged prisoners, be they young, middle-aged, or old; well for the discharged prisoners themselves to know the truth at once, rather than that they should go on calling day after day at any office, and waiting hour after hour among many others to see if anything has "come in," for nothing with the least resemblance to regular work can "come in" well, too, for the public if they could understand the difficulties under which societies labour, and the difficulties which ex-prisoners have to face. better still would it be for our authorities to clearly understand these matters, for then surely more effectual methods would be found for dealing with those who, either from incapacity, desire, or social circumstances, appear quite willing to spend their days in prison. with the older prisoners i am not now concerned, for the home secretary and his advisers fully recognize that for them new methods must be tried, and their bill now before parliament makes it sufficiently evident; but why not begin with them earlier in life? surely, if the fact of an elderly man having been committed four times on indictment is sufficient to stamp him as "habitual," for whom a more drastic treatment must be provided, then the fact of a youth or young man under twenty-five having been in prison an equal number of times, coupled with the fact that he is homeless and workless, ought to be quite sufficient to ensure him a long period of useful discipline in some place other than prison. by some such means the supply of young criminals, that at present seems inexhaustible, would be stopped, and the difficulty with regard to older criminals would almost vanish. and pity demands it, for the bulk of these young men have had but little chance in life. birth and environment have been against them; of home life in its full sense they have known nothing; to discipline they have been strangers, and they are a product of our present civilization. can we expect them to exhibit the rarer qualities of human nature? temptation is, i know, no respecter of persons, for not seldom do young men of good parentage and splendid environment fail; but to the young of whom i write temptation is as nothing, for they do not understand the beauty of moral worth, the dignity of man, and the virtue of honest labour. for the future they care nothing; they live in the present, content to be idle. to eat, to sleep, to enjoy themselves in an animal way, is their idea of life. their wits are only sharpened to deceive. to get the better--or, as they put it, "to best"--others is their one aim, and a shilling obtained by the "besting" process is worth ten obtained by honest work. honesty! they have heard of it, but to them it has no meaning. they have no moral sense, or at the best but very little. preach to them! you might as well preach to the east wind. but they have one soft spot, for, as young cubs have an affection for their dams, so have these youths some affection for their "muvvers"; but that affection does not prevent them striking or kicking their mothers. oh no, for every passion and whim must be indulged. oh, the pity of it all! shall we deny these youths the greatest blessing given to humanity--discipline? punish them, you say. my friend, you cannot confer moral worth with stripes. longer terms of imprisonment! they will eat your food, lie in your beds, and make themselves as comfortable as possible. like animals, they will "nestle down." but they behave themselves in prison. ay, they do that, for they want all the advantages they can obtain. but they behave themselves principally because they are under authority, and obedience means to them some creature comfort. discipline! they understand it only when it is compulsory. let us give these lads a chance; let us make up to them the loss society has inflicted on them by refusing them opportunities of wholesome discipline; let us stop for ever the senseless round of short terms of imprisonment; let us find some method for giving them lengthened--wholesome manual and technical training--for their own sakes, if you will; if not, then for our own. i have mentioned the army for them, not because i am enamoured of the army, but because it appears to offer at once restraint and discipline, with a measure of freedom, and opportunities for technical training. but wiser heads than mine may formulate a better plan; if so, i am for it. my heart goes out to the lads, though they sometimes weary me, for i know--and no one knows better--that they have had as yet no fair chance in life. the following account, given to me by a young man who had served a sentence of six months' hard labour in one of our large prisons, may prove interesting, for it will serve to show the exact life of a prisoner treated under the borstal system. i give it as written by the ex-prisoner himself. he was twenty-one years of age, was feet inches in height. as a boy he had been a telegraph messenger, and afterwards a postman; but having stolen postal orders, he received the above sentence. it will be observed that he was placed in the bookbinding department, and that the greatest amount of hard labour he performed was three and three-quarter hours per day, and this at a trade of which he had not the slightest previous knowledge--a trade, too, that requires not only skill, but celerity of movement, and, moreover, a trade at which there was not the slightest chance of his obtaining employment when at liberty. he did not average three hours' real work per day, and this works out at forty-three days' work of ten hours per day for the whole six months. it is obvious that no one can get a useful knowledge of bookbinding in forty-three days of real hard work. in his case, the "trade" taught proved of no use whatever on his discharge. he was very quickly in another prison, again for dishonesty; but his previous sentence not being discovered, his sentence was a very light one. if i am to believe a letter that i received from him, he is now in the army, and, of course, had to make a false attestation when he enlisted. it will be noticed that he speaks well of the treatment received in prison, and testifies to the kindness of all the officials. on this point i can corroborate him, for i know something of those who had charge of him, and feel sure that it would have been a great disappointment to them had he on a second occasion been committed to their charge. his failure cannot be charged to the prison officials. they honestly did their best, for they were genuinely interested in him. neither do i say that any prison system would have saved him, but i do say--and in this i think most reasonable people will agree with me--that very light work done at a very deliberate pace is not sufficient, even in prison, for a young man of his health, build, and capacity. i think, too, most people will agree that if young men are to be taught trades in prison, they should be taught under conditions that approximate to outside conditions so far as style, pace, and hours of work are concerned. prison industries present a very difficult problem. i believe the officials would be glad to give prisoners twice the amount of work they are at present given; but they have not the work to give them, so a life of semi-idleness results. finally, it is to be hoped that the new probation system will be so thoroughly worked that large numbers of young men will be kept out of prison, for at present prisons do not punish, neither do they reform in the majority of cases. i now give the ex-prisoner's statement: how i spent my life in prison. _by a juvenile adult._ "four o'clock was just striking, and there i stood in the prisoners' dock at the old bailey. the judge, having considered the case, pronounced the sentence: 'six months' hard labour.' i was then taken back and put into a cell, and was given a hunch of bread and a piece of cheese. about six o'clock i was taken in a prison-van to prison, where i arrived about . . i was then taken to the reception-hall, and after being searched and all particulars taken, i was told to strip, and all my property was entered in a large book, and i had to sign to acknowledge that all my belongings were duly entered. i then had a bath, and was given my prison attire. i was then given a tin containing a pint of porridge and ounces of bread. after having eaten part of this--for i tackled it--i was given two sheets, a pillow-sheet, and towel, and then taken into a large hall containing cells, and put into one of them. thus my arrival at that large establishment. "my daily duty for the first fourteen days was: arise at a.m. and clean my cell; breakfast at . a.m., and then i had to scrub and sweep my cell on alternate days. at . i had to put out my dust or bucket, and at . i went to chapel. at . to . drill, then back in my cell for the rest of the day, having to work in my cell. dinner was given me at twelve o'clock, and supper at five o'clock. at seven o'clock i had to put out my work. "after the first fourteen days i was put into the j.a. bookbinders' shop, and my days were then changed. i arose at a.m., shop at . to . , breakfast . to . , chapel at . to . , drill . to . , school . to . , dinner o'clock to . , shop . to . , supper at o'clock. thus my change till the first of march. after this i went to drill before breakfast, and my duties were as follows: arise a.m., drill . to . , breakfast . to . , chapel . to . , shop . to . , school . to . , dinner o'clock to . , shop . to . , and back to my cell for that day. "on wednesday i went to the schoolroom, where a lecture was given by gentlemen to all the j.a. prisoners who had done more than one month. this was from . to . , and on friday there was a choir-practice at the same time for the same prisoners. "the food i could not get on with at all at first, but gradually i had to eat, till after three months, when i did not find it enough; but when i had done five months, i seemed perfectly satisfied with it. i found that the sundays were the worst of all prison life. i was awakened at a.m., breakfast . to . , chapel . to . , exercise . to . (if weather permitted), dinner o'clock to . , chapel . to . , and supper at about . to . ; and, as i could not bear to sit about, i went to bed every sunday by five o'clock the latest. i was searched three times a day, but not on sundays, and a general search once a fortnight, when i was kept in my cell all the afternoon. the last of every month i was weighed. "i had obtained all good marks that could be given me, and had earned twenty shillings whilst doing my six months. the governor, the chaplain, and all the officials were good to me. i was confirmed in prison. the long nights and insufficiency of work were the hardest things to bear." chapter vii the last dread penalty for more than half a century i have taken a great interest in those who, of malice aforethought, and after considerable pains, succeed in taking the lives of others. i remember as if it were to-day the excitement that arose when william palmer was charged with the murder of john parsons cook. for fifty years a vivid impression of all the events and episodes connected with the remarkable trial of that remarkable man has remained with me. i was then a boy of eleven, but palmer was well known to the boys of rugeley, and to myself amongst them. palmer attended church on sundays, when racing engagements allowed, and sat in his family pew, fairly close to the schoolboys, of whom i happened to be one. he was most particular about behaviour in church--not only his own, but that of the schoolboys also. even now i can see him coming into church with some member of his family, with firm walk and clanging heel. i can remember how he stood up to pray into his top-hat a lengthened prayer on entering his pew. i remember, too, that his clothing was always black, and that a crape mourning band was always in evidence on his hat, for funerals were numerous in the palmer family. but we lads thought nothing of the funerals; but we knew that palmer's eye was upon us, if we did not behave discreetly in church; we knew he had more than once pulled the ears of boys that misbehaved. we knew, too, that palmer's mother had an easily accessible garden, in which were plenty of juicy apples and toothsome cherries. apart from his staid and correct manner at church, palmer was a bluff, hearty fellow, well known and well liked in our little town, where he frequently doctored the poor for nothing; and it was always understood that palmer's brother george, a solicitor, was also equally ready to give his services free of charge to the poor. it was only natural, then, that the palmers were liked in our town--for it was a very small town. grave faces, i remember, had been plentiful in rugeley for some weeks and things had been going on that we boys did not understand. we knew the names of palmer's horses, and felt any amount of interest in blinkbonny and goldfinder; but we did not understand the gloom that had settled on the town, for older people spoke with bated breath, and when boys drew near the conversation ceased or the lads were driven away. we knew the name of palmer was whispered continuously. what did it all mean? at length mystery, reticence, and whispered suspicions were useless. palmer had been arrested for the murder of john parsons cook, whose body lay in our churchyard, and whose funeral we had witnessed. now the excitement began. rugeley became almost the hub of the universe. strange people arrived from everywhere, and the quiet town became a babel. i remember with what awe we gazed at cook's grave after the body had been exhumed and returned to its resting-place. we knew that some part of the body had been taken away and sent to london for great men to examine. we boys even discussed the ultimate destination of the parts taken away, and wondered if they would ever get back to poor cook. how well i remember the exciting events of that long and dramatic trial in london! rugeley people were poor in those days, and newspapers were dear, so we borrowed where we could, and lent to others when we possessed. i read aloud the records of that trial to all sorts of poor people, so i have cause to remember it. i prosecuted palmer, and i defended him; i was witness, and i was judge; i claimed a triumphant acquittal, and i demanded his condemnation; i cross-examined the great analyst, and even at that age began to learn something of the nature and effects of strychnine. i thrilled with it all, but i believed palmer to be innocent, and in a measure i was proud of a townsman who could stand up bravely against all the big men in london and show no fear. oh, but he was a brave man! he must be innocent! and when the trial was all over, and palmer was brought to stafford to pay the penalty of his crime, do i not remember how all the world rushed to stafford to see him hanged? ay, i remember how people tramped all day through rugeley to stafford, and how they stood all through the night in stafford streets waiting, waiting for eight o'clock the next morning. yes, i remember it all; and i remember, too, that the cherries in a certain garden nevermore had any attractions! but i remember, too, that palmer died game, showing no fear, betraying no anxiety, with a good appetite to the last and a firm step to the scaffold. surely palmer was innocent, and was supported by the knowledge of his innocence. murderers had fearsome consciences; they were haunted by a sense of their guilt, and by the eyes or the spirits of their victims. so i felt and so i reasoned about murderers when i was a boy. i have since those days had many opportunities of correcting my judgment, and now i no longer believe that a bold, cool, collected behaviour, together with the possession of a good appetite, is synonymous with innocence. for i have seen enough to justify me in saying that a calm and brave bearing is more likely to be indicative of guilt than of innocence. but the public and certain portions of the press still translate callous behaviour into a proof of innocence, and sometimes convert prisoners into heroes. no greater mistake could be made, for a prisoner's behaviour has nothing do with to his guilt or innocence. on the whole, fear or distress are far more likely to indicate innocence than they are to denote guilt. this i believe to hold good of all prisoners, not only of those charged with the capital offence. i have failed to observe in prisoners who were undoubtedly guilty the furtive look that is supposed to be peculiar to guilt. i have watched closely and have spoken confidentially to many hundreds, but their eyes met mine as naturally as those of a child. i have been compelled to the conclusion that not only is a bold bearing consistent with the deepest guilt, but also that a natural bearing and a childlike trustfulness are by no means to be taken as signs of innocence. of the behaviour of innocent people when charged with crime, fortunately, we do not get many opportunities of observation; still, i have seen some, and can bear testimony that they were a great deal more confused, excited, and unreliable than prisoners who were undeniably guilty. such prisoners often contradict themselves, and sometimes depart from the truth when attempting to defend themselves. it is palpable to everyone that they feel their position, and fear the consequences. i have seen such astounding coolness and presence of mind, coupled with apparent candour and sincerity, among guilty prisoners that when i know of a prisoner exhibiting these qualities i almost instinctively suspect him. an innocent man, in his anxiety, may prevaricate through fear and confusion; but the veritably guilty man is careful in these matters, though he may be sometimes a little too clever. the psychology of prisoners has, then, for years been a favourite study with me, and a very interesting study i have found it. in my endeavours to discover the state of mind that existed and caused certain prisoners to commit serious crimes, i have sometimes discovered, almost hidden in the dark recesses of the mind, some little shadow of some small thing that to me seemed quite absurd, but which to the prisoner loomed so large, so real, and so important, that he regarded it as a sufficient justification for his deed. to myself the crime and the something in the prisoner's mind appeared to have no possible connection, yet unmistakably, if the prisoners were to be believed, they were cause and effect. now, from this kind of mania--for such it undoubtedly is--small and ridiculous as it seems--and i have met it too often not to be certain as to its existence--a double question is presented: what is the cause of that little something in the prisoner's mind? and why has it caused the prisoner to commit a certain action? i have never been able to get any light upon these questions, but have had to content myself with the knowledge that the mental equipment of that class of criminals is altogether different to that of ordinary individuals. i am not here speaking of a defined mania that dominates the life, stirs the passions, and leads directly to the perpetration of a crime--cause and effect in such a case are obvious, though, of course, the cause of the cause is still obscure--but i am speaking of silly little somethings that float about in certain minds, that refuse to be ejected, that entail much misery and suffering, and finally crime. possibly this state of mind may be the outcome of indigestion, even as an extra severe sentence upon a prisoner may be the outcome of indigestion in a judge: for it is quite possible to suppose a case in which judge and prisoner suffered from a like cause; but the one has committed a crime because of it, and the other inflicts unmerited punishment because of it. two things are very clear to me: first, that our judges and magistrates ought to be in the very best of health when performing their duties; secondly, that pathological causes enter very largely into the perpetration of crime. ill-health may make a judge irritable and severe, and so distort his judgment, and excuses are made for him; for it is whispered he is a martyr to gout, indigestion, or some equally trying malady. if so, he certainly ought not to be a judge, for health and temper are absolutely necessary for one who has to administer justice and act as the arbiter of other people's fate. but this excuse is not made for prisoners. yet in hundreds of cases it might honestly be made; for while they may not have been influenced by gout or indigestion, they have been influenced by pathological causes, and the two things are equal. i am persuaded, after many years' close observation and many years' friendship with criminals, that disease, mental or physical, is a tremendous factor in the causation of crime. the "criminal class" is often spoken of, and it might be supposed that there is a distinct class of people to whom the appellation applies. my experience teaches me that there is no "criminal class," but there are plenty of criminals. the low forehead and the square jaw, the scowling eye and the stubbly beard, do not denote criminality; the receding forehead, the weak eye, and the almost absence of chin, do not indicate criminal instincts. nothing of the sort. all these things are consistent with decent living, a fair amount of intelligence, and some moral purpose. on the other hand, a well-built body, a well-shaped head, a handsome face, a clean skin, and a bright eye are consistent with the basest criminality. some of the worst criminals i have met--real and dangerous criminals--were handsome as apollo. but there does exist a class--and, unfortunately, a very large class--who have very limited intelligence, who appear to be retrogressing physically, mentally, and morally, of whom a large proportion commit various kinds of offences--not from criminal instincts, but from stunted or undeveloped intelligence and lack of reasoning power. but i am digressing, for it is not my purpose in this chapter to speak of criminals in general, but rather of those whom i have personally met charged with murder, and who were convicted, some paying the full penalty. these i want to consider more fully. from this list i must eliminate man-slayers who had killed in the heat of passion or in a drunken quarrel, for they were not murderers at heart. their mental condition was understandable, and their bearing while undergoing trial is beside the question. neither do i wish to include married or single women who had killed their offspring at childbirth or soon after, for they are outside my consideration. but i want to speak plainly about those who had committed prearranged murders, and carried them out with considerable skill. in refreshing my memory about these, i find that they held several characteristics in common: . not one of them exhibited any sense of shame, no matter how disgraceful the attendant circumstances. . not one of them exhibited any nervousness or fear of the consequences. . those who admitted their guilt justified their actions, and appeared to believe that they had done the right thing. . those who denied their guilt, denied it with cool and positive assurance, and denied it to the last with almost contempt, as if the charge was more an insult than anything serious. . none of them betrayed the slightest sorrow. . every one of them appeared of sound mind so far as reasoning powers were concerned, for they were quite lucid, and remarkably quick to see a point in their favour. . none of them were fully able to realize the position in which they stood, as ordinary people must have realized it. of course, everyone will admit that the man or woman who can plan and carry out a murder, whether that murder is likely to be detected or not, is not, and cannot be, a normal person; but what we require to know is where they depart from the normal, and how and why they depart from the normal. i would like to say that the particulars just given are the results not only of my observation of prisoners when in the dock, but also of many personal and private conversations with them. in a word, i do not consider that any of these prisoners were thoroughly sane. it may be said--it is often said--that in human nature "we find what we look for," and there is truth in the saying; but when trying to understand these people, i had not the slightest idea of what i was seeking. i knew there must be some cause that led to the crime, something out of the ordinary in their minds, but what it was and how to find it was more than i could tell. so i have watched, have talked and listened. for these prisoners were always ready to talk: there was no secrecy with them, excepting with regard to the crime; otherwise they were talkative enough. it takes some time and patience to discover whether or not in people there is a suspicion of brain trouble. they appear so natural that several lengthened conversations may be required before anything at all is revealed. i trust that it will not be thought that i am betraying confidences that poor wretches have given to me, for no prisoner, guilty or innocent, ever confided in me without such confidences being considered sacred; but as their cases are not of recent date, no harm can be done, and possibly good may ensue, if i give some particulars that i gained regarding their mental peculiarities. being anxious to ascertain how far my experience was confirmed by the experience of others, quite recently i put a question to the chaplain of one of our largest prisons, and whose experience was much greater than my own in this particular direction. i asked him whether he had ever known anyone who was about to suffer the death penalty for a premeditated and cleverly contrived murder exhibit any sense of remorse, sorrow, or fear. his answer was exactly what i expected--"that he had performed his last sad offices for a considerable number of such prisoners, and that he had discovered neither fear nor remorse in any of them; with one exception, they all denied their guilt." i want it to be perfectly clear that i am speaking now about murderers who committed premeditated crimes that had been cleverly carried out, impromptu murders not being considered. i now propose to give a sufficient number of examples to prove my point. in a poor street within two hundred yards of my own door i had frequently seen a beautiful boy of about four years old. his appearance, his clothing, his cleanliness, and even his speech, told unmistakably that he was not belonging to the poor. i knew the old people that he lived with, and felt quite sure that it was not owing to their exertions that he was so beautifully dressed and kept so spotlessly clean, for they were old, feeble, and very poor. but the old people had a daughter living with them, and it was the daughter who had charge of the child, for the little fellow was a "nurse-child." good payment must have been given for the care of the child, for it was the only source of income for the household. the foster-mother was devoted to the boy, and he reflected every credit upon her love and care. many times when i have met them i have spoken a cheery word to the little fellow, never dreaming of the coming tragedy, or that i should meet his real mother and discuss his death with her. the dead body of a boy between four and five years of age had been discovered in the women's lavatory of a north london railway-station. without doubt the child had been ruthlessly murdered. his head had been smashed; his face was crushed beyond recognition. a calcined brick lay close by the body, and had evidently been used for perpetrating the deed. no other trace of the murder was forthcoming, and the body was taken to the nearest mortuary. meanwhile the foster-mother and her aged parents were mourning the loss of the bonny boy, for the boy's mother had taken him from them that he might begin his education in a boarding-school for young children at brighton. they had learned to love the child, and now he was gone. the old people missed him sadly, and the nurse-mother wept for him. the house seemed so dull without him. the murder occurred on a saturday. on one of the early days of the ensuing week a neighbour chanced to tell the nurse-mother that she had read in a sunday paper about the discovery of a child's mangled body at a north london railway-station, and also that the body remained unidentified at the mortuary. although the nurse had not the slightest suspicion--for on the saturday morning she had accompanied the boy and his mother to london bridge, where tickets had been taken for brighton, and the nurse had seen them safely on the correct platform and the train waiting--yet the loss of her nurse-child had so affected her that she wept as her neighbour told her of the newspaper account, and they went together to the mortuary, which was some miles away, to see the "other little dear." it was some years before the nurse recovered from the shock she sustained on her visit to the mortuary, for the mangled and disfigured body was that of her late charge--her "dear manfred." i question whether even now she has recovered, for several times i know that she has been ill, and sometimes when i have been sent for, she seemed likely to lose her reason, the one and only thing that occupied her mind being the tragic discovery of her dear boy's maimed body. but the child's mother undoubtedly went to brighton on that particular saturday afternoon. she intended to go to brighton, not for the purpose of placing her child in a school, but for another purpose by no means so praiseworthy, yet for a purpose that was esteemed by her a sufficient justification for the murder of the child. she had lured a young man into a promise to spend the week-end with her at brighton, and some reason had to be found and given for her visit. placing the child in a suitable school seemed a sufficient reason, so the nurse was instructed to get the boy's clothing ready and accompany her to london bridge. this was accordingly done, and the nurse returned home, fully believing that the boy and his mother were on the way to brighton. but the mother did not go to brighton by that train. she allowed it to go without her, and when the nurse was safely away she left the platform, saying that she had missed it, but would return and go by a later train. she then took a bus for broad street station, there taking a return ticket for dalston, where she alighted. the lavatory in question was on the platform, consequently she did not pass the ticket-barrier. after accomplishing her object with the brick i have referred to, and which she had carried in her reticule all day for the purpose--for she had taken it from the garden of the house where she lived--she returned to broad street, giving her correct ticket up, and then on to london bridge and brighton early enough to meet the young man, who was about half her own age, and who spent the week-end with her. i have given briefly the particulars of this gruesome affair because they lead up to the mental conditions of the murderess. it will be noticed that the murder was skilfully contrived beforehand; that the object to be gained was indulgence with a young man but little more than half her age; that within a few hours of killing her own boy she smilingly met the young man as if nothing had happened. all these things are extraordinary, but when to these some particulars regarding the murderess are added, the character of the whole affair becomes more extraordinary still. she was a governess, clever and exceedingly well educated, with scientific accomplishments. she was about thirty-six years of age, by no means soft or voluptuous in appearance, but with a hard, strong cast of face. she was doing well in a pecuniary sense, and her friends were also in good circumstances. in considering the case, the first thing that strikes me is that when a woman of her character, standing and appearance gives birth to an illegitimate child, at an age when girlhood has long passed, there is an absolute departure from the normal, there is something wrong. i need not give any details of her trial, only to say the facts i have given were fully proved, and to add that she was found guilty, sentenced, and hanged. it is of her bearing and demeanour that i wish to speak. of course, she protested her innocence; any other person might be guilty, but it was absurd to hint that she was guilty. yet she betrayed no indignation. to her it was euclid over again, with _quod erat faciendum_, as the result of the problem. she was cool, alert, and fearless; she showed no emotion, no anxiety, no feeling. the killing of a sheep could not have been a matter of less importance to her than was the murder of her own child. such was her demeanour at the inquest and at the police-court proceedings, and this attitude she maintained to the end. in her private conversation with me she was clear, animated, and apparently calm and frank. i never saw the least symptoms of nervousness, and her eyes met mine as naturally and unconcernedly as if the charge she had to meet had not the remotest connection with herself. her last words to me were: "when i am discharged, i shall invite myself to tea with mrs. holmes and yourself, for i am supported by the thought that you firmly believe in my innocence." i had never told her this, for i had not discussed her guilt or innocence. she had talked to me, and i had listened, putting a question occasionally to her. i could believe no other than that she was verily guilty, but i did not tell her so--i had no right to tell her so--but i listened and waited for an admission that would throw some little light upon the state of her mind, and give me a faint idea of the cause that led her to plan and execute the terrible deed. this she did, and i am persuaded that she took away the boy to furnish her with some excuse for spending the week-end at brighton. i leave it to others to decide upon her sanity, though personally i am charitable enough to think she was insane. it is certain that she was animated with fierce passion; it is also certain that in other respects she was cold as an iceberg. for the death of her beautiful boy, whether she was guilty or innocent of it, never troubled her for a moment. does a lust for blood accompany an excess of the other passion in a woman of her temperament and characteristics? this i do not know, but i have no doubt that wiser people do know. at any rate, with hands that had cruelly battered the life out of her own child, and while the blood of that child was still hot upon them, she welcomed her male friend. i profess that i find some comfort in the belief that she was insane. had her insanity been just a little more obvious, she might have escaped the death penalty and ended her days in a criminal lunatic asylum. but i do not think the question of her sanity was ever raised. he would have been a bold man that raised it, in the face of her accomplishments and self-control. some day we shall, perhaps, apply different methods to test sanity than those now employed, and we shall look for other symptoms in diagnosis than those we look for now. the most dangerous madness is not that which is patent to everybody--the wild or vacant eyes, the inconsequent or violent speech, the manifest delusions, and the inability to conduct one's own affairs. these are simple enough; but the possessors of these characteristics are often harmless to the community. but when the madness is half madness, and is covered with a show of reason, it is then that danger is to be feared. in the case i am now about to give insanity was just a little more apparent, though i do not think it was more real. but its manifestation was of sufficient magnitude to prevent capital punishment. a young woman whose character was beyond reproach, and whose ability and business aptitude gave the greatest pleasure to her employer and his wife, was engaged as the manageress of a department in a drapery and millinery shop in north london. she had been in the situation for some months, and perfect confidence existed between the different parties. one hot sunday afternoon she suddenly awoke from an afternoon nap with the conviction that she had been criminally assaulted by her employer. the fact that she was in her own room with the door fastened did not weigh with her at all. she declared that her employer was the guilty person. the fact that he and his wife spent the afternoon out of doors was nothing to her. possessed with this extraordinary idea, she left london at once for a town on the south coast, where her brother lived. her brother appears to have accepted her statement without question or demur, and to him the delusion became as real as to his sister. he armed her with an exquisitely made and very formidable dagger, and provided himself with an equally dangerous pistol and cartridges. thus armed, they came to london--he to take vengeance upon the man who had dishonoured his sister, she to point out the man, and to be ready with the dagger if the pistol failed to take effect. the brother did not fail, for he shot the man dead. now that vengeance was satisfied, the couple were again harmless, for neither brother nor sister attempted to do any more injury. they were arrested, and gave up their arms willingly enough. they declared that they had done the deed, and that they intended to kill the man; that they procured the weapons and came to london for the express purpose. they claimed to be perfectly justified in their joint action. this attitude they maintained before the court, for when asked if they wished to put any questions to the witnesses, "oh no!" was the reply. "of what use would they be? we did it; we are glad that we did it. the consequences do not matter." there was quite a little dispute between the sister and brother. he declared that as he killed the man he alone was entitled to the glory and the punishment; but the sister declared that it was done at her request, and also that she was prepared to kill if her brother had failed. both were found guilty, and both were committed to a criminal lunatic asylum. yet they had every appearance of being thoroughly sane; their manner, their speech, their reasoning powers, and everything appertaining to them, savoured of clear reason, their delusion alone excepted. if that delusion had not been so manifest, undoubtedly they would have been hanged. there seems to me to be no point from which a line can be drawn to divide insanity from sanity. at present we have but clumsy, uncertain, and very speculative methods of deciding upon a prisoner's sanity--methods that must often result in the punishment, if not the death, of the prisoners who suffer from some kind of mental disease. i am inclined to believe that the more all traces of madness are hidden by clever murderers, the stronger is the probability of that madness existing, for the very essence of cunning is employed in hiding it. they will cheerfully contemplate the executioner's rope rather than be considered mad. the brother and sister to whom i have referred would have cheerfully accepted the death penalty in preference to committal to a lunatic asylum. in one of my conversations with the brother, i suddenly asked him: "have any of your relations been detained in lunatic asylums?" he was quite ready for me, and he replied: "i am as sane as you are; and if you are ever placed in a similar situation to mine, i hope you will prove as sane as i have." the more i think over the two cases--one woman found sane and hanged, the other declared insane and sent to a lunatic asylum--the more i am convinced that equal justice has not been done. probably the madness in both women proceeded from the same cause, and it is clear that neither of them had the slightest compunction about shedding blood. i will deal briefly with my next case, and of a truth there is not much to be said. he was a clerk about twenty-six years of age. he had married a decent young woman, for whom he had made no provision other than a loaded pistol. he had no home and no money, excepting a few pounds that he had embezzled, and with this he had paid the marriage expenses. with his last few shillings he hired a cab; drove, accompanied by his wife, from place to place, in pretence of finding a home for her; and, finally, while still in the cab, he did the deed for which he had prepared--he shot her. he made no attempt to escape; he offered no reason for his deed; he was quite satisfied with his action; and when before the court he was absolutely unconcerned. i had several conversations with him, and as he had publicly owned to the deed, there was no harm in my assumption of his guilt. i said to him: "tell me why you did this cruel deed?" he said: "i don't consider it a cruel deed. what else could i do? you would have done the same." argument, of course, was out of the question, but i did venture to express the hope that i might not have done what he had done, when he again replied: "you think so now; but if you had to do it, you would do it!" and this frame of mind he maintained to the end--for he was hanged. i do not say that he ought not to have been hanged, for it is difficult to point out in what other way he could have been dealt with; but so long as insanity is considered a sufficient reason for preventing the death penalty, i do say that every possible means should be taken to test a prisoner's sanity before a final decision is arrived at; and, further, that the appearance of positive sanity is under such circumstances an indication of insanity. every criminal, in addition to murderers, ought to be subjected to a careful and prolonged scrutiny and mental examination by experts. the cost would not be great, and i am fully sure the results would compensate if the expense was great. prisons ought to become psychological observatories, and be made to furnish us with a vast amount of useful information. there are so many things we ought to know, and might know if we would only take pains to know. it might be that the information obtained would make us sad and excite our fear; it might be that our pity would be deeply stirred, and that we should have a whole army of human beings upon our hands, for whom we might feel hopeless and helpless. but we have these even now, and for them imprisonment or hanging is a ready and simple plan that suffices us! but ought they to suffice in these enlightened days? i think not. at any rate, we ought to gather knowledge. with knowledge will come power, and with power better methods of dealing with erring or afflicted humanity. for the days will surely come when the hangman's rope will be seldom in requisition; when all the unhealthy and demoralizing publicity attaching to a murder trial will be a thing of the past; when criminals will not be made into public heroes, because of the speculative and perhaps equal chances of life or death; when morbid and widespread sentiment will not be created by public appeals to the home secretary; and, perhaps best of all, when diseased minds will be no longer influenced by the unhealthy publicity of the details pertaining to a death sentence to commit the other crimes for which no motives have been apparent. since writing the above chapter, the following appeared in the daily papers of august , : "thomas siddle, a bricklayer, was yesterday executed at hull for the murder of his wife in june last. the crime was a particularly callous one. siddle was to have gone to prison for not paying his wife's maintenance under a separation order. on the day, however, he visited her, and after some conversation savagely attacked her with a razor. _before his execution_ the prisoner _ate a hearty breakfast, and smiled at the warders as he walked firmly to the scaffold._" chapter viii housing the poor and now, so far as this book is concerned, i have done with prisoners and criminals, so i turn right gladly to the other side of my life. for my life is dual, one half being given to sinners and the other to saints. i have spoken freely about the difficulties of prisoners and with prisoners; let me now tell of the struggles, difficulties, and virtues of the industrious poor. i will draw a veil over the ignorance, the drunkenness, the wastefulness, and the cupidity of the very poor. other people may find these matters congenial, and may dilate upon them, but such a task is not for me. i know these things exist--i do not wonder at their existence--but other things exist also--things that warm my heart and stir my blood--and of them i want to tell. and i have some right to speak, for i know the very poor as few can know them. from personal touch and friendly communion my experience has been acquired, and i am proud to think that at least twelve hundred of london's poorest but most industrious women look upon me as their friend and adviser. when i gave up police-court work, i thought to devote the remainder of my days absolutely to the london home-workers; but providence willed it otherwise, so only one-half of a very busy life is at their service. of what that half reveals i cannot be silent, though i would that some far abler pen than mine would essay the task of describing the difficulties and perils that environ the lives of the industrious poor. i want and mean to be a faithful witness, so i will tell of nothing that i have not seen, i will describe no person that does not exist, and no narrative shall sully my pages that is not true in fact and detail. imagination is of no service to me. i am as zealous for mere facts as was mr. gradgrind himself, and my facts shall be real, self-sufficing facts, out-vying imagination, and conveying their own lesson. if i carry my readers with me, we shall go into strange places and see strange sights and hear piteous stories; but i shall ask my readers to be heedless of all that is unpleasant, not to be alarmed at forbidding neighbourhoods or disgusted with frowzy women, but to contemplate with me the difficulties and the virtues of the industrious poor, and then, if they will, to worship with me at the shrine of poor humanity. quite recently i was invited to take sixty of my poor industrious women to spend a day at sevenoaks. among the party was a widow aged sixty and her daughter of thirty-five. they were makers of women's costumes, and had worked till half-past four that very morning in order to have the day's outing. i had known them for years, and many times had i been in their poor home watching them as, side by side, they sat at their machines. happy were they in recent years when their united earnings amounted to twenty-one shillings for a week's work of eighty hours. "tell me," i said to the widow, "how long have you lived in your present house?" "forty years," said the widow. "emmy was born in it, and my husband was buried from it. i have been reckoning up, and find that i have paid more than twelve hundred pounds in rent, besides the rates." "impossible," i said, "out of your earnings!" she said: "we let off part of the house, and that pays the rates and a little over, but we always have to find ten shillings a week for rent." ten shillings out of twenty-one shillings, when twenty-one was forthcoming, which was by no means the case every week. "we cannot do with less than three rooms--one to work in, one to sleep in, and the little kitchen. i cannot get anything cheaper in the neighbourhood." here we come at once upon one of the greatest difficulties of the industrious poor. if they wish to live in any way decently, one-half their earnings disappears in rent. "we have nowhere to go." the difficulties the poor have in finding suitable--or, indeed, any--rooms that may serve as a shelter for themselves and their children, and be dignified by the name of "home," are almost past belief. all sorts of subterfuges are resorted to, and it is no uncommon thing for a woman, when applying for one or more rooms, to state the number of her children to be less than half what it is in reality. sometimes, it must be confessed, the people who obtain rooms by such means are not desirable tenants; but it is also true that even decent people have to resort to some kind of deception if they are to find shelter at all. day after day in london police-courts the difficulty is made manifest. houses altogether unfit for human habitation have to be closed by order of the authorities; but, wretched and insanitary as those dwellings are, dangerous to the health and well-being of the community as they may be, they are full to overflowing of poor humanity seeking some cover. but they must "clear out." their landlords say so, the sanitary authorities say so, and the magistrate confirms the landlord and the sanitary authorities. the one cry, the one plea of all the poor who are to be ejected is: "where are we to go? we can't get another place." the kindly magistrate generally allows a few weeks' grace, and tells them to do their best meanwhile to procure other rooms. for some this is a possibility, but for others the period of grace will pass, and on an appointed day an officer of the court will be in paradise row or angel court, as the case may be, to see that the tenants are ejected without undue violence, and that their miserable belongings are deposited safely in the street. on dark november days, with the rain coming steadily down, i have frequently seen the débris of such homes, the children keeping watch, and shivering as they watched. i have spoken to the children, asked them about their mother, and their reply has been: "mother has gone with the baby to look for another place." heaven help that mother in her forlorn hope and desperate search! i can imagine her clutching the babe tightly to her, holding in her closed hand the shilling that is to act as a deposit for binding a tenancy, her last rent-book in her bosom to show her _bona fides_, going from street to street, from house to house, climbing staircase after staircase, exploring and appealing time after time. she will stoutly declare that she has but two children, when she has six; she will declare that her husband is a good, sober man, and in regular work, neither of which will be true. ultimately, she will promise to pay an impossible rent, and tremulously hand over the shilling to bind the contract; then she will return to the "things," and tell the children of their new home. this is no imaginary picture. it is so very true, so very common, that it does not strike our imagination. the cry of the very poor is ever sounding in our ears: "we have nowhere to live! we don't know where to go!" this fear of being homeless, of not being allowed to live in such wretched places as they now inhabit, haunts the very poor through life, and pursues them to the grave. and this worry, anxiety, and trouble falls upon the woman, adding untold suffering to her onerous life; for it is the woman that has to meet the rent-collector, whose visits come round all too quickly; she has to mollify him when a few shillings remain unpaid. the wife has to procure other rooms when her husband has fallen out of work, and she receives the inevitable notice to quit when there appears to be a possibility of the family becoming still more numerous. if sickness, contagious or otherwise, comes upon any of the children, and the shadow of death enters the home, upon the wife comes the heart-breaking task of seeking a new home and conveying her children and "things" to another place. this is no light task. the expense is a consideration, and the old home, bad as it was, had become in many ways dear to her. what more pitiful sight can be imagined than the removal? no pantechnicon is required--a hired barrow is sufficient; and when night has well advanced the goods are conveyed in semi-darkness from the old home to the new. think for a moment what a life she lives, to what shifts she is reduced, what privations she endures! is it any wonder that the children born of her have poor bodies and strange minds? "the children born of thee are fire and sword, red ruin, and the breaking up of laws," tennyson makes king arthur to say. in many respects these words are true of poor mothers in london. the houses in which they live, the conditions under which they exist, the ceaseless worries and nameless fears they endure, make it absolutely certain that many of the children born will be strange creatures. and right up to the verge of eternity the fear of being homeless haunts the poor. let one instance suffice. i was visiting a young married woman whose husband had been sent to prison for some months. she lived in one room, for which she paid, or should have paid, four shillings and sixpence weekly. the street was a very poor street, and the house a very small house. it stood, without any forecourt, close up to the street pavement. while i was speaking to the young woman a message came that the landlady, who lived downstairs, wanted to speak to me; so down the narrow stairs i went. there being only one room below, i rapped at the door, and a very queer voice told me to "come in." i went in, and found a very small room, occupied chiefly by a bed, a small table, and several broken chairs. on the bed lay an old woman. her face was puckered with age, her forehead was deeply furrowed, her eyes were dim, and the hands lying on the quilt were more like claws than human hands. as i stood over her, she looked up and said: "are you mr. holmes? i want my rent." her voice was so strange and thin that i had some difficulty in understanding her, but i found that the tenant upstairs owed her five weeks' rent, and that, now her husband was in prison, the poor old woman was afraid of losing it. as the matter seemed to trouble her greatly, i told her that i would pay the arrears of her rent. "but i want it now," she went on. "the collector is coming to-morrow, and i shall be put out--i shall be put out." i stroked her thin hair, and told her that i would call early the next morning and give her the money. but the poor woman looked worried and doubtful. i called early the next morning, and found the old woman expecting me. "have you brought my rent?" were the first words i heard on entering the room. i took up one of her thin hands and opened it, and put a sovereign in it. "that is a sovereign," i said. she held it up, and tried to look at it; but she was not satisfied, for she said to her daughter, who was standing by: "jane, is this a sovereign?" when jane assured her that it was, the old hand closed convulsively upon it. "hold out your other hand," i said. she held it open, and i counted five shillings into it. then that hand closed, and the old head lay a bit closer to the pillow, and an expression of restful satisfaction passed over her withered face. a week later i called at the same house, but the old woman was not there, neither had she been "put out." she had paid the rent-collector when he called, and her rent-book was duly signed; but the great collector had not forgotten her, for he also had called and given her a receipt in full. her worries were ended. if we would but think--think of the effect that such anxieties must have upon the present and future generations--i believe that we should realize that first and foremost of all questions affecting the health and happiness of the nation stands the one great question of "housing the very poor"; for the chivalry of our men, the womanliness of our women, the sweetness of our daughters, and the brave hearts of our lads depend upon it. but if the fear of being "put out" has its terrors, none the less has the continuous occupation of one room its attendant evils. it is so easy for humanity to get used to wretched homes and vile environments, so easy to get accustomed to dirt, thick air, and insanitary conditions, that one does not wonder that poor people who have lived for years under such conditions prefer those conditions to any other. and this holds true even with those who have known the bracing effect of cold water on their bodies, and have felt the breath of god in their lungs. the return path to dirt is always alluring to the human body. time and again i have gone into places where i hardly dared to breathe, and in which i could only with the greatest difficulty stay for a few minutes; and when i have sometimes ventured to open a window a look of astonishment crossed the faces of those i had called on, for even the thick atmosphere had become natural. and other results follow--mental as well as physical. to become, through bad but frightfully dear housing, gradually used to dirt and bad air, till these are looked upon as natural, carries along with it, as part and parcel of itself, another deadening influence. filth raises no feeling of disgust; high rents produce no sense of injustice, no feelings of resentment: for the poor become absolutely passive. yes, and passive in more ways than one; for they, without question or demur, accept any payment that may be given them for such services as they can render. inevitably, they become the prey of the sweater, and work for endless hours at three halfpence per hour; and if the payment for the work they do should, without their permission, be reduced, it only means that a couple of hours more must be added to the long day already worked. it is this passivity of the poor that appals me. their negative virtues astonish me, for i find in them no bitterness, no sense of wrong, no idea of rebellion, no burning resentment--not even the feeling that something is wrong, though they know not what. their only ambition is to live their little lives in their very little homes; to be ready weekly with their four shillings for their wretched room in a wretched house; to have plenty of poorly-paid work, though they sit up all night to do it; and to sit in poverty and hunger when sufficient work is not to hand, to suffer silently, to bear with passive heroism, and to die unburied by the parish. such is the life of many london home-workers, of whom some are my personal friends. but what becomes of this life? the death of aspiration. a machine-like perseverance and endurance is gradually developed; but the hope of better things dies: hope cannot exist where oxygen is absent. then comes the desire to be let alone, and alone to die. i have met women who had become so used to the terrible conditions under which they lived that no amount of persuasion could induce them to move out of those conditions. again i draw upon my experience. one cold day in february a young married man was charged with stealing a piece of pork. i had some conversation with him, and he told me that he was out of work, that his wife and children were starving, and that his widowed mother, who lived in the same house, was in much the same condition. he gave me their address--a poor street in haggerston--so i visited the family. it was a terrible street even for haggerston, but it was crowded with humanity. i found the house, and went up the rotten staircase to the first-floor back. there i found the prisoner's wife, sitting at a machine making babies' boots. in the room was an old broken perambulator, in which were two children, one asleep and the other with that everlasting deceit, a "baby's comforter," in its mouth. as the child fed on the thick air it looked at me with wondering eyes, and the mother kept on working. presently she stopped and answered my questions. yes, it was true her husband was out of work. he was good to her, and a sober, industrious man. they paid three and sixpence weekly for their room, when they could. would i excuse her? she must get on with her work; she wanted to take it in. i excused her, and, leaving her a few shillings, went in search of the older woman. i found her in another small room; but, small as the room was, there were two beds in it, which were covered with match-boxes. a small table and two old chairs completed the furniture. she was seated making match-boxes as i entered, and i saw her hands moving with that dreadfully automatic movement that has so often made me shudder. she looked up at me, but on she went. i spoke to her of her son, told her my business, and ultimately sat down and watched her. poor old woman! she was fifty-six, she told me. she might have been any age over seventy. she was a widow. she had lived in that room thirteen years, having come to it soon after her husband's death. whilst i was speaking to her she got up from her boxes, took a small saucepan off the miserable fire, and out of it took some boiled rice, put it in an old saucer, sat down, and ate it. it was her dinner. afterwards she put the remaining rice in a saucer, covered it with another, and placed it in front of the fire. i soon saw why. a lanky boy of nearly fourteen came in from school, and she pointed to the saucer. he took it, and swallowed the rice, and looked at me. i looked at the boy, and read the history of his life in his face and body. he had been born in that room; that was his bed in the corner covered with match-boxes. the old woman was his mother. three and sixpence every week had she paid for that room. nearly three days of the week she had worked for interminable hours to earn the money that paid for the shelter for herself and the boy. i will not describe the boy. was he a boy at all? all his life he had lived, moved, and had his being in that room; had fed as i saw him feed, and had breathed the air i was breathing. he went back to school, and i talked to his mother. she owed no rent; she had received no parish help. she never went to church or chapel. she wanted nothing from anybody. that little room had become her world, and her only recreation was taking her boxes to the factory. grimy and yellow were the old hands that kept on with the boxes. i offered her a holiday and rest. there was the rent to be paid. i would pay the rent. she had no clothes suitable. mrs. holmes would send her the clothes. there was the boy to be seen to. i would arrange for him. no; she would not go. her last word was that she did not wish or care to leave her home. neither did she. and though years have passed since my first visit to that one-roomed house, out of it the old woman has not passed, excepting on her usual errand. and fresh air, clean sheets, and relaxation meant nothing to her. i sat in the dark, damp kitchen of a house in one of the narrow streets of hoxton. over my head some very poor clothing was hanging to dry. it was winter-time, and the gloom outside only added to the gloom within, and through a small window the horrors of a london back-yard were suggested rather than revealed. as i sat watching the widow at her work, and wondered much at the mechanical accuracy of her movements, i felt something touch my leg, and, looking down, found a silent child, about three years of age, on the floor at my feet. i had been in the room some few minutes, and had not previously seen or heard the child, it was so horribly quiet. i picked it up, and placed it on my knee, but it was passive and open-eyed as a big doll. the child had been born in that kitchen on a little substitute for a bed that half-filled the room. its father was dead, and the widowed mother got a "living" for herself and her children by attaching bits of string to luggage labels, for which interesting work she got fourpence per thousand. in her spare time she took in washing, and the clothes over my head belonged to neighbours. fifteen years she had lived in that house. it was her first home after marriage. till his death, which occurred three years before, her husband had been tenant of the whole house, but always "let off" the upper part, which consisted of two rooms, it being a two-storied house. he died of consumption in the other room on the ground-floor, which abutted the street pavement. her child was born in the kitchen as her husband lay dying a few feet away in the front-room. so that wretched house was dear to her, for love, death, and life had been among its visitants, and it became to her a sacred and a solemn place. she became tenant of the house, and continued to let off the two upper rooms; and with her children round her she continued her life in the lower rooms. the rent was s. weekly. she received s. d. weekly for the two upper rooms, leaving s. d. weekly to be the burden and anxiety of her life; so she tied knots and took in washing. the very sight of the knot-tying soon tired me, and the dark, damp atmosphere soon satisfied me. as i rose to leave, the widow invited me to "look at her boy in the other room." we went into the room in front. it was now quite dark, and the only light in the room came through the window from a street-lamp. the widow spoke to someone, but no answer came. i struck a wax match and held it aloft. a glance was enough. i asked the widow to get a lamp, and one of those cheap, dangerous abominations provided for the poor was brought to me. on the bed lay a strange-looking boy of nine, twisted and deformed in body, wizened in features, suffering writ all over him, yet apathetically and unconcernedly waiting for the end. with the lamp in my hand, i bent over him and spoke kindly to him. he looked at me, then turned away from me; he would not speak to me. poor little fellow! he had suffered so long and so much that he expected nothing else. he knew that he was dying. what did it matter? the mothers in london streets are not squeamish, and their young children are very soon made acquainted with the mysteries of life and death. "he has been in two hospitals, and i have fetched him home to die," said the widow to me. "how long has he lain like this?" i asked. "three months." "who sleeps in that bed with him?" "i do, and the little boy you saw in the kitchen." "who sleeps in the kitchen?" "only george: he is fourteen." on inquiry, i was told that the dying boy had always been weak and ailing, and also that, when five years of age, he had been knocked down in the street by a cyclist, and that he had been crippled and twisted ever since. nearly five years of suffering, and now he had "come home to die." poor little fellow! what a life for him! what a death for him! born in a dark kitchen while his father lay dying; four years of joyless poverty in a london street; five years of suffering, in and out of hospitals; and now "home to die." and he knew it, and waited for the end with contemptuous indifference. but he had not much longer to wait, for in three weeks' time the blessed end came. but the widow still takes in washing, damp clothes still hang in her dark kitchen, and by the faint light of her evil-smelling lamp she continues to "tie her knots"; and the silent child is now acquiring some power of expression in the gutter. slum property sometimes gets into queer hands. sometimes it is almost impossible to find the real owners, and the fixing of responsibility becomes a great difficulty. a slum property holder. an old woman, dressed in greasy black silk, with a bonnet of ancient date, often appeared in one of our courts for process against some of her many tenants. her hair, plastered with grease, hung round her head in long ringlets; her face never showed any signs of having been washed; a long black veil hung from her old bonnet, and black cotton gloves covered her hands. she was the widow of a well-to-do jeweller, and owned some rows of cottage property in one of our poorest neighbourhoods. after her husband's death, she decided to live in one of her cottages and collect her own rents. she brought with her much jewellery, etc., that had not been sold, and there in the slums, with her wealth around her, and all alone, lived the quaint old creature. week by week she appeared at the court for "orders" against tenants who had not paid their rent. though seventy-three, she would have no agent; she could manage her own business. suddenly she appeared as an applicant for advice. she had married: her husband was a carpenter, aged twenty-one. they had been married but a few days, and her husband refused to go to work--so she told the magistrate. "well, you know, madam, that you have plenty for both," said the magistrate. "that's what he says, but i tell him that i did not marry him that i might keep him." she got neither help nor comfort from the magistrate, so she tottered out of the court, grumbling as she went. in a few days she appeared again. "my husband has stolen some of my jewellery." again she got no comfort. still again she complained. "my husband has been collecting my rents." "send a notice to your tenants warning them not to pay your husband." she did so; the husband did the same, warning the tenants not to pay his wife. this suited the tenants admirably: they paid neither. never were such times till the old woman applied for ejectment orders wholesale. while these things were going on the youthful husband wasted her substance in riotous living, and showed a decided preference for younger women. this aroused the old woman's jealousy; she couldn't put up with it. packing her jewels and valuables in a portmanteau, she left her house. when her husband returned at night the wife of his bosom was gone; neither did she return. he was disconsolate, and sought her sorrowing. some miles away she had a poor widowed sister, and there the old woman found shelter. but there paralysis seized her, and a doctor had to be called in. he acted in the double capacity of doctor and lawyer, for he drew up a will, put a pen into her hands, and guided her gently while she signed it. "all her worldly goods were left to her sister." ultimately the husband found out where she was located, and frequently called at the house, but the door was barred against him. it was winter-time, and the snow lay on the ground. at midnight a cab drew softly up to the house where the old woman lay. suddenly there was a loud knock at the door, and the sister came down to answer. thoughtlessly she opened the door, when she was seized by two men, who locked her in the front parlour while they ran upstairs, rolled the old woman in warm blankets, carried her to the cab, and away they went. a nice room and another doctor were awaiting her. another will was drawn up, which the old woman signed. "all her worldly goods were left to her dear husband." next morning the sister applied for a summons against the young husband, but the magistrate decided that the man had a right to run away with his own wife. all might have gone merrily for the husband, but the old lady died. the sister went to the police, who arrested him for causing his wife's death. for many days the case was before the court, half a dozen doctors on each side expressing very decided opinions. ultimately he was committed for trial. doctors and counsel galore were concerned, but the jury acquitted him at last. and then came another trial. counsel and doctors were again concerned. which will was to stand? i don't know how they settled it, but one thing i am sure about--when the doctors and lawyers had got their share, and the counsel had had a good picking, there was not much left for the loving husband and the dear sister. since writing the above, the following paragraphs have appeared in the daily press: "widower's pathetic plight. "'my wife is lying dead in the house, and the landlord threatens to eject me at twelve o'clock if i am not out. what can i do?' thus asked a respectable-looking working man of mr. d'eyncourt at clerkenwell police-court. 'has he given you notice?' 'yes; but how can i go just now? the funeral is to-morrow, and i have offered to go on wednesday, but he says he will put me in the street to-day.' 'well, he's legally entitled to do so, i am afraid. i can do nothing.' 'i thought that perhaps you might ask him to let me stay for a day or two.' 'no, that is a matter for you. i cannot interfere,' the magistrate observed in conclusion." "london land without an owner. "mr. h. sherwin white requested mr. marsham at bow street police-court to appoint someone under the lands clauses consolidation act to determine the value of the forecourts of five houses in coldharbour lane, brixton, which had been required for tramway purposes. he added that the owner of the houses could not be found. mr. marsham appointed mr. a. l. guy to be valuer." chapter ix the hooliganism of the poor present-day excitements have killed the "hooligan" scare. good nervous people now sleep comfortably in their beds, for the cry of "the hooligans! the hooligans!" is no longer heard in our land. yet, truth to tell, the evil is greater now than when sensational writers boomed it. it grows, and will continue to grow, until the conditions that produce it are seriously tackled by the state. i must confine myself to the hooliganism of the poor. of the hooliganism of undergraduates, medical students, stockbrockers, and politicians i say nothing. of tommy atkins on furlough or of jack ashore i wish to be equally silent. but of the class, born and bred in london slums, who do no regular work, but who seem to live on idleness and disorder, i desire to speak plainly--plainly, too, as to the conditions that are largely responsible for the disorderly conduct of the rising youth. a large number of undoubtedly good people think it is easy to cure by punitive methods. i do not. "a policeman behind every lamp-post and the lash--the lash!" cried a notable divine during a never-to-be-forgotten week when he edited an evening paper. such was his recipe! for months the cat with nine tails was a favourite theme, and all sorts of people caught the infection, and there was a great cry and commotion raised and sustained by a sensational but altogether inaccurate press. every assault committed by a labouring man, every bit of disorder in the streets, if caused by the poor and ignorant, was a signal for the cry "the hooligan again!" rubbish! but the people believed it, and so to some extent our level-headed and kind-hearted magistrates caught the spirit of the thing, and proceeded to impose heavier sentences on boys charged with disorderly conduct in the streets. but this was not enough, for the home secretary (mr. ritchie) in the house of commons, in reply to a question about youthful hooligans, said it was thought that the magistrates had been too lenient with them, and stated that the police had orders to charge those young gentlemen on indictment, so that they might not be dealt with summarily, but committed for trial. in other words, they were to take from the magistrates the power of so-called lenient punishment, and have them tried by judge and jury. very good, but what good longer terms of imprisonment would do, the home secretary did not say; and as to the magistrates, they can be severe enough, though they do know when to be lenient, and in aggravated cases they already commit for trial. profoundly i wish that all home secretaries would exercise their minds on the causes that lead to youthful hooliganism, and do something to remove them. it were better far than taking steps to secure more severe punishment. such talk to me seems callous and cruel, for punitive methods will never eradicate the instincts that lead to disorderly conduct in the streets among the "young gentry" of the poor. i must confess to a feeling of discomfort when i see a boy of sixteen sent to a month's imprisonment for disorderly conduct in the streets. it is true that he has been a nuisance to his elders, and has bumped against them in running after his pals. equally true that he uses language repulsive to ears polite; but to him it is ordinary language, to which he has been accustomed his life through. but i am afraid it is equally true that similar offences committed by others in a better position would be more leniently dealt with. would anyone suggest that a public-school boy, or a soldier on furlough, or a young doctor, or an enthusiastic patriot, should be committed for trial on a like charge? i trow not. allowances are made, and it is right they should be made. i claim these allowances for the poor and the children of the poor. moreover, if these "young gentry" are to be consigned in wholesale fashion to prison, will it lessen the evil? i think not. on the contrary, it will largely increase it. some of them will have lost the moderate respectability that stood for them in place of character; many of them will lose their work, and will join the increasing army of loafers; but all of them will lose their fear of prison, that fear of the unknown that is the greatest deterrent from crime and disorder. familiarize these "young gentry" with prison, and it is all over with them. the sense of fear will depart, and to a dead certainty more serious disorder and grosser crime will follow. undoubtedly many of them will find prison quarters preferable to their own homes, and though they may resent the loss of liberty, they will find some comfort in the fact that they do not have to share with four others an apology for a bed, fixed in an apology for a room, of which the door cannot be opened fully because the bedstead prevents it. if our law-makers, our notable divines, and our good but nervous people had to live under such conditions, i venture to say they would rush into the streets for change of air; and if any steam were left in them, who can doubt but that they would let it off somehow? under present conditions, the "young gentry" have the choice of two evils--either to stay in their insufferable homes or to kick up their heels in the streets. but this includes two other contingencies--either to become dull-eyed, weak-chested, slow-witted degenerates, or hooligans. of the two, i prefer the latter. the streets are the playgrounds of the poor, and the state has need to be thankful, in spite of the drawback in disorder and crime, for the strength and manhood developed in them. it will be a sorry day for england when the children of the poor, after being dragooned to school, are dragooned from the streets into the overcrowded tenements called home. multiply large towns, run the "blocks" for the poor up to the skies, increase the pains and penalties for youthful disorder, and omit to make provision for healthy, vigorous, competitive play: then we may write "ichabod" over england, for its glory and strength will be doomed. wealth may accumulate, but men will decay. robust play, even though it be rough, is an absolute condition of physical and moral health. consider briefly how the poor live. thousands of families with three small rooms for each family, tens of thousands with two small rooms, a hundred thousand with one room. and such rooms! better call them boxes. dining-room and bedroom, kitchen and scullery, coal-house and drawing-room, workshop and wash-house, all in one. here, one after another, the children are born; here, one after another, many of them die. i went into one of these "combines," and saw an infant but a few days old with its mother on a little bed; in another corner, in a box, lay the body of another child of less than two years, cold and still. i felt ill, but i also felt hot. i protest it is no wonder that our boys and girls seek the excitement of the streets, or that they find comfort in "dustbins." what can big lads of this description do in such surroundings? curl up and die, or go out and kick somebody. the pity of it is that they always kick the wrong person, but that's no wonder. tread our narrow streets, where two-storied houses stand flush with the pavements; explore our courts, alleys, and places; climb skyward in our much-belauded dwellings; or come even into our streets that look snugly respectable. you will find them teeming with juvenile life that has learned its first steps in the streets, got its first idea of play in the gutter, and picked up its knowledge of the vulgar tongue from those who have graduated in a gutter school. is it any wonder that young people developed under these conditions look upon the streets as their natural right, and become oblivious to the rights of others? they are but paying back what they have received. neither is it to be wondered at that as they grow older they grow more disorderly and violent, but altogether less scrupulous. it is absurd to suppose that boys who have grown into young men under these conditions will, on reaching manhood, develop staid and orderly ways, and equally absurd to suppose that by sending them for "trial" they will be made orderly. let us have less talk of punishment and more of remedy; and the remedy lies, not with private individuals, but with the community. the community must bear the cost or pay the penalty. oxford and cambridge contend in healthy rivalry on the river, and the world is excited. eton plays harrow at cricket, and society is greatly moved. a few horses race at epsom, and the people generally go wild. but when the hackney boys contend with the boys of bethnal green, why, that's another tale. but they cannot go to lord's or to putney, so perforce they meet in the places natural to them--the streets. "but they use belts!" well, they have no boxing-gloves, and it may comfort some folks to know that generally they use the belts upon each other. the major part of so-called youthful hooliganism is but the natural instinct of english boys finding for itself an outlet--a bad outlet it may be, but, mind you, the only outlet possible, though it is bound to grow into lawlessness if suitable provision is not made for its legitimate exercise. at the close of one of my prison lectures, among the prisoners that asked for a private interview was an undersized youth of nineteen, a typical cockney, sharp and cheeky as a london sparrow. he put out his hand and said, "how do you do, mr. holmes?" looking up at me. i shook hands with him, and said: "what are you doing here?" "burglary, mr. holmes," he said. "burglary?" i said--"burglary? i am sure god never intended you for a burglar." looking up sharply, he said: "no, he would have made me bigger, wouldn't he? but i have had enough of prison," he said--"i've had enough. i'm going straight when i get out, and i shall be out in three weeks. it is very good of you to come and talk to us, and i am glad to know about all those men you have told us of; but i've come to see you because i want you to tell me how i am to spend my spare time when i am out. i am going back home to live. i've got a job to go to--not much wages, though. i shall live in hoxton, and i want to go straight. if i get some books and read about those fellows you talked of, i can't read at home--there's no room. if i go to the library i feel a bit sleepy when i've been in a bit, and the caretaker comes along and he gives me a nudge, and he says: 'waken up! this ain't a lodging-house.' we have no cricket or football. there's the streets for me in my spare time, and then i'm in mischief. now, you tell me what to do, and i'll do it." municipal playgrounds are absolutely necessary if our young people are to be healthy and law-abiding. of parks we have enough at present. our so-called recreation-grounds are a delusion and a snare, though to some they are doubtless a boon, with their asphalted walks, a few seats, and a drinking-fountain. they are very good for the very old and the very young; but if tom, dick, and harry essayed a game of rounders, tip-cat, leap-frog, or skittles, why, then they would soon find themselves before the magistrate, and be the cause of many paragraphs on youthful hooliganism in the next day's papers. now, private philanthropy and individual effort is not equal to the task--and, in spite of increasing effort and enlarged funds, never will be equal to the task--of finding suitable recreation for our growing youth. i know well the great good done by our public-school and other missions, with their boys' clubs, etc.; but they scarcely touch the evil, and they certainly have not the means of providing winter and summer outdoor competitive games. every parish must have its public playground, under proper supervision, lit up with electric light in the evening, and open till p.m. here such inexpensive games as rounders, skittles, tip-cat, tug-of-war, might be organized, and hackney might have a series of competitions with bethnal green, for the competitive element must be provided for. a series of contests of this sort would soon empty our streets of the lads who are now so troublesome. i venture to say that a tournament, even at "coddem" or "shove-ha'penny" alone, would attract hundreds of them, and certainly an organized competition of "pitch-and-toss" would attract thousands. counters might be used instead of coins, and they would last for ever. the fact is, that these youths are easily pleased, if we go the right way to work; but we must take them as they are, and must not expect them all to play chess, billiards, and cricket. football, i think, i would certainly add, for it is a game which any healthy boy can play, and it gives him robust exercise. give the lads of our slums and congested dwellings a chance of healthy rivalry and vigorous competition, and, my word for it, they won't want to crack the heads either of their companions or the public. the public are not aware of the intense longing of the slum youth for active, robust play. during last year more than fifty boys were summoned at one court for playing football in the streets and fined, though in some cases their footballs were old newspapers tied round with string. hundreds of youths are charged every year at each of our london police-courts with gambling by playing a game with bronze coins called "pitch-and-toss." now, these youths do not want and long for each other's coins, but they do want a game, and if they could play all day and win nothing they would consider it an ideal game. organized games in public playgrounds, creating local and friendly rivalry, are absolutely essential. the same feeling, developed but a trifle further, becomes national, and we call it patriotism. play they must, or become loafers; and the round-shouldered, dull-eyed loafer is altogether more hopeless than the hooligan. it will be an inestimable blessing to the country, and will inaugurate quite a new era for us, when the minimum age for leaving school is raised to sixteen. the increase of intelligence, physique and morality, and order arising from such a course would astonish the nation. supposing this were done, and for boys and girls of over twelve two hours in the afternoon were set apart for games--in separate playgrounds, of course--and that the evenings were devoted to school-work. the younger children going to school in the afternoon might easily have their turn in the public playgrounds from five to seven. this would allow the youths over sixteen to have the playgrounds for the rest of the evening. but, having provided for play, i would go one step further, and not allow any boy to leave school till he produced satisfactory evidence that he was really commencing work. hundreds of boys leave school having no immediate prospect of regular work. a few weeks' idleness and the enjoyment of the streets follow, and they are then in that state of mind and body that renders them completely indifferent to work of any kind. for good or for evil, the old system of apprenticing boys has gone. it had many faults, but it had some virtues, for, at any rate, it ensured a boy's continuity of work in those years when undisciplined idleness is certain to be demoralizing. once let boys from the homes i have described--or, indeed, from working men's homes generally--be released from the discipline of school, and the discipline of reasonable and continuous work not be substituted, and it is all over with them and honest aspirations. now, this difficulty of finding decent and prospective employment for boys is another great factor in the production of youthful hooligans, but a factor that would be largely eliminated if the age for leaving school were raised to sixteen. the work of errand-boys, van-boys, or "cock-horse" boys is not progressive; neither is it good training for growing boys. to the boys of fourteen such work has its allurements, and the wages offered seem fairly good; but when the boy of fourteen has become the youth of sixteen or seventeen, the work seems childish, and the pay becomes mean. when he requires better wages, his services are dispensed with, and another lad of fourteen is taken on. this procedure alone accounts for thousands of youths being idle upon the streets of london. what can such youths do? too big for their previous occupation, no skilled training or aptitude for better work, not big or strong enough for ordinary labouring, they become the despair of their parents and pests to society. very soon the door of the parental home is closed upon them; the cheap lodging-houses become their shelter, and the rest can easily be imagined--but it lasts for life. by raising the school age, the great bulk of this demoralization would be prevented. technical training in their school years would give these youths a certain amount of aptitude and taste that would enable them to commence life under more favourable conditions, and though many of them would necessarily become errand-boys or van-boys, still, the age at which they would leave those occupations would find them nearer manhood, and in possession of greater strength and more judgment than they can claim at the present age of leaving such work. the step i am advocating would also remove another great cause of lifelong misery and its accompanying hooliganism. look again, if you please, at the homes of the poor. is it any wonder that when a youth finds himself earning twelve shillings a week, and has arrived at the mature age of eighteen, he enters into a certain relationship with a girl of seventeen, who has a weekly income of six shillings? this relationship may or may not be sanctioned by the law and blessed by the church; in either case it is equally immoral, and the effects are equally blighting. how can healthy, virtuous, and orderly children come from such unions? give the youth of our large towns a lengthened school-training, but at the same time remember that athletic and technical training must form part of that life; let healthy rivalry have a chance of animating them and a feeling of manly joy sometimes pervade them, and these horrible, wicked juvenile unions will be heard of no more; for at present their only chances of enjoyment are the streets, sexuality, or the public-house. this last word leads me to another cause of hooliganism. the public-house is bound up with the lives of the poor. to many it stands, doubtless, for enjoyment and relaxation, for forgetfulness of misery and discomfort, and for sociability. to many others it stands for poverty, suffering, unspeakable sorrow, and gross neglect. where our streets are the narrowest, where the sanitary arrangements are of the most execrable description, there the public-house thrives, and thrives with disastrous effects. the home-life of the poor and the public-house act and react on each other. the more miserable the home and the greater the dirt, the more the public-house attracts; the more it attracts, the viler the home-life and the greater misery and dirt. it is no marvel that people who live thus demand fiery drinks; nor is it any great marvel that all the tricks of science and all the resources of civilization are brought to bear in manufacturing drinks for them. no wonder, when "the vitriol madness flushes in the ruffian's head," that "the filthy by-lane rings with the yell of the trampled wife." but the state shares the profits and the state shares the guilt. long ago cowper wrote: "drink and be mad, then--'tis your country bids: ye all can swallow, and she asks no more." the state does not care very much what compounds are served to the poor so long as the sacred revenue is not defrauded. but the state cannot escape the penalties. what of the offspring that issue from these homes and these neighbourhoods? they have daily seen women with battered faces; they have frequently seen the brutal kick, and heard the frightful curse; they have been used to the public-house from their infancy; whilst boys and girls have been allowed to join openly, and as a matter of course, in the carousals, and stand shoulder to shoulder in the bar and drink with seasoned topers. in the evening, when half drunk, they patrol the streets or stand together at some congested corner. they are not amenable to the influence of the police; they are locked up, and the cry "the hooligans! the hooligans!" is heard in the land; and there is a demand for more punishment, instead of a feeling of shame at the conditions that produce such young people and at the temptations that prevail amongst them. can it be right--is it decent or wise?--that boys and girls of sixteen should be allowed free access to public-houses, with free liberty to drink at will? what can be expected but ribaldry, indecency, disorder, and violence? a wise government would protect these young people against temptation and against themselves. no improvement in the morals and conduct of the young is possible until this question is tackled, and there ought to be no difficulty about tackling it. let the home secretary bring in a bill, and pass it, making it illegal for boys and girls under twenty to drink on licensed premises, and he will do more good for public order than if he committed the whole of the young gentry for trial. but i would put in also a plea for their parents. it is evident that we must have public-houses; it is also certain that the public have a taste for, and demand, malt liquors and other alcoholic drinks. now, the state reaps many millions of its revenue from this demand. it is therefore the duty of the state to see that these drinks are as harmless as possible. let the state, then, insist upon the absolute purity of malt liquors, and also upon a reduction in their alcoholic strength; for, after all, this is the cause of the mischief. in this direction lies the true path of temperance reform. supposing the alcoholic strength of malt liquors--really malt liquors--was fixed by imperial statute at ½ per cent. by volume, who would be a penny the worse? the brewer and the publican would get their profits, the exchequer would get its pound of flesh, the englishman would get his beer--his "glorious beer!" no vested interests would be attacked, and no disorganization of trade would be caused; everybody concerned would be the better, for everybody would be the happier. it may be thought that i am getting wide of my subject, but even a superficial inquiry will soon lead anyone to the knowledge that the public-house is intimately connected with, and a direct cause of, what is termed "hooliganism." alcohol, not the house, is really the cause. to leave the house still popular, while largely taking away its dangerous element, would be a wise course; but this should be followed by a much higher duty on spirits and a law fixing the maximum of their alcoholic strength when offered for public sale. fifty per cent. under proof for spirits and an alcoholic strength of ½ per cent. for malt liquors would usher in the millennium. to sum up what i conceive to be the reforms necessary to the abatement and cure of hooliganism: . fair rents for the poor, and a fair chance of cleanliness and decency. . municipal playgrounds and organized competitive games. . extension of school-life till sixteen. . prohibition to young people of alcoholic drinks for consumption on the premises. . limitation by law of the alcoholic strength of malt liquor to ½ per cent. and of spirits to per cent. under proof, with higher duty. give us reforms on these lines, and there will be no "complaining in our streets." the poorest of the poor, though lacking riches, will know something of the wealth of the mind, for chivalry and manhood, gentleness and true womanhood, will be their characteristics. the rounded limbs and happy hearts of "glorious childhood" will be no longer a dream or a fiction. no longer will the bitter cry be raised of "too old" when the fortieth birthday has passed, for men will be in their full manhood at sixty. give us these reforms, and enable the poor to live in clean and sweet content, then their sons shall be strong in body and mind to fight our battles, to people our colonies, and to hand down to future ages a goodly heritage. but there is a content born of indifference, of apathy, of despair. there is the possibility that the wretched may become so perfect in their misery that a wish for better things and aspirations after a higher life may die a death from which there is no resurrection. from apathetic content may god deliver the poor! from such possibilities may wise laws protect them! "righteousness"--right doing--"exalteth a nation;" and a nation whose poor are content because they can live in cleanliness, decency, and virtue, where brave boyhood and sweet girlhood can bud, blossom, and mature, is a nation that will dwell long in the land, and among whom the doings of the hooligans will be no longer remembered. chapter x the heroism of the slums in our narrow streets, in our courts and alleys, where the air makes one sick and faint, where the houses are rotten and tottering, where humanity is crowded and congested, where the children graduate in the gutter--there the heights and depths of humanity can be sounded, for there the very extremes of human character stand in striking contrast. could the odorous canals that intersect our narrow streets speak, they would tell of many a dark deed, but, thank god! of many a brave deed also. numbers of "unfortunates," weary of life, in the darkness of night, and in the horror of a london fog, have sought oblivion in those thick and poisonous waters. men, too, weary from the heart-breaking and ceaseless search after employment, and widows broken with hard work, endless toil, and semi-starvation, have sought their doom where the water lies still and deep. the hero with the lavender suit. often in the fog the splash has been heard, but no sooner heard than cries of "let me die!" "help! help!" have also risen on the midnight air. one rough fellow of my acquaintance has saved six would-be suicides from the basin of one canal, and on each occasion he has appeared to give evidence in a police-court. five times he had given his evidence and quietly and quickly disappeared, but on the sixth occasion he waited about the court for an opportunity of speaking to the magistrate. this was at length given him, when he stated that he thought it about time someone paid him for the loss he sustained in saving these people from the canal. this was the sixth time he had attended a police-court to give evidence, and each time he had lost a day's pay. he did not mind that so very much, as it was but the loss of four shillings at intervals; but this time he had on a new suit, which cost him thirty shillings. he had thrown off his coat and vest before jumping into the water, and someone had stolen them; the dirty water had spoiled his trousers, which he had dried and put on for his worship to see. the magistrate inspected the garments. they had been originally of that cheap material that costers affect, and of a bright lavender colour. he had jumped into an unusually nasty piece of water. some tar and other chemicals had been moving on its surface, and his lavender clothes had received full benefit therefrom. the garments had been tight-fitting at the first, but now, after immersion and drying, they were ridiculously small. even the magistrate had to smile, but he ordered the brave fellow to receive five shillings for expenses and loss of day's work, and ten shillings compensation for damage to his clothing. he looked ruefully at his ruined clothes and at the fifteen shillings in his hand, and went out of the court. i went to speak to him. "look here, mr. holmes," he said, "fifteen shillings won't buy me a new lavender suit. the next blooming woman that jumps in the canal 'll have to stop there; i've had enough of this." i made up the cost of a suit by adding to his fifteen shillings, and he went away to get one. but i know perfectly well that, whether he had on a new lavender suit or an old corduroy, it would be all the same to him--into the canal, river, or any other water, he would go instinctively when he heard the heavy splash in the darkness or fog. an amusing rescue. an amusing episode occurred with regard to a would-be suicide in the early part of one winter. a strong, athletic fellow, who had been a teacher of swimming at one of the london public baths, but who had lost position, had become homeless, and was quite on the down-grade. half drunk, he found himself on the banks of the lea, where the water was deep and the tide strong. suddenly he called out, "i'll drown myself!" and into the water he went. the vagabond could not have drowned had he wished, for he was as much at home in the water as a rat. it was a moonlight night, and a party of men from hoxton had come for a walk and a drink. one was a little fellow, well known in the boxing-ring. he also could swim a little, but not much. he heard the cry and the splash, and saw the body of the man lying still on the water. in he went, swam to the body, and took hold of it. suddenly there was a great commotion, for the little man had received a violent blow in the face from the supposed suicide. a fight ensued, but the swimmer held a great advantage over the boxer. a boat arrived on the scene, and both were brought ashore exhausted. the swimmer recovered first, and was for making off, but was detained by the friends of the boxer, who, being recovered, walked promptly up to the big man and proposed a fight to the finish. this was accepted, but the little man was now in his element, and the big man soon had reason to know it. after a severe handling, he was given into custody for attempted suicide and assault, and appeared next day in the police-court, with cuts and bruises all over his face. the charge of attempted suicide was dismissed, but the magistrate fined him twenty shillings for assault. "look at my face." "yes," said the magistrate; "you deserve all that, and a month beside." i give these examples of manly pluck to show that, in spite of all the demoralizing influence of slum life, and in spite of all the decay of manhood that must ensue from the terrible conditions that prevail, physical courage still exists among those born and bred in the slums, under the worst conditions of london life. more slum heroes. but higher kinds of courage are also manifested. who can excel the people of our slums in true heroism? none! if i want to find someone that satisfies my ideal of what a hero should be, down into the inferno of the slums i go to seek him or her. it is no difficult search; they are to hand, and i know where to light on them. the faces of my heroes may be old and wrinkled, their arms may be skinny, and their bodies enfeebled; they may be racked with perpetual pain, and live in dire but reticent poverty; they may be working endless hours for three halfpence per hour, or lie waiting and hoping for death; they may be male or they may be female, for heroes are of no sex; but for examples of high moral courage--a courage that bids them suffer and be strong--come with me to the slums of london and see. and how splendidly some of our poor widows' boys rise to their duties! what pluck, endurance, and enterprise they exhibit! hundreds of such boys, winter and summer alike, rise about half-past four, are at the local dairy at five; they help to push milk-barrows till eight; and with a piece of bread and margarine off they go to school. after school-hours they are at the dairy again, washing the churns and milk-cans. sharp-witted lads, too. they know how to watch their milk on a dark morning, and how to give evidence, too, when a thief is brought up. for supreme confidence in himself and an utter lack of self-consciousness or nervousness, commend me to these boys. they fear neither police nor magistrate. they are as fearless as they are natural; for adversity and hard work give them some compensation. but their dangers and temptations are many. so i love to think of the lads who have stood the test and have not yielded. i love to think of the gladness of the widow's heart and her pride in the growing manliness of her boy--"so like his father." i was visiting in the heart of alsatia, and sat beside the bed of a dying youth whose twenty-first birthday had not arrived--which never did arrive. it was but a poor room, not over-clean. from the next room came the sound of a sewing-machine driven furiously, for a widow by its aid was seeking the salvation of herself and children. she was the landlady, and "let off" the upper part of the house. the dying youth was not her son; he belonged to the people upstairs. but the people upstairs were not of much account, for they spent their time largely away from home, and had scant care for their dying son; so the widow had brought his pallet-bed into the little room on the ground-floor wherein i sat, "that i might have an eye on him." there must have been some sterling qualities in the woman, though she was not much to look upon, was poorly clad, and wore a coarse apron over the front of her dress. her hands were marked with toil and discoloured by leather, for she machined the uppers of women's and children's boots, and the smell of the leather was upon her; but she had a big heart, and though every time "she had an eye on him" meant ceasing her work and prolonging her labour, she could not keep away from him for long periods. but, my! how she did make that machine fly when she got back to it! blessings on her motherly heart! there was no furniture in the room saving the little box and the chair i occupied. the ceiling was frightfully discoloured, and the walls had not been cleaned for many a day. but a number of oil-paintings without frames were tacked on the walls, and these attracted my attention. some were very crude, and others seemed to me to be good, so i examined them. they bore no name, but evidently they had been done by the same hand. each picture bore a date, and by comparing them i could mark the progress of the artist. as i stood looking at them, forgetful of the dying youth below me, i said, half to myself: "i wonder who painted these." an unexpected and weak reply came from the bed: "the landlady's son." my interest was increased. "how old is he?" "about twenty." "what does he do?" "he works at a boot factory"; adding painfully: "he went back to work after having his dinner just before you came in." "why," i said, after again examining the dates on the pictures, "he has been painting pictures for six years." "yes. he goes to a school of art now after he has done his work." the youth began to cough, so i raised him up a little; but the landlady had heard him, and almost forestalled me. this gave me the opportunity i wanted, for when the youth was easier, i said to her: "you have an artist son, i see," pointing to the pictures. "yes," she said; "his father did a bit." "how long has he been dead?" "over seven years. i was left with four of them. my eldest is the painter." "what was your husband?" "a shoemaker." "how long have you lived here?" "ever since i was married; i have kept the house on since his death." "any other of your children paint?" "the youngest boy does a bit, but he is only thirteen." "have you any framed pictures?" "no; we cannot afford frames, but we shall, after a time, when he gets more money and the other boy goes out to work." "you are very good to this poor youth." "well, i'm a mother. i must be good to him. i wish that i could do more for him." i never saw the consumptive lad again, for he died from hæmorrhage the next day. some years afterwards i thought of the widow and her artist son, and being in the neighbourhood, i called at the house. she was still there, still making the machine fly. i inquired after her painter son. "oh, he is married, and has two children; he lives just opposite." "what is he doing now?" "he has some machines, and works at home; his wife is a machinist too. they have three girls working for them." "i will step across and see him." "but you won't find him in: he goes out painting every day when it is fine." "where has he gone to-day?" "somewhere up the river." "how can he do machining if he goes out painting every day?" "he begins to work at five o'clock and goes on till nine o'clock, then cleans himself and goes off; he works again at night for four or five hours. his wife and the girls work in the daytime. his wife is a rare help to him; they are doing all right." "i suppose he has some framed pictures now?" "yes, lots of them; but you come in and look at the room the poor lad died in." i went in, and truly there had been a transformation. the ceiling was spotless, the walls were nicely coloured, the room was simply but nicely furnished, and there were some unframed pictures on the wall, but not those i had previously seen. "my youngest son has this room now; those pictures are his." "what does he work at?" "boots." "does he go to a school of art?" "every night it is open." i bade the worthy woman good-day, telling her how i admired the pluck, perseverance, and talent of her boys, also adding that i felt sure that she had a great deal to do with it and their success. "well," she said, "i have done my best for them, but they have been good lads." done her best for them, and a splendid best it was! who else could have done so much for them? not all the rich patrons the world could furnish combined could have done one-half for them that the brave, kindly, simple boot-machining mother had done for them. she was better than a hero; she was a true mother. she did her best! but her sons were heroes indeed; they were made of the right material. birth had done something for them, although their parents were poor, and one departed early, leaving them to the mother, themselves, the slums, and the world. when i can see growing youths, surrounded by sordid misery and rampant vice, working on in poverty, withstanding every temptation to self-indulgence, framing no pictures till they can pay for them, whose artistic souls do not lead them to despise honest labour, whose poetic temperaments do not lead them to idleness and debt, when they are not ashamed of their boot-machining mother, i recognize them as heroes, and i don't care a rap whether they become great artists or not. they are men, and brave men, too. i can imagine someone saying: "he ought not to have married; he should have studied in paris. probably the world has lost a great artist." perhaps it has, but it kept the man, and we have not too many of that stamp. perhaps, after all, he did the right thing, for he got a good helpmate, and one who helped him to paint. genius is not so rare in the slums as superior people suppose, for one of our great artists, but lately dead, whose work all civilized countries delight to honour, played in a gutter of the near neighbourhood where the widow machinist lived, and climbed a lamp-post that he might get a furtive look into a school of art; and he, too, married a poor woman. a "foster-mother." and what wonderful women many of our london girls are! i often think of them as i have seen them in our slums, sometimes a little bit untidy and not over-clean; but what splendid qualities they have! they know their way about, nor are they afraid of work. time and again i have seen them struggling under the weight of babies almost as big as themselves. i have watched them hand those babies to other girls whilst they had their game of hop-scotch; and when those babies have showed any sign of discontent, i have seen the deputy-mother take the child again into her arms, and press it to her breast, and soothe it with all the naturalness of a real mother. and when the mothers of those girls die, and a family of young children is left behind, what then? why, then they become real deputy-mothers, and splendidly rise to their position. brave little women! how my heart has gone out to them as i have seen them trying to discharge their onerous duties! i have seen a few years roll slowly by, and watched the deputy-mother arrive at budding womanhood, and then i have seen disaster again overtake her in the death of her father, leaving her in sole charge. such was the case with a poor girl that i knew well, though there was nothing of the slum-girl about hettie vizer. born in the slums, she was a natural lady, refined and delicate, with bright dark eyes. she was a lily, but, alas! a lily reared under the shade of the deadly upas-tree. when hettie was fifteen her mother, after a lingering illness, died of consumption, and hettie was left to "mother" five younger than herself. bravely she did it, for she became a real mother to the children, and a companion to her father. in hoxton the houses are but small and the rooms but tiny; the air cannot be considered invigorating; so hettie stood no chance from the first, and at a very early age she knew that the fell destroyer, consumption, had marked her for his prey. weak, and suffering undauntedly, she went on with her task until her father's dead body lay in their little home, and then she became both father and mother to the family. who can tell the story of her brave life? the six children kept together; several of them went out to work, and brought week by week their slender earnings to swell the meagre exchequer. who can tell the anxiety that came upon hettie in the expenditure of that money, while consumption increased its hold upon her? thank god the home workers' aid association was able, in some degree, to cheer and sustain her. several times she went to the home by the sea, where the breath of god gave her some little renewal of life. but the sorrowful day was only deferred; it could not be prevented. at length she took to her bed, and household duties claimed her no more. a few days before her death i sat by her bedside, and i found that the king of terrors had no terror for her. she was calm and fearless. to her brothers and sisters she talked about her approaching end, and made some suggestions for her funeral, and then, almost within sound of the christmas bells, only twenty-one years of age, she passed "that bourne whence no traveller returns," and her heroic soul entered into its well-earned rest. and the five are left alone. nay, not alone, for surely she will be with them still, and that to bless them. if not, her memory will be sanctified to them, and the sorrows and struggles they have endured together will not be without their compensations. "from every tear that sorrowing mortals shed o'er such young graves, some good is born, some gentler nature comes, and the destroyer's path becomes a way of life to heaven." it was my privilege to know her, and in my gallery of heroes she has a foremost place. strong men may do and dare and die. firemen, colliers, lifeboatmen, may risk their lives to save others; martyrs may face the flames, and prophets may undergo persecutions. their deeds live, and their stories thrill us. but hettie vizer stands on a higher plane still: a slum-girl, but a lady; a foster-mother, with a mother's love; a child enduring poverty, hard work, bereavements, and burning consumption. but, rising triumphantly over them all, she listened to the bells of god as they rang her into that place where sorrows and sighing are no more. and now her younger sister has succeeded her, for the home is still kept together, and every week their little budget is considered, as it was "when hettie was alive." i have elsewhere spoken of the patient courage shown by weak and elderly women, but i must again refer to it, for in my judgment there is no sphere of life wherein greater courage is exhibited. for it must be borne in mind that they are not sustained by hope. it may be said that there is a good deal of fatalism connected with their courage and endurance, and doubtless this is true; but no one can deny their courage, endurance, and magnificent self-reliance. i have in my mind as i write some hundreds of women engaged in london home industries whose lives and struggles are known to me and who compel my veneration, so when courage is spoken of i like to think of them; for though the circumstances under which they live and the wrong they suffer bring a terrible indictment against us, no one can, no one shall, deny their possession of great courage, poor, weak, and elderly though they be. ay, it takes some courage to face day after day their life. i do not think that i am short of pluck, but i am quite certain that i should want to lie down and die were i submitted to lives such as theirs. men with animal courage could not endure it, and i freely grant that even patient women ought not to endure it: perhaps, for the sake of future generations, it might be best for them to die rather than endure it. but when i see them and know their circumstances, see their persistent endurance and their indomitable perseverance, i marvel! and in spite of the oppression they suffer i know that these women are exhibiting qualities that the world sadly needs, and are showing a type of heroism for which the world is bound to be ultimately the better. poor brave old women! how i respect you! i venerate you! for the only hope that touches your heart is the hope that you may keep out of the workhouse, and be buried without parochial aid. poor brave old women! i never enter one of your rooms without at once realizing your brave struggle for existence. i never see you sitting at your everlasting machines without realizing your endless toil, and i never see your industrial life assurance premium-book lying ready for the collector without realizing that the two pennies that are ready also are sorely needed for your food. poor brave old souls! how many times when your tea-canister has been quite empty, and . in the afternoon has come, and the collector has not yet called, have you been tempted to spend those pennies and provide yourself with a cup of tea? how many times have you picked up the pennies? how many times have you put them down again? for your horror of a parish funeral was too strong even for your love for a cup of tea! brave old women! is there a stronger, more tragical, temptation than yours? i know of none. esau sold his birthright for a tasty morsel, well fed as he was; but you will not surrender your "death right"--nay, not for a cup of tea, for you are made of better stuff than esau. so you go without your tea; but your burial money is not imperilled. yes, it takes some moral courage to resist such a temptation; but there is no glamour about it: the world knows not of it; nevertheless, it is an act of stern self-repression, an act of true heroism. shame upon us that it should be required! glory to us that it is forthcoming! what a life of heroism a poor woman has lived for that ten, twenty, or forty years, who, in spite of semi-starvation, has resisted the temptation to spend her burial money! those few pounds so hardly saved are as fragrant as the box of costly ointment poured upon the master's feet, and convey the same sentiment, too, for their brave old souls respect their poor old bodies, and against their day of burial they do it! it may be a mean ambition, but of that i am by no means sure; still, it is better than none, for poor, desolate, and godforsaken must the old woman be who does not cherish it. poorer still will the old women be, and more desolate their hearts, when this one ambition disappears, and they are heedless, apathetic, and unconcerned as to how and where their poor old bodies are buried. so the heroism of the slums is of the passive more than the active kind, of the "to be and to suffer" sort rather than of the "to do and dare." and it must needs be so, for opportunities of developing and exhibiting the courage that needs promptitude, dash, and daring have very largely been denied the people who live in our narrow streets. but their whole lives, circumstances, and environments have been such that patience under suffering, fortitude in poverty, and perseverance to the end could not fail to be developed. in these qualities, despite all their vices and coarseness, poor people, and especially poor women, set a splendid example to the more favoured portions of the community. chapter xi a pennyworth of coal it was winter-time, and the cold damp fog had fallen like a heavy cloud on east london. the pavements were grimy and greasy; travelling, either on foot or by conveyance, was slow and dangerous. the voices of children were not heard in the streets, but ever and again the hoarse voice of some bewildered driver was heard asking his way, or expostulating with his horse. occasionally a tell-tale cough came from some foot-passenger of whose proximity i had been unaware, but who, like myself, was slowly groping his way to a desired haven. i found my objective at last, and i entered a queer room possessing two doors--one the ordinary street door; the other, of which the upper part was glass, opened into an outhouse at a right angle with the house door. this annexe had once been a greengrocer's shop, and fronted a side-street; now it was used as a coal and coke depot, and to it resorted the poor for their winter's supply of coal and coke. the proprietor was ill, had been ailing for years, and now the shadows of eternity hovered around him. it was afternoon, and he was resting. i sat talking with his wife, an elderly woman, who sat at a machine making a new pair of knickers out of an old garment for a neighbour who had many children, the while a girl waited to have a new frock made out of an old dress that had been purchased probably at a street causeway auction, when, "a penn'orth of coal, please, mrs. jenkins!" the voice came from the coal depot. mrs. jenkins got up from her machine. "john, can you come down and attend to the shop?" i heard a step on the bedroom floor above me, and presently john, weak and gasping, descended the stairs, passed through the little room and through the glass door, and served the pennyworth of coal; came back, and, delivering the penny to his wife, gasped his way upstairs again. "how much coal do you give for a penny?" i asked mrs. jenkins. "six pounds." "why, that is above one shilling and sixpence halfpenny per hundredweight--nearly thirty-two shillings per ton," i said. "yes, sir, it is dear buying it by penn'orths, but i can't sell it any cheaper." "how much do you give for a ton?" i asked, for i had not then been in the coal depot, or i need not have asked. "oh, sir, we never get a ton; i buy it by the hundredweight from the trolly-man, and give one and fourpence the hundredweight." "do you get full weight from the trolly-man?" "well, we don't get anything over; but the london county council has looked after them so sharply that they dare not give us short weight now." "but there is some dirt and slack in every sack you buy." "yes, but i burn that myself with a bit of coke." she then continued: "i wish the poor people would always buy fourteen pounds." "why?" "well, it would be better for them, you see; we only charge them twopence farthing for fourteen pounds, so it comes cheaper to them." "yes," i said, "they would save one halfpenny when they had bought eight lots of coal." "yes, sir. i make just twopence on a hundredweight when they buy it like that." "no," i said, "you don't, for you cannot make eight complete lots out of one sack." "fourteen pounds of coal, please, mrs. jenkins!" again a voice came from the depot. "john! john!" again john came wearily downstairs to weigh the coal. he returned with twopence halfpenny, which he handed to his wife, and said: "a farthing change." mrs. jenkins searched her small pile of coppers, but failed to find a farthing. "is it mrs. brown?" she asked her husband. "yes," was the reply. "oh, then give her the halfpenny back, and tell her to owe me the farthing." john went into the shop, taking the halfpenny with him, and i heard a discussion going on, after which john returned with the coin, and said: "she won't take it." but mrs. brown followed him into the room with her fourteen pounds of coal in a small basket. "no, mrs. jenkins, i can't take it; i owe you two farthings now. if you keep the ha'penny i shall only owe you one, and i'll try and pay that off next time." "never mind what you owe me, mrs. brown; you take the ha'penny. you have little children, and have no husband to work for you like i have," was mrs. jenkins's reply. but mrs. brown was not to be put down, so after a protracted discussion the halfpenny remained in the possession of mrs. jenkins, and poor feeble john retired to rest. i sat wondering at it all, quite lost in thought. presently mrs. jenkins said: "i wish mrs. brown had taken that ha'penny." "why?" i said. "well, you see, she has little children who have no father, and they are so badly off." "but you are badly off, too. your husband is ill, and ought to be in the hospital; he is not fit to be about." "i rest him all i can, but this afternoon i have these knickers and frock to make; that work pays better than coal when i can get it." "how much rent do you pay?" "fifteen shillings and sixpence a week, but i let off seven and sixpence, so my rent comes to eight shillings." "but you lose your tenant sometimes, and the rooms are empty?" "yes." "and sometimes you get a tenant that does not pay up?" "yes." "and sometimes you allow poor women to have coal on credit, and you lose in that way?" "yes," she said, and added slowly: "i wish i could have all that is owing to me." "show me some of your debts." we went into the coal depot. "i have had to stop that woman," she said, pointing to a name and a lot of figures chalked up on a board. she owes me one and elevenpence farthing." i reckoned up the account. "quite correct," i said. "she had sixteen lots of coal for one and elevenpence farthing; she can't pay me at all now, she is so far behind. i ought to have stopped her before, but i did not like to be hard on her." several other "chalked up" accounts confronted me--one for sixpence, another for ninepence--but that one and elevenpence farthing was the heaviest account. it was too pitiful; i could inquire no further. the difficulty of obtaining even minute quantities of coal constitutes one of the great anxieties of the very poor, and exposes them to unimaginable suffering and hardship. to poor old women with chilly bones and thin blood, who especially need the glow and warmth of a substantial fire, the lack of coal constitutes almost, and in many cases quite, tragedy. the poorest class of home-workers, who require warmth if their fingers are to be nimble and their boxes or bags are to be dried, must have some sort of a fire, even if it be obtained at the expense of food. small wonder, then, that their windows are seldom opened, for the heat of the room must not be dissipated; they must be thrifty in that respect. during the winter, generally in january, i set out on a tour of discovery, my object being to find out old widows who manage to keep themselves without parish relief, and get their little living by making common articles for everyday use. formerly i experienced great difficulty in finding the brave old things; i have no difficulty now, for at a day's notice i can assemble five hundred self-supporting widows to whom a single hundredweight of coal would loom so large that it would appear a veritable coal-mine. so i ask my readers to accompany me on one of these expeditions--in imagination, of course. come, then, through this side-door, for it stands open, though not invitingly so, for the stairs are uncarpeted and dirty and the walls are crumbling and foul. we pass the room on the ground-floor, and observe that it is half workshop and half retail-shop, for old furniture is renovated and placed in the shop-window for sale. up one flight of unwashed stairs and past another workshop--this time a printer's. up again! the stairs are still narrow, and the walls are still crumbling, the stairs still unwashed. we pass another workshop, mount more stairs, and then we come to a small landing and some narrow, very narrow, stairs that are scrupulously clean, though innocent of carpet or linoleum. we are now at the very top of the house and in semi-darkness, but we discover the door of the room we are looking for. on rapping, we are told to "come in." it is a small attic, just large enough to contain a bed, a table, and a small chest of drawers. she sat at the table underneath the dormer window, and was busy at work making paper bags: a widow alone in the world, seventy-eight years of age, who had never received one penny from the parish in her life. take notice of the little bedroom grate. it is a very small one, but you notice it is made much smaller by two pieces of brick being placed in it, one on each side, and between them a very small fire is burning, or trying to burn. she tells us that she gets fivepence per thousand for her paper bags, and that she buys her own paste; that she works for her landlord, who stops her rent every week out of her earnings. she buys her coal by the quarter of a hundredweight, which costs her fivepence; she does not buy pennyworths. sometimes the men below give her bits of wood, and the printer lets her have scraps of cardboard. she can't do with less than two quarters in the week, it is so cold, but she manages with a bit less in the summer-time. so the brave old woman gabbles on, telling us all we want to know. i produce some warm clothing, and her old eyes glisten; i give her a whole pound of tea in a nice canister, and i think i see tears; but i take her old skinny hand, all covered with paste, and say: "you must buy a whole hundredweight of good coal with that, or give it back to me; you must not use it for anything else." ah, this was indeed too much for her, and she burst out hysterically: "oh, don't mock me--a hundredweight of coal! i'll soon have those bricks out." come with me into another street. we have no stairs to climb this time, for the house consists of but two stories, and contains but four small rooms. we enter the front room on the ground-floor, and find three old women at work. there being no room or accommodation for us to sit, we stand just inside and watch them as they work. two are widows bordering on seventy years of age; the other is a spinster of like years. one sits at a machine sewing trousers, of which there is a pile waiting near her. as soon as she has completed her portion of work she passes the trousers on to the other widow, who finishes them--that is, she puts on the buttons, sewing the hem round the bottom of the trousers, and does all the little jobs that must needs be done by hand. when her part of the work is completed, she passes the trousers on to the spinster, who has the heaviest part of the task, for she is the "presser," and manipulates the hot and heavy iron that plays such an important part in the work. each of them occupies one of the four rooms in the house, but for working purposes they collaborate and use the widow machinist's room; for collaboration increases their earnings and lessens their expenses, for the one room is also used for the preparation and consumption of food. one kettle, one teapot, and one frying-pan do for the three. old and weak as they are, they understand the value of co-operation and the advantages to be obtained by dividing labour. but they understand something else much better, for "one fire does for the three," and the fire that heats the iron warms the room for three, and boils the kettle for three. talk about thrift! was there ever seen that which could eclipse these three old women in the art and virtue of saving? thrift and economy! why, the three poor old souls fairly revelled in it. they could give points to any of the professional teachers of thrift who know so much about the extravagance of the poor. one gaslight served for the three, and when a shilling was required to gently induce the automatic gas-meter to supply them with another too brief supply of light, the shilling came from common funds; and when the long day's work was done, and the old widow machinist prepared to lie down in the little bed that had been erstwhile covered with trousers, the other widow and aged spinster went aloft to their little rooms to light their little lamps and to count themselves happy if they possessed a bit of wood and a few crumbs of coal wherewith to make the morning fire. if not so fortunate, then, late and cold though the night be, they must sally forth to the nearest general shop, and with a few hardly-earned coppers lay in a fresh stock, and return laden with one pint of paraffin oil, one halfpennyworth of firewood, one pennyworth of coal, and most likely with one pennyworth of tea-dust. and in such course their lives will run till eyesight fails or exhausted nature gives way, and then the workhouse waits. it is the old widow machinist that talks to us, but she keeps on working. her machine whirrs and creaks and rattles, for it is an old one, and its vital parts are none too good; and the old woman speaks to it sometimes as if it were a sentient thing, and reproves it when a difficulty arises. in her conversation with us frequent interjections are interposed that sometimes appeared uncomplimentary to us: "now, stupid!" "ah! there you are at it again!" but when she explained that she was referring to her machine and not to us, we forgave her. "i have had this machine for twenty-one years, and it has been a good one. i bought it out of my husband's club and insurance money." "how much did you have altogether?" "twenty pounds, and i paid for his funeral and bought my mourning and this machine, and it's been a friend to me ever since, so i can't help talking to it; but it wants a new shuttle." "how much will that cost?" "five shillings!" "let me buy one for you." "i don't want to part with the old one yet. it will perhaps last my time, for i want a new shuttle, too. we are both nearly worn out;" and the machinist kept on with her work, and the other widow with her finishing, and the aged spinster with her pressing. oh, brave old women! we are lost in wonder and veneration. utilitarians and the apostles of thrift tell us that the poor are demoralized by "charity," and of a surety indiscriminate giving without knowledge and personal service is often ill bestowed. but in the presence of three old women possessed of heroic souls, living as they lived, working as they worked, who cares for utilitarianism or political economy either? a fig for the pair of them! "but," say our teachers, "you are in reality subsidizing their employers, who exploit them and pay them insufficiently." another self-appointed teacher says: "ah! but you are only helping them to pay exorbitant rents; the landlord will profit." who cares? others, in very comfortable circumstances, who themselves are by no means averse to receiving gifts, say: "don't destroy the independence of the poor." wisdom, prudence, political economy, go, hang yourselves! we cry. our love is appealed to, our hearts are touched, our veneration is kindled, and we must needs do something, though the landlord may profit, though the employer may be subsidized--nay, though we run the terrible risk of tarnishing the glorious privilege and record of these independent old women--a record nearly completed. help them we must, and we bid defiance to consequences. so we find the "trolly-man," and three separate bags of good coal are borne into three separate rooms. a whole hundredweight for each woman! where could they put it all? what an orgie of fire they would have! would the methodical thrift of the old women give way in the face of such a temptation? we don't care: we have become hardened; and we even promise ourselves that other bags of coal shall follow. then we examine their tea-caddies, and throw this tea-dust on the fire--a fitting death for it, too--and further demoralize the ancient three with the gift of a pound of good tea, each in a nice cannister, too. a hundredweight of coal and a pound of tea! why, the teapot will be always in use till the pound is gone. the poor drink too much tea. perhaps so; but what are the poor to drink? they have neither time, inclination, nor money for the public-house. coffee is dear if it is to be good. cocoa is thick and sickly. water! their water!--ugh! at present poor old women have the choice of tea or nothing. then leave them, we beseech you, their teapot, but let us see to it that they have some decent tea. so, with five shillings in silver for each of them, we leave the dauntless three to their fire, their teapots, and wonder, and go into the streets with the feeling that something is wrong somewhere, but what it is and how to right it we know not. i could, were it necessary, multiply experiences similar to the above, but they would only serve to prove, what i have already made apparent, that the worries and sufferings of the very poor are greatly aggravated by their inability to procure a reasonable supply of coal. slate-clubs, men's meetings, and brotherhoods have of late years done much to secure artisans and working men who are earning decent wages a supply of good coal all the year round. weekly payments of one shilling and upwards enable them to lay in a store when coal is cheap--if it is ever cheap--or to have an arrangement with the coal merchant for the delivery of a specified amount every week. people possessed of commodious coal-cellars may buy largely when coal prices are at their lowest; but the poor--the very poor--can neither buy nor store, for they have neither storehouses nor barns. even if they could, by the exercise of great self-denial, manage to pay a sum of sixpence per week into a local coal-club, they have nowhere to put the supply when sent home to them. they must needs buy in very small quantities only. the advantages of co-operation are not for them, but are reserved for those that are better off. one scriptural injunction, at any rate, the community holds with grim tenacity: "to him that hath it shall be given." yet i have seen attempts at co-operation among the poorest, for one christmas-time, when the weather was terribly severe, and when, as becomes a christian country, the one great necessity of life among the poor was put up to a fabulous price, i knew four families living in one house to contribute threepence per family wherewith to purchase fifty-six pounds of coal that they might have extra fire at that happy season. some of the very poor buy pennyworths of coke to mix with their coal, but though coke seems cheaper, it only flatters to deceive, for it demands greater draught, and it must be consumed in larger quantities. if for economy's sake a good draught and a generous supply be denied, it sullenly refuses to burn at all, and gives off fumes that might almost challenge those of a motor-car. the lives of many young children have been sacrificed by attempts to burn coke in small rooms where the draught necessary for good combustion has not existed. certainly coke is no friend to the very poor. there are still meaner purchases of firing material than pennyworths of coal or pennyworths of coke, for halfpennyworths of cinders are by no means uncommon. a widow of my acquaintance who had several young children startled me one day when i was in her room by calling out, "johnny, take the bucket and run for a ha'porth of cinders and a farthing bundle of wood." the farthing bundle of firewood i knew of old--and a fraudulent fellow i knew him to be, made up especially for widows and the unthrifty poor--but the halfpennyworth of cinders was a new item to me. i felt interested, and decided to remain till johnny returned. he was not long away, for it was the dinner-hour, and the boy had to get back to school. he was but a little fellow, and by no means strong, yet he carried the bucket of cinders and firewood easily enough. when the boy had gone to school the widow turned to me as if apologizing for wasting three farthings. "i must have some fire for the children when they come in." "aren't you going to make the fire up for yourself? it will soon be out, and it is very cold to-day." "no; i am going to work hard, and the time soon goes. i shall light it again at half-past four," said the unthrifty widow. meanwhile i had inspected the cinders, which i found to be more than half dirt, fit only for a dust-destructor, but certainly not fit to burn in a living-room. "do you buy cinders by weight or measure?" "i think he measures them." "how much have you got here?" "two quarts." "do you see that quite half is dirt?" "they are dirty. i expect he has nearly sold out. when he has a fresh lot we get better cinders, for the small and the dirt get left till the last." "i suppose he will not have a fresh supply in till he has cleared the last?" "no; he likes to sell out first. one day when i complained about them he said: 'ah! they are pretty bad. never mind! the more you buy, the sooner they'll be gone; then we'll have a better lot.'" "how many fires will your cinders make?" "two, if i put a bit of coal with them." "do you ever buy a hundredweight of coal?" "not since my husband died. i try to buy a quarter twice a week." "how much do you give for a quarter?" "five-pence." "how many fires can you light with your farthing bundle of wood?" "two, if i don't use some of it to make the kettle boil." "how much rent do you pay?" "five shillings for two rooms." poor widow! because ye have not, even the little that ye have is of a truth taken from you. chapter xii old boots and shoes one hundred pairs of old boots and shoes that have been cast off by the very poor present a deplorable sight--a sight that sets one thinking. many times i have regretted that i did not call in a photographer before they were hurried off to the local dust-destructor. what a tale they told! or rather what a series of tragedies they revealed! there was a deeply pathetic look about every pair: they looked so woefully, so reproachfully, at me as i contemplated them. they seemed to voice not only their own sufferings, but also the wrongs and privations of the hundred poor widows who had discarded them; for these widows, poor as they were, had cast them off. the boots and shoes seemed to know all about it, and to resent the slight inflicted on them; henceforth even the shambling feet of poor old women were to know them no more. they had not a coy look among them; not an atom of sauciness or independence could i discover; but, crushed and battered, meek and humiliated, they lay side by side, knowing their days were over, and pitifully asking for prompt dissolution. what a mixed lot they were! no two pairs alike. some of the couples were not pairs, for a freak of fortune had united odd boots in the bond of sufferings and the gall of poverty. many of them had come down in life; they had seen better days. well-dressed women had at some time stepped daintily in them, but that was when the sheen of newness was upon them and the days of their youth were not ended. in those days the poor old boots were familiar with parks, squares, and gardens, and well-kept streets of the west; but latterly they have only been too familiar with the slums and the grime of the east. how i wished they could speak and tell of the past! how came it about that, after such a splendid beginning, they had come to such a deplorable end? had the west end lady died? had her wardrobe been sold to a dealer? what had been the intermediate life of the boots before they were placed, patched and cobbled, in the dirty window of a fusty little second-hand shop in hoxton? i know the widow that bought them and something of her life; i can appreciate the effort she made to get possession of them. she paid two shillings and sixpence for them, but not all at once--oh dear, no! week by week she carried threepence to the man who kept the fusty little shop. he cheerfully received her payments on account, meanwhile, of course, retaining possession of the coveted boots. it took her four months to pay for them, for her payments had not been quite regular. what would have become of the payments made if the widow had died before the completion of purchase, i need not say, but i am quite sure the boots would have speedily reappeared in the shop window. but, after all, i am not sure that the old cobbler was any worse in his dealings with the poor than more respectable people are; for pawnbroking, money-lending, life assurance, and furniture on the hire system among the poor are founded on exactly the same principles. how much property has been lost, how many policies have been forfeited, because poor people have been unable to keep up their payments, we do not know; if we did, i am quite sure that it would prove a revelation. in this respect the thriftiness of the poor is other people's gain. it was a triumph of pluck and grit, for at the end of four long months the widow received her cobbled boots. her half-crown had been completed. "i had them two years; they lasted me well--ever so much better than a cheap new pair," the widow told me; nevertheless, she was glad to leave them behind and go home with her feet shod resplendently in a new pair of seven-and-elevenpenny. she might venture to lift the front of her old dress now as she crossed the street, and i am sure that she did not forget to do it, for she was still a woman, in spite of all, and had some of that quality left severe people call vanity, but which i like to think of as self-respect. "how is it," i was asked by a critical lady, "that your poor women let their dresses drag on the pavement and crossings? i never see any of them lift their dresses behind or in front. they must get very dirty and insanitary." "my dear madam," i replied, "they dare not, for neither their insteps nor their heels are presentable; but give them some new boots, and they will lift their dresses often enough and high enough." there was another pair, too, that had come down, and they invited speculative thought. they were not born in the slums or fitted for the slums, but they came into a poor widow's possession nevertheless. they had not been patched or cobbled, and just enough of their former glory remained to allow of judgment being passed upon them. they had been purchased at a "jumble sale" for threepence, and were dear at the price. the feet that had originally worn them had doubtless trodden upon carpet, and rested luxuriantly upon expensive hearthrugs. they were shoes, if you please, with three straps across the insteps, high, fashionable heels, buckles and bows in front. but their high heels had disappeared, the buckles had long since departed, the instep straps were broken and dilapidated, the pointed toes were open, and the heels were worn down. when completely worn out and unmendable, some lady had sent them to a local clergyman for the benefit of the poor. i gazed on them, and then quite understood, not for the first time, that there is a kind of charity that demoralizes the poor, but it is a charity that is not once blessed. here was an old pair of "plimsolls," whose rubber soles had long ago departed; there a pair of shoes that had done duty at the seaside, whose tops had originally been brown canvas, and whose soles had been presumably leather; here a pair of "lace-ups"; there a pair of "buttons"--but the lace-holes were all broken, and buttons were not to be seen. but whatever their style and make had been, and whoever might have been their original wearers, they had now one common characteristic--that of utter and complete uselessness. i ought to have been disgusted with the old rubbish, but somehow the old things appealed to me, though they seemed to reproach me, and lay their social death to my charge and their present neglect to my interference. but gladness was mixed with pathos, for i knew that a hundred widows had gone to their homes decently booted on a dismal christmas eve. but now, leaving the old boots to the fate that awaited them, i will tell of the women who had so recently possessed them. it had long been a marvel to me how the very poor obtained boots of any sort and kind. i had learned so much of their lives and of their ways and means that i realized boots and shoes for elderly widows or young widows with children must be a serious matter. accordingly, at this particular christmas i issued, on behalf of the home workers' aid association, invitations to one hundred widows to my house, where each widow was to receive a new pair of boots and christmas fare. they came, all of them, and as we kept open house all day, i had plenty of time to converse with them individually. i learned something that day, so i want to place faithfully before my readers some of the things that happened and some of the stories that were told. one of the first to arrive was an elderly widow, accompanied by her epileptic daughter, aged thirty. i looked askance at the daughter, and said to the widow: "i did not invite your daughter." "no, sir; but i thought you would not mind her coming." "but i do mind, for if every widow brings a grown-up daughter to-day i shall have two hundred women instead of one hundred." "i am very sorry, sir; but i could not come without her." they sat down to some food, and my wife looked up a few things for the daughter. "now for the boots," i said. "of course, we cannot give your daughter a pair." "no," said the widow; "we only want one pair." i knew what was coming, for i had taken stock of the daughter, who was much bigger than her mother. "what size do you take?" "please, sir, can my daughter try them on?" "no; the boots are for you." "oh yes, sir, they will be my boots, but please let my daughter try them on." it was too palpable, so i said: "your daughter has bigger feet than you have." "yes, sir." "and you want a pair that will fit either of you?" "yes, sir." "then when you go out you will wear them?" "oh yes, sir." "and when your daughter goes out, she will wear them--in fact, you want a pair between you?" "yes, sir," the reply came eagerly from both. "well, put your right feet forward." they did, and there was no doubt about it: mother and daughter both stood sadly in need, though they scarcely stood in boots; no doubt, either, as to the relative sizes. the daughter required "nines" and the mother "fives." i gave them a note to a local shopkeeper, where the daughter was duly fitted, so they went away happy, because they jointly possessed a new pair of "seven-and-elevenpenny's." but whether the widow ever wore them, i am more than doubtful. it is the self-denial of the very poor that touches me. it is so wonderful, so common, perhaps, that we do not notice it. it is so unobtrusive and so genuine. we never find poor widows jingling money-boxes in the streets and demanding public contributions because it is their "self-denial week." their self-denial lasts through life, but the public are not informed of it. i fancy that i should have had an impossible task if i had asked, or tried to persuade, the widow to go into the streets and solicit help because she had denied herself a pair of boots for the sake of her afflicted daughter. oh, it is very beautiful, but, alas! it is very sad. the poor couple worked at home in their one room when they had work to do and when the daughter's fits did not prevent. they made "ladies' belts," and starved at the occupation. another widow had four young children; her feet were partly encased in a flimsy pair of broken patent slippers. she, too, had her note to the shoemaker's. a deep snow fell during the night, and on the morning of boxing day it lay six inches deep. i thought of the widows and their sound boots, and felt comforted; but my complacency soon vanished. i was out early in the streets, warmly clad, spurning the snow--in fact, rather enjoying it--and thinking, as i have said, with some pleasure of the widows and their boots, when i met the widow who has four young children. she was for hurrying past me, but i stopped her and spoke. "a bitter morning, this." "yes, sir; is it not a deep snow?" "i am so glad you have sound boots. you had them just in time. your old slippers would not have been of much use a morning like this." "no, sir." "did you get what suited you?" "yes, sir." "fit you all right?" "yes, sir." "did you have buttons or lace-up?" "lace-up, sir." "that's right. lift up the front of your dress. i want to see whether the shopman has given you a good pair." she began to cry, and, to my astonishment, the old broken patent slippers were revealed, half buried in the snow. "don't be cross," she burst out. "i did not mean to deceive you. i got two pairs for the children: they wanted them worse than i do." i learned afterwards from the shopman that she added a shilling to the cost of a pair for herself, and the shopman, being kind-hearted, gave her another shilling, so she went home with her two pairs of strong boots for her boys. of course, i told her that she had done wrong--i even professed to be angry; but i think she saw through my pretence. what can be done for, or with, such women? how can anyone help them when they are so deceitful? however, i forgave her, and confirmed her in her wickedness by next day sending the shop assistant to her home with several pairs of women's boots that she might select a pair for herself. that kind of deceit has an attraction for me. "how long have you been a widow?" i asked one of the women. "twelve years, sir." "how long is it since you had a new pair of boots?" "not since my husband's funeral, sir." twelve long years since she felt the glow of satisfaction that comes from the feeling of being well shod; twelve years since she listened to the ringing sound of a firm heel in brisk contact with the pavement; twelve years she had gone with that muffled, almost noiseless sound so peculiar to poor women, telling as it does of old slippers or of boots worn to the uppers! what a pity, when so many shoemakers are seeking customers! there is a tremendous moral force in a new pair of boots that possess good firm heels. everybody that hears them knows instinctively what the sound means, and the neighbours say: "mrs. jones is getting on a bit: she is wearing a new pair of boots. didn't you hear them?" hear them! of course they had heard them, and had been jealous of them, too; but that kind of music is not heard every day among london's very poor, and for a time mrs. jones was on a higher plane than her neighbours; but by-and-by she comes back to them, for the heels wear away, and she has no others to put on whilst they are repaired, so gradually they slip down to the chronic condition of poor women's boots; then mrs. jones's ringing footsteps are heard no more. my shopman told me that he had been in a difficulty; he could not find a pair of boots large enough for one young widow. he searched his store, and found a pair--size eleven--that he had had by him for some years; but, alas! size eleven was not big enough. he offered to procure a last of sufficient proportion and make a pair of boots for her, kindly saying that he would not charge anything extra for size. i told him to get a proper last made for the young woman, who took "twelves." this he did, so now a poor blouse-maker, who keeps an aged and invalid mother, has her boots made to order, and built upon her own "special last." when i had made this arrangement, i was puzzled to know in what way she had previously obtained boots, so i asked him: "what boots was she wearing when she came to your shop?" he laughed, and said: "a very old pair of men's tennis-shoes--of large size, too." i had known her for many years, and had admired her cleanliness and neatness. i had known, too, how miserable her earnings were, and how many demands her aged mother made upon her. she was upright in carriage, and of good appearance; self-respecting, and eminently respectable, she carried her secret nobly, though the dual burden of size twelves and men's tennis-shoes must have been very trying. i told her of our arrangement about the last, but, of course, made no reference to the dimensions of her feet; but i often wonder how she felt when she put on her new boots. chapter xiii jonathan pinchbeck, the slum autolycus it was application time in a london police-court. all sorts of people, with all sorts of difficulties, had stepped, one after another, into the witness-box, and had put all sorts of questions to the patient magistrate. they had gone away more or less satisfied with the various answers the experience of the magistrate suggested, when, last of all, there stepped in front of him a quaint-looking elderly man. below the average size, with a body somewhat bent, grey hair, and a bristly white moustache, together with a complexion of almost terra-cotta hue, he was bound to attract attention. when looked at more closely, other characteristics could be noted: his lips were full and tremulous, his eyes were strained, and there was a look of pathetic expectancy over his face. he handed a paper to the magistrate, and said: "read that, your worship." his worship read it. it was an order from the relieving officer to the manager of the "stone-yard" for jonathan pinchbeck to be given two days' work. "jonathan pinchbeck! is that your name?" said the magistrate, looking at the quaint old man. "yes, that's me." "well, what do you want? why don't you go and do the work?" "well, your worship, it is like this: i have been to the stone-yard, and they have got no work to give me." "well," said the magistrate, "i am sure that i have no stones for you to break." "but i don't want you to give me work! i ask you for a summons against the vestry for four shillings," he said. "surely they are bound to find me work or give me the money. i am out of work, and my wife is ill." the magistrate told him that the matter could not be decided in a police-court, and that he had better go to the county court. very dejectedly the old man stepped down, and silently left the court. i followed him, and had some conversation with him. he was a dock-labourer, but had grown old, and could no longer "jostle," push, and fight for a job at the dock gates, for younger men with broader shoulders stepped up before him. he gave me his address, so in the afternoon of the same day i went to mandeville street, clapton park. the landlady told me that pinchbeck was not at home, but that he occupied with his wife one room "first-floor front," and that his wife was an invalid. i was about to leave when a husky voice from the first-floor front, the door of which was evidently open, called out: "is it a gentleman to see jonathan? tell him to come up." i went up. i shall not forget going up, for i found myself in the queerest place i had visited. i was in wonderland. the owner of the voice that called me up, mrs. pinchbeck, sat before me--huge, massive, and palpitating. she was twenty stone in weight, but ill and suffering. asthma, dropsy, and heart disease had nearly done their work. it was a stifling day in july, and she drew breath with difficulty. she sat on a very strongly-made wooden chair, and did not attempt to rise when i entered the room. the chair in which she was sitting was painted vermilion red, and studded with bright brass nails. every chair in the room--of which there were four--the strong kitchen table, the strong wooden fender, and the powerful bedstead, were all vermilion red, embellished with brass nails. one directing mind had constructed the lot. when my surprise was lessened, i sat down on a red chair beside the poor woman, and entered into conversation. her replies to my questions came with difficulty, but, despite her illness, i noticed that she was proud of her quaint husband, and especially proud of the furniture he had made for her, for the household goods were his workmanship. "he had only a saw, a hammer, and some sandpaper," she said, nodding at the furniture, "and he made the lot." they were well-built, and calculated to bear even mrs. pinchbeck. "vermilion red was his favourite colour," she said, "and he thought the bright yellow of the nails livened them up. they had been made a good many years, but he sometimes gave them a fresh coat of paint." pinchbeck and she had been married many years; they had no children. they lived by themselves, and he was a very good husband. but there were other wonders in the room beside the poor woman and the brilliant furniture, and they soon claimed attention. in front of me stood a monumental cross some feet in height, and made apparently of brown marble. the cross stood on three foundation steps of brown marble, and at intervals round the body of the cross were bands of yellow ribbon. she saw me looking at it. "that's all tobacco," she said; "it is made of cigar-ends." there was a descriptive paper attached to the cross. "jonathan collected the cigar-ends, and he made them into that monument, and he made the calculations in his head, and i wrote them down," she said, referring to the paper. "he walked more than ninety thousand miles to collect the cigar-ends," she said. i asked permission to read the descriptive paper attached, and after permission--for i saw the whole thing was sacred to the suffering woman--i detached it. i was lost in interest as i read the paper, which was well written, and contained some curious calculations. i found on inquiry that jonathan could neither read nor write, but he could, as she said, "calculate in his own head." the document consisted of a double sheet of foolscap, which was covered on the four pages with writing and figures in a woman's hand. briefly it told of the great deeds of jonathan, who, as i have previously said, was a dock-labourer. he had lived in clapton park for more than thirty years, and he had walked every day to and from the east london docks, a five-mile tramp every morning, and a return journey at night of equal length. hundreds of times his journey had been fruitless, so far as getting a day's work was concerned; but, like an industrious bee, jonathan returned home every night laden with what to him was sweeter than honey--cigar-ends that he had gathered from the pavements, gutters, and streets he traversed and searched during his daily ten-mile tramp. they lay before me, converted into a massive monumental cross, erected upon three great slabs of similar material. on each side of it stood a smaller cross, as if it were to show off the dimensions of the great cross. the paper stated that the whole of the cigar-ends collected weighed one hundredweight and three-quarters. it also told how far the cigars would have reached had they been placed end to end; one cigar was reckoned at three inches, four to a foot, twelve to a yard, and seven thousand and forty to a mile. the paper also told how much they cost at twopence each, how long they took to smoke at one half-hour each, also how much duty the government had received on each at four shillings per pound. thirty years of interminable tramping, with his eyes on the ground like a sleuth-hound, had jonathan done. hour after hour he had sat in his little home contemplating his collection, and making his mental calculations while his wife wrote them down, and then in its glory arose his great monument. handing the paper to mrs. pinchbeck, i proceeded to examine the cross. i felt it, and found it hard, solid, firm, and every edge square and sharp. i wondered how he had converted such unlikely materials as cigar-ends into such a solid piece of work. the poor woman told me that from all the cigar-ends he brought home he trimmed off the burnt ends, and carefully placed them in a dry place; then he made a great wooden frame, screwed together, the inside of which represented the cross. in this frame he arranged end-ways layer after layer of his cigar-ends, pressing them and even hammering them in; now and again he had poured in also a solution of treacle and water, placing more cigar-ends until it was pressed and hammered full. then it was left for months to slowly dry. it was a proud day for the couple when the wooden frame was removed, and the great triumph of jonathan's life stood before them. but the tobacco cross did not by any means exhaust the wonders of the room. all round strange things were hanging from the ceiling, threaded on a string like girls thread beads and boys thread horse-chestnuts--rough, flat-looking things, about the size of a plate and of a dirty brown colour. "whatever have you got there, hanging from the ceiling?" i said. the answer came in a hoarse whisper: "tops and bottoms." tops and bottoms! tops and bottoms! i looked at them, and cudgelled my brains to find out what tops and bottoms were. i had to give it up, and the hoarse whisper came again: "tops and bottoms." there the "tops" hung like a collection of indian scalps, and there hung the "bottoms" like a collection of burned pancakes. on examining one string of them, i found attached the inevitable paper, on which was written " ." "oh," i said, "these are the tops and bottoms of your bread. why did you cut your bread in that way?" "it was jonathan's fancy," she said. it might have been her husband's idea, but she had entered heartily into it, for she had saved the crusts from all their loaves; she had written the papers and particulars that were attached to them, and she was proud of the old crusts, some of which dated from the time of the crimean war. i was prepared for other strange whims after my experience with the vermilion furniture, the tobacco cross, and the "tops and bottoms," and it was well that i was, for other revelations awaited me. i found a great bundle of sugar papers--coarse, heavy papers, some blue, others grey--neatly folded, tied together, and tabulated. these were the wrappers that had contained all the sugar the worthy couple had bought during their married life. a document attached gave particulars of their weight, told also of how much they had been defrauded by the purchase of paper and not sugar, told the price of sugar in various years, and the variations of their losses. next to these stood a pile of tea-wrappers, tabulated and ticketed in exactly the same manner. mr. and mrs. pinchbeck had evidently a just cause of complaint against the grocers. i cannot possibly reveal the whole contents of the room. had a local auctioneer been called in to make a correct inventory, he would surely have fled in despair. every available square inch of the room was fully occupied with strange objects. in one corner was a pile of nails--cut nails and wrought nails, french nails and old "tenpenny" nails, barndoor nails and dainty wire nails--collected from the streets during jonathan's long life. they told the industrial history of those years, and spoke eloquently of the improvement that had taken place even in nail-making. they told, too, of the poor home-workers of cradley heath, and of the women and children who had made them. beside the nails was a heap of screws--poor old blunted rusty things, made years before mr. chamberlain introduced his improved pointed screws, lying mingled with the screws of present use, bright, slender, and genteel. here was a heap of shoe-tips, some of which had done duty forty years ago in protecting the heels and toes of cumbrous boots that had stumbled and resounded on the cobble-stone streets of those days. they, too, had a tale to tell, for blakey's protectors lay there mingled with old, heavy, rusty tips that had protected "wooden shoon" in the days of long ago. decidedly, jonathan was a modern autolycus, a "snapper-up of unconsidered trifles." he had almost established a corner in hairpins. there they were, six hundred thousand of them, neatly arranged in starch boxes, nicely oiled to prevent rust, box after box of them, every box weighed and counted, the whole lot weighing, so the descriptive paper says, two and a half hundredweight: hairpins from st. james's and piccadilly--for jonathan, when work was scarce, had on special occasions searched with magnetic eye the el dorado of the west--hairpins from the narrow streets of the east; hairpins from suburban thoroughfares; hairpins from the pavements of the city; old, massive hairpins that would almost have tethered a goat; demure, slender hairpins that would nestle snugly in the hair, and adapt themselves comfortably to the head; hairpins plain and hairpins corrugated--there they lay. i was lost in wonder and imagination, and forgot the nasty cigar-ends in picturing to myself the world of beauty that had worn and the delicate hands that had adjusted those hairpins. but the hairpins were not alone in their glory. hatpins claimed attention, too. cruel, fiendish things they looked, as they lay closely packed in several boxes, with their beaded ends and sharp, elongated points. i turned quickly from these, for i knew only too well the fresh terror they added to life--especially to a policeman's life. so i proceeded to examine the next department--"babies' comforters"--with mingled feelings: two large boxes full of them, horrible things!--ivory rings, bone rings, rubber rings, and vulcanite rings, with their suction tubes attached, made to deceive infant life, and to enable english babies to feed on air. some day a similar collection may form a valuable addition to a museum, illustrating the fraud practised on babies in the twentieth century. i forgot the presence of poor asthmatical mrs. pinchbeck on her red chair, for the shelves that were fixed on the walls attracted me. these were heavily laden with glass jars and bottles of various sizes containing specimens of bread, sugar, tea, coffee, butter, and cheese of varying dates. "bread, , d. per loaf, crimean war." "tea, , s. d. per pound." "sugar (brown), , d. per pound." so ran some of the descriptions that were attached to the various jars. but i had to leave the examination of these till another time, when still more wonders were revealed, of which i must tell you later. bidding mrs. pinchbeck "good-afternoon," and promising her another visit, i left her, for other suffering and troubled folk needed me. alas! that was the only time i saw the poor woman, for not much longer was she able to rise from her bed, and in a few weeks there was a strange funeral, at which jonathan was chief mourner, and he was left alone and friendless. hard times followed; old age crept on. failing health and lack of nourishment combined to make jonathan of less value in the labour market, so by-and-by he faced starvation. but by no means did he give up collecting; his useless stores grew and grew until he had no longer room to store them. then he sold his pile of nails for a few shillings; his screws and tips followed suit, and some of the fruits of his industry vanished. sad to relate, a worse fate befell his cigar-ends, and the great triumph of his life--his "monumental cross"--brought a second great sorrow into the poor fellow's life. it occurred to him that he might obtain money by exhibiting his work, so he hired a barrow, and, packing his crosses on it, went into the streets to attract attention and collect coppers. he secured plenty of attention, especially from boys, who made a "mark" of the old man; ribald youth scoffed at him; policemen moved him on--but the other "coppers" came not to him. the barrow cost one shilling per week. a crisis had arrived; he must sell his tobacco. at eleven o'clock one night i found him at my front door. there stood the barrow and the tobacco. he wanted my advice about selling it. it was the only thing to do. he had received notice to leave his room, and must look for a smaller home at a less rental. the next day slowly and reluctantly jonathan pushed his barrow to shoreditch. he had found a wholesale tobacconist who might buy his tobacco at a price. "bring it in," he said, "and i will look at it." jonathan took it in. jonathan was taken in, too. "leave it here till to-morrow, and i will decide," said the merchant. it was left, and jonathan pushed an empty barrow on the return journey. his room seemed empty that night; his wife was dead, and now his monumental cross was gone. the next day he visited the tobacco merchant, and found an officer of the inland revenue waiting for him. the merchant had informed. pinchbeck's tobacco was impounded, and he himself was threatened with proceedings for attempting to sell tobacco without holding a licence. in vain the poor old man protested; in vain he argued and proved that his tobacco had paid duty, and that the state had received its dues. his tobacco was detained, and jonathan saw it no more. poor old jonathan! how he cried over it! but the next day he turned up at the police-court and asked for a summons against the inland revenue for detaining his tobacco, and here again disappointment awaited him, for the magistrate had no jurisdiction. it was a heavy blow to him; his heart appeared to be broken, and all interest in life seemed to have gone. i sympathized with him, and did my best to cheer him. he moved to a smaller home, again parting with some of his museum. for a brief time he struggled on, but he became ill. for some months he lay in the workhouse infirmary, alone and unfriended, and i thought the streets of london would know his peering eyes no more. but there was more vitality in the old man than i expected. one cold winter's day, when the snow was falling, i met a melancholy procession of sandwich-men on stamford hill, among whom was jonathan. the wind buffeted him, and his hands and his face were blue with cold. "i could not stand it any longer; i should have died if i had not come out," he told me when i asked as to his welfare. he gave me his address, and the quaint old man and i were again on visiting terms. where he had bestowed his strange collection during his sojourn in the workhouse i never ascertained, but the bulk of it was in his new home. his things had been taken care of, he said, but no more. "how are you going to live?" "they allow me three shillings and sixpence from 'the house,' and i must pick up the rest." so he proceeded to pick up, for his health improved and his collection grew; but he did not pick up much money. the spring came, and jonathan grew young again. one fine morning i met him, looking quite fresh and debonair. "why, jonathan," i said, "i really did not know you. how well and fresh you look!" "yes, bless the lord! he gives me strength to walk." "i wonder why he does that?" i foolishly said; but i expected the answer i got. "to find things that nobody else would find, and to prove that teetotallers are fools," he said. "but, jonathan, i am a teetotaller." "i can't help that, can i? look here, you can tell me how many gallons of water there is in a barrel of beer, but you can't tell me how much paper you bought when you thought you were buying tea and sugar." i humbly admitted my ignorance, and asked him what he was finding. "all sorts of things. come in and see them when you are down my way." i went again to his "palace of varieties," and saw a cross of about eighteen inches high, standing in a neat wooden base, which was painted a bright vermilion, and a smaller cross made of cigarette-ends standing beside it. pointing to the latter, he said: "that's to lie on my breast when i am in my coffin, and that" (the bigger one) "is to lie on my coffin when i'm buried. i don't want any wreaths." small chance of wreaths at a parish funeral when this, our dear brother, is unceremoniously committed to the earth, i thought; but he was fearful about his tobacco. "you won't tell, will you? don't give the show away," he said. i advised him not to offer the tobacco for sale this time. "not me; i'll die first," he promptly replied. his cigar and cigarette ends amounted to over thirty pounds in weight, which he had pressed into various shapes. a strange piece of architecture, with many turrets and towers, all shining like burnished silver, claimed attention. "what have you here?" "five hundred empty milk-tins. i have saved them all. they have all been full. i always use the 'milkmaid' brand." "i suppose you alter your plan of your building sometimes?" "oh yes," he said; "i make cathedrals sometimes." twenty-four flat cardboard boxes, with covers on, attracted me. "what have you got in these boxes?" "ah! i have got something to show you," and he proceeded to take off the lids. one look dazzled me, for never in my life had i seen such a weird combination of brilliant colours; the old vermilion seemed quite pale and insipid in comparison. blues, greens, yellows, and pinks of every shade predominated; but almost every other colour and shade of colour was represented, and their combined effect was stupendous. some of the boxes were full of little cubes, others of narrow strips; some full of flat pieces about one inch square; others with the same substance graduated in different sizes. "all orange-peel, mr. holmes, picked up in the streets; all of it would have been wasted but for me." "but what good is it now?" i asked. he looked sadly at me, and said: "good, good! why, it shows what can be done." whether it was worth the doing did not concern him; but my question had offended him, so i had to make peace. half a crown soothed his wounded feelings. i then asked him how he did it all. "picked 'em up, flattened 'em, cut 'em up, and coloured 'em," was all i could get out of him. "do you know what's in these boxes?" producing four boxes of similar pattern, and opening them. they contained small cubes of material, and their colours, at any rate, were of modest hue. i confessed again my ignorance. "taste!" i was much alarmed, but i tasted. "potatoes?" "right," he said. "that's how i save all my potatoes. they do to put in my broth." "but how do you get them all to this size and colour?" i asked. "that's my secret," he said. i asked him if he was saving "tops and bottoms" now. "only the new uns; i have made use of the old uns. i'll show you." he went on his knees, and from a store under his bed he produced several three-pound glass jars full of some brown meal, of varying degrees of coarseness. "all good--all good food! microbes can't live in bread fifty years old. these are 'tops and bottoms.'" he had broken up his old bread, pounded it with a hammer, put the crumbs through different sized sieves, and stored the resulting material in glass jars. "beats quaker oats, grape nuts, and 'sunny jim,'" he said. "i can stand a siege. i just boil some water, take two spoonfuls of 'milkmaid,' two tablespoonfuls of 'tops and bottoms,' and i have good milk porridge in three minutes. i have a pot of bovril, too, and when i want some soup, hot water, bovril, and desiccated potatoes or potato-powder give it to me. the old man is not such a fool as people think!" but again he put me into a tight place. he wanted me to buy, or find customers for, his granulated "tops and bottoms." he felt sure if people only knew how good and nice the "food" was, they would buy it readily. i had to change the subject, and asked him what was in the box over the head of his bed, so securely attached to the wall. i was just going to handle it when he sang out: "don't touch it! don't touch it, or you'll blow up the whole house!" "what is it?" "explosives," he said. "i may want them; i'm not going to the workhouse again." i did not touch them, but got away as far as possible. jonathan then produced an ordinary medicine-bottle, about half full of some liquid. "that's the last bottle the doctor ever sent my wife, and half of it was enough. i'm saving the other half; i may require it. no workhouse or parish doctor for me." i began to feel creepy; but the old man continued: "lift that little bucket out of the corner, and tell me what's in it." i lifted it, and examined it, and said: "it is three parts full of charcoal, on the top of which is a quantity of sulphur. there is a piece of candle fixed in the sulphur and a box of matches attached to the handle of the bucket." "right," he said. "when my food is gone, i may put that bucket beside my bed, lock my door, light that candle, and lie down to sleep. i may do that, or i may blow the show up, or i may take that half-bottle of medicine. i haven't decided yet." there was no appearance of boasting or jesting about the old man; his lips quivered, and he evidently meant what he said. but life has too much interest for him at present, and so long as he can find things and employ his strange talents in strange ways, jonathan will not hasten his end. but when the streets know him no more, when his fading eyesight and his dwindling strength prevent him finding things, when he feels his dependence on others and can no longer burnish his milk-cans, then, and not before then, jonathan will make his choice, and he may light his candle. but the end was not yet, neither did it come in catastrophic fashion. i had not seen him for months, but, wishing to know how the old man was getting on, i ran down to his little home to renew our acquaintance; but he had disappeared, for the workhouse infirmary had received him. the passing of jonathan. poor old jonathan! the byways and thoroughfares of london know him no longer. hairpins lie in scattered profusion on our pavements east and west, and babies' comforters may be seen in the mud and slime of our gutters; but hairpins and comforters lie unheeded, for jonathan has passed. the peering eyes, the quaint face, the bent body, and the bulging pockets of my old friend are now memories, for jonathan has passed. poor old jonathan! my heart goes out to him as i think of him in his new and last earthly home--surely the saddest of all earthly homes--a lunatic asylum; for i know that even there his heart is with his treasures, and his poor brains are concerned about the mass of things he had been so long in collecting, and the rubbish that he had so passionately loved. fifty long years ago he commenced his self-imposed task; fifty years, with bent back and eyes on the ground, had he traversed thousands of miles with wearied feet, but with a brave and expectant heart. load after load he had carried home as he returned day after day to his little hive, like a bee laden with honey. who can estimate the amount of interest and even pleasure he had experienced during those fifty years, as he added little by little to his great store? surely the joy that a collector of curios experiences was no stranger to the heart of jonathan. and now the asylum! it is all too sad; we could wish it far otherwise. but jonathan has some compensations, for he lives in the past, and joys in the knowledge of what he has accomplished; but he does not know the cruel fate of his great collection, and surely it is to be wished that a kindly providence may preserve him from the knowledge, for such knowledge would bring to him the greatest sorrow of his life. so in the asylum jonathan's heart is with his treasures; they still exist, and their value is "beyond the price of rubies." jonathan grew feebler. with increasing age sandwich-boards grew too heavy for him, and the grasshopper became a burden when it was discovered that kind friends, for charity's sake, supplemented the miserable sum (three shillings and sixpence) allowed him weekly by the "parish," and which served to pay his rent; and this discovery was brought to the knowledge of the said "parish"; then the "parish," with all the humanity it was capable of, stopped the allowance, and jonathan was left to his own exertions. so he got behind with his rent; his worries increased; he got less food and of a poorer quality, and illness came upon him. by-and-by the dreaded day arrived when the gates of a great workhouse opened for him and closed upon him. jonathan was separated from his treasures. this was the unkindest cut of all, and it proved too much for his tottering reason, and the infirmary ward of the great workhouse was supplanted by a ward in a well-known pauper lunatic asylum, where it is to be hoped that jonathan's days will be few. the old man had for many years been a great sufferer, and it has always been a marvel to me how he went through his innumerable wanderings and tasks, subject always to a great physical disability and intense pain. i have previously told my readers that jonathan could not read or write: his wonderful memory enabled him to dispense with those requirements; but he could not forget, neither does he forget now, so his treasures have acquired an added value. no fabled cave ever contained the riches that his poor home contains. day by day they increase in value, and he lives in the certain hope that some portion may be sold, that the "parish" may be repaid for the cost he imposed on it, and that some friendly hand will knock at the door of the asylum, and some friendly voice will cry, "open, sesame," that he may come forth a free man to join the residue of his quaint collection. and it is well, poor old jonathan! that thou shouldst live in this belief, and that thou shouldst hug those delusions, for in thy case a false hope is better far than a knowledge of the truth. live on, then, quaint old man, long or short as the days may be--live on in the world of thy own creating. but to my friends who may read this sketch of real life, the plain, unvarnished truth is due. jonathan's accumulation of treasures passed into the fiery furnace of the local dust-destructor, and from thence leapt into thin air or emerged as "clinkers." it sorely puzzled the "parish," which had disposed of jonathan, how to dispose of jonathan's effects, but it promptly annexed the vermilion chairs. the parish labourers, not behind time, promptly annexed the tobacco, and the "crosses," that were to lie "one on my breast inside the coffin and one on the lid," disappeared, to be devoted, doubtless, to a less honourable cause. but the hairpins that had nestled in the hair of many fair ladies no one would look at; no scrap merchant would buy them; so into the fiery furnace of the dust-destructor they went. hatpins--instruments of torture, weapons of offence or defence, that had added many a danger to life--followed the hairpins. babies' comforters--the fiery furnace roared for them, and licked its hot lips as it sucked them in. think of it, mothers, who mock your children with such civilized productions! "tops and bottoms," hoary scalps of fifty years ago, "granulated tops and bottoms," that drove "sunny jim" to despair, had scant consideration. in they went, and the flames leapt higher and higher as box after box of jonathan's treasure fed them, till, "like the baseless fabric of a vision," they dissolved, and "left not a wrack behind." but the "parish" looked suspiciously at and walked warily round the box of explosives wherewith jonathan had the means of "blowing up the blooming show." this was carefully deposited in a cistern of water before it was carried off. but the fiery dragon at the dust-destructor refused the "milkmaid" milk-tins, and, alone in their glory, sole representatives of jonathan's power, they remained in jonathan's room, for even the dust-collector fought shy of them. like pyramids they stood as silent witnesses of the past. how they missed jonathan! their lustre was tarnished; there was no friendly hand to polish them now; neither was there any subtle brain to devise new styles of architecture for them. well had it been for the "milkmaids" if they had suffered the fiery fate of their many companions, for a far worse fate awaited them; for when the nights were dark, and fogs deadened sound, jonathan's old landlady would steal craftily with an apron full of "milkmaids," and drop one in the gutter, throw others over the garden-walls, dispose of some on pieces of unoccupied ground, till all were gone. the painter and paperhanger were afterwards required in jonathan's room. chapter xiv people who have "come down" london's abyss contains a very mixed population. naturally the "born poor" predominate, of whom the larger portion are helpless and hopeless, for environment and temperament are against them. amongst these, but not of these, exists a strange medley of people who have "come down" in life. drunkenness, fast living, gambling, and general rascality have hurried many educated men into the abyss; and such fellows descend to depths of wickedness and uncleanliness that the gross and ignorant poor cannot emulate, for nothing i have met in life is quite so disgusting and appalling as the demoralized educated men living in inferno. misfortune, sorrow, ill-health, loss of friends, position or money, and ill-advised speculations, are often prime causes of "descent," producing pitiful lives and strange characters; while others--sometimes women, sometimes men--have been cursed by very small annuities, not sufficient for living purposes, but quite sufficient to prevent them attempting any honest labour. often these are ashamed to work, but by no means ashamed to beg. clinging to the rags of their gentility, they exhibit open contempt for the ignorant poor, who treat them with awesome respect, because "they have come down in life." the postman brings them numerous letters--replies to their systematic begging appeals--and not before a detective calls to make inquiries do the poor question the _bona fides_ of, or lose their respect for, "the poor lady upstairs." backboneless men and women in a moral sense are numerous in the abyss, with no vices, but with virtues of a negative character. possessing no grit, no adaptability, no idea of making a fight for life, they appear to think that because their parents were well-to-do, and they themselves had "received" an education, it is somebody's business to keep them. they are as sanguine as mr. micawber, always expecting something to "turn up," but never proceeding to turn up anything on their own account. waiting, hoping, starving, they go down to premature death--if, indeed, the workhouse infirmary does not swallow them alive. but what courage and endurance, what industry and self-respect others exhibit, deprived by death or misfortune of the very means of existence, brought face to face with absolute poverty! men and women, precipitated into the abyss through no fault of their own, shine resplendent in the dark regions they have been forced to inhabit. not soured by misfortune, not despondent because of disappointment, hand in hand and heart to heart, i have seen elderly couples living in one-roomed homes, joining bravely in the great struggle for existence. others are made bitter by their misfortune, and nurse a sense of their grievances; they "keep themselves to themselves," and generally put on airs and graces in any dealings they may have with their neighbours. they quickly resent any approach to friendship; any kindness done to them is received with freezing politeness, and any attempt to search out the truth with regard to their antecedents is the signal for storm. personally, i have suffered much at the hands of scornful ladies "who have come down." sometimes i am afraid that my patience and my temper have been exhausted when dealing with them, for such ladies require careful handling. experience is, however, a great teacher, and i learned at least to hear myself with becoming humility when such ladies condescended to receive at my hands any help that i might be able to give. "do you know, sir, that you are speaking to an officer's daughter? how dare you ask me for references! my word is surely good enough for a police-court missionary. you are a fitting representative of your office. please leave my room." i looked at her. she was over sixty, and there was the unmistakable air about her that told of better days. she was starving in a little room situated in a little court--not st. james's. she owed a month's rent to people who were poor and ill, and who had two epileptics in the family; and now their worries were increased by the loss of rent, and the knowledge that they had a starving "lady" upstairs. she had brought down to the abyss to keep her company a grandchild, a pretty boy of seven. i sat still, and she continued: "i know i am poor, but still i have some self-respect, and i will not be insulted. references, indeed!" "well, madam," i at length ventured to say, "you sought my help; i did not seek you." "yes; and i made a great mistake. sir, are you going?" "no, madam, i am not going at present, for i am going to pay the rent you owe the poor, suffering people below. shame on you! have you no thought for them? how are they to pay their rent if yours remains unpaid? please don't put on any airs, and don't insult me, or i will have you and the child taken to the workhouse. find me your rent-book." she sat down and cried. i called the child to me, and from my bag produced some cake, fruit, and sweets, filling the child's pinafore. he instantly began to eat, and running to the irate lady, said: "look, grandma, what the gentleman has given me! have some--do have some, grandma." that was oil on the fire. "i knew you were no gentleman; now i know that you are a coward. you know that i cannot take them away from the child." i said: "i should be ashamed of you if you had, and i should have left your room and never re-entered it. see how the child is enjoying those grapes! do have some with him. let us be friends. bring your grandma some grapes." and as the child came to her, i saw the light of love in her old eyes--that wonderful love of a grandmother. the child's enjoyment of the food conquered her: the child "beguiled her, and she did eat"; but she considered i had taken a mean advantage, and she never thoroughly forgave me--never, though we became cool friends. i found the utmost difficulty in obtaining her confidence, although i visited her many times, and removed her most pressing wants. she was always on heights to which i could not hope to attain, and she treated me with becoming, but freezing, dignity. i wanted to be of assistance to her, but she made my work difficult and my task thankless. when i called upon her one day to pay a week's rent, etc., she said in a lofty way: "small assistance is of little use to me, but i can't expect anything better from one in your position." i put up with the snub, and humbly told her that it would be possible for me to do more if she would condescend to give me the names and addresses of her friends. this bare suggestion was enough. she rose majestically, opened the room door, and in a dramatic manner said, "go!" i sat still, and examined some needlework she was doing for a factory. beautiful work it was--all done by hand. i knew that she would not earn more than one penny per hour, for her eyes were getting dim, and the room was not well lighted. so i talked about her work and her pay. many times since that day have i been glad that i stayed on after that unceremonious "go," for i learned a lesson worth the knowing, for as i sat the postman's tap-tap was heard, and the epileptic girl from below brought up a letter. "excuse me, sir, while i read this," she said. i, of course, bowed acquiescence, and watched her while she read. i saw her tremulous fingers and quivering face. presently she sat down; the letter and a ten-pound note dropped on the floor. for a moment she sat quite silent, then the tears burst forth. she rose, picked up the letter and note, and her eyes flashed as she cried: "read that! read that! and then dare to ask me for a reference." she threw the letter at me. it was from an old servant of hers, who was a cook for a regimental officers' mess, getting forty pounds a year. this is the letter: "dear mrs. ----, "yesterday i received my quarter's salary, and i am sending it to you, hoping that you will kindly receive it as a small acknowledgment of your many kindnesses to me. "when i think of the happy days i spent in your service, of your goodness to everyone in trouble, and of the beautiful home you have lost, i cannot rest night or day. i wish i could send you a hundred times as much, that i might really help you and the dear little boy." the letter was better than any testimonial; it was too much for me. "madam," i said, "i am very sorry that i hurt your feelings by questioning you. that letter makes me ashamed. it more than answers any questions i put to you. will you kindly lend me the letter, that i may show it to my friend?" she looked triumphant, and said that i might have the letter for a short time. i sent the letter to ladies and gentlemen who had not "come down." some old friends were found who cheerfully subscribed a sufficient sum to furnish a commodious boarding-house in a fashionable watering-place, so she again had a beautiful home of her own. but she was very "touchy," and i had no pleasant task in making arrangements. she never gave me the least credit, and it always appeared that she was conferring favours by allowing me the privilege of consulting her. however, the boarding-house was ready at last. she entered possession, and with some help prepared to receive visitors. my wife, myself, and some friends were her first "paying guests," paying, of course, the usual charges. we spent a miserable three weeks. we were not of the class she wanted and had been used to; she kept us in our places. i had to speak to her, and treat her as a distinguished, but quite unknown, lady. we were all glad when our time for leaving came; neither have we paid her another visit. she was a remarkable woman, indomitable, industrious, and clever: cooking, or managing a house, needlework, dressmaking, or anything pertaining to woman's life, she was equal to; but her superiority was too much for us all. we could not live up to it--the strain was too great. she, however, did us a great honour the day previous to our leaving. as a special favour, she invited us to take tea with her in the "boudoir." the remembrance of that occasion remains with me through the years. she prepared not only a nice little tea, with cream, knick-knacks, etc., but the room was tastefully decorated, and she was suitably arrayed. her old silks and laces had been renovated, her old jewellery polished and attended to; and at a definite time, after a formal invitation, we were ushered into the "boudoir." she rose and gracefully bowed as we were announced, and directed us to our seats. we had a stiff time of it. no doubt it was good discipline for us all, for we realized more fully than ever the inferiority of our birth, breeding, and manners. poor woman! she never forgave us for knowing that she had been in the "abyss," neither did she ever forgive me for helping her out. our acquaintance ended with that five o'clock tea in her "boudoir." she has not written to me, neither have i inquired after her. freely will i forgive her all the snubs and insults she flung at me if she will "keep her distance." she was a terror. one in a lifetime is quite sufficient for me. still, she was a good woman, and i can only suppose that privations and disappointments had on the one side embittered her, and on the other had developed a natural feeling until it became a craze, and the idea of being a "lady" dominated her existence. some men, too, that have come down are by no means pleasant companions--often the reverse. several clergymen that i saw much of were too terrible for words, so i pass them; but of one i must tell, for when i called on him in the early afternoon, he was lying on a miserable bed, unwashed, wearing a cassock. penny packets of cigarettes--five for a penny--were strongly in evidence. there being no chairs in the room, i sat down upon an inverted packing-case. he rose from his bed, lit another cigarette, and asked me what i wanted. i had previously spoken to his wife, and had made up my mind that she was demented. i had seen a big-headed girl of seventeen, with a vacant face and thick, slobbering lips, nursing and laughing over a little doll. i had also spoken to a cunning-looking boy of fourteen. i had now to speak to a demoralized clergyman. i felt that a horsewhip was needed more than the monetary help that i was commissioned to offer from friends, on certain conditions being complied with. he was a choice specimen of manhood: his reading seemed confined to penny illustrated papers of a dubious kind, embellished with questionable pictures. he no sooner learned that friends had empowered me to act for them than his estimate of himself went up considerably. his market value went up also. thirty shillings per week was not enough; he was not to be bought at the price. he must also have his wardrobe replenished. the bishop must find him a curacy. no, he would not leave london. preaching to intelligent people was his vocation. he was a welshman, but london was good enough for him. i sat on the box and listened; the vacant-faced girl with her doll sat on another box in front of me; the clergyman in his cassock, cigarette in his fingers while he talked, and in his lips when he was silent, sat on the edge of the bed; and his demented wife stood by. such was my introduction to the fellow, of whom i saw much during the next three years; but every time i met him i became the more enamoured of the horsewhip treatment. for three years he received more than generous help from friends of the church, who were anxious for his good, and more than anxious that no scandal should come upon the church they loved. it was all in vain, and the last sight i had of him was in tottenham, where i studiously avoided him; but, nevertheless, i had opportunities of watching him. he stood outside a public-house. he wore an old clerical coat, green and greasy; his clerical collar was crumpled and dirty; his boots were old and broken, and his trousers were frayed and torn. he had a rough stick in his hand and an old cloth cap on his head. the cunning-looking boy has been in the hands of the police for snatching a lady's purse, and the imbecile girl, now a woman, continues to nurse her doll somewhere in london's abyss; for the demented mother loves her afflicted child, and only death will part them. artists are numerous among those who have "come down." i never meet a poor fellow in london's streets carrying a picture wrapped in canvas without experiencing feelings of deepest pity. one look at such a man tells me whether his picture has been done to order, or whether he is seeking, rather than hoping to find, a customer. the former goes briskly enough to his destination, and though he will receive but little payment from the picture-dealer, he sorely needs that little, and hastens to get it. but the other poor fellow has no objective: he walks slowly and aimlessly about; there is a wistful, shamefaced air about him. when he arrives at a picture-dealer's, he enters with reluctance and timidity. sometimes broken-down men will hawk their pictures from door to door, and will sell decent pictures, upon which they have spent much time and labour, for a few shillings. occasionally an alert policeman watches them, and ultimately arrests them for hawking goods and not being in possession of the necessary licence. a boy of fourteen who was hawking his father's pictures was arrested and charged. the police had discovered that he did not hold a pedlar's licence. the pictures were quite works of art, done on pieces of cardboard about twelve inches square, some being original sketches; others were copies of famous pictures. they were done in black-and-white, and competent judges declared that the work was exceedingly well done. the boy said his father was ill in bed, and had sent him out to sell the pictures; his mother was dead, and his father and himself lived together in hackney. i went with the boy to their one room, and there, in a miserable street and in a still more miserable room, lay the artist in bed. there was nothing of any value in the room, excepting some pictures, and as i entered i found him sitting up in bed at work upon another. they had no money at all, and that morning the boy had been sent out to try and sell the pictures and bring back food and coals. the lad's mother had died some years before, and the father and son were living together. the father had learned no other business, and at one time there was some demand for his work, so he married. one can easily picture the life they led--the gradual shadows, the disappointments that came upon the wife, the hopeless struggle with poverty, the early death, and the misery of the husband when the partner of his poverty was taken away. now, partly paralyzed in his legs, some days able to rise and dress himself and pay an occasional call on the "trade," and to return home more hopeless, he was glad to sell a picture for five shillings, unframed, that had cost him much effort and time. i bought one of his pictures at a fair price, and saw that he had both food and coals, for it was winter-time. i called on him frequently, and did what i could to cheer him, and other friends bought his pictures. but he gradually grew worse in health, until the gates of one of our great infirmaries closed upon him, and the world saw him no more, and it was left to me to make some suitable provision for the boy. one christmas eve some years ago there was a cry of "police! police!" in a little upper room in north london an elderly man had been found in a pool of blood; his throat had been cut, and as a razor lay beside him, it was evident the injury was self-inflicted. it was a frightful gash, but he was carried to a neighbouring hospital, where all the resources of skill and science were at hand. in three months' time he was able to stand in the dock, and evidence was given against him. he was sixty-three years of age, had on a very old frock-coat that had been originally blue, and an ancient fez that bore traces of silver braid. when the evidence had been taken, and the magistrate was about to commit him for trial, a singular-looking man stepped up, and said he was the prisoner's brother, and that he would take care of him if his worship would discharge him. he said a friend had given his brother some drink, and it was when under the influence of the drink that the prisoner had tried to cut his own throat; that he himself was a teetotaller--and he pointed triumphantly to a piece of blue ribbon on his very shabby coat--and that he would take care that his brother had no more drink. the magistrate very kindly accepted him as surety, and asked me to visit them, which i accordingly did, and found myself in very strange company. three brothers were living together: sixty-five, sixty-three, and sixty were their ages. the one who had been charged was the middle brother, and was an artist; the other two were quaint individuals: they had been brought up in luxury, and now, being reduced to poverty, had not the slightest idea of how to earn a shilling. the blue-ribbon brother was the youngest member of the family, and though he drank cold water, he appeared to have a strong aversion to its external use. he was of a religious turn of mind, and had he exercised himself one-half as much about work as he did about religious subjects, the catastrophe that had happened might have been avoided. the elder brother was in weak health, and walked with some difficulty. the artist was certainly by far the best man of the three; still, they all had an air of faded gentility. briefly, they were the sons of a well-known artist, who, many years ago, was a frequent exhibitor in the royal academy, and whose frescoes adorn one of the royal palaces. after his death the three brothers and a sister lived together. each was left an income of about twenty-five pounds per annum, and the sister managed their affairs. as long as she lived and the artist brother could sell pictures, all went fairly well; but when she died the brothers were left to struggle for themselves. gradually their home went down--dirt and discomfort ensued, fewer pictures were sold, and then one christmas the artist fell into my care. what a room it was, and how hopeless it all seemed! i found the artist himself had exhibited in the royal academy, and that he was undoubtedly a talented man. i found him as simple as a child, and his two brothers as innocent as babes. i sold some of his pictures, and obtained orders for others; but i discovered that, instead of the younger brother looking after the artist, the artist had to look after the younger brother, and i also found, to my cost, that, instead of having one unfortunate man to look after, i had three of them on my hands. the elder brother sat reading goody books hour after hour; the younger one went to his prayer-meetings, but never brought a shilling home; while the artist stuck to his work, when he had any to do, splendidly. one day i took counsel with the three of them, and we formed a committee of ways and means. to the elder one i said: "what are you going to do to bring a little grist to this mill?" in a sweetly simple manner, and rubbing his hands, he said: "oh, i read while charles paints." to the younger one i said: "what are you going to do to help the finances?" "oh," he said, "i'll write some texts of scripture on cardboard, and you can sell them for me." it was a quaint sight to see this band of brothers go marketing, to buy their bits of meat, vegetables, etc. i have watched them, too, at their culinary preparations, and noticed that the artist himself washed the plates and dishes, and handled and cooked the food. their rooms are now larger, and in much better order. the paintings left by their father are more visible, for the dust and dirt have been removed. they are still living together, and the artist, without any blue ribbon on his coat, is still working away, when he can secure orders. they are quaint specimens of humanity, but i think much of them, for they are kind-hearted and gentle to each other; there are no heart-burnings and bickerings; poverty has not soured their dispositions, and if times are sometimes hard, they make the best of things, and hope that god will give them better days. none the less, my artist friend has to bear the brunt of it, and when he sells a picture he is more than willing to share his means with his helpless brothers. one picture i have of his conveys a striking lesson. it is founded upon the old story of the prodigal son. a tall, gaunt, weary man, with his sandals worn out, his staff by his side, and his gourd empty, sits upon a piece of rock upon the hill-side looking down into the valley, where he sees his father's house. he is debating within himself whether or not he shall attempt to travel that last mile and reach his old home. the old home looks inviting and the gardens pleasant, and he feels impelled to go thither. beside him is a huge cactus, and in a tree at the back of him are two vultures waiting to pick his bones. the failure of a popular financial scheme is often accompanied by disastrous consequences to refined and elderly people. i have met many who, being ruined by the collapse of such investments, were compelled to resort to that forlorn hope of distressed middle-aged women--some branch of sewing-machine work done at home. the struggles they make in order to secure the pretence of an existence are often heroic, and their endeavours to maintain an appearance of respectability and comfort are great, almost passing belief. in the great world of london life and suffering no figures stand out quite so vividly as they do, for no other class of individuals exhibit quite the same qualities of endurance and pathetic heroism. on arriving home one saturday i found two women, a mother and her daughter, awaiting me, evidently in great distress. i had known them for some years, and their struggles and difficulties were familiar to me. the husband of the elder woman lay in their little home paralyzed and ill. for years the girl and her mother had supported him and maintained themselves by making children's costumes. he had been an accountant for many years with an old-established firm, and had saved money, which he invested in the liberator. just when the smash came their troubles were intensified by the death of his old employer, and the consequent loss of his employment. a paralytic stroke came upon him, and though he recovered somewhat, he became utterly unfit for any kind of work. they received a little assistance from the liberator relief fund, and while this lasted mother and daughter gave three months' service each, and were taught the children's costume trade. a catastrophe had now overtaken them, hence their visit to me. they had worked incessantly all the week in the hope of finishing some work and getting it to the factory before twelve on saturday. friday night found them behindhand. at two o'clock on saturday morning mother and daughter lay down on their beds without removing their clothes. at five they rose again, and sat down to their machines. the hours passed, their task made progress, and at . they finished; but the factory was far away--nearly an hour's ride on the tram-car. still, the younger one hurried with her bundle, only to find on arriving that the factory was closed, and that no work would be taken in till tuesday morning. there was the rent to pay, the poor stock of provisions to be obtained, some little comfort to be got for the father, who had watched their brave but tragic struggle, and no money, after all. my wife set food before them, and they made a pitiful pretence of eating. their hearts were too full, though undoubtedly their stomachs were empty. when i put a sovereign into the tremulous hand of the elder woman, they both broke down, and went away weeping. a few weeks later the father died, and mother and daughter were left to comfort and care for each other. years have passed, and they still live and work together. rising early and retiring late, they manage to "live." but the mother is getting feeble; her eyesight and powers for work are decaying. never murmuring or repining, the daughter bears the brunt of the battle. she works, whilst her mother goes to and from the factory. and now--in june, --another catastrophe has befallen them; for the feeble old woman has slipped and fallen from the tram-car, and lies at home with a broken arm and other injuries; but the daughter works for both. sometimes my experiences of women who have "come down" have been far more unpleasant, as the following instance may serve to show: i received a letter from a titled lady asking me to inquire into the case of two sisters who had repeatedly appealed to her for help, and to whose appeal she had several times responded. this lady recognized the futility of sending a few pounds at intervals to two elderly women, of whom she knew nothing excepting that their father had once built a house for her. she knew, too, that their father had been in a large way of business, employing five hundred men at one time. her ladyship also forwarded to me a letter she had received from the sisters, and asked me to find out what could be done for them, promising that if i could suggest anything reasonable, she would send me the necessary funds. their letter was of the usual begging-letter style, telling of their own wrongs and poverty, and pleading for help on account of their dear lamented father. though their "dear lamented father" had been dead for twenty-nine years, i called at the address given, and found it to be an old-clothes shop in a very poor district. in the midst of old clothes and dirt i found the landlady. no, she said, the sisters did not live there. sometimes they did a bit of needlework for her, and she allowed them to use her address for postal purposes. "they had a letter this morning?" i said. "yes, there was one." "how many more?" "one only this morning." "do they often have letters?" "sometimes." "how many do they receive a week?" "what is that to you?" "well, i come on behalf of a friend who wishes to help them. the letter they received this morning was from her, and there was money in it. how much did they give you this morning?" "two shillings." "they work for you: why should they give you money?" "i have been good to them and lent them money; they owe me a good deal; but they have expectations." "did you know they had 'come down' in life?" "oh yes, i knew." "now, tell me, where do they live?" "they are on the move." "what do you mean by that?" "on the move--looking for a place." "where did they sleep last night?" "somewhere close by." "now, tell me truly as you would a friend, what do you think about them?" "i think they are a pair of unfortunate ladies. they have been robbed." "would you help them if you could?" "certainly i would." "shall you see them to-day?" "oh yes; they are sure to come in." so i gave her my address, and told her to ask the sisters to call on me. woe to me! i did foolishly, and had to suffer for it. in the evening when i arrived home, one of the sisters was waiting for me. she had been waiting some time, to the consternation of my wife and the maid. the front door had no sooner been opened to her imperative tap, than she marched in without any ceremony, smelling, i was told, of the public-house and dirt. my wife said: "she is in the drawing-room. i could not ask her in here: we were just having tea." i found her without any difficulty. the evidence of my nose was enough. i opened wide the window, and then looked at her, or it, or something! i was just getting my breath, when, "oh, you have heard from lady ----, and she is wanting to help me." i said: "yes, and you have heard from lady ----. she sent you some money, and i see you have been spending it." "what do you mean, sir? i will let you know that i am a lady." i groaned and said: "you are letting me know it; i fully realize it." "look here, sir; attend to me. i am going to keep a butter and cheese shop. i want twenty pounds to set me up. you must write to her ladyship for it." "very good, then." "now i want to tell you about our troubles;" and she did. it took me two good hours to get her safely outside the front door, after which i gave positive orders to the whole household that in future all business with this "lady" must be transacted on the doorstep, with a half-closed door. she was a welshwoman, and possessed a double amount of that nation's eloquence. those two hours i shall never forget. it took all the diplomacy at my command to get her out; but she promised to come again and bring her sister. i was terribly alarmed at the prospect, but did not tell her not to come, for my courage failed me. however, she had given me her address, which, unfortunately, was close by; so, finally, i told her that, after hearing from lady ----, i would call upon her and give her whatever help was sent. she called every day for a week, and every time she came my wife hid herself, and the servant was mindful of my instructions about the door. nevertheless, our house was attracting some attention, for our respectable neighbours were alive to the situation. i often wished she had made a mistake, like poor old cakebread did, and had gone to the wrong house; but i did not get even that scrap of comfort. at length i sent a note to her, telling her that i was going to call on her at ten o'clock next morning. this i accordingly did, and found that the sisters had obtained a room in the house of a poor but very decent woman who had four young children. the landlady let me in, and called to the sisters that a gentleman had come to see them. "tell him we are not quite ready to receive visitors," i heard a familiar voice reply. the landlady asked me to step into her room. i did so, and she carefully closed the door, and then burst out: "what can i do with them? how can i get rid of them? we shall be ill." "have they paid you any rent?" "no; i won't take any. they gave me a shilling deposit before they moved in." "give it to them back, and tell them to go." "they won't take it, and they won't go." "tell your husband to put them out." "he won't touch them, and he blames me for taking them in." "why did you take them in?" "we are poor; i am going to have another. i thought they were ladies who had 'come down.' they gave me a letter from a lady to read. whatever shall we do?" "when did they come in?" "just a week ago. they were drunk the first night. one had a black eye!" in due time they were ready to receive visitors, and i went to their room. i knew what to expect, but it was too much for me. phew! they were there, black eye and all. half undressed, quite unwashed, a nice pair of harridans; no furniture saving an old rusty bedstead, on which were some rags. the thought of the poor woman below and her young children gave me courage. "i see how it is, you old sinners. shame on you for forcing yourselves into this poor woman's house! you are not fit to live anywhere but in a pigsty. if you don't get out i will have the pair of you carted to the workhouse. i will see that you get no more from lady ----. if you don't get out pretty quick, i will myself put you out." one of them came forward in a threatening attitude, saying: "i will let you know that my father was your superior." i told them that i was glad i never knew their father if he at all resembled them. i called the landlady, and told her to fetch a policeman, as they were trespassers, and had no right in her room. but the landlady said, if that was the case, her husband would put them out in the afternoon; it being saturday, he would be home early. then the torrent of abuse began. they rose to the occasion, and gave vent to their feelings, i am sorry to say, in vulgar english. had it been welsh, it would not have mattered, but slum english expressed with welsh fervour was too much for me. i left. i was, however, to have a still more striking proof of the power that welsh "ladies" have to express themselves in very vulgar english, for the same evening, after having refreshed themselves, they forced an entrance when my front door responded to their knock and ring. fortunately my wife was away. i was called to interview the two "ladies" and the black eye. they were inside--there could be no mistake about that; the door was closed, too. as soon as they saw me there was a soprano and contralto duet. "what did you write to lady ---- for? do you say we are dirty? who told you we got drunk? why did you come so early? ragged, are we? help to have us put out, would you? you are a nice christian!" i brushed past them and opened the front door. "fetch a policeman, will you? we'll have the law for you, you scoundrel! robber! thief!" i seized the one with the decorated eye, and out she went. in a twinkling the other sister was after her, and before they realized it, the front door was closed and bolted. then the storm began, and for thirty-five minutes they kept it up. every choice expression known to the blackguards of london tripped lightly but emphatically from their tongues; sometimes in unison, sometimes in horrible discord, sometimes singly, and sometimes together they kept it up. they ran through the whole gamut of discordant notes--_fortissimo_ generally, _piano_ only when breath failed. when quite exhausted, one took charge of the knocker, the other of the bell, and instrumental music followed the vocal. a good many of my respectable neighbours came to the concert, but blushingly retired; they could not stand it. i knew very well that they could not keep up the pace long; but it was the longest thirty-five minutes i ever endured. when quite worn out and too hoarse to vocalize, they retired, and our street resumed its normal respectability. but to the valour of wales they added the perseverance of women. after again refreshing themselves, they returned to the poor woman they had "taken in," and gave her a concert, much to her terror. her husband called the police, but this only roused them. ultimately they were taken into custody for being drunk and disorderly, and, sad to relate, the following monday they were fined by the magistrate. i heard more bad language in that thirty-five minutes than i ever listened to in a month, even in a police-court. i must have received considerable mental and moral damage, and i really think that i ought to receive some compensation from lady ----. but, at all events, i hope that i have completed my experience of people who have "come down." the end printed by billing and sons, limited, guildford stellar showboat by malcolm jameson a drama more fantastic than any the stage had ever produced was being plotted behind the curtains of the showboat of space. and between its presentation and inter-world disaster, waiting for his cue, stood only the lone figure of investigator neville. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] special investigator billy neville was annoyed, and for more reasons than one. he had just done a tedious year in the jungles of venus stamping out the gooroo racket and then, on his way home to a well-deserved leave and rest, had been diverted to mars for a swift clean-up of the diamond-mine robbery ring. and now, when he again thought he would be free for a while, he found himself shunted to little pallas, capital of the asteroid confederation. but clever, patient colonel frawley, commandant of all the interplanetary police in the belt, merely smiled indulgently while neville blew off his steam. "you say," said neville, still ruffled, "that there has been a growing wave of blackmail and extortion all over the system, coupled with a dozen or so instances of well-to-do, respectable persons disappearing without a trace. and you say that that has been going on for a couple of years and several hundred of our crack operatives have been working on it, directed by the best brains of the force, and yet haven't got anywhere. and that up to now there have been no such cases develop in the asteroids. well, what do you want _me_ for? what's the emergency?" the colonel laughed and dropped the ash from his cigar, preparatory to lying back in his chair and taking another long, soothing drag. the office of the chief inspector of the a.c. division of the i.p. was not only well equipped for the work it had to do, but for comfort. "i am astonished," he remarked, "to hear an experienced policeman indulge in such loose talk. who said anything about having had the _best_ brains on the job? or that no progress had been made? or that there was no emergency? any bad crime situation is always an emergency, no matter how long it lasts. which is all the more reason why we have to break it up, and quickly. i tell you, things are becoming very serious. lifelong partners in business are becoming suspicious and secretive toward each other; husbands and wives are getting jittery and jealous. nobody knows whom to trust. the most sacred confidences have a way of leaking out. then they are in the market for the highest bidder. no boy, this thing is a headache. i never had a worse." "all right, all right," growled neville, resignedly. "i'm stuck. shoot! how did it begin, and what do you know?" * * * * * the colonel reached into a drawer and pulled out a fat jacket bulging with papers, photostats, and interdepartmental reports. "it began," he said, "about two years ago, on io and callisto. it spread all over the jovian system and soured ganymede and europa. the symptoms were first the disappearances of several prominent citizens, followed by a wave of bankruptcies and suicides on both planetoids. nobody complained to the police. then a squad of our new york men picked up a petty chiseler who was trying to gouge the jovian corporation's tellurian office out of a large sum of money on the strength of some damaging documents he possessed relating to a hidden scandal in the life of the new york manager. from that lead, they picked up a half-dozen other small fry extortionists and even managed to grab their higher-up--a sort of middleman who specialized in exploiting secret commercial information and scandalous material about individuals. there the trail stopped. they put him through the mill, but all he would say is that a man approached him with the portfolio, sold him on its value for extortion purposes, and collected in advance. there could be no follow up for the reason that after the first transaction what profits the local gang could make out of the dirty work would be their own." "yes," said neville, "i know the racket. when they handle it that way it's hard to beat. you get any amount of minnows, but the whales get away." "right. the disturbing thing about the contents of the portfolio was the immense variety of secrets it contained and that it was evidently prepared by one man. there were, for example, secret industrial formulas evidently stolen for sale to a competitor. the bulk of it was other commercial items, such as secret credit reports, business volume, and the like. but there was a good deal of rather nasty personal stuff, too. it was a gold mine of information for an unscrupulous blackmailer, and every bit of it originated on callisto. now, whom do you think, could have been in a position to compile it?" "the biggest corporation lawyer there, i should guess," said neville. "priests and doctors know a lot of personal secrets, but a good lawyer manages to learn most everything." "right. very right. we sent men to callisto and learned that some months earlier the most prominent lawyer of the place had announced one day he must go over to io to arrange some contracts. he went to io, all right, but was never seen again after he stepped out of the ship. it was shortly after, that the wave of callistan suicides and business failures took place." "all right," agreed neville, "so what? it has happened before. even the big ones go wrong now and then." "yes, but wait. that fellow had nothing to go wrong about. he was tremendously successful, rich, happily married, and highly respected for his outstanding integrity. yet he could hardly have been kidnaped, as there has never been a ransom demand. nor has there ever been such a demand in any of the other cases similar to it. "the next case to be partially explained was that of the disappearance of the president of the jupiter trust company at ionopolis. all the most vital secrets of that bank turned up later in all parts of the civilized system. we nabbed some peddlers, but it was the same story as with the first gang. the facts are all here in this jacket. after a little you can read the whole thing in detail." "uh, huh," grunted neville, "i'm beginning to see. but why _me_, and why at pallas?" "because you've never worked in the asteroids and are not known here to any but the higher officers. among other secrets this ring has, are a number of police secrets. that is why setting traps for them is so difficult. i haven't told you that one of their victims seems to have been one of us. that was jack sarkins, who was district commander at patroclus. he received an apparently genuine ethergram one day--and it was in our most secret code--telling him to report to mars at once. he went off, alone, in his police rocket. he never got there. as to pallas, the reason you are here is because the place so far is clean. their system is to work a place just once and never come back. they milk it dry the first time and there is no need to. since we have no luck tracing them after the crime, we are going to try a plant and wait for the crime to come to it. you are the plant." "i see," said neville slowly. he was interested, but not enthusiastic. "some day, somehow, someone is coming here and in some manner force someone to yield up all the local dirt and then arrange his disappearance. my role is to break it up before it happens. sweet!" "you have such a way of putting things, neville," chuckled the colonel, "but you do get the point." he rose and pushed the heavy folder toward his new aide. "bone this the rest of the afternoon. i'll be back." * * * * * it was quite late when colonel frawley returned and asked neville cheerily how he was getting on. "i have the history," neville answered, slamming the folder shut, "and a glimmering of what you are shooting at. this guy simeon carstairs, i take it, is the local man you have picked as the most likely prospect for your master mind crook to work on?" "he is. he is perfect bait. he is the sole owner of the radiation extraction company which has a secret process that tellurian radiant corporation has made a standing offer of five millions for. he controls the local bank and often sits as magistrate. in addition, he has substantial interests in vesta and juno industries. he probably knows more about the asteroids and the people on them than any other living man. moreover, his present wife is a woman with an unhappy past and who happens also to be related to an extremely wealthy argentine family. any ring of extortionists who could worm old simeon's secrets out of him could write their own ticket." "so i am to be a sort of private shadow." "not a bit of it. _i_ am his bodyguard. we are close friends and lately i have made it a rule to be with him part of the time every day. no, your role is that of observer from the sidelines. i shall introduce you as the traveling representative of the london uniform house that has the police contract. that will explain your presence here and your occasional calls at headquarters. you might sell a few suits of clothes on the side, or at least solicit them. work that out for yourself." neville grimaced. he was not fond of plainclothes work. "but come, fellow. you've worked hard enough for one day. go up to my room and get into cits. then i'll take you over to the town and introduce you around. after that we'll go to a show. the showboat landed about an hour ago." "showboat? what the hell is a showboat?" "i forget," said the colonel, "that your work has been mostly on the heavy planets where they have plenty of good playhouses in the cities. out here among these little rocks the diversions are brought around periodically and peddled for the night. the showboat, my boy, is a floating theater--a space ship with a stage and an auditorium in it, a troupe of good actors and a cracking fine chorus. this one has been making the rounds quite a while, though it never stopped here before until last year. they say the show this year is even better. it is the "lunar follies of ," featuring a chorus of two hundred androids and with lilly fitzpatrick and lionel dustan in the lead. tonight, for a change, you can relax and enjoy yourself. we can get down to brass tacks tomorrow." "thanks, chief," said neville, grinning from ear to ear. the description of the showboat was music to his ears, for it had been a long time since he had seen a good comedy and he felt the need of relief from his sordid workaday life. "when you're in your makeup," the colonel added, "come on down and i'll take you over in my copter." * * * * * it did not take billy neville long to make his transformation to the personality of a clothing drummer. every special cop had to be an expert at the art of quick shifts of disguise and neville was rather better than most. nor did it take long for the little blue copter to whisk them halfway around the knobby little planetoid of pallas. it eased itself through an airlock into a doomed town, and there the colonel left it with his orderly. the town itself possessed little interest for neville though his trained photographic eye missed few of its details. it was much like the smaller doomed settlements on the moon. he was more interested in meeting the local magnate, whom they found in his office in the carstairs building. the colonel made the introductions, during which neville sized up the man. he was of fair height, stockily built, and had remarkably frank and friendly eyes for a self-made man of the asteroids. not that there was not a certain hardness about him and a considerable degree of shrewdness, but he lacked the cynical cunning so often displayed by the pioneers of the outer system. neville noted other details as well--the beginning of a set of triple chins, a little brown mole with three hairs on it alongside his nose, and the way a stray lock of hair kept falling over his left eye. "let's go," said the colonel, as soon as the formalities were over. neville had to borrow a breathing helmet from mr. carstairs, for he had not one of his own and they had to walk from the far portal of the dome across the field to where the showboat lay parked. he thought wryly, as he put it on, that he went from one extreme to another--from venus, where the air was over-moist, heavy and oppressive from its stagnation, to windy, blustery mars, and then here, where there was no air at all. as they approached the grounded ship they saw it was all lit up and throngs of people were approaching from all sides. flood lamps threw great letters on the side of the silvery hull reading, "greatest show of the void--come one, come all--your money back if not absolutely satisfied." they went ahead of the queue, thanks to the prestige of the colonel and the local tycoon, and were instantly admitted. it took but a moment to check their breathers at the helmet room and then the ushers had them in tow. "see you after the show, mr. allington," said the colonel to neville, "i will be in mr. carstairs box." * * * * * neville sank into a seat and watched them go. then he began to take stock of the playhouse. the seats were comfortable and commodious, evidently having been designed to hold patrons clad in heavy-dust space-suits. the auditorium was almost circular, one semi-circle being taken up by the stage, the other by the tiers of seats. overhead ranged a row of boxes jutting out above the spectators below. neville puzzled for a long time over the curtain that shut off the stage. it seemed very unreal, like the shimmer of the aurora, but it affected vision to the extent that the beholder could not say with any certainty _what_ was behind it. it was like looking through a waterfall. then there was eerie music, too, from an unseen source, flooding the air with queer melodies. people continued to pour in. the house gradually darkened and as it did the volume and wildness of the music rose. then there was a deep bong, and lights went completely out for a full second. the show was on. neville sat back and enjoyed it. he could not have done otherwise, for the sign on the hull had not been an empty plug. it was the best show in the void--or anywhere else, for that matter. a spectral voice that seemed to come from everywhere in the house announced the first number--the dance of the wood-sprites of venus. instantly little flickers of light appeared throughout the house--a mass of vari-colored fireflies blinking off and on and swirling in dizzy spirals. they steadied and grew, coalesced into blobs of living fire--ruby, dazzling green, ethereal blue and yellow. they swelled and shrank, took on human forms only to abandon them; purple serpentine figures writhed among them, paling to silvery smoke and then expiring as a shower of violet sparks. and throughout was the steady, maddening rhythm of the dance tune, unutterably savage and haunting--a folk dance of the hill tribes of venus. at last, when the sheer beauty of it began to lull the viewers into a hypnotic trance, there came the shrill blare of massed trumpets and the throb of mighty tom-toms culminating in an ear-shattering discord that broke the spell. the lights were on. the stage was bare. neville sat up straighter and looked, blinking. it was as if he were in an abandoned warehouse. and then the scenery began to grow. yes, grow. almost imperceptible it was, at first, then more distinct. nebulous bodies appeared, wisps of smoke. they wavered, took on shape, took on color, took on the appearance of solidity. the scent began to have meaning. part of the background was a gray cliff undercut with a yawning cave. it was a scene from the moon, a hangout of the cliffdwellers, those refugees from civilization who chose to live the wild life of the undomed moon rather than submit to the demands of a more ordered life. characters came on. there was a little drama, well conceived and well acted. when it was over, the scene vanished as it had come. a comedy team came out next and this time the appropriate scenery materialized at once as one of them stumbled over an imaginary log and fell on his face. the log was not there when he tripped, but it was there by the time his nose hit the stage, neatly turning the joke on his companion who had started to laugh at his unreasonable fall. on the show went, one scene swiftly succeeding the next. a song that took the fancy of the crowd was a plaintive ballad. it ran: _they tell me you did not treat me right,_ _nor are grateful for all i've done._ _i fear you're fickle as a meteorite_ _though my love's constant as the sun._ there was a ballet in which a witch rode a comet up into the sky, only to turn suddenly into a housewife and sweep all the cobwebs away. the featured stars came on with the chorus, and lilly fitzpatrick sang the big hit song, "you're a big, bad nova to burn me up this way!" then a novelty quartet appeared, to play on the curious callistan _bourdelangs_, those reeds of that planet that grow in bundles. when dried and cut properly, they make multiple-barreled flutes with a tonal quality that makes the senses quiver. the show closed with a grand finale and flooded the house with the nova song. it was over. the stage was bare and the shimmering curtain that was not a curtain was back in place. people began to rise and stream into the aisles. * * * * * "la-deez and gen-tul-men!" the voice boomed out and people stopped where they stood. a man in evening clothes had stepped through the curtain and was calling for attention. "you have seen our regular performance. we hope it has pleased you and you will come again next year. but if you will kindly remain in your seats, the ushers will pass around with tickets for the after-show. we have prepared for your especial delectation a little farce entitled, 'it happens on pallas.' now, ladeez and gen'men, i assure you that this sketch was prepared solely for your entertainment and any resemblance of any character in it to any real person is purely coincidental. it is all in fun, and no offense intended. i thank you." billy neville was bolt upright in his seat by then and his eyes glinted hard through narrow slits. something had rung the bell in his memory, but he did not know what. he would have sworn he had never seen that announcer before, and yet.... the man stepped backward into the curtain and appeared to vanish. the audience were grinning widely and resuming their seats. "this is going to be good," said the man next to him as he dug for the required fee. "it is their specialty. it beats the regular show, i think." neville paid the usher, too, and sat where he was. he shot a glance upward at the box and saw mr. carstairs and the colonel in animated conversation and apparently having a grand time. presently the ushers had done their work. the hall began to darken and the scenery come up. the scene was the main street of new athens, as some called pallas' principal town. neville relaxed and forgot his recent sudden tension for a moment. but it was only for a moment. for an instant later he was sitting up straight again, watching the development of the act with cold intentness. for the two main characters were comedy parodies of mr. carstairs and colonel frawley. at first glance they _were_ mr. carstairs and the colonel, but a second look showed it was only an impression. the police inspector's strutting walk was overdone, as were his other mannerisms, and the same was true of the magnate's character. their makeup was also exaggerated, mr. carstair's mole being much enlarged and a great deal made of his plumpness. yet the takeoff was deliriously funny and the audience rolled with laughter. neville stole another look upward and could make out that both the subjects of the sketch were grinning broadly. it was a silly, frothy skit about a dog, a lost dog. it seems that mr. carstairs had a dog and it strayed. he asked the police to help him find it and they helped. the inspector brought out the whole force. it was excruciatingly funny, and neville roared at times along with the rest, though there were many local references that he did not understand, nor did he know some of the minor characters were so splittingly entertaining. the man next to him writhed in spasms of delight and almost strangled at one episode. "oh, dear," he managed to gasp, "what a scream ... ho, ho, ho, ho, ... gup! it happened ... just like that ... he _did_ lose a dog and all the cops on pallas couldn't find it ... oh me, oh my...." peals of laughter drowned out the rest. the postlude came to its merry end. this time, the show was over for keeps and the audience began trooping out. neville got up and looked around for his friend, but the box was empty. so he strolled down the aisle and had a closer look at the illusion of a curtain. he understood some of the effects achieved that night, but the curtain was a new one to him. after standing there a moment he discovered that he could hear voices through it. one was colonel frawley's. he was saying: "certainly i am not offended. i enjoyed it. i would like to meet the man and congratulate him on the takeoff." neville climbed up onto the stage and walked boldly through the curtain. there was a brief tingly feeling, and then he was backstage. most of the actors had gone to their dressing rooms, but several stood about chatting with the colonel and mr. carstairs. at that moment the man who had made the announcement came on the stage and spoke to colonel frawley. "i dislike interrupting you, inspector," he said obsequiously, "but one of our patrons is making trouble in the wash-room. she claims her pocket was picked. would you come?" "nonsense!" exclaimed the colonel. "i stationed an operative there to prevent that very thing. no doubt it is a mistake. however, i'll do what i can." he excused himself and hurried off. then the man in black turned to neville and said in an icy voice, "and you, sir--what is it you wish?" * * * * * neville's mind worked instantly. he did not want to express interest in mr. carstairs, nor did he care to reveal to the showman his acquaintance with the colonel. so he said quickly: "the curtain ... i was curious as to how it worked ... you see, once i...." "joe," called the man, wheeling, "explain the curtain to the gentleman." joe came. he led the way to the switchboard and began a spiel about its intricacies. neville looked on, understanding it only in the high spots, for the board was a jumble of gadgets and doodads, and it was not long before he began to suspect that the long-winded explanation was a unique variety of double-talk. "see?" finished the man, "it's as simple as that. clever, eh?" "yes, indeed. thanks." neville started back to the stage, but the announcer barred his way. "the exit is right behind you, sir," he said in a chilly voice. the words and intonation were polite, but the voice had that iron-hand-in-velvet-glove quality used by tough bouncers in night clubs when handling obstreperous members of the idle rich. they were accompanied as well by a glance so uncanny and so charged with malignancy that neville was hard put to keep on looking him in the eye and murmur another "thank you." but before neville reached the exit, colonel frawley came through. "oh, hello. where is carstairs?" neville shook his head. "a moment ago he was talking with his impersonator," offered the announcer, seeming to lose all interest in neville's departure. "i'll see if he is still here. he may have gone into the actor's dressing room." but as he spoke a dressing room door opened and carstairs came out of it, smiling contentedly. he turned and called back to the actor inside: "thanks again for an enjoyable evening. you bet i'll see you next year." then he came straight over to frawley and hooked his arm in his. "all right, colonel, shall we go? and mr. allington, too?" neville nodded, luckily recognizing his latest assumed name. out of the corner of his eye he saw the dressing-room door slammed shut by the actor inside of it. "i hate to hurry you, gentlemen," said the announcer, "but we blast out at once." the trio retrieved their helmets and strode off into the night. by then, the skyport was deserted and the floodlights taken in. when they reached the copter they saw the flash and heard the woosh as the big ship roared away on her rockets. "back to the old routine and bedroom," sighed mr. carstairs as he heard it leave. "it was good while it lasted, though." "yep," chuckled the colonel. "hop in and we'll drop you at home." three minutes later they were before the carstairs' truly-palatial mansion. "come in a second and speak to mariquita," invited the magnate. "no, thanks. it's late...." neville's elbow dug into his superior's ribs with a vicious nudge. "... but if you insist...." mrs. carstairs met them in the ante-room, greeted the inspector cordially and kissed her husband affectionately. they stood for the rest of the brief visit with their arms circled about one another. her spanish blood heritage was evident in her warm dark eyes and proud carriage. equally evident, were the lines of past suffering in her face. it did not take a detective to see that here was a pair who had at last found mutual consolation. on the way back to headquarters nothing was said. but later, while they were undressing, the colonel remarked: "good show. did it throw your mind off your troubles?" "no," said neville curtly. "well," said the inspector, "a good night's sleep will. g'night." there was no sleep that night for billy neville, though. he spent it mentally digesting all the stuff he had read that afternoon, and all that he had seen and heard that night. he devoted many weary hours to a review of his own mind's copy of the famous rogue's gallery at the luna central base. the picture he wanted wasn't there. he wished fervently he had taken that refresher course on hypnotism when they had offered it to him two years ago. he wished he had not been such a softy as to let himself be shunted off to look at that dizzy switchboard. he should have taken a closer look at the showboat people. he wished ... but hell, what was the use? pallas' half-sized sun was up and today was another day. * * * * * the meanest of all trails to follow is a cold trail. or almost. perhaps the worst is no trail. it is hard to keep interest up. then, too, pallas was a dull place--orderly as a church, where people simply worked and behaved themselves. the days dragged by, and nothing out of the way happened. neville went through the motions of trying to sell clothing in majestic lots of hundreds, but no one was interested. he even talked vaguely of looking for a site for an outer warehouse for his company. he saw mr. carstairs often and became a welcome guest at the house. yet with this lack of incident, neville was at all times alert in his study of the man he was watching. he could not help remembering that little while after the showboat performance that carstairs had been absent from them. he particularly kept his mind open for any slow change in him, such as could be the result of a mysterious delayed-action drug or from post-hypnotic effect. but there was none that he could detect, nor did the colonel notice anything of the sort, though neville spoke to him on the subject several times. the first indication that all was not well came from mariquita carstairs herself. neville happened in one day for lunch and found her red-eyed and weeping. then she added that she had worried a great deal the last few days about her husband's health. "when i watch him when he doesn't know it," she said anxiously, "he looks _different_--so wily, crafty and wicked. and he is not like that. he is the dearest man in the world. he _must_ be sick." neville left as early as possible, and at once consulted frawley. "yes," said the inspector thoughtfully, "she's right. in the last day or so i've noticed a subtle change myself. i blundered into his office the other day and he had his safe open and mountains of files all over the floor. he was actually rude to me. wanted to know what i meant by barging in on him like that. imagine!" the communicator on the wall buzzed. the signal light showed it was the skyport calling. neville could overhear what the rasping voice was saying. "peters at airport reporting. mr. carstairs has made reservation on ship _fanfare_ for passage to vesta. ship arrives in half an hour; departs immediately." by the time frawley had acknowledged and cut the connection, neville had already ordered the copter. "i'm on my way," he cried. "this is _it_! give me a complete travel-kit quick and an extra-special transformation outfit." two minutes later neville was on his way to the landing field, the two valuable bags between his knees. he was there when the spaceship landed, and was inside it before simeon carstairs showed up. the copter soared away the moment he had left it. carstairs would not know he had a shadow. neville went straight to the captain, whom he found resting momentarily in his cabin. he flashed his badge. "i am your steward from here to vesta," he told him. "send for your regular one at once and give him his instructions." "but my dear sir," objected the captain, rising from his bunk, "as much as i would like to cooperate, i cannot do that. you must know that under the new regulations all members of a ship's crew must be photographed and the pictures posted in prominent parts of the ship. it is your own police rule and is for the protection of passengers from imposters." "never mind that," snapped neville, "get him in here." the steward came and neville studied him carefully. he was a swarthy man with heavy shoulders and thick features. his eyes were jet black. but his height was little different from that of the special investigator. "say something," directed neville, "i want to hear your voice. recite the twelve primary duties of a steward." the man obeyed. "it's okay," announced neville when he had finished. "i can do it." he gave the captain a word of warning, then went with the steward to his room. there he handed the astonished man a hundred-sol credit note and told him to hit the bunk. "here's your chance to catch up on your rest and reading," said neville grimly. "you don't leave that bunk until i tell you to, y'understand? if you do, it will cost you five years in the mines of oberon." the steward gasped and lay back on the pillow. he gasped some more when neville yanked his box of transformations open and spread its contents on the table. his eyes fairly bulged as he watched neville shoot injections of wax into his deltoids and biceps until the policeman's shoulders were the twins of his own. he saw him puff up his face, thicken the nose and load the jowls, and after that paint himself with dye, not omitting the hair. then, marvel of marvels, he saw him drop something in his eyes and sit shuddering for a few seconds while the stuff worked. when the eyes were opened again they were as black as his own! "how's dis, faller?" asked neville in the same flat, sullen tone the steward had used in the cabin. "lanch is sarved, sor ... zhip gang land in one hour, marm ... hokay?" "gard!" was the steward's last gasp. then he lapsed into complete speechlessness. * * * * * neville darted out into the passage. the baggage of the sole passenger to get on at pallas lay in the gangway, and its owner, mr. carstairs, stood impatiently beside it. he growled something about the rotten service on the callisto-earth run, but let the steward pick up the bags. then he followed close behind. "lay out your t'ings, sor?" queried neville, once inside the room. "no," said carstairs savagely. "when i want anything i will ask for it. otherwise, stay out of my room." "yas, sor," was what neville said in return, but to himself "phew! the old boy _has_ changed. i don't know where i'm going, but i'm on my way." he had no intention of obeying carstairs' injunction to stay out of his room. that night he served the evening meal, and with it was a glass of water. he had taken the precaution to drop a single minim of somnolene in it--that efficacious sleep-producer permitted to only seven members of the i.p., tasteless, colorless and odorless, and without after-effect. in the second hour of the sleep period, the false steward stole down the passage and with a pass key unfastened the door lock. there was an inside bolt to deal with as well, but an ingenious tool that came with the travel-kit took care of that. a moment later neville was in the slumbering man's room. five minutes later he was back in his own, and stacked on the deck beside him was all the baggage the magnate of pallas had brought with him. one piece opened readily enough, and its contents seemed innocuous. but the methodical police officer was not content with superficial appearances. he examined the articles of clothing in it, and the more he looked the more his amazement grew. there were no less than four sets of costumes in it. moreover, they were for men of different build. one stout, two medium, one spare. in the bottom was a set of gray canvas bags--slip-covers with handles. neville puzzled over them a moment, then recognized their function. they were covers for the very baggage he was examining. he had to use special tools to open the second bag and found it contained a makeup kit quite the equal of his own. "ouch," he muttered. "this guy is as good as i am." the third and heaviest bag was a tougher job. it was double-locked and strapped, and heavy seals had been put on the straps. the extra-special travel-kit equipment took care of the locks and seals, but the contents of the bag were beyond anything a travel-kit could handle. they were documents--damning documents--neatly bundled up, each bound with its own ribbon and seal. had neville had twenty-four hours in a well-equipped laboratory with a sufficient number of assistants, he might have forged passable but less incriminating substitutes for them. as it was, he was helpless to do a very artistic job of switching. one package dealt with certain long-forgotten passages in mrs. carstairs' life, while others dealt with certain business transactions. from that case, neville chose to abstract all of them except the one which formed the outer wrapper. to make up the bulk he filled the bundle with blank paper, tied it up again and resealed it. he dealt likewise with the packet that contained the formulae for the radiation extraction process. and, for the good of the service, he pursued the same course with regard to a rather detailed report on the foibles and weaknesses of a certain police colonel stationed in pallas. there was not a hint of scandal or corruption in that, but often ridicule is as potent a weapon as vilification. after that came the tedious business of censoring the rest, repacking the bag as it had been, and restoring the locks and seals. the gently snoring carstairs never knew when his bags were returned to him, nor heard the faint scuffling as his door was rebolted and relocked. * * * * * "vasta, sor, in one hour," announced his steward to him eight hours later. "bags out, sor?" "when we get there," growled the magnate, yawning heavily, glancing suspiciously about the room. he locked the door behind the steward, didn't leave until the ship was cradled. neville watched him go ashore. then he hurried in to see the skipper again. "you will be compensated for this," he said hurriedly. "you can have your steward back on the job again. how long do you stay here?" "three hours, curse the luck. we usually touch and go, but this time i have an ethergram ordering me to wait here for a special passenger. why in hell can't these hicks in the gravel belt learn to catch a ship on time?" "ah," breathed neville. "that makes a difference. i think i'll stay with you. have you a vacant room where i can hang out for the remainder of the voyage?" "yes." neville did another lightning change--back to special investigator billy neville of the i.p.--uniform and all. he was standing near the spacelock when the expected passenger came aboard. neville could not suppress a murmur of approval as he saw his quarry approaching. as an artist in his own right, he appreciated artistry when he saw it. the man coming down the field was carstairs, but what a different carstairs! he was more slender, he had altogether different clothes on, he had a different gait. his complexion was not the same. but the height was the same, and the bags he carried were the same shape and size, except for their gray canvas coverings. there was a little notch in the right ear that he had not troubled to rectify in the brief time he had had for his transformation in what was undoubtedly his pre-arranged hideaway on vesta. "what is the next stop, skipper?" neville whispered to the captain. "new york." "i'll stay out of sight until then." any passenger on that voyage of the _fanfare_ will tell you that her captain should have been retired years before. he made three bad tries before he succeeded in lowering his ship into the dock at the skyport. the passengers did not know, of course, that he had to stall to permit a certain member of the i.p. to make a parachute landing from the stratosphere. billy neville hit the ground not four miles from the designated skyport. a commandeered copter took him to it just in time to see the squat passenger vessel jetting down into her berth. he looked anxiously about the station. there was not a uniformed man in sight except a couple of traffic men of the local detachment. he needed help and lots of it. neville had no choice but to play his trump card. it was a thing reserved only for grave emergencies. but he considered the present one grave. he took his police whistle out of his vest pocket and shrilled it three times. it was a supersonic whistle--its tone only audible to first-class detectives having tuned vibrators strapped over their hearts. to sound a triple supersonic call was the police equivalent of sending out an eighth alarm fire-call. but neville blew the blast. then waited. a man strolled up and asked the way to newark. "wait," said neville, only he did not use words but merely lifted his right eye-brow slightly. it was not long before four others came up and craved directions as to how to get to newark. he lit a cigarette as they gathered around. "the ship _fanfare_ has just landed--out of callisto with wayside stops in the belt. there is a passenger carrying three bags covered by gray canvas. tail him. tail everybody he contacts. if you need help, ask local hq. if they can't give enough, ask luna. but whatever you do, don't make a pinch. this guy is small fry. my code number is...." neville knew better than to flash a badge on these men, even if he was in uniform. both badges and uniforms could be counterfeited. but he knew that they knew from his procedure that he was a department agent. "there he comes," he warned, and promptly ducked behind a fruit stall and walked away. * * * * * headquarters readily gave him a rocket and a driver to take him to lunar base. he had no trouble breaking down the barriers between him and the second most important man in the i.p.--the first being the general-general in charge of operations. the man he wanted to see was the colonel-general, head of the bureau of identification. neville allowed himself to be ushered into the office, but it was not without trepidation, for old col.-general o'hara had a vile reputation as a junior-baiter. he was not at all reassured when he heard the door click to behind him with the click which meant to his trained ears that the door would never be opened again without the pressure of a foot on a certain secret pedal concealed somewhere in the room. nor did the appearance of the man behind the desk do anything to relieve his own lack of ease. o'hara was a gnome, scarcely five feet tall, with bulging eyes and wild hair that stood helter-skelter above his wrinkled face. he was staring at his desk blotter with a venomous expression, and his lower lip hung out a full half-inch. neville stood rigidly at attention before him for a full three minutes before the old man spoke. then he looked up and barked a caustic, "well?" "i am special investigator neville, sir," he said, "and i want the pedigree of a certain notorious criminal whose picture is lacking in the gallery." "stuff and nonsense!" snorted the colonel-general. "there is no such criminal. man and boy, i have run this bureau since they moved it to the moon. why--oh, why--do they let you rookies in here to bother me?" "sir," said neville stiffly, "i am no rookie. i am a...." "bah! we have--or had, at last night's report--eight hundred and ninety-three of your 'specials' half of them on probation. when you've spent, as i have spent, sixty-two years...." "i'm sorry, sir," urged neville, "we can't go into that now. do what you want to with me afterwards, but i assure you this is urgent. i am on the trail of a higher-up in the callisto-trojan extortion racket. do i get the information i am after, or do i turn in my agent badge?" "huh?" said the old general, sitting up and looking him straight in the face. "what's that?" "i mean it, sir. i have trailed one of the higher-up stooges to earth and set shadows on him. i _think_ i have seen the king-pin of the mob, and i want to know who he is," neville went on to describe the presentation of the showboat entertainment, with special emphasis on his hunches and suspicions. to the civilian mind, the things he told might seem silly, but to a policeman they were fraught with meaning. his description of the suspect was not one of appearance; it was a psychological description--a description based wholly on intuition and not at all on tangibles. he had not proceeded far before the wrinkled old man thumped the desk with a gnarled fist. "hold it," he said, "i think i know the man you mean. but give me time--my memory is not what it used to be." neville waited patiently at the rigid attitude of attention while the shriveled old veteran before him rocked back and forth in his chair with the lids closed over his bulging eyes, cracking his bony knuckles like castanets. o'hara seemed to have gone into something like a trance. suddenly, after a quiver of the eyelids, he stared up at neville. "it all comes back now. you were a member of the class of ' and i was instructor--a major then. i took all of you to see a certain show on broadway, as they call it, in order...." "yes, sir," cried neville, eagerly, "that was it! you told us the principal character in the play was the most dangerous potential criminal of our generation and that we should mark him well and remember. it was a very hard assignment, for we only saw him from before the foot-lights and he was acting the part of a viking chieftain and most of his face was covered with false white whiskers." old o'hara smiled. "you seem to have been an apt pupil. at any rate, that man was milo lunko, a thoroughly unprincipled and remarkably clever blackmailer. he was so clever, in fact, that we were never able to make an arrest stick, let alone bring him to trial. that accounts for the absence of his picture from the gallery. he was also clever enough to fake his own death. the evidence we have as to that was so convincing we closed the file on him." "it's open again," said neville grimly. "how did he work?" * * * * * "lunko was not only an actor, but a producer and clever playwright as well. he might have achieved fame and fortune legitimately, but he became greedy. he teamed up with a shady character named krascbik who ran a private investigating agency, specializing in social scandals. krascbik's men would study the private life of influential individuals and dig out their scandals. they would provide lunko with slow-motion camera studies of them so he could learn the peculiarities of their carriage, mannerisms, voice, and all their other idiosyncracies. "lunko's next step would be to write a scurrilous play based on the confidential information provided by krascbik, and put it in rehearsal, using characters that resemble the actual principals...." "but that's libel," objected neville, "why couldn't you haul him in?" "blackmail, young man, is a delicate matter to handle. the injured party shrinks from publicity and usually prefers to pay rather than have his scandal aired. lunko never actually publicly produced any of those nauseous plays. his trick was to invite the victim to a preview--a dress rehearsal, then let nature take its course. invariably, the victim was frightened and tried to induce him to call off the presentation. lunko would protest that the play had been written in good faith and had already cost him a great deal of money. the pay-off, of course, was always big. lunko drove many people to the brink of ruin. "one man did refuse to play with him, and turned the case over to us. lunko carried out his threat and produced the show, much to the delight of the scandal-mongers. it was outrageously libelous and we promptly closed the joint and took him in...." "and then...." "and then," croaked o'hara, rolling his pop-eyes toward the ceiling and pursing his lips, "and then we let him go. he had a trunkful of data on many, many important people. some of them, i hate to tell you, were my seniors in this very service. we could do nothing about it, for, unfortunately, all the stuff he had on them was true. we might have sent him to the mines for a short term, but he would have retaliated by standing our entire civilization on its head with his exposures. we compromised by letting him escape and go into exile. the understanding was that he was never to come inside the orbit of mars. a while after that, he was reported killed in a landslide on europa. we shut the book and proceeded to forget him." "he mimicked the character exactly?" "not exactly. just enough to clearly indicate them. although, i am convinced that, if he chose, he could have taken off any person he had studied, with enough fidelity to fool anybody except perhaps a man's own wife." neville gave a little start. that was the item that had slowed him the most. had lunko improved his technique to the extent that he could even fool a wife? was the carstairs he was trailing really carstairs, or an understudy? he had deceived both his old friend and his own wife for a time, but even they had admitted noting a subtle change. who was this phoney carstairs? where was the real carstairs? or, neville wondered, was his original theory of drugs or hypnotism correct? "thank you, general," he said. "you have been a big help. i have to go over to operations now and get the past and future itineraries of the showboat. in another hour, i may begin to know something about this case." "it's nothing," said o'hara, promptly closing his eyes and folding his knotty fingers on his breast. "it's all in the day's work. luck to you." neville heard the click as the secret door lock was released and he knew the interview was terminated. he backed away, stepped through the door and out into the corridor. * * * * * neville went straight to the great library where the i.p. records are kept. an attendant brought him the bulky folder on the old lunko gang. neville found it engrossing reading, and the day waned and night came before he had committed all its contents to memory. billy neville obtained a televise connection with tellurian headquarters. "how are your shadows doing?" he had already learned the real identity of the man he had trailed from pallas; he was an actor belonging to the original ring and went by the name of hallam. "our shadows are doing fine," replied the officer at the other end, "but your friend hallam seems unhappy. he made two calls on a high officer of the radiation corporation and after the second one he came very angry and ruffled looking. he has also called on several other persons, known to us as extortioners, and at least two of those are on his trail with blood in their eye." "i know," chuckled neville. "he sold 'em a bill of goods--rolls of blank paper. they think they've been double-crossed. and they have, only i'm the guy that did it. but say, we can't have him killed--not yet. better round up all his contacts and put 'em away, incommunicado. i'm hopping a rocket right now and will be with you in a jiffy." it did not take the police long to make the little jump from luna to tellus, and a couple of hours later neville was confronting hallam in a special cell. in his hands he held a first-class ticket to titan in the saturn group, which had come out of hallam's pocket, as well as a handbill of the showboat announcing an appearance there in the near future. "i just wanted to study your current rig, hallam," explained neville, opening up his makeup kit. "impersonation is a game that more than one can play at. i'm going in your place to titan. i'm a _teeny-weeny_ bit curious as to what happens to your victims. extortion carries good stiff sentences, but they lack the finality of that for murder." * * * * * the neville that left the cell was the exact duplicate of hallam, and by dint of exacting search of the actor's trick garments and the use of adroit questioning under pressure, the special investigator knew exactly what he had to do. and he knew ever better, after the spaceship he was riding settled down into the receiving berth on titan. an actor of lunko's--a skinny, gaunt fellow--was on hand to meet him, and a little later they conferred in a well-screened spot with three of lunko's jackals. "the layout here is a cinch," explained the skinny actor. "the two biggest shots are the president of the inter-satellite transportation company and the fellow who owns the bulk of shares in the _phlagis_ plantations. a year or so ago they were mixed up in a most ludicrous near-scandal that people are still tittering over. a situation like that is a natural for us. lunko has already sent the script on ahead. it's funny enough to tickle the town, but not so raw it will make the principals sore. we will deal with them in the usual way, when they come backstage after the show." "uh, huh," said neville, and asked to see the descriptions. they lit up the projector and began running three-dimensional views of their intended victims. the preliminary studies had been most comprehensive and neville knew before the hour was up that not a mannerism or intonation of voice had been overlooked. to persons skilled in disguise the problem was not so much one of imitation, but of introducing a telling imperfection that would allay suspicion of a possible more perfect imitation later. the remainder of their time until the showboat came, they spent in gruelling rehearsals. * * * * * neville watched the show from the wings and was gratified to note the considerable sprinkling of plainclothes-men in the audience. the show was good, as it had been before, and the audience was highly enthusiastic. then came the curtain call and the announcement of the special performance. when the lights were down and his cue came, neville walked on and performed his silly role. then there was a hubbub of applause and wild calls for an encore. a few minutes later the two men they had lampooned came backstage, grinning sheepishly, yet apparently resolved to show themselves good sports. "you would have more privacy in the dressing rooms," suggested lunko suavely, and ushered each into the private closet of the man who had just mimicked him. neville found himself face to face with a near-double. "step on it," said lunko harshly, who had followed. he flicked on a peculiarly brilliant overhead light, and the startled victim looked up at it with the helpless, hopeless gaze of a lamb being led to the slaughter. "change your makeup while i drag the dope out of him. i've got another one to do after this, you know." neville grunted and began plucking away the comedy elements of his burlesque get-up. then, with the deftness of long experience he made his appearance match the poor dupe's to the chair. meanwhile lunko had forced his victim into the depths of hypnotic trance and was extracting all the secret knowledge that the snooping jackals had been unable to obtain indirectly. "you've got it all, now?" asked lunko, impatiently, "the combination of his safe, his office and home habits? i've drained him dry, i believe." neville nodded. "stand back, you fool!" screamed lunko, as neville awkwardly stepped against him just as he was about to swing the bludgeon that would finish the now valueless victim, "we've just time to get this one into the incinerator...." he never finished, for at that instant neville sprang from the balls of his feet and a heavy fist smashed into the blackmailer's jaw with a crash that told of a shattered jawbone. another battering ram of a fist smashed him to the floor. neville's high-frequency whistle was out and the shrill, inaudible alarm tingling on the breasts of the key men waiting outside. then he was dashing for the adjoining dressing room where a similar little drama was just being brought to its close. a swift jab of fire from the blaster that appeared magically in neville's hand sent the actor to his death. other policemen were dashing up and the second hypnotist suddenly lost interest in his surroundings, going down onto his knees, a mass of battered pulp. then neville sat down and began thoughtfully removing the makeup he so detested. "i wonder," he complained to himself, "whether i'm ever going to get that leave." the scamperers by charles a. stearns _wellesley was ordered to check on deviants or mutants. but the evidence was often subtle, and he knew he couldn't afford to take a chance...._ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, june . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the earthman, wellesley, came to ophir in the season of aphelion, when the binary suns of that remote planet were cold serpent's eyes, dimly seen above the chill mists that shrouded its fern forests and craggy, young mountains, its silent oceans and magnificent organ pipe cities of legend. from space one might look down upon the vista of these latter prominences and imagine a vast, exotic civilization spread over the face of the equinoctial swamps, but wellesley knew that the giant towers were mere calcareous shells, hollow as the expectations they had inspired in the first planeteers to arrive here two hundred years ago--they were the work, in fact, of small, mindless crustaceans. his own destination, a small, shabby, corporate plantation, was less impressive in appearance. its name was aidennsport. it consisted of a hundred buildings, including a commissary and a hulking communal storehouse. the primordial jungle was all about it. to wellesley, yellow-cheeked from too many years in space, cynical from the paucity of human values in his life, aidennsport was the despised prototype of colonial stagnation about the galactic rim. for he was a dour, lanky pessimist among that immense, invaluable, but nondescript order of men, the rift constabulary, whose beat is the emptiness between the stars, and which enforces the name of law throughout the vast reaches of the firmament beyond sol's sprawling civilization. wellesley's ship was accustomed to describe an elliptical orbit which brought it near the system containing ophir once every seventh side-real month. it never stopped. its course was as inexorable as a comet's; nevertheless, he had lately received the commission of an errand here for the omnipotent department of genetics and genealogical records. and so he was forced to make landfall in a rocket tender in a meadow by aidennsport, while the ground quaked dangerously beneath the settling blasts of the tiny vessel. he located the single course of the village without difficulty. half a dozen ragged children were playing there, and stopped to stare. women peered at his dark uniform from behind curtains in the stained, milk-colored bungalows. quaintly dressed men, tending the auto-pickers in nearby fields of drug-plant, shaded their eyes to gaze with silent menace, though there was no sun. he was able to find the house of the agent by the frayed company flag flying over it. to the right of it was the warehouse where the annual crop of senna-like leaves of the drug-plant were stored for drying. this was aidennsport's meagre industry. beyond lay the swamp, and far across its desolate surface, the multi-colored towers of the pipes fingered the sky, aloof and sinister in aspect. a boy of no more than ten, dark eyed but with that startling, burnished-gold complexion so often found in the systems of twin or multiple suns, sat upon the steps before the cottage. he was playing with a furry animal not unlike a martian ferrax, which sprang up, scarlet-eyed and bristling, at the sight of wellesley. "here, boy," said wellesley, who neither liked nor trusted children. "is this the house of amos sealilly, the factor of aidennsport?" "sure. that's my pa. say, are you a spaceman?" "never mind that. where is your father?" "in the warehouse," the boy said. "i'll show you how to get inside. my name's joseph, and i have a spaceship in the back yard. i call it the _stygia_, after the pirate ship of the twenty-eighth century. do you want to see my crew?" "later, perhaps," said wellesley dryly. "come along, now." they found tall, aluminum doors which slid back at the wave of a hand, and entered into a vastness of cool gloom, permeated by a spicelike odor of curing leaves. a figure emerged from the drying racks at the other end of the warehouse. "_is that you, joseph?_" "that's pa," joseph said. "damn you, joseph!" "i guess he's drunk," joseph said. wellesley advanced. "i am lieutenant wellesley of the rift police," he said. amos sealilly was a great, craggy ruin of a man, with seamed face and heavy grey brows that shadowed intense blue eyes. eyes that glared just now. "what do you want here?" he bellowed. "my mission is to perform an ethnic census for the bureau of genetics. i shall require your co-operation." "there are three hundred and twelve people in aidennsport," sealilly said. "write that down and get out. go back to your space castle and leave us alone." wellesley sighed. "i am afraid that an ethnic census is never quite that simple. however, since you are required by law to assist me, you may as well know the truth. this community is suspected of inbreeding." * * * * * inbreeding is not, of course, a crime, except against nature. nor is it ordinarily dangerous. combined, however, with the environmental influences of certain rim planets, it may cause genuine, true-breeding mutations within the species, such as monsters, impressiono-telepaths, psycho-variants and other undesirables which, if allowed to multiply for a few generations, might become dominant. they are located and deported to a-type worlds. it had been an anonymous tip that had brought wellesley to ophir, but in all the inhabited universe, he knew, the bureau was the sole guardian of the classic blood strain, and it took no chances. "what's 'inbreeding,' pa?" said joseph, tugging solemnly at his father's sleeve. "a naughty word of the middle ages," said sealilly thickly. "a bugaboo of the mighty sky-chiefs. if we do not co-operate we bring their lightning upon our heads. yet, what must we do?" wellesley did not smile. "you must inform the colonists that i wish to interview each member of every family and clan briefly, beginning tomorrow morning at seven. i do not mind in the least being _persona non grata_, but if any person fails to show up, or if there is any trouble, you will be held personally responsible. moreover, i do not think you are as drunk as you would like me to believe." amos sealilly bowed, took a flask from his pocket and drained it. "one other thing. i shall need a place to sleep." sealilly smiled. "there is an abandoned native daub-hut behind my house. you are welcome to it." "it will serve," answered wellesley coldly. "there are natives in the area then?" "yes. bipeds, though not mammalian, you will find. in fact, quite low in the scale of evolution. they are nearsighted and harmless by day, but you will be wise to keep to your hut after dark." "i can take care of myself." "i'll show you the place," joseph offered. "i can carry your space kit, too." * * * * * "over there is my ship," joseph said, pointing. "we are making ready to put out for arcturus." there was a bright constancy about joseph that clutched at the heart. not lieutenant wellesley's heart, of course, he reminded himself. the "ship" was indeed the rusty, peaked foretank from some ancient freighter, complete with hatch. it was set on end at the edge of the swamp. to any boy it would have been a starship. it was already dusk. the ophirian daub-hut was not so bad as he expected. it was massive. the orifice had been enlarged into a door. windows had been added. the only furnishing was the rude couch. it was a measure of sealilly's hostility. joseph spied the ferrax-thing scuttling across the lawn and dived at it. the two of them rolled over and over, joseph laughing, the animal growling and spitting. wellesley went in, closed the door and removed his official log from its case. the next two hours were spent in a carefully worded account--for space logs are part of the permanent records of the galactic court, among others--of the events of the day, including a bleak and perhaps prejudiced account of the character of aidennsport and of amos sealilly. afterwards he lay back on the couch and smoked several cigarettes in lieu of the food capsules that he did not crave. he was far from imaginative; nevertheless, the character of the place crept at last into his consciousness. he was used to cramped, machinery-filled spaces and the sterile smells of hot metal and ozone; here was an aura of decaying organic matter--and of something else. a faint, but unmistakable reptilian odor, attesting to the nature of past inhabitants. the vault of darkness was absolute, unabated by the dim patches of light that were the fenestrations above where he lay. and presently someone very stealthily opened the door and entered. * * * * * only for an instant was the figure silhouetted there before the door closed and darkness reigned supreme once more. yet that instant was long enough to tell him that it had been a woman. and though her features had not been discernible, he had gotten the impression of exceptional beauty. for a time there was no movement; no sound save her faint breathing. "who's there?" he said. "what do you want?" and then she came nearer and stood so close to him that the perfume of her breath was upon his face. suddenly he groped, caught her arm and pulled her to him. the warmth of her body was against him. he felt her tremble. but she did not try to pull away. he laughed. "perhaps i may revise my opinion of ophir," he said. "no light!" she whispered. her voice was low and vibrant. "why not?" "i must not be seen here. but i had to warn you. it would not have been right not to warn you about aidennsport." "what of aidennsport?" "it is a dreadful--an evil place. there are forces here which you would not understand. leave at once while you are still able to go!" "you forget that i am a policeman. to leave without completing the census would be dereliction. i remind you that the empire is inexorable in these things. and who are you, anyway?" she did not answer, but drew away so quickly that he could not grasp her. in a moment, from across the room her voice came. it was less intimate, even matter-of-fact. "if you will not leave," she said, "lock this door behind me and do not, as you value your life, step outside this hut until daylight." she was suddenly gone and he was alone in mystification and wonder, and a dull, stirring anger that he could not account for. but he could make nothing of it and after a time he put the incident resolutely out of his mind and tried to sleep. this was not accomplished at once. curious sounds had begun to filter in through the fenestrations. some were the night sounds of birds or insects. other sounds, faint hissings and gruntings, were unidentifiable. once he thought he heard the slap-slap of bare feet running past his door. at last he was forced to employ a mild form of auto-suggestion, learned long ago and employed often during those first lonely years in space. he slept. but once, in the early hours of morning, he was awakened by a tumult. there was much loud hissing and the scampering of many feet outside the daub-hut, as though some intricate and riotous game might be in progress out there, the nature of the game--or for that matter, the players--unguessed at. but he was half asleep, and thought little of it until he awoke again at daybreak. * * * * * the authority of the rift constabulary is acknowledged universally, though sometimes grudgingly. the men of aidennsport, therefore, sullenly reported to wellesley, and brought their families. it is a singular thing, but almost every birth and death in the galaxy is recorded by the empire. the laws concerning this are old and stringently enforced. therefore wellesley already had a fairly accurate estimate of the true population of aidennsport, and it came close to the number offered by amos sealilly. following the seldom-used manual of the bureau, he received vital statistics, made micro-photos and dermal prints, and endeavored a minute scrutiny of every man, woman and child that passed before him. he was finished by mid-afternoon. evidence of ingeneration he found in plenty, in the marked similarity of features among certain families, but nothing which could be called deviation or mutation. not even polydactylism, which is one of the earlier manifestations. still, he knew that the physical impress of the mutant was often subtle, and that he might have overlooked something. in none of the females could he identify the girl of last evening. if she had failed to appear--was hiding in the village--might not others be hiding too? the only recourse was to study the natives and try again. in many cases deviation among _homo sapiens_, who had colonized the rim planets, simulated the natural characteristics of native races. the relationship between mutation and environment was obvious. the chief magistrate, factor, or leader of any colony with an official grant was required by law to assist and obey any member of the rift police in the capacity of a deputy. wellesley called amos sealilly, who had been avoiding him all day. "is there a tribe of the dominant native species near here?" he asked. sealilly was still drinking, and saluted stiffly. "in the swamp, lieutenant." "guide me there." "you can go to hell," sealilly said, "and i will guide you _there_." "you refuse?" "i do. it's too dangerous for a spaceman. full of bog-fever. you've no natural resistance. besides, i'm busy inventorying." "very well," wellesley said, struggling to hold his temper in check, "i'll find them alone." "in which case," said sealilly, "you will not come back, and that will be an irreparable loss to the empire." wellesley left him and made his way toward the swamp. joseph was playing near his ship, and calling orders to an imaginary crew inside. when he saw wellesley he came running. "we were just blasting off for earth," he said, "but i heard you and pa talking. if you want to go in the swamp, i'll show you the way. i've been there lots. the ophirians hang out on the shores of the black lake, where the organ pipes are." he pointed to the towering pinnacles in the distance. "they catch shellfish there." "you know them?" "everybody has seen them. they are kind of green and slimy, but they won't hurt you. they can't see in the day-time. only smell. anyway, i'm not afraid of them." "done," said wellesley, "and in return for the favor i promise to put in a word for you at the nearest spaceman's hiring hall." "you won't have to do that," joseph said. "my crew and i are going to be space pirates." then wellesley laughed aloud, and felt better afterward than he had felt in many a long month. * * * * * the trail through the swamp was damp and primitive. everywhere the cycads, giant ferns and reeds overhung the path. there were great, blood-colored flowers which snapped at twigs that joseph put into their corollas. meanwhile, the ferrax-beast labored behind them, following with its proboscis to the ground, until the boy, taking pity, picked it up and carried it. wellesley asked its name. "his name is omur," joseph said. "i caught him in the mountains when he was little and raised him. but now omur is too fat to walk." eventually they emerged into an open swale, with a stretch of dark water before them. on the other side of the slough lay a sight well worth a day's march. dozens of giant pipes, some two hundred feet or more in height, stood braced against the sky, pastel blue, pink, and gold in the mists. but wellesley was less interested in these than the creatures which moved like grubs about their base, at the edge of the lake--squat, grotesque forms that waded the shallow water, scavenging for shellfish and crustaceans, and took no notice of the humans. on coming nearer, however, wellesley observed a very curious fact. the ophirians were of two varieties. the ones in the mud were gross and toadlike in appearance. whenever they found an especial delicacy they would run, with their webbed feet making smacking sounds in the shoal water, and lay it at the feet of an ophirian who sat in a wallow of peat moss and mud, and did nothing. he was a much smaller variety, but, wellesley noted, with considerably greater frontal development to his skull. also his thin body bore a long, green tail. the tails of the workers were vestigial. "the chief?" wellesley asked. "no," joseph said. "it's something else." "are they a clan, then, or brothers?" "closer than brothers," joseph said, scratching omur's head. "i have it--_avatars!_ i should have guessed!" he had heard of this odd genetic arrangement before, but never witnessed it. in such cases a dozen or more individuals were born of a single nucleus in a single egg. of these, one developed more fully than the rest and controlled his mentally-stunted avatars with a mental vinculum far more fundamental and powerful than mere telepathic union. on the other hand, the avatars were his hands and feet, and had larger bodies. the large-headed ophirian sat in his wallow and accepted the food offered him with long, leathery fingers. he crunched noisily. once he turned to stare at them briefly with great, owl eyes. eleven avatars turned simultaneously to stare. it was like looking into a multiple mirror. "they sense us," joseph said, "but they can't see us. come on." from nearby, the pipes were even more awe-inspiring. besides the massive old towers there were smaller ones in every stage of development. it was incredible to think that they were actually growing; pushing up out of the lake. in one of them a jagged hole, five or six feet in circumference, had been broken at the base. joseph, with his furry pet under his arm, went to investigate it. a moment later there came a shout from him that brought wellesley running. "what's the matter?" "omur went up the pipe," joseph said, "but _you_ can get him." there were tears in his eyes. beseeching tears. "we'll see," said lieutenant wellesley brusquely. he put his head inside the pipe. a tiny circle of light far above him showed at what an awesome height was the upper rim. the inner surface, however, was very rough, and there were plenty of holds for hands and feet. he could not see omur; only the circle of light, and around it, blackness. suppose the damned thing bit him when he tried to rescue it! a faint, moaning sound emanated from the vast funnel, doubtless from the updraft. he found a place for his foot; drew himself up a step; then another. joseph's white face was staring up at him from below. _and suddenly the circle of light was blotted out!_ * * * * * there was a rustling sound like dry leaves in the wind, and a sudden, sharp pain in his temple. then another at the base of his neck. he fell back and sprang out into the open. the aperture, in an instant, was full of small, needle-like fluttering things. "stingbats!" joseph screamed. "run!" wellesley fled after him, but he was already beginning to feel a sick, draining weakness. within a few steps his legs had become rubbery. joseph was out of sight. perhaps gone for help. but then joseph did not know that he had been stung. after a while he came to a small, black pond in his path. he had gotten off the trail. he sank down, there, beneath a fern tree, cursing. he was sure that he was dying, for a numbness, an absence of feeling, had stolen up from his feet and possessed his legs. he essayed a bitter smile. he was more chagrined than afraid, for this was an ignominious way to pass, here in a nameless swamp, alone, not even beset by one worthy enemy. and perhaps when he thought he smiled, he was merely baring his teeth in that manner that certain neurotoxins leave their corpses always.... * * * * * someone was shaking him brutally and insistently, and someone was repeating his name, over and over. he knew the voice at once, for it had been lately in his thoughts. "_get up!_" she said. "i can't." "you must--or die. get up now and try to walk. come, i'll help you." she did help him, and with her support he managed to get to his knees and then to his feet. he walked. afterward, there was a kind of delirium. he remembered bitter tasting capsules which she made him swallow later on in the daub-hut, but he did not recall having arrived there. he only knew that it was pleasant to have her cool hands on his forehead. the hands seemed to fill a vast, fundamental need. and this was out-of-character for lieutenant wellesley. after a while he was lucid, and was surprised to note that, as at their other meeting, the darkness was absolute. "it's night," he said. "very dark." "yes." "give me your hand." he held it for a time in both his own. it was a firm, capable hand with long, tapering fingers. "believe that i am grateful," wellesley said, "even though i must be grateful to a benefactor whom i have yet to see for the first time. let me look at you. i cannot command you to tell me who you are, as an officer of the rift constabulary, but i ask it as your friend." "you ask the impossible," she said. "the worst is over for you, but there may be still another shock to come. you must stay here until you are stronger, and then i will help you escape. now i had better go, before--before i am missed." he heard her retreating footsteps and the closing of the door. _escape from what?_ he wondered vaguely. the poison, or the antidote seemed to have brought about some curious psychological change in him. he could not think with the old, clear incisiveness. the drive was gone, the purposefulness of his mission to ophir. he was like samson shorn--or a man taken with void amentia whose mind becomes as a child's. and it was so dark. a horrible suspicion arose in his mind. he searched for, and found the torch that was in his kit. he turned it on. nothing happened. no beam of light shot out to illuminate the ceiling. he clicked the switch several times, then held the lens against his cheek. it was warm, all right. he was stone blind. * * * * * wellesley was not unlearned in the physiological sciences. he guessed that the blindness might be temporary--a result of neural shock, but that was scant consolation. now it seemed to him that since his arrival an invisible pattern of ill-will had been forming up around him. an ugly something lurking beneath the sullen surface of this strange village. a malignant force, beyond doubt, that well knew his true mission on ophir. now he was helpless, incapable of concerted action. he could not even retreat, but only lie and listen and wait. now it was _their_ move. the terrors of the blind were apt to be blind terrors indeed. the sounds were not long in beginning. at first an indistinct murmur. then something--or someone--scampered swiftly past his door. he got up and locked it; then lay back, spent by the exertion. presently the running and scampering began in earnest. and a hissing and squealing such as might have emanated from all the fiends in hell. once there came a scratching at the door. an hour passed like a century. the sounds had gradually died away into an absolute silence that was much worse. he waited. there came a knock at the door. he sat up quickly. "who is it?" "_it's me--joseph._" he unlocked the door and the boy came in with light, eager tread. "you all right?" he said. "yes--yes, i'm all right. but i can't see. tell me, what time is it?" "it's nearly morning." "thank god! now listen carefully. do you know what a strategic withdrawal is?" "sure, everybody knows that. every spaceman, i mean." "good. it is time for me to withdraw to my patrol monitor in space and make a radio report. will you guide me to the rocket? there may be danger." "i'm not afraid," joseph said. "come on, i know a short cut." wellesley slung his space kit over his shoulder and followed, with his hand on joseph's collar. they went out into the night air which smelled fresh and clean after the daub-hut, and revived him a little. at first he walked easily, for the ground was level, but after a minute or two the growth became heavy underfoot, causing him to stumble, and reeds were whipping against his face. presently they halted. "why have we stopped?" wellesley asked. "here we are," joseph said. "we couldn't have gotten there in such a short time. not even by a short cut." "put your hand out before you," joseph commanded. "you'll see. i guess we can blast off any time." there was a sound of feet, scrambling up a steel ladder. a moment later he could hear joseph's voice from inside, echoing hollowly. he put his hand out and touched the ladder. the rungs were flaked with heavy rust beneath his finger. "_this is not my rocket!_" "it's _my_ rocket," said joseph's disembodied voice, from somewhere above his head. wellesley cursed him. "it's the fastest ship in the universe," joseph said. "_where you going?_" * * * * * black anger possessed him, but the keen instinct of orientation common to men who have lived in interstellar space worked for his salvation. he might have blundered into the swamp, but he did not. instead he came up, after a terrible half-hour, against the wall of a building which, by its immense extent, could only have been the warehouse. he moved along its sheer, featureless side until he came to a door, which reoriented him, then struck out in the direction that he guessed the daub-hut to be. he bumped against it at last, located its door, flung himself in and thankfully bolted it behind him. but he was not alone. she was there, waiting for him. he started when she spoke. "where have you been?" she breathed. "i have been terrified. i found the hut empty and i was sure that you were dead." "like a bad penny," he said, "i return. but your being here is good fortune. i am certain that _you_ will consent to leading a blind man to his ship without resorting to childish trickery. in fact, i shall make sure of it." "not now," she said. "it is too dangerous. we could never get through the swamp. besides, you must still be weak from the effects of the poison. let us wait until morning." he seized her wrists and squeezed. "you're hurting me!" she cried. "then waste no time. and if you try to break way, or lead me into a trap, i'll snap your wrist like a straw!" he dragged her to the door. "through the village is best," she said. "they are sure to see us, but in the open we may be able to outrun them." "_who_ is sure to see us?" "never mind that now. follow me!" their flight had a rather dream-like quality because nothing impeded them, even beyond the village. miraculously she seemed to guide him where no underbrush or tangling grasses caught his feet, so that not once did he fall. "there it is, just ahead," she said. "the rocket tubes appear to have sunk into the mud two or three feet, though. do you think you will be able to take off?" "it will not matter in the least," he said. "but tell me, is it still dark?" "yes." "quite dark?" "very dark," she said. "that's all i wanted to know. open the airlock and climb up. i'll follow." once aboard, he found the controls and set them for take-off. then he pressed a small button. the port began to swing shut. he heard her run toward it, but he caught her and held her until the heavy hatch had banged shut with a hiss of escaping air. "let me go," she whimpered. "what are you going to do to me?" "you are under civil arrest," he said harshly. "but i haven't done anything. i have helped you." "of course. but you forget that i represent law--not justice. once i told you that i could be ruthless. you see, whoever you are, you are what i came here to find. i have suspected all along; now i am certain." "what do you mean?" "you brought me here without losing the way. then, from a hundred feet away you saw that this rocket tender had settled two feet into mud. _all this in absolute darkness._ that must mean that you have night sight--like the natives, a sure sign of abnormality. besides that, you have consistently avoided me in daylight. meaning that i must not get a glimpse of you, even though you were able to see me quite well. you were the reason for sealilly's hostility. he wanted to get rid of me before i found out about you. joseph, the normal child, was used as a decoy to mislead me. but joseph's sister was a mutant." she fell to the deck, sobbing, as he throttled full power for the blast-off. * * * * * wellesley left ophir a small, grey-green globe in the vastness of black space and set an automatic course for the mother ship, where he intended to submit a detailed report by radio to regional headquarters on rigel twelve. so far as he was concerned, the case was closed, once they were aboard the patrol ship, but it was three weeks to the vicinity of rigel, and in that time a curious sequel had developed. the girl (her name turned out to be laura) had stopped crying, and had begun to take an interest in life once more. in fact, he sensed that she was studying him a great deal of late. they were standing before the viewport, she looking at the great angry mass of rigel, magnified in the glass, but actually still two days ahead, he listening to every sound aboard the huge ship as he had learned to listen since the darkness closed in on ophir. she spoke. "how will it be on rigel twelve? will i ever see you again?" "will you care?" he said. "perhaps i ought to hate you, but it is only because you are blind that you can not understand. on ophir i was not happy, but at least it was home. out there they may laugh at me. it is exciting and wonderful, but terrifying." "they will not laugh at you. you will be allowed to live on any approved planet that you wish, and choose your own profession. you will be trained at the expense of the empire. and in a few years you may be allowed to visit your father and brother on ophir. only _visit_, i mean. does that sound so bad?" "but if they laugh--" "_i_ am not laughing," said wellesley, with a strange lump in his throat. "you might if you could see me. i'm too dark. my eyes are too big. my ears are too small." "i _can_ see you," he said. "is it true!" she clasped his shoulders. "but when--how long?" "since this morning, a little. the effect of the venom is passing. now i can see you perfectly, and you are beautiful. strange, and--and beautiful." and she was. "do not go to rigel twelve. stay with me," he said. (it was wellesley's misfortune that he always sounded like a policeman making an arrest, but she kissed him anyway.) and he thought what a fool amos sealilly had been. * * * * * but amos sealilly had had troubles of his own. it was the evening after wellesley had taken leave of ophir forever. sealilly dreaded the coming night, as he always did, and had fortified himself against it. he was drunk, but not drunk enough. the warehouse was locked for the day. he was walking toward the house, lurching a little, and mumbling curses as he did so. then he spied joseph. joseph, a small figure in the dusk, had just climbed out of the rusty old peak-tank at the edge of the swamp. he had furnished it with a bunk, as befit a well-found spaceship, and often slept there. the fact was that he had been sleeping there all day, having been up all night. joseph did not go to school. he yawned and stretched. amos sealilly went on to the house, and started to shut the door behind him, but joseph, coming up behind him, pushed it open and came in. he was breathing hard, having hurried to catch up with his father. he asked: "what about the spaceman?" "what about him?" "was he lost in the swamp?" "where did you get that idea?" sealilly said. "he made it. took off before you were up this morning, just before dawn." "i _was_ up," joseph said. "i thought it was a meteorite. damn!" he stamped his small foot. sealilly grinned thinly. "laura went with him." joseph's face whitened. "_laura?_ damn him! damn her too." "you always hated her," said sealilly, taking the bottle out of his pocket and sucking it. "she was too normal for you to stomach, i guess." "i would've got him if he hadn't run away like a yellow dog," joseph said. "the stingbats would have done it if she hadn't interfered. and then this morning i had him, too." he was thoughtful for a moment. "who do you suppose tipped him off?" and he watched his father's pasty face. "_who?_" sealilly laughed. "all right," joseph hissed. "i'll get you for that. you wanted to get rid of _me_, i'll bet. but you got rid of her instead." but sealilly continued to laugh, inside, because this was almost as good as getting rid of joseph, having laura out of his clutches at last. "me and my crew will fix you for that," joseph said bitterly. and with that, his avatars came crowding in behind him, squat, powerful and ugly, their saucer eyes intent upon sealilly. he had been through it several times before, but this time he screamed a little bit before it was over. he could not get away from joseph, of course. there was too many of him. _the polite people of pudibundia_ by r. a. lafferty _this was a world where minding your manners was more than just a full-time job--it was murder!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, january . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "well, you will soon see for yourself, marlow. yes, i know there are peculiar stories about the place. there are about all places. the young pilots who have been there tell some amusing tales about it." "yes. they say the people there are very polite." "that is the honorable ancestor of all understatements. one of the pilots, conrad, told us that the inhabitants must always carry seven types of eyeglasses with them. none of the puds, you see, may ever gaze directly on another. that would be the height of impoliteness. they wear amber goggles when they go about their world at large, and these they wear when they meet a stranger. but, once they are introduced to him, then they must thereafter look on him through blue glasses. but at a blood relative they gaze through red, and at an in-law through yellow. there are equally interesting colors for other situations." "i would like to talk to conrad. not that i doubt his reports. it is the things he did not report that interest me." "i thought you knew he had died. thrombosis, though he was sound enough when first certified." "but if they are really people, then it should be possible to understand them." "but they are not really people. they are metamorphics. they become people only out of politeness." "detail that a little." "oh, they're biped and of a size of us. they have a chameleon-like skin that can take on any texture they please, and they possess extreme plasticity of features." "you mean they can take on the appearance of people at will?" "so bently reported." "i hadn't heard of him." "another of the young pilots. according to bently, not only do the puds take on a human appearance, they take on the appearance of the human they encounter. out of politeness, of course." "quite a tribute, though it seems extreme. could i talk to bently?" "also dead. a promising young man. but he reported some of the most amusing aspects of all: the circumlocutions that the puds use in speaking our language. not only is the second person eschewed out of politeness, but in a way all the other persons also. one of them could not call you by your name, marlow. he would have to say: 'one hears of one who hears of one of the noble name of marlow. one hears of one even now in his presence.'" * * * * * "yes, that is quite a polite way of saying it. but it would seem that with all their circumlocutions they would be inefficient." "yet they are quite efficient. they do things so well that it is almost imperative that we learn from them. yet for all our contacts, for all their extreme politeness coupled with their seeming openness, we have been able to learn almost nothing. we cannot learn the secret of the amazing productivity of their fields. according to sharper, another of the young pilots, they suggest (though so circumspectly that it seems hardly a suggestion, certainly not a criticism) that if we were more polite to our own plants, the plants would be more productive for us; and if we gave the plants the ultimate of politeness, they would give us the ultimate of production." "could i talk to sharper, or is he also--" "no, he is not dead. he was quite well till the last several days. now, however, he is ailing, but i believe it will be possible for you to talk to him before you leave, if he does not worsen." "it would still seem difficult for the puds to get anything done. wouldn't a superior be too polite to give a reprimand to an inferior?" "probably. but masters, who visited them, had a theory about it, which is that the inferior would be so polite and deferential that he would do his best to anticipate a wish or a desire, or would go to any lengths to learn the import of an unvoiced preference." "is masters one of the young pilots?" "no, an old-timer." "now you _do_ interest me." "dead quite a few years. but it is you who interest me, marlow. i have been told to give you all the information you need about the polite people of pudibundia. and on the subject of the polite people, i must also be polite. but--saving your presence, and one hears of one who hears and all that--what in gehenna is a captain in homicide on the solar police force going to pudibundia about?" "about murder. that is all i ever go anywhere about. we once had a private motto that we would go to the end of the earth to solve a case." "and now you have amended your motto to 'to the end of the earth and beyond'?" "we have." "but what have the polite people to do with murder? crime is unknown on pudibundia." "we believe, saving their feelings, that it may not be unknown there. and what i am going to find out is this. there have been pilots for many years who have brought back stories of the puds, and there are still a few--a very few--young pilots alive to tell those stories. what i am going to find out is why there are no old pilots around telling those stories." * * * * * it wasn't much of a trip for a tripper, six weeks. and marlow was well received. his host also assumed the name of marlow out of politeness. it would have been impossible to render his own name in human speech, and it would have been impossible for him to conceive of using any name except that of his guest, with its modifiers. yet there was no confusion. marlow was marlow, and his host was the one-million-times-lesser-marlow. "we could progress much faster," said marlow, "if we dispensed with these formalities." "or assumed them as already spoken," said the one-million-times-lesser-marlow. "for this, in private, but only in the strictest privacy, we use the deferential ball. within it are all the formulae written minutely. you have but to pass the ball from hand to hand every time you speak, and it is as if the amenities were spoken. i will give you this for the time of your stay. i beg you never to forget to pass it from hand to hand every time you speak. should you forget, i would not, of course, be allowed to notice it. but when you were gone, i should be forced to kill myself for the shame of it. for private reasons i wish to avoid this and therefore beseech you to be careful." the one-million-times-lesser-marlow (hereafter to be called omtlm for convenience but not out of any lack of politeness) gave marlow a deferential ball, about the size of a ping-pong ball. and so they talked. "as a police official, i am particularly interested in the crime situation on pud," said marlow. "an index of zero is--well, if i could find a politer word i would use it--suspicious. and as you are, as well as i can determine, the head police official here, though in politeness your office would have another name, i am hoping that you can give me information." "saving your grace, and formula of a formula, what would you have me tell you about?" "suppose that a burglar (for politeness sake called something else) were apprehended by a policeman (likewise), what would happen?" "why, the policeman (not so called, and yet we must be frank) would rattle his glottis in the prescribed manner." "rattle his gl--i see. he would clear his throat with the appropriate sound. and then the burglar (not so called)?" "would be covered with shame, it is true, but not fatally. for the peace of his own soul, he would leave the site in as dignified a manner as possible." "with or without boodle?" "naturally without. one apprehended in the act is obliged to abandon his loot. that is only common politeness." "i see. and if the burglar (not so called) remains unapprehended? how is the loss of the goods or property recorded?" "it goes into the coefficient of general diminution of merchandise, which is to say shrinkage, wastage or loss. at certain times and places this coefficient becomes alarmingly large. then it is necessary to use extraordinary care; and in extreme cases a thrice-removed burglar may become so ashamed of himself that he will die." "that he will die of shame? is that a euphemism?" "let us say that it is a euphemism of a euphemism." "thrice-removed, i imagine. and what of other crimes?" * * * * * here omtlm rattled his glottis in a nervous manner, and marlow hurriedly transferred his deferential ball to the other hand, having nearly forgotten it. "there being no crime, we can hardly speak of _other_ crimes," said omtlm. "but perhaps in another matter of speaking, you refer to--" "crimes of violence," said marlow. "saving your presence, and formula of a formula, what would we have to be violent about? what possible cause?" "the usual: greed, lust, jealousy, anger, revenge, plain perversity." "here also it is possible for one to die of shame, sometimes the offender, sometimes the victim, sometimes both. a jealous person might permit both his wife and her paramour to die of shame. and the state in turn might permit him to perish likewise, unless there were circumstances to modify the degree of shame; then he might still continue to live, often in circumscribed circumstances, for a set number of years. each case must be decided on its own merits." "i understand your meaning. but why build a fence around it?" "i do not know what you mean." "i believe that you do. why are the polite people of pudibundia so polite? is it simply custom?" "it is more than that," said the polite pud. "then there is a real reason for it? and can you tell it to me?" "there is a real reason for it. i cannot tell it to you now, though, and perhaps not ever. but there is a chance that you may be given a demonstration of it just before you leave. and if you are very wise, you may be able then to guess the reason. i believe that there are several who have guessed it. i hope that we will have time for other discussions before you leave our sphere. and i sincerely do hope that your stay on pudibundia is a pleasant one. and now, saving your presence, we must part. formula of a formula." "formula of a formula and all that," said marlow, and went to discover the pleasures of pudibundia. among the pleasures of pud was mitzi (miniature image a thousand-times-removed of the zestful irma) who had now shaped up into something very nice. and shaped up is the correct term. at first marlow was shocked by the appearance of all the females he met on pud. crude-featured, almost horse-faced, how could they all look like that? and he was even more shocked when he finally realized the reason. he had become used to the men there looking like himself out of politeness. and this--this abomination--was the female version of his own appearance! but he was a man of resources. he took from his pocket a small picture of irma that he always carried, and showed it to the most friendly of the girls. "could you possibly--?" "look like that? why, of course. let me study it for a moment. now, then." so the girl assumed the face of irma. "incredible," said marlow, "except irma is red-headed." "you have only to ask. the photo is not colored and so i did not know. we will try this shade to start with." "close, but could you turn it just a little darker?" "of course." and there she was irma of the most interesting face and wonderful hair. but the picture had been of the face only. below that, the girl was a sack. if only there were some way to convey what was lacking. "you still are not pleased with me," said the miniature image a thousand-times-removed of the zestful irma (mitzi). "but you have only to demonstrate. show me with your hands." marlow with his hands sculptured in the air the figure of irma as he remembered it, and mitzi assumed the form, first face on, then face away, then in profile. and when they had it roughly, they perfected it, a little more here, a little less there. but there were points where his memory failed him. "if you could only give me an idea of the convolutions of her ears," said mitzi, "and the underlying structure of the metatarsus. my only desire is to please. or shall i improvise where you do not remember?" "yes, do that, mitzi." and how that girl could improvise! * * * * * marlow and mitzi were now buddies. they made a large evening of it. they tied one on; formula of a formula, but they tied one on. they went on a thrice-removed bender. at the betelgeuse bar and grill, they partook of the cousin of the cousin of the alcohol itself in the form of the nono-rhumbezoid, made of nine kinds of rum. at the b-flat starlight club, they listened to the newest and most exciting music on all pudibundia. at alligator john's, one checks his inhibitions at the door. here one also checks his deferential ball. of course the formulae are built into the walls and at each exchange it is always assumed that they are said. but the iris room is really the ultimate. the light comes through seven different colors of glass, and it is very dim when it arrives. and there the more daring remove their goggles entirely and go about without them in the multi-colored twilight. this is illegal. it is even foolhardy. there is no earthly equivalent to it. to divest oneself and disport with nudists would be tame in comparison. but mitzi and her friends were of the reckless generation, and the iris room was their rendezvous. the orgy will not be detailed here. the floor show was wild. yet we cannot credit the rumor that the comedian was so crude as to look directly at the audience even in that colored twilight; or they so gauche as to laugh outright at the jokes, they who had been taught always to murmur, "one knows of one who knows of one who ventures to smile." yet there was no doubting that the iris room was a lively place. and when they left it at dawn, marlow was pleased and sleepy and tipsy. there was a week of pleasure on pudibundia: swimming with mitzi down at west beach, gourmandizing with mitzi at gastrophiles, dancing with mitzi, pub-crawling, romancing, carrying on generally. the money exchange was favorable and marlow was on an expense account. it was a delightful time. but still he did not forget the job he was on, and in the midst of his pleasure he sought always for information. "when i return here," he said slyly, "we will do the many things that time does not allow. when i come back here--" "but you will not return," said mitzi. "nobody ever does." "and why not? it is surely a pleasant place to return to. why won't i return?" "if you cannot guess, then i cannot tell you. do you have to know why?" "yes, i have to know why. that is why i came here, to find out. to find out why the young men who come here will never be able to return here, or to anywhere else." "i can't tell you." "then give me a clue." "in the iris room was a clue. it was not till the color-filtered light intruded between us that we might safely take off our goggles. i would save you if i could. i want you to come back. but those higher in authority make the decisions. when you leave, you will not return here, or anywhere else. but already one has spoken to one who has spoken to one who has spoken too much." "there is a point beyond which politeness is no longer a virtue, mitzi." "i know. if i could change it, i would." * * * * * so the period of the visit was at an end, and marlow was at his last conference with omtlm, following which he would leave pudibundia, perhaps forever. "is there anything at all else you would like to know?" asked omtlm. "there is almost _everything_ that i still want to know. i have found out nothing." "then ask." "i don't know how. if i knew the questions to ask, it is possible that i would already know the answers." "yes, that is entirely possible." omtlm seemed to look at him with amused eyes. and yet the eyes were hidden behind purple goggles. marlow had never seen the eyes of omtlm. he had never seen the eyes of any of the puds. even in the iris room, in that strangely colored light, it had not been possible to see their eyes. "are you compelling me to do something?" asked marlow. "i may be compelling you to think of the question that has eluded you." "would you swear that i have not been given some fatal sickness?" "i can swear that to the very best of my knowledge you have not." "are you laughing at me with your eyes?" "no. my eyes have compassion for you." "i have to see them." "you are asking that?" "yes. i believe the answer to my question is there," marlow said firmly. omtlm took off his purple goggles. his were clear, intelligent eyes and there was genuine compassion in them. "thank you," said marlow. "if the answer is there, it still eludes me. i have failed in my mission for information. but i will return again. i will still find out what it is that is wrong here." "no, you will not return." "what will prevent me?" asked marlow. "your death in a very few weeks." "what will i die of?" "what did all your young pilots die of?" "but you swore that you did not know of any sickness i could have caught here!" marlow cried. "that was true when i said it. it was not true a moment later." "did all the pilots ask to see your eyes?" "yes. all. curiosity is a failing of you earthlings." "is it that the direct gaze of the puds kills?" "yes. even ourselves it would kill. that is why we have our eyes always shielded. that is also why we erect another shield: that of our ritual politeness, so that we may never forget that too intimate an encounter of our persons may be fatal." "then you have just murdered me?" "let us say rather that one hears of one who hears of one who killed unwillingly." "why did you do it to me?" demanded marlow. "you asked to see my eyes. it would not be polite to refuse." "it takes you several weeks to kill. i can do it in a few seconds." "you would be wrong to try. our second glance kills instantly." "let's see if it's faster than a gun!" * * * * * but omtlm had not lied. it is not polite to lie on pudibundia. marlow died instantly. and that is why (though you may sometimes hear a young pilot tell amusing stories immediately--oh, very immediately--on his return from pudibundia) you will never find an old pilot who has ever been there. cronus of the d. f. c. by lloyd biggle, jr. _she was wonderful and forsdon was in love. but he'd seen the future and knew that in five days she was slated for murder!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, february . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] a bright, sunny day in may, and a new job for me. i found the room in the basement of police headquarters--a big room, with freshly stenciled letters d f c on the door, and an unholy conglomeration of tubes, wires and dials bulking large in one corner. a bright young police cadet sat at a desk in the center of the room. "are you mr. forsdon?" i nodded, and dumped my bag beside the desk. "captain marks is waiting for you," he said and jerked his head toward a door to the rear. captain marks had his office in a cubbyhole off the main room. it was quite a comedown from the quarters he'd occupied upstairs as captain of detectives. he'd held onto that job past his retirement age and, when they were about to throw him out on his ear, d. f. c. came along and he jumped at it. the captain was not the retiring type. his door was open, and he waved me in. "sit down, forsdon," he said. "welcome to the department of future crime." i sat down, and he looked me over. a lean, hard face, closely cropped white hair, and steely grey eyes that looked through a man, rather than at him. small--five feet seven, a hundred and forty pounds. you looked at him and wondered how he'd ever gotten on the force in the first place, until you saw his eyes. i'd never felt comfortable in his presence. "do you know what we have here, forsdon?" he said. "not exactly." "i don't either--exactly. the brass upstairs thinks it's an expensive toy. it is. but they've given us a trial budget to see if it works, and now it's up to us." i nodded, and waited for him to go on. he packed his pipe, lit it, and then leaned back and let the smoke go out. "we have an invention," he said, "which i don't pretend to understand. you saw the thing?" "yes," i said. it wasn't easy to overlook. "walker calls it cronus--for the greek god of time. it gives us random glances around the city on what looks like a large tv screen--random glances into the _future_!" he paused for dramatic effect, and i probably disappointed him. i already knew that much. "the picture is hazy," he went on, "and sometimes we have a hell of a time figuring out the location of whatever it is we're looking at. we also have trouble pinpointing the time of an event. but we can't deny the potential. we've been in operation for three weeks, and already we've seen half a dozen holdups days before they happened." "at least it's an ideal we've always worked for," i offered. "i mean, to prevent crime, rather than just catch the criminal." "oh!" he said, and went to work on his pipe again. "maybe i didn't make myself clear. we saw the holdups on that screen, but we couldn't _prevent_ a single one. all we managed to do was catch the criminal a few minutes after he had committed the crime. so it raises an interesting question: is it possible to change the future?" "why not?" i said. captain marks thought a moment. "it isn't too critical, where the holdups are concerned. the criminal is caught immediately, the loot is recovered, and the victim goes his way thinking kind thoughts about the efficiency of the police force. but what about assault, or rape, or murder? apprehending the criminal ten minutes later won't be much comfort to the victim. but now that you're here to follow up the leads given us by cronus--well, we'll see what we can do. come on. i want you to meet walker. and cronus!" walker--dr. howard f. walker--was huddled over his creation. there was no doubt about it being his baby, as you could see from the way his hands caressed the dials. he was a gangling-looking man, six feet one, maybe pounds, fifty-odd years old. he had a long neck, an overly pronounced adam's apple, and thinning hair. he wore thick glasses, his face was gentle and dignified, and he looked like a very tired university professor. he didn't hear us come up, and the old man waited quietly until he noticed us. "walker," the old man said, "this is forsdon, our new detective." he nodded at me. "cronus has something," he said. "if i can find it again...." he turned to his dials. "that's one of our problems," captain marks said. "once we focus on a crime, it's sometimes hard to locate it again. the time interval between the present and the time the crime is committed keeps getting less. it takes a different adjustment each time...." his voice trailed away, and i looked from walker to the six-foot-square screen above his head. shadows flitted about on the screen. a female shadow walking along the street holding a child shadow by the hand. shadow aircars moving along jerkily. a row of male shadows grotesquely posed along a bar, their glasses making bright blotches in the picture. a room, and a female shadow moving around a table. the future revealed by cronus was a shadow world and the only way you could tell male from female was by their dress. the scene kept shifting. a park, with trees, and lounging adults, and running children. a room with people seated around a table, a reading room, perhaps at the public library. a large living room, with an old-fashioned fireplace, and a bright blotch that was the fire. another smaller room, a female shadow.... "that's it!" walker said suddenly. he moved a motion picture camera into position, and pressed a button. it whirred softly as we watched. a nondescript living room. a female shadow. she threw up her hands and stood transfixed for a horrible moment or two. a male shadow bounded into the picture--a giant male shadow. she turned to run, and he caught her from behind. his hand moved upward. something glittered in it, and he brought it down. he struck twice, and the female crumpled to the floor. he whirled, ran toward us, and disappeared. the camera ground on, recording the image of that shapeless shadow on the floor. abruptly the scene changed. a restaurant, with crowded tables and jerkily moving robot-servers. walker swore softly and turned off the camera. "that's all i got before," he said. "if i could come on it from a different angle, maybe we could locate the place." "when?" the captain asked. "seven to twelve days." it hit me, then, like a solid wallop on the jaw. i'd been looking into the future. * * * * * "plenty of time," the captain said. "but not much to go on." he looked at me. "what do you think?" "might be able to identify the man," i said. "he'll be well over six feet--wouldn't surprise me if he were six-eight or nine. he'll have the build of a male gorilla. and he limps slightly with his right foot." "not bad. anything else?" "it's an apartment or a hotel room," i said. "i'd guess an apartment. the scanner screen by the door means it's either relatively new, or it's been remodeled. the living room has a corner location, with windows on two sides. it's hard to say for certain, but i believe there's an old-fashioned sofa--one of those with a back on it--along the far wall." walker slumped into a chair. "you make me feel better," he said. "i thought there was next to nothing to go on." captain marks nodded. "but you missed one thing." "what's that?" "our assailant is left-handed. also--the limp may be something temporary. all right, forsdon, it's all yours. seven to twelve days, and you'd better plan on seven." he went back to his office, and i looked at walker. "can you give me any idea at all as to the location?" "i can draw you a circle on the map, but it's only about fifty-fifty that you'll find the place inside the circle." "that's better than nothing." "there is one thing," walker said. "i'd like to have you wear this. everywhere." a band of elastic, with what looked like dark beads placed on it at intervals. "it's an arm band," walker said. "cronus picks up these beads as bright spots. so i'll be able to identify you if you show up on the screen." i hesitated, and he said, "the captain wears one. we know it works, because cronus has picked him up twice." i took the arm band, and slipped it on. i sat down with the map and a directory and worked until a technician came back with the developed film. walker was still perspiring in front of cronus. he hadn't been able to focus on the crime a third time. the captain's door was closed, and his nasal voice was rattling the door as he bellowed into his telephone. i pulled the curtains to darken one corner of the room, and fed the film into a projection machine. i ran the film ten times without coming up with anything new. i couldn't make out the number on the door. i also couldn't decide whether the assailant was a chance prowler or someone known to the victim. i stopped the camera, and made a sketch of the room from what i could make out in the way of furnishings. the captain came barging out of his office, took a quick look at my sketch, and nodded approval. "we'll find the apartment," he said. "then our troubles will really start." i couldn't see that, and i told him so. i figured our troubles would be nearly over if we found the apartment. "you think it's possible to prevent this crime," he said. "i don't. even if we find the apartment and identify the man and woman, the crime is still going to happen." "why?" i said. "look at it this way. if we prevent the crime, it's not going to happen. right?" "right." "and if it's not going to happen, cronus wouldn't show it to us. all you see on that screen is what _will_ happen. as far as cronus is concerned, it already has happened. preventing it is like trying to change the past." "we can try," i said. "yes, we can try. the regular force will help us on this one. a team of detectives is waiting outside. tell them what you want done." i wanted an apartment living room with a corner location and a door scanner. it wasn't as bad as it sounded--the scanner was a new gadget at that time. not many apartment buildings would have it. there was always the chance, of course, that an individual had had one installed on his own, but that was a worry i could postpone. i put in a hectic day of trudging through apartment buildings and squabbling with superintendents, but we found it the next morning, in a stubby little seven-story building on south central. it was one of those apartment buildings that went up way back in , when the city decided it couldn't afford the luxury of open spaces and opened part of old central park to apartment buildings. this one was a midget among the other buildings in that development, but it had been remodeled recently. it had scanner screens. after the usual protests, the superintendent showed me around. most of the occupants weren't home. he let me into a rear apartment on the sixth floor, and i took one look and caught my breath. i pulled out my sketch, though i had it memorized by this time, and moved across the room to get the right angle. the sofa was there--it _was_ an old-fashioned job with a back. what had been a bright blotch in the picture turned out to be a mirror. a blur by the sofa was a low table. a chair was in the wrong place, but that could have been moved. what was i thinking about? _it was going to be moved._ every detail checked. "stella emerson," the superintendent said. "_miss_ stella emerson--i think. she never gave me no trouble. something wrong?" "not a thing," i said. "i want some information from her." "i dunno when she's home." her next-door neighbor did. i went back to headquarters and picked up the loose ends on the attempt to identify our assailant-to-be. no luck. and at six o'clock that evening, i was having a cup of coffee with miss stella emerson. she was the sort of person it's always a joy to interview. alert, understanding, cooperative--none of that petty, temperamental business about invasion of privacy. she was brunette and twenty-six or twenty-seven, maybe five feet four, a hundred and ten pounds. the pounds were well distributed, and she was darned nice looking. she served the coffee on the low table by the sofa, and sat back with her cup in her hand. "you wanted information?" she said. i fingered my own cup, but i didn't lift it. "i'd like to have you think carefully," i said, "and see if you've ever known a man who matches this description. he's big, really big. heavy set. maybe six feet eight or nine. he's left handed. he might walk with a slight limp in his right foot...." she set her cup down with a bang. "why, that sounds like mike--mike gregory. i haven't seen him for years. not since...." i took a deep breath, and wrote "mike gregory" in my notebook. "where was he when you saw him last?" "on mars. i was there for two years with civil service. mike was a sort of general handyman around the administration building." "do you know where he is now?" "as far as i know, he's still on mars!" my coffee was scalding hot, but i didn't notice as i gulped it down. "i'd like to know everything you can tell me about this mike gregory," i said. "may i take you to dinner?" as my dad used to say, there's nothing like mixing business with pleasure. she suggested the place--a queer little restaurant in the basement of a nearby apartment building. there were lighted candles on the tables--the first candles i'd seen since i was a child. the waitresses wore odd costumes with handkerchiefs wrapped around their heads. an old man sat off in one corner scraping on a violin. it was almost weird. but the food was good, and stella emerson was good company. unfortunately, her mind was on mike gregory. "is mike in trouble?" she said. "he always seemed like such a gentle, considerate person." i thought of the knife-wielding shadow, and shuddered. "how well did you know him?" i said. "not too well--he stopped to talk with me now and then. i never saw him except at work." "was he--interested in you?" she blushed. it was also the first blush i had seen in so long i couldn't remember when. i had heard it said that the blush went out when women did away with their two-piece bathing suits and started wearing trunks like the men. i'm telling you, you can't have any idea about what's wrong with our scientific civilization until you've seen a girl blush by candlelight. "i suppose he was," she said. "he kept asking me to go places with him. i felt sorry for him--he seemed such a grotesque person--but i didn't want to encourage him." "you're certain about the limp?" "oh, yes. it was very noticeable." "and about his being left-handed?" she thought for a moment. "no. i'm not certain about that. he could have been, i suppose, but i don't think i ever noticed." "is there anything else you remember about him?" she shook her head slowly. "not much, i'm afraid. he was just a person who came through the office now and then. he had an odd way of talking. he spoke very slowly. he separated his words, just ... like ... this. most of the girls laughed at him, and when they did he'd turn around and walk away without saying anything. and--oh, yes, sometimes he'd talk about california. i guess that was where he was from. i never found out anything about his personal life." "but you didn't laugh at him?" "no. i couldn't laugh at him. he was just too--pathetic." "have you heard from him since you came back?" "he sent me a christmas card once. he didn't know my address on earth, so he sent it to the office on mars so it would be forwarded. it didn't reach me until july!" "how long ago was that?" "it must be four years ago. it was a couple of years after i left mars." i dropped mike gregory, and tried to learn something about stella emerson. she was twenty-eight. she'd worked for two years on mars, and then she came back and got a job as private secretary with a small firm manufacturing plastic textiles. she made enough money for her own needs, and was able to save a little. she liked having a place of her own. she had a sister in boston, and an aunt over in newark, and they visited her occasionally. she led a quiet life, with books, and visits to the art institutes, and working with her hobby, which was photography. it all sounded wonderful to me. the quiet life. a detective gets enough excitement on the job. if he can't relax at home, he's going to be a blight on the mortality tables. we were on our second cup of coffee, by then, and i motioned the old fiddler over to our table. his bloodshot eyes peered out ever a two-week growth of beard. i slipped him a dollar bill. "how about giving us a melody." he gave us a clumsy serenade and stella reacted just as i'd hoped she would. she blushed furiously, and kept right on blushing, and i just leaned back and enjoyed it. i took her back to her apartment, and said a friendly farewell at her door. we shook hands! and she didn't invite me to spend the night with her, which was just as refreshing. i rode the elevator with chiming bells and a wisp of the old man's music floating through my mind. i stepped out on the ground level, walked dreamily out the door and hailed an aircab with my pocket signal. and just as i was about to step in, it stabbed me like the flickering knife on cronus's screen. she was a wonderful girl, and i was falling for her, and in seven to twelve days--no, nearer five to ten days, now--she was going to be murdered. "something wrong?" the driver said. i flashed my credentials. "police headquarters," i said. "use the emergency altitude." * * * * * walker was crouched in front of cronus, perspiring, as usual, but looking infinitely more tired. no matter what time i came in, he always seemed to be there, or there was a note saying he was down in his lab in the sub-basement. "i haven't found it again," he said. "that's all right. we can manage with what we have." he frowned irritably. "it's important, confound it. this is just an experimental model, and it's maddeningly inefficient. with money and research facilities, we could produce one that would really work, but we can't get that kind of support by predicting a few piddling holdups. but a murder, now--that would make someone sit up and take notice." "stop worrying about your dratted cronus," i snapped. "i don't give a damn about that pile of junk. there's a girl's life to be saved." it was unfair, but he didn't object. "yes, of course," he said. "the girl's life--but if i can't get more information...." "i've found the apartment," i told him, "and i've found the girl. but the man is supposed to be on mars. it doesn't figure, but it's something to work on." i called the captain, and gave him my report. if he resented my bothering him at home, he didn't show it. any wheel i could get my fingers on i set turning, and then i went home. i won't pretend that i slept. by morning we had a complete report from the colonial administration on michael rolland gregory. fingerprints, photos, detailed description, complete with limp and left-handedness. the works. also, the added information that he'd resigned his civil service job eight months before and had left immediately for earth, on a dawn liner scheduled to land at san francisco. i swore savagely, got off an urgent message to san francisco, and left for a dinner date with stella emerson. and another handshake at her apartment door. san francisco did a thorough job, but it took time--two more days. michael rolland gregory had hung around for a while, living in run-down rooming houses, and holding a series of odd jobs. two months before he had disappeared. "he could be anywhere by now," i told the captain. "including here in new york," the captain said dryly. two to seven days. i took stella back to her apartment after our dinner date, and in front of the door i said, "stella, i like you." she blushed wonderfully. "i like you too, jim." "then do me a favor--a very special favor." her blush deepened, with an overlay of panic. "i'd--like to, jim. because i--like you. but i can't. it's hard to explain, but i've always told myself that unless i marry a man...." i leaned against the wall and laughed helplessly while her eyes widened in amazement. then i dispensed with the handshaking. she clung to me, and it might have been her first kiss. in fact, it was. "i don't just like you, darling," i said. "i love you. and that wasn't the favor i was going to ask. you said you have an aunt over in newark. i want you to stay with her for a while--for a week or so." "but--why?" "will you trust me? i can't tell you anything except that you're in danger here." "you mean--mike?" "i'm afraid so." "it's hard to believe that mike would want to harm me. but if you think it's important...." "i do. will you call your aunt, now, and make the arrangements? i'll take you over tonight." she packed some things, and i took her to newark in an aircab. her aunt was hospitable and cooperative, albeit a little confused. i checked her apartment thoroughly. i was taking no chances that the aunt's living room could be the potential scene of the crime. it wasn't--no similarity. "promise me," i said, "that you won't go back to your apartment for any reason until i tell you it's all right." "i promise. but i may need some more things." "make a list, and i'll have a police woman pick them up for you." "all right." i arranged with the superintendent of her apartment building to have the lights in her apartment turned on each evening, and turned off at an appropriate time. i put a stakeout on her apartment building, and on her aunt's. i got a detective assigned to shadow her, though she didn't know it, of course. then it was zero to five days, and i was quietly going nuts. zero to four days. i walked into the d. f. c. room, and walker swarmed all over me. "i found it again," he said. "anything new?" "no. just the same thing. exactly the same." "when?" "two to three days." i sat down wearily, and stared at cronus. the screen was blank. "how did you manage to invent that thing?" i said. "i didn't really invent it. i just--discovered it. i was tinkering with a tv set, and i changed some circuits and added a lot of gadgets, just for the hell of it. the pictures i got were darned poor, but they didn't seem to be coming from any known station--or combination of stations, since they kept changing. that was interesting, so i kept working on it. then one day the screen showed me a big aircar smashup. there were about ten units involved, and i told myself, 'boy, these class d pictures are really overdoing it.' about a week later i opened my morning paper, and there was the same smashup on page one. it took a long time to get anybody interested." he stopped suddenly as the captain came charging out of his office. "brooklyn," he called. "gregory was living in a rooming house in brooklyn. he left three weeks ago." * * * * * a lead with a dead end. no one knew where he'd gone. it proved that he was somewhere in the vicinity of new york city, but i don't think any of us ever doubted that. "one thing is interesting," the captain said. "he's using his own name. no reason why he shouldn't, of course. he's not a criminal--but he is a potential criminal, and _he doesn't know that_." i saw, suddenly, that we had a double problem. we had to protect stella from gregory, but we also had to protect gregory from himself. if we could find him. "there's not much we can do," i said, "but keep on looking." it was what walker called the critical period. something had to happen on this day or the next, or cronus was a monkey's dutch uncle. "if we could only pick gregory up and hold him for a couple of days, maybe we could beat this," i told the captain. "we've eliminated stella emerson, we've locked the apartment, and caging gregory should snap the last thread." he laughed sarcastically. "you think that would solve the problem? listen. we spotted a holdup, and i recognized the crook. he had a long record. i had him picked up, and he was carrying a gun so we slapped him in jail on a concealed weapons charge. he escaped, got another gun, and committed the holdup right on schedule. i'm telling you, cronus shows exactly how the future is. we can't change it. i'm working as hard as anyone else to prevent this, but i know for a certainty that sometime today or tomorrow the girl and gregory are going to meet in that apartment--or in one exactly like it." "we're going to change it this time," i said. on my way out i stopped for a good look at cronus. nothing but a monster would give you a murderer, and a victim, and the place and approximate time, and make you completely helpless to do anything about it. i felt like giving cronus a firm kick in a vital part of its anatomy. i called off my dinner date with stella and prowled around manhattan looking for a big man with a pronounced limp. one speck of dust among the millions. i noticed with satisfaction that i was not alone in my search. aircars were swooping in low for a quick look at pedestrians. foot patrolmen were scrutinizing every passerby. and detectives would be making the rounds of the rooming houses and hotels with photographs. cab and bus drivers would be alerted. for a man who had no reason to hide, michael rolland gregory was doing an expert job of keeping out of sight. i radioed police headquarters at : p.m., and the captain's voice exploded at me. "where the hell have you been? the stakeout at the girl's apartment got gregory. they're bringing him in." i cut off without any of the formalities, and sprinted. i tore down the corridor to the d. f. c. room, and burst in on what might have been a funeral celebration. walker sat with his face in his hands, and the captain was pacing in a tight circle. "he got away," the captain snarled. "snapped the handcuffs like toothpicks, beat up his escort and ran. the man must have the strength of a utility robot." "how did they happen to pick him up?" i wanted to know. "he came strolling down the street and started to go into the apartment building. completely innocent about the whole thing, of course. he didn't have any idea we were looking for him." "he has now," i said. "it's going to be great sport locating him again." we had a small army loose in the area where gregory escaped, but for all they found he might have burrowed into the pavement. i called stella and asked her to stay home from work the next day. i got the stakeout on her aunt's apartment doubled. i was up at dawn, prowling the streets, riding in patrolling aircars, and i suppose generally making a nuisance of myself with calls to headquarters. we put in a miserable day, and gregory might have been hiding on mars, for all the luck we had. i had my evening meal at a little sandwich shop, and did a leisurely foot patrol along the street by stella's apartment building. the stakeout was on the job, and the superintendent had stella's lights on. i stood for a moment in the doorway, watching the few pedestrians, and then i signaled an aircab. "i'd like to circle around here a bit," i said. "sure thing," the cabbie said. we crisscrossed back and forth above the streets, and i squinted at pedestrians and watched the thin traffic pattern. fifteen minutes later we were back by the apartment building. "circle low around the building," i said. "oh, no! want me to lose my license? i can't go out of the air lanes." "you can this time," i said. "police." he looked at my credentials, and grunted. "why didn't you say so?" there was a narrow strip of lawn behind the building, with a couple of trees, and then a dimly-lit alley. the cabbie handed me a pair of binoculars, and i strained my eyes on the sprawling shadows. i couldn't see anything suspicious, but i decided it might be worth a trip on foot. the third time around i glanced at stella's lighted windows--the rear ones--and gasped. a dark shadow clung to the side of the building, edging slowly along the ledge towards her window. gregory. "see that?" i said to the cabbie. as we watched, he got the window open, and disappeared into the apartment. i tried to radio the men on the stakeout, and couldn't rouse them. i called headquarters. both walker and captain marks were out. they would be back in a few minutes. but i didn't have minutes left. "skip it," i said. i snapped out a description of the situation, and cut off. "can you get close enough to get me through that window?" i asked the cabbie. "i can try," he said. "but watch your step, fellow. it's a long drop." he hovered close, and i grabbed the edge of the window and pulled myself through. gregory faced me across the living room, a bewildered, panicky look on his huge, child-like face. i was thinking, how stupid can we get? from the way he came into cronus's picture we should have known he didn't come through the door. stella had come through the door, and we just assumed he was already in the room. but who would have thought gregory could make like a human fly? "all right, gregory," i said. "you're under arrest." tears streaked his face. his jaw moved, but no sound came out. suddenly i saw how we had blundered. this grotesquely oversized child meant no harm to anyone. stella was the only person he'd ever known who treated him like a human being, and he wanted to see her again. for some reason he couldn't understand, the police were trying to prevent that. suddenly the entire universe was against him, even stella, and he was frightened. and dangerous. he lunged at me like a pile driver, and forced me back towards the open window. i got my gun out, and he just casually knocked it out of my hand. he had me on the window ledge, forcing me back and all i could see were the stars out in space. then the apartment door opened and closed and gregory glanced back over his shoulder. i screamed. "run, stella! run--" then the night air was whistling past me. i bounced off an awning, crashed into the branches of a tree, struggled frantically for a hold, and fell through. from the window above came a piercing scream.... * * * * * the doctor had a face like an owl, and he bent over me, making funny clucking noises with his tongue. "there we are," he said, when he saw my eyes open. "not bad at all." "what's good about it?" i said. "young man, you fell six stories, and all you have is a broken leg and assorted bruises. you ask me what's good about it?" "you wouldn't understand," i said. "beat it." stella's scream still rang in my ears. i twisted, and felt the heavy cast on my left leg. my mood merged and blended with the dull grey of the hospital room. a nurse came tiptoing in, and smiled blandly when she saw i was awake. "you have some visitors," she said. "do you want to see them?" i knew it was the captain. i hated to face him, but i said, "let's get it over with." the captain loomed in the doorway, backed away, and came in again. and ahead of him walked stella. a different stella--face pale and distorted, eyes registering shock and grief, but alive. but very much alive. i started to get up, and the nurse placed a firm hand on each shoulder and held me to the bed. "not so fast, sonny boy," she said. captain marks moved up a chair for stella. "jim," she said. her voice broke. "i'll tell him," the captain said. "it seems that miss emerson has a sister living in boston. she didn't know anything about our problem, and she came down this evening for a visit. she had a key to miss emerson's apartment, and she walked in just at the right time to play a leading role in cronus's drama." "was she--" "no. thankfully, no. her condition is serious but she'll be all right again. the knife missed a vital spot by a fraction." i relaxed. "what happened to gregory?" "he tried to go out the way he came in. there wasn't any tree to break his fall. and one other thing. i have an urgent message for you from walker." i glanced at the slip of paper. "jim--for god's sake, stay out of aircars!" "cronus showed us your fall half an hour before it happened. from our angle, it looked as if you fell out of the aircab that was hovering over the building. some time in the next twenty-four hours, walker calculated, but we couldn't reach you." "it wouldn't have made any difference," i said. "you know yourself...." "yes," he said. "i know." his voice rambled on, while my eyes met stella's. "so cronus can show us the future," i heard him say, "but he can't change it, and neither can we." "cronus changed mine," i said, still looking at stella. the captain took the hint, and left. five minutes later the phone rang, and i reached around stella to answer it. it was walker, and stella held her face close to mine and listened. "just called to offer my congratulations," walker said. "congratulations for what?" "for your wedding. cronus just spotted it." i swore, but i kept it under my breath. "i haven't even asked the girl," i said, "and don't tell me i'm wearing that stupid arm band at my wedding, because i'm not." "no, you're on crutches. but the captain is standing up with you, and he's wearing his." "all right," i said. "when is this glad event going to take place?" "four to eight days." i slammed down the receiver, and kissed stella's blushing face. "cronus says we're getting married in four to eight days, and this is one time that monstrosity's going to be wrong. we'll get married tomorrow." "all right, jim, if you want to. but...." "but what?" "this is may twenty-eighth, and i want to be a june bride." we were married five days later, and we went to arizona on our honeymoon. i'd done some checking, and i knew arizona was well outside of cronus's range.